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skittlesfics · 1 year

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name: and if we should see the stars...

pairing: Eddie Munson x AFAB!Reader

word count: 2175

summary: Eddie shows you the stars

content/warnings: mutual pining, sexual tension, fingering, friends to lovers, Eddie calls reader princess and baby, reader has a vagina

author's note: SO I started writing this a week or two ago, and my entire plot bears some striking similarities to one scene from @upsidedownwithsteve's Camp AU Eddie fic that was posted yesterday. I honestly considered not posting at all because anons love drama where there is none, but honestly I worked really hard on this one and I'm happy with how it came out. Go read that fic right now if you haven't, it's absolutely stunning and gorgeous in every way and deserves all of your attention.

There was love, and then there was whatever this was: sitting in the back of Eddie’s van drinking shitty beers with the back doors wide open and the radio turned down low. It was something sweeter, something unspoken that you could keep wholly to yourself.

He was so casual with his touches, one arm thrown around your shoulder, leaning in close to try and match your perspective. The chain he wore around his wrist was cold against your neck, but you were running so hot with him this close that it was a balm against the burn of him.

“D’you see that one princess?” He was pointing, but your gaze didn’t make it past his hand. The pretty calloused fingers, the rings shining on his knuckles, the flaked polish on his nails where he’s chewed and picked at them since the last time you painted them for him.

“Mmhmm.” You lied anyway. Who could look at the stars when the sun was this close? He burned so bright, so bright, you didn’t know how to look away. You didn’t want to know how.

“I’m pretty sure that’s Orion’s belt.” He traced the stars like he could touch them. You thought they’d move for him, if he wanted them to. Eddie was special that way.

“Just his belt?” You were barely aware of what you were asking. You just wanted for him to keep talking in that excited timbre. He was so pretty when he got passionate about something.

“The rest of him is there too, if you look. It’s a little harder, but if you lean this way…” He trailed off, shifting to make room for you to see and then frowning when you didn’t manage to get quite where he wanted you. He huffed. “C’mere.”

That’s all the warning you got before he propped his beer against a threadbare blanket and hauled you between his legs like it was the most natural thing in the world. For Eddie, maybe it was. For you? You were already burning for him, and the press of his chest against your back set you ablaze.

If he noticed your pulse quicken as he slid on arm around your waist, leaning forward to rest his chin on your shoulder, he didn’t say anything.

“So those three are the belt.” He pointed to the same spot again. His voice reverberated through your body, that close, and it was unfair of him to expect you to do anything other than listen.

“The bright ones?” It was a strain, but you did your best to find them in the wide expanse of the sky. He was right to move you. It was easier to find them, even though your mind was hardly on the task.

“That’s it, princess. So, if you draw two lines down to that star and that star, that makes his legs.”

You tried and failed to visualize it. Instead, your brain stuttered and got stuck on how different it sounded when Eddie called you princess while you were sitting in between his legs, with the warm press of his thighs boxing you in, with his mouth right next to your ear. You had to shut down the thoughts that followed, particularly the ones that started with his hand that was still resting casually on your waist, two fingers just skimming the exposed skin where your shirt had ridden up.

“A-and the rest of him?” Your voice shook as Eddie’s hand on your waist shifted, his fingers brushing more solidly against your exposed skin, raising gooseflesh in their wake.

If he noticed what he was doing, he was playing it cool. Cooler than you, at least, as he gestured again with his free hand, tracing a few more stars that you could barely separate from the tapestry of the night sky.

“That’s his body. He doesn’t really have a head.” He explained it like your mind could be on the stars when he was tracing constellations into your skin, never one to be still. You wanted to protest, to tell him how unfair it was to expect you to learn when he was touching you; when he was so close that your whole world was leather and smoke and Impulse deodorant that shouldn’t smell good on him but did anyway.

You tried desperately to think of a question to keep the conversation. It needed to be something clever, that would turn the focus away from the way you press your thighs together for friction. Eddie spoke first, however, his voice low and teasing in your ear.

“You’re not even listening, Princess.” He laughed, the sound so full and dark that it made you shiver. There’s no hiding that when he had you pulled against him bodily, his fingers dipping more brazenly into the waistband of your skirt.

“’s not true!” You protested, “I just can’t see them the way you can.”

Eddie couldn’t care less if you could make out the constellation or not. He was playing a game of chicken against himself, tracing the waistband of your skirt and then dipping one finger down, then two, drawing a loopy pattern that was barely straddling the line between casual and what he actually wanted.

Your breath was coming out shallow, and that bolstered him on. He found a sensitive spot on your hip and you hissed so pretty, leaning back into him. He pulled back, afraid he’d gone too far. There was a balance to this, to the way he had you squirming in his lap, eyes glassy and lips parted. Balance be damned, he wanted more. He dipped his thumb into your skirt, brushing that sensitive spot again.

“Eddie.” The way you breathed out his name went straight to his cock. Selfishly, he wanted to keep you like this forever. Hanging in the balance, flushed cheeks and clenched thighs, almost fucked out with barely a touch in the back of your friend’s van. He wanted this just for himself. Wanted you.

“Fuuuck, princess.” Is all he could manage for a moment. His pointing hand comes down to grab your hip, holding you still so you didn’t squirm too far back and end things before they’ve started.

There was an order these things were supposed to be done in. A conversation, a confession, maybe a kiss. You skipped all of these and took Eddie’s hand, pulling it down to the hemline of your skirt and letting it rest on your thigh.

He almost couldn’t believe you were real. Somewhere, he stopped thinking.

“Been thinking about these thighs all night.” He admitted, his lips back at your ear. You didn’t care what he was saying. You couldn’t care when his fingers were trailing up your thigh, taking their sweet fucking time. “So fucking cute with these thigh-highs, got me fantasizing about bending you over the back seat.”

You could barely keep your eyes open, rolling your hips into his touch when he finally brushed the soft cotton of your panties. It was the faintest touch: a test, a request, an acknowledgement. You needed more.

“Eddie, please.”

He fell quiet as he slid his hand into your panties, watching you with rapt attention like he was afraid you would change your mind. You almost found yourself embarrassed at the damp fabric until he was hissing in your ear, his middle finger sliding across your slick folds.

“Shit.” He buried his face in your neck again, rocking his hips against your ass, “So fucking wet for me, baby.” And that was a new one, baby, but you couldn’t unpack that when his fingers were exploring you, looking for what made you feel the best.

His bracelet was cold against your belly as he let his arm rest on your front, his fingers finding your clit. You were already keyed up from being so close for so long, it didn’t take much to turn you into putty in his hands. You were all heavy breathing and soft whimpers, half lidded eyes and parted lips.

Eddie thought he might be in heaven with the way you melted into his arms. He was careful with you, worried he would scare you away with the strength of his desire, and so he made this about you. Your body was soft and warm against his, and when he slid a single finger inside of you, he started to think he wasn’t going to make it.

You tossed your head back against his shoulder, his name falling from your lips in a tone he never could have made up in his fantasies. Eddie was talking, but he wasn’t even sure if the words had any meaning anymore. He could only think about the way you moan for him as he slowly pumped his finger in and out, his thumb rubbing a gentle circle on your clit as he tested what you liked.

“You moan so pretty for me, baby. Fuck. Wanna make you feel so good.”

The second finger was where you started to slip. His fingers made you feel so full, you couldn’t help but clench around them and the sensation had him moaning into your ear. He rutted into you shamelessly, the denim of his jeans rough through the thin fabric of your skirt. Your toes curled as you started to feel the coil of tension building in your core and you reached out to grab a blanket, his knee, anything to keep you grounded as you felt your control slackening.

“Fuck, Eds, so close, I’m- fuck.” The litany of curses that fell from your lips were like music to Eddie. He peppered kisses to your neck as you rocked on his fingers. Your world narrowed to several points; There was just you and Eddie, his fingers buried in your cunt, curling to find your g-spot, his cock hard against your ass, his lips on your neck, his voice in your ear making your head spin with sweet nonsense, and then you were falling apart. Your body curled in on itself as you clenched around Eddie’s fingers, your hands wrapping around his wrist to slow the onslaught of sensation as he rocked you through it.

When he pulled his hand away, you were breathless and flushed, so pretty with the exertion of your orgasm. Eddie knows that he is well and truly fucked. There was no coming back from this, and if there was, Eddie knew he wouldn’t want to. Not when he knew the way you keened when his fingers found just the right pressure on your clit, not when he knew how wet and hot and tight you would feel, not when you were looking at him like he hung the moon.

“Was that okay?” He checked on you immediately, shifting you in his lap for a better look at your face. You laughed at his worry, still high from pleasure and sensation and him. When you reached up to cup his face, he leaned desperately into the touch, eyes closing instinctively. He was warm and so close and so pretty.

“More than okay, Eds. That was… Fuck. That was so good. Can I--? Do you need--?” You trailed off, embarrassed as Eddie opened his eyes, his gaze dark and intense. He watched you for a moment, calculating, and then he kissed you. Someone needed to set this right, after all, and it was clear it wouldn’t be you.

His lips were as soft as you always imagined they would be. The kiss was sweet, but too short. It was a question, a declaration, and an indulgence all at once. He pulled away to look at you, and then he was leaning in again, gathering you up in both arms so that he could kiss you breathless.

“’m okay, princess.” He said finally, when he thought he was done kissing you. You pouted, though, and then he was kissing you again, peppering them across your face like he’d wanted to do for months.

You curled into his chest, wrinkling your nose when he wiped his hand on the blanket on the floor of his van.

“Maybe, uh… Maybe we can do this again? In a real bed. After, uh, a real date?” Eddie was shy, suddenly, unsure despite the evidence of your affection still sticky on his fingers and his blanket. You would have laughed if your heart didn’t swell so suddenly with affection that you thought you might cry.

“You’re telling me this wasn’t a date, Munson?” You teased, reaching up to kiss him again, just because you could. He went willingly, smiling against your lips. “Got all pretty for you and everything.”

“A second date, then.” Eddie corrected.

“A second date.” You agreed.

He held you as the two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. His eyes were on you, your eyes were on the stars. And maybe it was love after all, something you could share, just the two of you.

You couldn’t find Orion on your own, so you just found your own patterns in the sky.

#Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson Reader Insert #Eddie Munson Smut #x Reader #Stranger Things Reader Insert #Stranger Things Smut #Two Cakes!#This fic was inspired by a gif of eddie in a bracelet that I couldn't get out of my head #2000 - 2500 #Smut

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

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Draco Malfoy and the Parent Trap (headcanons)

Request: hc for scorpius trying to get his father back together with his dada teacher a while after his mother passing because he wanted his father to be happy and he found out reader used to be his school sweetheart before things got in their way? - anon

A/N: This is a fairly long headcanon and for that, I apologise! I had so much fun with this though! I’ve split this into sections like how I would a full length fic otherwise it’s too hard to follow, in my opinion.

Warnings: female reader, mischief and mishaps, kissing, fluff, humour, mentions of death, past relationships.

Scorpius Malfoy loved his mother; he adored his mother, but even he could no longer deny that she was not coming back.

Astoria Malfoy had died, and she was not coming back.

It had been years since her passing and whilst Scorpius missed her every single day, he could not ignore the fact that his father needed to meet someone new.

-------

Draco Malfoy adored his wife; he would give up his soul to have her back in his arms where he could love her as wholly as he had when she was alive. If he had possession of the resurrection stone, he knew who he would bring back, he didn't care whether it would change her - he would have her back.

However, Draco Malfoy was lonely. He missed his wife, but he also missed the companionship of a relationship. He missed going to bed and having someone there when he woke up wishing him a good morning.

He yearned to have someone to hold; someone to love; someone to care for.

Draco Malfoy simply wanted someone.

-------

Scorpius didn't really have a favourite class; he enjoyed them all as he loved learning, but he found himself drawn to Defence Against the Dark Arts when you took over as Professor, breathing new life into the subject.

“Scorpius!” You call, smiling widely as the blonde ambles over to you. “Well done! I haven't seen spell casting like that since I last saw your father.”

“You knew my father?” Scorpius asks you, shocked at the admission.

“We were very close for a time,” You admit, feeling your face flush as the teenager looks on confused, “But we drifted apart.”

“What was he like back then?” Scorpius asks before he can help himself, “Dad doesn't speak a lot about his time at Hogwarts; he says his life began when he met my mother.”

You laugh, pressing a hand to your chest. “I understand why he would say that; he always was the romantic. I was sorry to hear of her passing; I remember when she attended Hogwarts.”

“Thank you,” Scorpius whispers quietly; a new wave grief washing over him as he meets another person who0 had known his mother.

“You’re the spitting image of your father. How is he?” You ask, needing to know.

“He’s okay. He’s lonely,” Scorpius admits, “He misses my mother.”

“As he should,” You state, nodding solemnly. “He always was serious. Even in school; I could very rarely get him to take a night off and have some fun.”

Scorpius smiles at the image conjured in his mind; the teenaged version of his father causing mayhem around the castle - it just didn't seem true. Scorpius sighs when he glances at the clock. “I’ll see you next time, Professor.”

“Bye, young Malfoy,” You laugh, thinking back to a time when a blonde haired teenager had been the centre of your universe.

------

Scorpius brings up the subject at lunch, asking Albus and Rose whether they knew anything of it.

Albus shrugs, sipping at his water before shaking his head. Rose frowns, tapping her chin with her finger. “I remember hearing my parents talk about it,” She murmurs, seeming far off as if in a distant memory.

“What did they say?” Scorpius all but demands, perching on the edge of his seat.

Rose’s eyes brighten as the conversation comes back to her. “I remember!” She all but cries, “They were discussing Professor (Y/L/N)’s appointment as our professor - they knew her at Hogwarts, you see.”

“Anything else?” Scorpius presses, already aware of such knowledge.

“My dad spoke about how he could never believe that someone like Professor (Y/L/N) would date your dad.”

“WHAT?” Scorpius shouts; not out of the slight insult to his father, but the fact that his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher used to date his father and neither said a word about it. “They dated?!”

Rose shrugs, reaching for her drink. “They must have if my parents were talking about it. I don't know how long for, but both my parents said it was the nicest they had seen your father act.”

Scorpius frowns at Rose’s words but does not comment; instead, he wonders about his father, overworking himself at St Mungo’s so he doesn't have to come home to an empty house.

“Scorp,” Albus sings, interrupting Scorpius’ worrying, “I have an idea.”

“What is that?” Scorpius asks warily; these ideas never ended well.

“You were talking about wanting your father to find love again... and here you are being educated by on elf his exes.”

“Okay?”

“Set them up you fool!”

“Oh!” Scorpius gasps, seeing the plan fall into place right before his eyes.

“Alright,” He concedes, “But I’ll need your help.”

-----

The plan gets put into motion the following week.

Scorpius approaches you at the end of Thursday’s lesson, a sheepish look on his face.

“You know your father had the same expression when he messed up,” You snort, “What did you do?”

“It’s not so much what I did, but what my father would like to hear.”

“Pardon?”

“My father wrote to me yesterday asking if he could have an early report of my progress in school. Since you already know him, I thought - if you don't mind, that is - you would write to him first, update him on DADA?”

You roll your eyes. “Of course, Scorpius. I’ll write a report his evening and send it with the owls tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you!” Scorpius exclaims; eyes wide with happiness as the first stage of the plan falls into place.

-----

Stage One: set up communication.

Draco had never sent his son a letter asking for his progress so far; Draco never rushed for academic excellence, he was simply happy with Scorpius’ best.

However, the report would hopefully open up a line of communication between the exes which would in turn lead to something more.

-------

Owl Post arrives only once a day so it isn't until Saturday that Scorpius hears back from his father.

He opens his letter with barely restrained glee; Albus and Rose watching on curiously.

Inside the weighty envelope, Scorpius finds your progress report of his work in DADA but also an attached note from his father:

“Scorpius, you do not need to feel pressured to send me reports. I know you’ll try your best in every subject. You will do well with (Y/N) teaching you. She was a genius at this subject when I was at school.”

Scorpius freezes for a moment; running a finger over his father’s handwriting as he is hit with a keen sense of absence. He didn't get homesick often, but right now, he misses his father more than words could say.

Albus reads over the letter, Rose follows. The three sit in silence as they think of their next move. Rose comes up with the idea.

“Your dad needs to reply to Professor (Y/L/N). It would look rude if he did not.”

Scorpius nods; reaching into his bag for a piece of parchment and his quill. He scrawls a quick reply to his father:

“Dad, I just thought you would appreciate the update. I hope you replied to Professor (Y/L/N), it would be rude to not have given that she took the time to write to you.”

His reply is sent in the afternoon when he treks up the Owlery, feeds a postal owl before offering up his letter to be returned to Draco. Scorpius had even tucked Professor (Y/L/N)’s original letter in the envelope so his father did not forget what she had written.

As Scorpius watches the owl fly away, he wonders whether this plan will ever work.

-----

Time passes and Scorpius begins to wonder whether the plan is working.

He watches you in lessons; notices that you seem a little brighter, that there is a little glow about you when you smile.

And Scorpius cannot help but wonder whether his father did reply and that the both of you were keeping in touch.

The hope that unfurls in his chest at the thought if his father happy again is what makes him pray to Merlin for it all to work out.

-----

It’s a Friday afternoon, weeks into the plan, when you approach Scorpius.

“Scorpius, may I talk to you for a moment?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“I’m not sure if your father had made you aware or whether he was keeping it a surprise, but he’s coming to the school tomorrow.”

Scorpius’ face goes slack at your words.

Draco had never come to the school; had not wanted to come after the second wizarding war and for good reason too. For Draco to be stepping foot back into the place he so strongly thinks hates him, there must be a powerful reason.

“Why?” is all Scorpius asks.

You fiddle with your fingers before replying. “He sent me a letter letting me know he would be coming to see you, but to also catch up with me. You don’t mind, do you? I know this could be strange for you. I’ll happily cancel if you want to spend the whole day with your father.”

The hope that had been hiding away just behind his heart begins to bloom in his chest as he takes in the hopeful expression on your face. It's then that Scorpius realises that you don't want to cancel on his father, but you would for him. It’s then that Scorpius realises that his father might just be ready for moving on.

“I don't mind at all,” He answers, finding his words truthful. “You and my father have a lot to catch up on.”

“That we do,” You laugh before smiling genuinely at the teenager, “Thank you, Scorpius.”

Scorpius smiles; grabbing his belongings and making his way out of the classroom. Stage two of the plan had begun with Scorpius even realising.

He knows exactly what he needs to do tomorrow.

-----

Scorpius barely sleeps all night for thinking of it.

He’s up with the sun and the first to breakfast as he waits for his father's arrival.

He remains sitting in the Great Hall when he begins to wonder just exactly where his father is. It was long past the time of his arrival.

It’s then that Scorpius decides to wander to the DADA classroom.

He finds Draco there in quiet conversation with you; sitting close together on the desks, hands so close touching that it almost pains Scorpius to look.

He realises then how well you fit together; how you both balance each other out when you snort at something Draco says, reaching out to show his shoulder playfully. Scorpius cannot remember a time when he saw his father have fun; have a joke with someone.

Heads bent close together, Scorpius catches the glimpse of an indulgent smile on his father’s face and it's then that Scorpius knows that his father has found another person to love.

Scorpius thought it would hurt, to see his father with another, but it doesn't. Instead, Scorpius feels relief that his father might not be so alone forever.

An idea pops into Scorpius’ mind.

Gathering his courage, Scorpius reaches for the door handle, and slams the door shut loudly.

He covers his mouth to quash the laughter that bubbles at the sound of your surprised yelp.

He quickly casts a locking charm on the door, remembering an advanced one taught to him by Rose whose mother had taught it to her.

“Let us out!” You yell, shaking the door handle and banging on the door.

“Not yet!” He shouts back with a smile.

“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy!” Draco shouts, “Let us out right now!”

“Not until you get your act together!”

“What?”

“You can't come out until you admit your feelings!”

And with that, the voices on the other side of the door fall silent and Scorpius sits himself across the corridor from the entrance to the classroom.

-----

Draco shakes his head at the audacity of his son.

You press a hand to your mouth to stop the laughter from leaving.

“It’s not funny!” Draco laments.

“It kinda is,” You admit, “Your son could see something neither of us could.”

“What?”

“Draco, you would have to be half blind to not see my feelings for you.”

“What?” The blonde repeats, once again struck dumb.

You shrug, “We’ve been talking for a while and I thought there was something there. At least, there is something there on my end.”

“It’s been so long,” He whispers, closing his eyes against the wave of emotions washing over him.

Draco feels nothing but conflict; he can no longer ignore the rising affection he has for you, but with every sting of it, he’s reminded of Astoria.

“I’m not asking to replace her,” You whisper, drawing your hands up to your chest as if protecting the already breaking heart. “I know I could never do that.”

Opening his eyes, Draco sees the stricken expression on your face and hates that he’s the cause for it. “I miss having someone there,” He admits quietly, “I miss having someone.”

“I could be that someone,” You state.

“I want you to be that someone,” Draco admits, pulling your hands from your chest, holding them gently in his own. “I want you.”

A watery smile breaks across your face as Draco drops on elf your hands to caress your cheek. “A new chapter,” You whisper, leaning into his touch.

“A new chapter,” Draco promises, ducking his head to kiss you.

------

Scorpius Malfoy misses his mother every day. He knows that she will always be with him, but he misses her nonetheless.

However, he cannot ignore how happy he is for his father to have found someone to love again.

****

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @oopskashish @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @sexysirius @just-a-belgian-girl @lahoete @minty-malfoy @fallinallinmendes @ravenclawbitch426 @ochrythum @beiahadid @gryffindors-weasley @dracosathenaeum @belladaises

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy headcanon #scorpius malfoy #draco malfoy fluff

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be-gay-do-heists · 3 years

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OKAY finally finished with eliot hand pain hurt/comfort fic, and i couldn’t actually decide whether i preferred it in second or third person POV, so i’m going to put the second person POV under the cut here, and make a separate post with the other version so folks can read which they prefer. nothing is different between the two besides the POV !

------

Contrary to what the four crazy people you spent your time risking your life for nowadays thought, you didn’t like the pain.

There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing satisfactory. A ringing hit to your jaw didn’t feel like penance. The actual protection aspect was a different story. Standing like a wall between your people and danger, there was nothing that made your ribs ache with pleasure like that; a wall didn’t feel, didn’t think, it was just an immutable fact. You were an immutable fact. The problem was that the wall-as-you, or perhaps the you-as-wall, had to become human again sometime after the last man went down and the last dollar bill was stuffed into a duffel. To hurt was human, and not just to hurt but to remember the wound long, long after, for it to live in your knees and wrists and between the vertebrae in your spine. Some days— and this was a product of how long after a job it had been, how hard you had pushed—some days were worse than others. The fact that some days the first sound out of your mouth wasn’t even a groan, but a whine, or worse the half-awake pleading for please please make it stop i’ll do anything just make it stop—

No, you didn’t like the pain.

Comparatively, today was a good day. Today, you could get out of bed. Your head and body were blessedly in agreement that it was in your best interests to swing your twinging knees to the side of the mattress, push yourself up onto legs that were sore but stable, with arms that shook only slightly. But compared to your best days, the ones where except for the old shoulder injury which would never let you forget it and the scar on your hip that put a hitch in your giddy-up in all kinds of weather, the days on which except for those you sometimes even forgot the pain, this didn’t hold a candle. Today your hands were so beat and weak that the ache radiated up to your mid-forearm, settled into you all familiar-like and made its home in you.

In the bathroom, you used your wrist to turn on the faucet and stuck your mouth under the water to drink. Holding a cup was off the agenda. Your morning routine was interspersed with winces, not unusual for your post-job bathroom adventures, and if it took you longer to shimmy on the sweats you knew you wouldn’t be getting out of today, it made you appreciate the comfort of wearing them a little more.

Going handless was fine until you were face to face with the fridge, and resisting the urge to growl at it, like that would solve anything. Taking a deep breath, you put a hand on the stainless steel handle, testing your grip. A light flex had you drawing it back like the metal had burned you, like someone had snapped a tight clothespin onto each ligament. You took a moment to pace a couple steps, let out a loud but cathartic expletive, and then wedge your hand between the handle and the door so you could open the fridge with your elbow strength. The feeling of triumph behind your collarbone faded quickly as you scanned its contents and realized there was nothing you wanted to eat, or at least nothing you wanted to hold and eat. The thought of grasping a fork brought another growl to your throat, and you slammed the fridge door to stomp to the couch and throw yourself down, cradling your hands in your lap.

You knew the drill: in an hour, you would grit your teeth and get to up to try and fumble open your bottle of painkillers, and if you succeeded, you would wait another hour for them to truly kick in so you could handle the tv remote, put on whatever game was on, and vegetate on the couch until further notice. The phone you had left on your nightstand rang loudly, fully audible from the other room, blaring out the chorus to “Macho Man” that Hardison had put as your ringtone and you hadn’t figured out how to get rid of yet. If it was important, whoever it was would call again, so you ignored it. Your ire rose when the same noise sang out from the bedroom a couple minutes later, a bit-off groan escaping from your clenched teeth as you levered yourself up to get to it as fast as you could, awkwardly accepting the call and maneuvering the phone between your shoulder and ear. “What?”

“Man, we haven’t heard from you since we split yesterday, I thought we were gonna get a beer downstairs last night?”

You rubbed your eyes with your wrist, frustrated that you had forgotten you were supposed to get together with Hardison the night before. Getting home, washing the sweat and blood off, and falling into bed had seemed like the only goal in your mind. “Look, sorry, I’ve been busy. And if this ain’t important, you—“

“Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, you’re using your tough-guy, bullshit voice. And you actually apologized, so something is double wrong.”

You snarled. “I don’t have— Hardison, I don’t know what you’re talking about, just leave me alone.”

“Too late, we’re already at your place.”

Before you could open your mouth, your doorbell rang, drawing a groan from you. If you were correct about who the “we” was, it seemed stupid to even ring it. Your suspicions were confirmed thirty seconds later as the door clicked open anyways and Parker and Hardison came in, having the decency to at least look slightly sheepish. You had already moved back to the couch, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” you growled.

“Excuse us for being worried about your wellbeing, Mr. Suffer-In-Silence,” Hardison scoffed.

Parker leapt onto the couch cushion next to him. “We thought you might have been captured by ninjas.”

“You would know if I had been captured by ninjas,” you muttered. “It’s a very dis— look, you’ve seen that I’m not kidnapped, it’s our day off, can you please leave and let me rest.”

“You still owe us a hangout from last night!” Parker chirped. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.” She vaulted back over the couch to go rummage through your snack cabinets, getting into the granola bin by the sound of it. You made a note to restock it before she came back next.

When you next opened your eyes, Hardison was lightly sitting on your coffee table, looking at the hands still resting in your lap. “What’s up with your hands, Eliot?”

Your first instinct was to deflect. You trusted your team, sure, but this was different. They weren’t supposed to know that you had these days. That you weren’t invulnerable. “Nothing’s wrong with them, stop sitting on my coffee table.”

“Mhm mhm, sure,” Hardison said. “Go like this for me?” He wiggled his fingers in a “hey sailor” kind of fashion. Before you could tell him just what you thought about that, Parker’s ponytail swung into the side of your face, the thief reaching down to poke one of your hands faster than you could stop her.

By the time you were able to refocus and pull yourself back from the whiteout of pain, Parker and Hardison were looking at you with open concern, the hacker leaning back slightly, a little pale. You think you may have howled; you weren’t sure. Both your hands were clenched tightly to your chest, wrists together, arms outward, wishbone shaped. You felt just as brittle as one, with their stares on you. You summoned the anger from your throat, the only weapon at your disposal (only half-expecting that it would work, always defenseless when it came to their prodding).

“Can you leave me the hell alone now?”

Hardison looked at you, taking his time formulating his thoughts, but it was Parker who spoke. “Nope.” You turned to her where she was perched on the couch. “You get hurt taking care of us. Now you let us take care of you.”

You looked at Hardison pleadingly, hoping he at least would take pity on you and let you wallow by yourself. You wanted to hide like the trap-escaped, half-dead badger whose den you had accidentally put your foot into half a lifetime ago in the Italian Alps, earning you an earful of hissing that scared the hell out of you. You wonder if you seemed as belligerent now.

Hardison just shrugged and smiled gently. “Hey, you heard the woman.” He leaned forward slightly, just enough in your space to let you feel his warm presence without crowding. “Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

You didn’t want to try, was the thing. It was only that it wasn’t their job to take care of you. It was yours to take care of them. They just seemed to be wholly unaware of this.

“You taken anything for those yet?” Hardison asked, pointing at your hands. He hummed at your slight head shake. “Thought so. Which ones?”

“White bottle, red pills. Only need a half,” you mumbled, slouching. Parker was already up and heading to the bathroom.

“We need to get something you can actually open when this happens, some kind of spring-loaded catch maybe,” Hardison mused. “Alright, let me see them.” He patted his legs, frowning at your growl. “C’mon, none of that. I know they hurt, I’ll be really, really gentle. I won’t even touch without asking.”

You looked him in the eye for the sincerity you already knew would be there, the eagerness to help that (damn him) was one of your favorite traits of his. Hesitantly, you extended your hands, rolling your eyes at him scooting forward to offer his knees to rest them on.

“I assume you got antiseptic and ointment on these knuckles already, so totally disregarding those, even though it sucks. Nothing broken?”

“No, just. Aches. Like a son of a bitch. Can’t make a damn fist. Happens sometimes.”

Parker bounded back in, armed with a glass of water and half a pill in her open hand. “So no jobs for a while. Easy, I’ll tell Nate. Open up.” With a scowl, you took the medication from her fingers with your teeth (gently, gently), and let her raise the glass to your lips, nearly choking as she tipped it a little eagerly, and choking for real when Hardison said, “Whoa, woman, let him swallow.”

“It’s not just the last job, Park, it’s jobs two years ago, or five, or ten,” you managed, once you had your breath back. “Part of the package that comes with the lifestyle. It just happens sometimes, don’t matter what schedule we’re on.”

She frowned. “Still. We shouldn’t be doing jobs if you’re hurt. Nate should know that.”

Hardison leaned forward a little more while you were distracted trying to find the right response to that, that you wouldn’t be doing any jobs at all if that were the case, that Nate trusted you to get the job done no matter what, reaching out to your forearm and stopping just a hair’s breadth shy of touching. You froze, and he did too, meeting your eyes. “It’s ok. I’m just trying something out. Is it alright if I touch you here?” At your tiniest of nods, the hacker placed his fingertips on your arm, rubbing circles so lightly that you almost couldn’t feel it. “Let me know where it starts to hurt, okay?” Hardison applied the slightest pressure as he added his other hand and lightly started rubbing down your forearm. When he got to your wrist, you couldn’t help the strangled noise that partly escaped through your nose, high and strained. He moved away from it immediately, going back to tracing soothing, gentle patterns. “You’re ok, you’re ok. I can work with this, no problem. Where do you keep your hot pads, man?”

“Bathroom, lower right drawer,” you grit out. Parker was zipping off to get it and warm it up before you could even process. Hardison applied a little more pressure with his fingertips, rubbing the meat of your forearm. You breathed out long and slow at how good it felt once the initial ache had ebbed.

“I want to try giving you a hand massage, but I don’t wanna hurt you more than it would help,” he said, pausing slightly. “You up for it? I’m not gonna pressure you either way.”

Your thoughts stuttered, and then bolted in different directions. The feeling that you didn’t deserve this, that this was too much to ask, which had been simmering this whole time leapt to life again. It joined with the wounded, snarling animal part of you that still wanted to hide, burrow down with the covers over your head until your pain faded into the muted background noise of the world. You didn’t even know if a hand massage would work, it might make the pain worse.

But it might be nice, a small, hopeful part of you murmured. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been offered something like this, let alone the last time you had taken the person up. If there was anyone you trusted to do it, if there was anyone you wanted to receive it from, it was these two. How could you refuse them even when your heart hoped so badly for what they were offering?

“Sure, just…” you said as Parker returned with the hot pad, pausing from tossing it hand to hand like a hot potato to fix her stare on you. You licked your lips, swallowed around a dry throat. “Just be gentle.”

“I will be,” Hardison said earnestly, taking the hot pad from Parker to gently maneuver it under your hands, resting on his knees. You tensed slightly as the thief leapt up onto the back of the couch, perching above your head, but otherwise relaxed as the warmth of the hot pad started to loosen the ache in your hands. Hardison started where he had before, applying the slightest pressure to your forearm. Parker ran her fingertips lightly through your hair, humming.

“Your hair is kinda wonky,” she said, fingers catching on a tangle. You winced.

��That’s what happens when you go to bed without brushing it properly, you know that,” you grumbled, breath hitching as her fingertips grazed your scalp. Your breath stuttered again as Hardison hands started working towards the sore meat of your wrist. Your hand began to shake.

“It’s ok baby, I got you,” Hardison murmured under his breath, more soothing sound than words. You cracked open an eye to see him looking between your hands and his phone, playing a video where it was propped on his thigh.

“Man, are you watching hand massage tutorials right now?” you gritted out, doing a poor job of masking your genuine amusement with frustrated disbelief.

He tapped his index finger against your arm lightly. “I’ve been watching videos dude; think you’re so slick, tryna hide your hand pain from me. I just wanna make sure I get it right in real time.”

Parker’s fingers running through your hair more boldly silenced any follow-up thoughts you had, your mind going fuzzy with how good it felt. Without thinking, you insistently pushed your head up further into her touch, making her laugh. The sound reverberated in your chest, leaving you longing to hear it again. Instead a half-whine left your throat as Hardison probed the bottom of your palm, the ache drawing you back to full awareness.

The hacker backed off for a moment. “Sorry, sorry, you still cool to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you breathed shakily.

“Just tell me if there’s anyplace else that needs to be handled more delicately, or you don’t want me going at all,” Hardison said, putting his clever hands to yours again and taking up his gentle, slow pace. Parker’s fingers had paused in your hair a second, but went back to running through it again, scratching your scalp on every other pass.

Slowly, slowly, the vice of pain on your hands started to dissipate, bone by bone, finger by finger. You don’t know how long you sat there in a haze, as Hardison and Parker patiently touched you, fixated on the single task of caring for you. The thought made the tender space behind your breastbone twinge. When you surfaced from the half-asleep contentment of their efforts, the television was on, Star Trek playing at the lowest volume. You grunted, lifting your head from the couch to look at them sitting beside you, grinning at your movements. Hardison’s warm hand was still in yours, but instead of massaging he was just holding it softly.

“Hey sleepy,” teased Parker, throwing herself over Hardison to get closer and forcing an “Oof!” out of him.

You looked down to your hands, flexing one experimentally, in disbelief at how the ache had faded to an almost imperceptible hum. With the other you tightened your fingers around Hardison’s hand, moving your thumb lightly over his.

“Hey,” you simply said back, a real smile rising to your lips.

#this is one of those times where i am like WHY cannot i write like [insert fandom greats here]#but. its good enough to post i think #plus this frees me up to write the next part of megverse which is SO vivid in my mind #stay tuned #miko speaks #parker leverage #fic #my fic #ot3

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noctumbra · 3 years

Note

I wrote this for:

The only reason I am making this is because I saw all these dark fic writers who have always been on the receiving end of hatred suddenly get up and decide to do the same for someone else. For just one second let us all forget everything a particular author(s) wrote and imagine a mob of people making call out posts and mass unfollowing and blocking happening. That is what you all did. Coming after anyone like this is not right, no matter who they are.

As for the content of writing being referred to, I will speak as someone who has been groomed and raped, someone who is trying to heal. This is wholly my personal opinion but this needs to be said. For everyone saying that non-con is okay and grooming is where you draw the line, let me tell you its not. Being raped was awful. It destroyed me. It is inhumane. For people to say you can tolerate non-con, but not grooming makes it seem like you're trivialising rape, as if it's somehow okay when it isn't.

You don't read or write grooming not because it's somehow the worst possible thing but because it makes you uncomfortable. It makes you uncomfortable knowing there are people in the world who are preying on kids and doing this. But then again, to separate these bastards from those who go around violating women is stupid. Yes, it is horrible when the victim is a child, a minor. You question humanity, you question your faith when that happens because just how inhumane did you have to be to do that? But people, if rape doesn't make your skin crawl just this much, then there is something wrong with you.

I was 7 when a family friend began grooming me. I was 10 when my mother found out and moved us to a different state. I was 12 when my neighbour I'd never spoken to raped me. 19 when I was raped again, 23 when I finally understood what happened to me. It happened again, and again. The trauma that I have is not used here as an excuse but as evidence to what I am about to say:

Grooming cannot be called out if you are okay with non-con and rape. It cannot be called out if you support forced pregnancies and marriages. It cannot be called out it you're okay with violence where a woman is stripped and beated and starved in a cage if she wasn't a good "pet". If you do this, to me you're a hypocrite.

You cannot make someone a villain for writing about something you find wrong and uncomfortable. That's exactly what happened to dark fics and I was disgusted at seeing so many dark writers do that yesterday. Yes, grooming is wrong and nothing will ever justify it. But I wholeheartedly believe that none of the people who deliberately or accidentally wrote it ever support it, just like in the case of non-con rape fics. If you say that those authors or people who stood up for them support grooming then you're at fault. That just means you believe that other dark authors support rape. You cannot just choose one.

And to anyone saying Grooming is wrong in any kind of fiction, that it is unacceptable to write about it anyway, my dear fellow Tumblr users, it's fiction for a reason. There have been whole published fictional books where grooming has been depicted and questioned. There have been movies and series and fanfics and articles, but none of them support it. You cannot be okay with a 19 year old and 40 year old and throw a tantrum about other stuff. You cannot be okay with a man drugging or molesting a sleeping woman and take out a witch hunt as you did yesterday.

As a survivor of both, I can tell you that the place where you draw the line is wrong. There is no assult "more bad". I understand concerns where people don't want to read anything involving someone underage, be it smut or something else, which is absolutely okay, but to actually take out pitchforks and bully someone online for things that can easily be fixed with some polite talk is shitty.

This is addressed only to those people who are dark writers and support dark writers. You all are, to me, hypocritics. People received hate, death threats and "gkys" because you all rallied this way. You know how that feels like and yet celebrated in the public shaming of someone.

I know a lot of people will disagree with me, which is okay. Have a right to your own opinion, but for god's sake stop calling out people and then dragging them and their friends through the mud. All those posts about being kind and forgiving and second chances you all reblog, it's time to apply those to yourself. Because what you did yesterday was bullying. It was harrassment.

thank you for telling me what you've been through and what you think about what happened in the last couple of days.

anon is just telling their opinion about a subject we all have talked about lately, and they're saying this without calling anyone any bad names, so please do not send in anything to harass the anon nor anything about this subject. this is that last thing i'll be answering/sharing about it.

#and no i will not add anything to it #i just want to say that if i offended you in any way anon i'm sorry #tw rape #tw grooming #tw death threats #tw bullying #tw noncon #answered asks

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birbleafs · 3 years

Text

[fic] A Tragicomedy In Five Acts

Series: Saiki Kusuo no Ψ-nan || The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Rating: T Genre: Friendship, Humour, Breaking the Fourth Wall Character(s): Akechi Touma, Saiki Kusuo, Saiki Kurumi, Saiki Kuniharu, Saiki Kuusuke Warnings: None, save for the canon-typical shenanigans Summary: Akechi has made a habit of showing up unannounced, uninvited at the Saiki residence. The inevitable "bonding" occurs and Kusuo despairs; the world continues to turn. A/N: A piece I wrote for the Disastrous Life Zine, a charity zine. I wanted to share the uncut version here since I like how it reads more (it's not too different from zine version, though). Leftover sales are currently still live, so here's your last chance to grab some limited items if you had missed the pre-orders earlier! Thanks to the mods & other contributors over at @disastrouslifezine, for all their hard work on this project. Many thanks also to my bro Digi for the awesome beta work and for always being an all-round great pal ❤ Fic can also be read AO3. _______ i. It’s a problem Saiki Kusuo should have—could have—nipped earlier in the bud, when he’d been forced to spend a whole Sunday with Akechi Touma betting on horse-racing. But between Akechi being (begrudgingly) accepted as one of the PK Psychickers to Kusuo having to stop a meteor from slamming into the planet—well, a lot had happened. Akechi had since taken to visiting the Saiki residence at random, with little notice in advance. On his second visit, Mom had invited him in before Kusuo could intervene. If it weren’t for the cupcakes Akechi had brought along—not to mention the terrifying heat of Mom’s demonic glare at the first sign of a protest—Kusuo would have teleported him miles away without hesitation. That’s how Kusuo finds himself now—glowering at Akechi who’s sitting politely in his room and firing a running commentary about nothing and too many things all at once. Resigned, he leans back into his study chair and asks, point-blank: What do you want, Akechi?

“Your mother is lovely as always,” Akechi replies instead, dancing around the question. “I’m grateful she’s gone from remembering me as ‘Pee Boy’ to ‘Kusuo’s Friend Who Only Ever Wets His Pants Occasionally’. Surely that’s a sign we have gotten closer.” It sounds just as terrible as the first—only a simpleton would be okay with that as a defining trait, Kusuo retorts. In any case, we’re hardly more than classmates. So, why are you here again? “I thought you would have realized it by now with your telepathy. But I suppose I can explain it for the sake of the readers!” Akechi beams, holding up a small case in his hand. Don’t just casually break the fourth wall, Kusuo frowns, even as he leans forward for a closer look. Akechi pops the case open and turns towards the game console. “I was recently gifted this game by my cousin, who assured me that, while underrated, it’s still a cult hit among fans. I thought it would be fun to play it together.” Kusuo stares flatly at the title OVERWORKED displayed on the disc as it slides into the console drive, already unimpressed. That is such a blatant rip-off. “Oh, no, it's a completely different game from the one you’re thinking of!” Akechi says. “Here you play as the overworked waiter of a cafe who serves multiple orders at once and takes over the cooking whenever the head chef throws a tantrum and storms right off.” How is that different from OVERC***ED? It is totally OVERC***ED! “Regardless, shall we have a play-off?” Akechi offers the controller to him. “Winner gets this box of cupcakes. I got them from the best pâtisserie in town, which is no easy feat. Why just this morning I left home at the crack of dawn to secure a spot in the queue, and even then, there were already about 30-odd people ahead of me! Who knew it was so popular—A-ah!” Kusuo yanks the controller easily from Akechi’s hand towards him with telekinesis, a glint of determination in his eyes now. Best two out of three levels. Loser also has to leave immediately. Akechi grins knowingly and cracks his knuckles, reaching for the second controller. “You’re quick to assume victory, Kusuo-kun. Very well, then!” Thirty-seven minutes later and Kusuo’s left staring at the final scores, appalled. He would have won if his character hadn’t kept freezing in place and glitching at crucial moments, messing up in the kitchens and sending out wrong orders. How is he always losing to Akechi like this? Clearly the universe is still conspiring against him. “You were so close to beefing my lask score dhoo,” Akechi says shamelessly through a mouthful of strawberry frosting. “And my, deez fupfakes are s’per dhasty!” Are you taunting me now? Kusuo scowls enviously at the cupcake in Akechi’s hand before he huffs, slinking back into his chair. Well, I’ll be staring dejectedly out my window for a bit, so feel free to eat your cupcakes and then leave. But Akechi only laughs then and, to Kusuo’s surprise, moves to place a chocolate cupcake before him. “You’re so melodramatic, Kusuo-kun. I never said the winner can’t share.” ... I guess you didn’t. They spend the rest of the afternoon eating cupcakes. _______ ii. This again? It’s been a month, but Kusuo already feels a sense of gloom settling over him when Akechi steps into the genkan. He would have been fine with leaving Akechi outside blathering away through closed doors for the entire day while he pretended not to be home, but obviously Mom is having none of that. “I’m so glad you’ve been coming over to play with Ku-chan!” she greets cheerfully. “I couldn’t believe it when I first heard, but you and Kusuo are getting along well, huh, Akechi-kun!” Dad says with a sagely nod, looking every bit the part of the morally upright, reliable father. Bold of you to believe such delusional notions of camaraderie, or that you even look the part of an admirable adult, Kusuo comments drily, before turning to leave. “We don’t just get along,” Akechi chimes in reply. “You could even say our friendship is super-califragilisticexpialidocious!” GET OUT. If looks could kill, Kusuo’s current expression is pure genocide. But his parents are already fawning and AH-HYUU-!!-ing at Akechi’s words, tears of joy gushing down their cheeks like an endless waterfall. Kusuo watches in quiet despair as Akechi is readily accepted into their fold with welcomed embraces, a key development in this romantic soap opera. Oi, what’s with the misleading narrative?! We’re not in that kind of fanfic right now! Dad and Akechi hit it off well enough, one thing leads to another, and Kusuo suddenly finds himself roped into playing MECH-O ARENA VR on the WAB station in Dad’s study. Seriously, stop it with the terrible rip-offs of actual games already, Kusuo frowns as he watches Dad’s and Akechi’s characters flitting about on the screen to fight off an incoming attack. “I suppose it’s not very original, is it?” Akechi says, punching the controller buttons in a flurry of movements. “But it’s different enough that we can probably avoid any unwanted copyright lawsuits.” That’s completely beside the point. Dad’s wholly immersed with the game now, so it’s impossible for Kusuo to get rid of Akechi without Dad throwing a childish fuss about losing his new gaming buddy. Not to mention Mom’s uncanny ability to appear with coffee and snacks each time Kusuo had tried to inconspicuously retreat back into his room, all while exuding an ominous aura that effectively dissuaded his need to leave immediately. Good grief—everyone’s being such a pain today, Kusuo sighs, before he finally relents to Mom’s cajoling to team up with her against Dad and Akechi in the final round. He figures it can’t get worse than this anyway. That is, until Kuusuke gets involved. _______ iii. When Kusuo returns home from a quick grocery trip for Mom, he walks into a surprisingly empty living room. He can hear Dad and Kuusuke’s voices from upstairs but for some reason he’s not quite able to perceive the atmosphere within—it’s as if his senses are partially blocked by a cognitive fog with the study engulfed in a dead zone. Must be that prototype “router” Kuusuke had installed in Dad’s study yesterday. Kusuo has zero interest in his brother’s tiresome antics, but is compelled nonetheless to check on them, if only to ensure Kuusuke isn’t playing Mad Scientist and coaxing Dad into yet another deranged human project. He opens the door, nearly lashes out in shock with telekinesis when he sees Akechi staring through the doorway with a creepy, owlish expression. “Oh, were you actually surprised, Kusuo-kun?” Akechi says. “My apologies for frightening you like that.” Kusuo studies the room cautiously, only to realize he’s unable to hear anyone’s thoughts with telepathy. He glares at his brother in suspicion. “Welcome back, little brother!” Kuusuke greets him with a Cheshire grin. “I see you’ve got yourself a new playmate. Hmm? Ah, you must think it strange that I've taken to Akechi-kun so readily.” Strange and highly dubious, Kusuo counters. What are you scheming? “Well, Akechi-kun shows the most potential and capacity for mental growth amongst the lesser primates close to you—” What a disparaging worldview. And stop deflecting! I know you can still understand me. “—So, he may yet make a good test subj—Ah, I mean, a good friend! Interesting specimens tend to gravitate towards you, after all. Though his propensity for peeing sure is troubling, isn’t it? Haha!” You can excuse questionable human experimentations, but you draw the line at incontinence? Kuusuke attempts a nonchalant shrug. “Priorities, amirite?” “But this is amazing, Kuusuke-san,” Akechi says, glancing up in awe at the blinking device on the ceiling. “The telepathy canceller really does block our thoughts efficiently!” “It’s child's play compared to Kusuo’s abilities,” Kuusuke says, seemingly modest, but Kusuo doesn’t miss the devious glint in his eyes when he reaches into his coat pocket to pull out what looks suspiciously like a detonator with a giant red button. “Still, with this, Operation SM☆SH can now finally commence—” Wait, Operation what?? Kuusuke, don’t you dare...! But Kuusuke is already pressing the button, and the study is plunged into darkness as the lights flicker off and the blinds draw shut. Alarmed, Kusuo wrenches the detonator away from Kuusuke’s grip with his telekinesis. What did you just do?! There’s an electronic whirr, a blinding flash, and Kusuo finds himself suddenly staring at a large LCD screen as it emerges from the ceiling. Music blares from overhead speakers as a cinematic opening sequence begins to play. “There you are, Kusuo!” Dad looks up from behind the coffee table where he’d been fiddling with the game console. He adjusts the VR headset over his eyes. “It’s time to finally beat you at SUPER SM☆SH BUDS as payback for last time! HII-YAAAH!!” ... Oh. So it’s just another game. “That’s right!” Kuusuke claps his hands together, blissfully ignoring the heat of Kusuo’s baleful glare. “I heard about your horse-racing bet from Akechi-kun and found this as the best way to even the odds for other types of games.” “The idea came to me while peeing in the shower; to find ways you could play and not get bored easily, Kusuo-kun,” Akechi adds in unnecessary detail. “But I didn’t think Kuusuke-san could actually pull it off.” “Here, Kusuo,” Dad says, waving his controller. “Come choose your character—” But Kusuo’s already teleporting away, fleeing the wretched upheaval within his own home to hide at Cafe Mami for the rest of the day. _______ iv. Akechi corners him after school three weeks later. Kusuo is surprised and unsurprised all at once; he had worn the germanium ring to class, after all, in a bid to avoid spoilers for the direct-to-streaming release movie adaptation of a book he’d been fond of. It’s easy to ignore everyone’s spoilery chatter when it isn’t droning directly into his mind—he’d kept his fingers stuck into his ears each time class ended, oblivious to the strange looks thrown his way, and had even hidden away in the restroom cubicle during breaks, successfully avoiding any interaction with the usual human nuisances. Until now, that is. “Let’s walk home together, Kusuo-kun!” Akechi calls, jogging after him. I’m suddenly deaf and sound has eluded me, Kusuo deadpans as he breaks into a sprint, determined to leave before Akechi starts blabbing spoilers. “I noticed you weren’t quite yourself today,” Akechi continues, catching up with him. “And I thought it might have something to do with the ring on your left index finger that you’ve fondled precisely seventeen times throughout the day.” What an awful way to describe it. I didn’t fondle anything. “Perhaps the material of that ring works in the same manner as the telepathy canceller—which would explain why you seemed uncharacteristically skittish today since you’re pretty bad at discerning people’s intentions without your telepathy.” What are you? A psychic? But Akechi only persists. “I realized later that you’d always leave whenever anyone started talking about that new movie on Netfl*x—” Can’t hear now, Kusuo slaps his hands over his ears. Gone horribly deaf. “And I figured it must be that you haven’t watched it yet for some reason, like maybe your home internet is down because your father forgot to pay the bills for three whole months and so it got cut—” How did you even..? Kusuo grimaces. N-nope, not listening! 100% deaf! “I know you don’t have a mobile phone to watch it on either,” Akechi continues. “So, that’s why I wanted to invite you to my house today, to watch it together. Oh, don’t worry, I know absolutely nothing about the movie. In fact, I’d only heard Kaidou-kun screaming out the title just ten minutes ago.” Kusuo pauses then, glancing back at Akechi in hesitance. Akechi only meets his wary gaze with a knowing smirk, and says, “We also have strawberry shortcake in the fridge.” _______ v. I don’t suppose there’s a good reason this time either, Kusuo sighs wearily, closing his book. Still, there’s a glimmer in his eyes; he knows Akechi had come bearing gifts—a selection of coffee jellies topped with cherries and chocolate drizzle. “I’ve made a habit of crashing your place unannounced, haven’t I?” Akechi offers a contrite grin, watching as Kusuo helps himself to a spoonful of jelly. “I do apologize, but whenever I get restless, I find myself wandering here by instinct. Admittedly, I was worried about being a bother, but your mother is always so welcoming at the door despite that dreary, constipated look in your eyes—” You are being a bother. Like a persistent mosquito that thinks it's summer all year round, Kusuo grouses with his Most Annoyed Expression, knowing how ineffectual his Feigning Ignorance Face had become over time. Also, have you graduated from pee references to shitty jokes now? Disgusting. But Akechi takes it all in stride, undeterred by Kusuo’s ugly grimace and acerbic jibes. “—Plus, it’d be considered extremely rude if I didn’t come in after that, and I certainly do not want you to think of me as rude. You’re a friend I hold in high regard, after all. I always have, ever since I found out it was you who saved me from the bullies back then.” The earnestness in Akechi’s words stumps him, if only a little. And though Kusuo is careful to keep his surprise from showing, there’s a part deep down in his not-so-granite heart that feels a touch of warmth at the sentiment. Akechi’s already placing the Scrabble board on the floor, so he misses the ghost of a smile that crosses Kusuo’s lips. Did Akechi honestly think he could beat a psychic at Scrabble too? How naive. “You’re probably thinking how naive I must be, believing I could beat you at a board game with your powers and all,” Akechi notes cheerfully, almost as if he’s a mind-reader himself. Kusuo frowns, slightly disgruntled by the fourth-wall breaking once more and wishes they would give it a rest for once. Overusing a trope gets really tiring, you know? Still, he smiles again as he takes a seat across from Akechi—who is now shuffling the Scrabble chips while nattering away about the history of board games and how the loser would have to give up his share of coffee jelly (as if Kusuo would allow it to come to that again). Two Sunday visits per month only, Kusuo says, lifting several chips into the air with a wave of his hand. If you beat me... I’ll allow it. Akechi’s eyes widen, before he breaks into a playful grin. “Very well, then. May the best man win.” Kusuo only lets out a soft laugh. Perhaps it’s not too late to pick up where they had left off in grade school. —End—

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midnightsvns · 4 years

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Now I see daylight — a Twilight fanfic

summary: Edward spent his life so long in a ninety-year midnight. Now, all he sees is daylight. A short story about Nessie’s first prom. “How could I ever tell her how grateful I was? Grateful that she could always see past the worst of me and my mistakes. Grateful that she had unlimited selflessness, giving us the family I’d envisioned for her, but thought impossible for me. Grateful that she was all too happy to be the first and only love of my existence. Grateful that cruel fate, after our various ordeals, had turned merciful to bring us to this heaven.” words: 8,280.

AN: so. i was absolutely wrecked after reading the very sad note on which midnight sun ended. to lick my wounds, i wrote this fic, set 12 years after breaking dawn, on the day of nessie’s prom. 404 plot not found just fluff of edward & bella being happy with their now adult daughter. title/summary inspired by the t.s. song daylight. full text under the cut!

Bella and I walked with hands intertwined in the woods behind our house, on our way to the cottage a few miles away that served as our daughter Renesmee’s “room.” When she turned seven, we decided she deserved a space of her own, a space that was removed from her supernatural family who could hear every move she made even if she had a whole floor of the house to herself. It was not unlike the first cottage the three of us had lived in together, back in Forks, in the first year of Bella and I’s marriage. To me, those days seemed as close as yesterday—in reality, twelve years had passed like the blink of an eye. Our daughter was all grown-up now, about to graduate high school for the first time, and today was her very first prom.

We walked at human pace, enjoying the lights and the sounds of early morning in the forest. Before Bella, I would have hated moving at such a glacial pace, always wanting to reach my destination as fast as possible, never lingering under the sunlight long enough to contemplate the diamond-like sparkling of my marble skin. A constant reminder of my inhumanity. But now I relished having the chance to see my wife in the light of day. I knew that all the poets and philosophers who, for two thousand of years, had tried to define beauty, to describe it, had irrevocably failed—because none of them had been fortunate enough to witness Bella smiling and shining under the golden rays of sunlight. I squeezed her hand and chuckled to myself.

Bella, of course, noticed my jocularity. “What are you thinking about?” she wondered.

“I thought that was my line,” I replied, grinning at her. Bella easily controlled her gift now, raising and lowering her mental shields at will. Except in special moments of communication, her shields were always up. She could maintain shields around other people, too, granting peace for me and privacy for my family. The quiet that resulted inside my head was a balm; I could be thankful for it for a hundred years and it would not be enough.

She sighed, and her eyes were suddenly downcast. “Well, I’m glad one of us is cheerful enough to laugh today.” She stopped walking, let go of my hand, and sought shelter under the shadow of a large evergreen tree. I regretted seeing her move away from the sunshine.

Her mournful tone surprised me. “What’s wrong, love? You’ve been looking forward to Renesmee’s prom for weeks now.” It was all I heard the ladies at the house discussing as of late. Alice, our very own literal visionary, was making all their dresses, works of art that were sure to rival even the most revered of Paris’ haute couture scene. Rosalie was browsing our family’s sizable collection of jewelry—composed of heirlooms from our human lives and the very many anniversary gifts from over the decades—for the perfect sets of accessories that would go with Alice’s creations. Esme was renovating and redecorating the front room, the staircase, and the porch, in preparation for today’s sure-to-be endless photo opportunities.

Bella looked up at me, her golden eyes looking regretful. “I just… can’t help but be a little sad that she’s grown up so fast. She’s only twelve, Edward. I spent more time as a clumsy, awkward human child than I’ve spent as her mother,” Bella said, sighing again. “And now she’s graduating and going off to college for the first time? She’s not an adult! How are we even sure she’s fit to be by herself in the human world already? How is she gonna eat? How will she hunt? What if she needs us, or she gets hurt and Carlisle can’t get to her in time? She can’t just go to a human doctor!” Her voice got more and more agitated with every worry she voiced. “And what if she starts dating? And she doesn’t tell us because we’re not there?! She says she’s not interested in anyone romantically now, boys or otherwise, but it’s her first four years in college! She’s bound to catch the sights of some… some no-good jerk who—”

“Stop, Bella,” I said gently, interrupting her before she could spiral any further. I had to resist the urge to laugh at her tirade. It reminded me of the time I went on a very similar, equally anxious rant. Emmett had thought I was a crazy person, worrying about the myriad things that could wipe the human girl I loved out of existence. This time, though, these worries were much easier for me to assuage than when I was fretting over Bella’s mortality and her uncanny ability to attract danger.

I joined her under the cover of the tree and held her marble face in my hands. “Love, I understand wholly all of your anxieties. They’re mine, too. But we need to put a significant amount of trust and faith in our daughter if we want to stay sane during the next four years,” I said earnestly, cracking a little smile, and then started addressing Bella’s concerns one at a time.

“I’m also sad that it has been just twelve short years, and already, we have to let her go. And as much as we may not like it, she is an adult now. She has been for five years. I know she grew up too fast, but if that is the small sacrifice that makes the miracle of her existence possible, then so be it. And she’s had no problems being around humans since she started high school with us when she was eight. As for her eating habits, well, I am worried about the amount of junk food she’ll consume once she is left unsupervised. And she doesn’t need to hunt as frequently as we do…. Once, maybe twice, a month, she can come back here and any one of us would love to go hunting with her. She is also not so fragile that she would ever need the care of any other doctors than Carlisle, Rosalie, or me. As for her first romantic relationship, well... she’s smart, strong-willed. We have to trust that we have raised her well enough that she’ll be responsible, that she’ll know how to protect her heart, and that she’ll be comfortable enough to turn to us for any questions she might have. You are a good mother, Bella. You raised an amazing young woman.” She looked as though she was about to argue, but she said nothing. She must have lowered her shield because I heard her thoughts instead: We raised an amazing young woman. You, Carlisle, Esme, Rose, Alice, Emmett, and Jasper… Even Charlie, Sue, Jacob, and Seth. It really does take a village. Her smile was wry.

I shook my head and smiled back at her. She was still bad at taking compliments. “We just have to trust Ness, love. As much as I would never want to see her hurt, we have to let her make her own mistakes. To let her take risks. And we have to give her freedom while she still thinks it’s ours to grant. If she thinks she’s not ready for this yet, or becomes overwhelmed in any way, she knows she can come back home at any time. All we can do is be there for her, and as long as she knows she’s not alone in this, that she never has to carry the world on her shoulders because we’re supposed to carry part of it for her… She will be fine.”

I looked straight into my wife’s eyes, still holding her face, hoping I had eased her anxieties a little. She visibly relaxed, then placed her hands over mine.

“You know, I really hate it when you make sense,” Bella stated matter-of-factly, glaring at me and pouting a little. I laughed and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. Then I pulled her close to my side and led us back on the way to Renesmee’s cottage. If, thirteen years ago, anyone—even Alice—had told me that someday I would be trying to soothe Bella after a bout of anxiety instead of the other way around, I would have laughed in their face.

We made it to the cottage in companionable silence, and Bella’s mood seemed cheerier than before, back to being excited for the day’s events. She knocked on the door, calling for Nessie to wake up, but our daughter opened the door in a flash, greeting us with a chipper hello and a wave to indicate that we should let ourselves in.

“Good morning, Ness. You’re up early,” I commented. Not that our daughter was a late sleeper, but she was also not what one would call a morning person.

“I’m very well-rested, thank you,” she said, walking to the couch in the middle of the cottage’s main living area and plopping down onto it.

“How many hours did you sleep last night?” I asked, suspicious. Half-human, half-vampire hybrid though she was, Carlisle’s recommendation was still at least seven hours of sleep a night, and she often ignored it.

“Seven,” she replied too fast. I raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, six. Maybe five total…” she grimaced, sheepish now. “I was reading books! And I finished a movie.” I was unhappy to hear it. We really didn’t have an exact number of how many hours of sleep she needed each night, but I was sure five wasn’t enough for anyone, human or otherwise. I shook my head and sat next to her on the couch.

The cottage was a cozy place, with a kitchenette in the main room, one bedroom and a small bathroom down a narrow hallway. The main area was where Nessie spent most of her time, a rectangular room with big windows that let in a generous amount of natural light. The wide wall in front of the couch served as the canvas for a mural of the turquoise sea and white-sand beach at Isle Esme, painted from memory by Bella and Renesmee. The three of us had spent two weeks there a couple of years ago to celebrate Nessie’s birthday and my tenth wedding anniversary with Bella. It was my favorite painting in the world.

On the eastern wall was a bay window, Renesmee’s favorite reading nook, flanked by two tall bookshelves. And in front of the couch was a low coffee table, cluttered with books, stacks of paper, journals, pens, paints and paintbrushes, canvasses, coffee mugs, and a laptop. I sighed. The organized chaos, as Ness often referred to it, reminded me much of her mother’s old room at the Swan residence. Bella started tidying up the table immediately, replacing books onto the shelves and rearranging the mess on the table. I turned my attention to the kitchenette’s dirty dishes and the haphazardly discarded clothes on the couch, shaking my head at the untidiness. She spent her days with us either at school or at the main house, and sometimes even slept there when she felt like it. How could one girl create so much disarray after one night?

“Mom, Dad, stop it, I’ll do that later…” Nessie admonished us halfheartedly, but we were done cleaning up before she finished speaking the sentence.

“Did you already have breakfast, honey?” Bella asked.

Ness nodded and grinned. “I had cereal and two Pop-Tarts.”

Wonderful. Clearly she knew how to make healthy choices. I almost wished for the time before she had outgrown her distaste for human food. At least on a diet of animal blood, we knew she was getting some nutrients.

Bella rolled her eyes, although I knew she wasn’t really annoyed. “Esme will make you eat some fruit at the house. Are you ready to go now? Alice wants to do a final fitting of your dress, just in case she needs to make any changes.”

“It’s too bad Aunt Alice can’t see me in her visions. She could just decide to make any changes and then know which ones are right,” Nessie mused, then shook her head and bounded up from the couch, walking quickly down the hallway and into her bedroom. She came out a second later, hands deftly fastening a necklace on the nape of her neck. It was the necklace Rosalie had given her as a present for her birthday last year, a thin platinum chain and an oval pendant with the family crest on it. We filed out of the cottage, and Bella locked the door behind her.

The three of us walked together, Nessie in the middle. I asked her what books she was reading last night that she had gotten so little sleep. Instead of communicating verbally, she held my hand and showed me.

I started seeing her memories from only a few hours ago, implanted into my mind as seamlessly as though they were my own. I saw her reading all seven books of C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia series and watching the first film adaptation. I saw how much she’d enjoyed them. Then, I saw her thoughts on the character Aslan, the wise talking lion and savior of Narnia. She admired him, his kindness and wisdom and compassion…. Suddenly, I saw my own face mixed in with images of the lion. She was trying to tell me the lion reminded her of me.

It shocked me. I’d enjoyed the world of Narnia at the time they were published and became widely popular in the 1950s, and even Bella had told me it was one of her favorite book series. As a lonely immortal, I’d always taken comfort in the fact that I had an Aslan-like figure in my life to look up to. My father, Carlisle. It never occurred to me to think that I could ever fill that role for someone else.

I must be doing something right, I marveled to myself. If Renesmee could liken me to someone who reminded me so much of Carlisle, then perhaps fatherhood wasn’t as lost on me as I had so often felt it was. It was like I was walking on a cloud, an invisible weight lifted off my shoulders. I wrapped my arm around Nessie as we walked, trying to let her know how much I appreciated the privilege of her sharing her thoughts with me. And then she surprised us by speaking in a serious tone.

She moved away from under my arm and moved a few paces ahead, turning around so she could face us. She walked backwards as she talked, her footing steady and sure. “Momma, Daddy, I don’t think I’ve thanked either of you yet… for allowing me to go and study on my own. I know you’ve always tried to let me have a normal childhood, to make sure I never missed out on anything. I love living with you guys. I love talking to Grandpa Carlisle about history and art. I love helping Grandma work on houses. I love shopping and appreciating fashion with Aunt Alice and Aunt Rose. I love playing chess with Uncle Jasper and Uncle Emmett. I love our piano lessons, Daddy, and our two-person exclusive book club, Momma. I love going back to Forks on holidays to visit Grandpa Charlie. I love our baseball games. But now I’m ready to experience the world for myself. I know it must be hard to let me go and that you’re scared for me. I’m scared, too….”

If my heart were still alive, it might have grown in size from the joy I felt. Renesmee rarely addressed us this way anymore. It was always Mom and Dad or Edward and Bella, if we were in public. It carried me back to the days when she was still just a little child. A rapidly growing, highly intelligent child, but still our little child. She was always so perceptive; it was as though she’d sensed the essence of the conversation Bella and I had had before we reached the cottage, and this sober declaration was her way of telling us she understood.

“You have nothing to thank us for, sweetheart,” I said quickly, at the same time that Bella hurried to ask Nessie what she was afraid of, concern in her voice.

Our daughter blew out a long breath. “I’m scared of living alone, of being completely responsible for myself. But I’m really excited about it, too, and most of the time the excitement overpowers any doubts I have. I’m certain I wanna do this, and don’t they always say that something isn’t worth doing if you’re not at least a little bit afraid?” she asked, her smile reaching her deep brown eyes.

Bella paused and left my side to grasp our daughter by the shoulders. “All we want, Nessie, all we will ever want, is your happiness. And we want you to find out what that means for you on your own terms. If you decide tomorrow that you’d be happy never going to college at all, none of us will argue with your decision. But I can see how sure you are about going. I can’t promise you that I won’t be worried sick and that I won’t be calling you multiple times a day until you’re very, very annoyed with me… But I know you can take care of yourself now, and I can’t wait to see what you do next, baby.” Bella’s lovely voice sounded assured, no trace of the anxiety she’d confided in me just moments earlier. This was what I meant whenever I told Bella she was a good mother, and seeing her in action never failed to earn my awe.

“Thank you, Momma,” Renesmee said sincerely, circling her arms around Bella, and Bella hugged her back. “And I promise I will never be annoyed by your calls, even if you call a hundred times a day,” she said, grinning. “I won’t ignore yours, either, Daddy.”

This made me and Bella laugh. Of course Nessie would make time to take her crazy parents’ calls. No one was sweeter than our daughter.

Their hug ended, and we kept walking. Suddenly there was a glint of mischief in Renesmee’s eyes, and then she touched my arm and Bella’s to tell us we were being challenged to a race. Before the thought was even fully communicated she had already taken off running to the house. I shook my head and chuckled as we hurried after her. She couldn’t quite run as fast as vampires, but the head start might be enough to guarantee her win.

When we reached the house, my brothers were waiting outside for us to arrive. They both had cameras in hand—Jasper a professional digital SLR and Emmett a Polaroid instant camera. With Bella around, I couldn’t hear their minds, so I raised an eyebrow at the both of them in question. What were they up to now?

“Nessie’s already in the house, you rusty old slowpokes,” Emmett said in greeting, mocking me and Bella. But mostly me. “And to think you used to be the fastest, Edward. What a fall from grace. Let me take a picture of this really embarrassing moment for you real quick.” He positioned the instant camera near my face and pressed a button, and it started whirring as it printed out the picture. He grinned and deposited it into a large red handbag, presumably Rosalie’s, that he had slung over his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes at my brother and asked what they were doing with the cameras instead of responding to Emmett’s attempts at vexing me. It was Jasper who answered. “We’re having a photography competition. Whoever contributes the most shots for Esme’s photo albums will win. She’s planning to keep one for us and one to send to Forks for Charlie, so we’ll need a lot of pictures.”

“Yeah, and the winner—who will definitely be me—gets to skip the bake sale that Esme is going to for some hospital fundraiser,” Emmett explained with an arrogant smile. I rolled my eyes again. Of course my brothers had found a way to turn this day into some kind of contest.

“Doesn’t the Polaroid give you a pretty significant disadvantage, Em?” I pointed out, wondering how much film he was lugging around in Rose’s handbag.

“Just because it’ll be more challenging doesn’t mean I can’t still win,” he replied, shrugging. “The pictures I take will be better. Plus, the easy way is overrated, don’t you think?”

Jasper shook his head at Emmett’s smugness, then told me and Bella to pose for a picture. I turned to Bella and she turned to me, and I held both of her hands. I smiled adoringly down at her as she stared back up at me with her deep, amber eyes. We weren’t looking at the cameras, but I heard the workings of the two small devices as my brothers captured the moment.

“Aww, you two are disgusting,” Emmett chuckled as Jasper showed the photograph to all of us on the camera’s tiny screen. “Esme’s going to love that one.” The Polaroid Emmett had taken was still developing, and he shoved it inside the red bag with all the others. Then they went inside to find better subjects for their contest.

Bella and I made our way inside as well. The house was alive with the whole family looking forward to tonight’s events. I heard Alice, Rosalie, and Nessie in Alice’s room, chattering and working away on their gowns. I heard Esme in the kitchen, making breakfast for Renesmee or perhaps practicing some recipes for the upcoming bake sale. I heard Jasper and Emmett running around everyone like a couple of paparazzi, taking pictures left and right. Only Carlisle was absent, hard at work at the hospital, but he’d be back in time to see us all off to prom tonight. Bella kissed my cheek in farewell before joining Nessie with her aunts upstairs.

I gravitated towards the piano, as I often did. I scanned the perfect mental repository of all the music I knew, trying out a few bars from different pieces—some my own compositions and some written by better musicians than I—but none of them spoke to me…. Until one did. I sat down and began playing the first notes of “Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity” from Holst’s orchestral suite, The Planets. It was a piece that sounded abundantly better when played by a full orchestra, but I enjoyed it regardless. My hands glided quickly across the piano keys to produce the quick, jaunty chords of the exposition. Then the development came in ritardando, varying from the cheery main theme to take a strangely calm, nostalgic turn. Although it evoked feelings of nostalgia, it wasn’t sad. Only pensive about a time already past. The piece concluded a tempo, returning to the happy and powerful main theme. I didn’t realize how much the song reflected my mood until I was already finished playing it.

Knowing her thoughts were protected by Bella’s shield, Esme offered me her kind compliments out loud from the kitchen. “That was wonderful, Edward,” she gushed. “I have always been so fond of that piece. Please play some more, darling.” I murmured a thanks, then obliged my mother and started playing her favorite, the very song I had played for Bella the first time I brought her home to meet my family. Even though the memory was tainted by the agony and danger of the events that followed, I still looked back on it with some joy. That was the night Bella became a part of our family.

The day went on that way, calm and peaceful, everyone busy with their respective tasks. Nessie came down to join me once in the afternoon and let me hear a new composition she was working on. It was her best yet, and I told her as much. Bella came downstairs as well, listening to me play and rereading Persuasion by Jane Austen while she sat beside me on the piano bench.

Before long, it was time for us to get dressed and ready for the prom. I quickly changed into my dark brown suit. The color had been my only stipulation, the rest decided by Alice’s keen sense of fashion. Since that overcast Thursday morning—the day that had been my turn to ask questions—my favorite color had never wavered from brown. The chocolate-brown color of Bella’s human eyes was not just preserved fondly in my memories, but alive forever in Nessie, and it was beyond the bounds of possibility for me to separate such a color from the meaning of all my happiness.

After I was dressed, I tried to peek into Alice’s room to see if they were ready to go, but Alice, annoying as ever, blocked my entrance and told me to wait with Esme and Carlisle downstairs. I rolled my eyes but followed her instructions. Arguing with Alice was almost never worth it.

Carlisle was just arriving home from work right as I was coming down the stairs, and when he saw me, his eyes lit up. “Why, you look great, Edward,” he praised, setting his medical bag down on a table in the foyer. I thanked him humbly. He reached up and loosened his tie, likely more out of habit than out of a need to be more comfortable. It struck me as a very fatherly thing to do. Esme came out of the front room, greeting Carlisle with a bright smile and a quick kiss. “You’re home just in time, dear. I think the girls are almost done helping Nessie get ready.”

I snorted. At this rate, we were never going to leave the house in time. “Alice, we’ll be late!” I shouted in the direction of the stairs, knowing she could hear me perfectly.

“No, we won’t!” Alice chimed back confidently. I sighed.

Jasper and Emmett were already in their tuxedos and bounded quickly down the stairs, cameras still in hand. Rosalie was the one who joined us next, looking devastating in a burgundy mermaid dress. Emmett looked like he was about to combust. Jasper smirked at our brother’s dumbstruck expression, snapping a few pictures.

Then it was my turn to be dumbstruck as Bella started down the stairs, moving at full speed to be at my side in an instant. “Alice wouldn’t let me see Ness wearing her dress yet,” she complained, but all my attention was on her at that moment. She looked positively incredible wearing a knee-length, square-necked light azure dress, held up by thin straps with flutter sleeves and inset with a thousand little rhinestones that looked like stars. My wife could have been Selene herself, come down from the moon. I ran my fingers gently through Bella’s long, straight brown locks and pressed my palm to her cheek. And for the nth time in so many years, I was glad for the deal I’d made with Bella on our first wedding anniversary. “You look beautiful, love. Absolutely arresting,” I said honestly.

“I know,” Bella said, beaming up at me, and I laughed happily. This was our deal: whenever I told her the indisputable truth about how beautiful she looked, all she had to say in response was that she knew. In exchange, I was forbidden from spending money on gifts for her for exactly five years, and five years was such a short time for creatures such as we that the zero-gifts rule felt like it was lifted immediately. I circumvented the moratorium, anyway, by getting gifts that were for both Bella and Nessie, or both Bella and Esme…. It may not have been the fairest of contracts, but my intentions were of the purest kind. I leaned down and pulled my beautiful goddess of a wife into a deep kiss, and I felt her wide smile as her arms wrapped around my neck. We only broke away from each other when we heard Alice skipping down the stairs, dressed in a white two-piece cocktail dress that made her look like a mischievous fairy.

“Get ready, everyone!” Alice squealed, clapping her hands in anticipation. “I can’t wait to see your reactions, I know you’ll all just die.”

My sister was right. Renesmee—our only daughter, the greatest joy of our lives—stood at the top of the stairs in a gorgeous, peach pink off-shoulder gown decorated with the same little rhinestones that were on her mother’s dress and delicate leaf-patterned lace appliques, and she was a sight to die for. As she walked slowly down the stairs, one hand on the banister, Emmett and Jasper took pictures fervently, documenting the entire moment. I saw Bella press her hand to her chest, eyes soft and adoring.

“Well, how do I look?” Nessie asked when she reached the bottom of the stairs, a half-smile on her face. Her soft bronze hair fell in long, spiral waves down her shoulders, and on her neck, she still wore the necklace she’d put on this morning. She spun around in a circle, indulging the attention we lavished on her, understanding that today would not have been such a significant event for us if not for her. Esme made me, Bella, and Nessie pose for pictures by the staircase, then on the couch in the front room, and then outside on the porch. After Esme was satisfied with the pictures of the three of us, Jasper and Emmett set up a tripod and took a photo with all nine of us in the front room, our latest family portrait. When the photoshoot was done, we all filed into our vehicles to make our way to school. Bella and Nessie rode with me in the Volvo, and my siblings rode in Rosalie’s M3.

We made it to the high school just in time, and even from the car, I could already hear the booming electronic dance music and the excited prattle of hundreds of human children crowded around in the school gym. I prepared myself for the barrage of human thoughts I would have to hear tonight; the only people Bella would shield here were our family. Although Bella could shield a roomful of people from me easily, I still needed to be on the lookout for any suspicious minds when we were in public like this. The three of us met the rest of my siblings at the doors to the gym and joined the throng of high schoolers, looking like they were having the time of their lives. Little did they know how many lethal supernatural creatures had just descended upon this party. If they knew, maybe they wouldn’t be so happy.

“Are you ready for your first—but definitely not last—prom, Carlie?” Emmett asked my daughter, grinning. Nessie went by her middle name at school to be less conspicuous. At first, Bella was greatly displeased by the necessity of this precaution, but she couldn’t deny the rationale. We stood out more than enough being newcomers in a small town like this one, with our sheer number, our wealth, our beauty, and our semi-frequent ‘family trips’ to avoid the sun.

“Time to dance the night away!” Nessie said, grinning back at her uncle. She bounded away from us to meet a couple of her classmates, two girls who reminded me of Bella’s human friends, not physically, but in their manner and thoughts. Ness didn’t have many friends, and we had started to worry that her only interaction with other living beings was isolated to her family, but she rarely found her human classmates interesting, and when she did, it was because she genuinely had something in common with them.

The girl who was like Jessica, a brown-haired girl named Lindsay, shouted over the loud music at Nessie in greeting. “Oh my God, look how gorgeous you are!” Jesus, she looks like she belongs in some runway show right now. I wonder what designer this dress is by? Probably cost a million bucks…. I kind of hate her. Lindsay’s thoughts were petty and vitriolic, and I resisted the urge to march over there and shield my daughter from the bitter girl. That would have done more harm than good, so I settled for rolling my eyes and whispering in my wife’s ear about the girl’s thoughts. It was gossipy and ungentlemanly, but I had to share the burden of being powerless to protect Nessie from a fake friend.

“Oh, that girl is in my English class,” Bella said, looking unsurprised. “I knew she was mean, but I liked her Shakespeare essays. Nessie thinks she’s smart.” I scoffed and tuned in to the other girl’s thoughts—Annie, a girl with short, pink-dyed hair who made me think of Angela. She greeted Nessie with a hug, and thought, Wow, she looks like a princess. I should ask her to take a selfie with me! My mom will be super bummed if I don’t take a lot of pics tonight…. Annie pulled out a smartphone, and the three girls smiled as the little device flashed and snapped their ‘selfies.’ And then they ran to the dance floor together, jumping and laughing to the music.

I stayed with Bella in a darkened corner, and we watched Renesmee enjoying herself. Occasionally, one of my siblings would pull us away and make us dance to the upbeat music, but neither of us were particularly fond of the DJ’s infernal choices. The DJ, a baby-faced young boy called Drew who had Spanish class with me, exclusively played EDM and bastardized remix versions of classic love songs. By the ninth EDM song in a row, I finally put my proverbial foot down and crashed the DJ booth on stage to bribe him with a fifty dollar bill so he would play a song of my choosing. The boy was astonished and could barely say anything back to me, but as I walked through the crowd to reach Bella again, Johnny Ace’s “Pledging My Love” started blaring through the loudspeakers. I took Bella’s hand as we walked to the middle of the dance floor, and once we were there, I pulled her close to me and led us in a slow, intimate dance.

“This is the most romantic song I know,” Bella whispered, her head resting on my chest as we swayed slowly in a circle.

I chuckled. “Once upon a time, in a very old and decrepit truck, this song came on the radio and provided an apt soundtrack for the most romantic day of my life. Do you still remember that?”

Bella lifted her head from my chest and looked up at me, her eyebrows knitted together playfully. “My God, thirteen years and you’re still hating on the truck? I think you’ve got some issues to sort out there, honey,” she said, her beautiful lips turned up in a smirk. Then her face became more earnest. “But of course I remember. That was one of the best days of my life, too.”

Her amber eyes looked so full of love, so full of sincerity, that I felt like falling to my knees. As a mature vampire, more than a decade after her transformation, she should have no more than a few blurry recollections of her human life. But Bella felt so strongly about me, about the memories we’d made, that she vehemently held on to our past, even as each day, each minute, and each second brought us further away from it. I kissed her, always trying to let her know how precious she was to me. The song was nearly over, and I sighed. I could have stayed there dancing with her forever and never need anything more.

“Smile, please!” I heard Renesmee say, Emmett’s Polaroid camera in her hand. She snapped a photo of us. Then she turned the camera around, sandwiched herself between her mother and I, stuck her tongue out goofily, and pressed the button on the camera to take a picture again. Bella laughed.

“Where did your friends go?” Bella asked. “I was starting to think you guys would never get tired of dancing together.”

“Oh, they went back to their dates,” Nessie said nonchalantly. “So I decided to annoy Uncle Em by taking his camera.” A folky, lullaby-like acoustic song was now playing through the speakers.

“Oh—I love this song so much!” Nessie gasped. “Please dance with me, Dad?” She whispered the last word to keep any humans from hearing.

How could I refuse her? “Of course, sweetheart.”

Bella smiled and took the camera and the Polaroids from Nessie, saying something about finding Emmett and his big red bag. I led my daughter in a slow dance around the crowd, her hands resting on my shoulders.

“You and Mom looked amazing dancing together like that,” Nessie said casually, but by the look on her face, I could feel how serious the conversation was going to be. “I know the story, Dad. I know everything you went through before you could get here. And I am so happy that it worked out for you. Seeing how much you love Momma, how much she loves you… it makes me never wanna settle for anything less than that.”

My brows furrowed. “Is that why you said no to the boys who asked you to be their date tonight? Because you don’t love any of them?”

We kept swaying to the music, and Nessie chuckled. “Kind of. It’s true I said no because I don’t feel a connection to any of them, but also because I didn’t want tonight to be about some stranger hanging out around our family. I wanted it to just be us, so we could be ourselves.”

My heart swelled. Nessie always thought of our family first. That wasn’t her responsibility, and we would’ve been all too happy to pretend to be human and normal for any prom date of her choice, but she thought of us first. She was so like her mother in some ways.

“What did you mean, then? About never settling for anything less?” I asked. Something about the way she’d said it worried me, made me feel as though there were insecurities underneath her positive tone that needed to be addressed.

She took a deep breath. “I just… I realized that real love like I’ve seen with you and Mom, Grandma and Grandpa, Uncle Em and Aunt Rose, Uncle Jasper and Aunt Alice… it’s rare and it’s wonderful. And I think I would prefer waiting for a love where I could feel everything there is to feel rather than try to force something with anyone I’m not sure about. And I realize I could be waiting forever if I keep waiting for something perfect, but that’s the point, isn’t it? And I can’t imagine how I would ever find something like that. And that’s all right, I think.”

Renesmee’s words were full of conviction, and I started thinking about how, someday, the day would come when we would be dancing just like this—I would be in a tuxedo and she would be in a big white dress—at her wedding, for the father-daughter dance. Like her, I could not imagine yet the person she would marry, but I saw our family there. I saw Charlie desperately trying to ignore how our faces still remained unchanged. I saw Jacob, whom Renesmee considered her best friend, taking a break from managing his own auto repair shop to be there as her best man. It would be the happiest day of her life, just as how my wedding had been one of the happiest days of mine, and it saddened me that she couldn’t see herself finding that happiness one day. But I understood Nessie’s conclusions—or maybe more accurately, her fears—about not finding love. When I was still alone, I’d come to similar conclusions that the kind of happiness I saw in my family was simply not meant for me. Even when I’d found Bella, I always chose the saddest path, never daring to hope that I could have happiness with her forever.

“I admire your position about refusing to settle, Ness, because you deserve only the best. And I was just like you once. Before I found your mother, I never saw the point in pursuing relationships that I knew weren’t going to be meaningful. But you shouldn’t let yourself believe that you won’t find what you’re looking for.” I brushed a stray lock of curly bronze hair behind Nessie’s ear, hoping she could hear the honesty in what I was saying. “You know that for our kind, waiting through decades of being alone before finding who you’re meant for is more common than finding that right away….So please, don’t be so resigned. You are entirely too young to resign yourself to an eternity of being alone. It will work out, somehow,” I finished, echoing Esme’s confident words to Bella long ago when our relationship was at its very beginning.

Renesmee nodded, and I hoped my reassurances had lifted a little of the weight off her shoulders. I didn’t need to have Jasper’s gift for empathy to know that existing in both our world and the human world, not quite belonging in either, was a difficult thing to process. I didn’t know what the future held for my daughter—none of us did—but I looked forward to it with the same optimism my own parents had always had for me.

The acoustic ballad we were dancing to ended softly, and I escorted her away from the dance floor so we could rejoin our family.

“My feet kind of hurt,” Nessie complained as we found Bella sitting beside Rosalie on some folding chairs, but a smile was still bright on her face. She was having such fun tonight.

“Do you want to go home, baby?” Bella asked as Nessie dragged over another chair to sit down between Bella and Rose. Nessie rested her head on Rose’s shoulder, and Rose circled her arm around Nessie in a one-armed hug. “You’ve been dancing all night, I’m sure you’re tired.”

“Yeah, I think I wanna go home,” Ness said, sounding a little sleepy.

Suddenly, Lindsay and Annie appeared out of the crowd as an upbeat pop song started playing. “Carlie, come dance with us!” one of the human girls said.

Nessie perked up. “Wait, I love this song! Just one last!” she said enthusiastically, heading back to the dance floor with her friends. I shook my head, amazed at her energy. I sat down on the seat that Nessie had just vacated.

“We’re still a go for tomorrow, right, Rose?” I asked Rose discreetly. If the weather was safe enough for us to be out, we were going into the city tomorrow so Rose could help me pick out Nessie’s very first car. She learned how to drive when she was seven but always used the cars that belonged to the rest of the family. Now that she was going to college, she needed a vehicle to be able to get around on her own. Bella was coming with us, too, to be the voice of reason. Apparently, Rose was just as likely as I was to pick a car that Bella would deem—and this was her word—‘overkill.’ Rose only nodded in response, but I saw the corners of her mouth turn up a little.

We all watched as Nessie danced to one last song with her friends, and I could pick her lovely voice out of the babble of other noise as she sang along. “There’s a mountaintop that I’m dreamin’ of…. If you need me, you know where I’ll be!”

“She’ll call us constantly once she’s in college, right?” Bella asked me in an emotional whisper, looking at our daughter jumping up and down and singing with her friends. Since she became a vampire, I rarely thought of my wife as vulnerable anymore, but she looked vulnerable now. If our bodies were still capable of shedding tears, I wondered if she would be crying. Honestly, I realized I wanted to cry as well. Renesmee was ready to create her own life, and she needed us less and less every day. Years ago, I’d thought loving Bella was the greatest accomplishment of my life, the only good thing I would ever do. I’d thought that, after a hundred years of emptiness, loving Bella as thoroughly and as completely as I did was the strongest feeling I would ever experience. But Nessie—she proved those assumptions wrong, time and again. It was an honor to have raised her, and I knew Bella felt the same.

I held Bella’s hand and kissed her temple. “I’m sure she will, love. I’m sure she will.”

After a few moments, the song was over, and Nessie was saying her goodbyes to her friends. When she had made her way back to us, she cried, “My feet are killing me! Please never let me dance all night in heels ever again.”

Bella let out a short laugh. “It’s fine, baby. You can take off your shoes and your dad will carry you to the car.”

“Oh, bless!” she exclaimed. Bella laughed again. Nessie pulled off her heels, which Bella promptly carried for her, and our daughter let me lift her up in my arms. As we walked, Bella wrapped her arm around my waist. I glanced up at the night sky and saw the pale moon untrammeled by the usual gray clouds, bathing the high school parking lot in its ghostly light. It conjured up memories of a similar evening. Another prom night—Bella’s very first. I’d carried her in my arms just like this, and I remembered how desperate I’d been, how important it was for me that she did not miss her prom, in case her future children ever asked about it. I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t have an empty story for them because of me. And here we were, thirteen years later, with the miracle of our own child in my arms, Bella’s arm around me. Not even the sweetest of my dreams could compare to the reality we lived in now. I stared at Bella’s face, wondering if her thoughts had taken the same turn mine had. She pressed a hand to her throat, remembering how I’d kissed her there that night. We shared a secret smile.

When we reached the car, Bella opened the door to the backseat, and I sat Ness gently down in the middle, making sure her limbs were in comfortable positions. “Thanks, Dad,” she whispered, looking seconds away from succumbing to sleep. Bella got in beside her, and I sat in the driver’s seat to take us back home.

At moments like this, I still struggled to believe how I could have been given so much happiness, so much unadulterated joy that went beyond the ambit of anything I had ever dared to dream of for myself.

It felt like a reward I didn’t deserve. Maybe it was futile, looking for reasons when I knew I would get no answers. But in all my musings, the only conclusion I came to that made any kind of sense was that… it was because of Bella.

Because of Bella and her goodness, that rare kindness I saw only in her—she was why I was allowed all this happiness. And I was just the fool lucky enough to be in the range of her shining sun. Lucky enough to love her and be loved by her.

How could I ever tell her how grateful I was? Grateful that she could always see past the worst of me and my mistakes. Grateful that she had unlimited selflessness, giving us the family I’d envisioned for her, but thought impossible for me. Grateful that she was all too happy to be the first and only love of my existence. Grateful that cruel fate, after our various ordeals, had turned merciful to bring us to this heaven.

I looked back at them again, Nessie now sleeping soundly on Bella’s lap, and Bella absentmindedly twining her fingers through the mess of bronze curls fanned out on the soft fabric of her dress. “She’s dreaming,” Bella whispered. I could see Nessie’s hand on Bella’s arm, inadvertently letting Bella see the pictures she was swimming through in the land of her dreams.

I was sure that no words in any of the languages I knew could ever sufficiently reveal the feelings of peace and contentment that I felt, staring at them, the two halves of my heart, at ease in the backseat.

Bella caught me looking then, her golden eyes piercing through mine in the rearview mirror. She smiled, lowered her shields, and allowed me to hear one thought: I love you.

“I love you, too, Bella,” I whispered. I willed the past and the future that stretched out infinitely before us to give those words weight, seeming too simple and inadequate to convey the depth of what I felt.

No, I didn’t have the words that could tell Bella how grateful I was for her. For Renesmee. For our family. Perhaps I never would…. But that was fine. I had the rest of forever to try and find the words. Forever and forever and forever. I smiled and felt lighter than if my heart were not made of stone, and sped up the car to take us faster towards home.

#writing #twilight fanfiction #kellythepitiablefangirl #thethoughtsofafangirl #edwardsmidnight #magicandmyth #mafitheedwardhoe #← thanks once again to my friends for prereading this and giving me feedback u guys are the bestest #midnight sun still has me very 🥺🥺🥺 and this entire fic was just an exercise in reminding myself that e/b are living their best lives now

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purple-cat-demon · 4 years

Text

His Birthday Surprise

Word Count: 1,655

Pairing: Gavin x Hazel

Genre: fluff with smut, 18+

Tags: bathtub sex, unprotected sex, minor swearing

Totally made Gavin older than stated in the game for milestone reasons~ 30th birthday antics ensue~

~~~~~~~~~~

Gavin unconsciously reached for his wife while still in bed, but when there was no wife to be found, his eyes snapped open. He sat up quickly and listened for any signs of his lovely wife. Upon looking around, his gaze fell onto a piece of paper lying on Hazel’s pillow.

~~Good Morning and Happy Birthday, my love~ I’ve prepared a little game for you (please play along, I promise it’ll be worth it). Please meet Anna at AEC at 11am for your first gift and next clue~

He looked at the alarm clock on his nightstand: 10:32am.

“Shit!”

He clamored out of bed, washed his face (no time to shower), changed and sprinted out the door. He made it to Anaheim Electronics Company with a minute or two to spare, and saw Anna waiting patiently outside the company entrance.

“Hey Mr. Birthday Boy!”

She smiled brightly and handed him a small gift and a card with the next clue written on it.

“Here, you're going to need this as well,” she also handed him a large bag for the small gift.

“Did Hazel rope you all into this?” Gavin cocked an eyebrow at her.

“She did but we also wanted to help her make your birthday a special one."

Gavin sighed a bit.

“And you can’t tell me where she is, huh?”

Anna shook her head.

“Nope, I cannot~”

Gavin read the second clue:

~~Find Willow at the New Light Mall. She will be at the furniture store’s entrance. Please meet her at 12pm.~~

He checked his phone for the time: 11:32am.

“Thanks, Anna,” he said as he waved goodbye to her. Thankfully he wasn’t too far from the mall and found Willow just before 12pm.

“Happy Birthday, Officer Gavin! You’re probably gonna hear that a lot today,” she giggled. Gavin smiled a bit.

“Thanks, Willow. I’m a little in awe that you all are doing this,” he said she placed another small gift in his bag.

“Well, you don’t turn 30 everyday,” she mused, handing him his third clue.

~~Mr. Keller is waiting for you at the Music Gallery on Sunshine Alley. Please meet him there by 1pm.~~

‘Even Mr. Keller??’ Gavin was torn between impressed and flabbergasted at the fact that Hazel even got their former teacher to participate. He waved goodbye to Willow and set off to Sunshine Alley. Mr. Keller was sitting on a bench just outside the Music Gallery when Gavin came running up.

“Hello, Mr. Keller,” he shook his former teacher’s hand, “definitely a surprise to see you here.”

The teacher chuckled.

“Well, I couldn’t very well refuse Miss May, no, Mrs. Bai, now could I?”

They both shared a laugh over the craziness Gavin was enduring for his milestone birthday.

“Ah, I’m supposed to give you these,” Mr. Keller handed Gavin a small gift bag along with the next clue.

~~If I know my husband, he probably didn’t have breakfast this morning and is now quite hungry. Go meet Minor at Delicioso on Westmoon Street for lunch, Minor’s treat.~~

Gavin shook his head and laughed.

‘Yeah, she does know me,’ he silently mused.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Keller,” he said while shaking the teacher’s hand again.

“Happy Birthday, Gavin. Enjoy the rest of your day.” He waved Gavin off and sat back down on the bench, reminiscing the old days.

‘I’m glad you're happy now, Gavin, you deserve this.’

Gavin’s stomach growled loudly as he got to Delicioso. Minor greeted his friend with a hug.

“Happy Birthday Bro!” The silverette beamed at him, “Come on, let’s get some birthday grub for ya!”

After they ordered their food, Minor happened to notice the bag with all little gifts in it.

“You haven’t opened any of them…”

“Was… I supposed to…?”

“Well, I mean. You could if you wanted to.”

Minor put his small gift in the bag to join the rest of them; he also slid the final clue over to his friend. Before Gavin could read it, their food came, and his train of thought derailed in favor of filling his empty stomach. It had been a while since the two of them hung out together so lunch may have ran a little later than expected. Gavin’s phone buzzed with a text message from Kiki asking where he was. He quickly read the clue,

~~Kiki is waiting at the lobby of the Windsor Hotel. She’ll have the room key to where your lovely wife is waiting for you~ Please meet her at 4pm.~~

It was now 4:30pm.

“Dammit, I’m late meeting with Kiki. Thanks Minor,” he called back to his friend as he ran off, sprinting rather, towards the hotel.

Kiki huffed a little as she impatiently tapped her foot, looking around for the tardy officer. He came up, out of breath, and apologizing profusely to Kiki.

“Dude, you’re lucky it's your birthday,” she said, feigning displeasure. She quickly smiled at him when she noticed the panicked look on his face,

“Just kidding Officer~”

Giggling, she held out the room key to him along with another little gift to put in his bag.

“Here, now get to your woman already!”

He blushed slightly and waved Kiki off. As he got in the elevator, he noticed the room number.

‘Pent...Suite… #2???’ His face paled, ‘she really did go all out…’ He saw the button on the panel that said PH2, so he pressed it. Upon exiting the elevator, he was greeted with a small hallway that curved towards the right leading him to the front doors of the penthouse suite. He opened the doors to a darkened room, lit by many flameless “candles.”

“Hazel?” Gavin called out to his wife while looking around the spacious suite for her.

“In here, my love,” her reply came from the bedroom but when he walked into the room, there was still no wife. He noticed a light coming from under the bathroom door. As he opened the door, Hazel got up from the bath, a stunning beauty to behold in her husband’s eyes. Even though he had seen her naked numerous times before, there was something about how she looked now that floored him. He could feel his pants tightening with every step he took toward her. Cupping her face, he planted a deep and passionate kiss to her lips; all while she was undoing his belt buckle and pants. She reluctantly broke the kiss off and whispered,

“Hurry up, the water’s getting cold.”

Gavin didn’t have to be told twice as he hastily disrobed, and got in the oversized tub with her. Hazel had him lean back as she straddled him, turning on the jets in the process. The pulsing jets of water soothed the small aches in his lower back, but that pain was a distant memory compared to the alluring vision he had in front of him. She slowly lowered herself onto his length while locked in another passionate kiss; his hands running up and down her back. Her skin felt so soft under his calloused hands as they came to rest on her hips. This whole scenario was driving him crazy but he was trying to keep his release at bay to prolong the pleasure he was feeling until she did that—

“Ah!” He inhaled sharply as she bit, sucked and licked the scar on his collarbone. He damn near came unraveled but not quite yet. She rolled her hips slowly, almost painfully slow because she wanted to catch every reaction her husband was emitting. Gavin shot forward, capturing a nipple in his mouth, causing Hazel to gasp and moan loudly. That was it, that sound she made; he came hard, crying out into the crook of her neck. Her walls clenched around his throbbing length as she came wholly unraveled as well.

“Happy Birthday, my Love,” Hazel said into their kiss. Gavin smiled at his wife, still wondering how the hell he got so lucky to be with her. They stayed like that for a bit of time, until the water went cold. Both of them shakily got out of the bathtub. Hazel tossed a towel to her husband as she dried herself off; then slipping into a black, lace trimmed robe, which elicited a whistle from Gavin.

“You like? I got it especially for tonight~” She did a little twirl; the flared sleeves acting like tiny wings. Gavin walked over, tying the towel around his waist, and tugged at her robe’s tie.

“I do like it, but it would look even better off of you~”

She playfully smacked his arm, then grabbed his hand and led him to the balcony of the suite. It was a muggy early evening but nothing a little breeze couldn’t fix (courtesy of a certain Evolver). Hazel gazed at the city skyline, now all lit up, while Gavin put his arm around her waist, holding her close to him.

“Isn’t the view incredible?”

She asked, not noticing that his gaze was fixed on her the entire time.

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” he replied, not taking his eyes off her. She finally looked over at him and smiled,

“Were you even looking?”

He turned her to face him and placed a kiss on her temple.

“Of course I was looking,” he then kissed her forehead, “at the beautiful view in front of me,” another kiss, this time on her nose. He buried his face in the crook of her neck,

“Thank you for making this the best birthday ever.”

He took this calm moment as an opportunity to plant a hickey on Hazel’s neck, causing her to yelp and jump suddenly. Both laughing, Hazel bolted after Gavin towards the bedroom, where they collapsed into a giggling heap onto the bed. Unfortunately, they both knocked out for the night before Hazel could even give Gavin his cake and other presents; those would just have to wait until morning.

~~~~~~~~~

🎉A birthday fic for the birthday boy (yeah, it was yesterday but who's counting?)🎉

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mr love #mr love gavin #gavin #mr love game #恋与制作人 #bai qi #mlqc gavin smut #mlqc gavin x reader #mlqc gavin spoiler image #mlqc gavin bai #pcd writes

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raksh-writes · 3 years

Text

As much as it kills me, I might need to step away from writing fics and posting/updating. Maybe for a month, maybe a few until Im done with my uni/thesis, I don't know. It seems Im straining my wrists too much even when I try to be careful 😔

More on this below the cut, because I wont hide Im kinda in a very deep depressive slump rn and it's definitely gonna come through. So, keep your own mental health in mind and skip reading this post if it might end up upseting for you. Take care ❤

For those that want to know more, here goes:

My left wrist is still bothering me. The numb-staticy feeling has weakened a bit and its mostly just my thumb now, but my wrist feels very weak overall atm. And thats definitely not a good sign 😔 I dont think its the inflammation acting up again? Its only my left wrists, when the last few times it got both, and usually it manifested with my fingers hurting in a very particular way, but who knows ;/ Maybe its just strained a lot? Its prob from typing on my phone a lot too, because the staticy feeling seems concentrated around the thumb.

I dont have my usual meds at home now but I kinda dont want to take them when Im so unsure if its actually inflammation again, so for now Im using the anti-inflammatory ointment. I started yesterday and today its the slightest bit better, so maybe its working? I hope so, at least. I'm thinking of taking another week, maybe even two, completely off from writing or anything that can strain my wrists, so my left one can heal. And I'll see how it goes.

It'll make me extremely stressed about my thesis and whatnot, but I think I'll try to talk it out with my promotor, how to proceed now. He's a great guy, so I hope he'll be understanding and help me through this. I think I might ask what would happen in cae I wouldnt be able to finish this year - would I just repeat it or how it would go. I DO want to finish it now, have this three years count and even if I wouldnt go to get a degree in next few years, at least I would hogher education, y'know. That has to count for something...

So, taking all this in consideration, fics are unfortunately what falls down the list of priorities, as much as it breaks my heart ;_; If I want to focus on finishing this and my thesis and getting it all done while my wrists are so fragile, I need to cut on other straining things. I prob wont stop writing wholly, only because it would prob make me go insane, I need the comfort my fics give me, but it'll be far less and the updates or posting would happen rare ;_;

So the next LitA update will prob happen in a month, cause 20th of April is its posting anniversary and chap 25 is mostly post-ready too, but then I have no idea. Depends on everything mentioned above.

I might switch to more of hand writing in my notebooks, maybe start on my Beauty and the Beast AU this way since its comfort fic and Im not in rush with it in any way. Maybe I'll dictate some from time to time, if I have the mental strength and fortitude for it xd But my focus needs to go into my uni and all. After all, the sooner I have big progress with it or finish it, the sooner Im "free".

It might also turn out this is just my depressive slump talking and it'll turn out to not be so bad in some time xd Who knows, for now I wanted to give y'all a heads up.

Some of y'aal will prob move on, which I totally get, thats how fandom works and I've been there;p But I hope some of y'all will still get some joy out of my fics, whenever they might come in future.

Hope y'all are weel and healthy out there, all the love 💗

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hangmansradio · 4 years

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are you gonna change Grant's pronouns?

Well nonny... Let me answer your question but also explain the reasoning behind my answer. So I apologise in advance if this ends up being quite long-winded. In short, my answer is no. But please don’t think any less of me and let me try to explain. I’ve talked to so many people about this and been having a really hard time trying to decide what to do. My knee-jerk reaction when I heard everyone saying they were going to change pronouns was that I didn’t want to do that. And then I felt like an awful person for feeling that way, and basically spent a day believing I’m a hideous person and trying to beat my brain into thinking differently. I’ve talked to people who identify as cis, as trans and as non-binary. I have dozens of friends who slip up and down the gender spectrum sometimes on the daily and it makes no odds to me how someone identifies. You can ask me to call you by any pronoun you desire, you could tell me you’ve decided to live your life as a pot-plant, its all good! I read the interview with Grant where they talk about their gender and how they were exploring things like cross-dressing as young as ten. And the whole interview felt very relaxed, and not at all like a sort of... coming out tale, for lack of a better phrase. Grant didn’t seem to be dictating (to me at least) that they wanted people to alter the way they talk about them. They were just discussing gender and new words for gender in the context of how times have changed. How they themself didn’t have words like gender fluid or non-binary when they were young, and that this is why things like the t slur ended up in the Invisibles. But I digress. Grant is now sixty years old, which means they’ve had roughly fifty years living their life as non-binary, even if they didn’t exactly have the words for it. Which says to me that they’re probably extremely comfortable with it, relaxed, and have no qualms or issues that tend to surface in young people. So... Why was my instinct reaction to changing my work anything less than joyful acceptance? I’ve asked myself this question over and over. I have been told I’m being ignorant. Have been told that as a cis person I have no comprehension of why pronouns are important. I spent yesterday evening crying to myself, when I was already sick in bed, and made quite the sorry sight. And the thing is, as a writer, I’ve spent the last two decades getting into other peoples mindsets in order to write a myriad of characters. And so far, people tell me I do this quite well. I have a degree in psychology. I am working towards a masters degree in psychology. I have done separate studies into counselling specifically. Understanding people is my thing. It’s what I do. So why then, do I not want to change the pronouns? In answer, I had to stop and think entirely selfishly. I had to look into myself and away from the all those voices telling me I don’t understand or that I’m ignorant, and question what made me feel uncomfortable. And the answer is quite simple. I write fanfiction, yes. But the characters I create are MINE. I do not write about Grant Morrison the comic book writer. I write about a character all my own, and slap the face of Grant onto it. I don’t read MCR fanfiction, or any fanfiction about real life people because it makes me uncomfortable, and recently I’ve been warring with myself about leaving the MCR category when it comes to writing, because for me... the disconnect between real people and my characters is wholly, utterly complete. If I could explain it simply - I view my characters (all of them) as OC’s. But for the sake of writing in the same category I have been for years, and thus keeping the readers I adore so much and the friends I have made - I use MCR or Grant or their wives as the actors and actresses to play the roles of my characters. My fanfiction is a movie in my head, and the people whose names and faces I borrow are my cast. So for me... to change my fiction every time something changes in the real world just does not compute in my head. If Gerard Way was to act in a film today, and announce tomorrow that he prefers she/her pronouns, the movie wouldn’t be re-filmed to accommodate. If Grant Morrison decided tomorrow that they would like to act in movies, I’m almost certain they wouldn’t insist on only being cast in non-binary roles. Equally, I have read fanfiction in the past that gender-swaps all members of MCR. I have read fanfiction that casts them as trans characters. I have read fiction where they are gay, straight, ace. I myself have written them as vampires, werewolves, mafia dons... For years, Gerard and Frank especially have talked about how frerard fanfiction makes them uncomfortable. Yet that has always been my main forte. I do not write it to be disrespectful, and it is my sincerest wish they never read it or have it mentioned to them. It is just fiction... it’s transformative work, and the morals are dubious I agree, which is why I still am considering leaving the MCR fandom for good. So... If I have been writing about two straight men and making them gay for years and years... If I have been writing Mikey (who we all know is a sweetie pie) as an evil character multiple times... If I have taken their straight wives and wrote them as lesbians... Then surely, surely, it doesn’t make sense for me to go back to the work I have written in the past and change it now for the sake of something happening in real life? Something that Grant themselves have not come out and made a statement about, and probably never will, because to them, it’s not a big deal. Or so it feels to me. In short (and I apologise again for the length of this answer), fanfiction to me has always been FICTION. I cannot stress this enough. I do not, and will not, factor the real world into it because the whole point is that it is a world of my own creation. If I decided to write a fic tomorrow that had Grant as a female presenting octopus no one would bat an eye. And to not change their pronouns is not meant as a statement or a slight, far from it. It is simply that those stories were written before the change, and were not about a non-binary character. And as someone who often writes erotic stories, is it my place to try and write sex scenes involving a non-binary character when, as so many have kindly informed me, I am ignorant in this matter? Especially when, in my eyes at least, writing someone as non-binary is not as easy as simply changing the pronouns and letting the story remain the same in every other aspect. I hope this makes sense and doesn’t make me come across as someone who is being cruel or stubborn for no reason. Or as someone who just doesn’t understand. If there is one thing I have learnt from talking to so many people yesterday, it is that there is no right or wrong answer, and the only true way to avoid hurting one another is to listen to each other and accept that we all feel very strongly about this, and sometimes for different reasons. Fanfiction shouldn’t be something that others can dictate. It was always about reading and writing what you enjoy, and if you dislike it, then hit the back button. That being said - The Devil’s Furnace and Domino will have the pronouns changed, out of respect to Ry who has requested as much and who owns the soul of those stories as much as I do. 💜

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johaerys-writes · 4 years

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Witcher AU: Viper In Tall Grass

Chapter (3/3): Fast Approaching Dusk

Summary: Tristan of Toussaint is a witcher, his life dedicated to following the Path of the Viper. It is curiosity more than anything that leads him to Emperor Emhyr var Emreis's court. That is where he meets Dorian Pavus, lead sorcerer and advisor to the crown of Nilfgaard, and his life as he knows it changes for good.

They say that destiny is inexorable. Tristan is starting to see the wisdom in that saying.

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This is the third and final part of the prequel fic I wrote for the as-yet-untitled Witcher AU my beloved potate @solas-disapproves and I have been working on! Hope you enjoy!

Warning: Smut under the cut :)

Read here or on AO3!

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Pain, dull and hollow. Breath, short and panting. Head heavy. Lids heavier. Scattered thoughts, twisted images, broken shards of something that must have been whole, once, a long time before. A young girl’s laugh, blonde hair so pale it almost looked white. Blue eyes so dark they looked like deep, whirling pools. A mirror of his own. The gleaming edge of a dagger in the night. A viper’s forked tongue, flickering. A plunge into a yawning abyss.

Tristan woke up with a gasp, coughing and sputtering, agony spearing his sides. Bright light stabbed his retinas, searing white rays piercing his brain. He reached out, searching for his daggers, oblivious to the pain that flared with his every move. His daggers, he had to find his fucking daggers-

“Easy! Easy. It’s alright. You’re safe. Great Sun Almighty, you’ll undo all your bandages the way you’re thrashing about.”

That smooth, velvet voice made Tristan stop abruptly. He blinked, his vision clearing somewhat. Pavus was kneeling next to him, brows furrowed in concern. Tristan squinted, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the sunlight that was streaming through the foliage overhead, framing Pavus’s face like a halo.

“What- what happened?” Tristan said, his voice a forced croak. He tried to sit up, but the mage’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Lie down. You need rest.” He uncorked a water skin, bringing its mouth close to Tristan’s lips. His palm eased behind Tristan’s neck, holding his head steady as he helped him drink. His touch was gentle, caring. Tristan couldn't even remember the last time someone had touched him with so much tenderness. He made a weak attempt to pull away, but as soon as the fresh water reached his lips he realised how parched he was. He drank thirstily, thin streams of liquid running down his cheeks, soaking his hair that clung to the back of his neck. He drank until the water skin was empty, yet he would have gladly drank a couple more. Pavus gently withdrew his hand from under his neck, his fingers soft as they brushed against his skin. He let his head fall back on the makeshift pillow that Pavus had made for him. It felt like one of his cotton undershirts. It smelt like him, too.

“What… where is the Fiend?” he asked, trying to take his mind off of Pavus’s scent that seemed to be everywhere around him all of a sudden.

Pavus quirked an eyebrow as he put the cork back on the waterskin. “Where do you think it is? Lying dead in a bloodied heap, where you left it.”

“Ah.” Tristan took in his surroundings. A merry fire was crackling close to him, its soothing warmth seeping into him through his woollen blanket. A pot was hanging over it, its contents simmering away. Pavus’ bedroll, clean and neatly folded, was almost touching his own. Had he slept next to him all the while Tristan had been unconscious?

The swell of affection that flooded his chest was surprising, and wholly uninvited. Tristan took a breath and cleared his throat in an effort to ease it away. He was still woozy from sleep. Must have been. “How long was I out?”

“Two days. More or less.”

“Two days? Fuck,” Tristan breathed. “What… what happened?”

“What happened? You mean you don’t remember getting skewered by that Fiend’s antlers?”

“Yes, I… I remember.” Tristan winced at the memory of the Fiend’s snout, its foul breath so close to him. Of its burning eye in the darkness, luring him into an agonising end. Of its claws and its deafening roars, and of Pavus's face, pale and drawn as he watched him teetering on the precipice of death. Tristan shook his head gently, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before he opened them again. “What happened after?

“You were half dead by the time I dragged you off that thing. The antler had gone straight through your lung. Healing is not my field of expertise, but I did manage to stem the bleeding somewhat. Couldn’t do much about the scarring, I’m afraid. Had to stitch and wrap the wound with the healing kit I had on me. After that, I came back to fetch my horse and carried you back here.” Pavus let out a sigh, leaning back on his arm. A tiny teasing smile was on his lips when he gazed at him. “You’re much heavier than you look, you know.”

“Right,” Tristan said, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “Sorry about that.”

Pavus waved absently. “Apologise to my horse. The scent of the Fiend’s blood almost gave him a heart attack. He’s still jittery. The faintest sound can send him off. Your horse seems to be doing splendid, though.”

“She’s used to that sort of thing.”

“I’ve gathered as much.” Pavus stood up, leaning over the pot by the fire as he stirred its contents. When he came to sit back down next to Tristan, he was holding a steaming bowl of stew. “You should eat something. Shall I help you with it?”

Tristan shook his head, propping himself up on his elbow, wincing at the pain in his side. The stew was hot, burning his tongue as he took a spoonful. It tasted faintly of spices. “It’s good.”

“Of course it is,” Pavus said with a smirk. “Certainly much better than that bland porridge you made yesterday.”

Tristan grunted a half hearted assent as he chewed, then nodded at a small pouch that was lying close to the mages’ belongings, stained with blood. “Did you get what you came for?”

“I did.” Pavus glanced over his shoulder, following Tristan’s gaze. “That Fiend won’t be missing its third eye.”

Its third eye. So that was what he’d wanted all along. That was what Emhyr wanted to get his hands on. A Fiend’s third eye was said to have many powers and strange applications, but most of the rumours were simply that; rumours. Superstition. Old wives tales about knights who battled Fiends to obtain their third eye, which would miraculously bring their beloved back to life or that could be given to demons in exchange for riches and power. Tristan doubted his knowledge now. What could the Emperor of Nilfgaard possibly want to do with that eye? What were they up to?

In his dream-like haze, Tristan almost voiced those questions. As soon as he opened his mouth, though, he quickly snapped it shut again. Witchers didn’t ask these sort of questions. Whatever Pavus was looking to do with it, was his own business. And as soon as Tristan was paid the entirety of the gold promised to him, this whole affair would stop being any of his.

“You witchers heal surprisingly quickly,” Pavus said as he watched him eat, stirring him out of his thoughts. “I managed to make you drink one of those healing potions in your pouch while you were unconscious - at least I hope it was a healing potion. It reeked abominably to me. You didn’t die, so I guess it worked, yes?”

“You went through my potions?” Tristan’s eyes widened. “You know they’re highly toxic for anyone that isn't a witcher, right? And how did you know which one to give me?”

“Oh, please. I could recognise the smell of swallow and celandine anywhere. Although there was something else positively horrid in there that I couldn’t quite place.”

“That must have been the drowner brains,” Tristan said, smirking when he saw Pavus’ eyes widening, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “Or the vitriol.”

“The horror,” he breathed, pressing his hand on his chest. “The things you poor fellows have to ingest. No wonder you’re so irritable.” Tristan glowered at him, and Pavus laughed mirthfully under his breath. He gave him a warm smile after his laughter had eased away, letting his gaze glide over Tristan’s features. Tristan felt that familiar flush returning to his cheeks, and he hastily looked away. When the mage spoke again, his voice was soft like a whisper. “It almost got you, you know. I’ve never seen a gash this nasty."

Tristan lifted the blanket that Pavus had draped over him. His armour had been removed to be replaced by soft cotton breeches. The bandages on his chest were clean, freshly changed, the strong smell of antiseptic ointment reaching his nostrils. And soap. A startling realisation suddenly dawned on him, making his breath hitch. Pavus had removed his armour, washed him, dressed his wounds, put him in clean clothes. Pavus had seen him naked. Fuck. Shit.

His face was burning when he swiftly let the blanket fall over him again. “I’ve had worse,” he grumbled, eyes fixed on his bowl of stew, hoping against hope that his furious blush wasn’t as noticeable, although he must have looked red like a pomegranate by then. He scooped up the last of his meal and pushed the bowl away, lying flat on his back with a grunt.

"That’s easy enough for you to say. You didn’t see the wound when it was fresh. If the Fiend's antler had got you just an inch to the right, I'm not certain I would have been able to do much. If it were your spleen instead of your lung you would have bled out before I’d even reached you."

Tristan shrugged indifferently. “Perhaps. But it didn’t. And I-” he shot him a sideways glance as he spoke at him, and his words died in his mouth. There was worry lingering in the mage’s eyes, his brows drawn in a thoughtful frown. Tristan felt irresistibly drawn to that curious silver gaze, like a moth was drawn to light. "I, uh…" he started, gulping thickly. "Thank you. You…" He paused, letting out a low chuckle. It sounded weak and painful. "It seems I owe you my life."

Pavus looked at him quizzically for a long moment, tilting his head to the side. "You think so? It never occurred to me. I could invoke the Law of Surprise, I suppose. That might come in handy."

Tristan frowned at him. Invoking the Law of Surprise was no laughing matter, and he had heard of countless people getting into trouble for merely mentioning it. Pavus huffed in amusement when he noticed his disgruntled expression. "I'm simply joking, naturally. If anything, I owe you my life. If it hadn't been for you jumping onto that beast's head, it would have been me lying where you are now. If I were here at all." Pavus held his gaze, his gaze softening. "If thanks are to be given, then you should have mine."

Tristan's heart fluttered in his chest, a blade of grass trembling with the wind. He licked his lips, swallowing thickly. "You-uh… It-it's alright," he stammered. "You don't have to… You placed yourself in danger, too. If it hadn't been for you drawing the Fiend's attention while it had me in hypnosis-" He shook his head. “You could have ran off, then. Should have, actually. Yet you didn’t.”

"Oh, please. As if I would have left you to die out there. Not when you’d finally started warming up to me."

"I… what?"

Pavus' smile widened. "You grabbed a Fiend quite literally by the antlers to save me. You also haven't snapped or grunted in the last ten minutes. Not much, at least. If that's not warming up, then I'm not sure what is.”

"I don't… that's not-" Tristan frowned, pursing his lips in some desperate attempt to appear stern. “I gave my word to the Emperor that I would see you back safe. Witchers live and die by their word. That's what they should do, at least.”

“Was that the only reason you did it?” Pavus whispered, shifting just an inch closer to him.

Tristan’s first instinct was to edge back, safely away. Instead, he found himself watching him wide eyed, unable to move, a deer before bright lights. “I… I-” He dabbed his lips with his tongue, swallowing thickly. The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “I didn’t want to see you get hurt."

With a soft sigh, Pavus moved closer still, covering the distance between them. His lips were only a hair away from Tristan's when he paused, his breath tickling his skin. "I like you, too.”

As if drawn by a spell, Tristan leaned in, catching his plush, velvet lips in a kiss. The mage moaned softly, fingers threading in Tristan’s hair. Tristan’s hands tangled in his robes when he reached out, pulling him towards him. His injury nipped with his movements, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Pavus’ lips were soft and warm against his, and he tasted of cardamom and cloves, and his fingers were soothing as they smoothed down the sides of his neck. Tristan could almost feel the vibration of his magic running over his skin, tingling, drawing him in.

“I want you,” Tristan whispered. He ran his palm down the mage's back, feeling his muscles under the thick fabric. “I want- I want-”

“I want you, too.” Pavus closed his teeth over Tristan’s bottom lip, nipping and sucking lightly as his hand left his neck to skim carefully over his bandages, palm brushing over the bulge in Tristan’s breeches. Deft fingers slithered under his waistband and it wasn’t long before Tristan groaned against his lips, thrusting into his hand when it wrapped around his hardness. “I want you so much.”

“Yes,” Tristan nodded, hypnotised, riding the waves of pleasure that washed through him, unable to hold back. Everything else around him had faded away, even the pain at his sides, and there was only Pavus there, and his lips, his tongue, his hands- fuck, his hands-

Pavus’ mouth left his own to brush along his jaw, down his neck, along the dip of his chest. Tristan held his breath as he watched him trail ever downwards, every touch sending ripples of electricity down his spine. The mage held his gaze firmly, lips quirked in a teasing smile before they closed over his cock.

Tristan moaned, fingers snaking into Pavus’ hair. His mouth was warm and slick, his tongue smooth like velvet as it pressed against him. He shivered as he was swallowed whole, that rich heat enveloping him until he could think of nothing else. He wondered idly whether he had ever felt anything as pleasant, whether there was anything in the world that would compare to that, to that sweet torture, to that slow, agonising pleasure. His fingers were soft when they curled around the base of his cock, when they caressed his thighs, when they trailed upwards to touch the exposed skin of his chest. His sterling grey eyes were fixed on Tristan’s, his intense gaze stealing the air from his lungs. How had he held himself back from this- from him- all these days? How had he managed to keep his hands off him for so long?

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Tristan rasped, pulling him up. Pavus hovered over him, straddling him. Tristan pried his mouth open with his tongue, the taste of him on Pavus’ lips sending shivers coiling and unraveling through him. He slithered his palms under the mage’s robes, feeling the tight muscles of his thighs, fingers digging at the firm flesh of his buttocks through his smallclothes. He hooked a digit over the waistband, the rich fabric retreating easily under his fingertips. “Silk?” he whispered, and the mage chuckled softly.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured against his lips. “Only the best kind.” He gasped when Tristan pulled at it, the silk fabric ripping at the seams. He edged back to look at him, a stern expression on his features. “You owe me a pair of very expensive underwear, you know.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Tristan brushed his fingers over Pavus’ mouth, then sighed as those full, luscious lips wrapped around his digits. Sucking gently, caressing them with the flat of his tongue. Teeth closing over his fingertips. Eyes trained on his own. Did Pavus even realise the effect his eyes had on him? Could he see, could he feel the rolling waves of lust that rushed through him with his every glance? The pulse that roared in Tristan’s ears with every touch?

He dragged his fingers out slowly, replacing them with his tongue. “You’re brilliant,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. “Just bloody brilliant.” He reached down, closing his palm around Pavus’s length, brushing his thumb over the bead of dew that had gathered at the tip. The mage tilted his head back, sighing as Tristan placed a trail of kisses along the underside of his jaw, pumping him slowly. He took a deep breath, letting his rich scent fill his lungs.“And you smell so… so-”

“Yes?” Pavus breathed, reaching out for his bag, rummaging through its contents until he pulled out a small vial. He dropped some of the liquid on his palm, then reached down between them to smooth it over Tristan’s shaft.

Tristan’s mouth watered when the spicy scent of the oil reached his nostrils. His pulse quickened, a hot white rush that surged through him in a wave. “You smell so-” he grunted softly, thrusting in Pavus’ hand. “You-you smell... incredible.”

“What else do you like about me?” the mage asked, carefully angling Tristan at his entrance.

“You’re- ah- you-” Tristan’s eyes rolled back at the contact. He clenched his jaw, fingers sinking in Pavus’s thigh. “Your mouth. Your lips. Your skin. Your eyes. They’re beautiful. You’re-” He gazed up at him, running his tongue over his lips. “You’re beautiful.”

Pavus leaned down, brushing his nose over his. “You’re not that bad looking yourself,” he whispered, his lips curved in a smirk.

Tristan groaned at the back of his throat as the mage sank slowly, ever so slowly over his hardness, as the tip of his cock slipped inside his tight heat. “Fuck, this is- this is-”

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Pavus said breathlessly, taking him in a little deeper. A deep flush had risen up his cheeks when he quirked an eyebrow at him. “Makes you feel like an idiot for not doing it sooner, yes?”

Tristan rolled his eyes and huffed in exasperation, though it was half hearted. Mainly because Pavus was right. “You talk too much,” he grunted, cupping his neck to pull his lips down to his, hips bucking upwards a bit more. He kissed him deeply, tongue caressing the roof of his mouth, drinking in the gasps that escaped Pavus as he thrust lightly, shallowly until he was sheathed to the hilt.

“Yes- Sun, yes-” the mage moaned, grinding helplessly against him. He was tight -fuck, was he tight- deliciously warm, infernally good. He pushed into him over and over, chasing every sliver of that sweet bliss. Pavus threw his head back when Tristan closed his fist over his cock, pumping him in time with his thrusts. “Yes- harder, please…”

The breathiness, the need in his voice, the flush of his cheeks, his glistening lips, they made the roaring fire that flooded Tristan’s chest soar to something uncontrollable. He gripped his hips, dragging him down as he surged up, driving himself deeper. His pulse was buzzing in his ears, warmth surging through him with every thrust, his breath catching in his throat, his breath-

Tristan stopped abruptly, his head falling back against the pillow as his lungs spasmed, seeking more air. His hold on Pavus’s hips tightened, holding him steady. “Wait,” he croaked, voice thick and strained.

The mage blinked at him, lifting himself up. “What? What happened?” He was panting, sweat gathering on his brow. It glowed in the evening sun, like beads of golden dew.

Tristan gulped, inhaling slowly through his nose. “I just- I need to catch my breath.” His wound stabbed him every time his chest rose and fell, making it hard to speak. Pavus was watching him wide-eyed, sitting perfectly still on top of him.

“Are you alright? Shall we stop?” he asked, anxiously searching his face. He shifted where he was, lifting himself up. “Perhaps I should-”

Tristan grabbed him tightly, pulling him back down. “Don’t- don’t move,” he rasped. He winced as his lung stabbed at him, and he felt the mage’s back stiffen, saw his eyes widen in concern. Tristan let out a slow exhale, caressing Pavus’s sides under his robes. His muscles were tight underneath his smooth skin, and Tristan let his fingers glide over them, tracing the line that led to his navel with his thumb. “Let’s just take it slow.” He languidly ran his fist down the mage’s length, watching with keen eyes as his eyes rolled back and his lips parted on a moan. “I want to feel you. Really feel you.”

“Slow. Yes.” Pavus nodded, breathless. “I want to feel you, too. You feel so good. So hard. So thick. So-” He rocked against him, palms bracing on the ground on either side of Tristan’s head. He was moving slowly, infuriatingly slowly, but his pace did nothing to quell the roaring blaze of want that surged through him. If nothing else, it kindled it even more.

Tristan fumbled with the buttons and buckles of Pavus’s clothes as the mage rode him - what need was there for all these blasted buckles, anyway?- until he was blissfuly bare, his robes discarded beside them. Until he was hovering over him in nothing but his skin. And what a glorious skin that was - smooth like velvet, rich like caramel, catching the rays of the setting sun, glowing. Tristan dragged his palm down his torso, feeling the contours of his taut muscles. He sighed when he brushed his thumb over a raised nipple, the tight nub stiffening under his touch. Pavus’s teeth closed over Tristan’s bottom lip, his hand slithering in Tristan’s hair as he moaned, as he picked up his pace, lowering himself over and over on his cock. “Tristan,” he breathed, long fingers wrapping around his strands, pulling. “Oh, Tristan-”

His name, spoken in Pavus’s breathless voice, was enough to set his blood aflame. Before he could stop to think, he gripped the mage tightly, shifting his weight to flip him on his back. The wound nipped under the bandage, and he winced in pain, biting the inside of his lip.

The mage gaped at him. “Wait- your injury-” he started, but only managed to let out a loud moan when Tristan thrust eagerly back into him.

“Fuck my injury,” Tristan grunted, crashing his mouth against Pavus’ again, ignoring the pain in his side as their lips touched, chasing every other thought and sensation away. There was nothing else in the world but him, his velvet heat warming him to his very core, his scent that flooded his senses, the taste of him that lingered on his tongue when he brushed it over his throat. He pushed harder, as hard as he could, hooking an arm under his leg to burrow more of his cock inside him.

Pavus’s head fell back, his fingers digging into Tristan’s shoulder blades as Tristan drove himself deeper. The mage’s lips that pressed against the side of his neck, the streams of garbled sentences and curses that ran over Tristan’s skin as he reached down to stroke himself in time with Tristan’s thrusts, his eyes that rolled back with his climax, they were all too much, far too much. The heat and tension that had coiled in his gut burst into something white hot and blinding as he shuddered, letting the vibrations of Pavus's ecstasy wash through him.

Tristan collapsed on top of him, suddenly feeling every last bit of his strength leaving him. His limbs ached and trembled, and the skin at his sides tingled when Pavus ran his palms over it. With soft, careful movements, the mage rolled him on to his back, his fingers lingering on him for just a breath before sitting up to pull a blanket over them both. They lay next to each other for a long while, the chirping of the birds and their own breaths, gradually softening, the only sounds between them.

Tristan inhaled deeply, taking in the quiet of the moment. He watched Pavus from the corner of his eye, studying his languid movements. His heavy lids, fluttering softly. The thin film of sweat that still clung to his brow. He wondered idly whether it had all really happened, or whether the past half hour or so was part of a fever induced dream. A wonderful dream, yes, but a dream nonetheless.

Pavus shifted were he lay, curling his arm under his head. “You can just look at me, you know,” he said sleepily. “You don’t have to peek.”

Tristan frowned, turning away. “I am not peeking.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve been doing it ever since the moment you saw me.”

Tristan’s cheeks flared hot and bright, and he cleared his throat irritably. “I’ve been doing nothing of the sort.”

“For someone who prides themselves on their stealth skills, you’re not very subtle.”

Tristan rolled his eyes, huffing. “Are you always so mouthy, Pavus?”

“Well, of course I am,” the mage chuckled. “It’s one of my greatest assets. Something to which you yourself can attest.” He propped himself up on his elbow to fix him with a pointed look. “And, by the way, my name isn’t Pavus.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s not Pavus. It’s Dorian.”

“I know what your name is,” Tristan grumbled, pursing his lips. He felt like a petulant child all of a sudden.

“You know it, yet you never use it.” He leaned closer, brushing his nose over his. “Just try it. It’s not that difficult. Dorian. Do-ri-an.”

Tristan took a tremulous breath, resisting the urge to surge forward and run the flat of his tongue over those full, glistening lips. “Dorian,” he said after a brief moment of hesitation, poignantly drawing the vowels out. “There. Happy?”

“Very.” Dorian flashed him a wide smile, his finger tracing the raised scar on Tristan’s collarbone. “Now that we’ve learned the basics, we can move on to something more advanced, yes? Let’s start with… ‘You look positively splendid today, Dorian’. That’s always nice to hear. Or ‘I thoroughly enjoy your company, Dorian’. Or ‘Your wit and charm is unparalleled, Dorian’. Or…”

Tristan pulled him down for a deep, passionate kiss, their tongues twining. “You drive me mad, Dorian.”

Dorian laughed against his lips, pressing his body closer against his. “I love hearing that, too,” he whispered. “Especially when it comes from you.”

The days of travel until they got back to Vizima rolled by swiftly, much more swiftly than Tristan would have liked. Even more than he would care to admit. The long hours on the saddle by day, listening to Dorian’s voice, drinking in the sound of his laugh. The longer hours at night, when they lay together by the fire until the early morning rays found them. It was as if Tristan was in a constant dream-like haze, his mind filled with thoughts of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. Pure, unfiltered bliss. Ecstasy in slow motion.

When the tall towers of the palace of Vizima rose before them, it was as if someone had stabbed him in the spleen and left him for dead in a shallow ditch.

They didn’t exchange too many words as they solemnly rode through the town’s tidy cobblestone streets. The people parted when they passed, with quick, uneasy looks at Dorian’s magnificent horse, Tristan’s armour and the amulet hanging about his neck. A few even flinched when they met his eyes, praying to their gods under their breath.

Dorian’s expression was serious and grim when their horses’ hooves reached the stone bridge that arched over the deep, broad moat that separated the castle from the rest of the world. They both dismounted, reluctantly handing their reins to the stable boys that rushed out to get their steeds. Var Heid was already waiting for them by the inner courtyard. He gave them both a small bow, hawk like eyes examining them when he straightened back up.

“Was the gentlemen’s journey satisfactory?”

“As a matter of fact, it was,” Dorian said with a sickly sweet smile. “But it was also long and tiring. So, you will excuse us if we go straight to our rooms, yes? I could use a bath.”

Var Heid’s gaze fleeted to Tristan, no doubt taking in every detail of his appearance. “I can imagine,” he said flatly. “I am afraid this is not possible. The Emperor has requested to see you as soon as you arrive.”

“I see.” Dorian straightened up, brushing his palms over his robes, then shot Var Heid a contemptuous look. “Well? What are we waiting for?”

Var Heid sniffed as he turned around, leading them through the castle. Dorian rolled his eyes behind the steward’s back, his lips pursed in an annoyed frown. Damn it. He was beautiful even when he was irked. Perhaps even more so then.

A sharp pang of bitterness drove through Tristan as he followed him through the narrow corridors, secretly wishing for Var Heid to take the long way to the Emperor's office.

A short while later, Tristan was walking back out of the palace, his coin pouch significantly heavier than it was before. The sun was setting, casting its waning golden light upon the world as he made his way to the stables. Almond neighed softly when she saw him, chewing on some fresh straw. He reached out, stroking her forehead, letting his gaze drift past the stable window, over the tall mountains in the distance.

So. It was him, Almond and the vast Continent once more.

“We’ll manage, won’t we, girl?” he whispered. “We always do.”

“Are you talking to… your horse?”

Tristan turned around at the sound of Dorian’s voice. The mage was leaning against the door of the stables, watching him. A soft smile spread on his features, interest flashing in his sterling grey eyes.

“I spend a lot of time on the road by myself,” Tristan replied. “One develops certain habits when they’re alone for so long.”

Dorian chuckled softly, pushing himself off the door. He sauntered towards him, hips swaying ever so slightly. “My initial assessment of you was correct, it seems. You are sentimental.”

“So was mine,” Tristan retorted. “You are mouthy.”

“Was that really your initial assessment of me?”

They gazed at each other for a long moment before Dorian’s lips widened in a smile. Tristan let out a low, throaty laugh, letting his arms fall to his sides when Dorian took a step closer to him.

“So,” he said quietly, “this is it, isn’t it?”

Tristan's stomach tightened uneasily. Dorian's scent was hypnotizing, his lips so close to his, his eyes glittering, drawing him in. The light of the golden setting sun reflecting on his features, making him look as if he were aglow. Tristan ran his tongue over his bottom lip, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to take him into his arms, pull him down atop the hay and make love to him until the sun rose again. “I believe it is.”

Dorian’s finger trailed down his arm, sending shivers through him everywhere it touched. He leaned closer, brushing his lips against his. Tristan closed his eyes, tasting the spices on his tongue, drawing on his focus to discern every detail, every hidden undertone, etching the memory firmly in his mind. They kissed gently for a long moment, light touches that made Tristan’s skin prickle.

“Drop by sometime, will you?” he murmured against his lips, pushing a lock of hair behind Tristan’s ear.

“That is not up to me,” Tristan replied, a tinge of sorrow in his voice. “Witchers go where destiny takes them.”

Dorian brushed his nose over his. “You might be able to figure something out,” he whispered. “If that is what you want.”

Tristan leaned into his touch, helplessly drawn to him. He wanted to be close to him, as close as he could, for as long as he could. He reached out, fingers skimming his waist, itching to pull him into a tight embrace. With a soft sigh, Dorian took a step back. He held his gaze firmly, silver meeting slitted amber.

“So long, Tristan of Toussaint,” he said with a small bow of his head. He turned around, pausing to shoot him a glance over his shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Tristan stared after him, long after his form had disappeared around the stable doors. “So long,” he whispered to the swiftly approaching dusk.

#dorian pavus #witcher #witcher au #dorian pavus x trevelyan #dorian pavus/trevelyan #pavelyan #dorian pavus x inquisitor #dorian pavus/inquisitor #dragon age fanfiction #tristan trevelyan #dorian x tristan trevelyan #viper in tall grass #johaerys writes

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nalufever · 4 years

Text

Truly Distracting

A Snowells fic, requested by @brokenbookaddict Thank you for asking! I’ve taken some liberties. First - t’was a Smut Starter list you chose from - and this story ended up decidedly not smutty. Sometimes it just be like that - my muse said, ‘not today.’ Secondly - you asked for prompt #59 and I liked #58 better: “Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.” So, that’s what happened. Hope you like!~

Caitlin chided herself; ordering two specialty coffee drinks had somehow been an accident and not an accident. She'd been musing that Harry would enjoy the newest super-caffeinated beverage on CC Jitter's menu - to herself! But when the barista prompted her to order, Caitlin had requested two drinks.

Loath to over-load on caffeine she decided she could deliver the extra one to her friend. Yes. Harry was her friend; a prickly and sharp-tongued friend who didn't suffer fools gladly. Lately he'd mellowed; joking with Cisco instead of his more usual threats of violence. He'd accepted everyone on the team and was becoming irreplaceable. To everyone, Caitlin told herself. And if a piece of her mind was feeling distinct thoughts about exactly how much more Harry was beginning to mean to herself, well, she'd have to work harder to keep this weakness from being a giant distraction.

><><><><

Caitlin lurked outside Harry's lab. Even if they were on good terms, it didn't pay to interrupt the man if he was deep in the guts of an invention. Nope.

"I'm thirsty, so come on in," Harry invited. "You're letting the coffee get cold and that's a crime on Earth-2."

"Ah." Caitlin smiled to herself. She straightened her shoulders and crossed the lab to hand Harry his drink. It didn't take a genius to figure out the man had been able to smell the tantalizing brew before she'd had the chance to announce her presence, either by knocking on the door or the more prosaic method of saying something. "And how is that crime punished?"

"Oh, you don't want to know."

Oof. Harry's unapologetic grin and gleam in his eyes was a lethal combination. What a handsome man. Covering her embarrassment at letting her hormones think for her whole body, Caitlin took a gulp of her drink, making the appropriate noises of enjoyment.

"That's my third favourite thing about Earth Prime." He gestured with his cup of coffee, waving a dismissal to the pages spread over his work station. "C'mon, it's a slow night for the metas of Central City, why don't you sit?"

"I guess I could." She sat and crossed her legs out of habit and immediately wondered if Harry thought she was trying to get him to look at her legs? Hoping her blush was not that obvious, Caitlin forced herself to calm. "You mean to say coffee is your third most favourite thing or the fact that letting coffee get cold isn't a crime?"

"Snow, you're too perceptive."

"Thanks, I think." Caitlin played with the lid of her coffee. "What else do you like?" Realizing it sounded like she was flirting, she added a qualifier to her question. "That is, what else about being here on this Earth?"

"Let's not talk about that, you'd be," he paused and did a very good job of blanking his expression - but Caitlin had been watching specifically close. Harry did not like talking about himself but that made Caitlin want to break down his walls even more. "You'd be bored. I'm was playing around with some loose ends from our last crime-crazed meta. Care to share your thoughts?"

"Only if you tell me one thing you really like about this Earth." Caitlin was not wholly certain if Harry would ignore her or give her some fast and easy answer that didn't matter. Her gut twisted; somehow the thought of Harry giving her a glib response was upsetting.

"After you look over my notes on yesterday's meta." Harry scooped up his papers and offered them to Caitlin.

Happy with the partial victory, Caitlin smiled and accepted the notes. "I was thinking about Lazy Susan last night anyways."

Harry grimaced. "Don't use Cisco's name for her, it's terrible."

"It's not that bad." Caitlin lowered her eyes, already occupied with reading Harry's notes. "Could be worse - what if he'd named her Rotating Rosie?"

"Don't make me ill." Harry gave a theatrical shudder. "We're lucky her actual name was Susan and her power made things spin."

"Thank heaven for small mercies." Caitlin giggled and in that moment looked up and into Harry's eyes. Beautiful blue - soft and then instantly on guard once they locked gazes. Her mouth dry, Caitlin gulped. Awkward.

"I've changed my mind."

"Did you want me to leave?" Caitlin set down the papers and half-rose out of her chair. "The med bay could use organizing."

"Not what I meant." Harry sighed, ruffling his hair with agitated fingers - as if only by stimulating his scalp could he force his words to behave. “Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”

Caitlin dropped back into her chair. Stunned would be an understatement. Was she being pranked? No. Harry threw things, yelled, and sulked. He'd never been the type to lie. Still, this was the stuff of dreams. Were they under attack from a new meta with whatever deviant power could make Harry spout compliments?

"I'm a little out of practice. Let me try again?" Harry took a long, slow breath. "One of the things I like about this Earth is you." He held up his hand to stall Caitlin from talking. "That's what I wanted to say before. That, and something else."

"Don't keep me in suspense. What else did you want to say?" Caitlin would have laughed to see the surprised look on Harry's face if she hadn't been horrified at the needy tone her question had taken - horrified and nervous. Ugh. Had she reverted to middle school?

"Answer a question for me?"

"How is it fair you answer a question with another question?" Caitlin busied her hands with smoothing the lay of her skirt over her lap. "But, go ahead."

"Would you like to have dinner with me?"

Caitlin smiled. "Yes."

He stood and assisted Caitlin to her feet, smiling. "Let's ditch work. I'm much too distracted by you."

#The Flash #snowells #requested fic #Harry x Caitlin #nalufever #fanfiction #drabble #thanks again for asking!#truly distracting

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

Stormy weather

A/N: THE LONGEST FIC I HAVE EVER WRITTEN. As I was writing it, I started to hate the reader lmao so I'm hoping I have redeemed them. I am hoping it flows as you read, that you can see the change in time without having to add ‘time skip’. I hope you enjoy! If you would like to be added to a taglist, let me know, I’ll happily create one! Please like and/or reblog.

Title: Emmy Raver-Lampman - Stormy Weather (originally sung by Etta James)

Pairing: Young!Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: You didn’t realise that a change in seating plan could lead to this.

Requested: Nope

Warnings: some angst, some fluff, some swearing

Word count: 4.1k

You felt silly – no, you felt stupid.

Two years… two years you had managed to keep your love for Sirius Black quiet. He barely even noticed you on a good day; you hadn’t known where these feelings had come from, yet they were very much present. It had all started when the class had been assigned a seating plan; the teacher had moved you and Black together so there was no choice on his end – he had to talk to you if there was pair work set, and there nearly always was.

There was no reason for you to socialise. You were in the same house, but he had the Marauders, and you had yours. Sirius Black was known amongst the girls of Hogwarts for being ridiculously attractive but also as a notorious flirt – it was your luck that you had a crush on the one boy who would never wholly be yours. There was the occasional overlap when it came to parties in the common room which you rarely attended but for the most part, a word had never been spoke between the two of you until this class.

At the end of the lesson, you were packing away your things, very much glad that you had a free period next so you could try and get ahead on the homework that was beginning to pile up. It looked as if you free periods and your evenings would be spent in the library trying to keep on top of the workload that accompanied an exam year.

A quiet voice next you pulls you out of the routine of packing away, “(Y/N)?”

You turn to Sirius, “Yes?”

He smiles politely at you, “Would you be able to help me with what we’ve covered? I’m struggling slightly in this subject.”

You raise your eyebrows at him in surprise. He may be a prankster, and doesn’t necessarily take everything seriously, but nobody could deny that Sirius Black wasn’t smart. All of the Marauders were.

“Really? You want me to help you?”

He chuckles, “Yes. I’m not completely understanding the context for wizard involvement within the Great Muggle War.”

You nod, “Sure, I’ll help you. When are you next free? We could meet at the library?”

“I’m free now, actually. If you have time, that is?”

“So am I. Let’s head to the library now, I know some good books that can help us.”

Sirius starts to pack his things away while you wait for him. You sigh inwardly, the pile of homework is going to get bigger, but you knew that you wouldn’t be able to deny Sirius. He’s too handsome, and your feelings definitely get in the way.

“Are you ready?” Sirius asks.

“I am. Let’s go read about Muggle wars!” You cheer.

Sirius laughs loudly. You walk together to the library, talking aimlessly to each other. By the time you arrive at the Library, Sirius has you breathless from laughter as he recalls one of the many adventures of the Marauders. From the minute you enter the Library, you know that there is an extremely high chance of you being shushed by Madam Pince.

Steering Sirius towards the right section, you start to whisper about the causes of the First Muggle War. “It had been brewing for a while, there were tensions between the countries surrounding growing militaries and navies, growing empires and such.”

“How does that relate to the wizarding world?”

“The minute war broke out, the Minster for Magic had to be alerted. Archer Evermonde passed a piece of legislation that forbade wizards from fighting in the war. It was a key moment in wizarding history. However, he Minister had to understand that regardless of what he decided, wizards would volunteer, look at Theseus Scamander.”

Sirius opens his mouth to ask another question, but he is interrupted by the rest of the Marauders.

“Padfoot! We wondered where you had gotten to!” James shouts, earning a hush from Madam Pince.

“You’ve found me.”

“Padfoot?” You ask, raising an eyebrow in question.

“My nickname.” Sirius explains.

The rest of the Marauders had joined you at table you shared with Sirius, their eyes looking over the reading material sprawled across it.

“We didn’t know you were struggling with this, Sirius. We could have helped you; you didn’t need to bother poor (Y/N) here.”

“It’s not a bother!” You almost shout, a little too quickly, all attention is now on you and you can feel the tell-tale blush make its way to your cheeks, “I mean,” you start, trying again, “it isn’t a bother at all. I love this topic, wizard involvement within both Muggle world wars interests me, I could talk about it all day. Sirius wasn’t being a bother at all asking me for help.”

Both James and Remus lift an eyebrow each at your explanation. They can completely sense your feelings for Sirius, and you want to slide under the table right about now, your heart going ten to the dozen.

Sirius chuckles, “You see, I’m not being a bother at all. You two are though, bugger off.”

Remus laughs at him, “Okay, okay. James, come on, let’s leave them too it.”

Remus pats James on the shoulder, they both start to depart with a goodbye to both Sirius and you.

Your heart rate has started to settle down, but then Sirius smiles at you and it kicks back into action again.

“Where were we?” He asks.

Checking your watch, you utter, “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ve got potions with Slughorn and I really don’t want to be late.”

Sirius nods, understanding. “Of course, can we meet again though? I like studying with you, you’re a really good teacher.”

You blush harder, if that’s even possible. “Thank you, Sirius, that means a lot. How about tomorrow evening in the common room?”

“That sounds great, see you there.”

Gathering your things, you wave a final goodbye to Sirius before heading to Potions. You would be brewing Liquid Luck today and you needed to focus, however your mind kept drifting back to Sirius. You felt like a teenager with her first crush, it seemed like Sirius had taken up your entire mind, the butterflies in your stomach fluttered every time you thought of the study session tomorrow evening. Twice, Slughorn had to pull your attention back to the class, it looked like when Sirius was on your mind, your mind went to goo.

The following day passed by slowly as if it knew that you had something to look forward to. Classes dragged and more than one teacher had to bring your attention back to the class since your mind had wandered off to what could possibly happen that evening.

You had seen Sirius once all day; at lunch where he waved at you from his place further down the table where he sat with the Marauders. “Are we still on for this evening, (Y/N)?”, he had shouted causing multiple heads to turn towards you.

You blushed deeply, “We are! I’ll see you this evening, Sirius.”

He smiled widely at your answer and threw a thumbs up before leaving the Great Hall with the Marauders.

That had been hours ago, and you were finally in your last class of the day. You were never normally eager to leave a lesson, but you had fallen into your feelings for Sirius and well, you wanted to see him even if he didn’t feel the same way as you.

Finally dismissed, you practically sprinted to your common room so you could change into comfortable clothes and grab the books you thought you may need.

You meet Sirius at a table in the corner of the common room; an intimate choice you note with the warmth of the fire wrapping you in a bubble. You also notice the rest of the Marauders not too far away, watching with eager arms – both James and Remus wiggle their eyebrows at Sirius.

“Okay,” You start, sitting down. “Where did we get to yesterday?”

Sirius beams at you, and you begin to study.

Two hours you sat there; studying for the first part of it, talking for the second part. Both of you had sat there and talked about anything and everything – Sirius asking question after question on you and your family; what were they like? Did you have siblings? All sorts was asked, and you didn’t mind opening up to him. You knew better than to ask about his family, it wasn’t a secret that he had run away from home and was living with James. However, you did ask him about his friends – what they did, how did they come to know one another.

Conversation flowed between the two of you until you couldn’t stop yawning. You decided then that it was time to wrap things up.

“I’ve really enjoyed myself tonight, Sirius.”

He quickly agrees, adding “I feel I understand the Great Muggle War a lot better now.”

“Good, I’m glad.” You answer, tidying up your books and notes.

Sirius grabs your hand, squeezes it gently before he brings it up to his lips and presses a small kiss to the back of it. Again, you’ve been reduced speechless and blushing by the teenager in front of you – you needed to do something about that.

“Goodnight, Sirius. I’m sure I’ll see you at some point tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N). See you tomorrow.”

You pull your hand from his, and before your judgement can get the better of you, you place a lingering kiss to his cheek.

As you head back to your dormitory, you don’t see Sirius press his hand to his cheek in disbelief. His cheeks aflame with the mere touch of your lips to his skin.

Time with Sirius simply flew by. You didn’t realise how quick time passed when you were with him until you were rushing to class in the hopes of not being late. Sirius seemed to occupy your mind and your time; he could be a distraction, but you always managed to get some work done, and he helped you with topics you weren’t entirely confident on. The both of you had grown closer to the other, you had started spending time with all of the Marauders, but you were with Sirius for the majority of the time. It did nothing to help your feelings for him; they simply grew until you were fairly certain you were in love with him. At least, that what your dorm mates told you, they had pointed out how obvious it was that you both had feelings for each other and whilst you had confirmed yours to them, you believed that Sirius did not feel the same way, that he simply saw you as a good friend and study partner.

It is through one of your study sessions when Sirius interrupts your speech about wizarding society in the inter-war years focusing on the adventures of Newt Scamander and the publication of his book. He didn’t like to interrupt you, because not only did he not understand this aspect of the subject, but you got so animated and passionate that it brought out a side of you he adored, but he really needed to ask you something.

“Look, we’re throwing a party in the common room this Friday night. Will you come?”

“You’re inviting me to a party?”

“I am. Will you come?”

“I think I will.”

Sirius smiles at you, knocking you slightly breathless. Then he kisses you the cheek and you’re pretty certain that you’ve died now because his lips made contact with your skin and your heartrate hit the sky.

“Good, I’ll see you there.”

“You’ll see me beforehand, but yes you’ll see me there.” You whisper, too breathless to try to speak normally.

Friday came too quickly for your liking; you hadn’t even picked out an outfit which had led to your latest predicament - your entire wardrobe spread across the whole dormitory. It didn’t matter what your dorm mates said, you couldn’t find anything to wear and you were starting to feel like a stereotype in a bad film.

“Okay, that’s it. I’m calling it – I’m going to pick what you’re wearing and you’re going to deal with it.” Your dorm mate, Jenny states as she places her hand on the small of your back and guides you to your bed.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve known you for what? Five/six years? I’m sure, now hush and let me work.”

You’re silent as Jenny goes through your wardrobe, placing item against item seeing what goes together.

“You must really like him.” Jenny murmurs.

“I really do. It honestly started as a little crush because he was pleasing to the eyes, and now that I’ve gotten to know him… well I’m worried that this could be it for me. That one great love all your books go on about.”

Jenny throws a blouse in your face, “You love those books, don’t hate on them.”

You laugh at her, feeling more at ease now than you had felt all day.

“Here you go, wear these and if he doesn’t kiss you by the end of the night, then I’ll hurl my romance books out of the astronomy tower.”

“I’ll hold you to that, I hope you know.”

She presses a kiss to your cheek, “I know, now get changed, I’m going to sort out my makeup.”

You change into the clothes that Jenny had chosen for you; figure hugging maroon flares that you didn’t realise you owned, with an airy white blouse that when tied at the front, showed enough of your stomach to not make you entirely self-conscious.

When Jenny returns from the bathroom, she wolf-whistles and you contemplate throwing a show at her. She links her arms with yours and you head down to the common room, where you can hear music start to play.

You didn’t know parties would be so warm; it explained why so many got drunk at these things. Not just for pleasure, but to also cool down. Sirius had met you not long after you entered the common room, he kissed your cheek and complimented your outfit. You had thanked him, blushing all the while. You had wondered when you were going to get a grip in such things.

Music was playing, drinks were flowing, and you were enjoying yourself. You found yourself dancing with Jenny more often than not. You had danced with Sirius a couple of times, but he kept getting pulled away somewhere else. You had to admit it annoyed you, but he was the one throwing the party.

Deciding that you had had enough of dancing, you head back to the drinks table and grab yourself a drink that was definitely more alcohol than mixer. Jenny sidles up next to you, shouting over the music, “I think you’ve caught his attention.”

You grin widely, the alcohol taking over “Do you think?”

She nods, “He hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you all night.”

You feel giddy, elated. “I really like him.”

Jenny nods, “I know you do. He’s coming this way though, so maybe tell him, and not me.”

Jenny takes you by the shoulders and turns you around to face Sirius from where he’s walking across the common room to you. Jenny is still holding your shoulders when Sirius’ attention is pulled away from you and onto another girl. Jenny is also there when Sirius and the mystery girl start to kiss.

The breath is knocked out of you, Jenny’s hands slip from your shoulders, and you make your escape. Only just managing to get to your dorm room before starting to sob mercilessly.

Sirius pulls away from the girl immediately. His eyes search the room for you, but he can’t place you. He does find you friend Jenny watching him from the drinks table.

“Where is (Y/N)?”

“She left, Sirius.”

“Why? What happened? Is she okay?”

“I don’t think she is; she saw you kiss that girl.”

“Shit.”

“Shit indeed, Mr Black.”

“I didn’t kiss her, she kissed me.”

Jenny places a hand on Sirius’ arm, “It isn’t me you need to tell that to. She really likes you; I have never seen her this way about a boy before. Please be kind.”

“I will. I really like her as well, I’ve never felt this way about a girl, the last thing I want to do is screw this up.”

“I’m going to go check on her, I’ll see you later Sirius.”

Jenny leaves, while Sirius stands at the drinks table, planning out what he needs to do.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of tears; Jenny is there holding you through it, offering tissues and dramatic retellings of her romance books. Sirius tries to talk to you, but Jenny goes to the door, telling him it would be best to let the alcohol wear off and speak with sober minds. He understands, and he leaves.

The week after the party is emotional hell. All you want to do is fall back into your routine from before and sit with Sirius, but you simply couldn’t. he had cornered you in the common room one evening, “I need to talk to you, (Y/N).”

You whisper, “I know.”

“Please let me talk to you,” Sirius whisper, his voice breaking, a hand partly raised as if he wants nothing more than to grab your hand and keep you there.

You draw back, “Not yet, I need a little more time.”

He nods, the hope that had been flickering in his eyes dimmed slightly. He moves to one side, letting you pass. His heart breaking that little bit more with each step you took away from him.

You were dreading class; it would be an awful class; not the subject matter but the tension between you and Sirius. It had been more than a week since you had a proper conversation, since you had properly enjoyed his company without a worry. He had tried to catch your attention on several occasions, but you just weren’t ready – Jenny had fought for him, stating the plain fact that you would have to face him sooner instead of later.

Conversation in class is attempted on his end, but all you can see as you look at him is him kissing that girl. The class passes by slowly, your need to speak to your Professor increasing. You almost shout in glee when she dismisses the class. You do not miss how quickly Sirius gathers his things and leaves.

“Professor?”

“Yes (Y/N)? What can I help you with?”

“Why did you sit me next to Sirius?”

“What do you mean? Are you not happy with your assigned seat?”

“Yes, and no.”

Your Professor nods, “I see what’s going on here. Sirius asked me to change the seating plan a few weeks ago.”

Your mouth drops open in shock, “He asked you to do what?”

“He asked me change the seating plan – he asked to be sat next to you. He argued that it was because you would be a good influence on him, and I agreed, but you could also tell that he harbours some feelings for you.”

You stay silent at your Professor’s words. She nods, “I understand now, his feelings are returned, I see. This is interesting.”

“Thank you Professor for letting me know.” You gather your books and bag, ready to go. You needed to have a conversation with Sirius, and you needed to have it now.

“No problem, (Y/N). Hope everything works out.”

“Thank you,” You rush, “I hope so too.”

You run back to the common room; hoping to catch Sirius there. As luck would have it, upon your entering the common room, you catch sight of the messy-haired teenager, sitting on his own by the fire. He looks up as you enter, as if he knew that it would be you to enter through the portrait. He averts his eyes quickly though, and it hurts. It hurts you because you feel utterly to blame for the breakdown in relations between Sirius and yourself; he had started to open up to you, become comfortable with you and you drew away, and left him hanging. It seems you hadn’t just broken your own heart.

“Sirius?” You murmur, walking over to the boy who has had your heart for two years.

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t leave either. There’s a million things running around in his head – you hurt him by pulling away, by avoiding him. You never gave him a chance to explain what happened at the party; that he didn’t kiss that girl, that the minute she had kissed him, he pushed her off and started to look for you. Only to find out from your friend that you had left, that you had seen what had happened.

“Sirius, I came to apologise. I’ve been a bit of a bitch if I’m honest.”

His head whips around to you, his grey eyes now focused solely on you. “What?”

Fiddling with your fingers, you say “I came to apologise. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did, I shouldn’t have pulled away. You have these walls and when you’re with the Marauders, they’re down and they had started to come down with me and you were beginning to open up and then everything happened. At the party, when I saw you kissing that girl, I just lost it. Sirius, you have to understand, I have had feelings for you for a long while now and seeing you kissing that girl when we had grown so close, I got jealous and I got upset. You have a reputation, Sirius, and I thought that you would only ever see me as a friend, as someone to help you with schoolwork. I didn’t even let you explain your side of the story. I spoke to Professor just now to ask why she had sat us next to each other, and she had told me you asked to be moved to be next to me, and everything clicked into place. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you the way I did though, and I am so sorry.”

Sirius is silent for a few minutes; taking in everything that you’ve just thrown at him. You sit down next to him on the couch and watch the fire.

His voice is hoarse when he starts to speak, “I do have a reputation, but since spending time with you, I have only wanted to be with you. I didn’t kiss her. She kissed me, that’s what happened. I was on my way to find you, to speak to you when she pulled me to her and kissed me. I pulled away immediately, I didn’t want her, I wanted you, I wanted to kiss you. Once I had gotten over to you, your friend Jenny had told me you left and that you had seen what happened. When I got to your dormitory and you wouldn’t answer me, I thought I’d talk to you in class, but you ignored me. When you did talk to me, it was so formal, I thought we had moved past that. It hurt, I feel silly for confessing it, but it hurt. I’ve got feelings for you too, and to see you revert to what we were like before, I was crushed.”

“I am so sorry, Sirius.” Your voice breaks on his name, your eyes shining with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry too. I feel like we could have avoided everything if we simply spoke to each other.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. However, that girl who kissed you without permission has a well-fashioned hex coming her way.” You frown, not happy with the idea of someone forcing themselves onto Sirius.

“Now that is something I would pay to see.”

“Can you forgive me, Sirius?”

He looks at you startled, “What?”

“I’ve been a fool, a complete fool.”

“As long as you’re my fool.”

You laugh through the tears that are now falling freely. Sirius pulls you to him, places his hands on either side of your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears. You place your hand on top of his, keeping it pressed to your cheek.

“Sirius, I’m not sure if you know this, but I’m about 99% sure I’m in love with you.”

He smiles down at you, a blinding smile. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I feel the same.”

“What do you say? Shall we try doing this the right way?”

“I really like the sound of that.”

“I do too.”

Sirius dips his head, and his lips are pressed to yours. You fit together seamlessly. If you could bear the stormy weather, you could bear it all.

#Sirius Black #siriusblack #sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #Sirius orion black #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #the marauders era #marauders fanfiction #maruaders era #my masterlist #angst #fluff #sirius black fluff #My writing #harry potter fanfiction #cute

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ventivante · 5 years

Text

Part One summary | can be found here! genre | jennifer’s body!au, college!au, horror, supernatural, humor, angst, demon!wooyoung; wooyoung x reader, mingi x reader warnings | language, discussions of death, some blatant blasphemy, and very bad/cliche humor word count | 2.1k

DISCLAIMER: this fic contains lots of dark subject matter and i will put any specific trigger warnings before each part. i do not condone the unhealthy relationships portrayed in this fic, nor do i believe the characters’ real life counterparts to display these behaviors.

happy halloween y’all!

“God, just shoot me in the face,” Wooyoung whined aloud, leaning his head back to emphasize just how unhappy he was with studying.

“Stop, you’re gonna get us kicked out again,” you whispered across the table at him.

“Good! I hate this place anyway, it reeks of decaying dreams and B.O.,” Wooyoung announced dramatically, his voice still at full volume.

Against your better judgement, you’d invited Wooyoung to study with you at the library. It was against your better judgement for two reasons: first, because Wooyoung didn’t function well in environments where you needed to be quiet and you were both already on the librarian’s shit list, and second, because you felt like you owed it to him after ignoring him all weekend.

Another unspoken reason you weren’t ready to admit was that Wooyoung had been acting . . . weird over the past few days. Even weirder than he normally was. For starters, he had dyed his hair—gone were the black locks you had grown up alongside, now replaced by sandy blond, perfectly gelled movie-star hair. His response to being asked why he’d changed it?

I got bored, he had told you, as if it were the simplest question in the world.

Of course, you knew that abrupt hairstyle changes usually took place in the midst of an emotional crisis, but you hadn’t pressed the issue further. If Wooyoung wanted to talk about things that were bothering him, he eventually would on his own terms—you had learned that the hard way.

Not only had he changed his hair, but he had started dressing really different as well. Normally Wooyoung opted for comfortable sweaters and hoodies, with some standard t-shirt-and-jeans ensembles thrown in the mix. Now he dressed as if his daily commute was on a Harley Davidson motorcycle. You didn’t know where his sudden sense of style had come from, but you guessed it may have had something to do with the aftermath of the party yet again.

Despite all of the red flags, you wanted to find out just what had caused the sudden changes, and you felt partially guilty that you had been the source of it. You figured if you spent more time with him, he would open up to you and finally forgive you.

“Come on, let’s get out of here and grab some sushi, I’m staaarved,” Wooyoung pouted as he rested his head on a propped fist, eyes wide and lower lip protruding in a wholly pathetic display.

Even though he had been acting strange, Wooyoung had been in very high spirits. He was constantly joking with you and laughing over the smallest things, not common indicators that Wooyoung was undergoing mental duress. His current behavior also wasn’t a surprise, as he’d always had a distaste for studying.

“Let me just finish these last couple sections,” you sighed as you flipped the page of your anatomy book.

“I can give you the short version: Adam shoves his dick into Eve’s vagina, boink boink boink, and that’s the miracle of life,” Wooyoung explained crudely, even throwing in a few vulgar gestures for added emphasis. “There, I even included curriculum for the Bible thumpers.”

You grimaced at his tactless anatomy lesson and shut your book without another word. “That’s gross and blasphemous.”

Wooyoung only shrugged before folding his hands on the table’s surface and fixing a now serious look on you. “Don’t tell me you’re still squeamish about sex, Y/N.”

“I’ve never been squeamish, I just don’t need to shout about it from the rooftops.” You hoped that the blush you were undoubtedly now sporting didn’t undermine your words.

“Oh, boo, so boring,” Wooyoung rolled his eyes and slumped back onto the table, his chin resting on his forearms.

“Hey guys.”

You jumped as someone slid into the seat next to you, scaring the daylights out of you. Your pen was raised, ready to attack your would-be assailant before you realized it was only Yunho—one of your and Wooyoung’s few mutual friends—who had made a sudden appearance.

“Can you not just drop in like that?” you asked, lowering the pen now that you were no longer in danger.

“I announced myself! Maybe you just need to have more awareness for your surroundings!” Yunho whispered shrilly.

“Shh!” A fourth person joined in, this time from the librarian desk, where the older woman was giving the three of you the evil eye as she let out a particularly firm shush. You ducked your head bashfully and gave her an apologetic wave, hoping to convey that you would keep your friends in check.

“Have you guys heard?” Yunho started again, now lowering his voice to a more library-friendly volume. “They found a dead kid in the woods out by Hongjoong’s frat house, where that huge party was this weekend.”

You straightened at the news, feeling your heart skip a beat. “What?”

“Well, not a kid kid, it was a student here,” Yunho continued. “But they found him just yesterday. They think it was some kind of animal attack—dude was ripped to shreds from what I heard.”

“Jesus,” you breathed, your stomach beginning to churn at the thought. “What kind of animal?”

“I dunno, a wolf or even a bear maybe?”

“Dumbass, there’s no bears around here,” Wooyoung chimed in, looking positively bored with the shift in conversation.

Yunho cast an offended glare on the newly-dyed blond. “Hey, it’s possible! Climate change, bitch! Animals can come crawling here from all over now, the polar bears are migrating.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “So you think this kid got mauled by a polar bear?”

“I’m just saying it’s possible.”

“Shhhhh!”

This time a student at the next table over had expressed their own irritation at the rising volume yet again. You sent them an apologetic nod of the head before turning back to your friends and lowering your voice once more. “Do we know for sure it’s an animal? Is there going to be like, an investigation or something?”

The taller boy shrugged and leaned a little closer to you to match your tone. “Cops were all over the place earlier but it’s calmed down a bit now. I think it’s officially been listed as an animal. Or, what they think it is at least. But I wouldn’t rule out the possibility that it’s some psycho killer, stalking young, vulnerable co-eds.” He grinned widely at the end of his statement, waggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated motion before poking you in the side.

You swatted his hand away and released a noise of discontent. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Yunho, why don’t you make like a tree and leave before I chop you down at the knees?” Wooyoung posed, leaning forward on the table with an acidic smile stretching over his features.

“Come on, I’m just kidding,” Yunho laughed. “I’m sure that they’ll find whatever animal it was and put it down.”

You wished you could be as lighthearted about the situation as the other two, but the news brought on a sense of dread that was seeping into your stomach like sour milk. Had it really been a random animal attack? And if so, what kind of animal could rip a person to shreds, as Yunho had not-so-delicately put it? Or worse, what if there was a murderer wandering around campus waiting for their next victim to come along? Were you actually safe?

“There’s probably nothing to worry about at this point,” Yunho added, as if he were reading your mind.

“Good to know. On that note, I think it’s time for us to leave.” Wooyoung rose from his seat and gave you a pointed look.

This time, you actually agreed with him and began to gather your things, shoving them haphazardly into your bag. Wooyoung was at your side in the next second helping you before focusing his attention back onto Yunho.

“Try not to get eaten by a polar bear on your way home, Yunho,” Wooyoung winked.

“Bite me,” the taller boy quipped, but you and Wooyoung were already on your way to the door.

Darkness was quickly approaching as you walked beside Wooyoung back to your apartment. It made you weary, especially after hearing Yunho’s news about the attack. Your best friend, however, seemed completely unfazed by the potential danger as he slung an arm over your shoulders and hummed quietly.

“You aren’t worried?” you asked him.

“Worried? About what Yunho said?” he scoffed then and only pulled you closer to him. “Definitely not. And you shouldn’t be either. You’ve got me to protect you!”

You let out an amused bark of laughter. “You? The same person who makes me kill the spiders in your room?”

“That was when we were ten!” Wooyoung whined, giving you yet another pout. “I’m a man now, in case you hadn’t noticed!”

“Please spare me the toxic masculinity spiel,” you retorted, albeit with another giggle.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you continued down the sidewalk. You allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, because it felt like it had been years since you were both this close—not just physically, but also on an emotional level. You took a second to glance up at your longtime best friend and study him.

Wooyoung’s skin glowed in the waning rays of sunlight, blemish free and smooth as fine porcelain. His nose was a little large, something he had always been concerned with, but you saw absolutely nothing wrong with it. Even his dark eyes shone brightly as the day faded into dusk. And if you weren’t mistaken, you could have sworn he had been hitting the gym too—the arm wrapped around you was firm and not as wiry as you remembered it being during childhood.

You hadn’t admitted it to him, but he had grown up to be very handsome, and sometimes you found yourself wondering how things would be if the two of you had been more than just friends. It had always been a passing thought before, but now as he held you against his side and you looked up at him, the thought didn’t seem . . . particularly bad.

Just as you were rounding the last corner before your building came into view, you decided to ask Wooyoung what you had been meaning to for the past few days.

“Wooyoung, you’re not mad at me, are you? About the party, I mean.”

There was a short pause and you felt Wooyoung’s hand squeeze your arm gently, just as your phone chirped from your pocket. Automatically, you reached for it, digging it out and bringing the device up to check the notification.

It was a text message from an unfamiliar number, which made you squint in confusion. A split second later, realization dawned on you and you let out a small gasp.

It had to be Mingi, the boy you had met at the party.

You smiled at the thought then quickly remembered you had been waiting on Wooyoung to answer your question. You glanced back up at him and saw that he was eyeing your phone with a furrowed brow. His arm now felt tense and heavy around your shoulders but his voice was still light when he spoke again.

“Your friend from the party?”

“Oh, yeah, I think so. I’ll text him later—”

Wooyoung’s arm dropped from your shoulders and he took a step away from you, creating distance that might as well have been a brick wall between you two. He stared down at his feet for a few moments then lifted his head and smiled weakly. You noticed that the smile failed to reach his eyes.

“Listen, Y/N—forget about what happened at the party. I told you, it wasn’t a big deal and I’m over it. I’ll catch you later, okay?”

Wooyoung started to turn away, shoving his hands into his pockets as he went. You felt your small window of opportunity slipping away, so you reached out for him, latching onto his jacket.

“Wait! Don’t you wanna come up and watch a movie or something?” you asked, eyes wide with an unspoken plea.

Wooyoung peeked over his shoulder at you while his lips curled into a lopsided smirk. “Maybe some other time. I’ve got dinner plans.”

#wooyoung's body #ateez #wooyoung #jung wooyoung #wooyoung fic #jung wooyoung fic #mingi #song mingi #mingi fic #song mingi fic #wooyoung x reader #mingi x reader #ateez fic #mine #writings

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wild-moony-joonie · 4 years

Text

Soulmates:

This was inspired by a fic by Ramabear, on Fanfiction.net, called “Continually adapting to stay alive.”

Author: Laura(me)

Warning: Sexual tension, XXtra gay.

Pairing(s): Kakashi/Shisui(Kakasui), Fugaku/Minato(Fugamina).

Synopsis: Kakashi had always wanted to taste the forbidden fruit, it just happened to come in the form of his soulmate.

______

Kakashi had never been one to draw on himself with a pen, or a utensil of any kind for that matter, but yet he found his hips, thighs and shins covered with the black ink markings of a pen. He pressed his thighs together firmly, so to read the words crawling across his skin like small caterpillars forming a chain of black lettering across sinewy muscle. Kakashi leaned in, brushing his hand over the careful writing that most definitely wasn’t his own sloppy and disjointed handwriting.

“My aunt was giving me a history lesson on soulmates this afternoon, and she encouraged me to write to you, if you’re even there,”

A soulmate?! Kakashi’s eyes widened by a fraction of an inch, before quickly masking his expression, despite being the only living being in his apartment. This was of course, excluding his beloved plant, Mr. Ukki.

“So, I wrote to you. I hope this doesn’t bother you, I mean, I don’t really know who you are. You could be my aunt for all I know. Which would be a little weird honestly, but everyone’s got that hot aunt right? And she’s not technically my aunt, she’s like my mother’s cousin eight times removed. Anyway, I hope you have a good day. Or had. I don’t really know. And I apologize if any of this bothers you, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop. Unless you write me back saying to stop, I won’t… Stop, that is”

Kakashi blinked in surprise, taking a moment to absorb his obviously bubbly and over enthusiastic soulmate, who seemed nothing like the kind of person he pictured himself falling in love with, when he had dreamed so vivaciously. He quickly resolved that any soulmate of his, would be wholly better off without his baggage that he had strapped to his chest and shoulders with strings of fate so strong, one couldn’t simply cut through them. So he continued to strip off the remainder of his clothing, and set off to his bathroom for a long scalding shower after his last grueling mission with his ANBU team.

Shisui had never thought he had a soulmate. He thought soulmates only happened to the lucky few who could find true love. But, as it turns out, Soulmates were increasingly common, especially among shinobi above the age of 10. So Shisui wrote. The very first time it vanished, he was ecstatic. So he wrote, and he wrote every single day. A good morning wish, every time he got up at the crack of dawn to train his newly discovered Sharingan. A wish for a good day, everytime he was feeling down. He wasn’t sure when the writing on his skin became a diary of his thoughts and everyday life, but soon he found himself writing spiraling paragraphs down his calves, and over his stomach, the words blurring into Shisui himself the longer and the more he wrote them. One day, he was feeling particularly lonely, so he reassured his Soulmate that they were not alone. He wrote the three most important words over and over again in whispering lines down his forearms, and continued until it snaked around his wrist, and over his hands on either arm, grateful for his ambidextrous gift.

Kakashi had been slipping off his forearm guards for a shower in the ANBU Locker room. His gory mask, and blood splattered armor needing a serious cleaning. As he washes off dried blood, tacky on his pale arms, he notices the words curling around his forearm over and over again, spiraling until is coils around his wrist like a possessive snake. These three words repeated incessantly, and iteration of the mantra he has been told is the best medicine. Or is that laughter?

“Senpai, looks like you’ve got an admirer.” Kakashi turns, to see the smiling face of Yamato greeting him as he steps out of the shower stall. Yamato is smiling, laughing at Kakashi and the words possessively scrawled around his wrists.

“Yeah, yeah. Talk all you want Yamato, you know you’re just jealous.” He says, in a light airy tone, suggesting indifference. Hiding the what little joy he finds in knowing someone cares. Shrugging on a light crewneck sweatshirt, Kakashi ties his sandals, and hurries on his way from the Black ops compound. But soon slows down, remembering what awaits him during slumber.

Shisui was late. So so so late. His team captain was going to kill him. He had been held up watching Sasuke and had forgotten entirely about the ANBU meeting that he had to attend that afternoon. He was sprinting towards the compound, arms pumping as he went full sprint without using any chakra. Streaking across the concrete, he rushed passed a tall gray haired man. Tall, lean and muscular with one open chocolatey eye. Shisui instantly knew who he was. Hatake Kakashi. The Comrade Killer, Cold-blooded Kakashi, Son of the White Fang of the Leaf. He had to admit that he found the silver haired man attractive, but he was too busy to think about anything else but the meeting at the moment.

Kakashi smelled the boy before he saw him, thanks to his Inuzuka mother’s nose, a fragrant and enticing mix of pine, wind, and something distinctly Uchiha. A flash of pale skin, black curly hair, and red eyes bolted past him faster than any normal Shinobi could flat out sprint. Kakashi placed his scent and features in an instant. Shunshin No Shisui, the fastest Uchiha, son of Kagami, the youngest to ever acquire the Mangekyo Sharingan. Kakashi secretly liked the boys smell, he found himself inching closer at every ANBU meeting. Yearning to bury his face into the pale skin and really smell him, really feel him. But the boy was twenty, and he was twenty four. Plus they were both male, not exactly something the Uchiha clan encourages. Since no one he knew was a mind reader, he supposed he was safe to internally eye the boy from a distance. Despite how perverted that may make him, he was only human and when someone looks like Shisui Uchiha, you can’t blame the person having perverted thoughts about such a specimen. Even if he is four years younger than said person and male.

_______

“Shisui!” The shout shook him quickly out of his thoughts. Minato stood staring at him, eyes filled with concern. He hung his head in embarrassment, flushing with frustration at his scrambled thoughts. He was a shinobi, he shouldn't be distracted by a hazy brown eye and gray bedhead.

“I’m Sorry Hokage-Sama. I’m just a bit tired.” He lied through his teeth instinctively, not bothering to think about the words coming out of his mouth.

“No need to apologize Shisui. I’m sure you have a lot going on. Discovering your soulmate and all, speaking of… have you met them?” Minato’s smile was kind, and he was patient with the out of sorts and frazzled Uchiha.

“No… this isn’t even about them… I think. I mean I write to my soulmate every day and they never respond. Anyway, I just can’t stop thinking about this person since yesterday, I saw them and for whatever reason I can’t get them out of my head.” he smiled warily, afraid to say the person’s name knowing the Minato was the silver head’s team leader, and teacher growing up.

“Ah. Having feelings for someone other than the one you are supposedly destined for.” Minato smiled knowingly, wistfully looking at the curly haired boy. “You know… Kushina isn’t my soulmate. We wrote to one another for awhile, but when we found out who we were we realized a relationship was impossible. They then wished me the best of luck and I told them the same.”

“Do you regret it? Not choosing your soulmate?” Shisui is intent now, looking at the Hokage for guidance with wide and hopeful eyes. Yearning for an answer like a man stranded in the desert thirsted for water.

“Sometimes. They are my best and closest friend, and I couldn’t have hoped for more. I devoted myself entirely to Kushina and Naruto. I couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome.” He smiled again, turning in his chair in to look out over Konoha from his office.

“Thank you Hokage-Sama,”

“Anytime Shisui.”

_____

Minato was slightly bothered by his conversation with Shisui earlier that day, second guessing his decision to stay with Kushina. He shook his head quickly dismissing the thoughts. He had a son, his son’s future relied on him. He couldn’t afford to disappoint his wife or his son. They were far too important to him, no matter the value his Soulmate held in his heart. His oldest and closest friend. He found himself absentmindedly chewing on a pen when a knock on the doorframe shook him clear of his thoughts.

“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something? I can leave.” The tall Uchiha clan leader stood in his doorway, broad shoulders taking up most of the doorframe, a frown permanently etched on his features.

“No, but I was talking about you to Shisui today,” Minato smiled at his friend, watching the corner of the older man’s eyes crease in suspicion.

“Oh?” Fugaku’s lips pursed as he said this, one eyebrow rising in both curiosity and masked fear. The blonde waved his hands dismissively,

“Don’t worry he doesn’t know my soulmate is you,” Minato stood up, maneuvering his way over to his friend, and pressed his forehead against the dark haired man’s shoulder. Abandoning his paperwork for the worry wuss standing in his office.

“Shush! Don’t say that so loud! You are the Hokage, and a married man at that.” Fugaku panicked, his deep voice scolding Minato for his negligence. Nervously shoving the shorter blonde away from him, and walking to the door, looking out into the hallway and then closing the door. Minato rolled his eyes.

“Fugaku, no one is here but us. It’s two in the morning. We are the only ones here. Calm down.”

“We live in a village of Shinobi whose specialty is to spy.”

“And I am the best of them, otherwise I wouldn’t be wearing this coat, now would I?” Minato grinned, slinking to his desk and perching on it. Crossing his legs and grinning like the cat who had caught the canary.

“You’re one of the best, and happen to have a pretty face and look good in a jounin’s uniform. I wouldn’t call that much in Konohagakure.”

“Oh so you think I’m pretty?” Minato now folded his hands under his chin and batted his eyelashes, the brunette rolling his eyes at his superior’s childish antics.

“Hokage sama-”

“Please just call me Minato, I hate the titles.”

“I’m afraid if I don’t, certain things might happen.” Fugaku frowned at the blue eyes staring intently into his.

“Scaredy cat,” Minato scoffed,

“Not my fault you’re a flirt,” He retorted, giving him a look.

“What did you come here for? You don’t just drop in to say hello.” Minato was now standing in front of the Uchiha, hands on his slender hips. Suddenly all business.

“I needed to check in on Itachi’s progress in the ANBU. Some of my clanmates are concerned with his behaviour. And despite him being my son, I have to do what the public asks.” He replied, a sadness sweeping over his face. “ I’m beginning to wonder if it was right for me to let him join the ANBU.”

“You did what you thought was best,” Minato was there in an instant to comfort the elder man. He gripped Fugaku’s shoulders firmly in his hands,

“You tried to give him the next task on his path as a Shinobi. No one is perfect Fugaku, you can only do what you think is best.”

“I want the best for him. I sometimes wonder if he should never have become a Shinobi. He is far too gentle, and loving to wear such a heavy burden.” Fugaku had pressed his face into Minato’s neck, and wrapped his arms around his waist. They were so occupied with their tight embrace, Minato’s hands stroking up and down Fugaku’s back to comfort him, that they failed to notice the tall gray haired Shinobi awkwardly half opening the door.

“Ah, sorry Sensei. I saw you were here so I came for some advice. I can leave if I’m interrupting.”

“No worries Kakashi. I was just saying goodbye,” Fugaku released the blonde man, straightening up and giving the gray haired man a small smile. Nodding goodbye to them both.

“Sensei-”

“Please just call me Minato,” The Hokage sighed, retreating to the seat behind his desk. Frowning slightly as he returned to his seat, never getting to ask Fugaku what he had wanted to.

“ I’m having some problems. I’ve found out just this week that I had a soulmate, he writes to me every day,” At this Minato’s eyebrow shot up, realizing in that split second exactly who Kakashi’s soulmate is. Kakashi noticed, and realized he must know. The silver haired man nervously closed the door behind him.

“Do you know who my soulmate is?” Kakashi placed both of his hands on the desk, and leaned forward, anxious to hear whom he was destined to spend the rest of his life with.

“I do know. But I can’t say, they don’t know it’s you either. I had a Black Ops meeting with them this afternoon, which is when they expressed their concern.” Minato folded his hands in his lap, and observed Kakashi. His usually stoic and cool student had fear and hope etched into his very skin.

“Who is it? Please, you have to tell me. I need to know, they’ll be far better off without me.” Kakashi’s voice was firm as he backed away from the desk, slipping both of his hands into his pockets. Suddenly the door slammed open again, to reveal a disheveled curly haired Uchiha. His jounin’s vest was slipping off of one shoulder, his hair was wind blown to one side, and the dark circles under his eyes were nearly as dark as his eyes. Kakashi shied away from the boy, trying to avoid the scent that intoxicated him so much.

“Shisui?! What’s the matter?” Minato stood quickly, instantly serious.

“I came to report right after the Uchiha Clan Meeting,” Shisui stood straight as a board in spite of his messy appearance.

“And?” Minato asked, worry filling his face.

“Fugaku-Sama’s clone managed to subdue them for now. He seems to be protecting someone on our side Sir.”

“Please call me Minato, and I think I know who he’s protecting.” Minato’s eyes narrowed, mentally noting to drop by the compound this coming afternoon.

“Ah. Well then I have done everything asked of me. I will head home, they’ll be wondering where I am.”

“Have Kakashi accompany you. You can say that it is urgent ANBU Business, if they have questions they can come directly to me.”

“Hai!” The two shinobi chorused, turning to make their way out of the door. Kakashi was confused as to how he came asking for advice, and ended up escorting his junior ANBU member home.

They sprinted back to the Uchiha Compound, urgency pressing in every step. Shisui’s face contorted with worry, his eyebrows furled as he leans forward into the wind. His ANBU vest pressing tight against his chest from the wind. The younger boys curly hair a mop of onyx as he hurries home. His companion’s gray bedhead unmoving despite the highwinds from both of their quick speed. They stumble to the front of the compound, Shisui’s grace is monumental compared to the Copy Nin’s slight fumble as he lands.

They are greeted by two guards, who nod to a briskly walking Shisui, Sharingan blazing and whirring. They stop to observe Kakashi, and both of their eyes glance to the covered Sharingan in his left eye socket. In a flash, both Uchiha Guards release their Katana’s and step in front of Kakashi.

“We won’t allow you to enter thief!” Spittle flies from the lips of the smaller one on the right. His lip curling over his bared gleaming teeth. Threatening the Hatake, while the other simply glares at the silver-haired man. Shisui hears the encounter, and freezes in his steps. The two Uchiha Guards turn to find themselves caught in the menacing gaze of a Shuriken-like Mangekyo.

“Leave him be. He’s with me.” Shisui’s voice is commanding, red tones of anger flash in his voice as his hand rests on the katana resting between his shoulder blades. His deep tenor rumbling forward from beneath his ANBU vest, demanding respect and reverence.

“We don’t take orders from you,” Hissed the first one, looking over his shoulder to meet Shisui with his own Sharingan.

Shisui moved his foot as though to take one step forward, and in a blur of black and gray and a whoosh of Shisui scented wind Kakashi found himself swept up by a set of strong muscled arms and whisked away from the gates of the Uchiha Compound and up over the walls onto the roof of the nearest house. The long pale arms tightened around the older man, one arm wound around his waist and the other was underneath his knees.

“I CAN walk if you didn’t know,” Kakashi’s sarcastic jibe bit through the silence clouding the air.

“I can’t let you walk these streets alone. Many Uchiha’s don’t trust or respect you because of the eye that sits in your left socket. They can’t touch you If I carry you.” Shisui looks the older man dead in the eye(s), “Besides, I don’t think you could keep up with me.”

Kakashi merely grunts in agreement as the boy carrying him leans slightly forward, and takes off with the speed of the wind. The air ripples through the mop of onyx curls, and Kakashi has never been so intoxicated. Kakashi is intoxicated by every movement that the boy makes. His swirling and whirling sharingan tomoe pulls Kakashi in, and makes him wish he could ruin this boy.

So he does.

He grabs the front two straps of Shisui’s vest, and in a blinding fast movement that leaves him breathless, he crushes their lips together in a messy kiss. Hands came up and pulled down his mask, Shisui crushed their mouths back together. A mess of teeth and spit, simply pure passion. Neither were inexperienced, but neither had ever felt such strong chemistry. Shisui pulled away, gasping. His eyes glued to Kakashi’s smirking mouth.

“So you’ll stay at my place, yeah?”

#shisui #kakasi hatake #kakashi #naruto #fanfic

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