#because I could hardly sleep for buzzing and speculating

[pushing500]

Okay, so this isn’t really an ask or a request, but…

Your thoughts?

I saw this as I was going to bed last night and I’ve been alternating between “I’M SO EXCITED!!” and “MY MODLIST IS DOOMED!!” ever since.

I love the design of the guy, and I’m intrigued by the spaceships and the bird. I’ve seen lots of people speculating about a space travel or other kind of exploration DLC, pointing out his compass and the spaceships as evidence.

Also I did have a brief moment of despair before I remembered that some people write the date incorrectly and it probably means the 11th of June, not the 6th of November lmao.

All in all, I’m very excited to see what we get and looking forward to all the shenanigans we can get up to with more official content!

[puftpasstea]

omg yayyy that angsty sick matilda blurb sounds amazing!!! i can't wait <3

So, this took a COMPLETE TURN!!! It's also wayyyy too long to be a blurb, but I really hope you still like it. 🥺🥺🥺 Please let me know what you think! Warnings: dom!harry, fluff, mentions of smut.

-----

I knew when I’d gone to bed feeling achy all over and drained of energy after doing the bare minimum that I’d wake up feeling sick this morning, but the reality of how I felt still exceeded my expectations. I dragged my feet across the floor to the medicine cabinet and pulled out a thermometer to check for a fever. Luckily, there it was within normal range. I was probably just dehydrated and sleep deprived. In fairness, I’ve never had the best immune system anyway, as a child, I got the sniffles pretty much twice a month. My grandmother and her friends always speculated that it’s because I never got enough bonding time with my parents as an infant. Some people informally diagnosed me with a deficient immune system, stemming from some kind of imbalance or other. When I’m not in denial about how I treat myself, I tend to think it’s because I run myself into the ground on a regular basis and overall suck at looking after myself.

I would never confess or try to explain the thought process to anybody because I know just how insane it sounds  when said out loud, but I often feel that I don’t deserve to rest. And, even if I did, it wouldn’t matter either way. Because, unlike the average person, I had no real personal life, or a family who depended on me. All I had was work. It’s my one real responsibility; the one thing I’m decent at; the one thing I actually enjoy. So, I didn’t need to take breaks, and if I end up falling ill, it wouldn’t matter anyway. The only person who’d end up being affected would be me. Comforted by my dubious logic, and the fact that I had no fever to speak of, I decided I’d power through and go into work. I was going to spend my time in the microfilm room, alone, for most of the day. Maybe, if I get everything done early, I could get a nap in before dropping by the film set.

I stuffed my work bag full of tea bags, Emergen-C, and cough drops, just to be prepared for the worst and got out the door. Thanks to the regular covid testing policy on campus, at least I knew I wasn’t carrying a deadly disease. That was a silver lining.

The first couple of hours of work went by fine, it was when I began to feel weak and queasy that the trouble started. I probably needed to eat something to get my energy up, but I had positively no appetite or desire to eat. The very thought of food made me nauseous. I had some generic meds in my desk drawer that I could take, but those probably shouldn’t be taken on an empty stomach.The irony of the dilemma frustrated me. I feel too sick to eat, so I need to take some meds, but I can’t take any meds before I’ve had something to eat first. The adult thing to do here would probably be to seek medical help. So, I tried to imagine what a doctor or nurse might say to me. “Get some rest and  drink some fluids.” Which would mean skipping out on work; the only thing that gave me purpose. Nope. Finally, I made the decision to put a couple of spoonfuls of sugar and a squeeze of lemon into my hot tea, to see if that would help. On the plus side, working with microfilm required very dim light and precise temperature control which probably mitigated the headache some. If there ever was a day to be sick on the job, today was it.

Around lunchtime, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. Out of an abundance of caution, and a superstitious kind of respect for these materials that hardly anyone ever requested anymore, I decided to take the call outside. Cracking open the door and stepping into the hallway proved disorienting. But I told myself I was just dizzy because my eyes needed to adjust to the light. Caller ID on my screen showed that it was Harry, causing an almost reflexive smile to appear on my face.

I swallowed, picking up the call. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweets. Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, never. What’s up?”

I heard him chuckle nervously on the other end of the line. Though he seemed uncertain, the sound of his laugh always made my heart skip a beat. Not that I’d ever tell him that.

“C’mon, out with it, Styles. What’s going on?”

“Uhh, well, this is gonna make me sound like a horny shithead, but, I’m free for the next couple of hours, and- last week, when I had this time off, we-”

“Oh, so, this is a booty call?”

All I heard in response was a bunch of incoherent stuttering. One of the reasons that I found Harry’s dominance so compelling was the fact that, meeting him in the context of everyday interactions, you’d never guess that he had it in him to be that cruel or strict. It always caught me off-guard whenever he would flip the switch, and it was always the hottest thing ever.

“Not when you put it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Come over and meet me, and I’ll show ya.”

I weighed the options in my mind. Not that his offer wasn’t tempting, but I hated being around people when I was sick. I’d purposefully come in through a different entrance so I wouldn’t have to run into Fran and let her see me like this. If I declined Harry’s offer, though, he would almost certainly know that something’s off. We always found a way to hook up when the opportunity presented itself. To be sure, he always checked in and made sure I never felt pressured or obligated. Sometimes I’d have to get impatient and yell that I definitely show up because I want to, not because I have to, before he’s fully convinced, but we always, always met up. Even if it meant delaying for a bit, or waiting until later in the day. I mean, sure, the sex was fun and all. It wasn’t just about the sex though. Spending any time at all with Harry meant the world to me. He always made me feel seen and heard, and allowed me to explore sides of myself I never thought existed. He was also, always, unexpectedly wild and funny, and I got to see glimpses of what he’s personally like, that often lingered in my memory long after our interactions had ended, and I would fantasize about spending my life with him and sharing these moments everyday. In other words, even if he weren’t calling me for sex, I’d still want to go. The question is, would I be able to hide my current state from him?

“Hello? Have I lost you? Connection in the trailer’s kinda spotty sometimes…”

“N-no, I’m here, Harry. I can hear you.”

“Oh, well- umm… listen, I didn’t mean to make you feel like an object, I’m so sorry….I came off sleazy for sure…I just thought It’d be nice to-”

“Hey, Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Come over here an fuck me, will you?”

“On my way.”

***

Harry’s smile slowly dissolved as he got closer and closer to me. I unlocked the old office-turned-storage-room that we often hung out in for privacy, and snuck him in.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” 

“Uhh, well, hello to you too?” I deflected. He was already seeing right through me. I loved that Harry knew me so well, could read my body like an open book, knew exactly what I needed when I needed it, and knew exactly how to give it to me. But, times like these made our intimacy feel overwhelming and suffocating. 

“No, I mean it.” He cut straight through my attempted bluff. “What’s wrong? Your eyes look glassy, and…well, you seem off.”

I entertained the idea of playing it off like I was offended. “Excuse me? Just go ahead and call me ugly, why don’t you. after you called to-”

“Baby, you know I think you’re beautiful. Always. Don’t act like that isn’t true. We both know it is. Now tell me what’s going on?” He reached over to caress my cheek with the back of his hand. “Shit, you’re burning up….”

I stared into his eyes, unable to speak, and unable to look away. My anxious mind ran over the different possibilities for this conversation. I wasn’t sure which would be worse, having to tell him that I’m sick and him insisting on doing something about it, or having to tell him that I’m sick and him walking away from me. 

I don’t know why it felt so inconceivable to admit to him that I was feeling ill. Harry had seen me at my worst pretty early on in our friendship. He’d cleaned my apartment, shaved my body, washed my hair, without batting an eye. Hell, he’d even stuck his dick in my ass, beat me bloody, and spent many nights looking after me in subspace, at my most vulnerable. So why was this so hard? Maybe because I hate asking for help, or maybe it’s because Harry had already done so much for me. I didn’t want him to feel responsible for me. I also didn’t want to appear helpless and needy. And yet, this instance, the only thought I had was how I’d crumble to the ground if he pulled his touch away, let alone left the room.

“I-I swear I wasn’t feverish when I came to work this morning…” I wrapped my arms around the arm that touched my face, to make sure he kept it there.

“You’ve been sick since this morning?”

“Since…last night.” I mumbled.

“So, earlier, when I called and you hesitated…” I could see in his eyes that the realization hit him. “Oh, god. And I didn’t even bother to ask how you were doing before I asked if you’d wanna suck my dick…what kind of- shit. Shit. shit! I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“Harry, Harry, Stop!” I squeezed his hand to get his attention. “You didn’t ask me to suck your dick. I believe all I heard was incoherent stuttering…”

Harry rolled his eyes, cracking a smile. “Okay, brat. Gonna let that one slide. Only cuz you’re ill though...”

“Seriously, I was the one who asked you to come over. Stop berating yourself please.”

“Alright, well, it’s a good thing I came, isn’t it?” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s get you outta here. C’mon…”

“I’m in the middle of work!”

“Work will survive without you for half a day. All the dead poets will still be dead tomorrow. Let’s go.”

“I can’t-”

“You seem to forget who’s actually in charge here…”

***

On the way home, I fell asleep in the passenger’s seat of Harry’s car, with his hand on my thigh the whole way. When I woke up,  blinking the sleep away, and attempting to open my eyes, all I saw was Harry’s gentle smile, inches away from me. “You’re awake..” He’d bent down to cradle me into his arms, and carry me out of the car,

“W-wait, what are you doing? This isn’t even my place!”

“Yeah, it’s mine. Think i'm lettin’ you spend the night alone when you’re this sick? Who’s gonna look after you if your fever doesn’t go down? Hmm?”

“I- Harry, I’m a grown woman. Can take care of myself, you know. I HAVE gotten sick before…”

“Honey, I don’t doubt that you can. But just cuz you can, doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Despite my relentless protests, Harry refused to put me down until we’d reached his bed. He set me square in the middle of the king sized bed and promptly went on to take my shoes off for me. Which I fought him for, and attempted to kick his hands away. A Battle I quickly lost.

“It’s pathetic…” He shook his head with a smile as he undid my shoe laces. “On your very best days, I can tie you up and pin you down with one hand. We’ve done it countless times. Tryin’ to fight me when you’re sick? It’s just sad…”

I blushed at the recollection of my body underneath his, aching for his touch.

He disappeared into one of his gigantic closet and came back moments later. “Heating pad; some clothes…boxers might be a bit loose, but that’s probably more comfortable anyway, and here’s an extra pillow to prop you up. Want the TV on or do you wanna just sleep while I make us some soup?”

“S-soup? Harry, you're supposed to be on set in an hour!”

“Took care of that. Don’t worry.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Chicken noodle or Italian vegetable? I’m thinkin italian…”

***

I stared down at the empty soup bowl in my lap as Harry watched the tv with his arm around me.

“Harry?” my voice was already strained. Tears pooling in the corners of my eyes,

“Hmm?” his eyes still on the screen.

 “Can I ask you a question? But please be honest.”

“‘Course, always.” He muted the tv and turned around to face me, giving mr his undivided attention.

“What happens on a film set when a leading actor suddenly disappears in the middle of a work day?”

 “Oh…” He turned his attention back to the TV, apparently deeming my concern unserious. “Depends on the circumstances…”

“Let’s say he disappeared cuz he skipped out on work to go make Italian vegetable soup for the woman he’s sleeping with.”

Harry looked visibly irritated. With a loud huff, he ran his fingers through his hair, pressing his lips together tightly…

“First of all, I’ve already told you to quit worrying, I have everything under control. Second, you’re not just some ‘woman I’m sleeping with,’ alright? Get it through your thick head, I’m in love with you! I know you’re too fucked up to accept that as fact, and I get that. I don’t blame you. I mean, you couldn’t even tell me you were sick! Think I don’t know why that is? I may not experience the things that you do, but I’m not an idiot…” He took a pause to catch his breath and to gain control over his tone. “You’ve got it in your head that you don’t deserve love. Any time I try to show you any decency or step closer, you bolt right away under the assumption that caring about you is this huge fuckin burdon to me. Well, it’s not. I’m not gonna argue with you about it. I know I can’t just convince you of it in one conversation….but I’ll be damned if I don’t spend the rest of my life trying to show you what it means to love you.”

Hot, stinging tears ran freely down my face. “You- love me?”

“Mhmm.” Harry nodded and reached for the remote, unmuting the TV as if he’d just taken a quick bathroom break, or something.

I laid my head on his shoulder and continued to silently cry as he kept his focus on the film. Neither one of us said a word for several minutes.

“Told them I had covid symptoms, by the way…’don’t wanna put anyone in danger before I’m sure..’ you know…”

“What?” I pulled my head off his shoulder to look him in the eye. He burst out laughing. “I’ll conveniently test negative tomorrow and go back to work.”

[tamago-tamago]

little acts of love

what are some little things that the genshin boys would do to show that they love you? sometimes, there are acts of affection that aren't so obvious to the human eye alone.

characters: diluc, kaeya, xiao, albedo

genre: fluff, gender neutral

a/n: hey, hey, this is my first genshin headcanon, please let me know your thoughts:)

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Diluc ❣

he would pat your head

whether he's simply passing by or watching you work hard on whatever task you have at hand, he always feels inclined to give you a pat on the head

it's nothing extravagant, really

but, he finds that it delivers a sense of reassurance and the pride that swells in his heart when he sees you — feelings that he normally finds difficult to convey through words

as he's quite a tall person, i think it also comes naturally to him

he wants to protect you, and the way you always lean into his touch reminds him that you understand that

it's almost become a thing between you two, whenever you'd run up to see him, he'd greet you with a smile and a small pat on the head

whenever he holds you, he feels like he has the whole world in his hands (which he firmly believes he actually does)

and you, you love the warmth of his touch

he would leave small gifts

diluc may constantly be absorbed in his work, but there's almost never a moment where you leave his thoughts

he'd be walking down the streets or around the winery and suddenly think, "ah! they would surely love this" or "huh, this reminds me of that one time they stupidly tripped down a hill"

and he would promptly be reminded about the million reasons why he loves you

up until today, there's hardly been a time where he came home without something in hand

sometimes it's a small flower that he thought would match your outfit today, sometimes he goes out of his way to buy you some materials that he knows you've been needing recently

whatever it is, the effort that goes into getting you these gifts is always worth it if he gets to see the bright smile on your face

Kaeya ❣

he would keep an arm around you

oftentimes it's around your shoulder, sometimes it's around your waist

wherever you go, kaeya loves to keep you close to him

maybe it's because there's a deep-rooted fear that you may disappear if he doesn't cherish you enough, yes, that point still stands

but! more than that, it's simply because he loves being near you

he can't get enough of your beauty, your lovely voice and cute smile — he's absolutely drunk on you

he would openly admit that he also likes showing you off too

he wants to make sure that everyone knows just how great of a person you are, so that they could shower you in the praise that you deserve

this man would never leave your side unless he has to

he would let his guard down

everyone knows kaeya for his smug personality, there's almost never a moment where he's not acting haughty

but there are times where even he gets tired of keeping that act

and those times are when he's with you

of course, he still pulls out a joke and teases you from time to time (he can't help it, it's practically in his blood), but he's also a lot calmer and relaxed when you're together

or should i say, he becomes soft

he doesn't feel the responsibility of being the cavalry captain or the pressure of being, well, kaeya

at least the kaeya that the rest of mondstadt thinks he is

he knows he's popular and that some people have mixed feelings about him, but he has complete trust into you, knowing that you love him for who he actually is — both the personality he projects, and the quieter one he keeps hidden

Xiao ❣

he would watch you as you leave

xiao's primary job is to protect liyue, so this makes sense

you are just as important (if not, more) to him, so he would do anything in his power to keep you safe

but of course, there is an extent to his doting, he understands your individuality and knows you're very capable of taking care of yourself

though that doesn't stop him from sitting on the roof of wangshu inn and watching your figure retreat into the distance

he'd sit there and watch you until you were out of his sight

this means even if you stop to talk with other travellers or merchants along the way, or if you get off track because you've spotted the resources you've been needing recently

xiao's a patient man, and not a single ounce of him would complain about that; all that matters is that you're safe

he also finds it cute when you spot a familiar face and get all happy, though he can't understand how you could possibly be excited about meeting someone

he would kiss you when you're asleep

or maybe... you weren't actually asleep but he thought you were asleep !?!?

speculations aside, i think this is the vulnerable side he would only show in private

we all know he doesn't really care for relationships or as he calls it "mutual understanding", so falling in love was already something really big for him

but seeing you asleep, sometimes on his lap, or against his chest, or next to him in bed, he can't stop the urge to plant a soft kiss on your forehead

he literally cannot stop it; the warm buzz in his chest and the way his heart warms as he kisses you

only being near you quells those feelings

sometimes you stir in your sleep because of him, so he'd spend the next while gently stroking your head to lull you back to sleep

Albedo ❣

he would trust you

okay look, that might not sound like much, but to an alchemist who's always making sure that everything is precise and accurate, it's difficult to find someone that he doesn't have to be wary of while conducting experiments

add on that internal battle he's constantly having with himself, it's relieving to finally have someone that he can be himself around; he doesn't have to keep his guard up

whenever you enter the lab, he doesn't have to pause his current experiment to accommodate to your presence

usually, he'd have to stop, so that he could focus and discuss matters with whoever came in without interruptions

however, you both have this mutual agreement that if you came in while he was working, he didn't have to worry about diverting his attention — he could finish it and as soon as he does, he would give you all the attention in the world

he appreciates that you genuinely listen to his speculations about life as most people tend to brush off his rambling and nonsense

he would constantly draw you

as an artist, albedo knows the importance of occasional practice and warm-ups to ensure his skills don't get rusty

so why not practice on you?

to him, you were the perfect model, he was fascinated by every single detail of your body and he thought you always moved with elegance

he doesn't think he would ever get bored of drawing the same thing over and over again, because he learns something new about you every single day

and most of the time, you aren't even aware that he's sketching you

he'd quietly sit at a distance and watch as you carry on with your own work

by the time you're done, his page would be full of small sketches

if you nudge him, he might give in and show you those drawings, but oftentimes, he keeps them to himself

he's sure you already know how beautiful you are, and if not, then boy oh boy is he whipping out the sketchbook

[jamiemackenziefraser]

All That Was Fair

Chapter 33: Existing in the Bit That’s Left

Summary: Life goes on, whether we will it or not

Read on AO3

Previous, master list, next

Chapter 33: Existing in the Bit That’s Left 

***

When a hermit crab dies, its shell is left behind, sitting at the bottom of the ocean. Empty and lifeless, it remains motionless as the waves cover it with sand.

Jamie had once owned a hermit crab. After it had died, it rattled him that the beautiful shell that looked so much like his pet remained even though the crab was gone. 

Now, Jamie himself was nothing more than a hollowed out shell. 

He knew his heart was gone, every ounce of love within him ripped away, but what had surprised him was that it was as if she’d taken his very body with her as well as his soul. He didn’t have the energy for even the most basic tasks. Food was tasteless. His vision seemed foggy. As tired as he was, he couldn’t sleep. Life seemed to happen around him, but he hardly managed to bring himself along with it. He was being buried under the weight of the emptiness. 

Nothingness shouldn’t have been so heavy. 

He spent three weeks laying in his bed. Barely eating, barely moving. 

Jamie was aware that he was wasting away, but he couldn’t seem to care. Claire wouldn’t want him to give up without her. Even more compelling, he wouldn’t want her to act like this without him. Even as he’d sent her back through the stones, he’d told her to live a good life without him. He wanted her to be able to move on. Except he couldn’t bring himself to do the same, and he never would. After knowing the joy of a full life, there seemed nothing left for him in this hollow existence. 

If he could have reached out and grasped onto some sort of hope in his new life without her— not that any seemed to exist— he still would have chosen not to. All the right decisions, the healthy decisions, the ways to cope and move forward— they all seemed like a betrayal. He didn’t want to move on; he wanted Claire back. 

The first time he’d uttered the horrible truth of Claire’s absence outloud was when Murtagh had forced it out of him. His godfather had come banging on his door after Jamie had ignored his texts for weeks, eventually barging in on Jamie’s state of depressed chaos. He had dragged him out of bed, forced food down his throat, and shoved him in the shower. After Jamie looked less like a corpse, Murtagh coaxed the story out of him— at least, the only story Jamie could give. 

“She’s gone,” he forced out. Hearing the words aloud was like a knife to the gut. He’d known they were true— every beat of his heart without the answering one of hers next to him made that truth abundantly clear. But being forced to say it aloud brought a whole new level of pain. 

Murtagh clearly didn’t know whether he meant she’d broken up with him or died. His godfather tried to probe him for details, but Jamie didn’t have it in him to explain anymore. 

“There’s nothin’ left for me,” Jamie rasped, “she was it. Claire—” his voice broke on her name, but he forced it out, finding some amount of reverence in the shape of it on his lips, “ Claire was my heart and soul. I dinna ken what to do, a ghoistidh.” 

“Ye do what ye have to, lad,” Murtagh said firmly, “ye keep going.” 

“How?” he looked up at him with tears shining in his eyes. “How can I keep going without her?” 

Murtagh brows drew together as he grew thoughtful. His expression reflected the gravity of the situation. His godfather knew that he was desperate for a reason to keep going, crying out for help. Words couldn’t heal him, but something had to be said. Murtagh took his time before saying them, very carefully. 

“Ye’re no’ without her, though. No’ really. Ye’ll carry her memory wi’ ye. Ye keep going, and ye bring her wi’ ye, even if it’s no’ in the way ye would have liked.” 

Jamie swallowed the bile rising in his throat. All he could hear was buzzing, the cotton in his ears growing somehow thicker. 

“I don’t want to,” he forced out, shaking his head, “I don’t—”

The meager contents of Jamie’s stomach rose, and he rushed to the trash can before collapsing to his knees and heaving into it. The grief in his heart tried to force its way out of his body, and he wished it could just end this and tear him from inside out. Murtagh hovered behind him, offering him a wet towel, and Jamie sat back heavily against the cool wall. 

“I ken she wouldna want me tae give up,” Jamie said quietly, barely above a whisper, “but I just dinna want tae keep going.”

Murtagh’s eyes swam with emotion and his face crumpled underneath his beard as his brain came to a conclusion. Clearly his godfather thought the love of Jamie’s life had truly died. And she may as well have been to Jamie, or maybe she had actually di—

The fear that Jamie had been fighting for weeks rose inside him again. It was possible that Claire really was dead. More than just possible. She’d said coming through the stones had been torture, and she’d been so weak afterwards when Jamie had found her the first time she’d gone through. He could only imagine what the trip had done to his barely conscious lass, hanging on by a thread. Or maybe he had waited too long and it had been too late. Maybe she’d gotten back and was too weak to even draw energy anymore. Maybe she’d died on that hill, all alone, grieving his loss as much as he grieved hers.  

This fear haunted him, both waking and sleeping, tearing him into pieces. Seeing Murtagh’s face as the man thought Jamie was mourning her death, Jamie wasn’t so sure he wasn’t . He wished he could know what became of her— anything to stop this horrible speculating that churned his mind. But he was left in the dark. Left to hold on to the tiny comfort that he had done what had to be done. 

For his wife. 

Jamie let his head fall onto his knees, hugging his arms around them so they were pressed tightly to his chest. 

“Jamie. I willna allow ye to waste yerself away,” Murtagh said firmly. “I ken ye’re hurting, and I would never suggest ye ignore it. I only ask that you take care of yerself, even when ye dinna want to. If not for the memory of her, then do it for me, aye?” 

He raised his red-ringed eyes enough to see his godfather, and he realized there was real fear lingering on Murtagh’s face. 

As much as he wanted to let himself fade away, he could never do that to the man sitting in front of him who he loved so dearly. 

“Alright,” Jamie agreed, “alright.” 

***

When Jamie was young, his parents had a yearly tradition where they would send him to his grandfather’s house to stay for a couple of nights. His grandfather was loving enough, but every time Jamie went, he was overcome with intense homesickness. He would cry himself to sleep each night of the visit, feeling like the guest room was freezing to the bone as he imagined the warmth of Lallybroch. 

Every day now felt like that homesickness magnified a hundredfold. 

Claire had been the true home of his heart. Jamie longed and ached for her in ways he hadn’t known possible. 

Only that home had been lost. And he was left lying awake at night dreaming of her warmth and missing her with every fiber of his being.

***

While driving on the highway during a long road trip, inevitably one will see a plastic bag being blown down the road. Aimless, empty, and completely at the mercy of the wind. Jamie would watch them sometimes, tracing their progress before they drifted away. But he never asked himself where it would end up because it didn’t matter. The bag would simply continue on, moving forward without a destination. 

Jamie was no more than a bit of plastic pushed by the breeze. He stayed rooted to his life only by his promise to Murtagh. He began to go about his days with empty precision. He would wake up at 8, brush his teeth, eat one cup of parritch, and head into work. Every night he would come straight home, take a 30 minute walk around his property, cook himself dinner, and fall asleep to the murmurs of the tv. 

On the rare nights when he allowed himself out of his robot-like trance, he would venture into the closet of the guest bedroom where Claire’s dresses still hung, and he would bury his nose in it, hugging it close to his chest, searching desperately for a whiff of her earthy-rose scent. 

On those nights, he would cry himself to sleep. 

Jamie continued on, but he had no idea what he was moving toward. 

***

When he was a lad of about 5, he and Willie had gone out to the barn to play. They had a bit of rope with them, and Willie thought it would be fun to try to walk a baby goat like they walked their dog, Rufus. They’d fashioned a leash for the poor thing, but when the time came to “walk” it, the animal had simply laid on its side as he and Willie had dragged it through the dirt, wailing its disapproval but not moving a muscle until Jamie’s parents had run out and grounded them for a week. For the goat, there hadn’t been so much active resistance as simply a complete shut down. 

When Jenny showed up at Jamie’s door one night, ordering him to get in the car to come over to dinner, Jamie had simply obeyed. Getting dragged was easier than fighting. 

She’d driven him straight to Lallybroch, where she, Ian, and the brood resided, and Jamie somehow managed to find a weak smile within himself for the sake of his nieces and nephew. 

As soon as he came through the door, he was overcome by a stampede of little feet and grabbing hands. Chubby arms wrapped around his legs, his hands were grasped, and his body became a playground. 

“Weans! Where are yer manners?! Say hi to Uncle Jamie!” Jenny admonished. 

“Hi, Uncle,” came the obedient responses from wee Jamie and Maggie. 

Before Jamie even had a chance to respond, he was obliterated by an innocent, well meaning question that cut him the core. 

“Uncle Jamie, where is Ms. Claire? Can she come to dinner too?” 

Jamie froze, every muscle coiled up on instinct from hearing that name. He’d tried to numb it out, tried to let himself get dragged on through life without the roadblock that was any mention of his lost love. 

Jenny knew, of course. Murtagh had told her about Claire’s “death”. Her face shown with sympathy as she watched Jamie stumble back onto the bench seat behind him. He sat down hard, pressing his hands to face, and peered down at wee Jamie. 

His voice was thick, nearly unrecognizable, when he managed to force out the following words: 

“She’s gone to live forever with the faeries.”

His eyes flicked up toward Jenny, whose face showed raw grief. She may not have liked Claire much, but hearing about her death spoken in such terms, or at least seeing Jamie like this, seemed to wreck her. 

Only somehow, speaking those words— the truth, disguised as a fairytale for children— actually freed a tiny knot in Jamie’s chest. 

Wee Jamie looked both disappointed and intrigued at the news. 

“Gone to live wi’ the faeries?” he echoed. 

“Aye,” Jamie nodded. He glanced up at Jenny again, and then back at the weans. Every thought in his head seemed to vanish, and he hadn’t decided to do anything, but his body was moving. He leaned down closer and gestured them toward him. Lowering his voice, he said, “can I tell ye a secret? If ye promise ye willna tell?” 

Both children nodded eagerly, waiting with baited breath. 

“Claire is a faerie. I found her on the faerie hill one day, and I took her in. She wasna meant to be here, you see, it was an accident. But we fell in love, and she decided to stay.” 

“But why did she go back then?” wee Jamie asked. 

Jamie swallowed hard. “She… well, she ran out of faerie dust. She needed tae go back to live with the faeries so she could have all the faerie dust she needs.” 

Tears gathered in his eyes, and he had to blink hard not to shed them. 

“I”m sorry ye lost yer faerie, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie said, reaching out her hand to rest it gently on Jamie’s knee. 

He took it in his, marveling at just how small it was. But brought him comfort, and for the first time in the past three weeks, he thought maybe he wasn’t entirely alone in the world. 

“Me too, Maggie. Me too.” 

***

a/n: One more chapter to go in arc II, and it's a big 'un. See you tomorrow and thank you so much for reading!!

Next

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Gentle Sins ch.3 (BAON)

Summary:   Edge is heading back into work, but since when do his days ever go smoothly?

Tags: Spicyhoney, kustard, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Aftermath of Kidnapping

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was entirely too soon for him to be returning to work by Edge’s measure. Two days off after a kidnapping was a paltry concession and he would have preferred at least working from home for the rest of the week. The Embassy wasn’t particularly far from New New Home, but depending on traffic and stoplights, it could take nearly half an hour to drive between them, not including the time it took to get to his car.

Time enough for so many things to go wrong and for Stretch to be alone when it did.

But despite his preference, two mornings after he’d brought Stretch home, Edge was pulling into the Embassy parking lot and ignoring the shouts of the protestors on the other side of the street as he walked in, though he didn’t extend his cane until he was inside the front entrance.

The issue at hand was not with his employment. Stretch was the one all but pushing him out their front door and he’d done so with a massive spew of words coupled with wild gestures, all of which boiled down to him not needing a babysitter while he was at home.

Edge didn’t have the soul to argue with him about it, particularly since he was right. There were already enough new violations of his boundaries, and past experience taught that he would start to chafe under them soon enough. Perhaps it was already beginning; exhausted as he was, he’d still slept restlessly the night before and while Stretch often tossed and turned, this time it was enough to disturb Edge’s own sleep, his subconscious crying out that this was not a familiar level of thrashing.

He’d still been in bed when Edge left though not asleep, muttering something about heading down to his lab to check on his experiments. Edge hoped that he did; if he could get absorbed in his own version of mad science, it would be a good distraction for the day, one that was very much needed. Red was supposed to stop by at some point about the bodyguard assignment and while Edge asked his brother to wait for him to get home, there was no telling if he would. If he deemed Edge’s presence unnecessary, Red would do as he liked and to hell with waiting for his brother.

With that in mind, Edge’s plan was to work as swiftly as he could today without sacrificing accuracy so that he could leave on time, perhaps even early, in an effort to thwart anything Red might attempt for his own amusements. But as so often happened, plans had a way of changing and in very unexpected ways.

When he’d arrived at the Embassy that morning, he’d been hyperaware of the stares that followed behind him from the moment he came through the door. From the security guard at his station to the interns to the janitors, eyes and whispers lingered in his wake. Whatever hopes he’d had for discretion about the kidnapping incident were quickly dismissed; it was obviously the talk of the office though no one was bold enough to confront him about it directly. As Red often said, ‘the only way to keep a secret is if ya kill the guy who told ya’ and considering how many witnesses were at the bar that night when Stretch and Jeff were taken, that option was not exactly feasible, if it ever was.

The local news was plastered with stories, some sticking with the one provided by the Embassy and others filled with wild speculations. Monsters were hardly immune to gossip and Stretch often featured on both sides of the rumor equation.

As for his usual partner in crime, Jeff was taking the week off and Antwan with him, and while Edge could appreciate the urge to get back to some form of normalcy, he couldn’t help a twinge of jealousy to think the two of them were probably curled in bed together sleeping while he was fending off the glares of his co-workers.

He deliberately kept his limping pace normal on his way to his office, refusing to give the gossip any further fuel. That worked well enough until he went inside. Janice was already at her desk and she looked up when he entered, her long ears swiveling in his direction and her pink nose twitching as she gave him a narrow look.

He wondered if she was disappointed in him for coming in today. The thought made him want to look away from her direct gaze and he forced himself not to, saying crisply, “Good morning.”

But perhaps he was only projecting his own troubled thoughts because Janice only replied with a certain gentle concern, “Good morning. How is Stretch doing?”

Yes, the gossip traveled quickly, indeed. Edge hesitated, then said with cautious honesty, “He’s doing better.”

She nodded and didn’t press. Absently, she reached out to straighten the picture frame on her desk of her two children. Edge understood the impulse. “If you need anything, either of you, please do let me know.”

“I will,” Edge said. He meant it. Somehow in the past year their relationship had gone from a strictly working one to something akin to friends, a change that came about right around the time he’d married Stretch. Another way his love had changed his life for the better.

Still, it was a relief for her expression to change in a flash from motherly concern to businesslike briskness. “I’ve already emailed your agenda for the day, nothing particularly robust, but you do have a meeting in an hour with Toriel.”

“Toriel.” Edge blinked in surprise. Technically, Toriel didn’t work for the Embassy in a similar way to Stretch. She acted as Frisk’s guardian, and while she certainly handled things she likely shouldn’t at her own discretion, they were the diplomat, not her. What could she want to discuss that she couldn’t have come to their home?

He set his laptop case down and dug out his phone, opening the email app and scrolled to his daily agenda to scan the list. The schedule said only, ‘Meeting with Toriel, 10am’ and gave no clues. “Did she happen to say what it was about?”

Janice shook her head. “I’m afraid not, she only contacted and asked for an appointment. I couldn’t think of a reason not to, so I gave her the first available timeslot.” Her voice uplifted at the end, turning the statement into a question.

“Of course you should,” Edge said, belatedly, “I’m perfectly willing to talk with her. I’m simply confused as to why.”

Janice offered him a faint smile and raised eyebrows. “I suppose in an hour you’ll find out.”

“I suppose I will,” Edge sighed. He picked up his laptop and headed into his office, already considering whether to brave the gauntlet again for a cup of coffee or to relinquish is pride and ask Janice to retrieve one. He wasn’t particularly in the mood for any surprises and a meeting with the former Queen would likely offer them, in spades.

~~*~~

If there was one thing to appreciate about meeting with Toriel, it was her promptness. At precisely 9:59 am Janice buzzed him that she’d arrived.

Edge took a moment to drain the last of the lukewarm coffee from his cup, brought to him by Janice without any prompting from him, further proof of what an excellent assistant she was. He saved the document he was working on before he replied, “Send her in.”

He’d hardly finished speaking when his door opened, Toriel’s bulk filling the entryway. She had to duck her head to fit through the entrance, barely missing bumping her horns on the trim.

“Please, come in,” Edge said. He ignored his cane where it leaned against the side of his chair and instead walked cautiously as he came around it. He gestured to the sofa rather than the chairs at his desk; Toriel was not a small Monster, but his office was designed for visits with everyone, up to and including Asgore himself.

“Thank you,” Toriel said. Her voice was soft enough that it seemed one should strain to hear it, and yet it still carried clearly through the room. She seated herself where he’d indicated, folding her lightly furred hands into her lap.

Edge hadn’t spent a great deal of time with Toriel outside of Embassy functions and the few times he’d traveled along with the diplomats. Even then, he’d kept a cautious distance from her. Despite the small glasses perched on her muzzle, her soft purple dress and motherly cardigan she wore, as a Boss Monster, there was a certain aura of power that she carried that no casual outfit could stifle. Her status might be simply as Frisk’s guardian, but even Humans couldn’t fail to notice it. Adding in that Edge had no basis of comparison with her counterpart in Underfell, put simply, she made him faintly uncomfortable, despite the common interest in puns she shared with several members of his family.

“Would you like a drink?” He barely caught himself before asking if she’d care for tea, already knowing the answer to that. She and Stretch should be closer friends, they could bond over their mutual dislike of the King. “Water? Fruit juice?”

“Water would be lovely,” Toriel said. The words were merely polite, he sincerely doubted she’d come here for refreshments.

From the small fridge in the corner, he retrieved a bottle of water. He set it on a coaster rather than hand it to her and took the seat across from her, folding his hands into his lap in an unconscious mirror of hers. “What can I do for you?” Edge asked.

Without preamble, Toriel said, “You saved my child’s life, and mine.”

That was far from any topic he’d expected she wanted to discuss. If anything, he’d supposed she might wish for more personal information regarding the kidnapping and rather than trusting the gossips, she’d gone to a reliable source. That she might want to talk about their last meeting hadn’t even occurred to him.

The incident in California was not so long ago and yet, despite his lingering scars, the event itself had mostly left his mind. Yes, it was traumatic and yes, he’d certainly be feeling the aftereffects for some time. But it wasn’t his way to linger over such things; it happened, it was over, and now there was only to move onto introducing new safeguards to keep such a thing from happening again.

He considered Toriel’s statement with care before offering cautiously, “Anything I could do to keep you and your child safe, I was willing to offer.”

“I’m sure you were, and are.” Toriel’s eyes were a shade of red unlike his own eye lights. In a way, they were more like Red’s and his way of seeing things deeper than should be possible. “And I am willing to offer my own gift for that kindness. I’ve noticed your leg is still troubling you.”

Edge struggled against shifting uncomfortably, forcing himself not to look down at the leg in question. He was wearing the brace today as he always did in the office, not because he thought he particularly needed it, but due to his suspicions that Janice would discreetly tattle to Stretch if he didn’t. It was a tradeoff for leaving their strictly business relationship behind. “It’s healing, it simply takes time.”

“Indeed,” Toriel inclined her head in agreement. “I’d like to help you, if you’ll allow it. It wouldn’t begin to pay my debt to you but—”

“Your Highness,” Edge interrupted gently, “you don’t owe me anything. I’m well aware that you saved my life after the explosion.”

“I’m no longer the Queen, Toriel is fine,” Her interruption was less gentle and for one who claimed no title, her tone made him want to straighten his spine and come to attention, a habit he’d thought gone along with Underfell. “And your life wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t saved mine.”

“Toriel,” Edge said deliberately, “if you’re offering to heal me, I have a doctor, they’ve done as much with healing magic as they can.”

“I’m sure they have. Which is why I’m offering. My skills are somewhat more…” she hesitated, settling on, “Robust, than other Monsters.”

As a Boss Monster, that was surely true, and Edge couldn’t help considering it.

She’d used her magic on him before, and while that was an emergency, he could hardly protest her doing it again. And what she was offering was gift unlike any other. The opportunity to be healed, to be able to return to his normal activities was tempting to be sure, but what irritated more was his brother keeping him at arm’s-length during the kidnapping. If he’d been more capable, if his leg wasn’t slowing him down, would Red have forced him to stay home instead of allowing him to provide some real assistance? There was no way to tell now, but if he could keep it from happening in the future…?

But Edge also knew that things that seemed too good to be true often were and that there was little in life that came without some sort of price attached. He’d gotten such a gift from the Angel already, if one believed in such things, in the love given to him by Stretch. Asking for more seemed greedy.

Toriel only waited serenely, perhaps understanding his inner turmoil.

“There’s no chance this could have a negative effect,” Edge said slowly. “I’ve made a great deal of progress already, I won't have it set back."

“None at all,” Toriel assured him. “I wouldn’t offer if there was even a chance.” She shifted in her seat, briefly looking away as if his bookcases had suddenly caught her interest. “I would have offered sooner but you must understand, this sort of healing is very draining. If it got out I could do this, Monsters would be lining up at my door, begging for treatment.” She shook her head, her mouth pulling downward unhappily, and suddenly she seemed older and weary. “I can only do as much as I can.”

“I understand.” He did. It was the same reason they’d chosen to keep Monsters’ ability to heal from the Humans. There were limits to the care anyone could provide. Still, his immediate impulse to agree warred with his cautious reluctance. “Then why now?”

“Why not now?” Toriel countered. She spread her empty hands in something like a plea. “I can’t heal every Monster, but what point is it for me to have these gifts if I can’t use them to help someone who was injured by helping me? I owe you a debt, Edge, and I mean to pay it.”

The steel in her voice resonated and the determined need to repay a debt was certainly something he could understand. Edge straightened and inclined his head formally, “I accept your offer.”

A smile lit Toriel’s face and that melancholy fell away as she clapped her hands together like a child rather than the powerful, centuries-old Monster that she was. “Wonderful! Let’s get started, then, shall we?”

“Now?” Edge said, surprised. He’d expected her to need to make some preparations, perhaps arrange for a secret meeting someplace out of the way and not well watched. If there was such a place when one considered his brother.

But Toriel only nodded. “Oh, yes. It won’t take long.”

She rose from the sofa and crouched down next to him. A bit nonplussed, he helped her unbuckle the splint and remove it, and as always, there was a slight, uncomfortable twinge with its support gone. Worse was the awkward intimacy in the way she settled her hands on his leg, even over his trousers, her fingers shifting into precise positions as she closed her eyes and summoned her magic.

Edge had been healed before, too many times to count. Rarely in Underfell, healing there was usually scoffed at and often considered a weakness as it was a difficult skill for those with LV. But in this universe, Stretch, Blue, even Toriel herself had healed him in the past, little wounds mostly, except for California.

He hadn’t been in a position to pay attention the last time she’d used her magic on him, drifting in and out of consciousness, but here there was nothing to distract him. Her magical signature was a deft one, not the brusque force of his brother or familiar honeyed languidness of Stretch or even Blue, who managed to somehow be both forceful and nearly timid at the same time. The greenness of healing came at a delicate trickle at first, seeking and finding the places in his leg that still ached with cunning skill, sinking in. In tiny increments, that trickle became a flood, and then a torrent, and the sensation was indescribable. Not pain, that was far too simple a word, but the deep power that carried healing into his leg and further, seeking out his very essence. Edge shied away instinctively as it sought out his soul, trying to escape that implacable, almost ethereal touch, but it didn’t invade or violate, only swirled briefly through his ribcage in a sort of greeting before returning to the task at hand, or rather, at leg, before it slowly withdrew into empty nothingness.

Edge opened his sockets, hardly aware of closing them, to see Toriel closing her own eyes as she wobbled on her feet, sinking back to sit on the floor with her legs tucked under her and her skirt demurely covering them.

“Your Highness,” Edge said in concern. He reached for her automatically, hesitating before touching her. Even though his gloves he could still feel the aura of roused magic surrounding her.

She opened her eyes. “Toriel,” she corrected with a slight smile, waving his hands away. She retrieved the bottle of water from the table, opening it and taking a long drink, then sighed out, “I’m fine. How are you?”

In answer, Edge stood, striding across the room and back again. The lingering weakness and frustrating ache of the past weeks were entirely gone. The urge to tests his limits was strong and he wondered giddily what anyone would make of it if they caught him racing up and down the stairwell with his coattails flapping behind him.

As if reading his thoughts and perhaps she was to some extent, they wouldn’t be difficult to guess, Toriel cautioned, “I suggest you wear the brace for a little longer. It might keep the curious from asking questions.”

Edge was about to agree, then amended it, “I won’t lie to Stretch. If he asks.”

To his surprise, Toriel let out of a peal of soft laughter and shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry about that. He’ll know the moment he sees you.”

That he hadn’t expected and Edge could only stare at her, aghast, “What?

Her smile turned incredulous. "You have my magic clinging to you, do you truly think he won't notice? Papyrus of all people?"

He wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that and he wished he'd known before he agreed. Well, it was too late to change anything now, wasn’t it, and that was a meal he’d have to swallow when it came to the table.

Belatedly, he realized Toriel was attempting to climb up from the floor and he hastily leaned down to help. Her weight was easily triple his own but between the two of them, they managed to get her back on her feet.

“Well!” Toriel said with a soft sigh as she dusted off her dress. “I’ll leave you to your duties, then. I need to get back to Frisk, they have a meeting this afternoon with the Prime Minister of Japan, and I wanted to brush up on the agenda.”

“Yes, of course, your—Toriel,” Edge correctly hastily. He couldn’t help flexing his knee again, still giddy with the pain-free movement of the joint. “Thank you, Toriel. This means a great deal to me, past simply healing.” She’d already turned to the door and paused, turning back to him.

There was a certain familiar impishness to her smile as she said, “If you truly wanted to thank me, you could try calling me Tori.”

In answer, Edge only bowed deeply to her and said, sincerely, “I’m afraid the attempt would be too much for me and might undo all the damage you healed. I would hate to be the cause of ruining all your hard work.”

Her soft laughter washed over him in a gentle wave and she shook her head. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we.” Her amused expression shifted to seriousness, “And Edge? Anything I could do to help you, I was willing to offer.”

Edge inclined his head in wry acknowledgement and with a last smile, she went out the door, leaving him alone in his office. Alone with his leg in perfect working condition and itching to be used.

A jog up the stairs might be out of the question, but there was no reason he couldn’t walk down to get another cup of coffee. With the brace on for now, and by next week? Perhaps he could risk going without, at least in the morning, if the stares died down by then. Time would tell.

He sat down to strap the blasted thing back on, its lack of necessity making it all the more annoying.

Soon, he told himself, soon.

Despite the events of the past few days, Edge felt lighter than he had in weeks. He only hoped Stretch’s reaction would be as pleased as his own.

Once the brace was properly on, Edge retrieved his cup from his desk and went down the hallway to the breakroom to fill it, giving Janice’s curious glance a sedate nod and careful to keep his steps slow and measured so as to not rouse any suspicions.

On the leg brace he would concede, an annoying necessity to be sure. But the cane? That, he left behind.

tbc

[celtics534]

Hi! I just saw a set of pics of Rosalie Leslie and Kit Harington, him kissing her with his hands cradling her face while they were in a pub, i suppose (idk how to send them to you tho). I was wondering if you like the idea, obviously, could you use those pics as inspiration for a hinny fic? Something about the press finding out that they are, in fact, together after a year or two of speculations, maybe? Thank you either way! Can’t wait for more of your works! Stay safe!

Without Fear

Such a fun prompt! I just couldn’t deny the cuteness of this photo when I Googled it! I hope you like my hinny take on the cuteness :) It’s a Muggle, Actor AU and the title is based on the song Without Fear by Dermot Kennedy 

Also read on: FF.net and AO3

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He hadn't ever considered how easy it would be to fall in love with Ginny Weasley. But of course, Harry was more of a jump in feet first kind of bloke. When he'd seen her at that war memorial, the only thought that went through his head was how gorgeous she was. Then when she had come up to the same placard and started talking to him… well, needless to say, he was enamored by her. Her hair, eyes, voice, the words she said. It was safe to say Ginny Weasley had his heart the minute they met.

At first, she didn't tell him her name (later, she explained it was because she didn't want him to get washed up by the fact that she was the main actress on a sports TV drama). To be fair, Harry hadn't exactly been forthcoming with his name (he hated dealing with the press when they recognized him for his role as the infamous serial killer hunter of the movies). Even without names, they chatted like they'd known each other since birth.

Ginny had explained how her brother had died fighting to save a young boy who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Harry had pointed to the name of the godfather he'd barely gotten the chance to know. He'd comforted her and she had started to soothe a bone-deep pain in him that he hadn't even known was there. Which was why they had decided to go and get coffee. Neither wanted to leave the other.

The little coffee shop had allowed them seclusion and solitude. They'd talked for hours and only separated when the shop was closing. As they were standing up to leave, Harry helped Ginny into her coat, and when she turned around with that adorable smile Harry, couldn't help but press his lips to hers. It wasn't a long kiss, maybe two seconds at most, but the moment their lips touched a buzz spread through Harry's body from the top of his head down to his toes. What made it that much better was when he pulled back, Ginny's fingers slid into his hair and pulled him back to her.

That night started the happiest time of his life. Ginny brought out a side of life that Harry hadn't experienced before. Normally, things were complicated in his life. Between losing his parents and godfather before turning eighteen, dodging the press, fangirls, and family members that never gave a damn about him until he earned some money, Harry had never expected much out of life or people. Then Ginny Weasley changed everything.

She made love seem so… easy. He was able to be himself near her. She laughed at his horrible puns, teased him for his inability to say cinnamon, and held him close every time he needed her. It was simple and it was them. They spent every night they could together. Luckily both their jobs were situated in London so meeting at his or her flat was easy.

The only mark against their relationship was the paparazzi. Early on in their relationship, they'd agreed that they didn't want the whole world to know about their relationship. But of course, it was impossible to completely dodge the leeches that the rest of the world called the press. They were spotted on their way to an England versus Wales rugby match. To be fair, their low riding caps weren't the best disguise, but they'd hoped to at least make it to the field before being noticed. From that day on the Harry and Ginny watch became a crowd favorite. It became nearly impossible for them to go anywhere together without making the news, and that was when the reporters only knew about their platonic relationship! He feared the day they found out the two of them were dating… and now dating for over a year, in fact.

He could remember the way Ginny had laughed the time they had been spotted going to the zoo. While eating breakfast, Ginny had been flicking through her tablet at the different new sites she frequented when she had nearly choked on her toast. Harry had looked up from his bowl of Shreddies instantly concerned, to only be greeted by her laughter "Look at this title!" Ginny had said through her cackles. "Potter Bananas For Weasley."

The accompanying photo of them watching a group of monkeys was expertly taken. Somehow they'd caught Harry watching Ginny as she watched the monkeys. She read the article out loud to him, teasing him for the title the paper had given him, "Heart-eyed Harry is rather adorable."

"There is no way they can see that from that angle." Harry had rolled his eyes, his words coming out in a huff of air. "I mean sure, you and I both know that I'm pathetically... besotted with you, but that interloper can't tell —"

When Ginny's palms came around to cup his cheeks his tangent ended, his words being swallowed by her mouth. Ginny had kissed him like the world was ending, a reckless abandonment that left his kitchen chair on only three legs. When she pulled back, her hands held his face firmly in place. "I'm besotted with you too, you know that right?"

Harry's mind had been wiped clean by her hypnotizing kiss, but he's managed a little nod. "I know, love."

"So don't let this get under your skin." She'd pressed a final kiss to the tip of his nose before going back to her reading.

That had been four months ago and sometimes it still popped into Harry's mind. It had been so easy for her to bring him out of the brooding tyrant. No one else in his life had ever been able to do that. Not his heinous aunt that raised him, not his godfather who was there briefly in his teen years, none of his teachers or friends during his school year. No, it was the one and only Ginny Weasley that was able to pull Harry from one of his moods.

Harry never thought he was capable of love. Between his parents being murdered by a psychopath before his second birthday, an abusive aunt and uncle, losing his godfather to war only three years after meeting him… Harry had always thought he was stunted. His first relationship had ended before it had even started and the next five attempts weren't much better. But with Ginny, his normal anxieties and fears vanished. He became a better man while with her. She was the best part of him and he loved her with every fiber of his being

And because he loved her, Harry was willing to put on this damn monkey suit and go to a blasted party. His reflection in the mirror showed his disdain for the confining suit and dark green noose he tied around his neck. If he had it his way, Harry would never change out of his ratty old jeans and soft t-shirts. But for Ginny, he was willing to sacrifice a night. Tonight was about her and the unforgettable season they had just finished recording.

"Looking rather dashing there, Potter."

Harry used the mirror to look at the doorway where Ginny leaned against the jamb. She had changed into a simple, yet elegant knee-length black dress with a light white jacket covering her freckled shoulders The little make-up she'd used highlighted her natural beauty perfectly. And then there was the wide-brimmed hat she used to complete the ensemble. She was bloody gorgeous.

She was smirking at him as if she knew exactly how just the sight of her made him lose all conscious thought. "Cat got your tongue?"

He shook his head, before doing a one-eighty to see more than just the reflection of her. Somehow she was even more stunning like this. From the high heeled boots she wore to the top of the hat perched on her head… His legs moved on their own accord. Before he even realized it, he was standing in front of her.

"You look… too good for words," Harry murmured into her ear as he leaned down. His fingers slid across the silky material covering her salacious curves as his lips traveled down her jaw line. Before he reached his destination (her mouth), Ginny put a hand on his chest pushing him back.

"Whoa now, partner." She smiled at him, her eyes blazing with the same intensity of a smoldering fire. "No getting distracted. We can't be late. Everyone is expecting me and my best friend there for eight."

Harry let out a long breath through his nose. Best friend. That's what Ginny's co-stars had dubbed him. It irked him that they were right, but yet so far from the truth. Of course, most thought they were best friends with benefits, which again wasn't wrong but he and Ginny were so much more!

Sometimes, Harry wanted to scream how much he loved her from the rooftops. He wanted everyone within the United Kingdom to know how he was in love with the most witty, sexy, creative, intelligent woman in the world. But then he thought of how the press already followed them around everywhere they went. Harry could only imagine how insane they would be if they knew about their relationship, and the idea of people digging into their personal lives… Harry honestly was afraid of it.

He hardly handled the fame he had now, if there was more focus on them… Sure, they already dealt with reporters implying about their relationship, but it was easy to ignore because they were typically outlandish rumors. Like the idea Ginny was sleeping with Harry so she could slyly learn to cover up a murder based on the information he learned in his movies (which was Ginny's favorite scandal theory). But if the paparazzi knew about their love life… if things became real… it was odd to say, but the idea of it weighed heavy on his chest. He feared the loss of privacy. He feared the loss of them.

"Harry?" Ginny was staring at him, her brow scrunched in concern. "Everything alright?"

He nodded, trying to dig his mind out of the what-if chasm. "Yeah. Yeah."

"What were you thinking about?"

"Oh, you know." Harry forced a smile onto his face. "How you're going to be the talk of the party in this outfit."

Ginny snorted, as she gave her hair an exaggerated flip "Please, I'm all these people ever seem to talk about." A sly grin formed on her lips. "Me and who my boo might be."

Harry groaned, letting his head fall onto her shoulder. "It's been three months and they are still on that?"

Ginny chuckled as her hand rubbed soothing circles on his back. "Please, they heard us shagging in a locked closet, they aren't bound to forget it. We're just lucky I didn't say your name while those nosy Nellies were listening in on us." Her hand stopped and Harry looked up to see that mischievous smile that always made his belly flutter. "Really, you only have yourself to blame."

Harry's brow furrowed. "And how exactly is it my fault?"

"Wellllll," Ginny dragged out the last syllable. "If you hadn't come to my set looking so… fit and sexy after that workout, I wouldn't have had to drag you to that closet." She rose to the tips of her toes, placing her lips right outside of her ear. "Remember?"

The shiver that ran down Harry's spine spread a tingling sensation from his toes up to the tips of his fingers. He licked his lips, inhaling her scent with every breath he took. "Hmmm." The words came out as a soft groan. He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. "Maybe I could use a little refresher. Care to help give me a little reminder?"

Ginny practically purred in his ear. "I think that can be arranged." She ran her tongue lightly along his jaw before placing a kiss just under his ear. Then before Harry knew what happened she was out of his arms, standing just out of his grasp. "After the party."

Harry's jaw fell open as he stared at his girlfriend. "You're sadistic, that's what you are!"

She laughed. "And you adore me for it."

"I never said that." But the smile spreading across his face removed all the bite from his words.

"Your eyes speak volumes."

"Oh, and what are they saying right now?"

Ginny's grin became coquettish. "How you need a little extra time to get ready because something needs tending too." Her eyes raked down his body, lingering around his hips. "Then again it might not be your eyes displaying this information."

Harry made a face at her. "Well really, you only have yourself to blame for this."

She snorted. "Is that so?" She took a step back into his bubble, her hands running along his sides. "Well if that's the case I should give you a hand, shouldn't I?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry glared from his sentry at the corner of the bar. He'd spent the last fifteen minutes crafting a list on why he hated parties. Currently, he was on number twenty: drunk people were the worst.

Maybe his disapproving opinion was due to the numerous drunk men (and women) who had gone up to his girlfriend to make moves on her. His jaw clenched painfully as he watched yet another co-star approach Ginny. Sure she was denying their advances with ease, but that didn't mean Harry liked it. But they'd agreed a long time ago that when they went to events they would try to mingle with others so as to not raise suspicions about their relationship.

But everytime Harry was faced with watching hoards of people flirt with his girlfriend… Why the fuck did he care if people knew about their relationship? Sure paparazzi would follow them around, but they all ready fucking did that. And they would ask personal questions about their relationship, but half the time they just threw out wild accusations as it was.

Harry took another sip from his whiskey tumblr, the cold liquid going hot down his throat. His foot started tapping to the rhythm of the classic rock song blaring on the radio. As he stood their listening to overplayed tune, sipping his drink, and watching his girlfriend be hit on for the sixth time in twenty minutes, Harry concluded they had been stupid. Their fear of the press was unwarranted. They had feared things that weren't truly scary. They dealt with most of it already (just in rumor format), so what would the truth truly do to them? What had been cons just hours before suddenly took a new light.

As he brooded, Ginny chatted with her co-star. This particular star had been the biggest perpetrator of the flirt with Ginny squad. Every party or gathering he would shoot his shot. Ginny had assured Harry numerous times that Glenn was just a flirty bloke, and there had never been a spark between the two of them. Harry trusted Ginny completely, but Glenn was always on his shit list—and was now currently at the top as he pulled Ginny out into the middle of the pub to start dancing.

Ginny made eye contact with Harry as she followed her friend onto the makeshift dance floor, her smile reassuring and happy as she and Glenn began to dance. The wink she sent him made butterflies erupt in his gut, like it was the first time. Harry couldn't take his eyes of them… off Ginny. She truly was gorgeous when she was having fun. Her bright smile, the gleam in her eyes, and how could he ignore the way her hips moved.

Harry could never remember ever having an urge to dance, but as he saw Ginny and Glenn… It wasn't an urge to dance, he realized. It was the urge to be with her. The desire to have his hands on her waist while she smiled at him.

He let out a long breath, before downing the rest of his drink. He couldn't care anymore. The fears that had held him back for so long became nullified. Now all he cared about was making sure she knew how much he loved her, and that he would be there with her through anything and everything. Harry refused to acknowledge the fear that had formed in the pit of his stomach as he marched up towards his dancing girlfriend and her co-star.

Ginny's eyes met his. When he was about halfway to her, her head quirked to the side and she stopped moving. Glenn spun around, his expression going from confused to annoyed. Harry could muster up a single fuck over Glenn's disappointment.

"What's up, Potter?" Glenn asked, his fake smile sliding to counter his irked tone.

Harry didn't even bother to dignify the actor with a response. Instead all his focus was on Ginny. Her eyebrows were scrunched together as if she were trying to read his mind. He cupped her face, his large hands seeming to swallow her face.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Ginny whispered as she stared up at him. Her hand came up to lift the brim of her hat, giving him full access to study her expression. The light flush that darkened her cheeks in the faint pub light complimented the wide smile that crinkled the corner of her eyes. She looked… overwhelmingly happy.

"I — I just." He leaned down and kissed her, not truly noticing/ caring about the crowds of people around them or flashes of smartphone cameras. All that mattered at that moment was her and the way her arms wrapped around his neck as she leaned into him.

When he pulled away Ginny's mouth remained slightly apart as she slowly opened her eyes. "So." Her voice was deep and husky. "I think you may have just blown our cover."

Harry laughed, leaning down so his forehead rested on hers. "I don't care."

Ginny's fingers caressed his jaw. "And what, pray tell, has made you so without fear? What changed?"

He happily leaned into her touch. "All I care about is being with you. Who cares what all these people think."

A mischievous smirk curled her lips as her eyes twinkled delightfully. "Well then, what would you say about putting on a little show for our first public outing?"

Harry slid his hands up her jaw to twist in her hair, before leaning down. He smiled against her lips. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

[bebewheezy]

Somebody Loves You

Notes: hi guys! so liam payne is apparently engaged now and 1- I WANNA GO TO THE WEDDING  2- it inspired me to write :) enjoy folks

word count:  1,386

My phone was buzzing manically on the coffee table in front of where I sat on the fluffy couch alone. Harry and I had been stuck in our LA home since March due to quarantine, and I was starting to become mad. We had seen hardly anyone besides one another for five months at least, and even though I had Harry with me the entire time, I felt lonely and almost as if our relationship was stuck in a rut. Even though I was most likely overthinking the entire situation, the thoughts of Harry feeling sick of having me around were still present. I couldn’t stop thinking that while we were alone together for this long, he had realized I wasn’t someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. 

These thoughts only increased as I checked my ever-beeping phone. My Twitter was exploding with tags and hashtags that were trending. All of them were about the same thing: Liam Payne was reportedly engaged to his girlfriend. I met Liam and his girlfriend a few times at different award shows and such, with him and Harry being close friends so long ago and still good friends now. 

My heart felt like it had been hit with a sledgehammer. Two people I considered friends were in love, engaged, and I was questioning where my relationship even stood. Before I could become fully lost in my overbearing thoughts, Harry came into the TV room holding two glasses of wine and some popcorn. It was Friday night, and while we would usually be out for a whimsical dinner or at a bar with friends, our routine had changed into a movie night to catch up on films at the end of every week. Harry silently handed me one of the glasses and sat down beside me. His phone buzzed on the coffee table where mine sat not five minutes ago, and he made a face into his wine glass as he read the notification.

“Did you see that Liam is engaged?” He curiously glanced over to me.

“Yeah, my phone has been blowing up for the past half hour,” I spoke softly and took a sip of my wine. He must’ve sensed something was wrong with my mood as he set his phone down and turned his frame more towards me.

“Are you okay my love? You’ve seemed a little bit off the past few weeks,” His green orbs worriedly searched mine for any sign of distress, and unfortunately it was written all over my face.

“I don’t know,” I tore my head away from his intense gaze.

“You can talk to me about anything, love. This is an incredibly difficult time we’re currently facing and I don’t want you to hold your emotions back from me,” His free hand grasped mine while he continued to speak. “I know you tend to get all up in your pretty head about things, and I don’t want your mental state to deteriorate because you’re keeping everything bottled up.”

“I know, thank you for always being here to talk with me,” I said as I got comfortable next to him for our movie night. “I’m just not sure if I’m ready to talk just yet.”

“Well whenever you are ready, I’m here.”

While the night went on and we watched a handful of movies, the thoughts of loneliness and unlove got worse as I was left alone with them. I knew I was going to need to inform Harry soon, I was just terrified to admit my feelings. What was I going to do if my speculating was all correct? I don’t know how I could live knowing the one man I was fully head over heels in love with, didn’t want me like I wanted him. I went to bed that night unsure of my future and more distraught that I had been in months.

*****

I woke to sunlight peeking in through the cream colored curtains of our bedroom. I tried turning onto my opposite side in avoidance of the everwaking light, but to my dismay I was stopped by a tattooed arm pulling me closer to his warm body.

“Good morning, my darling. How did you sleep?” His groggy morning voice always made me weak in the knees and sent pangs through my chest.

“Not the best,” I admitted, if it was going to happen, I might as well get it over with so I could begin to sleep well in the coming weeks.

“And why is that love? You had me to keep you warm and cozy all night, you should’ve slept like a rock.”

“In my head again.”

“Do you want to talk about it yet?”

“Yeah. I guess I’ve just sort of been having doubts about our relationship and where we stand after quarantine ends.”

“What do you mean, love? Once quarantine is over, hopefully sooner rather than later, we’ll just try to go back to our regular life.” “So nothing’s changed during the five months of us being trapped in this house together?”

“Y/N, are you okay?”

“Do you still love me?” I was trying my hardest to keep the tears at bay. “I feel like since you’ve only really seen me for the past five months, that you’ve realized you don’t love me anymore and I’m going to get my heart broken again like so many times before.”

“Y/N, why would you think that, love? I’m so sorry I led you to feel that way, I’m such a shit boyfriend,” He responded and pulled my head to his chest as the tears began to fall.

“This isn’t your fault,” I cried. “I’m just unconfident in myself and you can do so much better.”

“No, I really can’t do much better than you, my love,” He cooed and caressed my hair in a calming manner. “I was waiting until this was all over, but I supposed there’s no time like the present.”

Harry placed a kiss on the crown of my head and gave me a light squeeze before he rolled over and reached for his nightstand. I was left lying in our oversized bed, wiping stray tears from my flushed cheeks as he rummaged around for something in the bottom drawer. Once he finally stumbled upon it, he tried to quickly hide the velvet box behind his back before I could catch sight of it, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“What are you doing, Harry?” I questioned as I sat upright against the many fluffy pillows that lined the headboard.

“First I wanted to apologize again for making you so upset and in the dark about my emotions toward you. Y/N, you are the most wonderful, kind-hearted and loving person I’ve ever met, and trust me when I say that because I’ve met a lot of people in my day,” I spared a small laugh at that. “I’m just gonna get to the point now so, second, I want to spend the rest of my life with the best person in the entire fucking world.

After his final sentence, he crouched down onto his right knee and brought the little box out from behind his back.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N, will you do me the honor of marrying me?” He opened the small maroon box, and inside was a rock of a diamond. The gem itself was cut into a long rectangle, and shone brighter than the stars in the sky while the band was skinny and engraved with smaller jewels. It was the most perfect ring, simple, but just flashy enough to show off its worth, much like the man who had purchased it.

“Oh my god,” I covered my gaping mouth with my right hand. “Of course I’ll marry you Harry Edward, I knew I wanted to marry you after our second fucking date!”

He slipped the delicate ring onto my left hand and stared at it for a minute before kissing me harder than he ever had before.

“I can’t wait to make you mine for eternity. You’re going to look so goddamn beautiful with this ring on for the rest of your life, and I can’t wait for everyone to call you Y/N Styles.”

God, did it feel good when somebody loved you.

taglist:

@calleighat  @mukeillusions  @livlovesflowers 

[veinsandknuckles]

It's a bad life if you don't weaken, pt 6 (Tallahassee/Reader)

(Please consider reblogging if you like the fic!)

Tallahassee would never bother with a ‘nice merlot’ as long as there was stronger stuff for him to grab, his logic being that percentage won out over flavor every time and that drinking wine, especially named wine, was ‘fucking gay’. (Everyone had given up on trying to check his casual homophobia, but at least he’d traded some of his stronger terms for well... words that weren’t slurs.)

So what you got, after a lot of sulking, was neat rum in served up in clean glasses and cups, none of which matched the other. Tallahassee shook his head at you when you poured the left-over juice from the canned pineapple into yours and Little Rocks drinks, then groaned with disappointment when Columbus shrugged and followed suit.

Little Rock cheered to adulthood and immediately downed her drink. Because of your stunt with the juice, she wouldn’t be able to tell that it was practically a mocktail.

You stole both Tallahassee’s and Columbus’ line by cheering to alcohol and knocked back what you hoped would be the first glass of many. Tallahassee didn’t stop you from reaching for the bottle.

Columbus cheered to life, instantly embarrassing everyone before he clarified that he was being sarcastic.

Tallahassee cheered to tits and guns and freedom. Things deteriorated after that.

Columbus was waiting for you in the hallway with the mop when you left Little Rock’s room. You shut her door as quietly as you could and looked up at him.

“Is she... going to be okay?” Columbus leaned the mop against the wall and smoothed back his hair. You prayed he’d actually used it and not brought it up for you as a hint.

“Oh yeah. She got it all up and out and I helped her clean herself up. She’ll be right as rain after a night’s sleep.”

Little Rock hadn’t had a bad first go at being drunk. She hadn’t embarrassed herself any worse than hitting Columbus in the nose and admitting to you, in between vomiting, that she’d made out with Michael once behind the bleachers so he’d teach her how to hot wire a car. She’d just assumed you knew who Michael was. Or who Michael had been.

Columbus still looked a little worried and his nose still looked swollen, but he tried to smile. “It was so nice of you to take care of her like that. You’d make a really good mom.”

“...what?”

“No, I mean, you... you’re just... good, you know? Nice. A nice person.”

You could see he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him but you were too tired to help him untangle this one. Columbus shut his eyes tight. Eventually you relented.

“Right. Thank you. Thankfully we’ll never have to find out about the ‘mom’ part.”

He laughed and nodded and you’d never seen anyone make it look less natural.

The tension out here was as thick as glue, worse than could be expected after only a weirdly put compliment, and it worried you because hardly any of this tension was radiating from you.

Columbus was... there was no nicer way to put it, he was getting weirder. You’d avoided speculation and this was not when you wanted to go there - you were still buzzed, everyone had had a chance to unwind (all over the stairs in Little Rock’s case) and while you’d counted on having to help the actual child, you absolutely did not want to babysit anybody else. Or their... feelings.

“Well, um. It was still really nice of you and I was just thinking that maybe you could use some a-... some time to relax, too. I got an old tape player working in the rec room, it just needed new batteries.”

Oh, you could picture it alright, more terrible cocktails, tinny top 40 music from back when cassettes were still a thing and Columbus trying to make out with you against a fuss-ball table. You shuddered and pulled your hoodie tighter around you to pretend it was the draft that was bothering you. He wasn’t a bad guy, he just didn’t know what he was doing, or that you wouldn’t be willing to teach him. God help him if he found out your real preference... he’d have to accept that when you got quiet and stared out the car window, you weren’t, as he’d apparently assumed, wishing for a life of peace and safety, obscure indie rock and rearing apple-cheeked children but instead daydreaming about crawling into the front seat and choking on Tallahassee’s dick while he was still driving.

You’d been wrong. No attention at all would be better than this. You missed being ignored by Tallahassee.

“That... that sounds so nice, Columbus, but I’m completely wrecked. Can we take a rain check?”

Columbus beamed as if that’s just the words he’d hoped to hear. You’d been too nice, you’d made your negative much too ambiguous.

“Rain check, yeah, of course! The rec room isn’t going anywhere. Did you check it out yet? It’s pretty cool, totally retro.”

“I bet it is.” You sighed and rubbed your forehead to sell the excuse. Actually, speak of the devil - now you were really developing a headache. “Seems a shame to let the cocktails go to waste though. Mind if I steal one as a nightcap?”

“Of course not, I made them for you. I’ll bring one up for you.”

You had to squeeze past him to get to your bedroom and you heard him draw in a sharp breath. God damn it. You shut your door behind you, leaned on it and nearly slid to the floor, then pulled yourself together. The door opened inwards so you wedged a chair under the handle and sat down on the bed.

Something was different and you looked around, eager for anything else to think about. It took you a few seconds, then you brushed your hand across the bed again and realised it was made, not rumpled like you’d left it, and the sheets were different.

At first you felt sick. You didn’t want to have to elevate Columbus from misguided softie to genuine creep... but he’d been outside, and then with Little Rock in the kitchen all afternoon and evening. Tallahassee had been the only one upstairs.

You pulled the blanket back and leaned down to sniff the sheets. They were clean, a little musty from disuse... and then you caught a whiff of Tallahassee’s cologne.

He’d made your bed. It made you flush hot, even though you remembered that Little Rock’s bed had been surprisingly fresh, too and knew he’d probably just done over all of them to keep his hands busy.

Still. The sheets smelled a little like him and you quickly pulled the pillow over that spot, lest it faded into the night before Columbus’ return. You should not have asked him to fetch you that drink....

The door rattled and you got back up, got the chair out of the way and exited into the hallway. Columbus hadn’t even knocked. You smiled at him awkwardly and then pretended you only just now realised that blocking the door against him was a little odd. “I can’t go to sleep these days unless I know no one can get in...”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense.”

You took the glass from his hand and left it on a table just inside your room. Columbus wasn’t leaving.

“Thank you, Columbus. That was really nice of you.”

“You know you’re safe, right? Me and Tallahassee, we’ll make sure we’re all safe.”

“Never hurts to be a little paranoid.”

He tried to laugh that off, and you looked down at your hands.

“Well... Goodnight, alright?” Take the hint. Please, take the hint. He was still there. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

Columbus leaned out, gave two awkward finger guns and you couldn’t help laughing even if you were uncomfortable. That was a mistake, because Columbus must have read somewhere that women go for men that make them laugh and he leaned in with one hand on the wall next to your ear and kissed you.

You’d never expected him to just go for it like that... and his other hand was actually on your arm, making it difficult for you to slip away. His breath tasted like pure alcohol. He’d never been a big drinker. You weren’t sober yourself so your reaction time left something to be desired; finally, and it felt like it’d taken an age, you overcame your surprise and pushed him gently but firmly away from you.

“Columbus...” You kept your voice at a whisper because the last thing you wanted was to embarrass him any more than you had to.

“I... that was wrong. Right? I misread you.”

“Yeah. You did.”

He nodded, quickly, head bobbing up and down as if that could dislodge his blush. “It was too soon. I get it. I’m sorry.”

You drew a deep breath. You really hadn’t wanted to have to do this, but now the situation had become too dire for hints. “Columbus, I’m sorry, but it has nothing to do with time. I just don’t think of you that way. And I’m never going to.”

He stared at you. First he looked confused, then almost angry, then lost. “...Why? I mean, why not?”

“Come on, you don’t really want me to answer that.”

“Oh.” He stepped back further and smiled, stiff and proud and this time definitely a little pissed off. “No, I get it. I’m just a skinny nerd, what would you want with me? You should hold out for Mr. Perfect, I’m sure he’s right around the corner.”

As if your taste wasn’t a good enough reason... you drew yourself up a little too. He wouldn’t force you to apologise again, or to give him an explanation that he’d like better. He was drunk and disappointed, sure, but that would only excuse him for so long. “You’re too good a person to want someone who’s just settling for you, or someone who’s with you out of pity.”

“Good guy, that’s me.”

“Don’t start.”

Columbus sucked in a deep breath through his nose and when he exhaled it, his anger left with it. “You’re right. That was a shitty thing to say, I’m sorry.” He rubbed his eyes and added. “I’m so drunk, still... as it turns out, rum is strong stuff.”

But he’d used up all your patience by now so you just nodded and moved back towards your door. “Then go sleep it off. I’ll forget this ever happened as long as you take me at my word and don’t try anything like that again.”

This time, you did slide to the floor when you got back into your room. You sat there for a long time with your arms around your knees and you didn’t cry.

---

Well, it had happened. It’d finally happened.

The two of you had been much too busy to hear him step out onto the landing, and if you’d heard him go back into his room or shut his door and realised you’d had an audience, it wasn’t his problem.

Tallahassee stared at the bottle in his hand. For a moment he meant to chuck it at the wall, but someone would be bound to come running to chew him out for causing noise. And it was still half full. It’d be a shame to waste it.

He would’ve punched a pillow instead, but that’d never done any good for anybody. He stalked to the window and looked down at the abandoned car - maybe the keys were still in the ignition. He hadn’t had time to unpack his own stuff yet, he could just grab his bag and bail, let these idiots fend for themselves and see how they liked it.

But no, he couldn’t do that, not to Little Rock. That boy must have some well hidden talent for manipulation because he’d known just what to say to make Tallahassee start to think of her almost as if she was his own daughter. And now he’d gotten under your skin, too.

Tallahassee had spun on his heels the instant he saw you two locking lips and he couldn’t get the image of it out of his mind. God fucking damn it, his own room was right next yours. Any minute now he’d have to listen to the headboard bouncing off the wall and the two of you doing your best to keep quiet.

Only light at the end of the tunnel was that there was absolutely no way it’d last long. He snorted. Columbus might as well have ‘adult virgin’ tattooed across his forehead and Tallahassee would eat his own hat if that pipsqueak lasted more than a minute.

That wasn’t much of a positive. Because it’d still mean someone other than Tallahassee was fucking you, holding you... finishing in you. Maybe if the kid was bad enough at it, you’d tire of him eventually. Want something real. Someone who’d know what to do with you...

God, that was a real low thought. Tallahassee took a deep drink, ran his fingers over his face and groaned. Definitely starting to lose it, the old him would never have gotten this twisted up over a woman. Maybe he should take that car for a joyride, find some zombies to cut down and -

Someone knocked on his door. Oh, great.

“Now’s really not the time,” he growled. There was a creak as whoever it was shifted their weight from one foot to the other. Then your voice, soft and quiet, replied with a “please.”

You looked as if you were about to cry. Or like you were pissed off, it was hard to tell sometimes. Tallahassee stared down at you, completely non-plussed, then leaned out of the doorway but there was no one else on the landing. “Uh... yeah. Fine.”

You slipped past him barefoot and he, very gently, closed the door and gestured to the bed, the only piece of furniture in here for you to sit on. As it happened, he gestured with the hand still holding the bottle. Oh well. The floor probably could do with being disinfected. He watched you impassively as you padded over and sat down with a shiver, then held the bottle out to you. You took it, drank, made a face and then settled back down to looking tired and miserable.

“I leave you people alone for five minutes and this is what happens, huh?”

If you’d been a friend or a lover, hell, even a kid, Tallahassee would have known what to do. He’d stroke your chin and lift it up so you would look at him and then he’d pull you close, let you give him your weight and keep still and gentle while you cried or talked out your worries. But you were none of those things. The only thing he could offer without crossing any boundaries was words. Of course, he wasn’t comfortable with that kind of talk and you didn’t really look ready to spill your guts unprovoked.

“Come on,” he managed at last. “Romeo couldn’t have been that bad, could he?”

[exobyharu]

PCY - Ch5

Chapter 5 - All about you

(Part 1)(Part 2)(Part 3)(Part 4)...(Part 6)

Summary: PCY does not expect to see you again. Ever. Except in less than twelve hours, he’s about to, once again. This time, he admits that he deserves a punch in the face.

⏰ 9:09 AM 🌏 Hotel (S), City of (L) 🌞 It’s sunny but everyone’s too out of it to actually care 👥 YN, Park Chanyeol, Kim Junmyeon, Byun Baekhyun, EXO’s manager (mentioned)

Notes: After a decade, I am finally back! My biggest apologies for taking forever. I tried to make this one a bit longer than usual. Expect more regular updates! I’m sorry that PCY swears a bit here too.

Words: ~2,300

💙💙💙

Twenty-one missed calls and twelve text messages on his personal phone, all from Junmyeon: they were ominous tells that Chanyeol ought to postpone his scheduled return to the studio. Just when he finally saw the wisdom in what at first seemed like punishment by isolation, his plans of returning with news of a productive break were dashed the moment he woke up to his work phone vibrating to another message, this time, from EXO’s manager.

“Who is the girl?”

The question needed no further elucidation.

Just leave her alone, Chanyeol thought, and then he groaned, pressing his face against his pillow because he was never going to see you again, anyway. What’s all the fuss about?

It was nine in the morning, and four hours of sleep seemed inadequate, considering that he had spent at least an hour packing that evening, and the rest of the night, taking advantage of the unexpected surge of inspiration that had finally come after weeks of uninspired efforts.

He was certain that this song finally had all the missing elements that the writers at SM always complained about. He, himself, was amazed by how smoothly he had managed to put something together at three in the morning, too. Still, this was the song they had always wanted from him and he was five hundred percent sure about it.

It turned out that he just needed to quit being frustratedly self-absorbed and instead, see everything in the eyes of someone else. When he did, the landscape shifted and ideas flowed in. You were the one who made this possible for him. You made him realise that it was probably more sensible to derive inspiration from what was out there, rather than generating egocentric works that other people hardly related to.

A tremendously simple concept. How had he not even considered this?

There was something about how you were able to read into his skilfully-concealed ego problems and this made him even more self-aware. It was one thing to hear it from his friends, and for that, he had been careful ever since. He was confident with the control he had on his narcissistic tendencies. But hearing it from you, who had just met him, made you an unforgettably helpful clairvoyant.

“I think that’s how you can reach out to more audiences,” you told him last night, gingerly munching on a biscotti and possibly, launching an underhanded attack on his ego. “Stop writing about yourself. Write about what’s out there.”

“Like what?” he asked you, burning with so much eagerness that you probably felt the intensity of his stare. Stop writing about yourself. That was a headshot.

“Hmm… Well, let’s see…” you trailed off, swiping through his phone, and scanning the lengthy compilation of his serially rejected compositions. You may as well be a speed reader, seeing how you had managed to reach the end of it so quickly. That was another detail that he forgot to ask you about last night. He will never know then.

“I’m sure this will sound great when I listen to it later, but like I said, it seems that this whole thing is about having a good time,” you explained, stealing a quick glance at the way he kept his fidgety fingers tightly interlocked on the table. Chanyeol caught that and made sure to keep the signs of his bubbling anxiety in check.

Just listen, he had to remind himself. What are you being so nervous about?

“Look, I’m no writer, but if you really want to write a love song, the feelings that I want to get need to be more dynamic than what all of this gives me.”

Operational word: dynamic. Again, the point was that he lacked experience and hearing about it was getting old. He leaned in closer for emphasis – also to make sure that he did not raise his voice in frustration. “You want me to write about things I don’t know?”

You shrugged, showing him the same easygoing attitude as if the idea was naturally forthcoming at the very least. “You can always write about wanting to know instead. You know, how you would rather, or think it would be? After all, people tend to yearn for things they don’t have. It’s one that we all have in common, in my opinion. It’s a universal feeling that’s relatable.”

Longing, huh?

Was it a simple insight? It seemed more like your current state of mind that slipped through. He needed you to voice out more fragments from your internal monologue to confirm his suspicion, but you did not give him that. You scrunched up your nose instead. “Not everyone dreams of a fancy car and a supermodel for a girlfriend, Chanyeol.”

Your comment made him uncross his legs. “Yah! Quit judging my life already, will you?“ At the same time, his knee hit the underside of the table. You were both startled as everything on it shook. Tall people problems. He could not seem to switch off his klutzy side when it mattered most. It made you giggle to see some of his coffee splash onto the screen of his phone. “And I’m not attracted to female supermodels!”

Growing unfazed by his usually exaggerated responses, you raised a speculative brow. “Let me guess… But female supermodels are attracted to you?”

Chanyeol flashed a lopsided grin on purpose. “I do have a mostly-female fanbase, so I can’t say for sure that–”

“Again! My main point, sir,” you interrupted, with a playful roll of your eyes. “If you wanna add to your influence, write about other things.” He almost thought that you were really going to poke his nose with your finger. He guessed that it was just your snarky side showing itself. “Be proactive and do some research by listening to other people too. I’m sure you’ll find more feelings to write about.”

Hence, that night marked the beginning of a more dynamic Park Chanyeol, who would create art and music that may deviate from the typical industrial material he felt that he had pretty much exhausted already. Creation was his passion and he had you to thank for making him realise how he had boxed himself up too much because he was afraid to express his own vulnerability, which, ought to be the point in the first place.

This was why EXO’s main rapper wrote a fucking ballad. And it was a ballad that he could not even sing. But he wrote it and it did not matter to him who sang it. He would rather have someone else do it justice. All that mattered to him was that the song made it through. He wanted to reach out to people, and strangely, it mattered to him that you heard it too. He wanted you to hear your words played on the radio someday, knowing well that you were part of the creative process. You, that girl whose shitty day he tried to turn around, and whose underlying melancholic disposition he wished to uplift but cannot.

Will you ever find what you were looking for? Will your family ever understand you? Were you really unemployed? Or was it something you chose to say so he would stop asking questions already?

He will never find out because he will never see you again. That said, SM just spent wasteful money on hiring somebody to tail him while he was away. What was all the fretting about? Junmyeon was probably going supernova over nothing of substance and their manager had to be getting drunk on his trust issues again. Both of his phones were ringing simultaneously now, and he was about three rings away from answering one and tossing the other across the room.

Junmyeon or Baekhyun? Choose your own adventure, he thought, rolling to his side and sighing as he wearily brought both of his phones close to his face. Probably for the first and only time ever, he chose Baekhyun.

“PARK CHANYEOL!”

Eyes wide and mouth in a frenzied snarl – there had to be no other look on Junmyeon who was now yelling at the other end of the line. Chanyeol was not even surprised to know that it was him using Baekhyun’s phone. It was Junmyeon or Junmyeon. There was no choice in the first place. He half expected the possibility, and just like that, his day was shot. He rose from his bed and pulled out the curtains to see the rest of the city going about its business.

A kajillion other people with stories to write about, he remembered you say. Your voice resonated from somewhere in his head, effectively drowning out the endless buzzing of the phone he held at least a foot away from his ear. When Junmyeon had calmed down, Chanyeol finally started listening in.

“… and since you would not answer their calls, everyone’s expecting me to offer an explanation. They won’t stop pestering me and I would be in a much better mood if I did not have more urgent things to do. Listen, I don’t care wha–”

“I was asleep, okay?” he interrupted, dragging his voice and feeling the weight of exasperation on his tongue. “You can send all those calls to me now. Thank you for taking shit for me.”

“Yah! Don’t hang up!”

“Then how am I supposed to talk to them?!” Chanyeol barked. It was his first instinct, knowing well that the last time he got yelled at like this was when he was falsely accused of spreading their unreleased material online. Surely, how he chose to spend last night was not as much of a mortal sin as a breach of their contract. Because just now, Junmyeon sounded like it was much worse than that.

“Forget it. We’ve dealt with the reporters.”

Reporters? The rapper’s pulse ran cold as he instantly froze where he stood.

“We just need to get you out of there with your security detail. The staff is arranging–”

“Yah! Hold up!” Chanyeol heard the nervous rasp in his voice as panic slowly claimed the frustration that initially controlled him. “What do you mean? Why are there reporters involved?”

“Of course there are reporters involved!” Junmyeon howled. “When you go out on a date looking as you are, Mister Park Chanyeol, with a girl who received ten dozens of roses from you, OF COURSE people will take pictures and talk!”

Chanyeol’s fist flew out, punching the air in front of him. “The he- …How do you guys even know this?!”

“You mean how does social media know about this? It’s all over the internet, Chanyeol. Check your phone! Check GTN27! Wake the fuck up!”

“I am awake! And I am checking my phone now!” he went, nervously fumbling for the other phone that had finally stopped ringing. His fingers trembled, not even able to key in his password properly. It sent his mind reeling, not sure about how much he wanted to find out. Did they discover who you were? Were fans stalking you already? And the media? Were you even safe? The mere fact that they knew he sent you flowers meant that they knew your room number.

“Look, I’m sure it’s not what you think. YN would not–”

“We know,” Junmyeon’s tone was abruptly much kinder and Chanyeol knew that this was because there was finally someone else with him, wherever he was. There were people, in fact. He must have stepped out of a room or something. The rapper was relieved that all the yelling was finally over, at least for now. “Listen, YN YLN? We know she’s not responsible, okay?”

“You–” he choked out, eyes wide and tilting back as the realisation finally hit him. “She’s with you?!”

The immediate response that he got was the voice of Baekhyun, distinct in the background. He was asking for his phone. A second later, Chanyeol heard a whine that was cut off by the sound of a door slamming shut. There was complete silence once again.

“Yeah. We found her before those undercover reporters at the hotel lobby did. You can thank the staff later,” Junmyeon said, his stern voice echoing through what seemed like their empty dance studio.

“Is she okay?!” Chanyeol exclaimed, his eyebrow twitching as he attempted to hold back his emotions – whatever it was that he was feeling. Anger? Worry? Extreme impatience? “Let me talk to her!”

“She’s with the staff.” Junmyeon was dismissive and it was clear that the guy was not going to let him talk to you. “People on the internet dubbed her Biscotti Girl and she hated it. That’s why she gave us her real name. She would not say anything more after that.”

Biscotti Girl? More than the ridiculous nickname, Chanyeol found himself closing his eyes and smiling in relief because it seemed that your identity was not revealed. It was all that he could ask for at the moment. The rest, he could deal with much later. This was all his fault any way.

“Don’t worry about her. I made sure she’s comfortable. Right now, we’re working on getting you here as soon as possible.”

Right. It was difficult to see sometimes, but Junmyeon was on his side. He had always been.  “Now, I’ll quit it with all this leader bullshit. As your brother, is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Other than dumb excuses? Chanyeol did not think so.

“I’ll explain everything to you when I get there, hyung,”

His voice was even, but his mind was racing decathlons for possible explanations that provided you the easiest way out of this predicament. If the entire company had his back no matter what mess he got himself into, he wanted to make sure that you at least had him. It had come to this, after all. He can only imagine how much trouble he’d caused you. So much for writing a song to make you feel better. The song was not even enough to save him this time.

Chanyeol pressed his forehead against the window and groaned.

You. Fucking. Genius.

💙💙💙 - to be continued - 

[infinitum-imaginaerum]

Minghao | F. 25 “You look really cute in that.” | Anon

Words | 6,700

Warnings | Concerns mental health, but nothing too extreme. 

Notes | College!Au. This boy really needs more gifs!!! All the ones that show up in the search are pretty irrelevant so I don’t know if that’s just tumblr being the way that tumblr is or what, but... MORE HAO CONTENT please. 

PLEASE CHECK THE STATUS OF THE GAME AT THE TOP OF THE PROMPT LIST BEFORE REQUESTING.

Send me a bias, a section, and a number and I’ll write you a thing!

He seldom talked to anyone; he was mostly a lone wolf and you weren’t sure who he was friends with if he was even friends with anyone. All you knew about him was that he had been in a few of your classes for as long as you could remember, he was the black leather type, and he’d hardly said but ten words to you in the entire time that you knew him.

In fact, you had to learn from somebody else in your high school days that his name was Minghao. He couldn’t even tell you that much—or didn’t want to.

Over the course of the last couple of years, you couldn’t help but grow somewhat attracted to him in some weird way. You found his habits cute, like the way that he flicked his dark hair out of his eyes when he was working on something, or the way he tapped his foot and bounced his leg when he got anxious, or the way his teeth ground together when he was clearly in a situation he didn’t want to be in… some of the things themselves weren’t particularly cute by nature, but you were a strange one that way.

But those feelings came and went as every semester did. Boys were pretty much the last thing on your mind as you were preparing to graduate college. The only thing on your mind was work and school, you hardly had time to eat or breathe or concentrate on anything except assignments it seemed, and you were getting particularly burned out.

So, it wasn’t as if the notes that started appearing on your car weren’t sweet, they just… were poorly timed. The first note came in the beginning of the semester, just following winter break. You could remember the purple stationary as if it had come out of a young girl’s room, the kind of parchment she would write little love notes on, and maybe, to an extent, this was a love note itself.  Remember to take care of yourself.

A curious little thing, that note was. Of course, the words were important. You often took care of everything at the expense of yourself and sometimes it really showed. Everyone you knew was aware of that, and that graduation was coming up and that some would be graduating with you and some wouldn’t be. The note could be from literally anyone, so you tucked it away in your school things and let it slide.

The next note came only a week or so later. This was extra curious because this note indicated that it was someone pretty close to you, probably someone you interacted with on a daily basis because the note read: Remember you come first; please sleep more. The intimacy of the note, knowing that whoever it was knew you well, drew your eyes to the surrounding parking lot. There were plenty of cars, plenty you recognized that belonged to your peers, but nobody was around that you knew.

You were startled by the sound of a revving motorcycle, kicking to life nearby. It had you jolting so hard, the note crumpled between your fingers as you looked over to the only person you knew who owned a motorcycle on campus: Minghao. He looked over to you for a moment, noticing you were staring, and gave you some semblance of a smile, the way he always did, before fitting his helmet on and taking off. That was the only interaction you typically ever got from him. He knew your name and acknowledged your presence and you supposed that was all you could ask of him. At the very least, he smiled—even if it was his version of a smile.

Another week or so passed before one of your closest friends—who didn’t typically arrive early the way you did—plopped into the open desk next to you with an ingenuous grin on her face. She batted her eyelashes, trying to get your attention but you were too focused on finishing an assignment for the following class that you hardly paid her any mind. Her smile faded as she turned in her chair, getting to the point of her behavior.

“I heard along the grapevine that you’re getting notes on your car,” she chirped.

Your fingers stopped typing as if they had been flash-frozen to the keyboard of your computer. The gears in your head were spinning, grinding, sparking and catching on fire as to how she could even know that when the only entity you told was your dog, Cerberus. Harshly, you swallowed and closed the lid to your laptop, finally granting your friend her warranted attention.

“And who did you hear that from?” you asked, trying to not make it too obvious that it was true, though you were sure you’d already given yourself up by now.

“Anyone and everyone; it’s the talk of the town,” she said.

“And what are they all talking about?” you inquired, genuinely curious at this point. It wasn’t a big deal that someone was leaving notes on your car; the only reason it was interesting or cause for anyone to care is that you had not made time for boys during college and were in the running for valedictorian. School was your only focus on campus; not having fun, not partying, not getting to know people, and certainly not boys.

“Just speculating who it could be. Lots of boys names flying around,” she stated, almost giggling as she gauged the look on your face.

Your nerves were a mess inside, but you weren’t sure what for. The feeling that you had been caught red-handed doing something you shouldn’t be doing was overwhelming, and for what? So what if some random guy—who you knew—was leaving notes on your car about taking care of yourself?

“I don’t have time for boys,” you replied, turning back to your desk after a moment of deliberation to tuck your laptop back into your bag and pull out a notebook.  Your friend continued to rattle off about something while you fell deeper into your own thoughts, speculating about whom it could be yourself and who would even know about it unless one person you knew witnessed another person doing it. And if that was the case, why wouldn’t they just come out and say who it was instead of having all this speculation, unless they liked the drama. You were certain of a few of your friends who were drama queens, but why wouldn’t they come to you first instead of spreading it around your friend circle and further like a bunch of middle-schoolers.

Really, you didn’t have time for boys. The entire conversation in your first class had completely eradicated itself from your mind once it was time to get into school-mode; that’s what you called it, and it was a mode almost unbreakable by any outside influence. You didn’t let it bother you for the rest of the day, but once you were headed out to your car and saw that same purple parchment pinned under your windshield wiper, you were too curious. There was nobody in the parking lot as you glanced around; at least, nobody was visible upon first sweep. You were sure people were getting into their cars, minding their own business, but they weren’t your target.

The parchment was slick against your fingers as it always was. Carefully you unfolded the note, the familiar script flowing across the page that you’d come to expect. This note was simple, and a lot more encouraging than the others: You’re doing great. I’m proud of you.

Although it was more encouraging, it just confused you even further. You had taken it upon yourself to try and get to bed earlier and get as much sleep as you could, because not even you could deny the dark circles that stared you back in the face in the mirror. It had to be someone you saw on a daily basis, but that was too many people to count on numerous hands. Narrowing this down was proving to be more difficult than you thought, and the purple stationary was throwing everything off.

Another few weeks passed and more notes gathered on your windshield. It was getting into the warmer months, so instead of looking like you just rolled out of bed, you managed to put yourself together a couple of times which included one of your favorites: a rose print long sleeve bohemian maxi dress. It was too cold to be wearing things like sun dresses or skater dresses just yet, so you kept it a little warmer. You hulled your heavy bag onto your shoulder, smoothing out the white fabric printed with beautiful coral roses to lay flat against you and swept your hair behind your ear as you gathered the note on your car.

You look really cute in that.

Your eyes were darting around the parking lot again; completely unaware of when the notes were placed, but a paranoid part of you assumed that whoever had placed them would stick around to make sure you got them. Again, the only person you knew in the parking lot was Minghao, but he routinely got to the parking lot later than you.  Still, you gave him a soft smile, the sun radiant on both of your faces as he mounted his bike, this time flashing you a smile that was a little more than a half smirk and gave you a quick wave.

Spring break came up fast and while you still didn’t know who the writer of the notes were, at least the hype about it started to die. Everyone either lost interest or knew who it was, which meant you probably knew as well—there was no reason to keep the buzz after that. But, you played it the same way you always did; you didn’t have time for boys. Spring break gave you a tiny bit of time to relax, most of it spent pent up in your apartment, especially on rainy days when you’d curl up in the bay window that overlooked part of the cityscape as rain trickled against the panes of glass and cupped your hot tea. Cerberus often lay next to you on the ground, enjoying the cool weather. He was convinced he was a lap dog, and Danes were anything but lap dogs. He took up most of your bed, coming up more often than not without your permission to try and find the space between your rear and your ankles to curl up into. He was a pretty big source of your lack of sleep until you’d finally kick him off—he knew when it was time.

You took Cerberus from a friend when he was just a puppy because her apartment wouldn’t allow giant breeds and you weren’t about to see that dog go to a shelter. A good deed done, but you were completely unaware of just how big he would get, and fast. The dog had an appetite of at least ten, and playtime was incredibly tiresome. When you walked, in the beginning it was hard to keep him still but over the three years you had him, he became well-mannered and easy to handle. He was not only your protection, but your best friend, your cuddle buddy, your stress-relief when it became too much. He was the only boy in your life that you could manage; he loved you more than life itself.

Your spring break didn’t go entirely undisturbed. Before the week was up, there was a knock on your door that turned your whole semester upside down. Cerberus growled, as he normally did, wary of anyone bold enough to approach your door without your prior knowledge; he was alarmed that you were surprised as it wasn’t often you got unexpected visitors.

“Cerbs! It’s just me!” a familiar voice called from the other side of the door.  You hurried a little faster to let Junhui, a longtime friend, into your apartment. The door opened and your intimidating boy became all tail-wags and cuddles as he bumped his head into Junhui’s hand. The silver-haired male greeted him first, as he was making it difficult to get in the door, before you. His jovial smile was sunshine on a cloudy day as he looked at you.

“This is unexpected,” you said with a small smile of your own, “It’s been some time, Jun. It’s nice to see you.”

“Likewise. It seems you’re doing well?” he asked, taking a good look at your face. He was happy to see the circles had gone mostly away, that you were sleeping better and appeared that you were eating better, too. Not that you were ever on the unhealthy scale, he just knew better than almost anyone that you had a tendency to overlook your human needs for academia.

“I am, thank you. Can I get you some tea, water, a towel for your soaked self?” you asked, noticing that he had been slightly dumped on as he made it to your place.

“A towel and tea would be great,” he replied gratefully, still petting your very affectionate and somewhat attached hound that eventually let Junhui relax on the couch and went to lie in his own bed, giving him space once the excitement died down.

Junhui patted himself mostly dry as you set a piping mug of tea in front of him, nestling into the couch to his left. He just looked at you with another dazzling smile, not bothering to ask how school was, but instead spilled the gossip.

“I heard you’re getting notes from a boy?” he asked.

“You don’t even go there anymore and you still know the dirt?” you laughed. Junhui had graduated two years prior, but it appeared he was still in the know about you in particular and how you were doing with school and your health; he always made it a point to check up on you every now and again, but the notes were trivial when it came to things to talk about with him. It wasn’t really any of his business, nor did you think he knew anything about it, but now things were curious.

“Do you know who they’re from?” he asked you, ignoring your previous question as his gaze finally turned to yours. You looked at him hard, there was a glint in his eyes that revealed he wasn’t telling you something but instead of jumping the gun like he figured you would, you sat quietly and shook your head.

“Whoever it is, they’re pretty close to me it seems. They have a genuine concern for my well-being and if I didn’t know any better I would say it was you,” you accused with raised brows. You knew it wasn’t him. He wasn’t on campus for any reason at all and would have never known in just a couple of weeks that your condition had improved, much less about what you wore that day that you got that very complimentary note.

Junhui appeared surprised for a moment, but eventually settled back into welcoming stoicism. “Well, that’s an interesting take on the situation,” he commented to you, pretty quietly, albeit you still heard him.

“You’re not telling me something. You know who wrote them, don’t you?” you asked, but your demeanor didn’t change to more exuberant, you were just as calm as you ever were. Junhui, avoiding your question for a moment to decide the best course, took a sip of his tea and looked down at it, watching it swirl together in the white ceramic mug cradled in his large hands.

“Of course I know who wrote them,” he replied, but his eyes continued to be fixated on his tea. “I’m the one who told him to write them— I don’t know what any of them said, I just figured he’d know the best way to approach it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him curiously, some life springing into you. “What are you into, Junhui?” you asked him, probing his endeavors with whoever this mystery boy was and why these things were happening.

“An interesting game of match-maker,” he replied, taking another sip of his tea.

“In the middle of my final semester of college, Junhui, you rat!” you practically yelled.

“Hey, now, I didn’t expect things had escalated so quickly already! I figured by now he’d only have given you three or four with no real substantial bits of anything—”

Things were too curious, now. Your excitement came to a halt immediately as you settled back into the couch with nothing more to say. Junhui seemed open to talking, so you were just going to let him talk.

“—All he was supposed to do was give you a little confidence, a little encouragement, to make sure you were doing okay. You’re so academically oriented, I figured those things wouldn’t throw you off track, but it seems like you might be a little more invested in this than I had initially thought you’d be.”

“Who is it?”

“I’m not going to tell you that; I’ll wait for him to tell you.”

“Am I going to be mad?”

“I don’t think so. In fact, if he plays this right, I think you both will be very happy.”

“So I take it the goal is to tell me after the semester is over.”

“If it were me or if I knew the slightest things about you— that would be the optimum course of action.”

A low hum echoed through your small living room as you soaked in all the information; despite the fact that it wasn’t much, it gave you some sense of stability about the whole thing. At least you knew it wasn’t malicious, it was intended to do good things for you, and it wasn’t supposed to interrupt school which was your priority right now. You wracked your brain for a minute, trying desperately to figure out who it could be; the only problem was that Junhui’s circle of friends was your circle of friends, so that didn’t help narrow it down any.

Junhui spent a couple more days with you for the remainder of your final spring break—it was comforting, if nothing else to have another body in your home besides yourself as you tended to isolate so hard on your breaks that you got lonely. He reminded you to keep in touch as school started up again and not to forget to send him an invitation to your graduation.

The days continued to get warmer, the sun shined more often, you were feeling good about school but continued the same way you always did: entirely absorbed and unbreakable. The notes were coming more frequently in the days following the end of spring break, again just little reminders that you were the most important and that you should focus on taking care of yourself, even at the expense of a perfect score on an assignment.

Despite the warmer weather, there were some days it was really windy. One day in particular you remember losing grip of one specific note you had read over and over and over again; the day you wore that rose print maxi and the note read something about being cute—it blew out from between your fingers and while part of you just wanted to let it go and forget about it, the other part of you had a sentimental attachment to it. So, after throwing your bag in the back seat of your car, you took off after it, noticing that it was pinned under the boot of a familiar boy.

He watched as you skidded to a halt in front of him, the purple parchment under the toes of his shoe and he gave you a curious look, the raise of his eyebrows felt judging somehow, even though he looked at you with the same stoic look he always did. His leather jacket was tugged over a plain white crew neck, dark hair shading his eyes the way it always had.

“Lose something?” he asked you; it was the first time you’d heard his voice in such a while, you almost forgot what it sounded like. How could you, when you were sure it haunted your dreams for the entirety of your junior year.

“Ah… maybe,” you replied nervously. You were shrinking under his intense gaze, eyes boring holes in you like a magnifying glass would with the sun. Another harsh gust ripped through the parking lot and since Minghao parked in motorcycle parking, there were barely any cars to shield the gust, pushing your body unwillingly a step and a half forward and right into him. The burning on your face was unrivaled, even by the sun, especially as his arm wrapped around you to hold you steady, his other hand bracing the both of you on the seat of his bike.

It was daring, the way you looked up at him with both of your hands pressed against his chest to brace the contact. Your eyes peered at him under your lashes, knowing for sure your face was on fire, but felt it necessary to check his. He seemed shocked, an emotion you seldom saw on his face, with a soft pink tinge across his cheeks too, something you never saw.

“I’m so sorry,” you uttered, but made no attempt to scramble away from him, especially not with the way his fingers furled into the back of your dress under the dark jean jacket you were wearing which meant it was incredibly low on your back.  One of his legs was awkwardly outstretched, keeping his foot atop the note you had lost—how incredibly thoughtful considering the moment and chain of events.

“It’s not a problem,” he replied smoothly, no detection of falter in his voice. He waited until you were ready to stand back up which, perhaps, was a little longer than either of you thought necessary. Regardless, he helped ease you up and back onto your feet before you were kneeling down, ready to collect the note from under his boot.

“I’ve heard the rumors about these notes. What’s got you, miss valedictorian, so smitten about them?” he asked. His foot was still firmly on top of said note, waiting for you to answer before he would give you what you wanted. He considered it leverage; the note seemed important enough to you that you weren’t about to give it up and just walk away, so he knew you would answer.

“It’s…” you delayed for a moment, thinking about the best reply. “I’m not valedictorian, yet. Besides that, we’re in college and they don’t recognize that anymore.”

“Pardon, Summa Cum Laude, miss top-of-the-class,” he replied.

It was pretty clear he wasn’t playing games with you, he wanted an answer to his initial question and would go through all of the stalling you wanted before he would give you the note and if that meant that you were going to be kneeling in front of him for quite some time, well that was a choice you made on your own. With an audible sigh, you answered him.

“It’s not really them, it’s that one in particular, that you are standing on,” you said.

Clearly, it wasn’t good enough for him, because he raised his eyebrows for an explanation.

“Come on, surely you know that even I struggle with myself. This particular note makes me feel… adequate,” you continued, trying to give him an adequate explanation even though you didn’t feel like you owed him one. You just wanted the note back.

“And why would a girl like you—smart, funny, pretty—not feel even adequate?”

The blush you had finally staved off returned to a dull burn on your cheeks. Xu Minghao just called you funny, and pretty.  The things he made you feel comfortable to say in front of him all the sudden would have been too much to just stand there and say to him. You could merely shake your head, gaze casting away from him as you looked back down to the note that he gingerly stepped away from, allowing you to gather it in your hands before you stood to address him.

“Smart is one thing. I’ve studied hard. My personality was never really popular, the guys that were interested in me were sleazy; my self-worth…”

“Don’t you know that you’re the galaxies people only dream of when they think of stars in the sky?”  

“Minghao…”   You didn’t want to have this conversation anymore, not with him. The untouchable feelings were bubbling inside you, only now they were much more restricted than they used to be. You didn’t have time for boys, and you made that pretty clear throughout the entirety of your senior year but now he was getting a glimpse into why—it wasn’t because you were too busy with school, it was because you felt like you weren’t good enough for a good guy.

“We never were too close, but even I know you’re a diamond in the rough,” he continued, reaching out to push some stray strands of hair away from your eyes so he could look into them. “But what I think matters not—you come first, and you’re doing great. By the way, you look really cute in that,” he muttered, glancing down at your floral red sundress.

He didn’t even give you time to reply as you just stood there, the gears spinning as he fitting his helmet on and kicked the bike to life, taking off right in front of you. It took you a minute to gather yourself and make it to your car, but you were fairly certain that with that, Minghao just admitted to being the writer of your notes.  

That thought was only solidified when he stopped showing up to the parking lot immediately after you made it, albeit the notes still kept coming. They were encouraging and sweet as they always were, but now they were a little lengthier. Sometimes they detailed little things he loved about you, sometimes they were observations about habits and corresponding scenarios, sometimes they were just reminders to eat well and sleep more and drink lots of water and worry less about some things. Either way, every note ended with an M now.

“It’s Minghao, isn’t it?”

Junhui rolled his eyes as he sat on your couch with a defeated sigh, giving as much attention to your needy Dane as he requested in a vain attempt to avoid eye contact with you. That didn’t matter, you were going to sit there and stare a hole in the side of his head for as long as he didn’t want to answer.

“You really are too smart for your own good,” he replied.

“Maybe you should have told him not to flat out repeat the notes he’s written to me and assume I’m too stupid to figure it out; I didn’t get to be top of the class by—”

“Yeah, yeah princess, I’ve heard it all before. Maybe he wanted you to know.”

“Like I even have time—”

“Sounds like you have time to me, sitting with him in the plaza during your breaks?” Junhui fired back, throwing the facts right in your face as if you assumed he didn’t know. Minghao shared everything with him; they were the closest of friends, so you shouldn’t have been surprised. But, you still were, and the knowing look that Junhui turned to give you had a sinking feeling developing in your stomach.

You opened your mouth to reply, knowing full well that you didn’t have a good one. It was true, ever since that day with the note when you figured it out—or rather, Minghao spilled the beans—you sought him out be it in class or somewhere on campus. He habitually sat under a big oak tree in the plaza on campus. There was a nice planter surrounding the tree with built in benches, that’s often where he sat to have lunch. You saw him every day on your way to classes and there would have been no reason for him to change habits.

“Cerbs, your mom may be smart, but she wouldn’t know a boy in love with her if he gave her a note two times a week,” Junhui spoke to your dog, cupping Cerberus’ large head in his equally large hands.

With the roll of your eyes, you scoffed. “Yeah, in love with me, that’s the funniest joke I’ve heard ever.”

Junhui said once upon a time that he was the one who told Minghao to start leaving the notes and while the intention of that command was still unknown, you had a few guesses. He sounded misleading, the things he said to and about you regarding Minghao, but despite all of that, Minghao had been the only object of your affections in the history of your college career, even if it was just admiring from afar.

That didn’t stop you from continuing to seek him out on breaks, often having lunch with him, enjoying his company on the warm spring days and every now and again you got to see him actually smile which just made him that much more gorgeous to you. The end of the semester was coming up quickly, so with only a couple of weeks and final assignments coming up, you decided it was a good opportunity to confront Minghao about the notes for the first time.

“You asked me a while back, the first time we’ve actually spoken in a long time, what got me so smitten about the notes,” you started in after settling down from some good chuckles. The mood was light; you were comfortable with each other, so it seemed like a good time to bring it up especially since he was still dropping them off in secret.

“I did ask that,” he replied, remembering the incident as he drew the strawberry he was about to take a bite from away from his mouth to look at you.  

“At first, I was smitten about how they made me feel, and we had that conversation,” you continued.

“We did have that conversation,” he remembered.

“Well, the notes continued coming, as I’m sure you’re well aware of. What would you say if I said that I was smitten about the boy writing them?”

Minghao’s breath seemed to hitch in his throat despite his best attempts at hiding it from you. He contemplated for a moment, clear across his face as he thought.

“I would probably say that said boy would be incredibly lucky to have you, but I would also advise that you should wait until after graduation so that you may carefully balance taking care of yourself and school first before you have time for other things like that,” he replied meticulously, carefully, well-thought out as to exactly what he was hoping you would do.

“And what would you do if I said I promise that I will wait, on one condition?”

“Well, naturally I would have to ask what that condition is before I would agree to the contract,” he replied, watching the way you shifted on the bench, shifting your legs underneath you as you faced him.

“What if the condition was that I request a kiss from said boy to satiate my welling feelings until after graduation, as I will be away from said boy for a couple of weeks almost exclusively.”

“Said boy is probably very nervous about that condition, because those welling feelings may not be satiated so easily, both his and yours, as the chemistry between you and said boy has been brimming for quite some time now.”

“And while I have to agree, the fact that the chemistry has been recognized by both parties makes it that much more difficult to stay away from said boy.”

Minghao’s shaky lip found its way pinned between his teeth as he watched you push yourself onto your knees. “While I agree with that, I’m nervous about the end of the school year and the way you’re going to handle this since I wasn’t supposed to reveal myself until it was over.”

“Well, you blew that quite soon after spring break, now, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did,” he replied, taking one of your hands to lace with his for just a moment before it slipped passed him, both of your hands planted firmly against the bench on either side of him. His eyes, which you had mistaken for painfully dull for so long, held so much life right now, glimmering as they looked at you. You were leaning progressively further and further over his lap, his left hand had to reach back to brace against the bench. “And while I admit that I messed up, I think I salvaged okay considering how badly I wanted to kiss you right there.”

“You say as if you knew I’ve had feelings for you.”

“I’m the only guy you’ve spared a passing glance to in over two years.”

“The quiet ones always were observant.”

“I will heed to your condition if you follow through with the rest of your promise,” he reminded you, unable to contain how pitifully whipped he felt with your mouth practically already on his. He could feel your warm breath against his face, could touch your nose with his own as his right hand cupped your jaw, slender fingers around the side of your neck while his thumb brushed against your cheek. “That means sleeping enough, eating well, and ignoring me for two weeks.”

“I promise,” you uttered.

“You’re going to look so gorgeous in your robe and honor cords, two weeks can’t go fast enough,” he whispered back, anticipating your warm mouth slanting against his. His sharp inhale in response to the sensation drew you in deeper, but kept it tame, even when he sighed against your mouth as you pulled away.

Minghao turned his face, landing your lips against his cheek. “Ahh! You said one—” The rest of his sentence was muffled against your mouth and although he wanted to protest…

“I’m greedy,” you muttered against his mouth.

…he was a little greedy himself.

Word spread like wildfire across the school—some of them were witnesses, some of them had evidence, but Minghao took the brunt of it while your phone and social media were banned from your existence for two weeks.  You spent most of your time holed up in your room; the only reminder to eat was the cute purple stationary with Minghao’s immaculate script pinned to your cork board. Every time you looked at it, you thought of him, and remembered that you had to keep up your end of the bargain.

For the most part, when you saw him on campus, the two of you pretended you didn’t even know each other—back the way it was at the beginning of the semester. You never talked, never exchanged glances and it had people really confused. Finals week was complete hell for the both of you as the most intense studying ensued. Minghao consumed most of your free time thoughts and your phone, powered off, ached in your hand when you begged to talk to him.  He made you promise no contact until you walked and received your degree so when the day came, you were even more giddy than expected.

When your name was called and you crossed the stage, Minghao sighed from the audience having opted out of walking.

“Dazzling, isn’t she?” Junhui asked, looking over to his counterpart.

“I told her two weeks ago how gorgeous she was going to look up there, and I’m not even slightly disappointed,” he replied, never once peeling his eyes away from you.

“So, I’ve heard a lot of things have happened before now?”

“Come on, Junhui… cut me some slack one time,” Minghao groaned, looking over to his older friend who just laughed.

“I’ll admit you played it well; you got her, after all.”

Minghao was far too eager for the ceremony to be over. He wouldn’t admit it, but spending two weeks going back to completely ignoring each other after perhaps one of the most invoking kisses of his life was a lot more difficult than he initially thought it would be. After spending a lot of time on an empty thread with your name at the top, the only way he could adequately occupy his time was gushing to Junhui like he had for years.  

Actually seeing you for the first time again in those two weeks had a feeling boiling in his stomach he was unfamiliar with. He was completely enamored with the way you looked in your robe, unzipped to reveal the navy lace skater dress underneath it. When you saw him, your eyes lit up brighter than the sun and a grin broke on your face. Your heals clicked against the pavement of the stadium parking lot as you approached him, a sharply dressed man with a single rose in his hand which you promptly ignored to wrap your arms around his neck.

He chuckled softly into your ear, swaying with you with his arms low on your waist.  “Hello, gorgeous,” he uttered to you.

“And what about you, handsome? Looking positive dashing in a three-piece and bow-tie,” you returned, finally reeling back to get a look at his face.

“And a very warm congratulations from me,” Junhui pipped up; leaning into the picture to remind you of his presence, though he was sure you had the blinders on.

“Ah, yes, the co-orchestrator of my blissful post-graduation happiness,” you noted, pulling away from Minghao with a little bit of coaxing, an unrelenting grasp that reluctantly let go with a simple gaze, enough to let you hug Junhui.

“See, now. I told you that you would be happy, but you weren’t patient enough.”

“I don’t think I should take the entire blame.”

“You one hundred percent initiated the kiss,” he fired back, “Minghao was doing well enough until you had to go and stick your nose in your secret business.”

Speaking of Minghao, he was waiting for you. He handed the single rose over to Junhui, well aware that you were much more enamored with him than any flower he had to offer you. Aside from that, it was meant to compliment the bouquet the Junhui held for you, but he handed it over and took you back into his arms.

“It’s been a rough two weeks,” you uttered as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“You’re telling me. It was hard going back to basically pretending like we didn’t know each other, especially while constantly being grilled about the kiss with pictures shoved in your face at all hours of the day.”

“There’s pictures?” you questioned.

“Of course there’s pictures,” Minghao scoffed, none too happy about the situation himself, “you honestly expected no pictures of you—top of the class, highest honors imaginable—lip locked halfway over my lap with me—the quiet recluse, ‘bad-boy’ black leather motorcyclist?  We’ve been the exclusive gossip for two weeks, and then for us to go back to pretending we don’t know each other—“

It was easy to shut him up, finally able to kiss him again. His fingers pressed into your back, tugging you into him with your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers ruffling his dark hair. The way he tugged you in, eager for more of you had you instinctively on your toes, one leg barely fluttering off the ground. Whispers filled the air, people stopped walking, a few things you could make out about the two of you being the most unlikely couple, a few more pictures were undoubtedly snapped, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was the softness of Minghao’s lips against yours, the impatient tug of his fingers against your back, and the warmth of his body against your front.

Junhui was right, the both of you were pretty happy with the outcome of that purple stationary, all the rumors, and the end of college.

[raendown]

Commission for @cassieeeeanne.

Pairing: MinatoKakashi Word count: 4076 Rated: T+ Summary: A bit of planning, a magician on the street, and a Hokage who just doesn't know how to properly take advantage of a situation when it's handed to him.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Flimflammery and Fun

Soy sauce dribbled on to his plate as Kakashi paused just before taking another bite of sushi, rolling his eyes instead. As much as he dearly loved his oldest friend, Minato could often be compared to the old phrase ‘like a dog with a bone’ when he got some sort of idea in to his head. He was even worse when that idea was to make fun of Kakashi for something.

Today’s easy target was poking fun at him for the apparent lack of fun in his life.  Kakashi wrinkled his nose and decided he was going to steal Minato’s wallet to pay for their meal the next time they ate out. No way was he shelling out cash just to eat subpar sushi again while his best friend sat there and told him he was a boring old man. He knew fun, thank you very much, and that was not it.

“You’re older than I am,” he pointed out. Minato waved such a tired old insult to the side with ease.

“No one would ever guess that by your habits alone! You really need to loosen up a little or no one will ever want to come have fun with you – because you never go out and have any fun! Don’t be so serious all the time!” Minato leaned over to bump their shoulders together good naturedly and Kakashi considered dumping the rest of his soy sauce over the man’s perfectly golden head.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured instead.

Not usually one to go through all the effort of seeking revenge upon someone, especially not for something as harmless as a bit of teasing between friends, Kakashi decided that he was in just the right mood to whip up a little bit of planning. One sidelong glance at the carefree way Minato was snickering in to a hand and Kakashi had to turn his head the other way to hide a smirk of his own since his mask had been pulled down for the two of them to eat their takeout.

Let the fun begin, he thought.

They finished their lunch without much of a further incident. Minato pretended not to notice his wallet disappearing only to reappear much lighter and tried to make up for his previous teasing by cleaning the dishes before he left. As much as Kakashi always enjoyed spending time with his most precious person, however, he already had a few ideas in his head that he wanted to start looking in to right away; it was galling to admit but it had indeed been too long since the last time he let loose against someone off the battlefield. Pulling a prank or two was a great way to remind everyone that he was more than a boring stick in the mud.

Okay so he really was mostly just a boring stick in the mud who preferred to stay home on weekends and enjoyed the company of his books over most people but he did know how to have fun sometimes. In his own way.

Usually at the expense of others but that was hardly the point.

He offered to walk Minato home, a little relieved when his offer was waved aside as unnecessary. On any other day he would have insisted on soaking up as much time with the man as possible and pretend that the possibilities he saw in every movement weren’t all just a figment of his own imagination. Today he had some people to see so that hopefully by the end of the next day he would have the pleasure of watching their Hokage eat his own words. First thing on the list was to visit an old friend.

When he woke up the next morning the first thing Kakashi did was roll over and went back to sleep of course. When he woke the second time he hopped out of bed and took a lazy shower before wandering over towards the administration tower at a leisurely pace. His stomach rumbled a few times but that was alright, a problem he could solve with someone else’s money.

The secretary made eyes at him as he walked past just like she always did and Kakashi pretended not to see, the usual routine, waving absently before he pushed his way in to the Hokage’s office without waiting to be invited. Minato didn’t even look up from the desk where he was staring with a blankly surprised expression at his empty inbox.

“Would you believe I’m all caught up on my paperwork?” he asked.

“No,” Kakashi with as straight a face as possible. “Someone probably bribed a few of the staff to do it for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. No one would waste money on something like that.” Minato scoffed and finally looked up. The idea that no one here could forge his signature on official documents was, frankly, a joke. Everyone that worked in this building had a least some training as a shinobi. But the idea that anyone would spend their own hard earned coin on something that would benefit only the one who already had to do the paperwork? Now that was unbelievable. It was true, actually, but Minato didn’t need to know that.

Shrugging carelessly, Kakashi jerked his head back towards the door. “If you’re free, would you like to come get some lunch?”

Minato eyed him speculatively and then smiled.

“You just woke up, didn’t you?”

“And if I did?”

“Ah, to be a field operative again. I miss the lazy days between missions when I could wake up whenever I wanted. Don’t miss sleeping on the ground, though.”

“Maa, you’re just getting soft behind that desk.” Kakashi turned his eyes up in a smile to soften the blow. It didn’t work. Minato still rolled his eyes and made a rude gesture with one hand that he didn’t really mean.

The secretary made eyes again when they passed her – or at least Kakashi assumed she did since he was already wrapped up in having Minato’s attention and paying little mind to anyone else. Steering their journey in the direction he wanted them to go was as easy as pretending to get distracted and take a wrong turn once they entered the market streets. Minato followed along without really thinking about it, chattering away with his adorable sunshine smile on full display. Honestly if Kakashi looked at him for too long he was likely to get distracted for real and entirely mess up his own plans. Luckily he managed to keep his eyes to himself long enough for them to wander down a boulevard filled with little food stalls where Minato paused to watch a street performer make endless plants appear out of a little pot between his feet.

“I swear I only planted one!” the man cried out with mock despair, dressed like a travelling magician. “Where do they all keep coming from?” Around them the crowd laughed and Minato joined in with a quick chuckle.

“Don’t you wonder how they do these tricks?”

“Maa, I could do that,” Kakashi said. And it was true. With his Mangekyo Sharingan he could pull whatever he wanted out of a potted plant as long as he had time to make it disappear beforehand.

His friend huffed. “Could you do it without fainting from chakra use though?”

“For my next trick I need a volunteer from the audience!” the performer’s voice cut off his reply. “Would anyone here like to get hypnotized? What about you in the back there? You look skeptical, my friend!”

Kakashi shook his head and held up both hands like a defensive shield but it was no good against the combined efforts of a pushy performer and a good friend whose pout was too cute for the sanity of everyone around him. In only a couple minutes he was dragged up to the front of the crowd where he stood with both hands in his pockets and a bored expression on his face.

When he was instructed he made sure to keep as still as possible and look the magician in the eye, exuding all the calm he could, and when the tension drained gradually out of his shoulders that was when Minato began to perk up where he was still at the back of the crowd. There was none of the usual ridiculousness of ‘you are getting very sleepy’ but the sound of the man’s voice was quite soothing as he talked Kakashi in to what looked to be a deep trance.

The performer had him do a few simple tricks like touching his nose in a pattern and clucking like a chicken and then asked the crowd if anyone had come here with him today. Minato raised a hand hesitantly.

“Ah, come up, come up. Would you like to ask him to do anything?” The man grinned and Minato thought for a moment he looked familiar but the promised distraction of maybe forcing a little fun in to Kakashi’s life was too tempting to ignore for long. Having just watched the performance he knew how it worked so he gave it a try.

“I want you to do a silly dance,” he commanded and Kakashi immediately began swaying his hips back and forth while waving his arms in flowy wiggles.

“I want you to pretend you’re a bumble bee,” he said and Kakashi buzzed around before coming back to bump in to him backwards, pretending to sting him.

“I want you to do something unexpected,” he tried and Kakashi pressed up close to lay a big old kiss right on the bridge of his nose, complete with the smacking lips sound effect, all with a completely blank expression.

Now flushed to the roots of his hair, Minato very kindly mumbled that he was good with that.

“You’re sure?” the magician asked with a knowing twinkle. “How about this. I’ll give you the words that will snap him back to normal whenever you’re ready and you can use them when you feel is best. He’ll have the time of his life – and so will you!”

It was the promise that Kakashi would somehow enjoy the day in this state that convinced him. Surely it couldn’t hurt to just mull around for the hour he meant to use for his break and help his best friend cut loose for a while. And that was all he intended to do! This was, of course, all for Kakashi’s benefit, to help him come out of that shell he lived in constantly.

Well, whenever he wasn’t embroiled in another wild challenge with Gai.

Trying not to blush any harder as he led them away from the crowd, Minato set a course right away for somewhere they could have a little more privacy. As much as he would enjoy it if Kakashi was more social he also wanted to respect the man’s wishes and he knew very well that if they got up to anything too bad where people could see them he would never hear the end of it. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a fight between them.

Once he’d found a nice spot tucked away in a park that seemed to have no one else in it, well protected by walls of trees on all sides, he turned to the man trotting along at his side with a contemplative face.

“I want you to turn five cartwheels,” he said and as soon as Kakashi moved to do so he realized that was pretty lame. His friend probably used some form of cartwheeling in his taijutsu at least several times a week.

He waited until the task was done to give another.

“I want you to stand on your head and recite a piece of poetry.” That felt safe enough.

It was not. A few seconds later Kakashi was in a handstand reciting the most lurid poetry Minato had ever heard and he remembered that the only literature either of them ever consumed were the works of his own sensei, the great pervert himself. If he’d thought his blushing was bad in the marketplace it had nothing on the heat he was fanning off himself now while he waited impatiently for Kakashi to finish.

Obviously he should have seen that one coming so Minato chalked it up to his own mistake. Hypnotized or not the first thing that would come to mind for any sort of question about reading was obviously going to relate back to Icha Icha so he really had no one to blame for this blush other than himself. Kakashi returned to a standing position when his lewd recitation was over and turned to face Minato with the same blank face he’d been wearing since being hypnotized, the one visible eye drooping even more than usual.

“I want you to do your best impression of me,” Minato said and thought himself quite clever. If ever there was anything that could not go wrong it was asking for an impression of himself. He prided himself on never acting inappropriately and over the past year or so he’d been talking extra care not to give any wrong impressions.

No one needed to know his secrets but him.

Kakashi’s reaction to the command was immediate. The first thing he did was stand up straighter, properly showing off the height his usual slouch did a good job of hiding, and even with the mask covering his face it was easy to tell his face had lit up with a brilliant smile. His movements were fluid and confident as he stepped over to throw an arm around Minato’s shoulder and hold their bodies tightly together.

“You look tired, my friend. Are you sleeping well? You really need to stop staying up so late all the time, it’s not healthy for you! Oh don’t give me that look. You know I’m just looking out for you. Goodness, you’re so tense, here let me help with that.”

As he babbled on and on with friendly questions and life advice Minato wondered if he really sounded that pretentious all the time. He just wanted all of his loved ones to take care of themselves; he hadn’t meant to sound like he knew better than them about how to live their lives. Perhaps he should try to curb that habit in the future – although he’d never heard complaints from anyone but Kakashi. Well, and Naruto too but children were contractually obligated to complain about everything their parents did, that was right there in the paperwork.

More worrisome than the too-helpful babble was the touching. It felt like for every new sentence that started Kakashi was reaching out to touch a new part of him. Minato did his best not to squirm as a pale hand brushed against his shoulder, his bicep, his clavicle, his chest, and even the back of his head at one point.

“I want you to stop,” he panicked eventually. As soon as the words were out Kakashi’s touch was gone and he returned to a resting posture with no expression. Minato swallowed thickly and tried to think fast. “What would be fun for you that you might enjoy but would never do on your own? Oh! I want you to take off your mask and stick your tongue out at the rest of the village while no one can see you!”

With the park empty and shielded from outside eyes it was the perfect time for Kakashi to show his face to the world for probably the first time since he was a child. As instructed, the mask came down in a gradual slide that almost reminded him of a strip tease, which was clearly ridiculous. No hypnotized person would think to add any kind of strip tease to their movements. And then there it was, the face entire villages dreamed about but only he and a select few ever got to see.

A little pink tongue flashed out and then Kakashi went back to rest – without putting his mask back on. Minato wavered with indecision. Should he give the command to replace it? No one was here now but someone could show up any second and if he left Kakashi undefended the man would never forgive him.

“Pity,” he sighed eventually, leaning in to enjoy a rare close look at one of his favorite faces. “You’re so handsome, I wish I could see more of you.”

“What?”

“AH!”

Both of them jumped when he screamed and Minato clutched one hand to his breast to calm his suddenly racing heart. Kakashi blinked at him with wide eyes and an expression that was most definitely not flat and empty.

“You’re not hypnotized anymore!”

“No! I was never hypnotized!”

“Say what!?”

“It was just supposed to be a prank because you said I never have any fun anymore!”

Minato spluttered indignantly. “How did you- oh for heck’s sake, you knew the magician didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” Kakashi snorted. “His name is Tenzou and he’s a member of ROOT, recruited by Danzo. I introduced you two years ago when you made me attend my own birthday party for once but he’s not really under your jurisdiction.”

After thinking for a moment Minato realized that he did know the man. Those massive eyes, the way they seemed to stare right through his very soul, it was a wonder he hadn’t remembered at first glance. Sometime soon he should really make another formal inspection of the ROOT organization just to make sure there was nothing being slipped past him under his nose.

But that was a task for another day. Right now the most important thing was that he had been entirely taken in by such a simple bit of foolery and that rubbed against his ego in the wrong way.

“You tricked me! This was all a big trick!” He puffed out his cheeks in the pout he’d noticed usually got him a little more sympathy from his friend. Not so much today, apparently, as his friend only huffed.

“Uh, yeah. That’s what I just said.” Kakashi shook his frown away and pointed an accusing finger. “Not the point! You said that you ‘want to see more of me’!”

“Oh yeah? Well you kissed me!”

This time it was Kakashi’s turn to splutter and string together senseless half words as he tried and failed to make a rebuttal. Obviously he was regretting the momentary slip in control when he allowed his surprise to show. At least, Minato thought with some chagrin, they were both blushing now. His own face was still much darker by a long shot but he decided that Kakashi was cheating anyway with his thin veins and naturally light blush.

“What would it take to convince you that never happened?” Kakashi asked, nervously fisting both hands in his pockets.

“A lot? It happened and I’m sure of that, although I’m not sure why you did it.”

“You said to do something unexpected!”

Minato wrinkled his nose and resisted the urge to rub at the bridge where he had received such a cute, precious smooch. “I suppose you’ve got me there; I never would have expected you to kiss me.” Bringing his hand down, he smiled and murmured without thinking, “It was nice.”

“It…it was what now?” The shock on his companion’s face was what clued Minato in to what he’d just said, body going stiff as his brain finally caught up to the secret he’d just let slip.

“What!? Nothing! I didn’t say anything! Hey that was a great prank you pulled on me, ha ha ha! Let’s do the same thing to Naruto! I bet he’d fall for it!” The laughter he forced out could not have sounded more false if he tried. Minato knew it was only his imagination but he almost thought he could hear the echoes of such a terrible laugh bouncing back to him in the empty park.

Kakashi gave him a very long look without saying anything, long enough that he began to think terrible thoughts of lost friendships and the awkwardness of any future conversations.

Then there were fingers sliding in to his hair and he found himself pulled bodily against the other man in a tight hug – definitely not the reaction he was anticipating. Worry slipped away to become bemusement as he blinked over Kakashi’s shoulders at the trees around them and tried to piece together how he had ended up here. Luckily for him he was a man accustomed to hugging certain people on a daily basis so his hands lifted to return the gesture on sheer muscle memory alone, leaving the two of them standing out in the open woven together, clinging to one another like the world would end if either let go.

“Let me just say,” Kakashi mumbled beside his ear, “that if I have misinterpreted this I am going to bury my head in the sand and never speak to you again.” Minato couldn’t help it; he laughed.

“No, no. I’m pretty sure you got my meaning. But if I’m not mistaken you, ah, share my meaning?”

“Gods above, could you be any more awkward?”

“Don’t laugh at me!” Minato cried.

Chuckling, Kakashi pulled away so they could look each other in the eye. With his entire face exposed, the expressiveness of his one eye was amplified by a hundred to create a look so soft Minato worried he might actually swoon in the man’s arms.

“Well if I can’t laugh at you then perhaps I could kiss you?” Kakashi suggested with a casual air.

“Sure? I mean, of course! Yes! But only if you want to? I would hate to think you were doing it just because you think I want it – and I do! But–”

“Oh for love of fire.”

Rolling his eyes as ostentatiously as possible, Kakashi tilted his head and went in for that kiss. Minato wasn’t sure if he was more grateful for that or for the fact that it stopped the flow of word vomit but either way he was immediately entranced and drifting away on his own little happy cloud. If he tried to count all the times he had imagined what this moment would be like the number he came to would surely be embarrassing and yet none of those times were anywhere close to reality.

Kakashi’s lips were chapped and dry from not wearing any balm behind the mask and neither of them immediately pulled away for any florid love confessions but it was still perfect because it was happening, it was real, and Minato knew he was going to spend the next few weeks reliving this moment at least once a day. He wasn’t at all ready for it to end when he felt Kakashi breaking away from him so he moved without thinking to grab on to the man’s collar and pull him close for an even deeper kiss, eagerly swallowing the moan of surprising pleasure.

“Still think I never have any fun in my life?” The question made him laugh.

“Yes,” he answered honestly. “But I would be more than happy to help you with that.”

“Maa, how about I just have more of you in my life and if some fun happens to fall out of your pockets while I’m there I just won’t complain?”

“Deal.” Minato grinned widely, feeling like he was still floating on that cloud with no intentions of coming down.

With a nod and a clearing of his throat Kakashi slid his eyes off to the side and said, “If we’re going to keeping making out like teenagers we may wish to find a different location where we don’t have to worry about innocent citizens hearing any untoward noises from their Hokage.”

Since he was most curious about what sort of noises Kakashi thought he could get, Minato agreed they should find somewhere else a little more private.

Later there would definitely be some hoops to jump through as there always would be when someone as high ranking as the Hokage wanted to date someone who was technically underneath them and explaining everything to Naruto was going to be an actual nightmare but in the end Minato already knew it would all be worth. To have a dream come true like having Kakashi in his arms, that was worth almost anything.

[arlandvery]

Worth the wait

Surprise! @seedsplease you’re my giftee! I hope you like this, I had a lot of fun playing with it.

Shoutout to @edensgay for putting all this together and consistently keeping on top of reminders!

Here’s the ao3 link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/18230402

Once upon a time there was a wolf.

He was big and strong and dangerous. His coat was red, his eyes were blue, and he was scarred from his years of hunting for prey and outsmarting other, weaker wolves.

He was feared by all the animals in the forest. They flinched from shadows and sudden noises in the night, all of them fearing to see the wolf's bright blue eyes as he lunged forward to make a meal out of them. They speculated at the size of his teeth, at the sharpness of his claws, at the ferocity of his snarl. His howling was the backbone of nightmares all through the forest.

This wolf was the protector of his pack; he kept them safe, kept them fed. But even they were scared of him- it was only with his brothers that he found company at ease with him.

In that forest, there was also a rabbit.

The rabbit was young and fast and clever. She had many friends in the forest.

One day the wolf caught her scent and, being hungry, began to pursue her.

The rabbit kept just out of reach, time and time again, until finally he had her cornered.

"It's nothing personal," the wolf promised calmly, teeth bared, "it's the way of life- you are prey, and I am to eat you."

The rabbit had stared up at him with wide eyes, ears pressed close to her head as she fought against the instinct to stay frozen.

The wolf pounced and the rabbit got lucky, springing forward and running again, gaining a head start that she kept, managing to get away.

Well, the wolf wasn't happy that his dinner escaped him, and he found himself hungry and irritated.

It had been a long time since prey had escaped.

When the wolf returned to his pack, he said nothing to them and instead found himself buzzing with irritation. Prey wasn't meant to outsmart predator, that wasn't how things worked. The weak were eaten to maintain the strong. That rabbit could have helped feed the pack, gone to pups who needed the nourishment. But instead she lived and served no purpose.

When he told his brothers about the rabbit, they said "find her and bring her back and we will feast."

The next day the wolf went out of his way to be quiet and watchful, tracking the rabbits scent as it darted through the woods and into the open fields and valleys- land that wasn't natural to him, but that didn't stop him. The wolf walked for a long time, growing mangy and thin in his pursuit of the rabbit.

For a long time, the rabbit didn't know. She found out by accident and luck, when the wind shifted and she caught the scent of the wolf that had tried to eat her so long ago. And so she began to run again, with the help of her friends who would scatter her scent, lay false trails, or else distract the wolf so that she had a few more minutes to run ahead.

Their game lasted into the winter and the wolf was vicious with hunger and obsession, and the rabbit numb with bone deep exhaustion. She finally collapsed in the mountains, unable to run anymore, standing there on shaking legs; if she were to die then she would die proud.

"You've lost our game." The wolf challenged, circling her slowly.

"It wasn't a game, it was survival." Returned the rabbit, thinking quickly.

"No matter the name, you've lost. I will kill you and bring you to my pack and we will eat." He promised, thinking that it was only fair to tell her.

"Oh, but you can't eat me," she said calmly, as though telling the weather.

"Why not?"

"Well look at me, wolf! You've run the meat off me- I'm hardly a mouthful anymore, let alone a meal for a wolf or it's pack!" The rabbit laughed at him, and the wolf paused, settling to look at her.

"And what would you suggest?"

"Let me go and find me again in spring when I'm fat and slow!" She declared, putting on a brave face. But the wolf laughed, because he knew what she was doing.

"No- you were neither fat nor slow when our game started and you will not be this spring either. I won't let you go, but I will let you live for awhile." He decided, noting the way that the rabbit's eyes widened. He picked the rabbit up by the neck, as gingerly as he would a pup, and began the long journey home.

The rabbit was afraid, but didn't try to run again, even when the wolf brought her back to the pack and presented her to his brothers.

"She's thin." Muttered the youngest, dark haired and marred.

"She won't be forever." Returned the wolf.

"And if she tries to escape?"

"She can't run with 2 feet."

The rabbit didn't try to test his patience.

For that winter, the rabbit remained in their den, surrounded by wolves, shivering in the cold- too proud to join the pack at night to stay warm (and far too scared). The wolf brought her food, bark and twigs, what was left in the dark barrenness.

The wolf was her constant guard- protecting her and preventing her from attempting escape.

One night the rabbit struck up enough courage to talk to the wolf.

"What do you hope to prove by delaying my death?" The rabbit asked him, ears twitching.

"That you cannot run from your destiny."

"But is it my destiny to be eaten by you?"

"It is your destiny to feed the pack."

"Will it be worth the wait?"

The wolf thought about it.

"I don't know."

And that was the end of the first talk. It was enough for now.

The next time was during a snowstorm when she was forced to swallow her pride and curl close to him or risk freezing to death.

"You chased me for so long."

"I did."

"But now you need to eat more than what I was worth, and I am too thin."

"That's beside the point."

"Then what was the point?"

"That it is no use to fight an unwinnable fight."

"If a wolf from another territory that was younger than you, stronger than you, and more dangerous than you decided that he wanted to challenge you would you fight him? When fighting him meant certain death?"

The wolf said nothing, and so the rabbit drifted to sleep.

One morning the wolf made a face at her.

"What is it?"

Outside the snow had finally stopped and the weather was steady.

"You smell like pack."

The rabbit flinched.

The rabbit began to notice things about the fearsome wolf. How he made sure that the young got enough to eat, at the cost of himself, how he worked the hardest, how he did everything possible to keep his pack safe.

While wolves were the enemy, she could admire that loyalty in him. She could even respect that desire to see things through to the end, if only her life wasn't on the line.

She was running out of time.

"What if I don't want to die?"

The words were whispered in the dark when it was just the two of them again. The wolf's eyes were sad and solemn when he looked at the rabbit.

"What place do you have here?"

"I can tell you where to find prey."

And then the wolf was listening.

(Because life is about adapting. And if you cannot adapt you will die. The rabbit couldn't run and so she struck a devil's bargain)

The rabbit knew where the dens were, knew how to creep around hunters, the best times to avoid humans; the wolves, more isolated, used that knowledge. In spring the pack ate well, and the rabbit got to live.

And for a time that was her purpose.

But the wolf found himself with her more and more often, keeping an eye on her. She wasn't pack, not really, and the pack might decide to turn on their source of information. She needed someone to watch over her while she ate after all, or else they ran the risk of her trying to run. And that just wasn't acceptable.

All the same, a companionship sprung up between them, and the wolf found himself comfortable with the rabbit.

They talked about the pack, about food, about her warren, about her friends who had helped her keep away. They didn't discuss her leaving.

One evening though a small band of coyotes happened upon them.

The wolf realized that the rabbit was no longer so unappetizingly thin.

"We'll be taking the rabbit," one of the coyotes, a female, declared, sizing him up. A larger female flanked her, ready for the command.

"The rabbit is mine." The wolf snapped, lips drawn back.

The coyote seemed to smile, and then they were on him. The wolf fought, biting and snarling, but it was 5 on 1 and he was no spring chicken. From the corner of his eye, the wolf saw the rabbit run off- he saw it but could do nothing about it without risking getting his throat torn out.

The fight was ugly and close, but the wolf knew he wasn't going to win. And then there was a howl and more of his pack burst into view, the rabbit leading the charge, and suddenly the fight was so much easier.

The wolf is hurt but recovering and the rabbit doesn't leave his side through it.

"You could have run." He pointed out.

"You could have gone ahead and eaten me." The rabbit returned.

The wolf didn't say anything else, letting the rabbit burrow against him.

"Did they lived happily ever after?" A small voice asked, thick with sleep. Rook smiled and ran her fingers through her daughter's copper curls.

"Mmhm, they lived happily ever after." She promised, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to Abigail's head. "Good night, Abby." She turned off the lamp at her daughter's bedside and began to creep out.

The house was still and quiet as Rook made her way down the hall.

"A wolf and a rabbit, huh?" The sound of her husband's amusement drifted down the hall from where he leaned. Of course he was awake, she realized with a sting of guilt. He waited for her.

"She wanted a story."

"Oh, I'm sure. And you just pulled that out of your bag of tricks?" She scowled at the weak pun.

"She likes rabbits. And your judges." They should probably be more concerned about their daughter's ease with the beasts, but that was a concern for the morning.

"You watered it down." The mocking, teasing light was gone, but he wasn't irritated. Rook sighed and wrapped her arms around him.

"I'll tell her all of it when she's older. She's still 4 years old." There was a twitch, brief, easily missed and he relaxed, resting his hands on her shoulders.

"Here's hoping they stay happy." He quipped, making her grin.

"Of course they stay happy, she loves him."

[xxxthe-grammar-nazixxx]

Shoot

This is a Robert Sheehan fanfic.  All liberties taken are mine alone. Medium level sex scene.  Based on a photo shoot that was very inspiring!  

‘OMG it’s him!’

‘Who him?’ I was too busy going through the last batch of prints at my desk to pay much attention to what my two off-siders were whispering about. They’d been giggling by the water cooler like Beavis and Butthead for the last five minutes, staring at someone in the foyer, no doubt. It never failed to amuse me how, no matter how many celebrities we met and photographed for our online entertainment magazine, my makeup artist and hairstylist could still turn into a couple of total fangirls at the sight of a pretty, famous man.

They either didn’t hear me or weren’t brave enough to say the name out loud for fear of him – whoever he was – overhearing, so I let it go and walked the prints over to reception. ‘Stella these have the name and contact details on them, can you mail them off for me?’

Stella nodded. ‘Of course. Standard post or express?’

‘It’s pretty urgent.’

‘Express post then.’

‘So, who’s my next lamb to the slaughter?’ I asked her.

‘Robert Sheehan.’

‘Who?’

Stella’s brown, perfectly made-up eyes widened. ‘Are you actually kidding me? The guy’s show is one of the biggest things on Netflix at the moment! The Umbrella Academy?’

‘Haven’t had time. Seriously, how do you people manage to binge-watch TV all day with full-time jobs?’

‘Because we’re not workaholics like you.’ Stella replied, with a laugh. ‘Seriously, you should watch it.’

I screwed up my nose. ‘Superheroes, right? Doesn’t really sound like my kind of thing.’

‘How do you know it’s not your kind of thing unless you watch it?’ Stella said, reproachfully.

‘She’s got a point, you know.’

I sighed. ‘He’s right behind me, isn’t he?’

Stella exploded into giggles. I shook my head at her and turned to find my next subject indeed right behind me.  

He smiled. ‘Not a fan, I take it?’

Hm. Roughly six foot or over, lean but not too skinny, nice green eyes, dimple – okay, I had to admit, I could sort of see what all the fuss was about. His curly dark hair could do with a comb and some product though. I knew I was thinking like a photographer but that was my default setting.

‘It’s not that,’ I told him. ‘I just … haven’t seen your show. I could be a fan.’ I winced. ‘Don’t go over to the competition, please. My boss will kill me.’

He laughed. ‘I don’t even know who the competition is, so I think you’re safe there.’

 I liked his accent too. ‘What part of Ireland are you from?’

‘Port-Laoise,’ (He pronounced it Port Leesh).  ‘I know… practically nobody’s heard of it. It’s not well-known like County Cork or Dublin. It’s a little country town.’

‘Nice. Well, Stu gave me a bit of a heads-up on where to go with this, so are you ready?’

‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’

‘Great.’ I turned to Britt and Ella. ‘You two want to stop standing over there like props and get organized?’

Britt’s jaw dropped. ‘Can we watch?’

‘That would be up to Mr. Sheehan.’

‘Just Robert’s fine. I’m no Mister,’ he joked. ‘I … okay … sure, I guess.’

‘Girls, he’s probably sick to death of being ogled at from all angles,’ I told them. ‘Ten minutes, and then you’re out.’

                                                          ****

 To their credit, Britt and Ella did an amazing job. Not that this guy needed much of anything in the way of makeup or what Britt liked to call “floofing”.  But they’d taken one look and decided on the theme. His hair had been straightened and worked into a kind of punk rock bouffant. Like Elvis, but more extreme. Black kohl liner exaggerated the olive green of his eyes. Ella had decided on a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons unfastened to mid-torso. The black and white striped stretch pants looked like something Freddie Mercury would wear in the 70’s – or Michael Hutchence might have worn now, if he’d been alive. Had to admit, for all their fangirling, my employees knew how to dress a man so that you’d want to undress him!

‘Is this okay?’ He walked out of the dressing room patting down the back of his hair, self-consciously. ‘Leave it alone,’ Britt laughed, ‘You’ll wreck all my good work.’

‘It looks great. Suits you.’

‘Thanks. So um … what’s the plan?’

We worked steadily for the next ten minutes while Britt and Ella stood watching from the doorway of the dressing room. After that I gave them permission to buzz off for the day, but I hardly believed they’d take me at my word. Either way it didn’t matter – the door stayed closed. Even Stella left as she had to catch an early train.  I was on my own with a client – not something I regularly planned for as it bent the rules a little bit – but you had to see this guy to understand. I’d photographed male models before, guys whose natural beauty gave me goosebumps in all the right places. But the trouble with them was they knew it and played on it.  I’m not saying Robert didn’t fully realize the effect he had on women.  He knew. He just wasn’t arrogant about it.  In fact, if anything it was the opposite. He was hilarious. He had me in stitches in minutes. It was a good thing the camera was on a tripod because I would have dropped it for sure!

It was when I asked him to improvise a bit that things took a turn for the … well, strange. No, that’s not the word. Let’s just say that I wouldn’t have been surprised if the narrow, horizontal windows near the ceiling of my basement studio were a little bit steamed up …

 He walked toward the camera, slowly, like a tiger biding his time, waiting to pounce. I zoomed in on that face and was glad I did. His grin was like a slow burn, working its way from the pit of your stomach to your thighs. That was when I realized I was holding my breath.  He narrowed those hypnotic green eyes slightly and lifted a finger to his mouth, biting down on it seductively.  My camera kept taking pictures, but I barely noticed my role in their creation. Later I’d go back over the shots and struggle to remember taking some of them. But I never forget the video. I always film a photo shoot, especially if it’s just me in the room with a male client, which doesn’t happen all that often. I always ask permission but it’s more for my protection than theirs. Anyhow, when I returned to the video to make sure I wasn’t running out of battery or flash drive space, I watched Robert in the monitor. He was staring down at his feet, and I wondered what he was thinking about. He lifted his head slowly and glanced at something slightly to the right of the camera, letting out a shaky breath. There was a vulnerability in that one little movement where I kind of felt sorry for the guy, even though there was nothing to pity him for. He was rich, he was incredibly talented, and drop-dead gorgeous. What’s to feel bad about?

‘Are you okay?’ I asked him. ‘Do you need a break?’

He smiled as if the previous moment hadn’t even occurred. ‘No, I’m fine! Honestly, let’s keep going, I’ve got my second wind.’

‘Robert … you would tell me if you felt … objectified, right?’  

He blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I’m just saying … you must have people taking your picture all the damn time. Does it ever get old?’

He shrugged. ‘Sometimes. But that’s the job, you know. Why?’

‘I just … how can I explain this. so it makes sense …’ I bit my lip. ‘You’re a good-looking guy.’

He grinned. ‘Thank you.’

‘And you don’t even fish for compliments. That’s rare. Even when you’re telling some celebrities how great they are, they want to hear more.’

‘Yeah, I’ve met some like that. Quite a few actually.’ He motioned to the sofa under the window. ‘Come to think of it, I might take you up on that quick break, if you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not.’

I went back to reviewing some of the photos until he cleared his throat. I glanced up.

‘You’re not taking a break?’

‘Um … I wasn’t going to …’

‘Come on. Sit down for a bit. Put your feet up. I heard your receptionist say you’re a workaholic. You can relax for five minutes, you know.’

I laughed. ‘I know … All right.’ It wasn’t taking a break, in itself, that made me nervous.  I might have been driven but as far as I knew, I didn’t suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It was having to sit so close to one of the most attractive men I’d ever met, and not allowing myself to get flustered or unprofessional.  All I could think about was whether I had lipstick on my teeth or bad breath.  I ran a hand through my short blonde hair, which had recently been chopped to resemble Gwyneth Paltrow’s ‘do in Sliding Doors (thank you, Britt, you’re a doll) and wondered if he thought I looked too butch.

‘I like your hair,’ he said. ‘Is that a new cut?’

‘Yeah … I mean, thanks. How did you know?’

‘I didn’t. You just have that look of someone who had their hair cut recently but isn’t sure of it yet.’

I chuckled. ‘That’s awfully specific.’

He shrugged. ‘I like to read people. I think I’m pretty good at it.’

‘Really? What am I thinking now?’

Robert settled into the vintage chesterfield sofa and crossed one long, lean leg over the other, in my direction. He tilted his head, speculatively. ‘You’re on edge. Nervous. I have no idea why. I’m a fun guy. Not intimidating at all.’

You’re half right, I wanted to say, but that would beg the question – what was he wrong about?

‘Okay, I’ll try to remember that,’ I told him. Relaxing back against the sofa I added, ‘Better?’

‘Marginally, but you still have that tense little line between your eyes.’  He reached over and before I knew what was happening, stroked the skin between my eyebrows with his thumb. It had the odd effect of making me feel sleepy.  ‘There, that’s better.’

I managed a smile despite the tension that still sat in my neck and shoulders. ‘Is that Reiki or something?’

‘No. Just something I picked up somewhere. I forget where. I think they do it to newborn babies who are stressed. It puts them to sleep.’

‘Nearly put me to sleep,’ I admitted, feeling a blush creep into my cheeks.

‘Ah well, then, it worked.’  God, that smirk. That dimple. The confidence, along with the complete lack of arrogance, was undeniably hot. I suddenly wanted to remove my blazer, even though it was roughly 10 degrees outside and not much warmer in my studio.

‘Okay well, we’ve … we’ve had a long enough break. Let’s get back to it …’

Robert laughed. ‘It’s your shoot. What do you want me to do now?’

My face grew warmer. I could think of a few things, but they weren’t appropriate at the time and certainly aren’t printable!  ‘Well first off, a wardrobe change. Why don’t you go and have a look at what’s there?’  While he did that, I took off to the bathroom in the hallway, just outside the studio.  Splashing some water on my face, I managed to dial down the red.  Breath, check, I thought, going through the drill. Pits, check. Heart rate … going a mile a minute. Need to get that down!  Think of something totally not hot. Rupert Murdoch. Dead … anything. Warts. Yeah, that’ll do it. Rotten big carbunkles!

No matter what I did, though, when I walked back into the studio and saw him in a pair of black leather pants and a patterned black and silver shirt open all the way down, with nothing underneath but bare skin, my heart-rate spiked!  I’m going to have a bloody stroke, I realized. He’s gonna make me stroke out, the gorgeous bastard!  

Shucking off my blazer because it was now far too hot in that claustrophobic little studio, I complimented him on his choice. ‘You look like Michael Hutchence,’ I admitted. ‘If he was into wearing guyliner.’

Robert laughed. ‘Well, I’m flattered cos he was one hot piece … am I allowed to say that?’

‘Of course! I’m not about to stop you.’ Damn, I thought. He’s gay. Just my luck!

‘I’m not gay, though, not that there’s anything wrong with that,’ he added, quickly. ‘Not that you care, either, I just …’ he shot me a sideways glance. ‘I just wanted you to know.’

‘Okay.’ I think my heart stopped beating altogether somewhere amongst his garbled confession. If in fact it was a confession. I felt a bit like Forrest Gump – too slow to figure out something that should have been obvious.  Wait, I thought. Does he want me to know he’s straight because he’s into me? Or because he’s worried I’ll go to the ‘zine and spill my guts?  Inside I knew the answer to that but my self-esteem, little destroyer that it was, wouldn’t allow me to gloat.

I’m not sure how it happened. I don’t remember how I got from A to B; I just knew that I had to be kissing him right now, before I lost my nerve. He tasted like coffee and pistachios.  His cologne was something altogether fantastic: citrusy and woody and musky all at the same time. Or maybe the musk part was all him, I don’t know.  

He was a freakishly good kisser. Once the shock of my making the first move wore off, he took charge without overstating it. Which was easy for him because I’m less than five feet two in heels and he towered over me. In less than a minute he had managed to trigger every cliché in the romance writer’s arsenal: my knees were weak, my skin was covered in goosebumps and my heart was pounding like a jackhammer. I had to wind my arms around his neck to keep from dissolving into a puddle of lust on the floor, because his lips and hands were doing things to me that are illegal in some countries!  We kind of shuffle-walked back over to the sofa without breaking contact, and suddenly I was lying beside him, reaching into his shirt to hold my hand over his heart, to see if it was racing as fast as mine.  Not quite but close enough. He responded by slipping his hand beneath the hem of my shirt and running it up along my flank until it reached my bra. His lips left mine and started kissing their way down my throat.  My breath caught as his cool fingers grazed my nipple through the silk. He reached around and unfastened my bra with one hand. Hm, clever, I thought. Dexterous at the very least. How many times have you done that, I wonder? It should have been enough to put me off; to change my mind about this. But he started kissing me again and I lost all notion of caring how many women he’d been with or even what day it was.  His hand cupped my breast, this time free of the bra. He moved from my mouth to my collarbone, and pushing up my top, kissed the skin over my heart. I removed the shirt and bra in one, anxious to get as close to him as possible.  I wanted his shirt off as well. As good as it looked on him, this guy was born to not wear clothes!

He let me push it off his shoulders as his mouth made my nipples so hard they ached. My fingers delved into his thick dark hair, messing up the ‘do Britt had so carefully made look careless. His lips traced a path down the center of my torso, the short whiskers on his chin and upper lip alternating between scratching and tickling my skin. When he reached the waistband of my jeans, I had to stop him. ‘No,’ I whispered. ‘Not that. I’m not … I’m not comfortable with it.’

He glanced up at me. ‘You mean, you don’t want me to go down on you?’

I nodded. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry.’ He shuffled back up beside me. ‘Any particular reason?’

‘I don’t know … just … not today. Okay?’

‘Okay. That’s cool.’  He leaned in and kissed me. ‘I have other ways of making you squirm.’

I quivered at the thought. He unzipped my jeans and tugged them down a little, his hand disappeared between my thighs, cupping me and making its way beneath my underwear. ‘Actually,’ he said, in a husky voice, ‘this is almost better.’  I gasped as he started to stroke, and he grinned, and winked at me. ‘Better vantage point.’

When he had me as wet as I could possibly be, he finally let me move enough to unfasten his leather pants. Before that he’d been determined to make me ‘squirm’, as he put it, and squirm I most certainly did. I was still catching my breath when he produced a condom from a pocket I didn’t even know those pants had. ‘Should never leave me alone in the wardrobe room,’ he joked. ‘I get up to all kinds of hijinks.’

‘You brought that with you?’

‘I always have at least one with me,’ he explained. ‘In my position, I sort of have to. You have no idea how many girls throw themselves at me just because I’m famous. I do have a policy where I don’t shag my fans but … when it comes to women in general, sometimes I’m not as disciplined as I’d like to be. Like now, for instance.’

‘Oh good,’ I murmured, ‘Because I don’t have any.’  I looked up at him. He looked so beautiful lying there on his side, practically naked except for a pair of black jockey shorts and the leather pants around those knees. He kicked both off and hurriedly rolled on the rubber.

‘No rush,’ I said, with a giggle. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ I reached up and stroked his cheek. I could feel the bristle of new stubble growing through, even as Britt or Ella must have given him a shave in order to apply the makeup for the photo shoot. Those beautiful big green eyes were luminous even in the shadow from the photo-lighting. His skin was golden and his lips … suddenly I regretted my earlier reticence about oral sex. I’d experienced it before of course but it was always awkward, messy and felt almost like an obligation, on both sides. And it almost never, ever made me feel like he’d made me feel a moment ago, with his hand. I wanted to be able to explain that to him but felt stupid and almost prudish. Instead I took him in hand and fondled him until he closed his eyes and bit down hard on his lower lip. Taking that as a signal he was ready to go, I shucked my own pants off and pulled him close, sliding my leg over his hip. He was cautious at first, probably worried about blowing his load too early, but the feel of him inside me was almost too much, anyway. It reignited what had been simmering away for the last few minutes, with a pleasure so sharp it was almost pain.

‘Are you okay?’

I nodded. ‘Keep going.’

He did, but slowly, and we kissed as if we had all the time in the world. He raised himself up on his elbows over me, and I responded by wrapping my legs around his slim hips, holding him inside. His new position gave him leverage, and strength to go harder and faster. Pretty soon it was only a kiss every other thrust, and I don’t know about him, but I felt like I was about to burst out of my skin.

Suddenly, just as I arched my back with release, and he did the same seconds later, I heard a shrill beep, and remembered.

I hadn’t turned the camcorder off.

 THE END.

[lnc2]

Viral

Summary: The Ladyblog catches a private moment and Marinette is furious.

This story can also be found on FF.net and AO3.

The video was uploaded sometime after midnight early Saturday morning.  

As was usually the case after an akuma attack, Alya Cesaire had been running on a caffeine rush and adrenaline high that made sleep impossible.  The dedicated blogger would not see the back of her eyes until her copy was written, her files rendered, and her newest masterpiece was live for the entire world to see.

Or at least the majority of Paris.  She was young yet.

Fortunately for the aspiring journalist, the Ladyblog’s wide and devoted readership ensured that the hits would rack up quickly regardless of the time of posting.

What no one could have anticipated, however, was just how quickly.

It started with the local news.

Nadja Chamack’s bright-eyed good morning Paris grin punctuated the more somber news of floods, akumas, and politics with the light-hearted clip.  The segment usually reserved for heartwarming fluff pieces about eye-seeing dogs and neighborhood bake sales was instead taken over by the city’s most reliable ratings machine.

Ladybug and Chat Noir were television gold.

From there the clip hit the major news networks and was being broadcast to the whole of France. Then came the talk shows, the copycat blogs, the online articles, Buzzfeed, and more.  When the video hit the front page of Reddit there was no stopping the infection.

By the time Monday morning rolled around, less than three days after the akuma attack and the video going live, Chat Noir had become the laughing stock of Paris, the Internet, and the world.

And Marinette Dupain-Cheng was absolutely furious.

The akuma came first.

A recently humiliated magician on the warpath to take down his former theatre troupe, his embarrassment, rage, and all-consuming desire for vengeance left Paris a card-trick disaster in his wake.

Ladybug was of one mind with Chat Noir that his act was nothing ta-dah for.

However, it wasn’t Hawkmoth’s latest victim that had the whole of Paris tied up in fits.  It wasn’t Ladybug’s short-stint as a lovely volunteer and her near miss with a trick box and saw that was plastered all over the news.  Nor was it Chat Noir’s timely use of cataclysm to free her that had the blogs buzzing.

Not even the fact that the so-called Madgician managed to make the Eiffel-fucking-Tower disappear could distract the most avid of francophiles from this unanticipated dark horse of viral fixation.

No.

Out of every ridiculous rabbit-wielding, bullet-catching, table-of-death-defying moment, it was a 30-second clip caught by one sneaking Alya Cesaire that turned the eyes and ridicule of the world onto her partner.

It was a nothing of a video. Just a brief exchange after the akuma had been purified and the city restored.  It wasn’t even a great shot as the bottom left corner of the screen was obscured by what appeared to be the edge of a dumpster.  As if the person filming had been crouched down in an alleyway, which, knowing Alya, she probably had been.

In fact, the only remarkable thing about it was that she managed to get so close without either of them noticing her.

“So my Lady,” Chat Noir purred, reaching out for his partner’s hand and slowly lifting it to his lips.  “What was your card?”

Ladybug, triumphant, battle-worn, and very much aware of her beeping earrings, frowned.  “Excuse me?”

“Because mine was definitely the king of hearts.” He leaned in, mouth wide and flashing white.

“Oh no, minou.  That last fall must have you confused.” Ladybug freed her hand from his and gently pushed him back by his nose.  “Yours was definitely the joker.”

“Huh.” Chat didn’t seem at all discouraged.  If anything he grinned wider.  “Can’t blame a cat for that.  It was a hare-raising situation.”

“Oh my god,” But she was laughing as she punched him in the shoulder.

And that was it.

Nothing world-ending,

nothing to keep the masses awake at night.

Just her being her and Chat being Chat.

Just them being… them.

Until it wasn’t.

Because Alya’s candid camera work not only broadcast their private moment to the Ladyblog and an already too-invested Paris, but its sudden skyrocketing status put their relationship on blast.

There couldn’t just be Ladybug and Chat Noir now.

Now it was Ladybug, Chat Noir, and an ever-expanding chorus of voices, ridicule, and misplaced concern.

Because of a godforsaken meme.

It started with a fedora and a bad photoshop edit and spiraled out of control from there.  By Sunday evening the discourse had started and suddenly there was an influx of articles bashing Chat Noir as a Nice Guy™ or Ladybug as a tease for leading him on.  

Vindicated men dusting off their fedoras to add leather cat ears and concerned citizens writing articles letting Ladybug know that she didn’t owe her partner anything.

Body language specialists started appearing as guests on local talk shows to show how she liked him, how she didn’t like him, how they were already sleeping together

(Look at the way her shoulders are turned towards his hips. There’s definitely been intimacy there).

It was enough to make a girl scream.

And worst of all, it wasn’t just her.  She knew that Chat would be seeing everything as well.

How could he not.

Marinette had hardly been able to leave her house without hearing some one person or other laughingly throwing out “m’lady” to loved ones, passersby, the goddamn garbage man.

And she just knew this would hurt Chat.  That sensitive, pun-loving flirt.

This would mess with him. Mess with them.

How dare they.

How dare Alya.

“I can’t believe her,” Marinette muttered, furiously shoving her books and homework into her school bag for Monday.  Marinette might not be able to do anything to hurt the nameless online hoard, but she could definitely work out some of her frustrations on her friend.

“Marinette,” Tikki said softly.  “I think you should take tomorrow morning off.”

“I’m fine, Tikki,” She snapped.  When her kwami didn’t respond, she sighed.  “I’m sorry.  You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s really admirable that you care so much about your partner,” Tikki said, floating from her place on Marinette’s desk so she could look her charge in the eye.  “Chat Noir is lucky to have a Ladybug like you.”

“God he must be so upset right now.  They’re all laughing at him, Tikki.  And Alya-”

“Doesn’t know that she’s hurting you.” Here the little god nuzzled into Marinette’s cheek.  “She’s your friend too, Marinette.  I know you’ll be devastated if you lose sight of that in a moment of anger.”

Ugh.

So now Marinette couldn’t even explain to her friend why she felt so betrayed.

She would have to stand there and listen to Alya as she raved about her hits, her clip being used on real news networks, the assholes who had already ripped her video and tried to claim it as their own.

She would have to nod and smile and be supportive and pretend that something personal and sacred hadn’t just been ripped away and exposed to the world.

Or at least, that was the plan she and Tikki decided on until the Ladyblog posted its newest article. The one capitalizing on its viral hit entitled Is Chat Noir A Nice Guy™ ?: A study in Ladybug and Chat Noir Interactions.

Marinette couldn’t even bring herself to read it in its entirety before she closed her browser and slammed her hands down on her keyboard.

So it was that nine hours later, running on little sleep and Tikki’s words echoing in her ear, that a stormy Marinette Dupain-Cheng stalked through the halls of her lycée.  Turning the corner to the locker room, she caught sight of Nino laughingly bowing over a grinning Alya’s hand and swallowed her infuriated scream.  She didn’t need to hear him to know he was saying “m’lady”.

Opting instead for sanity, Marinette brushed past them to the safety of her locker.  If she was trying to be inconspicuous she failed because Alya caught her immediately.

“Girl, where have you been?” She grabbed Marinette and pulled her in for a bone-crushing side hug that had her stiffening.  Alya was too excited to notice.  “You’ve been MIA all weekend and I’ve been dying to talk to you!  Did you lose your phone again?”

“No.”

“Did you not get my texts?”

Marinette sighed.  “I got your texts, Alya.  I was just busy.”

“Okay…” Alya was looking at her now.  Her excitement momentarily put aside as she took in her friend’s rumpled appearance. Her signature pigtails were in disarray and there were dark circles under her eyes that hinted at a restless night. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine.”

Judging by her concerned frown, Marinette could see that Alya didn’t believe her but wasn’t going to press the issue.  Which was unfortunate really when her change of topic took them back to a place Marinette really didn’t want to go.

“Did you see my video?” Alya held up her phone, opened to the video in question.  “It’s all over the news!”

“Yeah, I saw it.” Here Marinette really couldn’t hide her annoyance. 

“What’s got your tails in a twist?”

“It’s nothing.” Alya rolled her eyes.

“It’s clearly not nothing.  Why don’t you stop stalling and just tell me what bug crawled up your butt and get it over with.”

“Fine,”  She slammed her locker shut, startling a nearby student who took one look at Marinette’s glare and took off down the hall.  “You want to know what my problem is?  It’s you, Alya.  You and that stupid video.”

“Stupid?”

Marinette ignored her.

“It’s only been three days and it’s everywhere.  The entire world is speculating about Ladybug and Chat Noir. How would you like it if people openly discussed whether or not you and Nino were going out?”

“People do openly discuss whether or not Nino and I are going out,” She said hotly.  “You’re my best friend, M.  Out of everyone I thought you would be happy for me.”

“Well maybe that moment was private and now you’ve gone and embarrassed him.”

“Him?”

Marinette scowled. “Not everything is for public consumption, Alya.”

“I’m a journalist, Mari. It’s my job.”

“Well you didn’t have the right!” She snapped and Alya took a step back at the vehemence in her friend’s voice.  “After all of the attention they’ve given you.  The private interviews, the shout outs – it just seems like a shitty way to repay them.”

Alya tapped her foot anxiously against the tile.  “I didn’t mean for people to make fun of them.”

“Yeah, well. It happened.” Marinette blew a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. “And you posting that article last night didn’t help either.”

A small pressure at her hip let her know she needed to calm down.

No matter how angry she was, in Alya’s mind she was Marinette and Marinette had no reason to be this upset.  Marinette would be happy for her.  Marinette would be sharing screenshots and sending champagne emojis with each new view. What Marinette would not be was hurt.

Ladybug however…

“… Marinette?”

There was a question she was not willing to answer.  Marinette crossed her arms against her chest and avoided Alya’s searching gaze

“Just forget it, Alya. Do what you want.” 

And before she could do anything else to put her identity in jeopardy, she turned away and took off down the hall.  Or rather, she tried to take off down the hall but only made it three feet before plowing into one rigid Adrien Agreste.

Her tell tale blush was nearly a habit at this point and she was too angry to care much about it. Marinette barely even had time to take in his own state of dishevelment and sleeplessness before muttering a hoarse sorry and fleeing down the hall.

Fucking perfect.

She sought refuge in an empty hallway.  Class was starting now but she couldn’t really bring herself to care about being tardy or the inevitable note her parents would receive.  Her backpack lay forgotten on the stairs beside her as she fought off the imminent guilt she would feel when her anger ebbed.

She shouldn’t have yelled at Alya like that.

Tikki didn’t say anything, for which Marinette was grateful.  Unwilling to risk coming out of her purse entirely, her kwami merely reached out and gently patted her thigh.

God this was a mess.

So caught up in her own misery Marinette missed the sound of approaching footsteps.  It wasn’t until Adrien was standing directly in front of her with nervous hands that she even realized he was there.

“Hey, um.” He gestured towards the stairs beside her. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Marinette blinked at him slowly as his words broke through her fog of misery and shame.  When they finally registered she sighed.

“I’m sorry, Adrien. I’m probably not the best company right now.”

 “You’re better than everyone else I’ll bet.”

She didn’t saying anything and he took her silence as acceptance and took a seat beside her on the steps.  The halls were quiet, save them, and Marinette closed her eyes as she tried to bring her emotions down to a baseline level.  Adrien seemed to understand her need for distance and just sat with her. Despite the nervous thrum she always felt when she saw him, it was paradoxically calming to have him with her now.

Gradually the tension in her chest and shoulders loosened and Marinette released a deep soul-cleansing sigh.

“Better?”

She nodded, opening her eyes.  Green stared back at her in concern. 

He looked exhausted.

“Thank you.  By the way.” He raised his hand and rubbed the back of his neck. A nervous tick that sent a burst of warmth through her chest. “For what you said.”

Marinette didn’t ask him why.

She had her suspicions about her partner.  Strong, well-founded, terrifying suspicions that she wasn’t quite ready to talk to him about.  But the conversation was looming.

“They’re all idiots. Everyone.”

“Yeah,” But he didn’t sound convinced.

Marinette wasn’t sure if he knew her identity yet.  If he didn’t, he was getting there.  Her kitty wasn’t stupid.

“It’s none of their business.”

“Maybe they have a point though,” He watched her from the corner of his eye.  “Maybe it is a stupid nickname.”

“It is not a stupid nickname,” Marinette snapped, startling them both.  “And who are they to decide?  Or you for that matter.  If Ladybug doesn’t mind then who the hell cares what anyone else thinks.”

He was quiet.  She sighed.

“They’re jerks, Adrien.”

“Alya’s not a jerk,” he said half-heartedly.

“Yeah, well she acted pretty thoughtlessly.”

Marinette took in Adrien’s uncharacteristically mussed hair and the dark circles beneath his eyes. His clothes, as always, were immaculate but such was the life of a fashion mogul’s son. 

No, his distress was more subtle than that.  It was in the tightness of his shoulders, the rigidity of his spine, and the way his hands kept fidgeting.  It was like someone had taken a dimmer switch on his soul and turned it all the way down. Watching him, her heart broke all over again.

Pushing aside the voice in her head that screamed this is a bad idea Marinette shifted on the staircase so that she and Adrien were side by side.  She ignored his startled look and grabbed his hand instead.

“You know,” She said, squeezing his hand gently.  “They’re just being assholes because they can’t handle that Chat Noir is smooth enough to use a line like that and get away with it.”

Adrien turned away from her but she could still see the creeping pink on his cheeks.  She released his hand and he rubbed the back of his neck again as if he could force his embarrassment down.

Cute.

“Smooth, huh?”

Marinette grinned.

“Yeah, but don’t let it get back to him,” She bumped his shoulder.  “I hear his ego’s ridiculous enough as it is.”

They fell into a companionable silence.

It was nice. 

To just sit there with him when there wasn’t any akuma, or threat, or secrets (mostly). 

It was also terrifying.

To be Marinette while he was Adrien,

was to be without her suit

to be without her skin

and exposed for everything she was.

And Chat Noir knew her flaws better than most.

She tapped her fingers nervously against the stairs.  “I’m going to have to apologize to Alya, aren’t I?”

“Maybe.”

“Ugh.”

Now it was Adrien who nudged her with his shoulder.  “She didn’t do it to hurt anyone.”

“I know.  I just wish she’d… think beyond the story for once.”  She begrudgingly stood up and wiped the dust off her capris.  “I guess it’s time to pay the piper.”

Marinette looked down at him.  Despite their talk and the small smile pulling at his lips his shoulders were still tense.  Like the dimmer switch was still on.

She didn’t like that. Not when there was something she knew she could do to make it go away.

Well, now’s as good a time as any.

Before she could second guess herself, Marinette leaned forward to ruffle Adrien’s mussed hair into a more properly Chatlike disaster.  The action seemed to almost electrify him and she smiled as she met the questions in his eyes.

“Cheer up, Chaton. Things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

It was worth her miniature heart attack to see his eyes light up with comprehension, confirmation, and triumph as the last link fell into place.  A devastatingly shy grin broke out and transformed him and Marinette found she could not scold her heart into a steady rhythm.

Lord she was in trouble.

But that was a problem for another time.  For now she reached out and took his offered hand as she pulled him to his feet. Meeting his happy grin with one of her own, Marinette squeezed his hand briefly before letting go.

Still beaming, Adrien’s eyes shined as he made a wide sweeping gesture and bowed.  And even though she knew it was coming, her heart still gave a happy stutter when he laughed and said

“After you, my Lady.”

[royaltyjunk]

Never Could Have Loved [T, New Danganronpa V3]

Summary:

There's never been anything wrong with Harukawa Maki's life, at least in her eyes.

Author's Ideas: SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS HOLY SHINTO DON'T READ THIS SHIT IF YOU HAVEN'T FINISHED V3

Okay look I love post-game fics about survivors as much as the next guy - I wrote two of them - but listen listen listen

PRE-GAME FICS? ABOUT HARUMOMO? I HADN'T EVEN THOUGHT ABOUT THOSE AND NOW I'M LIKE HI MOVE OVER POST-GAME FICS I'M GOING DEEP INTO THIS HELLHOLE

*cracks knuckles even though I can't do that* aight, let's do this

Also yeah I'm still going "last name, first name" because I'm a weeb yahahaha

AND this fic is highly speculative so be nice with me please thanks

As always, readable on FF.net and AO3.

Disclaimer: I wish Kodaka wasn't so evil but I don't own Danganronpa so yeah, nothing I can do about it

There's never been anything wrong with Harukawa Maki's life, at least in her eyes.

Sure, she might not love her parents, and her parents might not love her back. Sure, she may or may not have depression. Sure, she might have had to and continues to deal with more than any kid at her age will ever have to deal. But there's never been anything wrong with her life, in her eyes.

There's only been much more that she's wanted to change about her life, that she never can.

There is her mother, a distant figure in her life who abuses her. Badly. She remembers days in elementary school where she'd try to run away from home. She knows now that it is better to simply take it all. The little good that her mother does, and all the bad she gives Harukawa.

There is her step-father, a man who has never cared about his step-daughter. She knows he sees her as a nuisance, and he knows she sees him as a bother. They've never tried to get along, and frankly, they both know they'll never get along.

Then there's her real father, the man who might have made her, but cares less about her than anyone in the world. Her father could meet a stranger and care more about them than his own damn daughter.

So it's not a surprise that she's depressed, doesn't do well inside or outside of school, and gets abused in her free time.

The only solace she can find in her life is her fraternal half-twin. It's a messy situation that involves her mother sleeping around in the same week, and somehow ending up with her and her brother, but he's the only speck of good her mother has ever given her.

Unfortunately, he lives with her real father after he decided no, he didn't want his actual child, he wanted the other child, and she can hardly find an excuse to visit him. There's been many times where she's had to climb the walls outside the house and knock on her brother's window. Truthfully, she doesn't feel bad about it.

Her brother's name is Gokuhara Gonta, and he's a bit of a delinquent.

It's actually not easy to spot the resemblance between the two despite them being twins - pretty much all they share is their mother's brown hair and red eyes, and even then Gokuhara's hair has a tint of green that's not in hers. Hell, they don't even share the same last name, although now that she thinks about, she'd much rather be called Harukawa than Gokuhara, and he probably thinks the opposite.

Instead, their genetic bond is more obvious in the small things. Their hair grows out the same. Their hands are both rather small. Their feet are rather large. Their eye shape is the same. Both of them have thin lips.

Gokuhara's part of a gang, and not a good kind of gang. A gang that beats people up with no remorse kind of gang. He's constantly looking to pick fights, and has been suspended from school on multiple occasions. Thankfully, because of her father's job as the principal of the school, he hasn't expelled, but it makes Harukawa disgusted to think her brother's only in school because of nepotism.

So it's not a surprise the two of them end up auditioning for Danganronpa's 53rd season, just to get away from their lost and destroyed lives. It's not that either of them are die-hard fans - they just want to get away. Perhaps that's why so many people love Danganronpa - it's a show of escapism, a show that takes you away from everything you've been feeling and plunges you into the depths of those characters' minds.

Harukawa sighs, clenching her fists. The large television displays a glowing red number: 95. Gokuhara shifts nervously beside her, and she glances over at him.

"Nervous?"

"I guess," he mutters. "It's just - "

The number increases by one, and the door to the gymnasium opens up as the speakers spark to life, announcing, "Number 96."

Gokuhara stands, taking in a deep breath as he stands. Harukawa pats him on the forearm reassuringly, grinning.

"It's not like it matters if you get in or not."

"...Yeah. You're right, Mak. Thanks," he grins back, and disappears into the open doors of the gymnasium. A Team Danganronpa member escorts him in, and then closes the door behind her half-twin. She wishes him luck in her mind.

The hallway fills with even more obnoxious and loud teenagers, and Harukawa shifts deeper into the folding chair placed along the hallways, ignoring them the best she can. She doesn't even notice one of them walk right up to her before they tap her on the shoulder.

"Hey, can I take this seat?"

Harukawa looks up, seeing a teenager with sharp purple eyes and the most ridiculous hairstyle she's ever seen. She shrugs. Gokuhara probably wouldn't mind. Besides, they're leaving after she auditions anyways.

"Sure."

The teenager plops down beside her, grinning. "What number are you?"

"97," she responds.

"You're next?" he tilts his head. "I thought you'd be more nervous about the audition."

"It's not like it's a big deal for me anyways," she answers, fiddling with her gloves. It's been awhile since she's worn these silk gloves, since she's almost never gone out where strangers will see her hands. Today's an exception. She doesn't need anyone asking about the blooming and ugly purple bruises and numerous scars scratched across her palm and on the back of her hands and along her fingers.

"Seriously?"

"It's not like getting in will make my shitty life any better."

"Oh," the purple-haired male murmurs, blinking. "So you have a shitty life, huh?"

"More than shitty, sure."

"What's your name?"

She glances at him with a tinge of anger in her eyes. "Why do you care?"

"Am I not allowed to know a nice girl's name?"

"...Harukawa. Harukawa Maki."

"Nice. I'm Momota Kaito."

"So are you one of those crazy Danganronpa fans?"

"I wouldn't say that, but I definitely like it a lot, y'know?" he smiles widely. "It's fun to try and figure out who killed who, and how the people react to the killings and everything!"

"...Morbid," Harukawa comments under her breath, and Momota lets out a chuckle.

"I guess. But it's entertainment, so it's not anything worrying. I mean, pretty much everyone else here does the same."

The speakers buzz to life, and a deep voice calls, "Number 97."

She stands, and Momota stands with her. She glares at him.

"What are you doing?" she asks angrily.

"Just thought I'd see you off," he grins. She ignores him, and pushes through the crowds of people towards the double-doors leading to the gymnasium.

"Good luck," he mutters, and her hand clenches tight around the door handle.

"Sure."

She steps through those doors, and somehow feels like her life has changed because of one god forsaken boy.

~ / . / . / ~

"...What the hell is this," she deadpans, slamming the paper onto the table.

The man sitting in front of her looks up at her. "What's wrong, kiddo?"

"'Ultimate Assassin?' Why the hell am I under that talent? I told you, I wanted to be the unknown Ultimate. Why am I under Ultimate Assassin?"

The man sighs, glancing over her paper. "Listen, little miss. It's hard for us to make sure you get your preferred Ultimate. Besides, we already have an unknown Ultimate, and we think you'll fit nicely as an Ultimate Assassin if you're chosen."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course. Now go. I don't have all day to deal with your complaints. I got hundreds of other kiddos like you to deal with."

"Wait a minute - "

"Next!" the man calls before Harukawa can protest, and all she can do is give up, trudging out of the dining hall and through the hallways. She turns the corner, and almost runs into Momota, who's leaning against the wall along the hallway.

"Oh, hey. Harukawa, right? I didn't know you'd made it through the first cut."

"Yeah, it's Harukawa. I did. Surprisingly."

Momota laughs loudly. "I think you'd fit into a cast of Danganronpa. So, what talent did you get?"

Harukawa rolls her eyes. "It's not like my opinion matters," she responds. "So anything is fine."

Momota frowns. "Then what did you get?"

"...Ultimate Assassin," she responds. "Then again, lots of other people have gotten that talent. We'll just have to see who they pick as their Ultimate Assassin this year."

"Better than the Ultimate Astronaut," Momota sneers. "God, it's such a lame talent. I don't know anyone who would willingly choose that talent."

"So were you just shoved into that category because they felt you didn't fit any other?"

Momota rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I guess."

"Well, I guess we're in the same boat."

Momota offers her his hand, and she high-fives it tentatively. The scar on her finger tingles, and she ignores the stinging feeling of the bruises all over her - even the ones in her heart.

~ / . / . / ~

Harukawa rubs her cheek, and Gokuhara curls his fists.

"I'll hit them real good, I'll kill them, I swear - "

"Stop it, Gokuhara," she mutters, watching the retreating backs of the couple leaving the school. "Don't."

"But Mak, they - "

"Shh," she hisses. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that here?"

"Sorry, Harukawa… I - still! I don't understand why you still put up with her shit!"

"Gokuhara, there you are!" Momota appears behind Gokuhara as he turns the corner. Harukawa shrinks against the wall. "Some - oh. Hey, Harukawa. I thought your parents were… visiting you."

Harukawa shrugs. "They left. I'll be going now, Gok - "

"Harukawa, what's that on your cheek?"

Momota's words make her stop mid-sentence, and she clamps her teeth together. "It's nothing."

Momota grabs her by the wrist, turning her to face him. "Is that a bruise?" He frowns, and Harukawa rips her hand from his.

"It's nothing. Leave me alone."

"A bruise isn't nothing!" Momota hisses. "Who did it?" His head swivels to look at the other teenager. "Gokuhara, you - "

"Stop it!" Harukawa bellows angrily. "Gon didn't do anything, and it's none of your god damn business, Momota!"

The purple-haired teenager freezes, staring at her, and Harukawa cradles her cheek in her hands before realizing what she's said.

"...Shit."

"Mak…" Gokuhara murmurs, resting a hand on her shoulder. She looks away, her face scrunched into a look of shame and unhappiness.

"So…" Momota starts after an awkward silence, "you two are…?"

"Fraternal half-twins," Gokuhara grunts. "From the same disgusting she-devil."

Harukawa just sighs, letting her hands fall to her side. "Gon, I've told you not to call her names like that."

"Well I'm sorry that I'm the only person willing to stand up to her abuse!"

The biting words Gokuhara yells leave a cutting silence in their place, and Harukawa glares at him.

"I thought I told you not to bring that shit up," she grinds out coldly between clenched teeth and curled fists, a sense of rage and darkness swarming her. Gokuhara winces. Momota's eyes grow angry.

"So it was her…?"

"Stop it," Harukawa mutters, too tired to argue. "I'm used to it, okay? Stop."

Momota unclenches his fist, turning his head to the side. "Damn…"

Gokuhara doesn't say anything, and Harukawa pats her hand on his forearm. "You should go…"

"Oh yeah…" Momota looks at the brown-haired boy. "Some kid's looking for you. Black hair, looks like a whiner. Said he'd be by our dorm in five minutes."

"Oh!" Gokuhara starts, then cracks his knuckles. "Mak, if you need me…"

"I'll be fine, Gon," she responds tiredly. "Go."

He pulls Harukawa into a quick one-armed hug before hurrying away, casting a final look over his shoulder as he disappears behind the corner of the hallway. Harukawa leans against the wall, glancing up at Momota.

"So? What do you want with me?"

"Huh?" Momota tries to act surprised, but Harukawa can see a look of guilt crossing his face.

"If you really were looking for Gon, you'd have left with him. If you're here with me, I can only assume you're here because you have something to talk with me about. Whatever it may be."

"Man, and here I thought I was being subtle…"

"Not sure if you know this, but you're the exact opposite of subtle," Harukawa snaps back snarkily before sighing. "Come on. You can talk while we walk back to the dorms."

"Wait, Harukawa - "

"Hurry. Up," she hisses, turning and walking down the tiled path that leads through the large school that's actually a filming lot. Momota hurries after her, and the two of them walk away from the entrance hall.

"Harukawa, look. Why can't you just get along with everyone? Why do you have to act so… distant? I mean, I guess know now, but come on. At least don't go out of your way to ignore everyone who tries to talk to you."

"There are hundreds of people here, and you're asking me to get along with everyone? Seriously?"

"Not everyone! Do you think I'm insane? I just mean that… you know. Try not to death glare everyone who tries to talk to you. I mean… shit, can't you at least get along with me?"

She glares at him, and he frowns.

"Stop that. I just told you not to do that, didn't I?"

Harukawa pushes open the glass door to the dormitories wordlessly, and Momota follows her to her room, shared with several other girls. She knows they're inside - she can tell from all the giggling.

"You'll never change who I am," she retorts back, turning to look at him now that they're standing in front of her dorm. "Even if I try, I'll never change."

"Look, Harukawa. You're really freakin' pretty and you might come off as a bitch, but I like you a lot, alright? So even if - "

Her hands shoot up, grabbing the collar of his jacket and pulling him down towards her. In a rush of adrenaline, she's kissing him hard, her hands in his hair and lips hard against his.

He makes a noise of surprise against her lips, and she pulls away.

"What?" she inquires flatly. "Is that not what you were wishing for?"

"I… no, I just didn't think you'd…" he gestures vaguely between the two of them, and Harukawa rolls her eyes, exasperation slashing through the feeling of excitement and pounding nervousness.

"Would you rather I hadn't done it?"

"No," he replies immediately, "that was freakin' awesome. I - "

"Cool," she cuts off, pulling him back down for another kiss. This time he takes the lead, pulling her close and kissing her hard. Her lips are going to bruise, she knows it.

She brushes it off. Not like she's never been bruised before anyways.

"Hey," he mumbles when they pull apart, and he presses his lips against her cheek, his words muffled by her bruised and purple skin. "I really really like you. And I think you don't deserve everything you've gone through."

"I think I do," she replies softly, and Momota frowns, pulling away from her.

"Harukawa - "

She shakes her head, and slowly takes a step back, opening the door to her dorm and stepping backwards into it. "Good night," she whispers, her voice cracking and unable to retain its cold and harsh tone.

"...Night," Momota breathes, and she shuts the door in his face, her fingers trembling from the unknown feeling coursing through her veins.

~ / . / . / ~

The hundreds of teenagers that flock the filming grounds are all sent home.

"We will announce the results in three weeks," the Team Danganronpa executive tells them, and then sends them back to the dormitories and their chosen rooms to pack up and leave.

Harukawa sighs, jamming her clothes and everything she brought into her suitcase and leaving before her roommates even come back. She never really liked them - prissy little girls who'd gossip and giggle long into the night, to the point where Harukawa had to throw things at them to shut them up.

She steps outside, following the large crowd of teenagers swamping to the entrance of the school. Harukawa glances around, watching the slow construction of the large Wall being built. It will soon be finished, and sixteen poor souls will be trapped inside it.

Harukawa doesn't know how to feel about the fact that she might be one of those sixteen people.

Gokuhara stands beside her, his phone in his hand. "Kenji and Yuki are picking us up."

Harukawa frowns at the mention of her mother's name, but sighs. "Can't be helped. Not like I want any of them to come pick us up."

At that moment, Gokuhara's phone begins to vibrate, and he quickly picks up the call.

"Kenji? ...Yeah, we're here… Okay. See you." He hangs up and glances over at Harukawa. "They'll be here really soon."

Harukawa nods, squinting. In the distance, she can make out a trail of cars, rumbling along the road. "Is that them?"

"Should be," Gokuhara responds, taking Harukawa's suitcase. She lets him, rubbing her arms to rid herself of the wave of frostiness that swamps her for a reason she knows all too well.

The car pulls up in front of the two of them, and Gokuhara rounds the car towards the trunk, opening it to put away their suitcases. Harukawa pulls open the car door, taking a step in.

"Harukawa!"

A loud and familiar voice splinters the air, and Harukawa starts, looking over her shoulder. A sense of sorrow and guilt throbs her heart, and she can almost feel it splitting.

"Momota…"

"Get in," her mother hisses at her. "We don't have time for your shit. We're busy people, unlike you lazy teenagers."

Her mother's words open a feeling of anger and rebelliousness in her heart that's never been there. Confidently, she steps out of the car and turns towards Momota, who's running for her. She meets him halfway there, right beneath the large doorframe of the entrance to the Academy for Gifted Juveniles, amidst a crowd of people pushing against them.

"You're leaving now?" he asks softly.

"Yeah. Yuki's not going to wait for us… obviously." Momota bites his lip, and she looks at him. "Did you want to say something?"

"I… I'm gonna miss you a lot," he starts.

Gokuhara calls for her frantically from inside the car. Harukawa can feel her mother growing increasingly impatient and frustrated.

"I know," she responds.

"And I think I love you."

"I know."

"Harukawa!" her mother yells. Her voice is frigid and enraged.

"'I know'? That's all you have to say?" Momota asks angrily. "We might never see each other, and that's all you have to say?"

"...I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so… so sorry."

Momota's enraged eyes soften, and he glances away guiltily. "No… it's not your fault." He pauses, and then touches his fingers to her cheek. The ugly purple bruise has long faded, but the silent action brings Harukawa back to that night where they were so close. "I guess… this is goodbye, Harukawa."

"Yeah," she whispers, lowering her head. Momota brushes her bangs behind her ear and she pulls away and climbs into the car, staring out the window as they drive away and ignoring her mother, angrily yelling at her with a true rage and impassioned anger in her voice.

Her heart throbs. It's a bruise that's going to be there forever, she knows it, but what's one more bruise over the million others she's going to get?

~ / . / . / ~

She wakes up thrashing and kicking, and her foot slams against the door of a locker.

"Shit," she hisses, feeling pain throb through her toes, but pauses. A locker? Why the hell is she in a locker? The locker door pops open when she kicks it again, and she stumbles out, falling to her knees.

"Damn…"

She stands, dusting off her skirt and looking around. It's a classroom… and the windows are barred.

"A school?" she wonders aloud.

The locker beside hers begins to clatter and rattle loudly, and Harukawa pulls open the door, ready for any nasty surprise that could greet her.

Instead, a tall teenager with familiar purple hair tumbles out, and he groans. Her heart thuds, and her heartbeat pounds in her ears as he looks up at her.

"Haru...kawa?" he asks blearily. She squats in front of him.

"Momota," she smiles hesitantly. He scrambles up, but stands a little too quickly and accidentally knocks his forehead against her chin. She grunts in pain as she stands, feeling her jaw rattle and her cheek throb from recently healed bruises.

"Shit, sorry!" he exclaims, but she waves off his concerned questions and frantic actions.

"It's fine."

He pauses, gently touching his fingers to the back of her hand. "Are you… really okay?"

"No," she responds bluntly, and he doesn't press her anymore. He knows what that tone of voice means, and for once, she's grateful someone understands her. He just curls her hand into his, squeezing it reassuringly.

"...I thought so. But hey, at least you made it. At least your shitty life can be no more."

"So it's really happening, is it?"

"I think so. We'll have to see… but it definitely looks like the audition grounds."

"Filming lot."

"Well, the audition grounds were the filming lot…"

"I know. Let's go."

Momota hums in response, leading her out the room. He doesn't let go of her hand, and she notices. She couldn't care less.

They take one step outside of the classroom, and come face to face with a large angry green machine, screeching and stabbing at the ground close to them. Momota pulls Harukawa behind him.

"Shit! Harukawa, run!"

"You too!" she hisses, pulling him away from the machine. "You're not fighting that!'

They dash down the hallway, dodging every haphazard attack that could possibly take their heads off. They stumble down the stairs, skipping every other step to quicken their descent.

They turn to make a left at the foot of the stairs, but the machine jumps in their way, and Harukawa bites back a scream. Momota doesn't bother, and just yells for her to follow him, pulling her along before she can protest - not like she would.

"Where do they want us to go?" Harukawa pants heavily, and Momota points ahead.

"Through there!"

Sure enough, there are the familiar double doors of the gymnasium, and the two of them tumble in. Two teenagers turn around, one with green hair and one with blue hair.

"Hi," Harukawa breathes, "do you have any clue what we're doing here?"

"It depends…" the green-haired male mutters, but the blue-haired girl shakes her head.

"I've got nothing…"

The door explodes open behind them, and then people stream in - one after another until there are sixteen of them. It only confirms Harukawa's suspicions.

"It is, isn't it?" she whispers into Momota's ear, and he leans down, nodding.

"Definitely seems so. I mean - "

Five large mechanical robots fall into the gym and surround them. Momota pushes Harukawa behind him, narrowing his eyes.

"These bastards - "

Five stuffed bears hop out of the killing machines, and Harukawa blinks. Momota starts.

"What's going on?" A blonde girl asks. "Could it be - "

A pile of assorted clothes are flung into the air by the five bears, and Harukawa blinks as the clothes seem to magically pull themselves onto her and her old school uniform disappears miraculously. She supposes it's part of the "filming magic" that Team Danganronpa has in their arsenal.

He grabs her by the hand when they're not sparkling, when their clothes are different, and their everything is about to change. He feels the same, even under that ridiculous purple jacket with space patterns and white shirt stamped with red. She looks up at him.

"You never could have loved me," he states softly.

And he's not wrong. As much as she tried back then, there was something so tentative in her, so cold and frightened, that found it too scarring to try and love him.

"I wish I could have loved you," she replies, and her voice is guilty, her eyes are brimming with tears.

"...Yeah. I know."

And as they black out, in their new clothes, their new talents, their new identities, she feels him press a gentle and loving kiss on her lips, so unlike their previous kisses, and she kisses him back, feels a sting of bitter irony from the fact that she's finally experienced love, the real Harukawa Maki finally god damn loves someone and she's about disappear from the world.

[heroes-of-our-hearts]

Chapter Nine: Something Akin To A Cat

You’d finally made it.

The hard work, the blood, the tears- you were finally here. The dream to be number one wasn’t uncommon, and it sure as hell wasn’t easy, but somehow you’d made it.

There were many obstacles, many inspirations.

Through it all, you’d managed to rise through the ranks so quickly. You built your hero agency from the ground up, recruited new heroes to do some training with. In the heart of New York City, your agency stood tall.

It was a shining representation of your hardwork and dedication.

“Purple? Purple’s my favorite color!” The voice by you squealed excitedly.

She couldn’t see your smile beneath the mask. Of course you knew purple was her favorite color, that’s why you’d decided to light the building up as such, the perfect ending to a perfect day.

“It’s your birthday kiddo, a whole 7 years old today,” you knelt down beside her, ruffling her hair a bit.

She looked a whole lot like you. You could see a lot of your mother in her too. The expressions she made mimicked you to a tee.

“Do you think mommy and daddy know?” She asked, her voice unusually small.

You sighed.

“I think so, baby girl, and I’m sure they’d give you the biggest hug if they could.”

Your mother had died giving birth. Her pregnancy with your sister had been a rough one, and she knew she wouldn’t make it. She fought until the last minute to make sure your sister was born.

Your father had been alone after that. He’d worked so hard to make sure that you and your sister were well provided for. Nearly two years prior, he fell ill. The doctors said it was incurable. You had a hard time watching the man who’d been your personal hero fade away with each day, but you admired the strength in his eyes that never once faded.

Both of your parents were fighters until the very end.

“Please don’t leave me,” your sister whispered.

Her voice was so quiet, barely a whisper in the wind. You pulled her body in close to yours, wrapping your arms completely around her.

“I will never leave you,” you promised, kissing the top of her head.

She melted into the contact. You could feel her tears start to fall on your neck.

The world was cruel to her. It’d taken both of her parents at such a young age. It’d left her quirkless in a world so filled with evil. She felt abandoned, weak, inferior- but through it all she had you.

You were her hero.

And damn it all, she was yours. She gave you the strength to see your dreams a reality. She was your whole world, even if you’d had to unexpectedly raise her.

You would do right by her.

You woke with a start. Ever since the USJ, you’d been plagued with dreams of your life before the incident.

Not all of them were bad, but they were a constant reminder of your failures.

You rubbed a hand down your face, willing the bad thoughts out of your mind. You were going to have a busy day as it was, you didn’t need the added exhaustion of no sleep on top of it.

Eventually, you forced yourself out of bed and started your morning routine. By the time you made it to school, the whole campus was buzzing.

The UA Sports Festival was fast approaching, and while you knew that training for it would be at the forefront of many of the student’s minds, you also knew it wouldn’t distract them enough to forget about what they saw.

You were hesitating, standing before the door the class 1-A.

This would be over soon. You’d be able to go home. For now, you would have to deal with the consequences of your abandonment.

The class fell into an uneasy silence the moment you stepped inside. The click of the door echoed behind you.

“(Y/N),” Shouta greeted lowly, wrapped head to toe in bandages. You knew he shouldn’t be there, knew he needed to heal, but you could sympathize with him. Your worry would still have you call him out later though.

You’d been to visit him when he was recovering. Hardly left, if you were being honest with yourself. He’d been so close to…

You were almost too late. If you’d been a few moments later, you were sure he would’ve…

The first night he was there, you sat with him the whole time, baring so much of yourself and your feelings. You knew he couldn’t hear, but it was something you needed to do.

You cleared your throat, moving to stand next to him. All Might and Thirteen stood behind the rows of students, watching closely. They seemed a bit on edge, and a little banged up themselves.

“Right,” you drawled, leaning forward on the podium.

Why in the hell was it easier to face villains?

“Allow me to introduce myself again, only genuinely this time.”

There, that was a good start.

A few of the students moved to the edge of their seats, practically buzzing with excitement at having their questions finally addressed.

“I am (Y/N) (Y/L/N), or as you’d recognize me, Tempest.”

Gasps of surprise, awe, nearly every emotion erupted. The class began murmuring among themselves, and honestly you had half a mind to leave them right there.

You couldn’t handle the inevitable disappointment.

You’d always wanted to be a hero, and you were lucky enough to be born with the power to do so. You’d spent so many years training and struggling to get to the number one spot. You never wanted people to think you’d abandoned them.

“But Tempest has been missing for months,” Midoriya said, seemingly confused with the circumstances of your disappearance.

“Yeah, I saw that on the news too!” Kirishima added.

You swallowed when they turned to you expectantly.

“Well, think of it like witness protection, you know?” You tried, hoping they’d take it.

They didn’t.

“Protection from who?” Ashido asked.

“If you’re number one why don’t you just beat them up?” Kaminari interrupted.

The voices grew louder as they talked over one another, speculating what- or who- could’ve been the reason behind your disappearance. Your leg twitched, ready to remove you from the situation.

Just as you were about to head out, Shouta’s bandaged hand rested against the small of your back. It was barely there, and you’d noticed he’d taken his whole arm out of the sling just to get it there.

Strength resonated from his touch, his bloodshot eyes sending warmth through your entire body.

“Why are you running away?”

Bakugo’s eyes met yours. It wasn’t his normal anger that stood out in his voice, it was something deeper. Disappointment, you were sure. You wondered if perhaps he’d been a fan of your hero persona.

“Villains aren’t just bad guys you can beat up,” you finally found your voice, surprised at the amount of ice in your tone. “Some of them hide behind titles and money and fame. They claim to be something they’re not, and the public eats it up. You can’t attack a villain if they parade around as a hero.”

The silence was back.

It was as if they’d suddenly all come to a realization.

“I could beat them, if I could fight them.” You stated, reaching your hand behind your back to place it against Shouta’s. “He has fame, money, police force- hell, millions of people in his corner. A villain is one thing, but this is deeper than just that. If I attack him publicly, I will lose everything I’ve worked so hard to build.”

You looked directly at Bakugo as you said the next sentence.

“I’m running because if I stop, I won’t be able to hold myself back.”

The kid looked stunned, but nodded resolutely. Clearly, he understood, even if it was only to a degree.

“This school prepares you to fight villains in the street, it doesn’t prepare you to face against the corruption everywhere.”

Then, quieter:

“Some heroes are villains.”

You felt closer to the class somehow. Like they finally knew you for the real you.

A tentative hand was raised, two bright eyes shining up towards you.

“Yes, Ochaco?”

A slow smile was pulling at her lips.

“I’ve always wanted to know why you kept your identity a secret.”

That was something you didn’t mind answering.

See, your hero costume was made with your quirk in mind, but also concealed your identity completely. Nobody could tell what you looked like beneath the mask. Your real name had never once been leaked. You were a mystery.

It wasn’t just for privacy’s sake though.

“What did you think I looked like?” You countered.

She seemed flustered for a second, before finding her bearings.

“Um, I expected someone like Mr. All Might.”

You raised a brow.

“You couldn’t miss him in a crowd,” she explained. Her eyes widened the moment she realized what she said. “I mean, it’s not to say you’re plain and you don’t stand out it’s just-”

“I look like a normal person, with a normal life.” You finished for her.

She nodded, looking shameful.

“That’s the thing though, I chose to remain anonymous because I wanted more people to realize anyone can be a hero, it’s a state of mind, not a gift.”

You hated the way the class was staring back at you. They were almost reverent, like they couldn’t believe you were standing in front of them. You imagined this was how Toshi felt.

A few more hands were raised. You’d felt your strength diminishing and was hoping to be done for the time being.

Shouta must’ve had an exhaustion meter or something, because he caught on very quickly.

“Save the questions for later, focus on the sports festival.”

And just like that, the class was returning to normal. Well, as normal as a room full of hormonal heroes-in-training could get.

You breathed out a sigh of relief, making your way for the door without a moment of hesitation. Shouta lingered a moment longer before following you out.

“You should still be recovering,” you chastised, leaning against the wall right outside of the classroom.

“Thank you,” Shouta countered, resolutely. Clearly, the words were hard for him to get out.

You paused.

“Of course, I’ll always be there to save you,” you muttered, ignoring the burning of your cheeks.

He seemed to hunch in on himself too.

“But if you ever scare me like that again, I’ll kill you myself,” you stated seriously, your eyes burning into where his were visible through the slits of his bandages.

You sighed, deciding the throw caution into the wind as you very carefully pulled the man against you. He was stiff, like he wasn’t quite sure what you were doing. If you’d had to describe him in the moment, you’d choose a confused a slightly scared cat.

“Just… be safe.”

With that, you pulled away, not bothering to look if he’d even reacted.

You had a more concerning thought on your mind.

Two of the villains had escaped, and it was only a matter of time before they realized who you were.

What would they do with that information?