#Like sitting in a blank room with some stranger telling me to stay calm does the Exact Opposite

[daphnis-is-screaming]

LMAO shifting a bit in my bed gave my heart a big ass start and it’s been ~16 hours since I’ve taken my bp meds maybe listening to the doctor about a dose increase wasn’t a good idea.

[just-a-quirkless-loser]

Invective Pain

Alpha Bakugou x F!Omega Reader

Words: 2.4k

Requested by: @goatsenpaiultimate

Hehe, sorry for the wait you guys. It’s been a rough few weeks for me. Also, the song ‘Butterfly’s Repose’ by Zabawa is amazing to listen to while you read this💜

Warnings: harsh language, Bakugou being an asshole, angst

“Get the fuck off me.”

“Alpha, please.”

“I said, get off. What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been too clingy,” you prove his point and cling to his arm.

“I miss you,” you try to nuzzle his neck so he can scent you. With your wolf quirk, it was getting harder and harder to stay away from Bakugou for long periods of time. Your instincts were on hyperdrive, always wanting him within your reach so you knew he was safe.

“Don’t you understand what ‘no’ means?” Bakugou tenses up as you continue trying to climb his body. Due to his inability to express himself, he’s still not used to your affections.

“I can’t help it,” you ruffle your tail to prove your point.

“Well, try harder to help it.”

“But, alpha-“

“No, I’m sick and tired of your bullshit. As soon as I come home, you want to climb all over me. I can’t even take a fucking shower,” you hunch into yourself as you take a step away from him. Looking back on it, he did have a point. You could stand to at least allow him a few moments to himself before you bombard him. But, it’s just hard on you.

Because of your quirk, you’ve always been the type to cling to people and try to protect them. You miss your parents because you considered them to be your pack but, that all changed when you met Bakugou. After a few months of dating, you moved in with Bakugou (your inner Omega told you she’d love to start her own pack with him). However, it’s been a difficult transition.

Bakugou normally takes your clinginess in stride but, it’s been hard for him lately. All he wants to do is take you underneath him and nuzzle you and treat you like a queen. But, he’s been dealing with this case. It’s been stressing him out and he’s never been the type to deal with stress in a correct way.

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck, I- FUCK! Omega. I just can’t keep doing this. You’re fucking annoying. This was a mistake. We shouldn’t have moved in together,” his words stung in your mind like a swarm of hornets, making you yelp in your mind. Although, no one would ever be able to tell your inner turmoil from the calm look on your face. Why does he have to tear you down with his words? What does he gain from your dissociation? Does it bring him satisfaction to win the argument? Even at the expense of your heart? The same heart he swore to protect when he chose you as a mate.

“I’m sorry,” and you don’t understand why. You just stand there with a blank expression, no longer feeling that your heart is safe in his hands. And, that is worse than losing an argument the two of you have.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it. I’m tired of you sticking to my fucking side like a toddler. You’re always hovering over me. I need space,” you intend to give him all the space he needs. “Selfish extra.”

He doesn’t know what his words do to you as he goes to the room you share, bumping you out of his way. You want to cry, you want to chirp, you want to-to-die; without him-without your alpha- what is there to live for?

Your omega crawls to your heart, shriveling up like a raisin as if your soul has been sucked by a vacuum. You feel your heart drop; the first sign of Omega Depression and you don’t tell Katsuki. How can you?

He made it clear how bothersome you were in his life. You never meant to be a burden to him. All you wanted to do was love him and give him the love he lacked from his teenage years. But, it’s transparent that you’re not wanted by the person your soul has imprinted upon.

You sit on the couch, staring into nothingness. What did you do wrong? What was so wrong with wanting to love him? You feel weak. Maybe if Katsuki had someone stronger, someone who could take his invective words in stride, he’d be happier.

As you wallow in your own pain, Katsuki is upstairs taking a shower. Part of him feels relieved to finally have some space to himself and the other scolds him for what said; he barely remembers what he said to you exactly. All he knows that your face is blank so, he assumes it’s not too bad since you weren’t crying.

He walks out of the shower expecting to see you but, he’s greeted with an empty bed. He figures you just want space to be angry so, he lets you stay downstairs.

‘It’ll be fine tomorrow,’ it won’t. As he dozes off to that thought, you were downstairs stuck in your mind. It's your fault for always forgiving him after he’s verbally ruined you You just thought your love for him outweighed anything he said to you. But, your unconditional love has reached its limit.

You wait till he falls asleep before you break the facade (you still want him to get his sleep so he can wake up healthy tomorrow). You heave and whimper as you curl into a ball on the cold living room floor. You shake from the force of your tears, tears falling like rain in the spring. You’re trying to smile to stop the tears but, your mouth ends up in a horrible grimace as you silently berate yourself. Your hands scrape at your arms, nails taking patches of your skin as a way to distract your mind. You don’t sleep that night; you don’t sleep for any of the nights that follow.

When you hear your alpha’s alarm clock sound, you climb on the couch with your face smooshed to the cushions. Katsuki follows his nightly routine, not even checking to see if you’re okay. He just gets dressed for his patrol and leaves breakfast on the table for you, kissing your hair goodbye before he leaves out the door.

You’re once again crying as you just lay there. You don’t bother to call your job to notify them of your absence. If anything, you just lay there, your tail curled around your body as if it’s protecting you from the world.

You feel useless against your heart because you know you shouldn’t have allowed Bakugou’s temper to get to this point. You had suggested therapy and anger management to him many times but, he was persistent in telling you that he had it under control. You knew he thought seeking therapy was weak (as he thinks most things are weak) but, you just wanted him to think before he spoke.

You can tell that he’s tried to do better for you and you appreciate that but, it’s not enough anymore.

This was the last straw. Not because you still don’t love him but, because you’re now in your Omega’s Depression. It’s a fairly new phenomenon. The doctors warned Omegas and Alphas that their second genders could drive them into a comatose state if the genders were met with unfavorable conditions. Your omega has started the process and you can only hope that Katsuki figures that out before it’s too late.

At first, Bakugou didn’t think anything about your attitude. He just thought you were giving him space (which he hated. It feels weird to him to be alone when he was always with you and he’s too prideful to admit that) however, he knows something is wrong when you start to avoid him.

You don’t talk to him like you use to, you don’t cook his favorite spicy ramen anymore, hell, you don’t even come to bed anymore. It’s like two strangers living in the same house (well, roommates would be more accurate). And, he misses you.

“Why are you sleeping on that shitty couch?” He’s standing above you with his arms folded, head to the side so he can hide his blush. You don’t respond, dried tear stains on your cheeks.

“Not gonna answer? What you’re too good to speak to me?” He squats down to eye-level. His breath fans across your face, the smokey caramel of his scent bringing more tears to your eyes. “Omega?”

You still don’t answer. He takes that as you still being angry about the argument; he also notes the change in your scent.

“Tch,” he walks to the bedroom and comes back with a few blankets so he can make a small hammock beside the couch at your side. He slips into the covers, hand upon your waist so he can feel you. “Goodnight, Omega.”

The next day, you’re still in the same spot on the couch above him. He does his routine, this time spending longer at saying goodbye.

“I’ll be back, Omega. Cuddling wouldn’t be the worse thing when I get home,” you stare blankly.

“And, I put some of your favorite cookies on the table,” still nothing.

“I love you,” nothing. And, that’s how he knows that everything is wrong. He spends the day on patrol, withdrawn from his hero-work. All he can think about is that blank look in your eye, the stillness of your home, the taste of failure on his tongue.

‘I fucked up,’ he sure did.

He comes home and you're still in the same spot. He doesn’t even think you got up to use the bathroom. You’re the first thing he attends to when his boots cross the threshold.

“Omega, you need a bath,” you don’t move so he picks you up bridal style and carries you to the bathroom. Your body is sweating and that stench gets even worse. “Omega, I’m sorry.”

But, sorry doesn’t fix everything. Sorry is nothing when you truly hurt someone. Sorry is when someone feels obligated to correct their wrongs (not because they want to). Sorry is the Black Licorice of apologies.

“Have you gone to work?” No. He knows you haven’t but, he just wants you to talk to him. His alpha cries for his mate yet, she doesn’t respond. “Baby?”

The bath is spent in silence as you sag on him. His hand's card through your (h/c) hair, trying to release some of your tension. It’s such an intimate moment of him caressing your body as though you are a precious work of art. His lips latched onto the mating mark on the side of your neck, reminding you that he cares.

When he gets you out of the tub, he dries you with your favorite fluffy towel. His carmine eyes gaze at you adoringly from your navel, blonde hair resting against your belly. One in a while, he’ll kiss your legs and feet, silently showing how much he truly cares for you.

Night rolls around and you both follow the same routine as before; you’re laying on the couch and he’s laying beside you on the floor. You’re not eating and that terrifies him. Sadly, this goes on for another month. And, Katsuki is growing desperate to have his omega back.

“I allowed my anger to do this to her- to me-to us. And, now, I don’t know if I can help her anymore,” he joined an anger management group (which, coincidentally helped his public image as well) after he realized the argument caused the rift in your relationship.

And, you’re proud of him on the inside, even if you can’t show it. At least he’s trying but, your omega just turns a blind eye to his efforts. You commend Katsuki for not giving up though.

‘It must be hard trying to change and improve for someone and they don’t even acknowledge your existence,’ you do feel bad for him. It seems that your love does outweigh his words.

But, you’re dying. He knows it. You know it. It’s known. He just won’t accept it.

“Omega,” you’re unconscious. He came home from the weekly session to find you unresponsive (well, more unresponsive than what you’ve been). “Omega, fuck-please-I God I, please wake up.”


So, you’re at the hospital now. The antiseptic burns your sensitive nose as you’re propped up on the hospital bed, sheets crinkling under your body. The doctors told Bakugou that you didn’t really have long to live but, he just can’t allow you to go without trying his best to save you.

“Omega, please, look at me,” you look at him but, it’s like you’re not seeing him. Your eyes don’t have the shine they used to. “Omega, please.”

You can’t answer him. What if you said the wrong thing? You were clinging to life by a single strand of fiber, death clinging to your scent. You knew you couldn’t handle it if Katsuki’s words hurt you once more.

“Please, talk to me, yell at me. Hit me. Do anything,” you can’t. Your voice is stuck in your mind. “Get mad. Throw something. Spit on me! Push me away. Shit, anything. Please just please please pleaseeee, fucking, please. PLEASE I’M NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO BE WITHOUT YOU. Please stop looking like you want to die.”

“But, I do,” you hope he can understand.

“NO! NO NO! I FUCKING NEED YOU. I LOVE YOU,” he chokes on his words as he gathers your face in his hands. “I’m such a piece of shit. It takes you dying for me to realize how much I love you. But, I do. I love you so much it hurts. I can’t lose you.”

“Wipe your tears,” you brush your thumbs across his cheek to gather his tears. “I’m right here.”

“How can you love me still? Your will to live is fucking weak and it’s my fault! And, I’m sitting here asking you to hold on for me. You don’t even have to speak to me. Just stay here. I promise I’ll stay here with you. You can’t leave me.”

“Bakugou-“

“For fuck's sake, It’s Katsuki to you! I did this to you. I’m so sorry for what I said. I’m sorry for pushing you away when I felt I didn’t deserve your love. I’m sorry for making you feel the pain I felt all these years. I’m sorry for being a shitty alpha,” he cries in your lap as you pat his back. Your omega stores, crooning to help her alpha. You’re not dead; the future may look bleak but, you know it will finally bring you the love you longed for.

————————————————————————-

Tag List💕

@orokayagi @sakurashortstack @sinclairsamess

[zuluc]

anonymous requested: i've been thinking about what to request for the past 3 days and i think i've finally got it. can i ask for kaeya or diluc with a crush that's a depressed bard that always composes sad songs and lyrics? here's the twist, though. their songs and lyrics start to cheer up as the two of them become closer friends!

pairing: diluc x gn! reader

style & genre: written; fluff

warnings: none

notes: i decided to do diluc for this one because I think it’d have a great impact on him as a person as well, and i’m here for more fluff with him 🥰 i made the lyrics myself for the sake of this fic please go easy on me all i know about music is playing the violin/viola also this is long

i changed the prompt a bit if that’s alright!

“Who are you exactly?” Diluc eyes you strangely when you look at him with a blank stare. In one hand you have a notebook and in the other is a lyre. You walked in only moments ago, actively avoiding anyone’s eyes as they knew you weren’t from town. You just wanted to go straight to the owner of the tavern and hope to share what you had in that book of yours.

“A bard,” you say. You look around to see a few of the townspeople staring back while the others cheer happily with each other as if an exciting thing had happened. “Do you have room for a performance?”

Diluc raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. You didn’t appear to have any double meaning or ill intention in your words, rather, your eyes were just void of any glint of mischief he usually saw in a certain person. But to waltz in one day and ask for something like this so casually, you really weren’t from there.

“Sure, just don’t steal anything.” He is skeptical of you as he is of any one else but you didn’t need to know that. You were used to it after all. He directs you to the side of the bar that was supposedly the “performance stage” but it didn’t matter. Anywhere was fine with you.

The townspeople gradually stop their chatter as you quickly tune your lyre, playing a chord once the strings were ready. The tune that escapes into the air effectively silences any remaining voices. The song you were going to start wasn’t one they would usually hear in this city of freedom and apparently cheerfulness.

Your fingers hook at the strings, releasing them with ease as a soulful melody fills the entire tavern. The chord was of the lower register and hummed deeply. Diluc flicks his eyes over to you as he cleans a glass and sees your own eyes are closed. 

When the night has passed

For then will I be free

Will they see me trample dust

Or let me keep my feet

Your book is open and he can see the words you were singing on the pages. It looks like you just started this line of work given how many pages were left in that book, assuming it was your only one as all you came in with were those two items and a small bag of mora. 

He doesn’t notice how much of an effect your song had until he scans over the tavern patreons. Your voice carries through, swaying through the people to where it grazes a piece of their hearts to reminisce forlorn memories. But your words felt soulful as if they had come from your own experiences. A thought passes over his head which causes his heart to pang before quickly shaking it off when he realizes the feeling.

Ah, so you were this type of bard. 

Diluc just thinks he’ll only see you one time so he lets the thought pass through.

Once your song ends the drunk townspeople cheer loudly among themselves. You are taken aback by all the noise but bow politely to them for their reaction. You take your things as they call out for you to do another song and you shake your head.

“Maybe another time,” you say with slight sorrow to your face or words. They accept the answer and continue on their night and when you turn to leave, Diluc can’t stop the words that come out of his mouth. 

“Why not stay for a drink?” You look at him incredulously and he crosses his arms, “Call it payment for your services. They seemed to enjoy it.” You make cautious movement as you make your way to a stool. Diluc sets out an apple cider vinegar drink and you sniff at it. Once you take a sip you notice his face at the corner of your sight. The edge of his lip is slightly quirked up as he sighs while cleaning a glass.

It seems they weren’t the only ones who enjoyed the song.

--

Mondstadt was a city that was very welcoming in comparison to all the other places you spent time at. The people were either unwilling to hear your music or had particular reactions to the pieces you shared. To them, it seemed you didn’t understand that bar music was supposed to be lively and something to dance to. Not something to feel sad about.

But you wanted to share it anyways for your songs are one of the few things in life that you are proud of. One of the few things that have filled the emptiness of yourself that you lost those years ago and maybe, just maybe, sharing them will help you feel in some way. To you, these songs are sorrowful, but they shouldn’t just make people sad. That’s why you were quite surprised at the reactions at Angel’s Share  as opposed to those from other places.

They should elicit emotions of nostalgia. Or maybe, you just hadn’t found the right experience to make them happier.

--

You come back a few nights later and Diluc is working the bar yet again. When he lifts his head, his shoulders sag in relief seeing that it is you. Venti had come by a few times after hearing about you and kept pressing the owner about letting him on the stage as well. 

He was rejected numerous times in tandem with being asked to pay up for his drink tab.

The same book and lyre are still in hand when you head towards Diluc like you did that first night. He places the glass in his hands down and gives you a nod of his head, “Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” You look around and see that the tavern is even fuller than the last night you performed. It seems word had got around of your songs and they had all been waiting patiently for nights now. That was what an attendee had said to you outside the door anyways. “Do you mind?” You gesture to the stage.

“Go for it,” Any sense of caution that seeped through his words when you met him was near to nonexistent now. Maybe it was the impressions you left on the townspeople and their word of mouth the past few days. A depressing bard in the city of freedom in comparison to the other bards was news, especially when this bar had a wonderful voice to listen to.

The bar quiets again with the numerous greetings and cheers in seeing you up there. You flip open your book and thumb through the pages before settling on one song near the middle. It was a two-parter.

Your fingers pick at the strings lightly, slowly adding pressure thus causing the volume to increase subtly. Diluc shifts in his spot as he tries to focus on the tasks at hand but there really isn’t anything he is going to lose if he wants to listen.

I ran far in the depths of that same night

They chased me off as they truly had hoped

But I lost my way and wandered far

Met and saw numerous things was how I coped

The townspeople are yet again taken by your voice and melody that they had started to move with the music. Diluc decides to abandon his tasks for a little while, now aware how your music allows him to reflect as you intended. 

He sees these events before him. The death of one close to him and the loss of someone beside him whom he thought he could trust wholeheartedly. You stop singing but continue with plucking at the strings that calms the atmosphere. It is solemn and relaxing, almost putting the drunkest of the bunch to sleep but through sheer willpower they stay awake to listen on.

Happy and cheerful those that I have seen

But they were not accepting of me

Sharing the harsh reality of these mysteries

How will one otherwise feel so free?

The song ends and a round of cheers erupts, louder than the first night as there were more people. Diluc snaps out of his thoughts and wordlessly fixes you another drink that you take again, albiet still a bit shyly.

“Your lyrics,” Diluc begins and you tense at the sound of his voice, “From experience I assume?” He is straightforward, you should know this from the gossip around town. There was nothing in it for you to hide anything from him or anyone else so you tell him.

“Yes. That’s what makes good music, does it not?” You take a sip of the beverage. It must be a different one as it is much sweeter than the apple cider vinegar. “When you can relate to the words yourself. I simply want to share that with the people for reasons even I am unsure of.”

Diluc hums and doesn’t look you in the eye for his next words.

“I see. Your voice is quite nice.”

--

You both managed to continue with light chatter that night and he learns that you are staying in Mondstadt for quite a bit. You had no set plans to be in a specific place at any specific time so what was the rush to leave? Among this he is aware of how you speak. There is an ambiguous sorrow in your words from the effect of your past, he believes, that share no optimism but realistic choices that would completely stop the conversation. 

But he was the same so it continues. 

His past is the reason for his own apprehension when speaking with strangers but you were a little different. You outright told him your objective and you were just a bard who wanted to share their experience. 

You learn this of him and it was the first time that you felt light when speaking with someone.

--

“Y/n!” They learn of your name after the third night you show up which is another few nights after the second. Some take your music as a lighthearted joke in contrast to their free lives while others pay close attention to the words and sway with the tune.

You give a small grin in acknowledgement before sitting in the stool in front of Diluc. Throughout the weeks you had gotten to know each other a little better besides the titles of The Sorrowful Bard and Diluc of Mondstadt. You were just y/n and he was Diluc.

You always make a point to talk to him before performing, giving a small insight into the meaning behind your words. Last time replayed the sleepless night and doubts as you wandered Teyvat and the time before that was a retelling of an animal that accompanied you for the last months of its life.

“It knew it had to go yet it decided to follow me, spreading that sadness of loss to me as I was attached.” You said to him that night with dry eyes.

All you tell him is that this song is a little different from your other ones.

He shows more of himself to you, actions he wouldn’t typically show to others if it weren’t for a certain motive or purpose. But you were not threatening nor wanted something from him. Diluc put a bit of trust in you for that.

You never sing more than one song each night because you want them to take in the words of each song carefully. Like that animal, you wanted to share the sadness but allow them to see the great memories.

This night contains your fourteenth or fifteenth song and it is fairly new. You wrote this in the early hours of the morning with a newfound emotion bustling inside your chest. You were scared when waking up, but felt reassured when there was a hint of melancholy there among an unfamiliar emotion.

The tavern goers look at you with hopeful and excited eyes. You feel warmth in your heart as you remember the times a few of them have come up to you telling you that your music has made it easier to sleep. That your music is inspiring; sad, but inspiring.

You play a chord and Diluc raises a brow in hearing a lighter tone. Underlying is that first low tone in your first night, indicating that you plan to keep a sense of your usual. 

Then I stumbled in, seeing the light there

Unexpected welcoming I was greeted by

At first there was nothing then passed a while

Uprising something foreign for me to finally cry

Even if your eyes are trained to the floor, they are in his general direction. You didn’t know what you were feeling and you sure didn’t want to push it. 

He has his entire attention directed at you. 

You pluck higher notes much different from the chords you were accustomed to, messing up in a few that no one seemed to notice. You straighten yourself and look over the entire bar, settling your eyes on him for a bit too long for him to notice.

And so thankful am I

To be able to do such as that

And never is it unwelcomed

The beats in my soul are no longer flat

Your eyes stay staring at him and the cheers drown out. Diluc’s hand raises a few centimeters from the counter but you have already picked up your book and instrument and left.

The drink is untouched as he follows after you, thanks to Charles.

--

You feel like you can’t breathe but there is physically nothing blocking your airway. You assumed it was due to the collection of body heat in the tavern but even the cool night air did nothing to soothe the burning in your face. 

Why did I look at him? Why was he looking back? What does this mean?

“Y/n!” You gasp at the sound of his voice and as you turn around you hope that it was just in your head. Your mouth opens and closes but you can’t speak. you don’t know what to say.

Truthfully, he doesn’t either. 

Diluc didn’t know what to expect when you told him it would be different. He definitely didn’t expect for the song to be about him. He had deducted this reasoning and confirmed it when your eyes met and to you leaving.

In that room he felt the same: his face was warm and his heartbeat picked up when you lingered your gaze on him. He didn’t know what this feeling was either. 

Neither of you are speaking, the breeze brushing through.

“I’m sorry!” You say, bowing your head so he cannot see the tears of confusion, frustration, and something else running down your face.

“Why are you apologizing?” He is near you now and he can feel you jump at his touch on your shoulder. When you don’t push him off he moves his gloved hand to cup your face to lift it up. This is the first time he’s seen you cry. 

Ironic, given your songs. 

Diluc lightly presses his thumb to your cheek to brush off a tear. “Apologizing is for if you’ve done something wrong. You have done nothing of the sort.”

“Are you sure?” You say without hesitation. It is an automatic response, built upon the hardening of your heart and soul through your travels. Diluc chuckles, a small smile on his face.

“I am sure.”

--

You strum lightly, a newfound lightness to you that almost everyone has noticed. Your songs still have that sorrowful reality to them but at the end they have changed. Seeing more of the graceful and fulfilling beauty of life.

Diluc still fixes you drinks after every performance and indulges you in conversation. This time around, however, he leans in closer and places his hand closer to yours.

And you are thankful to feel that emotion.

[house-of-galathynius]

Only You ~ Rowaelin

A Rowaelin fanfic, set if Aelin’s parents had lived and she had met Rowan under normal circumstances, if Erawan and Maeve weren’t threats. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Ten: Unexpected 

Chapter Nine ~ Chapter Eleven 

@endlessdaydream @aflickeringsoul @tillyrubes10 @fredweasleyhasadhd @rowaelin-cressworth @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @rowaelinismyotp @rosegoldannie @maryberry @viajandosinalas @becarefuloflove @allthebooksunderthemoon @sheharahu 

The two of them had been reluctant to break apart, neither one wanting to break contact first. But when they had, Rowan didn’t move from her bed, he sat close to her, his hand drawing patterns on hers.

“Was it worth the wait?” Aelin smiled at him.

Rowan chuckled. “Gods yes.” 

She placed another chaste kiss on his lips, savouring the feel of it, the taste of it. She would never get enough of this, of him. If this was what it was like from a mere kiss she hated to think how she would feel when they took things further— because when she was healed, they would be taking things further. 

Rowan scented her arousal and coughed. “You need rest Aelin.” His words pained, like it took all his strength not to feast on her right then. Rowan returned to his chair, even with the distance she could still feel him on her lips. She brushed her fingertips along them, smiling to herself. She didn’t want to think too hard on the repercussions of what had just happened. She didn’t want to think about the bond or the future; she was just content to bask in that brief moment of utter bliss. 

A knock on the door pulled them both from their thoughts. Her mother and father were loitering in the doorway, assessing the situation. “Can we come in?” Her mother asked tentatively. 

Aelin smiled warmly at them, nodding as they stepped through the archway and into the room. Rowan took that opportunity to stand, bowing slightly to her parents and then to her. “I’ll be back later, Aelin.” She wanted nothing more than to make him stay, but she understood that he wanted to give her time with her parents. 

Neither of her parents said much as they pulled another chair to her bedside, both taking a seat. Her mother looked tired, dark circles under her eyes and her hair braided messily over her shoulder. Her father too, looked worn out, the usual glint in his eyes gone, replaced with a gloomy look. 

“I’m not dead, you know. You could look a bit happier to see me.” She attempted humour, hoping to ease the tension, to ease the worry from her parents faces. 

“The healers had no idea what you’d be like when you woke. You hit your head hard, and there was so much blood—“ her mother choked back a sob. 

“It was such a low fall, I don’t— I don’t understand what happened.” Aelin could barely remember any of it, after the fourth or fifth shot of whisky the evening had started to blur, and the carriage ride home was a complete blank in her mind. 

“You were too drunk to stop yourself, you just let yourself fall into the ground. If people hadn’t been there to help… Gods.” Her father pinched the bridge of his nose. “This could’ve been a lot worse, Aelin.” 

“I didn’t exactly do it on purpose.” She looked away from her parents, focusing on the flickering candle on the table instead. 

“That doesn’t matter. Whilst we’re obviously relieved that it wasn’t more serious, you cannot be going out and getting drunk like that. You are a member of the royal family, people look up to you.” Her father looked away from her, breathing deeply for a moment before turning back. “You have an image to maintain, and I know you don’t enjoy it, but this is the life you have, and unfortunately you cannot do what you want, despite what Lysandra might say.” HIs voice was quiet, but his tone stern as he spoke. 

“Rhoe…” Her mother placed a hand on his knee. “Not now.” Evalin shook her head lightly.

“No, continue. I’d like to hear what he has to say.” Aelin knew where this was going. Her father had had this talk with her when she was sixteen after she had broken her wrist racing horses with Aedion. He’d done it again only a year ago when she’d spent most weekends of the summer getting drunk with Lysandra and Sam— although they didn’t know about Sam at the time. 

Her father continued. “We’ve been lenient with you for a long time, letting you get away with too much. Things are changing and you have to start taking more responsibility. No more running away when things get hard or locking yourself in your room when you can’t deal with something, no more getting drunk to solve your problems— playtime is over Aelin. You need to start acting like the queen you are going to be.” 

Even in the past she had never heard her father talk to her like this, with such evident disappointment. She felt embarrassed… mostly because he was right. She had been sneaking off with Sam for years, ignoring her duties to play pretend, going out partying with Lysandra or taking days off to go riding around with Aedion. Orlon had probably let it slide because there was no rush for her to be queen, but at some point he would step down and she had to be ready for that.

“I’m sorry.” 

“And whatever is happening with Rowan… you have to sort it out. If you are not going to accept the bond then we must know so we can find other options for you.” 

She flinched. “Other options?” 

“You are expected to marry Aelin.” 

She looked to her mother who remained silent by his side. She hated the way her mother turned meek when there was confrontation. More than that, Aelin hated how she felt looking at her parents, feeling the shame and frustration rising. 

She let that frustration surface. “I know. I am well aware that I have to marry and that people are waiting for me to make a decision about Rowan; but Orlon will be on the throne for a long time before I have to step up anyway, so why is there a rush?” 

Her parents looked towards each other, their brows furrowing. “Because…” Another glance.

“Because what?” 

Her mother spoke this time. “Orlon has decided that in one year he would like to step down.” Aelin could feel the world stop. “We were going to tell you a few days ago, but with everything happening with Rowan and Sam…” She trailed off. 

Her father once again began speaking. “He has been ruling for forty years Aelin, he’s starting to get tired. He has been king since he was twenty-two and you know he doesn’t have an immortal life ahead of him. He wants to spend whatever time he does have left with Darrow, not thinking about running a kingdom.” 

She tried to feel anger at Orlon, but she couldn’t. They’d never discussed when Aelin would officially take over the throne, only that she would at some point. Her father had never wanted to be king, so he had passed the title to his child; that child being Aelin. She had assumed Orlon would rule until he physically couldn’t any longer… but one year. That was so much sooner than she ever imagined. 

“A queen is expected to be married when she takes the throne. And given your situation...” 

She stilled. “That is an antiquated tradition. Why should a woman be expected to be married when a man can take the throne and be single his entire life?” Her head had started to ache, she blinked back the black spots in her vision.

“So you’re not accepting the bond then?” 

She rubbed her temple. “That’s not what I said.” 

Rhoe stood then, frustration on his face. “Then I do not understand the issue. Why are you making this all so difficult?” Her father paced as he spoke. “You have known this was how it will work, and you have never fought it until now. Why?”

Her flame burned on her fingers, her body going hot. “Because all of a sudden I’m not getting a choice!” She tried to calm the flame that was fighting to be released. “From day one I was told that any decisions would be mine; but from where I am sitting, that isn’t happening.” 

“Taking the throne has never been negotiable, Aelin.” 

She glared at her father, who did the exact same thing back, before she finally said, “it was negotiable for you.” 

“It was different for me.” 

“How?” 

“I had a daughter to pass the title to. You do not.” 

She was silent. 

“This is about more than just taking the throne, isn’t it?” Her mother’s first words.

Aelin tore her eyes away from her father and turned to her mother. “Considering you’ve mentioned marriage multiple times, yes, this is more than just the throne.” She rubbed her temple. “Even if I officially accept the bond with Rowan I will still be forced into marriage— after knowing him for three weeks. And don’t give me the lecture about how we’re mates.” 

“That isn’t what—“ 

She cut her off. “And then if I don’t accept the bond, I’ll be forced into marriage with a stranger.” 

“So it’s about you not wanting to get married?” 

“That’s not—.” She groaned. “I want to get married; just not on someone else’s schedule.” She blew out a breath. “I just want more time to really figure out what I want.”

“Fireheart…” 

She shook her head, the aching increasing the more she argued. “It doesn’t matter. My head hurts, I want to sleep.” She turned away from her parents, trying to steady her breathing, trying to calm her fire as she did. She didn’t turn as her mother came to place a kiss on the back of her head. She stared at the empty bed at the other end of the room, willing her mind to quiet. 

She didn’t know how long she stayed that way. She didn’t stir as footsteps sounded behind her, but she relaxed as she scented Rowan. He didn’t say anything as he climbed onto the bed and brought his arm around her waist, enveloping her in his warmth. He placed a kiss on her head, just as her mother had done, and she felt herself relax at his touch. 

The two of them stayed like that for a while, long enough that Aelin had started to drift off. His arm was a steady weight over her, a blanket of protection from the world. She drifted in and out of consciousness, Rowan never moving his position. And in between those brief moments of rest, she let her mind think about the future, about what she would have to do. 

She must have fallen asleep because she woke later to Rowan talking in a low voice to someone. He was no longer behind her, the coldness he had left was enough to get her turning to see who had arrived.

Aedion was stood there, concern etching his face as he looked at Aelin. Rowan had stopped his sentence to look at her too— and she could have sworn she saw a flicker of love behind the concern. 

“How are you feeling?” Aedion asked. 

“Like I’ve said to everyone… I could be better.” She tried to lift herself up and Rowan was there in an instant, gently helping her into an upright position. He loitered by her side as Aedion spoke.

“Lysandra feels awful. She’s only just managed to stop crying.” 

“It’s not her fault I was clumsy and fell from a carriage.” A bad attempt at lightening the mood. 

“She feels like she pushed you to go out with them, that it’s her fault your parents are—“ 

She stopped him. “We don’t need to talk about my parents.” 

He looked to Rowan who was pretending to be interested in the spec of dirt on his shirt. 

“You came back then.” Aedion directed his statement at Rowan. 

“Of course.” 

“It was nice of you to let us know you were going in the first place.” Aedion’s tone was cold as he spoke. 

Rowan practically growled his response. “It was none of your business.” 

Aelin wished she could sink into the covers, or disappear completely. 

“It’s my business when my cousin is hurting and moping around the palace for two weeks, wondering why her mate left without telling her.” 

She stilled. “Aedion, it’s fine.” 

“It’s not fine. You were not fine. He should be on his knees begging for forgiveness.”

“Aedion.” 

The two males stared at each other, neither saying a word.

“Let me know when you’re back in your normal rooms, I’ll swipe some cake from the kitchen and we can talk.” He didn’t say goodbye as he left the room. 

“He seems nice.” 

She glared at Rowan. “Don’t start.” 

“How are you really feeling?” Rowan took her hand in his own. She warmed at the touch. Despite their time apart and despite not officially accepting the bond— there would have to be some sort of ceremony for that—, Rowan was the only person she could stand to be around right now. 

“I feel extremely overwhelmed.” She kissed his palm. “And I feel anxious.” 

“Do you wish to talk about it?” 

She mulled it over. There was no doubt in her mind that she could trust Rowan, but she was afraid of scaring him away; the thought of actually being queen terrified her, and she had been preparing since birth for it… Rowan had not. It scared her that everything was moving so fast.

“Nothing you say will scare me.” It was like he had heard her thoughts; or perhaps the expression on her face said everything. 

“Orlon is stepping down as king next year and when he does, I’m expected to take the throne. It’s not like I didn’t know that… it’s just—“ 

“It’s happening sooner than you thought.” 

She nodded. “I just thought I’d have a lot longer, you know?” 

“Orlon wouldn’t make this decision if he didn’t think you would be ready.” Rowan squeezed her hand. 

“Maybe he’s just trying to give me some sort of wake up call.” 

Rowan laughed. “Or that.”

Her smile fell away as she said, “I’m expected to be married before I take the throne.”

“Is that why you’re anxious?”

She shrugged. “Partly.” 

“You can talk to me Aelin.”

“I just—“ She swallowed. “Marriage is terrifying— it’s not that I don’t want to eventually get married.” She thought for a moment. “I think what is scaring me is that I’ve realised the person I want waiting for me at the end of the aisle is a male who I’ve known for less than a month of my life.” She took a deep breath. “I feel like I am going crazy… because in the time that it’s been since my father informed me of this, I’ve somehow come to the conclusion that it’s you I want to marry.” Another breath. “But I’ve been so distant from you; and we’ve spent almost two weeks apart and then suddenly I’m looking at you and none of it matters.” She finally met his eyes. “None of it matters because you came back, and we’re together.” She paused. “I look at you Rowan and… I am home. I touch you and my entire world is set ablaze. I sense the bond between us and I feel—“ She couldn’t find the words. 

“I know.” He whispered, then louder. “I know because I feel it too. The very first day I saw you, I knew.” 

She could feel it— the bond. Solid and unyielding as it flowed between the two of them. 

“I’m not scared of this Aelin. If you want me to be the one at the end of that aisle, then I accept. Because there is no one else in this universe I would want to spend the rest of my immortal life with.” He lowered his brow to hers. “I told you before that even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust, I will wait for you. That is still true.” 

She closed her eyes, savouring the closeness of Rowan. “You don’t have to wait anymore.”

Her lips touched his own and it was just as beautiful as the first time. And as Rowan deepened the kiss, she felt that bond pulse between them, she felt their souls entwining and Aelin felt herself shudder at the sheer intensity of it. 

She had absolutely fallen in love with Rowan and she would burn this world to ashes for this… for them. 

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

The Perfect Bad Boy (Pt. 08 of 18)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Summary: Working as a lifeguard in the Hawkins Community Pool, you try to fit in after moving from New York. Things were going pretty well when you notice you've been under someone's stare. Billy Hargrove, Hawkins' bad boy, has been staring at you since day one. You never intended to have anything to do with him, judging by the reputation he has. But Billy won't leave you alone, determined to show you his feelings are different this time...

Word count: 2.2K

As if your heart flooding you with confusing feelings wasn't enough, there are weird, strange animals lurking in the woods... But those have to be just part of the wild live of the woods surrounding Hawkins... Right?

<- Previous part (07)

Next part (09) ->

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

×

Something In The Woods...

To say you're pissed is an understatement. A storm is passing by, which brought a heavy summer rain over Hawkins. And since the pool is closed when it's raining, you called Billy, inviting him over for lunch. But minutes later Monica called you to say that the manager wants to make a training session on first aid with all the lifeguards. As if you didn't know. You, as did everyone, had to go through a test before getting the job.

It's impressing to know that you wouldn't be so mad if you didn't have plans with Billy. So you make sure to close the meeting room door with a loud thud when you get in, muttering good morning to everyone before sitting beside Billy in the back.

“So much for that lunch date.” He says.

“It wasn't a date,” you tell him. “I just wanted to make a lasagna and since my aunt had to go to the clinic, I thought you'd like to join me.” Shrugging your shoulders, you give him a sassy look. Of course you wanted to spend time with him, and this rainy day would make it perfect...

“Doesn't Diane get tired of driving all the way to Indianapolis? It's a two-hour drive.”

“Diane loves driving. And she owns the clinic so she can pretty much make her own schedules.” You feel when your leg touches his. “Why do we have to do this training thing? As if we didn't know how to perform cardiopulmonary resuscitation.”

“Anthony is a dick.” He mumbles as the manager starts talking. But you don't plan to pay attention. Billy suddenly pulls your chair closer, so it's glued to his. He then puts an arm around your shoulders. “Better.”

Rolling your eyes, you pretend to listen to the long speech Anthony gives. It goes on for two hours, and you can't help but make funny comments with Billy, as he holds back the laughs, what makes the manager give you both angry stares. When the training is done, Anthony says that those who were supposed to be working today will have to stay. Which is great because it means you.

“I swear to God I'll report Anthony,” Monica complains, sitting beside you and Billy by the pool, your legs on the water. The rain stopped, but the heavy clouds are promising that more is to come. “May I sit here or will you guys make out?”

“I'm down for it if she is,” Billy smirks.

“Of course you can sit here, Mon.” You elbow him, rolling your eyes. “How's Christopher?” You decide to change the subject and tease her instead.

“He gave me this.” She shows her hand, which has a ring on it. “It's nothing but... It means something to us.”

The sweet smile on her lips brings joy to your heart. It's no doubt they're in love with each other. You wonder if you'll be attending to their weeding someday.

Your hand comes to the necklace Billy made you, which you've been wearing every day. As you feel Monica's ring has a secret meaning, known only by her and Christopher, this necklace has a secret meaning too. You give Billy a quick glance, just to check if he's wearing his. And you smile to see he is. Your stomach burns when your eyes meet, and you look away.

“You look very good together,” Mon says, gesturing at you and Billy.

“I know,” Billy says, and you can hear the cocky smile through his voice.

You elbow him again, a little harder, and you laugh at the exaggerated groan he makes. “I–” You're cut off because you're suddenly lifted and thrown in the water. You sink right before pushing yourself up again. “You idiot!” You throw water at him, and Monica moves away

“Oh, he got ya,” Mon yells in between her laughs.

“I hate you!” Using both his knees as a support, you push yourself up, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him into the water too. You're aware he actually pushed himself because you wouldn't be able to pull him all by yourself. But you ignore it, slapping him lightly and throwing water on him.

He does the same, but soon enough he starts pulling you close. You're a breathless mess, trying to swim away from him. But, obviously, you slowly surrender, allowing him to hold you. “We should get out. Anthony won't like it.”

“As you wish, princess.” He won't push you. That much is clear.

At the end of the day, you're walking to your cars under light rain. You invited Billy for dinner since lunch was ruined by Anthony and all the small amount of power he let get to his head being the manager. He gives you a glance when you part ways. “What?”

“Come in my car.”

“But I have to drive this baby home.” You gesture at your car, walking backwards.

“Why don't you let me pick you up and drive you home from now on? Save up some gas.” It's so stupid how his smile makes you blush even from afar.

“What about your gas, Hargrove?” You ask as you get into the car. “Let's get going. That lasagna won't make itself.” Winking at him, you speed away, determined to get to your place before he does.

He does make a mess on the road since he was quick to follow that you were trying to outrun him. The dark clouds are making the night crawl in faster, and it's getting dark soon. Eventually, you both get stuck on the same red light, and you take a look at him through the review mirror. You're growing closer, way too close, but you're trying not to think about it too much. You're enjoying it, taking in all the moments you share.

You still can't force yourself to kiss him... It would make you go way too deep in this, head first, and you think you need some more time. But it doesn't mean it's not torture when he stands too close. It's a freaking war against yourself to step away. That's the big decision you've been avoiding.

Taking a deep breath, you look at your right, at the woods. This road is one of your favorites because it cuts through the forest, and you have the trees surrounding you from both sides. It looks beautiful, even through the darkness. You would certainly get lost in there. Guess you'll still need some time for that too, to get used and learn your way through Hawkins woods. A smile comes to your lips when you see something moving, among the trees. A deer, maybe. You know there are deers here. Squinting your eyes, you try to see it better, to find out what it really is. Most of its body is hidden behind a thick tree, and when it moves, slowly, you can see the head. You're suddenly taken aback because that's not a deer. It bolts away, further into the woods. A strange sensation builds up in your core. But you push it down. There must be several wild animals here, and that must be one of them... It looks more like a dog, a strange dog because its skin looked weird, naked. Sticky, even.

You're dragged out of your thoughts when Billy's speeds pass you, blasting the horns. Rolling your eyes, you set in motion too.

Billy gets to your house first, waiting by the front door with a smirk on his face. “You won the battle, Hargrove, not the war,” you say, unlocking the door and stepping in. “I saw something in the woods back there, by the way.”

“Another squirrel?”

“No, it was bigger.” You move to the kitchen and he follows you. “I thought it could be a deer but the head was shaped differently. And it looked like the fur was ripped off.”

As you start getting what you'll need for the lasagna, you wait for him to say anything. But he doesn't, so you turn to look at him. Billy is frozen, by the table, his eyes with a blank expression, suddenly glued to the floor. You've never seen him like this, worried as if there was an imminent danger around you right now. “Billy? Are you ok?” You walk over him, taking his hand. He takes a deep breath before looking at you, his eyes softening.

“Yes, I just remembered the accident. Not a very pleasant memory.”

“Well, try to relax.” You pull the chair and gestures for him to sit down, and when he does, you start trying to massage his shoulders. By what he told you, Billy had a rough life, and you hate to see how sad he gets when a bad memory hits. You like him, so very much, that you just want to make him feel better. “I suck at this, hope I'm not hurting you.”

“Uhm...” He grabs your arms and pulls you suddenly, making you bend over until both your arms are around his neck, your face is next to his. “But this is much better.”

“Jerk,” you mutter, standing back up and going to the kitchen counter. “Now come help me.”

“Immediately, ma'am.”

“So... You kept your promise,” you say, avoiding his eyes. “You've been wearing your piece.” You gesture at the earring.

“I told you I would.” He moves closer, a hand taking the earring that's around your neck. “I'm glad to see you're using your piece to, princess.”

“Stop calling me that, Billy,” you say in a low voice. The name makes you so damn nervous, and the tone he uses only makes it worse. It's low, calming... And it feels like it burns right through you.

“Why? I know you like it.”

“I–” You're interrupted by the front door being open, and Diane's light voice greeting you.

The night goes on pretty nicely. Your aunt gives you some space, only joining you for dinner. When Billy goes home, it's almost eleven. But in the next three days, the summer storm keeps the pool closed, and lucky for you, one of the days was your day off. So you went to his place, spend all day there, doing literally nothing, just laying on the couch and talking.

All the time you spend with him is never enough. You always have to go back home, and when you do, you're missing him already. You usually wake up holding the pillow and imagining how it would feel like to lay on his chest and fall asleep beside him...

Today, the storm finally was blown away, and it looks like the sun is angry for being hid for days because it's so damn hot. You've never seen the pool so crowded, and you've been walking around all day, looking out for the kids. You're drained out after lunch, and despite trying to stay on your chair, you can't. A five years old kid slipped and fell into the water, and you had to pick him up. Thankfully, he was well and resumed playing in seconds. But the sun is being rough on you today, and the heat is so much worse. Even in the shadow, you feel it like you're in a damn oven.

“(Y/N). Drink some water.” Billy hands you a bottle and you take a sip. “Have more. You're a little pale today.”

“Yeah, this place is overflowing. Half of Hawkins is here.” You tell him, eyes still scanning through the sea of people. “I need you to go back to your chair, please. The kids are crazy today, Billy, help me out.” You touch his shoulder, using his body as a support for a few seconds. “If you yell, they'll obey.”

“Alright, but drink some water every once in a while, ok?”

“Alright.” You let go of him, offering a small smile when he worriedly looks down at you.

You start pacing around again, warning the kids over and over again not to run. Your head is killing you, like the sun is hitting you with a freaking hammer. And you're so damn tired already, but the people just keep coming, diving and yelling. You're usually happy to see them having fun, but today you're beaten up as if you were hit by a car this morning. The ground bellows your feet starts moving, and you have to use the wall to regain your balance. Your throat is dry, but the cafeteria is on the other side of the pools and you're way too exhausted to walk all the way there. You decide to just head back to the chair to rest a bit.

You see white dots on your sight as you walk, struggling to move on a straight line, using one of your hands blocking the sun from your eyes. When you finally reach your chair, you breathe out in relief. You're about to push yourself up when you lose your strength, lowering your body until you're sitting on the ground.

“Are you ok?” Someone asks, and you see her figure kneeling by your side.

You nod, trying to get back up, but your body doesn't seem to work. You close your eyes shut when everything spins around, and then it just goes black.

×

@chloe-skywalker @dpaccione @tilesandtokens @dreamin-of-dacre @funeral-7 @uncookspaget @youhavemyfantasticbeasts

[anxiousstark]

S1 02.1 |Heart Monitor

MASTERLIST

Stiles Stilinski x Reader! Half-sibling!Mccall

Word count:1998

Warnings: Injuries, anger issues, blood, swearing (always).

↪ Please respect my work. Don’t copy, translate or claim them as yours. Not on this website or another. All Rights Are Reserved. Otherwise, legal actions will be taken.

"I thought I said we would talk about this...alone." Melissa smiled at Scott. I could see behind that smile she probably wanted to hit him.

Scott had brought me to his house, and we hadn't said a word to each other. At least we had something in common, none of us wanted to be in this situation. I also got to meet Stiles, his best friend. He asked me a lot of questions on the way to Scott's house, most of them related to what had happened in the store.

Stiles was filling his mouth with pizza that Melissa had ordered. "I can' belief you don' zink of me as family." He talked with his mouth open, and I chuckled.

"Stiles is going to know anyway." Scott fiddled with his slice of pizza. "I would have told him as soon as we finished this conversation." His voice was dull, he seemed to be annoyed. It's not like he was the one living with strangers.

Melissa sighed. "This situation is strange."

"Yes, it is," Stiles replied while grabbing two more slices of pizza. He looked up to see Melissa glaring at him. "Oh, sorry. Continue."

"Like I was saying, this situation is strange." She wiped her hands, looking at her son. "But there are situations in life where we need to think about other people and-"

"Why doesn't she stay with her father?" He spat back as if we didn't have the same father. Well, more like the same sperm donor because none of us grew up having him by our side.

"Because I haven't seen him since I was four," I replied. Scott glared at me, and then he glanced at his mother. "Why doesn't she stay with her mother?"

I swallowed and answered again. "Because she is dead." I heard someone gasp, looking to my side I saw Stiles looking at me with huge eyes, but for the first time in my life, I didn't feel like someone felt sorry for me and that was...peaceful.

"I hope you guys will get along in school."

"She's coming to the same school?!" He got up from his chair.

"Yes, Scott. She is." His mom got up from the chair. "Now, go walk your friend to the door. There's class tomorrow and it's late." She turned around and looked at me. "I will show you your room, sweetheart." She smiled lightly and started walking upstairs.

Scott went outside the house, not without yelling for Stiles to follow him. Now, Stiles and I were alone in the same room and I smiled at him before starting to go upstairs.

"Wait." His voice stopped me. "Are you sure it was a bear? Maybe it was a wolf?"

I grinned. "Good night, Stiles. I suppose I will see you tomorrow."

Stiles beamed at me happily while the teacher introduced me to the whole class as the new student and Scott McCall's sister. I was going to interrupt him and tell him that we weren't siblings when he told me to sit down on a vacant seat.

Instantly, Stiles started to point to a table that was on his left, telling me to sit down there. I rolled my eyes at his enthusiasm and couldn't help but grin at how goofy he was. He seemed like a good guy. Well, at least better than Scott.

"How was your first day?" He rested his head on his right hand, turning his entire body towards me. He looked at me while I took papers and a pencil out of my backpack.

"Well," I put everything in its correct place and looked at him. "I'm in a new place, a new school, new people, and living with my father's other family," I smirked. "Seems like an adventure," I added sarcastically.

"Well, Beacon Hills can be a damn adventure." He whispered. I think he was trying not to say that too loud. But I heard him. "And believe me, Scott isn't that bad." His face got serious. "I mean, he has never watched Star Wars and he sometimes makes stupid decisions...but apart from that, he ain't that bad."

"Seems like we have something else in common." I snorted. I noticed Stiles looking at me as if he was confused. "I have never watched Star Wars." He gasped. "What? It seems like it's boring anyway."

"Okay." He pointed at me. "First of all, that was disrespectful. Second of all, we are going to change that. You McCall's are going to watch Star Wars with me. That is going to be my mission."

His composture changed when Scott came into class, sitting behind him. Scott glared at me, and I rolled my eyes while looking away. But from the corner of my eye, I could see how Scott was getting closer to Stiles. Both of them seemed to be arguing about something. Well, most likely Scott because Stiles was completely ignoring him. He seemed pretty mad.

I decided to lose my focus on them, focusing on my blank paper. And it seemed like I focused too hard because what seemed like seconds have been hours. My head started hurting while putting my things inside my backpack.

Melissa had told Scott to be around me in school and to not leave me alone. But I could tell that Scott didn't like me at all. I guess I discovered that when he didn't talk to me or when he glared at me. Oh, or maybe when he told me to be at least 3 meters away from him and Stiles when walking on the hallways.

"After work. All right, well, that gives me to the end of the school day then." I heard Stiles' voice and felt confused. They were quite far from me.

"To do what?"

"To teach you myself." Stiles turned around, staring at me. I tried to seem confused, even though I was. I just heard their conversation. "And she is going to help." He made a sign for me to walk closer.

I got closer after swallowing. "Yeah?" I asked and tried to avoid Scott's gaze which seemed to pierce my forehead. Yes, Scotty, I know you want me far from you. “You called me?”

"Yeah." Stiles grinned, placing his arm around my shoulders. "You know, your brother, right here." Both of us glared at him. "I mean, you...like. Well, it doesn't matter." He sighed. "He has been dealing with..." He looked at Scott and shook his head in response. "He has been dealing with anger issues, and I just offered to help him control it. And you are going to help me."

"Why do I have to help?" "Why does she have to help?"

We, the McCall's said at the same time.

"Because I say so." The hazel-eyed boy replied while making us walk to a field. "Okay. Now, put this on." He took something out of his backpack, handing it to Scott.

"Isn't this one of the heart rate monitors for the track team?" Scott asked frustrated while I sat down next to the other boy, letting my backpack fall to the ground. Stiles let him know that he had borrowed it while Scott corrected him. "Stole it."

"Temporarily misappropriated. Coach uses it to monitor his heart rate with his phone while he jogs, and you're gonna wear it for the rest of the day." I grinned, even though I didn't know what was going on.

"Isn't that coach's phone?"

Stiles looked at me, rolled his eyes, and then grinned. "That, I stole." He went back to his earnest expression. "All right, well, your heart rate goes up when you go..." He looked at me again and then immediately, looked at Scott. "When...when you're playing lacrosse, when you're with Allison, whenever you get angry. Maybe learning to control it is tied to learning to control your heart rate."

"Like the Incredible Hulk?" Both of them snapped their heads at me when I talked.

Stiles smiled. "Kind of like the Incredible Hulk, yeah."

"No, I'm like the Incredible Hulk." Again. He was glaring at me.

"That is literally what I've said," I replied to him with a little anger.

He was going to reply but got interrupted by Stiles. "Would you shut up and put the strap on?" Stiles helped him and then, he took a tape out of his backpack. "All right. You ready?" He grabbed my wrist, and we both started getting far from him.

"No."

"Remember, don't get angry."

"What is going on?" I asked.

"Wait and see, McCall. Wait and see." Stiles grabbed his lacrosse stick, he began to throw balls at Scott. He was enjoying it, and to be honest, I was enjoying it too. He deserved it, he was being an asshole to me. "Wanna try?" He asked while offering me his stick.

I grinned, grabbing it confidently. "Yeah, I think I would like to try." I felt strength gathering in my body. I threw the ball as hard as I could, accidentally hitting Scott in his private areas. Well, maybe it wasn't an accident."

Stiles 'wooed' while laughing and taking the stick from me, continuing to throw balls at Scott while the taped boy tried to repeat over and over again that he should stay calm.

I saw Jackson looking at us from afar, but I got distracted when I heard a heartbeat? Was I hearing a heartbeat? It was going fast. I glanced back at Scott. Was it his heartbeat?

He was on the floor, making some noises, and I wasn't sure if he was angry or in pain, maybe both. But what I didn't expect was for him to break free from the tape. Sometimes I couldn't even cut it with scissors.

Stiles peered at me, he looked nervous. "Ah..you know. Anger issues."

"Yeah," I whispered, looking back at Jackson. He wasn't there anymore.

"Let's go change." Stiles helped Scott up. Then, he looked at me and told me to wait for them in the corridor so they could accompany me to class. We had a different class now, and to be honest, it scared me a little bit.

I sat down on the floor, my back against the blue lockers. The corridor was empty, the only thing I could hear was my breath. Until I heard footsteps and the back of my neck started burning, making me hiss.

"Agh, it hurts like a bitch." I frowned.

"Mine does too." Jackson was sitting down next to me. "How are you holding up? Lydia told me that you are Scott's sister." I grimaced. "Uhm, Lydia is like pretty popular so she knows everything that happens in this high school, or maybe in Beacon Hills."

I chuckled. "Well, first of all."

"We are not siblings." He imitated my voice.

"How did you know I was going to say that?" I unconsciously touched the back of my neck.

He also seemed bewildered. "I'm not sure." He noticed my hand, lightly touching my neck. "Is it...is it itching?"

I nodded. "A lot. Yours?" I asked, remembering that his wound had appeared after mine, which seemed completely strange.

"Mine too." His eyes seemed to seek some sign on my face. "Do you feel strange?" He started to go into more detail when he noticed that I was confused about what he was referring to. "Like, I feel tired and I sweat a lot."

I heard my name being called and saw Stiles waving at me, standing next to Scott. The other boy didn't seem too happy, he was glaring at Jackson. I suppose that was Scott McCall's thing, glaring at people like he wanted to kill them.

"I think you have clear signs of being a teenager and being exhausted because of school." I offered a little smile while getting up from the floor. He nodded, but I could see that he was quite worried.

I started walking towards the boys when a thought crossed my mind. It smelled like someone was dying.

.

.

TAGLIST: @og-baby-ob14 - @savemypostcards - @cas-loves-pizza - @used-avocado - @mvrylee - @bilesxbilinskixlahey - @honeydoll-stark - @arieltheworldisamess - @softpeteparker - @kit-kat-katie99​ - @thatsuperherosidekick - @bexbetterxthanxwords - @big-galaxy-chaos​ - @littlemiss-forgotten - @enchantedcruelsummer - @coldfreakeggsexpert - @merla123 - @sammypotato67 - @weirdowithnobeardo -

People in black means it doesn’t let me tag them.

[bettydice]

I didn’t expect you to be lonely (too)

Xicheng, Modern AU, JC&WWX reconciliation, E-Rated

[Read on AO3]

Chapter 8

On Thursday, they meet in front of the park where they first kissed. Lan Xichen greets him with a smile, gratefully accepting the tea Jiang Cheng had bought for him at the café. Jiang Cheng went with a plain black coffee today, himself. Since they’re not ‘dating’, he doesn’t have to pretend his coffee orders are interesting, which is a stupid thought he shouldn’t have had in the first place anyway. Today, they should just do whatever they want and whatever they’re comfortable with.

For once, it’s not raining. The sun bathes everything in a golden glow and the air is crisp and clear. They walk hand in hand, sipping their hot beverages. They don’t talk much, simply enjoy this lovely autumn day together. Jiang Cheng isn’t used to taking walks without a purpose or a destination. He likes it, a lot. Likes just looking. Likes spending time with someone without the need to fill the silence with words. Well, and he likes Lan Xichen. A lot.

Once they’ve circled the park twice, they walk back to Lan Xichen’s apartment, where Jiang Cheng attends to the duties he has as someone who was ‘claimed’ by a bunny. Lan Xichen gives him some treats he can spoil Cloud with while petting her thoroughly, while Lan Xichen (spends some time with Jade). They keep sitting on the floor even after the bunnies have lost interest in their services and hopped away to explore the territory under the coffee table. The sun is shining through the window, perfectly illuminating a square for them to sit in. Lan Xichen leans back on his hands and closes his eyes, basking in the warmth. He looks deeply content and so fucking beautiful, it’s almost painful.

Jiang Cheng feels the overwhelming urge to touch him. He’d like to run a finger over the bridge of Lan Xichen’s nose, his lips, down his neck. Wants to know what Lan Xichen’s smile feels like. Wants to caress the strong line of his jaw. He’s not quite sure why, and he’s sure Lan Xichen would be weirded out if he actually did it, so he doesn’t. Instead, he contents himself with simply looking. Traces the contours of Lan Xichen’s face with his eyes, not his fingers.

Naturally, Lan Xichen opens his eyes the exact moment Jiang Cheng’s eyes lovingly follow the soft curve of his upper lip. He flushes, but before the full force of his embarrassment can hit him, Lan Xichen scoots closer, gently pulls him closer by his neck, and kisses him.

Jiang Cheng touches him then, lifts one hand and cradles Lan Xichen’s face. Strokes his thumb across his jaw, his cheek. And that’s when he does feel it, feels Lan Xichen’s lips pull into a smile against Jiang Cheng’s mouth, feels his cheek move under his thumb. He wants to -

The doorbell rings.

Lan Xichen immediately lets go of him and sits up straight. Jiang Cheng would like to give whoever interrupted them a few choice words. Lan Xichen looks confused for a second, then looks at his watch and … seems to suppress a curse. “I… did not realise it was so late already. That’s… that’s my brother, we’re having dinner together…”

“Ah, okay… Oh!” Jiang Cheng sits up, wants to follow Lan Xichen, who jumps to his feet, smoothing out his clothes. “Should I…?” What should he do? Hide in the bathroom? Jump down from the balcony? Which is a ridiculous thought. They’re not some kind of dirty secret… The instinct to hide is there anyway.

“Oh, no… just stay here with the bunnies.” Lan Xichen squeezes his shoulder and rushes out of the room. “Don’t worry!”

Don’t worry? Unlikely. And indeed, his brain immediately comes up with a fuckton of worries: Lan Xichen’s brother! He doesn’t know they’re together! But he probably knows who Jiang Cheng is! And only knows bad things about Jiang Cheng, because whatever Wei Wuxian told him can’t be good! What if he doesn’t like Jiang Cheng and then Lan Xichen can’t be with him anymore? What if -

His panic spiral gets interrupted by Cloud, who lovingly gnaws on his finger. Clearly a demand for more pets. He immediately takes her back in his lap, grateful for the interruption.

He can hear Lan Xichen open the door. It’s not too late to go hide somewhere. Maybe he could squeeze himself under the couch.

“Wangji! You’re early!”

Granted, Jiang Cheng may be a little paranoid right now, but Lan Xichen sounds breathless, the kind of breathless people are in dramas when they try to pretend they do not have their secret lover over in front of their strict mother who’d frown upon pre-marital relations.

“I’m two minutes late.” Oh no, oh fuck, this is going to be a disaster. Lan Wangji’s voice is calm and doesn’t carry any particular emotion, certainly no anger or criticism, but... it makes Jiang Cheng feel like he did something wrong.

Lan Xichen laughs, clearly nervous. A beat of silence.

“You have a visitor?” Right, his shoes. He’s definitely seen this exact scenario in a drama before.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry, I forgot the time.”

“You said you didn’t have to work today.” Lan Wangji’s voice hasn’t changed at all, but Jiang Cheng still winces in sympathy.

“Well… it’s not work.”

“I see.”

More silence. Jiang Cheng wishes he could see their facial expressions, because their voices don’t tell him how things are going. He can only make assumptions, which is… not helpful. Jiang Cheng begins calculating whether he would survive a jump from the balcony. It’s possible he’d just break a leg. That’d be fine, he can handle a broken leg.

“Should I… leave?”

“Oh, no! Sorry, please come in!” Lan Xichen sounds… a tad too bright to be natural.

The door closes. Presumably after Lan Wangji has fully come in.

“This is for you. And this is from Wei Ying. Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you! That’s very kind.”

Wait, what? What… Birthday? Wei Wuxian is giving Lan Xichen birthday presents via Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng didn’t even know it was his birthday! Today!? Why didn’t he know? Did Lan Xichen mention it? He doesn’t think so!!!??? But he wanted to meet today? Maybe he did mention it and Jiang Cheng didn’t notice???

There’s movement in the hallway and Jiang Cheng jumps to his feet, clutching Cloud to his body like a grumpy security blanket.

Just when he has the thought “What am I doing, I should put Cloud down so I can greet Lan Wangji properly”, Lan Xichen returns to the living room. His brother enters behind him.

Even if he hadn’t known that they’re related, he’d have suspected it. Lan Wangji is just as tall and handsome, but in a more… distant way. Even though Lan Wangji’s face is as carefully blank as his voice, Jiang Cheng immediately feels judged. His eyes rest on Jiang Cheng only for a second, before turning to his brother, waiting for an introduction.

“Wangji, this is Jiang Wanyin, he’s-”

“Jiang Wanyin?” Lan Wangji turns the full force of his gaze to Jiang Cheng. He should’ve jumped off the balcony. “You’re Jiang Cheng.”

Not a question. A judgement.

“Uh… yes. Nice to meet you.” Jiang Cheng forces himself to smile but Lan Wangji… does not seem pleased at all to meet him. If looks could kill, Jiang Cheng would already be dead and coming back as a ghost to haunt Lan Wangji, because what the fuck! Lan Wangji looks as though he wants to fucking deck him! He’s carrying a bunny, he can’t get punched right now!

Lan Wangji manages to hold back his bloodlust and within seconds, his face is back to being completely expressionless. He turns to his brother and says, no, spits out: “Jiang Cheng?”

Woooooooooooow, okay. That was clearly ‘Jiang Cheng is the guy you’ve been meeting? Of all the people in the world? I expected better from you, brother, and demand you throw him out right this instant.’

“Wangji…” Lan Xichen frowns at his brother. Has Jiang Cheng ever seen him frown before?

The brothers have a silent conversation for a few seconds that ends with Lan Xichen sighing and Lan Wangji turning around and stalking towards Jiang Cheng. Fuck, he’s going to get punched in the fucking face.

He does not get punched. Instead, Lan Wangji takes Cloud away from Jiang Cheng and carries her out on the balcony.

What the actual fuck? According to this guy, Jiang Cheng is not good enough for Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen or a bunny. And this guy is Lan Xichen’s brother. This is… not going great!

Jiang Cheng turns toward Lan Xichen with an incredulous expression. Lan Xichen has stepped closer, so he can put his hand on Jiang Cheng’s arm.

“I’m sorry. Wangji just… needs a little time to process.” He smiles, though it’s a strained one, and inclines his head in apology.

Jiang Cheng is not optimistic that 'time to process' will help get rid of the visceral dislike in Lan Wangji’s eyes, but well… they don't know each other. It’s possible this is how Lan Wangji looks at everyone he meets. Doubtful, but... He gives Lan Xichen a - probably unconvincing - smile.

“This is really not how I wanted this to go. I’m sorry.” Lan Xichen sighs and drops his hand. He looks so unhappy... He should never be unhappy, especially not on his fucking birthday! Jiang Cheng tries to get his shit together and make his smile more convincing. He takes Lan Xichen’s hand and squeezes it. Before he can convince Lan Xichen that this situation is in fact all Jiang Cheng’s fault, Lan Wangji returns. His frosty gaze falls on their linked hands. Lan Xichen tightens his grip instead of letting go, Jiang Cheng tries to not look surprised.

“Wangji, would you like some tea?”

Lan Wangji looks at his brother, hesitates for a second, nods, then picks up Jade and carries her out to the balcony as well.

“Does he think I’m going to fucking steal them, or what?” Jiang Cheng mutters under his breath.

Lan Xichen huffs a laugh. “No, it’s just… They’re his bunnies and you’re a stranger.”

“Mhm. And he hates me.”

“He doesn’t, don’t worry.”

“Well, he definitely wants to punch me.”

“But he won’t.”

Lan Xichen smiles, no, smirks at him and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, even though he has to laugh. He also wants to kiss Lan Xichen, but Lan Wangji returns from his bunny rescue mission and Jiang Cheng likes Lan Xichen more than he wants to irritate Lan Wangji.

Five minutes later, they’re sitting around the couch table for the most awkward teatime Jiang Cheng has attended in a long time. Lan Wangji has taken to not looking at him at all, which is somehow even more offensive than his “how dare you touch my bunnies with your dirty hands” looks.

Lan Xichen, who has so far unsuccessfully tried to get a conversation going, sets down his teacup maybe a bit more forcefully than necessary and looks at his brother, jaw set with determination. “So-”

“Did you order already? It’s almost half past six, we don’t want to eat too late.”

“I put in the order this morning already, the food will be here in about ten minutes.” Lan Xichen actually sounds irritated. It’s a polite kind of irritation, but still.

“Will he be joining us?” Lan Wangji says, of course without looking at Jiang Cheng.

Honestly? Fuck this dude! Jiang Cheng sets down his cup as well and gives Lan Wangji his best fake smile. “Actually, I’ll be leaving now. I still have some work to do for class tomorrow.”

He doesn’t. Well, he does, but he wasn’t planning on doing it. But staying here seems like a very bad idea. Lan Xichen opens his mouth, clearly wants to protest, but Jiang Cheng gets up before he can say anything. Lan Wangji gets up as well and nods goodbye to a spot on the wall above Jiang Cheng’s left shoulder. Lan Xichen gives him an exasperated look, then accompanies Jiang Cheng to the door.

Jiang Cheng does his best to appear relaxed and unbothered by asshole brothers who hate him while putting on his jacket and shoes. Going by the look on Lan Xichen’s face, he didn’t fully succeed. Jiang Cheng smiles extra hard as he reaches for his scarf, but Lan Xichen grabs it first.

He wraps the scarf around Jiang Cheng’s neck, worry pulling his eyebrows together. "I'm sorry, this is not-"

"It's okay, don't worry." Jiang Cheng rests his hands on Lan Xichen’s and tries to smile the way his sister would. "You should have a nice dinner with your brother and not worry about anything."

"He's not… " Lan Xichen starts, then stops, obviously at a loss as to what exactly his brother isn’t. Hostile? A bit of an asshole? Full of hatred towards Jiang Cheng and only partially justified to feel that way? “I hope you have a nice evening, too. You shouldn’t worry either.”

Still unlikely, but Jiang Cheng gives him a reassuring nod. Lan Xichen seems to be content with that, because the smile finally returns to his face and he tucks in the ends of Jiang Cheng’s scarf before letting go.

After saying goodbye, Jiang Cheng turns around to leave, but then remembers he almost forgot something very, very important. He turns around again, leans forward, rests his hand on Lan Xichen’s chest and kisses his cheek. “Happy birthday.”

Lan Xichen exhales softly, surprised. Then he smiles at Jiang Cheng, warmly, his whole face lighting up. Ah… this definitely helps dispel some of his worries. “Thank you.”

Jiang Cheng very intently tries not to think of anything until he gets home. He takes off his shoes and jacket. Takes off the scarf and carefully hangs it up. He sits down on his couch, checks his phone for messages. There aren’t any. Alright. Then...

What the fuck? What the fuck was that? Why does Lan Xichen’s brother hate him? Jiang Cheng didn’t even do anything yet, isn’t it too early to hate him? What… what did Wei Wuxian tell him? It must have been bad, for Lan Wangji to react so strongly. Is he currently telling those things to Lan Xichen? Is he telling him to stop seeing Jiang Cheng?

His mind conjures an image of Lan Wangji taking away Lan Xichen from him like he did with Cloud and carrying him out to the balcony. Despite everything, he has to laugh, though it sounds slightly hysterical. Why is family so… Why is family?

He lies down on the couch and looks at his phone. He opens Wei Wuxian’s Selfie Of The Day and studies it intently, as though it hides the answer to his questions. But there are no answers to be gained, it’s just a picture of Wei Wuxian’s face. He’s smiling, but it’s a very standard Wei Wuxian smile. The background is blurry, so there’s nothing to analyze there.

Wei Wuxian, do you really hate me?

Just a few days ago, Jiang Cheng had arrived at a very different conclusion, was getting comfortable with the idea of contacting his brother, was feeling hopeful...

But Lan Wangji had looked at him so coldly.

Fuck this shit. He’s going to stop thinking about it, it’s not like that has ever helped him.

Jiang Cheng scours his kitchen for food and ends up eating a bag of chips for dinner. (Some kind of weird novelty flavour that has a very fishy aftertaste -- he should stop buying things just because they’re on sale.) He's still hungry after, so he makes some ramen.

Tomorrow, he should really go out and buy proper groceries. He distracts himself by making a very elaborate shopping list and planning his meals for the next few days. It's highly unlikely he’ll actually follow through on this, but at least he’s considering it.

While trying to think of something else he can distract himself with, he remembers the stuff for uni and decides to forget about it again immediately. Instead, he starts cleaning his kitchen.

Sadly, there’s not much to clean, the rest of his flat is pretty tidy, too (except for Wei Wuxian’s room, which he will not enter). When did he turn into a tidy person? He can’t remember the last time he looked around his flat and thought ‘what a mess’, which used to be a weekly occurrence.

… Maybe this is connected to him feeling a strong urge to clean whenever he sits down to do something for his degree. Maybe.

With nothing left to clean, he returns to the couch with his laptop in hand. Somehow, he gets sucked into watching a bunch of videos by a vet explaining how to best care for different pets. He only intended to watch the bunny videos, but suddenly it’s an hour later and he’s watching “10 Things You Should Consider Before Getting A Pet Snake”.

Suddenly, his phone rings. His sister is the only one who calls him, but it's 9 p.m., and she never calls so late. Unless it’s an emergency?

He almost falls from the couch trying to grab his phone without getting up.

It's Lan Xichen.

"Hello?" Jiang Cheng sits upright, trying to sound like he spent the past few hours doing something productive.

"Wanyin, hello, it's me, Lan Xichen."

"Yes… Hello. Is… everything okay?" Why is he calling him? It’s probably bad news, right? He is going to break up with him. His brother convinced him that Jiang Cheng is the worst, and-

"I'm sorry, it's too late to be calling you isn't it? I should have sent a message first. I can call you tomorrow-"

"No, it's okay! Don't worry, I go to bed pretty late. Is something the matter? Did… the dinner with your brother not go well?"

"Oh, it was nice! Well, mostly. I was just worried about you. I feel bad about how that all went down. You must’ve been very taken aback. I hope you don’t think-”

"It's really not your fault! It just was bad timing. And you would’ve told your brother earlier, if it wasn’t for me and the whole Wei Wuxian situation. I understand why your brother was so…” Well, he can sort of understand it. He still thinks ripping Cloud out of his hands was an asshole move!

"Wangji was just surprised. And, well, he likes Wei Wuxian a lot. And, hm… he’s very protective. Of us both.”

"I understand. Wei Wuxian must have told him that I’m... told him what happened, so of course he dislikes me. He would not want someone like me to be with you." Jiang Cheng had not meant to put it so bluntly, but it’s too late to take it back now. He squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for Lan Xichen to confirm this.

“Ah… You must be worried about what exactly Wei Wuxian told my brother,” Lan Xichen says softly.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t reply to that, which seems to be answer enough. Lan Xichen’s next words are urgent, almost rushed.

“It’s not what you think, Wanyin. Wangji knew about the situation, but it seems Wei Wuxian prefers not to talk about it. And he seems to think it’s his fault, which Wangji disagrees with, and that’s why he was so… Don’t take this as a sign your brother wouldn’t want to see you. If anything, this is even more reason for you to talk to him!”

Jiang Cheng really doesn’t know what to say. He didn’t expect these words at all. This is quite different from how calmly Lan Xichen reacted after Jiang Cheng had poured out his heart about the Wei Wuxian situation.

“I… You’re right, I was worried about that. I’ll try to… maybe just forget this happened. I’m sure the next time I meet your brother, he’ll even let me hold Cloud for a few minutes.”

He said that to lighten the mood, to make Lan Xichen laugh, but it’s quiet on the other end. Did he sound like he didn’t mean it? Was his tone sarcastic or bitter?

“Are you… really okay?” For some reason, Jiang Cheng has to think about Lan Xichen in the café, pale and with shaking hands.

At the other end of the line, Lan Xichen draws in a deep breath. “Yes, of course, sorry… You… I... “ He takes another deep breath, then gives an embarrassed laugh. “I think I managed to talk myself into a little anxiety spiral in the past twenty minutes. You’re… you’re not mad at me, right?”

“What? Why would I be mad at you? What the fuck?!” Jiang Cheng gives his phone an incredulous look. “If anything, you should be mad at me!”

“Of course not! But ah… I don’t know. I had the thought maybe you were displeased about how you had to meet Wangji without warning… “ Before Jiang Cheng can protest, Lan Xichen continues, almost stumbling over his words, as though they’re leaving his mouth without his permission. “Which was my mistake, I forgot the time, or I could’ve just told you he was coming for dinner but I didn’t because in my mind that meant telling you it was my birthday, which I didn’t want, because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to buy a present or had to spend time with me, even if maybe you didn’t have time or weren’t feeling up to it anymore or…”

Jiang Cheng, who is very familiar with a brain that goes on tangents like that, tries to channel his sister’s best understanding-and-loving-but-firm voice. “Xichen-ge… I’m not mad at you. Not at all. I had a great time with you this afternoon and while meeting your brother was, uhm, quite the experience, it didn’t fill me with more doubts and worries than I manage to give myself every other day.”

“...Okay. Thank you.” Lan Xichen laughs again, a little less embarrassed this time. “Ah, I was calling you to reassure you, not the other way around.”

“You did though! You were right, I was actually spending the evening actively avoiding thinking about that stuff, because I knew I’d just freak myself out.” Jiang Cheng wishes he could hold his hand, hug him, just… look at his face to see whether he’s feeling better. “Was I able to reassure you, though?”

“Mhm, yes.” A short pause. “Do you… could we maybe switch to a video call? If you don’t want-”

“Yeah, sure!” Jiang Cheng immediately pulls back his shoulders, runs a hand through his hair and smoothes his shirt, before holding his phone in front of him and switching to video. Lan Xichen’s face appears on the screen, smiling. Jiang Cheng smiles, too. “Hey.”

“Hello.” Lan Xichen gives a cute little wave, Jiang Cheng returns the wave and they both have to laugh. Then they just look at each other without saying anything, smiling. Eventually, Jiang Cheng relaxes and the nervous energy seems to have left Lan Xichen as well, as far as he can tell.

"Happy birthday again."

"Thank you."

"I hope it was a good day? Despite…" Jiang Cheng grimaces and wiggles his fingers.

"Yes, it was! I… am also perfectly capable to give myself worries all by myself, every other day. So this is just business as usual."

"WYou can call me the next time it happens, too,"Jiang Cheng says without thinking. He cringes. "Well, if it would help."

"Seeing your face always makes me feel better," Lan Xichen says with a completely straight face. What the fuck? Since it's a video call, Lan Xichen can see Jiang Cheng's dumbfounded face. He chuckles. "I mean it, Wanyin."

"Well, if you like it so much, you should let me do something for your birthday," Jiang Cheng sputters. That doesn't really make sense, but what Lan Xichen is saying isn't making sense either. "From now on, you better tell me about any birthdays you have, or anything else you want to celebrate!"

Lan Xichen nods, clearly amused. "Alright. Though I promise, I only have this one birthday."

"Even more reason to celebrate it properly," Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, but smiles. "Okay, do you have time this Saturday? We can go somewhere nice, or if you don't want to go out, I can cook you a nice dinner here."

Lan Xichen widens his eyes in surprise. "Oh! Yes, Saturday works. I'd… I'd love that."

"Good! It's a date then! Well, a not-date… whatever!"

Lan Xichen looks at him for a second with a soft smile. Then, the smile deepens. "I do really like your face very much."

Jiang Cheng frowns at the camera and is glad it isn't really picking up that he's blushing.He’s never been known for being able to graciously accept compliments, so instead he replies with a needlessly aggressive-sounding: “Good, because you’ll be seeing it a lot!”

Lan Xichen doesn’t even look surprised this time, he simply starts laughing and Jiang Cheng soon joins him.

They talk a lot that evening. Lan Xichen tells him about what they had for dinner and the presents he received today. Apparently Wei Wuxian drew him a picture of the bunnies surrounded by plants, which is really sweet if he ignores the weird feeling squirming in his chest when he thinks about Wei Wuxian giving presents to Lan Xichen, his probably-boyfriend.

They talk until Jiang Cheng - now lying on his side on the couch, phone propped up on the coffee table - feels his eyes begin to droop. On the other end, Lan Xichen has to yawn and they finally end the call at 10:30 p.m.

When Jiang Cheng falls asleep that night, he does so with the utmost certainty that he’s deeply in love with Lan Xichen. And still utterly terrified of talking to his brother. But the first is larger and more important than the latter.

[teenage-mutant-ninja-freak]

wolf in sheep’s clothing

Mob! turtles au Turtles x fem! reader

Leo x reader

Summery: The turtles are 4 brothers who run the mob in New York and their territory is under threat since a serial killer (you) has taken up residence in the area. Bodies keep dropping and it’s being blamed on the turtles which is bad for business so they decide to do something about it.

Warnings: violence, mention of drugs and weapons, NSFW

((A/N I’m not a writer, I’m a dumbass with a dream to write some dark fiction so please save any nasty comments. Hope you enjoy))

__________________________

November in New York was always beautiful, the leaves become this vibrant burnt orange and scatter throughout the parks and roads, you can see your breath in the air and occasionally there’s fresh snow on the ground. Nothing quite tops that. You sit in your regular bar, Paddy’s, and take another swig of the beer sat in front of you. You’re sat close to the door so it gets a little chilly with the patrons walking in and out creating a cold breeze but you simply shrug your jacket on closer and ignore it.

The city is at a pivotal point with gang activity, the mob known as “the turtle boys” runs most of up town New York- selling guns and narcotics to lesser gangs. It’s a dangerous time you think to yourself as you shake off the four sets of eyes you can feel watching you from the corner. You finish your beer and stand to leave.  Outside it’s dark and freezing, typical whether, you light up a cigarette, adjust your scarf and continue towards the ally that leads home leaving a swirling trail of smoke behind you; the end of the cigarette gleaming orange in the dim light.

You can hear the footsteps following you but you don’t quicken your pace. They’re free to do as they so please and have no idea who they’re messing with. Along with gang activity, New York has one other big problem at the moment: a serial killer. Their calling card? Strangulation. 7 bodies have washed up along the Hudson in the last 4 months all with the same abrasions around their necks from what the police suspect is barbed wire as well as stab wounds. You know it’s barbed wire, though. You’re the one who put them there.

The footsteps are gaining on you now and you stop in your tracks, take a deep inhale of your cigarette and turn to face them. You didn’t quite know what you were expecting to see but, the turtles boys wasn’t it. All adorned in beautiful, presumably expensive, suits they stare back at you with blank expressions but a slight look of worry in their eyes.

“Y/n L/n” the one in a blue suit calls to you. “you’re a hard girl to track down”

“laying low is my speciality. What can I do for you boys on this fine night?”

“cut the shit” the biggest one out of all of them cuts in. He’s wearing a black suit with a red handkerchief poking out of the pocket. Raphael you make a note to yourself. He’s going to be the hardest to take down. You smile sweetly.

“we can do this the easy way or the hard way” he finishes.

“do I look like an easy girl to you?” you turn on your heels and begin to run, if you can get them into the next ally way there’s a chance you can take at least one of the down before the others get to you, you think. 

Out of breath and cursing never sticking to your resolution to do more cardio you make it to the next ally but the one you know as Michelangelo has gained on you and slams you into the brick wall on your right side. 

“that’s no way to treat a lady” you say looking up at him, he grins, spits and decks you in the face. Everything goes black.

There’s a thumping in your head, you feel as though you have a concussion and your jaw aches like a motherfucker. Damn it you think to yourself, they’re more to handle than I thought.  There’s some kind of sack over your head that has a sheer texture to it so you can sort of make out where you are. There are cupboards and you can hear the steady drip of water so a tap must be near by, you assume you’re in a kitchen. You try and move your hands but they’re bound behind your back, the same with your ankles. Motherfuckers. You reach into the back of your jeans, you knife is gone. They must have searched you, they’re more thorough than you gave them credit for. you shouldn’t have underestimated them, you’re the one who likes to be underestimated. Just a sweet little girl, wouldn’t hurt a fly; you’re a vegetarian for fucks sake, who would think of you as the ruthless killer that you are? you try and slide your arms under your butt to have them in front of you, maybe then you can get this bag off your head and see where you are. Suddenly, you hear movement

“She’s awake” one of them calls to the others. More footsteps and you know they’re all in the room with you. You feel the bag being removed from your head, some of your hair being pulled with it but you ignore the slight sting that it causes. You’re face to face with Leonardo who’s crouching in front of you

“Now” he begins “I think it’s time we get better acquainted, don’t you, y/n?” 

“I thought mobsters were supposed to be sweet on women. They Cray twins, Al Capone, all real nice when it came to ladies. What gives?” you say to him.

“you’re no regular lady” he retorts. “We have sources that put you at the scene of 4 of the murders that have been going on recently and we just need to have a little chat about what you were doing there. We’d hate to have the wrong person”

you scoff.  “Me? A killer?” you feign an innocent look. “Whatever are you talking about”

Leo stands up and you can really see his true height now. He’s an impressive man, about 6′4 and all muscle. That suit was really doing him some favours as well, you would water at the mouth but you had other priorities at this moment in time; staying alive being just one of them.

“what were you doing by the Hudson on September 6th when James Masters was killed” he asks

“Look, you’ve got the wrong girl. I wouldn’t kill anyone” you flash him your big doe eyes hoping that’ll score you some points with the big bad mobster. They wouldn’t really hurt a girl, would they? “I’m an art major at Columbia, I’ve got 2 brothers who need me” you try and summon tears but you just can’t do it so you settle for the odd sniffle instead “My mum calls me at 12 everyday and if I don’t pick up she’s gonna get worried”

A sharp smack flies across your face and you’re taken aback by the impact. You can feel liquid at the corner of your mouth and know that he hit you hard enough to draw blood

“Cut the act, what were you doing?” he repeated himself.

You take a moment to finally look around the room. There’s a table to your right with stacks of cash and guns on it as well as lots of tightly wrapped bags full of white power; cocaine you assume. The 4 turtles stand in front of you, Leo being closest, all with their arms folded doing their best to look intimidating. You laugh.

“I get the feeling begging isn’t going to work, huh?” you say

“Not today, sweetheart” the one who knocked you out, Michelangelo, replies.

“Well, would it please you to know that I was there to get rid of a body? That I’m the one who’s been ‘terrorising’ New York as the papers put it? or did I give that away too easily?”

“That’s not quite what we’re here about” the one in purple pipes up

“Oh no?”

“you see, James was an informant of ours and he had some…Information that could be very harmful to our organisation if it got out. And since he was tortured before he died, we want to know what he told you”

“let me see” you you paused for dramatic effect “I believe his last words were ‘no please stop, oh god no’. Does that have any significance to you?” you smile

Another slap. This one hurt worse and was making your already aching jaw hurt even more, you would definitely have a bruise if you made it out of this.

“looks like we’re gonna have to use the old school method” Leo states

“the old school method it is” Donatello agrees

He leaves the room for a moment and comes back in with a black bag which he opens on the counter. He takes out a white plastic sheet and some things that you can’t quite make out from the floor but they make a metallic twang on the counter when he puts them down. They’re going to torture me. Your heart sinks to your stomach. You aren’t a coward and you’re no stranger to pain, half of your victims put up a good fight and rough sex was prominent in your life, but you truly didn’t know any inside information about what the turtles operation held and there was no way they were going to believe you.

Donatello approached you, laying down the white sheet and shimmying it under your form so that it lay underneath you.

“look, guys…” you began “We don’t have to do it like this”

“A bit too late for that, don’t you think” Donatello replied as he pulled a scalpel from his pocket and pushes it down into your hand. You howl in pain and try and pull your arm away but his hand is already on your wrist keeping you in place. 

“Just tell us what he told you” He states in an eerily calm voice

“He didn’t say an thing about you guys!” you bellow “I caught him tryna sneak date rape drugs into a girl’s drink and that’s why I killed him! It had nothing to do with you!”

They all look at each other and Donatello draws back.

“Even so” Leo began “He wasn’t the best at keeping secrets. I imagine he tried to make some kind of deal with you for his life” 

“Yeah, that he would leave the city and never come back” They stare at you, unsure as to weather or not you’re lying. Mikey uses his arms to propel himself backwards to sit on the counter behind him; his legs swinging casually as he sits.

“So nothing about us?” he inquires.

Leo moves towards you, crouching down again so that he’s eye level with you; his suit hugging his muscles in all the right places. You decided to take a gamble.

“well…He did tell me one thing” you croon

“Go on” Leo almost whispers

Your hand was bleeding pretty badly at this point and a bead of bright scarlet blood dripped down between your fingers and on to the plastic sheet beneath you. If you wanted to live, you had to make them like you in some way. You lean in closer, almost nose to nose with the turtle’s leader.

“you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours” you say in your most seductive voice. He smiles at you, not quite sure what to make of your comment.

“I’m not following, little girl”

“Oh come on. Haven’t you heard that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar? Give me what I want, and I’ll tell you whatever you need to know” 

He stays crouched in front of you, still staring into your eyes trying to gage weather or not you’re serious. “Leave the room”  he commands without even looking back at his brothers. They do as they’re told, Mikey sighing slightly as he hops down from the counter and Donatello picking up his black bag of torture gear on the way out. 

“what do you have in mind?” his eyes are locked on yours and you’re so close you can feel his body heat from where you’re sitting. He truly was an amazing creature, all muscle and strength. It made you wet just thinking about what he could do to you. You place one of your still tied up hands on his knee and run it down his thigh until you’re close to his crotch and look back into his deep blue eyes

“Oh, you know. A little bit of hair pulling here, some biting there. Just fuck me raw basically” your forwardness gets you a raise of his eyebrows and his mouth forms into a bigger smile. He looks down and then back up at you and begins to untie the restraints around your ankles but leaves your hands bound. This is going to be good.

He runs his hands down your thighs and begins to undo the button of your jeans to slide them down your legs, you kick off your shoes to help him get them over your feet. His hands go straight for your underwear. This guy doesn’t fuck around you think to yourself. Underwear off, he trails kisses down your inner thigh until he reaches your sex and parts your lips

“you’re wet already? Naughty girl” he jokes and you can’t help but blush.

He moves closer and takes one long lick between your folds exciting a moan from the back of your throat. He’s good at it, too, swirling his tongue in devilish ways over your small bead and occasionally sucking at it too. He places one thick finger inside your wet entrance and begins to curl it in pace with his tongue. you’re barely hanging on at this point as your orgasm is coming fast. He looks up from between your legs while still using his hand to draw circular motions over your clit

“It’s ok, babygirl. You can cum for me” 

With one final stroke of his tongue and his permission your orgasm rips through you bringing tears to your eyes but he isn’t done yet. Moving up your body he lifts your top and undoes your bra taking his time to suck and kiss at your nipples. It’s as though he can’t decide which one he likes best but you don’t mind his indecision. You can feel his teeth pull the soft tissue of your left breast into his mouth as he sucks creating a small purple bruise and you humm in pleasure. He kisses your lips hungrily, inserting his tongue into your mouth just enough to taste the cigarette he must have been smoking before you woke up and you love the taste. It’s so manly. You take your still tied up hands to cup his chin as he does so and then move them down to feel his torso, His reptilian skin so rough yet smooth at the same time and you can feel his muscles twitch beneath the surface in anticipation.

He trails kisses and bites down your tummy before grabbing your hips and flipping you over, your face hits the floor but you don’t mind; you were guaranteed to be man handled and he did not disappoint. With your exposed ass in the air you can hear him behind you undoing his flies and you want to badly to look back and see him but the not knowing almost makes it hotter-that is until you feel him at your entrance. He’s thick. Almost too thick for you, he’s gonna stretch you open for sure and you can’t wait. Just as you think this you hear him spit and his fingers are at your entrance again making sure your wet enough for him. In one long slow motion he inserts himself inside you, filling you completely to the point where you don’t know if you can take any more. He bottoms out and you sigh in pleasure. He pulls out a little and then thrusts back into you hard over and over again at a punishing pace. His hands are on your hips but he removes one to smack your ass as he’s fucking you.

“harder” you almost beg

“that’s it baby, take all of me” he moans to you

the feel of the cold tile floor beneath your face is a nice contrast to the burning heat in your core and you know you can’t hold on much longer. He reaches around your body to play with your clit while he’s still pushing in and out of you at an astonishing rate while he takes his other hand and pulls at your hair forcing you to look up.

“Leo, I’m going to-I’m gonna” you practically scream before your second orgasm sends shock waves through your body. A few more thrusts and you hear him moan as he reaches his own ecstasy and cums deep inside of you. You almost collapse but his hands go back to your hips, steadying you. He pulls out and you can feel his seed and your own wetness leaking out of you and running down your inner thigh.

“wow, I haven’t been fucked like that in a while” you laugh

“I’m not done yet, baby” he taunts

flipping you back over onto your back you can see that he’s already hard again. Gods bless those mutant genes that turned him into whatever creature was kneeling before you. You don’t think you can take him a third time but before you have the chance to interject he’s inside you again and pumping in and out at an overwhelming pace. He runs his hand up over your breast to your neck and squeezes the sides of your throat, cutting off the blood supply to your head and you can feel your whole face redden with the pressure. He looks deep into your eyes, lost in his own pleasure. You’re mind is tingling with lack of oxygen and the force of his cock inside you and you’re close again. You slip your hands between your thighs and begin to play with yourself as he fucks you mercilessly, hand still at your throat. Suddenly your hands are pushed out of the way

“beg me to let you cum” he commands

you do as you’re told

“Please” you pleaded with him “I need this, I need it so bad please just let me cum”

He grunts as he thrusts harder, allowing your hands back at your pussy and you both cum at the same time. Bodies twitching in the afterglow of what had just happened.

He rolls to the floor beside you and lies on his back, both panting with exhaustion. He cups your sex with his hand.

“so, what did James tell you” he says as he catches his breath.

shit. you hadn’t thought this far ahead.

Fin.

[voidcat]

– Stardust

Characters: Oikawa Tooru/You

Genre: fluff/comfort, heart to heart on reader’s part (questioning your place in the universe and all)

Summary: Sleep does not come some nights when it gets loud inside your head. Pebbles thrown at your window feels something out of movies. Oikawa Tooru being the one to do feels unreal. So you do what everyone does in dreams, is this a dream?, and follow his lead.

Word Count: 4.3k (i poured my heart out pls respond)

A/N: I didn’t write it with a song in mind but Kimochi Warui (When?  When? When? When? When? When? When?) sounded fitting while proofreading. Take it as a suggestion if you want.  – ao3 - PART 2

It’s late. 

Too late to still be up. Too late to be thinking like this. 

Too late to be up, awake, vibrating with all these overwhelming thoughts filling your head, wanting to break free, scratching the inside of your skull like feral animals, dying to get out.

It’s late and you keep lying down just like that. Hands clasped over your stomach, eyes locked onto the ceiling, trying not to think, keeping your mind blank like a newly bought sketchbook.

You lie like that for seconds feeling like hours and hours feeling like seconds.

You lie awake, the dim moon light entering your room lazily. All too familiar thoughts plaguing your mind, telling things you’ve known since childhood over and over and over until you grow numb to the noise.

Tck.

You consider checking the time but you’re afraid it’ll still be too early for the new day to start.

Tck.

Was that an actual sound or the newest trick of your mind?

Tck.

They say third time is the charm. Third time also means it’s too much of a specific occurrence to be a coincidence. The noise seems to be coming from outside, something small hitting your window.

Irritation and curiosity taking over you at last, not to mention boredom, you make way to the window and open it.

You see Oikawa Tooru of all people waving with his phone at you, a little aggressively.

Walking back to your nightstand and picking up your phone, you receive a message.

>[Does your folks wake up early?]

>[Or check up on you first thing in the morning?]

[No. why?] Hitting the send button you wait, walking back there and looking at him again. Face lightened by the glow of his phone, you can make up his eyes and nose.

>[Wear something warm.]

>[And make that spicy tea thingy you like so much if you want.]

>[I’m waiting by the door.]

Weird is seeing Oikawa Tooru under your window at an hour no one else is awake. Him telling you to get dressed and come outside? That’s creepy and worrying.

[Why]

>[I’m doing you a favor out of the goodness of my heart for once.] You want to roll your eyes at that. Since when does he know what being good means? Towards you especially.

>[No shady business, I promise.]

>[Trust me.]

As if knowing what went in your mind, these texts show up on your screen. You come to a halt.

Your relationship with Oikawa was never good. You would ignore one another on the good days and be utterly destructive and spiteful on the bad days. He never gave you a reason or made a gesture to earn your trust, you don’t even recall hearing those words from him much. They are reserved for Iwaizumi and the team only.

So why do you find yourself in a dilemma, as if there’s something to choose, a decision to make? Because the logical thing for you to do, the in-character thing for you to do, is to say no, go back to bed and hope to fall asleep at some point. The usual set of action for you is to refuse whatever he has to offer and go back to your own thing.

But you’re done with the logical and the in-character. So you send a quick [I’ll be down in 5.], make way to prepare something warm first and change your clothes as you wait for it to heat up. A sweatshirt should be enough.

Being too lazy and out-of-it to function once in a while pays, because instead of having to brew the tea and wait for a long while, you just heat up the already brewed and stashed one and pour it to your thermos.

Silently opening the door and getting out, you see Oikawa leaning against the wall.

He walks away when he sees you, you follow without a word. Soon enough you’re met with a car. Since when he has a car?

Wait, no. Don’t ask, don’t wait for an answer. Don’t look at the stupid car, don’t examine it. It is a dream after all, right? What’s the point in observing things when you’ll forget about them first thing in the morning?

Following his lead, you get inside the passenger seat, hear him start the engine, watch his hand reach for the stereo. A low hum arise.

It sounds like he picked a channel on random, the music isn’t bad per se, the volume is down. So it doesn’t exactly bother you either. Getting comfortable in your seat and resting your head against the window, you watch the blur of images go by.

There is no moon tonight, the only source of light is the street lamps coming into view and leaving as fast. Houses, buildings, trees, everything belonging to the day pass by in a fog and smear of colors. Almost like a quick brush of oil paint. It’s calming in a quiet before the thunderstorm kind of way.

As the road goes under the wheels, less and less houses come in to your view.

“Where to?”

Oikawa gives you a quick glance. He almost looks surprised to see you speak. Did he just assume you’d stay quiet all night?

“You’ll see.” His tone doesn’t match his face.

“What’s the meaning of it?”

“Consider it a favor.” This marks the end of your short lived conversation.

You don’t need to recognize the road he takes to understand he’s driving out of town, out of Miyagi. The why of it keeps floating in your head, you can’t apply the ‘it’s a dream’ tactic any more either, you are too awake for that, in both senses.

Turning your attention back on the sidelines, you let your mind wander off to meaningless assumptions.

A light behind the trees, you imagine a lonely night creature, lurking around to find his lost love.

You spot an animal you can’t identify and make up a story about an once-successful maiden, falling fool to a wicked spell.

You look at the trees and imagine nature coming to life in humanoid form, mutating and taking its revenge on human race.

Hearing a ribbit nearby and you recall the time your mother read you the Princess and the Frog years ago.

You turn left to look at Oikawa. Finding your phone inside your pocket and raising it in a show-and-tell manner, you wait for him to take notice and turn off the stereo. You press play.

Satie’s Once Upon A Time In Paris fills the air.

You note the relaxation in his shoulders. You let the melody take over your body as well.

Closing your eyes and holding your hands in the air, you can see the keys in front of you.

Hitting the keys one by one, reaching for the pedal, you can feel it flow through you. Head moving on its own, dancing with the melody, Gymnopedie no.1 as calm and serene as ever. Simple like a short quote on love from a poet.

It ends silently, Gnossienne no.3 enters with much more emotion.

It’s almost comical how many times you’ve played this exact piece but almost never listened to others playing. It sounds like you in some ways, some tints and emphasis different than how you’d play but that’s all you got right now.

You don’t need to break out of the music’s hold or open your eyes to catch Oikawa’s gaze on you once in a while. You went through all this before on so many occasions. Be it on public transportation and a piece you connect with comes on, you can’t stop your fingers from trying to play it on air, making keys out of nitrogen and oxygen in the air. Your body starting to move on its own after a while. Strangers giving you funny looks all the while.

The notes gain meaning and heaviness, hanging in the air and making way for the following ones as fast.

When the B bemols come, you can feel a stinging feeling in your eyes.

Since when does Gnossienne no.3 make you want to cry? Why now of all times?

You don’t care, you don’t want the answers, you don’t want to understand or reach a new level of understanding within yourself. Just shutting yourself out completely and taking in all the music with a deep breathe, you lean back as far as you can into the seat.

Gnossienne no.4 starts and your hands no longer itch to play.

When Oikawa pulls up at last, the music has long ended.

Getting off with your thermos in one hand, you look around.

Not a single building, a sign of life in sight. Where the hell did he bring you?

You can see his figure searching for something in the back seat, some shuffling reaches your ear. You look at the few and far between trees in the distance. It is a dead night. Not even wind, not even some comical tumbleweeds are in sight to add some motion. Time has stopped completely.

You don’t realize Oikawa’s signals for the second time that night, just as you didn’t hear him throwing pebbles at your window.

Noticing the loud thud, as him patting the hood of his car a little too late, only when he starts to get loud, you look back up. He’s sitting there, patting the space next to him, the gesture all too familiar.

Your mind wanders back to the moments you’d do the same, asking your cat to come sit with you, listen to you ramble, maybe purr for you, hear your sobs or meow at your antics. Tilting your hand with her head, bumping your legs with her tail. Those moments painted golden, filtered with a gray film, already gone, leaving nothing but a sharp pain in your chest.

You climb and sit, careful not to have any physical contact with him.

“Why are we here?” you try one last time.

“I didn’t want to be alone.” He says. Nodding your head at that, you’re not exactly surprised. The way he always surrounds himself with people, no matter the proximity and bond he shares with them.

He answered a question, maybe he can answer few more before I drive him to the limit, you think. “Why me?” This nags at your brain more than any other current question you have for him.

“It seemed fitting.”

“Why not Hajime or Makki, or even Mattsun?”

“Iwa-chan has come on little trips such as this with me before. I didn’t want to drag him tonight. Asking anyone else I’m close with didn’t sound like a good idea. And frankly? You seemed like you could use a break like this today.”

Observant prick.

“So, what exactly? We share one cozy moment tonight and return to our daily selves of hating one another in the morning?” His silence is a yes enough. “Sure, sounds good then.”

After the little conversation, you are back examining the surroundings, the comforting stillness in the air, the silence, the emptiness and the blackness of it all.

It gets boring after a while. Not wanting to disturb Oikawa further and at a loss of what else to do in the middle of nowhere, you look up at last.

Oh.

You forget to breathe for a few seconds. And that doesn’t even seem to be a problem in your eyes.

Has he done this before? How long has he been going out at ungodly hours for this?

You knew Oikawa Tooru was obsessed with space and aliens, thanks to Iwaizumi, but you never expected it to be on a more serious, in-depth level. Not like this.

Never like this.

Billions of stars hanging in the night sky, most millions of years old, blinking from a long gone past, probably dead in their current time.

A calm breeze washing over your wholly, reminding you just how small you are, your life is and how it is all okay because in the big picture you’re all nothing but dust. Destined to be forgotten by history in few centuries, if not decades.

Seeing all these stars, colorful lights what you hope are planets, an arm of the Milky Way, flowing like a waterfall and you feel a sense of security you haven’t felt in a while.

There is something comforting about the night sky, the way it can show you your unimportance in the big picture, your place in all this. You feel whole with the universe. You belong.

So you look up, and up and up. Stare at the sky, blink at the stars, smile at the constellations you spot and remember their stories, the gods and the myths, the heroes and the queens…

You look back at Oikawa then. As if remembering only now that he is there by your side.

Facing the sky in a manner just like yours, you can see the stars on his face. Shining on his hair, cheeks and in his eyes. Almost like stardust.

He looks ethereal, unreachable, enchanting. And a little vulnerable. All that tension, layers of masks he puts on each day, all the fake smiles and empty look in his eyes are gone.

Raw and pure.

This is the truest of Oikawa you’ve ever seen.

The admiration can be read from his eyes. His face holding an emotion you’ve seen on him once or twice. Not intense like this, never like this. You’ve seen the same look on him for Iwaizumi but only for a second, when he’s sure no one is watching.

With the same eyes, he watches the starry night sky.

He looks like he belongs up there. Not in a “be an astronaut and go to space” but in a “should be there, amongst the stars, his memory up there, to be remembered by everyone gazing upon the starry night. Like a constellation, become a constellation, a legend and a story, and so much more, just like Orion and Andromeda.”

This is the closest to Oikawa Tooru you’ve ever been. The thought gives you a shiver.

Seeming to notice that, he gives you a puzzled look and raises his right arm. You realize the blanket around his form then. He’s making an offer.

“Don’t worry, three people can fit in easily, it’s wide enough for the both of us.” When his face turned to you, it’s dark, no source of light to reflect on his skin.

You scoot over to him, under the blanket. The two of you refocus back on the scene above you.

Remembering the little mug inside your front pocket, you open the lid of your thermos and start pouring some tea, the steam leaving a little trail behind. You hold out the mug to Oikawa, he just looks at you, the confusion clear on his face.

Why are you offering me the tea you brought for yourself?

What makes you think I’d trust you enough to taste something you made?

“We said tonight was our little secret, right? I can use the cap as a mug, don’t worry.”

Your words and clarification seems to convince him somewhat, holding the mug with both hands, he smells it before taking a sip.

Silence falls over again and it’s much nicer this time.

Not even the coldness can get to you or pull you out of the warm embrace you’re in. The warmth around your shoulders, more provided by the idea of the blanket than the blanket itself. Like a thin veil, separating the real world from your little bubble of escape.

It’s new moon, no reflecting lunar light to block your view of stars. Sitting under the tent of black, blue, white and red; it feels divine. Divine to live in the moment, to truly breathe, to witness something so enthralling and forever.

To stand by yourself, stripped bare of everything; your layers, titles, names and ticks, clothes and paints, to be a newborn again, to reborn again, all alone, in an endless room, empty and cold, filled with stars and gods, stories to tell and dreams to see.

To feel whole again, alone again, hopeless again but reach a self-realization again, to taste nectar and discover the secrets of the universe, converse with the long gone philosophers and waltz with supernovas.

You’re not alone. Not completely.

Maybe left alone with your thoughts in this dead land and you know how one can never have company in their own mind, forever trapped alone. Yet in that moment, you’re not alone. Moving your head to steal a glance at the boy next to you again, you understand it well. It all happens so fast.

“Isn’t it ironic? How as humans we use a word like ‘star’ for untouchable celebrities, important people and such while in reality stars are nothing but these giant balls of plasma-“ gesturing a ball with your hands now, thermos sitting between your legs, “-with their ongoing chemical reactions, sputtering molecules of hydrogen and helium and all, until they come to an end with their current phase of life. If you can call that life.” You say all these with your eyes locked onto the stars, Oikawa’s locked on you. You keep going.

“Speaking of life, what is even life? Aren’t we just a bunch of organic components somehow managing to come together, build a system and gain conscious somehow? Just trying to survive until an outer force comes or our cells come off? Isn’t it technically our cells living, in a way?”

“Aren’t we just piles of protein just walking around and doing things that make no sense but to us?  Until we come to an end with our current phase of life? Doing what we see fit or fun or appropriate until it all ends.” It’s not a question any more. He doesn’t give you an answer.

“Aren’t we all children of the stars in a different point of view? All our molecules and elements coming from them. I mean, look at them. We see them blinking and smirking and smiling at us but for all we know they could’ve ended long ago. They could’ve become part of a new life for all we know. They break down and give birth to us, pieces of us; and in return we go back to them when we are gone. Despite being made of stardust, we live pretty shit lives huh?” You give him a lopsided smile, facing him as you say your last words.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time?” he replies.

“For far too long to pinpoint an exact date actually.” You almost say in a singsong voice. He frowns at that slightly.

“But I am right! Right? I mean, you’re a space nerd! You must know what I’m talking about.”

“Understanding and putting it into words in such a depressing way are two different things.”

Pouting at that, you look the opposite direction sharply. “Whatever, I know I am right.”

His gaze is still on you. “Is that what you’re like most of the time? I don’t get how Iwa-chan deals with you.” He must be shaking his head now.

“Iwa-chan can’t read minds last time I checked.” You deadpan.

His laugh fills the air at that. Light and lively, carefree; you doubt you’ve heard him laugh before. It sounds wonderful.

You wonder how things would’ve been between you and Oikawa, if the circumstances were different. If you never met Iwaizumi that day, would your paths still cross? Would you finish your Aoba Johsai years never meeting him?

Would you meet Oikawa on your own? Could you ever be friends, instead of dancing around one another and spitting out insults whenever you can? Would you like him in another world? Value his friendship, the person he is? Would the two of you have met before or become something more?

All these unanswered questions hanging in the air and you find yourself looking at him again.

His smile looks different now, he looks different, changed. Almost breathtaking. Is that what Iwaizumi means by his ‘fake smiles’?

A honest smile looks good on him.

You find yourself smiling back.

“Hey.” He nudges your shoulder with his. “If you still want to complain about the meaningless of life and all that, be my guest. I promise I won’t listen.”

Taken aback by his wording, you give him a confused look.

“Tonight doesn’t exist, remember?”

��…Right.” You decide to lean back and lie under the stars.

Feeling a tug at the blanket after a while, you see him placing the mug down next to the tire. You hand him your thermos as he regains his composure, he complies silently and leans back when he’s done.

All there is in the air is your faint breathing now. Never matching one another, sometimes loud, sometimes ghostly. There is no rhythm, no adjusting subconsciously. Completely independent.

You take a deep breath and start.

“It feels grey most of the time. Not in a ‘there’s never two sides, everything is grey, blah blah.’ But more like a numbness of grey.”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything, nothing to show or to indicate that he is listening. You continue talking.

“Like lacking all color and feeling in life, blocking all there is to see and enjoy and I am left with nothing but… grey.

Grey to the point of everything is filtered, there are no boundaries, it all feels the same, plays the same and I am afraid. I am afraid of hurting. Hurting myself, being hurt myself and hurting the ones around me. Not the ones I love, I don’t even know love. What is love?” You turn to look at him.

“I tried thinking about it, reading about it, understanding it on a chemical and hormonal way. Consulted mathematics and never got an answer. It feels made up, a fairy tale to feel better, to attach ourselves to one another.

I fear I came across love and didn’t notice it, I fear I brushed it off for something else and now it’s too late.”

With each pause, it gets easier to speak, harder to talk. Finding the right words, using your vocal chords, moving your tongue, writing your sentences in your mind. You don’t feel the tears gathering around your eyes or going down your cheeks. You wait for the robot title, to be called heartless and how you have a rock in your chest. They never come.

“Do you really fear of hurting him?” There’s no doubt he is talking about Iwaizumi.

“I don’t know.”

“But you care for him.”

“I don’t know.”

“Think before you answer.” He says then, voice stern.

“I think I care for him but I fear I will ruin him.”

The unspoken ‘how so?’ is in the air.

“I feel grey to the point of dust and decay. I fear everything I touch either drives away from me or decays. I don’t want to lose him. I think I care for him. But I don’t want to watch him stay by my side and crumble one by one.

I don’t want to go from grey to blue.”

“Doesn’t he make you happy? I’ve seen genuine smiles on you when you’re with him. You almost light up when he enter a room or sits beside you.”

“What’s the point of happiness if it’s dependent on one person? It is not fair to either parties.”

He starts tsking. “Too many don’ts for that age. You’ll end up with wrinkles before your thirties.”

He stops prying after that.

The air begins to grow colder, a little breeze picks up.

The stars are as cold as ever, blinking diamonds in the sky.

You swear you see the arm of Milky Way coming into motion, flowing like a stream.

For what feels like an hour, it is quiescent. You decide to break it one last time.

“Speaking of stars, you and Iwaizumi are like neutron stars. Can be found alone or orbiting one another, chasing after each other, forever together and merged at last. Both stars on your own but as captivating when together.”

The hour taking its toll on you, your senses grow duller. You can’t hear his breathing without focusing, even the stars are getting blurry.

“Then you’re like a black dwarf.” Oikawa speaks up. “Because you feel unreal most of the time.”

You both fall back into silence. You don’t ask him if he meant it as a compliment and he doesn’t answer.

You don’t need to know which way he meant, in a way, you already know the response to that.

Tonight isn’t real. It’ll cease to exist in a few hours and you let these rare moments sink in. Probably the closest you’ll ever be to Oikawa Tooru, closest see him like this. It almost feels familiar, like you’ve done this before, went on stargazing with him and opened your heart out to him. It feels like a dream, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You chuckle at your attempt of a joke lightly.

It is serene around the two of you and in your mind. A placidity you haven’t had without the help of  a distraction in a long while.

“Thanks Tooru.”

His name falls out of your lips like you use it on the daily. Like the comforting shuffle of a worn out sweater as you put it on, the chirping of this family of birds living by your house for decades, the warm meow of your cat when you’re headed to bed. It sounds natural.

Scooting closer to him until your head rests on his chest. He just wraps his arm around you, pulling you further. Not a single word on your way of addressing him. And not a word from you on his way of holding you.

The moment will cease to exist in the morning, along with your confessions and the blinking lights of the stars. In a few hours it’ll no longer be real. So you decide to give it a shot at being close to him in all senses, share something the two of you will never have. Wrapping your arm around his torso, listening closely to his heart. Your head under his chin, his hand atop yours, you fall asleep until the sun comes.

[mihidecet]

Sbi&CO d&d AU: A Familiar Face (1/?)

WELCOME WELCOME EVERYONE! Today, the tournament arc begins! I do hope you’ll enjoy this ahahah

I dedicate this to all the wonderful people of the Au’s Discord - hit me up if you wanna join! Also, a special thank you to @traitorous-bisexual and @awebo without whom this arc wouldn’t exist <3

Finally, before we start: make sure you check out @whatimevendoinhere , @spout1nk and (soon) @julius-ranch for art and fanfics about the AU!!

It was a lovely morning. 

The sun shined through the tinted windows, turning the light a soft orange glow that lessened the glare of it against his eyes. 

It was a welcome respite: during the months that involved preparing the tournament, days were quick to melt together, nights becoming just darker afternoons as Scott and everyone around him hurried to make everything look ready for the contestants' arrival. So, not having the sun shine directly into his eyes as he looked over the final challenges that had been chosen for the tournament was a relief. The cup of warm tea by his desk was also a saving grace.

Stifling a yawn, Scott figured that he could let himself take a stroll. Maybe open up his window, let the room freshen up a bit. 

With his window overlooking one of the many parks inside the Academy, maybe he could distract himself for a moment and see if his protege had finally started warming up to his teammates. 

That plan had flown out of the window almost immediately. Or maybe it would be better to say that it had flown into the window, along with a green tipped arrow that had suddenly appeared in his field of vision. 

Now, Scott hasn't been adventuring for a while, but it would be foolish to think that he's forgotten how the world works - with a flick of his wrist, a translucent dome of purple arcane energy materializes between him and the incoming arrow, which impacts with the barrier a split second later. The tip goes through, piercing the veil of his magic, and for a terrifying moment Scott thinks it's not gonna stop, but it simply stops, held in place as if caught in a web. 

Which is a relief, the amateur that tried to attack him - an Archmage, in the middle of his own Academy - failed to get their first shot in and this will give him the time to step back and call his most trusted in order to quickly and efficiently get rid of the problem at hand. He has other more pressing matters to attend to, he's not going to waste his time on this. 

As his Shield spell fades, it congeals like a shimmering second skin over his upper arm. Maybe calling the guards isn't that pressing, he's got this. 

Or maybe he doesn't, he thinks as he get a second, much more terrifying surprise - in the span of a couple of seconds, he really can get no breaks.

A figure materializes in the air in front of him, with a dark hood over their head that covers most of their features except for a huge - terrifying - grin and an intricate bow strapped to their back.

The figure appears with a puff of iridescent smoke, crouched in the air as if they'd been in the process of jumping before they decided to teleport, and- crashes into him, the force of the impact and the shock of it happening making him lose his balance and start falling back. 

There's a moment where Scott is confused: is this some sort of strange tactic? Did the stranger misjudge their trajectory? Are they going to wrestle on the ground as if they weren't both magic users? 

Then, a brief split second of panic - he didn't look what the stranger was holding, and he is currently falling on his back. He is going to get stabbed, at the very least, and that conviction is only made stronger as he feels the stranger's arms close in around him. 

But then, Scott has simply enough time to blink in shock, as the arms just wrap around his back, before his world is literally turned upside down.

One moment he is falling on his back, already anticipating the pain of a knife to the back - please no vital organs, spare him the need for an extremely expansive healer. The next the is wrapped in a hug and grunting in pain as his knees impact with the ground. 

"Ah, fuck that hurt- Scotty are you alright?" 

Scott refuses to believe this. He pushes against the chest under him - the arms give, letting him go - and finds himself face to face with a sight that is both very familiar and weirdly unusual. 

"You-" Scott says, tone an unconvincingly mix of menacing and angry as he jabs a finger into the not-so-stranger's chest -"Are lucky to be alive. I could have murdered you."

Hbomb's worried glance instantly brightens, despite Scott's best hopes, and he throws his head back to laugh. No matter how irritated he is at his friend, he can't help but huff out a laugh himself, and a moment later they're both chuckling together on the floor. By all the gods, it has been some time.

"You are a dumbass, H. You couldn't just use the door? You know, like a normal person?!" Scott asks, holding himself up on his left elbow because H has always been one to laugh with his whole body and Scott is still recovering from jamming his knees into the floor, he's not in the mood to be jostled around by an enthusiastic ranger. 

"Aw, Scotty, aren't you happy to see me?" The half-elf asks, putting a hand on his chest as he fails to pretend he's insulted. Scott flicks his nose. 

"Ah- that hurt!"

"I know, I meant it to hurt. Now, do you want to tell me what you're doing here? And what is that doing on your face?" Scott demands, serious at first until he realises that H has been growing out his beard well past what he considers to be a good length - H's pout is barely visible under all that scruff.

"Well, now, that is unnecessarily rude. I've been traveling for a while now, and I wasn't gonna risk injuring myself-" Scott grabs a wandering hand and brings it back on H's chest. 

"H." Hbomb has a tendency of gesticulating when his hands aren't being kept busy, and while he did figure that his friend had simply forgotten to shave, he has known him long enough to be able to recognise when H is going off on a tangent - which is perfectly fine - and when he's changing the subject because he doesn't want to answer. 

He knows he's right when H simply shuts up, eyes wide like those of a deer - quite fitting, considering where he enjoys spending most of his time. But instead of looking pensive, or starting to answer, H just … looks down. At where their hands are. 

Normally, he wouldn't think much of it. But H looks almost sheepish, and his eyes keep moving from his face to their hands, so Scott looks down. 

His brain screeches to a halt, and suddenly he stands up a little straighter, sitting on the floor next to H as he grabs his hand in his. 

Around his fingers wraps a perfect replica of a silver winged fae dragon, while in his palm- one of the most accurate representations of the different Planes. 

Scott turns his stare to his fiend, who looks more calm than Scott feels he has any right to, and when he speaks he sounds almost breathless. 

"What happened to you?"

The tale of how Shubble's patron reached out to him to grant him powers is exhilarating. Not in the "funny" sense, more in the "my friend who is usually not that fond of talking and interacting with people especially when he's not in a place he is familiar with, was transported to a different plane and spoke with a being of transcendent power". So maybe a bit in the "funny" sense. 

The only negative side of the whole affair is the fact that Shubble is currently not present. 

She actually teaches at the Academy, so H was right in his assumption that reaching this place would have helped him out, but he just barely missed her by a couple of weeks. She's recently left, called out on an urgent mission by her patron themselves, and a part of Scott's mind can't help but feel like it is an extremely weird coincidence: he respects power gained through pacts, but he fears deeply the machinations of otherworldly beings' minds and the power they hold over his friends. He'd much prefer dealing with forces controlled by his own self, so that when a spell backfires comically he only has himself to blame. 

But all things considered, he's glad to see H is still alive and seemingly doing better than ever. He looks fine, happy and more confident than the last time he saw him - the way he stands and moves more firm, more secure, filling his space in a way the Hbomb of some time ago wouldn't have. 

It's nice to see him like this. 

What isn't nice is the way his increased confidence leads him to suggest how good of an idea it would be for him to take part into the tournament. Which is a horrible idea. 

"Listen, I know I am banned from playing again-" H starts, arms spread open with a mischievous grin on his face. Scott has sudden flashbacks to all the times he'd seen that grin from the other side of the battlefield and shakes his head firmly before pointing a stern finger at his chest.

"You still have a year before you can." 

H huffs, shoulders falling, and he adopts the most fake-innocent expression Scott has ever seen. 

"But I'm just here to say hi!" Scott levels him with a blank stare, using all of his willpower and internal strength to avoid bursting out laughing. Because for all that his friend's expression is hilarious, this is really no laughing matter. He can't have him win again. 

"I said what I said." H's head hits the desk with a groan of protest. 

On the other side of the table, Scott pinches his own arm in order not to laugh. 

He fails.

H still manages to pout his way into getting a free room to stay in for a while - just like the old times, come on! - and seems to be alright with being left to his own devices for the rest of the morning. 

Knowing him, he'll take it as the perfect chance to snoop around, make new friends and bother the tournament's contestants. 

As Scott turns back to his schematics, the only thing he does is chuckle to himself. 

[iamakiller]

Daddy

Wordcount: 2000

Warnings: Pregnancy.  Infidelity.  Murder.  Reference to past abuse.

Notes: Some men take to fatherhood quite naturally.  Others … do not.

The wedding is elaborate, expensive, and populated entirely by the bride’s family and friends.  

Perhaps this is why no-one mentions the haste with which it has been arranged, in spite of how decisive the couple’s most recent and definitely final breakup had been only a few months ago.

Nobody comments on the irony of the bride wearing white, either.

***

It is a novelty, at first.  

The matching rings are fun, and it is rather nice having someone to complain to after a long day of dealing with the world and its stupidity.

Charlie calls her Wife, and she calls him Husband. Ironically, of course.

He likes the idea of the vows.  Til death do us part is pleasantly macabre, and reassuringly final.

He’ll never be alone again.

***

The other business is nothing at all, to begin with.  

He enjoys the way her magnificent curves have been augmented by the twist of fate that brought them back together so permanently. Her swollen breasts and rounded belly are a gift for him to enjoy.  A fitting tribute to his virility.  And her fertility, he supposes.

Look at what I have done to you, he thinks, each time he fucks her.  See how you have grown by me.

And she grows.

And she grows.

***

One evening as they are laying on the couch, Nicole suddenly lets out a gasp, and grabs his hand.  Before he knows quite what is happening, she has pressed it to her abdomen, right below her navel.  Just as he’s about to ask her if she has gone mad … he feels it. A tiny movement from within her, pressing against his palm.

Her eyes are very bright as she gazes at him, the beaming smile on her face making her look like a Stepford version of herself.  “Oh, Charlie,” she says, softly.  “I’ve been feeling it for weeks, and now you can too!  He’s kicking.  Isn’t it wonderful?”

Kicking?

He?

Wonderful?

Charlie pulls his hand away, and turns his attention back to the TV.

***

Nicole starts leaving books on the topic of baby names and parenting scattered around the house.  

Charlie shakes his head at her carelessness, and tidies them away.

He wastes an entire day of good writing time on painting the spare room pastel blue under her scrutiny. Another on assembling the crib that is now the centerpiece of the room.

Every time she returns home from an outing, she brings with her some item of clothing or toy, then insists on inflicting a painfully uninteresting show-and-tell on him.

She watches him carefully at these times, like she’s waiting for him to do something.  But he doesn’t know what.  So he does nothing.

Eventually she stops, and simply adds her purchases to the growing pile in the spare room.

It’s a relief, quite frankly.

***

Long gone are the days of the seductive young starlet he first met, with her penchant for slutty lingerie and bodycon minidresses.

Nicole’s underwear is sensible now. Frumpy, even. She wears a stretchy band of fabric to support her belly.  She waddles like a penguin, and when she sits she looks a bit like a frog.

“NO,” she protests, when he reaches for her with intent.   “Charlie, I’m too big.  I don’t feel attractive at all.”

When he offers to fuck her in the dark, she becomes quite irate. “You don’t think I’m beautiful?” she rages, her dramatic exit from the bedroom greatly undermined by the ungainliness of her gait.

Charlie cannot understand her reaction.  She may be less alluring now, but he still has needs.

What is he supposed to do?

***

One of his supporting cast is young, and extremely eager to please.

He asks her to stay behind one evening on the pretense of giving her some notes on her performance.  He fucks her on the prop couch in the center of the rehearsal space, imagining that there is an entire audience watching them.  Imagining that Nicole is watching.

Then he gives the girl some feedback on her lackluster performance, and she cries until he makes her stop.  

It’s a shame, really, he thinks as he disposes of her.  But these minor roles are relatively easy to recast, so no harm done.

When he gets home a couple of hours later than normal, Nicole is already sound asleep, facing away from his side of the bed.

He lays down next to her on top of the covers, and watches every minute on the illuminated display of the clock tick by slowly until dawn.

***

One morning, Nicole hands him a list of five names and tells him to fucking pick one for the stranger who roils so violently within her belly these days that it makes him feel quite sick to watch.

After some deliberation, he makes his choice.

Henry.

***

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

It’s the middle of the night.  Charlie hadn’t realized he wasn’t the only one awake.  “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve never once tried to talk to Henry. How can you expect to bond with him if he doesn’t even know his Daddy’s voice?”

Bond?

Daddy?

He runs his fingers through his hair.  “What do you want me to say?”  

It’s a genuine question, but Nicole takes it as a personal affront. She lets out a hiss like an angry cat, then turns over and shifts around for an interminably long time before her breathing finally evens out and she begins to snore.

Very slowly, so as not to wake her, Charlie rolls over, and inches down the bed until his face is level with her middle.  The skin ripples, letting him know that the inhabitant of his wife’s body is awake.  

He chews on the inside of his lip, and clears his throat several times.  “Hello, Henry,” he whispers, after a long pause.  Almost immediately, a wave of embarrassment engulfs him, even though nobody else is watching.  This is stupid.

But for a moment, he thinks he sees the outline of a little hand, pressing against the taut skin as though it’s reaching out to him ... and then it’s gone.  

It must have been a trick of the light.

***

Henry Barber is born at 3:30 a.m. on a Tuesday.  

He weighs nine pounds three ounces.  

Nicole cries happy tears when they lay him on her still-swollen belly.

Charlie stares at the small, red-faced, screaming creature, and feels nothing.

***

Home is no longer a sanctuary.

The baby cries.

Nicole cries.

Charlie comes and goes as he pleases.

He is exhausted, and he is numb.

***

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“Just out.  Walking.  Thinking.”

(He picked up a hooker in Brooklyn.  Left part of her in Manhattan, and the rest of her in The Bronx.)

“You can’t keep doing this, Charlie.  I need you.  Henry needs you.”

“What do you need?”

“…”

“WHAT DO YOU NEED?”

***

Henry is a few days shy of being one month old when Nicole walks into Charlie’s study one night.  He’s been trying to write – he has been on the verge of feeling inspired for days now – but the screen in front of him is thus far stubbornly blank, the blinking cursor taunting him.  And then Nicole is there, looking like a ghost in her nightgown, face pale and blotchy, with dark circles under her eyes.

“I need you to take him,” she says, quietly.  Her voice is eerily calm, where usually it is filled with too much emotion.  “He is full.  His diaper has been changed.  You don’t need to do anything.  Just … take him for a minute.”

Charlie nods.

“You have to support his head,” she reminds him, as she transfers Henry into his arms.  Charlie wants to say I know, but in truth he doesn’t know anything. He hasn’t held him before; not even at the hospital.

Nicole backs slowly out of the room, and shuts the door behind her very quietly.   Almost immediately, Charlie hears a strangled sob, and then the sound of their bedroom door slamming shut.

The loud noise makes Henry jump, and he starts to wail.  Straight away, Charlie’s head begins to hurt.

As the crying goes on and on, Charlie is reminded of something his mother once told him.  About how much he’d cried as a baby, just to inconvenience her.  About how angry it had made his father.

Charlie doesn’t feel angry at all.  Just worried.  Henry’s face is bright red, and his little hands are balled up into fists.  He is going to make himself sick if he carries on like this.

“What do you want?” Charlie asks him, even though he knows it is completely futile.  The situation is hopeless.  He is trapped in this apartment with a wife who won’t tell him what she needs, and a baby who can’t.

Perhaps it is just wishful thinking, but Charlie notices that the baby’s cries seem to grow a little quieter after he speaks.  Does Henry want him to talk to him?

“Your crying is quite understandable,” Charlie tells him, in a conversational tone. “The world is a dreadful place, filled with terrible people.  It is quite incomprehensible even to me, so I can’t begin to fathom how terrifying it must be for someone so small and so new.”

It isn’t his imagination.  The crying is definitely getting fainter, and the indignant fists have started to uncurl. Fat tears glisten on Henry’s long, dark lashes, but he isn’t producing any more.  Now, he just seems to be making a noise for the sake of it.

“You appear to have a penchant for the dramatic,” Charlie observes. “Perhaps we have more in common than our shared fondness for Nicole’s breasts.”

Henry sneezes, and stops crying completely.

“Good boy,” says Charlie.

When Nicole returns some time later and whisks him away without saying anything, Charlie’s arms feel strangely empty.

***

At four o’clock the next morning, Charlie closes his laptop.  After the earlier interruption, the words had flowed better than they had in months.  

He is on his way to bed when a little noise from down the hallway catches his attention, and he finds himself drawn into Henry’s room.  When he peers down into the crib, he sees Henry gazing up at him, looking alarmingly awake given the lateness of the hour.

“You should be asleep,” Charlie points out.

In response, Henry lets out a little coo.

“You are right, of course,” Charlie agrees.  “I should also be asleep.”  He pulls up the chair that Nicole sometimes sits on when she is feeding the baby, and sinks down on it.  “Perhaps I will keep you company for a while.”

When Henry begins to fuss a short while later, Charlie doesn’t hesitate before reaching over to pick him up. This time, he holds him against his chest, like he’s seen Nicole do.  He rubs his back gently, marveling as he does so how his hand seems to cover most of the little boy.  “There there,” he murmurs.  “I’ve got you.”

Just as he had earlier, Henry gradually quietens down, and eventually drifts off to sleep in Charlie’s arms.

Charlie stares at Henry’s peaceful face as he holds him, suddenly feeling quite sick with remorse at his behavior so far. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.  “I have been quite remiss, haven’t I?”  He strokes his son’s head, admiring how soft and fine his hair is.  “I must confess I do not know what I am doing.  But you seem rather determined to teach me, so I promise I shall endeavor to learn as quickly as possible.”

Henry stirs, and whimpers in his sleep.  A shadow passes across his perfect little face.  Charlie’s heart clenches, as though a fist has curled around it.

For as long as he can remember, there has been a scar on the back of Charlie’s head.  He once asked his mother about it when he was young, and she told him he’d fallen down when he was a baby.  He didn’t believe her even then.

Charlie chews on the inside of his lip, and thinks.

Nobody ever held him when he cried, so one day he just stopped.  His terrible nightmares were caused by the ones who were meant to soothe them.  He has no happy memories of his childhood.

But ... it doesn’t have to be that way for Henry.  It won’t be.  Charlie might not know how to be a father, but he knows how not to be one.  

He squeezes his burning eyes tightly shut.  His lips are trembling as he presses a gentle kiss to his son’s forehead.  “It’s okay, Henry,” he whispers fiercely.  “You are safe.  Nothing’s going to harm you.”

Daddy’s here.

[seijohsfairy]

𝙰𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙻 𝙵𝙾𝙾𝙻𝚂

you know that making daddy mad comes with consequences. but there’s too much to gain, not to play the instigator just a little

.wordc. 5k+ tw daddy, sub/dom themes, it’s ddlg but no age play, subspace, degradation, spanking, choking, hairpulling, very brief drug use, dubcon, age gap (you know me <33)

+

There’s not enough oxygen in this room. Between the heat and the swirling smoke that sits on your chest, clamping to the sides of your lungs so desperately, it’s a wonder you’ve yet to loose consciousness. It’s a kindness your mind is too stubborn to indulge in, refusing to fade despite the pressing feeling to do so.

You stare at your senpai as he blows clouds into the room, before you slump further into the couch and feel the ache settle into your neck. You shouldn’t have come, but you did anyway, given only the slightest push in the right direction. The slight lack of pressure in your head, that floaty feeling, has your thoughts running in many different directions and none of them are much better than the others.

Ito senpai’s hand rests on your calf, dragging small circles over the skin. Normally platonic touches soothe you, but the mood in the room has long been spoiled, and all you really want is to pull your legs off his lap and walk out. You’re not bothered enough to cause a scene like that though, or at the very least, not brave enough. He passes you the dart, but you just pass it on. You’re done for the day.

Three heavy knocks to the door make many of the people look up, some of them hiding the weed under their jackets. Not that it’ll matter, you want to laugh, following the dispersing clouds to the ceiling with your eyes. One of them stands to open the door after a few seconds of hissed panic, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. They all act so high and mighty, but when it comes down to it— you sigh, slowly letting your head drop sideways.

There’s a familiar figure at the door. Tall, tan skin and an exceedingly unhappy expression. You take a deep breath, letting fresh air fill your lungs. His eyes scan the room as he crosses his exposed arms over his chest, jaw clenched. Instantly the most handsome person in the room. Rough, hard lines in complete contrast with the soft, bubbly feeling of the air, but unbelievably perfect despite it.

So much so that it leaves you lagging behind for a few seconds when Ito senpai motions your legs off of him. At the harder push you move them, and he runs a hand through his brown hair. “Iwaizumi sir, how did you know to find us?”

Despite the confident smile, you can see the way his eyes flick to the blocked entrance, and the others fidget in their seats. You don’t blame them. His eyes find yours with a slight glare, your body suddenly seeming nailed in place. Pinned down by the narrowed, olive eyes like all of this is taking way too much of his time. He sighs. “All of you brats, move. And you,” he only spares you a half-hearted nod, “I need to talk to you still, so stay behind.” When no one dares to react, his jaw tenses. “Now. Get the fuck out.”

“Are we in trouble?” “Don’t know-” “Just move.” People scramble around the room for their jackets and shoes, and you follow their lead. It’s weird. Normally you’re not this desperate for his attention. Not this openly wayward, at least. So when Ito suggested you tag along, you had already nodded before you could think it over. He’s been so busy, what were you supposed to do? In the midst of all these strangers, you put all your faith on him showing up.

You can’t help but let your lips curl up the tiniest but at the corners, chest swelling with relief.

As they scamper out of the room and some of them rush down the hallway, Iwaizumi stares them down in silence, but leaves them to go. Ito senpai doesn’t look back for you as he walks away with his hands in his pockets. Not that you care much, but he could’ve at least given the impression that he cares. Soon you’re one of the last ones left in the room, and it takes all your strength to meet his bright, green eyes when they flick back.

“Don’t you think you’re overdoing it a little?” His voice is low and gravelly, it sends pinpricks down your veins. But your hands fist into the bottom of your top. As you shift back onto your heels, waiting for the last person to leave already, he uncrosses his arms from his muscular torso and his tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip. When he leaves, Iwaizumi shuts the door behind himself, and walks closer. “I had to leave a team meeting early because you can’t keep your hands to yourself. Getting me angry won’t work in your favor, little girl.”

“I missed you, daddy,” you softly admit, moving your eyes from the tips of his shoes to look into his face, “I just wanted to see you so bad, I couldn’t help it.” His eyebrows finally move from their hard, furrowed place to go up just a little. He doesn’t say anything as he takes you in top to bottom more thoroughly, and you swear you can feel the trail his eyes make down your exposed skin. Your grip on your clothing falters when he trails a hand down your arm, wrapping around your wrist and pulling it towards him.

“And that video?” The hand tightens a little, as if reminding you of his ownership, but he’s not as mad as you expect him to be. There’s jealousy there though, breaking through his usually controlled shell just enough for you to pick up on it. And it’s enough to make your heart race, because you know how he gets when he’s jealous.

While he stares, unwavering, you lift your free arm around his shoulders and pull yourself closer to him so you’re toe to toe. “It was in the bathroom. I was stuffing my pussy with my fingers but it wasn’t enough.” He blanks for a second, clearly weighing things off in his head, and you nuzzle into his chest to place a few kisses on his shirt, wishing you could be skin to skin already. But you can’t, not if you want him to give into you. So instead you press kisses up from his covered pecs to his neck, lingering there.

You knew what image your messages would give him. His baby out alone, with different people, desperately begging for someone’s attention. He knows how you get when you smoke, and more importantly, he knows that Ito senpai fucks just about any girl willing to give him attention. It was more than a bit mean, but you also know Hajime is mature and confident enough not to let it bother him. Well, not too much. “Nothing happened?” he asks, voice still eerily calm.

“Nothing,” you confirm, “I just wanted to see you so I made you come over here. I’m sorry.” The wait makes every fiber in you stand upright, pulled too tight. After a few more seconds of tense silence, you carefully glance back up at him through your lashes, and see him give the smallest of nods.

“Fine,” he finally gives in, letting go of your arm to drop his arms around your body and lift you into his strong, warm chest, your thighs wrapping tight around his waist. “Brat.” Though he says it with a low growl, you can feel his lips at your neck and placing tens of kisses there just like you had been, humming at your familiar smell. “You’re so lucky I love my needy, little baby this much. Get your stuff and let’s go somewhere you can’t cause me trouble.”

He tries to put you back down, but you cling on, clenching your legs tighter. “Carry me.” A soft huff is blown along the soft stretch of skin, and you pull back to give him your best doe eyes. “Want daddy to carry me. Please?” Though he rolls his eyes, the slight twitch of his lips is enough to make you cling onto his shoulders tighter, and eventually Hajime gives in to that too. Not that you illusion yourself thinking you’ll get off without any punishment either.

He bends to grab your sweater from the couch and throw it over your shoulder, pretending like he can’t smell the heavy, recognisable scent of the smoke that clings to your clothes. You lay your lips at the sensitive skin below his ear and kiss all over it, going from soft pecks to more needy and messy prints of your lips, tongue peeking out to soothe the skin. He clicks the door shut behind you and locks it before walking down the hall, doing his best to ignore the way you shift our hips against the hard friction of his belt, rocking yourself against him just a little.

You always get so fucking needy and wet when you smoke, and knowing Hajime would show up to make you behave only left you more restless. You moan softly at the feeling of pressure between your legs, and Hajime snaps, grabbing onto the hair at the base of your skull and forcing you away from his neck to glare.

“Stop wiggling, fuckin’ brat,” the man grunts, spanking your ass hard enough to have your voice come out, the sting spreading through your skin like little needles. And though he grumbles making his way down the stairs towards the hall, you can tell by the way his hands shift to grip tighter on your ass that he has no intention of actually putting you down.

He leans into you when you kiss his plush lips, pulling back with a whine when he rocks his clothed center between your thighs just once, soiled panties sticking to your pussy. “Daddy!” you breathe, and another spank shuts you up. Even with his easy grip on your body he’s strong enough to have your legs giving out and skin burning under his palm, it’s so unfair. There’s an amused glint in his olive eyes that only glitters more when his smile widens.

+

The door is shut. Not hard or particularly loud, but it’s enough to have your heartbeat rising, pattering wildly against your ribcage as you trail cautiously behind the tall, quiet figure. It’s not even your intention, there’s just something so overwhelming about Iwaizumi Hajime’s presence when he’s in his own space. When you first met him it set your hairs on end, as if voluntarily walking straight into a lion’s open mouth. He’d been so much more confident, more experienced, just plain older than you too.

Now you don’t care about any of that anymore, because if Hajime is good at anything, it’s taking care of people. He thrives off of it, and the thought alone makes your heart skip another beat, as you take off your shoes and leave them by the door. He’s still quiet, has been the entire ride back to his apartment, and you know it’s purely because he’s debating a punishment fit for your little mishap. You can only hope that he’s missed you enough to want to fuck you stupid still, because you might break if you have to be satisfied with a toy today.

When he stops at the table, you stop a few steps away from him, and the pressure creeps up on you enough to have you looking at the floor instead. He clears his voice. “Look at me, baby.” The soft order makes your stomach drop, but you listen almost instantly. It’s impossible to ignore him when he gets like this. Your bottom lip is pulled into your mouth, and you watch as he leans in a little, as if rubbing in how much he has to look down at you. It’s enough to have your belly tensing again.

This is so unfair, you just want him to fuck you already. You’ve been waiting way too long for any of this. Still, you obey when he brushes his hand past your face and grips your jaw to pull your lips towards his, languid kisses opening your mouth and tongue slipping in. He hums softly into it, letting you press your hands up to his chest and close the distance a little. You moan when the other hand falls to the small of your waist, but just that little touch to the sliver of exposed skin is enough to make you even more needy. “Did you have fun without daddy?” he whispers against your lips, and you shake your head.

This, as honest an answer as he can get, makes him chuckle. “No?” Again you shake your head, and this time you can’t fight the pout that comes to your face when you place your hands around his neck to pull him down to you a little. The warm cloud in your head is slowly fading a little, but it’s still enough to have you loud and whiny, and Hajime groans when you try to rub your tits up against him like a little slut. He trails his hand to your throat just to keep you in place away from him, as the other plays with the straps of your top, dragging lines over your hardening nipples and under the waistband of your skirt.

Your bottom lip juts out further as you look at him, watching his eyes inspect every part of you so apathetically. His throat bobs up and down, and you press your hands out to grab for his shirt again, making his eyebrows furrow. “Whores don’t get to touch,” he whispers, squeezing tighter and making your heated body even more useless. It feels like he’s just barely leaving your feet on the floor. Your blood pounds between your ears at the push of his fingers at the sides of your neck, making you feel even more lightheaded almost instantly.

“‘M not a whore,” you bring out, and he raises an eyebrow. “I’m not.” Your voice sounds softer instinctively, because it’s always hard to stand up to him like this. Olive eyes studying you, like he’s seeing through you, like you’re just a little thing getting in his way. It’s rough and too honest, and it’s so sexy your legs almost give out. “Daddy,” you try to bite through the tears welling up, but your voice betrays you.

The small grin tugging at the corners of his lips makes your breathing even tighter, and this time you grab at his forearm for support. Hajime coos at you when you whimper, softening a tad. “My little princess always needs my attention so bad, yeah? Can’t even get off without me?” It’s pathetic. If anyone were to see how easily you’re reduced to a whimpering, cockhungry mess for him, they’d think it too. “Poor thing.” But sneaking a quick glance shows you how hard his pants are pulled over his swollen cock, and that’s almost more frustrating.

You whine louder as he evades your lips to press a kiss to your cheek, before finally putting you down and letting all the blood rush back down. Your legs almost buckle again, and you steady yourself by placing a hand on his stomach. But really, you have no choice but to be this greedy when faced with his thick thighs packed in those pants, the strong lines of his body through the flimsy black shirt that leaves little to the imagination. When you look back up at him, he gives in enough to press a sloppy kiss to your lips, starting to unbuckle his belt.

You suck on his tongue and cling to him until he pulls back again, breaking the thin string of spit connecting your mouth to his, and clearing his voice. His pupils are large and blown out when he looks at you again, now nodding his head to the bedroom door. “Go in and take all of this useless shit off,” and then after a second, tugging at the edge of your pretty skirt, “except this. Leave that on. It looks good on you.” He dips down to steal one more kiss, as you rub your legs together and lick your lips to taste the way he felt there again. He starts wrapping the belt around his palm, before looking back up and lifting a brow. “Now.”

Your heart skips a beat. Punishments are the worst, but you’re still practically tripping over yourself to get your clothes off as you make it to the bedroom, letting your hands hang uselessly by your thighs. Iwa comes in right when you’re dropping your bra onto the heap of clothing, letting his eyes glide over your shape very slowly, sending even more pinpricks through your skin.

When he stops next to you, he drops his hand between your legs to rub a finger over your cunt, smiling a little. You can feel his fingertips dip into the slick as he pulls you close, subconsciously rubbing himself against your thigh. It makes you clench, and the fingers pull back a little to circle your clit. “You’re dripping, baby.”

You’re unsure what to say. It’s not like he didn’t know this, but somehow it’s embarrassing to hear aloud, and your eyes are already on the ground before you can respond. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your hairline as he rubs two fingers up and down your slit to coat them entirely in your wetness. “My pretty princess.” He pulls them away too quick, warmth leaving the stickiness between your legs and going down the insides of your thighs too cold. Smearing them on the inside of your thigh, he moves to sit on the bed, and pats his knee.

And this time you full on stomp your foot, just once, but it’s enough to have his expression hardening. “You deserve a little bit of punishment, little brat. Now come here so we can get this over with.” He grabs your arm and pulls you to lay over his lap, kneading the soft skin of your ass a few times as you let your head droop. The lack of pressure between your legs is starting to feel so distracting. You can’t even think right with the pulsing of blood to your cunny, the touching just out of reach.

“Daddy, be nice, please,” you simply say, and he hums. You can’t help but feel so neglected. Definitely when you can feel his hard cock pressing against your tummy, the heat of it making your mouth water.

The belt makes a loud noise as he whips it through the air once, before flipping up your skirt. The cold air to your exposed bottom half paired with the anticipation is enough to have the tears welling up, and when the first hit comes down you choke on your air, biting down on your lip so hard you can taste copper. There’s a few seconds of silence where he rubs the sore skin, before pressing a kiss there and rubbing your head. You shift onto his lap so you can press your face into his side, in need of more comfort from the pain.

Iwa softly hums when you sniffle against his shirt, and dig your fingers into his thigh. Then the touch leaves, and another hit is delivered, and this time you can’t hold back the sob. The glowing of the spot where the belt hit is just enough to keep you in place, not wanting to drag this out any longer than you have to. You hick when he rubs the spot again, trailing the line of the belt with his finger, before leaning back a little to look at you. “Don’t cry, princess. You’re such a good girl.” The praise, strangely enough, does help.

You look up at him through your tears for a second to watch the way he rubs your cheek and brushes his thumb over your shaking lip. “Just a little sting, pretty baby. Doing so well for daddy.” You let him wipe your tears, then shift you back over his knee better. Ass up, face towards the floor. You pull up your nose, and your eyes shut. You just want this over. As much as you know you deserve it. “Can you handle a few more?” he asks, and you nod instantly, though your hand wraps around his ankle for support.

“Manners,” he reminds, and you hick.

Your head is getting cloudier by the second. You’re not sure if it’s the last of the smoke, all the blood rushing to your head or the rush of hormones that’s crowding your head, but you could cling to him and let him do whatever. You could cum from it too. “Please, daddy,” you whisper, another rush of pleasure going to your head when he softly squeezes your neck in acknowledgement.

Your cheeks are wet with tears and your ass tingling with flares of pain when he gets to five, but your neglected pussy is already clenching by the time he lands the last hit. As he presses more kisses to the swelling skin, you moan, moving on his lap. Hajime rubs the skin until it’s warm, smiling when you shift and wiggle back into your previous position, shoving the useless shirt up enough to allow your face access to his bare skin, then holding you in place. He moves the skirt higher up your waist, then lets his fingers dip between your legs.

“Good girl,” he breathes, ignoring your whimper to say it again, and rubbing your tiny slit. The lewd squelching would be embarrassing if you weren’t aching for anything to fill your needy cunt to the brim. As they barely meet any resistance slipping into your heat, two long, thicker fingers pushing into you and curling into your walls, they stretch you open with lazy motions. “Daddy’s going to stretch you out for this fat cock, okay baby?”

You nod into his stomach, taking a deep breath of his scent to calm your restlessness at least a little. “Please,” you manage, but you’re unsure if he even hears over the loud clicks of your pussy. Your little hands are fisted into his shirt and pants, clinging on to the offensive barriers and tugging at them every once in a while. When he moves his fingers in and out of your dripping pussy a few times, you start pressing kisses to his skin, practically suffocating yourself under his shirt.

It doesn’t matter, the heat only adds to this amazing, numbing feeling you have. Daddy will stop you if he has to, that’s all the though process that your brain is capable of. He curls them into you each time he pushes them in, rhythm speeding up and reaching so much further than your useless fingers can. He lets you struggle on his lap from the pleasure, trying desperately not to clench so hard it pushes his fingers back out. But it feels so good, and Hajime’s not giving you anywhere to escape to, just using his strength to force his fingers as deep as they can go.

“Thank you, thank you, daddy,” you cry, kissing at the little stretch of skin, hiccupping when you come up for air. Your slick is going down your thighs, his hand, making a wet spot on his pants, but he doesn’t care about any of it. And you can’t care either when the stretch feels so good, making you mewl with every pump. Even the little brushes to your clit bring you closer to your high, definitely when he places his thumb on the sensitive nub and starts rubbing it harshly, making you cry harder. “Hm-agh, feels good, daddy. Love you, love you.”

“Love you too, princess,” he quickly says, and though you can’t see it you can hear the smile in his voice. You’re basically humping his knee and half falling off it by the time Hajime decides you’re ready, leaning down and spitting into your cunt for extra lube. Not that you need it. Finally he grows too impatient too and gives your pussy a few pats, letting go of your waist. “You can get on the bed now, baby. I wanna see you spread out for me.”

He helps you slide off his knees, but you have to take a moment to remain on the floor as all the blood goes back down. Black dots marring your eyes, it’s distracting and a little uncomfortable. Instinctively you clench your eyes shut as you remain on the floor, sniffling and lines tears slipping down your face. “Daddy, -hck- hurts,” you say, feeling his warm, large hand on your jaw. He cups your chin and gently urges your face towards him, before he leans his lips against yours.

“Do you want daddy to stop and take care of you now?” You shake your head, blinking through the blurry vision to watch him, and he hums. “Do you want to keep going?” You can only mouth a pathetic ‘yes, please,’ before he’s picking you up from the floor and helping you into the bed, letting you hick and sniffle to yourself. Hajime is good at knowing your limits, has been the one to shift them plenty of times too. So you easily let him help you ass up and face down in the pillows, feeling him shift on the bed behind you.

“‘M cold,” you pout, and he gives your upper thigh an encouraging squeeze. The ruffling of clothing being taken off completely goes over your head, all you know is that daddy isn’t currently touching you, and that it’s making you cold. It’s making the cold air touch your dripping pussy. You whine louder when he doesn’t say anything, and almost start making a scene before you hear him come back to you with an amused chuckle, placing a warm palm between your shoulder blades to keep you all the way down. “Don’t leave,” you only squeak, and Hajime laughs again.

“I didn’t know my baby was this fussy, I’m sorry.” There’s no shred of regret in his voice, he only gets onto his knees behind you, his hard cock drooling precum against your thigh as you try to sneak a glance behind you. His unfairly thick thighs and hard stomach and pecs on display, muscular shoulders and veins in his forearms and those hands that rub down your sides to soothe you.

He smirks when meeting your eyes, grabbing himself and lining up to your pussy. “My little brat always needs cock inside to feel truly happy, yeah? Pathetic, little whore. Lucky I love filling your slutty cunt.” He pushes the flushed, leaking head of his cock between your legs to your clit a few times, making you both hiss and moan at the feeling, before grabbing your hips tight and letting you push back on him. “What do you say, baby?”

“Please, daddy?” Your voice is practically gone. But he hums and he pushes in, and the head alone makes your mouth drop open. “Mhm, ah- ahh, daddy.” You look away again, closing your eyes tight, wet lashes on your cheeks. Your nails are digging into your own palms, your throat lets out little noises with each inch that enters you. The stretch is still so wide, like you’ll never be used to the size difference between you and him. It stings but feels so, so good, leaving you a trembling mess on your knees, the heat between your legs too much to handle.

“I love your cock, Hajime. You f-feel, ugh-ha, so- m-ah, so good!” He grunts in response, breathing heavy too. You know you’re squeezing too hard to allow him in easily, but you can’t help it. It’s all too much. Sweat rolls in beads down your skin, and every touch sends pleasure spreading from your core to your limbs. “Daddy, daddy, ‘m c-close. Please let me cum, please!”

“Already?” he bites through, and you don’t even have the energy to do any more than bob your head into the pillow a few times. “Yeah? Cum for me, baby. Cum on daddy’s fat cock, so I can fuck you properly.” He grunts when you moan, and pulls you back on him more. When he grabs your hair and bottoms out with one hard, deep thrust, your body just gives in. The pleasure crashes down like a wave, making your pathetic body squeeze and clench around his fat cock like crazy, wrapping so tight around it it makes your toes curl and eyes roll back.

“Oh, daddy, thank you, thank you, y-uhg-thankyouthankyoudaddy thankyoudaddydaddy, ugh, ahhh!” Words keep coming as you hold him still, and the brunet swears under his breath at the way you’re already shaking for him, but he doesn’t leave you a second of rest. You’re barely through one orgasm before he pulls out and slams back in, using the leverage on your hips to pull you back into him. Your mouth open and drool wetting the pillow, you moan and hick as he pounds into your accepting walls, fucking you through your orgasm straight into the next one that builds embarrassingly quick.

His rhythm is wild and hard, hips smacking into your ass hard with each pump and the wet, lewd sounds of skin meeting skin. His heavy balls slapping against your clit enough to make your brain short circuit, reaching behind you to grab onto his arm, your other hand balling up the blanket. He tries to keep you in place but you’re pushing back against him, rocking yourself back on his fat cock and whining like a whore all the while, and squeezing him so tight. “Slow down a little, baby,” he hisses, but you’re not listening.

Your legs wrap around his knees and pull him as close as he can go, as you arch your back more. And so he doubles down and fucks into you to chase his own high too, hitting so far inside you it feels like you can’t breathe. Like every cell is on overload. You think he calls your name, but you’re too lost to comprehend much of it, only noticing the wetness and the heat and the pleasure buzzing through your system. “Wanna cum?” he grunts, and you don’t even get the change to answer properly before he’s reaching under and rubbing your puffy clit hard and fast.

When you cum this time you don’t have the energy to make noise. Your entire body spun too tight, every string snapping at once. Black overtakes your head, and you feel an explosion of pleasure travelling to every limb. You can only clench around him like a vice, feeling his hot ropes of cum shoot into you as he groans and tries to fuck you through it. “Fuck, princess, that’s it. Good girl, -uhg- shit. Good girl,” he groans, leaning up against you and rocking his cock into you until you collapse with a sob.

He helps you onto your back, before dipping down to kiss your swollen, open lips, your cheeks, then the frown laced between your eyebrows. There’s so much white noise in your head you can barely hear anything other than your own heartbeat. But he rubs his palm over your tummy a few times, and then smiles into a kiss you only half-heartedly meet. “Daddy’s going to give you another one, okay, princess? I’ll take an extra thank you afterward.”

[whatistastyinbusan]

artwork || j.jk oneshot

Pairing: singer! jungkook x artist! reader (gender-neutral)

Summary: in which y/n, an artist frustrated by the lack of inspiration in life, finds themselves some motivation in the form of jeon jungkook at a bar.

inspired by pied piper jungkook, joonpiter's edit of still with you - jk but it's open mic night at your local bar and you're falling in love with him 

Word Count: 3.0k

Genre: Fluff

A/N: hi, sorry if this is annoying BUT one very important thing: before you read this, listen to the video linked above to set the mood (believe me, it does wonders) or listen to it while reading. Okay, now onto the one-shot!

_______________________________________________________

You could not see how coming to a bar would help you find the inspiration that you were so desperately trying to get a hold of.

It had been three weeks - three weeks - since you had even picked up a pencil and put it down on paper. Art, as it seemed to be, was your escape; a safe haven, a vent for emotions that when pent up led to nights full of tossing or turning and not a wink of sleep, a channel through which you could craft your thoughts, letting the pencil in your hand guide you on what to do.

But when picking up that same pencil led to nothing but scribbles and bunched up pieces of paper in the trash, thoughts and emotions tended to get a little overwhelming. By that, you meant that they would render you helpless as you felt like ripping out your hair in frustration or screaming until nothing but hoarse whispers would come out of your throat.

You'd spent hours scrolling through social media, trying to find something that would spark your interest, but at the end of the night, always came up empty-handed. That was your routine for the past two weeks. You had even attempted to go out for a day, visiting places like the city and the library and the small lake near your house, but it seemed like nothing was piquing your interest these days.

Everything was bland, flavourless. The sunset - that would usually make you take out your phone camera and capture its beauty so that you could use a paintbrush and transfer the beauty from a screen to paper, stroke by stroke - now didn't even manage to make you bat an eye. The little flowers that grew in the cracks on the sidewalk - the same ones that would make you crouch down and hastily draw on your hand so that you could go home and recreate them in a better fashion, would be crumpled beneath the soles of your shoes. The smiles of strangers - that would usually imprint themselves onto your mind, so that you could sit near the window at home and think about how happy they looked while you sketched every single line of their face onto some medium - would make you walk right by and become just a distant memory.

Against your better judgement, you reluctantly decided to consult your friends, sick and tired of mind blanks and art blocks, hands itching to dispel the thoughts inside your head, to tell the world about you. The answers you got were...very diverse, you could say.

You got all sorts of recommendations, ranging from bungee jumping to strip clubs (you had almost died of asphyxiation while the friend who recommended it was too busy laughing her head off).

And unfortunately, the least bizarre idea out of the lot was a bar.

You considered the option; really thought over it for a solid ten minutes. It would be a change to your daily routine, which might be the reason for your lack of inspiration. Seeing the same things every day may have just become too mundane for you. A bar, on the other hand, would be a nice addition of spice to your life. Not enough to completely shake you, like strip clubs, but enough to make sure you didn't die of being inspiration-less (you weren't sure if that was actually a word, but you couldn't care less at that point).

So that's how you found yourself, breathing shallow and nerves firing rapidly, outside a bar near your house.

You didn't want to be the centre of attention. God, no. You wanted to blend in enough to observe some people from afar (now that you realized, that sounded borderline creepy). You had your sketchbook tucked safely under your over-sized cardigan, hidden because who on earth brings a sketchbook to a bar? You mentally rehearsed your plan of action; enter and be as inconspicuous as you could, make a beeline for a seat hidden in the shadows of the room and not come out until inspiration had struck you.

Once you were confident that you weren't going to trip over your own two feet, you swung open the door and felt the warm air of the room hit you, a tingling sensation flooding over your body as it adjusted to the new temperature. You heard a bell chime overhead, signalling your arrival, so you booked it to a little table right at the back, partially obscured under the lighting of the room before anyone could actually spot you.

Murmurs of conversation happening around you reached your ears, but you were sure that all of your senses had just short-circuited, like some nerve in your body had just decided to disconnect itself, resulting in a numbing sensation.

But your senses couldn't have short-circuited, because your ears picked up something and you couldn't tell if you were still alive or had died and gone to heaven.

A voice. A heavenly, serene, soulful voice.

Your eyes travelled towards the dais towards the side of the bar and saw what you could only describe as a living masterpiece, right there, on the raised platform. Long fingers clasped the microphone stand as the boy, who looked no older than 24, swayed lightly with the music playing overhead. Black, wavy hair framed his face, partly covering his eyes, but you could see that they were closed, too engrossed in the song. He wore nothing but a patterned black long sleeve shirt, top few buttons undone with black tights.

Still with you.

Remember when you said that you wouldn't leave the bar until inspiration struck you? Yeah, well, it struck you like lightning.

Your whole body was in a trance, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop listening to his voice. It was so...so raw and so emotional, that you had almost forgotten about why you came there in the first place.

Whipping out your sketchbook from underneath your cardigan, you wasted no time in trying to capture the pure essence of the boy under the hanging lights of the bar. You had never thought that bar lighting could make someone look so ethereal.

With nothing but just his voice calming you - for all other conversations had died out to let his heartfelt voice float around the place - you worked. You worked so fast, afraid that the inspiration you had found so arduously would run away from you, just like everything else, and yet you worked so slowly and carefully, making sure that you could do the boy's beauty justice, although you doubted that was possible.

Najimagi deullineun i eeokeon soli igeolado eobseumyeon na jeongmal muneojil geos gata

It felt like nothing else existed, nothing else mattered, apart from the pencil and sketchbook in your hand, and the boy and his melodious voice up on the dais. You couldn't focus on the bursts of conversation around you, or the way your wrist was slightly hurting from the way you were sitting, but you couldn't care. Nothing else mattered at that moment.

You were convinced that if you weren't drawing, you would've walked up to the boy, his voice drawing you in like the lure of the pied piper's pipe. It managed to wrap around you, binding you to it, and slowly but steadily pulled you in, all the while murmuring sweet nothings right near the shell of your ear.

It was exhilarating, feeling the craving of rushing to finish something flood through every one of your veins, something that you had almost forgotten the feeling of. You were ever so thankful for the entity on the make-shift stage in front of you, because you were sure that if he hadn't come into your life with his voice, you would've slipped into an abyss, a void and would've failed to come out.

You couldn't tell if it was his voice or the bass reverberating off the walls, that shook you from the inside. For a minute, you had to pause, and had to breathe, letting the notes flood you and fill you, invading every single nook and corner of your being and healing it over. Ambrosia, that's what you would describe his voice and looks as. Sweet, sweet ambrosia. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that a voice could make you feel complete.

Subconsciously, your foot tapped along with the slow but gripping beat, and occasionally your eyes would flick towards him, and would stay just a second too long.

jeo dari oerowo boyeoseo bamhaneure hwanhage ulgo issneun geot gataseo

And his eyes would meet yours, and stay for a second too long before he looked away and smiled at the audience, who remained awestruck by the blessing in the form of the gorgeous boy on stage, who seemed as if he belonged there, singing his heart out and baring himself for the whole world to see. You decided that his smile, the most radiant of all things; you wanted to pocket it. You wanted to pocket it and keep it safe, never wanting to let it die. Because just like your drawings, his smile held a thousand words. And you wanted to hear every single one of them while your pencil traced the curve of his lips and smile onto a piece of paper, making sure it would never turn upside down.

Four minutes.

Hwangholhaessdeon gieok soge na hollo chumeul chwodo biga naerijanha

That's how long the boy sang for. Every word that left his mouth rattled you from the inside, and yet calmed you like no other meditation technique.

Four minutes.

That's how long you drew for. An incomplete figure, a mess of lines and shading looked back at you from the paper, and fear gripped you like a cold heart.

You weren't going to let him get away. Not before you finished the drawing and pinned it with all your other ones, because that night; that night was like no other.

Never had you felt that way about a sunset, or a bunch of flowers, or a strangers's smile. But he, he made all your worries retreat into a dark corner of your mind with just a smile. And his voice, oh god, you could listen to it all day and all night and never get sick of it. It felt as if he would always be your inspiration, ever ready to help you be yourself.

That boy up on the stage, you thought, was one thing you were sure you would never get tired of seeing, never get tired of drawing because, dear god, did he look absolutely stunning standing there without a care in the world.

Once he drew out the last note, the bar erupted into claps and cheers and you stopped, eyes following his obsidian ones as they crinkled in delight. He bowed to everyone before speaking into the microphone, "Thank you. Thank you, guys."

And then he was stepping off the stage, still smiling and waving at the people who complimented him, and you found yourself walking towards him. You weren't one for confrontations, but you were willing to push aside your fear of socialising for him, just this once.

He noticed you walking towards him, and shook hands with the last person before turning to you.

The two of you stood in silence. Apparently, you had suddenly lost the ability to form a single coherent thought because oh God, he was even more beautiful from up close. Sharp collar bones peeked out from beneath the collar of his shirt, and you somehow missed the tattoos lining his right arm, which was scratching at the back of his neck nervously. You could see a little mole right there, on the tip of his nose, and one right beneath his bottom lip and another one-

"Can I help you?"

Your body jerked a little as you brought your eyes to look at his black ones, and your brain finally put together a sentence as you spoke, voice clearer than your thoughts, "Your voice...it's amazing." You really wanted to say how breathtakingly beautiful he was too, but you decided to hold that back.

He laughed, the apples of his cheeks dusted with light pink as he threw back his head and laughed. And you realised that his laugh was just as precious as his smile. You noticed that his nose scrunched up in the cutest way as he giggled, and his shoulders went up slightly too, as if he was curling into himself. "Thank you. That means a lot to me, coming from someone like you."

You stopped and stared at him. Did he just say what you think you said? No, you probably mishe-

"I feel like you're not done speaking yet," he said softly, and you exhaled deeply. You just hoped that what you were going to say wasn't going to weird him out.

"I...I may have been, um.." you started but trailed off almost immediately after. Get it together y/n, you're better than this.

You closed your eyes and inhaled, before breathing out, "I was, um, drawing you, while you were, uh, singing."

You peeled open your eyes to see him looking at you in...what was it? Shock? Surprise? Disgust?

"You...were drawing me?" he started, and god, you wished he wouldn't stare at you like that, like he was staring into your very soul and unpacking every single layer there was to you, pulling you apart bit by bit and then restoring your pieces with utmost care.

You nodded slightly, but before you could explain your intentions and assure him that you were no creep, he spoke again.

"Can I see it? Please?"

If anyone should know a fact about you, it would be that you are absolutely helpless against puppy eyes. And this guy, the oh so beautiful guy in front of you, was embodying that very look.

You coughed nervously, feeling your cheeks and neck heat up as a million thoughts raced through your head. What if he found it ugly? Or found that you hadn't completed it? Or found that you hadn't gotten his nose right? The possibilities were endless. But despite the thoughts zooming around that head of yours, you cleared your throat, slowly bringing up the unfinished drawing.

"It's not finished, which is why I wanted to...to talk to you." you licked your lips, finding them in an extremely dry state, just like your throat. Maybe you should've ordered a bottle of water.

You got no answer, your breathing stilling as you studied him, his pupils blown wide as he examined the rough sketch in front of him. You could see his eyes roam over every inch of the paper, and shivered, feeling as if he wasn't staring at the drawing, but at you instead.

"It's not-" you started.

"It's..it's heavenly." he breathed, bringing his eyes to look at you, and you could feel your heart melt underneath his soft gaze. You could practically feel the appreciation bouncing off the soft smile his lips held, and wondered how you could feel so loved, so worthy in the eyes of a complete stranger.

"I was wondering if," you broke off to take a deep breath, "I could possibly finish this drawing?"

You looked at him with hopeful eyes, and upon noticing the hesitation in his eyes hastily added, "only if you're okay with it, of course!" You were hoping with all of your willpower that he would agree, but you were respectful of his wishes. You had worked with all sorts of people in the past, and all you valued from those experiences was trust.

If he didn't trust you, then you couldn't draw him. Simple.

The same reluctance danced in his eyes for a minute more before being replaced with something else. Was it admiration? Or was it sympathy?

"I'll be more than happy to model for you," he said, lips stretching into the widest grin you had ever seen, and before you knew it, you were grinning just as hard too. Contagious. That's how you would describe his smile as. It infected you with happiness, lighting up your day like nothing else, embedding nothing but optimism into the dullness of your life.

And in a moment of tempestuous thoughts, you wondered what would it feel like to trace those lips with your fingers instead.

"Could I have your phone please?" he asked, holding out his hand as you passed it to him and for the briefest moment, in the midst of handing it over to him, your fingers brushed against his, and lingered for a while too long to be considered as nothing.

But you said nothing about it, and instead watched as he tapped at your screen with a small smile on his face before giving you back your phone.

He had fed his number into your phone, under the name of Jeon Jungkook with a bunny emoji next to it.

Fitting, you thought. He did remind you of a bunny.

You looked up at him, only to find him exiting the bar and climbing into a cab. And just before he climbed in, he looked back - right at you - and waved, before gesturing to call him later.

You stood in the middle of the floor at the bar, watching as the taxi pulled away, and pocketed your phone and walked out of the bar. You felt the cold air rush to prick at the bits of exposed skin near your neck and wrists, but you were too lost in thought to notice.

Jeon Jungkook, you decided, was an enigma; an artwork. A mystery with too many layers and too many twists. But Jeon Jungkook was also the simplest person you had ever encountered.

And as an artist, you were willing to tell the world about him, were willing to tell the world about Jeon Jungkook.

The boy so beautiful that he stole your heart without even knowing it.

_______________________________________________________

A/N: et voila, I have posted my very first one-shot! Don't forget to vote and tell me your thoughts or any feedback bcoz your support means the world to me. And last but not least, always remember that you are loved, valid and a beautiful person, inside and out. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise you precious hooman (or they can fight me)

p.s: tell me if you want a part 2 or if you have any other ideas that you might want me to write! :)

[the--highlanders]

Efficiencies

In which Zoe finds herself being decidedly less than logical. For logical reasons, of course.

on ao3.

Zoe pressed her ear against the door, her whole body tensed to hold her breath inside her lungs. It was a silly gesture, childish even – picked up from the comics that had been so popular on the Wheel, she was sure. It would be far more helpful to peek through the keyhole or under the gap between the door and the floorboards than to shove her head against solid wood. But it brought her some kind of comfort, she supposed. If it worked, it worked, the Doctor had told her many times over. Besides, she was the last person to argue with efficiency, no matter how silly it might seem.

And when she finally dared to push the door open, the corridor outside was empty, anyway. She pushed it a little further open, just enough for her to slip past. Her jumpsuit caught on the latch as she went, and she kept the handle turned as she pulled it closed again to stop the thing from clicking into place too loudly. That, too, was silly. There was nothing suspicious about leaving her own room, only entering someone else’s. If she were to be caught making such a fuss over the door, it would look far worse than if she had left causally. All this time with the Doctor must be giving her a flair for the dramatic.

His room was on the same side of the corridor as hers, she recalled. Five doors down. Far enough that the view from his windows was blocked by the sandstone bricks of the left wing of the house, with only a narrow lane for servants’ access between them. Aesthetically imposing, not particularly helpful in keeping out the damp, but rather useful in hiding them from view. This was the door she ought to be opening carefully, and she pushed it open in little millimetre-long jerks, in time with her pounding heart. Her memory was infallible, yes – but what if she was wrong, just this once? What if it was a stranger in the room, not the Doctor, and she was forced to explain what she was doing, snooping around like this? Their whole ruse would be discovered because of her. Weeks of work for them, years of work for the resistance. They would have to go back to Molly and face her in shame – if they were allowed out of the clutches of the Duke’s accommodations, that was.

But when she had finally opened the door enough to poke her head inside, she did indeed find the Doctor sitting on the bed. Although his face was hidden by a large book, she would have recognised that mop of unruly hair anywhere. Glancing around the room, she realised that he was alone. She had expected Jamie to be there already, the two of them draped over each other as artfully as cats after spending so long pretending to be strangers. One curtain was drawn, darkening the mahogany tones of the furniture and the walls, and the lights were dimmed like the room’s occupant was sleeping rather than reading, but there was no lump under the covers beside the Doctor. Hesitating on the threshold for a moment, Zoe let her eyes drift over to the bathroom door, half-expecting Jamie to come wandering out at any moment.

“He’s not here,” the Doctor said without raising his eyes from his book, and Zoe sucked in a sharp, startled breath, turning back to him. “He’s on his way.”

“He’d better not get himself caught,” Zoe said darkly, pushing on the door to make sure it was fully closed before wandering over to perch herself in an armchair beside the bed. “Do you think we’re getting somewhere?”

A pinch of the nose and a deep sigh were not the answers she had hoped to receive, but she supposed they were the ones she should have expected. “Perhaps,” the Doctor said at last. “The Duke’s chancellor’s assistant has invited me to his house for dinner tomorrow night.”

Zoe only barely managed to turn her snort into an awkward cough. It was not fair, to be so dismissive of the Doctor’s hard-won little victory. Their task was a difficult one – working their way up the ranks of such a tightly-knit circle of elites was always going to take time – and besides, she could hardly say that she was doing better herself. But it sounded so small, after all the time they had spent wheedling and flattering, attending dinners and not-so-accidentally bumping into people as they went about their business. She had dared to hope that tonight might be their chance to break through, with the Duke inviting everyone who was anyone to stay in his house for the week leading up to the grand feast. If they had been invited, they must have made some sort of impact, even if they were given the smallest and coldest rooms. And yet here they were, mere hours away from the finale of the week, and the Doctor had only managed to secure one appointment. And with the worst sort of pompous, middling bureaucrat, at that.

Her stomach was churning with the thought that the Duke might know exactly what they were doing. Perhaps, she thought, he’s only playing with us. He knows we can’t do any damage, so he’s letting us try and fail. Inviting us along to watch us squirm.

“Perhaps Jamie has done better,” she said softly, though she could not bring herself to try and inject any real conviction into her words. Jamie had spent the better part of the week suppressing his rage at the people around him. Privately, she could not help but suspect that if any of them were to give the game away, it would be Jamie, letting his rather imperfect mask of cool politeness slip – though she did not dare to say so aloud in front of the Doctor.

“Mm,” was all the Doctor said, and she wondered briefly if he shared her suspicions. But his expression was placidly blank, and he raised his arm in front of his face, shaking down his sleeve to check his watch. “He should be here by now.”

Zoe glanced towards the door. “I didn’t see him on my way in. Perhaps he’s been delayed somehow?”

“Quite possibly. Well, if he isn’t -”

Something tapped firmly at the window, and they whirled around in unison, Zoe clutching the arms of her chair until her knuckles turned white. But after a moment’s blinking past the Doctor and through the glass, she realised that it was Jamie who was making the nose, waving one hand wildly and mouthing something inaudible. Sighing, the Doctor swung himself off the bed and crossed the room to open the window, leaving Jamie to tumble inside. He patted himself down as he scrambled to his feet, showering half-dried leaves everywhere – from the ivy growing on the walls outside, Zoe realised. He must have decided that scaling the wall from the outside was easier than -

“Why didn’t you just walk down the corridor?” she asked.

He grinned at her, fishing one last leaf out of his hair. “I was outside,” he said. “Thought I might bump into someone out there, but none of them seem tae like bein’ outside very much.”

“So you decided to climb in through the window.”

“Aye, I did.” He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the most logical conclusion anyone could have drawn.

“I see,” was all Zoe could think to say.

Jamie had carried on talking anyway, still grinning away happily. “How did we do?”

“At what?” He tilted his head towards the Doctor. “Pretendin’ we don’t know each other.”

“Oh, yes, do tell us, Zoe,” the Doctor put in, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. “How were we?”

“Terrible,” Zoe said bluntly. “You’re lucky they’re not paying attention to you.”

Scrunching up his face at her, Jamie swung himself around the post at the end of the bed to drop down onto the mattress with his arms thrown out, ending his theatrical sprawl in the middle of the Doctor’s lap. “But we’ve been tryin’ so hard,” he complained.

“It’s very difficult, you know, Zoe,” the Doctor added. He said it with such wide-eyed earnestness, and Zoe could contain herself no longer, bursting into coughing, choking laughter. She pressed her sleeve over her mouth, glancing back towards the door, but even that could not stop her laughter altogether.

“I’m sure it is,” she said at last, dabbing at her eyes with her other sleeve. Drawing in a deep, unsteady breath, and she shook herself, blinking away the last few tears. “Oh, dear.

The Doctor was watching her with one eyebrow raised, though the corner of his mouth was twitching. “When you’re quite finished,” he said.

Another breath, and she was calm enough to go on. Perhaps she had needed to laugh, she thought. The weight of all the expectations on them – and all the risks that followed – still sat heavy on her shoulders, but it did not seem quite so crushing now. “Yes, I’m finished,” she said. “I know we don’t have much time.”

“No.” The Doctor leaned forward, pressing his hands over Jamie’s chest as if it were a desk. In return, Jamie craned his head forward, hearing himself up a little way just to look at the Doctor as he spoke. “We don’t. And we won’t have much time tonight, either, so we’ll have to make it count.”

“Yes.” Or they would be sending another report of failure back to Molly. The resistance must be inundated with those by now, after all their failures and near-misses. “But we won’t have a chance, not if the Duke can help it. He’ll sit us next to the assistants again, and then we won’t be able to talk to anyone important.

The Doctor pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t undervalue the importance of assistants, you know. They can be, ah – rather influential, in their own way.”

“You’re just saying that because you’ve got that invitation, and you want it to sound important -”

“It is important.”

The sound of Jamie clearing his throat made the two of them fall into a guilty, chastised silence. “The Duke always sits us with the assistants, aye?”

Zoe rolled her eyes, but nodded along anyway. It was a silly question – but if Jamie wanted to ask silly questions, then he was hardly being more useful than herself and the Doctor. “Yes, he does. Have you forgotten?”

She would have thought that Jamie had not heard that barbed jab were it not for the fact that he looked pointedly away from her and towards the Doctor. “But if we sat elsewhere, then we might get somethin’ done.”

“Yes.” The Doctor sounded just as baffled as Zoe felt, though not nearly so irritated.

“Well, it’s simple, isn’t it?” Jamie sat up a little further. “We need tae break into – wherever they keep the seatin’ plans, an’ we alter them so we’re sittin’ somewhere good.”

“That’s all very well,” Zoe said, as patiently as she could, “but we can’t get to them. Not without arousing suspicion, anyway.”

“Zoe’s right, I’m afraid.” Shaking his head, the Doctor tapped one foot against the floor. “We shall simply have to hope we meet the right person in the corridors between now and dinnertime.”

“And make an impression on them,” Zoe added.

“But we can get tae the plans,” Jamie was still insisting.

“Oh, really, Jamie -”

“We can!” He was staring right at Zoe now, like he was daring her to interrupt again. “I know the kitchen staff.”

His glare was not enough to dissuade her. “Jamie -”

But he steamrollered on, apparently oblivious. “If I’m hungry, I go down there an’ ask them tae make me somethin’. Nothin’ strange about that.”

There’s plenty that’s strange about that, Zoe almost muttered under her breath. Most – no, all of the other guests would have rung for room service. It was a miracle that nobody had spotted him and decided that him strolling into the kitchens was the cherry on top of an already-suspicious cake. But she pushed her qualms down. “So what would you do? Go down there and just ask them to get the plans for you?”

“Aye?”

“We-ell.” The Doctor sat forward, planting his elbows against Jamie’s sides and propping his chin up on his hands. “That’s settled, then. We’ll make a few, ah – alterations – and nobody will be any the wiser.”

Folding her arms across her chest, Zoe frowned at the pair of them. “Someone will notice.”

The Doctor waved one hand dismissively.

“The other guests will think it’s strange that we’ve suddenly been bumped up to their level.”

“The Duke’s had favourites before,” Jamie pointed out. “An’ none of them lasted longer than about a day.”

“What if they realise we know each other, because we’ve all been moved?”

“Oh, well that’s rather simple,” the Doctor said. “We’ll just make sure we’re seated away from each other.”

Spluttering, gesturing wordlessly, she struggled to think of some fresh excuse. Every bone in her body was screaming that this was a bad idea – a terrible idea, in fact – but was that not just irrationality? The logical thing to do was to go along with the Doctor and Jamie’s plan, no matter how ridiculous it was or how silly they were. They had nothing to lose, everything to gain, and few options left if they wanted to avoid waiting around on this miserable little planet for years, or going back to Molly and telling her that they were giving up.

“What if something goes wrong?” she asked at last, a little flatly.

Jamie shrugged. The Doctor simply smiled.

There was nothing else left to do. They would go ahead with this, whether she liked it or not. And it would be better, really, if they had her around to keep an eye on them.

“Alright,” she said with a sigh. “How are we going to do this, then?”

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

White Lies (Pt. 02 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.2 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

<- Previous part (01)

Next part (03) ->

{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

×

Facing It Together

“Hi.” You mutter, feeling a little pathetic.

“Hi, beautiful.” The man softly says, walking closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“I...” Your hopes are suddenly crushed. You thought you'd recognize him, but you didn't. He's a stranger. “I don't remember you. I'm sorry.” You start crying again, sobbing, unable to look at Keanu. There's a pressure in your chest, like your own heart is being destroyed, and your head hurts so bad it makes you want to throw up. “I'm so sorry.”

“Hey, hey. Calm down.”

His voice is a distant sound as your body is shaken by the sobs, and you hide your face with both hands. “I'm so sorry.” You repeat, defeated and lost. Because this is how you feel now. Completely, ultimately lost.

You're tired of looking inside yourself and finding nothing but a void. No memories, no familiar faces, nothing. It's like you're an empty vessel, stripped away from everything you once were, everything you grew to be. You feel the mattress moving, and hands grabbing your wrists gently, pulling them away from your face. “Don't apologize,” Keanu says, and you can't control yourself. This man is everything you have, the only person from your life that you have around. Whatever this is, wherever this leads, you need him. Biting back a sob, you throw your arms around his neck, holding on to him like you holding on to dear life.

“I-if you want to divorce me, it's ok.” The words flow out, a little confusing, too fast. You can't put him through it, it's not fair. “I can't ask you to deal with this, I...” Still, you don't find it in you to let go of him just yet. And that's when you feel his arms embracing you, strongly holding you against his chest, and it just makes you cry even more. “It's alright if you want to leave me.”

“(Y/N), listen.” Keanu pulls away, and you reluctantly let go. But he remains close, his face once a few inches away from yours as a hand comes to caress your cheek. “I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together, you and I.” Blinking to push some tears off, you stare into his dark eyes. “I promise you.”

“But I–”

“No buts.” He cuts you short, placing a kiss on your forehead. “I'm right here with you and we'll go through this together.”

“Alright.” You mumble, feeling as Keanu dries off some tears with his thumb. “I'm so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, none of this is your fault.” He's still speaking when a nurse comes in.

“Excuse me. I'm here to help (Y/N) shower. And Dr. Harris asked to see you, Mr. Reeves.” She says, showing off a small smile.

You don't want him to go, but you can't ask him to stay. So you watch as he stands up, looking down before sighing. “I'll see what Dr. Harris wants. But I'll be back, I promise.”

Nodding, you keep your eyes on him until he leaves. But Keanu gives you one last look, along with a smile before heading out of the room.

The psychologist goes through the same things they've been talking about since Keanu agreed to this. The backstory, how to deal with headaches, confusing questions, everything. It takes hours and he's annoyed, mind wandering through the hospital, all the way back to her room.

Keanu's heart is broken. He never saw anyone suffering that much. He never saw someone who felt utterly, impossibly lost. If there was a way, it doesn't matter how much it would cost, to bring her memories back, he'd pay for it. If only medicine was that advanced.

“Mr. Reeves?”

“Huh?” He asks, raising his eyes from his hands up to Dr. Harris again.

“Is everything set at your place? We're planning on discharging her by next week. As long as the baby is alright.”

“And who will tell her about the pregnancy?” Keanu inquires, leaning forward on the table. “I think she should know it sooner rather than later.”

“You, as her husband, should be the one to tell the news.”

“Of course.” He couldn't help but feel guilty, like he's toying with her life. It isn't fair, but her reaction just a while ago changed his mind. It convinced him that the doctors were right. (Y/N) needs him, and it doesn't matter if they're both complete strangers, he feels it in his heart that this is the right thing to do. If he's willing to pay any amount of money to help her get better, he can do this too. And he will. “When can I tell her?”

“Whenever you feel like it. We're counting on you to set the pace in this. Soon enough you'll be very close, and your reports will help us find the right treatments along the way.”

He nods, despite thinking he'll be doing their job. Keanu is not a doctor, and he's not comfortable with this lie. It's too huge, too cruel to trick her like this. He's a confusion of feelings. Maybe he could've found a way to tell her the truth. That he found her, brought her here, and would stay by her side until everything is alright. But now, the damage is already done, and Keanu can't bring himself to break through this. Not now. Not after he saw how desperate she was.

Their talking went on for hours, until late at night. (Y/N) is already sleeping, they told him, so he took his time to go back home, eat something, shower and sleep for a couple of hours. It was still dark when he gets back to the hospital, silently walking into her room. The hospital gown she's wearing now is light blue instead of white, he doesn't know why. Careful, he stands next to her, looking down at her face. (Y/N) is pretty, more than that actually, and despite telling himself not to see her this way, struggling not to find her beautiful given the situation, he can't. A small smile crosses his lips as he moves to the couch in the corner, taking a seat. He'll wait, patiently, for her to wake up. As a true husband would.

You make your way back to consciousness slowly, with a persistent headache. It doesn't seem like it'll leave you alone, said the nurse, not for a while. You also feel dizzy, and the hospital room spins around even though you're secure in the bed.

“Shit.” You mutter, tightly closing your eyes once again, hoping it'll help.

“Something wrong?” The voice startles you, eyes opening and your attention being claimed by him. Keanu is here, making his way over you, looking worried.

“I'm just dizzy.” You explain, trying to move into a sitting position. But Keanu stops you, a hand on your shoulder.

“Keep still until it passes.”

“Alright.” Suddenly feeling nervous, you look away from him, clearing your throat. “I guess it's normal. Giving my... Condition.”

“Actually, (Y/N)...” His tone changes, and it makes you brave enough to stare at him again. Keanu seems uncertain, like he's fighting against himself.

“What is it?” Anxious, you push yourself up, ignoring how your sore body complains. “I-is it bad?”

“No, it isn't.” With his voice softer, he sits on the bed, taking both your hands in his. Furrowing your eyebrows, you decide not to pull them away. He's your husband after all, he must be used to this kind of affection. “(Y/N), you're... We're expecting a child.”

Gasping, your eyes go wide, a hand covering your mouth. “What?” You mutter, tears filling your eyes again. Looking down at your stomach, which is flat, you furrow your eyebrows. “A-are you sure? It doesn't look like it.”

“You're only five weeks pregnant. But soon enough it'll start to show.” Unable to control yourself, you start crying all over again, sobs shaking your body. “Hey, it's alright.”

Once again, you hug him, arms around his neck. You can't help it. If you thought your condition was delicate, complicated, it only got worse. You don't remember anything about yourself, you don't even remember your husband, and now there's a baby in the mix. “W-what and I going to do?” You cry, feeling his arms around you. “I-I don't–”

“We'll do it together, sweetheart,” Keanu says, his voice as soft as silk. You do need him, more than you thought you did. This is something you can't do by yourself. Your whole body hurts as you shake a little, hiding your face from Keanu's neck.

Slowly, you stop crying, allowing Keanu to calm you down, a hand rubbing the small of your back. A couple of minutes after, you pull away, a little embarrassed for breaking down like this. Again. Reaching out for the remote control, you push the buttons until the bed allows you to rest your back while still on a sitting position. Keanu fixes your pillow, and you mutter a ‘thank you’. “So...” You start, a hand on your stomach. “Did we plan it? Or is he or she an accident?” You ask, meeting his dark, deep eyes, voice still low and weak.

There's something in his eyes, something you can't quite place. “We planned it.”

“How long have we been married?” You burst out, a hand still on your stomach. It's a weird feeling to know there's a new life growing in there.

“A year and two months.” Keanu quickly answers.

“Alright.” You whisper, your eyes falling on his hand. Taking a deep breath, you take it, placing it on your belly. His hand is a lot bigger than yours, and your skin warms up under his touch. It hits you suddenly that it must be weird, since Keanu doesn't move. So you sink a little, looking down. “I-I'm sorry. You don't have to.”

“That's not it.” It seems like he was snapped out of his thoughts, and he leans forward a little, his eyes going to where his hand is. “I don't want to make you uncomfortable, that's all.” He breathes out, his thumb moving a little, a small smile crossing his lips.

Laying both your hands on top of his, you sigh. “Keanu, how... How did we meet?”

There's an awkward change in his expression, and he removes his hand from your stomach. “Well, I'm an actor. We met at an airport.”

“An actor? Really?” Furrowing your eyebrows, you chuckle. Looking like this, it's not much of a surprise.

“Yes.” He giggles at your expression. “You weren't really into movies, so you didn't recognize me at first. We started chatting, I asked for your number and you gave it to me.”

“...You're a little older than me, aren't you? If you don't mind me asking.” You couldn't help but notice. Keanu is very handsome, breathtaking really, but he's certainly older. In his forties, probably.

“Uhm...” He clears his throat, restless. “Yes, I'm something around two decades older than you.” Keanu avoids your eyes, looking down at his hands. You wish you could read his thoughts, and you hope you didn't hurt him in any way. “How do you feel about that?”

“I don't know.” Shrugging your shoulders, you curse yourself for saying that. This must be hard for him too, seeing you like this. Having his pregnant wife seeing him as a complete stranger. “Are we... Are we in love with each other? I mean... Do we love each other? Is our marriage good?” You don't know exactly what you're asking, but you need to know how's your relationship. You hope it's good. You hope you're not stuck in an unhappy marriage. But, in your favor, Keanu is treating you nicely, and since the pregnancy was planned, things are probably fine between you two.

“Yes, beautiful,” Keanu assures you, kind eyes as a hand comes to caress your cheek. “We're completely in love. We have been since the beginning and nothing changed. It only got stronger.”

This makes you smile. At least you had a good life before, and hopefully, you'll remember it. You'll remember him. “That's good.” You mutter, and his hand comes to your stomach once again.

“It is.” Keanu smiles too, softly and kind. It still feels weird to have him touching you, but you keep in mind that he's your husband. And you've been hurting him enough already with all this.

“Thank you for... Everything. And I'm sorry for... Driving recklessly and putting myself in this situation on the first place.” If your condition had screwed up your life alone, that's one thing. But there's someone else in this, and a child too. You'll never apologize enough.

“Stop it. None of this is your fault and we'll deal with whatever comes together. I promise you.” Keanu leans closer, and you freeze a little, a burning sensation on your core when you feel his lips placing a soft kiss on your forehead. But you manage to stay calm, offering him a small smile. “I'm with you, alright? You won't be alone through this process, or during your pregnancy.”

“Thank you.” You can't help but repeat, feeling less lonely than felt when you woke up.

×

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina @playboygeniusphilanthropist

[sara-scribbles]

Here is a scenario, if you feel like it: Byleth is having a hard time in the marriage because she feels Seteth can't let go the memories of his wife, she time travels and meets Seteth's first wife. How it goes?

Promise

Fandom: Fire Emblem Seteth/F!Byleth Note: Contains spoilers.

A yawn escaped her mouth as she stood from her desk. Spending a long evening going over reports was a tedious process. Who knew being archbishop meant dealing with piles of paperwork. Every document, missive or note had to be read, reviewed, and approved or declined. Seteth had drilled into her that she was not allowed to skim over them; he still took his job seriously.

A smile played on her lips as she thought of her husband. They had been married for almost a year after the war had ended. It still felt new to her. However that smile dropped as she thought about the past few months. He had become distant from her. Mornings were filled with half hearted greetings before he went to work. She didn’t see him until lunch, and even then he didn’t have much to say. At night she would wait for him to retire to their bed, but she would fall asleep alone.

Byleth didn’t understand what was going on with him. Flayn was acting her usual sunny self around her. She wanted to ask him what was bothering him, but had decided her straight forward approach may not work. Whatever was bothering Seteth was a personal matter, and she needed to tread as lightly as possible.

Leaving her office, she made her way through the monastery. She stopped a few times to feed the stray cats and dogs treats she carried around. Most people greeted her warmly as they were now used to seeing the archbishop playing with the animals. She wandered near the docks and spotted an all too familiar figure.

Standing at the edge of the dock, Seteth stared out past the water. Arms behind his back, he looked like a statue. Walking over, she noted how he didn’t seem to hear her so lost in thought even when she called his name. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, she called to him again.

He startled and spun around. “B-Byleth!”

“I’m sorry if I scared you. I did call you…” She peered up at his face trying to find some answers.

“Hmm? Oh, my apologies. I was lost in thought. He smiled at her but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Did you need something, dear?”

She rocked on her heels. “I know you’ve been working hard, so I thought a break might help. Maybe we can go on a little trip?”

“I’m sorry, but I have a lot of work to finish tonight.” He frowned as he took her hand and placed a kiss on her palm. “I promise we can do something together later.”

“That’s okay, Seteth. I should get back to work as well.” Giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, she left him. The smile on her face fell once she was inside her office.

She let out a deep sigh. “...” Something was wrong, and he wasn’t going to share what it was with her. Twisting the ring on her finger, she stared down at it. Suddenly the ring felt heavier than normal.

---------

“Is everything okay, Byleth?” Flayn noticed the way she picked at her meal.

Poking at the smoked fish, Byleth’s frown deepened. “Is Seteth okay?”

Flayn’s eyes briefly glanced at the empty spot. “Father is a little sad right now. It’s the anniversary of my mother’s death.”

“Oh…” She felt like a fool for being upset. “He didn’t tell me…” Of course he was upset. After all he was being reminded of his late wife.

“He doesn’t like to talk about her too much. It’s been years but he still gets upset around this time of year. He tries to act strong for me, but I think he takes it worse than I do.” She took a sip of water. “Don’t worry. He’ll be back to his old self in a few days.”

“And how about you? I’m sure this is also a difficult time. If you need to talk…” She offered her an encouraging smile.

Lowering her head, Flayn poked at her fish. “Thank you. I miss her a lot, but I think she’d be happy to know that we’re happy. I’ve come to accept that she’s gone physically but will remain in my memories. I think it’s harder on father though. He misses her dearly.”

Byleth studied Flayn for a moment. “She must have been wonderful.”

“Oh, yes! Mother was the best. She could make father laugh at the smallest things. We used to go fishing all the time…” Flayn sighed. “Those were happier times for all of us. Of course I am quite happy with you as well, Byleth! You make father happy too.”

“What did you do today?” Dinner continued with idle chatter on a different topic.

Once in her shared room with Seteth, Byleth sat at the edge of the bed. Her thoughts were filled with what Flayn had mentioned. Seteth was distant from her because he missed his late wife.

She understood how he must feel as she still felt an ache whenever she thought of her father. However a small part of her was sad that he couldn’t confide in her. Despite being married for almost a year, and knowing each other long, Seteth was still closed off.

As she readied for bed, she wondered what she could do to understand him better. If only she could ask his first wife…

Byleth quickly got redressed into traveling clothes. Throwing on a cloak, she rushed out to the stables. Her Pegasus perked up the moment she stepped near his stall.

“We’re going for a midnight fly,” she murmured to him as she led him out. After ensuring everything was set, she mounted her stead and took off into the night sky.

---------

Rhodos Coast came into view. The smell of the sea and sound of the waves reminded Byleth of the time she was here. That time Seteth told her the truth of his and Flayn’s true relationship.

Once her Pegasus was settled on the island, she walked over to the lone headstone. Flayn had prayed over her mother’s grave before they left. It was a simple headstone with no date and a name: Clíodna.

Byleth knew that what she was about to do wasn’t an appropriate use of her powers. She could almost hear Sothis reprimanding her. However she felt that this was the only way she might be able to understand Seteth on a deeper level. Hearing from the experience of the woman who loved him first.

Pulling out her sword, she focused her mind on what she wanted to do. The sand shifted under her feet. Raising her arm, she sliced the air in half. A tear in the fabric of space appeared and widened.

Without hesitation, she stepped into the tear and it closed. She was free falling into an abyss of stars. She could see a bright light coming closer and then it enveloped her.

Feet landing on solid ground, she opened her eyes. She was still on Rhodos Coast. Sheathing her sword, she glanced around. It was evening now as the sun was starting to set.

The headstone was gone and the beach was empty except a lone figure further down. Slowly making her way down the beach, she noticed the figure was of a woman. She was sitting with a child cradled in her arms.

She lifted her head as Byleth walked heavily on the sand. Light green hair shone in the setting sun, and bright, soft emeralds peered at her curiously. She stood up, gently brushing sand off her dress with one hand.

“Hello. I didn’t realize there was someone else here.” Her voice was soft with a calming quality.

Byleth’s gaze went to the sleeping child. “I was just…wandering. I apologize for intruding.”

“Oh don’t worry! This isn’t my land either. My husband just happened upon it and thought it would be a good place to rest. I’m Clíodna and this,” she smiled down at the sleeping baby “is Flayn.”

Baby Flayn slept peacefully as drool pooled at the corner of her mouth. Tufts of light green hair peeked out of the blanket.

“I’m Sitri.” The lie rolled off her tongue easily.

“What a lovely name. I’ve never seen you before. Are you new?” She brushed away a strand of hair, pointed ear poking out.

Swallowing her dry throat, Byleth shook her head. “I’m just traveling for a bit.”

Despite being a stranger Clíodna seemed at ease. She was welcoming and warm. No wonder Seteth had fallen in love with her. Byleth could see where Flayn got some of her personality from.

“...staying long?” Her voice broke through Byleth’s inner musings.

Keeping her face completely blank, she shook her head. “I prefer to travel from place to place.”

Clíodna gently rocked Flayn. “Sounds exciting. Does your lover go with you?” Her gaze darted to the ring on Byleth’s finger.

She glanced down at her own hand. “We...sometimes do. Not today though.” She twisted the band on her finger. Her whole reason for coming here was because of the man who had given it to her.

The older woman studied her for a bit. Her brows drew together in a small pinch. “Is everything alright? You seem lost…”

She brushed her own sea-foam colored hair out of her face. “I guess I am in a way. My husband has been...distant lately because he misses his late wife. I want to ask him but I don’t want to pry. I feel like he’s keeping me at a distant despite being married for almost a year. I want to be there when he’s having a hard time, but I don’t know what to do so he knows.”

Her inner thoughts tumbled out of her mouth without stop. Perhaps it was because Clíodna was a stranger she felt comfortable talking. Or perhaps it was because she had bottled up her feelings for so long. Byleth couldn’t bring herself to tell Flayn her worries about her father. There weren’t others she could talk to as her job as archbishop kept her occupied. And the few times she could socialize, she didn’t want to burden her friends with her marriage woes.

It was Clíodna’s chuckle that caught her attention. “Young love is so...cute. This reminds me of when Cichol and I were newlyweds. He’s the type to shoulder his burdens. He never wanted to tell me what was bothering him because he didn’t want to put stress on me.”

“How did you resolve that?” Seteth hadn’t changed much it seemed.

She met her gaze. “I reminded him that we were husband and wife. And part of that means we share each other’s burdens. No matter how heavy they may be, we carry the weight equally. It seems you’re willing to do the same for your love. So tell him how you really feel and go from there.”

She was right. Byleth needed to talk with Seteth instead of trying to figure it out on her own. His problems were her problems, and she wanted to help him. Perhaps they were both at fault as she had the bad habit of not expressing herself fully.

“Thank you.” A small, genuine smile formed on her lips.

Flayn started to stir. “A marriage takes time for both parties to understand each other fully. As long as you work on it, I think you’ll be fine.”

“Clíodna?” Both women turned toward the voice. Byleth felt her heart thump as she realized Seteth was coming. He was not her Seteth but his voice still caused her heart to pound.

“Oh! That’s my husband. Let me get him, and you two can meet.” Leaving Byleth, she rushed in his direction.

Byleth quickly ran off in the opposite direction. Coming back to where she first came, she quickly pulled her sword out. As much as she would like to meet a younger Seteth, she knew she shouldn’t. The laws of time could only be tampered with so much.

Stepping into the space tear, Byleth returned to her time.

---------

By the time she returned to the monastery, the sun was coming up. Though she hadn’t planned to be gone for so long, time traveling had taken a lot out of her.

The moment her feet had landed back in solid ground, her legs had given out and she had blacked out. It was only by the gentle nudging of her Pegasus did she wake up. By then she knew it was late and her absence was bound to be noticed.

Once her Pegasus was back in his stall, she snuck to her quarters. Having successfully avoided anyone, she firmly closed the door. Perhaps her absence had gone unnoticed.

“Byleth!” Spinning around, she was met with Seteth’s frazzled appearance. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. His usually pressed outfit was half unbuttoned and untucked.

He quickly strolled over to her in a few steps, and pulled her into a tight hug. Her face pressed against his chest as he released a ragged breath.

“Where have you been all night? I came to bed and you weren’t there? I searched the entire monastery but couldn’t find you!” He pulled her away at arms length and scanned her body. “Are you hurt?!”

Placing a hand on his chest, she used her other to comb back his messed hair. “I’m fine, Seteth. I just needed some air and decided to take a short flight with Speckle.”

He frowned and his brows pinched together. “I thought you had been kidnapped. I was about to call the guards for a search party. You had me scared half to death!”

“I know. And I’m sorry. I had a lot on my mind and I needed somewhere to think.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him what she did. He would be even more agitated if she did.

He cupped the sides of her face. Staring deep into her eyes, he let out a sigh. “Please, my dear, next time you decide to take an impromptu flight, at least leave a note.”

“I will if you promise to tell me when something is bothering you,” she countered. She moved away from him to sit on their bed. Peeling her boots off, she watched as he slowly turned around.

His mouth opened and closed. “I...where is this coming from?”

One boot hit the floor. “Flayn told me that it’s the anniversary of your wife’s passing. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She watched as he tried to work out his thoughts. “I didn’t want to bother you with that. I’m a grown man, Byleth, I can handle my personal matters alone.”

The other boot dropped with a thud. “You shouldn’t have to do it alone. I am your wife, Seteth. I love you and I promised to always be by your side. I hate that you’ve kept me out. I thought...I thought I did something wrong with the way you were avoiding me.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stared up at the ceiling. “It was never my intention to cause you distress. I just thought that dealing with this alone was the best. I...I didn’t want you to think I love you any less.”

Tossing the cloak on a chair, she walked over to him. “I would never love you less for wanting to mourn your late wife. She was a big part of your life and I understand how much you must miss her. I just want to be able to help you carry these emotions. We’re in this together through good and bad.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. His arms encircled her waist and pulled her closer. Pressing his forehead against hers, he let out a shaky breath. Eyes closed and face free of stress, he looked younger.

“I’ve forgotten what it means to be married. And I apologize for being distant. This time of year, I always find myself lost in thoughts of the past.” Eyes opened, he smiled. “I promise to share my burdens with you. And I hope you will share yours with me.”

She brushed her nose against his. “I promise.” Eyes falling shut, she closed the distance between their lips. Sealing the promise with a sweet, passionate kiss.