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crguang · 9 months ago

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wasted with longing, part 4

In the face of such deep hurt, you have no choice but to come to terms with your feelings.

friends with benefits, f!reader, 6k words

A/N: don't really like this chapter cause it feels like a nothingburger but there it is... i swear i didn't mean to end it like that but the next block would have been too long to be in the same chapter so i had to chop it in two, forgive me 😞

also, it’s definitely still the weekend on the west coast so i am not late!!! we’ve officially written like 20k words for this series when it was supposed to be a couple crack fics, what even is going on

part three

Every so often, tremors travel through your legs to reach your twitching fingertips like a hundred tiny earthquakes along your limbs while you sit there, passive and morose. You stare at your open palms and observe the natural disaster occurring beneath your skin. Past the white walls of your apartment, the sun continues its ascent among the clouds but its warmth is fought off by the thick curtains of your living room and the heaviness settling inside of you. The blow of previous revelations has made your organs twice as heavy and has brought an ache to your trembling hands, birthing a sense of lethargy only the lost are familiar with. Not for the first time, you don’t know where you’re heading. For the first time, none of it matters; there is just the weight of your body rooted to the couch and the lines of your palms staring back at you, forming crooked letters that disappear with a blink. Your thoughts are a mess devoid of rationality focused on the sting of betrayal that you can feel at the corner of your eyes. She doesn’t deserve them, your tears. Then again, there is a lot that she didn’t deserve that you still gave willingly: your time, your attention, the flutter deep in your abdomen at the sound of her genuine laughter or the naive hope that you mattered more to her than you believed. Your mind is a whirlwind of possibilities that will never come to be and feed the dejection in your bones until your vision blurs at the edges from tears you refuse to let fall.

You recall the nonchalance with which she addressed her actions, the excuse of destiny as if you were all merely pawns in the hollow of its cold and detached hands. Some things are inevitable and all possibilities are already written. You wondered once what kind of life she must live to be so carefree, you understand now that it stems from a lack of responsibility and a distance between herself and accountability. Her nihilism reduces her to a footnote in a published novel, a droplet in the raging ocean; it takes away enough of her to make her believe that whatever she does is not a choice she fully makes herself. It feels like an excuse to justify not only her existence but everything she undertakes, blaming consequences on fate will always be easier as it relieves her from the pressure of guilt. In a way, it’s not so much carefreeness as passivity. You swallow to soothe the tightness of your throat. Some part of you pities how she lives and you wish you could choke it out with a pillow. Even now, you can’t snuff out feelings that have taken months to develop and solidify within you, and they feel like stones obstructing your blood vessels. It hurts this much because you unknowingly carved a seat for her inside the walls of your heart with her pocket knife, the same one she used to cut you. You can no longer differentiate then and now, whether you started falling for her the last time she left your bed or the first time she kissed you. However, you can’t deny that you’ve got her under your skin and the realization could not have happened at a less opportune moment.

This sucks. You don’t count the minutes you spend staring at your hands like they hold answers to questions you won’t get to ask in the future. At some point you find yourself laying on the couch again, looking ahead while your phone lies on the coffee table, undisturbed for the time being. Hours pass and your eyelids eventually grow heavy, each blink slower to come than the last. Your mind, perhaps to torture you, replays some moments you didn’t remember before this instant; falling asleep as she lights up a cigarette on the balcony outside your bedroom, moonlight stroking her hair and smoke blurring her face; nimble hands undressing you layer by layer with a patience that borders on reverence. The first time you met, your impression of her was that she took care of appearance and found it very important how she presented herself to the world. It was because of her clothes, partly, but mostly the confidence she radiated. She didn’t say too much or too little, and looked at you with a smile you selfishly wished was just for you. Her attention felt like a treasure not many were deserving of and her taste in fashion matched yours, she helped you pick out some clothes then you exchanged phone numbers in front of the store. You went your separate ways after that, but receiving a text from her an hour later turned you into a schoolgirl with a crush.

You thought you were making progress yesterday, that her seeking you out meant something more than a refusal to see a medical professional. The look in her eyes when she stared up at you in the bathroom… you wish you understood it, but something screams that it wouldn’t have changed a thing. You reminisce and ruminate until your eyes close and unconsciousness generously gives you a reprieve from the assault of your mind.

It’s almost 11 in the morning when you wake. Your neck is stiff from the armrest and your legs beg to be stretched after staying bent for hours. You rub the drowsiness out of your eyes with one hand and sit up slowly, brows furrowed and lips in a frown. It takes you a moment to do anything else, your phone buzzes with a notification three times in a row but you only look at your lock screen blankly. You don’t feel like doing anything, and after remembering the events of earlier today, you dread checking up on work. Still, your concern for the colleagues you get along with eventually wins out. You pick up the device and sift through the messages that were left unanswered yesterday, replying to your friends to assure them of your safety. Your thumbs travel across the screen mechanically, like you’re writing a professional email you have no interest in, but you are genuinely relieved to find out that they’re fine. You hesitate over Himeko’s contact name. She surely hasn’t heard of what transpired yesterday unless there was an IPC broadcast about it. You hope she hasn’t. You want the truth to come out of your lips, not some news network. Worry makes you bite the inside of your cheek as you stare at her last text from the evening before. Himeko is one of your best friends, she’s understanding, compassionate and an expert at comforting others. You’re not worried that she’ll put the blame on you, just that your feelings will come to the surface once you start relaying everything that’s happened in detail.

You steel yourself, swallow once, and press the call button under her contact name. You bring your knees to your chest. The line rings a couple of times in your ears before the call connects and Himeko’s joyful voice sounds through the phone.

“Hey.” she greets you with a smile you can hear, “are you okay? You hung up on me yesterday.”

Your suspicions are confirmed, Himeko has no idea what went on the previous night.

“Sorry,” your own voice is strained from sleep and you cringe before clearing your throat. “Something… came up.”

“Is everything alright?”

Your stomach churns uncomfortably. You look at the floor and inhale quietly to calm the unease slithering up your trachea. “There was… an incident at work,” you say hesitantly. “A serious one.”

Himeko picks up on your tone and hers softens with her next question. “Are you alright? What happened?”

The words spill from your mouth all at once and Himeko doesn’t interrupt you as you give her a retelling of what you read in that article this morning, Kafka’s identity as both a Stellaron Hunter and the woman you’ve been “seeing”, how she showed up at your door injured yesterday and the moment you found out the truth just hours earlier. The line is silent save for your sometimes faltering sentences. Your eyes fall shut in the middle of your story and your fingers clench the phone in your hand, the knot in your throat tightening near the end of it. Saying it out loud, you realize how stupid you’ve been even if the clues weren’t obvious; you should’ve been more suspicious of her absences and deflections, shouldn't have been blinded by her attention and the way she made you feel, should’ve… You feel like an idiot in the face of Himeko’s silence. She digests the information you dumped on her before it’s even noon, and after a minute of quiet she finally speaks.

“Where are you now?”

“Uh, home,” you stammer, blindsided by the question. You half-expected her to lose her mind at the situation you find yourself in considering she was the one who tried to discourage you to enter a friends-with-benefits relationship, and now people have died by the hands of the woman you have feelings for. You pointedly omit the romantic feelings part for now.

“You should stay at a friend’s house, to be safe. The Stellaron Hunters are very dangerous and you could easily get wrapped up in their dispute with the law and the IPC. Take precautions and be safe, please.”

“Is that all you have to say…?”

“What do you want me to say, ‘I told you so’? You were manipulated, that’s what Kafka does. She bears all the blame here. And I’m sorry you were caught up in her schemes.”

You pause, staring at the coffee table in front of you. Her reassurances bring you no comfort. Your reply sounds small in your ears, “...A lot of people died.”

“I know…” You can almost picture the soft look in Himeko’s eyes. “But it wasn’t your fault. Whatever they had planned, they planned it long before you were brought into the picture. You couldn’t have stopped anything from happening.”

You nod slowly even though she can’t see you. You do your best to internalize that, but guilt still swirls within you and makes you nauseous. You stand from the couch to make your way to the bedroom, footsteps quiet along the wooden floors. You let the morning light envelop you once you reach the glass doors of your balcony and slide them open so the fresh air can enter your lungs and chase away the unpleasant feeling.

“No wonder you didn’t know anything about her,” Himeko continues, an edge to her voice, “it’s easier to play mind games when you’re kept in the dark. She’s truly despicable.”

You think of what Kafka said this morning about the source of her injury, how she got it looking for you amidst the chaos. You lean on the railing, observe the circulation of cars and pedestrians down below, but say nothing.

“I hope she never contacts you again. Did you block her number? Is it even her real one?”

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“You should block it anyway.”

She’s right. You put Himeko on speaker and let out a breath as you open your contacts, scrolling through the list and finding Kafka’s contact among it. For a few seconds you feel weak for your hesitation, thumb hovering over the “block caller” button, then you shake your head and press the red letters. You won’t make yourself available for her anymore.

“I did it,” you tell the woman on the other line and redirect your gaze to the buildings on the horizon.

“Good. What are you going to do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will you… eventually work there again?”

“Ha. Not a chance.”

You don’t know what you’ll do, you haven’t planned this far ahead and were still on the fence about quitting your job before everything went down but there’s no way you’re going back to doing office work after today. In a way, the incident gave you the push you needed to do it. The price to pay for it was far too high.

You talk to Himeko for another half hour before she has to bid you goodbye to take care of the Express. She reminds you to pack a bag and go stay with a trusted friend, and she makes sure to be certain that you’ll take care of yourself before hanging up the phone. She’ll call again when she can, but in the meantime, you’re on your own. You don’t tell her that you don’t think Kafka means to put you in harm’s way and that you don’t feel comfortable leaving your apartment now. Knowing that you could have been one of yesterday’s victims if you had simply gone about your daily routine worsens your anxiety, and even if Kafka’s been inside your apartment countless of times before, you still feel safer within familiar walls.

You spend the day in low spirits, half of it sitting on your balcony with your knees to your chest and the other half laying face down in bed. You tell yourself that your free time will be dedicated to finding out what you want to do with your life. Then another day passes you by and when the third one comes around you still haven’t gotten out of the gray bubble you’ve unconsciously created for yourself. Your thoughts are repetitive and oppressive, so you sleep for hours to escape them. You avoid going out by ordering food or groceries. Your phone is constantly on ‘do not disturb’ because you can’t handle the grating alerts about funerals and financial compensation, you only pick it up to talk to Himeko once a day. She encourages you to see your friends, to not let yourself be swept away by the waves of negative emotions, and you don’t have the heart to tell her that you’re just not in the mood anymore. You make promises you don’t intend to keep in order to alleviate her concern and the guilt nesting in the pit of your stomach grows bigger with each one. You’re not helping yourself, you know, but it feels like all you can do is sit in your feelings as they ripple around you and you stare at the disturbances for hours, crestfallen.

In the evening, you await the takeout you ordered 30 minutes ago. You’re laying on the couch despite the TV not being on and feel drowsiness creeping up on you from doing absolutely nothing all day. Who knew inactivity could be so exhausting… You reach for your phone on the coffee table and tap the screen to see if your driver is nearby. He’s parked in front of your apartment building, so he should reach your door soon. You close the phone and wait some more until you hear firm footsteps on the other side of your door. You only stand up after a couple of minutes have passed to make sure he’s truly gone and won’t see you bringing your food inside. Opening the door reveals an unexpected find; the takeout bag lies next to a rectangular package that wasn’t there in the morning. You pick up the bag but stare at the box with a crease between your brows. Outside of food, you haven’t ordered anything else from the internet. You wonder if it’s a misplaced item and bend down to check the postal information. There’s no return address, but yours and your full name are written black on white. You decide that you must look like a weirdo, inspecting a package in the hallway with takeout in one hand, and you pick up the box before retreating inside.

Putting down the brown bag on the kitchen counter, you think perhaps the package is from a colleague or a friend, maybe even from Himeko since her return address is hard to find. You look for scissors to cut the tape holding the box shut and lift the lid. A pair of black velvet gloves lie on a similarly coloured coat, the inside of which is a dark shade of blue. The material is expensive judging by the gentle sheen on the fabric in the light, and you blink in confusion. It’s beautiful and a piece you would definitely feel compelled to buy if you saw it in a store, which means it must actually be meant for you. You pick up one glove to find that it fits perfectly with the size of your hand. It’s soft to the touch, you bring it to your cheek to feel the material against your skin. You spot a small card sticking out from one of the coat’s front pockets bearing only three words written in curvy letters: ‘Thought of you, K. <3’

The glove falls from your hand like it burns your palm and lands on the floor without a sound. Suddenly, the clothes aren’t a thoughtful gift but a mocking gesture meant to get a rise out of you. You tear the card into pieces. If anything, one could admire her limitless audacity, not you, but someone out there. She’s playing with you, taunting you to see how far she’s allowed to go before you lose your mind completely. That, or she deludes herself into thinking that she can buy your forgiveness with meaningless peace offerings. Either way, her obvious lack of care for your feelings hurts more than it should, and you’re once again reminded of your own weakness. You know that she doesn’t care, there’s no need to twist the knife in your already infected wound. Does she only see you as a toy for her entertainment? Is she incapable of even a bout of empathy or do you simply mean that little to her? The thought rotates in your head endlessly until you put everything back in the box and throw it in the trash.

Two days later, you find another package on your doorstep; two expensive pairs of slacks and three tops that are all exactly your size and your style. The note has only a handwritten K and a slim heart on it. You donate the clothes to a thrift store in the afternoon. It's the first time you’ve left your house since you learned the truth about Kafka’s identity.

Next Thursday, you accept a friend’s invitation to go out for drinks. Kafka’s stunts made you internalize what you've been telling yourself for weeks; you won’t pull the brakes on your life for a broken heart, certainly not for her. Being hung up on somebody who isn’t thinking of you at all is embarrassing enough, to allow her such a place in your mind after what she’s done is just pathetic. Despite your heart still not being it in, you dress up in clothes that always make you feel pretty and let your friends drag you to a bar where they dance for three hours and flirt with strangers for two more. The loud music makes it impossible to hear any words that aren’t shouted or whispered in your ear, its bass reverberates uncomfortably through your chest like a second heart. The night goes by with a drink in your hand that is replaced by another the instant its last drop lands on your tongue. Inebriated and surrounded by sweaty bodies, you forget all about the world beyond the cheers of your friends as you make out with a woman on the dance floor and the flavored liquor on your lips. The events that occurred between midnight and 3 AM are a haze when you wake up before lunchtime the next morning, body halfway off the couch and head throbbing so intensely you think you might pass out before you reach the bathroom for some aspirin.

You stumble into the room, squinted eyes barely seeing two feet in front of you, and fumble with the small plastic bottle of what you believe to be your magic pills. You swallow a couple of them and bend low to take a few sips of water directly from the running faucet. Your skull feels like it’ll split open with any strong enough stimulus. You sink to the cool floor and close your eyes, breathing as steadily as you can through your mouth to relax a little. You think you fall asleep for a while, leaning against the cabinets while the medicine does its job of reducing your headache to a dull pulse. Three firm knocks on your front door wake you up abruptly and you jerk away from the sink in surprise. You wipe the corner of your mouth. Blinking away remnants of drowsiness, you shakily stand on your bare feet and run a hand over your face as you walk to the entrance of your apartment. You hope you don’t look as bad as you feel, but you know that’s likely the case. Still, you adjust your clothes and your hair before opening the front door.

A mailman is waiting for you with a package in hand and thrusts a form in yours after a disingenuous greeting. You sign the paper confirming whatever delivery you just received, a little out of it. He leaves once the small square box is given to you. You walk back inside, turning the package over in your hands before tearing it open. A glittering necklace lies inside, nestled in suede. The gems embedded into it easily catch the light and would make a strong statement resting on any person’s collarbones. You stare at the jewelry, puzzled. Checking the package again reveals no return address, and if your mind was less hazy from this hangover, you would have guessed who the gift was from immediately. Your cell phone pings with a text, bringing you out of your confusion long enough to find it on the floor in front of the couch. You press the message to open the private conversation. The recipient has no caller ID and is texting you like you’re supposed to know who they are. You lay the jewelry box on the coffee table and reply quickly.

“Who the fuck is that…?” You slowly ask no one in particular, brows twisting in a frown.

You type in a text and send it. The reply you receive sobers you up like an ice cold shower. You rub your eyes with one hand and hold your phone a bit farther from your face as if it poses a threat to your safety, disbelieving. The nerve… There’s a familiar flutter in the depths of your belly but the sensation is uncomfortable now, eating at you and forcing you to take a deep breath.

You block the number before another message can pop up. Frustration bubbles up inside your chest, Kafka’s dedication to remaining a part of your life like a coffee stain on a white tablecloth is seriously messing with you. Make amends? She can’t be this dense. The gifts, her promise to send more— is her image of you so shallow that she believes you can be bought with fancy clothes and jewelry? None of these have been thoughtful or paired with a note that contains more than three words. She’s hurt you more than she understands, clearly. Your issues with her behavior are evident, you don’t believe the idea of them not computing in her mind, she’s smarter than that. She’s kept key details of her life from you, lied to you and caused over a dozen scientists to lose their lives for a component that could surely be found elsewhere, not to mention her treatment of you afterwards and her lack of remorse for the emotional damage she’s inflicted on you. Your feelings are more than justified and run deeper than petty grievances. You don’t understand her at all, and at this point, you don’t care to.

An offended scoff escapes your lips and your first reflex is to tell your best friend about the situation, looking to vent your irritation to a person that’ll stand by you no matter what unlike Kafka’s fickle attitude. You video call Himeko’s number and wait until she picks up at the last ring. Her fiery hair is slightly disheveled, held up tightly in a ponytail. She’s not wearing her usual elegant clothing and is instead clad in overalls with a plaid shirt underneath. Motor oil stains her cheek and fingertips as she waves at you through the screen. You think you can see engines and steam behind her, you can definitely hear hissing noises in the background.

“Uh… Are you busy?” You ask, taking in the dark stains on the front of her overalls. “Are you working on the Express?”

Himeko makes a sound of agreement. “Don’t worry, I always have time for you though. How are you?”

“Hangover. What’s wrong with the train?”

“Nothing as of three minutes ago. I just finished fixing some issues but it wasn’t anything too serious. I’m due for a shower. You said you’re hungover? You do kind of look… disheveled.”

“I appreciate the euphemism,” you sit cross legged on the couch. “I woke up not too long ago and immediately popped some over-the-counter medicine.”

“So you went out last night? Or were you drinking alone?”

“I went to a bar with some friends, took your advice and drank until I passed out.”

“That was not my advice.” Himeko’s frown makes you smile. “At least you left your house and returned safely. I told you it’d be good for you not to stay cooped up in here.”

You hum absentmindedly. “I don’t remember most of the night, honestly. I think I made out with someone for like… twenty minutes, four songs. But that’s not why I called— I got something in the mail today.”

Before Himeko can ask what it is, you reach for the jewelry box on the coffee table and hold it up to the camera so the necklace is in full view. You tilt it this way and that, the outside light reflecting prettily on the clear-cut gems. You watch Himeko’s eyebrows raise as she moves from her spot in the engine room, likely headed to her room for that shower she mentioned a few minutes ago.

“Wow, that’s gorgeous. Did you try it on?”

“No.”

“Is that a treat for yourself? You deserve it, you had a really rough week and it’d look good with that fancy low-cut top you have— the silk one?”

Maybe it would, too bad you’ll never wear it.

“I didn’t buy it, I got it as a gift,” you put the necklace down next to you and close the small box, making sure to put an emphasis on the last word.

“Oh? It must have cost a small fortune. From who?”

“Kafka.”

The easygoing smile Himeko wears disappears in an instant. She stops moving somewhere in a hallway, near panoramic windows that show the galaxy beyond them. Tiny creases form along her brows and she stares at you intently, worry and affront clear in her gaze.

“Kafka sent that to you?”

You nod. “She’s been sending me stuff all week, clothes mostly, but this one really took the cake because she texted me from an encrypted number afterwards.”

“Why won’t she leave you alone?” Himeko looks vexed on your behalf and you shrug, relieved that your feelings are validated by her anger. “What did she say? Please, tell me you blocked the number immediately.”

You hesitate a couple of seconds too long, Himeko’s shoulders slump and her lips part to reprimand you but you interrupt her readily, “I blocked her! I swear. She said she wanted to ‘make amends’ and it pissed me off so bad, I blocked her number again. Can you believe her ego? Does she think my world revolves around her, that I’m just waiting for her to make it up to me before I take her back with open arms? We didn’t even have anything. We used each other for sex and despite the semblance of good-natured relationship we had, she still chose to betray me!”

Himeko studies the hurt in your eyes at your outburst and pauses, her gaze flitting across your face for a moment. You exhale, willing yourself to calm down. Your heart rate has picked up a few paces and you despise how easily Kafka gets a rise out of you without even being in the room. The redhead leans on a nearby wall.

“You have every right to be as angry as you feel,” she starts, meeting your eyes with a knowing look in her golden ones, “but… You’re this angry because you have feelings for her, don’t you?”

“W-What?” Your stutter sells you out and Himeko tilts her head in a silent gesture to not lie to her.

“I had my doubts. You talked about her a lot, I don’t even think you noticed. And your word choice just now; ‘betray you’?” You wanted to trust her and hoped she'd let you in, but she manipulated you instead. It’s normal to be hurt, and while I have… opinions about that, you can’t help what you feel.”

You look away from the screen, lowering the camera in resignation. There’s no use in arguing Himeko’s point because you both know the truth already and you’re too out of it to fight the obvious. You don’t say anything so the line is silent for a while, Himeko resumes her walk towards her cabin and gives you a moment to gather your thoughts. You didn’t know you talked about Kafka this often but the information doesn’t surprise you, she made your days exciting and you genuinely liked her for more than sex. You used the latter as an excuse to justify the former countless times. From the beginning, you were attracted to more than her body, and from the beginning, you were more attached to her than she was to you. Even though these are facts that you’re aware of, your throat tightens at the reminder.

“I hate it,” you say quietly after a while, facing Himeko’s figure in the camera.

“I know, sweetheart. Nothing’s easy about what you’re going through right now, but it’s not the end of everything. I’m here to help you through it and you have your friends that are there for you too, just don’t isolate yourself while we figure out a path forward, okay?”

“What if she contacts me again?”

“Then you tell me immediately.”

“What, you’ll come to beat her up?”

Himeko laughs softly. “I don’t resort to violence without at least a conversation first, but….”

Her long pause brings a white toothed smile to your face and Himeko’s eyes crinkle at the corners at the sight.

After assuring you that she’ll text you in the evening, Himeko hangs up the call. You run a hand over your face, chest heavy. You’ll donate the necklace once you feel less like a wet rag that’s been wrung until no moisture is left. Someone will probably be happy to stumble upon a find like this one, and if Kafka’s ill intentioned gesture can bring happiness to one person then perhaps that cancels everything out.

The next afternoon, you find yourself in a clothing store that resembles the one you first met Kafka in months ago, browsing the racks for whatever catches your eye. Shopping for clothes relaxes you; feeling the different fabrics and textures under your fingertips, finding a piece that resonates with you, admiring the craftsmanship and creation process of the items on display are all things that take your mind off the mundanity of your life. You’re not that well-versed in fashion, not really, even if it interests you. You’re approached by one of the store’s consultants and it’s as you politely decline her help that you realize that this is something you could do. You could take classes about a subject that actually matters to you and work in that domain afterwards— maybe you’ll learn how to make your own clothes and sharpen your personal style. The idea makes you smile among elegant blouses. You can deal with your parents’ expectations of you if it means you won’t spend another day in an office researching mechanical components for projects you don’t care about.

You pass by your local thrift store to donate the necklace, but they won’t accept it. The employee’s eyes widens after one look and drags her manager to the front, who in turn adamantly refuses to take such a precious item from you. They wouldn’t know how to price it and its value is a few zeros too many to belong in a thrift store. You leave the place a little dejected, you don’t want to make any money out of it or it’ll feel like Kafka did you a favor in the end. You look at the box in your hands for a minute, then make up your mind. You’ll pawn it and give the money from it to the families who lost their loved ones during the incident last week. It won’t bring them back, it might not alleviate their families’ grief at all, but at least they’ll be set for years in the future and that’s something, right? That’s one thing Kafka would have (indirectly) done to make amends.

You decide to pawn the necklace after doing a bit more research about it to make sure you don’t get ripped off. You put it back in your bag for the time being and make your way back to your home, shopping bags around both of your wrists. By car, it takes less than half an hour to reach your apartment building. You carefully park in the designated spot and struggle to carry all of your bags to the elevator. Maybe splurging on clothes wasn’t the best financial decision when you plan to return to school and are currently unemployed. You repeat the phrase “I deserve it” like a mantra all the way to your floor. Standing in front of your door, you’ve almost completely deluded yourself that you do, indeed, deserve five new pairs of pants, nine pretty tops and two jackets you’ll wear at most three times in the next year. You’re not too sure about the pairs of shoes you bought afterwards…

You free one hand to turn the key into the hole and push the door open. Picking the shopping bags back up, you step into your apartment with a sigh, wondering how you’ll begin to start this new chapter of your life. The door hasn’t fully closed behind you that you freeze where you stand, assaulted by the various colors and fragrances of flowers resting on every surface of your home, some in bouquets twice as big as the other ones and all of them transforming your apartment into a disorganized greenhouse. Your mouth opens, bewildered. You can’t count the different kinds of flowers that are there, you only recognize a handful of them. You’re so shocked by the sight that you don’t notice the figure stepping out of your kitchen until she speaks and a sharp scream of surprise flies from your lips.

“Hey– It’s just me,” Kafka lifts her gloved hands in a gesture she means peaceful.

Stupefied, the bags in your hands fall to the ground with a soft thud. Your heart races wildy in your chest and you cover your mouth with a palm, eyes closing with the next shaky exhale that you let out. It takes you a minute to slow the drumming of your heart enough to utter words that aren’t strained.

“How did you get in here?”

“You didn’t change the locks. Seriously, it’s like you wanted me to show up again.” Her joke lands flat and her smile falters an inch at your glare. “Not in the mood for jokes, alright.”

She walks to the couch and picks up an item your eyes previously skimmed over. It’s an intricate hexagonal vase with a soft brown tint, clearly meticulously made. The glass looks very fragile judging by the way she carries it and outstretches her hands towards you, presenting it to you like a gift.

“For the flowers you want to keep,” she says.

You’re going to break it over her head.

#honkai star rail #hsr kafka #kafka x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #kafka x you #hsr x you

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colettebronte · 29 days ago

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She Rings Like a Bell Through the Night: Chapter 10

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Pairing: Vampire!Anthony Bridgerton x Witch!fem Reader

Summary: The Witch returns to England

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: 18+ for the overall fic. For this chapter: warnings for smut, specifically a hand job and oral sex. Minors DNI. I will put this up on Ao3 so please do not repost my work elsewhere

Author’s Note: I apologize for the delay in posting, this chapter took longer to get out than I expected. It was originally meant to just feature Gregory, but well, the story decided otherwise. Also, you read the warning right, we’re back with some smut, about two-thirds of the way through. Thank you as always to @fayes-fics for continuing to be the best and most patient beta reader

London, England 1800-1850

You stand in front of an office on an unassuming side street, looking at the placard beside the door that reads ‘William Mondrich, Esquire’. It’s nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, the time of your appointment with the lawyer. You knock and a moment later are surprised as the man himself, as described to you by your mutual acquaintance, opens the door and leads you inside.

His office, though small, is all elegant hardwood furniture accented by the light blue wallpaper and matching carpet. Mr. Mondrich leads you to a large desk, ushering you into a seat as he moves to the other side. The late afternoon sun filters through a gauzy white curtain that bathes his office in a pleasant glow.

The lawyer watches you with kind, keen eyes as you settle into your chair, your gloved hands folding over the leather folio in your lap. When you are at last in repose, Mr. Mondrich speaks.

“Ms. Y/l/n, as outlined in your letters, what you aim to accomplish here in London is possible, especially with the resources you have available. I have, as you requested, opened both a personal and business bank account for you, as well as started negotiations with the city on your behalf to purchase the land and buildings you wish to acquire.

You nod, impressed with the headway he’s already made. Fingers tapping lightly on the folio, you ask him, “And the progress on obtaining my business license?”

Mr. Mondrich shuffles a stack of paperwork on his desk and hands you a document. “It was approved yesterday.”

With a smile you take it from him and examine it, your approval to run an apothecary shop in the city of London. As you read, you say, “Excellent work, Sir.”

You look up as he nods, a carefully neutral look on his face. He folds his hands on his desk and, after a moment, says, “It’s all going well and I expect to have this business wrapped up in a few months but I must ask you, why did you choose me? There are far more prestigious lawyers in town and with the funds at your disposal, you could easily hire ten men better than me.”

You open the folio in your lap and pull out a calling card and place it on the table between you. He picks it up and studies it for a moment before looking up at you in surprise. One side is blank, but the other has a personal note written to him by your mutual acquaintance.

“You know Agatha,” he says softly as he puts down the card.

“I do,” you tell him, adding, “I spent the last quarter of a century in her company in Bombay.”

Mr. Mondrich stares, face inscrutable as you continue your explanation.

“From what Agatha told me, the three of us have something in common. We all fell in love with,” you pause to find the right words before landing on, “unique individuals who have gifted us with extended lives.”

The lawyer blinks once, then twice, before shaking his head with a wry smile. “My wife Alice certainly is unique. And as for being given the gift of an extended life, that is also true.” He sits back in his chair and seems to view you in a different light. “That’s why you chose to meet so late in the day, isn’t it?”

You nod. “As someone who has had to adjust to life with vampires, I know it’s easier to start the day late so as to be able to spend as much time with them as possible at night.” You lean forward, voice conspiratorial as you add, “I’ve also learned that the power of a good mid-day nap really helps one’s constitution.”

Mr. Mondrich laughs with his whole body. “It does indeed.” After a moment, he leans forward to shake your hand. “Thank you for choosing me, Ms. Y/l/n. Please call me Will from now on.”

You shake his hand in return, knowing that Agatha has steered you to the right man for this job. “Thank you Will. Please call me Y/n.”

Five months later, you’re standing side-by-side on a sunny main thoroughfare, watching as workmen finish hanging the sign above your new shop, Aubrey Apothecary. Once the men are gone, Will turns to you and holds up a ring of keys, newly made, the different keys cast in mismatching gold, silver and copper metal.

He pulls three brass keys off the ring and presses them into your hand. Pointing to them, he says, “These two are for the outer and inner doors of the shop and this one is for your flat above.” He pauses to jangle the rest of the keys. “These are for the businesses and flats on both sides of the street that you are now the landlord for.”

“Landlady,” you correct him with a soft smile.

“Landlady,” he repeats. “I’ve directed all business and rental inquiries to go through my office so that you’re free to run the apothecary without bother. All rent money will be deposited into your accounts bi-weekly.”

You turn to him and offer your hand. “Thank you Will. I couldn’t have done any of this without your help.”

He takes up your hand. “It’s been my pleasure. I look forward to a long and prosperous business and personal relationship.” He releases your hand and reaches into a pocket inside his jacket, pulling out an item wrapped in a handkerchief. “Alice wanted me to give this to you.”

It’s a small, blown-glass lily, a symbol of good luck. You hold it carefully in your free hand. “Please thank her for me. Let her know I will be keeping late hours a few nights a week, so I would be happy to receive her if she wants to stop by.”

Will smiles. “I’ll pass along the message.” He nods and then tips his hat, leaving you to unlock and explore your new shop.”

Once inside, the double-paned glass you had insisted on installing blocks out most of the sounds of busy street noise. The main room is large with pale green wallpaper and light coming in from the front windows as well as from high ones cut out from the walls and ceiling above and behind the counter. You had directed Will to source sturdy wooden pieces from rural artisans, caring more for craftsmanship than cost. The results were worth it. The counter was made from oak and spanned two-thirds the length of the room. Carved into it were symbols that appeared decorative but had personal meaning to you. The wooden knobs were the shape of lilacs and there was a slot carved out for you to place your beloved stained glass bird.

Behind the counter were tall, floor to ceiling wooden shelves, also carved from oak. They were filled with glass containers of all shapes and sizes that held different types of medicinal herbs, tinctures, tea blends, live plants and shelf-stable liquid remedies. You had installed a wooden ladder on wheels that ran on a small brass track that could allow you to reach anything on even the highest shelf with ease.

The back room of the shop held barrels and shelves full of herbs and other medicinal items you had sourced from all over England, as well as those sent to you from China and India by Daphne and Kate, with the assurance from both they would send you more of what you needed.

You make your way upstairs to the flat, your new home. The walls are lined with the same pale green wallpaper as downstairs. The furniture, while sturdy, is not as intricate as what is in the shop below. You enter a sitting room with a cozy settee and bookshelf filled with tomes and trinkets you’ve collected on your travels.

Just beyond, there is a small galley kitchen and three additional rooms. The largest, you made your bedroom, while the others serve as storage for your personal items. Thick, green curtains tied back adorn the sides of your bedroom windows, which face the street below. Your bed is large and luxurious, covered with a quilt Edwina and her daughters made for you. You smooth your hand over the swirl of colors as you think of your friends.

On your nightstand sits the box holding the glass orb that contains the spell Agatha gave you. You’ve faithfully kept up caring for it, but the glow from within the glass remains the same as it did when she first bestowed it upon you. But you remind yourself, with such intricate spellwork, patience, as well as time, are key.

Your opening day is modest with a steady stream of curious people stopping in to check out your selection and to suss out your knowledge. Will stands by watching with quiet support, refilling his cup of Oolong tea and plate of biscuits throughout the day. By the time you close, you’ve handed out many pamphlets and medicinal tea samples and even managed a few sales.

Business starts slow with the people of London unsure of your focus on Eastern medicine, but soon enough, you build a reputation for your knowledge, kind demeanor, and, most importantly, good results. Within a year, business is so booming that it becomes impossible to manage it all on your own so you advertise for a Shop Assistant.

While you vet applicants during the day, Alice Mondrich stops by to help you in the evenings, sorting through your latest shipments from Canton and Bombay and even assisting you in bottling tinctures and pill-making. She regales you with tales from her youth and how she met Will.

After a month of searching for the perfect employee, one quite literally lands on your front step. You’ve just opened the door and are setting out your welcome mat when a young man with bright eyes and chestnut hair, who appears to be about fifteen years old, walks by, staring at your ‘Help Wanted’ sign and trips over the cobblestone. You reach out to catch him, your hand grasping his and you both stare at each other in shock as the feel of Bridgerton magic flows through you. He jumps back, but remains holding your hand. He stares down at your wrist, which is covered by a glove, but all the same, he seems to sense Anthony’s magic within you.

“I’m Gregory,” he croaks out, squeezing your hand like it’s a lifeline.

“You’re hired,” you smile and tell him.

Over cups of tea, Red Clover for you, Chamomile for him, you learn how he came to be in London, his years spent traveling after separating from Violet and his sister Hyacinth and how he’s still young enough to be able to walk in daylight, as well as nighttime. You outline what his responsibilities will be as Shop Assistant, and you offer him one of your spare rooms to stay in. Later, he helps you clear the room out before returning with his possessions in a well-worn travel bag.

Gregory becomes indispensable, not only helping you to take orders and prepare remedies, but he also comes up with the idea of delivering orders to those unable to return to the shop. His preternatural speed allows him to be efficient even as he zig-zags around the vastly growing city, ensuring customers are not without their much-needed medicine.

He seems indefatigable and you’re not sure when he makes time to feed, but you come to cherish him as a little brother, all while trying to remember he is, in fact, older than you.

Some nights, while packing orders with you and Alice, he becomes maudlin, reflecting quietly on how he misses his family, so you tell him stories of your time with his mother and Daphne, as well as a sanitized version of how you met Anthony. If Alice casts you knowing glances, you ignore them.

Business continues to flourish and before you know it, it’s been nearly fifteen years since your doors opened. One particular night, dusk has just settled over the city and you’ve turned the closed sign but are keeping the door unlocked as you wait for Gregory to return from his final delivery run.

You’re in the back, checking on inventory, when you hear the front bell ring. Wiping your hands on your apron, you go out to greet Gregory, only to stop dead in your tracks.

It’s Violet. After nearly sixty-five years since your tearful goodbye, she is standing in your shop. For a long moment, all you can do is stare at each other.

Her eyes fill with tears as she exclaims, “Oh, it is you! I heard people’s description of this place and its proprietress, and I thought, surely it had to be you, and it is!”

Her words wash over you as you, too, begin to cry as you rush over to hug her, holding her in a tight embrace. You’re both sobbing and rocking together, neither of you in any hurry to let go until the front bell rings again and there is a sharp gasp as Gregory enters and takes in the scene.

His voice is small and full of hope as he asks, “Mother, is that you?”

Violet whirls around instantly and looks between Gregory and you and then she’s tugging both of you into a warm embrace, all three of you weeping silently.

Once your tears are dry, you send word for both Alice and Will to join you, which turns your reunion into a merry affair as you introduce your friends to your adopted mother. It’s then you learn that Alice and Violet are already acquainted, having met when Agatha was taking care of her. As they share tales from Violet’s youth, you sit back and marvel at how miraculous the world truly is.

Violet moves in, and your cozy flat truly starts to feel like home. While Violet sleeps by day, you and Gregory continue to run the shop. Your evenings are filled with her calming presence as you take the time to at last explore the city. Together with the Mondriches, you go out to restaurants, attend the opera and even the occasional ball. As the Regency period gives way to Victorian though, you find yourself growing restless, despite your success and happiness.

It’s Alice who sits you down one night over a bottle of excellent brandy, proposing that it’s time for you to move on to your next adventure. You protest, even as you know she’s right. Violet chimes in from the kitchen, asserting that she and Gregory can take over the shop for as long as you wish it to remain open.

You worry about falling out of touch with her again, but Will promises he’s not going anywhere and is happy to be a point of contact, ensuring you won’t lose any of them, no matter how much time passes.

And so you pull out a map and begin to plan.

—

The night before your departure, you ready yourself for bed. The day had been spent going over the final preparations and the release of your excited energy has left you exhausted. You burrow under your blanket and sink into the plush mattress, ready to sleep. That’s when you fall into a dream, your most vivid yet.

You roll over, only to stare into a pair of familiar, dark eyes. Though aware you are asleep, you reach over and are surprised to feel a solid, warm cheek under your hand. Anthony smiles and turns his face to press a kiss into your palm.

After a long moment of staring at you, he shifts and pulls you into his arms, your body held flush against his. You feel his interest as your thighs brush against his hardening cock. You start to place a hand between you, but he takes it, bringing it up to his lips, his mouth opening as his tongue generously laves your fingers and palm, making you moan at the sight.

He releases your hand and you reach down into his sleep pants to take hold of him. Though his mouth remains closed, you can hear his moan reverberating in your mind. The sound makes you suddenly desperate for him, the overwhelming desire to take and be taken making your passion a hurried, needy thing. His face is awash in the pleasure of your touch as you work your slick fingers up and down his length with ease, the memory of the last time you touched him clear in your mind as if it had been mere days ago and not nearly a century.

Anthony throws his head back, bucking as you speed up your movements against his skin, not wanting to delay his pleasure. He presses his face into the crook of your neck as he tips over the edge, the sound of his wanton moans and the scent of him filling your senses.

After he comes, you rub your hands down his back and into his hair as he takes deep breaths, nostrils flaring as he tries to compose himself. This Anthony is just as warm and beautiful as the real one you remember.

Just when you’re sure you’re about to wake up, Anthony pulls the quilt over your head and slides down your body. The memory of his mouth fills you with warmth anew as a familiar dampness floods below. He smiles that sharp, wicked way he does in nearly every dream and then, without warning, lifts up the hem of your nightdress and parts your folds with that talented tongue of his as you grasp the sheets under you.

You feel, rather than hear, him humming against your clit and then you too are bucking against him. He steadies you against the mattress as he sets an agonizingly slow pace, teasing and leaving you impossibly turned on.

It takes all your willpower to gently squeeze your thighs and not crush him as you want to, but he seems to get the message all the same. Raising his face, while still firmly attached to you, his eyes meet yours and you stare into his as he works away at you, his tongue speeding up its wild thrusting and swirling. And then, with a shout, you’re reaching forward to grasp his powerful shoulders, his warm skin still flushed like yours.

After what feels like a blink of an eye, you’re breathing deeply, held in his arms, both of you lying back against your pillows. Anthony traces a gentle finger over the contours of your face, a soft smile on his handsome face. And for the first time in a long time, you speak to him in your dream.

“I want to come find you, before I leave England,” you say softly.

Dream Anthony shakes his head, his face morphing into a look of resigned sadness. His mouth is closed, but his voice reverberates in your mind.

“Not yet, my sweet, clever witch.”

Somehow, you knew this would be his reply. Not wanting to jolt yourself awake, you keep your tone quiet as you ask, “Why not?”

He leans down to nuzzle your cheek as his voice once again sounds in your mind, “I still have so much to do before I’m ready for you to come home. But soon, I promise.”

You turn your face to brush your lips against his. And that is when you awaken.

—

The day dawns bright and clear as you make your way to the Port of London. Will and Gregory are seeing you off, having bade Violet and Alice goodbye the night before at a dinner hosted at Mondrich House.

As Will directs your luggage to your quarters, Gregory pulls you off to the side as people bustle around you. He hands you something small, wrapped tightly in blue tissue paper.

“Thank you for taking me in all those years ago,” he says. “And for helping me reunite with Mother,” he adds solemnly.

You take the small item, unwrapping it to reveal a bead carved from Sapphire, a stone that, among other things, represents strong bonds between friends and family. As you string it onto your necklace, you tell him, “I don’t know that I did anything; I was merely in the right place, at the right time.”

Gregory is quiet for a moment as he helps you put your pendant back on, his bead now sitting beside Daphne’s. You give him a hug and before parting, he says, “I think it’s much more than just coincidence. It feels as if we’re all meant to meet you,” he says thoughtfully, before adding, “I think it’s all leading to something, someday.”

You can only stare at him and think back to that day, so long ago, in the village where you stood beside Lord Edmund’s statue and drew energy from it to cast your reunion spell. Perhaps by asking for his help, it had caused you to become an active participant?

Your thoughts are interrupted by Will’s return. He embraces you warmly and then he and Gregory are bidding you goodbye as the whistle signals departure time is near.

That evening, you’re back in your cabin, studying your travel itinerary. Originally, you weren’t certain why you chose Venice as your destination. But all you know is that something, or rather someone, is calling you there, a name forming on the very air around you.

And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a sort of anticipation at meeting him.

Benedict.

Next Chapter

taglist: @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @faye-tale @cosmiclove330 @abridgerton @fiction-is-life @kmc1989 @alexandrainlove @ietss @multi-fandom-lover7667 @turtle-cant-communicate @liliac-dreamer @hottytoddyhistory @laniec03 @sky0401 @kwbaby24 @spideymanluver @queenofmean14 @jtheteenagewitch

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x you #she rings like a bell through the night

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bravetimetravellingaussie · 10 months ago

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And it feels like home

Chapter 1

Summary: Peter Parker is minding his own business when along comes the merc with a mouth, shenanigans will ensue

Warnings: foul language, it's got deadpool in it? I think that works as it's own warning

Possible spoilers, Spider-man: No Way Home, and Deadpool and Wolverine

"Where are you getting the guns from?" Spider-man stood on the edge of a towering building, holding onto a a thin white piece of web, from the end of which hung a flailing and terrified criminal.

"Agh!! Shit shit shit shit shit! I don't know! I don't fucking know! Shit! Please! Come on man, let me go!"

"If you say so." Spider-man let go of the web for a second, letting the man fall a couple of metres before catching the web again.

"OKAY LOOK MAN I'LL FUCKING TELL YOU ANYTHING YOU WANT TO KNOW JUST PLEASE PUT ME BACK ON THE GROUND BACK ON THE GROUND PLEASE DONT DROP ME!"

"Thought so."

Since the disappearance of Peter Parker, the man behind the mask didn't have to put in any effort to make himself sound older. He also scarcely had to ask the same question more than twice. He rarely had the patience to ask a third time, and he could barely find the willpower to restrain himself from violence by the fourth.

It scared him sometimes how much he yearned for an excuse to punch people these days.

Peter Parker shifted the sleeve of his suit to check his watch as he slung through the city on his way back home after a long night of doing what he hoped was good enough to be considered superhero work.

3 am.

Peter groaned. He could feel how tired he was going to be for the rest of the day already.

"I fucking hate Mondays."

"Welcome to McDonald's, how can I help you?" Peter could barely keep his eyes fully open they were so dry.

"Hi, Tom, I'd like someone to drop a skincare routine that actually works for me and to get a job that pays well enough for me to move out of my mom's house so I can have fun time in the night time with my boyfriend without her screaming at us to shut up already. I'd move in with my girlfriend but she's abroad right now and she's having some friends house sitting for her. I'd understand if she didn't trust me with her plants or something, but she doesn't even have plants! I think she might just not trust me. I got her shot one time and I don't think she's over it yet, even though she never got shot because of me, because I went back in time and fixed that."

Peter glanced at his name tag that had 'PETER' written on it in bold letters. Then he looked back up at the man wearing leather from head to toe. It might have been red originally, but Peter couldn't help but wonder if it had been stained red by the multitude of wounds the man had all over his body, bullet wounds and stab wounds, slashes a gashes. The worst of which seemed to be the man's freshly amputated hand.

"McDonald's welcome help you how?"

"Oh, right, I'm sorry, your customer service voice is so soothing and therapeutic. Shame they don't let you speak in your mother tongue, they know it'd be too much for the world to handle." The man leaned his elbows on the counter and rested his head in his hand, kicking one leg up.

Blood dripped from the man's wrist down onto the counter, but Peter was so sleep deprived all he could think about was how he was gonna have to clean that up.

"Alright! I'd like a big meal, big mac with fries and coke. I do mean the drinking kind, unfortunately, damn that Feige guy, Blind Al has a bone to pick with him after the bullshit she had to go through for Deadpool and Wolverine." The man chuckles. "You know how it is."

Peter would have said, no, I really don't, but for all the weird shit he'd encountered in his life, this was just about the strangest.

"I'd pay for this, but I don't carry my wallet in my work pants. I think this is gonna have to be on the house, you'll do that for me, wontcha Tommy, my bestest friend in the whole wide multiverse?" The man didn't want for an answer before taking the paper bag that had just been placed on another counter and running out of the store, waving at Peter through the glass once he was outside.

"Sir, that- sir that wasn't... That wasn't your order, sir- that was not your order," one of Peter's coworkers said quietly beneath her breath as she stared after the man in red.

Everyone else in the McDonald's seemed to have been similarly entranced. Somewhere a child was crying.

"I'm taking a sick day," Peter said to no one in particular.

#deadpool #spider man #spiderman #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #wolverine #poolverine #there will be poolverine #deadpool & wolverine #this is my second time writing fanfic and my first time sharing it so #feedback welcome

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andguesswhat · 2 years ago

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I knoooooow, I'm wayyyy too early... but I thought so much is going to be posted on his birthday that this will be overlooked anyway.

Feel free to read it on his birthday again... ;)

BIRTHDAY.

The doorbell rang and something in his head told him that the ringing did not belong to the dream he was dreaming.

Armie groaned. He was still lying in bed, too sleepy and too much attached to the sweet dream he just had to be able to move or even have the will to move. He blinked dozily to the alarm clock. Who the hell rang their doorbell so early anyway? And on his birthday at that?

Their friends should know by now that this really wasn't the right time. By the way - he looked around puzzled. Where was Timmy? And why wasn’t he lying next to him? Had he run errands and forgotten the keys? Again? The doorbell rang for the second time. Sighing, Armie got up, put on underpants and a shirt, and reluctantly trotted down the stairs. It looked like someone was standing right outside the door, so it had to be Tim somehow, and Armie was already about to teach him a lesson about always forgetting his keys, but when he opened the door and Tim was standing in front of him.... something was... different. He couldn’t quite put his fingers on it yet. The curls... somehow coiffed... boyishly.

The clothes... somehow ... shabby, and actually not far from a rent boy’s.

The smile... polite. As if he was seeing him for the first time.

Plus big Bambi eyes, innocent and young... and cute, very cute... but also kinda secretly and curiously checking him out.

In summary: Puppy alert with a slutty touch.

Hmh. And then, on top, that: "Good morning, Sir! Are you Mr. Hammer?" And because Armie was still really tired, really confused and wondering if maybe he was still asleep after all and just dreaming something really weird, he just said, "Yeah." "I have a delivery for ya, Mr. Hammer!" Timmy chewed nervously on a piece of gum and handed Armie the large cake box he was holding. "Um… Thanks," Armie said and accepted the cake, because he was still pretty perplexed, besides well behaved.

One look through the clear cutout of the box told him it was a cake with lots of white cream around. "Happy Birthday Armie" was written in fondant, the letters shaped like little hammers and nails. Cute. "According to the cake it's your birthday, Sir, so please let me wish you a very happy one! All the best to you, Mr. Hammer!" Timmy grinned mischievously at him, but then immediately gulped with agitation and nervously tugged at his shirt. What the hell was this? But before Armie could formulate any thought in his head, Timmy said, "Nice house that you have, Mr. Hammer. You live here on your own?" Armie was kind of lost. Some new role he didn't know about and Timmy wanted to try out now?

"... No. I live here with... my husband." He still couldn't quite get used to the fact that Tim was now finally actually fucking officially and not just symbolically his husband. He smiled about that for a second before he added dryly, "But it seems he has something better to do, he's not here." A mini tiny grin flit across Timmy's face, so Armie could at least assume that this was his Timmy in front of him and he hadn't ended up in some freaky parallel universe.

Or had he?

Because now Timmy was all serious again and looking at him with those big big Bambi eyes, saying "Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that, Mr. Hammer. No one wants to be alone on their birthday, do they, Sir?” Armie desperately needed a coffee.

But somehow he decided to join the circus. This strange Timmy was just too cute to be disappointed, so he said with a lot of self-pity, “No. Not at all." Timmy chewed his gum twice, then said, "Maybe I could cheer you up?" Armie had to laugh. Now the penny had dropped for good and he was more than ever in the game.

“And how do you wanna do this?" he asked Tim provocatively. Timmy shrugged his shoulders shyly and bold at the same time, "I don't know."

Sure, he wouldn’t know. Armie laughed again. Man, there was something about the way Timmy looked at him. There were all kinds of things in that look. Kind of admiring and awestruck, but also kind of audacious and hot.

It wasn't like he had to complain that Timmy wasn't looking at him with desire after all these years anymore, but this pretending to not know each other…. It was hot. Fucking hot.

Added of course that Tim looked like some cute slutty twink. It certainly made Armie feel awake. And horny. And because he was really into this Timmy, he said, "You could come in? So that I'm not so alone on my birthday?" "Oh I don't know... I don't want to disturb you..." Armie laughed again. Now all innocent again. Timmy played his role really damn well.

"What's your name? I guess it's not Timmy?" he asked.

"Timmy? No, Sir, why? My name is Danny, Sir." "Okay, Danny,” Armie let all his charm play. “Would you please do me the honor of joining me for coffee so I'm not so alone on my birthday?"

For a second they just looked at each other and Armie enjoyed how he could see on Timmy’s face Danny weighing everything up, before he finally said, “Ok.”

There. Armie smiled.

“But,” Timmy continued and raised his index finger, “but just for a minute. I'm sure your husband will be back soon for your birthday and ..." He trailed off and stepped into his own house, respectful, marveling and curious as if he had never seen it before. "And what?" asked Armie to pick up Timmy’s or better Danny’s thought. "Nothing, Sir. I just don't want to cause any trouble." Armie laughed. "I'll bet you don't.” He walked into the kitchen and Timmy followed him cautiously.

“So … Danny… you're working as a delivery boy for cakes?" Armie put the cake on the table and began operating the coffee machine. "Yeah, just started.” Timmy began to tell, “Just moved to L.A. recently. Found out I wanted something different in life.... " "And what would that be?" "I... I have to be honest with you, Sir, I hope you don't mind. It wasn't easy in my hometown,.... to find like-minded people, if you know what I mean."

Cute, hot and very adorable. "And did you find what you were looking for?" Armie pushed the button on the coffee machine. "Well, I live in West Hollywood now.... Crazy place ... I'm a little overwhelmed… I’m shy, you know.... I'm still new to all this.... But I think I can feel at home there." Oh, God, there was really something special about this Danny. So innocent, so sweet, and so damn sexy. So ready to get down in the dirt. So ready for everything to explore. Just a little inhibition threshold that had to be overcome. And that was the moment when Armie decided that there were really more important things than coffee.

Like fucking this newbie here for example. Showing him all he wanted to explore. So Armie took a step toward this Danny, leaned in close, really close and said, "There's no need to be shy in West Hollywood, Danny." For a moment, just closeness and breathing, senses heightened. As if this was really their first encounter. Crazy. Really crazy. And fascinating. Fascinating as fuck. Timmy swallowed noticeably. "I'm sorry, Sir," he breathed, licking his lips. "I think I need to go now, Mr. Hammer." "And why is that?" Armie whispered in Timmy's ear, making sure his breath brushed Timmy's cheek. "Because I might have a huge boner in my pants, and I don't want you to think I'm being disrespectful or anything." Armie bit his lower lip with a grin. What an adorable little shit.

"Oh, I don't think you’re disrespectful, Danny. Besides, it's a good fit. I have a big boner in my pants too, you know." "You have?" Timmy turned his face up a little so that their lips were only inches from each other. How could those lips suddenly be so irresistible, when he'd already kissed them countless times? "Yeah, I have.” Armie murmured. “And it craves for attention. Do you want to feel it?"

Another swallow. "If you want me, too, Sir." Fuck, where was all this tension coming from? His whole body was tingling. "Yes, I want you to. Come on, touch it, Danny. Feel my big cock." Tim slowly reached out and felt Armie's hard cock. He swallowed immediately, as if feeling Armie's boner for the first time and being impressed about its size. This little motherfucker. "Do you like what you feel?" "Yes, Mr. Hammer..."

God, Armie was hard as a rock from all this shit. "But I was just wondering ... Sir." "What are you wondering?" Armie asked darkly.

He was enjoying all of this way too much. "I was wondering how it would - . But like I said, I’m new to this, Mr. Hammer." Timmy's voice was no more than a huff. "How about you just try it ..." Armie's fingers were sliding over Timmy's cheek, over his lips, feeling the soft flesh, but he resisted the temptation to kiss them, the tension was just too hot. He didn't want to break that. "I'd like that, Mr. Hammer. I'd love to try, Sir." And then Tim slowly knelt down while Armie put down his pants and pulled out his hard cock. Tim swallowed once more, nervously licked his lips, his eyes focused on Armie’s dick and then slowly approached it with his lips slightly parted, slowly sliding them over the swollen tip and finally taking Armie’s cock deep into his wet and hot mouth. Fuuuck!

He shouldn’t like this so much, should he?

Tim began sucking and licking on his cock while looking up at him with wide, devoted eyes, asking him silently if he was doing good, and yes, of course he was doing good! Fucking good.

"Yes, Danny, just like that, suck my dick," he assured him, moaning loudly because it felt so incredibly good. And as absurd as it was, as this was Timmy in front of him, Armie really wanted to show this Danny what it felt like to be fucked in the mouth.

"Do you like sucking cock, Danny? Do you like sucking my big, hard cock?" Tim eased off him, his lips wet with saliva. "Yes, Mr. Hammer." "And do you want to know what it feels like when I fuck your cute little mouth with my big, hard cock?" Tim pretended to be both shocked and immensely aroused by the thought and even topped the absurdity with saying, "I'd love to, but I'm not sure I can take it, Mr. Hammer?" Yes, you can, you little shit, Armie thought laughing inside, before he said understandingly, "I'll take it slow, okay?" Tim nodded sheepishly, and Armie unceremoniously grabbed his curls, causing Tim to gasp. Armie was completely fascinated by this game. How well it was working. How many times had he sunk his cock into Tim's mouth, and now he was looking at Tim, who was looking at him excited and aroused, as if he was doing it for the first time. "So open that sweet little mouth of yours for me." And Timmy did just that. Slowly Armie slid his cock into Tim's open mouth, slowly pulled it back out, figured that was actually enough foreplay now, and fucked Tim's mouth a few times until Tim almost choked and stumbled, supporting himself with his hand.

Armie knew that Tim was of course fine, but since it was Danny somehow, he asked, "Everything okay?" Tim looked at him, smiling proudly, "Yeah," And Armie could tell that the Danny in Timmy had caught fire and wanted more. So Armie once again grabbed his face and fucked his mouth a second time.

God, this was high class porn and it definitely had its effects on Armie. "I bet you want to get fucked in your tight little virgin ass by that cock too, huh?" Tim moaned at those words in response and reached for his own cock to squeeze. It was obviously craving attention as well. Armie smiled. "You've got something nice and big hanging between your legs, too, kiddo. Wanna show me?" Tim stood up, all shy but incredibly horny, fully in character.

"Go ahead, show me,” Armie encouraged him. So Timmy opened the button of his pants and when Armie immediately saw Timmy's pubic hair, it was his time to pretend to be surprised. "Oh, a nudie!" Timmy almost giggled in response to Armie's feigned surprise and the delight in his eyes was more Tim than Danny.

But immediately after, Danny was there again, taking his hard cock out of his pants, coyly but proud and horny as fuck. And god, did he look sexy! Armie grabbed Tim's cock and massaged it, making Timmy immediately moan tentatively. "Not bad, Danny. And what a beauty you have. Do you want me to suck your cock too?" Danny probably like Timmy clearly got very aroused at this thought, because the cock in his hand twitched, and Armie once again could only laugh at the whole situation. What a sweet sweet birthday surprise. He grabbed Timmy by the lower jaw, pulled him close and kissed him, kissed Tim, his husband, briefly but tenderly, just to say thank you in advance, before grabbing Danny and pushing him onto the table. "There, now let me show you what sucking cock feels like best, Danny." He slipped Timmy’s pants all the way off, forced Tim to spread his legs, to give him the feeling of being exposed, slid his index and middle finger between Tim’s lips, let Tim suck them wet, spit on his fingers for more wetness afterwards, slid them between Timmy's legs to the hole, pushed against Timmy’s entrance, steadily over the threshold, deep inside him so that Timmy had to hold his breath, encircled Timmy's throat with his other hand, felt Timmy swallow under his palm, knelt down in front of him, with his finger still deep in his ass, reaching for that sweet spot, his other hand still tightly closed around Timmy's throat, and finally encircled Timmy's hard cock with his wet mouth and swallowed it whole.

"Fuuuuck!"

Armie smiled triumphantly.

That had clearly been Timmy.

And if Timmy couldn't act anymore, then it had been good. Armie was already wondering whether Danny was now gone for good when Timmy gasped, "Sir... Mr. Hammer, that was…!" Armie laughed defeated. Ok, apparently he had to come up with something better to get his Timmy back. He sucked him, good and thorough, rubbing his finger over the sweet spot again and again, making Timmy lean back in ecstasy and start moaning unrestrained until he suddenly panted, "God, Sir. I'm close." And Armie stopped immediately.

Tim gasped for breath and looked at Armie questioningly. “Sir? Please!”

"I think you need to get fucked in your tight little virgin ass, before you come, Danny," Armie explained. “So turn around.” "But Sir..." Timmy wanted to protest, but Armie didn't listen and just turned him to the table.

“But Sir, what if…” Timmy tried again, but Armie put one of Timmy's legs on the table for good access, pressed his hand on Timmy's back, grabbed Timmy's hip with his other hand, and positioned his cock at Timmy's entrance.

Timmy groaned in anticipation but apparently still needed something to get off his chest.

“But what if your husband…!” Armie pushed slowly but steadily into Timmy, “Aaah…! Comes home …!!” spread him good, “uuuhh… !! And sees us like that?” and was all the way deep in the heat.

“Fuck that motherfucker!” Armie growled in feigned annoyance and began fucking Timmy.

“If my husband doesn't manage to be at my birthday…,” he continued hoarsely before thrusting into Timmy again, who desperately gasped for air, “he can fuck himself…” another thrust, another moan from Timmy “And if he does come home…” thrust, moan, “he’s welcome to watch. He does not need to think…” Armie thrusted once more and Timmy panted in response, “that he is the only fuckable twink in town!” and this time Timmy quickly turned away from Armie trying in vain to suppress a giggle but Armie of course noticed it anyway. And at that moment Armie felt an ache in his chest. Because he didn't feel like fucking Danny anymore, he just wanted his Timmy back.

Armie paused. His thumb caressing Timmy’s lower back. Timmy turned to him frowning. “Something wrong… Sir?”

“No” said Armie, “I just forgot something. The best part. You’ll see, Danny.”

And then Armie started sliding his hands all over Timmy's back. Very gently, kissing Timmy on the shoulders, between the shoulder blades. His hands ran through Timmy's curls, releasing the back of his neck, and Armie kissed him there, kissed him softly, his lips on soft skin, the small strands of hair tickling his nose, before he let his tongue slide down over the spine, making Timmy contract his shoulders and breathe softly. He knelt in front of Timmy's ass, embracing it with his two hands, gently kneading it while kissing the insides of the butt cheeks, right, left, softly biting them, left, right, and finally, very gently and lightly he ran the tip of his tongue over Timmy's entrance. Timmy gasped softly, his body twitching slightly, his entrance contracting.

“You want more?”

“Yeah…” just a whisper.

Armie massaged Timmy’s hole, with his thumb, with his tongue, licked and pushed inside, the hands constantly kneading the flesh of Timmy’s perfect little tush.

He went on and on, ate him out, long and lasting, and Timmy’s body writhed more and more under the experience, sensual pants and moans filling the air, the groans coming more and more from deep inside Timmy’s body. The intensity increased. Even more so when Armie also massaged Timmy's balls, licked them and pumped his cock.

“Fuck, Armie, this feels so good…” Timmy breathed.

And Armie paused again and straightened up.

“No, Armie... don’t stop, baby, please!” Timmy begged.

Armie smiled warmly. "I just wanted to say hi to my husband. Glad you came after all." Timmy turned around and chuckled sheepishly before he wrapped his arms around Armie.

“Yes, I’m here. Happy Birthday, baby!”

They kissed.

Home.

There was nothing like that feeling.

Danny was fun but this, this was what he wanted. Needed.

“Had things to do?” he asked smiling softly.

“Yeah… Sorry to have kept you waiting.” Timmy’s nose twitched while he grinned.

“No worries, I had nice company. But now I want to do something, baby. Do I have a free wish on my birthday?”

“Yeah… sure.”

"Mind if I fuck my husband now through his orgasm?" Timmy laughed, his eyes shining, his voice a soft hush. "No, I don't mind." And that's what Armie did then. Because the bottom line was that it made him happiest when he satisfied his man to the max.

Just that. With eyes interlocked, he thrust into Tim, his thighs bumping against Timmy's, getting Timmy nearer and nearer over the edge. "God, Armie...!"

Armie’s hands grabbed him mercilessly, and when Timmy’s head reared back, Armie could see how his mind slowly drifted to nirvana.

Because there were all kind of sex. There was "God, you are so fucking hot" sex, there was "I love you more than anything” sex... but now, now it was "I'm off to nirvana" sex.

Armie loved that, that he could bring Timmy there.

At first Timmy always had felt guilty when this had happened. I want to be with you when I come, he had said, don’t we need to look into each others eyes until the end?

No.

Because what could be more beautiful than to let the man you love the most feel this incredibly sensual, body and mind connecting experience of pleasure? And to be responsible for it. That was the sexiest sight ever. So he watched with the greatest devotion as Tim's slender body writhed under his touches and thrusts, loved how Timmy's eyelids fluttered as his head fell back into his neck, loved how his face contorted with lust, loved how those sexy little gasps came out of his half parted mouth, one after the other, loved how every cell of Timmy's body vibrated with pleasure, loved how his moans became more and more urgent, coming closer and closer to the edge, reaching ecstasy, until finally he came with a jerky twitch, the orgasm surging through every fiber like waves, waves, waves.

So beautiful, so incredibly fucking beautiful.

Armie came too, came in Tim, his love, his husband and wanted nothing more than this.

After he had reluctantly detached himself from Timmy, he lay down next to him on the table and just looked at him. Watched how Timmy slowly, ever so slowly, came back down here to earth from his nirvana, smiling softly as he turned to him.

Pure happiness, exhaustion and still, after all these years, shyness because he was out there, gone.

Who wouldn’t fall for that.

“Hey...”

They kissed.

Soft kisses.

Sweet kisses.

Fingers touching the other.

Until Timmy’s curiosity won. "So, what did you think of Danny?" he asked eagerly. Armie laughed. "Well, … he was very cute, definitely. And hot. What more could you ask for? But I think he was an impostor." "What? Why?" Tim pretended to be indignant. "Because he acted so inexperienced and naive and then he sucked me like the sluttiest angel ever." Timmy giggled the cuddliest giggle existing. "Maybe he's just a natural." "Maybe. He had a very nice cock though. Thought about letting him fuck me. But I wasn’t sure if you agree to that.”

“If you like him. I would let you. Maybe he comes back some time.”

“Maybe.”

Timmy opened the box of cake beside him, stroked two fingers over the cream of the cake and held his coated fingers in front of Armie's mouth, who immediately accepted the invitation and licked the cream off. "I was actually expecting, the cake would have an entrance as well,” Timmy said and took another dollop of cream from the cake and shoved it this time into his own mouth. “Sorry, I kind of only had eyes for Danny,” Armie apologized. “But I can make up for it later if you want.“

Timmy bit his bottom lip, grinned, his eyes sparkling with joy.

Once again Armie realized he would never get over the sweetness of his man.

Also, it was not to believe that he was so horny for him again.

And it was the greatest pity that Timmy’s birthday was not until December.

Because he could hardly wait that this time it would be him to ring the doorbell.

And when Timmy would open the door, he would say: "Mr. Chalamet? Here's the hammer you ordered. I hear you have a big pipe to lay? "

#charmie fic #Armie Hammer #charmie #fluffy smut #charmie fanfiction

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romaine2424 · 2 years ago

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20 questions for fic writers!

Thanks for the retro-tag @phdmama and because I'm friends with @sassy-cissa!

It's all under the cut! Note: Assume all fics are Drarry unless otherwise noted.

How many works do you have on AO3? 60 including 1 under Anon.

What's your total AO3 Word Count? ~1.6M (552K of that is one fic. LOL)

What fandoms do you write for? Harry Potter and only Harry Potter

What are your top 5 fics by Kudos? Survival of the Species (47K) Jolene (21.5K) Double Edged Sword (552K) This Ain't the Garden of Eden (131K) Jolene Deux (5K)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yes, though I missed quite a few when I was on hiatus. I love engaging with readers and seeing what in my stories struck their fancy. I've made some great friends over the years through comments on my fic.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? There are No Innocent Vampires (31K). This is a Scarry fic (both are adults). I do have a few others.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Uh, most of them. But if forced to choose, Silver and Gold (70.6K) with Wolf!Draco!

Do you get hate on fics? OMG Yes. My first fic, Double Edged Sword in its earliest chapters was sporked on Deleterius. It’s a wonder I ever wrote again, but I was so pissed off at the Drarry writer who did it, I carried on. Thankfully the site went bye bye. And I also learned from that fic never ever have either Harry or Draco have an affair with Charlie Weasley. LOL. More currently, I just had to lock my current WIP this week because of a troll. ☹

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I write both slash and het but it's not my fav thing to do. I only put it in when it fits a scene and it can take me days and days to write that scene.

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? No

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes, twice. Doubled Edged Sword was brought over to FFN and Survival of the Species brought over to adultfanfiction. The latter was quite funny because someone opened an account using my name to post it.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes but now I'm sad. Almost all of my translated fics are gone. *sobs* The sites they were posted on no longer exist. However, my fav translations were done by Pescadora and her team at Intruders Slashzine. They translated the following in Spanish. And they're beautiful. *happy sigh* Jolene Jolene Deux Silver and Gold

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes, me and 9 of my friends…I think we’re still friends. *just kidding* We each wrote a chapter for this story. If you like Case Fic and haven’t read it, give it a shot. Level Two: Series One

What’s your all-time favourite ship? Drarry but I do write for other ships both slash and het and also Gen. I mainly read Drarry but also the others mentioned. I just really enjoy good plotty HP stories.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? After I finish my current WIP, The Azkaban Letters, (Drarry and Haphne) that I started in 2007, and finish another one I also started in 2007 at Christmas, I’ll be done with all WIPs I’ve posted on AO3. I do have a few in my personal files. One, which I have 30K written for and it’s Scarry. It's the Scarry one I have my doubts about.

What are your writing strengths? Plot and world building. Some folks like my dialogue. I try.

What are your writing weaknesses? Well besides the smut already mentioned, character analysis and slow burn. Definitely more of action/adventure writer.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? No no no. Did it once for Double Edged Sword. It was in Russian for which I had a translator or 3 write out the text for me and give me final approval. To this day I still get Russian readers disagreeing with the text.

First fandom you wrote for? Harry Potter and still here.

Favourite fic you’ve written? This is hard, but for personal reasons, I’d have to say This Ain’t the Garden of Eden. It was the first story I wrote after an almost ten-year break. I had to shut down my muse back then almost overnight, and I wasn’t sure it could be revived. I'm tagging any other writer who wants to join the fun! Free Tag!

#writer ask game

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threegoldfish · 20 days ago

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It touches Steven's heart, to hear the man speak those words out into the open; He talks about himself, his... way of caring, if one shall call it such, just to then give more of those utterly kind words back to Steven.

And he... swallows again, feels his heart fluttering briefly behind the firm of his sternum. They step through the door, leave the infirmary behind---

"...I'm glad you could... grow into who you are now, doctor - despite it all." Despite his past, mentioned but not elaborated upon, and Steven gets it - doesn't push nor prod, just takes it the way it is, listens and accepts. Another smile, something soft at the edges, as he looks over at Harrow - allowing a second of silence to pass before he clears his throat once more.

"I'... I'm sorry that... things happened the way they did. But!" A finger lifts itself into the air, a sudden spark of energy existing, something cheerful, happy. "You have me now! While I, uhm, d-don't really want you to care about me all the time - that's bloody exhausting, really, you shouldn't do that! - I'm still... very happy about receiving some of it, as you may have noticed, so..." It is meant as a bit of a joke, perhaps, lighthearted and a little cheeky... but there's actually a good portion of sincerety stored within those words; Steven likes the man, after all, and he feels so much better because of him caring. Definitely won't complain if he gets to have a bit more of that, yeah...

A chuckle, a shrug, a soft exhale of air. Sheepish, again. "And... thank you. I can only give t-that back to you, honestly: Your words mean a lot. Not sure if you intended for them to, but... yeah." Another bit of something vaguely playful, but honest and heartfelt.

Getting to take a shower, to clean up thoroughly, had felt absolutely amazing to Steven - allowed him to calm down even further, to let go of that stress and anxiety that had filled the whole of his confused being after... well, everything, yeah. He'd also cleaned his face, as carefully as he could, removed all of that dried-up blood (ugh, disgusting) and some of the scabs that were already about to fall off all by themselves; The plaster across the bridge of his nose and the cut on his upper lip are what remains, and he's positive that he can deal with those.

And Steven had... written that letter. Yeah, he had. Mulled it over for a little while there, during the whole of that day - unsure if he really should take a first step and approach that Marc-guy in such a way. But then, in the early evening, he'd decided on giving it a try; Hearing about how much he must struggle had just done something to him, caused that tiny beating heart inside his chest to ache, so... really, there had been no way around it! Steven needed to write this letter, in an attempt to make the unknown man feel better about himself!

Did he start over about three times, throwing away paper after paper? Yes. Did it take him the whole damn evening up until the early night to get it done? Absolutely. But he'd managed, filled three entire pages with whatever he could come up with - talking about himself, what he likes to do, to eat, to listen to, to watch on TV, explained about his odd fascination for anything ancient Egypt, apologized for rambling so much, told about feeling sorry for Marc having to go through a lot of bad stuff...

---Erm, yeah, it's a very long letter indeed. But Steven finished it, satisfied with the outcome - put it to the side, then went to bed with a book in hand, intending to read a few pages.

He fell asleep before he could even start doing such.

Fingers trail along the pages of written text, tracing the lines, the rather messy handwriting; Marc's been reading the whole thing twice so far, is about to do it a third time. The sun's barely up yet, but he can hear some noise coming from outside of his room (people waking up, getting ready for breakfast) - he'd allowed the body to rest for about four hours, then woke up within it, and now here he is.

Moved. Affected. Shoulders heavy, brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. What had happened the day before had... shaken things up quite a bit, yeah - caused Marc to come to terms with the fact that Steven's starting to take over the body without Marc allowing him to, which... well...

---God, the guilt is eating away on him, the fact that poor Steven had to go through it all - had to wake up in the infirmary with blood all over his shirt, nose and entire head hurting, that stupid nurse giving him the worst of times possible. Marc had always done everything he could to protect the man - to keep him from witnessing such kinds of things - but he'd failed this time, and... he thinks that it might not be the first time, all thigs considered.

There's a few days missing for him, after all, and he's pretty sure now that those have been lived by Steven instead. Harrow knows of him, after all, the two chatting along in a rather comfortable way---

Without that doctor having made his way over in the middle of the night, Steven would've gone through an even worse hell. Marc is beyond grateful - and... well, he... should probably tell Harrow such. Talk about the fact that the whole Steven-thing is nothing new to Marc, but rather a constant.

With a sigh falling from his lips, Marc rereads the letter for the mentioned third time. His heart aches because of it, to get to read all the things the other had written down so neatly - caring about Marc, despite not knowing him. Thinking of him being someone else somewhere within this facility, when in reality, Marc has been here with him all the damn time...

When it's finally time for Marc to go to the next meeting with Harrow, it's the late afternoon. A caretaker is picking him up from the community room, leads him over to that office; A knock on that door, and Marc is being let inside - he's sure that he doesn't need to introduce himself, Harrow will know by simply looking at him that this is, in fact, Marc - and not Steven.

Arthur glanced over as they walked, his expression unreadable for just a moment. He was caught in thought just behind his eyes, something distant but present; the words were nice. Hearing that he came across as a man who ‘cared a lot’ stuck to him harder than they should have; lingering like something rare. He didn’t wave it off.

“Maybe a bit too much,” he echoed in agreement, an edge of a smile forming on his face. “You’re not the first person to say that. But I appreciate it, thank you.”

His voice was odd around compliments, like there was something almost tired in it. Not the tired that came from not sleeping enough, but from something deeper - something older. Arthur felt old sometimes, in times like this; so much past that led up to such little in the present.

“I didn’t always care,” he offered as they walked. “There was a time where I wouldn’t’ve cared if someone was in pain, even if I’d caused it.” His head tilted, considering; remembering something distant. “But that kind of life doesn’t give anything back. I guess you can say that I’ve grown into someone with a lot of care to give, but I have a past that doesn't give me a lot of people to give it to.”

He gave Steven a smile, genuine and friendly. “So thank you. That meant a lot more than you probably intended it to.”

At the door, he paused to press his ID to the lock. The door clicked open, Arthur holding it open for Steven so that the man could pass through first. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you drop bricks. I think you just… speak honestly. That’s rare. People are so used to being careful, they sometimes forget how comforting it is to be around someone who’s not trying to perform all the time.”

Another smile, more than just something kind and polite. Something genuine, to some point; he liked Steven. He liked the honesty, he liked the way he rambled and cared - it was jarring when compared to Marc, but it was understandable why Marc might lock this part away from himself. It was easy to consider these traits to be ‘weak’ ones; but it was fascinating to see the man that it all combined into.

“You’ve got clothes in the same place as last time. Shower is the same - no one should bother you. Feel free to stay in your room for a while, if it’d help you feel better - just take care of yourself. You’ve been through a lot, today.”

#preemptivejustice #threads & interactions; steven grant #threads & interactions; marc spector #( :))) )#(marc feels so bad. he needs this meeting with harrow ;; sorry steven...)

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alby-rei · 2 years ago

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On Cloud Nine (Leonardo x Reader)

a/n: In which Leonardo takes you on a flight among the clouds in a hot-air balloon. Is it too late to call this a birthday fic for Leonardo, hahaha. It’s still April, after all! Written during a writing sprint over at @scummy-writes‘ server! I dedicate this story to @ana-thedaydreamer, for always fueling my desire to return to writing. Happy reading~ 💕

[Word count]: ~1300 words

~*~

The streets were bustling with people all around, as you and Leonardo walked beside the Seine river. The sun reflected little white stars on the water surface. The trees swayed with from a light breeze.

“And where are we going today?” you asked Leonardo.

“Somewhere new, it’s a surprise,” he replied.

Outdoor promenades were a routine for you two. Leonardo refused to keep you cooped up in the mansion any longer than he had to. He also made it a mission to do something different every outing. He led you down a new path that led outside of the main city. Buildings were replaced with trees; cobblestone gave way to a dirt path. There were other couples and groups heading in the same direction.

‘Some kind of new event?’ you wondered.

Your question was answered when you saw clusters of giant, colored balloons floating in the air. In the distance, a line of flags perched high came into view, and there were crowds of onlookers all across the open field. As you got closer, you noticed a vibrant sign with large bold letters that read, Fly across Paris—An outstanding view of our beautiful city!

“Hot-air balloons!” You looked up at Leonardo eagerly. “I’ve never been on one before.”

Leonardo grinned. “That makes two of us.”

You joined the line of people and waited patiently for your turn. It was getting rarer for you and Leonardo to find activities that were unfamiliar to both of you. Oftentimes, either Leonardo would introduce you to places and people from his past adventures, or you came across inventions that emerged at the turn of the 20th century that you were familiar with already.

You asked Leonardo a myriad of questions, like how he heard of this place and how long the trip on the balloon would be.

“Always ready with questions, aren’t you?” Leonardo chuckled and patted your head twice. Your excitement amused him to no end. He answered every question until the shadow of a balloon loomed over both of you.

Your turn drew near, so you focused your attention on the balloons themselves. Each one accommodated a group of six to seven passengers at a time. They were simply designed with a solid color, striped or checkered. One of the hosts ushered you and two other couples to his station. Time to board!

Leonardo helped you into the wide wicker basket, as the only way on was to climb over the edge. The basket’s height came up to your chest. High enough for you to feel secure. It was also sturdy, tied to the balloon with thick ropes around its perimeter.

Once everyone was in, the captain hoisted the anchor and turned up the burner’s flame.

“Woah!” You jolted when the basket wobbled slightly as it took off the ground. Two other ladies exclaimed the same way you did, which morphed into giggles when they were reassured by their partners.

“Nervous, amore?” The tight grip you had on his arm was enough of an indicator. He wrapped his arms around you protectively.

“A little, yes. But mostly excited!” You settled into a corner of the basket, watching intently as the ground surface got farther and farther away.

“Heh. Thought you said you traveled higher speeds than this back home,” he spoke low so that only you heard him. You had also told him that airplanes in the future would be fully enclosed in steel, and everyone was strapped in seatbelts.

“Definitely a different experience from this.”

Your fellow passengers waved at their friends who waited below. You tuned out their subsequent chatter as white noise.

Within minutes, you were as high as the clouds. Your eyes traveled the path that led you to this place. Then, you followed the stream of the Seine river that splits the city of Paris in two. The streets that you walked through almost daily looked so small from your new vantage point. All those days when you got lost while out on errands with Sebastian seemed so silly now. Crowds of pedestrians traveled across the bridge, all of their own individual journeys.

All of your looming worries and responsibilities were swept away by the wind. Speaking of which, being so high up meant the wind sent your hair flying in every which way. Try as you might to keep it down, it refused to be tamed.

“Let me.” Leonardo gathered your hair in his hands and tied it back in a braid, securing it with your ribbon. “Better?”

“Much better, thank you!”

With that taken care of, you could turn your full focus back on the breathtaking view of the city you’ve become so fond of.

“Look, Leonardo! There’s Jean’s weapons shop, and over there is Isaac’s university.”

“There’s our favorite lake behind the forest.”

“And the mansion, down there!”

The balloon traveled over le Comte’s mansion. Looking closely, you saw a figure standing in the courtyard with an easel—Vincent! Now it was your turn to wave enthusiastically the way the other ladies did earlier. He was facing your direction, though you figured you were probably too high up for him to recognize you. Plus, there were a handful of other balloons around yours.

Then, the balloon made its round trip back. This time, Leonardo pointed out the older buildings, and he described to you the architectural features that differentiated them from the new buildings.

He spent some time observing the interior of the balloon as well, and the way the captain steered it. He took out a little notebook from his coat pocket—a gift from you, so he’d always have a place to store his wildest ideas on hand. He wrote some notes, and you couldn’t help but look over.

“So, has the notebook been useful to you?” you asked.

“Absolutely. It’s where I write down all the places, I want to show you next.” His smile widened at the joyous shine in your eyes, made brighter by the sun’s generous light. Peering at his notes, you recognized the names of a couple cities, some even outside of France altogether. They didn’t seem so far away now. Traveling across the Parisian landscape made further trips feel within reach, like you drop by any minute.

Leonardo turned to a new page, where he sketched the view of the city on both pages. He started with the curve of the river, then outlined the major roads. Within each block, he masterfully crafted the impression of little homes, the Eiffel Tower, and the town square. You leaned against him and watched the world go by in serene quietness. Your fellow passengers spoke in hushed voices, too.

The sky was painted a gradient of reds, oranges, pinks and blues. The sun dipped below the horizon line. In the city underneath, the crowds thinned out as most people returned to their homes for dinner. Your stomach growled.

“Wow, an hour already.” You read from your wristwatch. “I’m getting hungry here.”

“Want to eat in town or back home?”

“Home! I can’t wait to tell everyone about our trip. I wonder how they’d react to traveling by balloon like this.” You mused.

When you returned home, you saw Vincent at the mansion’s entrance. He carried a fresh painting alongside his briefcase.

“Welcome home!” Vincent greeted. “Did you see the colorful balloons in the sky? It was the first time I’d ever seen something like that. I knew I had to paint them right away.”

He showed you the painting. The scene was recreated with the wondrously unique vision that Vincent perceived the world in. You instantly recognized the balloon you traveled in. There was a little figure with an arm raised in the air. You smiled broadly.

“Haha, would you look at that. There I am!” You surprised him with your declaration, prompting you to recount the events of the trip to him on your way to the dining room.

It was Vincent’s turn to spring all kinds of questions on you during dinner time. The other residents were just as eager to hear all about it. Isaac and Napoleon were keen to go check it out, too. On the other hand, Theo and Mozart were less enthused by the thought of being thousands of meters away from solid ground. You were sure you could find a way to drag them all along on your next trip.

~*~

a/n: if you made it this far, thanks for reading! I thought of starting a taglist for my writing. I don’t upload nearly as frequently as I used to, so I’d like my readers to be alerted when I do post, even if once in a blue moon! Comment below if you’d like to be added ^^

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#headcanon time! how do you see the other residents reacting to being on a hot air balloon?#alby one-shots #leonardo x reader #ikemen vampire #ikevamp fanfic #leonardo x you #leonardo x mc #ikevamp leonardo #ikemen vampire leonardo

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syllvane · 4 years ago

Text

graphology- kaz brekker x reader

a/n: here it is, my entry to @lxncelot ‘s writing challenge!! i chose to write kaz x reader with the prompt leaving letters/notes in each other’s pockets! hope you guys enjoy!

Kaz’s pockets are almost never empty, but he’s always aware of exactly what he has in his pockets- something as simple as that could mean life or death in the Barrel, whether or not he happens to be carrying a knife or a stone of a particular weight.

That’s where he found your grocery list, in his coat pocket, somewhere between his lockpick and a small stone.

Well, he didn’t know that it was yours, not by the contents of the list alone.

But there was the irrefutable fact that it was written in your handwriting, in the handwriting that Kaz had spent hours memorizing should the need to identify it arise.

He had always imagined that this skill would be used in the unfortunate event of your kidnapping, that he would use it to discern whether or not they were forging any communication or if they were making you write it yourself.

Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to memorize your handwriting.

In any case, there was also the fact that you were the only one at the Slat who would be bold enough to wear his jacket.

Standing in the middle of the street, Kaz Brekker smiled to himself, folding the grocery list neatly and tucking it back into his pocket.

He doesn’t return it to you directly.

You find it neatly folded on your nightstand when you return from your shift at the Crow Club, with no clue to how it got there.

You try to carry nothing valuable in your coat pockets, not as adept as Kaz at detecting when someone is trying to pickpocket you.

You keep a lockpick and a couple of stray knives in your pockets and a small roll of gauze, having nicked yourself on the knives on more than a couple of occasions.

You don’t usually keep stray pieces of paper, so when you feel one in your pocket, you figure that it must be one that you left in there accidentally.

When you pull the neatly folded paper out, it’s not your handwriting on it, but familiar handwriting nonetheless.

The paper is mostly blank, with only ten words written on the entirety of the page.

‘Why do you have so many knives in your pockets?’

You know it’s him by the way he writes the letter ‘k’- the rest of the words could be written by someone else for all you know, but you know that Kaz Brekker wrote that one letter.

You ran your finger gently over the words, feeling the imprints of the letters from the other side of the paper.

You held the paper in your hand and walked back to the Slat and into Kaz’s office.

“You know,” He started without looking up. “Some people have the courtesy to knock.”

He looked up at you, his blue eyes piercing yours before dropping to the piece of paper that you held in your hand.

An amused look flashed in his eyes.

“I could just give you a holster for your knives.”

“I like having the knives in my pockets- they’re easily accessible and-”

“They stab people trying to put notes into your pocket?” He finished, his eyes sparkling.

You smiled at him, your eyes sparkling as well.

“Yeah, something like that,” You said, setting the piece of paper down in front of him before turning towards the door. “Oh, and Kaz?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for giving my grocery list back.”

He fights the urge to say that he didn’t take it from you in the first place, that you left it in his coat pocket. He knows that he should tell you not to use his jacket anymore and that next time you leave something, he won’t be as kind, but he doesn’t.

After all, Kaz Brekker doesn’t make threats if he doesn’t intend to keep them.

He settles for shaking his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

The next time he puts on his coat, he really doesn’t expect another scrap of paper in his pockets.

Once was a mistake, something that could be easily overlooked.

Twice was a pattern.

He opened up the crumpled piece of paper, expecting maybe another errant grocery list.

Scrawled in your handwriting: ‘Stay safe, boss’

His heart skipped a beat as he read the piece of paper and he felt himself blush slightly- thankfully for the cold weather, the note didn’t make his cheeks any more red then they would be otherwise.

He was going to have to address this.

For now though, he tucked the piece of paper in a pocket on the inside of his coat, near his chest, shaking his head at how sentimental he had become.

‘Stop stealing my coat.’

That’s the message you found in Kaz’s own coat pocket and you couldn’t say that it was entirely unwarranted.

And it’s the message that Kaz sees again later when he’s wearing his own coat, though underneath his original message, you had added a single word.

‘No.’

Maybe he should’ve been furious at your defiance, at the very least annoyed that you were going to continue wearing his coat after he explicitly told you not to.

Instead, he looked at the note on his desk with a strange smile appearing on his face, feeling something dangerously close to happiness.

The third piece of paper that you leave in Kaz’s coat, much like the first, is completely by accident.

Only this time, it’s not a grocery list that you’ve left in his coat, but poetry.

And if that wasn’t mortifying enough in itself, of course the words had been written in his name, though it hadn’t been addressed directly to him. It may as well have been though, having been left in his coat pocket.

All of this left only one option- you had to get it back before he could read it.

When you opened the door to his office, you were surprised to see Kaz sitting there, though not as surprised as he was to see you in his doorway.

His expression twisted into something unfamiliar but before you could place it, he coughed and his gaze became steely once again.

“You still haven’t learned to knock,” He said pointedly and you looked around the office sheepishly before stepping back into the hallway, closing the door in front of you.

You knocked.

“No one’s home,” He said, his voice muffled from the other side of the door and you rolled your eyes before opening the door again.

“Liar,” You mumbled, though not loud enough for him to hear. “I need your coat.”

He blinked.

“Last time I checked, you had one.”

“It’s not as warm,” You said and although that was true, it was not the reason you wanted it.

He stared at you, as if sensing that you were withholding information, but he didn’t push you on that.

“Why do you insist on stealing my coat?”

“It’s not stealing. I always give it back.”

“Stealing, borrowing without permission, what is the difference really, when I would never allow it of anyone else.”

You didn’t say anything to that, didn’t know what to say.

It wasn’t new information, but there was an unspoken agreement between the two of you that it wouldn’t be spoken aloud. You would steal his coat and Kaz would be annoyed, as if this was something all the Dregs did. You would give it back at the end of the day or whenever you were done wearing it and he would simply shake his head, a small smile playing on his lips and he would tell you not to do it again.

There was never any threat of reprisal, never any threats at all. It was probably better that way- he was known for making good on his word and he would have never lifted a finger against you.

You trusted him absolutely and it had scared all of your common sense right out of you.

“I am going to go to the Crow Club for business,” He said, interrupting your thoughts. “I am going to leave my coat here. Don’t take it.”

You wanted to ask him Why don’t you just give it to me?, but you stopped yourself- you already knew the answer.

Giving it to you would be crossing a line in his mind, a line that he probably couldn’t come back from. It was one thing to leave it here, knowing that you would probably take it against his direct orders and another to give it to you, to watch you put it on.

You watched as he shrugged the coat off, setting it down on his chair. He walked over to the door, his hand on the doorknob.

“If you leave it here, I’m going to put it on.”

He stopped, lowering his head slightly before turning the doorknob and opening the door.

“I wouldn’t leave it here if I thought you wouldn’t,” He said before walking out, closing the door behind him.

You stood there with his words for a little bit before walking over to where he had set his coat down.

You put it on gingerly, as if Kaz might walk back in at any moment and change his mind.

You slipped your hand into the coat pockets and ran through the list of familiar items: lockpick, a couple of stones, a pocket knife, and a wallet that he had taken from a tourist earlier today.

Also there, a scrap of paper.

You unfolded it to see that part of the poem had been ripped away, leaving the very last lines of the poem in your hand.

‘You are home and there is nowhere I would rather be but in your arms.’

Underneath the last words, in neat handwriting that you had come to know as Kaz’s: ‘I don’t think I could’ve said it better myself.’

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chasingpj · 4 years ago

Text

𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

pairing: leo valdez x gn reader

summary: five ways he says i love you through his actions

warnings: implied nudity and s*x, discusses food and eating and nothing else, i think. oh, and maybe some typos

category: headcanons

love letters/notes

leo is a busy boy

he's always picking up new projects so he can spend all day in his workshop or the forges with his siblings

when you guys live together, he leaves small notes on the refrigerator for you

they're always short, saying simple things like "i love you" and "i miss you already"

for the love letters, he'll leave them in random places for you to find

if you're a big reader, i can see him hiding it between the pages of your book

one day, you pick up your book to read, and the note falls on your lap

it's a love letter written on a piece of blueprint paper; there’s a little bit of oil smudged on the side of it

he got distracted while he was working on something because you were the only thing he could think about

his love letters never fail to make your heart flutter

sometimes they make you cry

he's quite sentimental

leo always tells you he does better writing down his feelings than he is saying it out loud because he can organize his thoughts better

you know that leo has a hard time with that because of how he grew up

when you guys have an argument, which isn't very often, he writes his feelings down on paper

he's always quick to apologize if he did something wrong, and the notes help him form the apology that you deserve, and you're quick to forgive him

once, you were super angry after an argument, so you locked yourself in your shared bedroom

you needed to calm yourself down

the both of you much too angry and stubborn to make a compromise

as your recollecting yourself, 40 minutes in, a folded piece of paper slips from under the door

the letter has teardrop stains, and the ink is slightly smudged

on the paper, it's all his thoughts written out in the best way he can explain them

after reading what he wrote, you quickly deemed that whatever you were fighting about was silly, and you guys made up

you love his spontaneous notes so much that you do them back

you guys have a game of who can find the most creative hiding spot for your notes

one time you found one tapped to the inside of the toilet cover

you found it hilarious

you throw folded post-its with messages in his tool belt

he finds them during the day while he's working on something

after you joined in on the fun, he scatters notes in random places, and every few days, you find a new message hidden somewhere randomly

they're just so sweet; there’s never a time where they don't make you smile

gifts

this is a given

it's not a leo headcanon if gift-giving isn't included

he would make you things like roses from scrap metal to literal furniture

if you have a lot of jewelry, he will make you a cute jewelry box

if you're a big book reader, he'll make you bookcases to support your book collection

he's always giving you little trinkets that he made with leftover materials from projects

he loves making things for you and gets upset when you decide to buy something from ikea instead of asking him

"babe, why would you buy that? I could have just made it for you!"

when he's on his way from returning on his quest, sometimes he'll find something that reminds him of you in a store, and he'll buy it

when he has the money for it, he'd buy you a star :(

says that he spent even more money to buy an extra bright star

because "you're the sun in my universe"

brb gonna cry

also, he'd gift you a bond bracelet

you know, those bracelets where every time you tap on it, it makes the other person's bracelet vibrate

the both of you get anxious when one of you goes on quests, so the bracelets bring the other person who's at home comfort

because when you tap back, at least he knows you're alive and vice versa

one of the best gifts you've ever received from him was your engagement ring

he made it himself

he took so much care and effort into making it

imagine leo forging your wedding ring himself??? i'm in spain with no s

he was so nervous that you wouldn't like the style, so he had piper casually bring it up to you

piper was so nonchalant about it that you didn't even think twice about the question

the ring has the prettiest gemstone or diamond (whatever you prefer)

you cried so hard when he told you he made it himself that you couldn't even say yes to his proposal clearly

he makes both of your wedding bands too

he carves a saying that's dear to the both of you on the inside

this is nothing to do with anything but imagine when you guys have kids, he makes animals out of pipe cleaners for them i'm gonna cry, brb pt 2

overall, whether he makes the present himself or not, he puts a lot of effort and care into it

every gift has a meaning and a place dear to your heart

cooking for you

leo is canoningly a good cook

he loves cooking for you

and you love eating what he makes

he's usually busy on the weekdays, so he cooks on the weekends

you guys always joke that he'd be the cutest househusband

you got him an apron for Christmas as a joke gift one year, and he wears it all the time

there's something so charming about him wearing an apron with a funny saying like "Mr. Good Lookin is Cookin" or with like a ripped out shirtless guy in front of it

you giggle every time you see him wearing it

oh, no matter how many times you've seen it, it's still so bizarre when he takes out hot trays from the oven with his BARE hands

everything he makes tastes amazing

he makes all kinds of food and is always trying something new

if you tell him what you’re craving, he’ll cook it for you

once he woke you up to ask if you wanted ribs… it was 3 am but like, of course, you wanted some

unless you're vegetarian or vegan, sorry, HAHA

often though, he does make Mexican food

it reminds him of when his mom was alive

he always has some story to share

every time he makes caldo de pollo (chicken soup), he always talks about how his mother would make it in the summer and that when he was little, he would always complain about eating hot soup in hot weather

you know he doesn't notice his constant telling of this story, but you don't mind

it's so bittersweet when he talks about his mom

through the cooking of his traditional food, you feel closer to him and his late mother

the memories he shares with you makes your eyes sting with tears

especially when leo says how much he wishes that esperanza could have met you

sorry, that was a little emo

also, leo usually wakes up earlier than you

he knows you're a sleepyhead, so he'll cook breakfast for you

so that when you're running around in the morning trying to get dressed and your things together

you never leave the house hungry because there's always a tupperware filled with breakfast, and if he has enough time, he'll fix you something to take for lunch too

if you come home late from work or school, he'll make dinner even if he's tired to surprise you

so many times you've come home from a shitty day at work or school, and the small table where you guys eat your meals is all set up with your favorite food

leo greets you by peeking his head into the hallway from the kitchen, tossed curls, cheerful brown eyes, and a bright grin

"I hope you're hungry," he says, despite knowing that you are hungry

and then you guys talk and laugh together over a delicious meal

compliments

leo's really observant

he notices when you’re in a bad mood, even if you try not to show it

he also notices when you change little things about your appearance

if you get a haircut or you get your nails done, he'll comment on it right away

especially outfits

if you buy something new, he'll complement it

imagine standing in front of the mirror, looking at yourself in your new outfit

leo comes behind you, his hands coming around your waist

he'll pepper kisses on your neck, a soft hum leaving his lips as he meets your eyes in the mirror

"is this new, mi amor?" he asks, hands running up your sides

once you affirm that it is a new dress or shirt, he'll smile and tell you how beautiful you look in it

maybe says he'd rather see it off of you wink wink

there's never a day where he doesn't compliment you

he thinks you're the prettiest person in the world

you've caught him staring at you lovingly plenty of times

he's just asking himself how did he manage to get someone as beautiful and amazing as you

you always squirm under his gaze and playfully ask what is he looking at

"you're so pretty, mi amor. I can't help it."

AHHH!!!!

alongside the endearment of mi amor, he'd always call you bonita and hermosa

you're so sweet to him, and he can't help but tell you how much you mean to him every chance he gets

surprises

leo is an acts of service kind of guy

i think he'll spontaneously do things to make you happy

if you've been busy studying for finals or just beat up from a day at work

he'll draw you a bath

or he'll cut up some fruit for you and leave it at your desk

he randomly buys you flowers

he never needs an occasion to buy your flowers

it'll be a regular tuesday, leo just happened to walk past a store with flowers displayed in the front, and he thought about how bright your smile would be if he showed up with a bouquet

I feel like he's pretty introverted, enjoys being at home with you

the both of you are pretty broke for a while, so a lot of dates were at home

leo made the most of it

you guys will have nice dinners at home

he'll set the table nicely, set the mood with candles

he'll redecorate the space so well you feel like you're at an actual restaurant

and of course, his food is amazing

breakfast in bed is another thing he'd do for you unsolicited

especially if you guys had a looong night wink wink

you're woken up by his still groggy voice, fluttering kisses on your cheeks

you open your eyes to see he's set a tray with your favorite breakfast on top of the bed

the two of you will eat breakfast together, which usually leads to you staying in bed for the rest of the day

just enjoying the warm cocoon your sheets create around the both of you

overall, he's super observant and caring, and he goes the extra mile to make sure you're happy because he knows you do the same

anyways, does anyone know where I can get a leo?

masterlists taglist: @nct127bee @minamisulemisa @yanfeisluvr @cartocns @Slytherclaw-kitten @idk-bye-no @percysbluehairbrush @Hermioneswifeee @quteez @drayshadow @ashookykooky

#my writing #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus fanfic #heroes of olympus fanfiction #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez one shot #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez fluff #leo valdez drabble #leo valdez headcanon

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funtimebunnyblog · 4 years ago

Text

Pillarroomates (Chapter 2: Strange introductions...)

(Summary: It's time to meet your new Roommates and things are already off to a shaky start...)

"--and you mentioned you're a student aside from your work?"

Smiling, you nodded as the violet-haired man before you scribbled away on the neat lined paper laid out in front of him.

"Yeah. It's mostly online stuff but I do occasionally go for in person lectures when I get the time." You began, making Kars hum quietly to himself as you went into more detail.

This was honestly starting to feel like more of a job interview (or perhaps more of a Police interogation) rather than a simple interaction concerning becoming a roommate with hopes of living here.

Even though you had only spoken with him for a short time now, you could tell this "Kars" (or so he had introduced himself as) was all business.

The giant of a man was asking you all sorts of questions, jumping back and forth between ones boarderline ubsurd and ones you had expected.

He asked a little about your history and about your Family (most specifically your surname and any distant relations you might have). He questioned you on your work and what you did, your wages and your work ethic. He wanted to know every single one of your habits (annoying or not) and how you spent your free time; jotting things down as he went.

Every single time his eyes fell on you, you couldn't help but feel exposed under his gaze; like you were sitting completely naked before him on an operating table, cut open, and he was taking you apart piece by piece and examining every inch with a scrutinizing eye.

Speaking of eyes, you definitely didn't miss how inhuman his were. Maroon on crimson, like thick droplets of blood splattered onto the white of a fine ivory knife and cutting you just as deeply as one.

It was like nothing you had ever seen or felt before.

You told him the truth and nothing but during the entirety of the seemingly endless line of questioning but it still felt like it was all a spew of dirty little lies falling from your lips. It only made an icky swirl of anxiety churn consistently in your stomach, like the spinning of a washing machine, as you sat there talking away.

There was no telling how you would feel if you did tell a lie or if he happened to indeed smell one lingering on your breath; which you were also struggling to keep in check.

"Interesting..." he muttered quietly, more to himself than to you. The scratching of his pen on paper filled the long silence at the round little wooden table.

Your eyes fell to his handwriting a number of times in hopes of catching a glimpse of something that would indicate whether you were "passing" this little test or not but it was inevitable.

You were beginning to wonder where exactly this man was from as the entirety of his notes were in a language you couldn't identify at all.

Even if it was written in proper English, you doubted you'd be able to read it at all either. His handwriting was something akin to what you'd find on an ancient scroll being presented late at night on the History Channel; small and scratchy letters scrawled across white in quick flicks of the wrist.

As if things couldn't feel anymore stressful, you could also feel the eyes of two others burning into you.

The one whom you had an encounter at the door with, Kars informed you that his name was "Esidisi" after the man had retreated down the hall again, was now standing in the far corner of the little kitchen.

There he loitered, a piece of pizza cradled in each hand (was that.... macaroni on top???) and munching away as if he hadn't seen so much as a morsel of food in months.

Much to everyones relief, the man had put some clothes on by the time he ran to answer the door for the 2nd time that day; his long awaited pizza finally having arrived.

At the very least he had saved the poor delivery boy from becoming as startled as you had.

You didn't even want to think of how different things would've gone if his towel had somehow slipped...

The burning intensity of Kars' glare (despite the fact it wasn't even aimed remotely in your direction) made you squirm in your seat as Esidisi came onto the interview scene with the pizza box in hand, a sunny smile stretched across on his face and the words "HOT DAD ALERT" emblazoned in bold white letters on his t-shirt.

Esidisi wasn't even so much as fazed by the look like you were. The man only smiling all the brighter, cheeks stuffed uncannily like a chipmunk storing food, each time he met Kars' sharp gaze.

Then there was the other one, the blonde with the mullet-like haircut and the stained apron. While he was doing his best to busy himself by cleaning around the stove, you managed to overhear Esidisi addressing him as "Wamuu" when offering a slice of the boxed Italian monstrosity he was savoring; which the other kindly declined.

Even through your talking, you didn't miss the fact that Wamuu had wiped down the kitchen surfaces at least 3 times during your little chat with Kars; he hadn't even moved an inch from his spot. You had managed to catch his gaze once or twice as he was sneaking a few little glances over his shoulder.

Much like Esidisi was doing (but with a lot more inconspicuous action) Wamuu was eavesdroping on the interview.

However, you also couldn't help but feel that he was was also standing guard. The man was keeping a close eye on the scene, reminding you of a bulldog protecting its Home from intruders while its master was away.

"And, uh... that's about it, I guess." You finished, a tight smile flashing across your face as you shrugged helplessly.

Kars pursed his lips, eyes skimming over his papers. For a long moment, perhaps the longest moment you'd ever had to endure, he was silent.

"Acceptable." He hummed, not exactly much emotion carried in that word, papers rattling as they were shuffled in his hands. "Perhaps the most acceptable I've seen in some time. You definitely fit our criteria."

You could only blink, unsure if you should even thank him for saying something like that.

"Uhh, I take it you've had your fair share of annoying roommates?" You asked, laughing a little, only making the man across from you hum again.

"Oh, you bet we have," Esidisi cut Kars off just as he opened his mouth to speak, wiping his hands with a paper towel as he waved the other off. "You wouldn't believe it! The last one we had was a real idiot. Lazy too, couldn't hold a job to save his life, he left the kitchen a mess every time he walked though it."

Hearing that, you could at least nod understandingly.

You definitely sympathized with them on that one, you had met your fair share of people when jumping from place to place who outright refused to pull their weight.

One of the main reasons you had been looking for a place to start with was because of one of those same types of people, afterall.

You had been happy living in an apartment closer to the edge of town for some time. Your earlier roommates had been nice, kind of fun too, and you had hopes things would stay that way at least until you finished school.

Everything had been just fine until the first one chose to move cities, then things only went downhill from there. Along came your other roommates boyfriend (better known as; the laziest, most childish piece of shit you ever had the displeasure of knowing) and after almost a year of just barely tolerating that shitshow you had decided enough was enough.

It was overdue for you to find another place to live.

Esidisi laughed as he went on, leaning on Kars' chair. "He really had it coming to him when we--"

THUNK! The table rattled, making you jump in your own chair. Esidisi's lips came tight together, a long breath sucked hard enough through his nose that the little gold ring dangling precariously on the ridge of his nostril shivered.

Kars acted as if you didn't know that he had just kicked the other under the table, clearing his throat.

"When that one was evicted," here Kars shot Esidisi another one of those looks, which the other actually paid attention to this time around. "It was unanimous that was the final straw, so we agreed to put some proper ground rules out there before allowing anyone else to even think about inquiring to live here."

Your head tilted, unable to hold back a chuckle as you pulled out the print out of their half-garbled "guidelines" you had kept for them to see.

"I'll be honest, at first I was sure this wasn't a real ad..."

Here, both Esidisi and Kars shared a pointed look, you had a feeling there was something more to the story there.

Kars' eyes fell on you again after a beat, thankfully his expression much more neutral.

"I'll ask you," he began. "Do you want to live here?"

"Well..." you honestly couldn't help but laugh a little. Even if things seemed a little worse here you probably wouldn't find yourself refusing, you NEEDED a place and you needed to jump on this before the opportunity was gone again. "Yeah."

"As you said, dear Kars, they fit all the criteria." Esidisi's voice dropped into a teasing little purr, you suddenly felt that heat you felt at the front door blooming in your face once again when the man tossed a wink and a smile your way. "They're cute too, just what I asked for at the very least."

Cute? You nearly sputtered out the word, lips tightening together as you had no choice but look away from the man and his cheeky little grin.

You sat there struggling to force down the memory of him in only his bathtowel again, face feeling hot enough to rival the sun.

Kars let in a deep breath, ignoring the way the other was shaking him in his chair, the sight of an actual smile working his way across his face brought you a little closer to reality again.

"In that case," here he stood, holding his hand out for you to shake. "Welcome to our Home."

A smile of your own spread across your face as you grasped his hand, cold and calloused and FAR bigger than your own, suddenly feeling as if a great weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

"I'm glad to be welcomed." You sighed, beaming up at Kars. Now he didn't seem so very intimidating (well, at least a little) when he was looking a tad more relaxed around you. "I don't have much stuff so getting it from the shelter to here won't be a stretch. I'll probably have it all moved by tomorrow."

Here, you were treated with the sight of not only Kars and Esidisi but Wamuu as well, still lingering by the stove, staring at you in surprise.

Here, Wamuu spoke up for the first time during this entire interview, "You... were living at a shelter?"

All you could do was shrug, feeling s little helpless. "Well, yes... I was." You sighed again as that heaviness on your back suddenly returned at their staring, a hand going up to rub the back of your neck. "Not the best place to stay, I know, but I've been looking around for a place for a quite a while."

It was better than sleeping on the street that was for sure. At least there you could shower and rest and get ready for work; really the only fears you had staying there was someone stealing something important of yours.

Not to mention, it was much more preferable than having to go back to--

The top of your head tickled as a warm and quick puff of air suddenly reached out and touched you, like a hand lovingly caressing your hair. Though the feeling was miniscule it made you suddenly stand on edge.

A beat passed before the very same thing happened again, just as fleeting as the first time. A strange itch crawled up your spine as the unmistakable heat radiating off another body sank slowly through your back, though its source not touching you directly.

Someone was behind you.

Slowly, though with much hesitantance, your head turned. You eyes were wide open as your neck rotated, the action best described as owlish, blinking at the words "seether" emblazoned across a barreled chest, only urging your eyes to seek more upwards.

Your eyes locked onto icy cold rings of blue, an unconcious shiver dancing through your body as the chill of them seeped deep within your body.

There, now right before you, was another man. It was best to assume this was your last supposed roomate as he was just as big and as muscular as the rest.

However, you couldn't shake the feeling that this one was strangely... different than the others.

A hot puff of air brushed the space between your eyes as the stranger breathed out quietly, the action only making you blink hard. He said nothing, he made no indication at all to say anything, he only... stared.

"Umm..." your mouth opened but the jumble of words sitting like a lump in your throat couldn't find your mouth.

"Y/N, this is... Santana." Kars piped up from behind, sounding more than tempted to sigh again today. "He is the 4th and last of us here."

Call it intuition but from what you could tell already, this Santana wasn't the chummiest one of the bunch. Tall and still, skin as fair as snow, almost every square inch of him was chiseled and, well, square.

That stoney expression of his didn't exactly give you an insight as to what was going on in the others head either.

Something told you you'd have to make the first move or else all this staring would get you nowhere.

A hesitant smile squirmed its way across your face, every effort you had inside to be polite straining to the point of almost breaking.

"Hi Santana," your voice nearly cracked. "It's-- nice to meet you...?"

Santana continued to stare at you as if he hadn't even heard you speak at all. A cold sweat prickled on the nape of your neck, you struggled to fight back a cough as the room fell into a dead silence again.

You were starting to wish you were back in the hallway where you had started...

"Santana," Esidisi spoke up next. "come on. Like we practiced..."

Santana exhaled again, the sound more like the huff of a disgruntled pasture bull.

A thick bubble of uncertainty ballooned in your throat as the red-heads arm extended, sticking out quite stiffly in your direction. A long moment passed, you blinking stupidly, before you realized what he was trying to do.

Your watery smile returned with much more force, reaching out to grasp his offered hand. Your fingers could just barely wrap around his ice cold palm.

Another beat. Nothing happened for another uncomfortable little eternity.

Across the room Kars cleared his throat, loudly. Another prompt.

That bubble of uncertainty in your throat dropped like a stone down into the pit of your stomach as his arm moved up and down, up and down, up and down. The movement was just as cold and robotic as his stare.

He didn't even wrap his fingers around your hand, keeping them as straight and pointed as dense meaty rulers.

You honestly half-expected to hear a feint squeaking come from his shoulder at the slight and stiff movement.

"Do not forget to smile..." It was Wamuu who whispered loudly to the other from across the room; as if that would keep you from hearing the plea.

Your own forced smile threatened to dissolve completely for good as you watched Santana's lips twitch, slowly peeling back to reveal two rows of white teeth.

Teeth of your own sank into the flesh your tongue as the glimmer of 4 very sharp K-9's hit your eye, making Santana's painfully cheered grimace all the more chilling.

Up and down, up and down, up and down.

"Nice... to... meet you..." Santana's voice was deep and gruff, the very tone of it shook your insides like an Earthquake.

Maybe it was just his voice, maybe he didn't mean to sound so very rough; the thought definitely crossed your mind. Though, you couldn't be quite sure about that by the way this interaction was going...

"Uhh, the--... the pleasures all mine..." Really, what else could you say?

The very second you let go, Santana's arm retreated back to his side, his face falling back into that stoney hard glare. And just like that, he pushed past you, marching quickly towards the fridge; a word was grumbled, too low for you to hear, but it was something about you.

It was more than clear to you and everyone else that he decided this horrible too-long-of-a-greeting was over.

The fridge door was yanked open, the movement harsh enough the bottles inside chattered. All of you watched as Santana made a grab for a container of lettuce, slamming the fridge shut and striding right out of the kitchen without so much as another grunt, let alone a glance, in your direction.

A breath you didn't even know you had been holding let go, a strange sense of relief washing over you like a warm tidal wave.

Talk about awkward. So awkward you almost wanted to shudder.

What the Hell was his problem?

You nearly jumped when a huge, warm hand clapped you on the shoulder, blinking up into the smiling face of Esidisi.

"He'll warm up to you," The man said, shrugging. "Santana doesn't care much for new people or, well, people in general I suppose. It's just the way he is..."

"We're trying to acquaint him with the concept of socializing and get him used to social norms of this time," Kars practically groaned, pinching the space between his eyes. "As you can see, it's still a work in progress..."

"It probably doesn't help that the last guy living here was the one to seriously piss him off in the end." Esidisi only shrugged again.

You, on the other hand, flinched hearing that. Like it or not, their last roomate had obviously left a lasting impression of newer people on him.

You wouldn't be surprised if Santana thought that you would be the very same thing judging by what you had been told about the last guy and the last thing you wanted was this near-to-stranger having some sort of hard feelings on you when you hadn't even so much as moved in yet.

"Would you like to see your room before you go?" You were most thankful that Kars spoke up again.

"Ah-- yeah." You said, blinking. "That'd be great."

"Wonderful, Wamuu will show you where it is." The kitchen chair creaked as Kars pushed himself in closer to the table, settling back into his comfortable working slouch as he pulled his laptop out again.

He still had work to get done afterall.

Your eyes drifted across the room, meeting the more stern gaze of the blonde, making you realize that Santana wasn't exactly the only one in the house you couldn't quite read just yet.

Nonetheless, the man made no move at all to argue with Kars for being volunteered like so.

Wamuu peeled off his stained apron with a huff, hanging it neatly on the wall.

"This way," a huge hand waved you along, Wamuu's back already to you as he was heading out of the kitchen.

You fumbled for a moment, head turning not-unlike a pet budgie, choosing to wave to Esidisi (Kars was already too focused on whatever he was working away at) before moving to catch up with Wamuu.

Something told you that he wouldn't exactly appreciate having to wait up for you.

This day was far from over yet but at least the hardest part of it was....

Wasn't it?

#funnybunny #pillarmen #kars #esidisi #wamuu #santana #my writing #pillarroomies

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phoebe-delia · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! What's your favorite musical and why?

Hello Starry!! Thank you for always being an absolutely incredible writer, friend, and person. Your asks and your fics are such gifts to the Drarry community and fandom as a whole.

Now, that being said, I get to rant about one of my favorite things ever. "Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812."

Before I go any further, I will say that I've already posted a little rant about why the show was robbed at the Tonys and deserved better in general, but now I get to talk more about what makes it so special.

Now, onto the fun part!

First, some background. This musical was written by Dave Malloy. It's based on a 90-page slice of Leo Tolstoy's "War and Peace." I won't spoil the plot more than that because this is the kind of show that really ought to speak for itself.

I'm not a musicals expert, but I've loved Broadway since I was a child. If you'd asked me when I was younger what my favorite show was, I'd have listed off several and said something witty about how it was like having to choose between my children.

But now I can say, unequivocally, that Great Comet is my all-time favorite show.

And it is weird.

For starters, it almost never rhymes. There's only one song, "Dust and Ashes," that has any kind of rhyme scheme. It also incorporates a ton of different genres: electropop, traditional ballad, Russian music, R&B, folk, and others.

But it works. It works so, so well.

Every time I listen to the soundtrack, I find something new to appreciate. It's deceptively simple, with seemingly ordinary lyrics that hold a lot of complexity, especially when paired with the nuanced orchestrations.

Oh, and that's not even to mention the set design. I'd try to describe it, but I couldn't do it justice. You can see it here. There are also seats on the stage and tables scattered throughout the theater, meant to be reminiscent of a sort of Russian club/theater.

I was fortunate enough to see Comet twice on Broadway. The second time I saw it was with a summer program in NYC I attended for journalism in high school. I sort of begged my way into getting the opportunity to interview Mimi Lien, who was the set designer for the show. She'd just won a Tony for her work on Comet. It was my very first interview and my very first article. The article is no longer online, which is honestly fine with me since it wasn't well written, but I have a copy somewhere, and I have a recording of the interview. To this day it's the coolest thing I've ever done.

Anyway, in the interview, Lien said that Dave Malloy traveled to Moscow to research Russian club culture, and he incorporated the music and the ambiance of Russian clubs and theaters into the show and the experience as a whole.

And it was successful. They handed out delicious pierogis before the show, egg shakers during a fast song, and little hand-written notes during a song about letters. The experience is like no other I've ever had with live theater. Every detail, every single aspect of the show is deliberate and utterly genius.

If you listen, I highly suggest having the Wikipedia plot page open as you do to help you keep track. There also may or may not be "slime tutorials" available on Youtube.

Also, Comet is unique in that there is both a Broadway and off-Broadway cast recording. I'd suggest starting with the Broadway version since it has Josh Groban as Pierre and Denee Benton as Natasha. The rest of the cast is the exact same off-Broadway, except Natasha is played by Phillipa Soo and Pierre is played by Dave Malloy; Pippa has a great voice, though Dave's is more of an acquired taste. Besides, the OBC recording has a fuller orchestra, which enhances it greatly.

I cannot express enough how much I adore this show. It's truly perfect. I can't compare it to anything else; it's in a league and a category of its own. I wouldn't change a single note.

Thank you again, Starry, for this ask! It was so fun and it gave me an excuse to listen to Comet--not that I need one lol. <3

Send me an ask about Harry Potter, broadway/musicals, The West Wing, and/or Taylor Swift! Or just about life in general :).

Also, I have a playlist of my 99 most listened-to songs of the year so far. Pick a number 1--99 and send me an ask and I'll write you a fic based on it!

#musicals #great comet #musical theater #the great comet of 1812 #the great comet #showtunes #broadway #pierre bezukhov #natasha pierre and the great comet of 1812 #natasha rostova #sonya rostova #marya dmitryevna akhrosimova #helene bezukhova #anatole kuragin #dave malloy #ama #ask me #ask me stuff

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animepopheart · 4 years ago

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Review: Violet Evergarden the Movie

The old adage is that “people never change,” but that’s hardly true at all, is it? Most people, in fact, are constantly in change as they react to the joys and hurt, the happiness and pain, and the push and pull of life, and evolve as they travel through these experiences. But the ones who resist, who insist on standing still, can only watch as life passes them by.

That theme is ever present in Violet Evergarden, both the anime series and the films (a “side story” movie was previously released), as they trace the development of the titular young woman from a “tool of war” to her post-military life in a steampunk version of a country much like Belgium following a conflict much like WWI, and as she matures and comes to understand the nature of love by working as an auto-memory doll, a postal worker who helps translate customers’ intentions into letters typed with pitch-perfect wording. But while the focus had previously been on Violet’s growth, Violet Evergarden the Movie begins by showing how others around her are now moving forward while she stands still, including—and surprisingly—Dietfried Bougainvillea, the formerly cruel brother of Gilbert, Violet’s former commanding officer whose kindness and love inspired impassioned devotion in her, even after it’s presumed he died a violent death.

Violet, however, holds out hope that Gilbert has somehow survived. Violet Evergarden the Movie is a vast canvas, large enough to explore the final outcome of Violet’s search for Gilbert and showing how she comes to terms with what happened and who she has become. While the film could accurately be called an extended episode, it’s perhaps better described as a conclusion (for almost immediately, the film suggestions that this story will conclude Violet’s tale) where the stakes are higher and the plot structure more complicated. And although the anime has prepared viewers for deeply affecting content, that, too, is all the stronger in this final film: Violet will settle her feelings for the missing and presumed dead Gilbert one way or another, and we feel the heaviness of that almost as much as she does.

But a conclusion won’t come quickly nor easily. The twist and turns of this journey start with the unconventional structure of the film, which begins several generations later, with Violet most likely long dead and gone, as a young woman takes a latter-day interest in auto memory dolls. The action then turns back toward the roughly 1920s setting of Violet Evergarden and the story of a sick boy for whom Violet will ghostwrite as she, and to a lesser extent, Dietfried, deal with their own ghost.

Standing on the precipice of breakthrough for most of the two-hour and twenty minute runtime, and keeping that heightened sense of emotion throughout, the movie is at times exhausting. It is the culmination of a beloved heroine’s journey and a proud display both of how much she’s grown to become a person capable of giving and receiving love, and of the trauma she still carries from the war and particularly the violent loss of Gilbert. Voice actress Yui Ishikawa’s range is on full display as she effortlessly moves from Violet’s normal monotone voice to sobbing and screaming—she’s a treasure, helping to keep the film centered in authenticity when it could become pretentious and, with a screenplay that’s sometimes gorgeously crafted and at other times written without subtlety, unwieldy. But carried by her performance, unexpected character development and reveals, and breathtaking animation, Violet Evergarden the Movie becomes the crown of what was already royalty in anime, a modern classic.

As this story unfolds on the screen, it’s also worth considering the tale of the studio that produced it. Kyoto Animation had to postpone the film’s opening twice, once because of COVID-19, but before that due to tragedy, the arson that led to the deaths of 36 KyoAni employees. As Violet makes her way toward resolution on screen, it feels much like the studio’s journey as well, through violence and trauma into grief and—at least as can be expressed through the completion of this film—resolution. Kyoto Animation’s heroine, like the staff of the studio itself, will stand strong—after all, she and they have already been through hell and back.

Which evokes the question: Can you go through hell and actually make it “back”? Can you see the worst in humanity and still, as Violet efforts to do, learn what “I love you” means? The answer for a series and movie that is ultimately encouraging (though it always pierces your soul first) may be a foregone conclusion, but the answer isn’t any less meaningful—for Violet, for Kyoto Animation, and for us all.

Rating: **** (4/5)

#violet evergarden the movie #violet evergarden #funimation #kyoto animation #gilbert bougainvillea #blog

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dinosaurtsukki · 4 years ago

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[ too scared to say ]

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader

word count: 1.6k words

contains: slight angst, tsukishima with insecure!s/o cause he’s usually the insecure one in fics, another wedding-themed fic

a/n: had this idea for a while and i’m glad i’ve finally written it. it’s usually tsukki’s who’s insecure and guarded in xreader fics so i wanted to try it out with the reader being insecure this time

i love you.

you're caught off-guard when you hear the words from tsukishima's mouth. you never thought you'd ever hear him actually say them. as much you wished for it to happen, especially after you spent three years of high school doodling his name in the margins of your notebook, it feels too good to be true.

tsukishima looks sincere about it though. you're both seated on the couch in your apartment and even though it's pouring outside and the electricity had died, you can still make out his face in the dim lighting. you can tell it took him a great deal of effort to say that: his eyes are focused on the cushion on his lap as he picks at a stray thread, the sound of his breathing is more audible now as he inhales deeply.

this is the time where you say it back but the words catch themselves in your throat. after all, weren't you the one who got yourself into trouble for being too naive all the time? after leaving high school and all hopes of tsukishima ever liking you back behind, you tried your hand at relationships. you thought every single one of them would be your last, only to find that you had deluded yourself yet again.

meeting tsukishima again, years after high school, felt like a weird universal coincidence that you didn't know if you should thank for yet. even more so when he admitted to his feelings for you back then.

"so, what do we do about it now?" you asked.

"i'd... like to give this a shot," tsukishima said, rubbing the back of his head. you were reluctant, but agreed anyway.

you've said 'i love you' before, more than a few times. and yet, you couldn't say it now.

"aren't you... jumping to conclusions a bit?" you asked, nervously letting out a laugh.

"what do you mean?" tsukishima frowns slightly.

"just, saying that you might not be sure about that yet so... slow down a bit before saying things like that," you shrugged.

"what? you think i don't know my own feelings?" tsukishima scoffs. there's a look of hurt on his face and you can't exactly blame him for it.

"i'm sorry, tsukki," you apologize, resting your hand in the middle of the couch between you except he doesn't reach for it.

"it's fine," he shakes his head, focusing now on the wall in front of him. "i know you're not really the person you once were and, i don't mind that at all cause neither am i. sometimes, it really feels like you have a wall up."

you find yourself flinching slightly at that last part. maybe this is the part when things go south, like they always do. except, you feel sad that it had to happen with tsukishima too.

but he doesn't act like how you expect him to. "if you need time, it's fine with me," is all he says. tsukishima doesn't sound exasperated, nor frustrated at all. but he does stand up and head for the door.

'you can stay,' you think, 'please stay.'

but all you can bring yourself to say is: "take an umbrella. it's pouring outside."

...

that was about a week ago and tsukishima has barely heard from you then. he didn't know what else to do aside from give you space, and also silently regret things. maybe he was too hasty in saying that he loved you.

but, that was what he truly felt, and it wasn't easy for him to say but he did it anyway. 'you're not always losing anything when you open yourself up to someone,' akiteru had told him. and now, tsukishima was riding a bus on the way to his older brother's wedding.

he had just hung his tux on the curtain rod above the window and settled into his seat though when he caught a familiar flash of blue. of course, tsukishima would recognize your favorite dress and sat up in his seat to see you walking down the center aisle. he watched as you looked around for a seat before landing on the last empty one in the bus, which happened to be right next to tsukishima's.

"hey."

"hey," tsukishima swallowed as you approached.

"is this seat taken?" you asked.

"no, go ahead," tsukishima shook his head, his eyes distracted by the familiar dry-cleaners bag that you held in your hands. "let me help you with that," he offered, taking the hanger from your hands and hanging it up beside his tux.

“saeko nee-san invited me to the wedding,” you explained as soon as you sat down beside tsukishima. “congratulations to your brother, by the way.”

“thanks. we all, kind of saw it coming,” tsukishima chuckled. now that you were here, he realized just how much he missed you.

“i’m sorry for not calling or anything, by the way,” you apologized. “i can’t say that this is all new to me but, it’s just... well... i’ve been in other relationships before and sometimes, it feels like things repeat themselves too much.”

tsukishima nodded, remembering the night when you two met again after so many years. he was working the counter at the bar and noticed you sitting there, obviously dressed up for a date, obviously stood up in that said date too. you were very much different from the young girl who used to invite him and yamaguchi to watch the latest romance movie theaters, the one who sang songs at the top of your lungs in your bedroom, loud enough for those downstairs to here. but that didn’t mean he liked you any less.

“hey,” he laid a hand on top of yours. “why don’t we just enjoy today? you still love going to weddings, right?”

you smiled gratefully and chuckled. “yeah, that hasn’t changed.”

...

you fully expected to run into tsukishima at his own brother’s wedding and had thought twice about going before talking sense into yourself. and now, you were glad to have gone.

the wedding was absolutely charming and more than a few of your old high school friends came. you and tsukishima were seated with yamaguchi and yachi at the same table and chatted about old times and what the volleyball duo was up to. saeko looked stunning in her dress and akiteru cried more than a few times during the ceremony. tsukishima looked proud of his brother, and more than a little tired of his new brother-in-law.

“they look really good together,” you sighed, smiling at akiteru and saeko who were breakdancing in the middle of the dance floor, the latter doing much better than the former.

“yeah,” tsukishima chuckled. “they barely met each other in high school but i could tell nii-chan was star-struck when they met at the shiratorizawa match.”

“and now look at them,” you giggled. “kind of the opposite of us, in a way.”

“yeah, because you were definitely head over heels for me,” tsukishima snickered. you smacked his arm with the back of your hand.

“and you were too dense to realize it,” you countered.

“not exactly. just thought it was too good to be true,” tsukishima smiled wryly.

“we should have been accidentally locked into a room together to force us to admit our feelings.”

“you and your romance movie cliches.”

you chuckled at that. “just saying. would have made things way easier for everyone.” you sighed again and remembered the confession letter you had penned to tsukishima before deciding to stash it away in your desk. then, you turned to tsukishima who was watching his brother and sister-in-law dance.

maybe you were going to enjoy yourself tonight.

“hey, tsukishima?”

“yeah?”

“wanna dance with me?”

...

with the dancing and frequent visits to the wine bar, you ended up enjoying the wedding immensely. but as much as you didn’t want to, it was finally time to go home. you and tsukishima didn’t even bother changing out of your formal clothes before catching the last bus back home. your hair had escaped from its pins and you were definite that there was mascara smudged under your eye. tsukishima’s tie hung loosely around his neck and he had already unbuttoned the upper part of his shirt.

all of the dancing tired him out way more than you, but it was a pleasant surprise for him to comply with your request. you also had the wine to thank for tsukishima deciding to break dance for about a minute when his older brother asked him to.

as soon as he was seated, tsukishima was out like a light with his head leaned back against the seat and his mouth slightly hanging open. looking at him, you realized that he was someone you didn’t want to let go. dating him was scarier because of that and you didn’t want tsukishima to be one of those people you were eventually going to say goodbye to.

but how could he be that person if you don’t ask him to stay in the first place?

once again, you remembered the confession letter that you had wrote to him all those years ago. there was a tremble in your hand when you wrote down the last line of that letter, so much that it screwed up the writing and you decided not to send the letter anyway. you glanced at tsukishima’s misty reflection in the fogged up glass of the bus before using your finger to write down that line.

i love you

the words looked like they were suspended in the air and fragile enough to be blown away by the wind. with a swipe of your hand, you could easily erase the message.

and that’s when tsukishima wakes up.

his sleepy eyes travel from you to the message written on the window and his eyes widen when he realizes what you’ve written down. with a smile, he leans over, and writes a word right under your message.

i love you too

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

taglist (check out my post for details on being part of my taglist):@montys-chaos @miyumtwins @strawberriimilkshake @pocubo @sugawara-sweetheart @akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan @therainroguefanfiction @atetiffdoesart @stephdaninja @oikaw-ugh @charliefredb @dramaqueenweeb1469 @tremblinghearts @applepienation @kirakirasaku @haikyuu-my-love @waitforitillwritemywayout @kattykurr @atsumusdomain @goodfoodxoxoxo @ah-kaashi @guardianangelswings @definitely-yours @amberalisa @whootwhoot @liz-multifandom-hotel @kac-chowsballs @procrastination-lady @miyakiyo0mi

#haikyuu!!#hq x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima #haikyuu!! angst #hq!! angst #haikyuu!! fluff #hq!! fluff #haikyuu!! drabble #hq!! drabble #haikyuu!! one-shot #hq!! one-shot #haikyuu!! writing #hq!! writing

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anomander-dragnipurake · 4 years ago

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Bowuigi Valentines

“Sir, I assure you this is a rather unwise decision,” Kamek said as soon as Bowser finishing telling him where they were headed and why. This was exactly why Bowser hadn’t wanted to bring him in the first place but he’d invited himself aboard and they’d took off before Bowser had realized. But it was too late, they were already on the airship, well on their way to the Mushroom Kingdom. “And I’m not just saying that because I disapprove of you wanting to date him, even though there’s that too. What if Mario’s there or Princess Peach?”

Bowser hadn’t considered that but… “It’s Valentine’s Day, why would they be at Luigi’s place?” Surely, they had to have better things to do be doing in general but especially today.

“They could be. Also, what makes you think asking the brother of your former nemesis out on a date is a good idea? It was bad enough you’re being friendly with each other and letting him babysit your kids. What if he betrays you, huh?”

“First off, Mario is still my nemesis, the fact that I haven’t kidnapped Peach in ages doesn’t change that. Second, Luigi’s not going to betray me.” Bowser was typically pretty skeptical of people too but with Luigi, he just didn’t see it happening. And that was a large part of why Bowser had fallen for him. Of course he could still turn Bowser down which would suck but… it didn’t hurt to try, right?

Kamek adjusted his glasses in that obnoxious way he always did before going off on a rant about why Bowser should or should not do something. Thankfully before he could even get out a single word, the airship bell rang outside, indicating they’d reached their destination and were beginning to descend. Bowser quickly gathered up the heart shaped box of chocolates and bouquet of flowers off the desk and fled the captain’s cabin.

He’d never been to Luigi’s home before but it being a mansion made it a bit hard to miss even before he’d reached the ship’s railing. It was bigger than Luigi’s description had made it seem. And despite having only relatively recently been cleared of ghosts, it didn’t look haunted, just kind of old and a little dilapidated, fancy though. Overall Bowser liked it even if his castle was still better.

As the ship neared the ground, Bowser vaulted over the railing, landing with a thud on the ground below. He didn’t look back at it as he started down the path for the front door. Let Kamek be mad and disapprove, he was old and single so what did even know about romance anyway? Besides Bowser was the Koopa King and thus he did as he pleased.

Despite his resolve, he faltered a little as he reached the front door. He was a big bad fire breathing reptile, a former enemy of the Mushroom Kingdom, what were the chances someone as pure hearted as Luigi could possibly feel even slightly romantically inclined towards him? Not good, right? Even if they were friends now. … He was already here though and going back now would be the same as listening to Kamek so… with a deep breath, he pressed the doorbell, careful not to push it too hard.

He had to ring it twice more a couple minutes later before Luigi answered. That was just like him, he had a whole mansion and a bunch of money but did he hire any kind of house staff? Nope, of course not. Why would he when he could just do it all himself?

“Who…” Luigi cut off, freezing in place as he stared up at Bowser. “Oh uh… hey Bowser. What are you doing here and uh… um… why are you dressed so nicely?” Ah, good he seemed to like the suit. Or maybe not, it was hard to tell but he’d certainly noticed it and felt some way about it.

“I came to ask if you would do me the honor of being my Valentine?” With a flourish, Bowser pulled the box of chocolates and flowers out from behind his back to offer to Luigi.

Once more Luigi froze solid, only his eyes moving as he looked at the gifts then back up at Bowser’s face and then back again. He made a vague gesture towards himself. “M-me? Really?” That wasn’t a ‘no’ so… perhaps Bowser stood a chance after all?

“Yes, you!” It wasn’t often Bowser was unsure or nervous about something but… he really didn’t want to mess this up. “I already have a diner reservation at the fanciest place in my kingdom or yours if you’d like to go with me.”

“I uh… um…” Luigi shifted, looking away. … Oh no, he was going say ‘no’, wasn’t he? That made sense. What was Bowser even thinking, coming out here to ask him this?

“It’s fine if you don’t…”

“Yes!” Luigi interrupted with surprising amount to intensity. “I mean uh… I would love to be your Valentine and uh… go on a date with you.” He accepted the flowers and chocolate with a large smile.

Intense relief washed through Bowser, making him feel almost like he needed to sit down. “Wonderful,” he said because he needed to say something. “Whenever you’re ready go, the airship awaits.” He gestured back towards it. As per his instructions the shy guys had lowered the boarding plank and rolled out a carpet on it. They flanked it, waiting for Bowser and Luigi to board. Kamek was nowhere in sight, he was probably still sulking in the captain’s cabin; whatever, he’d get over it eventually.

“Oh wow uh… I should get ready then, huh? Just… give me a moment. And uh… feel free to come in.” Luigi ducked back inside, leaving the door open for Bowser to follow.

Inside, the foyer was unsurprisingly clean and tidy. The floorboards creaked under Bowser’s weight which was the eternal problem with wooden flooring. Luigi was already off somewhere, presumably to his room to get ready, leaving Bowser to wait here for him. Which was fine, he needed some time to get over his nerves anyway.

He didn’t have to wait long though, not even five minutes later, Luigi reemerged from the upstairs room. Bowser’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of him and what he wore; a lovely flowing green dress. “You don’t mind if I wear this, do you?” he asked as he nervously descended the stairs. “I can change again if you’d prefer.”

“Nah, don’t. It looks good on you.”

Luigi seemed to almost let out a sigh of relief as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Also uh… before we go, I went back and forth a lot on whether or not I was going to mail this to you and then it eventually became too late so I thought I wouldn’t but then… here you are so… here.” As he reached Bowser, he pulled out a card he’d been holding behind his back and handed it to him.

‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ was written on the front in fancy lettering in the middle of a large red heart. Inside Luigi’s handwriting was neat and tidy. ‘Dear Bowser, you’ve come a long way since I first approached you about no longer going after Peach to fight Mario and we’ve been friends for a while now. Honestly, I’ve grown rather fond of you so I hope it is not too forward of me to ask if you’d perhaps like to try being more than solely friends. Answer next time we chat or just ignore this if you’d rather not, it’s totally fine. Yours truly, Luigi.’

Bowser chuckled as he looked back up at Luigi. He hadn’t been the only one thinking this at all, wonderful. “I’d like that very much.”

Luigi’s mustache partially hid his blush it was still unmistakably there. “I’m glad! Though… this does mean we’re probably going to have to tell Mario, huh? Keeping a friend secret is one thing but keeping a romantic partner a secret is uh… something else.”

True and that was honestly the only real downside to any of this but… “We’ll worry about that later.” Bowser waved that thought away, it didn’t matter right now so why even bother thinking about it? “We have a date to get to if you’re ready.”

“Uh… yeah, we can worry about that later. I’m ready to go.”

#My writing #super mario bros #Bowuigi #Bowser/Luigi #Valentines Day

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