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enhaheeseung · 1 year

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Study - l. Heeseung

Warnings: smut, cursing, oral male receiving, hand job, cum eating, tiny bit of angst, all of this takes place in a library💀

Pt.1 continuation of “all dressed up.” I strongly suggest reading pt.1 but it’s not necessary

Masterlist

Word count 3,1k I think 💭 ❔

Note: Tumblr is still acting up on me, but I wanted to get this out sooner than later probably going to have to move to a new blog soon cause nothing I do is working :/ And the spacing is a bit weird, 75% unedited, so forgive me if it’s bad :( also not sure when I’ll be active again so… yeah, anyways I hope you all enjoy it and sorry for the delay.

You had just gotten out of school, and on your way home, you decided to stop at the library to study cause you didn’t want to be cooped up at home and hunched over your very poorly set up study desk in your room.

As you open the doors to your local library, the librarian greets you with a smile which you automatically return and begin to walk down the long aisles of bookshelves with several books resting on them.

You drag your finger along every one, counting to ten and then stopping when your finger lands on a hardcover. It was some random series you’d never heard of before, but the cover looked enticing, so you grabbed it from the shelf and made your way to the back corner of the library, hoping your favorite seat would be unoccupied.

You had planned to do some light reading before studying, and you couldn’t wait to sit down and cozy up on the soft seat near the window.

As soon as you turn the corner, your shoulders slump in dismay cause your very favorite seat was, in fact, taken.

You trudged to the table next to it, opting for the next best option. You sighed heavily and placed your backpack on the table in front of you, pulling out your materials.

You sigh loudly and sit down on the wooden chair.

Maybe you were overreacting, but you were really annoyed that your seat was taken. It had the best view of the outside and the best light for reading.

You huff out another sigh and look up from your book, taking a glance at the person who stole your precious seat.

It didn’t surprise you when you saw who sat in it. He wore big round framed glasses. His shirt was neat and perfectly tucked into the waistband of his grey slacks. He tapped his leg rather annoyingly while taking notes from the mound of books that sat atop his table.

And to set it all off, he kept pushing up the bridge of his glasses ever so often. You wonder how he managed to perfect the nerd image so well you had no idea people like that even existed until you laid eyes on him.

Of course, someone like him would hide out in the back of the library. Then again, if you had that hideous fashion sense, you really wouldn’t want to be seen either.

At least he’s self aware.

But that still didn’t make you any less agitated that he was in your spot.

He never once looked up from his book, only occasionally brushing his bangs away from his face so he could see properly. You could only see his lips pouted in concentration as his pencil jotted down more notes.

You hadn’t realized that you had been staring for quite a few minutes, judging his appearance and secretly cussing him out in your head cause he had taken your beloved window seat.

Heeseung was working hard for his upcoming exam.

He had just gotten out of school and came straight to the library to focus on his studies.

Usually, he sat near the front to study, but today specifically, he went towards the back so he could work in peace, knowing no one would distract him.

Until he noticed someone approaching in his peripheral, he felt a tinge of annoyance when said person sat down, and he couldn’t believe today, out of all days, someone just had to sit next to him.

He wasn’t used to it. It’s not that he hated the idea of sitting next to someone, but he just got used to being alone. Since he started going to school, he never had a seatmate. He figured it was because no one wanted to be around the “nerd” or “dork” At first, it was bothersome, but he quickly grew accustomed to it, but now that someone was finally sitting next to him, he couldn’t help but feel a bit uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat.

But as long as whoever was sitting next to him didn’t make loud noises or disturb his peace, then he was okay with it.

Unfortunately for him, that wasn’t the case.

He heard multiple loud huffs and deep sighs, causing him to lose focus. He tapped a rhythm with his foot out of habit somehow that always helped to regain his focus again.

Apparently not today, though, because after the sighs got lost in the chilly air of the library, he got this uncomfortable feeling that he was now being watched like in the corner of his eye, he could see someone looking at No, staring at him.

He again shifted uncomfortably and looked up to see who this weirdo was that couldn’t keep their eyes to themselves.

The instant he looked up, the air got knocked straight from his lungs, and all of a sudden, the last thing he was worried about was your loud sigh and longing stare.

At first, he thought his eyes were deceiving him, but there was no way he could mistake you for anybody else, and he couldn’t help but feel a little giddy.

It was you, the girl from the Halloween party, the girl that gave him the best orgasm he’s ever had, the girl he couldn’t stop thinking of ever since the night he met you.

He could only thank the higher being out there that allowed you two to meet again.

You jumped slightly when the guy who had sat near the window made eye contact with you.

You cleared your throat and quickly looked away. You felt embarrassed that he caught you staring, that’s what you get for cursing him out in your head for the last five minutes.

He did nothing to deserve all the foul insults that you conjured up about him in your head. All he did was sit down in a public library where anyone could sit freely. It’s not like that seat was reserved for you, yet you acted like it was.

You looked down at the book you had picked up earlier, deciding to actually read instead of judging a random stranger for no reason.

It was titled popcorn.

Funny title for a book, you thought.

It’s a true story. Apparently, it’s about two strangers that met at a movie theater and ended up getting married after they accidentally conceived a child. It talked about the hardships of being young parents and working through differences ultimately for the betterment of their child, which led them to fall in love along the way.

You couldn’t even flip through the first page cause you felt a piercing gaze burning into the side of your skull. You glanced up occasionally, and he was still just literally staring at you.

It felt uncomfortable, and maybe this is what you deserve for staring at him first, perhaps this is gods way of telling you to mind your own business, and maybe it’s because when you looked up and met the stranger’s eyes for the second time, you realized that it was the guy from the Halloween party.

How could you not recognize him?

Well, stupid question, he looked so much different outside of his costume, almost unrecognizable, but you couldn’t forget those huge dark orbs that looked oh so precious when he begged for you to touch him.

It’d be a lie if you said you didn’t think once or twice about him after that night.

Which was surprising given the fact you never once thought about any of your past hookups after they left your bed.

But how could you not when he literally wore a maid costume and had the audacity to wear nothing underneath?

You think back to that night, remembering how his huge cock felt in your hands, how it twitched when you degraded him and how it throbbed when he released his warm milky cum down your thro-

With a tiny shake of your head, you turned away and focused back on your book.

But he couldn’t focus on anything anymore. You’d successfully ruined his study session within just a few seconds.

When you looked back down and practically ignored his existence, he couldn’t help the hurt he felt in his heart, but before he exaggerated too much. Maybe you just didn’t recognize him. Maybe now it was you that thought he was a weirdo for staring.

He kept blowing his bangs out of his face so you could make out his features better, trying to replicate how he looked that night. After all, he did wear his hair slicked back at the party.

The loud tapping of his pencil was a useless attempt to get you to look up from your book. He kept clearing his throat quietly and readjusting in his seat so you would notice him.

He even took his glasses off, trying to mirror his appearance that night.

It was only when he whined, more like moaned out of frustration, that you looked up at him and saw the pouty look on his face.

He bit his lip nervously, just like the night at the party when you pushed him back on the mattress before you gave him the hand job of his life.

That look alone was enough for you to close the book and stop everything that you were doing so you could focus on nothing but him.

“Hey, pretty boy.”

You chuckled when he looked to his left and right, searching to see if you were talking to someone else, and his eyes grew wide once he realized he was the only person around.

It felt like deja vu.

He sat up straight in his chair and cleared his throat for the fifteenth time. Yes, he was counting. “H-hi,” he muttered, pushing his bangs away from his face one last time.

“What a coincidence” you got up from your chair and moved it right next to his getting as close to him as possible, and he visibly gulped at the proximity.

“Y-yeah,” he sat there stiff as a board, looking straight ahead.

“What brings you here?” You say, and it really did feel like the night at the party all over again.

“S-study” again with the stutter…

Gosh, he’s so adorable.

As elated as he was that you were finally paying attention to him, he might have gotten just a little bit too excited.

He reached over to the table not so discreetly and picked up his notepad to cover his quickly growing erection.

“Isn’t that a bit tiring?” You ask, moving the notepad back to the table and running your hand up the length of his thigh.

“Y-yes” he squeezed his eyes shut and balled his fists at his sides.

“Want to take a break?” You couldn’t help but bite your lip at the sight of his bulge straining against his pants.

“Uhh y-yeah, I mean yes.” He whispered without hesitation closing his eyes once more and releasing a deep sigh.

“You’re so cute when you stutter,” you lean in and whisper in his ear, nibbling gently on his pierced lobe.

He really did everything in his power not to moan, but when your hand traced the outline of his hard-on poking through his slacks, he couldn’t help it.

As soon as it slipped out, he felt embarrassment rush throughout his entire body. He felt so pathetic for being that turned on just from you calling him cute.

But in his defense, no one had ever called him that before.

“Even cuter when you moan” you took one look around, making sure the coast was clear before you started to unfasten the buckle on his belt.

“N-not here” His breath hitched as he weakly grabbed your wrist, almost pleading with you to stop.

“Why’s that cutie?” You asked, halting your movements on his belt.

He gulped. “Cause there’s p-people around” he looked at you with blown pupils and a hint of worry in them.

But you didn’t miss the desperation all over his features.

The deep breaths, the subtle lip bite, and the quiet whimpers that he let out let you know he wanted this right here, right now, just as bad as you did.

“Then what do you suggest? cause, judging by the looks of it” you looked down at his cock that twitched under the confines of his pants. “This can’t wait” you ran your hand over his tent.

You could visibly see the moment he let go of all his inhibitions. You couldn’t help but smirk at the effect you had on him.

You were right.

He couldn’t wait and he knew it. he needed this. He needed it so bad that when he took one look around and saw that no one was in the vicinity of you two, he nodded his head, giving you the green light to continue, just praying that he wouldn’t regret this decision later on.

And god, did he hate himself for being so easily persuaded by you. Just like that, you were once again making him throw all his morals straight out the window, but the worst part was that he didn’t even care, and he blamed his stupid virgin dick for that.

“Just be a good boy and keep quiet for me yeah?” You undid the button on his slacks, and he couldn’t help but get excited at the sound of you pulling down his zip.

With a final nod of his head, You didn’t waste any more time and began palming him over his Calvin Klein boxers.

As soon as you touched him, he let out a shaky breath, and you could have sworn you saw his whole body shiver.

You turned to the side placing kisses on his neck, licking and sucking wherever you could reach.

He brought a hand up to loosen his tie, and you’re not sure if he did it cause it was getting too tight or if he did it to give you more access to kiss him either way, you took that as an invitation to leave dark marks on his newly exposed flesh.

“Y-you never told me your n-name,” he said breathlessly. Even with as out of it as he already was, he couldn’t miss yet another opportunity to learn more about you.

When you removed your hand from inside his pants, he panicked, thinking he had said something wrong, but he was in no way ready for what you were about to do next. “S-sorry, I-I didn’t mean to offen-” you cut him off as you grabbed his cheeks in both your palms so you could bring him in for a kiss.

When you pulled away, his eyes were blown wide open, and you had to wonder if he could be any cuter.

“I’m y/n.”

You answered your own question just moments later.

Yes, he could be cuter, way cuter, in fact, as he did his best to kiss you while you worked your hand up and down his length.

Although, in reality, he just had his mouth open while you did the rest, but how could you complain when it allowed you to swallow every one of his pretty little moans and whimpers?

“Y/n,” he whined into the kiss when you squeezed his base, his brain had become too foggy to even comprehend anything but your name and the way your hand felt stroking his dick.

His head fell limply on your shoulder as he struggled to watch you jerk him off under the confines of his boxers.

He felt just as good as you remembered, thick, long, and hot to the touch.

“Spit,” you instructed while slowing down the pace of your hand.

“Okay,” he whined and obediently lifted his head from your shoulder, gathering a glob of saliva in his mouth and spitting it onto his tip.

“Good boy” he looked up slowly and met your eyes with his hooded ones moaning at the praise that rolled off your tongue.

“Hmmm,” he nodded his head in agreement, eyebrows furrowing when you spread the mixture of his precum and saliva on his shaft. “So good” he sighed in pleasure.

Any second, he was going to cum. The quiet sticky sound that came from you rubbing him up and down made heat rise to his cheeks and he couldn’t stop his slit from producing drops precum, not when your fingers massaged his tip so good.

He kept moaning your name in your ear over and over, clutching onto your thigh for support as he felt his thighs tensing and that familiar feeling he felt on the first night you two met. “What is it, pretty boy?” You hummed at the sight of his precum staining his lower abdomen, some of it even spilling into his belly button.

He just moaned in response, squeezing his legs together tightly from embarrassment.

“You gonna cum, pretty boy, is that it?” He nodded against your shoulder and moved his head to your neck, nudging softly as he thrusts his hips up to match the movement of your hand.

“Gonna cum” he breathed into your ear, and you swore it was the hottest thing you’d ever hear.

The sight in front of you had you dripping. His boxers were stained in precum shirt slightly lifted up, giving you the perfect view of his abdomen covered in his slick.

His hot, heavy breath fanning against your neck and the desperation of his hips bucking into your hand was the most beautiful sight ever. He was a complete fucked out mess.

You’ve never been with someone that was so easily worked up, and the fact that he was like this all because of you had you equally worked up, so worked up that you pulled your hand out of his boxers, drawing a whiny gasp from him as you spoiled yet another one of his orgasm.

His discontent didn’t last for more than a second as you got down on your knees under the table. He hastily looked around to ensure no one was watching and quickly pulled his pants down below his kneecaps, giving you access to his hard-on that rested on his lower tummy.

Yeah, his morals were definitely out the window.

You took him in your mouth without warning causing him to jump in his seat slightly when he felt the warmth of your mouth enveloping his rock-hard cock. “Fuck” he hissed as his eyes rolled back in his head while more barely coherent curses fell past his dry lips.

He looked under the table, watching you as you bobbed your head up and down on his cock. You sucked all the way from his tip and stopped at his base, practically swallowing him whole. “Oh fuck” he grabbed the sides of his chair, trying to ground himself.

He couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from your lips wrapped around his shaft. He was mesmerized watching the way his cock disappeared into your mouth.

Your saliva dribbled down his shaft, creating the most obscene sounds he’s ever heard as you sucked him off.

It didn’t take long for him to get addicted to the feeling of your mouth on his dick, and no sessions with his right hand could ever compare to the pleasure you were giving him right now.

When you pulled back to take a breath, his dick was wet and glossy from your saliva. The sight made him twitch, and he got so red when you giggled at his involuntary reaction.

You placed your hands on his thighs to support yourself. You stuck out your tongue, using the tip of the wet muscle to trace the veins on his length. “Y/n, i-” he covered his face with his hands, trying so hard to hold out, but it was useless when you teasingly ran your tongue along the underside of his cock and sucked him back in. “I’m cumming” he announced with a shaky breath and let his hands fall down to his sides once more as he watched himself emptying his balls down your throat.

The way his cock felt throbbing inside your mouth brought you just a little too much satisfaction, even more satisfaction than having an orgasm of your own.

You hummed around his shaft, gagging when his cum squirted in your mouth and hit the back of your throat. “Shit!” He moaned loudly when your throat tightened on his pulsating cock, pleasuring him even more.

You made eye contact while sucking him through his orgasm he panted uncontrollably, face scrunching in overstimulation. As you felt him going limp in your mouth, you pulled off his cock and licked the corner of your lips, kissing and licking every inch of his dick, making sure not a single drop of his release was wasted. “Taste so sweet,” you hummed at his taste that lingered on your tongue.

He very timidly tucked your hair behind your ear, and the gesture alone came off as being way softer than he intended. You looked up through your fluttering lashes, and he only smiled while biting his lip before shyly looking away.

You felt a strange feeling in your stomach, but you quickly brushed it off.

He winced slightly when you pulled his boxers up and tucked him away. The dampness in his underwear felt uncomfortable and even more uncomfortable when he wore his pants and tucked his shirt back into its original state.

Without a word, you got up from your position on the floor and straightened out your clothes.

A deep sigh escaped him as he was finally coming back to reality after that mind-blowing orgasm, and unfortunately but yet so fitting for him, his throat dried up, and he couldn’t even form a proper sentence all the questions that were left lingering in his mind ever since the party were stuck on his tongue.

And just like on Halloween night, you were disappearing from his sight once more.

But at least he got your name this time, maybe if he’s lucky enough, you’ll be coming back to this same library maybe sooner than later, and maybe he’d wait every day just in case you did show up.

That’s a lot of maybe’s, but that’s all he had as he looked at the disheveled notes that were now long forgotten about cause he was too busy thinking about you.

Taglist: @cha0thicpisces @07jkez

Permanent taglist:®• @hello-stranger24 @ashxsmoon @lhsggg @scarlet127 @bunhoons @axartia @kpopscruggles @badidealy @heeseungleeworld @jayroseyy @bangchanhasbigfeet @duolingofanaccount @oceanyocean @woonie-muffin @hee-in @heesgirl @bambisgirl @heeaddict @heartandfangs @nyxtwixx

Thank you so much for reading. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated. I hope you all enjoy. Sorry for any typos/errors, and as always, enjoy your day/night.🖤🤍

#enhypen heeseung smut #heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enhypen heeseung #enhypen #heeseung #lee heeseung #enha heeseung #engene

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silvergoldraeven · 1 year

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Had this lil oneshot of baby Baldur and teen Heimdall stuck in my head while playing Minecraft so here you go, take it so it stops rotting my brain :3

~ ~ ~

A candle on the table next to Heimdall illuminated the pages of his book as he sat in bed reading. His back against a big pillow and blanket pulled up to his chest made for the perfect cozy night.

Well, it would've been if it wasn't for the yelling and screaming coming from the All Father's study. Seriously, did Freya really need to get angry at him for everything? Heimdall felt bad that the All Father had a wife like that, not like he couldn't deal with her, of course he could. At least there was one good thing that happened from him marrying Freya.

Heimdall rolled his eyes and turned a page of his book as another crash was heard throughout the Lodge.

Turning his attention away from the bickering, he could hear small footsteps sneaking towards his room. Lowering his book slightly he glanced at the door as it creaked open, allowing the sound of yelling to get even louder before a small boy made his way inside and closed the door. The suddenly change of loudness made Heimdall's head throb slightly and soured his for once good mood. the boy twiddling his thumbs shyly infront of him wasn't making his mood better.

"Why are you in my room, Baldur? Can I not get any peace?" Heimdall said with a sneer.

"Mother and Father are fighting again.." Baldur tried to sound confident but his voice cracked as he visibly shuddered. He hugged his own body, only wearing a small tunic that was warm enough under the covers, but definitely not warm enough outside of that.

"I have ears too, you know. Besides, what does that have to do with the fact that you are once again in my room without permission?"

"Can I stay with you?" The boy asked with big eyes. "Absolutely not. You smell like Gradungr shit." Heimdall scoffed as he swatted away his brother's tiny hands as he was about to attempt to climb into the bed.

Baldur glared at him but just as he was about to walk away, a particular loud crash and scream made him flinch and snap his head towards the door. Heimdall could hear his brother's heart pounding in his chest as he stood frozen in place now. Heimdall rolled his eyes, he remembered when he was weak like that.

Gently hitting him on the head with the book he was reading seemed to break the little one's trance as he looked back towards his brother, tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes.

"Please, Dally Dall?"

"Okay fine! But stop using that nickname!" Heimdall groaned loudly as he moved enough for his little brother to crawl into the bed with him. Baldur grinned happily as he cuddled up to his brother, he felt safe now. The fighting outside hadn't stopped but Heimdall could feel the boy's heart calm down a bit as he tried to fight his own sleepiness. "You're still scared?"

"I am not scared!" Baldur huffed proudly, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"You are a terrible liar, Baldur." Moving his arm so Baldur wasn't laying on it, Heimdall opened his book again and flipped to the page he was at last. "I just don't see why you let it get to you, are you weak?"

"No! I'm not weak! You know I'm strong!"

"Right. Just don't be scared, fear looks like shit on you. Besides, All Father will keep both of us safe, always." Heimdall kissed his little brother's forehead as he clung to his side. "Now, go to sleep and don't attempt to kick me off the bed again, got it?"

"Alright alright" Baldur giggled "Goodnight, Dally Dall" he yawned and closed his eyes as he drifted off to sleep.

"Goodnight, Snowflake."

#gow heimdall #gow baldur

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total-drama-takes-takes-2 · 8 months

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tta episode 10

“Last time, on Total Takes Action: our remaining contestants competed in a detective noir themed challenge to uncover a secret traitor within their very midst. Scary went bananas… again, and Scruffy got served a heaping dish of steaming hot reality. O was accused of the crime, but it was Max’s secret detective skills that pulled through and uncovered the real imposter… Fren! Or should I say Alistair, award-winning theater actor? Unfortunately for him, the Gilded Chris was not an award he won, and he was sent off the silver screen and back to the stage. Is anyone who they say they are? Find out now, on Total! Takes! Action!”

The craft services tent is dreary and quiet today, not a hint of conversation or comradery between the remaining contestants.

Scruffy is seated far away from Scary, jogging in place in the corner of the tent. Scary is ignoring them, flipping through their notes and making additions and addendums. Max is reading something, his brow furrowed in concentration, O is busy spooning the morning breakfast slop, and Peter is sitting awkwardly by himself on the vacant end of the table.

---

PETER: “Ever since Fren- sorry, I mean Al- left, it’s been dead quiet around here. Everyone left hates each other! Not only that, but since my last friend left the island… I’ve been completely alone.. I think this might be the first time I've spoken out loud in a week!”

---

O coughs. Scary wipes her nose on her lab coat sleeve. Peter looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel.

Finally, the intercom crackles, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Goooood morning, campers! If you’ll all join me in front of the craft services tent, we have a special treat for you today!”

Scruffy raises an eyebrow. “But- our next challenge is supposed to be-”

“Don't wet yourselves with terror just yet- this is not a challenge! Just for fun! And ratings!”

Scary rolls her eyes and snaps her notebook shut, walking outside with the rest of the cast. Only Scruffy lags behind, apparently disturbed by the sudden change in structure.

"Do you really believe it's going to be nothing?" Peter asks Scruffy, tailing alongside them.

"Um... I guess... I mean, Chris works by a schedule, but he can be pretty unpredictable," the neon lime wonders aloud. "Maybe he'll invite us to a cozy dinner and drug us, and we'll wake back up on the island..."

Scruffy sighs dreamily while Peter quivers in terror.

---

SCRUFFY: "I haven't been on top of my game this season, and it's really making me miss the island. At least then I could predict what was coming... now, it's like Russian roulette with a fully-loaded barrel!"

---

Chris is standing with an unfamiliar camera crew right outside of the tent, chatting about shot lists and lighting. As the campers shuffle outside, he turns with a big smile. He’s wearing an odd pair of square glasses and a beret today.

“Good morning, treasured and beloved children,” Chris speaks in a pleasant, soft tone. Behind him is a massive buffet loaded with every breakfast food imaginable- eggs, toast, bacon, pancakes and waffles of every variation, croissants, jams and butters and chocolate spreads, with pitchers of fresh squeezed orange juice lining the table-cloth covered surface. Chef is at one end of the buffet, setting down tiny plates and toothpicks, covered in bacon grease and sweat. “Did you all sleep well? Ready to enjoy your nutritious breakfast?”

The campers halt, looking between each other as if no one is quite sure if this is a mirage or not, like an oasis on the desert. Scruffy silently pumps their fist in the back.

Finally- “Did you hit your head or what?” Max asks bluntly.

The host chuckles back. “Of course not,” he turns to the crew behind him. “The children get three vitamin-packed, nutritious meals every day. We have our own personal chef on standby, so everything is made fresh.”

Chef waves from the end of the table, little flecks of bacon grease flying off his fingers.

“I’m pretty sure there was a cockroach in the oatmeal this morning,” O mumbles to Max. He nods.

Chris looks back to the campers. “Today we have a very special treat for you all. I’ve canceled the mindfulness and meditation, so you all better give your full attention to the very nice people from Reality, Weekly,”

Scruffy gasps. The campers look between each other, still in a shocked silence, now even more confused than before. Finally, Scary clears his throat. "Um, who?"

"WHO?!" Scruffy shouts from behind them, right into her ear. She claps her hands around her head and glares.

---

SCRUFFY: “Reality Weekly?! THE Reality Weekly?! North America and selective European countries’ number one reality TV gossip mag?! THEY RAN THE DUNCNEY VS. GWUNCAN STORY FOR YEARS! This is the most exciting day of my life, oh my God- I was right, staying in the game is WAY more important than 50 million dollars!”

---

“Can we get Nadie on set?” a stagehand yells. Two production assistants set up some chairs inside the trailers as the cast looks on.

"Make sure to be veeeery nice for the lovely television producers, and I'll see you all at your gourmet dinner tonight," Chris clasps his hands together and strains his words, trying to convey one thing to the remaining campers- behave. "Anyone who doesn't want to participate will see Chef in the, um... meditation tent."

The campers turn to see Chef sharpening a fish hook by the buffet. Chris wishes them good luck and walks off with a few sharply-dressed producers.

"This is such [CENSORED]," Scary sighs.

"I knew it was a challenge..." Peter grumbles, taking a seat on the grass by the buffet table and dejectedly peeling an orange.

"Does this mean we're not getting drugged?" Scruffy pouts. "No matter- I've been preparing for my Reality, Weekly interview since I was six years old!"

They take a seat next to Peter, crossing their legs and smiling. "I used to practice in front of the mirror before school- of course, in those interviews, I was giving my winner's speech... but this is alright, too,"

Peter splits the orange in half and gives one handful of slices to Scruffy. "Did you always want to be on TV?"

"Oh, yes. I've known for years that Total Drama is my home!"

Scary coughs in the back. "Loser!"

Max elbows her and she lunges at him. Their growls and his screeches fade out as she chases him across the lot. Scruffy turns back to Peter. "What did you want to do?"

"Oh, a lot of things," Peter nods. "Doctor, psychologist, research scientist, teacher... people say I have a real knack for helping."

Scruffy makes a face. "Has helping people ever gotten you anywhere?"

Now it's O's turn to elbow him. He frowns disapprovingly and turns to Peter. "Well, I think that's wonderful, Peter. Maybe we can be therapists together!"

"Maybe!"

Scruffy rolls their eyes and shakes their head sadly. "Just not cut out for this game..."

The sound of a door opening catches the attention of the remaining players and they turn towards their sides. A young person dressed in a purple tank top and black pants comes out from the impromptu production tent set up outside the craft services tent, adjusting a lav mic and grinning widely.

“Okay, who’s first?” they ask, flipping their braids over their shoulders.

The campers look between each other. One tiny voice pipes up from the back of the crowd. “Ooh, me! Me!”

The interviewer ignores Scruffy and sighs, tapping their chin. “How about… Max. We have a lot of questions for him,”

Max screams from far away as Scary catches him.

"Can someone get him for me?"

---

The camera adjusts and focuses on Max sitting in front of a wall, the space cleared out for the interview. Nadie remains behind the camera, clearing their throat. “Good morning. I’m Canada, but you can also call me Nadie, if you want,”

“Your name is Canada?”

“Nadie for short. Shall we begin?”

---

NADIE: “Okay, so when I got this internship at Reality Weekly six months ago, I was so totally not expecting to get sent out to Toronto to interview the Total Takes cast- this is like a dream come true! My supervisor Sierra picked me specifically, because I’ve already seen all of Total Takes Island- five times!”

---

Nadie tries to contain the smile in their tone as they begin. “So, Max- what’s it like being back on the show?”

“Terrible,”

“Last episode, you said that you only came back to see your girlfriend, Michela- now that she’s gone, do you still want the money?”

He shrugs. “It couldn’t hurt. Might as well try while I’m still stuck in this hell hole,”

---

Outside the trailer, Scary, Scruffy, O, and Peter wait on the grass. A shaky, handheld camera records them, and Scary glares at it.

“What, like we aren’t being recorded all the time on this damn set?”

The cameraman doesn’t respond. She groans and stands, walking back to the craft services tent. The camera turns and follows her, stopping every time she turns around.

“Would you BUZZ OFF!” she finally yells, storming into the tent and zipping the flap behind her.

Scruffy runs in front of the camera. “You can film me! Look at me! I loved your guys’ exposee piece on Sugar!”

The camera turns away.

---

Max walks out of the trailer in a few minutes, and O is called in.

The former walks past Peter and Scruffy waiting outside and locks himself in the communal bathroom. Scruffy groans in agony.

"This is torture! No one here even cares... do you know how special being on Total Drama is? It's hard, yes, but... we're making history! We have fan clubs, people speculating about us and our relationships, magazines running stories on us... what part of that doesn't sound amazing?!"

"Um... all of it," O grumbles, sitting criss-cross in the grass while snacking on a baby muffin. "Is that really why you came here? To get famous?"

"Not really. I just wanted to... you know, experience it for myself," Scruffy sighs. "Why'd you come?"

"My therapist recommended it, thank you very much," he responds curtly. "And I think this place is a petri dish of potential clients in the future. After this season is done, we can start doing group therapy!"

"Geez, and you think I'm weird for obsessing over the show," Scruffy rolls their eyes. "But at least we can agree on one thing-"

O nods. "People here are crazy,"

---

“I guess meeting everyone has been fun,” O says, tapping his chin. “Peter is pretty chill, Scruffy is… um… I’ll pass on that. Max has his moments, but I see a lot of love in him, deep down,” O puts a hand over his heart. “Just the way he looks at Michela tells me that behind all that nerdy superiority, he’s got a good heart. Scary is a black tar pit of nothingness and she might’ve been forged in the depths of the sun.”

---

The camera films through the mesh craft services tent window as Scary sticks another fork in the wooden table at the center of the tent and digs it deep into the pliable surface. She takes out a rubber band and pulls it apart, creating a long, rubber string. They tie one end to one fork, and likewise to the other, then pulls it back with a small pebble.

She grins as she releases the elastic and it flies across the tent, straight into the camera lens.

---

SCARY: "What? I've been making some good progress here, and after last episode, I'm not taking any chances letting the wrong people see what I'm cooking up," they hold up their notebook and grin. "They'll see. They'll all see!" she laughs maniacally and then coughs. "But, as much as I hate to admit it, losing my assistant has taken me a step back. A scientist is only as good as their word, and in most cases, their word needs to be excessively reviewed and re-reviewed."

---

Scruffy runs a lap around the filming trailer, then another. Peter gets called inside and O walks out, stretching and retreating to the other trailer.

---

“Scruffy is… well… they’re an enigma, let’s say that,” O scratches his chin. “They may be too far gone for even me to help.”

---

“I almost feel bad for them,” Peter says, hands in his lap. “They’re straining themself so hard, and I can tell when someone is about to snap…”

---

“Another formidable opponent lost to the insanity of Total Takes,” Max shakes his head. “A damn shame.”

---

"Wasted potential," Scary flicks a dustball off their lab coat.

---

Peter sits in the designated chair against the chosen backdrop, fidgeting nervously.

“You doing alright, Peter?” Nadie asks, adjusting his lavalier mic and then stepping back. He nods sheepishly. “If you insist. First question… what’s it like making it this far in the game after being dropped so early from the competition in the first season?”

“Scary,” he says immediately. “Even scarier now that Fren is gone.”

“Were you two good friends?”

“He was nice to me,” Peter mumbles. “No one is nice to me… I mean, just off the bat.”

“How do you feel about Max’s influence over his elimination?”

“What do you mean?”

Nadie scratches her chin awkwardly. “Well… if he’d never been exposed, he’d still be here,”

Peter looks at his feet. “I guess I’ve… never thought about it that much…”

---

O rifles through a bag of chips from the kitchen, watching Scruffy pace back and forth and murmur to themselves like a madman. Scary joins O, hands on their hips as they watch the display.

“Pathetic,” she sighs. “Oh, well. I suppose they were always a ticking time bomb. Say, O… you have any experience in chemistry?”

“Only in the chemicals of the mind!”

“Nerd!” Scary shouts, walking away. “Have to do everything my damn self around here…”

Max steps out of the bathroom, looking back and forth. The camera zooms in on him as he walks out, exhaling.

“Boo!”

He screams and leaps as Scary shouts in his ear. She chuckles and watches him blush and regain his composure. “Was that necessary?”

“No. That’s why it’s fun,” she smiles. “Hey, you’re a smart guy, right?”

“Maybe. Who’s asking?”

“I need a second opinion,” Scary pulls out her notebook. “Some peer review, if you will. Scruffy has obviously fallen off the deep-end, and I have some ideas to bounce.”

“What, your parole officer busy this week?”

“You and I both know I’m above the law. What do you say? I’ll give you a fraction of the profits if I’m right… 10%?”

“25%”

“20%, and that’s my final offer,”

“Deal. Twenty it is,”

Scruffy trips on a pebble and wails on the ground, rocking back and forth in front of them.

---

“Peter is…” O starts, looking up.

---

“A pushover,” Max scoffs.

---

“A good guy, but not Total Takes material,” Scruffy nods. "Poor guy is going to get eaten alive..."

---

“Look, there’s nothing wrong with him, he’s just so milquetoast,” Max rolls his eyes. “Still, I wouldn’t mind making it to the finale with him. For obvious reasons.”

---

Peter sits in the craft services tent, biting his nails and glancing over to Max every few minutes. He’s busy rifling through a few of Scary’s notes, looking up every few seconds to make sure no one can see what he’s doing. The camera zooms in on the papers nonetheless.

Peter turns to O. “Can I get some advice?”

“What?” O yawns, leaning on his elbow. “Oh, yeah, sure! What’s the deal- GAD? SAD?”

“Um… I just want your opinion on something. You know, like a friend,”

O raises an eyebrow.

---

O: “I guess it’s just kind of… weird… having people want to talk to me like a friend… I’ve never had a friendship that existed outside of impromptu therapeutic discussions and mutual validation, you know?”

---

“If there was someone who… ruined a friendship for you… would it be right to be angry at them?” Peter asks, looking at his lap nervously.

“Anger is a secondary emotion, if we can get to the root…” O slows down, then sighs. “Yes. Yes it would be right. In fact, I’d be even angrier! If I got to actually keep a friend, and then someone else ruined our friendship, I’d be furious!”

“Really,” Scary scoffs from across the table, peering over her notebook. “Mr. Cool Therapy, that’s not good client advice.”

“I’m not a therapist,” O crosses his arms, matter-of-factly. “I’m not licensed, after all. It’s illegal to impersonate a doctor. We’re talking… as friends!”

“Whatever,” she sighs, returning to her notes.

---

“O is… whatever, I guess,” Scary crosses her arms. “Not worth my time.”

---

“He’s fine. Michela liked him enough,” Max sighs. "She does have astronomically bad taste, though... wait, what does that say about me?"

---

Nadie steps into the craft services tent and calls in Scary.

"No way in hell," Scary grumbles, leafing through the notebook with Max at her side. "You're lucky I haven't smashed in all your stupid equipment yet."

"Um, yeah, Chris warned us about that, so... he took the liberty of setting up a minefield around the production tent," Nadie smiles nervously. "I wouldn't get too close if I were you."

---

"What do I think I've accomplished on the show?" Scary scoffs at the question.

---

Max sighs. "Nothing,"

---

"Not enough!" O says.

---

"I guess I've... survived, and that's good enough, right?" Peter smiles bashfully.

---

"Here's an accomplishment for you: today's minefield will be the last," Scary grins. "Chris is going down."

---

It's dark out now, the sun setting behind the cityscape. Scary steps out of the trailer and Nadie sticks his head out as she leaves. “Scruffy?”

“FINALLY!” Scruffy jumps up from the grass where they’ve been waiting for the past few hours, and dashes inside the trailer. “I am so ready for this!”

“Love the enthusiasm,” Nadie smiles. “We don’t actually have a lot of questions for you, but this one’s on everyone’s minds…”

“Anything!” they speak enthusiastically, folding their hands in their lap and sitting up straight.

“What are your thoughts on Patrick and Julia being an item?”

Scruffy’s smile drops. “What?”

“Damn, right, I forgot that you don’t have internet access here. Patrick and Julia are an item now! Considering your close friendship with Julia, a lot of the fans are wondering…”

They force another smile. “That’s great! That’s so cool and awesome, I’m SO happy for them! Haha! Even though Patrick’s style of antagonism directly conflicts Julia’s and they’re way too different and he knows nothing about her. I’m fine! You know what? I didn't even want to do this interview anyway- I have to go!” Scruffy stands, running outside the trailer.

---

Scruffy sits in the confessional, wailing.

---

Scary and Max watch them running into the makeup and hair confessional, covering their face. “What got up their ass this time?” Max asks.

---

Peter and O watch the two from inside the mess hall. "What do you think they're doing?"

"Nothing good," O responds, shaking his head. "Anything those two can agree on has to be trouble."

"I don't know, maybe we're being too harsh..." Peter starts, twirling his thumbs around each other. "I don't want to be mean..."

O sighs and takes a seat at the table. "Listen, man. Speaking... as a friend, I think you can be pretty soft when it comes to people messing with your feelings. And I know that... I haven't been doing a good job at regulating that for everyone. I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes I feel like therapy just pushes positivity onto people instead of validating their feelings!"

"I don't think that's crazy at all," Peter says. "Didn't your therapist get you to come on reality TV to face a fear?"

"Yeah... maybe... that wasn't the right move," O sighs. "I know it's unprofessional, but I see you guys as friends, not clients, and I would never subject my friends to that same crap."

"I don't think that's unprofessional, I think that's empathy. It's sweet," Peter smiles. "If only everyone else felt that way..."

"Hey, man, if you need me, I'm here for you. What's been happening to you isn't fair, and if you wanna get mad-"

“It’s just so unfair!” he suddenly shouts, slamming his fists on the table. “Why do these things keep happening to me?!”

“That's it- stand for yourself! Don’t let your fear take over!”

“You’re right! I’ve been letting myself get walked on for too long!” Peter stands. “I’m going to confront Max and Scary and tell them exactly what’s on my mind!”

He storms out of the craft services tent and to the impromptu camera tent, where the Reality, Weekly crew is having their dinner break. Max and Scary are hovering around the group, using their lights to read through the notes.

“I’m no scientist, but this all seems right to me,” Max says. “If your readings are correct, and your evidence can be held up in court, you definitely have a case.”

“I knew it!” Scary grins. “Chris McLean is SO going down!”

“MAX AND SCARY!” Peter shouts, pointing an accusing finger at them. The two look up from their notes and squint at him.

“Great. What now?” Max mutters, crossing his arms. Scary hands him the notes and walks up to Peter, hands on her hips.

“What’s the deal, pipsqueak?”

“The deal is that… that…” Peter quivers, a little unsure of himself, before he takes a deep breath and stands his ground. “You’re MEAN!”

“You’re RUDE. You’re EVIL!” he takes a step forward. “And you’re not even that much smarter than anyone else! We can ALL TELL!”

Scary scoffs. “God, this is pathetic. You really think that-”

She takes a step closer and triggers a sudden hidden trip wire. The sound of twanging makes both her and Peter stop dead in their tracks and turn to the sound of fizzling under their feet. They both jump to the ground, covering their heads as a landmine goes off behind them- sending Max flying across camp and instantly disintegrating all of Scary’s notes. She watches the papers turn into ashes in horror.

Chris chuckles, watching the display from afar. “Man, I love fireworks,”

---

A medical helicopter takes off, Max tucked inside. Scary is seething, fists clenched.

“Well… that was fun,” Nadie says, waving goodbye to the chopper.

Chris smiles. “Yes. Yes it was,”

"MONTHS of evidence- gone!" Scary turns to Peter. "You're dead. You're dead meat, and I'm gonna eat you!"

"Weird," O breathes, then turns his head to either side of him. "Hey- where'd Scruffy go?"

---

Scruffy remains in the confessional, wailing.

---

#total takes action #tta

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girl-next-door-writes · 1 year

Text

I've Gotta Go Away

Characters: Steven Grant x Reader

Summary: Just a cozy Christmassy date with the lovely Steven Grant.

Word Count: 1068 words

Prompt: #2: Drinking hot cocoa in a small café

The darkness was punctuated by the flurries of white that danced within the harsh winter breeze, illuminated by the streetlamps and shop windows creating a strange and mystical ballet which nobody paid attention to. People on the street scurried by, heads down and collars pulled up against the elements, eager to finally find a respite from the frightful weather. Pavements became damp slush with banks of murky snow lining the edges, preparing themselves to freeze overnight and prove hazardous to any early morning pedestrians.

From the warmth of his seat, Steven stared out at the snowflakes creating intricate patterns on their way to the ground. His damp coat and scarf hung on the back of the wooden stool, the smell of wet cloth covered by the aroma of coffee from the counter and vanilla from the various reed diffusers strategically placed around the shop. It all mingled with a hint of pine, which was strange as the overly decorated tree in the corner with the soft twinkling lights was entirely made of plastic. Perhaps that was one of the mysteries of Christmas, how just the image of a tree could conjure up the familiar smell, like a sense memory.

His hands were wrapped around a half full mug of hot chocolate, tiny marshmallows, half melted, bobbed around on the surface happily. Steven had placed them there himself. He always felt a little awkward asking if the marshmallows were vegan whenever he went to a coffee shop, not wanting to put anyone out or make things difficult. He definitely didn’t want to be one of ‘those’ vegans and they had already been so kind to make his drink with almond milk. Instead, he had taken to carrying around a small pack of marshmallows on the off chance he might want a sugar hit.

He had managed to snag one of his favourite seats, sat at the high bench in the window. It was ideal for people watching, but as the sky grew darker the glass changed from a window to more of a mirror. He could see the twinkle of the fairy lights over by the counter, the flicker of the candle on the table in front of him was twinned, and then there was his own reflection staring back at him. Steven had to admit that he looked tired, and quickly shifted his gaze, uncomfortable with the look he was giving himself.

“You sure you don’t want a top up?” Your voice brought him out of his thoughts as you returned to your seat beside him.

“No, thanks love. I’ve got half a cup still left.” He gave you a soft smile, still not quite believing that you were really here with him.

The two of you had been trying to meet up for a few days now, and he had resigned himself to yet another year of almosts and near misses. You had not been so ready to give up on the Christmas miracle yet though, and he had been pleasantly surprised when he looked up from the gift shop counter and saw you standing there. Turned out, you had managed to get the afternoon off work and wondered if he wanted to go for a drink when he’d finished. Of course, he had immediately agreed and the end of his shift couldn’t have come soon enough.

That had been three hours ago, and neither of you showed any signs of leaving yet. Steven had even been looking for any indication that you might, that he was boring you or you had realized you’d made a terrible mistake, but there had been none. In fact, you seemed to be enjoying yourself as much as he was. The conversation was easy, although Steven did find himself nervously stuttering over a few words every now and again. The butterflies in his stomach had calmed somewhat. There was still a nervous energy, but the anxiety that had laced that feeling had dissipated.

Time seemed to fly by, and before he knew it the staff were indicating that they wanted to close up for the night. Checking his watch, his eyes widened when he saw the time.

“Oh, I am so sorry for keeping you so late! How are you getting home? Will there still be a bus running?” He looked at you with such concern, feeling that he had somehow made your life difficult and now you would be less inclined to meet up with him again.

“I’ll just get an Uber, it’s fine.” You assured him with a warm smile. “We can share one if you want, that way you’ll know I got home okay. And I will know you got home okay too. Plus, it means we can keep hanging out a little longer.”

“Y-yeah?” It came out more of a question than a statement but you had simply nodded and pulled out your phone to open the app.

“I’m gonna need your address though, to book it.”

Steven gave you his address and it wasn’t long before the two of you were standing in the doorway of the café, staring at the small screen as you tracked your lift. The wind had picked up outside, the flurries of snow now creating mini hurricanes in the air, and neither of you really wanted to brave the cold until you really had to.

When the car pulled up, you had grabbed Steven’s hand and carefully crossed the soggy pavement, a gesture he didn’t fully comprehend until the two of you were safe and warm in the backseat and your hand remained in his. That wasn’t something just a friend would do, that meant you liked him, didn’t it? At least a little. He couldn’t help but let hope grow within him, perhaps this had all gone so well that you might be open to a more obvious date scenario.

All too soon, the car pulled up outside your home. “Well, Steven, it’s been lovely. We should definitely do this again” You said softly, leaning a little over and pressing your warm lips against his cold cheek. The action caused his brain to short circuit for a moment and before he could regain his senses you had been climbing out of the car and into the snow. His fingers pressed against his cheek, the ghost of your kiss still lingering there. Yes, he thought you should definitely do this again.

#Steven Grant #Steven Grant x reader #Steven's Greetings #gndw fic

67 notes · View notes

banannabethchase · 6 months

Text

Brew and Me - also on AO3

Claudio's finally gotten the opportunity to visit the small coffee shop he's been lusting after, and Wheeler tags along.

For @rosabellebelieve because she deserves smiles <3

Wheeler wakes up to his alarm blaring, blinking away the sleep. He slaps at the bedside table and answers without checking the name. “The fuck do you want?” he grumbles, shoving his face back into the pillow.

“Wake up, Wheeler,” Claudio says, sounding way too cheery. “I’m downstairs. Have been for a bit now, love. Come on.”

Wheeler groans and rolls over. Claudio’s side of the bed really is cool. “Why do you do this to me?” he sighs, sitting up. “Normal people sleep past,” he checks the clock, “eight in the morning on a Sunday, fuck.”

“You agreed to go on a coffee tasting,” Claudio says. “The appointment is at nine. You should be getting ready now.” Wheeler rolls his eyes and stands, going for the closet.

“You’re lucky I showered last night,” Wheeler mutters, getting dressed.

“Of course I am,” Claudio says, and he’s unfairly perky. “If you hadn’t, I would have woken you up when I woke up.”

“If you ever wake me up at five in the morning on the weekend, I will lock you out.” Wheeler can’t help but smile at Claudio’s excitement though. It’s an appointment at a small local coffee shop that Claudio’s been lusting after since a late night google search a few months back, and they finally got a Dynamite date in the area. They extended their stay a little, just to get the appointment.

“You would not,” Claudio replies. “Now come down to the lobby.”

Wheeler brushes his teeth and does his best to style his hair and beard, then makes his way downstairs.

Claudio looks cozy in a double breasted coat, a little warm for the weather but the effect is more than worth it.

“Hey,” Wheeler says, leaning down to kiss Claudio. “You already taste like coffee.”

“I had to have my morning brew.”

Wheeler rolls his eyes. “Come on. I have the keys.”

Claudio tries to grab him out of the way to drive, but Wheeler dives into the seat before Claudio can get there.

“I,” Wheeler says, grinning up at Claudio, “am driving.”

Claudio huffs, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his eyes. “Fine. I’ll let you chauffeur me.”

“Let me,” Wheeler scoffs, starting the car as Claudio makes his way around. “You’re such a dick.”

Claudio slides into the car. “What about dick?”

“Buckle up.”

Wheeler may or may not disregard some speed limits as they make it to the coffee shop, and he’s convinced he’s taken a wrong turn as he pulls into the driveway of what looks like a sweet little New England Cape with blue shutters and a red door.

“Are we sure this is the place?” he asks, hand still on the wheel. “It feels…homey.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Claudio asks. “It’s correct. Look.” He points to a miniscule sign Wheeler can barely make out. Brewology with Steph.

“I still think it’s a stupid name,” Wheeler says, stepping out of the car. “What is Brewology? Who’s Steph?”

“Steph is a highly qualified, extremely experienced taster,” Claudio says, and he adjusts his coat in a way that makes Wheeler get a little hot. “We’re in good hands.”

As he steps out of the car, he resists the urge to suggest something else that could go in Claudio’s hands, and walks next to him to the shop.

“Ah!” a woman says as they walk up. Wheeler has to presume she’s Steph. “Welcome. The two of you must be my nine o’clock appointment.”

Claudio nods. “Yes, I am Claudio, and this is my partner, Wheeler Yuta.” He grins down and it flares warmth in Wheeler’s chest. “Glad to be here.”

“Welcome,” Steph says. Wheeler had expected someone pretentious and a little obsessed with themselves, maybe demanding attention and respect for their talent without proving they deserve it yet.

Instead, Steph is a tall, short haired woman who talks about coffee as casually as Wheeler can rattle off wrestling stats. She and Claudio connect immediately, which gives him the chance to scan the place and get an idea of what’s going on. It’s still got the typical bones of the design of a Cape, but each room provides a different coffee lover’s fantasy. Normal coffee makers, filters, espresso makers, and French presses line the walls of a large kitchen. There’s multiple rooms lined with jars of coffee beans. He’s not a fan of the taste of coffee, but the smell he finds to be an immediate comfort. He’s woken up dozens of times to that smell floating in from the kitchen where Claudio and his obscenely early wakeups brew a pot of his personal favorite, and this building echoes with the scent like it’s built into its foundation. He peers around as they enter a new room to see that each shelf is labeled with a style or location or region where the coffee was grown. Wheeler doesn’t know quite what the words mean, but he knows they’re important from the way Claudio gets excited about them.

The place feels homey in a way Wheeler hadn’t expected. But he likes it.

“Alright,” Steph says. “We’re here to taste, not to talk. Let’s get started.”

He’d expected a few brew options, maybe different spices or whatever to add like Starbucks has at their counter.

He didn’t expect to follow Claudio as he points to random jars that Steph takes down and hauls to the kitchen. Wheeler tastes so many coffees he thinks his brain hurts. He fakes using phrases that Claudio and Steph throw around like a new language.

“I sense a hint of chocolate.”

“The caramel on the back of that cup is delightful.”

He gets a weird look when he says, “Sorry, this one tastes like burning tires,” but Claudio takes another sip of the same cup and frowns.

“You have a point,” he concedes, and puts down the cup. “I think this one is less than a preference, Steph.”

“That’s the case for many tasters,” Steph says, moving the bag of beans away. “It’s a unique blend that most people don’t particularly enjoy.” She turns, smiling at Wheeler. “You have a sensitive tongue, Mr. Yuta.”

It takes everything in Wheeler’s body not to say something wildly inappropriate. “Can I try that chocolate cherry thing one again?” He asks. “I can still taste burning tires.”

Claudio slides him the coffee and Wheeler takes a sip. Now that he knows what a bad coffee tastes like, he supposes, he can appreciate one that tastes the way he wants.

Like a switch, he gets it. The next few he’s able to actually describe. Not as well as Claudio, of course, and nothing close to Steph, but they start to nod along when he describes brews as having a plum taste or reminding him of a woodfire.

“Now,” Steph says, once Wheeler’s buzzing with caffeine and has tasted something like 25 different kinds of coffee, “the conclusion of the tasting is for you two to choose your favorite blend.” She smiles at them. “You could choose a single brew, if it’s to your liking, or you can create your own blend of flavors and underlying tastes.”

“Not the burning tire,” Wheeler says. “Other than that, Claudio? It’s all you.”

Claudio nods, brow furrowing. “I take that challenge with pride.”

It’s a bit like watching a mad scientist, as Claudio puts together flavors and mutters to himself.

“He’s really into coffee,” Wheeler says. He’s not sure if he’s telling this to Steph as an explanation or an apology. “Like, really into coffee.”

“I can see that,” Steph says. She leans against the table and takes her own mug, the one that had been sitting on a back counter, and takes a sip. “You know what the weird thing is? I prefer my coffee with sugar and milk, but I do appreciate all the flavors, you know?” She takes another sip. “But it is much easier to discern the individual personalities of each coffee without any additional details.”

Wheeler nods, like he’s not the kind of person to chug a java chip Frappuccino and call it a day.

“Aha!” Claudio says, eyes triumphant after a sip. “This is it.” He holds the cup up to Wheeler’s lips. “Try it and tell me what you think.”

Wheeler sips. He can taste cocoa, a little cherry. Some hints of spice and wood smoke in the back of it.

The problem is he still doesn’t like it. At all.

“Yeah,” Wheeler says. “That’s – that’s my favorite out of all of them.” He smiles at Claudio.

“You still hate coffee, don’t you,” Claudio says, and at least it looks like he’s fighting a grin.

“Not on purpose!” Wheeler says. “It’s just – look, coffee’s mostly your thing, and I like…” He trails off. “Well, I like you.”

Steph makes a little squeak. “Sorry!” she says. “That was just really sweet.” Her smile turns into a bit of a grimace. “I’ve had couples where one partner doesn’t like coffee come in and they will be just miserable to their partners, you know?” She fades back into a smile. “It’s nice to see the opposite.”

They make small talk as Steph packs up Claudio’s blend of coffee and wraps it with a bow. “And there you are.” She beams at them. “I hope the two of you have a great evening. You have a flight tonight, right?”

Wheeler nods. “Couple hours from now.”

“Make sure to keep that in the bag and put it in checked luggage,” Steph says. “You don’t want TSA getting handsy with it.”

“Duly noted,” Claudio says. He flashes one of his pretty smiles at Steph. “Thank you so much for your assistance. Next time we’re in town we will certainly stop by again.” He holds out his hand and Wheeler takes it as they make their way out of the store.

“So you really don’t enjoy coffee,” Claudio muses, thumb rubbing Wheeler’s skin. “I thought 27 would change your mind.”

“It’s not, like, a switch,” Wheeler laughs. He lets Claudio push to the driver’s seat this time and takes the coffee out of his hands, resting the bag in his lap as he sits. He glances over at Claudio. “You really like coffee.”

Claudio nods. “It’s quite an adventure, tasting coffee.” He gazes at Wheeler, making Wheeler’s entire chest swell. “Similar, I think, to being with you.” He reaches out and rests a hand on the side of Wheeler’s neck. “Different experiences, flavors, notes. But always the same, at its base.” His eyes soften. “Always, at the root of it, something that brings me comfort.”

Wheler leans over the center console and kisses Claudio. He doesn’t quite understand the words he wants to say, knows they’re there but not how to form them with his lips, so he tries to show it with his kiss. Claudio kisses back gently, insistently, and it’s familiar like he’d said.

It’s comfort.

It’s forever.

“Claudio,” Wheeler says, his heart racing. He hadn’t planned to do it now. He fumbles in his pocket. It’s been there for weeks now, never leaving his side. “Fuck. I meant to – get out of the car, okay?”

“Get out – why?” Claudio’s rarely baffled, but he follows Wheeler’s lead. Wheeler scrambles out of the car. The last time he felt nerves like this, the last time his adrenaline pumped like this, was Blood and Guts. When Claudio stands, Wheeler drops to a knee.

“Claudio Castagnoli,” he says, looking upwards. “Will you marry me?”

Claudio laughs and throws his head back. “Wheeler, you madman, I was planning – I was supposed to do this!” He drops down to Wheeler’s level. “Yes, of course.” He leans in and kisses Wheeler with fire behind it. “You always have the jump on me, don’t you.” He rests his forehead against Wheeler’s. “Would you believe me if I said I have a ring in the dresser at home?”

“Possibly,” Wheeler says.

Claudio strokes Wheeler’s jaw, pressing his lips to Wheeler’s cheek. “Will you let me propose to you later?”

“Yes,” Wheeler says, wiping an errant tear from his cheek. “Now. Let’s get home.”

Claudio shakes his head. “Certainly not.” His smile turns a little devious. “I think we should find a hotel room and reschedule our flights, no?”

Wheeler grins at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we should.”

Mini Playlist: Starving - Hailee Steinfeld Numbers - The Cab Speechless - The Veronicas Forever and For Always - Shania Twain

#ClaudiYoots #Hello this is fluffy for rose!!! I had so much fun with the fluff!!#But get checked for cavities after this #wtf i like wrestling now???#in which sara writes

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loisroo · 1 year

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I know this is very cliche, but like...either coffee shop au or like Kindergarten/Preschool Teacher!Dongsik x Single Parent!Juwon. Just a really cute meet cute would be nice, for them. I think they deserve that

yayyy!! you are very correct, they deserve all the love. i tend to write a lot of fluff and sappy things more often then not so i hope it's good!! Thanks for sending me a prompt <3

Lee Dong Sik had never been much of a coffee drinker growing up or in his young adult years. It wasn't until after Sang Yeob got him hooked six months into their partnership, with a whiny "Dong Sik-ah, try it with the cream and flavor in it, I promise you'll love it."

Now years later, long after Sang Yeob had left the RUI for better prospects, Dong Sik still finds himself walking into a coffee shop every morning, craving the sweet taste of a warm coffee. (No matter how many times he tries to make the drinks at home himself, it never tastes the same.)

Sometimes it was the coffee shop close to his station, other times it was the one on his way to work but today he found himself following the directions on his phone to a small tea/coffee shop, fifteen minutes out of his way. Min Jung had sent the address last night and he sighed as he pulled his coat tighter around himself as a burst of cold air hits him. He should have insisted on the one close to his work.

He eyes the rain clouds above him as he walks faster and barely makes it through the door before the rain is crashing into the side of the windows.

He breaths a sigh of relief and glances around the little shop, it's small but not uncomfortably, giving off a warm and cozy vibe. There are more plants hanging around and on the table then he expected but it brightens the place up nicely. The chairs look antique but the cushions on them look plush and look nice with the dark wood tables. Overall, Dong Sik's surprised by the overall homey feel of the place shoved into this tiny building which was packed between busy buildings.

He doesn't see Min Jung anywhere, in fact there is only one other customer in the place and they are tucked in the back corner behind a laptop. He makes his way to the counter and sees the barista is turned away wiping his hands on a towel.

The man turns around and they lock eyes immediately, Dong Sik cant help but blink a few times nor the way his mouth falls open slightly.

It's not just the fact that the young man is attractive, he's really attractive-- almost princely good looks.

No, it's the combination of his amazing features, very expensive tan sweater, and the annoyed frown that makes him look extremely out of place in the small shop. His stance is tall, proud and the broad shoulders underneath his soft sweater are tight and powerful looking. He looks like he belongs at a semi-formal dinner party with investors and not behind the counter at a cute tea and coffee shop.

Dong Sik blinks out of his thoughts at the annoyed huff that leaves the younger man's mouth and sees his eyebrows furrow together, "Excuse me, can I get you anything?"

It's spoken like the young man has already said it before and Dong Sik feels his cheeks turn a little pink as his brain cataloging the man's extremely deep voice and the fact that Dong Sik's been staring at him for way too long. It's been a while since someone left him without words but everything about the younger man was just so out of place, it was a little disorienting.

"Umm... a drink?"

The man looks even more annoyed and Dong Sik feels something in his brain latch onto the annoyance, he can't stop the teasing smile that comes to his face even if he wanted to.

"What kind of drink?"

Dong Sik hums as puts his hands into his pocket, glancing up at the pretty menu and enjoying the impatience clearly growing on the barista's face.

"I've never been here what would you recommend?" He says it sweetly, a smile on his face.

The young barista straightens and nods, still looking annoyed but seeming to remember his job, "Do you like coffee or tea?"

Dong Sik hums, making a show of thinking, only opening his mouth and saying lazily saying "Coffee" after the man looked ready to prompt him again.

Dong Sik looks back at the menu but watches the barista from the corner of his eye as he takes a breath and then lets out a small sigh, "Do you like sweet or bitter coffee?"

Dong Sik slowly brings his eyes back down to the worker and looks him directly in the eyes, "I prefer things to be sweet."

He says it with as much teasing as he can, his eyes amused and his smile only growing bigger. He sees the man blink in surprise and his face shifts briefly before he puts his annoyed frown back on his face, "Then I suggest getting the tuxedo, it's white and dark chocolate flavor with whipped cream on top."

Dong Sik nods, still smiling, "That sounds great, a medium please... Joo Won-ssi."

The man startles a little before glancing down at his name tag and then scowling harder at Dong Sik. It makes something in Dong SIk's stomach flip with an overwhelming need to bother the man further. He likes the scowls and the annoyance but the looks of surprise have him intrigued at what other faces he can pull from the handsome, well-dressed barista.

So Dong Sik steps a little closer to the counter and leans against it slightly, putting him just a little closer to Joo Won. He sees the man look down at the counter and then back up at him but the barista doesn't say anything else.

"Now that I think about it, I'm feeling a little hungry too. Can you give me a suggestion on what's good?"

The man openly sighs again and Dong Sik can't help the laugh that escapes him. Joo Won folds his arms together and raises an eyebrow, "Are you being annoying on purpose?"

Another laugh falls out of Dong Sik's mouth and his smile gets brighter, losing some of the teasing from before, "Most definitely."

The man lets out another sigh but the small uptick of his mouth and the fact that he hasn't asked Dong Sik to leave keeps Dong Sik rooted in his spot.

Joo Won leans over to the display case and pulls out a delicious looking scone and places it on the counter, "Here, I suggest this."

Dong Sik hums and smiles down at it before looking back up at the taller man, leaning in a little further onto his elbows and peering up at him, "Is this the sweetest thing here?"

Dong Sik bats his eyes for heightened effect and Joo Won lets out an undignified snort as he rolls his eyes. He makes his way over to the machines behind the counter and starts to make Dong Sik's drink.

He's not really aware that he's staring at the barista until he catches himself leaning a little too far over the counter. Dong Sik feels his cheeks turn a little pink again and he straightens himself and takes a step back from the counter.

"Do you do that to everyone?"

Dong Sik tilts his head at the question and Joo Won glances at him, looking slightly amused, "Being annoying? Is that just your personality?"

He can't seem to stop any of the laughs from leaving his body today, a pleasant change of pace for him. The laugh is louder then the others more genuine then before, "If you ask my friends, it's an integral part of my personality."

Joo Won smiles slightly but just hums, finishing up the drink and bringing it back over to Dong Sik. He sets the drink down and then asks, "And what if I asked you?"

Dong Sik watches as the man for a second, the way he shifts his weight and folds his arms in front of his chest again, "I'd say I'm only annoying to the people I dislike or really like."

Joo Won blinks at that and raises an eyebrow, "So which is it right now?"

The question is said with a little more vulnerability then Dong Sik thinks Joo Won meant to convey, but something about the way he is standing and his voice makes Dong Sik think he's not as tall, proud, and confident as he pretends to be.

Dong Sik hums and takes the step forward again, watching as Joo Won slightly leans against the counter as well. He reaches over, straightens the name tag on Joo Won's sweater and the young man watches him the entire time.

Dong Sik smiles softly at the barista as he reaches over and grabs a napkin and a pen that's sitting in a cup labeled 'sanitized'. He pulls out some cash, scribbles on the napkin and hands it back to Joo Won and studies the young man's face as he takes it back.

There's a little bit of surprise there, and Dong Sik thinks he may have read the situation wrong until he sees pink tint Joo Won's cheeks and the barista quickly pockets the napkin.

Dong Sik opens his mouth to tease again when the door bursts open and Min Jung and Ji Hoon stumble in soaking wet, hair plastered to their faces.

Min Jung cries out, "Dong Sik-ah!"

They both run to him and he shuffles backwards, swatting at them as they try to hug him, "Leave me alone, stop it! Look what you did to Joo Won-ah's clean floors!!"

Both of the kids stop and blink at him in confusion but he hears Joo Won's sharp, slightly strangled inhale and Dong Sik can't help the grin and wink that he tosses over his shoulder at the red faced barista, "I like him, you two will need to be kind to him."

Dong Sik barely dodges the wet towel thrown at him in retaliation and he laughs brightly as he thinks to himself, fifteen minutes hadn't been that far out of the way, after all.

#beyond evil #beyond evil prompts #coffee shop au #i hope you enjoyed this #i loved writing it!!!#thanks again for sending me the prompt #it took a minute and its a bit longer then i thought but i just got really into it #also sorry for any mistakes i didn't really proofread alot

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petraforgedyke · 2 years

Text

Different Perspectives

first | previous | next

The name "Ranee" comes up a lot lately in their house, and despite Sialuk's presumably carefully acted nonchalance about it, Nakivat raises her eyebrows at her wife. She tries to suppress the smile she can feel pulling at the corners of her mouth, but she's pretty sure it only half works. Luckily her wife, lovely as she is, is also incredibly dense at times. It's endearing, and frankly, considering how dense Sialuk is about her feelings every now and again, it's also very funny.

So when Sialuk brings up "Ranee" and "Foncée'' in one sentence, Nakivat finally connects the dots. It had started with Sialuk talking about the manager at her favourite coffee place, an almost casual remark. By now it was rather more often than that, and "the manager at Foncée'' had become "Ranee".

Sialuk is staring at her, blinking like she's not quite sure what she just heard.

Nakivat repeats herself for effect, and just a little bit to fuck with her wife. "I said, you talk about Foncée so often, and I mean, I've got a few days off..." She trails off, and looks up at Sialuk from beneath her lashes.

Sialuk is still dumbstruck, but finally she answers. "Uh, yeah. Sure thing. It's nice." She smiles, and Nakivat can't help but smile back at her. "We'll go together."

And Sialuk was right. Foncée is a nice place. When they enter it's kind of busy, but Sialuk beelines for a table, two comfortable looking chairs on either side. After a moment, she rushes off to make their order, and Nakivat's got the time to really take a good look.

It's not a very large space, small enough to give the impression of coziness without being so small that it becomes a cacophony of sounds. It doesn't quite have that obvious franchised chain look either, it looks more like somebody put their own thought in the decoration. For one, she's pretty sure that a franchise wouldn't have pamphlets about... She turns over the flimsy paper, frowns at it. "Fourth Eye Connections To The Inner World."

That looks like an absolutely wild ride, and also like something that belongs at a wacky metaphysical shop rather than a fairly business casual comfy coffee shop.

She tucks the pamphlet into a pocket of her knit vest, and takes another look around. There's the man in the corner that Sialuk's mentioned, who apparently is there every single time, and who is casually typing on his laptop. The young barista, skinny and all angles, a mess of green and purple hair flopping over one eye. Nakivat thinks she's got a good idea who the source of the pamphlets is, judging by the fact that they've got a stack of paper under one arm, and keep looking over their shoulder at the counter, where a harried man is making coffee and...

Nakivat grins, leaning forward a little, one elbow on the armrest of her chair.

"The Manager", the much discussed Ranee. Sialuk had let drop in passing that they were attractive, and Nakivat has to agree, even if they're not quite her type. Too upright and proper, but she can see the appeal. They've got broad shoulders and a fine boned face, and from what she can see, she'd guess the broad shoulders mean more muscle than they show off in professional attire.

Sialuk's got her back to her, and seems to be talking animatedly, gesturing about something. Nakivat can see a tiny smile curl, very unprofessionally, on the manager's lips.

She decides to file this information away for later, can't help but feel a little bit of anticipatory glee. Sialuk isn't going to know what hit her.

#cafefoncee #coffee shop au #seg writes #diimre au

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askthechronoverse · 10 months

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Chapter Eight: Follow Me Down, Down, Down

Last Chapter •||• Next Chapter

"What do we do now, Rick?"

The eyes of her advisor were glazed over with fear and mourning. He couldn't look at Unikitty as the world continued to crumble around them. There was only blackness now, like night had fallen but without the hope that stars provided.

"Princess…" He croaked, voice breaking down further. "You need to get to the castle. The castle is all that's left of our world."

"What about you, Rick? You need to come with me." Unikitty reached out to grab him.

"Don't come near me. I can hear the hole that took Puppycorn grow bigger. I'm not sure I'll have ti-" The cat shook her head and got closer.

"I can't lose you too, Rick! I lost my friends and my brother. You… I need you most of all… I'm gonna be lost without you!" She tried to grab Rick but he shook. As he did, the floor around him started to fall away.

Unikitty could feel her tears run hot against her face this time. She touched her cheek and the wetness made her recoil. Were visions of the future supposed to make you cry? Why did the visions seem so real now, like they were happening right before her eyes? She thought they were just dreams! She backed up toward the moat, wishing someone had answers around here.

She really had to find Rex now. He did say he could help her with the visions as well if things fell through. It was time to give the older Master Builder a chance to help.

Her paws seemed to have a mind of their own this time as she rushed to a building at the farthest end of the main city to start her search. She shook her head and continued to move toward her destination, watching it get closer. "I just need to… take the road past Richard's old newspaper stand… wait. Newspaper? Rick never showed an interest in journalism…" She looked on the street corner and squinted. She could make out a small stand that looked sad and abandoned. There was no color, but she could make out the words "Richard's Newspapers" on a wooden sign above a striped awning. She lifted an eyebrow as she approached the stand, which disappeared when she got close and left her on an empty street corner.

She moved back across the street and the stand still didn't manifest. "I could have sworn there was a newspaper stand here…" She started to move again, the stand flickering back into existence in the corner of her eye to seemingly taunt her. She turned to look at it again and it was gone. She put her head in her paws. This was becoming too much.

Her paws moved her forward, towards the building. The closer she got, the more intriguing this all was. Despite the age of the Unikingdom, it was old and clearly abandoned like the ghost newspaper stand. What was driving her to this spot? She stopped at the curb in front of the place. It looked deceptively tiny, like it knew it was hiding some great secret. The sign on the roof was falling apart and exclaimed that this was the "Escape Room of Doom", if you filled in the fallen and degrading letters half eaten by the elements. A banner that looked almost white asked the reader to rate the establishment and the sign on the curb demanding that only cash be used for payment was crumbled and nearly unreadable. Posters with no indication as to what they were advertising threatened to fall to the floor, but clung stubbornly to the windows. Slowly, she opened the door, looking around with fear and worry…

Only to reveal a cozy shop. There were shelves of books and displays with comics that showed various degrees of wear and tear. There were action figures and, at the counter polishing a miniature of a blocky beholder, was a being with Jack-o'-lantern eyes and a cape. The hood was down, an ectoplasmic green quiff adorning his head. The cape covered him completely, but clawed gray hands poked through to polish. There was a large table with comfortable chairs and soft couches by the window. The being looked up from his work and cleared his throat.

"Welcome to Cursed Games and Such. I wasn't expecting you so soon, princess." He put his miniature down and adjusted his name tag, which cheerfully stated "Score Creeper" was the name to call the being.

"Who are you?" Unikitty was pale as she backed up to the outside. The building looked as new as it should now, with the sign now corroborating with what the ghost-like entity said. Something about the clerk was familiar, but she couldn't pinpoint what as she stepped back into to the comic shop.

"Can you read the name tag, princess? I'm the Score Creeper." He rolled his glowing eyes. "Like I said, you were expected. I would have thought it would have taken a little longer for you to come to me, but it's not that big of a deal."

"I'm not really interested in comics and miniature figurines." Unikitty shrugged, picking up a comic that had a robot with an s on his chest on the front cover. There was a sticky note that stated that it was on hold for a customer.

"You have two friends that are. Which is weird because one of them strikes me as more of a jock than someone who would have an interest in this kind of thing but that's why we shouldn't stereotype people in the modern era, I suppose." He waved his hand in a circle as he spoke.

"That's neat… Wait. Are you talking about RJ or Hawkodile?" Question marks appeared above the cat's head.

"It's RJ, but he's not the one that matters here! Let's just focus. Your friend left you something he said will be important to you when you find this place and start a long journey. Hang on, I'll get it from the back." The mysterious being left through a door that stated firmly "staff only. all others must roll initiative." He soon returned with a small jar with a cutesy representation of Doctor Fox's head. The expression on the face was stoic and purposeful, like she was trying to keep herself from breaking apart. Unikitty took the jar and watched the little head just stay there, unmoving.

"What is this?" Unikitty lifted an eyebrow.

"How should I know? All he said was that the answers you seek are in the jar." He snatched the jar out of her paws. "He also said to not give you this because it would change everything. I believe he specifically said it would complicate matters."

"Then why show it to me?"

"He asked me to keep it from you a few days ago. If I'm being honest, he's no longer thinking straight. That's not normal for him." The Score Creeper put the jar down on the counter.

#the newspaper isn't antiquated •||• written works

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c-is-for-circinate · 3 years

Text

For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

#I don't actually know how to tag this #representation #maybe?#C needs help feeding the dinosaurs #because this is very much about being a fandom old #probably also #driveby meta attack #because that's where I keep my impromptu rambles #CR spoilers #technically I guess?#there's one line that references the finale #fandom history

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elysiadjarin · 3 years

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Day 2: Breeding Kink

Day 2 of Kinktober and… I got carried away with this one. The others are not going to be nearly as long as this one, so you guys are gonna be spoiled with this. I hope you enjoy it! Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ only content. Some warnings for violence and blood mentioned, though nothing too graphic. PinV sex, unprotected, consensual, nonhuman character, exophilia, slight hint of biting kink

Tags: Dilf!werewolf x reader, exophilia, kinktober

Moonlight Through Colored Leaves

When you’d first moved to the tiny Irish town in the middle of nowhere, you’d originally hoped to escape the family drama that haunted you back in America. Thanks to your grandfather’s Irish immigration, you’d been able to get an Irish citizenship and move relatively easily. So, you’d packed your bags, only told your grandfather where you were going, and boarded the first flight to Ireland you could catch.

You’d quietly made your way to your grandfather’s tiny hometown far out in the countryside, and moved into the long-since abandoned house that had belonged to your ancestors before. Though it had been run down and you’d had to do some major repairs and cleaning, you’d finally made a cozy cottage on the outskirts of the small village-like town.

The town had been quite welcoming and friendly, and you’d quickly found a job working at the local town pub as a waitress. Your boss had been very welcoming, and you’d earned favor from your coworkers and boss for your hard work and quiet, unassuming diligence. The pay was good, and you found yourself growing comfortable in the sleepy town life, meeting your neighbors and getting familiar with the town dynamics.

You’d just gone in for your shift of the day when conversation caught your ear. You put on your waitress apron, pulling your hair up into a ponytail and walking out to the bar to grab your tray.

“Did you hear about the news?” Jaina asked, arms propped on the countertop. “I mean, about that Romanian vamp that landed on Scotland the other day. Word is that he’s headed this way.”

“Well why would it want teh come here?” Sean snorted. “We’re out in teh middle o’ nowhere, Janie, t’ere ain’t not’in’ here t’at it would want.”

“Well didn’t you hear that apparently they’re expecting Agent Blue to be chasing it down with the Dullahan?” Jaina hissed. “Why wouldn’t they come over here?”

You hid your discreet grimace, instead walking out in front of the bar. To your delight and surprise, you found yourself facing a familiar little figure sitting at the bar in a corner. The little girl caught sight of you and squealed, waving.

You went over to her giving her a hug. “Well hello there, Miss Morrigan,” you greeted cheerfully. “How are you this fine evening? Having a drink?” you teased, noticing the glass of juice near her notebook.

She giggled, nodding. “Yeah! I’m with Daddy today,” she answered, feet kicking against the bar. She turned her head to see the bartender approaching. “Daddy!” she said excitedly. “Look, it’s the nice neighbor lady I told you about!”

You looked up to see Lysander Sullivan standing there, polishing a glass with a cloth. He gazed down at his daughter with a fond look deep in his eyes, then turned to look at you, his ice blue eyes meeting yours.

“Is that so?” he asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the relatively quiet bar. It hadn’t gotten to heavy traffic times, so there weren’t many people around yet. His grey-flecked hair had been swept back into an elastic band, and his beard had been neatly trimmed.

You gave him a small, shy smile, a little embarrassed. Though you knew that the man lived next to your property, you’d been a bit timid about approaching him. He was a kind enough gentleman from everything you’d seen and heard, and he’d watched out for you as you worked, but you didn’t see any reason why he’d be interested in any further contact with you. After all, you were a younger woman in your mid-twenties that lived alone.

“Yeah! She helps me with homework sometimes,” Morrigan prattled on, “and she lets me water her flowers!”

You laughed a little, feeling the color splash across your cheeks. “Well, I certainly enjoy the little Queen’s company,” you admitted. You’d heard some of the other workers gossip about Lysander, saying that he was a single father to nine-year-old Morrigan and that her mother had died in a tragic accident. You didn’t really know, and you’d tried not to pry or overhear too much. The man had a right to privacy, just like you had things you were running from as well.

“Thank you for looking out for the little cub,” Lysander said, a small smile crossing his face. He mellowed out around his daughter, his love clear in how he interacted with her.

“Of course. It’s a delight,” you said, smiling at Morrigan. “She’s a smart little cookie, aren’t you, Queenie?” you asked, tugging at her pigtail teasingly.

She giggled. “Yeah!” Then she tilted her head at you. “Are you working with Daddy tonight?” she asked curiously.

“O-oh, well, sort of,” you stammered, taken aback a little. “He works behind the counter, but I serve people out there,” you said, motioning to the tables. “So I guess we do, in a way.”

Morrigan nodded sagely. “Ohhh, so you do the food and Daddy does the drinks.” She nodded, satisfied at her conclusion. “Oh, I’m making a drawing! I want you to see it later, when I’m finished,” she said, tugging at your sleeve.

You smiled. “Of course, Queenie. You just let me know and I’ll pop by when I have a moment, alright?” you promised.

She nodded, turning back to her notebook and picking up her crayons again. Tongue poked out, she diligently returned to her masterpiece. You gave her a fond smile, noting the way the soft lights made a halo in her blonde hair.

“She’s such an angel,” you murmured, grabbing some straws from the bar to stick into your pocket.

“Aye, that she is.” Lysander’s comment almost startled you. He glanced at you across the bar, the sleeves of his crisp maroon button-up rolled halfway up his arms. “I apologize for not bein’ a better neighbor,” he remarked.

You blinked, then reached up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “Oh, no— not at all,” you blurted, then gave him a chagrined smile. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’d met Morrigan when she was coming back from school, since I was in the front yard. She just… hopped on over, so I said hi. Honestly I should have introduced myself better, but…” You bit your lip. “I just kept putting it off because I didn’t want to bother you…”

He blinked, then chuckled slightly, as though surprised. “An’ here I thought it was ‘cause you didn’t really like me for some reason,” he said, amusement laced in his tone.

You gave him a horrified look. “Oh! Not at all!” You shook your head with a sigh, tugging mournfully at your ponytail. “I’m… notoriously bad at meeting people for the first time,” you groaned. “I just get nervous and tongue tied and I don’t know how to interact and… ugh.” You winced. “I am sorry, Mr. Sullivan. I should be a better neighbor, especially since I somehow got to know your daughter.” You half-laughed at yourself.

He waved you off. “I’m just glad you get along with Mor,” he chuckled. “She speaks endlessly about you. Seems like you’ve impressed her.”

You looked up at him, genuinely surprised. “Really?” you wondered, glancing at the girl. Then you smiled. “Well, I’m flattered. She’s such a smart, curious girl. I’m rather honored that she’d find me interesting.” You breathed a laugh, then glanced up at him. “I should get to my station, but… if you don’t mind, would it be alright if I swung by tomorrow to say hi and properly introduce myself?”

He nodded calmly. “Of course. She gets back home from school at three, if you wanted to catch her as well.”

You nodded, propping the tray on your hip. “Thank you! I’ll do that. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll stop procrastinating and actually start working,” you laughed, and walked off with a wave.

The night progressed relatively smoothly, customers rotating in and out with regulars stopping by. The crowds ebbed and flowed, sometimes more rowdy and sometimes more calm. Still, you enjoyed the atmosphere and the liveliness of it all. Despite it being a pub, and an Irish one at that, the town was small and most people knew everyone else. Plus, Lysander was the bartender for more than one reason. Everyone knew that making trouble of any sort was not tolerated and had force to back it up.

You occasionally popped by Morrigan’s place at the bar, either to have a chat or to admire the progress she’d made on her drawing. And throughout the night, your worries started to mount the more gossip you heard around the pub. Some of them had heard confirmation that the Romanian vampire gone mad was making a beeline for Ireland, though no one seemed to know why. There were even more rumors that Agent Blue, the famous Will-o-the-Wisp, was after the rampaging Pricoli. And still others said that the Scott Pack would be making a reappearance.

Once you’d finished your shift and helped close up shop, you started the trudge back to your cottage down the road. It wasn’t a far walk, really, and it gave you some time to think and clear your head from the smells of the pub. Reaching up, you pulled your hair free from the ponytail and sighed, shoulders slumping.

You’d come to Ireland to escape your problems, but it felt like they were all closing in on you as the days went by. As you got home and got ready for bed, you wondered if it was asking too much to hope for some peace.

Instead, you distracted yourself by trying to think of something to make for the Sullivans the next day. You didn’t want to go empty handed, after all. Maybe some bread-?

You fell asleep thinking about it.

You’d just lifted your hand to knock when the door flung open. Morrigan practically tackled you, wrapping her arms around your waist with a shriek of greeting.

Laughing, you balanced yourself and wrapped an arm around her. “Well hello, Queenie,” you greeted. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

She grabbed your hand and dragged you in, chattering happily about her day at school. “Oh, and you should have heard how everyone laughed!” She interrupted herself as she led you into the kitchen. “Daddy, she’s here!” she called.

Trying to balance the homemade sourdough in one hand while still holding Morrigan’s with the other, you looked up to give Lysander a helpless smile. “Hello, Mr. Sullivan,” you greeted, a little breathlessly.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “Well hallo, Miss,” he greeted back, wiping his hands with a towel. “Mor, why don’t you let her set the plate down before anything drops,” he said, shaking his head.

Morrigan let go of your hand, bouncing up and down. “Ooh, what is it?”

You offered it to Lysander, a little flustered. “I… well, I didn’t really want to come without an offering, so… I made some homemade sourdough,” you offered, a little awkwardly. “I hope you like it, it’s a fresh batch, still warm.”

He took it from you with a nod. “Thank you. We love sourdough, don’t we, Mor?” He seemed far more comfortable in his own home, less stoic and stern than in the pub.

Morrigan nodded, throwing up her hands with a cheer. “Yeah!” She danced around. “I love bread!” Then she grabbed your hand again. “Oh, oh, you gotta come see my room! Daddy just made me a new desk, and it’s really nice and shiny!”

Lysander waved you off as you turned to him. “Go ahead. Oh, I was going to invite you to dinner,” he added. “If you’d like. The food is almost done, actually. Your bread will be a perfect addition.”

You smiled. “I’d be honored. Thank you.” Then you let Morrigan drag you away.

By the time Lysander called for you both, you’d been given the official tour of her room and had happily listened to her tell stories of what she’d done at school and the projects she planned to do in the coming days. The little girl always cheered you up with her bright and cheerful presence. If anything, it eased your heart to see the little girl clearly so healthy and happy with her Father. She openly adored him, quite the Daddy’s girl.

As the three of you sat down at the table, you realized with a slight start that you’d never felt so comfortable in Ireland as you did in this moment. It felt… right, like you’d finally come home.

“Thank you for the food,” you said, giving Lysander a grateful smile. “It looks amazing.” The soup simmered in the bowls, while the sourdough bread had been cut into slices and set by the butter.

He nodded. “Thank you for the bread.” He passed the steamed potatoes, and everyone dug into the meal.

You let out a soft hum of contentment as you ate, enjoying the rich flavors and the homey comfort food. Clearly Lysander was a good cook, and you almost envied Morrigan for being able to come home to this every night. Not that you weren’t a good cook yourself, but you supposed company really did make a difference.

“The bread is so good!” Morrigan chirped, taking a giant bite of the bread slathered in butter.

You laughed softly. “I’m glad, Queenie. Take it slow,” you warned, worried she’d choke. “The bread isn’t going anywhere.”

She nodded, scarfing down her food. “Oh, oh, Daddy, cartoons are on soon! Can I please go watch? I did all my homework!”

Lysander nodded. “Alright. Go take your dishes to the sink.”

“Thank you! Morrigan cheered, sliding down from her chair and carefully taking the dishes. She trotted to the kitchen, then got herself a glass of juice and went to go to the living room.

You realized with a slight start that this was the first time you’d been alone with Lysander. Looking down at your spoonful, you wondered if you should maybe ask him the questions that pressed on your mind. Perhaps he would know. Then again… it’s not as though he were related to your grandfather’s clan… and not to mention, most of the people in the town didn’t even know that you were aware of the nonhuman community. In fact, you were rather positive that your coworkers thought you didn’t.

“If I may ask, what brought you to this small town?” Lysander asked, his voice calm and mellow. His blue eyes glanced up at you, and the question died on your tongue.

“Oh… family history, actually,” you admitted with a smile. “And, well…” You shrugged lightly. “I needed to get away for a while. I wanted a fresh start, somewhere where people didn’t really know me.”

“Understandable.” He nodded. “I essentially did the same with Morrigan when we moved here a few years ago.”

You hummed, reaching for a piece of bread. He handed you the butter, and you gently grasped the sleeve of his flannel for a moment. “You’ve got a bit on your clothes,” you said, wiping the smeared butter off with a napkin. You’d just let go when your fingers brushed across his briefly as you took the butter. You didn’t notice the way he froze, his movements jerky as he pulled his hand back.

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Do you— I mean, does any of your family still live here?”

You shook your head. “Not exactly. But technically, my extended family is here. My grandfather immigrated from Ireland to America, where I was born, but through marriage there are still people here I’m technically connected to.” You shrugged. “I haven’t really gotten in contact with them, though. They probably don’t know me that well,” you laughed with a rueful shrug. You glanced at him for a moment. “I bet it’s even harder when you have children.”

He glanced toward the living room, where the faint sound of the cartoons floated through the house. “Well, I suppose,” he admitted thoughtfully. “Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. She’s my life, really.”

You lowered your eyes to your plate, unable to deny how your chest tightened at the way his voice softened when he spoke of his daughter. You’d always tried to forget how much you’d been attracted to the older man. You’d only ever dated once, and while he’d been nice enough and it had ended cordially, you still hadn’t been able to forget the lingering feeling of disappointment you’d had from the experience. You’d known, after that, that it would either be a long time before you ever tried dating again or it would have to be to someone whose maturity at least matched yours. And, unfortunately for you, that tended to mostly apply to men past their forties.

You really did try to forget how Lysander ticked all the boxes.

“I can see why.” You smiled. “She’s really precious.” Your eyes slid toward the living room. “Does she… inherit from you?”

Lysander looked up, his gaze suddenly piercing as he stared at you openly.

You gave him a faint smile. “I don’t talk much about it, but my grandfather comes from the local O’Connor Faoladh Tribe,” you said calmly, taking another sip of the soup.

His shoulders relaxed, the hard edge in his expression melting away. “Ah. Yes, she does. But she hasn’t fully shifted yet. It will be another year, we think. Are you-?”

You shook your head. “Oh, no. It’s funny, really,” you said thoughtfully, motioning with your spoon. “My grandfather is Faoladh, and my mother’s side of the family is a lycanthrope pack.” Your lips twitched. “And somehow, I got the recessive genes and ended up a simple Seer.”

His eyebrow raised. “Not so simple, I’d think,” he remarked. “Aren’t Seers rather uncommon now?”

You shrugged. “For a reason. There’s plenty of potential but not many who actively practice anymore. The price is heavy for knowledge like that.”

He gave you a discerning look. “Is that what you’re running from?”

Your silver spoon clinked softly as you set it down on the edge of the plate. “I suppose you could say that,” you murmured. Your eyes closed as you shoved away the memories of distant screaming, the crackle of fire, crimson splashed across stone floors— “Or maybe toward something.” After all, you mused, there had been a reason you’d felt drawn to your grandfather’s homeland, and town in particular. And of course, you’d never been one to fight Fate too hard.

“Perhaps so,” he conceded. Then he stood. “May I take your plate?”

“Oh— please, let me help.” You stood, taking your dishes and starting towards the kitchen. “At least let me wash or dry.”

When you finally got back home, you sat down on the couch and buried your face into your hands. Seeing Morrigan and Lysander together had stirred up old memories you’d long since tried to forget. Old desires that you’d thought you’d given up on: hopes and dreams of a family to call your own.

You crawled into bed, everything inside you aching. After all, what could a Seer with a cursed fate possibly offer anyone?

The night the Dullahan rode into town, you’d just started closing up the pub on night shift duty.

They’d ridden in, followed by the famous Agent Blue clad in his dark robes and carrying his lantern over his shoulder. He strode in the door, followed by the Dullahan. At first, you hadn’t even noticed the other figure trailing behind them.

Your Boss, Dorian, had walked out of the back room to greet them. He, of everyone in the town, was the only one to know of your heritage, as the elected leader of the supernatural community in the town. He nodded to the group as they entered.

“Welcome, Dullahan, Agent Blue.” He nodded at them, shaking the Will-o-the-Wisp’s hand.

“Greetings in return, Chief Dorian,” Agent Blue replied, his face still covered by the hood. “Apologies for the intrusion. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Pricoli that’s been running amok all over the Isles.”

Dorian nodded. “We certainly have. I assume you’ve come on a hunt.”

“We have. And I’ve brought someone with me.” Agent Blue turned, motioning towards the back of the group.

You’d been distracted, still working on trying to finish clearing up and getting out of the way. If your boss had asked, you were ready to offer to serve the new guests as well, giving Lysander a glance that he returned with a small nod.

It wasn’t until you straightened and turned around, finished, that you heard a familiar, startled voice call your name. Turning, you looked up and saw, to your shock, a very familiar face staring at you. You froze as the figure lunged forward, wrapping you in a tight hug. After a moment, you awkwardly hugged him back, mind whirling.

“What are you doing here?” Your younger brother stared at you incredulously, holding your arms. “I didn’t even know you left home! Last I heard you were still there.”

You grasped his sleeves, disoriented. “O-Oh. Ray,” you gasped, processing. “I—“ You suppressed a flinch. “I just… moved into grandfather’s old cottage,” you stammered, then looked down. “I had to get away,” you said quietly. “It was too much.”

Of all your family, you knew that Ray would best understand. He’d been the only one to really stand up for you back home, try to support you as best as he could, being a younger sibling. When everyone else constantly reminded you of your Fate, your Destiny, Ray had been the only one who had encouraged your personal hopes and dreams, had listened to your fears and worries.

He sighed. “I mean, I can’t blame you,” he said, shaking his head. “Still… does anyone know?”

You scoffed slightly, turning your head away. “Only Grandfather ever cared about me besides you, Ray. There’s no one else who probably even asked.” You shrugged. “How is school?” You’d been the one to support him when he decided to move to Scotland to attend University. He, too, had wanted to escape home.

He grinned. “Pretty great, actually!” Then he glanced behind him. “Turns out my best mate is actually one of Agent Blue’s sons, so when the whole Pricoli thing went down, I offered to be his in to the Faoladh Tribe here. For formality, y’know.” He shrugged. “I remembered what Grandfather had always taught us about how picky Faoladh are about tradition.”

You nodded. “Yeah…” You huffed slightly. “Technically only the people in here right now even know that I’m a part of the supernatural community,” you said dryly.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s some dedication to keep it quiet. How has the local gossip train not found you out yet?”

You snorted. “Maybe because I’ve always been quiet and kept my mouth shut.” You rolled your eyes at him, though a smile twitched on your lips. “And we both know who never can.”

He playfully cuffed your shoulder. Then he grinned. “Oh, but guess what?” His eyes sparkled. “I found my Mate!”

Your eyes widened. “Really?” Your heart lightened for him, happy that your younger brother had finally found his Mate. “Does she know yet?”

He shook his head, face falling a little. Well, not yet. I mean, I’ve kinda only just met her and all, so… and it’s kinda awkward, cause…” He winced. “Well, she’s my best mate’s younger sister.”

You gave him an incredulous look, then sighed, shaking your head. “Well, good luck with that one, Ray,” you snorted. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the situation with that one.”

He shrugged. “I know, but…” His grin turned goofy. “She’s so pretty. You should see her. She’s even pretty sassy, kinda like you are with me.”

You laughed softly, patting his arm. “Well, I’m glad I was able to catch up with you. If you need a place to stay, you know my house is always open to you.”

He nodded. “Thanks, sis. I should probably head back. I don’t know what else they might want me for.” He paused, then gave you an odd look. “Have you… found anyone?”

You blinked at him, startled. “What? Ray, you know what my Fate says.” You frowned.

An odd expression crossed his face, then he shook his head. “Yeah, I know. Just… don’t forget the promise you made me.”

You sighed. “I won’t, Ray.” As if you ever could, you thought with a hint of bitterness. He wouldn’t let you.

He squeezed your hand, slipping a piece of paper into your grasp. “Text me. I wanna keep in touch.”

You nodded, pocketing the note. “Thanks. Good luck, Ray. Stay safe.”

He nodded, then jogged back to Agent Blue with a wave. You were left to stand there, your heart sinking with every step he took away from you. Everything was lining up far too well. Though you’d vainly hoped to escape from the Fate that had hung over your head for so long, it seemed as though you’d just walked right into it instead.

Turning back to the bar, you quietly packed up your things. Bidding Lysander goodnight, you checked to make sure Dorian didn’t need you and headed back for home.

It was only a matter of time.

Rain splattered against the ground, heavy and thick like a curtain. Shielding your eyes from the drops, you pushed yourself to run, faster, as fast as you could. There was no time left to think.

The vision you’d had kneeling under the large Fae Maypole tree you’d found in the forest nearby kept flashing through your mind, insistent and horrific. Your Fate loomed, past and future meshing into the present in ways you could hardly stand. You’d thought you’d been running, cowardly but maybe safe from the Sword of Damocles—but now here you were, fallen headlong into the trap of the Fate you’d known since childhood would claim your life.

And yet your feet would not stop running, pushing you forward without hesitation. Was this not worth it? Was this Fate—this Fate that you’d feared for so long, hated and loathed and tried in futility to escape—was it truly so horrendous? Now that you were here? In this moment of truth?

You barreled up the steps, slamming your shoulder against the door without a pause. It broke, sending you headlong across the threshold to skid across the carpet. Ignoring the burn on your arm, you looked up as you heard a scream. Morrigan’s face stared at you, sheet white as she curled up in fear by the foot of the couch.

Jacking yourself up, you didn’t take time to glance behind you. “Mor, into the safe room,” you gasped, “your Daddy sent me, okay? I need you to get in the safe room, now.”

She nodded shakily, bravely scrambling to her feet and running towards the safe room that Lysander had made for her. Nothing would get through the doors, you knew, once they locked. You waited until you heard the lock click, then turned and scrambled back out the busted door.

In the empty area between your houses, out on the outskirts of the town, everything seemed oddly distant yet crystal clear. Your memories nudged at you, whispering about the deja vu that filled your every pore at the sight of the green, rolling grass and the relentless rain that poured over everything. In the distance, the red glare of a fire fueled by gas and undaunted by rain began to dominate the color of the sky.

It didn’t surprise you when cold fingers wrapped around your throat, leaving mottled bruises to bloom against your skin. You stood still, knowing that any movement might crush your throat. You may have been Fated to die, but not until you’d finished your task.

The enraged Pricoli snarled, hissing in your ear. “I know he sent you to hide her,” he sneered. “You helpless, pitiful Seer. For all your preeminence, did you not find a way to best me?” he barked a laugh, maniacal and loud. “You useless Seers and your cursed fates—and for what? A single moment of ruined glory?”

Your breath shallowed, airflow restricted. Agent Blue, several Dullahan, your brother, Dorian, and Lysander all emerged from the tree line, pausing as they saw you being held hostage. You closed your eyes for a moment as the icy hands constricted around your throat even further.

“Tell me where she is, and you get to live, Seer,” he snarled, his face nearing your ear. “She is my perfect match, my BloodSong. She is fated to be mine, my apprentice!” he howled. “Give her to me, my right!” His nails started to lengthen, turning into claws, digging against your skin. “Or I’ll drink you dry first and use you as fuel to take these maggots down.”

You brother’s face had gone ashen in horror, staring at you as though trying to deny his own eyes. His face twisted in despair.

“I’ll never give her up to you,” you answered, aware that everyone could hear you despite the rain. You tilted your head up, letting the rain wash over your face. “I am a Seer,” you declared, loudly, proud of it for the first time in your life. “And I embrace the Curse of my Fate. I pay the price gladly, if it means the power to make sure you never lay a finger on her.”

The Pricoli snarled, the rage almost audibly warping his voice into something demonic. “Then meet your Fate, Seer.”

Your knees gave out the moment his fangs ripped into your jugular. Strangely enough, the pain wasn’t even that bad, you mused hazily. Your eyes—were they blurred by tears or the rain?—rolled up to see your brother, mouth open as he reached for you. Even Lysander, white fur matted and soaked, had his maw open as his snout pointed to the sky.

Distantly, you could hear screaming. A roar, loud, tumbling through your chest, rattling into the ground. The crackling of fire. Everything started to get.. so… cold. Vaguely, as the hand shoved you forward and you landed against the ground, you could see out of the corner of your eye the Pricoli hunch forward. Despite the pain, the numbness… your lips curled in a vindictive smile.

The crimson eyes turned to you, a horrified anger sweeping through them as they landed on your twisted grin. A cold hand went up to his throat, and the Pricoli started to choke. His body lurched, tongue lolling as he gagged on your blood, his veins starting to light from the inside out with a toxic green. Slowly, agonizingly, he fell to his knees, his face contorted in a paroxysm of agony as he choked on your blood, your concentrated inherent magic tearing him apart from the inside out.

Your limbs felt sluggish as you forced yourself up, your ears ringing. Reaching up, you pressed your hand to your ruined neck and staggered to your feet, starting to lurch away from the destroyed corpse of the Pricoli. Warmth smeared across your skin, and every breath sent needles raking down your throat and into your lungs. Your feet stumbled, and before you realized it, you were leaning against something broad and firm.

Two icy blue eyes stared down at you, claws wrapping around your arms. Strangely enough, though, you didn’t fear that grasp. Lysander’s maw moved, you noticed faintly, but all you could hear was the persistent ringing in your ears. Vaguely, you reached up, your fingers clumsily landing on the side of his snout. Red smeared his fur, and your arm dropped down numbly to your side.

With the last of your strength, you forced your mouth to form the words that your shattered throat couldn’t say. Tell her goodbye.

The world spun into crimson.

Shivering, you shook your head as you curled into the corner that you’d pressed yourself into. Tears burned behind your eyes, and you heard your breath start to rasp and wheeze, rattling your throat.

Your brother’s face crumpled as he stared at you. “Please,” he begged, his voice wavering. “You need to drink.”

Agent Blue rested his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Take it easy, son,” he said, voice firm but compassionate. “She’s understandably frightened. Even though she’s successfully gone through the change to being a damphyr, she’s had quite the scare and probably doesn’t want to feed.”

“But she needs to!” Ray exclaimed, frustration lacing his voice. “She’s already hurting.”

It was driving you insane. The pure power of the Will-o-the-Wisp’s blood was calling to you like a tempting beacon, and your brother’s hot blood practically screamed at you. The thirst flared in your throat, an ache so powerful you wanted to gag. It was like sandpaper. But you didn’t want to feed from them. You didn’t want to risk losing control, didn’t want to didn’t want to didn’t want to—

“I’ll take care of her.” Lysander stepped into the room. He turned to Ray. “She gave her life to save my daughter. This is the least I can do. I promise she’ll be in good hands.”

Your brother paused, then sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know you will, Sir,” he said, defeated. “I just…” He glanced over at you, eyes reflecting his misery.

Lysander reached out, squeezing Ray’s shoulder. “I understand,” he said quietly.

Ray nodded, then approached you again carefully. “Hey.” His voice softened. “I know you probably don’t want me around. But you have my number. Please, just… contact me when you’re ready, ok? You know I’ll be here for you, like I always have been. I’m gonna go back to Scotland, but you know how to reach me if you need anything. I won’t tell any of the family that you’re here.”

Swallowing back the drool, you tentatively reached out and barely ghosted your fingers against his cheek, hoping your eyes would convey your thanks. You just… needed space. Away from him, to control yourself, get yourself together.

But his expression turned a little more hopeful, and he nodded. “Love you, sis,” he said quietly. “Please… live.” With a small smile, he stood and followed Agent Blue out of the room.

With a quiet whine, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to push past the unbearable, insistent pain scratching down your throat. Your throat roared for a drink. Your eyes snapped open when you heard Lysander approach. Though you didn’t know why, his presence always sent you into an absolute panic, though not of fear. Your thirst around him seemed to impossibly skyrocket. Like something about him drove you crazy.

He knelt, his blue eyes fixed on yours. He reached out slowly, giving you a chance to move away. Instead, your body froze, entirely fixating on the way his plaid shirtsleeve pulled tight around his arm, rolled up to his elbow. You swallowed thickly, his blood an absolute siren call. You could smell it, practically taste it. Dripping down your throat, into your veins, ambrosia sweet and thick— Drool slipped down the corner of your mouth, past the pressure of fangs against your lips.

Lysander’s eyes strained. “I know what it does to you,” he said quietly. “Just the fact that you’re not lunging for me right now is…” He sighed, his other hand raking through his hair. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or-“ His lips twisted as he cut himself off, as though conflicted. “There’s a reason why my blood calls to you.” He settled himself in front of you, making you want to scream as both relief and a frenzy of want roared through you.

“Of course, Mor is my daughter,” Lysander said, his voice low as he looked down at the floor between you. “But her Mother was… not my true Mate.” He sighed. “I didn’t really care, because I loved her. But she… well, she left me. Didn’t want Mor, didn’t want… me.” A self-depreciating smile passed across his face. “But it was okay, I had Mor and I only wanted the best for her. But still… somewhere inside me, I knew that my true Mate was out there somewhere.”

You almost couldn’t focus, his proximity almost painful because he was too far, and yet not close enough—

“And then you appeared, and Mor started to love you, and I—“ He sighed, hand reaching up to cover his face. “And I didn’t know if I wanted to run or stay.” His shoulders slumped. “Seeing you with Mor, working with you, talking with you… every moment I spend with you near is like agony, but when you leave it’s like you take a part of me with you and I can’t breathe.”

Abruptly, your mouth went dry, shocked almost clear out of bloodlust. Wait, was he saying-?

“I told myself that you’d be better off without me,” Lysander admitted, voice thick. “I’m… not young any more. You’re beautiful and— and you have so much more promise, a whole life ahead of you… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’d gone for so long without my true Mate, I thought I’d be fine. But when I saw you lying on the ground…” He turned his face away, jaw ticking, a wild, feral light in his eyes. A low snarl rumbled through his chest, dissolving into a whine he quickly cut off.

He looked back up at you. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel… obligated to do anything. But you deserve to know the reason why my blood calls to you so strongly, and why— why I want you to drink from me. Why I don’t mind.”

Your mind whirled. The permission. The heady scent of his blood. The warmth he promised. The realization that he was calling you his true Mate. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.

Reaching up, you clapped your hand over your mouth with a half-sob of desperation. You wanted it. You practically ached for it, the kindness and love he offered. The promise of a family, a home, someone who had seen you at your worst and still somehow wanted you.

“Please,” Lysander rasped, his eyes laced with that same desperation roiling in his gut. “You don’t even have to accept me as a Mate. But you need to feed, and I—“

You were at your limit. You’d already taxed yourself as a newborn damphyr somehow trying to resist the frenzy of the first feed, and now that your Mate was in front of you, offering freely, practically begging you to feed from him, you could only take so much.

You lunged, a snarl dying on your lips as you lunged forward, the strength of your desperation actually knocking the seasoned werewolf down onto the floor. And still, even as you straddled his waist, your fingers curled around his shoulder, eyes fixed on the tempting expanse of his neck… you still tried to fight. Still tried to fight it, to control yourself.

But Lysander’s broad, warm hands gently wrapped around your waist, not fighting or pushing you off. The scar slashing across the left side of his face seemed to glow in the light streaming through the curtained window, and he gave you a smile.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice low and soothing. “I can handle it. I know you won’t hurt me.”

You shuddered, drool dripping down your fangs. Leaning forward slowly, you tried to keep yourself paced, tried to force yourself to some modicum of control. Mouth opening, you lowered your head until your fangs just barely grazed the crook of his neck and shoulder, not too close to his jugular but just enough.

The moment your fangs sank into his throat, Lysander’s fingers went weak around your waist. A deep groan pooled into the air, and a tremor ran through his body underneath you.

Heat pooled in your stomach, even as his blood slid down your throat with a satisfaction unparalleled. He tasted sweet and dusky, like fresh bread and sunshine, and freshly-cut grass after the rain. The pure heat and warmth he radiated soaked into you, and you felt the bloodlust slowly slake as you drank. Finally, you forced yourself to let go, vaguely aware with your instincts that you’d taken enough to not hurt him but probably still leave him a bit lightheaded for a moment.

The bite wound almost instantly healed over, and his grasp on your waist tightened again, fingers flexing as he regained his bearings.

You leaned your head against his chest, the gratitude and shame warring inside you. Grateful that he’d been so kind, so understanding and gentle. Ashamed of your own arousal, the way your entire being reacted to him.

Your name slipped from his lips, and a moment later his face pressed into your hair. His voice ached with the same torn desire that roiled through you. “I shouldn’t—“ He sucked in a sharp breath as you pressed your body flush against his. You could feel how tight his pants were, could feel the lines of his bulge pressed up against your thigh. A choked groan accompanied the way his hands spasmed around your waist.

“Mate.” The whisper slid from your mouth, the first thing you’d said aloud since your change. Your fingers clenched in his flannel shirt. “Mate… wants me?” Your voice cracked with your fear. Fear that he wouldn’t want to deal with you after all, that you weren’t worth it—

He pulled you closer to him, hand sliding to your hair. “So damn much, sweetheart,” he rasped, cradling your head to his shoulder. “You’re so goddamn beautiful and fierce— I don’t care if you’re human, Seer, damphyr. You’re my true Mate, my love.”

And you buried your face into his shoulder and let yourself shed a few tears of relief. He wanted you. Accepted you, in spite of everything.

“I know it’s not fair to ask you to stay,” his voice strained. “You gave your life for Morrigan, and I’m so much older—“

You reached up, your hands sliding up to cup his jaw as you slanted your lips over his, tears slipping down your cheeks. His mouth opened, kissing you back with a fervor as he splayed his hand over your lower back, pressing you into him. He let out a low growl, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into your body. Your entire body flushed, and you let out a quiet whimper.

Almost before you could register it, he flipped you over onto the floor, hovering over you. His teeth bared, and he stared down at you with a heat in his eyes that scorched through you. His hands clenched around your waist, pulling your hips flush against his.

You whimpered, tilting your head to the side and exposing your throat to him, sprawled against the floor. Your chest heaved with breath, and a moment later his teeth closed gently on the arch of your neck. A soft breathy moan escaped your lips, eyes fluttering closed as his scent washed over you, his mouth marking your neck, replacing the memory of the Pricoli’s fingerprints mottled against your skin.

With an effort, Lysander wrenched himself away, though he half rutted against you. “Darling, I’m going to need you to tell me if you don’t want this,” he rasped, voice thick and half a snarl already.

“Lysander,” you whispered, lips caressing his name.

His hips stuttered, and he pulled you up against him before heaving himself up and staggering to the bed. He lowered you onto the bed, wasting no time before he practically yanked you to him, his hands hot and greedy. He kissed you, somehow still gentle and yet needy enough to take your breath away.

“May I?” He tapped your shirt.

You nodded shyly, letting him slide it off of you. You lifted your hips in an invitation, and he lowered his mouth to your neck as he slipped your shorts off. He groaned, hands sliding across your bared skin. His skin felt so hot to the touch against your chilled body, wholly satisfying. You practically melted into his hands like putty, malleable to however he touched you, moved you. He made you feel safe. Loved. Cherished. Wanted.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “So beautiful, leannen.” The Gaelic spilled naturally from his mouth as he slid his hands under your back, unhooking your bra. You let him slide it off, too desperate for the warmth of his hands to process embarrassment. His hands cupped your breasts, callouses rasping across your nipples in a way that left your breathless and aching.

You whimpered, a little encouraged by the way you felt his bulge throb against you at the sound. Fingers tangling in his shirt, you tilted your head for air, arching into his hands.

“Fuck,” Lysander hissed against your jaw, his hips rolling into you. His hands slid lower, and his thumbs hooked in your underwear. “Can I?”

You nodded, fingers clenching against his shoulders as he slid them off. His shirt was already straining at the seams, threatening to rip. At your tug, he took a moment to reach down and practically rip his shirt off, tossing it uncaringly to the side as he opened his mouth against your neck.

You were already dripping, just his touch and scent enough to arouse you. Breath hissed through his teeth as his fingers dragged through your slick, just barely brushing past your clit. A whine escaped your lips as you shivered, fingers slipping against his chest.

“You smell so good,” Lysander groaned, one finger slipping into you as his thumb rubbed circles around your clit. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re wet. Can I take care of you?” he rumbled, teeth nipping at your ear. “You already gorged yourself on my blood. How about I fill you up with something else?”

You flushed, fangs sinking into your lower lip. “Please?” you whispered.

His ice blue eyes flashed, and his chest heaved under your hands. “Oh, are we a little desperate?” He smirked, sliding another finger into you, stretching you. “Want me to pull your legs up on my shoulders and keep you here all night?” He chuckled, feeling you pulse around his fingers. “Mmmm, I think your gorgeous body is being pretty honest, sweetheart. Well. I aim to please my Mate.”

You only had a moment to wonder when he’d managed to get his pants off. His fingers slid out of you, only for you to feel his cock rest heavily against your entrance. He slid against you, and you could feel a dribble of precum smear across your skin. One hand went to your waist, holding you, while his other found your clit again.

“Is this alright, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and suddenly soft. “I’m a bit of a stretch. I’ll try to go slow.”

With how wet you were, you sincerely doubted that he would find much of a problem. Still, you swallowed and nodded, grateful for his care and the way he tried, every step of the way, to make sure you were comfortable. Then again, you could already tell he wasn’t lying about how big he was. You could feel him resting against you, throbbing against your thigh. Slowly, he pressed just the tip into you, his breath shuddering.

Your lips parted in a gasp as he stretched you open, sliding into you. Compared to the chill of your body, his cock practically radiated heat. By the time he completely bottomed out, pelvis flush against yours, you’d already come so close to the edge, drool slipping from the corners of your lips. He seemed to completely fill you, pressing up against every spot inside of you until you swore he’d stretched you into his shape.

Lysander slumped over you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck. His entire body shuddered, and his hands clenched around your waist. His chest heaved against yours, muscles flexing as though he were physically holding himself back.

“Thank you.” The shaky whisper pooled against your skin. “For saving her. Giving your life for her. Thank you. For choosing me.”

Your fingers slid into his salt and pepper hair, relishing the stubble against your neck and shoulder. “I love you.” The confession spilled from your lips, quiet in the room.

He shuddered, letting out a low moan. His fingers clenched, just as he pulled you down further onto his cock, pressing up into you. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Lysander,” you repeated obediently, wholly truthful. Your core clenched around him, and he hissed, pulling out to thrust back into you.

“I love you,” he groaned, starting to thrust in a slow but steady rhythm. He reached down, then pulled your legs up around his hips. The new angle made you pulse as he seemed to reach impossibly deeper into you, angling up justenough to hit that one spot inside you that had you gasping and arching.

“You’re so tight,” he growled, picking up the pace. “Feels so good, sweetheart. So good.”

He suddenly reached behind you and grabbed a pillow, then lifted your hips up to prop it under you. Setting you back down, he shifted himself up and pulled your legs up to his shoulders.

A cry left your lips, utterly wrecked and broken. His cock completely filled you, fucking any semblance of coherence out of you, going so deep you swore you could feel it in your stomach. He seemed to know exactly how to read your body, adjusting to every whimper you let out, not giving you a break as he kept pounding into you with devastating precision.

“You feeling good, sweetheart?” he chuckled, the sound raking down your spine. “Is this what you want?” He thumbed your clit, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You gonna give Mor a little sibling? Taking me so well like this, spread open for me?”

The thought of adding more kids to your life, together with Lysander, proved to be the last straw for your poor mind. You came, stars bursting behind your eyelids as you cried out his name and the wave of heat and pleasure washed through your body.

And Lysander just kept fucking you through it, going harder as he pinned you against the sheets under him, not caring that your fingers raked against his shoulders. He bent to kiss you, murmuring your name in a husky voice that just wrecked you even more. He gave you no mercy, his gaze predatory as he stared down at you, soaking in your ruined expression.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Cum for me,” he murmured, coaxing you through your high.

Even when you rode it out, he didn’t slow down or let up the pace. “You gonna make me cum, darling? Can I cum inside you?”

A plea staggered off of your lips, followed by his name. Your jumbled, blissed-out mind wouldn’t allow you to do anything else, barely recalling your own name.

“Fuck— gonna cum, sweetheart— gonna fill you up—“ He let out a moan before his hips slammed into you one last time. He ground against you as he came, his bruising grip not letting you move an inch away from him.

You melted back into the bed, eyes closing as you soaked in the feeling of his seed filling you, pouring into you. Your fingers slid up the back of his neck as you lay there, docile and welcoming to his every move. Even when he’d finally stopped spilling into you, your stomach full and hot, he slumped against you.

His lips slid across your throat, soft and almost reverent, and he pulled you into his body. He murmured soft endearments into your ear, his hands running over you with gentle, loving strokes, soothing you.

“I promise I’ll do my best to protect you, treat you the way you should be,” he promised. “I love you so much, sweetheart.” Then he chuckled, hand running over your stomach. “I wonder if Morrigan will want a brother or a sister. She’s already going to be so excited to call you Mommy.”

You gave him a shy smile, accepting his soft kiss. “Thank you, Lysander,” you whispered. “I love you.”

Perhaps the price of your Fate had been high, you thought, but it had been entirely worth it.

#elysiadjarinkinktober #elysiadjarin #x reader #my writing #mywriting #nsft #exophilia #terato #monsterfucker #xyou #smut #kinktober

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rawritzrobin · 2 years

Text

Red Knights Rising Chapter 11

Title: Red Knights Rising

Pairing: Vampire!Jason Todd x Reader, Hunter Tim Drake x Reader (platonic)

Warnings: Cursing, past major character death, blood, a little bit angsty, fluff.

Summary: Alex is in town. Jason takes you to his place.

Taglist:@0littlestwolf0 @redbircl @drayshadow @lothiriel9 @bratzdollsupremacy @captainshazamerica @j-ma26-rb @royalmuffinsworld

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the Taglist (:

AN: I got a new job! I can finally have my life back c:

Chapter 11: Safe House

Jason looked around to make sure the coast was clear before turning around to face you. He cupped your face in his hands and looked you up and down, as if he was checking for injuries. He immediately pulled you into a hug. You wrapped your hands around his waist and let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Jason pulled away after a few moments and sighed sadly. “I'm calling us a cab. We’re going to my place tonight. You can’t go home until I take care of some business. If Alex is in town it’s not safe to be at your place.” He said quickly, taking out his phone and calling a car. You didn’t disagree. Alex was friendly when you two first met. Now that you knew who he was, his actions towards you seemed a little less friendly.

The car arrived quickly. As soon as you got into the cab, Jason pulled you into his arms and held you silently. You could tell he was thinking about what happened tonight. You looked out the window of the cab. It was going to a place you had not frequented. You had never actually been to Jason’s place. He always went to your place. He did let you know that he had a number of places he called home. Well, he never actually said the word home. He called them safe houses.

After about 30 minutes, the cab pulled aside and you two got out. Jason stepped into a dark alleyway and pulled you closely next to him. When you two got to the end of the alley, Jason pulled out his phone and typed in a few codes after unlocking it.

All of a sudden, the wall in front of you rumbled, and started to move up, revealing a dark hallway. Jason stepped forward and you followed along. The door behind you quickly closed, shrouding you both in total darkness. You followed Jason blindly, knowing he knew where he was going. He stopped and pulled you in closely. You were suddenly going up. An elevator. After a few seconds, you were in a dimly lit apartment. Jason turned around and typed in a few codes into the tablet on the wall. Once he was satisfied with his defenses, you saw his shoulders physically relax.

“Sorry it's so dark and cold here. I never have people over.” He said stepping into what you could make out as his living room. Jason stepped forward and opened the curtains on the other side of the room to reveal you were somewhere by the water. “Vampires don’t do well with water. This is my only safe house near any body of water.”

You looked around the room and noticed a few things.

The place was small, about the size of your master bedroom. But somehow, it had everything a person could need. In the living room, Jason had a variety of what looked like weapons and tools spread upon a large dining table. Along the wall there were numerous blue prints and a map of Gotham pinned to it. The soft blue light of a laptop illuminated the four Red Hood helmets that sat in front of it.

There was a small full sized mattress tucked into the corner of the living room. The bed was perfectly made and it looked rather cozy. Directly adjacent to the bed, was a tiny kitchenette with just two stoves and a tiny sink. There was a small fridge tucked between the stove and what looked like a small washing machine.

To your surprise, the place was pretty much spotless. You knew Jason was a sort of neat freak, but you had never really been to a guy's place that wasn’t covered in dirty clothes, or old beer cans.

Jason took a few steps forward to turn on the light in a small hallway. “The bathroom is in here if you need to use it.” He said.

From where you were standing you could tell the bathroom was spotless as well. There was a large shower in the back, and an old-fashioned above ground bathtub sitting in front of it.

Jason turned around to face you and rubbed the back of his head shyly.

“Well it's not much. But the security here is top notch. I don’t even think Bruce knows this place exists.”

You smiled at him. “It’s nice.” You said truthfully. There was something about this place that felt like home.

Jason smiled and stepped forward to pull you into his arms again. He let out a big sigh and squeezed harder. “It’s my fault he knows about you. I should have been more careful. I’m sorry.”

You pulled back a bit to look him in the eyes. “You have nothing to apologize about. It was my fault that he had to jump in to save me from falling onto my face.”

Jason's face hardened when he remembered Alex’s words. You placed your hand on his cheek in reassurance. “Nothing happened, I promise. I just tripped on the stairs while entering the gala. The only thing that would have broken would have been my pride.” You said with a laugh.

Jason pressed his face into your hand and cupped it with his hand. His hands were cold to the touch, but not freezing like yours were. You shivered a bit when the adrenaline started to wear off.

“I’ll get the heat on. I haven’t been here in a bit. The temperature can get below 0 here during the winter. I tend to avoid this particular place because of that.” He said, quickly making his way to the heater next to the bed.

You bent over to take your shoes off. You had been riding the high of happiness and fear all night that you forgot your feet were actually on fire. You were wearing 4 inch heels after all. You sighed in content when you finally felt your feet even out with the ground. You picked up one of your feet and started rubbing them to help the pain.

Jason marveled at you. You seemed to be really calm for a person that had just come in contact with a vampire lord. You really were something.

“Do you need anything? Some Chinese food? Glass of wine? A puppy?” Jason asked.

You looked up at him and laughed. “Actually, all I want right now is a shower.”

Jason chuckled as you made your way towards the shower. Jason watched you from afar, expecting you to close the door behind him for some privacy, but instead you peaked your head through the door.

“Care to join me?” You asked with a devilish grin on your face.

You didn’t have to say anything more as Jason immediately took off his tie and ran towards you.

————————

“Is he dangerous?” You asked, finally brave enough to talk about the elephant in the room.

After you and Jason finally stepped out of your constricting fancy clothes, you two had some fun in the shower, and decided to take a warm bath to help soak up all the tension in your bodies. You pressed your back closer to his chest and looked up at him with curious eyes.

He looked down at you and sighed, closing his eyes. You squeezed his hand that was currently wrapped tightly around yours.

“He can be.” Jason started. “The thing about Alex is that he’s unpredictable. One day he decides he wants to help out a group of orphans by compelling a few rich adults to take them in, the next he’s setting a house on fire with a family sleeping upstairs. I guess in the end, it depends on what mood he’s in or if there is something in it for him.”

You looked away from him for a second and down at the bubbles in front of you. “Do you think you would ever join him?” You asked, genuinely curious.

Jason scoffed. “No. What he and his lackeys have they can keep.”

“Aren’t you at all curious what he could teach you?”

Jason tilted his head in confusion, you were asking questions that made it seem like you wanted him to join Alex’s group.

“I mean, I still don’t know too much about vampires. Actually, I don’t know anything at all besides the things you have told me.” You turned around to face him this time. “Aren’t you curious about the things that he could teach you? I mean, that thing they did with the fog is pretty cool.” You said with a laugh.

Jason chuckled and shook his head. Your reaction to what happened tonight was truly amazing to him. Normal people would be cowering in their boots. But instead, here you are, asking questions about the man who literally could kill you with a look.

“That would mean I would have to leave the human world.” And you. The last part he didn’t say out loud.

You grimaced jokingly. “The human world seems a little boring don’t you think?”

“No, not really. Especially since the human world has you.” He said looking into your eyes lovingly.

You blushed at his comment, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“Yeah, I am pretty cool aren’t I.” You said with a smirk, as you pulled him in for another kiss. You turned around and pressed into him deeper, continuing where you two left off before.

Yes, Jason could have all the power he had always wanted if he went off with Alex. Alex was one of the 7 vampire lords in the world after all. He kept that little secret to himself. Being a vampire meant power, but it also meant being alone. Ever since you stepped into his life, he had begun to think about other things rather than power.

Things like love, affection, and most of all: family.

Though Alex had left you two alone tonight, Jason couldn’t shake the anxious feeling he had. He kept thinking about Alex’s last words to him: “She may be welcome soon enough.”

He knew Alex couldn’t exactly predict the future. But he had a knack for knowing that things were going to happen before they did. He didn’t want to be the one to drag you into this world. The cold and lonely world that he had come to know so well.

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tawaifeddiediaz · 2 years

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in a name

I wasn’t supposed to write this fic with all the others I have lined up but here it is anyway, girldads!Buddie for @bieddiediaz :)) (inspired by this post)

[AO3 Link]

Word Count: 4540 words They don’t mean for it to happen.

Of course they don’t.

It’s just…a strange consequence that they don’t really see coming, of course.

“Papa!”

Vera flies into Buck’s arms as soon as he and Eddie walk into her preschool, her loud yell earning them more than a few stares. Buck can’t bring it in himself to care as he wraps his arms around his daughter, hauling her up into a huge hug.

This is hardly the first time he’s picked her up from preschool, but it never seems to get easier to have her out of his sight for the four hour school day, or Christopher for his seven hour one. His heart stays in his throat until he sees both their kids in front of them, safe and sound.

“Hey there, kiddo,” he laughs, tickling her sides as she wiggles in his arms. “How was school?”

Eddie’s hand lands at the small of his back, heavy and familiar as he leans in to ruffle their daughter’s hair. “Get into trouble today?”

“No! I’m a good girl,” Vera pouts, even as she reaches for Eddie.

“The best,” Buck agrees, carefully transferring her into his husband’s arms. Vera’s satisfied with his answer, and smooths her finger along Eddie’s eyebrow, endlessly fascinated with her father’s face. Buck laughs as the mock annoyance in his husband’s expression turns playful and he smacks a loud kiss on her cheek. Vera dissolves into peals of laughter as she clings to Eddie’s neck, and Buck leans into them, casting a look around the room.

Which, to put it lightly, looks like a tornado ripped through it.

Messes of toys are scattered all over the place. Building blocks lay strewn on the colorful carpet, cards are scattered over the small tables and if Buck looks closely, he can see a couple juice box spills on the desks. One man weaves around the tables, picking up all the fall hazards as quickly as he can with the other parents approaching, practically chucking them into the big bin in the corner of the room.

One of Vera’s teachers approaches the three of them, her kind face cheery and smiling. Ms. Roshan, Buck remembers as he reaches out to shake her hand.

“You’re both here today!” she exclaims, looking between them.

“Yeah, we got off shift early,” Eddie explains, tugging Vera’s sticky fingers free from his hair. Buck swallows the laughter that threatens to burst out of him at the section now yanked out of place, like the world’s worst cowlick. “Thought we both should be here for her first parent-teacher conference.”

“Well you’re right on time, because I think you were the first to arrive. Why don’t we get settled in my office? Vera, do you want to play out here while I talk to your dads?”

“No, I have to go with Daddy.” She tightens her grip on Eddie’s collar, her tiny nails digging into his neck. Buck winces, knowing exactly how those scratches feel, and makes a mental note to trim them down before tomorrow. “I have to.”

He knows that tone, and knows that there will probably be hell to pay in the form of stomping feet and huffing.

“Okay, you can come,” Buck assures, glancing at Ms. Roshan apologetically.

She doesn’t look put off by it, only beckoning them through a pair of double doors into a small corner office. Before they go in, Buck quickly smooths Eddie’s hair from the side, offering his husband a quick smile as they walk in.

Roshan Armaan hangs on the wall behind her chair in a dotted letter font. The laminated placard is complete with a triad of she/her/hers pronouns and two bright yellow pencils below the name. There’s not much more than a computer, a framed picture and a few chairs, but it’s cozy — as spacious as it can be with most of the room allotted to the actual classroom.

Vera picks up the Rubik’s Cube sitting on her teacher’s desk, immediately too engrossed in playing around with it to pay attention to their conversation. Buck has to smile — her hand isn’t even as big as one of the faces of the cube.

“So? How’s Vera liking preschool?” Roshan asks, pressing a few buttons on her keyboard. “I remember the first few days she was apprehensive about being here.”

That is a massive understatement.

“Uh, she’s moved past it, for sure,” Buck answers, propping his arms around their daughter when Vera deigns to sit on both Buck and Eddie, who are sitting close enough to press their thighs into a makeshift seat for her.

“She’s always so excited to come here now, it’s hard to believe she hated the idea at the beginning,” Eddie adds.

The first days were hell on them. Vera had screamed, cried, pulled at them and thrown multiple tantrums of epic proportions both the night before and the day of preschool. Buck and Eddie had both gone to drop her off, and she’d cried so much that both of them were teary eyed by the time they finally managed to drop her off.

She hadn’t lasted an hour the first day.

Buck had gone to pick her up, her face blotchy and scowling. She’d been mad enough that she hadn’t even let him take her in his arms. He had no idea what to do with it, so he’d elected to wait it out until they at least got to the car. A couple breathing exercises and he finally managed to calm her down enough to drive them home.

(He might’ve also had to bribe her with a soft pretzel and ice cream, but that’s between him and the heartbroken, betrayed look on his daughter’s face that Buck is eternally weak for.)

It was the same story the second day — Eddie ended up running out of their shift early because Vera wouldn’t stop crying. Bobby had immediately let him go, but Buck’s heart had been in his throat until he got home from his own shift to find Vera sleeping soundly on top of an exhausted Eddie’s chest.

“She’s scared,” Eddie had said, his hand tracing absent patterns on their daughter’s back. Her fists had been curled tightly in her father’s shirt, her shock of dark curls spilling all over her face as she slept on peacefully.

“New things are always scary. How do we make it less scary, especially for a kid?” Buck had asked.

“I don’t know.” And Eddie’s voice had cracked, having always felt their kids’ pain like it was his own, and that marked the end of the conversation until at least after dinner.

At the end of the day, it was Chris who managed to convince her to stay for the full four hours, just to see how she would like it. Vera almost always listened to her older brother, and that night had been no different.

Buck and Eddie still don’t know what magic he’d spun, but she’d come home from the next day a whole new person, suddenly excited to go to preschool because of all her new friends and the playground and the snacks . The fear hadn’t vanished overnight, but it grew smaller and smaller until she was comfortable enough to streak from the car towards Caden and Priscilla, who waited for her at drop-off every day, without even a glance back at them.

Her instant friendship with the two kids was proof enough of how she’d learned to adjust so quickly, and Buck knew that it was the same for Caden and Priscilla, too. Priscilla’s dad had told them that his daughter was having the same meltdowns up until she found her new friends in the class. Caden’s moms had approached them about a playdate within the second week, just because their son wouldn’t stop talking about his two new friends.

The three kids had become a tight-knit group, clearly supporting each other in a way that only four-year-olds could, and for that, Buck and Eddie were grateful.

“Most kids experience a form of separation anxiety when they start preschool, because they’re away from their parents, or other primary guardians for the first time. It’s fully expected, but she’s a well-adjusted child.” Roshan smiles at her. Underneath the table, Buck reaches past Vera’s legs to tangle his fingers with Eddie’s, uncaring of how sweaty both their palms are.

Roshan talks about the curriculum, pulling out a folder with all of Vera’s drawings and worksheets as she explains what they’ve been doing in class since August. “We’ve been working our way through colors and basic shapes. We’ve also started teaching the kids one letter a day, trying to familiarize them with the alphabet and how each letter sounds. Vera seems to recognize them on an above average level, and is even able to give examples.”

Buck looks over at where Eddie’s flipping through the various papers. All the worksheets have a gold sticker stuck to the corner of them, crayon following dotted lines to form letters of the alphabet.

“Looks like Chris’ artistry rubbed off on her,” Eddie observes, his smile that particular curve that only their kids brought out in him. Buck had deemed it his “Christopher smile” when he’d first met him, but now, he sees it as something that both their kids brought out in him.

Eddie passes the paper he’s holding to Buck, who finds himself looking down at a particularly colorful dinosaur. Every part of the drawing is a different color, but somehow, she’s made it work.

Or maybe Buck’s just biased.

“Yeah, that’s for Chris.” Vera nods, taking hold of the paper and setting it away from the folder before going back to the Rubik’s Cube. Buck watches her for a second before gesturing towards the paper.

“Can we take that home?”

“You can take the whole folder, actually. We have copies of anything we’ll need. Uh, let’s see,” Roshan turns back to her computer, scrolling through something. “During the next few weeks, we’ll be focusing on things like our community and the people who work in it. We’ll also be talking about weather, two-letter sounds. But as of now, none of us have any special concerns about Vera. She’s a joy to have in the class, and gets along so well with the other students.”

If Buck’s chest puffs out a little more from pride, that’s between him, the husband currently squeezing his hand, and God.

He doesn’t have to look over at Eddie to know that he’s in a similar state, having sat up straighter in his chair. Out of the corner of his eye, Buck can see the proud grin on his husband’s face, and squeezes his fingers tighter in response.

“Do you have any questions for me?”

“Is there anything we can do at home to help her prepare for the units?” Eddie asks.

Roshan shakes her head. “Just what you’re already doing! Reading, practicing the letters and sounds, helping your child identify things about themselves and reviewing previous concepts from the last nine weeks are all ways you can keep on top of the curriculum, so she doesn’t start to forget. Practice is important.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” Eddie nods, clearly taking mental notes of everything the teacher tells them. If not for Vera in his lap, Buck would’ve been scrawling a million notes, but lucky for him, Eddie’s memory is sharper than the tip of an arrow.

“Anything else?”

“Uh, no, I think we’re good,” Buck says, exchanging a look with his husband. Eddie shrugs in turn, agreeing with him.

“Alright, then let’s head out?” Roshan gets out of her chair to hold the door open for them.

Vera crawls back into Buck’s arms, while Eddie tries to pry the Rubik’s cube from her hands.

“No!”

“Kiddo, that’s Ms. Roshan’s. Can you give it back to her, please?”

Vera only barely pouts before Buck levels her with a firm look. She hands the cube over to her teacher, sighing dramatically and nearly bending over backwards with her theatrics. It takes quick reflexes and a mini heart attack from Buck to stop her from falling out of his grasp, but for her part, all she does is giggle.

“She gets those dramatics from you,” Buck grumbles to Eddie as he supports her head, carefully walking out the door lest Vera decide to jump out of his arms again. The grin on her face is a spitting image of Eddie when he thinks he’s gotten away with something under Buck’s nose.

“Right,” Eddie replies, sarcasm high in his voice. “Nothing to do with all you’ve taught Chris over the years.”

“I plead the fifth,” Buck sniffs.

Roshan’s laugh sounds behind them, startling them out of their reverie. Buck hadn’t realized she was following them out. “You know, you’ll have to forgive me for saying this, but it’s a good thing we have your names on our forms. Otherwise, we’d think your names were babe , love or sweetheart .”

Buck feels the moment Eddie goes ramrod stiff, a similar embarrassment rushing down his own spine as they turn to face their daughter’s teacher. “Excuse me?”

“Our first unit focused on the kid’s talking about themselves and their families. And when we asked her what her parents’ names were, and she said ‘babe’ and ‘love,’ and I quote, ‘but sometimes their names are sweetheart, too,’”

“Oh my god.” Eddie’s voice is strangled in his throat, and Buck feels his face turn beet red as he looks at his mischievous child, who’s grinning like nothing ever happened as she pokes his now flaming cheeks.

“They are! Daddy calls you that all the time,” Vera tells Buck matter-of-factually. Eddie does use the pet names all the time, but almost never outside their house — something private for them, just the way they like it.

Something private that’s now public to their daughter’s preschool class.

His four-year-old is going to be the death of him.

“Er…” Buck tries to search for words, only to come up empty.

Death by embarrassment, of all things.

Roshan only laughs again, kindly saying, “Don’t worry. It was sweet, and we always get at least one kid per year who thinks their parents’ names are endearments. Just thought you’d like to know! I’m glad she has that model in front of her. Growing up in a nurturing family is important, especially at her age.”

That only makes it marginally better, that they’re not the only ones, but Eddie’s face is stuck in a warped smile that makes him look strange, and Buck’s sure he’s not faring much better.

“Can we go home now?” Vera demands when the silence turns too awkward, linking her arms around Buck’s neck. “Is Chris at home?” He can hear the drowsy tone in her voice, and knows she’s probably going to go down for a nap after this.

“He’s still at school,” Eddie answers automatically, because this is a question she asks every time they pick her up. He still looks horrified for being exposed to a whole class of preschoolers as a secret romantic, as if they’re going to tell everyone.

Buck’s sympathetic to his cause, because the embarrassment has crept down his spine and rooted itself there.

“Better get this one home, then. Thanks for everything, Ms. Roshan,” he says lamely, trying to excuse them as fast as possible. He reaches for Eddie’s hand almost on auto-pilot before thinking better of it, saying his goodbyes and excusing himself.

From the sounds of it, Eddie’s not far behind but Buck’s poor husband looks mortified, even as he buckles Vera into her car seat. Buck switches the AC on full blast to cool some of the heat in his face as he waits for Eddie to slide into the passenger seat. Sandalwood cologne precedes him, the familiar scent grounding enough for Buck to settle back in his seat.

“She’s a menace on wheels,” Eddie mutters quietly, pressing his palms to his face and groaning loudly into them, now that they’re in the safety of their car. “Do we really use pet names that much?”

Buck pulls out of the preschool parking lot, thinking of how to answer. “Well, I don’t know? I guess? How are we supposed to know? It’s not like we’re counting.”

“This is so embarrassing,” Eddie groans again, slumping in his chair as he peeks in the rearview mirror at a blissfully unaware Vera, staring up at the TV playing old Popeye cartoons in the backseat.

“At least she’s growing up knowing her parents love each other,” Buck points out, remembering Roshan’s words. “Remember what her teacher said?”

Both Buck and Eddie grew up with parents who barely tolerated each other most of the time, so they both know what it’s like to never see love between them. Being able to set a healthy example for their kids is gratifying to a part of Buck that always fears that he’s messing this whole parenting thing up, and he knows it’s the same for Eddie.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie concedes, his hand dropping to Buck’s knee. Buck’s free hand comes up to slot in the spaces between his spread fingers. “I’m still mortified, though. I’m never going to be able to look at her teachers ever again.”

Eddie, who feels embarrassment more keenly than most, is probably going to lament about this for the next sixty years.

“If you stop using them, I’ll kill you,” Buck threatens, only half-joking. He refuses to let this incident take away the gooey feeling that even six years of marriage and countless reiterations hasn’t been able to take away from the pet names.

Eddie grins at him, and Buck relaxes in his seat, spinning Eddie’s wedding ring around between his thumb and index finger as he drives. “It’ll take much more than a class of preschoolers to make me stop.”

“Chris is going to get a kick out of this, though,” Buck tells him as he pulls into their driveway, clocking the time. An hour yet until their oldest gets home, which is plenty of time for them to get over the secondhand embarrassment of being caught out as a pair of saps.

(Or, so he thinks.)

They manage to push the incident from their mind for the rest of the afternoon, Eddie carrying a sleepy Vera into the house while Buck trails after them, locking the car and disappearing into their room to change into comfortable clothes.

It doesn’t take long for Eddie to join him on the couch, now wearing a bedraggled old T-shirt of Buck’s as he flops down beside him. Buck immediately drops his head into his husband’s lap and gets comfy with his legs stretched over the arm of the couch, smiling when Eddie’s fingers automatically weave through his hair.

“She falls asleep so quickly. I’m jealous of my own four-year-old,” Eddie tells him, tugging absently on Buck’s hair as he talks. His nails scrape back and forth in a pattern that lulls Buck towards oblivion, sparks trickling down his spine with each pass. Warmth unfolds at the quiet act of intimacy, and Buck thinks that if he could, he’d be purring right now.

“ I’m probably going to fall asleep on you if you keep doing that,” Buck replies, wrapping his hand around Eddie’s wrist to hold onto his partner instead. Eddie moves to splay his palm across Buck’s chest instead, turning the TV on.

“Well, at least we’re raising two young, popular, funny geniuses. Chris used to get pretty much the same comments from his teachers,” Eddie says after a while.

Buck tears his eyes away from where a contestant on Eddie’s baking show just burned her cake, peering up at his husband. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. You should’ve heard the puns Carla and I had to put up with during his first parent-teacher meeting. The one where we found out that Chris was telling his classmates that tsunamis aren’t scary.”

Buck remembers laughing over the puns with Carla, staring incredulously at Eddie and cringes a little at the memory as he looks back at the TV.

During that year, if someone had told Buck that one day, he and Eddie would go to their daughter’s parent-teacher meeting together, married and in love, he would’ve laughed in their face. The thought of marrying his best friend, and getting Chris and Eddie in his life permanently, would've been nothing more than a pipe dream.

Buck still can't believe the sheer number of turns their lives took after that one conference. Even after all these years of being Eddie’s partner in every way, he sometimes can’t believe it, even though he wears the proof on his finger.

With Vera asleep, the house is silent enough that the afternoon passes slowly, Eddie tracing the lines on Buck’s graphic T-shirt and Buck pressing back into him for this rare moment of peace.

“Is it really that embarrassing?” he asks after another contestant drops his entire bowl of frosting on the floor. “If they know?”

He wonders it out loud, because now that it’s ebbing off, Buck feels a weird sort of pride settle in his chest, wrapping around the places Eddie lives in him. It feels like they’ve reached some sort of benchmark, a goal that Buck’s always yearned for without any expectation of actually meeting it.

Eddie snorts. “Nah. Now that I think about it, I like the idea of Chris and Vera seeing us like this — in love and happy.”

His husband’s expression matches the thoughts running through Buck’s head, his warm eyes a shade darker than usual as he looks down at Buck. E ddie’s fingers tap out Buck’s heartbeat over where it lies in his chest. The words make something swell in Buck’s chest at being loved like Eddie loves him, of having this family where he doesn’t repeat the mistakes his parents made with him and Maddie.

The look on his face is peaceful, serene and content, but Buck can’t help but remember the very start of their relationship, where pulling those confessions from either of them would’ve been like pulling teeth. So much to risk, after everything they’d been through, but somehow, it was that stipulation that got them together in the end, anyway.

“We deserve to be happy, too,” Eddie had whispered over a mountain of soapy dishes, his hair falling in his eyes from his shower and entirely vulnerable as he met Buck’s gaze with his own. “And I’m happy when I’m with you.”

“You make me happy,” Buck had said, and kissed him.

That had been that. Eddie admitting that he was happy was worth far more than any grand proposal or love confession, because all Buck had ever wanted to do was see that contentment in his best friend.

He just didn’t know it could come about because of him.

“Yeah, me too,” Buck says now, working around the lump in his throat at the memories Eddie’s words bring back. Eddie’s fingers slot with his own, his ring bumping against Buck’s, and absently, Buck presses his lips to his knuckles.

Despite their conversation, the mortification of being caught out by their daughter’s teacher comes back in full force when Chris comes home.

“How’d the meeting go?” Chris asks, dropping into the chair across from them. He drops his bag haphazardly on the coffee table, but it only takes one look from Eddie for him to set it carefully next to the couch instead.

(Even if he rolls his eyes as he does it.)

“Vera has stuff to show you,” Buck tells him, gesturing to the folder lying on the table. Chris makes no move to pick it up, nodding along as if he knows that only Vera’s allowed to show him, on her own time.

“Apparently, Buck and I are too in love for the little menace,” Eddie grumbles, amusement belaying his true feelings on the matter.

“Oh, the pet names,” he nods knowingly, leaning back to flick through his phone like nothing’s ever happened.

Buck sits up instantly, turning a glare on their oldest. “You knew? ”

“Of course I knew,” he scoffs. “Vera asked me what your names were after she came home from school that day, which was a weird question until she told me what happened.”

Eddie covers his face with a hand as he pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about meddling children and how they’re too clever for him to keep up with. Through his fingers, Buck can see the bright red flush that seems to be a permanent addition to Eddie’s face as of two hours ago.

Buck thinks that maybe he shouldn’t really be surprised. Chris and Vera are as thick as thieves, and there are hardly any secrets between them. More than once, Buck and Eddie have found themselves overpowered by the sheer might of their kids, and the two know it, absolutely unabashed in exploiting their weaknesses.

“You could’ve warned us!” Buck throws his hands up, entirely exasperated.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Sixteen has apparently brought out Christopher’s inner comedian, because he grins cheekily, entirely unrepentant and most likely enjoying just how fidgety Eddie’s getting. Buck smacks his husband’s shin to get him to settle down, flopping back onto Eddie’s lap. This time, he lets Eddie take the weight of his shoulders, too — like the weighted stuffed animal Chim got him one year — in hopes of calming whatever lingering anxiety he can sense radiating off of him.

“What about everything else?”

“All good,” Eddie tells him, recalling what Roshan had told them. “We just need to keep practicing the things she’s already learned so she doesn’t forget them.”

“Chris!” Vera’s yell echoes through the house, clearly having clocked her brother’s presence. Buck mentally counts the seconds as her little footfalls race down the hallway.

“That’s too much energy for just waking up,” Eddie mumbles out of the corner of his mouth. “We’re going to regret that when she doesn’t sleep tonight.”

“Took her five seconds,” Buck whispers back, watching as their daughter ignores them completely to jump onto the sofa next to her brother.

Eddie wraps an arm tighter around Buck as they abandon the baking show to watch Vera excitedly show Chris all the drawings and worksheets in the folder. The couch isn’t big enough to handle her excitement, and papers flutter uselessly to the ground as Chris fawns over each one.

Buck’s a little starstruck, if he’s honest, because this is his family and he gets to have this after years and years of feeling alone — after years of searching for where he belongs, only to end up back with the man who’s made him feel like something from the day he entered Buck’s life.

He thinks the universe cut him a pretty damn good deal.

“I would take being mortified in front of the entire damn world if it means we get this,” Eddie whispers to him, turning a bright smile down on Buck — the one that softens the planes of his face and lights up his eyes.

Buck reaches up to trace the dimple that creases his cheek, pulling him into a chaste kiss before turning back towards their kids.

“I know, babe. I know.”

75 notes · View notes

sanzu-sanzu-sanzu · 3 years

Text

songs about toxic people 7*

Sanzu Haruchiyo X Reader

Summary: In which you are Bonten’s No. 2 and Sanzu is No. 3. Almost ten years of being stuck working together means you’re both bound to pick up on each other’s idiosyncrasies, yeah?

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*IMPORTANT NOTE: this is more like an interlude/bonus chapter actually centering more on misc bonten x reader Gen! interactions. it still ties in with the whole story, it’s just there’s less to zero sanzu in this one cus the focus will be more on the other bonten haha, so if you’re here exclusively for sanzu x reader, you may skip this if you like! 😬

it’s just i got these headcanons that idk what to do with and also they are somewhat short 😭

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chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6

chapter 7: We may not be a perfect family but we love each other (until we don’t) - koko

Koko thinks of cats when he thinks of you; partly from the circumstances of your first meeting, partly ‘cause of the way you sort of simply glide in and out of rooms quietly with the stealth and fluidity of one.

(Although Sanzu had insisted he thought more of ghosts and wraiths, a comment which Koko only made light of even though he wasn’t wrong.)

She even kinda fights like a feline, he’d told Inupi one time all those years ago, as he thought of the way your lithe and minimal movements were always able to take bigger guys down along with the quiet ferocity to match.

Maybe she learns from all the cats back in the shrine, Inupi responded—a joke, essentially, in his own terms. Koko suppressed a smile: cat and dog, you and her, maybe that’s why you two get along so well went his own, sad attempt at humor, because you and your second-in-command were obviously very close and very unlike cats and dogs. The joke, however, sadly did not seem to land, and Inupi’s forehead only creased, his expression dumbfounded.

That’s not how it works.

Koko never forgets the day you were first introduced by Mikey. It’s at the back of Toman’s abandoned shrine, at the edge of the thick forest surrounding the area, that their new leader had said they’ll be meeting Black Dragon’s temporary captain. He never specified what anyone would be doing in the forest at this hour in the afternoon, and neither him nor Inupi had asked, but then there you were: in your bare feet and in your school uniform, attempting to move a big pot of plant from one spot of land to another, your expression almost annoyed. (At the pot, most likely, which did not seem to budge.)

Mikey called your attention still a few meters afar:

“Hey. Whatcha up to—”

in a tone that very clearly did not seem to intend to place whatever you were up to above this particular Toman business at the moment, so really, it would not have made any difference whether you answered or not. Which you didn’t, only glancing at your president once—not with the angry expression, at least—before continuing with your ordeal.

The pot nudged just a tiny bit.

Only when Mikey finally stopped right in front of you and you noticed Koko’s and Inupi’s figures behind him did you finally stand straight, looking at Mikey quizzically. “What’s up?” Quick nods to Inupi and him. “Hello.”

Mikey briefly introduced all of you and proceeded to explain that you were to be formally placed as the Black Dragon’s new captain today, to which your eyes slightly widened.

“Oh, I thought you said tomorrow.”

Mikey hesitated at first but then shrugged. “Hm, they came here already today so I thought might as well. Come on, it’ll be quick.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and then to his two quiet companions but then so agreed anyway, and as Mikey ushered you in front nobody else aside from Koko seemed to notice your lack of shoes. You’d only taken a few steps ahead when you tugged at the sleeve of Mikey’s coat, making him pause.

“I don’t have my Toman jacket,” which was obvious but was not what Koko was expecting for you to say, if he were to be honest.

Mikey looked at you blankly. “Well, where is it?”

“Well, something happened to it,” was your only vague response, but then you turned your head to where you just came from making all three boys follow suit. On a wooden bench slightly obscured by the plants were a family of cats consisting of a mother and her kittens, all sleeping peacefully in a cozy pile on top of your balled up Toman jacket.

“Oh. Okay.” Mikey only nodded like he completely understood. Without thinking about it twice, Sano Manjiro, Tokyo Manji gang’s No. 1—feared around the streets of Tokyo, bowed to no one and stepped over everyone—took off his billowing Toman coat and draped it over your shoulders. “Here, you can borrow mine,” he simply said. “I mean, you gotta look the part.”

Your mouth stretched into a grin.

Beside him, Inupi gave Koko a quick, wordless glance accompanied by that tiny, upward curve on the corner of his mouth that anyone else could’ve missed. Inupi rarely smiled at anything anymore those days—perhaps one of the reasons why this singular, initial meeting had stuck in his mind all these years. It’s one of those memories Koko always thought he could probably live without, occupying a quiet little corner in his mind which, frankly, a much more practical or life-changing memory could have occupied, if it were up to him. But then there you were with your cats and your air of schoolgirl abandon making Inupi smile, an information that he simply didn’t know what to do about.

“Alright, boss. But please, no speeches.”

This made Mikey laugh. “Can’t promise you that, I’m sorry.” It’s only after a few more steps that Mikey did finally notice your bare feet.

“Where the hell are your shoes?”

“Oh, they got wet,” you quietly said. “I was playing with the cats…” and three pairs of eyes stared at you like it wasn’t enough of an answer. “With a hose. Manjiro, I was watering the plants.”

And so you stood atop the shrine steps while addressing the men from Black Dragons, your feet bare and covered in scratches and the Toman president’s much bigger coat over your shoulders. Nobody questioned the absence of shoes—at least not out loud—not with your leader Manjiro right by your side, in his flip flops holding a half-eaten taiyaki in one hand.

The memory comes unannounced in snips and pieces some years later as another Bonten meeting ends. There’s various movements around the table by now, but then Koko catches your undivided staring as you sat across from him, your chin propped up against one hand. He ignores you for a short while as he fixes his things, until he finally decides to look up.

“Anything wrong?”

You suddenly purse your lips in a small smile amidst the gloomy and rigid air of mid-morning Monday meetings and for a moment, it’s as if Koko is thinking of another memory.

“I just realized you kinda look like my Mr. Kaku,” is all you say. The little remark makes not-your Kakucho look up from the document he’s reading without really turning his head, while Rindou who is seated beside you squints—in curiosity or amusement, Koko can’t tell. From his own right side, Takeomi is slowly angling his head as if meaning to take a better look at Koko behind his curtain of silver hair.

Mr. Kaku, of course, is your pet cat, the one with the smooth silver fur that you’d rescued from an abandoned site during an out-of-town business trip some months ago. You and your unimaginative pet naming sense landed on “Mr. Kaku,” in honor of your then-partner Kakucho who had volunteered to keep the cat inside his bag thru the doors of the hotel that didn’t allow pets. But he looks nothing like Kaku, Manjiro had quipped, earning a few grunts of approval from your ever-biased circle, but you couldn’t have been bothered so you stuck with the name.

Koko is quick to decipher that in your-speak, cat comparisons are more or less compliments and never a form of insult—not that in your mid-20s, you all haven’t already gotten above petty verbal affronts, after all. So he humors you, eyes now back to his things but with his attention still on the matter at hand. “What, is it the hair?”

“Yeah, it’s the hair,” Rindou says before you can answer, his head lolling lazily on one shoulder. “Can’t believe no one had noticed before.”

“And the eyes,” you simply nod. “They both got these nice, sharp eyes.”

Would you have named him Mr. Koko if you thought he resembled Kokonoi before? is the one lingering question that none of the men around you bother to ask.

It’s only a couple of weeks later, after another Bonten meeting, when Koko hands you a souvenir from his weekend business trip: a red cat collar with a customized pendant, a tiny enamel engraving of your Bonten tattoo. The pendant is black on one side and gold on the other, and the small gasp you let out makes every head in the room turn—the almost unfamiliar, genuine sound of delight thawing the usual morning’s stern atmosphere.

“There’s a shop right across the hotel where they make rush engravings like that.” Koko is saying casually like it’s no big deal, but he sees the expression on your face and he can’t help but grin. “Thought Mr. Kaku might like it.”

Your eyes perk up at the mention of ‘Mr. Kaku’ like Koko is the first person to ever acknowledge that Mr. Kaku doesn’t need to be named anything else apart from ‘Mr. Kaku.’ “Oh, it’s perfect, Koko. I’ll send you pictures once I make him wear it,” you say, your attention instantly back to your hands, choosing to ignore his ‘I think just one picture might be enough.’

From the other end of the room, Sanzu is making his way towards the door. “Congratulations,” he smirks as he passes by behind you, quirking one eyebrow up at Koko. “Now she won’t be shutting up about it all weekend,” because Sanzu will be spending the next three days with you over in another city to conduct business with another drug scion, of course.

Across the table, Kakucho only sighs before shaking his head. “I still wish you could’ve picked a better name for your cat,” he says—a valid complaint, Koko thinks bemusedly, now that your own Mr. Kaku looks more like a feline version of himself.

chapter 8 >

this one goes out to my closest friends the ones who make me feel less alien

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

hii would you write a coops fic that takes place before they’re out when they’re still sneaking around but have like a sweet date night at remus’s apartment

Of course! This is a continuation of Newcomers and Nargles, where Remus babysits Luna Lovegood. Hope you enjoy! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

“Thank you for having me over,” Sirius said quietly as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Remus’ mouth. The only light came from his kitchen, which was far enough away that they were left in soft shadows on his couch. “Really, Re, this is wonderful.”

“There’s no need to be so formal,” he laughed, though Sirius could see the pink flush spreading to his ears. “It’s just pasta and my apartment.”

“I love your apartment.”

The flush deepened. “Moody calls it my hamster cage. You had to duck to get in the door.”

“Details.” Sirius leaned forward for a proper kiss to his lips; they had set a timer for the pasta and had a while yet, if his memory was correct. Plenty of time to settle himself more comfortably in Remus’ lap and kiss him until he got the glazed look in his eyes that Sirius adored.

He wanted this all the time. To come home with Remus every night, without fear of the wrong person (or anyone, really) seeing them. He wanted to kiss him in public and keep his hand in Remus’ back pocket like a cliché movie couple and watch Remus light up when he held his hand. He wanted.

Remus made a soft noise and slid his arms around his waist, holding him light and cozy while he traced small swirls on the small of Sirius’ back. It sent goosebumps racing along his spine—Sirius cupped Remus’ jaw in his hands and hummed his approval. The room was so wonderfully warm, filled with the smell of cooking pasta and sauce on the stove. They had made it together; shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, trading kisses in the steam.

God, he wanted it so much it ached.

Remus trailed light kisses along his neck, taking pauses to nuzzle Sirius’ skin and nibble his collarbones. Sirius buried his face in honey curls and let himself believe this was his everyday life. Their everyday life.

A quick knock at the door shattered the illusion. Sirius felt the blood flee his face as they both froze. “Who is that?” he managed.

“I don’t know,” Remus whispered. His pupils were dilated with fear and, with a pained look, he guided Sirius off his lap so he could stand and turn the rest of the lights on. His slender hands smoothed his sweater and jeans in methodical movements, but Sirius saw their tremors.

He distracted himself from panic by looking around the apartment and all its knickknacks; the feeling of being surrounded by Remus in his most distilled form was unparalleled. A little granite wolf figurine sat with its wooden counterpart on the table by the door; dozens of pictures of family and friends scattered the walls with no rhyme or reason to their placement. It was cluttered in the best possible way, and Sirius wanted his whole life to look like it.

The door clicked open. “Hello?”

“Remus!” a woman’s voice exclaimed. “I’m so glad you answered.”

Sirius glanced over and saw Remus’ whole body relax as he opened the door further with a smile. “Hey, Pandora, how are you?”

“Doing fine, doing fine. It’s Phil and I’s anniversary and we’ve got dinner at 7:18, but Luna’s babysitter came down with a cold and can’t make it. We just got the text an hour ago and we were hoping you could watch her while we’re out.”

“Oh.” Remus’ eyebrows shot up. “I—well, I have a friend over for dinner, but we made plenty of pasta for one more, I s’pose. Sirius, is that okay with you?”

It took him a moment longer than was prudent to get over the fact that Remus—kind-hearted, friendly, beautiful, so beautiful—was asking his opinion on letting a kid join their date. Their top-secret, possibly-life-ruining-if-discovered date. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Oh, I’m so rude!” the woman gasped. She poked her head around the doorway and waved to Sirius—her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder in a messy plait, and her dress seemed to be made of a variety of beads. She was pretty, with a combination of angular features and a heart-shaped face that nudged a memory in the very back of his mind. “I’m Pandora Lovegood, from 7A. It’s so lovely to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you as well.” He padded over and held a hand out to shake, but to his surprise she took it turned it over, furrowing her brow at his palm.

“Well, that’s quite the love line!” She smiled and patted his cheek. Her eyes were glacial blue, but somehow still as warm as a crackling hearth. “Good for you. Your life line isn’t bad, either. I’ll be back with Luna in a moment!”

“Have a good night, Pandora!” Remus called as she fluttered away. “Say hi to Phil for me!”

Sirius was still standing in mild shock when the door closed. “Pandora, Luna, and…Phil?”

“Xenophilius,” Remus said. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Her husband, and Luna’s dad.”

“Hell of a name.”

“We can’t really judge, can we?” Some of his amusement dimmed and he ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry for ruining our date. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, it’s alright,” Sirius said quickly, kissing his cheek until he smiled. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Remus looked a bit sad as he looked up despite his smile. “Yeah, but this is our only time together.”

“It’s not the last time I can ever come over to your apartment,” Sirius reminded him as he ran his hands up Remus’ arms. “I think it’s great that you’re doing this for your neighbors. It shows how caring, and sweet, and wonderful—”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” he laughed, cutting Sirius off with a vivid blush.

“Besides, I agreed to this.” He nudged their noses together. “I’m pretty sure my impressive love line can handle another date sometime soon.”

Remus grinned as he leaned in. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Black.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

A tumbling sound came from outside, followed by a peal of giggling and a sharp pattern of knocking. “I did a cartwheel!” a tiny ball of blonde curls announced as it launched itself at Remus’ legs the second the door opened. “Hi, Remus!”

He caught her with a slight wince as Sirius tried to calm his pounding heart. “Hey, sunshine, are you ready for some dinner?”

“Oh, yes, please.” She wriggled down from his arms and gave her mother a bear hug, beaming when her face was covered in kisses.

“Be good,” Pandora said as she set Luna down and brushed her hair out of her face. “Listen to Remus and his friend. We’ll be back by ten at the latest. Thank you both again for doing this. I’ll bring over some cookies tomorrow, Remus.”

“That’s very sweet, Pandora.” Remus’ eyes tensed at the edges, as if he was in pain at the very thought. Pandora whisked herself toward the stairs again and Sirius shut the door behind her. “Luna, do you—”

“I remember you!” Sirius turned and found himself staring into the biggest pair of blue eyes he had ever seen. The memory came rushing back in a flood—Remus, frazzled and fluffed at the edges, with a little girl balanced on his hip. Luna stood on her tippy-toes and he leaned down so she could take his face in her hands. After a moment, she nodded. “You’ve done an excellent job of keeping the nargles away, Mr. Sirius.”

“Thank you.”

“Mama said you and Remus were making pasta. May I have some, please?”

“Of course you can,” Remus assured her, ushering her into the kitchen with a sweep of his arm. “After you, my lady.”

Sirius waited until Luna had safely skipped out of earshot before bending toward Remus’ ear. “Why does she…?”

“Talk like a normal kid and then a Victorian orphan?”

“Yeah.”

“Dunno. I guess that’s what happens when your mom’s a chemist and part-time psychic and your dad owns The Quibbler.” There wasn’t a trace of judgement on Remus’ face as he raised his voice by a few degrees. “Be careful by the stove, honeybun.”

“I will!” Luna chirped back. Sirius couldn’t place why, but he held undeniable affection for the little girl, even after only two meetings. She was unapologetically odd; he was sure he could never get bored of talking with her.

Luna sat on the countertop while they served up dinner, happy as a clam as she recounted her and her father’s hunt for Fizzing Whizbees at the candy store. They were her mother’s favorite, apparently, but Luna had yet to see one in real life. Her conversational skills came to a sharp halt during dinner; it was so startling that Sirius grew concerned after two minutes without her high-pitched contributions.

“Luna? Are you alright?”

“Hmm?” She looked up from her plate with a curious glance between them and gave Sirius a bright smile. “I’m making an octocapus.”

“An octopus?” Remus leaned over to look. “Wow, you got all the legs with your noodles! Way to go!”

“You’re a great artist,” Sirius agreed as Luna continued working on her masterpiece.

“Yeah, I know.”

He bit his lip to keep in his laughter and met Remus’ eyes; at first, he had been a bit worried about babysitting during a date, but he couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the night. When their plates were clean and Sirius was warm and drowsy from carbohydrates, Remus collected the dishes and headed back into the kitchen despite Sirius’ offers for help.

Luna gave a wide yawn with her head propped on one hand and turned to Sirius the moment Remus turned the sink on. “Do you give Remus kisses?”

It took all of Sirius’ self-control not to accidentally spew water all over the literal child sitting across from him. Instead, he coughed and spluttered into his napkin while the alarms in his brain began to blare. Remus showed no sign of hearing their conversation while he rinsed out the large pasta pot. “What?”

“I’d like it if you did,” Luna continued with nothing but her usual dreamy expression. “Remus needs friends, and mama says he could use some kisses.”

“I think everyone could use some kisses,” Sirius said evasively. His heart galloped in his chest.

“Hmm. Yeah. How long have you been friends?”

“We’ve known each other a little longer than you’ve been alive, but we’ve only been friends for about two years.”

“That’s a good amount of time.”

“Oh?”

She put her chin in both palms, suddenly looking much older than she was. “I’ve been alive for four whole years. That’s a long time. If you’ve known someone for four whole years, you should give them kisses.”

Sirius stared at her. “That’s quite the philosophy.”

“What’s that?”

“An idea.”

“Why didn’t you just say ‘idea’?”

“I…don’t know.”

She hummed a little under her breath. “Will you color with me?”

“Yes,” he answered as relief coursed through him. He had no clue how she had gone from blunt questions that could turn his whole world upside down to coloring, but he didn’t care. “Yes, I would love to.”

Luna slid off her seat and hopped over to Remus’ desk, then dug around in the drawers and emerged with a few sheets of blank paper and some pens. “I’m bad at outlines. Will you draw them for me?”

“Absolutely.”

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

Luna fell asleep halfway through coloring a Kneazle with Remus, which as far as Sirius could understand was just a cat that had its face squished. But it made her happy, and he would draw a million squishy cats to keep her questions about Remus to a minimum.

As soon as Remus finished tucking her in beneath a heavy blanket on the couch, he turned and crushed his lips against Sirius’ like a man dying for air. The kiss lasted long enough that Sirius was staring to get lightheaded before finding himself the (quite enthusiastic) recipient of a rib-crushing hug. They held each other for a few minutes, silent and swaying, before Remus let him go with a final kiss and they began to clean up the mess.

True to her word, Pandora returned just before ten pm with a blond man at her side and a big hug for her daughter. “Goodnight, Luna,” Remus whispered. They received a sleepy wave in response and then, finally, they were alone. “You are the best person ever.”

Sirius wound his arms around Remus’ waist and melted a little when strong hands combed through his hair. “Funny, I could say the same thing about you.”

“I didn’t know you could draw.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I can doodle. It’s nothing fancy.”

“You drew imaginary monsters based on descriptions from a four-year-old.” Remus cupped his cheek and rested their foreheads together. “You’re amazing.”

“This was a pretty awesome date,” he mumbled, closing his eyes to bask in their little bubble.

“We should do it again sometime. Preferably without the child, though.”

Sirius’ smile came all the way from his heart as he buried his face in the slope of Remus’ neck. “As long as I get to be with you, I’m happy.”

It was the closest thing to ‘I love you’ he could bring himself to admit, but for now, it would have to do.

#sirius black #remus lupin #coops #luna lovegood #pandora lovegood #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #babysitting #date night

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