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kawaii-angelanne · 1 year

Text

TW/CW: nudity of minors (not sexual!), all characters (except the teacher) are in high school

KEY TAGS: spoiler-free/pre-canon, female reader (afab and themes of womanhood), second pov (reader's pov), meet-cute, fluff, strangers to ???

WORD COUNT: 6202

CROSS POST: ao3

OPENING NOTE: thanks for clicking on this! please do not repost, copy, modify, or overall plagiarize this work anywhere else please. plagiarism is never acceptable, both in mla 8 format and in fanfiction! for translations, message me, and we can talk about it! reblogs, comments, and likes are super appreciated :>

SUMMARY: "'So…' you trail off, shutting the door behind you, 'How should I do this? Do you have a certain pose in mind or…?'

The blue-haired painter (painter-in-training?) turns to you, 'Well, in order to start, it would be best if you began taking off your clothes.'

'E-excuse me!?'"

Or where Kitagawa Yusuke needs a nude model, and you unknowingly sign up.

“Why don’t you just get a job?” your friend, Yanai Toshiko, points out the most obvious solution to your money problem while chewing in one side of her mouth, “It’s pretty easy these days. All you have to do is take a magazine from the job stand in Shibuya Station, look for a job that interests you, and call them up.”

“Right, and,” your other friend, Akagawa Yokkako, takes a moment to swallow her food before continuing, “if you tell them you’re a Kosei High student, they will most definitely hire you.”

“But that’s so much work!” you groan loudly, burying your head in your arms on the table and then lifting your head up high enough to be able to see your friends, “Besides, my brother’s birthday is in a week. I wouldn’t get the money in time even if I got the job.”

“That’s your fault for leaving it to the last minute,” Yanai clicks open the next tier in her bento box, “I don’t understand how you’re still at Kosei with all your procrastination.”

You perk up at this, “Uh, just because I don’t do my work weeks ahead of time like everyone else here doesn’t mean I don’t do well, thank you very much.”

“What’re you even getting your brother that costs so much anyways?” Yokkako finishes the last of the bun she bought from the school store, crumpling the transparent wrapper in between her hands.

“Limited-edition action figure set of this anime he watches,” you drag your chopsticks absentmindedly across your school lunch, depressed from just remembering the price tag.

Yanai admires her octopus hotdogs, her chopsticks holding one in midair, before eating it whole, “Can’t you get him, like, crayons or something?”

You stop swiveling your chopsticks across the pile of rice on your tray at her suggestion, “He’s not six. He’s turning twelve!”

“What’s the difference?” Yokkako snickers behind her hand, earning one smack on the shoulder from you.

“Seriously, guys,” you now resort to hopelessly picking up singular grains of rice with your chopstick, “Do any of you know how I can get cash quick and easy?”

“Well—”

“And legally.”

Yokkako wilters at the last part, her eagerness to tell you to be a cam girl or start selling drugs vanishing in a flash. While she isn’t involved in stuff like that, you knew she would suggest such a thing anyways, which would have annoyed you more.

Yanai nimbles on her chopsticks in thought, “Y’know, on my way to the teacher’s office—I had to drop something off—, I overheard one of the art students asking around for a model. He said he was willing to pay in cash.”

“Really!?” you straighten up from your slumped position, eyes sparkling at the prospect of possibly getting enough money for your brother, “Who? Do you know how much he’s paying? Did anyone say yes?”

“Hmm,” Yanai places her chopsticks down, “I only heard his voice, so I don’t know who he is, sorry. I didn’t stick around long enough to hear everything, so...”

“Ask one of the art teachers!” Yokkako chirps up, “They might know who it is. I think their office is on the…third floor?”

You turn to Yanai for an answer, who nods silently as she focuses on packing up her lunch, and, with her confirmation, you immediately stand up from your chair, “I’m going to go now then! Can’t have anyone taking my precious money! I’ll see you guys later!”

Dashing off, you try not to bump into unsuspecting students, spitting sorries when you do. You’re going to find this art student no matter what!

“Oh, right, I heard Kitagawa asking one of my other students to be his model yesterday,” the first art teacher you encountered answers, “She said she was too busy.”

Still catching your breath from sprinting up three flights of stairs, you stare blankly at her. Her answer as to who was asking for a model was hardly an answer. For all you know, there could be tens of Kitagawas in this school (it would be funny if they were all in the same art class too). Also, why did she talk more about the person he asked? She isn’t your main concern.

She returns to her work, so you press the subject further, “Kitagawa…?”

“You don’t know?” she makes the effort to turn her chair to face you completely, “Kitagawa Yusuke? He’s one of Madarame’s students.”

“Who?”

“Madarame, the artist?”

When you shake your head, she gapes at you but immediately pulls herself together, “Never mind. What do you need Kitagawa for anyways?”

“I was hoping to ask him if I could be his model,” you don’t bother to explain all the itty bitty details about how you desperately need the cash; she doesn’t need to know that.

The teacher squints at the grid paper taped on the wall in front of her, “I have him next, so I can ask for you. I’ll email you what he says. What’s your name? Include your first name as well, so I know what email to use.”

After telling her your name, she writes it down on a blank notepad, and you thank her for the help before leaving. At least you don’t have to track down this Kitagawa Yusuke.

You slide the door open and then close. Checking your watch, you yelp at the time. Class on the fifth floor is starting in three minutes, and you don’t even have your bag!

“Crap, crap, crap!” you repeat under your breath and push your legs to move faster, brisk walk accelerating to a full-out run.

As you make an abrupt turn around the corner to the downstairs, you harshly crash into someone. You shut your eyes, groaning when you make contact with the ground. Still reeling from the fall, you see the obstacle you bumped into, who is somehow gracefully sitting upon the linoleum floor.

“Pretty boy…” the words flow out of your mouth without a second thought, and your hand slaps itself over your mouth.

But really, is there anyone who wouldn’t have the same reaction? Navy blue hair framing the boy’s cheeks so perfectly and shining like it belongs in a shampoo commercial. The lack of blazer all students have to wear with their uniform revealing his lissome frame. The longest eyelashes you’ve ever seen. The most luscious lips—.

“Are you okay?”

At his words, you cease your shameless ogling, “Y-yes! S-sorry, are you okay? I should have been watching where I was going!”

“I’m quite alright, thank you,” he gets up from the floor, brushing one stray hair away from his face, “Do be careful though. It would not be safe to bump into anyone else like that.”

Before you can retort, you remember why you were in such a rush earlier and rise to your feet, “Oh god, I’m really going to be late now! Again, sorry, but gotta blast!”

You abandon him and take off at the same speed as before. Screw getting your bag; you can just ask Yukkako for paper and a pencil.

Your mind races back to the slender guy you bumped into as you scurry up the stairs. You’ve never met him before. However, you don’t think your paths will cross any time soon. It’s been a month since school started, but you haven’t seen him in any of your classes. Besides, he’s too…graceful. And pretty! Definitely not your crowd.

The bell rings once you reach the fifth floor, and you frantically scramble to the classroom door. You practically fall through the back door. Somehow, no one but Yukkako notices your tumble in and waves her hand rapidly. The teacher strides in the front door the moment you sit down, and you breathe out a sigh of relief.

The moment you step foot in your dorm room, you toss your bag to a corner of the room and launch yourself into the comfort of your bed. Thank god your roommate isn’t here right now. As always, a day spent at the illustrious Kosei High deserves a nap.

Too exhausted to take off your uniform, you snuggle on the top of your bed (also too exhausted to get inside the blankets). Closing your eyes, you feel yourself hazing out of reality and into the wondrous land of slumber.

Ding!

Your eyes snap open, tranquility gone and irritation kicked in. When you reach down into one of your pockets, you pull out the rectangular device. The brightness burns, and you don’t hesitate to lower it.

When you read the subject, “Art Model Information”, you sit up from your bed like a vampire from their coffin. Unlocking your phone, you hastily scan the message.

“‘I asked Kitagawa…need to go to Madarame’s studio tomorrow…might let you model!?’ I’m not even hired!?”

You almost throw the phone down on the mattress out of frustration, sleep disturbed for this. You have to travel to his place and aren’t even guaranteed the job? What if you travel for nothing? That would be a waste of a good subway fee!

To calm yourself, you take a deep breath and release it with most of your annoyance. There aren’t any better options, so what choice do you have?

Scrolling down the email, you find the address of this “Madarame’s studio”—you still don’t know who Madarame is—and copy it to paste into your navigation app.

Your finger repeatedly jams the doorbell as you cower underneath the veranda too small to properly cover anyone. Even though the forecast reported no rain, it began to downpour mere minutes ago with no relent in sight. Fortunately, you had a jacket to drape over your head, but it’s not going to hold for much longer at this rate.

“Oh, come on, answer the door already!” you whine.

You pressed the button just once when you first arrived, but, the longer you went on without a response, the more fervent your pressing became. Maybe you should be more patient. However, how good would a drenched model be? You need to get in soon, or else.

Before you resort to holding down the buzzer, a voice slices through the heavy rainfall, “Who is it? If it’s Sensei you want, he’s not here.”

You pause briefly at the strange familiarity of the voice before answering, “Hi, I’m from Kosei High! I don’t know her name, but one of your teachers told you about me? It’s raining pretty heavy out here, so, if you could let me in, that’d be great!”

“One moment.”

The transceiver disconnects. Footsteps approach behind the door, and the voice’s speaker unlocks it. You can’t help but gasp when the door opens to reveal who was talking to you.

The pretty boy you bumped into yesterday!

“It’s you!”

“It’s you…”

You’re too stunned to move, despite the rain pouring (partially) on you. So, this is Kitagawa Yusuke? You even said yesterday that your paths wouldn’t cross any time soon! What’re the odds?!

“...Will you be coming inside or…?” Pretty Boy, now identified as Kitagawa Yusuke, raises an elegant brow while stepping to the side to let you through.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry!” you step inside and take off the jacket on your head, “I just didn’t think that you’re Kitagawa! Crazy coincidence, right?”

“Indeed, this truly is a trick of fate…”

“‘Trick?’”

What did he mean by that?

Kitagawa doesn’t answer you and immediately begins to circle around you. He mumbles to himself, too incoherent for you to understand. The longer this goes on, the antsier you get. It’s as if you’re being picked apart with his eyes punctuated by those sharp lashes.

It’s not exactly the most comfortable experience.

Before you can ask him if something is wrong, he returns in front of you, done observing you like an abstract work of art, “I suppose you will do for now. Normally, I would try to find a more inspiring subject, but I cannot afford to on such time constraints. Do not worry about taking your shoes off, and, please, follow me.”

Your eye twitches at his slightly objectifying attitude, but you follow him anyway. Before leaving, though, you wring out your soaked jacket directly over the poor excuse of a doormat. Seeing the water permeate fills you with mischievous satisfaction. Seeing how far away he was, you run over to catch up.

It doesn’t take long for you two to enter a small studio room. Towards the backend of the room there’s a window to let natural light in. However, there isn’t exactly a lot of “natural light” shining through due to the storm. The ceiling light seems to provide just enough lighting, some darkness accumulating in the corner.

Various painting and sketching supplies are shelved in the back of the room as well. Three stools are pushed to the side. One stool sits in the middle, and an easel without its canvas in front of it.

Kitagawa goes ahead of you to set up, and you stand awkwardly by the doorway with your jacket over your arms.

“So…” you trail off, shutting the door behind you, “How should I do this? Do you have a certain pose in mind or…?”

The blue-haired painter (painter-in-training?) turns to you, “Well, in order to start, it would be best if you began taking off your clothes.”

“E-excuse me!?” you almost drop the jacket onto the wooden floor from pure shock.

No…is this a nude modeling gig!? Even though themes of nudity happen to make up a majority of famous paintings, you never even considered this would be the case. You’re also a high school student, just like him! Is this even legal?

“Were you unaware that you would be modeling nude?” he strokes his chin, clearly confused, “I made sure to specify that to the teacher though…”

You gulp. Maybe you should have read the email entirely…

“You are more than welcome to leave if you do not wish to do this anymore,” Kitagawa already makes moves to clear up shop, disappointed and…annoyed(?) at this turn of events, “However, if it comforts you, I have absolutely no interest in your naked figure. I am purely doing this for art. I assure you I have no ulterior motives other than painting another piece of work for Sensei.”

“Uh, w-well,” you fidget about, not completely unswayed by his words (even though you should be!), “h-how much will you be paying?”

“Did the teacher not tell you that either?” his brows furrow even more (you really should have read the email entirely), “It might not be much, but, when we finish, I will pay you about one hundred and fifty thousand yen.”

One hundred and fifty thousand!? That would cover your brother’s birthday gift and still leave you some cash to spend! All of that for modeling? Granted, you’ll be naked, but it would totally be worth it!

Wait. Jeez, are you really that desperate for money that you’ll strip for some guy you just met? …No, no, that isn’t the case here! You’re contributing to the art world! So what if you’re in the nude? If this painting is a hit, you’ll be famous, have money, and make your brother happy for this birthday. Well, secretly famous. You don’t want this spreading around, especially to your parents.

“I’ll do it,” you declare despite your heart beating wildly at what you’re committing to, “B-but on one condition! I won’t be officially associated with this. I don’t want people to know that you painted me…naked. So, I don’t want to see my name anywhere near this, got it?!”

“You have my word, thank you,” he softens his curt tone in gratitude, and his lips even curve into a small, pleasant smile.

Your heart stutters for a moment at the unexpected nicety. While Kitagawa hasn’t been outright scornful, you couldn’t help but feel iced out at first.

“Do not mind me as you undress,” his back faces you out of consideration, “I will prepare in the meanwhile. Let me know when you are ready.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Even though his back is already turned to you, you turn your back to him as well for added protection. Well, it would only be your rear side instead of your front side he would see if he turned around (if he does, you’re leaving without a second thought!). When getting ready for today, you opted for a comfortable but still nice outfit rather than your uniform. Had you known you would be modeling naked, you would have just come in sweatpants and a hoodie.

Sitting on the stool, you first remove your shoes. You strip out of your clothes one by one, stacking them into a messy pile on the stool closest to you. Your hands pause at your undergarments. As the room’s chill travels across your skin, goosebumps prickle your skin.

You take a deep breath.

One.

Two.

Three!

You unclasp your bra.

Another deep breath.

One.

Two.

Three!

You push down your underwear.

Adding the two articles to the unorganized mountain of clothes, which had somehow not collapsed yet, you turn around to face Kitagawa. Your hands wrap around your torso, insecurity trickling in like water from a sōzu. Now that you’re actually naked, you don’t feel as confident as you did before when you agreed.

Still, you don’t want to back out now, not after you’ve gone through the process of taking off your clothes. Ugh, you better like that gift, Hanzu!

“Is everything all right?” Kitagawa asks, back still to you.

“Y-yep!” you breathe deeply again to steel your nerves, “I-I’m all ready now!”

He turns around, seeing your naked body for the first time. Despite that, his insouciant expression doesn’t change. He merely clutches his chin between his fingers again; you could almost see the cogwheels turning inside his mind. His ever-observant gaze causes you to cover yourself up even more, your hands sliding up more and legs gradually crossing over each other.

“Stop right there,” he commands with such purpose it freezes you into submission, “This heightened vulnerability and bareness… It perfectly encapsulates both innocence and womanhood at the same time! To think that you would be able to deliver such a concept… Yes, I can work with this. How foolish of me to doubt fate earlier.”

“Th-thanks?” you’re not sure whether you should be pleased or creeped out or if that even sounded like you.

“Please, remain still for now,” he sits at the easel, pencil in hand.

“Sure thing…” you search for an interesting crack in the wall to distract yourself with. With the state of the place, there are plenty of cracks to choose from, which means plenty of story material.

You’re unsure how much time has passed. All has been quiet save for your breathing and Kitagawa’s sketching. Since the session started, you’ve gotten more comfortable. Not completely, but definitely better than before!

However, you now face a new dilemma.

As you learned in psychology class, your brain requires stimulation. When it’s not getting stimulated, like right now, the urge to do something eats away at you like an annoying parasite. And it’s definitely not helping that you’ve been standing the entire time! But Kitagawa told you to stay still. You may have just met him today, but you feel that disobeying an artist’s orders, especially one as passionate as Kitagawa—that’s the impression you get anyway—is just as bad as waking a sleepwalker.

If you can’t move your body, you can at least move something else.

“So, how’s the drawing going?”

His hand falters in the line he was sketching out. With a sigh, he quickly erases it before redrawing. You quietly wince, not intending to irritate him. Maybe you should have realized that talking to him would have snapped him out of his artistic mojo.

He continues to sketch your figure, eyes flickering to you and then the canvas. The silence is even louder, and you’re too ashamed to ask again. Is there perhaps another crack you already didn’t make a story for?

“The sketch is almost finished,” he finally speaks, and you almost relax completely at an answer despite not wearing any clothes, “Sorry, I understand modeling for a painting can be difficult. Would you like to take a short break? I completed the part I was working on and can afford to pause now.”

A break? You thought he would reprimand you for speaking, but that was oddly considerate of him. Well, not like he hasn’t been, but…

“How close are you to finishing? Because, if it’s not too long, then I can handle it.”

He surveys his drawing, “Fifteen minutes should be sufficient enough.”

“Then we can continue, no worries,” you adjust your position to its original state.

“You have my thanks,” he nods and even flashes a gentle smile before resuming the sketch.

After a few more soft pencil scratchings and a few more riveting narratives of the Cracken terrorizing the town with no end in sight, Kitagawa picks up the small, deformed eraser and rubs it strongly against the canvas. His effaces become more and more frequent until he slumps over completely. Despair and hopelessness radiates from him.

“Uh, Kitagawa? Everything all right?” you make it your best effort to not move while also straining to get a better look at him from behind the easel.

“Something’s not right,” he lifts only his head to meet your eyes, “For some unknown reason, I cannot properly draw this last piece. Perhaps it’s the angle of your legs? Or maybe your arms?”

“I swear I didn’t move at all! Not even an inch!” you prepare yourself for a scolding, even though you are one hundred percent certain you didn’t move your legs at all no matter how badly you wanted to.

“I never said you did,” his expression shows no irritation, but his words still cut into you like the crack in the wall, “Allow me to think on this for a moment.”

Mumbling unintelligibly to himself, he pinches his chin between his fingers as his eyes scrutinize you once more like they had in the beginning. You immediately avert your gaze to the other side of the wall. Is it like an artist thing, or does he have this innate ability to pick you apart with his eyes alone?

“That’s it!” he sits up again with such a fervency it almost inspires you to do the same, “Please cross your left leg thirty degrees more inward.”

“D-degrees?”

With hesitant estimation—what exactly is thirty degrees?—you slowly slide your left leg.

“No, apologies, I meant your right leg.”

At his new orders, you, silent and compliant, move your right leg back to where it was originally and repeat what you did earlier to your left leg this time.

“A bit more, please, and point your right foot as well.”

You struggle to maintain your balance at the new position. Praying he doesn't make you do this for much longer, you attempt to keep the shaking to a minimum.

He tuts his disapproval, and your obedience slowly transitions into annoyance.

“Could you curve your foot a little more?”

“Please lower your right leg a little.”

“...Try moving your left leg outward.”

“No, move it back.”

“Why don’t you just do it for me then!?” you practically yell out, frustrated from having to adjust your already-sore limbs every second.

“Good idea, it would save us precious time,” he stands up straight from his seat with such poise and grace, it sends shivers down your spine.

“W-wait a minute, you’re coming over here?” your arms hug you tighter as an unsettling realization crawls on your back.

Not only is Kitagawa going to be extremely up close and personal, but he’s also going to put his hands all over your arms and legs and bend them at impossible angles!

He pauses in his steps with confusion scrawled all over his features, “Yes? Is that not what you asked?”

“W-well, it is, but…but I’m naked!” you state as if it’s the obvious reason (because it is the obvious reason).

“But you have been for the past hour or so,” he raises an eyebrow in even deeper confusion, “What makes now so different?”

“I’m naked,” you strongly emphasize the word “naked” as if Kitagawa somehow did not see an issue in the concept, “I don’t know about you, Kitagawa, but I am not comfortable with you putting your grubby mitts on me as you spread my legs and whatnot. It’s already enough that I’m modeling naked for you!”

“Spread your legs? Why would I ever—?” he stops mid-sentence, finally understanding what you were trying to get at, and his pale cheeks flush red, as if dragged from the center to the red side of the color wheel, “O-oh, I-I see…”

With a clearing of his throat, he continues, “My apologies for being so oblivious to your concerns. However, you currently seem to be incapable of properly executing what I envision for this painting. What to do…?”

Ain’t no way is he touching you! There has to be another way!

“M-maybe!” you interject before he decides that A) you’re not a fit model for him anymore and thus denied the pay you were promised or B) there is no other choice but for him to treat you as if you are nothing more than a wooden lay figure, “Maybe you can…pose like how you want me to? And then I can…mirror it? Yeah? How’s that?”

He stares blankly at you, and, as if a three-second timer went off, he livens back up, “What a splendid idea! Please do your best to imitate me.”

After adjusting his stance to better match yours, he first, as asked of you before, moves his left leg slightly higher to the crux where his legs crossed over. Oh, so that’s what thirty degrees are. Then, with a shift of his torso, he freezes with his eyes intently on you, silently commanding you to imitate him. You immediately follow suit, dumbfounded at how easy it was to copy him when you had failed multiple times.

“Perfect, now please stay like that for just a moment more,” he returns to his stool behind the canvas, pencil already in hand.

You sigh with relief, having successfully escaped any more torment, and focus back on doing what you were hired to do.

This time, instead of continuing to mentally write fanfiction between the crack on the left side of the wall and the crack on the right side of the wall—a true Shakespearean tragedy split by the great schism in the middle—, you find yourself staring at Kitagawa. Since you’re barely a meter away from him, you can see him up close for much longer than yesterday.

He’s so focused. His dark-blue eyes would unblinkingly scan across the canvas as his pencil dragged across the surface. Somehow, a mere glimpse to you can provide enough material to last him minutes of drawing. While his extremely hunched-over posture is left to be desired, his zeal clearly shows with how much he’s leaning in. Any further, and his nose would be touching the canvas!

You also take the time to comment (mentally, of course) on the strange seventy-thirty hair split he has going on. When it comes to parting hair, most go for a twenty-eighty or thirty-seventy split. However, he went the other way and managed to make it look as charming as ever. Even now, side parts aren’t the latest in style, but anyone who saw him would strongly disagree. Somehow, the right side of his hair perfectly frames his cheek. Yes, he has to push a strand or two out of the way every now and then. But, for the majority, it stays perfectly still, coiffed with enough curvature to not appear so limp.

Urgh, he’s a pretty boy in every sense of the word!

After some back and forth from behind the easel to you, the saccades shorter and shorter each time, his eyes then shift to your own. At the sudden eye contact, you flinch, caught red-handed.

“Is something the matter? You’ve been staring at me for quite some time,” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“O-oh, it’s nothing!” you laugh awkwardly, trying to act as if you weren’t staring at him for the past couple of minutes, “I-I was just zoning out, haha! Don’t mind me!”

He accepts your excuse without a second thought (is he really that gullible?), “Well, I am just about done with the sketch. All that is left is to paint it. I greatly appreciate your service and—.”

“Ooo! Can I see?” you jump up from the wooden stool and bounce over to see what he was drawing for the past hour.

Kitagawa immediately stiffens at your close proximity, but you’re too enraptured with what’s before you.

When people meet you, there are some words that easily come to mind: rambunctious, tomboyish, immature, incorrigible. However, you don’t see any hint of that in Kitagawa's depiction of you. You see exactly what he raved about earlier: vulnerability, innocence, and womanhood. How was he able to illustrate you in such a way so different from how most characterize you despite only formally meeting you today?

You also can’t imagine how striking the painting will be when finished. Will he use pop, bright colors to imply your teenage youth? Or will he use muted mature shades to highlight a sense of coming-of-age?

A stammered yelp of your last name draws you back into reality.

“Sorry, sorry! This is just so amazing!” you practically squeal while covering your mouth with your hands, “I can’t believe someone so talented is my age! Can I take a picture? Whoa, this is so cool!”

“I-I thank you for your kind words,” he avoids your gaze, finding the floor most intriguing, “You can take a picture. Please be sure not to post it anywhere should someone come across it and choose to plagiarize my work.”

“Got it!” you hum all happy, ego also inflated from being drawn so well and so beautifully.

Instead of answering, he fully turns his body away from you. You move to his side to find a faint dusting of pink across his nose and the top of his cheeks.

“Hey, are you feeling okay? Your face is kind of red, and—.”

“I’m f-fine,” he clears his throat and shakes his head, all while still concentrating on the weathered floor, “I-I would greatly appreciate it if you can get dressed, though, so I can pay you for your services.”

You look down at yourself, suddenly remembering that you were indeed not wearing clothes, and feel your body heat up from embarrassment, the slightly-cold draft in the room be damned. Your face is as red as a tomato, and your ears are tipped in a similar shade. Squeaking out an apology, you hastily move to the pile of clothes on the chair and fumble through putting them on, too flustered to do so calmly.

Right as you slip on the last of your shoes, you snatch your phone out of your pocket to take a quick snapshot of Kitagawa’s drawing. Up from his stool but still with his back turned to you, he busies himself with something in the furthest corner.

With the press of a button, his sketch is saved on your phone. You observe it on the digital screen, but, even then, it doesn’t even compare to the actual artwork. Well, digital copies never amount to the original anyways.

Pinching in and out of the photo to pick out the finer details, Kitagawa approaches you with a thick, money envelope in his hand, “Here is one hundred and fifty thousand yen, as previously agreed upon. I once again thank you for being my model. You truly brought the perspective I needed for this painting. Don’t worry, I intend to bring this painting the beauty it wholly deserves.”

“Oh, thanks…” your heart skips a beat at his words, moved at his dedication.

With two hands and a slight bow, you accept the money from Kitagawa, who then moves to clean up his supplies. As you stare at it in your hand, unease settles in your stomach.

Was this really going to be the last time you saw him? You don’t share any classes with him. Hell, you never even knew the guy existed until yesterday!

You can’t place your finger on why, but you want to get to know him more. Was it because of his formal speaking mannerisms? His talent? His creativity? His pretty boy appearance (you most certainly didn’t forget that)?

Clutching the envelope tightly, you stride up to Kitagawa with a surge of unknown need, “H-hey!”

Great start.

He turns around from putting his pencils away with utmost confusion, “...Is something the matter?”

“W-well,” you gulp and spit out your first coherent thought, “I-I wouldn’t mind modeling for you again!”

“...Excuse me?” he looks even more confused, and you panic on how to explain yourself.

“Wh-what I mean is,” you clear your throat to stall for time, “I-I really want to see how you paint this and make sure it’s good! It is a painting of me after all, a-and I can be there as a real-life reference! I can even model again, i-if that’s what you need!”

Stupid, of course it’s going to be good. He already drew you perfectly. Actually painting it shouldn’t prove a problem, especially since he’s taught by Madarame, who you found out last night is actually a super famous artist.

Still, despite your floundering attempts, he appears to strongly consider this proposition, “It would be extremely beneficial if I had my subject with me as I painted… However, I wouldn’t be able to pay you again. Unfortunately, I’m a little low on funds this month.”

“That’s fine!”

“Then, it’s a deal,” he takes out his own phone from his pocket, “Let’s exchange contact information, so I can message you when I begin the painting process. It will most likely be in the next day or so, so please keep your schedule open.”

You mentally do a fist pump, “All righty, do you have LINE or something? I have social media too, if that’s better.”

“I must confess I am not all that interested in what the online world has to offer,” he pulls out his phone from his back pocket, “I also don’t have any messaging apps outside of the one already on your phone, so your phone number would be best.”

Nodding, you exchange phones and open his contacts. You’re astonished at the names that flood his screen. Arita Takemi, Mihara Kurumi, Natsuhiko Nakanohara—wow, both his names start with “N!” That’s kind of cool—, Yoshihisa Haru… The list goes on and on! How does he know this many people? Or keep up with them? You don’t even think you have this many classmates!

Choosing not to ask him about it, you put in your number as a new contact. With the addition of your name, you raise his phone in the air to take a selfie of yourself (with a peace sign, obviously). Handing it back, you take your phone to find his contact only with his full name and phone number.

Well, you didn’t really expect much more than that from him.

“Hmm, it appears the rain has yet to stop,” he checks the time on his phone, “and it’s quite late. My sincere apologies for keeping you here for so long. I would walk you to the station myself, but I need to prepare for Sensei’s return.”

Surely it can’t be that late; you got here around noontime. Checking your phone as well, you quirk a brow at his definition of late.

You jam your phone back into your back pocket, “Um, it’s only a little past 5:30, Kitagawa. I’ll be okay on my own, but I appreciate the thought.”

He doesn’t look convinced and leaves the room, “At least let me get you an umbrella. I won’t be long.”

True to his word, he comes back as quickly as he left with an umbrella too big for only one person.

“Oh, thanks!” you blink at it in your hands, surprised at his offer, before back at him, “Well, I’ll be on my way now, but I’ll return it next time I see you!”

“Farewell,” he waves you off, and you do the same.

Leaving the room and out the front door, you notice how the rain isn’t coming down as hard as before. In fact, it’s such a light drizzle, using an umbrella would be superfluous. Still, you open it up before walking out from underneath the extremely narrow veranda.

Kitagawa Yusuke.

He’s so strange and perhaps a little blunt.

But he’s also far more polite than the rest of your male peers.

You put a little more pep in your step and smile with anticipation for the next time you see him, hopefully sooner rather than later.

ENDING NOTE: i present to you a project months in the making with a huge hiatus in between completion! i thought this would be ready to release to the world a month ago but. i was wrong LOL!

so, for a little context, i have always wanted to play persona 5 ever since it came out six years ago. however, i never got a ps4. THEN! p5royal got announced for switch and other devices, and i pre-ordered it almost immediately. now, it hasn’t been long since it came out, but i just finished up makoto’s palace.

playing this game also reignited my love and worship for the man that is yusuke kitagawa. the amount of screenshots and videos i took during his arc is embarrassing. then, i read a yusuke x reader oneshot at like 2 am (it’s on ao3 titled “Emperor” by deareststars! so good, the friends to lovers in me enjoyed it so much!). i sat up from my bed with such urgency at the lightning strike of inspiration and starting writing this.

this wasn’t written all in one sitting; this took about...3 months, and, with college apps, my progress was quite stifled! i originally wanted to do this sunshine, tomboyish, easygoing reader with a begrudging, “i need you to do my painting (for madarame)” yusuke. so, yes, an enemies to lovers. however, i don’t think it was that enemies. i think it was quite normal LOL. there isn’t a lot of romance in this either. i was rlly struggling on what to tag this because there isn’t romance; this is just like. the start of it all! miniseries? no…probably not LOL. right before i was going to post this, i realized i forgot to include the posing scene. my original thought was for yusuke to actually move your legs to how he desired, but i was like reader wouldn’t like that, and yusuke wouldn’t do it if reader expressed discomfort (and she did so). so. you got that teehee.

tl;dr: this was self-indulgent 101%.

#kitagawa yusuke #kitagawa yusuke x reader #yusuke x reader #yusuke fluff #yusuke oneshot #persona 5 fanfiction #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #《angel writes》#《med shot》

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stardustedangel · 4 years

Text

Broken Promises

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pairing || steve rogers x fem!reader

word count || 1.5k

request: @cloudystevie : REQUESTS?? spare hurt/comfort with steve please i am in pain😁👍

summary || steve promised that he would be there for your guys’ anniversary but he had to break that promise leaving you seemingly alone for that day

warnings || hurt/comfort, fluff

authors note || i intended to write less than this, but got carried away so it’s formatted like my regular fics ajhdhask i hope you all enjoy this and i hope you feel better jasmeen, i love youu <33 ; do not repost my work

*gif does not belong to me*

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“But,” you whispered out with your eyes down at the floor, “you promised that you wouldn’t miss it.”

You tried to keep the tears at bay and your voice calms to prevent Steve from hearing the quiver in it. You didn’t want to look needy and inconsiderate, but how could you not be upset; he broke his promise.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but you know I can’t stay and it’ll be a while till I get back.” Steve grabbed both your hands in his, but you softly pulled your grasp out of his. It was too overwhelming to have him touch you right now. You still kept your gaze on the floor, avoiding all eye contact with Steve.

Steve’s heart broke when you pulled yourself away from him. He never usually made promises that he would be back a certain time from a mission to you because most of the time he didn’t know and he didn’t want you to get your hopes up if things fell through. But after he missed your birthday months ago, with you being totally understanding and considerate, he promised that he would be there for your guys’ anniversary which would be in a few days. He was supposed to return from his mission after it.

Steve didn’t know what to do now. He couldn’t stay and he didn’t know how to mend your heart in the last few minutes that he would be with you before he left. His arms laid limply by his side unsure of what to do. He wanted to pull you into his arms and whisper sweet-nothings and apologies that he hoped you would accept. His eyes were starting to sting at the thought of leaving you like this. He cleared his throat and spoke to you softly.

“Doll, can you please look at me? I don’t want to leave like this.” It was almost selfish he felt like, but he just wanted to get a good look at you, letting you see the pain in his eyes and for you to understand how sorry he felt. You slowly looked up with bloodshot eyes and tears welling up in your eyes. He swallowed back his own tears before speaking again, “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say. You knew it wasn’t his fault, but the broken promise made this all the more disappointing. Not being with him in general for weeks felt like hell. But him not being here for your anniversary? Heartbreaking. You just decided that nothing could be resolved right now. You forgive him, but there wasn’t much to say.

You stood up on your tippy-toes, grabbing his face and pressing a small, meek kiss onto his cheek. It was all you could manage right now without bursting into tears and begging him pathetically to stay. Steve’s eyes clenched shut tightly, breathing in your scent that he would miss. You let go of him and stepped back a little, creating space between you two.

“Please be safe.” Your eyes only met him for a few seconds before you broke contact. Steve signed softly and grabbed his stuff, ready to head out the door. “I love you, doll,” Steve called out hoping to hear you respond.

“I love you, too.” Your response was weak and sad. You could hear it and so could Steve. He left quietly after that, promising to himself that he would try to come home as soon as possible. The only thing sounding his departure was the click of the front door and when he was finally gone, you broke. The sobs that you had been choking down the entire tire finally erupted. Your tears were freely flowing down your cheeks and you were crying so much that your chest started to hurt. You took a seat on the couch trying to calm yourself down. By the end of the night, you were asleep on the couch, remnants of tears on your face.

The days of your anniversary have been uneventful. You didn’t do much. The only times you ever left the house were for work and when you were home you did nothing. It was finally your anniversary and your plans were to get drunk. A pretty solid plan you would say. You figured that if you got drunk enough you wouldn’t think of Steve. Well, you’ve finished half a bottle of wine by now and all you can think about is him still.

If he was here you both would’ve made dinner together. Messing around in the kitchen, inevitably making a mess and deciding on ordering take out. You’d both curl up on the couch and cuddle for a while before spending the rest of the night showing each other how much you really loved each other. You took a big gulp of your wine at the thought and stumbled to the bathroom with the wine bottle in hand.

You thought a nice bath would be relaxing and maybe take your mind off of Steve for the night. The chances of that happening were slim to none and you knew this, but you’d rather try than not. You filled the tub with hot water, throwing a few bath bombs in, and peeled your clothes off. You sank into water with your wine bottle. You took a few more gulps and just sat there. For the first few minutes you were fine, but then you started thinking. Here you were on your anniversary; alone. More thoughts started to pour in and your eyes started to swell up with tears. Then exactly what you didn’t want to happen, happened. You placed down the wine bottle, brought your knees up to your chest, and started to sob uncontrollably. You wanted Steve and you needed him now, but there was nothing you could do. No one else could cease your tears beside him.

Steve’s body was sore with every step he took. The mission should’ve lasted twice as long as it did, but he made sure he went through it quickly. He did it so he could be with you for your anniversary. It was around ten at night, but he thought being here at all would be better than not. He just hoped you were happy to see him.

He unlocked the door, walked in, and set his stuff down. He took off his shoes and jacket, “Doll,” Steve called out. The house was quiet and he thought that you must be sleeping by now. He walked into the bedroom and noticed you weren't in bed, but then saw the bathroom light was on. Steve finally heard the choked sobs coming out of it and rushed in. Steve’s heart clenched at the sight of you and kneeled beside the tub placing his hands on your cheek making you notice him.

“Stevie,” you whimpered out and more tears seemed to fall out of your eyes. You couldn’t believe he was actually here. You were so happy to see him and it made a small smile appear on your face, though the tears were still falling. Steve was happy to see that smile and that you didn’t pull yourself away from his touch.

“Hi, baby. Happy anniversary,” he said and proceeded to kiss you gently. You returned the kiss with urgency, still not believing that he’s here.

“Happy anniversary,” you said breathlessly. “How are you home,” you asked in a meek whisper.

“I finished early, sweetheart. I wanted to be here with you,” he stroked your cheek.

“You’re not leaving again soon, right?” Your eyes filled with more tears at the mere thought.

“Of course not, baby. Move up a little, gorgeous. I want to spend time with my girl.”

Steve obviously wouldn’t deny laying in a bath with you so he started to peel his clothes off, moaning at his sore body. You relaxed against his chest with his legs framing yours. His touch was overwhelming in the best way possible. It was intoxicating to have his scent surround you and it brought more tears to your eyes. The love of your life was here to comfort you and you were so happy.

Steve heard the sniffles and grasped your chin to turn your face to him, “Baby, why are you still crying?” His brows were deeply furrowed and the pout on his lips made you let out a breathless laugh.

“I just really missed you. These last few days were miserable so having you here just,” you paused trying to collect yourself, “having you here just makes me feel so good.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner. And I’m sorry for the way things were left,” he kissed your shoulder before resting his head against it. He was so happy to feel your body against his.

You reached your hand back and carded your fingers through his hair, “You’re here and that’s all that matters.” You let your hand drop back in front of you and rested yourself fully against his chest, letting out a relaxed sigh.

“And I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time all night.” Steve chuckled at that and started to run his fingers up and down your side.

“I guess we will, doll.”

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taglist || @cloudystevie @donutloverxo @kyrarose16 @zaddychris

(send me an ask if you want to be added <3)

#cloudystevie #requests #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers fluff #captain america x reader #captain america #captain america imagine #captain america oneshot #captain america fluff #marvel #marvel fluff #༊‧₊˚. dest writes

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izubear · 3 years

Text

file name

↳ hey, ei.

[repost from my other writing blog]

contents

rq by: anon

ch: eijirou kirishima

reader: male

warnings: self doubt, lack of relationship confidence

genre+format: comfort, drabble

kiri is a very outgoing guy, but even being someone as cheery as him, he still feels down sometimes.

he always remembered what middle school was like, specifically as a third year. jet black hair with a bold yet very unconfident demeanor. he still feels that way sometimes, but going to UA has made a lot of things better for him.

he met some amazing people, and even made some blonde haired mr. “i don’t do feelings please leave me alone”, allow himself to open up to him. there was one other thing too, he met you.

ei fell head over heels for you, and you did the same. your now 7 month long relationship is going steady and you’ve opened up to each other about a lot. he trusts you and knows you’re loyal. and of course he’s the same, he would do anything for you. you two were inseparable and think of each other as the best boyfriend you could ever ask for.

his confidence shrunk significantly on a certain thursday afternoon. he was sitting outside on a bench and was studying by himself which was unlike him, but bakugou had told him he couldn’t today because he had to take care of something.

as he was sitting on the wooden bench, kirishima gazed upward and set his eyes on a familiar figure, who was you. his eyes lit up as he noticed the way your clothes fit over your chest and your back, how you held your backpack slung over one shoulder, and especially how your hair seemed to be extra fluffy.

he also noticed how you were talking to another guy. he was tall, buff, and had a nice figure. kiri couldn’t deny that the guy was attractive, which is what made him even more nervous. the guy was significantly larger than both of you in almost every aspect.

he noticed how happy you seemed to be talking to him. he almost wished he couldn’t see this, but it was only because of where he was. the bench on which he sat was located in a small park-like area near the back of UA, closer to the third year classrooms. he could see through the first 3 floors of windows until the nearly setting sun glared upon the upper ones.

was this a wrong place wrong time situation? or was he meant to see this? will it mean something eventually? will it help your relationship? will it demolish it? has he run out of luck? eijirou’s mind was racing. it seemed like too unique of a situation to just ignore.

he felt…. sad? angry? jealous?

kirishima isn’t one to feel this way, but everything is different when it comes to you. it’s like all of his emotions are enhanced. but this, this was completely out of character.

he felt weak, like he was back in middle school again. that guy was so much manlier than he was. you seemed extremely happy talking to him so why aren’t you with him? kirishima felt pathetic compared to this guy.

he tried his best to think nothing of it, and continued to scribble in a corner of his notebook.

but he couldn’t stop looking back up at you, he noticed how bright your smile was.

he forced himself to look down at his notebook again. struggling to keep his composure.

why was he reacting this way? his emotions are telling him how much he actually cares about you and loves you, which is what hurts. he hasn’t got a chance and you’re already dating.

he has no clue how much time has passed, until he feels his eyes focus again. blurry dark spots on a white surface are in his blurred vision. he sees tears drip down onto the lined pages of his notebook, and feels a weight on his left shoulder.

his eyes widen as his head tilts upward while he’s still slouched.

“ei? ei! are you okay? why are you crying? who hurt you? what happened?” he heard you say.

he knocked himself back into reality when he sniffled. looking into your eyes, they were filled with concern, and you almost looked like you were going to cry. who hurt your boyfriend? why is he crying? wheres bakugou? is he responsible for this? quite unlikely but still possible to some extent.

“i’m okay, y/n. sorry for worrying you.” he wiped his eyes with his sleeve and put on the weakest smile you’d ever seen on his face.

you frowned and brought him into a hug, nuzzling your face into his shoulder.

“do you wanna talk about it?” you said, voice muffled by the fabric of his coat.

“i’m sorry i just… i saw you talking to that guy up there. you looked so happy.” he said as you let go. he avoided your intensive gaze into his eyes.

“i don’t know what came over me. the last thing i remember was trying not to look at you guys, and then i started crying. not very manly of me, huh? crying out of jealousy?” he exerted with a tired laugh.

before you could speak again, eijirou said “what’s so interesting about me, yn?”, softly. “you seem so much happier when you’re talking to others, or maybe that’s just my brain? or am i crazy? i’m sorry.”

“hey, ei.” you turned his face towards yours as he widened his eyes a bit.

“i love you. okay? you know me. i’m an honest person and i don’t take any shit. if there’s someone i don’t like i cut them off as soon as i can. if i didn’t like you then why would i do this?”

“do wha-”

before he could finish you brought him into a kiss, and you felt his entire body unravel like he was being untied from something. he felt better almost immediately.

sometimes he wondered if you had a second quirk, because you know exactly what to do to make him feel better, whether it be mentally or physically. you were like a doctor and and a psychiatrist and a hero in training all at once.

you let go of his lips, both hands still on either of his shoulders, and your foreheads pressed together.

“ei, you’re the manliest guy i’ve ever met. you know that, right?”

kirishima automatically felt a sense of calmness, but especially reassurance. he knew by the shine in your eyes that you meant what you said. hell, he almost felt himself tear up again.

a switch flipped in his brain. he didn’t need to know who the guy was anymore. he didn’t need to care at all. he didn’t need to be worried about anyone else, just you and him.

he never doubted you, he knew you were loyal, he just doubted himself. that’s why you’re the perfect match. you have what the other doesn’t.

a fond smile formed on his lips and he closed his eyes, your foreheads still against one another.

tags: @mochi-marie @fourcansofpringles @cvsmixplant @milktyama @1itt1el0v3 @we-mentally-unstable @simplysako @bakujirou4562

be added to the taglist !

#repost🧤#mha fluff #mha angst #bnha fluff #bnha angst #my hero academia angst #my hero academia fluff #kirishima #eijirou kirishima #kirishima fluff #eijirou kirishima fluff #kirishima angst #kirishima drabble #mha drabble #bnha drabble #my hero academia drabble #kirishima x reader

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capcarolsdanver · 3 years

Text

Why Her? (Part 2)

Summary: This fic is based off a request from an anon after some speculations that have been made on my blog. Brie enlists the help of the reader to get a date with a girl that reader knows from class, only for unexpected feelings to be caught. Drama/angst/fluff to come! Pairing: Brie x Reader

A/N: Second instalment of Why Her? is here! Much longer than part 1! As always, I look forward to hearing your feedback, so please let me know what you think about anything. Particularly for this one, this is one of the first times I’ve written text messaging into a story and the way I formatted it didn’t translate well to tumblr. Do you think the story still read smoothly during this part? Thank you and I hope you enjoy!

Please do not repost my writing anywhere without my permission.

PART 1 | PART 3 | PART 4

You stare up at the ceiling from your spot on your bed. Thankfully, after the somewhat eventful morning you had, the rest of your day had been pretty low-key, and a calm day combined with the aspirins Brie had given you had you feeling much more like yourself by the time your last class had been dismissed.

You still feel that deep feeling of exhaustion from a late night of drinking and dealing with the consequential hangover, but at least your brain is back to it’s regular working order, giving you a chance to finally replay the unexpected chat you’d had with a total stranger that morning.

It was a ridiculous request she had asked of you. Absolutely ludicrous, in fact. You still can’t for the life of you figure out why Brie had sought you of all people out to help her, but you also can’t help but feel intrigued about the situation. On top of that, there’s something else you can’t quite comprehend that’s making you feel kind of compelled to help the girl.

You sigh heavily and reach into your jeans pocket, pulling out the small slip of paper you had torn out of your notebook earlier. You only look at it for another second longer before you grab your phone and add the number into your contacts. You type out a new text and hit send before you can even think about it.

"What’s in it for me?”

You drop your phone on the bed next to you, though you might as well have held on to it because it’s only a matter of seconds before your phone pings, signalling a new text. You pick up the phone again and glance at the screen.

"I don’t know, I suppose it depends on who this is and what you’re talking about…”

You mentally facepalm at your mistake, quickly tapping out another text.

“Sorry! It’s Y/N. You talked to me at the library this morning?”

This time you keep hold of your phone, expecting another quick reply.

“Oh, right! I should have known it was you. I don’t have a habit of handing my phone number out to people who I just meet, I swear!”

You smile, tapping out another response.

“Well that is why you need my help, right?”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

You chuckle slightly, probably the first time all day you’ve even come close to laughing, and before you can reply again the bubbles indicating that Brie is typing another message pop up on your screen.

“So how’s the hangover treating you now?”

“Hangover is all but gone now. Thanks for the aspirin by the way”

“No problem. Let’s count that as just one thing”

Your brow furrows in confusion as you read her text, clearly missing something.

“One thing?”

“One thing that’s in it for you if you help me”

You roll your eyes, but can’t stop yourself from chuckling at her message. You’re startled when barely a second later your phone starts ringing, and you’re quick to sit up from your reclined position on your bed and tap the answer button, pressing your phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“I figured this would be easier,” Brie says in lieu of a greeting. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Um. Why?” You say dumbly. You’re usually much more articulate when you speak to people, but so far you’re yet to show that to Brie.

“Can I buy you breakfast?” You’re silent, considering her offer, and she jumps in quickly again when she must misinterpret your pause as something else. “You know, so we can strategise.”

“Strategise?” you ask with a lilt to your voice. “What is this, some covert mission?”

“Come on, just humour me,” Brie replies. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I figured some planning can’t hurt, right?”

“I guess not…” you say unconvincingly, still entirely too unsure about the whole situation.

“Breakfast will be my treat. Count that as another thing to add to the “what’s in it for you” list.” Brie’s voice takes on a pleading tone and you sigh, running your fingers through your hair.

Despite your better judgement, you’re only silent another beat before you’re accepting her breakfast proposal. “Fine. Breakfast it is.”

————————

You stand outside the entrance of the small diner where you and Brie had agreed to meet for breakfast that morning. You’ve never been her before, though Brie had convinced you to give the place a go, singing her praises for the small diner that she apparently frequented often.

You glance in through the windows to see if you can spot Brie but the glare against the windows from the sun makes it impossible. You let out a quiet sigh and push the door open, stepping into the building.

Surveying the interior of the diner, you’re met with the overwhelming and inviting scent of coffee, something you desperately crave in the mornings. You notice a waitress behind the counter towards the back of the diner, and she smiles and nods towards you in greeting before turning to talk to one of her co-workers near the open doorway to the kitchen.

“Y/N, over here!” you hear and your head snaps to the direction of the voice. Brie is seated at a booth near the corner of the diner and she eagerly waves you over. She grins at you as you approach the table and sit down opposite her.

“Well, someone seems awfully chipper this morning,” you say in greeting. You do try for a light tone, though your words come out as more of a grumble. Mornings were never really your thing. No matter how many morning classes you attend, you never seem to get used to being expected to function so early in the day.

Brie watches you, clearly stifling a laugh, though she doesn’t hide her amusement when you squint your eyes at her in a glare.

“Something funny?”

“No, of course not,” she says, but does little to hide how much she is apparently enjoying your suffering. Not that you’re being dramatic or anything. She looks off in the direction of the counter and captures the attention of the waitress who you had seen when you walked in.

“We better get you some coffee before you do something crazy, like murder me or something.” When your face scrunches up in question at her words she shrugs, her eyes cautiously scanning you. “You kind of have this look that tells me you hate my guts for making you wake up too early to come have breakfast with me.”

“Sorry,” you say, trying to relax your facial features and drop the scowl that is apparently a permanent fixture on your face every day before your first cup of coffee. “I’m not really a morning person.”

Brie breathes out a laugh. “Yeah, I kind of figured that one out on my own. I’ve known you barely 24 hours and both times we’ve spoken face to face I’ve worried you would bite my head off for talking to you so early in the day.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! I was hungover yesterday. Nothing I said or did should go towards your opinion of me as a person.” You notice too late that the waitress, whose name tag says “Dani”, is now standing by your table. Her eyes are filled with just as much amusement as Brie’s and you smile sheepishly at her, realising that she’d caught your small outburst.

“Morning, Brie,” she says, though her eyes remain on you. “I see you’ve got a friend with you today.” You feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment and you have to consciously stop yourself from shrinking down into the booth.

“I do. Dani, meet Y/N. She desperately needs coffee.” Dani laughs and you shoot a glare at Brie, though she isn’t wrong.

“Coffee coming right up. Any food?”

You realise that in your non-morning person brood, you haven’t taken even a glance at the menu yet, but your empty stomach tells you that you don’t want to dismiss Dani without placing your breakfast order first.

Brie watches your silent dilemma and catches your eye. “The pancakes here are amazing. Especially their blueberry pancakes. They may be my favourite food.”

Your stomach loudly grumbles and your face flushes in embarrassment again. “Well apparently my stomach thinks pancakes sound good,” you mumble when the other two women laugh, though not unkindly, at your stomach’s interruption.

“Okay, so two stacks of blueberry pancakes and two coffees?” Dani asks and Brie nods in confirmation.

“Thanks, Dani,” she says and the waitress smiles and spins around, making her way back to the counter. You don’t even realise your eyes are following her as she saunters away until the sound of a throat being cleared brings your attention back to Brie.

“See something you like?” she teases.

You drop your eyes to the table, annoyed at the amount of embarrassment you’ve already experienced today.

“Hey,” Brie says. You see her hand reach across the table, though it stops short of meeting your own hand and she rests it on the table between the two of you. You look up and you’re surprised by how serious she looks. “I’m just teasing, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, acknowledging how sincere her apology seems to be. You drop you gaze again, her eye contact too intense to maintain in the moment. You can practically feel her eyes all over you, carefully looking you over.

“I didn’t know you were into girls,” you hear her say, though it’s so quiet that you have to glance up again to make sure you hadn’t just been hearing things.

“Why would you? We literally only just met.” You shrug with as much nonchalance as you can muster. You don’t generally care when people learn about your sexuality. It’s not something you hide, though it’s also not something you confidently broadcast either. You were always cautious of people’s reactions, and unfortunately during your time in college you have dealt with some bad apples who have given you hell for it. At least the majority seemed to accept it perfectly fine, though.

“I know, but my gaydar is usually pretty on point. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. I mean, look at how you’re dressed.” She gestures at your clothes and you glance down at the patterned button up shirt you had lazily thrown over the top of a white singlet that morning, which is paired with your favourite pair of jeans.

You know the way you dress isn’t typically “feminine”. You’ve had comments from friends, and even strangers, about your not-so-straight fashion sense. In fact, you’re pretty surprised that just yesterday, she was so confident that Sarah is attracted to women that she had approached you to help her get a date with her, despite not even knowing Sarah. Yet she apparently hadn’t even considered that you could also be into women.

Though, to have her scrutinising your outfit of the day while she sits directly in front of you makes you a little uncomfortable and you squirm under the heavy gaze of her eyes on you.

“So, you wanted to make a plan?” you ask, pulling her attention away from you for the moment.

————————

“Here you go.”

You look up from your spot on the uncomfortable couch you find yourself sitting on. Brie holds out the drink she had promised you and you gratefully take it from her.

“Thanks,” you say. Brie drops onto the couch next to you and her disruption threatens to spill your newly acquired drink, but you manage to balance it enough to keep the contents of your cup from spilling over the edges.

You take a sip and Brie watches as your eyes widen and you almost wince when you swallow the liquid. “Wow,” you cough out.

Brie laughs. “I thought you’d probably appreciate a strong drink seeing as I dragged you to a party you didn’t want to come to tonight.”

“Well, you thought right,” you laugh, and feeling brave, you go for another sip of the drink. You can’t help the wince this time. Brie grins widely at you in response and takes a sip of her own drink.

“Any sign of her yet?” Brie asks.

“Not yet.” You shake your head and turn your eyes back to the open doorway that you have been diligently watching since basically the moment you took your spot on the couch.

You had only arrived at the party minutes earlier, and it’s still only early, but the crowd have already significantly grown in size since Brie left you alone to get the two of you your drinks.

You and Brie had planned to come here together after she had somehow found out that Sarah was planning on attending. You had begrudgingly agreed. The last party you attended was a good few days ago now, and this one thankfully won’t be followed by another school day. But you still feel like you have sleep to catch up on, and you certainly aren’t going to be able to do that when you’re being dragged along to more of these parties by Brie.

You turn your head away from the door to look at Brie. You actually take her in for the first time that night. She’s dressed in a pale blue a-line dress that suits her really well and her hair is up in a bun, a few strands loose around her face. She effortlessly looks beautiful.

You personally had opted for a more casual look, knowing that you weren’t coming here to impress anyone tonight. You’re wearing your favourite pair of jeans and a grey shirt. Simple enough to pass as a reasonably acceptable outfit for a college party.

Brie seems more anxious than you’ve ever seen her, although you can tell she’s trying to cover that up with all kinds of fake confidence. She still can’t seem to control the bounce of her knees though, and her eyes scan practically every person that walks passed you.

“How you doing over there?” You ask.

“Hm?” Brie turns to you. She’s nervously biting her lip and you can’t help it when your eyes drop to the action on their own accord. You catch yourself after a second and quickly meet Brie’s eyes again.

You internally scold yourself. Now wasn’t the time to let your mind get any ideas about Brie, especially while you’re at a party with the sole purpose of helping her get with some other girl.

“You seem nervous,” you tell her.

“I do? Shit,” she frowns. “I was going for confident.”

“Wow, you really weren’t lying when you said you struggled with talking to women you were interested in, huh?” You barely stifle a laugh, though you do feel a little guilty when she defensively shoots you a glare.

“Don’t be a dick,” she pouts. “I told you that’s why I need your help.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you say, hoping she can pick up on the sincerity of your words. “I’ve just never seen you this nervous. I thought you were exaggerating.”

“I wasn’t exaggerating,” she says unnecessarily and huffs out a breath. You can feel her anxiety climbing by the second and her eyes still continue darting around at all the partygoers as they walk by. You realise it’s up to you to try to calm her down.

“Brie, hey,” you say, surprising even yourself with the gentle tone your voice drops to. When she doesn’t look at you, you drop your hand to her bouncing knee, settling it. Her eyes land on the contact before she looks up at you. “Why don’t you have a drink to calm your nerves a bit?”

“Right,” she says when you gesture to the drink in her hands that she’d apparently forgotten about. She lifts the cup to her lips and gulps down almost all of it at once. She winces a little, so you assume she’s made her drink just as strong as yours as well.

“Better?” You ask. She shrugs a little in response.

“I guess we’ll see.” She breathes in deeply, slowly releasing the air from her lungs in an effort to further calm herself down. You can feel her knee begin to bounce again underneath your hand, and you’re immediately reminded that you had never removed it from her leg.

Going against your initial impulse to yank your hand away from her skin, you choose instead to squeeze her knee. It promptly stops moving again and you purposefully avoid making eye contact when you feel her eyes land on you again.

“Let’s just keep talking to keep your mind busy, okay?” You say, and when you see her nod in your peripheral you continue. “So, we’ve talked a few times now but I still have no idea what you do,” you state, though you trail off and pose it almost like a question, prompting her to fill in the gaps.

“I’m an actor,” she says, and you almost give yourself whiplash from how quickly you turn to her in surprise. Her eyes widen at your sudden movement.

“Wait, you’re an actor? Shouldn’t you be able to, like, act confident when you’re talking to someone you’re interested in or something?”

“It doesn’t quite work like that,” she grumbles, finishing what remains of her drink in one more gulp and dropping her cup onto the coffee table in front of you. “Put me in front of a camera and I can pretend to be an entirely different person, but it doesn’t work the same way for me in my own life.”

“I can totally start following you around with a camera if that’ll help,” you joke lightly in an effort to lighten Brie’s mood. You instead receive a glare from her, though you do think you see a hint of a smile on her lips before she faces away from you. That hint of a smile, however, is quickly wiped from her face as you see her eyes lock onto something ahead of her.

“Oh shit,” Brie blurts out. “She’s here.”

Your eyes follow Brie’s line of sight and spot Sarah across the room. She already has a drink in her hand and she’s laughing amidst a group of her friends that you vaguely recognise. You wonder how long she’s been at the party for, and how both you and Brie managed to miss her entrance.

“Are you gonna go talk to her?”

“What?!” Brie asking incredulously, looking at you like you’re crazy for a moment before she looks back at Sarah. “No, we talked about this, remember? You’re supposed to introduce us.”

“Oh, right. Your super vague plan,” you titter, taking a sip of your drink and watching in amusement as Brie expectantly shoots you yet another glare.

“It’s not a super vague plan. It’s a step-by-step,” she stubbornly explains in defence, which makes you laugh more fully.

“A step-by-step? First step; I introduce the two of you,” you bring your hand up to your chin and look up as if deep in thought. “Remind me what the next steps are, again?”

“Shut up,” she sulks, weakly nudging you. “I’ve never done this before. I figured we’d just take it one step at a time.”

“Well that’s definitely the best way to describe whatever this plan is,” you chuckle. “One step at a time.” You finally reach the bottom of your drink and discard the empty cup next to Brie’s.

You take another glance in Sarah’s direction and notice that she’s slightly separated herself from the large group of people she was standing amongst before, talking to a smaller number of them. It leaves a perfect opportunity for you and Brie to approach her. You turn to Brie to tell her, surprised to find her eyes already trained on you.

“What?” you say self consciously, a feeling you’re not typically used to.

She clears her throat slightly and looks down at her hands. “Nothing,” she says, shaking her head a little. Her eyes lift to meet yours again and you struggle to maintain the strange intensity of her gaze. “I just wanted to thank you for doing all of this for me.”

“It’s no problem,” you say dismissively. You feel your cheeks flush for no reason in particular and you squirm a little under her gaze. “Should we go talk to her then?” You nod your head in Sarah’s direction and you feel the heaviness of Brie’s stare leave you.

“Okay,” she nods and you stand from the couch, taking the lead as you start walking towards Sarah. Brie follows closely behind. You’re unsure if it’s because her nerves are returning or because she doesn’t want to risk losing you in the ridiculously thick crowd you now have to manoeuvre through, but she maintains the tight distance between you.

When you finally reach the other side of the room you see Sarah leaning against the wall, drink in hand as she absentmindedly listens to whatever one of her friends is rambling about.

“Hey, Sarah,” you say, although it’s more like a shout over the music. Sarah curiously looks in your direction and spots you, her face lighting up with a grin.

“Y/N! Hi!” She quickly says something to her friends and steps away to join you, greeting you with a friendly hug. The interaction only catches you off guard a little. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” she says when she pulls away from you.

“Yeah, I decided to come last minute,” you explain. “I actually brought a friend with me.” You expectantly turn to Brie, silently urging her to step forward from where she was awkwardly lingering behind you. “This is Brie. Brie, this is Sarah.”

Sarah’s bright smile remains on her face when she regards Brie. “It’s nice to meet you, Brie!” She doesn’t go so far as to hug Brie as she did with you, but she does offer her hand to Brie. Much like you when Brie had offered her hand to you in the library the other day, Brie seems to be a step behind as she looks down at Sarah’s hand for a long moment. Her brain eventually catches up and she rushes to grab Sarah’s hand with her own.

The handshake is awkward at best, but Sarah easily lets the moment pass. “So how do you ladies know each other?”

You and Brie share a quick look and both begin stumbling over your words, but you’re luckily saved from any further embarrassment when a guy from Sarah’s friend group calls her name, pulling her attention away for a second. He gestures for her to join the group again and she nods at him, turning back to you and Brie.

“Well, I hate to cut this short, but I’m being beckoned,” she says with a playful roll of her eyes. “I’ll catch up with you guys later on?” She asks.

“Yeah, for sure,” you say. “See you later.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Brie blurts out. It takes more energy than you’re willing to admit to keep from laughing at her. To Sarah’s credit, she smiles back at Brie kindly.

“You too,” she says, and then she’s turning on her heels to join her friends again.

“Oh my god,” Brie says, facepalming. “I literally only talked to her for less than a minute and I managed to make a fool of myself.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you try to reason.

“Are you kidding? That was a disaster.”

“It’s okay. One step at a time, right?” Brie reluctantly lowers her hands from her face to look at you. “We just have to figure out the next step now,” you shrug.

“I guess.” She groans, and with one last fleeting look towards Sarah, she faces you again. “Are you ready to go?”

“You don’t want to stay a little longer? Sarah said she would find us later on.” Honestly, you’ve been more than ready to leave the party since you arrived, but you also feel bad for Brie. It’s obvious that she’s internally berating herself and you don’t want her to leave the party early if she wants to try redeeming herself tonight.

“Nah, I think I’ve done enough damage tonight,” she laughs self-deprecatingly. “Come on, I know you don’t want to be here either.”

She walks towards the open door and you have no choice but to follow her, catching up with her once she’s already outside. You walk silently along the empty road together, both deep in thought. The silence of the night is more pronounced now that you aren’t surrounding by blaring music and loud shouting.

Your mind runs wild, going from topic to topic. You vaguely wonder if you’re heading in the direction of your dorm building, and then you’re wondering what time it is. And then finally, your mind lands on something that seems to come out of nowhere.

“Why her?” You suddenly ask, not entirely sure where the question comes from. Though now that the words are out of your mouth, you realise that you are eager to hear her response.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… why her?” You repeat. “I get it, I do. But you barely know her. You only talked to her for the first time tonight.”

The words seemingly slip out of your mouth without your permission, and in the back of your mind you wonder if the drink Brie had made you was even stronger than you first thought. Brie opens her mouth and closes it a few times, her pace slowing slightly before she eventually looks at you again.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I’ve seen her at a couple of these parties now and she just always seems to catch my eye.” She seems to search for more words and she comes to a halt on the side of the road, causing you to stop too.

“Why not her?” She eventually says.

You end up contemplating her question for the rest of the night.

#brie larson imagine #brie larson x reader #brie larson fic #mcu imagine #captain marvel #captain marvel imagine #brie larson #mine #fic

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bbnibini · 3 years

Text

Oh, Brother! (Lucifer ft. Baby Beel)

Summary: Brotherly love comes with sacrifice, even if the said sacrifice greatly outweighs its benefits. (based on a headcanon request on our old AO3 request box)

Accompanying HC for this fic can be read here. This was originally a request. The old version is poorly formatted so I decided to repost this now that I am sliiiightly better at using tumblr. Anyway, enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I consider myself to be a rather self-sufficient person. It was a fruit of years of conditioning brought upon by my unique, personal circumstances. You may also say that it is my inclination to exhibit such behaviour because of my personality. But while I make long-winded introductions that segues even further from the point I was making, let me, as my brothers say, "cut to the chase":

I have no idea what in Devildom is going on. Sets of eyes looked at me expectantly, and I did as I usually do when I am dragooned into unforeseen…problems.

"I see." I don't. But a white lie is what is required to quell the squall of chaos right now: debris of what looked like Leviathan's furnishings were strewn on the wet floor. Looking up from the living room where remnants of the ceiling were barely keeping itself intact, Henry freefell into my arms, a timely catch away from his imminent death. I turned to my pale brother, asking "Lotan?" in the calmest tone I can muster, and was only answered in more silence. I offered him Henry, which he took still looking down, and turned to problem #2.

"MC, may I have him?"

"I…"

I stopped and talked over them. "I'm not angry. Let me hold Beel."

"It's all my fault!"

Sigh. Why do they always do this? A surge of pain was felt on my temples, but I pretended not to feel it. "Why don't you help Levi clean up his room? Do you even know how to take care of a non-human child?"

"No, but!" they argued again. I listened. "You're not going to punish Mammon, aren't you?"

Punish is such a heavy word. I noticed how protective they were of my brother, almost to an extent where I feel like they perceive me in an unfavourable light. They were more carefree with them, but all yes and no's with me in comparison. I wouldn't say I'm envious. Rather, I'm baffled. Occasional pranks became the highlight (read: tragedy) of my day, often while I was poring over documents and settling political disputes on behalf of Diavolo. Partnered with Mammon and Satan, they were a force to be reckoned with; one I remembered being visibly annoyed by for interfering with my work. No one shall ever know that I might…have looked forward to those times. It was a puzzle to be pieced, an idle form of entertainment to guess which kind of tomfoolery they would attempt at me that they were foolish enough to think they would succeed in. Unfortunately, any victory they may have celebrated in the past were my fabrications that only the likes of someone as observant as Satan would notice.

"Procure a change of clothing and go while I'm still being merciful." I saw them share the same pallour as Leviathan, dragging him along while mouthing complaints under their breath. A curse perhaps, not bound by magic but of something else, directed at me, their usual villain. Such childishness that I let slide, as I was accustomed to being an enemy, especially when I know I was right.

Beel is finally in my arms, a docile child as cherubic as the little Beel in my memories. The pieces of the puzzle are finally coming together as I look around.

"Belphegor, wake up this instant! You're sleeping on a wet floor." You'll catch a cold, I almost felt myself saying but was able to hold myself back. "Unless you would rather be carried like the old days? I don't mind."

"Fine, fine. I'm up." They stretched out their arms to retrieve their twin and I shook my head. "I wouldn't leave such a delicate child to someone who couldn't even coordinate themselves properly. Go to sleep, Belphegor.

...and Satan, if you have the time for hexes, you would also have the time to clean up this mess."

"Tsk."

"I would see all of you in my office once this is all fixed.

Not a spot should be left unattended. Understood?"

"Yes, Lucifer."

I don't have time for this. So many documents are left unsigned on my desk. A meeting with the Chancellor, a hearing from the House of Commons, a response to Michael's ridiculous letter…

"Wuchy, angy?"

Beelzebub's upturned eyes looked at me adorably.

"Wuchy…" I looked around and breathed a sigh of relief as I saw most of them are either absent or pre-occupied. Clearing my throat, I noticed my voice was shriller than usual. "Wuchy…" I repeated and sat Beel on the plush sofa. "Wuchy is NOT angy…"

"Bee hangu" he pulled at my sleeve, turning my attention to his rumbling stomach. "Wuchy…Bee hangu."

I nodded. "I see. Does Bee want to eat?"

"Peas!"

"You want to eat peas?"

"No! Bee Hangu! Peas!"

"Ah, " I nodded again as I finally understood. "I apologise, Bee. You're trying to say please?"

I couldn't help but smile back when he did so in reply.

To my disappointment however, even the kitchen was destroyed, to the point that MC didn't want me to enter. It was admirable, I suppose that they were able to explain the situation to me while everything was still in a state of chaos.

It all started with a hexes assignment that failed miserably, turning Beel into an inconsolable toddler that caused Levi's room to be absolutely destroyed. Since nobody was capable of understanding Beel's speech, his childish tantrums got worse and caused the House of Lamentation to be in its current state. The only reason the situation subsided a bit was because of Belphie's interference. Where was Belphie in the first place? Was my question, and MC's shrug affirmed that he ignored my warning about sleeping in on the weekend. Again. I sighed.

"Sorry, Lucifer. Why don't you eat out with Beel for a while?"

"Bee hangu! Now!"

"....Bee, that's my glove."

"Bee?" (MC)

!!!!

"Beelzebub." I cleared my throat. "I shall heed your advice before Beel throws a bigger tantrum."

"Wuchy, hangu!"

"Yes, yes. Wuchy…heard you. MC, take care of the house while we're gone."

There was a ghost of a smile on their face, one they must have tried to hide from me earlier. "Yes," They snorted, and I silently warned them to open their mouth again. "Wuchy."

Ah. They still have the audacity to mock me. Me. Who was trying to turn a blind eye? Giving them a chance to fix their mess before anyone else finds out? I smirked back.

"If the house falls down…or if it gets destroyed any further…prepare to face your punishment . Alone."

Their silence was enough of a penitence…for now. Beel's stomach growled louder and louder each passing second, and my gloves are currently soiled with bite marks everywhere.

I bent down to meet Beel at eye level and pried my hands away from his nibbling. "What do you want to eat?"

His eyes sparkled at the question, and he started chanting something in gibberish that I pretended to understand. "Wook wook! Bee fawwit!"

Wook?

He...never said that before. Or did he? I decided to carry him in my arms once I noticed he was having difficulty keeping up with my strides. He shook his head several times as we passed every food stall and kiosk in the shopping district, contenting himself with chewing on the gloves I thought I had confiscated already.

It had been so long that I almost forgot that Beel was once a picky eater when he was little. Michael marveled on his "refined palate", telling me I should cherish my brother's talent (and consider giving Beel to him once he got older to train under his tutelage) but I vehemently refused. I was busy enough as a high-ranking angel and barely had the time to see my siblings, and the last thing I ever wanted was to part from them. I understood the difficulties of having an absent parent all too well, and I did not wish for my brothers to experience the same longing I had when I was the same age as them.

Beel was as docile and as sweet as I remembered him long ago, smiling and laughing in my arms, calling me Wuchy over and over, and seeking for his twin in adorable babbles of "Bewphie" and "Bwanky", which I responded in my usual way:

"Bewphie, sleep."

"Seepu?"

"Yes." I answered, prying away my damaged gloves from his mouth. "Bewphie told me you should eat so you won't wake him up." I pointed at his rumbling stomach, and little Beel automatically held it and felt the rumbling coming from it.

"Bee…wouwd (loud)?"

"Mhm. Bewphie can't sleep unless you eat something."

He must not have been able to distinguish his twin because of his current form, seeking perhaps a smaller counterpart of his brother just like the old days. After some more meandering around stalls, feeling full over the meals that Beel refused to eat, I racked my brain to figuring out the meaning behind his childish babble:

What on earth does wook mean?

I have never heard him say it before even in the Celestial Realm, nor did I ever recall teaching him the words.

"Wook! Wook!" Beel said excitedly again, grabbing my hair in his elation to turn to a man flipping Bat Wing pancakes in a stall. The line was atrocious, barely moving, arid and noisy.

"Does Bee want to eat that?"

I sighed in relief when he shook his head. "Wuchy, Wook! Wook Bee fawwit!"

Wait a moment. Does wook mean…

"Do you want me to look?" But look at what? At the elderly demon flipping pancakes? Beel shook his head again, seemingly lost at how to translate his thoughts and feelings into his limited toddler vocabulary.

"Wook...wook fuu fo Bee…" he squinted his googly eyes at me and made exaggerated hand gestures. "Wuchy….wook fuu fo Bee! Bee fawwit!"

The proverbial cogs in my brain started to turn as I came across an epiphany. Before I knew it, I was already holding my DDD.

It pains me to do this, but I cannot let Diavolo know.

"Hello, Simeon?"

Brotherly love comes with sacrifice, even if the said sacrifice greatly outweighs its benefits. It was evident with Simeon's jovial expressions as he opened the door.

"It really is a baby! Can I hold him?"

Simeon's smile never disappeared, rather, his eyes narrowed as he turned to me to speak. "Luke is good with kids. He volunteers taking care of cherubs in Heaven."

"Mhm! I have Raphael's seal of approval!"

Sighing, I surrendered my brother to Luke, my traitorous brother who did not even cry or protest when a complete…stranger is now holding him in his arms.

"Meemwon!"

"Oh! I haven't heard that in ages! This sure brings back memories!~" Simeon planted a kiss on Beel's cheek and I couldn't help but frown. "Hello, Bee! It's big bro Meemwon!" Beel giggled in reply as Simeon planted smaller kisses at him, clearly enjoying the attention.

"You're getting into this, way too much don't you think so?"

"He's adorable!" Simeon reasoned. "But, isn't his stomach growling?"

"That's why we're here." I tried to maintain an aura of composure. "I need to borrow your kitchen. Is Solomon around?"

Simeon's eyes widened for a bit in understanding…then I heard manic laughter. Is this really how he should conduct himself in front of the children? I kept that opinion to myself and didn't say a word. "No, he isn't. Don't worry." He looked at me again and smiled reassuringly. "Feel free to use the kitchen. We'll take care of Beel~"

"Solomon--"

"...won't feed Beel anything even if he does come back. Just go before he throws another tantrum!" Simeon shooed me away from the living room, pushing my back to Purgatory Hall's fully furnished kitchen. It certainly had better equipment compared to Lamentation, which I can only attribute to Michael's influence.

Cooking was one thing, but feeding Beel another. He continued rejecting meal after meal after meal of my best dishes. His stomach only growled louder, and his mood became irritable even with Simeon's and Luke's aid. The ingredients I have purchased were almost gone, left only with a half-used bag of flour, milk and eggs.

"The best I can do with these are pancakes…

Pancakes?"

A memory flashed in my mind, taking me back to the Celestial Realm and our former residence there. Assuring the house help that I wanted to try cooking for my brothers for a change, I begrudgingly followed the recipe book Michael had given me and started with its easiest dish.

I attributed my failed attempts to Michael's unique, archaic wordings in his cook book and tried again. And again. And again. Numerous ruined frying pans and ingredients later, I was left with a shabby excuse of a pancake---charred at the sides, eggshells at the other. I waved my white flag in surrender and called for a food delivery instead, deflated. Some Morning Star I was. It was an hour before dinner and my siblings were peeking at the kitchen with their blinking, doe eyes.

"Wuchy...huwt?" Lilith looked up to me, looking like she was about to cry and I took her in my arms to comfort her.

"Lucy…" I corrected myself. "Wuchy isn't hurt. Just tired."

"Seepu?" Belphegor offered me his cow pillow and I shook my head. "Later after we eat."

"Fuu?!" I managed to catch Beelzebub with my free hand before he faceplanted on the floor as he rushed to me in excitement.

"I'm sorry, Bee. As you can see, Wuchy doesn't have anything edible he can feed you." I carried him in my free arm and showed him my culinary failures.

"Wuchy…fuu." Beel pouted at me. "Wuchy, whie. Fuu deww! (Lucy lied. There's food over there!)" He tugged my hair and glared. "Bee, eat!"

"Eat!" Lilith mimicked.

"Bewphie, eat?" Belphegor followed.

"No, children. As you can see-- Mammon, wash your hands first!--"

I couldn't believe my eyes.

Everyone was gathered at the table, eating my failures with smiles on their faces. Beel, who had been sitting next to me this whole time tugged me on the sleeve to ask for seconds. "Dis...Bee fawitt! Cwunch!"

"It must be the eggshells."

"Mhm! Wuv it! Wuchy?"

I felt him wrap his arms around my side. With a wide grin, he said. "I wuv you!"

Only to be followed by a barrage of hugs from the others, talking over each other as they gathered around me with their syrup-stained faces.

"Asmo wuvs Wuchy disssss much!"

"Bewphie...wuv!"

"Wiwi, wuv Wuchy moww! (Lilith loves Lucy more!)"

"I guess you're okay…but the Great Me is better!"

"...Levi l-loves Lucy too…"

I couldn't remember much of what happened afterwards, but I do recall telling the delivery man that he can have my order for himself. After that, I strived to become better at cooking so I can serve my siblings better meals.

Anyone would strive to try harder if they are ever subjected to that much smothering, I suppose. Still, I do think that after that, Beel began to eat everything happily, much to Michael's dismay.

"This looks horrifying." The plating of the pancake itself was one or two burns shy of Solomon's best attempts at cooking…I could not believe that out of every dish there is in this world, this horrible disaster is my brother's favourite food. I never really asked him about it. Perhaps I have forgotten and he happily ate everything I cooked because he had no choice. Still, it was no time to mull over such nonsense, especially if Beel's stomach is now resembling Cerberus' growls.

"Wook!" Beel's eyes sparkled as I placed the cooled pancakes down at the table, munching on the sweet treat happily despite the…eggshells. I tried my best to emulate my failed attempts from before, and judging from the elated look on Beel's face, I must have gotten his approval.

"Is that--" (Simeon)

"Don't ask." I shut him up before he could even speak a word. "And please don't ever say this to Michael. I wouldn't hear the end of it."

Simeon smiled impishly in reply. "Would you cook here again--"

"No.

But I suppose I owe you some hellfire mushroom rolled cigar cookies for letting me use your kitchen."

"Anytime~"

"I was talking to the chihuahua, not you."

"I'm not a chihuahua!"

Beel was sleeping peacefully in my arms on the way home. While still baffled at a startling discovery about Beelzebub, I hadn't much time to think about it as I was covered in confetti the moment I opened the door.

"Happy birthday, Lucifer!" (MC)

"Simeon took too much time! The ice cream's meltin'!"

"Lolololol I told you he forgot his own birthday! Beel was the perfect distraction!"

What. On. Earth. Is going on?

"Sorry, Lucifer!" MC bowed her head and looked up to me, looking apologetic. "We were trying to throw you a surprise party but…things got…well...wrong. But, everything's okay now!" They pulled me inside and showed me the feast they have prepared for me.

It was a smorgasbord of my favourites. From the appetisers to the desserts and wines, I recalled some of these dishes as my specialties. Satan's familiar handwriting was drawn over a buttercream cake with my name on it, along with a small drawing of me in a party hat along with everyone else. Everyone else was seated at the dining table including Diavolo and Barbatos, both of which I was trying to avoid the entire day.

Were they involved in this ridiculous plan as well?

MC seemed to read my mind and nodded at me shyly. "I did mess up with my homework, that much is true, but Solomon helped in undoing the spell! He was the one who suggested to turn Beel back into a toddler so we have enough time to prepare for everything!"

Solomon waved a hand at me and smiled. "They still didn't let me cook anything though☆"

"So all of the chaos…"

"...is us cleaning up our first attempts of party preparations." Satan begrudgingly replied. "Until of course, you came back earlier than expected."

"Now, now~" Asmo interjected. "What's important is that he's here and Beel's spell is about to wear off!♡ Now, Lucifer dear, why don't you join us and blow your candles?"

I have completely forgotten about my birthday.

I didn't see the point of celebrating it anymore, I suppose. Thousands of years of repetitions can bring ennui upon you. However, things have changed.

The House of Lamentation had a warmer atmosphere thanks to MC, and everyone was closer than ever before. The loss of a family and an inclusion of a new one opened up our hearts enough to heal and perhaps forgive ourselves a little for the years we have ignored its value.

Who knew such a fleeting human could be the catalyst of such unimaginable developments?

"Oh! Beel's back!"

"Yay~! Your seat's over there, Beel!"

I consider myself to be a rather self-sufficient person. It was a fruit of years of conditioning brought upon by my unique, personal circumstances.

However…nothing can ever prepare me for this moment.

"Lucifer?"

I turned to Beelzebub, now back to his normal form and he offered me a smile. "The pancake you cooked was really good. Can you make it again for me next time?"

I smiled back.

"With or without the eggshells?"

#obey me #obey me lucifer #om lucifer #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me drabble #obey me oneshot #shall we date obey me #obey me fic #obey me fanfic #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me mc #family fluff #first person pov

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sylphid187 · 3 years

Text

Coming Home, Taking Flight ‐ Chapter 1: Touchdown, Japan

A look into Hinata's return to Japan, his interactions with his friends, and how he makes it into the MSBY Black Jackals.

Reposting Chap 1 in text format.

His plane lands on an early morning, the sun just about to rise, as if it's rays were greeting him and welcoming him back.

Hinata Shouyou steps into Sendai Airport with a big smile and a feeling of euphoria. After two years navigating through the sands of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, Shouyou was finally home. Two grueling years of trying his best to master the sands, to stand on his own two feet, for the chance to compete with the monsters that were waiting for him here. He was finally confident enough to say that he knew how to stand on his own on the court. He no longer needed to be branded as anyone's accessory, and he's finally found a way to fight his own battles.

He was ready to show the world that Ninja Shouyou was finally home where he belongs, and the first thing he has to do to make that happen...is to head to baggage claim.

Hinata navigates the airport with ease, as he successfully locates his things, and makes sure to double check that nothing is missing. He didn't want a repeat of when his money got stolen in Rio, so he takes ample time to check that he has everything, before making his way to the arrivals bay.

It feels odd to Shouyou. The sensation of finally being home, but also the feeling of starting something new once again. Here he is back in familiar territory, and after two years of making a name for himself on the beach, he is once again a complete stranger to those in the world of professional indoor volleyball. But that's okay. Shouyou's used to not being in the spotlight, being the decoy, the odd one out. He'd just have to find a way to make sure he makes an impression on the court.

He's just exited through the arrivals gate, baggage in tow, and about to grab his phone from his pocket to send a message to his mom regarding his arrival. Suddenly, another body barrels into him and envelopes him into a big, tight hug.

"Nii-chan! Welcome Home!" Shouyou doesn't even need to look to know who it is, and he immediately hugs back. For two years he's missed this. Two years of missing his little sister's birthday, her entrance to Niiyama Girl's High School, her volleyball tryouts and her overall presence. It feels like ages since Hinata has seen Natsu, feeling as if he's already missed so much in the short two years he's been gone. The thought of missing all of her newest milestones, and of not being able to see her whenever he came home at the end of the day, just makes Shouyou tighten his hold on her.

"Natsu. I missed you." He tells her, while eagerly lifting her up with ease. She's gotten much taller, her smile still bright and her eyes still sparkling like they used to.

"I missed you too Nii-chan." Natsu pushes away a bit, still being held up by her brother, and smiles wide. "Nii-chan you got a tan!"

Shouyou grins and lets out a laugh. "And you got taller! Unfair! You're probably going to end up taller than me!" He puts her back down, waits for her feet to properly touch the floor, and ruffles her hair with his other hand, full of affection. He notes in relief that Natsu still loved the attention from her big brother. He won't mention it out loud, but he's happy that, at least, hasn't changed.

He breaks their little moment together, when he notices that Natsu is alone. "Wait, I thought mom said she couldn't come to pick me up today? Because of work?" he asks her confused, he was already ready to book a taxi to make his way home. Shouyou didn't want to burden his family knowing that his flight would arrive extremely early.

"She couldn't." Natsu says with the grin never leaving her face. "Someone else is here to pick you up Nii-chan, I just got mom's permission to tag along."

As if on cue, not one, but multiple footsteps could be heard rushing towards them. "Hinata!!" Shouyou looks up and can't help his smile from widening even more.

"Yamaguchi! Yachi! Saltyshima!" He hears Natsu laugh at this.

"Seriously? I show up here for you and that's the first thing you say to me? I should have stayed home. Tsk." Tsukishima crosses his arms but a smirk is definitely etched on his face.

"Aw don't say that Tsukki!" Shouyou grins back. How he's missed this, bantering with Tsukishima.

"Don't call me that."

"Saltyshima it is then!"

The other two Karasuno alumni then immediately rush in between the them to give Hinata each big hugs. Yachi hugs him first, complete with the tears of joy in her eyes as she revels in seeing her friend again after two years. Yamaguchi hugs him next, laughing and joking at his height and new tanned look. "I can't believe how tall you've gotten Hinata! You're not so small anymore!"

"Yama-yama! I missed you! I hope you kept Slatyshima in line while I was away." Shouyou sees Tsukishima's eyebrows raise, and he just grins. Yachi and Natsu are chatting in the sidelines, while noting how Shouyou has changed so much in two years.

"Where do you even get these nicknames." Tsukishima sighs.

"Don't worry Saltyshima! I made sure to buy a special souvenir just for you." Shouyou grins.

"Oh god." Tsukishima sighs.

He hears Yamaguchi laugh again at their playful exchange, before they each begin to help him carry some of his belongings. "Now come on you two, I know you missed each other" Yachi starts "but we have to get going now, we have to drive the Hinatas' back home!"

"Awww you guys are driving me?" Shouyou exclaims, and then his smile softens. "You guys didn't have to. I didn't want anyone to go through the trouble, really."

"We wanted to." Yachi assures him softly. "Did you really think we would let you travel all the way back home by yourself?"

"Well..."

"Besides, we had to fight Kenma-san for this chance so..." she says with a grin.

"Wait what?" Shouyou asks, confused. He looks over at Natsu to ask for answers, but she shakes her head and replies. "Don't worry about it too much Nii-chan. They were able to reach a pretty good compromise."

"Compromise for what?" he asks again, but no one seems to want to answer him.

"Don't worry about it." Yachi tells him again with a wink. "That's something for you to look forward to."

Yamaguchi grins and chooses now to butt in. "Think about it this way, Tsukki loves you enough to drive for you, Hinata."

Shouyou looks over to the side and he's pretty sure he sees Tsukishima twitch. "Awwwwww Saltyshima!! I knew you loved me!" Yachi and Natsu giggle in the background as Tsukishima lets out a huff.

"First off, Yamaguchi shut up." a small, practiced 'sorry Tsukki' could be heard in the background. "Second, I only agreed to do this because everyone else was worried you'd get lost somewhere if we left you to find your way home on your own."

"Alright Tsukki, whatever you say. Whatever gets you to sleep better at night." Shouyou grins.

"Let's just go before I leave you here, you shrimp."

Yachi laughs as she pats Tsukishima on the back, and tells him in a singsong voice. "He's not a shrimp anymore."

Soon enough, they eventually get to moving and continue to walk and talk. Once they make it to the car, with Tsukishima driving, Yamaguchi in the passengers seat and the two females and himself at the back, Shouyou can't help but look around the scenery outside. It's finally hitting him that he's back in Japan for real.

Japan's scenery passes by them in a blur as they drive past, and Shouyou begins to ask his sister about how she's been in school. Natsu is ecstatic to tell her brother all about her volleyball games in Niiyama. "You should have seen me Nii-chan! We're going to make our way to Nationals just like you guys did!"

"We should play together some time Natsu! I can toss for you!" He exclaims in excitement. The idea of playing the sport he loved with the sister he loved made Shouyou extremely happy. Getting to share his love of the sport with Natsu was something he was very much looking forward to.

"I can't wait to see that. Think you can toss better than the king now?" And even when he's driving, Tsukishima could still look smug through the rearview mirror.

Shouyou laughs. "I don't think so, but I've been getting some practice in, these past two years. That, and the Grand King taught me." The thrill of playing with Oikawa-san in the beaches of Brazil will never truly wear off. And Shouyou will happily boast about that fact that Argentina's very own Oikawa Tooru had been one of the people who'd taught him the basics of setting. That, and Oikawa-san's image of his face hitting the sands mid-dive, will also be forever imbedded in Shouyou's memory.

The conversation eventually drifts away from volleyball and Shouyou begins to ask his friends how other members of their old Karasuno team have been. He briefly wonders if he'd have the time to properly visit everyone during his short stay in Miyagi before his tryouts, but knows this might be best postponed at a latter time, when he is better settled in. The last thing he would want is to rush a reunion just because he had no time available at the moment.

"Suga-senpai is a teacher now, and Daichi-san works for the Miyagi Police Force. They're living together now, I think?." starts Yamaguchi. It's no surprise to all of them that their captain and vice-captain eventually ended up together. Even during high school, the two were already considered as the pseudo parents of the team.

Yachi then claps her hands together before continuing "Asahi-san's new line is supposed to be out soon too! And Nishinoya-san is still travelling I think. I've seen most of his photos on social media!"

"Am I the only one surprised about Tanaka-san and Kiyoko-san?" Tsukishima states. "Is no one going to mention that?"

Shouyou can't help but laugh at that "Now you're just being mean."

"So are you telling me that it didn't surprise you when you found out?" Tsukishima looks at him from the mirror and raises an eyebrow.

"Well...." It's true that the mentioned couple was definitely one of the most surprising, but Shouyou likes to think that Kiyoko-san would definitely balance out Tanaka-senpai pretty well.

"It definitely surprised me! Can't believe he actually did it." says Yamaguchi with a grin.

"I can't believe she said yes."

"Tsukki!"

"Again, weren't you guys just as surprised?"

"Oh yeah, definitely." agrees Yachi with a small laugh of her own.

"I rest my case."

The drive home continues as they laugh and reminisce, and soon enough Shouyou feels himself drifting off. The tiredness suddenly overcoming him as he slowly begins to fall into slumber, and let out a yawn. He faintly hears teasing coming from Tsukishima, while Yachi and Yamaguchi are telling the latter to let him get his rest. As he continues to lose consciousness and let sleep overtake him, he feels a head rest on his shoulder and forces his eyes open for a few more minutes, only to see Natsu looking up at him.

"Welcome home Nii-chan." she tells him softly.

"Glad to be home Natsu. I missed you tons." He tells her, as he slowly reaches up, with his other arm, and pats her head. "I'm proud of you, and I hope you're ready to have me back. Because I have two years worth of memories to make up for."

Natsu smiles wide. "Of course Nii-chan. I missed you tons too. Things weren't the same without you." she leans into his side a little more before speaking again. "I can't wait to watch you play in the league." she tells him softly. Seems like Natsu was also starting to drift to sleep. Shouyou is unsure if any of the others are still talking at this point, but he figures they're probably also giving the siblings some time to catch up on their own, even if it was just for a little while.

Shouyou chuckles. "I have to show up to tryouts and make it into a team first Natsu."

"You will. You'll make it, I know you will." Natsu says with certainty.

"If I do, you'll be the first to know, I promise." He tells her. His eyes are beginning to close now. It's feels like it's been ages since he's had a moment like this with Natsu. Shouyou wants to revel in it, just a little longer.

"You mean WHEN you do." Natsu tells him again, firmly. "Believe in yourself more Nii-chan. You're Hinata Shouyou, and people are about to see just what you're made of."

Shouyou already knows the team he wants to be in, knows the capabilities of the players in the Black Jackal's roster, and knows the names and faces to some of those greats. Shouyou knows within himself that he is good enough, he just has to find a way to get others to see how high he can fly.

He smiles as he lets Natsu's words of encouragement and comfort wash over him. How lucky he is, Shouyou thinks, to have the best people surrounding him in this life. Natsu is right. He's trained hard to compete with the monsters of today, the last thing he has room for is self-doubt.

As Shouyou fully lets his thoughts drift, and his body give in to the lull of sleep, he feels his sister already drifting beside him with her head still on his shoulders. In the background, he thinks he hears what sounds like a camera clicking, and is sure that either Yachi or Yamaguchi has taken a photo of himself and Natsu while drifting. 'I should ask to see that photo later'

This warmth and comfort he surrounds himself with, and the excitement of the days to come are Shouyou's continuous reminders that:

It really was great, to be back home.

#haikyuu hinata #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #hinata shoyo #hinata natsu #tsukishima kei #yamaguchi tadashi #yachi hitoka #homecoming #post timeskip

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whipped-cream-writings · 4 years

Text

Midnight Coffee

In which you say something that you think no one will hear. Unfortunately for you, someone does. And that someone happens to be Akaashi.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: None

A/N: Tumblr just keep it in the tags!! I’m not a bot I’m just super annoyed at this point >:(

Anyway, thank you @poccosticks and @emmicchi for being wonderful and helping me out with this!! Go give them lots of love! And thank you to my followers who have to deal with this. I’m so sorry but this is the last time I’m reposting!!

You should not be drinking coffee at 1AM.

But was it really your fault? There was so much homework. There was a test tomorrow and an essay that’s due at eight AM that was worth 100 points. It wasn’t your fault that you were doing it now, either - it was assigned two days ago and it had to be at least seven pages.

“Focus.” A soft voice reminds you. “The faster you finish, the sooner we can go to bed.”

“We?” You echo. You dragged your gaze from your bright computer screen to see him sitting cross-legged on your bed, a book on his lap.

“As in you’ll go to sleep in your bed, and I’ll go home and sleep in mine.” Akaashi’s smile is crooked as he looks up from his book. “But I wouldn’t mind either way.”

The shock you feel is just as effective as coffee. “Huh?”

“I sleep at Bokuto’s house all the time. Sometimes I even carry a pillow and blanket in my bag just in case.”

You can’t tell if that strange feeling in your stomach is relief or disappointment. You don’t have enough time to acknowledge it. Acknowledging it leads to thinking about it and that leads to thinking about him and-

“Oh. Must be tiring.” You respond, cutting yourself off.

“I’ve gotten used to it.” He sighs, laying on his back as he turns the page once again.

You turn back to the blank document in front of you and start to type up your paper. Will it be obvious that you’re typing up the paper six hours before it’s due? Maybe, but you don’t really care at this point. As long as you get a grade that’s higher than a D, then it’s fine.

You feel like someone is staring at you after page one is complete. A prickly feeling spreads all over your back and you turn to look at him.

“Do you need something?” You wonder aloud. Why was he staring at you? Not that you were mad about it, but-

“I think your formatting’s off.” He blurts, standing up from his spot on your bed and walking over to your desk.

You rub your stinging eyes and ask, “How so?”

“It’s MLA, right?” You nod, “Remove the empty line in between the paragraph and title.” He gestures to the gaps and hits delete before your brain even registered what he said.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He gives you a small smile and walks back to where he left his book. You look at him for a moment longer before kicking yourself mentally and typing away.

It’s been about three years since you’ve met Akaashi, and you’ve been friends with him for two and a half. A year ago, your perception of him changed drastically. You don’t know what did it. Was it because of his willingness to help anyone at his own expense? Or was it his dedication and how responsible he was? You weren’t sure.

But you did know that you were smitten with him. Did he know that too? Maybe, but he’d never show that. A small part of you hoped he didn’t know and that he’d never find out. That would ruin the friendship, wouldn’t it? Even if it did work out, then how long would you two last? Would it end in a way that would make you two hate each other?

No, you told yourself. You had an essay to finish. You can think about that later, when he’s not reading in your bedroom.

You’re making fast progress. That coffee must’ve helped a lot more than you thought it did. Sure, your leg is shaking uncontrollably under the desk, but it’s a small price to pay for a passing grade.

The words are coming easy and your thoughts are organized just enough for it to make sense. The bottom of page three is so close, and it’s only been an hour! Or maybe two? You’re not sure, but checking the time will stress you out, so you keep going.

You put in earbuds once you get to page four. Three more pages and then you can go to bed.

Well, that’s assuming the coffee will let you sleep.

It’s now 4AM.

And your essay is done. You skim through it and hit submit once it’s ready, letting out a long sigh of relief. You turn to your bed, tempted to just flop down, but something stops you.

He’s still here.

The book is covering his face, but you can hear the smallest, quietest snores coming from under the book. His hand is dangling off the edge of the bed.

He’s asleep.

If your heart could burst out of your chest, it probably just did.

How long has he been here? Is he cold? You delicately take the book off of his face.

He looks so peaceful like this. It’s… really nice to see, actually. Today he looked stressed to you, so now, seeing him relax, it made your insides all warm and fuzzy.

You stop staring (after realizing that it’s kind of creepy) and place the blanket over him. You’ll have to sleep on the floor tonight, but you don’t mind.

You grab an extra blanket and pillow and place it on the floor. It makes your back hurt but it’s fine.

You sigh and try to get as comfortable as you can.

The thoughts come rushing back instantly. It’s hard for them not to, since he’s less than a foot away from you and he’s asleep. Maybe… maybe saying your thoughts would make you feel better. Maybe it wouldn’t feel so suffocating if you just said the words.

You hold his hand and take a deep breath. Why did it feel so hard? He was asleep and he wouldn’t know. He would never know. That was the plan.

So you say the words.

“I love you.”

It’s barely a murmur. It sounded light, partially because it was a whisper, but it contained all of the emotions that you’d been holding in for so, so long.

You let go of his hand. Yeah, you’re feeling a lot better. Now all you need is a good night’s-

Something grabs your hand in the darkness.

And it squeezes your hand gingerly, like you might break.

No.

This isn’t real, this can’t be real.

This is some sort of nightmare.

You look up and in the faint moonlight streaming through the window, you can see eyes. In particular, there are sapphire eyes staring down at you.

“I’m glad.” He whispers, voice raspy from just waking up. “Because I love you too.”

You’re silent. How are you supposed to respond? If a brain could melt, yours was. Yours had melted as soon as he grabbed your hand.

Words died on your tongue and you stared at him with a dumbfounded look. He laughed a little and a small smile blossomed on his face.

The moonlight is blocked by him and you don’t have time to say anything.

Because he’s kissing you.

His movements are delicate, his thumb rubbing your knuckles tenderly. His lips are a little chapped but you find that you don't mind. You close your eyes, letting yourself enjoy the sensation. You feel his free hand tilt your chin up just a little more.

But it gets to a point when neither of you can breathe, and break away, with barely enough space for your heavy breaths.

“Were you actually asleep?”

“I heard you moving around a little and it woke me up.” He admits. You try to apologize when he shakes his head. “I didn’t mind one bit.”

“Thank you.” He nods a little and lays back down.

“We can talk in the morning.” He notices your sleeping area and moves back, making space for you as well.

There are no more words spoken for the rest of the night. There’s only you, Akaashi, and your hearts beating in unison.

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate everything you guys do! My requests are open so feel free to request anything you’d like! I hope you have a wonderful day 💕

#haikyuu akaashi #akaashi x y/n #akaashi x reader #akaashi keji x reader #akaashi fanfiction #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! x y/n #akaashi oneshot #haikyuu!!#my fics #whipped cream writings #please this is the third time I've posted it just stay in the tags

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purity-town · 3 years

Text

Little late getting to these -- that's fully the fault of a class project I spent all of Monday/Tuesday and most of Wednesday working on -- but I finished my project and wrote up some long replies to these!

(Apologies for any funny formatting -- I'm trying out the beta for the new post editor!)

Absolutely not.

Nope! There are a few people who do know (other guides Andrew's met before, the Dryad, and I'd imagine the Witch Doctor knows something's up even if he doesn't know why), but none of them live in Purity Town proper, and the Dryad and Witch Doctor aren't the kind to participate in rumors or spread what isn't theirs to share. The old man is also aware just because he and Andrew have talked about their curses, but he's 1) not currently in town and 2) not going to share even if he were.

Most folks don't know much about Andrew in general; Becca probably knows the most out of the townsfolk, knowing a little bit about his family and where he's from (he has some pretty specific skills as a hunter that betray this, but he doesn't talk about his exact town of birth), but no specifics and certainly not time periods.

Andrew is good at keeping things quiet; he has to be.

I would actually appreciate if you didn't post to Pinterest -- usually I'm fine with people reposting with credit (several of the things I've posted to my DeviantArt have found their way to Instagram, for example) but Pinterest has something of a reputation for stolen art (things being reposted from another Pinterest post without credit this time, or credit being hard to view for users not logged in or just viewing through Google). So reposting elsewhere is fine (though if you repost to Reddit or Instagram, tag me at u/Ariibees or @Ariibees)! I'd just prefer my works stay off of Pinterest.

The terminology related to The Guide/Andrew/The Guardian/The World’s Core/The WoF is all confusing because on some level, they’re all the same being. Kind of like trying to talk about Jekyll and Hyde -- same guy, different looks/actions, haha.

For all intents and purposes, references to the WoF being the barrier/core/whatever behind or within which the spirits of light and dark are contained is equivalent to saying “these spirits are held trapped by the magic of the Guardian, who when summoned appears as the WoF.” I do break slightly from the official lore in how the WoF/Guardian/thing holding back these spirits works (mostly because I don’t really like the idea that the Hallow is a “temporary guardian” or whatever), but the basic concept of “these are trapped by [thing that makes up the WoF]” remains unchanged.

If “loony cultist” is a reference to something, I’m so sorry, but I’m lost on it. If you’re just talking about the lunatic cultist in a funny way, then yes, they’re in here as a very plot-significant character!

I had to google what meme you were talking about, but it did make me laugh.

Andrew’s most annoyed by the nickname because people do like to call him Guide, and for someone who’s dedicated his whole life to his role, it can get tiring. He doesn’t really *mind* being called Guide -- it’s fine, that’s what he is and as long as people are respectful of his job he’ll take what he can get -- but at the same time, he’d like for people to stop thinking “Aah! Monster!” or “Weird academic know-it-all” and just...treat him like a normal person sometimes. So he fights to be called Andrew. And...Malik comes along and gives him a nickname that he doesn’t like and doesn’t allow others to use, save for maybe a small group of people of which Malik is not a part. So, not cool, man!

People love to overcomplicate explaining shading/lighting, and if you wanted to you could certainly go on and on about reflections of light off the ground and shading colors and all sorts of things, but as I’m writing this at 1 AM I don’t really care to.

If you really want to get into shading, I see nice ones on DeviantArt or Tumblr from time to time, or you can always watch a YouTube video on it. Really, though, just keep at it, think about how the shadows should look and work, and you'll get better at it eventually and pick up new ideas on how it all works. (And this is coming from someone who is new to making comics and actually started as a painter.)

Purity Town’s shading comes down to this: simplicity. As much as I’d love to spend hours and hours redrawing the panels I don’t like and carefully shading every fold of fabric and painting detailed backgrounds, I’m a full-time college student and will be working full-time over the summer -- I don’t have the time. So, I cut corners: I reuse backgrounds or use brushes (see: bricks, trees, clouds) that make certain details easier, and I try not to obsess too much over panels I’m not fully happy with. Shadows go where they feel right, and light on the opposite side.

For shading, this comes down to making things quick and easy. For these last few pages, character shading/lighting has only been five layers. One hard light layer for the bluer soft shadows, one overlay layer for darker soft shadows, one linear burn layer for hard shadows, one soft light layer for soft lighting, and one overlay layer for hard lighting. I’ll often also make use of glow dodge layers for lighting, or change the color balance or add more hard/soft light layers if there’s a very heavy color filter on the scene (such as a celestial event, blood moon, or outdoors at night).

Using all the different layer types is essentially a cheat code to fancier lighting -- don’t want to use flat black? Boom, hard light or overlay or burn will give you colored shadows. Want to make your light brighter? Glow dodge will make it burn your retinas.

Sorry that this isn’t a very comprehensive guide, but in my mind, shading and lighting is really something that you pick up over time and it’s hard to sit down and write a guide for it without making it into a massive essay on art theory that I don't even know proper terminology for because I'm not an art student. Of course with some googling you’ll find *proper* guides for this sort of thing from art majors and the likes, and those can be super helpful and technical! But for Purity Town, I just sort of go with what feels right and what's easy to replicate.

Firstly, I’m happy to hear you’re liking the comic!

Secondly, those buttons are actually there due to the theme! (For those on mobile who can’t see it, I have the theme set to only display on desktop as I prefer the current mobile layout on phone.) I’m using the simple webcomic theme (a quick Google should tell you how to install it for yourself) -- except I’m not actually using it for the webcomic features; rather, it’s a case of “this is the most simple, nice-looking non-default theme I could find.”

The previous/next buttons are added by the theme with the intent that the blog is being used as a typical webcomic website, with nothing but comic pages being posted. However, I post asks and other art here too, and I do so with the intent that people looking at #Terraria or their dashboards in general will see it. So...I use html formatting to make the first/previous/next/last links, along with an index and chapter-by-chapter viewing (using /tagged/chapter##/chrono) so that no matter where you’re coming from, you can still navigate just the pages!

If you want to add just the previous/next buttons, I can’t really help you -- web development is not my area of study in the slightest. But you can check out the theme that they come from and if you want to install only them, you can surely find a tutorial on it somewhere!

(As a side note, the comments section is not from the theme, it’s from a site called Disqus. I don’t expect many people, if anyone, to leave comments, but since I link back to this site a lot and many folks don’t have Tumblr accounts, it’s an option I like to make available.)

Hiya! My hike was pretty nice; it was a short and easy one, but that was quite appreciated as the trail is unmaintained from November to April, and the trail was covered in fallen trees and quite rocky. Still had fun, though!

And for backgrounds, it depends! For indoors scenes (or outdoors scenes with buildings) I don’t tend to use references, outside of looking up things like “which side of a door is the handle on.” I will, however, integrate real-life textures (see: the quilt and rug in Guide’s house, the wood walls on the building in the background of this week’s page), and paint over paintings from the Terraria wiki.

For outdoors scenes, for simple backgrounds (such as foliage-heavy) ones, I typically don’t need references. I like the difference between detailed, lined indoor/man-made object scenes vs. painted, messy outdoor scenes. But for things like mountains, I do sometimes look up references to help with color choices and the likes.

The town’s layout is a bit strange in that depending on the scene, the background could be drastically different. One side of town faces more mountainside, one side faces the orchards/open hillside, and the other two sides face various degrees of open space and more mountainside/forest. References taken on top of mountains are helpful to get an idea of what degree of foliage I should include between the characters and the sky.

Though this is very specific to the town of Purity -- other towns/villages will have significantly different-looking backgrounds, even the foliage-heavy ones.

That said, what's even more helpful than looking at photos is looking at paintings. Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron is really good for getting an idea of how to draw grasslands and distant mountains, plus Studio Ghibli movies in general!

#purity town #pt asks #terraria #not an update

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cavalierious-whim · 3 years

Text

Pawfully Yours (FE3H)

FE3H | Sylvix | General | Complete

Sylvain finds a cat and falls in love.

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A/N: I’m finally reposting some older stuff from my last tumblr blog. Read here on AO3 for better formatting!

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Sylvain has always been a dog person. There’s nothing quite like cuddling with a soft and warm ball of fluff or the heavy weight that sinks into the mattress on top of the blanket as you sleep, or inevitably getting drool in your mouth when you pull them close, crying into their fur as you vent your frustrations about your shitty life into the scruff of their neck.

Sylvain has no idea what that’s like. Not one bit.

When he moved to the city, he had to leave Daisy behind. Ingrid on the surface had made it seem that she was more than aggravated to have the Golden Retriever unloaded onto her. Sylvain knows better. Ingrid’s always had a soft spot for Daisy. She’d let the girl sleep in her bed on the occasional platonic sleepover. Dorothea didn’t even have that pleasure half of the time and she was the girlfriend.

It’s led to a rather quiet life and Sylvain is still adjusting to an empty apartment in the not-so-great-but-you-might-not-get-murdered side of town.

Three months into his new home is when he notices the cat. It’s a small thing with sleek black fur. It looks too healthy to be a stray, but judging on how the creature responds to those getting close, Sylvain doesn’t think that it has an owner either. It seems too proud to slum it as a pet, walking along the dingy alleyway that Sylvain cuts through as a shortcut to work, tail swishing and held high. Proud, even.

But then again, maybe that’s just a cat thing. Sylvain doesn’t know, he’s never really given a cat much thought. He doesn’t know why he decides to pity it.

One day, Sylvain brings a can of tuna and popping the top off, he sets it down on the ground. The cat watches him carefully from ten feet away, sitting on his haunches haughtily. Warily. Carefully composed.

“For you,” says Sylvain, not sure why he even bothers to speak to it. It’s a cat. Cats don’t understand humans. Even Daisy had never understood him, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she responded to just the sound of his voice, and not the content of his words.

Still, the cat seems unimpressed, large amber eyes half-lidded as it looks from the can of fish to Sylvain. And if Sylvain doesn’t know any better, that’s what he would think a frown looks like when spread across a feline face.

Sylvain frowns right back. “Well then,” he says. “I see that I’ve wasted my time. Never again.”

He’s wrong through. Sylvain cuts through the alley every single day, a soiled apron slung over his shoulder and a takeaway cup of coffee in his hand. And sometimes, he brings the dumb little cat an old and stale pastry from the shop, because there’s no harm if they’re just going to toss the old food, right?

Sylvain doesn’t stick around to see if the cat actually eats them or enjoys it, or if it just bats the food away with a hiss. He kinda wants to pet the thing though, because it’s fur looks soft and Sylvain’s feeling lonelier and lonelier as the weeks pass by.

Eventually, he has the crazy idea of maybe adopting the pitiful thing. It’s like any other day that he’s posted up an offering. He breaks an old cheese pastry into several pieces and tosses them onto the ground. And this time, he waits, crouched down, elbows resting on his knees.

The cat comes closer, but it seems pissed off, body stiff and tail twitching angrily. Amber eyes narrowed in suspicion. He sniffs at the pastry and then snags a small bite. Then it spits out the food, clearly not a fan.

Sylvain swallows thickly. “So like, if you want a roof over your head or something, I can bring you home.”

The cat pauses like it understands him. It’d been pawing at the pastry, playing with it when it stops, head snapping up as it looks to Sylvain. Then the cat’s mouth opens, fangs long and sharp, and it says with surprising clarity, “Fuck off.”

Sylvain had imagined it, that was the only explanation. It makes more sense than a cat had opened his mouth and spoke to me. Anything makes more sense than that, so Sylvain chalks it up to too many shifts at the cafe, too many hours of schoolwork, and maybe a smidge of not eating enough.

He keeps cutting through the alleyway because it’s the fastest way to work. Sylvain’s a perpetual oversleeper, the kind that sets five alarms and sleeps through all of them, only to roll out of bed with five minutes to spare.

And he can spare that five minutes if he takes the back way, no matter how dark and creepy it seems at three in the morning and on the way to his early shift.

The cat’s made himself scarce. Sylvain now knows that it’s male because of the shockingly handsome voice it carries. More proof that he’d absolutely made the entire thing up in his lonely misery.

Sylvain doesn’t expect to feel sad about the disappearance of the cat, but it’d sunk in deeper than expected. Even if the cat had seemed eternally annoyed-- as far as a cat could seem at least-- he’d been cute, and Sylvain liked bringing it treats. There’s not a lot left that makes him feel good about himself.

That morning, Sylvain pauses because he’s got a moment. The alley is dark and there’s no sign of the cat. Sylvain sighs softly and says, “I’m sorry if I offended you or something. I just thought that maybe a home would be better than an old alley.”

It seems silly to talk to a cat, but he feels a little bit better and he continues to work with a little bit more pep in his step. And later that night he leaves a pastry behind, just in case.

The cat slinks out from under the dumpster once Sylvain’s out of sight. In his wake is a tuna roll, a fluffy pastry filled with tangy fish salad. The cat likes this one, not that he’d ever admit it.

Sylvain rarely works the night shift, mostly because he’d rather wake up at the butt crack of dawn and get his day over with. But sometimes it’s inevitable. Sometimes a coworker just needs a shift covered and Sylvain’s a nice enough guy to agree.

And he doesn’t want to risk getting fired, even if he doesn’t think Byleth is a vindictive manager.

It’s probably a bad idea to cut through the alley at ten at night, but Sylvain’s tired and weary, and he just wants to get home. Not to mention he’s got a container of day-old tuna salad in his hand that he needs to leave the cat, otherwise it’ll just wind up rotting away in his fridge.

He opens the container and places it on the asphalt near the dumpster, waiting for just a moment as he crouches down. Just in case the cat decides to show his face. He doesn’t. Sylvain frowns and with a sigh, pulls himself back up.

There’s a shuffling behind him and he turns to look, only to be slammed against the dumpster, head cracking against the hard metal. Sylvain’s vision swims as he tries to push against his attacker, but then he stops dead. There’s a knife held close to his neck. Sylvain can feel the soft scrape of it as he swallows.

“Wallet,” the man behind him says, a hand gripped tightly around Sylvain’s arm that’s wrenched behind him. He’s stockier in his build, pinning Sylvain against the dumpster easily.

“Hey look man--” The knife digs deeper into his skin, cutting just barely. Sylvain’s not dumb enough to push the situation further. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Back pocket. My phone’s there too, opposite side.” A pause. “You know, just in case you want that as well.”

He can’t help the cheeky reply, but his assailant doesn’t seem to hear him as he rifles through his pockets. The man pulls the wallet from Sylvain’s pocket, flipping through it.

And then there’s a shout as the man is wrestled to the ground by someone else that Sylvain can’t see. There’s a scuffle, some odd yowling, and then the distinct sound of a punch, bones crunching sickly under the hit.

Sylvain stands stock still, still pressed against the dumpster, not moving. Just in case.

“Useless, aren’t you?” Sylvain freezes at the voice, taking in the acerbic tone. “It’s bad enough that you waltz through here every morning, but you should know better than to do it at this time of night.”

Sylvain turns but he doesn’t find the cat, he finds a man standing there instead, finely boned face tugged into a snarl. He shakes out his hand, knuckles already bruising from the solid hit that he’d gotten in. Sylvain blinks. He’s handsome in a feline sort of way, hard edges to his jaw and circles cut deeply underneath his eyes. His black hair is tied into a ponytail high on the crown of his head.

The man toes at the assailant who’s out cold on the ground. “I’d get out of here,” he says. Then he looks to Sylvain again, unimpressed. He stalks over to the container of tuna salad and toes at that too, lips pulled into a grimace of disgust. “Really, now. If you won’t eat it, what makes you think that I will?”

“Um--”

The man blinks slowly, catlike, and with subtle grace. “Do I need to explain it to you?”

“No,” says Sylvain quickly. “No, I just--” A pause as he rubs at his head. “The cat?”

“It’s not the cat ,” says the man with a snarl. “It’s Felix.”

“Felix,” Sylvain repeats.

“I won’t repeat myself.”

“Thanks,” Sylvain blurts. “For, you know.” He gestures to the man on the ground.

“It’s a one-time thing. I don’t reward stupidity,” says Felix as he picks up the container and tosses it into the dumpster. Then he looks to Sylvain again, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy blue hoodie. “I like the baked ones with the fish and cheese. They aren’t so bad a day past.”

Felix doesn’t meet Sylvain’s face, instead, stalking off without another word.

Sylvain smiles.

Sylvain leaves a pastry that he pilfers from the bin after every shift. It’s not always Felix’s favorite, but he doesn’t complain. Either way, they disappear into his belly, leaving Felix to lick his paws clean after a tasty meal.

He doesn’t turn into a man again, but he does walk Sylvain through the alley. And then sometimes further. If Felix follows him to the coffee shop, he knows that he’ll get a small lid of cream.

It’s a strange routine that concerns an even stranger man. What is Felix, Sylvain wonders? A cat? A man? Both? Neither? He’s real and solid as the day though, and Sylvain knows that he hadn’t hallucinated anything that’d happened.

When winter comes, Sylvain worries. It’s cold and crisp outside, not preferable for a street cat. He wonders if Felix has somewhere warm to sleep, which is why he eventually asks.

“Surely you can’t stay out here all season,” says Sylvain one night, as he watches Felix pull apart half a savory ham and cheese tart. He’s not sure if cats should eat one of those, but maybe with Felix, it’s different. The cat never complains.

Felix pauses mid-bite to look at Sylvain. Then he drops the tart, hisses lightly, and runs off. Sylvain blinks. An answer is an answer at least, and Sylvain stops asking.

One day, it snows. Gautier is a cold and dismal place in the winter, but the snow comes later that year than anyone expects. Sylvain’s wrapped head-to-toe in a heavy jacket, a scarf, and thermals.

Felix follows him to the coffee shop that morning and against Sylvain’s better judgment, he opens the door to the storage shed out behind the shop. “It’s not much,” says Sylvain, “but it’s not in the snow.”

Felix gives him a long look before bolting inside.

Later that day, Felix strolls into the shop as a man, walks up to the counter, and slaps five gold coins onto the counter. Sylvain stares at them and then back to Felix, who immediately bristles.

“I didn’t fucking steal them,” says Felix. “I have a job.”

That’s news to Sylvain and he can’t quite picture it. This is only the second time they’ve met face-to-face, but he has a distinct feeling that Felix isn’t a people person.

Felix points to the fish and cheese pastry in the case. “It’s my favorite.” There’s an awkward pause as he closes his eyes in a near wince and continues with, “Look, I need to talk with you about something, alright?”

Sylvain rings him up, throws in a free cup of coffee, and fifteen minutes later they’re settled into the soft armchairs near the back of the cafe. It’s cold and bitter out, so they’re alone.

“You once offered a home,” says Felix, his hands wrapped around a warm ceramic mug. Sylvain’s coworker Annette paints them and they never get used. Felix huddles closer to it though like he’s trying to leech the warmth from it. “Does that offer still stand?”

Sylvain’s mouth parts in surprise and Felix turns bright red, looking anywhere but his face. “Look, it doesn’t mean anything,” says Felix. “But it’s getting cold out and it’s hard to find somewhere to bed down for the night where I won’t freeze to death.”

“So, my apartment,” says Sylvain.

“I’d be a cat,” says Felix. “I’d stay out of your way. It’d be like I’m not even there.”

Sylvain frowns. “I offered because I wanted a pet.”

Felix bristles. “I’m not a--”

“I know,” says Sylvain quietly. “I wouldn’t ask you to be since you’re… well, you know.” But Sylvain doesn’t know, so he gestures to Felix vaguely. He’s still trying to figure Felix out.

Felix sighs. “It’s only for the winter,” he says. “You won’t see me like this much. It’s not easy to… well, it’s not preferable.” He leaves it at that, which piques Sylvain’s curiosity.

“You can have the entire couch to yourself,” says Sylvain, half in jest.

Felix finishes his coffee quietly and then stands. “I’ll think about it.”

And he must, because when Sylvain leaves his shift in the late afternoon, Felix follows him all the way home.

Felix is never a man, he’s always a cat. Sylvain thinks that he prefers being a feline, though he’s not sure why. When he comes home from work, Felix is often curled up next to the warm glow of the fireplace. He leaves it lit because Felix can handle whatever might happen if something bad does.

As winter passes, Felix moves closer. He’s less annoyed. He sits on the couch next to Sylvain, his tail twitching softly against Sylvain’s thigh. Sylvain talks to him about any and everything, and he knows that it’s probably annoying, but Felix hasn’t yet told him to stop. So he doesn’t.

Sylvain gifts him a collar on Yuletide as a joke. Felix stubbornly wears it, because he’s testy about the weirdest of things.

When the New Year comes, he’s a man again. They’re nestled into the couch, Felix having shoved his feet across Sylvain’s lap with a cursory glance. Sylvain immediately pulled them closer, kneading at his arches.

Neither of them thinks more of it. Or maybe they both think of everything about it. Felix is impossible to read, but Sylvain thinks that he’s starting to recognize his moods. Even the most ornery of cats can’t turn down softly placed affection.

Sylvain wonders if it’s weird to fall in love with a cat. It’s a momentary thought because then he remembers that Felix isn’t just a cat and that there’s probably weirder things out there than Sylvain’s love, or the cat that’s also a man.

They watch New Year’s festivities on the television.

“I hate the noise,” says Felix when the fireworks start. “Too loud.”

“It’s not so bad in the city,” says Sylvain, hands still wrapped around Felix’s cold feet.

“It’s the worst day of the year,” says Felix. “Everyone’s drunk beyond reason and they roam the streets doing shitty things. Like kicking cats.”

There’s a lot to unpack there and Sylvain looks at him. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s an earnest apology.

Felix huffs, lips curling into a sneer. But then it’s gone as he relaxes into the couch. “No, it’s--” A pause, the air pregnant between them. “I’m not out there tonight, so it’s okay.”

It’s not, because Felix isn’t the only street cat to ghost the streets of the city. Still. “You’re welcome,” says Sylvain, squeezing his feet lightly. Felix kicks at him just because he can.

Winter ends sooner than Sylvain likes, but Felix doesn’t leave. He seems intent on staying and neither of them says anything, even if he’s a man more than a cat nowadays. Felix disappears during the day for his proclaimed job. He even cooks dinner sometimes and those are the kind of nights that Sylvain likes to cherish because Felix gets weirdly soft.

There’s a weird morning as Sylvain’s about to shuffle out the front door and Felix stops him.

“Is there something wrong?” asks Sylvain.

Felix doesn’t immediately answer and when he does, he says, “Have a good day.”

Sylvain assumes the worst because it’s an old habit that he can’t quite break. “Oh shit, you’re leaving aren’t you? Felix, you should know by now that you’re welcome to stay--”

Felix grabs Sylvain by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him forward, pressing a kiss against his lips. It’s short. It’s a little bit sweet. Felix seems to have no idea what he’s doing. Sylvain loves it, hand reaching out to grasp at Felix’s elbow.

When Sylvain pulls back, he asks, “What was that for?”

Felix’s hackles raise, immediately on the defensive. “Whatever, it was--”

“It’s not a complaint,” says Sylvain simply. “I liked it. It also sends some confusing signals.”

“What could be confusing about a kiss?” asks Felix.

“You don’t seem the type to do that,” says Sylvain.

“I’m not.” Felix pulls away, brushing at Sylvain’s shoulder to distract himself.

Suddenly, Sylvain gets it. Felix isn’t good with feelings and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s really a cat-- or maybe it’s not that at all. Sylvain still hasn’t figured out the details of all that nonsense, nor has he asked Felix outright. But Felix seems the kind of person who’s a doer, not a thinker, so he did the only thing that he thought would send a clear message.

Or maybe Sylvain’s overthinking something that’s really quite simple in the end.

“I love you too,” says Sylvain quietly.

Felix’s hand pauses and Sylvain watches him swallow. “Fool,” says Felix, but it’s more affectionate than angry, his voice cracking sweetly as he tries to find his words.

Sylvain smiles, pulling him back for another kiss. It’s longer this time, but just as awkward. Felix sinks into it, fingers curling tightly into Sylvain’s jacket as they hover in the doorway. When they part again, Felix says, “What an absolute fool.”

“The most foolish,” says Sylvain.

There’s a beat as Felix stares back at him like he’s looking, really looking at Sylvain. Felix sees him. And for once, Sylvain doesn’t mind. He’s never liked people seeing him for who he is, but Felix is different. He’s wormed his way into his heart and Sylvain doesn’t want to let go.

“But I wonder,” asks Sylvain, “what’s that say about you?”

Felix could have reacted a hundred different ways. What he does is pull Sylvain closer again, pressing their foreheads together. “Obviously I’m an even bigger idiot.”

Sylvain laughs, before swooping in once more.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #sylvix #sylvain/felix #felix x sylvain #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #fanfiction #fire emblem fanfiction

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bakamoonshine · 3 years

Text

A Surprise Encounter

(reposting in a different format!)

Summary: Trans male reader is experiencing gender dysphoria, and Draco comforts them. (D/N is deadname in this fic)

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Dysphoria, potential transphobia, a little slut-shaming?, OOC, swearing, a little bit of fluff at the end

A/N: I tried my best for you @vampirthedarkone, but as I am not a trans man, I don’t have exactly the right perspective for this one! I hope I did it justice and you enjoy this fic, even if it’s not 100% accurate. I’m sorry if anything I included is explicitly wrong! Xx

Y/N’s POV

“Psst, Y/n,” Draco pokes me in the side, trying to get my attention in the middle of Transfiguration class. I shake my head and look at him, realizing I had been daydreaming.

“What?” I respond, eyes wide in concern that something had happened while I wasn’t paying attention. Draco shrugs at me.

“I saw that you weren’t paying attention, and I know that you struggle in this subject. Just wanted to make sure you get all the notes down,” he smiles at me, nodding his head toward my blank parchment. “Also, if you need some help, I’d be more than happy. Meet at the library after dinner?” Draco looked at me earnestly, his icy grey eyes looking bright with anticipation. My mouth went dry suddenly, nervous. I had never anticipated Draco Malfoy showing any interest in being friends with me, but now here he was offering to tutor me in Transfiguration.

“Did McGonagall put you up to this?” I ask, raising one of my eyebrows. Draco just smirks and lets out a small chuckle.

“No. Let’s just say I think we have a common interest in one another,” he winks at me, picking up his quill and directing his attention back to the front of the room. I find myself nodding, agreeing to meet him at the library that evening even though he wasn’t looking at me anymore. Nobody knew this, but Draco always had me transfixed – his beautiful white-blonde locks, his storm grey eyes, and the rings that adorned his fingers were just little details that I couldn’t help but notice every time my eyes passed over him. I had assumed he would never be interested in me because well…I’m a guy. Draco Malfoy has never struck me as anything other than strictly heterosexual – but maybe I’m wrong. The insinuation behind his words led me to believe that maybe he did want more.

I start to pack up my supplies, have daydreamed the rest of class instead of paying attention, and accidentally drop my quill while packing. I reach to pick up the feathered pen, but before I can get to it, my quill is smashed to pieces by someone’s foot coming down on it, hard. I look up to see Pansy Parkinson, my ex-roommate, smiling down at me, the smile stretching across her face so taught that I couldn’t help but wonder if she was okay.

“What do you want, Daffodil?” I sigh up at her, not in the mood for her games. I had moved out of our dorm when I transitioned and found her unsupportive nature loathsome and trite. I’d had enough of her treatment to know that although she didn’t bother me much anymore, words can still hurt. She smoothed down her shirt and shot me a glare.

“Oh, D/N. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t planning on trying anything with Draco. We’re practically dating at this point, and I don’t want any half-blood sluts messing that up for me.” She smiled at me again, a sickly smile that made me want to vomit.

“Pansy, everybody knows that Malfoy despises you. Also, my name is Y/N, and I’d appreciate it if you called me that like everybody else. You know the rules, Dumbledore bound you to secrecy so you can’t out me before I’m ready.” ‘Not like it’s some huge secret anymore, but it should still be my decision when I choose to explicitly tell everybody’ I think to myself. I smack her shin, making her move her foot off of my broken quill, and pick it up. I grab the rest of my supplies, and get up, leaving Pansy alone in the Transfiguration classroom, steam practically rising off her cheeks they were so red with anger.

As I walk toward the Slytherin common room, I start to feel the familiar feeling just under my skin, like an un-scratchable itch coursing through my body – dysphoria. Pansy doesn’t get on my nerves like she used to when I first moved dorms, but she still has a way of making me feel low. I push the feelings down, determined to make it through the rest of the day, and drop my bag in my dormitory before going down to the Great Hall for some supper. I make my way through the aisles towards my friends sitting at the Slytherin table. I sit down and huff, starting to tell them about my encounters with Draco and Pansy, noticing while I talk that Draco’s eyes never leave me. I finish talking, digging into my food, and eventually finishing my dinner completely. I stand up to leave, waving goodbye to my friends, and start to walk out of the Great Hall and back towards the Slytherin common room. I just made it out of the Great Hall when I hear footsteps swiftly behind me. I turn my head to see who it is, a little surprised when I find Draco following me out of the hall.

“Do you mind if I walk with you Y/N?” he asks, eyebrows knit together in a look of questioning hope. I nod my head, turning silently and starting to walk again. The blonde boy next to me sighs in content, seeming happy that I said yes. “You know…we don’t have to study tonight if you don’t want to.” I stop again, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Do you not want to?” I ask him, internally cringing and waiting for his answer to be no. My anxiety is rising by the second, and I can feel my cheeks heating up.

“Of course, I want to, Y/N, I just didn’t know if maybe you wanted to do something less…school related? We could go down to the kitchens and find some kind of dessert, or we could-” I cut him off with a swift wave of my hand.

“Draco, are you asking me on a date?” His grey eyes snap to mine, mischief in them.

“Would you say yes if I was?” He takes a step towards me, and I suck in a breath.

“Maybe” I say devilishly, smirk playing across my lips. “But you do realize I paid absolutely no attention in Transfiguration and have no hope of passing the exam next week, right? I could actually use the help.” Draco laughed, gesturing towards the ever-changing staircases we were stood beside.

“Well then lead the way to the dorm, I need to grab my stuff to teach you everything you need to know.” Before I can even take half a step towards the dorm, Pansy emerges from the corridor we had just left.

“Dray, you promised me we’d study together tonight. Why are you with D/N?” I felt myself cringe at the use of my deadname, praying that Draco didn’t notice. He scoffed, obviously irritated by her intrusion.

“You came up with that plan, and I immediately said no. Don’t pretend like you heard otherwise. I’m hanging out with Y/N tonight, he really needs help with Transfiguration. Go bother Blaise or something,” he waved his hand in the other direction, hoping Pansy would get the idea and just leave. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Pansy looked at me with pure venom in her eyes. She continued to look directly at me while speaking to Draco.

“You realize that D/N is a girl right? If you’re looking to get with a guy, I’d look somewhere else.” My breath immediately stopped as I glare at Pansy.

“You bitch,” I throw the words her way before fast walking in the opposite direction, not staying to see Draco’s reaction. I didn’t realize I was crying as I almost sprint towards the dorms until I reach my hand up and feel moisture on my cheeks. ‘Damn it, I was so close to making it through the day.’ I think to myself, hurriedly making my way into the common room and up to my dorm. I sit down on my bed, pulling the curtains around me so if anybody comes in they won’t notice me crying. My heart rate picks up, my breathing ragged and uneven. It feels like my skin is on fire, and I feel myself descending into the endless depths of self-loathing. I hear the door open hastily and I stifle a sob, my breathing still extremely uneven. I wait for the door to open again, signaling someone leaving, but it doesn’t. My curtain is flung open, and there stands Draco Malfoy, the top button of his shirt undone and his tie loose around his neck. His hair, once neat and tidy, is now draped around his face, his cheeks flushed and breath coming in pants.

“Y/N…are you…okay?” he pants heavily, a look of intense concern on his face. I look up at Draco, taking in his entire being, from the hand pressed against his bedframe, to his foot tapping on the floor anxiously.

“Did you run here?” I ask, shocked enough to stop crying for a moment, though it didn’t last long.

“Well…yeah. I was worried about you. Pansy was being as ass and I had to make sure that you’re okay.”

“But…” Draco cuts me off, sitting down on the bed next to me.

“Y/N you think I didn’t know that you’re transgender? Pansy never leaves me alone and she mentioned you at least 20 times just today. You somehow really get under her skin. Anyway, why would I care? You are the most beautiful person I have ever laid eyes on. I don’t care what anybody else thinks, I want you all to myself. Pansy can go fuck herself if she thinks we were ever going to get together. My type is much more…you.” He pulls me in close, my breathing finally evening out, and places a soft kiss to the top of my head – he’s so tall, I fit right under his chin, at the perfect height to bury my head in his neck. I grab onto the sides of his robes, pulling him as close as he could possibly get to me, and his arms wrap around me, enveloping me in warmth. “So how about tonight we skip the library and go get some ice cream from the kitchens, and I will help you all day tomorrow with the Transfiguration homework? Does that sound okay, love?” I look up at him and nod my head, feeling incredibly grateful for the Slytherin prince. He nods his head back in my direction, places a kiss on my forehead, another kiss on the tip of my nose, and a soft kiss on my lips. He grabs my hand and leads me out of the dorm and toward the kitchens.

As Draco tickles the pear in the fruit painting, I look down at our hands intertwined. I can’t help but smile at the turn of events, knowing this wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t so bad at Transfiguration, suddenly feeling extremely grateful that I had no idea how to turn a mouse into a teacup.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #hp fanfic #harry potter #hp fandom

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dawninlatin · 4 years

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Haste

A Feysand Modern AU One Shot

Words: 4433

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Summary: Feyre comes back home after quitting college and breaking up with her boyfriend. During a night out, she starts seeing her friend Rhys in a new light. (Warning: There is some smut by the end)

The title comes from the song “Haste” by RY X, and if you wanna vibe, I suggest you go listen to it:)

A/N: Sorry for how long this note is, guess I had a lot to say, lol. This is actually the first fic I ever wrote, but I wanted to repost it, because I had only posted the AO3 link before, and wasn’t happy with that format. I would like to take this opportunity to thank all my amazing followers and readers!<3

When reading through this fic, there were so many things I wanted to change, (like, why did I think it was a good idea to have every other word written in italics?? And I’m so sorry for the cheesy dialogue and suuuuper long paragraphs...), but I decided to keep it as it was, because it shows how far I’ve come from that day in February where I sat up half the night writing, thinking that no one would ever read this, because my English wasn’t good enough, and my writing wasn’t good enough.

Yet I still posted it, and the response I got was more than I ever expected! This, along with all the other response I’ve gotten on all my other fics, has helped me so much with my writing, but more importantly, has helped me become the person I am today. So thank you so much, to everyone who takes the time to read, to everyone who likes, and reblogs, and leaves comments, and keep encouraging me! Thank you to all you wonderful people I have gotten to know on this app, tumblr has become a second home for me! From the bottom of my heart, I love y’all!<3<3<3

This was not how Feyre had pictured her night. Had she been the one to decide, it would consist of greasy pizza, a bottle of tequila and some crappy rom-com. Feyre had gotten as far as scrolling through Netflix in search for one, when her best friend Mor walked in the door of the apartment and declared that Feyre better get her ass of that couch, take a fucking shower and put on some decent clothing, because they were going out.

Feyre hadn’t felt like she was in the right position to protest; it was Mor’s couch she’d been occupying for the past week after all. Had it been a week already? she wondered. A week since Feyre had finally broken up with her asshole boyfriend Tamlin and then jumped on a bus to California, because the only person in the world she wanted to be with then was Mor. She had felt the need to share this victory with the only person that could always make her feel better. Of course, the high had ended as soon as she stood on Mor’s doorstep, where she had taken one look at her best friend and turned into a sobbing mess. That was about how she had spent the following week as well. She didn’t want to cry over the bastard, but he had been part of her life for the past two years, and she had loved him. Once.

So instead of spending the night on Mor's couch, wallowing in self pity, Feyre now found herself standing in the middle of a dance club crowded with drunk, sweaty people, playing way too loud music - the blinking lights making her dizzy. She had borrowed one of Mor’s dresses - and though this was considered modest in Mor’s eyes - she found herself constantly pulling at the black fabric, not comfortable with how much thigh it showed off.

Feyre scanned the room, trying to find her friend, and as she was about to declare the task impossible, she eyed a red dress and a head of blond curls. Mor was elbowing her way through the crowd, drinks in hand, accompanied by two men Feyre recognized. The tall, muscular one with shoulder-length, dark hair and a cocky smirk was Cassian, and the slightly shorter one with a shy smile was Azriel.

As they approached her, Cassian went in for a one-armed hug. «It’s good to see you Feyre!» He grinned at her, and she found herself grinning back despite her unhappy mood earlier. She really had missed these people.

«Hi Feyre, you look well!» Feyre looked up to see Azriel smiling at her, accompanied by an awkward wave. He was more of the quiet, observing type of guy, but that was exactly what Feyre liked so much about him. He was quiet, yes, but the silence was never uncomfortable.

«You as well, Azriel.» She smiled back at him, then turned towards Mor, who handed her a drink.

«Don’t look so shy Feyre. You look amazing tonight!» Mor winked at her, then gestured to the rest of the club. «You should have seen all the guys eyeing you when we walked in. Actually…if you hadn’t been my best friend, and straight-» she made a disappointed face at that, which made their whole group laugh, including Feyre, «-I totally would have slept with you.» Feyre laughed even more at that, but Mor was right. She felt good tonight. Sexy, even. She felt something she hadn’t felt in a long way. She was excited for what the night - the future - would bring.

«I might not wanna sleep with you, but I think that brunette at the bar wants to.» Feyre nodded her head towards the young woman ogling her friend.

«Hell yes!» Mor exclaimed. She put her arms around Feyre and Azriel’s shoulders. «Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we’re gonna get laid!»

«Cheers to that!» Cassian laughed, lifting his drink. As Feyre sipped hers, she felt light, almost giddy, with excitement and joy. At the same moment, she noticed someone was missing from their small gathering. Rhys.

She couldn’t fathom how she hadn’t noticed before. Mor’s annoying cousin was difficult to ignore whenever he was present. The prick always teased, always came with innuendos, or witty remarks. He had the biggest ego Feyre had ever encountered. Still, Feyre found herself to be missing Rhysand’s snarky comments and their never-ending banter. Before she had time to stop herself, she spoke the sentence: «Hey guys, where’s Rhys?»

Cassian wiggled his eyebrows at her, but she chose to ignore him. «He’s coming later. Had to work overtime» Mor answered. Feyre nodded, before quickly switching the subject over to their plans for the rest of the summer.

As soon as they had some alcohol in their blood, Feyre and her small group of friends moved on to the dance floor. Feyre was jumping around, singing along to whatever song they were blasting, joking and laughing with Mor and Cassian, teasing Azriel for not wanting to join them. They looked like idiots, but they were happy idiots. She could feel the heavy bass in her whole body, along with her beating heart. She was so, so happy . Happier than all of last year combined. Hell, she hadn’t been this happy since high school, when she, Mor, Cassian, Azriel, even Rhys, had been together almost every day. Always laughing, joking. But that had been before Tamlin, and before she had been stupid enough to move halfway across the country for college.

Feyre scolded herself for thinking about Tamlin again. The point of tonight was to forget him. To have fun. And she was having fun, and she was happy. So happy that at any moment she could grow wings and disappear into the night. She had no worries. No worries of the home she had left behind, or college, or her ex-boyfriend, or what tomorrow would bring. She was here, now, and she felt fucking amazing.

Feyre heard Cassian greet someone, and turned just in time to meet a pair of shockingly blue eyes. Rhys. Her breath caught, her heart thundering in her chest, and she found herself not being able to look away. He held her gaze, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. Feyre didn’t know if it was the lights, the music, the alcohol, the warm summer night, still young and full of possibilities, or the feeling of finally being free, but it was as if she was seeing him for the first time.

Had he always been this handsome? she asked herself, taking in his lean, muscular form, his tight-fitting jeans, the white shirt opened just enough to show off the tattoos swirling across his chest. She stared at his sharp jawline, his soft lips, his eyes, so blue they were practically glowing, his dark, messy hair. Oh, how she wanted to run her fingers through his hair.

A cough from Mor made Feyre tear her eyes away at last. I must be drunker than I thought , she mused. This was Rhys she was thinking about. The man who annoyed her to no end. The man who was known for his many hook-ups and one night stands and flirts and just- argh.

«How nice of you to finally show up,» Cassian said as he threw an arm around Rhys’ shoulder and handed him a drink. Rhys made a comment that had Cassian roaring with laughter, but Feyre didn’t hear what it was, because Rhys was looking at her with such an intensity that it made her insides tingle. Stop it, she thought. You had a boyfriend just a week ago.

«Hey Feyre. It’s good to see you again.» Rhys smiled at her, but it wasn’t his usual cocky smirk. It almost looked a little sad. Feyre suddenly found the floor very interesting, not being able to keep herself from blushing or biting her lip. She could feel his eyes on her. Burning. Then Mor shouted «Who wants shots?», and the moment was over.

The night went on. They drank, they danced, they talked about college and hook-ups and high school. Feyre almost wanted to cry at the feeling of how familiar it all was. She had been afraid that her moving to Boston would change everything - and it had, for a little while - but she was back now, and everything was normal. Except for Rhys, maybe. Something had definitely changed between the two of them.

Gone was the teasing and never-ending banter. In its place was something brand new. They hadn’t said anything to one another except for pleasantries for the entirety of the evening, but Feyre caught him staring at her constantly, with this sad, longing look in his eyes. And to be honest, she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off of him either.

Right now, they were all sitting at the bar, watching Cassian stick his tongue down the throat of some random blonde on the dance floor. Mor suddenly stood up, announcing she was gonna go try her luck with the woman she had been flirting with all night.

«Come on, Azriel. You’re gonna be my wingman.» His protest died on his lips as More pulled him after her.

All there was left, was Feyre and Rhys. Not able to meet each others eyes.

But Feyre was feeling brave this night. It might have been the alcohol, or the still-lingering high of having broken up with the asshole that had made her life miserable for the past year. She muttered a quiet «fuck it», downed her drink, stood up, and looked her friend straight in the eyes. «Do you wanna dance?»

Rhys’s face was lit up by a bright smile. «I thought you’d never ask, Feyre darling.» Her insides warmed at the familiar nickname, and she found herself smiling just as brightly. Rhys took her hand, leading her to the dance floor, where some old EDM shit was playing.

Feyre didn’t care about the bad music, or the bright lights, or the sweat coating her body. She was here with Rhys. His body was so close now, and she could smell his all-familiar scent of citrus and sea.

She lost track of how long they danced. None of them were any good at it, but they were laughing and having fun. Feyre felt 17 again, jumping around, sweaty and drunk, but happy. «God, I missed this!» she exclaimed, grinning at Rhys, just as the fast rhythms and heavy bass switched over to a slow ballad.

Hesitantly, Feyre glanced at Rhys, suddenly feeling shy and unsure. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question. She understood what he meant immediately, and nodded, biting her lip. Rhys stepped closer, and put his arms around her waist. She placed hers around his neck, swaying along with the music.

She looked at the man in front of her. Really looked at him this time. How had she not noticed before, how strikingly beautiful he was? His sharp angles, kissable lips, silky hair, the blue eyes she could get lost in if she stared for too long. Said eyes were taking in her just as intensely at the moment.

«You are so beautiful tonight, Feyre.» His voice was hoarse, laced with restraint. Feyre felt a longing, deep within herself. She wanted to tell him he was beautiful too, wanted to kiss him, wanted to cry, wanted to just leave, wanted to stay in his arms forever. She wanted to be his. She did neither, couldn’t find the courage to do so.

Instead, she stepped closer, and pressed her forehead against his, feeling his strained breath against her lips. Everything around them disappeared. The world narrowing down to the two of them, together, forehead against forehead, in the midst of a warm night in June.

Then the song ended, and the moment was over. Feyre stepped back, but she continued to hold his gaze. Rhys looked towards the exit. «Come, I wanna show you something.» He grabbed her hand, and then he was leading her through the crowd. They walked past Mor, who muttered a «fucking finally!» that made them both chuckle.

Outside, they were surrounded by warm, summer air, a chill breeze running over their exposed skin. Rhys looked at Feyre with mischief in his eyes. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

«What exactly was it that you wanted to show me?» she asked, not being able to hide her curiosity.

«You’ll see, just trust me.» Rhys looked giddy with excitement. He was bouncing on his feet now. «Follow me, we don’t wanna miss it.» Then he started walking. Fast.

«Miss what?» Feyre shouted after him, but he didn’t answer. Rhys just kept on walking, and she struggled to keep up with him. «I have shorter legs than you, remember? And I’m currently in heals, which puts me at an unfair disadvantage.» He stopped a few steps ahead, an amused look on his face.

«We have to wait a few minutes now,» he announced, all serious. Feyre looked around where they were standing, a few blocks away from the club. The whole city was sleeping. The sight of the quiet, empty streets bewitching.

Then a bright, yellow bus stopped in front of them. Also empty. She followed Rhys onto it, confusion growing more and more. «The bus? Where exactly are we going?»

The puzzled look on Feyre's face made him chuckle. «I swear, the mystery will be worth it once we get there. Now, we could have walked, but then we would miss it.» He must have seen the question forming on her lips, because he raised a finger. «And no, I still won’t tell you what it is.»

She rolled her eyes and muttered a quiet «prick». The nickname made him laugh, and she laughed with him, because Feyre hadn’t called him that since high school. It had been way too long since they’d been together like this. Still, under all the joking and laughing, there was an unfamiliar tension that hadn’t been there before.

After only five minutes, Rhys announced that they had reached their destination. He stepped out onto the street, and led Feyre towards a beach. The sight in front of her was breathtaking. The dark waves crashing against the sand, the sky - the nearing dawn making it a deep pink - birds flying over their heads, and Rhys, who had taken off his shoes and started walking towards the ocean. Feyre followed him, slipping out of her heels. The moment she felt the familiar California sand under her toes again, she laughed with joy. A rich and warm sound she hadn’t made in forever.

Rhys, who was standing in the water now, looked up at her, the same bright smile on his face. He waved at her to hurry up, and she walked the final steps to him. The sea was warm, and the salty smell of it was amazing. It was home. She looked towards the horizon, where the sun barely had begun to rise. Then she looked up at Rhys again.

«The sunrise. That’s what you wanted to show me.» Rhys only nodded, before looking ahead of them. Feyre took in the sight again, and she felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She wanted, no, she needed to paint.

Her thoughts were disturbed by Rhys, who was now sitting in the sand, jeans cuffed up to his knees. «Come sit with me, Feyre.» He patted the spot next to him.

Feyre stepped back and sat down, feeling the waves crash against her legs. She looked to Rhys, and said the only thing that could come to her mind with a playful smirk on her lips. «How did your dad take it when he found out his only son was gonna major in English, and not business?»

Rhys grimaced. «He was pissed at first, even threatened to write me out of his will, but he came around - eventually.» They chuckled at that, both knowing how angry Rhys’ father could get, but also how he always gave in when it came to his children. «How about you? How’s all the art stuff going?» Rhys asked, his eyebrows raised in question.

«Urgh,» Feyre cringed, «I dropped out in March, haven’t touched a paint brush since.» She should have been sad or ashamed when admitting that, but she felt good, knowing she had made the right choice. She had been miserable in Boston.

Rhys looked at her, concern lining his face. «That bad, huh?»

«What can I say? Boston sucked, and I would much rather be here, with you guys.» She grinned at him, and he grinned back.

«So you’re back for good now?» Feyre only nodded, turning back towards the rising sun.

The sight in front of her was hypnotizing. «I didn’t realize how much I’ve really missed home.» The words were out before she managed to think. Rhys only hummed quietly beside her. Seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Feyre turned towards him. His eyes were closed, a small smile on his lips. «What’s on your mind?» she wondered out loud.

Rhys opened his eyes then, and looked at her. «A thought for thought?» he suggested. She smiled at the reminder of the little game they used to play when they were younger. «I can begin,» he continued.

He looked towards the horizon again, taking a deep breath. «I’m thinking that when I walked into the club tonight, I was so happy to see you, because you were so happy. You were dancing and laughing and I thought that finally we had gotten our Feyre back. After you left for Boston, and after you met him, it was as if you disappeared.» Feyre tried to swallow the lump in her throat. He sounded wounded, almost. Did he really care about her that much?

«You visited, of course, but it was like a stranger had replaced you. You were a shell of who you once used to be. You stopped laughing, stopped making inappropriate jokes, and I missed you. God, I missed you so much.» Feyre felt like she might cry at his words, but she didn’t. All she did was stare ahead, and take his hand. She squeezed it, encouraging him to continue. He squeezed back.

«As I said, when I saw you tonight, I was sure we had gotten the old Feyre back. Mor told me what had happened in Boston - why you were back - and I was sure that everything would return to normal between us.» He took a break, clearly anxious of saying what was next.

«But everything isn’t back to normal. Something has changed. I can feel it, and I think you can too.» He looked at her now, that intense longing once again in his eyes. She met his gaze, and suddenly felt brave enough to say:

«I can feel the change too, yes, but I think it’s a good change.» Then she leaned in, and kissed him.

Rhys went completely still at first, and Feyre was afraid that she had misunderstood their conversation. Then he seemed to realize what was happening. He put one arm around her waist, the other tangling in her hair, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss.

His lips tasted salty, she thought, but sweet at the same time. She could get drunk on him alone. Feyre was breathless, and dizzy, but she decided this was the best feeling in the world.

She was kissing Rhys.

He pressed his tongue against her lips, and she opened up for him, moaning at the sensation. She put her hands in his hair, slightly pulling at it. The silky strands feeling soft in her fingers.

Kissing Rhys was everything, but at the same time it was not enough. She needed more. Needed to be closer, needed to feel more of him. She pulled away slightly, breathless, heart thundering, blood rushing in her ears. Rhys looked at her, just as breathless, a hungry gleam in his eyes. «How far is it to your place?» He only smirked in answer.

Rhys stood up, picking Feyre up with him. She laughed as he almost dropped her, then she wrapped her legs around his waist. He didn’t walk far before they reached a small house. Rhys put her down, pulled a pair of keys out of his pocket, and unlocked the door.

Feyre marveled at the place as they stepped inside. It was small, but it was stunning. Large glass windows facing the ocean, green plants covering every available surface, and several over-filled bookshelves. She turned to look at Rhys, who had stopped in the doorway, staring at her taking in his place, surprise clearly written on her face. She took a step towards him. Then another. And another, until their mouths crashed together again.

Rhys moved his lips over her jaw, down her throat, her neck. Feyre moaned, struggling to get his shirt off fast enough, both minds clouded with lust and the haste to be as close together as possible. Skin to skin.

She finally managed to open the last button, pulling off the fabric. Feyre took in his muscled, tan chest and the many tattoos covering it. She leaned forward, and pressed her lips to the spot right above his heart. She could feel it hammering beneath his skin. She moved upwards, ghosting them over his collarbone, his neck, his throat, his jawline, then finally his lip.

Rhys grabbed her face, kissing her with such an intensity it made her dizzy. She was about to start fumbling with his belt when Rhys pulled away. «Are you sure you want this?» he asked, all out of breath, voice cracking, and Feyre would have thought his consideration and worry to be cute, had she not been so desperate to press her naked body against his. So she only nodded, and stepped back to pull her dress over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

That seemed to be the end of Rhys' restraint. He took a step towards her, grabbed her under her thighs, and hoisted her up so she was sitting with her legs around his waist. Feyre moaned at the feeling of him pressing against her, hard and ready, and she felt a warm throbbing between her own legs.

Feyre let out a breathy «why the hell do you still have pants on?» that made Rhys chuckle. She felt the sound moving through his whole body. He walked across the room, laid her down on the bed and quickly got rid of his pants. Feyre almost drooled at the sight of his large cock. She reached out a hand and stroked him through the thin fabric of his boxers. Rhys groaned at the feeling, and leaned over her, placing his mouth on one of her nipples.

It felt exquisite. Rhys, his wandering hands, her body tingling with sensation, his hot mouth on her skin. She needed more, more, more. Feyre pulled his cock free, and he kicked of his underwear. One of his hands reached the band of her own panties, a finger dipping into her core, then slowly circling her clit.

It was too much and not enough and she needed more. Rhys slid off her underwear, and all of a sudden there was nothing between them. «Do you have a condom?» Feyre didn’t know how she managed to form words at this point, but he reached behind her and grabbed one. Feyre took it and rolled it on him, while his mouth explored every inch of her breasts, and his hand slowly stroked the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

Feyre needed him inside her, now. She lined his cock up with her entrance, then she looked him in the eyes. He took her hint, slowly, oh so slowly, pushing himself in, not breaking eye contact.

Feyre moaned at the feeling of him filling her, widening her. He was thick and warm and it felt amazing. She pulled his mouth to hers, and he pressed his tongue inside her, filling her in two places. He pulled out slightly, then pushed in to the hilt this time. Rhys groaned at the sensation, his hand still drawing circles over her clit.

It felt so good, she was seeing stars. The wave inside her rising and rising with no end as Rhys picked up his pace, slamming to the hilt and hitting that magic spot every. damn. time.

Words like more or faster or deeper filled the warm air around them. Rhys buried his head between her shoulder and neck, moaning her name. Feyre felt her pussy clench around him, nearing that sweet, sweet edge. «Rhys, I need to…»

He seemed to understand what she meant, because he went even faster, fingers pressing down against her clit, and fuck it felt so good! His eyes met her eyes, his forehead pressed against her forehead, and she felt his words as a breath against her lips. «Come, Feyre.»

Those words pushed her over the edge immediately, wave crashing over her like nothing ever had before. It lasted a lifetime. That sweet, unending pleasure. She clenched around him again and again, until he started losing control, losing rhythm, and at last he came with her, groaning.

When it was over, the world around them went quiet. The sun was shining through the curtains, a new day beginning, Rhys collapsed on top of Feyre, stroking her disheveled hair away from her face. «That was…» she didn’t know how to end that sentence. She wanted to stay here with him forever. Just the two of them. Skin to skin.

Rhys looked at her, amusement coloring his face. «Intense?» he suggested. Feyre chuckled, tapping her fingers against his chest. He pulled out, turned on his back, taking her with him, so that she lay on his chest, ear placed right over his heart.

«I was gonna go with best sex of my life, but intense works too I guess.» He laughed at that. A warm, loud laughter that she could feel in her whole body. He kissed the top of her head, and pulled a blanked over them.

As Feyre lay there, feeling Rhys draw slow circles on her back, listening to the waves, letting the steady beat of his heart and the sound of his even breaths lull her to sleep, she knew that nothing would ever be the same after this night. She felt almost electric with excitement over what the rest of the summer would bring. One thing she was sure of, Rhys would be part of it.

#feysand #feyre x rhysand #rhysand x feyre #feyre archeron #rhysand #rhys x feyre #feyre x rhys #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sarah j maas #acotar fanfic #feysand fanfiction #dawninlatin fanfiction

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years

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@hotpacino Hey there, Erika, my luv! If your requests are still open I have a request for you. This Thursday I will be having a very important exam and I am nervous as hell... So, could I please have some headcanons for J and Pat comforting their s/o about an impeding exam, because she has severe anxiety and depression and she feels like she is gonna fail, and has a meltdown about it? I know it's super specific and if it's not something you would enjoy writing, feel free to ignore this!!! 😘😘😘

Hi, darling! I’m so sorry that this is a few days late; I hope that you enjoy it! How did your exam go? Sending you love and strength!💕 I wasn’t sure if this was a poly request or individual sets; so I’ve done individual skksks if you wanted poly let me know and I’ll whip something up for you! <3

This is a repost; the initial format for the piece screwed up lmao so I’ve just moved everything over into a blank post and done it this way.

Total word count for the two sets: 1, 331.

Pandaaaaa ~ // wc: 655.

(he’s cheering you on!)

To say that you were on edge was an understatement. You had an exam coming up and you were sure that you were going to fail, even with how hard you were working.

You spent your days with your nose buried in various textbooks, your fingers almost permanently stained with black inks and bright colours from the highlights which you had been using. You were definitely sleep deprived and running on caffeine and spite. You had to pass your exam. You had to.

J had been a silent observer throughout your revision process. He was pleased with your dedication and how hard you were working, even though he didn’t necessarily understand why you were working quite so hard. Though education was important, there were other ways to learn, other ways to live, than academics.

But. J would support you, and he showed this in small ways. He made sure that you ate, that you drank, that you rested when you needed to and, most importantly, that you slept the required minimum of eight hours every night.

This was non-negotiable and J wasn’t afraid to use cold, hard facts to get you to rest.

“Ya’ain’t gonna’ get any more infor-ma-tion in that brain o’yours, Y/N. Get, ah - get some rest, hm?”

“A-ta-ta, no. No talkin’ like that, ya’ hear? That’s my Y/N ya bein’ rude to. And I don’t like it. Not. One. Bit.”

Eventually, though, with you working non stop and not allowing your brain any rest, the inevitable happened. J knew that it was coming, he saw all the signs, recognised the microexpressions.

He stood by, prepared to catch your fall, but J never got in your way; you were a grown person, you knew what you were doing, and he would leave you to it, especially if you weren’t going to take the advice and care he had been consistently given you.

You had a melt down and started to sob over your textbooks. But still were you studying, even with tears streaming down your face and falling upon your textbook pages and notes like rain.

J cooed mockingly, unsurprised by this. He had warned you to slow it down. “Oh, shush shush shush, Y/N.”

As your sobs increased with the sound of J’s voice, he stood behind you and bent over your body, his semi-greasy curls coming into your line of sight as he rested his chin on your shoulder, an arm snaking around your waist. “I got’cha, doll. Easy, hm?”

His other hand came up from where it was by his side and stole your pen. He chucked it carelessly across the table and then shoved your materials forward, away from you. J’s chin rested atop your head as his arms came around you like a cage, while you remained sat at your desk.

J’s breathing was deep and steady, his movements exaggerated, and you understood. You copied his breathing, felt his touch, heard his low soothing shushing, and allowed J to calm you with his own body.

“Feel better?”

You nodded, “Th-thank you, J.”

“Uh-huh. So, ah - are ya’ gonna stop now? Ya’ve done all ya’ can. I’m proud o’ya. Get, ah - some rest. No more workin’.” J tapped your temple teasingly. You couldn’t see the proud smile on his face but you could hear it and it made all the difference to you. “If it ain’t in there now, then it ain’t gonna’ be so why bother stressin’, hm?”

Harsh, but true. J only wanted the best for you, and as you nodded and leaned back in your chair, J dropped a tender kiss to the top of your head and surrounded your entire body with his own.

Shit, his back would hurt later, bent over you like this, but it was worth it if it meant that you wouldn’t want to keep working. You had done your best, and he was very proud of you.

Pretty boyyyyy ~ // wc: 676.

(a reminder)

It was no secret that Pat just wasn’t the academic type.

He skipped classes, never did his homework, only attended detentions because a) he didn’t want to get expelled and b) had no one to go home to anyway, and just didn’t care about letters on a piece of paper.

His attitude towards things which others deemed to be important but didn’t matter to him was so liberating and you wished that you could have even a third of the devil-may-care attitude which Pat did.

Oh, but you were so tired. You had barely had a break over the last few weeks and you were constantly working; you only stopped to sleep for a few hours before you were back at it.

Pat was so proud of you for working as hard as you were and he was in awe of your strength, but he was also very concerned for you.

Every time you sat down to study, Pat was right there with you. He took such good care of you that often did it leave you in tears.

He brought you your favourite hot drink every time you finished one, brought you (mostly) healthy snacks, rubbed your shoulders, pressed kisses to your neck and shoulders when he walked past...

Pat was there for you. He was immensely worried for you due to your anxiety and depression and a natural cafetaker was he now thanks to the year which he had spent taking care of his grandfather, so it was something which he didn’t even have to really think about. Pat just... took care of you.

Neither of you were surprised by your meltdown; Pat had been waiting for it, so intuitive and so intelligent was he, and you had felt the incoming tidal wave.

You were overwhelmed and you were convinced that you were going to fail.

Your breaths came in harsh gasps, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t do it, Pat, I’m gonna fail, I can’t - “

Pat was out of his seat like a bullet from a gun as he dashed over to you, “Hey, hey, come on, Y/N - breathe, love. With me - “

Pat wrapped one arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his body, and the fingers of his other hand interlocked with yours. He breathed in deeply, held it for eight seconds and exhaled for the same length of time.

Full lips feathered kisses to the side of your face as he did breathing exercises with you. “You’re so smart - “ A kiss, “hard working,” Another kiss, “and you’re gonna’ pass,” A whimper from you. “No, hey - look at me, Y/N,” He waited until you looked at him before he continued, “It’s not the end of the world if you fail, okay? It’s just a grade. It doesn’t define you. You can do it.”

“Th-thank you,” You managed a teary eyed, weak smile for your koala and he flashed you a grin.

“You’re welcome. Now, what d’ya say we take a nap, hm? You’ve barely slept and I know that’s why you’re a bit more emotional right now. This can all wait - “ Pat nodded at your work and helped you up, tugging you to the bedroom, “My Y/N’s way more important.”

You smiled and wiped your tears away with a shaky hand, trusting that Pat knew what was best for you. You curled up in Pat’s arms, cushioned atop him. His lips pressed kisses all over the top of your head. “Just sleep, Y/N. I won’t let you go.”

And so it was, surrounded by Pat and all that he was, that you napped, s safe in the knowledge that when you awoke, you would be okay. You could do it, you knew you could.

Pat always made you feel like you were on top of the world, and when you couldn’t believe in yourself would he do it for you; he loved you and he spent his every day proving that to you with his actions again and again and again.

Destructive raccoon boii(tm) @jokershyena @anyatheladyclown @joker-daddy @rinbyo @imightaswellnotexistatall @vladtoly @joker-is-my-hero @liz-rdwitch @enigmaticandunstable @ledgerskitten @tsukiakarinobara @germansarechill @ezziesworld @antonija89 @acw1 @sadjesterautumn @mermaleizroseglasses @justawriterinprogress @truthbehindthemysteries @hotpacino @call-me-harley-quinn

Patrick Verona @jokershyena @loveletterstoledger @itsthejoker@royaleclownx @tsukiakarinobara @arianatheangelworld@antonija89 @hotpacino @call-me-harley-quinn

#ledger joker #ledger joker x reader #ledger joker imagine #patrick verona #patrick verona imagine #patrick verona x reader #heath ledger #heath ledger joker #heath ledger joker imagine #heath ledger joker x reader #10 things i hate about you #10 things i hate about you imagine #10 things i hate about you x reader

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