#I have a good right now so my usually mild POTS is not being very mild

[vegetable-soup-wizard]

POTS flare ups are kinda funny why am I having to speed run like. Making toast

[h0neylevi]

“Shit shit shit shit shit—“

The sound of your hurried footsteps follow the string of curses as they travel like an echo down the hall, but Levi doesn’t so much as look up from the kitchen sink.

He had tried to get you up earlier, tempting you with the promise of freshly brewed coffee and a hot breakfast, but you insisted on five more minutes. Then inevitably, five more turned into ten which turned into fifteen, and now you’re rushing to get ready and out the door on time for work.

Now he’s had to improvise–turning your breakfast into something portable you can eat on the drive. It’s a skill he’s had to perfect over the years of living with you. To say that time management wasn’t your strong suit would be an understatement. So, Levi moves on to packing your lunch, listening with a small grin at the sound of the tap of your toothbrush against the bathroom sink, followed by clothes hangers being slid back and forth in the closet as you rush to find something suitable to wear to work.

“Have you seen my black turtleneck?”

“In the dryer.”

He schools his expression into something more mild when you finally round the corner a few minutes later, knowing that you’re already stressed about being late. Smiling at you in an I told you so kind of way would only sour your mood further.

“I slept right through my alarm,” you say.

All five of them, plus his gentle prodding to get you out of bed. He doubts you were even conscious enough to remember him trying.

Your eyes flit to the coffee pot to find a travel mug already filled and waiting for you, right next to a neatly assembled wrap that you can only guess is your breakfast. Your expression visibly softens at the sweet gesture.

“Your lunch is packed too,” Levi says, motioning to the insulated lunch bag sitting on the opposite counter.

Even though you’re pressed for time, you step forward to embrace him.

“Thank you, Levi,” you say into his shirt. “You’re a lifesaver.”

His arms wrap easily around you, but there’s lighthearted reproach in his words when he says, “You say that like I don’t have to do this every other day.”

“Well, if you hadn’t kept me up so late last night, I wouldn’t be rushing.”

He shoves you away then, not forceful enough to indicate you’ve said anything to upset him, but you can tell that the mention of the night before has provoked him by the subtle shade of pink that spreads across his cheeks.

He clicks his tongue. “Pervert.”

You lean back a little, still lightly clinging to his waist with a grin. “You’re weren’t saying that last night when my lips were wrapped around your—“

Levi’s palm claps over your mouth before you can finish your sentence, but it does very little to muffle the sound of your laughter that follows.

He leans into you a little, his other hand anchored to your waist to keep you close. “You’re going to be late.”

Deciding he’s endured enough for one morning, you pull away and go to gather your breakfast. “Yeah, yeah.”

You carry it into the next room and Levi quietly follows, your lunch bag in one hand and travel mug in the other.

“I’ll stop by the store tonight,” you say as you gather your coat by the door. “I saw this really good recipe last night that I’d like to try for dinner.”

Levi simply nods. Dinners are usually your preferred meal to cook, so he’s not surprised you already have something planned. “Sure.”

When you get your coat on, he hands you your things, then finishes off with a quick kiss.

After years spent co-existing together in your apartment—sharing everything from body wash to toothpaste and clothes—you would think that having his lips on yours wouldn’t still elicit such a strong feeling, but it does. It’s a wild and frenzied sensation, forming in the pit of your stomach before it swoops like a flurry up into your ribcage.

You linger by the door, starting to regret not getting up earlier so you could see him a little longer. “Thank you for getting my things ready.”

Levi nods again. “You’re welcome.”

When he leans against the doorframe, you take the moment to press another kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

A mixture of minty toothpaste and the familiar scent of your perfume swirls in the few inches between your bodies, and Levi has to take considerable effort to not lean in again.

“You’re going to be late,” he reminds you for what feels like the nth time.

But despite that, your feet stay planted in the doorway. “Say it back and I’ll go.”

“I love you too.” He rolls his eyes, but relents just the slightest bit and kisses you again. “Now, go.”

[leossmoonn]

How Annoyed Were You?

masterlist

pairing - jess mariano x fem!reader

type - angst, fluff

note - most random idea but lol enjoy!

summary - jess breaks the coffee machine and apologizes to you by making you dinner

warnings / includes - mild language, fighting, food and eating, kissing, jess and you being snarky and flirting w each other

————

*gif isn’t mine*

“Need a refill?”

“Must you ask?”

You grinned at Lorelei, pouring her another cup of joe.

“Thank you, pretty,” she smiled as she took a sip.

“No problem. You know, you should tip more since I’m giving you free refills,” you stated.

Lorelei furrowed her brows, setting her mug down. “Um, doesn’t that like, defeat the purpose of free refills?”

“Yeah, but, I’m basically your second daughter. Plus, a little birdie told me you love me more,” you smirked.

“And who did you hear that from? Someone in your dreams?” Rory hummed.

“Nope, from a very real source. Myself!” You grinned. Rory scoffed with a smile. “Yeah, you wish!”

“Ah, I do,” you sighed, putting the coffee pot back on the heater.

“You know, all you do is sit up there and read, or go into the city and do God knows what. I promised your mom I would keep an eye on you, so you’re goin’ to keep workin’ here!”

Luke distressed, irritated voice sounded suddenly. The three of you looked at him, brows raising as Luke wasn’t usually this cranky this early in the morning.

“Oh, looks like you owe me ten dollars, Gilmore,” you looked to Rory.

She rolled her eyes and turned to her mom. “Mom, do you have ten bucks?”

“Mmm, I think so, but you can’t have it,” Lorelei shook her head.

“Ugh, now I’m gonna have to open up my piggy bank,” Rory groaned.

You grinned. “Or one of you can tip me ten dollars.”

“Yeah, right,” Lorelei scoffed, then thought for a moment. “Only if you make me a gigantic pizza.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” you winked.

“What did you guys bet on?” Luke came over, running his fingers through his hair and putting his baseball cap on.

“How long it would take for Jess to make you mad again. I said twelve hours, Rory said 48,” you explained.

“Wow, you have a lot of faith in Jess,” Luke looked to Rory.

“What can I say? I’m not a pessimist unlike some people.” Rory pointed to you and Luke.

“Rude,” you scoffed before turning around to get the food Caeser had set out.

You ran into Jess who was exiting his and Luke’s loft.

“Watch where you walk much?” Jess muttered.

Your brows raised and you looked to Luke, Rory and Lorelei, pointing to Jess and whispering not-so-quietly, “Baby is cranky.”

“I can hear you, you know?” Jess frowned. “I know,” you grinned.

Jess rolled his eyes and pushed past you, making his way out to the door, but you stopped him.

“Hey! You’re scheduled to do a shift today!” You gave the customers their food before running over to him.

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered. He went to walk out the door, but you grabbed his sleeve, pulling him back. “Just let me go, Y/n. I —”

He stopped talking once he felt your hands on his arm, the physical contact making his heart start to race. You didn’t notice the change in his facial expression, continuing to scold him.

“You’re not having a good day, you hate life, blah blah blah. Yeah, I’ve heard it all before. But you are staying here and working your shift with me. After you can go and do whatever so-called “bad boy” stuff you do,” you said, your grip on his arm tightening as he tried to get out of it.

He looked to you, searching your eyes, knowing that you weren’t going to let him get away. He sighed and closed the door. “Fine. Only because you know I can’t resist you.”

“Good,” you grinned. Heat rose to your face as you pulled him back over behind the counter, handing him his apron. “Table four needs to get served and table ten needs to order.”

“You know the tables don’t have actual table numbers, right?” Jess asked.

“And you know that I could put you on over time if you don’t shut up?” You smiled at him sweetly.

Jess chuckled, his little smile-smirk made your heart skip a few beats. “Yes, ma’am.” His little title for you made your stomach flip as well, but you kept your ground, thanking him and putting plates of food into his hands and sending him off.

“Thank you, Y/n, for getting him to stay. For some reason he only listens to you,” Luke sighed.

“Well, it might be because his first day here I threatened him with a fork? But no problem. I like being bossy. Especially to Jess,” you smiled.

“And I thank the Gods that you do. Anyways, I gotta run,” Luke said, slipping jacket on.

“Where are you going?” Lorelei asked before you could.

“Out,” Luke answered before walking away.

“Really descriptive! Not vague at all!” Lorelei yelled at him as he left.

Luke just waved to you three before shutting the door. You chuckled, getting out a rag and dirty dish drawer to collect and clean off the remains of the empty tables.

“Do you know where he goes, Y/n?” Rory asked. “Um, honestly, I think he’s going on dates,” you said.

Rory and Lorelei looked to each other, brows raising in complete surprise.

“Did you just say “Luke” and “dating” in the same sentence?” Lorelei chortled.

“I believe I did, Lor,” you chuckled. “Huh… weird. I’ll have to tease him about that later,” she grinned.

You laughed at her response, knowing how much hell she would give Luke if it were true.

“What about you, Y/n?” Rory asked as you left to collect the dirty dishes.

“What about me?” You asked.

“You and dating?” Rory explained. “Ooh yeah! Does Miss Y/n L/n have a special beau?” Lorelei giggled.

You cleaned the tables before answering them, not sure what to really say. You walked back over, setting the dirty dishes in the sink before returning to the two.

“Um… not really,” you said slowly. “Not really? What does that mean?” Lorelei asked.

You snuck a glance at Jess, a small smile spreading on your face as you saw him talking to Babette and Patty, letting them touch his hair and compliment his outfit. He was weirdly patient when them, even if his usual sarcastic comments and eye-rolling showed differently.

You then turned back to the girls and shrugged, “It means no.” “Are you sure?” Rory raised her brows.

You looked at the two, furrowing your brows as you tried to figure out what was their game.

“Yes…? Why are you guys so interrogational today?” You asked.

“Okay, one, we always are. Two, don’t pretend like you didn’t just look at Jess and like the way said he couldn’t resist you,” Lorelei listed.

Heat rose up to your face and you ducked your head down, turning around to grab the coffee pot. You walked away from the girls, going over to a few tables to refill their coffees before returning to them again. You didn’t say anything, though, knowing that if you did, you would give your little crush away. As if the whole town didn’t know already. They definitely did.

“You do like him! Knew it!” Lorelei exclaimed. “Yeah, in a co-worker, friend-type of way,” you scoffed, setting the coffee pot back under the machine.

“Liar, liar pants on fire,” Rory recited.

“I’m serious! Why would I like someone who disrespects me and Luke, is always late, and someone who is so irritating to even be next to? That’s not my type.”

Lorelei and Rory looked at you, looking as if they were holding back their laughter.

“What?” You frowned.

“Y/n,” Lorelei laughed, “He is exactly your —”

A loud crash cut off Lorelei, making the whole diner stop and look at the source. Your head snapped to Jess, who was holding a broken coffee pot, the machine also on the floor. Your jaw dropped at once, your hands balling into fists. Your whole body started to shake in anger as you started to yell.

“What the hell!”

“I-I —” Jess tried to explain, but he had never seen you this angry before. And as much as he would’ve liked to think it would be attractive and cute to see you mad, he was honestly terrified.

“You what? You decided to smash and break our equipment! God, Jess. You know, I knew you were a good-for-nothing, annoying idiot whose mom basically kicked him out so he had to live with his uncle, but I didn’t think you were an delinquent asshole, too.” You laughed sourly. You then untied your apron, smacking it down on the counter. “When I get back, this better be cleaned up.”

You spun around on your heal, stomping out of the diner.

“Yeah, walk away. Real professional!” Jess shouted.

You ignored him and swung the door open, bumping into Luke.

“Whoa, what’s wrong?” He asked.

Your head snapped to him, your eyes burning with tears. “Tell Liz to take her idiot son back or I’ll make sure he never comes back.”

You then pushed past him and stormed off. Luke sighed and looked to Jess who had a book pulled out already. Luke looked around his cafe, his face getting red with anger as he saw the broken coffee machine. He stomped over to him, taking his book and throwing it across the room.

“This again? C’mon —”

“Go and apologise,” Luke demanded sternly.

“Why? I should be apologising to you. I’m so —”

“No, you apologise to her because she was the one in charge while you broke the machine.”

Jess rolled his eyes. “I don’t even know where she went!”

“Then you wait here and clean up while I fix your schedule to put you on over time so you can work here for free and I can save up money to buy a new machine. When she comes back you better apologise,” Luke demanded.

Jess sighed, “Fine.” He then walked off, going to get the broom and dustpan.

Luke sighed and turned to Lorelei who was pouting.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“No coffee,” she answered sadly. Luke rolled his eyes. “Ah, yes, because that’s the most important thing right now.”

————

You came back at closing time. You spent the whole day walking around Stars Hallow, crying and yelling at Jess in your head. When you came back the whole place was almost empty except for Lorelei and Rory.

“Hey! There’s our girl!” Lorelei exclaimed as you walked in.

You let out a chuckle and wiped the remaining tears off your face. Rory frowned and hopped out of her seat, going over to you and giving you a big hug.

“We’re sorry about Jess. He’s a jerk.”

You smiled into her shoulder and hugged her back, enjoying the comfort of a friend.

“It’s not your fault.” You said once Rory pulled away.

“I know, but still.” Rory gave you a small smile.

You returned the smile, sniffling and looking around the diner, sighing once you saw the sink was full of dirty dishes, yet the coffee machine area was all clean.

“Well, his work ethic is great,” you snorted, walking over to the sink.

“Well, I was busy with something else.” Jess’s voice caught your attention.

You turned to him, your eyes widening in surprise as you saw Jess walking out of the back with a plate of food and a candle.

“You hungry? I hope so. You walked out of here without your wallet,” Jess chuckled.

You fought the smile that was coming on. “Yeah, I’m really hungry.”

“Great. Just sit here and I’ll get you a drink,” Jess put the food down on a nearby table.

You nodded and seated yourself, Lorelei and Rory walking out the door.

“We’ll leave you two love birds alone,” Rory smiled.

“Have fun, but not too much!” Lorelei exclaimed while leaving.

You shook your head with a laugh, looking at the mouth-watering meal in front of you. Jess came back over to you with your favourite drink, sitting down with his own drink.

You took a bite of your food, sighing contently as you had been wanting to eat for the past five hours.

“It’s good, right? I made it myself,” Jess smiled proudly.

“Yeah, it’s really good,” you smiled. “Too bad you couldn’t do the dishes.”

Jess frowned, “You’re so pessimistic. Just relax.”

“Oh, I’m the pessimist?” You chuckled.

You both met eyes and you each shared a smile. You looked back at your food, feeling the heat rise to your face from the eye contact. You took a sip of your drink, Jess breathing in to speak again.

“I… I’m sorry, Y/n. You’re right. I am a delinquent asshole. I got annoyed at the machine because it was like, buffering or whatever and I started hitting it and…”

Jess’s words seemed to sound distant as you looked back up at him. Your eyes first went to his, admiring the way the light hit them. You noticed how his pupils were wide. Your heart started to race as you remembered reading about physical signs of attraction. Enlarged pupils were one of the signs.

Your eyes then went to his hair, your fingers itching to run them through it. You just knew his hair was soft and silky. Your eyes trailed to his lips, the things you wanted to touch, kiss, and taste the most. They just were so smooth and soft-looking. And you loved when they did their little smirk-smile thing.

Before you knew it, you started to lean in. You pushed your food to the side, sitting up on the chair with your knees. Jess stopped talking, his eyes widening and jaw dropped as he realized what was happening.

“Y/n, a-are you drunk?” He asked.

You put your hand on his bicep, your eyes flickering between his eyes and lips. “No.”

“Then why are you —”

“Just shut up,” you scolded before crashing your lips onto his.

Jess kissed you back immediately, leaning over the table to put his hand on your neck, trailing it up to cup your cheek. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as his thumb ran up and down your cheekbone. You put your hand on the back of his neck, entangling his hairs on the nape of his neck, sighing contently as your suspicions were right.

Jess was the first to pull away, his eyes shooting wide open. “What was that for?”

Your lips spread into a wide, bright smile. “How annoyed were you to break a whole coffee machine?”

Jess laughed, doing his smirk-smile that you loved so much. “I guess I was pretty annoyed.”

“Were you pretty annoyed when I kissed you?” You asked, hoping he loved the kiss as much as you did.

He leaned back over the table, putting his hand on his. “Not at all.”

“Good because I’m gonna do it again,” you smiled.

“Good,” he smiled back, this time leaning in, too.

————

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[elysiadjarin]

Day 8: Praise Kink

It is finally the second week of Kinktober! This one turned out a little softer than I thought it would, but honestly I think it fits Nanami Kento quite well. Enjoy the abounding fluff. Excuse the pun in the title. Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ content ONLY. Some warnings for mild blood mentions (jujutsu as we all know) and death, PinV unprotected sex, very vanilla on the whole.

Tags: Nanami Kento x reader, Jujutsu Kaisen

Good Seed

Nanami Kento lowered his blade, adjusting the tie around his neck. Thankfully this cursed spirit hadn’t been too difficult to dispatch, though it did have some tricks in store that had nearly caught him off guard. Still, he’d made it with only a few bruises. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his pocket watch to check the time.

Only twenty-eight and I’m going to end up dead or half-dead by the time I’m thirty at this rate.He grumbled to himself, annoyed that he’d been forced to work two minutes of overtime for this mission. Pocketing his watch again, he turned and started walking out. He wanted to go home. Wanted to be done with the day and go back to his wife and their bed.

He wanted to go back to you.

By the time he finally got back home, his annoyance had simmered down to a vague feeling that eased a little once he stepped foot inside the door. The soft scent of fresh bread wafted through the house, and he took a moment to stop and breathe it in.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called into the hallway, reaching down to take off his shoes. When he straightened back up, he saw you coming down the hallway, smiling as you approached.

“Kento!” you greeted, your voice bubbling with happiness as your eyes lit up. “I didn’t know you were coming home so soon!”

He swept you up in his arms once you approached, burying his nose into your hair for a moment. Letting out a sigh, he breathed in the scent of your shampoo and the fresh bread.

“I actually had to go overtime a little, but I wanted to get back home to you,” he muttered into your hair, relishing the feeling of your body pressed against his, warm and welcoming.

You hummed, tilting your head up to give him a smile. “Thank you for working so hard, Kento,” you said, voice soft. You reached up to gently stroke his cheek. “You always protect everyone, so diligently.”

The warm pride in your voice, coupled with the soft praise, made his entire body seem to flush with relief. Leaning down, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. You squeaked in surprise for a moment, then clung to the lapels of his suit coat as you melted into the kiss. He let go, arm still wrapped around your waist.

“For you, darling,” he murmured. His chest heaved with a sigh. “Is any of that bread ready? I could use some right now.”

Though your cheeks were still a little flushed, you smiled. “Of course! I’m almost finished with dinner, actually. I made hot pot with bread for dessert. I thought you might be hungry when you came back from work.” You led the way into the kitchen, bustling about as you tried to get things together.

Nanami sat at the table, setting his bag down and loosening his tie. The kitchen was warm from the cooking, and his eyes tracked you across the floor, watching you. His whole being seemed to calm and settle down, something that seemed to happen so much more ever since he’d married you.

You finally finished putting things on the table and sat down across from him. “Did your day go well?” you asked, beginning to put things into the hot pot. You sent him a smile across the table.

He hummed, setting his glasses down. “Productive,” he answered, taking a sip from his glass. “Still, I hate overtime.” The flash of disgust crossed his face.

You laughed softly. “I’m sorry, Kento. I know you hate it. But you’re usually always so punctual. It’s a little funny to see you so annoyed,” you said, shaking your head. “But I’m glad you’re home safely. You weren’t hurt too badly, were you?”

Another thing he’d always appreciated about you: you always seemed so calm and collected even in the face of danger. It was one of the things that had even made him notice you in the first place. No matter the injuries he brought to you, you always managed to stay calm until the immediate danger had passed. And if he enjoyed the fuss you threw up after the first worry had passed over… well, maybe that was just his prerogative.

He chuckled. “No, just a few bruises. But otherwise nothing major.” He gave you a warm glance over the table, his faint smile a touch amused.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Let me worry, you insufferable man,” you sniffed, beginning to fill a plate with food. “I’m allowed to, especially as your wife.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t dream of anything else,” he drawled. Then he took the plate you offered him. “Thank you.” He took a bite of the food, relishing the mouthful. “How about you?” he asked between bites.

You hummed over your own plate. “Oh, the usual… I think I’m more overwhelmed with paperwork than anything else right now,” you sighed. “Too many bodies have piled up at the morgue right now.” You frowned.

He hummed. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

You huffed slightly, pouting at him. “You say that, but you work too hard sometimes too.”

He shrugged. “It’s work,” he said simply.

Once dinner was finished, he helped you wash the dishes as you took the cooled bread out of the oven and began slicing into it. Drying his hands, he put the last dish away and stepped towards you. Sliding his arms around your waist, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the crook of your neck.

“Hmm. Thank you for the bread,” he said, voice unraveled with contentment as he snitched a piece of bread.

“You’re welcome, love,” you answered, amused. Still, you took a bite yourself. “I thought I’d try to make a recipe you like for when you got back. You deserve it, after all.”

He savored the fluffy, warm bread that seemed to dissolve on his tongue, the flavor rich. He mused over his life with you for a moment as he pulled you back into his chest. Thought about how you’d somehow decided, despite his protests, that you wanted to be married to a man who risked his life every day as a part of his job. Not that you didn’t understand the risk, especially as an autopsy technician who wasn’t unfamiliar with jujutsu yourself, but still. He’d never thought it fair to ask of someone— and yet here you were. Willingly. Never once complaining about his choice of profession.

You turned around, smoothing your hands across his chest as you gazed up at him. A soft, dewey sort of understanding filled your eyes. “Are you okay, Kento?” you murmured. You never pressed. Only offered to listen, to comfort, to support.

He leaned down, pressing a grateful kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry I don’t tell you enough,” he said thoughtfully, on a whim.

“Tell me?” You blinked, startled.

He gazed thoughtfully down at your eyes. “That you’re the best thing in my life. That I love you, more than… I’ve ever loved anyone else,” he said slowly. He’d always hated wasting words. He simply wanted to say what he meant. Simply wanted you to know.

That brilliant, breathtaking smile crossed your face, and you reached up to cup his face in your hands. The callouses on your fingers and palm rasped against his skin, reminding him of the tools you also constantly used, every day. Weapons of a different sort that he wielded.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “I love you, too,” you said with the same, simple contentment. Your thumb brushed under his eye, as though trying to smooth away the shadows that gathered thickly there. “Even if you don’t say it often, I still feel it. You’re always so thoughtful to me. Always take care of me.” Then you laughed. “My coworkers are always jealous, you know.”

His eyebrow lifted as he gazed down at your face.

The fond amusement suffused your voice as you spoke. “The way you always treat me. I guess I must really talk about you a lot…” You shook your head at yourself. “They always tell me that they’re jealous about how happy and contented I am with you. About how considerate you are of me. How well you take care of me.”

His chest lit with warmth, and he felt the smile curl his lips. “Is that so?” He turned his head to press a kiss to your palm. “And you never talk about the times we argue?”

You rolled your eyes, poking his cheek. “Okay, so we’re not perfect. But who is.”

He chuckled. “So I’m a good husband, am I?”

You leaned up on your tiptoes, brushing a quick kiss to his lips. “The best,” you said with a simple confidence. Then you hummed. “Do you want any more bread?”

He shook his head. “No. I’d rather take a shower and then lie down with you.”

You nodded. “I’ll put this away, then. Go shower, I’ll bring your bag to your desk. Oh, and just put your clothes in the laundry basket, I’m going to sort them tomorrow to be washed or dry cleaned.”

He nodded, reluctantly pulling away from you. Still, even as he stood in the shower, letting the water wash away the stress of the day, his mind kept wandering to you. He frowned and prodded gingerly at some of his bruises, making sure they weren’t too severe. But his mind kept imagining your soft hands and lithe fingers brushing across his skin with a deft gentility, smoothing away his pains and rubbing salve into his aching muscles. And your soft voice kept running through his mins.

Thank you for working so hard. You deserve it. You always treat me so well. Take care of me.

The litany of praise filled his mind until his whole body felt flushed and agitated. With a sigh, he finally climbed out of the shower to dry off. You just always had such an effect on him that he couldn’t deny. When he walked out, towel slung over his shoulders and sleep pants hung low on his hips, he heard you call to him.

“Kento, I have the cooling cream for your bruises.”

It was like you could read his mind, he reflected as he walked into the room to sit on the edge of the bed near you. “Thank you, darling.” He reached up to dry his hair a bit more, sighing.

You shifted closer to him on the bed, opening the little container of the cooling cream. A soft frown touched your lips as you observed the giant bruise that spread over his side. Reaching out, you gently brushed your fingers over it, checking for any other concerning signs. Relieved at not finding anything other than the bruise, you scooped some of the cream onto your fingers and started to gently spread it across the blue and black skin.

He didn’t make a sound, but his muscles tensed a little as the cold cream touched his skin. He sat still to let you work, but he remained well aware of his body’s rather prominent reaction to your soft touch. Trying to push away his persistent feelings, he got distracted. The moment your fingers pressed against a particularly tender spot, he jerked for a moment in surprise.

You splayed your other hand across his hip, trying to hold him still. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, focused on your current task. “Bear with me for just another moment, please.” You finished rubbing the cream into his bruises, then smoothed your hand over his hip and thigh. “Thank you for being good, Kento,” you said, almost thoughtlessly.

He froze, the words sending heat down through his body. He sucked in a breath, then turned to you slowly. Almost unconsciously, he murmured your name. All he could focus on was the way your voice had practically purred his name with the praise.

You looked up at him from putting the cream back in its drawer, and he knew by the way your head tilted that she had noticed his reaction. A small, knowing smile crossed your lips.

“Should I give you some more attention?” you asked.

He reached out, snagging your waist in his hand and dragging you closer. “If my lovely wife wouldn’t mind.”

You laughed lightly, sliding your arms around his neck. “Of course.” Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw and cheek.

The moment you slid into his lap, pressing right against the tent in his pants, he had to let out a low, satisfied groan. The friction and pressure felt so good, his mind fuzzing with the familiar haze of contentment that always seemed to follow your presence. His lips slid across yours, his towel falling forgotten to the floor.

You gently brushed your fingers across his cheek. “Lay down for me?”

He shifted backwards, then laid back on the pillows. They sank under him, and he looked up at you through half-lidded eyes, quietly admiring your form on top of him. His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, savoring the warmth of your skin against his fingers. You lowered yourself, leaning over him to press soft kisses to his lips.

His hands slid over your waist, pulling you against him. Every touch made him both more aroused and yet sent a deep peace washing through him. That feeling that, no matter what happened, he would make it through as long as he was by your side. That he would never regret a moment he spent with you.

You hummed against his lips, letting him grind up against you. “You work so hard, Kento,” you murmured, eyelashes fluttering as you stroked his cheek. “Always try to be the best at what you do. So good to me.”

Nanami groaned, the sound pooling against the bed as he tilted his head back. Your lips trailed down his neck, and his hips ground up into you with slow, lazy movements. His hands slipped up under your shirt, trailing up to drag against your skin, cup your breasts in his palms, soft with a comforting weight. Your body pressed him into the bed, grounding him even as his mind fuzzed a little, allowed to finally relax.

He wasn’t even entirely sure when you’d managed to get his pants off, but he definitely noticed when he realized that you’d pulled your own underwear aside and sat down on his weeping cock. He throbbed against you, his breath hitching as your own wetness coated his length. His fingers tightened around your waist, pulling you against him, searching for that friction he wanted so badly.

Perhaps it was slow and lazy, he mused to himself, but that was what made it better. The little sighs and soft breaths from you that washed across his skin, the slow but heated kisses you exchanged with him. The way you let him grind up into you, pull you down to feel your presence.

He finally felt you reach down and let his cock slide into you, deliberate and slow. You took him inside you, a little at a time, so hot that it almost seared him. His entire body seemed to go wholly lax against the cool sheets, consumed by the sheer bliss of being welcomed back into your body as though he belonged there. You finally made it all the way down, resting against his hips and thighs with a contented sigh.

“Feel so good, Kento,” you murmured dreamily, voice wispy with pleasure. Your eyelashes fluttered, lips parting for breath. “Always fill me up exactly how I want.”

In some ways he could have simply stayed there, feeling your body flutter around him. But the praise that spilled from your lips spurred him to move, to push up into your hips.

He wasn’t entirely sure how long he lay there, his hands palming your curves, listening to your soft moans. By the time you sank onto him, trembling, your body clenching down on him in ways that made him throb and ache, he just knew that it was all he’d ever wanted from life. You, here, this.

With a low, thick groan, he arched up into you one last time and came.

Your lips pressed against his, sweet and entirely consuming his every last thought. “Thank you,” you whispered against his mouth. “For being so good to me, Kento. You’re the best husband I could have asked for.”

He reached up to tangle his fingers in your silky hair, pulling you down for another kiss. “And you are my life,” he murmured.

He’d found his life in you; and he wouldn’t want anything else.

[aggravatetheaxe]

BO SINCLAIR X TRANS MAN / MAN ALIGNED READER COMING OUT - Pt. 1 - Under Your Skin

This title is SAFE FOR WORK. Pt. 2, Over the Moon, will be NSFW. I'll link that here when it's written!

You met Bo while you were still presenting as a woman. Suffice to say things have changed, and you can't keep your secret from him any longer. You have no choice but to tell him or leave ... but what if he makes you leave anyway?

CW: descriptions of dysphoria that get very intense, deadnaming/misgendering, mentions of murder and mortal peril, it's 2005 and Bo is from the south so just be advised it's not all fluff and rainbows (but there is payoff, this isn't straight angst, it's just a journey)

Soundtrack: x

Words: 4,175

Part Two

Masterlist

***

Your shoulders were stiff. Your throat was dry. Your leg was bouncing, the only thing you could do to release the nervous energy juttering through your body.

You were going to tell him.

You'd put it off for months now, not quite sure how to say the words. Then, when you'd arranged them in your head, fear had kept you from saying them out loud. But you couldn't wait anymore. You couldn't live like this any longer.

You'd been hiding the secret for too long. Every time Bo called you by your birth name or made some quip about you being his girl, your heart shriveled just a little more. It had gotten to the point where you didn't even want compliments from him ... you didn't want to talk. You didn't even really want to sleep with him, didn't like to think about him looking at you as a woman during sex.

He didn't know, of course. But that almost made it worse. He couldn't stop hurting you and you couldn't yell at him for it. It was always the same: you lost control, you got frustrated, wouldn't tell him why, he'd get frustrated, you'd fight ... it was a mess. You knew all that was putting a strain on your relationship.

So it had to be tonight.

It had to be tonight.

You had everything planned. You'd already gone into town with Lester and picked up some stuff for a nice dinner; there was a fresh, cold six-pack of Bud in the fridge; and Rocky III was sitting in the VHS player, ready to go. Once he was relaxed, you'd talk to him.

You'd convinced yourself so fully that you'd stick to the plan that when you heard his truck pull up and your heart leapt into your throat, you nearly cried. Fuck, not again. Not another night. You were supposed to be stronger than this.

Stomping boots on the porch. You heard the door swing open from the kitchen. "I'm home."

He didn't sound like he was in a particularly good mood, but it didn't sound like a bad one, either. That was good news, at least. Things must have gone okay down at the shop. "I'm in here!" you called back.

Bo appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, tracking a little gravel into the house as always. He leaned against the doorframe with one hand on his hip, gesturing with his chin. "Hey, sugar. What you got there?"

You looked down at the meal you were plating. "I thought I'd try a pot roast? I dunno. I don't think it came out very good, but I guess we'll see."

He didn't say anything. You glanced over your tense shoulder to see him simply staring at you, like he was trying to read your thoughts. You could sense the gears in his head turning behind those clever blue eyes of his. He knew there was something wrong; you were guarded.

For a moment, you thought he might say something. That familiar little bit of irritation was beginning to creep into his face, right around his neck and jaw. But after a few seconds, he simply said, "A'right," and straightened. "M'gonna go change."

"'Kay." As he stomped up the stairs, you finished getting the food ready and brought the plates to the living room. Bo usually ate at the table—"I ain't a savage"—but you could tell he liked eating on the couch. It was like a special treat. And clearly, you were short on charm at the moment, so you'd have to use your environment to your advantage.

You pulled up two tray tables and set the food down, then fetched the beer. By the time everything was set up, Bo was coming back down the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to look at him. He was wearing jeans and a red flannel, sleeves rolled up. At this point, he didn't care about you seeing his scars. You hardly noticed them anymore.

He came closer and slowed to a stop, forehead wrinkling as he eyed your set-up. "What's all this about?"

"I was thinking dinner and a movie." You paused. "I thought Rocky might get the taste of my cooking out of your mouth."

You succeeded in making him laugh a little, crow's feet crinkling, but as he took a step closer, his smile faded. "Did you do somethin'? Is somethin' broken?" He glanced quickly, running his gaze over the clutter his parents had left behind.

"Nothing's wrong," you reassured him quickly, stepping back into his line of sight in the hopes of distracting him. "I just thought, you know, we could have a nice night. Like ... romantic?"

He stared at you for a moment. Then, his gaze lit, a toothy smile appearing. "Romantic, huh? Well hell, sweetie, why didn't ya say so?"

He clearly thought you meant sex. In fact, the way he was looking at you, you thought he'd jump you right up against the pool table if you let him. Your dysphoria made sex so unbearable that you'd been avoiding it when you could lately, and you were sure he missed it.

You were lucky he hadn't gotten mean yet. You guessed that was a testament to how much he must like you. But who knew if he'd like you after tonight?

Quickly, you shoved a beer into his hand, redirecting his attention as you slid onto the couch and clicked play. He slid into place beside you, relaxing back with his legs spread.

You both picked at your food—you because you were way too nervous to eat, and him because ... well, you assumed it was because he was waiting for you to initiate the "romance." He did eventually finish his meal, though, complimenting you with one of his "So good, baby"s and a boozy kiss.

The movie droned on, and eventually, he wrapped an arm around you. As he did, you relaxed, if only a little. You wanted to settle into him ... you wanted it more than anything in the world. You did love him. But who did he love? The woman he thought he was putting his arm around wasn't you.

"What's wrong?" His tone was firm and sudden after such a long stretch of silence.

You blinked at him. "Nothing."

He wasn't buying it, and he didn't look impressed. "There's no point in lyin'a me, darlin'. I know when somethin' ain't right." Then, with a little edge to his voice, "You know I get pissed when you brush me off."

"I'm just..." You sighed, setting your beer aside and rubbing your forehead. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Let's go to bed, then." In one fluid motion, he stood and turned off the TV. "Hope you're not too tired," he added quietly.

It was equal parts insult, warning, and come-on, and it exhausted you as much as it panicked you. You weren't ready to tell him just yet. You'd figured you still had a few hours, but ... well, if you pissed him off now, all this nice set-dressing had been for nothing. Then you'd either have to tell him while he was in a bad mood or spend another night as someone you weren't.

Biting back a sigh, you stood, too. He was waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, and let you go up first.

"Nice view from back here," he said smoothly. "Almost wanna tell you to start runnin'."

Shit. You needed an excuse to buy yourself a little time. "Can you shower first?"

You knew the question ticked him off because he didn't answer it. He followed you to your shared room, grabbed a towel, and left for the bathroom in heated silence.

The shower would make him feel better. It always did. He'd scald himself like he liked, then come out much calmer. Hopefully. You changed and took your place in bed, sitting under the blankets with your pillow propping you up. Waiting.

You were wrong about the calm. When he came back into the bedroom—red-skinned and completely naked, towel occupied in his hair—he was scowling at the floor. You waited for him to yell. It was inevitable.

When he did finally say something, his tone was quieter than you imagined, though simmering. "Why are you doin' this to me?"

You didn't respond, mostly because you had no idea which this he was talking about.

"Hurts my pride, y'know." He began toweling his body. Rather roughly, you noticed. "My girl don't wanna fuck me. You know how that feels as a man? You think I wanna have to— hurt you?"

A pause. "Bo..."

"Am I gonna have to get it somewhere else? Fuck, Deadname."

You shrank in bed. That name made you feel rotten to the core. It was like poison slowly choking your veins. You had to do this ... but you couldn't. But you had to.

Bo was unaware of the war going on inside of you as he turned, leaning against the dresser, arms back to clutch the edge. "Is it someone else?" You could tell he was murderous just thinking about that possibility, gaze aflame, jaw clenched so hard you thought he might break teeth. "Is it Vincent?"

"What? No!" Why he'd think that when you'd only ever expressed mild concern for Vincent's well-being, you had no idea. "There's no one else, Bo, I just—"

"Then what's a matter with you, huh?" He raised his voice. "Am I too rough, am I too— Jesus Christ, you gotta at least tell me what the damage is!"

Your conflicting emotions threatened to overwhelm you. You yelled back, "It's not you!"

"Then what the hell is it?!"

"It's me!"

He opened his mouth to shout back, but only managed, "What in the f—" before he lost steam, searching your face helplessly. Something about the way you looked must have given him pause. You meant what you said. Desperately, desperately. It was you. You were the problem.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low, glare pointed. "You been off all night. Hell"—one of those incredulous laughs that betrayed his genuine anger—"you been off for a while. Least you can do is tell me what the fuck is goin' on."

He was right. No turning back now. You took a deep, grounding breath. "Okay."

A moment of hesitation. Did you want him close or across the room like that, just in case? Eventually, you decided you needed him close. You patted the bed beside you.

Bo grabbed a pair of boxer-briefs, stepping into them on his way over. His expression was still twisted sourly, but you could sense him relax as he sat in bed next to you. He didn't meet your eye, simply looking down at the sheets. Beneath the anger, a begrudging expectation simmered. Did he think you were going to break things off?

That thought spurred you into taking his hand, squeezing lightly. "I love you so fucking much."

He glanced to the side. At length, he mumbled, "You, too."

You took another deep breath, trying to keep your voice from shaking. "There's something I haven't told you about me. And it's really been stressing me out lately. That's why I've been acting so weird." When he didn't reply, you continued, "It's been making it ... hard to be close to you. I don't like the way lying to you makes me feel, and I've been ... scared, so fucking scared, Bo."

He glanced at you again, brows drawn, this time with confusion rather than anger. "So what is it? What the hell can be so big an' important that you can't stand bein' around me?" A pause. "I mean shit, Deadname, you know I kill people for a livin'. My fucked up twin turns 'em into wax. You know about the fuckin' dungeon—what could be bigger'n that?"

That fucking name. You couldn't take it anymore. Your voice cracked as you whispered, "You need to stop calling me Deadname."

"What? Why?" He frowned deeply. "That's your name, ain't it?"

"It's not the name I want to be called."

You could almost hear the gears in his head turning as he tried to figure out what was going on. "Okay ... so it ain't your real name. Why you goin' around using a fake name?" His gaze turned flinty and cold. "You're a cop."

"No!" You held up your hands. "No, I didn't lie about who I was, not ... not in the way you're thinking. I was born with that name; everything I've told you about my life and where I came from, all those things were true. I never lied about any of that."

"Then what is it?" He was getting angry again. "Spit it out!"

Well, since he asked... "I don't want to use that name because ... it's a woman's name. And I'm not a woman. I'm a man."

Bo stared for a few seconds, then scanned you up and down once. His shoulders slumped, just slightly. "You were ... born a man? Then how come your name—"

"No, no." You pursed your lips, taking his hand hesitantly again. "I was ... I guess for simplicity's sake you could say I was born a girl. I was born with a vagina, I developed breasts and started my period naturally. But I'm not a girl. Like, in my head. In my brain, I'm actually a man."

He didn't believe you. You could see it in his face. But you weren't planning on giving up that easily. You knew what he'd be thinking; you'd planned this whole thing out so carefully, chosen your words so precisely.

"It's not ... a delusion or anything. It's actually more common than people think. It's called being transgender. When you're born one gender but you want to be another."

He frowned, obviously completely lost. He wasn't getting it. He just didn't fucking understand. And you were growing desperate.

"Bo." Your throat was raw, tears threatening your eyes. "Every time you call me your girl, or you refer to me as a woman, or you use that name ... I fucking hate it. It hurts. It hurts so goddamn bad to know you're not seeing the real me. It makes me not see the real me. I look in the mirror and I just want to ... tear my skin off. Sometimes I just wanna take a knife and— and fix me. Cut out whatever part of me makes it hurt so bad. I just want to be seen as who I am so bad."

"Okay." You didn't like the way he was looking at you, but the anguish in your voice had at least moved him to speak. You could see in his eyes that he was working overtime to puzzle this out. "So, what? What're you gonna do? What's it mean for us?"

"Well..." You had to break eye contact, staring down at his hand. "What I'd like to do is start living as a man. You know, dressing like a man—which I already pretty much do—going by a different name, maybe cutting my hair. You could call me 'he' ... I might even get medicine later on down the line, like hormones, to make me look squarer. Maybe even surgery."

"You gonna get a dick?" The almost mocking tone of his voice made you want to shrivel up and die. He seemed to pick up on the change in your body immediately and shifted his tone. "I'm askin'."

"No, that's not a thing. But I'm gonna be a man regardless." Finally, you released his hand, though you still couldn't look at him. "What that means for us is ... up to you, I guess. It'd mean you were dating a guy. I mean, you have been this whole time—"

"I didn't fucking know," he cut in firmly.

A jolt of fear lanced your heart. "I know. That's my fault; I didn't tell you. I was ... scared."

"Scared of what?" he pressed, tone growing aggressive.

"I don't know. Of you being mad. Or not loving me anymore." You glanced up. "I love you. Seriously, I do. More than anything. I still want to be with you, just ... as a man."

There was silence. A horrible, stretching, heavy silence that made you want to hang your head and cry. After a while, Bo rose from bed, going to the dresser and pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, all in that silence.

Was he ... leaving you? No, he wouldn't leave his own house, he'd make you leave. Or kill you. But he certainly wasn't opening his arms to you. Waves of sadness crashed over your chest, so intense you thought you'd throw up.

He seemed to contemplate the dresser for an extended period. Then, he glanced over his shoulder, just barely. "I need ta' think."

And with that, he was out the door. He didn't come back to bed that night. The next morning, you found his pillow on the couch.

***

Vincent was next on your list of people to tell. It turned out he was a big help, bigger than you could have ever realized he would be. You had to explain yourself, but he took it in stride, calling you by your new chosen name and even helping you come up with a sign for it.

« Did you tell Bo? » he eventually asked you.

"I told him last night." Your eyes were still puffy and red from your night alone, and the morning following it. You still hadn't seen him, but you could hear music blaring from the garage, so you at least knew where he was.

« How did he take it? »

"He isn't speaking to me."

Vincent paused. His wax face was blank as always, but you could tell he was considering something. « Did he yell? »

"No ... he just said he would think about it."

A low grunt, and Vincent nodded. « Then let him think. »

And he did think. He thought about it every night from then on. You could see him thinking during meal times, when you brought him lunch down at the shop, when he was watching TV. You noticed him zoning out in the middle of reading sometimes: paperback crunched and folded in one hand, other hand pressed to his grim mouth, those blue eyes glassy and staring at nothing. Thinking.

He hardly ever spoke to you outside of necessary communication. Before bed, he told you goodnight, but it was ... heavy. He didn't roll over to touch you or hold you anymore. The distance was yawning and heartbreaking, especially when you were alone. The silence was so pregnant with unsaid words and all his damn thoughts.

You wanted to ask if he was mad, but you didn't dare. He didn't seem mad, and you knew a thing or two about his moods. This seemed ... different. So you simply didn't say anything.

And then, one day...

"Hey, handsome."

His voice practically made you jump out of your skin. You, Vincent, and Bo—and sometimes Lester—divided who would have to go into the houses in Ambrose to dust and clean, and today was your day. He'd snuck up on you in the middle of oiling some of the rigs like he'd taught you.

"Uh. Hey." You managed a hasty smile, uncertain you'd actually heard him call you what you thought he had. "What're you doing here?" After a week of him barely speaking to you, it seemed odd that he'd start now.

Bo took a few steps in, looking away and reaching to fiddle with a knick-knack on a nearby side table. "Just thought I'd come check up on you. You are my, uh ... boyfriend, after all."

You stopped dead in the middle of spraying WD-40, staring over your shoulder. What?

When he felt you staring, he lifted his gaze. There was an uncertainty there, discomfort, along with a challenge. "What?"

"Nothing." You turned back to your work. After a few seconds, you added, "Thank you."

He didn't respond, but he eventually sidled up to you, surveying your work. "Not half bad. Yeah, you're doin' real good." He reached up to adjust his hat, and you could feel his gaze on you. "We'll make a man outta you yet."

You couldn't help it—your face burned. "Girls can maintain machinery, too, Bo."

"Yeah, I know that, but you—" An edge of irritation entered his voice. "Now you're just confusin' me."

You set down the WD-40 and turned, searching his face. By god, he really was trying, wasn't he? It was almost cute how bad he was at it, but he was trying. Vincent had been right.

"You never asked my name," you eventually muttered.

"Vincent told me it. Y/N." He said it again, rolling it around on his tongue. "Y/N ... in'erestin' choice. I guess it suits ya." A pause, and he lowered his voice. "Gonna take me some gettin' used to."

"That's okay," you said quickly. "As long as you're trying."

"Yeah, well..." Bo paused before reaching out, brushing his fingers through your hair. "Gonna miss all this."

You leaned into his hand. "I might not cut it. I haven't decided yet."

He grunted, continuing to brush his fingers through your hair. You could see his expression drift back to that thoughtfulness you'd gotten used to seeing. Eventually, he said, "Guess this makes me gay."

He sounded so begrudging and yet so decisive that you almost laughed in his face. Thankfully, you were able to bite back your reaction. "You don't have to be. You can be whatever you want. But ... if you stayed with me, it would mean you were attracted to at least one man, yeah."

"Fine." He pursed his lips, huffing through his nose. "Bi-sexual or whatever."

"You don't have to put a label on it right now. You've got time." You hesitated before taking his large hands in yours, bringing them to cup your jaw. "This ... you know ... it isn't something that has to happen overnight. I'm not asking that. It's a process for both of us ... a lot to get used to for both of us."

"Sure the hell is." He scoffed and shoved his hat up his forehead, scratching his hairline. "Now I want you to tell me somethin'. Why were you so damn scared of tellin' me?"

You took a breath. "I mean ... Bo."

"What?"

"I'm in the south ... alone, no family ... in a town where you could kill me if I pissed you off and no one would ever know." He made a face, but you pressed: "You know where I come from. Things are dangerous there, and things around here are even—"

"You think just 'cause you're in the country folks are gonna treat you different?" He sounded offended.

"Bo," you said again. "Let's not kid ourselves. How many guys do you know who would beat my ass if they found out? If they found out I liked other men, even."

"Couple assholes. But they ain't gonna bother you with me around. B'sides, plenty a' gays around here, like any other place ... they're just drillin' and weldin' and workin' the factories." He fixed you with a look. "Country don't mean stupid."

"Did you just quote The Stand?"

"No," he said hastily, taking his hat off and shoving it in the back pocket of his Dickies. "All I'm sayin' is ... I'm not some dumb animal."

Your shoulders sank, heart softening. "I know you're not, baby. But you have been known to, y'know, murder people. You can understand why I was scared, can't you?"

His mouth twitched, but reluctantly, he mumbled, "Yeah, I guess." A pause. "I can't promise I won't never hurt you, Deadn— Y/N. I know I can be real careless with my words on occasion. But I won't kill ya. Don' know if I could reconcile that shame. And, uh ... I love you."

Your heart swelled, and you leaned forward, hugging him tightly around the middle. It wasn't long until you felt his strong, warm arms enfold you in return, one hand tangling in your hair. His heartbeat was steady and comforting beneath your head, and the heat radiating from him relaxed every muscle in your body.

The two of you stayed that way for a while, hugging tightly while the TV droned in the background. Eventually, he shifted and spoke, his voice rumbling deliciously against you.

"Now if you don't mind," Bo started casually before dropping into a purr, "I'd like a kiss from my handsome lover."

You couldn't help but grin up at him. "You sure?"

"Lay it on me, big boy."

Maybe you were evil for loving him despite it all. Maybe you were complicit. Those weren't your judgments to make. But as you craned your neck to kiss him and euphoria exploded through your chest, you knew one thing for certain:

You were you.

***

Part Two

Masterlist

Tip Jar

[kstewdeux]

@inukagfluffweek

August 11, 2021 - Touch

Lewd

For the life of him, Inuyasha could not figure out why people were staring at them more than usual or, more unnervingly, why Miroku kept giving him some very uncomfortable glances filled to the brim with amusement. Per the norm when the things made him uneasy, Inuyasha had taken to sticking a little closer to Kagome than he traditionally would have in a clearly hostile village. Not because he couldn’t protect himself, okay? He was perfectly capable of protecting himself and had for over a hundred years. And, to be clear, being around her didn’t make him feel safe. Definitely didn’t need to feel safe when he could defeat these assholes with one hand behind his back. He absolutely did not need Kagome to protect him and she wouldn’t be able to do much on that front in any case. It was just that he felt a little more secure near her. Secure was not the same thing as safe. Not at all. He didn’t need her to feel safe. Just…a little more confident when he was admittedly a little anxious people were staring. At first, it actually wasn’t that bad but the stares just kept getting worse and so…

But he was not staying close because he was scared. He wasn’t scared of anything. Except, well, losing her so…so that was probably why he felt the need to stay close. So he could protect her if shit hit the fan. Knowing that she was safe made his chest less tight and his stomach stop churning. Sure as hell wasn’t because…

Letting out a controlled exhale, Inuyasha distractedly flicked at some crust that had somehow lodged itself in the corner of one eye before letting his hand drop again.

“What a beautiful public display,” Miroku hummed as he sidled up to his companions and gave Inuyasha a mischievous grin, “It’s almost heartwarming to see two young people so in love.”

For some unknown reason, Kagome choked as her heart started beating so fast from fear Inuyasha’s instincts nearly went into overdrive. Why the hell was the wench so terrified?

Glancing around, amber eyes widened at the realization that Kagome might be just as worried about the stares they’d been receiving. Maybe she was staying close to him for….similar reasons he’d been staying close to her.

“You need to shut up,” Inuyasha hissed quietly before lowering his volume more so as to not be overheard - somehow making the monk look even more amused, “This ain’t the place to say shit like that. The villagers have been watching me like a hawk.”

“I absolutely cannot imagine why,” Miroku snickered as he pointedly glanced down and set his jaw to keep his shit eating grin in check, “In any case, Sango is almost done buying provisions so why don’t we move on ahead, hm?”

“Fine by me,” Inuyasha huffed as he began walking forward only to realize - when the thing in his hand jerked once to keep him in place - exactly why people were staring. Amber eyes widened in mild horror as they darted to the hand clasped securely in his own which was attached to the miko herself.

When did they start holding hands? He sure as hell didn’t do that and yet his palm was slightly sweaty indicating he’d been holding her hand for some time now.

“We should wait for her,” Kagome chided nervously as she gave Inuyasha’s hand a light squeeze making butterflies erupt in his stomach, “It shouldn’t be much longer.”

Mentally going over their day, Inuyasha tried to pin point when exactly the hand-holding started. They’d been walking side by side most of the day but he…he didn’t remember…

She must’ve started it.

“Why are you holding my hand?” Inuyasha asked - even though he took no action to cease the contact.

Giving him a strange look, the miko gave him an answer he did not like.

“Because you kept putting your hand in mine?” Kagome replied slowly - her worried look morphing into an amused one, “Wait…”

Some flashed behind her eyes and the melting look on her face made his stomach churn.

“Aw, you didn’t…”

“No ‘aw’. There is no ‘aw’ here,” Inuyasha huffed as he pulled his hand back and tucked both hands into his sleeves, “You did this. Not me.”

The melting look increased and Kagome gave him an affectionate smile.

“Awww….”

“What did I say about no ‘aw’!” Inuyasha huffed desperately, “I didn’t start this.”

“Yes you did,” Kagome sing songed and much to Inuyasha utter shock, a nearby elderly human woman chuckled softly to herself while looking between the pair with something akin to strangerly affection. Which disturbed him as much if not more than whatever was happening with him and his wandering hand.

Breathing heavily, Inuyasha’s mind continued racing down every moment of this fateful day. Trying to find the moment or apparently moments where he’d been the one to instigate the offensive touch but no matter how hard he tried, he had no memory of it. None whatsoever. Every minute of that day had felt natural. Normal even.

“D-do I do shit like that a lot?” he finally asked - his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to keep his composure.

“No but I liked it,” Kagome admitted with a hum before taking a step closer and giving him a shy smile that had his ears pinning back against his head.

And then she did something that absolutely crashed his mind…

She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss on his cheek.

“You can hold my hand whenever you…”

“Are you insane?! You can’t just kiss me like that in strange villages,” Inuyasha hissed as his mind finally caught up - his hand desperately trying to wipe away the perceived sin. Kagome’s grin only made his anger and discomfort grow hotter.

“To be clear then, it’s okay if I do that in familiar places?” came her teasing retort and for a moment, Inuyasha was almost very, very stupid. He almost said something along of the line of forbidding kisses entirely. Something he most certainly did not want to forbid. Especially considering she was pretty much saying she’d give him kisses if he wanted them.

Blushing faintly, Inuyasha decided the best course of action was to react normally. Brush her off and declare her stupid…

Thankfully the old woman watching saw the incoming relationship bomb coming before it landed and for some unknown reason, felt inclined to defuse the explosive before it detonated.

“Be bold boy and say yes,” the elderly woman chuckled softly, “A girl like that won’t wait for you forever and the monk is right. Anyone with eyes can see you love her.”

“Stay outta this” Inuyasha snapped irritably - a reaction to which the old woman thankfully seemed amused by, “What makes you so bold?”

Miroku’s hand flew to the top of his head - hoping his friend didn’t just incur someone’s wrath and also…didn’t Inuyasha just say they shouldn’t draw attention to themselves? Was this just how he coped with fear and anxiety? Antagonize people? If so, how was Inuyasha still alive?!

“Well this was my husbands village and now it belongs to my son. Everything that happens here is my business,” the old woman hummed - giving the somewhat nervous trio a reassuring smile, “And seeing as how you’re in my village, what I say goes.”

“Crack pot,” Inuyasha huffed - earning a full blown facepalm from the miko - and the old woman, to her credit, simply smirked. Not at all afraid of the teenager even with all his fangs and demonic energy. Mostly because he was obviously domesticated and in the presence of equally powerful friends who could stop him from doing any real damage but also because this demon clearly had a good heart and therefore, she reasoned, wouldn’t harm her.

And while that was all mostly true, that didn’t mean Inuyasha wasn’t seriously considering punching her.

“Inuyasha, you need to be nicer to people.”

“Fine. Fine,” Inuyasha huffed as his blush deepened. Glancing at the old woman to make sure she wasn’t upset by what he’d said, Inuyasha turned his gaze back towards the miko who was clearly expecting him to apologize to the old woman. Which he wasn’t gunna do but he could fix one thing that probably needed fixing for a while now.

Squaring his shoulders, Inuyasha cleared his throat and…tried…

“It’d be annoying but if you…you want to kiss me sometimes, I won’t stop you.”

Kagome blinked once then twice.

“Come again?”

Quickly reaching over to push Miroku away face first before he could add in his two cents, Inuyasha tried to look like what he’d said wasn’t awkward as hell.

“I said if you want to kiss me, go ahead. Old bat was right,” Inuyasha hufffed before his eyes widened in horror at what he’d impulsively implied, “I mean, you already j-just do shit. I c-can’t really stop you.”

Kagome made a bemused face and wrinkled her nose at this bizarre admission. That was at least twice now that Inuyasha hadn’t shot someone down after they announced he loved her. Which was unusual and for someone as easily triggered as he was, that left her with a most wonderful conclusion.

One that he apparently realized she’d come to and so Inuyasha did what Inuyasha do.

He tried to protect himself. Poorly.

“I see that look. Don’t be stupid. I mean…yeah, she was right about…about the love part…I do, um, love you, ya know, as a friend. A good friend. And, um, sometimes friends they kiss I think.”

“Well if that is true I must inform San…”

With a soft groan at his own cringeworthy awkwardness, Inuyasha once again necessarily pressed his hand against the closer than usual monk’s face and gave it a light push. This was already nerve racking enough without the monk making it more weird on purpose. First he was holding his woman’s hand without realizing and now he’d all but admitted how he felt. Something he’d been denying himself because he didn’t want to force someone to walk beside him as he faced the constant pile of shit being thrown at him. Add to that he didn’t deserve to be happy when Kikyo was suffering and it was just…wrong to feel like he did.

What he wanted didn’t matter. It never mattered…

Kagome smiled and his stomach turned into pleasant knots.

Except it did. Hell did it ever. He couldn’t even go more than a day without this woman before he lost his fucking mind. What was he going to do if she knew and didn’t feel the same way? Or worse, what if a chance at a relationship ended badly?! If she left him, she’d take the only friends he’d ever had with her…

He’d be alone…

“Uh….huh…”

Panicking now, Inuyasha decided to rely on old faithful and go for an insult to force her back into friendship lane. This was getting into dangerous territory. She knew. Mainly because he told her but he…he could fix it.

“W-why are you so s-stupid, huh?” Inuyasha added a little desperately and much to his horror Kagome’s knowing smile only grew, “I’m just saying you just do shit and…I mean, what am I supposed to do, huh? You just throw yourself at…”

The old woman snickered at the scene and threw in her thoughts with a bemused laugh, “Please just kiss him young lady and put us all out of our misery. He talks far too much for his own good.”

“STAY OUTTA THIS YOU OLD…” Inuyasha began to bellow before whimpering softly when Kagome sealed his mouth with her own. Before he knew it, his arms were pulling her up and against him to give her the best access. It was beautiful and pure and everything he’d hoped a real kiss would be like. While she had done that before, this was the first time she’d done it for a reason other than saving his sorry ass. She’d done that only because she wanted to and that fact that she’d done it just because nearly brought a tear to his eye. Did she…did she love him back?

“You know,” Kagome panted lightly as she pulled back and nuzzled her man’s nose, “I love you too.”

Visibly wilting in relief, Inuyasha gave Kagome the most affectionate look anyone had ever seen on his face. A look that crumpled and turned to annoyance when Miroku made another comment about ‘public displays’.

The old woman simply rolled her eyes and continued on her way - mentally chuckling to herself about how the youth of today could be so foolish and how life was far too short.

A short distance away her middle aged son was watching his mother with a weary smile while the pair of mercenaries seemed to discuss something of great magnitude.

“That’s a dangerous thing you just did.”

“I did nothing but nudge those two down a path they were already on,” the old woman chuckled softly - reaching out to pat her son’s arm, “Love is love sweetheart. It’s one of those funny things in life that just is.”

For a long moment, the son watched the newly formed couple as they resumed holding hands before sighing and turning to follow his mother.

“I meant you meddle far too much” the son continued - glancing over his shoulder to make sure they went being overheard, “They’re mercenaries by trade. You saw their weapons. Probably fresh from some war and…”

“Mercenaries deserve love as well…”

The son let out a long exhale and rolled his eyes.

“Mother. That boy had claws…”

“Claws deserve love…”

The son stopped mid step and groaned that kind of exasperated groan only a child with an embarrassing parent would understand before glancing over his shoulder to watch the little band move on towards their next bounty. One day his mother was going to try to play matchmaker with the wrong two people…

But thankfully, it would seem she always managed to pick the right ones.

[peachywrite]

Unpleasant Pleasantries

Rohan Kishibe x JosukeSister!Reader

Trigger Warning: inappropriate stand use, mild suggestive themes

Rohan thought this to be the perfect opportunity to get back at that imbecile with the hair of a 60’s delinquent, but instead found something more fulfilling than revenge.

It was your first time meeting the famous mangaka, but Koichi insisted that you introduce yourself to the newly found stand user as a formality.

~

“It’s better to make friends than enemies, y/n! So please do this for me.” He begged, clasping his hands tightly together as he bowed.

“Koichi-chan, he ripped out pages from your face and tried to do the same to Okuyasu and Josuke. I don’t know if I trust this guy.” You sighed, nervous and even a little scared.

“It’ll be fine, when you tell him you’re related to Josuke, he won’t even think about trying anything!” Koichi’s eyes glistened, still silently begging you to go.

“Fine, but if I don’t show up back home in an hour, call Josuke please.” Koichi nodded enthusiastically, shouting thank yous while he ran off to find your brother.

~

Thanks to the written address Koichi had given you, it was easy to find the large Victorian mansion that belonged to the isolated artist.

“Come on, y/n. You can do this. Just a quick hello and you’re done.” You tried to psych yourself up, taking one last deep breath before approaching the walkway that led up to the door.

Knock Knock

You waited, your heart rate a bit too quick for your liking.

You could hear the steps on the other side slowly approaching and suddenly stopping, only to find the door creak by.

“Now who would be disrupting the Great Rohan Kishibe?” The man spoke in a sinister tone, swinging the door open.

Rohan Kishibe looked nothing like how you expected him to. He was built slim but still toned, his green hair neatly styled and face slim and sharp with a cute dolphin bandage placed on the bridge of his nose. His green eyes stared at you intently, as if he was trying to analyze your face as well.

“I-I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. My friend Koichi wanted me to introduce myself. I’m Y/N Higashikata. I’m a stand user and I go to school with the rest of the boys.” You stammer out, guilt hitting you for interrupting the presumably busy manga artist.

The man eyed you with a devilish smirk, clapping his hands together like he had discovered something amusing.

“You’re Josuke’s little sister! Oh how fun! You know, you’re too cute to be related to that boy. Now please come in, I’ll make you some tea and we can talk.”

“I’m actually the same age as him, and I’d love to join you but I got... study plans with K-Koichi!” You tried to avoid his stare but as he made eye contact, you knew you had lost.

“Nonsense! I’ll give him a call and let him know you’ll be studying with me, now please come in already.” His smile grew while he pulled you into his abode by your wrists.

The house was lightly decorated with manga related memorabilia on the wood carved shelves and many original panels from famous mangas hung framed on the soft toned walls, but the home still held a grand Victorian feeling to it.

Your original unease disappeared as you took in the grandeur of the mansion and the interesting items that adorned it so carefully. Rohan smirked at the curiosity in your eyes and the quick movements they made while you focused on specific areas of his home.

“Would you like a personal tour of the property before we study? I will warn you though, not all the rooms have been styled by yours truly yet. It’s a work in progress at the moment.” The smile he bared had you suspicious again, but you didn’t want to be rude to the owner of such a magnificent estate.

“As much as I would love to, your home is absolutely stunning, I sadly only have an hour to study. My mom would kill me if I got home late again.” A hefty sigh escaped your lips and you gave him your best upset expression you could muster.

You hoped he wouldn’t key in on your lying, remembering the warning Koichi had given you about his ability to discern genuine emotions from fake ones.

The mangaka squinted his eyes for a moment, causing your heartbeat to speed up substantially, but his face returned to its usual smile that you swore held a bit of deviousness underneath.

“Oh! it’s alright, dear. I understand. I’ll save it for your next visit. Let’s get to your work now, follow me to the kitchen. I’ll prepare us something and you can take a seat by the window.” He gently took your hand, guiding you to the kitchen and carefully pulling out a seat for you at his dining room table.

A beautiful bouquet set in a hand sculpted vase caught your interest on the table as Rohan busied himself with brewing a fresh pot of tea. The flowers were bright in color compared to the muted ones of the vase, but the contrast made both appear unique and appealing to the eye.

“I see you even appreciate the smaller details of a home. Though I am a mangaka, I do dabble in other forms of artistic expression. Take pottery for example, I glazed this vase in a muted color pallet so it could stand out on its own when beautifully bright flowers were placed in it. The two compliment each other nicely, don’t they?” He set down two tea cups and began to pour.

“Yes! And I especially love the bright purples in the lillies you picked here.” You gently touched a petal, Rohan now lightly tapping his cheek, pulling out a chair for himself to sit right beside you.

His closeness and unwavering gaze brought a heaviness to your chest, making you stumble over your words.

“Um-m thank you for treating me so well and letting me study in your home, Rohan-sensei.” You began to unpack your notes and textbook, Rohan scooting closer to analyze what you had written.

“No need to thank me, my dear. Now let’s get to your studies. What is it you need to work on today?” The smile he shares with you is comforting, but you can’t help but feel like he was plotting something.

You set your pencil bag down and prepare your notebook, trying to make yourself busy by setting up.

“Biology. I’ve only just recently started going to school in person, but I tested well enough to be placed in the highest class. Today we’re supposed to label all the organs in this frog drawing.” Your tone comes off as annoyed and Rohan picks up on it, tilting his head to the side while he reads your frog diagram.

“You aren’t a fan of biology? I’ve got a few anatomy sketches of animals you could use instead of this photocopied worksheet. Maybe that will help peak your interest?” He stands and saunters out to find his sketches, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

When Rohan returns, the two of you work on your Biology homework for about an hour, finishing the entire pot of tea in the process. You found out that Rohan was quite skilled at anatomy, having an entire sketchbook dedicated to the anatomy of many living things, including the likes of frogs and flowers. He was extremely helpful and fun to talk with.

As you packed up your bag, Rohan remained seated in his chair, playing with one of the lilies from the bouquet. You weren’t sure if you should head towards the door and leave Rohan or wait for him to stand and lead you out. You were about to speak when the mangaka interrupted with a swish of his pen in your direction.

“Heaven’s Door.”

You felt a sharp shove of air to your midsection, sending you onto the floor. Every movement you attempted was futile as the grinning artist looked down at you. A deep chuckle haunted you while he leaned in closer to your face. His hands gently caressed your cheek, opening it up like a book.

“I’m sorry, y/n. You’re interesting and I’d love to learn more about you, but I’m impatient. It’ll be far easier for me to just read you. Don’t fret, my dear. I’ll make sure you don’t remember this.” He flipped through your pages, ignoring the tears that ran down onto the very paper he was trying to read.

“Now let’s just read the juicy bits today. You were hospitalized along with your brother when you were only four, a strange parasite made up of Dio’s cells attacked your immune system at age twelve and had you bedridden until fairly recently.” The curiosity he held for your story excited him, the pen he held in one hand quickly wrote onto the notepad he placed on the floor beside your head.

You felt like sinking into yourself, ignoring his quips and teases as the embarrassment of the mangaka reading your thoughts and feelings enveloped you. It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be this way? He was so kind before and just like a flick of a switch, he changed.

“Oh, now how did you escape that? Here we are, thanks to Mr.Joestar’s Hamon lessons, you not only came back from your illness, but gained a proper stand and the ability to wield Hamon just like your father and great grandfather! Wait, what’s this new paragraph about?” He squinted closely, reading your page out loud again.

“I have to visit Rohan Kishibe today because Koichi told me to. He practically begged. Even though I’m scared, Koichi gave me his word that nothing bad would happen. Rohan Kishibe looks very different from what I imagined a mangaka to look. Well, what did you expect me to look like?” His smirk grows as he continues on.

“Ah, another new bit is here! Rohan Kishibe is very good at anatomy, he’s been kind and helpful, I’d like to get to know him better. I think Josuke was just overreacting when he called Rohan Kishibe pure evil. I could see us being friends.”

His smile disappears skimming the next sentence, his usual tone of voice changed as he starts to read. He sounded upset, hurt even.

You were the one being wronged here! Why would he get upset? He doesn’t have the right.

“Josuke was right. Rohan Kishibe is not nice, he is terribly mean. He’s using me for his entertainment. He doesn’t care. Rohan Kishibe is not kind, he is not helpful, he is cruel, I don’t want to get to know him. I want to forget him.”

“I hate Rohan Kishibe. I hope to never see him again.”

Rohan paused, looking away from your pages, trying to focus on anything else for the moment.

“W-well, I’ll just fix this last paragraph and erase it from your mind. You’re being dramatic, I’m not as terrible as you describe me.” Chuckling to himself, he tries to laugh off his obvious pain and attempts to regain his composure.

“No! I won’t let you erase my emotions!” You shouted, a wave of Hamon spreading through his arm as his pen touched your page, his attempt to rewrite your memory foiled.

The mangaka was sent flying back, his right arm dropping the pen and your face finally shutting closed, returning your ability to move. Although you were upset at the betrayal of trust you gave the man, you felt a twinge of guilt in your heart when you spotted his still form draped across the wood floor, cradling the arm you had burned with your Hamon.

Running to his side, all thoughts of malice left your body while you attempted to get a better look at his injury. His arm was still intact thankfully, but it was badly burned and needed to be set correctly and quickly if he ever wanted it to heal properly. You took a deep breath and turned Rohan over to see if he was still conscious.

“Oh god, Rohan I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Your eyes fill with tears again as you see the artist weakly rest himself against the wall, still holding his arm close to his chest.

“No, no it’s alright. I brought this on myself. I accept that.” He grimaced, trying to take a peek at his injuries but too frightened to actually check.

“You read my thoughts and history, it wasn’t right but you didn’t physically hurt me. I don’t know how that happened, but I promise you I’ll fix it.” You swore to the manga writer, now searching through your backpack.

When you found your pair of scissors, you went into full first aid mode, removing the sleeve from his right arm by carefully cutting the loose cloth off. After tossing the short sleeve to the side, you cut the bottom of the skirt you were wearing off into a long bandage-like shape of clothing and ran it under the cold tap water from the kitchen sink, returning to the injured Rohan.

“I’m going to wrap your arm with this, it won’t be painful if you let me use my stand, but I’m going to ask you first before I use her on you.” The man nodded, accepting your offer to erase the pain.

“Under Pressure. She’s a stand that has the ability to manipulate emotions. She can change them within a radius or focus on only one individual. When she focuses on a single person, she is only able to change their emotion to the opposite of what is being felt.” You began to wrap his arm, nervous about what he might feel when you placed the wet fabric loosely around it.

All Rohan could do was bite back his lip to avoid making any embarrassing sounds. Instead of the immeasurable pain he imagined to come with dressing a freshly burned wound, he felt a wave of euphoria. He now understood what you meant by the “opposite” emotion would be felt.

The artist never knew wrapping his burned arm would feel so good, every touch caused his breath to hitch in his throat and his eyes to water. It confused him, even though he understood that the opposite of pain was pleasure, it still startled him every time you did one more pass of the homemade bandage.

He tried his hardest not to be flustered, but when you finished off his arm by tieing the last bit with a knot, he let a small whimper escape his lips. His hand shot up to cover his face, it’s hue now a bright crimson.

Your cheeks turned bright pink as well. You turned away swiftly, to avoid eye contact.

“U-Um just stay put. I’m gonna borrow your phone for a second and let you catch your breath.” Scratching the side of your cheek, you stand up and make a b-line for the phone, dialing your home and hoping that Josuke would pick up. You glanced at the clock set on the wall, it read 8:15.

I’m late.

As soon as the phone line rang once, you spotted the front door to Rohan’s manor fly across the main hall. Peeking your head out from the kitchen, you see a furious Josuke with Koichi in pursuit.

“ROHAN-SENSEI! WHERE IS MY SISTER YOU CREEP?! SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HOME 15 MINUTES AGO!” He yells out, his voice echoing throughout the home.

“Josuke! I’m here! I was just about to call you. Listen, I messed up bad and hurt Rohan. He’s in the kitchen bandaged up but I need you to heal him all the way.” You run to Josuke, giving him a tight hug while trying not to cry from the stress of the situation.

Josuke squeezes you once and let’s you go, looking you over from head to toe so he could make sure you weren’t injured as well. When he spots your torn skirt, his aura radiates a dark malice you’d never seen him show before.

“Wait Josuke! I did this to myself, we didn’t have bandages so I cut some cloth.”

He looks you over again and sighs heavily, the purple hue that was full of rage, leaving him.

“Ok, fine. Where’s that jerk? I’ll fix him up real quick so we can go home.” He grumbled, following you into the kitchen.

Even though Rohan wanted to refuse any treatment from Josuke, he finally accepted the help when you threatened to cry on the spot. His arm had returned to its previous state, unburned and fully functional, thanks to Josuke and Shining Diamond.

Josuke picked up your backpack and held the now fixed front door open for you, while Rohan stood and waved goodbye. You awkwardly returned the wave and made your way back home, your thoughts chaotic and confused.

On the one hand you felt guilty for putting Rohan through such an immense amount of pain, but you were also upset at the humiliation he put you through by reading your life with Heaven’s Door. These thoughts plagued your mind as you laid your head to rest for the night.

~

It was roughly two in the afternoon when Rohan Kishibe knocked on your front door. A short but older woman answered, complaining about the loudness of the knocks when she looked over the artist.

“Oh, my apologies. You’re that Rohan Kishibe my kids talk about. How may I help you, Mr. Kishibe?” She asked with a warm tone to her voice, leaning against her door frame and smiling up at him.

“Is y/n in? I’d like to deliver this to her personally.” He spoke softly, shaking the box he held in his hands.

Your mother couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. He appeared to be anxious and uncomfortable, most likely it was his first time gifting something like this.

“She’s not home yet, but give her five minutes. Why don’t you come in? You can wait for her up in her room, just don’t go raiding her drawers or anything.” She joked, Rohan’s cheeks turning vivid scarlet.

“I’m only pulling your leg, sweety. I know you’re better than that. Now come on! Have a seat at her desk and I’ll bring you up some lemonade.” Rohan followed her inside.

When they reached your room, Mrs.Higashikata opened the door and waved her hand to your desk seat.

“Pull up that chair there and I’ll be back with some refreshments.” Her smile gleamed at him. She walked off to the kitchen, leaving the artist alone in your room.

Rohan browsed around your room, taking in the personality that was apparent by the many bits of decor that gave your little private space a peculiar style. Your walls held photos printed on Polaroid film, sketches presumably drawn by you, and posters of your favorite video games and shows.

When he glanced around your room, he was immediately caught off guard when he spotted two volumes of his very own manga, propped up and on display in your bookcase. To say he was flattered was an understatement, he was completely floored. You were a fan of his?

His heart was heavy all of a sudden, he felt a dreadful pain in his chest while he held the book in his hands. He turned his head toward the doorway when he heard your voice greet your mother. To regain himself, he quickly skimmed through the pages of the manga he was holding, hearing your distant conversation come to an end.

You entered the room. Dropping your bag at the corner of the closet, your eyes never leaving Rohan while you take a seat on your bed. The mangaka gently placed your copy of Pink Dark Boy back in its original position, turning around now to face you.

“I’d like to humbly apologize for my abhorrent behavior and actions yesterday. I was terrible. I know it might be asking too much of you, but I brought you this as a peace offering. I want us to start over. I’d like to get to know you the right way.” He passes you the box he was carrying with him, nudging you to open it.

Casually unknotting the bow and removing the lid from the bottom, you slowly lift what appears to be a white sundress out of the box. It was beautifully made and looked to be just your size.

“I know it’s not the skirt you tore, but I felt like you deserved something a little more unique.” He averts your gaze quickly when you attempt to gauge his reaction.

The mangaka appears to be flustered, apparently not very used to apologizing. His eyes held a fear of rejection but also a glimmer of hope. A breath you never knew you were holding was released with a quiet hum.

“It’s beautiful, thank you, but do know that buying me things isn’t going to repair my trust in you. We can at the very least start over though.”

Rohan smiled to himself, thankful for your empathetic nature, and nodded a quick yes.

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, how about we take that dress and enjoy some tea at the cafe? My treat.”

[fruitcoops]

Hi!! So I was listening to paper rings by Taylor Swift today and the lyric 'I like shiny things but I'd marry you with paper rings' made me think of coops and o'knutzy. Could you write a prompt about this?! <3

This song is so perfect for Coops and it’s the best way to start of the long-awaited wedding series! Yay! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Combined with:

1. Domestic Coops

2. Remus making fun of Sirius’ initials

3. Sirius trying to make Remus moan while he’s on the phone with his folks

4. From @colored-rain: Taking Hattie to the vet

TW for mild smutty content, taking a pet to the vet, and the inherent stress of wedding planning

I: Six Weeks Before the Wedding

“Where are we even going to do this?” Sirius asked, running a hand through his hair.

Remus shook his head silently, pressing his forehead into the wooden edge of the table. “What if we elope?”

“Celeste would skin us both.”

“True. Oh, god, my dad would cry if we did that.” Remus slid down in his seat and stared up with sad eyes. “Can’t we just be married already?”

“I could get tinfoil from the kitchen and just…” Sirius mimed wrapping it around his ring finger and Remus snorted.

“Baby, I would marry you with paper rings, but I think we want them to last.”

“You like shiny things!”

“I do, that doesn’t mean I want tinfoil on my hand for the rest of my life,” Remus laughed, pulling him in for a quick kiss. “Alright, let’s go through our list again. We agreed on small, right?”

“Just the team and families. We still want it to be outside?”

“Yep.” Remus checked off two boxes on the piece of paper they had been grappling with for the past four days. “Rings have already been ordered?”

“I’m doing that this afternoon. What kind of cake do we want?”

“Uhhh…an edible one?” Remus shrugged. “I don’t have a huge preference. Chocolate is really good but all the ones from the store are spongy.”

“Wow, an edible cake, so original,” Sirius teased. “We can ask Celeste what she thinks.”

“Good plan.” He paused for a moment. “Where outside will we do it? We need an actual venue. I think people would be upset if we just had a wedding in a public park.”

“The media would be all over it, too.” Sirius scrunched his nose up in thought just as their timer went off and both sighed as they headed for the door. “It’s going to be hard to focus on practice when we know next to nothing about the wedding we’ve been planning for over six months.”

“We’re disasters.”

II: Four Weeks Before the Wedding

“We’re not putting that on the cards.”

“Why not?” Sirius frowned and looked down at the mock-up invitation. “It’s our initials. It’s cute.”

Remus blinked at him. “Sirius. Your initials.”

“Do you not want my initials on our joint wedding invitation?”

“I would love to have your initials on our joint wedding invitation, except for the part where it’s the same acronym as ‘son of a bitch’.”

Sirius paused, then groaned and put his hands over his face. “Fuck, I forgot about that.”

“You forgot your own initials?”

“I forgot the son of a bitch thing!”

“Okay, I clearly don’t tease you enough for that,” Remus snickered, wrapping an arm around his waist to kiss his cheek. “Alright, attempt number eight is a bust.”

III: Three Weeks Before the Wedding

Sirius ran his fingers gently through Remus’ hair, feeling him shift in the darkness. “What’s on your mind, mon amour?”

“Are we changing our last names?”

“Did we…not discuss that?” Sirius wracked his brain, but it was so exhausted from wedding topics that he came up empty.

“I don’t think so.” Remus scooted around so he was on his side, facing Sirius. “Both our names are super connected to our jobs. Plus, Lupin-Black might be a little long for jerseys.”

“I’d rather not go through the whole name-change process.” There was a beat of quiet. “Though I do like the sound of Sirius Lupin.”

Remus’ breath audibly caught and he leaned closer to Sirius, nuzzling against his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

IV: Eighteen Days Before the Wedding

Remus’ back hit the mattress with a soft bounce that was quickly stilled by Sirius’ weight pressing him down by the hips, his mouth skimming along all the right places on Remus’ neck. “Yes,” he hissed as Sirius ground down, their bare chests bumping together. He dipped his hands beneath the waistband of Sirius’ sweats and he shivered, nipping the hinge of his jaw.

“Wait,” Sirius gasped, pulling back to straddle Remus’ waist.

“What? Is this a flamingo moment?” Remus panted, still buzzing with arousal.

“Did we invite your parents to the wedding?”

Remus stared at him in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“I don’t think we did.”

“Sirius, you are literally about to—holy fuck, did we invite my parents?”

“I don’t know!”

Remus groaned and let his head fall back against the pillows before tapping Sirius’ hip and swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and dialed his mother’s number, taking a few deep breaths to collect himself as it rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom, how’s it going?”

“Oh, it’s going fine out here. How’s wedding planning?” Hope asked. Remus could hear her smiling.

“That’s what I’m calling about, actually. Did you—” He bit his lip as Sirius’ fingertips trailed up his thigh. “Uh, did you get an invitation?”

Hope was silent for a moment, save for a few rustling sounds. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think so. Lyall! Honey, did Re send us a wedding invitation?” There was a low humming noise as his father responded. “He says we didn’t get one.”

Remus winced. “Sorry about that. I can text you the details, if you want.”

“Will you mail one as well? I want to put it in our memory box.”

Sirius’ hand slid further along Remus’ leg, growing closer to his inner thigh by the second and doing nothing to quell his frayed nerves. “Yeah—yeah, mom, we totally can.”

“Are you alright? You sound a bit out of breath.”

“Hattie was running around and being a little crazy.” Remus covered the speaker with his hand and turned to glare at Sirius, who grinned and kissed his cheekbone.

“Okay,” Hope sounded skeptical. “So you’re not getting sick or anything?”

“Nope. Healthy as a horse.” The last word came out a little breathless as Sirius licked a stripe up his neck and bit down on the junction to his shoulder, making Remus’ eyes flutter closed. He smacked Sirius’ hand halfheartedly and felt him grin.

“How’s Sirius doing?”

“Fine, he’s fine. We’re a little stressed with the wedding planning and everything, but things are good here.” Really good, he thought as the heel of Sirius’ hand pressed down just next to his dick. He swallowed down a moan and squeezed his eyes shut. “Alright, I’ll text the details to you this afternoon love you mom bye.”

“Love you t—”

A millisecond after the call ended, Remus slammed his phone into the nightstand and pushed Sirius into the sheets, bracketing his face with his elbows. “What the fuck was that?”

“I’m just keeping things interesting.” Sirius tugged his lower lip between his teeth and smirked, which really left Remus with only one option: kissing him senseless until he couldn’t even remember his own name.

V: Three Days Before the Wedding

Sirius’ leg bounced up and down nervously and he gripped Remus’ hand as they waited in the lobby of the vet’s office. “She’ll be okay.” His voice was noticeably higher than usual and he cleared his throat. “She’ll be fine. It’s just a cough.” A cough that’s been going on for four and a half days.

Remus hummed his agreement, though he hadn’t stopped twisting Hattie’s leash in his hands since they arrived. “Just a cough. Probably a cold, or—or something like that.”

The doors ahead opened and both of them stood as Hattie trotted out next to the vet tech, who looked rather amused. “What’s wrong with her?” Sirius asked, scanning her for any signs of illness. “Is she alright?”

“She is a very talented actress,” the vet said, rubbing Hattie behind the ears. She whined pitifully and cuddled into Sirius’ side. “Have you two been busy lately?”

“We’re planning for our wedding.” Remus looked as confused as Sirius felt. “Why?”

“Because Miss Hattie here is one of the healthiest, snuggliest dogs I’ve ever seen.”

“But she was coughing.”

“She was faking.” The vet knelt next to her and petted down her back, raising an eyebrow. “Weren’t you, munchkin?”

“Hattie!” Sirius exclaimed, torn between relief and shock. “You little monster!”

Remus frowned and tapped her forehead lightly as he slid her leash on over her head. “We were so worried about you! Why would you do that?”

“She’s probably been sulking because you’re busy with wedding stuff,” the vet said with a smile. “Quite the drama queen you’ve got there.”

“Tell me about it,” Sirius huffed as he kissed her head. “Don’t ever do that again, young lady. You’re in big trouble when we get home.”

“Thank you for your help,” Remus said, shaking the vet’s hand. “We really appreciate it and we’re so sorry for wasting your time.”

“Are you kidding? She was the best part of my day,” he laughed. “All the other techs can’t stop talking about Hattie cuddles now. Have a good one, you three.”

+1: The Lions, the Media, and the Locker Room

Word spread like wildfire in media circles, and the rumor mill had never worked harder once news of the Black-Lupin wedding came out.

Naturally, the Lions decided to have a little fun with it.

“Pots! Pots, what can you tell us about Black and Lupin’s wedding?” Four different microphones were shoved into his personal space, but James put on his best confused face.

“What wedding?”

A wave of murmuring spread through the reporters. “So you weren’t invited to Sirius Black and Remus Lupin’s wedding?”

“There’s a wedding?”

Across the room, two other interviewers mobbed Thomas Walker in his stall. “Talker, do you know anything about Black and Lupin’s wedding?”

“Who?” he asked with a perfect act of innocence.

“Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.”

He bit his lip. “I don’t think I know them, sorry. Are they fans?”

“Talkie!” Remus tossed him a towel from the adjacent stall, and he caught it with a grin.

“Heads up, Loops!” Talker threw it right back and headed toward the ice baths with a wink to the cameras. “Good chat, guys.”

One of the interviewers muttered under their breath and hurried over to Pascal, who was still unlacing his skates. “Dumo, when is the wedding between Sirius Black and Remus Lupin?”

Dumo frowned. “Quoi?”

“The wedding. You were invited, yes?”

“Desole, je ne parle pas l’anglais,” he said regretfully. “C’est un…wedding?”

“Yes, the wedding between your teammates.”

“These words, I don’t know them.” His French accent was almost comically thick as he shook his head. “Desole.”

Out of view of the cameras, Sirius gave him a thumbs-up and reached over to high-five Pots.

[hrina]

In The Ring, Pt. I - Jab

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 4k REQUESTED: not exactly lol

hey everyone! this is PART 1 of the boxer!harry AU i’ve been working on. i was so inspired by this concept that i wrote it all in one day lol. if u enjoy reading it, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated! it really helps in terms of motivation and just knowing how my readers feel about this story in general. so yeah, that would really make my month!

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, go stupid go dumb! my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio, for anyone who would like to check out my other fics or who feels like chatting. can’t wait to hear your thoughts 💘💘💘

~*~

    January 7, 2021

All of Harry’s teeth are still intact.

For now, at least.

He knows that mouthguards exist—there’s one tucked between his lips every single time he enters the ring. But even then…sometimes punches go awry. Sometimes your opponent dodges at the last second. Sometimes people end up with a mouthful of leather and a few loose incisors. He always keeps one fist near his chin, shielding the lower half of his face from any blows that come his way.

Speaking of blows coming his way…

He ducks away from the straight jab that the man throws—The Wall, they call him. Harry had rolled his eyes when the nickname boomed across the room, soon lost in the roar of the crowd.

He’s never been one for flashy introductions. He prefers to let his technique speak for itself. His brand is his name. Harry Styles. Simple, concise, and so utterly deceiving. He loves watching the smile melt from his opponent’s face, basks in the moment when they realise that he’s tougher than his name suggests.

The Wall jabs again, and Harry successfully dodges the punch. He doesn’t register the other fist hooking around, however, until the blunt front of the man’s glove makes contact with the side of his head. Usually, a blow like that wouldn’t even faze him. But the sheer force behind the hit knocks him off-balance, stumbling to the side as he loses his footing and inhaling sharply when his shoulder collides with the ground.

The yells from the crowd are deafening. Harry coughs, trying to guide air back into his lungs. When he blinks, black spots dance across his vision. Subconsciously, his eyes trace a path upward, past the floor, past his opponent’s feet, past the ropes encompassing the ring. Higher and higher, still, past jeering faces and sloshing beer bottles and grungy eye makeup. All the way to the top of the bleachers, to the exit—to you.

That’s been your unofficial spot for the past two years. Once you turned twenty, your father finally gave in, allowing you to attend Harry’s matches in exchange for the cessation of your endless badgering. You always stand near the door, observing the commotion with thoughtful eyes and puckered lips. Despite himself, Harry has started to think of you as his lucky charm. It’s dangerous—he always swore that he wouldn’t be one of those overly-superstitious athletes—but he can’t help it. He just seems to perform better when you’re around.

Through the rocky field of his vision, he can see just how wide your eyes have grown. There’s an unmistakable look of concern on your face as you watch the fight unfold. Your hand finds its way to the base of your throat, playing nervously with the rose-gold pendant resting there. You crane your neck to get a better view of the ring, your pupils flitting back and forth between Harry and the frighteningly large man looming over him.

A warm rush of adrenaline floods Harry’s veins. The saliva that has gathered in his mouth tastes stale on his tongue. He spits it out as he staggers to his feet. The crowd grows louder, somehow.

The Wall’s smile shrinks as Harry assumes his previous position; his hands orient themselves in front of his face. His opponent gnashes his teeth, seemingly annoyed with the fact that the match has not ended. Harry shakes off the dizziness clouding his brain, and then he’s lunging forward with a newfound sense of determination. He throws punch after punch, sidestepping The Wall’s returning attempts. All he can think about is the fact that you’re up there, watching, waiting, worrying. He never wants to see you like that again.

You’re his goddamn lucky charm.

His victory comes in the form of an uppercut followed immediately by a nasty right hook. The Wall—this big, towering man with bulging biceps and rippling pectorals—crumples to the ground. Harry waits, his chest heaving with exertion as the countdown begins. He’s prepared to watch his opponent rise again, to shift back into a fighting stance and start over. But as the seconds trickle by and The Wall remains motionless on the ground, he soon finds the tension in his body seeping out into the hot, sticky air.

His shoulders sag in relief as a single promising word echoes through the grimy arena.

“Knockout!”

~*~

The crowd thins out considerably in the ten minutes following the termination of the match. Harry stumbles out of the ring, sliding through the ropes and pulling his mouthguard from between his lips. Your father is waiting for him with a smile on his face, holding out an arm and helping him jump down from the raised platform.

“Well done, H,” he says, patting his back proudly.

Harry pants and nods. Your father holds out a reusable water bottle for him to take—he accepts it graciously and gulps down the cold liquid with fat, greedy slurps. Once he pulls the nozzle away from his mouth, he runs the back of his hand over his face to catch any stray droplets that have collected on his chin.

“Thanks, Coach.”

“You took a pretty hard fall, there,” your father says, guiding him to sit down on a bench propped up against the wall. “Medic’s in the back. He’s checking out Aaron right now, but you’re next.” He taps his index finger against Harry’s temple. “We’ve got to make sure everything’s alright up there.”

Harry sucks in a deep breath, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Who the fuck is Aaron?”

“Oh.” Your father laughs. “Aaron. The Wall. Whatever you want to call him.”

Harry frowns. “Don’t like that. Makes him sound like a dick.”

A new voice enters the conversation.

“That’s because he is.”

Harry’s head snaps to the side, and there you are.

You look nice, as usual. There’s something about you that he can never seem to properly describe. You always look so…clean. If he tried to vocalize his thoughts, he’s sure that you would look at him like he was crazy.

But in his head, it makes sense. You take care of yourself. Your nails are spotless, your hair smells good, and he knows that you must dab spritzes of perfume onto your pulse points before you leave the house, because a fresh scent follows you wherever you go. Even now, as you stand a few feet away with your hands on your hips, he catches it on a deep inhale. Not flowery, not fruity, just…clean. Refreshing. Light. Breezy.

Your father snaps him out of his reverie, and he realises that he should probably stop listing every word in the thesaurus.

“How do you know?” Your father’s inquiry is curious. He shoots you a puzzled look, his mouth curling down into a soft scowl.

You roll your eyes. “Called me ‘sweet thing’ before the match started and asked me if I was the prize,” you say, sticking your tongue out in disdain. “I told him to go fuck himself.”

Harry’s lips twitch.

Your father chuckles. “That’s my girl.”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “What time are we leaving?” you ask. The question is directed at your father, who is fiddling with the drawstrings hanging from his sweater. “I was hoping to study a bit more before bed.”

“Soon, gioia,” your father says. “As soon as Harry gets checked out, we’ll be on our way.”

You nod, and—for what feels like the first time since you cut into the interaction—you glance down at Harry. “Hi,” you say softly, shooting him a small, friendly smile.

He meets your gaze for only a moment. Everything about you is so gentle. Your irises are like melted pots of honey, regarding him with such warmth he feels like he’ll never be cold again. “Hi.”

“Congratulations on your win,” you murmur. Harry wants to bottle your voice and save it as a keepsake. “You made a great comeback.”

Because of you, he wants to say, but he bites his tongue. “Thank you,” he offers up instead, the words scraping against the roof of his mouth and tumbling unceremoniously into the air between you.

A moment of silence ensues as you wait for him to say something—anything—else. But he’s done. You nod once before turning back to your father, who is tweaking the settings of the watch wrapped around his wrist.

“Do you know where the washrooms are?” you ask. You toy absentmindedly with the necklace hanging from your throat. “I need to pee.”

“You can use the one in the women’s locker room,” your father tells you, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “Around the corner, first door on the left.”

“Thanks,” you say, slipping by and pressing a quick peck to his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

He just nods in agreement, still too preoccupied with his watch.

Harry, on the other hand, can’t keep his eyes off of you as you walk away. He takes note of the way that you tuck your hair behind your ear, how you shoulder the strap of your purse to keep it from slipping down your arm, how you walk with a purpose despite being so moderate and kind. His gaze falls momentarily to the sway of your hips, the enticing nature of your waist. He stares for a long moment before tearing away, clearing his throat and blinking a few times in quick succession.

“Proud of you, H,” your father pipes up, tapping the face of his watch twice before dropping his arm with a sigh. “You did well out there.”

“Thanks,” Harry mutters. A spark of guilt flares up in his chest when he realises that he had been blatantly ogling you with your father standing only a few feet off to the side. He silently berates himself, shaking his head free of any alluring thoughts.

Your father’s phone chirps with the arrival of a new notification. He fishes the device out of his pocket and glances down at the screen.

“Let’s go,” he tells Harry, jerking his head to the right. “Medic’s ready for you, now.”

    January 13, 2021

“C’mon, H, be smart with it! Watch how he angles himself!”

And Harry’s trying, really, but Arthur—or Artie, as your father likes to call him—is a hunkering titan of a man. He used to be your father’s star athlete before retiring, and now…now he’s working in finance, or something akin to that. Harry isn’t one hundred percent sure; he usually zones out when people begin to discuss the stock market.

Artie throws a right hook, but Harry sees it coming and blocks it with ease. They move in a circle, focussed only on each other while other individuals outside of the ring totter around.

Harry prefers to train on weekdays during the afternoon, because that’s when the gym isn’t as packed. Right now, only a handful of other people are working out, lifting weights or doing cardio exercises. Harry and Artie are here so often that nobody even blinks an eye anymore. And your father…well, he runs the place. Of course he would be here.

The sparring continues. When Harry refuses to make the first move, Artie sticks one glove out, beckoning him forward. “Come here, pretty boy.”

“Don’t make me pull your hair,” Harry grits, because Artie’s ponytail is swinging temptingly from beneath his headgear.

The other man laughs good-naturedly before lunging. Harry blocks his uppercut and delivers a strong, pointed jab right to the middle of his chest. Artie stumbles backward, inhaling sharply as the breath is knocked from his lungs. Harry bites back a smile.

“Nice, H!” your father calls.

“Thanks, Coach,” he mutters.

The front door of the gym opens, accompanied by the soft tinkling of a bell to announce the new arrival. Harry’s attention is reflexively drawn toward the direction of the sound, and his heartbeat stutters beneath his ribs.

You’re there, with your hair tied back in a low bun and silver hoops hanging from your ears. You’re holding a tray of coffee in your left hand, and there’s a warm smile on your face. You wave excitedly as you greet Portia, the middle-aged woman sitting behind the front desk. The two of you chat as you shrug off your jacket and tug the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

Your mouth moves languidly. Though Harry is too far to hear your voice, he has a pretty good idea of what you’re saying. Your eyes widen and you shiver dramatically, shaking your head.

It’s cold!

A heavy fist makes contact with the side of his jaw, and he falls to the ground.

Your father’s loud exclamation pulls your attention away from Portia and toward the ring on the opposite end of the room. Harry groans lowly as he pushes himself to his knees, tilting his head from side to side and cracking his neck. When he turns to face your father, he finds him frowning through the gaps between the ropes.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, shooting Harry a disappointed look.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, climbing to his feet with a grunt. “Got distracted.”

He chances a glance back at you, and his shoulders grow tense when he realises that you’re making your way over to the ring, the tray of coffee held between your hands like a peace offering.

“Hello, boys,” you singsong. “I brought drinks.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” your father says as you hand him his designated cup. He leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to your hair. You hum happily in response.

“Jason!” you call out as Artie approaches the side of the ring. “I got your lemonade.”

“Thanks, little girl,” Artie hums, accepting his drink graciously and taking a long sip from the straw. “And for the hundredth time, stop calling me ‘Jason’.”

“Stop calling me ‘little girl’,” you shoot back, laughing deviously. “I can’t help it if you look like him, okay? You’re even the same age, too.” You cock one eyebrow. “Should I start calling you ‘Aquaman’ instead?”

“God, no.” Artie shakes his head vehemently. “Let’s stick to Jason. ’Least that’s a real name.”

You giggle as he ambles away. Your eyes shift over to Harry—who has kept silent the entire time—and your lips curl up into a kind smile. “Hi, Harry.”

“Hi.” His voice is guttural.

“Last, but not least,” you murmur, plucking his drink from the tray and holding it up for him to take. “One black coffee, right?”

“Right,” he confirms with a curt nod. He tugs his bulky gloves off, dropping them to the floor and reaching out to accept the cup. A strong spark pricks at his hand when his fingers brush against yours. Your responding gasp is soft, barely-noticeable—if he weren’t so painfully aware of everything you do, he would have missed it completely.

“Thank you,” he says, guiding the coffee to his mouth and taking a small sip.

“No problem.” You smile up at him again, and God, that fucking smile. He wants it tattooed onto the backs of his eyelids. A wave of heat blooms in his chest and creeps up his neck, but thankfully, the pink flush blends in with his sweat-slicked, already-rosy skin.

“How was class, sweetheart?” your father asks, tilting his head to the side.

“It was good.” You shrug, tossing a thumb over your shoulder. “I’m going to head home now, though—I have a proposal due in a few days and I really need to get started.”

“Go, go,” your father concedes. You bid him goodbye before standing on your tiptoes and craning your neck to catch sight of Artie, who is quite evidently enjoying his lemonade.

“Bye, Jason!”

“Bye, little girl!”

You laugh. Your gaze lands on Harry again, eyes sparkling and features resolutely tender. “Bye, Harry.”

He swallows down the hard lump in his throat. “Bye.”

    January 16, 2021

Harry’s workout playlist features a lot of Ariana Grande.

He just thinks that she’s good, okay?

But he knows that Artie and your father would never let him hear the end of it, so he keeps that information private. During practice, he’ll endure whatever shitty tunes Artie picks from his own library, and he won’t say a word. He’s not in the ring to dance, anyway. He’s there to make money—albeit illegally—because quite frankly, he hasn’t discovered an aptitude for anything else.

It’s late—the gym is technically closed. But the great thing about having the owner for a coach is the fact that Harry was given another key to add to his collection. Your father doesn’t care, as long as he locks up after he’s done. Harry has spent more time here than at his own home, he imagines. It’s nice when it’s quiet—it gives him plenty of time to think.

The back of his t-shirt is soaked through with sweat. He’s gazing at the ceiling as he lifts the heavy weights up and down over his torso. A bubbly song is playing on his phone, keeping his energy high.

So what if he listens to Ariana Grande? She makes great music.

The distinctive sound of footsteps reaches his ears. He pauses, setting the weightlifting bar back onto its rack and sitting up quickly. The noise is coming from the stairs that lead down to the swimming pool in the basement. Harry stands, and though his muscles are already screaming from previous exertion, he readies himself for the worst.

You appear at the top of the flight, your slippers smacking against each step loudly. You’re ruffling a towel against your wet hair, your head angled to the side as you squeeze out any excess water. Upon catching sight of Harry, you freeze in your tracks.

“Oh. Harry. Hi.”

“Hi,” he says slowly. “I…didn’t know you were here.”

“I didn’t know you were here,” you reply wryly, a small smirk making its way onto your lips.

Harry scratches sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Er…I was just working out.”

You nod, your expression coy. “I can see that.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air. Harry clears his throat, rubbing his jaw with his fingers because what else is he supposed to do? “Were you—did you go for a swim?”

“Yeah,” you say. Your shoulders deflate, like you’re almost grateful that he’s contributed more to the conversation. “Spent half the time doing laps, and the other half on my phone.” Your lips quirk up with the feeble joke.

Harry chuckles weakly. “That’s just how it is, sometimes.”

Your eyes flutter shut for only a moment. “Yeah.”

More silence. Harry chews nervously on his bottom lip. Why the fuck can’t he speak?

The song playing from his phone changes. Your eyes narrow ever-so-slightly when a few upbeat notes trickle into the air, followed immediately by the smooth crooning of a woman’s voice. “Is this…,” you hesitate, and he can see how you’re fighting a smile, “…Carly Rae Jepsen?”

“Uh,” he says dumbly, uncertain of how to proceed. Sure enough, I Really Like You by Carly Rae Jepsen is filtering through the taut atmosphere, painfully loud now that the two of you are truly paying attention to it.

A high-pitched laugh falls from your mouth, and your shoulders shake with the force of your amusement. Harry, unable to help himself, begins to chuckle along with you. Heat blooms across his cheeks, but he’s not as embarrassed as he thought he’d be. Your giggles aren’t derisive, he realises.

He’s nearly overcome with the urge to take you in his arms, then, but he resists.

“Late night, watching the television…,” you sing quietly, and then you’re dissolving into merriment all over again.

Once your joint laughter subsides, you shoot him a bright grin. Harry tries his best to return it, though he doesn’t think that he mirrors your smile to its full extent. You sigh in delight, shouldering the strap of your bag and tossing your towel over your forearm.

“That honestly made my night,” you tell him, utterly sincere.

His heart somersaults in his chest. “’M glad.”

“Well,” you say, shrugging gently, “I should probably go.”

“Yeah.” His response is hollow. He lifts his hand in a half-hearted wave. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He lies back down with a grunt as you make your way toward the exit. His fingers wrap around the weightlifting bar, about to pull it off of its resting place, when your voice suddenly rings out again.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” He sits up too quickly, nearly catching his forehead against the metal of the bar. When he turns around to face you, he finds you doubling back, approaching him and nibbling apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“I actually—,” you pause, like you’re unsure of how to continue, “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing his hands over the black shorts covering his thighs. “Go ahead.”

“It might be kind of weird,” you warn. “Don’t laugh at me.”

He shakes his head, blinking solemnly. “I won’t.”

“Would you—,” you begin, and your fingers come up to play with the pendant resting at the base of your throat, “—teach me how to box?”

“I—,” Harry recoils slightly, taken aback by your question. “What?”

“Would you teach me how to box?” you repeat, though your voice is significantly smaller. “I want to learn how to defend myself.”

“Against what?” he asks, his brows knitting together in concern. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine.” You wave away his worries with an inattentive flick of your hand. Harry’s eyes narrow as he studies your face. You refuse to meet his gaze.

You’re lying, he realises, straight through your pretty teeth. But it would be impolite of him to pry, wouldn’t it? And this is the first time that the two of you have ever been really, truly alone; he doesn’t want to fuck it up.

“Okay,” he says slowly, even though he doesn’t believe your guarantee.

He pulls at the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up and wiping his face with the fabric. When he fixes his gaze on you once more, he thinks he catches your eyes drifting across his torso. Cocking one eyebrow curiously, he climbs to his feet.

“What do you want to learn?” he asks, reaching for his phone and pausing the music streaming from the device.

“Anything,” you say breathlessly. “Everything.”

His lips twitch.

“I—,” he scratches at his nose with two fingers, “—I don’t really have a set schedule, you know, between practice and actual matches.”

“I know.” You nod understandingly.

“And I know you have school,” he continues, tilting his head to the side. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Positive,” you tell him. There’s something strong burning in your eyes; he can’t quite figure out what it is. “I want to train. Just…don’t tell my dad, okay?”

“Okay,” he repeats. He swallows heavily, offering his phone to you. “Put your number in, yeah? I’ll text you on the nights I’m free, and if you’re not too busy, we can meet up here.”

“Alright,” you concede softly. You take the device from him, and he pretends not to notice just how badly your hands are shaking. Your nails tap quietly against the screen, and before you know it, you’re passing the phone back to him with your information saved under a new contact.

“Alright,” Harry echoes.

The two of you stare at each other for a long, silent moment. The spell is broken, however, when you finally take a step back, clearing your throat and tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear.

“I should go,” you say. “For real, this time.”

“For real.” Harry nods.

“You’ll lock up, right?” you ask, retreating toward the exit.

“Yup,” he says, popping the last letter instinctively. At that, you smile, your mouth curling up into a soft, inviting crescent.

“Okay,” you murmur, placing one hand on the door. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He watches you go with forlorn eyes and empty lungs. “Goodnight.”

~*~

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

PART IV: Uppercut

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[cacoetheswriting]

lonely this christmas

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: mild mild cursing, mainly just fluff !!! Word Count: 2.9k Summary: Reader admits to Spencer she will be spending the holidays alone but he’s got other plans.

A/N: starting off the month of december with a christmas centred fic!! hope you like it <3

-

Being alone on Christmas wasn’t unfamiliar to Spencer. In fact it was pretty much the opposite. Being alone on Christmas was typical, ordinary. 

The nature of his job being what it was, he usually ended up working over the holidays anyway. Therefore he never made any plans with his mom because most times he just ended up disappointing her. Being alone at Christmas was fine. Being a disappointment however, completely different story.

As years went by Diana stopped noticing his absence. Of course if Spencer was to visit her at the sanitarium over Christmas she would welcome him with open arms, but he never does. He used to feel incredibly guilty about it, but that too passed with time. 

There was no indication that this year would be any different so he kept his schedule clear. However, the twenty-fifth of December approached fast. Very fast. The closer it got the more it was shaping to be the first holiday season, in a long time, the team would get to spend with their families. And even Spencer found himself considering going home to Nevada; seeing his mom. 

A tab of the airline website was constantly open on his desktop. He checked it regularly; hovering over the option to buy a ticket. 

That’s how you caught him one day. 

You observed from your own desk as Spencer leaned back in his chair, one hand still holding the mouse. The wheels inside his brain clearly turning; evaluating all of the options and possible outcomes.

“Hey, doctor.” You called out grabbing his attention. “If you spend any more time thinking about whether you should go home for Christmas, all the good seats will be gone.” 

He chuckled. “I guess you’re right.” “As always.” You shot him a playful wink as he turned to once again look at his screen. 

“There. Bought.” Spencer exclaimed after a brief moment of silence. “My mom will be happy.” “When was the last time you seen her?” You asked curiously. “It has been more than six months at this stage.” He answered while standing up. 

“Coffee?” He gestured to the empty mug on your desk. You nodded. “You read my mind.” 

The two of you walked towards the kitchenette in the office. It was quite late on a Friday night meaning everyone had cleared out for the weekend. Only the usual suspects remained; Spencer and you.

“When was the last time you were home for Christmas?” “Three years ago. How about you?” Spencer asked, tilting his head slightly to look at you. “Oh, I honestly don’t even remember.” You replied shrugging your shoulders.

“So your family must have been happy to hear you were getting the chance this year to spend the holidays with them.” The brunette doctor switched on the coffee machine and leaned against the wall while you elegantly hopped up onto the counter. 

“Actually, I didn't tell them.” 

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows. “How come?” 

He watched intently as you chewed on your bottom lip - a bad habit you failed miserably to break. In that second of silence you wondered whether you should tell him the truth. He was always so open with you, honest. It would only be fair to repay him with the same sincerity. So you took in a quick breath, and exhaled it quietly before looking up to meet his amiable gaze. 

“My mom and I got into this huge fight a couple of weeks ago. She tried to set me up with this guy because in her eyes it’s unacceptable that I’m single. She doesn't think it’s right that my younger sister is getting married next summer and I haven't had one relationship in my life that lasted longer than a month.” A soft sigh escaped you. “I told her to butt out, using much harsher language than that of course.” Your mouth twirled into a smile; trying to make light of this conversation. Being no stranger to your frequent use of profanity Spencer smirked. 

“We haven't spoken since. She hasn't formally invited me over for the holidays which she always does, even if she knows I won’t be able to make it, and whenever I bring it up with my dad or my siblings they change the topic so.” You shrugged once again while nervously dangling your legs. “It’s easier not to go.” 

Spencer nodded slowly, taking in all of the information you just unloaded. Shaking your head you reached over to grab the coffee pot and poured some into your mug. 

“I’m sorry doctor. I didn’t mean to just lay it all on you like that.” 

He stepped towards you. “Don’t be.” Holding his own cup in front of him, he smiled kindly. “Thank you for telling me.” You began to pour the black hot liquid into his mug; a slight shake to your hand. “Thank you for listening.” “Anytime.”

Spencer placed his full cup on the counter beside you and began to rummage through the cupboards in search for sugar. “Y/N I gotta ask, and obviously if you don't want to answer me you don't have to.” He cleared his throat as you took a sip of your bitter black coffee. “Why didn’t you want to go on a date with the man your mom suggested?” 

Once he successfully located the sugar, he straightened his shirt and plopped two cubes into the hot beverage. He offered you one but you shook your head, taking another sip. 

“I get that it’s not really my place but it just seems a small price to pay for being able to spend Christmas with your loved ones.” 

“If you must know doctor, I prefer to meet people through work. Prison systems and such.” You joked, a wide smile gracing your features. Spencer rolled his eyes. “And how is that going for you?” “Surprisingly well. I have a date shortly after we’re back from the Christmas break.” He arched his brow and smiled at you; playing along as you continued. “Solid guy. Only murdered five people.”

You beamed at the brunette doctor who was grinning back. “Maybe I should consider adding prisons to my dating pool.” You let out an over-exaggerated  gasp and placed your free hand over your chest. “Is doctor Spencer Reid really on the market?” 

Spencer shook his head. His light curls bouncing finely, matching his every move. He lowered his lips to the brim of his mug and took a sip of his coffee before focusing on you. “No, but for the right girl I’d consider it.” 

Without thinking you raised your free arm and adjusted his tie. Flattening down the edge of his collar, you could feel his eyes on you. Yet for some reason you were suddenly afraid to look up and meet his gaze. Strange. Or maybe not so strange.

“Lucky girl.” You said in a mere whisper. Letting your hand fall, you stepped off the counter with a light bounce. Spencer cleared his throat and the two of you walked back to your seats. 

The next few hours were spent working in silence. You tried to focus on the mountain of paperwork on your desk, yet instead found yourself glancing at the young doctor every other second - secretly hoping he would also be peeking up at you. And he was. Just not when you were looking at him.

“Y/N if you want you can come with me to Nevada, spend Christmas with me and my mom. ” Spencer proposed out of the blue. He got up out of his chair and grabbed his jacket, slowly putting it on. You smiled at him. “Thank you doctor but I will honestly be okay alone.” Pause. “Plus, I wouldn't want to interfere.” 

He was about to protest, say you wouldn't be interrupting, but he bit his tongue. He didn't want to seem pushy. “If you change your mind, let me know.” He reached for his bag and threw the strap over his head. “Just do it quickly or all the good seats will be gone.” He teased. You giggled. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. ” 

The brunette agent hesitated. He swayed on his heel for a moment before approaching your desk. “Can I give you a ride home?” He asked, eyes locking with yours. “There’s still a couple of things I want to get done but thank you for the kind offer.” Spencer nodded. A faint look of disappointment appeared on his face. “Goodnight Y/N.” “Goodnight doctor.” 

Christmas was upon you in the blink of an eye. On the last day before break the team exchanged Secret Santa presents before enjoying a pizza party. This year you had Penelope who squealed over her gift as everyone watched in amusement; you included. Resting against the wall, you observed as the blonde jumped around the room with joy. Her smile made you smile. 

“Good job on Penelope’s gift.” Spencer appeared beside you holding two plastic cups filled to the brim with eggnog. He handed you one before making himself comfortable next to you, his arm pressed gently to yours. “I don’t know what you're talking about doctor.” You responded, tilting your head slightly to look at him. 

“I like your Christmas sweater.” A small smile circled your lips as you reached out to flick the little bell sown onto the top of the Santas hat on his jumper. Spencer chuckled. “Thank you. You know, I really couldn't decide between this or the one with the Home Alone reference.” “Ah, the trusted Merry Christmas Ya Filthy Animal sweater.” “That would be the one, yes.” The two of you beamed at each other. 

“I’m surprised you know what Home Alone is doctor.” You teased, nudging him playfully in the arm. Spencer laughed. “If I’m being honest, I was more intrigued by the booby traps than the plot of the movie.” He retorted as you sipped on the eggnog; slightly rolling your eyes at his response. “Of course you were. Don’t tell me you tested them out too?” 

He averted his gaze without responding, clearly a little embarrassed. “Well...” 

You couldn't help but giggle. Slowly, you leaned in towards him so that your lips were now at his ear. The brunette agent shivered as your hot breath hit his skin, however he didn't move away. 

“Don’t worry doctor, I did too.” You whispered. 

Instantly, he turned to look at you once again. His face was now inches away from yours, and as he stared oddly into your eyes the air caught in your throat. The two of you hovered right there for a moment, not moving and quite soundless, simply feeling each other's presence - as if there was no-one else in the room, no party. 

Eventually you broke the eye contact and took a step to your right, moving away from him. Suddenly feeling timid, you took another sip of your beverage while your free hand ran through your hair. Spencer also looked away. His mind racing a million miles per hour; he should have kissed you, right? No. Not in front of all these people, your colleagues. That would be bad. Unprofessional. Would you have even wanted him to kiss you? Did you like him like that? He hoped you did.

The party soon drew to a close. You were lost in conversation with Emily while Spencer was trying to teach Morgan and Rossi some card tricks. Your gaze kept averting in the direction of the young doctor every once in a while; Emily of course noticed. “Tell me again why you’re not going to Nevada with our resident genius?” A puzzled look now present on your face. “How did you-” 

“Reid told Morgan who told Garcia who told me.” She interrupted. You laughed at the ridiculousness of what she just came out of her mouth. “It’s like I’m in high school all over again.” She laughed under her breath.

There was a brief moment of silence.

“So, why aren’t you going?” Emily pried. A quiet sigh escaped your lips. “Like I told him, I don’t want to interfere.” She rolled her eyes; not buying into your bullshit. “He wouldn't have invited you-” “Fuck, please I don’t want-” She raised her hands in front of her. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” 

Glancing at the time, you excused yourself wishing Emily a wonderful and happy Christmas. Quickly and quietly, you headed to your desk and put on your winter coat. As you grabbed your handbag you turned to face the remaining partygoers: “Happy holidays everyone!”. Your eyes briefly locked with Spencers who shot you a shy smile as you mouthed ‘Merry Christmas doctor.’ before hurrying out the door. 

Two days later it was the twenty-fifth of December. You woke up on your couch, having fallen asleep during Christmas movie marathon, to the sound of your phone ringing. 

Yawning, you reached for the device. Spencer. Answering, you pressed it to your ear and croaked; “Hello.”. 

“I hope I didn't wake you.” “You did actually.” You responded yawning once again and gradually scrambling to your feet. You ambled towards the kitchen, straight for the coffee maker. “But I could never be mad at you doctor.” “I’m glad to hear that.” 

There was a short pause.

“How are you?” He asked, his voice kind. “I’m okay, no need to worry about me. Shit-” “Y/N?”

“Sorry. I just realised I’m out of coffee grounds.”

Spencer chuckled on the other line. “It’s not funny doctor. I’ve no coffee and everything is closed because it’s Christmas.” “You could always switch to tea for the day.” Rolling your eyes, you smirked. “Right, because I’m such an avid tea drinker.” 

There was another short pause.

“How was your flight? How’s Nevada? How’s your mom?” You asked changing the topic, making conversation. The young doctor didn't respond. “Hey, are you there?” The line cut-off. Weird.

‘He’ll call back later.’, you thought and headed for your bathroom.

An hour later you were showered and dressed. You switched on the lights on your poorly decorated Christmas tree and were about to make yourself comfortable on the sofa when a knock on the door caught your attention. You scurried over, without looking through the peephole to see who it was, you opened it.

“Spencer.” 

“Merry Christmas Y/N.” 

The brunette doctor smiled as you furrowed your brows. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Nevada.”

“I was. I got back early this morning.” 

He waited for you to invite him in before shimmying passed. He set down two tote bags on the kitchen counter before turning to look at you once again. Lost for words, you locked the door and approached the young doctor. Slowly you peeked inside the bags. “Supplies.” He simply stated while taking off his coat. 

“You didn’t really think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?” 

Your heart skipped a beat. “You didn't have to do this doctor.” “I know.” He shrugged before reaching into one of the bags and unpacking the items. “I wanted to.” He held up a bag of coffee grounds and you couldn't help but giggle delicately. 

“Thank you.” Your fingers brushed his as you grabbed the bag sending a shiver down your spine. Spencer froze feeling the sensation too. Nervously, he let his hand fall but the half-smile on his face remained. 

“Where did you get this stuff anyway?” You asked as you walked around to the coffee machine. “I packed what I had at home.” Nodding, you began to prepare two cups. As the appliance whirred, you turned in your spot. “What about your mom? Wouldn't she have wanted to spend Christmas Day with you?” 

Spencer continued to unpack the bags, neatly placing each item on the counter in front of him. “We spent all of yesterday together.” Pause. “And besides, she’s the one that urged me to come here.” He peered up at you, resting his palms down on the kitchen counter. The second his hazel eyes locked with yours, the flush of your cheeks turned a slender pink. 

Not really thinking you ushered back towards him. The brunette doctor watched you attentively. Gently, you placed one hand on top of his and gave it a tender squeeze. “Lucky me.” You whispered staring deep into his eyes. 

Spencers smile spread wider in unison with yours. After a few seconds of pure comfortable silence, he cleared his throat. “Do you think your prisoner boyfriend would mind if I asked you out on a date?” A faint giggle escaped your lips as the shade of your jowl turned from pink to bright red. “Even if he does-” You took another step towards Spencer, closing the space between you. “-I think you could handle him.” 

Spencer chuckled. Using his free hand, he placed a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. His thumb stroked your cheek in the process and you angled into his pleasant touch. 

“Thank you for being here.” You muttered, unintentionally chewing on your bottom lip. 

He cupped your face as his gaze moved briefly down to your mouth before once again locking with yours. “Thank you for having me.” His voice soothing, not quite matching the fervour in his eyes. 

In the space of a single heartbeat, he leaned down and his lips crushed against yours passionately. You let go of his hand and placed both your palms on his chest; tugging lightly at his shirt to try and pull him in even closer. Spencer did not waste a second, his now free arm moved elegantly around your waist.

The two of you pulled away breathlessly. He gently pressed his forehead to yours as you smiled. “Merry Christmas doctor.” “Merry Christmas Y/N.”

-

masterlist

[fleetingpieces]

Playing with the stars

What if Remus didn’t get injured and was drafted to play for the Dallas Stars?

This is a very self indulgent piece cause happy-sportsman-Remus pretty much lives rent free in my brain.

I’m fairly new to hockey and very much in love with it, but sorry in advance if there’s anything not hockey-accurate!

Once again, thank you Jazzy @inloveoknutzy for beta-ing this! <3 You’re amazing

And the beautiful world building and OCs belong to the amazing @lumosinlove Thank you so much for such a great story <3

CW: mentions of past abuse and mild spice.

Sirius Black was not a clumsy person. He was fearless, dedicated, precise and ruthless against his adversaries.

At least, that’s how he usually behaved.

Today however, Sirius was just stepping on the ice, glancing around the rink, when his eyes landed on a familiar player on the other end and he slipped. Sirius cursed as he grabbed onto the boards to prevent a fall, mentally slapping himself. He was never like this. And he already knew the man would be there, so why was he even surprised? Of course he was there. They were facing his team after all.

It was the first game the Lions would play against the Dallas Stars this season, but Sirius wasn’t sure if he was ready for it. Every game against the Stars was torture, and it had nothing to do with them being insanely good. Sirius liked that part actually, it meant he had to really push himself to beat them.

No, his problem came in the form of one very fit Remus Lupin.

Sirius hadn’t actually, properly seen Remus play in a couple of months, and the impact was even greater because of that. He watched as Loops skated effortlessly on his half of the rink doing warm ups. The way his body moved as he glided through the ice, his muscles flexing underneath his uniform, and the glint in his eyes were enough to take Sirius’ breath away.

Of course, everyone knew who Remus was. First draft, golden boy, star rookie a few years back. Sirius was slightly embarrassed of how well acquainted he was with the man’s career. He’d watched his every game since Loops had started playing for the NHL, and when he was alone in his house he would sometimes watch his old tapes, even though he would never admit that to anyone.

There was a loud clunk from one of the goalposts when Remus took a hard slap shot, and Sirius cursed again. His lithe body seemed to flow over the white surface, his stick an extension of his arm with how confidently he wielded it, and that fiercely joyful smile. Damn that smile. Sirius could only stare as Tyler Seguin went over and crashed into Remus, grabbing him into a headlock and saying something that sent the man laughing.

How the fuck was Sirius supposed to focus on the game with something so beautiful right there?

Shaking his head, Sirius went the other way with a frown etched on his face. 

“What are you so grumpy about?” said Pots as he went past him.

“It’s nothing,” Sirius replied. He leaned over his knees and breathed slowly, before slapping hard on his thighs once and setting his eyes on the thing that mattered right then. The puck.

And if there were a pair of amber eyes following his movements from the other end of the rink at that exact moment, he didn’t really notice.

The puck dropped not too long after and the game started. Sirius was first line and won the face off, swiftly passing the puck to Finn, who took it all the way to the Stars net where Dobby was ready for him. Before he could do anything else though, Loops cut his way and stole the puck from right under his feet. Sirius found himself staring in awe as Remus dribbled past one of their defensemen, before he snapped out of it and turned quickly to give chase.

“What the hell was that, Cap?” Pots shouted a few feet ahead of him. Sirius could almost hear the smirk in his tone.

He grumbled but did not lose sight of the puck in front of him. Those two seconds of distraction had been enough for Remus to reach their defensive zone; the way he teared up the ice was ridiculous. He took the shot, but it went straight into Kasey's glove.

Well, that was a way to kick start the game.

“Yeah, Bliz!” Finn congratulated, tapping his helmet.

When it was time for the first change, Sirius sat down heavily as Dumo’s line went out. He clasped his hands together between his knees, with his head bowed down. He had to focus. This was no time to admire what a great player Loops was. Or how obscenely good he looked in his gear.

The Lions knew him to be the dedicated, focused captain of the team, not this silly mess of a man who couldn’t take his eyes off another man from the opposite team. No, there was too much at stake for him to lose it like this. It didn’t matter that his friends knew he was gay, he couldn’t just flaunt it in front of the cameras and the wild crowd. 

He owed it to his team to get it together. He started picking up the pace after that, slowly falling into that absolute-hockey headspace, but still he felt that he couldn’t play his usual game. He kept getting slightly distracted for short periods of time, and by the end of the first period he felt incredibly frustrated with himself. It was mainly thanks to his teammates’ skills that the score was still tied 0-0.

He made his way back to the locker room behind them all, admonishing his own behaviour and telling himself he would do better in the second part of the game. He was so focused on his internal rant that he barely noticed Dumo falling into step beside him, and jumped when he placed a hand on his shoulder.

There was a knowing smile on his face that Sirius wanted to wipe off, but his tone was kind as he spoke, albeit slightly teasing.

“Mon fils, if you want to stare you have my full support, but perhaps we should focus on the game now, non?”

With that he chuckled, squeezed his shoulder and entered the locker room ahead of him.

Sirius took a second to stand outside the door, smiling at how simple and easy it was to talk about it with Dumo. The man was like family, a good kind of family. He’d taken him in and protected him against Sirius’ own mother, he’d given him a real home. It was such a Dumo thing to do, talk about his biggest secret as if it was the most normal thing in the world; Sirius could only shake his head as he followed behind him.

“Damn that Lupin!” was the first thing he heard as he stepped in. Finn was in the middle of complaining while making big gestures with his hands, and Logan and Leo were staring at him with fond, amused smiles on their faces. “It’s like every time you turn around he’s there! It’s insane how fast that man is.”

Talker came over then and slapped Sirius on the back.

“Don’t feel too bad Cap. He’s a beautiful man; sometimes I also find myself getting distracted by him.” At Sirius’ raised eyebrow, he added, “I stare with respect.”

He said it with a completely straight face, but Sirius saw the mirth dancing in his eyes. Some of the guys around laughed, adding a few comments of their own to the friendly banter. Sirius wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve such an amazing team. Although the last thing he needed right now was to keep on thinking about Remus, so he tuned them out until Coach came in to go over their strategy.

Second period started in a similar way than the first had, only the pressure had increased. The players were marking each other more tightly, the puck kept going from the Stars’ zone to the Lion’s, and there had been no shots on goal so far.

Halfway through, the whistle blew as one of the referees called an offside on Dallas, and both teams skated over for the face off. As Sirius was getting closer, Loops skated in his direction, locking eyes with him as he circled behind him, and Sirius had to will his body not to jump when Remus started talking with his mouth close to Sirius’ ear.

“I wonder what got the great Captain Sirius Black so distracted?” he said in a playful tone, and Sirius didn’t have to look to know he was smiling.

He was taunting him, the bastard, and fuck if that didn’t ignite a fire inside Sirius’ body.

“Worry about losing your own focus Lupin, or you’ll end up biting the ice,” he replied in the same tone, and was rewarded with a soft chuckle.

If Remus wanted to play like that, Sirius would give him a performance to remember. It was a challenge, Sirius could feel his body thrumming with the adrenaline of it as he finally relaxed completely and played the way he was supposed to from the start.

Sirius managed to change the rhythm of the game with a fast pass he sent Pots’ way, that ended up being the first goal; then Logan scored another one right before the second intermission, setting the team’s spirits on a high. But then Remus scored two incredibly gorgeous goals in the third period that left Sirius slightly light headed.

They were tied.

And right now Sirius was having an internal battle as well as the one going on by the boards, as he and Loops fought for the puck, their bodies close together and Remus’ witty chirps in the air. It was taking all of Sirius’ years of discipline to keep his head in the game.

“Oh hey, you finally decided to come out to play?” Remus said as he bumped into him from behind and Sirius had to bite back a laugh, before spinning around and lightly sending Remus against the boards in retaliation.

“Look alive, Lupin!”

With barely two minutes left on the clock, Sirius managed to get the puck across to Talker, skated behind the net to position himself on the other side of the rink, shook off two defensemen as the puck headed his way again, and immediately whipped it into the goal, making the horn blare.

Screams and cheers erupted all over as the whole team crashed into him. They won, but it had been a very close call.

Nonetheless, it was over now and Sirius could go back to his hotel room and be alone for a bit. And probably watch some tape. The guys were going to grab food on the way, so Sirius excused himself to go lie down and whack himself for being such a klutz during the first half of the game. He was sure it would become easier with time, today he’d just been less prepared than he’d thought he was, and he vowed to make it better.

Just as he was heading outside through the empty hallway, a door opened and he turned around to see Lupin and Seguin coming out of their own locker room, and the sight was just a bit too much for Sirius right then.

Remus was in his game suit, his hair wet from the shower, with a stray curl falling on his forehead that Sirius desperately wanted to brush off. He was once more laughing at something Seguin had said, which made Sirius frown as he turned away, shoving his hands in his pockets.

There was nothing he could do about it, he wanted too many things that he couldn’t have.

Once he was outside, having escaped through the back door that led to the parking lot, he leaned against a wall before he lit up a cigarette and took a few long hauls, closing his eyes for a few minutes.

“Hey,” a voice said beside him and Sirius almost jumped out of his skin.

“Fuck, are you a ninja or something?” Sirius asked, bringing a hand to his heart, still holding the cigarette. He hadn’t heard Remus coming out.

Loops grinned as he came to stand right next to Sirius, but then his eyes focused on the cigarette on his hand and he lifted an eyebrow.

“Does your PT know that you smoke?”

“No, and there’s no need for him to know. I only smoke when I’m stressed.”

“What are you stressed about? You were amazing out there.”

“Not in the first period,” Sirius mumbled as he took another drag, but Remus heard him.

“And why is that?” he asked with a smirk, taking a step closer.

Sirius huffed in exasperation.

“Fuck Re, do you know how hot you look out there? Did you really have to make it that hard on me?” he lifted an eyebrow at the innuendo, which only made Remus’ wolfish grin go wider.

“Hmm. You didn’t expect me to go easy on you just because we’re dating, right?”

Remus placed a hand on the wall next to Sirius’ head, guarded by the darkness of the parking lot, and looked at him straight in the eye. The golden flecks in Remus’ irises seemed to have a light of their own, and Sirius could only stare, transfixed, as Remus’ long fingers reached up to snatch the cigarette right from between his lips and placed it in his own mouth. Without breaking eye contact, he took a slow drag and exhaled to the side before stubbing the fag against the wall.

“Hey!”

Remus’ hand came to rest on the other side of Sirius’ head, and he pressed their chests together, slotting his thigh between Sirius’.

“Y’know, if it was that hard on you,” he punctuated by pressing his thigh down ever so slightly, smiling as a whine sounded at the back of Sirius’ throat, “there are other ways to help you relax,” he said with a tilt of his head, before he ducked down to suck on Sirius’ neck.

“I...Re...”

“You’re not flying back to Gryffindor tomorrow, right?” Remus whispered against the skin just under his ear, pulling a breathy “No” out of Sirius that sounded more like a moan. “Good. I can stay with you all night then, yeah?” he added before he scraped his teeth against Sirius’ ear lobe, and Sirius had to blink a few times to clear his fuzzy head.

"I...quoi?" He had to resist the urge to slap himself. Use your words, Black.  “I mean...what?” Oh yeah, much better.

Remus leaned back just enough to look at him with a smile, tucking Sirius’ hair behind his ear.

“Will you be missed if I take you home?” he said in an amused tone, tilting his head in a way that was so adorable Sirius had to fight to keep another whine in.

“I thought you had a team dinner you couldn’t miss.” Sirius hesitated before continuing, “Isn’t it too risky for us to do this?”

“No,” Remus said immediately. Then, after a short pause, “I mean, I do, and it is, but...I haven’t seen you in almost a month, Pads. I...I missed you.”

Sirius’ heart melted. It’d been hard on both of them since the season had started; their tight training schedules and the fact that they lived in different cities didn’t allow them much time together. Being apart from Remus felt like being off balance, like his world was tilted to the side, and it had only settled on its right edge the moment Sirius had gone on the rink today and laid eyes on Remus again.

Sirius cupped Remus’ cheek, and the other man pressed against his touch, closing his eyes as a fond smile slowly made its way through his face.

“What?” Sirius asked.

“Do you remember that first time I asked you out?”

Sirius was surprised into silence for a few seconds, before he got what Remus was thinking about and he huffed a laugh.

Of course he remembered.

They had been in a very similar situation to the one they were in now, but still, so many things had changed.

The Lions had been playing against Dallas too on that day, only they were at Hogwarts stadium, with their chance at the playoffs at stake. And Sirius’ parents had been there.

Their words, their hard looks, Walburga’s hand digging into his shoulder...it had all been too much and Sirius had found himself spiralling down into the scared, closed off boy he’d used to be before he’d started playing with the Lions. Before he’d been accepted into a real team, a real family.

At that moment, all he could think about was pressure, reputation, and secrets.

He couldn’t let his parents find out. He couldn’t let his friends find out. And then, after the game, he’d been alone at the parking lot trying to get his breathing under control, ripping a leaflet to pieces when a soft hand was placed on top of his, and Sirius had looked up to concerned amber eyes.

To the one person he was supposed to avoid at all costs.

Remus had removed his hand from Sirius’, taking what was left of the paper from him and throwing it in the bin in the corner.

“Hey! I was using that!”

“What for?” He’d sounded genuinely curious, which confused Sirius as they were cordial with each other but they weren’t really friends.

Staring ahead, Sirius had avoided looking him in the eye as he ran a hand through his hair.

“There was something on my mind.”

“Hmm,” Remus hummed.

Sirius had glanced to his side and found Remus staring at him straight in the eye, before the other man stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned on the wall beside him.

“Are you free?”

“Hm?” Sirius asked absentmindedly. He’d been too busy staring at the way Remus’ shoulders strained against his shirt to register what had been said.

The corners of Remus’ mouth turned up in a sweet smile, making Sirius’ breath stop completely. He couldn’t help but think he was gorgeous. 

“Are you free right now or do you have somewhere to be?”

“Oh. No, I’m done for the evening,” Sirius said, confused as to where that had come from.

“Well then, wanna go grab dinner?”

“I...what?” Sirius was perplexed. He’d not been expecting that.

“Dinner. With me,” Remus said, amused. What was going on? Was this...was Remus flirting with him? No, that couldn’t be it; Loops was known to be one of the most caring players out there, he’d probably seen that Sirius was struggling with something and just wanted to help. But even if that was it, he was not about to turn the man down.

“I...yeah. Yeah, I would like that,” Sirius said as a small smile spread over his face.

When Remus gave him a happy grin of his own, eyes shining bright, Sirius’ stomach had done a flip, and he’d known he was totally, and absolutely fucked.

He felt his body tingle just like it had back then when Remus trailed his fingers along his jaw, bringing him back to the present.

“Yeah, I remember,” Sirius placed his hands on Remus’ cheeks and kissed him, slow and steady, making Remus sigh and sag against him as he talked between kisses, never letting their lips part further than an inch. “You were so cute. And sweet. I was so fucking surprised that you asked me out, but I didn’t dare believe you actually wanted...well, me.”

Remus laughed, nudging at Sirius’ nose with his own. 

“How could I not want you? Did you look at you? Do you know how sweet, caring and amazing you are?”

Sirius groaned as he nipped at the other man’s bottom lip, making him jump in surprise. He let his fingers run among the wild tawny curls, pulling at them slightly at the back of Remus’ neck. Remus let his head fall back, and instantly felt Sirius’ mouth on the soft skin under his jaw, trailing warm open-mouth kisses until he reached his collarbone.

“Re,” he whispered, feeling his boyfriend’s chest rising and falling in short shallow breaths.

“Yeah?”

“Please take me home.”

[laurensxox]

Fandom :: The Arcana

Pairing :: Julian Devorak x Reader (Not Apprentice)

Requested? :: no

Warning/s :: Julian's Route (Upright) and New Tale Spoilers, Named Apprentice, Female Reader, Chronic Illness, Swearing, Author is projecting their longing

Genre :: Angst

Summary :: Julian spends the night reminiscing over childhood memories and longing to go back to the past where he was in Nevivon again, playing as carefree as one can be with the one person he truly cared about other than his younger sister

Author's Note :: Stark, if you're reading this, I'm fighting you for this dramatic, self-sacrificing dumbdumb-

Song Inspiration :: Talking to the Moon by Bruno Mars

Portia's Cottage :: Just After Sundown

A chuckle left the auburn haired man as he watches Pasha relay stories of their childhood to their friends, informing them of how they were raised by a group of grandmothers and how their parents actually perished from a shipwreck caused by a rather strong storm. Mazelinka quickly add in how much of a troublemaker the two of them has become as the years pass by, didn't even waste the chance to tell them about the tooth fairy situation which caused Julian to go beet red in mild embarassment. Their friends were in no need to know that story!

Shaking his head, he let a more genuine smile form on his face. As embarrassed as he is right now, he was happy to see everyone laughing jovially without the fear of Lucio's plans with the Devil weighing on their shoulders. A warm sensation forms in his chest as he tries to hold in his laughter as Pasha nearly slips on her feet with her excitement to share their history. It was nice to be able to just laugh and and thrive in the positive energy inside the cottage! Even Muriel, their very introverted friend, seems to be relaxed as he lets Allen (Apprentice) braid his hair using flower stems while Asra leans on his side.

Looking at the trio and sensing the strong forming bond between Pasha and the Countess, Julian couldn't help the small pang of longing swell somewhere within himself. He couldn't stop his mind from pushing forward memories he tried to bury and lock away.

"Ilya, help! I'm slipping!"

"Don't worry, I'll catch you!"

The longing pang quickly turned to pain as the memories rushes back to the surface. He could feel his hand start to tremble as the formerly locked away memories barrels it's way to the front of his mind. Jumbled memories of playing tag and tending to scraped knees should have made him feel fond but it makes feel nothing but longing. Longing for a time and companionship he knows he'll never be able to have again.

Taking a deep breath, he hadn't noticed that he had closed his eyes until he opened them. With him being occupied with trying to stir himself away from the path of self-loathing once again, he hadn't noticed how quiet the cottage had gotten, its other residents looking at him with concerned eyes. Not even the Familiars scattered in the room made a noise.

He forced a laugh to ease the sudden change of atmosphere in the cottage, hoping it sounded convincing enough to clear the concern away from his family and friends' eyes. While he has come to terms that it's okay to ask and receive help instead of keeping things to himself, he still struggles with it. And it was obvious with the way he tries to act like he was okay, that he wasn't just bombarded with memories he doesn't want to remember.

"What is with that look, my dear friends? I am perfectly well, no worries!" he exclaimed, giving them his usual smirk and raised eyebrow, internally hoping it'll be enough to convince them that there was nothing to be concerned about. "There is nothing in this world that this handsome and smart devil can't handle!" His little comment about himself seems to be the right thing to say as his friends immediately rolled their eyes in fond exasperation. Although, by the look of his sister and honorary grandmother, he guessed that they have seen right through him and he can already see his funeral-

He gave a small sigh and let a small weary look replace his earlier expression, "I'll just head outside to take in a quick breath of fresh air," he said as he quickly exited the cottage before his two family member could say anything. Knowing that they'll probably just follow right after him, he quickly made his way away from the cottage and into the hedge maze by the palace gardens. It took him a while to get to the center but he was relieved to see it empty. Consul Valerius has taken to drinking his usual wine there in this time so he was quite happy to see that for once, the Consul broke his routine. He needed to be alone right now.

Taking a seat in one of the chairs surrounding a rounded table, he crossed his arms on the table and used it to rest his head upon. Taking another deep breath to calm his racing heart, he closed his eyes.

Maybe he needs to stop locking away these memories, he has only done so before due to his need to focus on finding the cure for the plague and then having to focus to not get caught by the patrolling palace guards when he was still a wanted convict. The memories and the longing for his childhood best friend used to be a big distraction for him while he was still working under Valdemar.

He didn't need to do any of those anymore... So maybe...

The soft rapid footsteps echoed in the small forest near the town of Nevivon, followed by the childish giggling of two children. Both children wore a tattered white sheet of cloth, the corners wrapped around their necks in a way that resembles that of a cape. Whilst in their heads rests crudely made paper crowns.

Young Julian and his best friend, (Y/N), were already considered too old for these kind of games by some of the grandmas and fellow children but the two gave them no mind, choosing to continue living in their fantasy world until they were truly too old for it.

The two children stopped once they have reached the center of the forest where a small meadow hides in. It was decorated by dozens of wild flowers and the breeze were always refreshing. The two has deemed this as their spot when they had first found it years ago, back when they were much younger.

They call the meadow as their kingdom, where they are the rulers, side by side as King and Queen. The wild flowers are their loyal subjects and sometimes, when Pasha joins them, she acts as their ambassador.

Young Julian kneeled as they reach the very center that they always keep clean, it was their designated throne room. The young boy carefully plucked a blue hued flower from the ground, he didn't know what kind of flower it was but it was pretty, a perfect gift for his 'Queen'

As if mocking the reminiscing man, right across from him and innocently clinging to the hedge wall was the very same flower that he had picked back then. He didn't know if he wants to sneer at it or be fond of it. He wished he has a glass of Salty Bitters right now, maybe he should have headed to Rowdy Raven instead of here.

"Would you have approved of the man that I have become, (Y/N)?" he whispered as he stares at the flower, as if it would miraculously turn into his childhood friend and answer him. Maybe that was possible? Allen did transform him into Asra back then, would the illusion work on a plant as well? But then again, that will be all it'll ever be. Just an illusion.

The grandmas all exchanged fond gazes as they watch their resident troublemakers sing songs with all their heart, their love for the dramatic was very much obvious at that moment.

Little Portia was banging on pots like drums by the sidelines, sometimes singing some lines as well when prompted by either her older brother or the girl she was starting to see as her older sister.

He stood up from his place and started to make his way out of maze. He wasn't going to go back in the cottage nor was he in any hurry, he just felt too restless to stay sitted in one place. He has gotten used to always moving around with all his running from guards and fighting a Major Arcana. But before he went back to trying to find his way in the maze, he stopped in front of the flower that he has been staring at.

It was a small flower with 6 petals that looks blue and violet at the same time, the bud in the middle was light green in color and it was the only flower growing in the hedge. From what Julian remembers, these flowers grow in bundles. So to see one so alone, well, it didn't help the growing hole inside him.

Gently plucking the flower like he did so in his childhood, he observed the flower a little more before making his way back into maze, taking the small flower with him. Surely, the Countess would not mind him plucking such a small wild flower, now would she?

Julian looked up from his book as he felt something soft being places om his hair, looking up, he saw (Y/N) placing what looks to be a bunch of flowers weaved together in a circlet manner on top of his head. Something similar on her own head as well.

"What are you doing, peanut?" he asked the girl, gently closing his book and waiting for the other to finish adjusting the flowers. He had taken to calling her 'Peanut' after he had caught her trying to sneakily take the peanuts in the communal pantry. He didn't snitch to the grandmas, of course.

"Just adjusting your flower crown, bum-bum" she answered, making small more adjustments before appearing satisfied that the flower crown both looks good and will surely stay on her friend's head when they begin to trek their way home later.

The Doctor surprisingly got out pretty easy, definitely faster than when he was first trying to get to the heart of the maze. Looking down at the flower, he let a sad smile adorn his face.

"I suppose even after all these years, you're still my lucky charm, huh, (Y/N)?" he mumbled under his breath, giving the one of the petals a small kiss before continuing to walk.

He didn't really have a destination, the palace grounds was vast and there are still some areas of it that he hasn't been to. Maybe a little exploring wouldn't hurt? He hopes Pasha wouldn't get too worried if he takes too long to get back to her cottage, he does often find himself in troubling situations.

"You know what? I wouldn't even ask how you manage to be in this situation." (Y/N) said, crossing her arms as she narrows her eyes at the boy dangling before her.

Julian had, at that moment, managed to get himself tangled in the vines surrounding the branches of the tree. Truth be told, he was trying to climb the tree in order to get fresh fruits for his sister and best friend. But when he finally managed to get on a branch, a crow suddenly flew out of its nest and caused him to go off balance, fortunately being caught by the vines, no matter how tangled up he got.

He wouldn't tell her that though, lord knows she wouldn't let him live it down.

"Why, my dear peanut, I was just trying to see how strong these vines are and if they would make a good rope!" It was honestly a good excuse for him, but apprently not good enough for (Y/N) as she just raised her eyebrow at him, clearly not believing him.

After a good bit of exploring, he manages to find himself near the fountains where he saw the trio couple making their way back to the palace. Were they on their way home already? How long has he been outside? Shaking his head, he called for their attention and made his way to them.

"Going home already?" he asked, raising a brow as he observes the many colorful flowers adoring Muriel's hair. It was quite a new look on the tall man but it surprisingly suits him. Seeing his friend give him a narrowed look, he moved his gaze to the two magicians.

"Yeah, I'm feeling quite a bit tired already and Asra wanted to do a quick inventory of the stocks we have left in the shop" Allen explained, moving to lightly keep their wild green hair out of their sight. It was getting a little long, they might need a cut soon. "Though, we don't plan to stay there for the whole night, just a quick inventory and dinner then straight to Muri's where we'll sleep for tonight" the apprentice added, giving the taller doctor a smile.

"I see, I see! Well, don't let me hold you back for any longer, have a safe walk home!" he exclaimed, moving to walk further before he was stopped by a gentle grip on his wrist. Turning back, he saw that it was Allen who held him back. He could see the concern swirling in their green eyes but the smile never faltered away from their face. "Yes, dear?" he asked.

"You know you can talk to us if there's something bothering you, right? You don't have to if you're not comfortable but just remember that we're here, okay?" Moved by their words, Julian pulled them into a sideway hug and let out a genuine laugh. He was so lucky to have his friends. Sometimes he still thinks he doesn't deserve them but he knew to keep it to himself for now. He didn't fancy sitting through another lecture session about his self worth by his sister again.

"Aw, Allen, don't you worry about lil 'ol me! I'm quite alright now!" That was a lie, he was far from alright, but his friend doesn't need to know that. "I may talk to Pasha and Mazelinka about it so no need to worry that cute little head of yours" That seemed to settle the Apprentice as they pulled away from the hug and gave his arm one last pat before moving to stand between their partners.

"You should do that now before Portia wears a hole in her carpet with how much she's pacing when we left" Asra said before he and the other two gave the auburn haired man one last wave and left.

Deciding to do as his magician friend said, he started his way back to his sister's cottage. Earlier was such a good day, it wouldn't do to plague his sister with worries and sour up the light mood. He already did that earlier before he walked out, best not make it worse.

Looking up at the dark sky, he smiled as he admires the scattered stars. It was a beautiful night, the full moon was giving the world such a soft look and it made things seem so peaceful. It made him feel like he was back to laying in the meadow near Nevivon. Like he was laying next to... Next to...

He wasn't able to wipe away his tears before they begun to fall down his cheeks. A sob fought its way out of his throat as he falls to a crouch.

Fuck, he wants to go back. He really really wants to go back-

Julian observed the wide sky and the many stars on them, it was a beautiful night and the night breeze was cold and as he lays on the equally cool grass of the meadow, it soothes his heated skin. It made him sigh in contentment, what more could he want?

Looking at his left, he smiled as he sees his sleeping sister. The little girl had decided to join them that night in their nightly star gazing but it didn't take long before she fell asleep, not used to staying up later than her bedtime. He'll have to carry her home later on.

The sight on his right took his breath away. Blush rushed to his face as he seems to see his best friend in a completely different light.

There, laying beside him, was (Y/N). The moonlight was softly hitting her face, and it made her (eye color) so much more brighter like gems, like the stars that littered the dark sky above them. Her laugh as she continues to talk about the astrology that she learned from Mazelinka, sounds like soothing bells to his ears.

Since when has his peanut became this... pretty?

He longs to be in her arms again, he longs to hear her voice again. No doubt it would still sound like music to his ears. He wants to make flower crowns again, he wants to play king and queen again, he wants to stargaze with her again, he wants to sneakily steal cookies, hangout by the hot springs, pick flowers for the grandmas, share lessons with Lilinka, he wants to...

He really wants to see her again.

Julian sat on her bed by her side, his hand gently holding her weaker and much fragile one, her illness eating away her strength. Her ring finger still holds the flower ring he had made earlier that week, it was already wilting but the girl refuses to take it off.

"I made up my mind." he said, breaking the solemn silence in the room. It made the other look at him curiously, waiting for him to elaborate.

"I'll take the offer to study medicine in Prakra" he explained, finally looking at his best friend and secretly, the girl who has his heart in her gentle grip for he doesn't think his bestfriend could ever be harsh, other than when she's twisting his ear for getting in trouble without her

But he can't, he knew he can't. She probably hates him, gotten word of his 'crimes' and no longer sees him as her best friend. But as a murderer, a plague doctor who assisted his superior on experimenting to dying plague victims in search of the cure.

She probably already has a family of her own now, has 3 children like she once said she wanted. Probably has a nice spouse that always makes her laugh and will never hurt her. A spouse that doesn't have their sins still haunting them in every step and breath they take.

"You're leaving me?" the pain in her voice was clear, she was hurt at the thought. They had planned to wait for her to be cured before they decide to go out of their hometown to travel, to study medicine like they always dreamed of.

"Not for long, I know we planned to study together but..." He took a deep breath, "I'm doing this for you, (Y/N), I want to study now for you"

Silence filled the room once again.

Julian clutched up at his coat, the place right over his heart where it hurts the most. He had completely fallen to his knees, tears continues to drip down to the ground from his eyes, his other hand gripping the ground.

Whispered apologies leaving his mouth over and over again.

"Promise me you'll come back? That you won't forget about me?"

Julian stared at his love's dull but hopeful (eye color) orbs, hisbhand momentarily leaving hers to gently caress her cheek.

"I'm so sorry... (Y/N), I'm so sorry..."

"I promise"

"I broke our promise... I'm so sorry, my love..."

[...]

Meanwhile, in the same meadow of Julian's memories, sits a much grown up version of the girl in his memories. Body trembling as sobs come right after one another, clutching a bundle of those same blue wildflowers to her chest. Her eyes tightly shut as tears falls to the ground of her childhood. The girl looked up, staring at the same moon that Julian was previously admiring.

"Where are you, Ilya? I thought you'll come back... You promised... You promised..."

Anyone interested in a reunion sequel? 👀

My apologies if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes, I just woke up when I finished this lol

Anyways, I hope you all liked this! Let me know what you think, don't be shy! 💙

[inb4belphienaps]

crying over spilt milk

warnings: none word count: 2285

“Truth be told, I’ve been having these dreams. Dreams almost of another life, a past life perhaps. One that I’d lived and seen and breathed through at some distant point in time.”

I read over my words, holding the letter in my hands.

“They are, by far, the most intricate and detailed dreams I’ve ever had. Usually, I don’t remember them. But these…these feel too real, too specific, too thought out to be anything except something akin to memories of a bygone era.”

I recall a few of them with some difficulty. That was always how dreams worked, like trying to grab mist with your bare hands and having nothing tangible left as evidence.

“Shall I confess?

They have now become a source of entertainment for me, having increasingly rooted themselves in my mind, to the extent that I find myself looking forward to (for lack of better phrasing) the ‘next installment’.

It’s bizarre, I’ll admit. How eager I am to get to sleep as soon as the clock shifts from afternoon to evening, when the hour hand turns to six and I wonder if I’ll see him again…”

.

.

.

as you slowly float back up to the surface, the first sound that hits you is the singing of birds. their bright and cheerful chirps filter in with a hint of irony. though they're pleasant, quietened by the curtains hanging over the windows, it means that it's still rather early.

there's a chill in the air and you turn over under your duvet, tucking your feet in further towards your knees, eager to keep the warmth on your skin. and yet, you open your eyes, not needing to blink any sleep from them. oddly enough, you're more awake than you'd thought. whatever dream you'd been having is far from your mind as you bask in the scattered sunlight dancing on your walls.

such serenity ignites a type of mild excitement in you. and with that in mind, you will yourself to get out of bed.

you draw back the curtains and glance outside, looking out at the landscape, where the sun is shyly peeking over the hill. dawn is only just breaking and as you open a window, a gust of wind greets you, sending a rush of floral scents your way.

you can place notes of rose and lavender, and maybe honeysuckle too. the scenery is beautiful, and you lean against the ledge to admire it. clear skies and waves of green, dotted here and there with reds and pinks and yellows. there's a calmness to the color and vibrancy. something you hadn't stopped to feel in a long time.

it stays in the background. while you pour yourself some tea and sit down for breakfast, and when you turn on the radio to the crooning of some ballad you can't quite place. and even as you set about doing the laundry, humming every now and then to a tune only you seem to know.

the basket you use is one you've weaved yourself (in an attempt to be impassioned by a new hobby). it's small and sturdy and it does the job. you wonder whether it'll last you, hoping that if it breaks, it'll at least do you the favor of waiting until it's empty.

though it doesn't take long, you're startled to see the sun in the sky as you step onto the gravel path, basket in hand. it seems to stare down at you and wink as clouds roll overhead, creating capering shadows on the field as you start hanging the wet quilts one by one.

a couple of bees follow you around as you go about your business. and when you stand still to breathe in the smell of freshly washed linen and admire the warm glow cast on those sheets by the light, a butterfly flutters past.

it brings with it the distant ring of a bicycle bell. you look to the east where a man in uniform comes riding up the hill and the smile on your face could bring shame to the flowers lying near your feet.

"good morning", he says, slowing and stopping a foot or two away from you. he tilts his cap and you note the way in which his fringe barely covers his right eye.

"good morning", you reply. "it must be exhausting having to make that trip every day."

he laughs. it's sweet.

"i don't really mind."

in his hand he carries a metal basket and neatly arranged inside are six glass bottles full of milk.

"how many would you like today?", he asks, and you have the urge to tell him you'll take everything he has to offer. but of course, you don't say this aloud.

"just the one, please."

as he picks up one of the bottles to give to you, you swallow your spit and gesture towards your house. the shadows continue to dance above it, making it seem fluid despite its usual rigidity.

"can i get you something to drink? a coffee, perhaps?"

he appears taken aback, eyes widening a fraction before he smiles, and you feel your heart leap into your throat.

"i'd like that very much. a coffee sounds great."

you momentarily freeze, having expected him to refuse your offer. and then you're taking the bottle of milk and your basket back inside as he follows after you. you turn back to him as he enters and the sheets you'd hung flail slightly behind him, almost like a set of wings.

"cream and sugar?"

"um, no. but could i trouble you for some ice?"

an iced americano, you think. placing your basket on the floor and leaving your bottle on the kitchen counter, you busy yourself with preparing his beverage.

"my name is belphegor, by the way. i think you should at least know who it is that's been delivering you your milk."

you pause, having taken a mug out of the cupboard, and meet his gaze. his tone sounds a little indignant. were you simply being sensitive?

"it's a pleasure to officially meet you, belphegor."

the both of you exchange a shared laugh (the sudden bit of formality is embarrassing). he's the first to look away, breaking the eye contact that has goosebumps erupt on your skin. hm, perhaps you were overthinking things. only, the problem is that you're not sure you have any ice in the fridge.

"were you listening to music?"

"yes- oh", you say, confused at the static that greets you. "the program must've finished."

he glances at the radio and then at you. in your bid to locate the instant coffee you have, you don't notice.

through a strange coincidence, you find it sitting pretty on the top-most shelf of the pantry. you frown, wondering if you'd placed it there by mistake.

belphegor is about to open his mouth to speak again when he sees you reach upwards, fingers brushing across the jar mere centimeters out of your grasp. you're on your toes, leaning forward, barely balancing as you try your hardest to take it.

the man remains silent, watching you with a detached type of curiosity.

darn shelves, you think, as you stretch as far as you're physically able. still, the glass slips from between your fingers and you resort to stepping on a sack of flour. right as you grab it, the corner of the sack slides out from underneath your foot and you gasp, knowing all too well how this was going to end.

but there's a hand on your shoulder and a solid chest against your back, and a pleasant voice in your ear that suggests otherwise.

"so much trouble for a coffee."

his breath tickles the nape of your neck and you twist around to thank him, unprepared for the amused expression painting his face. from here, you can see every freckle, every eyelash, and every stray hair left untamed by his cap.

"you okay?", he asks, too close and quiet. too intimate that you forget yourself for a second.

"i'm...i'm fine."

those furrowed brows of his make you think twice and you place a hand to his chest, marveling in its warmth. you can feel his heart beat. it's steady, unfazed by whatever silly accident had happened just now.

"thanks", you mutter, swiftly removing yourself from his arms (firm and inviting). "i'll uhh...i'll make your iced americano, shall i?"

he doesn't say anything as you take a spoon and measure out the ground powder. and the silence lingers as you bring a pot of water to the boil. your thoughts, however, are that much louder, that much more pronounced. you were never one to invite strangers into your home. why was he such an exception?

"you can stop staring."

belphegor chuckles and you hate the fact that you can't ignore it. his laughter, it twinkles, and it has you looking at him all over again.

"i was keeping an eye out for you. in case you decide to make a habit of falling while i'm here."

you scoff, opening the fridge door to remove the ice tray. six cubes blink up at you and you ease three out, popping them into his mug in rapid succession. it's a tad violent and some of the coffee sloshes out onto the counter.

"thank you for your concern. but it's really not necessary."

he walks towards you, and you remain fixed on his bowtie, hoping to avoid being trapped by his alluring purple irises.

"if you say so."

and he takes a sip. and you find a cloth to wipe the spilt coffee with.

"it tastes good", he says. "maybe i should ask you to make me one every morning."

"tough luck", you reply, glancing at him as you clean. "i'm afraid this is the last of my hospitality."

besides, you didn't have it in you to continue acting an utter fool around him. something about his self-assuredness serves as the antithesis to your nervous energy, fueling it further to the point that you're doubtful about whether he'll return tomorrow.

"is that any way to talk to your knight in shining armor?"

oh. nevermind. that question makes you want to slap the handsome smirk off his face.

you give one last swipe of the counter, as if to stand your ground, and straighten up. yet it only leads to disaster.

the lonesome bottle of milk that you'd put atop it, comes crashing down onto the tiles, spraying its contents along every surface and scattering glass shards in its wake. the knot in your stomach tightens and you refuse to acknowledge the man who hasn't budged an inch.

he clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

"what am i going to do with you?"

as you stoop down to gather the glass, he mirrors you.

"i can-"

"it'll be faster with the two of us."

apparently, it's your turn to watch him. you slow your movements as you focus on his hands, how meticulously they pick up each broken shard and how conflicted you feel about him doing as such. in your daze, the edge of a particularly sharp fragment digs into your thumb and you flinch.

"fuck-"

he reacts before you do, tossing the glass he's holding into the bin and taking your hand in his to help you remove the fragment.

"this might sting", he mutters. that was the last thing on your mind. did this man have no sense of personal space?

the fragment is tossed out with the rest of what used to be the bottle and you're about to reluctantly thank him for a second time until he's bringing your thumb up to his mouth.

"wh- what are you doing?"

he suckles gently on the cut, putting a stop to the bleeding, and you're rendered speechless. when he speaks, all you can think about is his lips.

"can't you be more careful?"

"not with you here, no", you say, finally admitting to the reality that was beginning to suffocate you. you can't pay attention to anything other than him.

"figured it out, have you?"

"figured what out...?", you ask, leaning in as his voice drops to a whisper.

"you have a crush on me."

you stare, perplexed, and you tear your eyes away from his mouth to look at him. there's a secret lingering in his facade. of words unspoken and confessions kept hidden. what does he know?

"prove it", you mumble, perfectly aware of how ridiculous a demand that was.

except he obliges, closing the gap between the both of you and meeting your lips with his own. they're soft and as you snake your hands around his neck, his cap comes loose, falling to join the mess on the floor.

neither of you care to address it and he pulls you back up, hugging you to his front and wrapping his arms around you. it's intoxicating. bitterness lingers on his tongue and there's the faint taste of cigarettes. but you're kissing him like someone starved. or perhaps someone parched.

sparks fly beneath your eyelids and rouge caresses your cheeks. (or was it the ghost of his palm against them?)

there's a need, an intensity to the way he grips you and the way clenches his jaw when you tug at his hair. you match him blow for blow, digging your nails into his shoulder and moaning softly into the kiss.

when you part and rest your forehead against his, you're not the only one who's out of breath.

"belphie", you whisper and the look on his face is a mystery in itself – surprise and longing, haphazardly hidden behind a mask of indifference.

"thank god i brought another five bottles with me, huh?"

[grangers-broomstick]

”Hold on, I tried to call Ron, who is this?” Potter doesn’t sound even a little bit out of breath. Twat. Draco sees him run past the Tom Ford store and silently prays that the awful looking grey monster with tentacles that is following Potter doesn’t destroy one of his favorite stores.

”Someone who’s watching this spectacle live. Merlin, I feel like im watching a muggle moving picture, a film is it? Anyways, Potter, watch out behind you,” Draco replies, and takes a sip of his tea. He watches as Potter hastily points his wand at that thing behind him. ”That beast was about to slice you in half, you really ought to be more careful. Didn’t they teach you anything at auror training?”

”What?” Is all Potter says and Draco silently contemplates how he managed to become an auror with such underdeveloped critical thinking skills and terrible awareness of his surroundings. Draco thinks he is absolutely daft.

”Wrong number, and before you ask, yes I am a wizard with a muggle telephone and no I have no clue how to successfully operate this thing. It’s been fun to try though,” Draco takes another slow sip of his tea. Just twenty minutes prior, Draco had sat himself down at this café somewhere in central London for a calm, extremely boring brunch. And then Potter came to ruin it by blasting a bunch of slimey, grey tentacle monsters right down the block. Typical. ”Please, Potter, get this over with. I would very much like to enjoy my brunch as soon as possible.”

”Who are you?” Draco watches as he almost dies, again, and rolls his eyes. He feels as though he should probably be startstruck that Harry Potter, of all people, accidentally called him on his muggle flip phone, but honestly? He’s been through more shocking things. He thinks.

”The name is Draco Malfoy,” Draco tells him as he watches Potter turn a corner up ahead, and he’s gone in a swoosh of monsters and red flashes of light. ”Anyways, you should probably hang up now to focus on that thing following you, it’s about to turn the same corner you just did.”

Draco hears Potter’s swear through the phone, and then a list of spells shouted in rapid fashion. Most likely at the beast. ”Uhm, okay, thanks,” he says.

”Whatever,” Draco says, and then snaps shut his flip phone. He continues to sip his tea.

***

Almost four weeks later, Draco’s phone rings again whilst he is cooking dinner. He doesn’t recognise the number, but he picks up anyway.

”Oh thank Merlin, Ron. Please tell me how to stop a densaugeo hex,” Potter’s, now familiar, voice says.

Draco sighs. ”Still not Ron,” he replies. ”But just use a shrinking charm, it should do the job.”

”Huh? Who is this?”

Draco sighs again, this time annoyingly and loud enough for Potter to hear over the phone. The water starts to boil over in the pot on the stove and he turns down the heat slightly. ”Draco Malfoy, same person you called when those awful grey things were trying to kill you, do you recall? Reducio should save whatever has been hexed, you’re welcome.”

”Thanks,” Potter says, hesitantly. ”So, I still have the wrong number in my phone?”

”Well, considering I’m not Ron or his affair de coeur, yes, it seems so Potter,” Draco snarls, and smirks as he hears Potter laugh on the other line.

”Alright, that’s fair. Thank you,” Potter replies. Draco hears him mutter the charm under his breath faintly. ”Draco, was it?”

”Yes, I’ve told you that twice now,” Draco turns of the stove with a flick of his wand and pours the pasta into a bowl. ”Well, I would like to enjoy my dinner now so, goodbye.”

He hangs up the phone and eats his dinner in the living room. He thinks about Potter.

”Merlin what an idiot,” he says out loud.

***

Draco’s phone rings while he is at work only a week later, and Draco already knows who’s calling. Not that he is keeping track. He rolls his eyes and picks up.

”Hurry up, I’m busy,” Draco says, adding two drops of flobberworm mucus to his cauldron and stirring 4 times clockwise.

”Hey Draco,” Potter says, sounding awfully entertained. Draco huffs. ”Am I disturbing you?”

”As a matter of fact, you are indeed Potter. I’m working, get to it,” he says, and tries to focus on the dreamless sleep he’s making.

”Just wondering, do you know anywhere I could get some blood-replenishing potion? The Apothecary has run out and it’s sort of urgent.”

Draco hums into the phone, and presses it in between his shoulder and head in order to cut up some lavender. ”If you’re brave enough, Mr Mulpepper’s is on Knockturn Alley. If you just walk past Borgin’s and to the left, you should see it.”

”You think I’m scared? I defeated Voldemort, I think I can manage Knockturn Alley,” Potter says, and Draco can practically feel the grin on his face.

This would probably be a good time to owl Pansy to admit that he has been properly enamoured by Britain’s golden boy. Ugh. Not fair. Totally not fair.

”You’re not half as cute as you think you are, Potter,” he lies through his teeth. He stirs the cauldron anti-clockwise and adds the lavender.

Potter chuckles, and Draco feels it in his whole body. ”No, but you’re probably twice as cute as I think you are,” he says. ”Anyway, thanks for the tip Draco,” and then he hangs up.

Draco stares at the cauldron of dreamless sleep for at least, like, five minutes. He should be shocked that this was the third time Potter rang, if he wasn’t so dumfounded by the fact that Potter was flirting with him. Harry Potter had called him, on purpose, to flirt with him.

Draco fucks up the dreamless sleep. It turns blue. He gives up on trying to save it after that.

***

Just a few days later Draco is on his way to have a few drinks with Blaise and Pansy, when the phone rings. Draco would very much like to ignore it, but the ringtone is so immensely antagonising he thinks it should be illegal.

”Again, Potter, really? Be quick about it, I’m a busy person,” Draco drawls into the phone.

”Draco Lucius Malfoy, born 5th of June 1980 in Forcalquier, France. Son and only heir to Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy, née Black. Oh, you’re Sirius’ cousin, how fun, I’m totally going to make fun of him for that. Anyway, your father was a notorious death eater, played a major role in the second wizarding war and was considered You-Know-Who’s second in command. Very interesting. Your aunt was quite infamous too, Bellatrix Lestrange. She tortured me once, you know. You grew up in France and attended Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, I suspect for reasons being to stay away from your father, perhaps. Graduated top of your class three years ago, and works as a potioneer, is that right?”

Draco draws in a sharp breath. He had stopped walking and was standing in the middle of the street as if he had been hit with a petrificus totalus. Mild panic claws at his chest, but he continues walking. He couldn’t quite place the voice, but it sounds awfully familiar. The person is soft spoken, and the speech didn’t sound cruel, so he tries to calm down.

”That is indeed right, may I ask who I’m talking to?” Draco asks, trying to sound nonchalant. He drags a shaky hand through his hair.

”Oh yes, of course, my apologies,” the voice says, a bit muffled, as if the person is moving around. ”The name’s Hermione Granger.”

Ah. A lightbulb in Draco’s head turns on. ”Miss Granger, what a pleasure. Thank you for calling, I was just thinking about my cousin, Sirius was it? Last I heard he escaped Azkaban, how thrilling.”

”Hm, yes that was quite some time ago. He’s doing well now, all the things he had been inprisoned for were a lie, so,” Granger gets cut off by someone and there is quiet mumbling. He tries to make out the words but to no luck. Instead, he focuses on the directions to the pub. Something rastles over the phone, and Granger is back. ”Well, I just thought I’d call. Harry’s been very smitten as of late.”

”How fun for him,” Draco says and hangs up. He speeds up the pace.

**

The next evening, Draco had just walked through the front door to his apartment when that dreadful ringtone starts again. He slams the door shut and walks to his bedroom.

”You know, usually, people don’t keep calling the wrong number, Potter,” he says and squeezes the phone between his shoulder and cheek. ”And, I would very much like a peaceful evening so if this is Granger, please spare me the speech about my own family tree.”

”Wait what?” Potter’s voice fills his ears and he closes his eyes and shivers. ”Hermione? She did what?”

Draco unclasps his robes and shrugs them off his shoulders. He starts at unbuttoning his pants and curses as he almost stumbles over them as they fall to his his ankles.

”Draco, are you okay?” Potter says, sounding concerned. ”What are you… are you undressing?”

”What an excellent observation, Potter. But don’t get your wand in a knot, this isn’t some awful sex line,” he replies and steps out of his pants. He pulls on some old pyjama pants. ”I don’t think you could afford me, if I’m honest.”

Potter laugh is loud through the phone and Draco basks in it for just a moment. He pulls on a t-shirt and flicks a folding charm at his clothes before making his way to the kitchen.

”You’re funny Draco, but what was that about Hermione? What did she do?”

”Oh Merlin Potter, don’t worry. She just called me to kindly remind me of my heritage and the fact that my family is insane, no harm done,” Draco mutters and heats up his two day old Chinese takeout with a wave of his wand.

”Oh fuck, fuck, I’m- I’m sorry Draco, really,” Potter sounds annoyed. Draco wonders if Granger is in trouble. ”I’m going to have to call you back.”

Draco hums, ”Please don’t. I’m going to be asleep in approximately fifteen minutes, and I need my precious beauty sleep. Why do you think I wake up looking perfect every day? Ugh, you understand nothing Potter, imbecile.”

Draco hears another one of Potter’s dark chuckles before he hangs up, and silently prays to Salazar that he’s not going to be woken up by the phone ringing tomorrow morning.

***

The phone doesn’t ring the next morning, or the next until its been almost two weeks since he last spoke to Potter. Bit it’s Thursday afternoon, and Harry Potter walks into Mr Mulpepper’s potions shop. Draco is up front at the register today, and Merlin how he wished he was in the back brewing something right about now.

Potter steps through the door and the bell makes a little jingle. He heads straight for the hangover potions and takes a couple of vials before looking at Draco. He watches as Potter looks him up and down, and he wonders if he knows that it’s him. If maybe Granger had told him about Draco and his family, and maybe that’s why he hadn’t called in a few weeks.

He swallows and throws a small smile at Potter. He smiles back. Okay, Draco thinks, maybe he doesn’t know.

”Just these, please,” Potter says, and puts the vials on the counter carefully. He shoves his hand in a pocket of his robes.

”That’ll be 2 galleons and 10 sickles, Potter,”

Potter’s head shoots up and his movements stop completely. They stare at each other for a few uncomfortably long seconds. Draco looks away first.

”What, forgotten how to count, have you? I really don’t have all day, we have lots of customers you know,” he snarks. Potter shakes his head and slowly, a grin lights up his face. Draco wants to strangle him.

”There’s no one here but me,” Potter says and pulls out a few galleons more than necessary and puts them on the counter between them. Draco huffs out a laugh. ”I’m sorry, I haven’t… I never called you back, work has been hectic.”

He’s still grinning. His hair is in it’s usual mess, looking like he had just had a proper shag. I want to shag him, Draco thinks. Ugh. Not fair, so not fair.

”Hm, you don’t owe me anything, Potter. I was wondering why you kept calling in the first place,” Draco says. Merlin, was his voice a bit shaky? It is totally Potter’s fault for making him nervous.

”Well, what can I say? I kind of like the arsehole that picks up,” Potter says and Draco can feel a smile growing on his own face too. He blames Potter for his future wrinkles.

”Well Potter, are you insinuating that you’ve been calling me only for my arse? I already told you, you can’t afford me,” Draco says and picks nervously at his nails. He looks down and counts out the money since Potter is too preoccupied with staring, still.

The man hums, and Draco closes his eyes briefly. “I mean, it’s a beautiful arse, don’t get me wrong. But, I think the sarcastic personality does it for me too.”

Draco lets himself laugh now, and shoves Potter lightly with a hand to his chest. He swears at Salazar for making Harry Potter so fucking fit.

“So, Draco, what do you say about a date?”

Draco is going to kill him.

[ushidoux]

Look at Me, Senpai - Hinata x Reader x Daichi (Pt. 4)

Summary: Reader starts to see Hinata in a different light once he returns from Brazil. It turns out Hinata’s inability to give up isn’t just something restricted to the court. (~2.3k words)

Warnings: fem!reader, nsfw, infidelity, a touch of the yandere

A/N: Honestly I can’t even tell who I want to be happy anymore, this is just sad lmfao.

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

—

“Shit-” You murmured under your breath, immediately withdrawing your burnt finger from the oven and into your mouth, sucking hard to palliate the sting. As usual, you’d neglected wearing mittens before turning the roasted veggies and inadvertently hit the top rack, adding another burn to the collection of small, barely-faded kitchen scars on your forearms.

Daichi glanced in your direction briefly, before going back to preparing fruit for dessert.

“You need to be more careful,” he said, just a little more stern than usual. The click of the knife hitting the wooden cutting board cut the air sharply, accenting an uncomfortable silence as you watched him from behind.

Your eyes rested on him for just a few moments more. Somehow, throughout the day, your panic at the idea of Hinata showing up to dinner in your own home and laying your infidelity to bear had slowly quelled. To expose you would only be out of spite, and even if Hinata could be determined and ambitious to the point of being inconsiderate, he wasn’t petty. You’d even considered the fact that he might not even show up.

Now the only thing on your mind was figuring out what was generating the cool energy Daichi seemed to be trying very desperately to suppress. Was it a response to your own skittish behavior? You had been keeping yourself (and your phone) a fair distance away from him since this morning, after all.

You shifted closer to him now, grabbing another knife and a cutting board to prepare dessert in silence. You turned to look at him, but he didn’t turn back.

You finished preparing dinner in silence.

To your dismay, Hinata showed up, right on time, and your stomach turned to lead with the familiar rapping on the door. Hesitantly, you trailed behind Daichi as he walked over to let him in.

Somehow, some way, Shoyo was still as bright as the sun despite it being evening, lighting up the room from the very first sight at the entrance. You realized you had missed his smile, when he grinned in your direction as though nothing was wrong and nodded politely at you first; maybe you noticed that the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but he turned away from you quickly to greet Daichi.

“I brought ingredients for caipirinhas!” He said cheerily, glass bottles clinking loudly in a bulky brown bag he balanced on his side while he took off his shoes at the entrance. Trying to mask the tremble of guilt coursing through you, you reached for the precariously positioned items to help him only to be suddenly intercepted by Daichi cutting you off by standing between you two. 

“Got it!” He said, grabbing the bag hastily from Hinata but as he turned to set the goods on the kitchen counter, a flicker of something dark ran through his face for a split second, and this time you knew you hadn’t imagined the look. Something was up.

“Come have a seat,” he encouraged your guest.

Instead you and Daichi found yourselves seated while Hinata comfortably navigated through your kitchen (once you had located glasses, ice and a shaker of course), having insisted on treating you to ‘Brazil’s national drink!’ once you had set out glasses and ice.

Hinata joined you at the table, setting down different colored prepared drinks - a caipirinha that matched the color of his hair, a pale-green drink for Daichi and you last, a bright yellow cocktail that you eyed suspiciously. 

“Passion,” he said, with that smile again that didn’t reach his eyes. You tensed. 

“The fruit,” Hinata added quickly with a laugh, “I feel like you would enjoy sour and sweet together... I also considered grapefruit for a bitter taste.”

You let out a soft, tinny laugh, stirring your drink before you sipped, and you could feel Daichi carefully studying the two of you as he sat by your side and just diagonal from Hinata, who sat directly across from you.

If Daichi was upset with Hinata in particular, he didn’t make it obvious. Daichi, in usual older brother fashion, took the time to catch up with Hinata properly in ways he couldn’t in a crowded bar, and you wondered if they had talked at all since that night where you had met again for the first time. 

Somehow you already knew everything Hinata shared. You knew too much. You didn’t nod in surprise, as you would when hearing a funny story for the first time, and you spent too much time attempting to be a stranger.

While Hinata was effortlessly at ease, you poked at your food noticeably. 

“You’re not hungry, my love?” Daichi asked clearly, in the middle of Hinata’s sentence, calling attention to your solemn presence at the dinner. You startled at the sudden attention, the eyes of both men on you.

“Oh, uh, I think I just got full from cooking. All the smells and such, you know,” you murmured, and Daichi seemed to smile genuinely.

“Of course.”

Hinata clapped his hands all of a sudden. 

“Ah! I’m very sorry if all I’ve been doing is talking about myself! Enough about me!” He interjected. Smiling now again, he looked towards you with glee. “Oh, have you started wedding preparations?” He questioned, brown eyes settling on the ring on your finger.

The thought that you never had it on whenever you were with him briefly crossed your mind.

Your throat was suddenly a bit dry as you came up with a reply. Daichi took a glance at you and then let out a hearty laugh as though he were covering for you, pulling you close to him. 

“Of course, it’s all we can think about.”

Hinata’s smile did not waver, but he said nothing further. There was another silence in the room as Hinata poked at his food, deciding what to say next.

There was something sudden that filled the quiet air as metal scraped against ceramic, like the sound of a kettle whistling or a pot overboiling and maybe it was the fact that the cocktail had been a little strong, but suddenly you felt that you couldn’t be in the room a second longer.

“I think I’m g-gonna have to turn in boys,” you said, with another laugh that sounded somewhere between nervous and drunk. “Thank you for coming by, Hinata-san.”

The -san was harsh and you knew it, but it was appropriate. You tried not to look at Hinata’s face as you stood up in your chair, but Daichi had other plans.

He pulled you again into a seat on his lap, making your heart stop.

“Ah, but you missed dessert babe... just stay a few minutes longer. You took so much time to prepare this lovely meal.”

His grip was like iron while his eyes again slid away from you and back to Hinata, and when you followed his gaze to look at him as well, if your heart had started pounding before at Daichi’s sudden roughness, it was now attempting to escape from your rib cage and run across the street.

Hinata’s soft brown eyes were now ominously dark and the dazzling white teeth of his smile now gleamed of danger.

Something snapped.

“Stop looking at my wife, Shoyo,” Daichi finally said, coolly and deliberately.

There it was.

You could feel every muscle in your body freeze into ice, but your blood ran even colder at Hinata’s reply.

“Why should I stop?”

Hinata remained perfectly settled, but you could tell he was ready to shake, and the muscles of his forearms tensing on the table slightly before his hands balled into fists.

“If I don’t look at her, will you?!”

His tone was accusatory enough that Daichi’s grip on you tightened, and his voice grew louder.

“So… so you admit it? You’re this shameless?”

Hinata looked at Daichi, then at you, then back to his former captain. The anger in his countenance seemed to defuse only slightly at the shock in your facial expression, maybe at the disappointment that you had for now chosen and would probably continue to choose Daichi over him.

“You stopped looking!” Hinata yelled, and in his voice, you could hear a ghost of the young boy who you had disregarded so many years ago. “You stopped paying attention, and all I’ve wanted my whole life is for her to look at me. So of course, I’m going to take my chance... of course, I was going to spend as much time as I can seeing her for who she really is! I will never stop looking!”

Daichi seemed to recoil from the shock of the kohai he had practically raised yelling back at him, and his jaw dropped and then he looked at you, the woman he loved and intended to marry in his arms. A grave miscalculation. 

“It was such a short time but now I know everything, Daichi. Everything that you don’t care about anymore.

I know what makes her laugh, what makes her sad, what she wants to do with her days. I even know how much she loves you and I hate it. I fucking hate it.

I know about her back dimples, and what she sounds like when she’s excited or when she moans, and that place where she has the tiniest birthmark. Yeah, that one.

You’ve gotten so fucking lazy all these years with her by your side while every day I wake up and wish she would take me seriously.”

The fact that Shoyo managed to keep talking in the backdrop, and his words continued to implicate you further and further felt like a wrench in your heart, but the fervor that dripped in his voice… you were torn.

Shoyo, please stop...

“You…,” Daichi’s voice trailed off as he watched you fall apart, crying profusely.

“Daichi, I’m sorry.”

Daichi’s head started to spin. This was far, far from what he had expected.

A confrontation, yes. A mild one, where he would tell Hinata maybe not so gently to back off. He had seen a couple of the texts Hinata sent you early on of course, and never an answer from you, so of course you were staying faithful to him. And even if you had thought about what it would feel like to be with Shoyo once or twice, trying his name in your mouth in fantasy so that it rolled off the tongue during sex, he could begrudgingly forgive you for that.

But whatever Shoyo implied now was much more than a crush. In fact, this drawn-out declaration of his feelings was so far from a crush that it filled him contempt.

Was it an obsession perhaps? Daichi wouldn’t admit that maybe Shoyo loved you genuinely, that would be too unbearable to think about. But the implication that you had in any way given into him for real, right ahead of your wedding... 

That was too much to endure.

He had always ignored the soft undercurrent of Hinata’s affection towards you. It was painfully obvious. He knew about the confession back in high school, he’d even softly joked about it when you told him about it, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

He’d get over it. Hinata was never a threat. Couldn’t be.

And so Daichi ignored every furtive glance even though he understood more than anyone that Hinata was persistent to a fault.

A moment crossed Daichi’s mind briefly from his third year in high school, when he found himself scolding Hinata for a simple mistake during practice: 

How many times do I need to tell you that you always need to consider how your actions will affect others?

He’d meant it on the court, he never thought Hinata would be like this in real life.

Coveting.

Reckless.

Scheming? No, not scheming. Hinata didn’t hide.  You were the one to hide.

“How long?” Daichi said, his voice still shaking, his hands letting go of you so that you could finally stand on your own two feet and explain yourself.

Your knees started to give way and you knelt down in a heap, hot tears falling freely from your eyes. Disgusting. Were you sad because you hurt him or because you got caught?

Daichi couldn’t bear to look at you, his face twisted in anguish, focusing on his anger at Hinata instead.

“How long?!” He demanded again to know, slamming his fist on the table in Hinata’s direction. Hinata was focused instead on the trembling mess that was you now, and making his way over to encase you, and Daichi’s rage only continued to build.

“Don’t fucking touch her!”

Hinata pushed past Daichi who had now risen to block his way towards you and before you could try to defuse the situation, you heard the unmistakable sound of knuckles hitting flesh.

You’d missed the punch but Daichi’s fist was still clenched, and he was shaking it out, his body heaving and his face red and maybe he was crying, but all you could pay attention to was Shoyo who stood in place, stunned.

“There’s a fucking limit, Hinata!”

Despite all these years, Daichi would still be scolding him like a child made Hinata’s fists clench and his muscles strain, and in the next few moments, you knew you had to move before it turned into a full-blown fight.

“Daichi, please!” You screamed, now getting to your feet to stand in between him and Hinata, your stomach turning as you took in the torment drawn into his features as he looked into your eyes.

“Please, please, just look at me,” you said, cupping his face in your hands, even though you knew you had no right at all to touch him, but all to make sure you stopped this, whatever this was. You couldn’t let this continue.

“You slept with him!” He screamed in your face, upset making his voice hoarse, his face now wet with tears. You weren’t sure you had ever seen him cry in all these years.

“How many times? Where? Why? I gave you everything!”

“Please… Daichi, I”m sorry!”

“You slept with him when I worked so hard for you!”

“Daichi-”

“Stop talking!” He said, all but ripping your hands off his face. “How could you… with Hinata? How?”

He now sank to the ground, curling into himself while you and Hinata both watched him become helpless. You wanted to creep closer to him, to hold him in your arms but you couldn’t, you knew you didn’t deserve to touch him.

“I-I’m sorry,” you choked out, again. “I love you, Daichi… I’m so sorry.”

He responded with short and strained sobs, over which you could barely hear Hinata slam your front door shut as he left.

[wren-ravenheart]

You Tried So Loud To Love Me

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Hanahaki Disease Relationships:  Jaskier/Valdo Marx Rating: T Content Warnings: Minor blood Summary: Jaskier absolutely could not stand Valdo Marx for even a second. He was pretentious, too pretty for his own good, and had a terrible habit of writing sonnets and songs about the color of Jaskier's eyes and the swoop of his hair that he was absolutely certain were some sort of masterfully crafted insult to his person and reputation.

Tucked under a cut again for Length, though this one is over just over 2k words.

Cross-posted to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31171259

~

There were exactly three things in life that Jaskier was absolutely certain of. Things that he could continue to count on even when the rest of his life was attempting to fall to pieces around him.

That Belleteyn is the best holiday.

That Toussaint is Hot and Pretentious.

And that Valdo Marx is an asshole.

Even when his pockets were empty, his lute strings snapped, or he suddenly found himself caught up in a mild court scandal that he assuredly had no part in, he could always rely on those few things. It was easy to keep moving forward when one was propelled by Pettiness and Lust. Even if he could never give an exact answer as to why he hated Valdo so much when pressed. Really now, you wouldn’t ask why the grass was green or the sun warm, so why would anyone ask Jaskier why he couldn’t stand that fluffy little upstart?

It was assuredly not because the rival bard did indeed stand two inches taller than him and was criminally handsome. Nor was it because he had a perpetual perfect smile on his face that refused to budge even when Jaskier threw his best insults at him. And it most assuredly was not because the thrice-damned bastard had written not one but Two Sonnets entirely about Jaskier’s eyes and hair and he absolutely could read the undertones of mocking that clearly lay within. No, it was clearly none of those things that irked Jaskier to his very core.

What kept his petty hate-fueled animosity going was the absolutely nonsensical crush he had on the bastard. A crush he had worked hard to snuff out with wine, women, and a few other bards who weren’t nearly as annoying as Valdo. A crush that clearly had not gone away with time. A crush that was currently trying to hurtle it’s slimy little self all the way into actual, ugh… Love.

Which made it even more frustrating than usual that Valdo was suddenly not his normal bubbly self, greeting Jaskier warmly and loudly as he strode into their mutually favorite tavern in the middle of Oxenfurt. He looked tired, and quiet, and barely glanced at Jaskier before shifting his gaze back into the pint of ale in front of him. Not wine? By Melitele, what was wrong with him?

“Well, well, look who the alley cat dragged in. Ale will go straight to your gut, Valdo. I’ll steal back the title of prettiest bard before you know it.” He sniped as he leaned against the table’s edge and smiled with too many teeth.

Valdo cut his eyes up and then back down. “Good day, Jaskier.”

The smile dropped from Jaskier’s face and he narrowed his eyes. “Good day? That’s it? Valdo, are you ill? I did take the title back already, didn’t I? That must be it! I’ve never seen you like this. Ah, it must be such a burn to know you’ve finally been bested by a true bard and exposed for the talentless hack that you are.” As he spoke, he gestured grandly with his hands. Valdo only winced once at the mention of being ill and firmly kept his gaze on his mug.

“Everyone already knew you’re the attractive one between us, Jaskier. No need to rub it in.”

Jaskier ceased his obnoxious flailing and took an actual seat at the table with him. He crossed his arms on the table in front of him and leaned in, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard. “Okay now you’re actually worrying me. I was expecting snide sonnets on my unruly mop and ‘lustful gaze’. Jabs, put-downs...anything but this. You are actually sick, aren’t you?”

Valdo slammed back the rest of his ale and stood up abruptly. Jaskier’s mouth dropped open in shock as he was glared openly at by his once-rival turned unnatural crush. “Leave off, Jaskier. Go bother the brothel workers.” And with that final gritted out jab, he stomped out of the tavern.

Jaskier was still staring in shock at the empty spot before him when the barmaid strolled by.

“You’ll catch flies, you leave your mouth open like that, boy.”

He clicked his mouth shut and quickly made his own way out and back to his lodgings.

This just wouldn’t do. What was Valdo’s game? Was he finally making good on all of Jaskier’s assholish attempts to make them public nemeses? Maybe Valdo could read minds; realized the strange feelings the bard had begun to have towards him and decided he was thoroughly disgusted by him.

Jaskier let himself slink into the beginnings of a depression and decided he’d just have to try and shake that off and find out what was going on with his Fri… Rival.

He followed Valdo whenever he could, ambushing him after lectures and hunting him down in pubs. He startled him so fiercely one of these times that the other bard broke down into what sounded like a very painful coughing fit, enough that caused him to pull out a handkerchief to cough into until his lungs settled from the surprise. He found this odd, and then odder still when as he went to ask after his well-being, Valdo abruptly shoved the handkerchief away and growled at him. Growled! Like some angry dog! And left Jaskier once again staring after him as he stomped away, agog.

A month later, Jaskier’s persistence had turned into straight up concern. Valdo was less angry with his antics and instead seemed constantly tired. There were bags under his lovely brown eyes and his hair had turned greasy and less kempt. He consulted these odd symptoms with a friend studying medicine and she mentioned it sounded like some sort of wasting disease. Jaskier was only familiar with a few of them, but none of them sounded like a pleasant time.

So, while still firmly trying to convince his brain that Valdo was still an absolute Arse and absolutely did not deserve his time or affection, Jaskier made soup. Warm pot nestled in the crook of his arm, he marched up to Valdo’s residence and knocked firmly on the door. No one answered. He knocked again. Deep coughs followed by the sounds of mild choking came from within and Jaskier decided basic decorum was right out the window. He pried open the door and rushed inside, looking for the source of the distress.

And there was Valdo; laid out on a lounge chair looking even worse than usual and slowly lowering a cloth from his mouth. There were flecks of blood on his lips and it appeared as if he couldn’t draw a full breath. Jaskier plunked the soup pot right on the floor and went directly to Valdo’s side.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were so ill?” He asked softly, dropping all the pretense of being a rampant jerk.

Valdo just looked at him sadly, too tired to muster up his recent attempts at dismissal. “I did not want you to know, Jaskier. You’re like the sun. So warm and happy. I could not bring myself to have you worry so I pushed you away.”

Jaskier’s eyes went a little wide and he reached out to take Valdo’s hand. It was so cold in his own, and he could make out the fine bones in his fingers. A wasting disease indeed. He rubbed his thumb over the other’s knuckles and shook his head slightly in dismay.

“I’ve been a right arse to you for years. Look at us. Idiots to the bitter end.” He murmured wistfully. “Is… is there anything I can do to help? To ease anything at all? I, uh… I made you soup. I thought it might be… nice?”

Now it was Valdo’s turn to look surprised. He squeezed the hand in his and looked over at the pot on the floor. “You made me soup? You’ve never made me anything.”

“Okay yes. Fine. That is true. I’m a complete and total jerk. My feet should not be gracing your illustrious doorstep, my knees not fit for your carpet. I’m sorry, okay? You’re talented. So talented. I’m at a loss without your poetry to bounce my own works off of.”

At this confession, Valdo cracked a little smile. “Maybe there is hope for you and I after all, dear Jaskier… You see, I ha-” A painful coughing fit cut him off abruptly, the force of it causing Valdo to nearly curl in on himself, clutching the cloth to his mouth as his body attempted to forcefully remove whatever was clearly killing him. Jaskier kept his hand firmly in Valdo’s as he tried to rub the other’s back in comfort. The touch seemed to help in some small way, and the hacking died off. Valdo slumped backwards panting, the hand with the cloth falling into his lap.

There, amidst the spattering of blood, lay small bright yellow flowers. Jaskier gasped loudly and shook his head.

“No, it’s a myth. It’s not real.”

Valdo attempted to clear his throat as he bunched the cloth with the flowers up and tried to hide it from view. “You of.. Of all people… .should know the… power of a story… where they come from...the truths hidden in the tales….We’re storytellers.. It’s.. poetic in it’s own way…”

“It’s a tragedy born of the old stories, is what it is. Wasting away from unrequited love? It’s madness. No one actually dies of a broken heart.”

“I’m not heartbroken, Jaskier. I’m simply in love with someone who is my sun and sky… and who absolutely cannot stand me. It will make the most glorious tragedy. I have already begun to write it.” Valdo smiled brightly as he caught his breath better and shifted to sit more comfortably. He squeezed his hand once more before letting it drop. “With any luck, I will finish it before I can no longer write.”

Jaskier stared into the middle distance over Valdo’s shoulder, taking it all in. It all seemed too outlandish to be real. Things that happened in tragedies and stories never actually happened in real life. Soulmates weren’t real. Kisses didn’t break curses. And people didn’t suffocate slowly on flowers for being rejected. But as he slowly shifted his gaze back to the pale, but still softly smiling, face of the absolute nuisance that was Valdo Marx, at lot of things clicked into place for him.

He had never hidden pithy put-downs into his sonnets. He had never crafted masterful insults through his songs. He had honestly and truly sung from the heart and he had called him his Sun. Valdo had been unashamedly, unabashedly, in love with him from the start. He was coughing up small yellow flowers… Buttercups...and had slipped back into waxing poetic over it all. Lord, the fool was fully gone on him. And he had been nothing but the most righteous arse over it all, so very full of himself and sure that the other was somehow mocking him and jealous of his talent.

Turns out it was Jaskier himself who was the pompous wastrul and talentless hack. He shuffled forward on his knees until he was flush against the lounge. Valdo looked over at him and lifted an eyebrow in question. A beautiful eyebrow set in a beautiful face that Jaskier was tired of pretending he wasn’t also long gone on as well. What was it that the storybooks always said saved the day, woke the princess, broke the curse? Ah… yes…

Jaskier set both hands on the cushion of the lounge and angled himself just right to gently lean forward and press his lips right against Valdo’s own. The man below him went very very still. His lips were soft, but the lack of any response twisted something uncomfortable in his gut and he slowly broke the kiss and moved away, eyes cast downwards.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Jaskier, what-?”

They spoke at once. Jaskier looked up and noticed color on Valdo’s cheeks, his mouth slightly open and his eyes nearly comically wide in shock. He swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat.

“I’ve been a right arse to you, but I love you, Valdo Marx. And I do not wish to see you suffer a moment longer. It will kill me too.”

Valdo’s eyes fluttered shut and he let out a deep exhale. Jaskier panicked for a brief second, wondering if he had actually killed him, before he sucked in a very long and full breath and opened his eyes again. They shined with unshed tears and Jaskier had a moment to admire the sight and the warm feeling at finally giving in before he was being tackled to the ground in a crushing hug and warm tiny kisses were being pressed to whatever skin the other could find.

A laugh erupted from them, and Valdo’s kisses shifted from surprised, affectionate pecks, to soft and tender kisses meant to explore the other’s skin. Jaskier shifted slightly under him and set a hand to his chin, drawing him back to his own lips to continue the kissing. Valdo hummed happily and nearly melted into what he hoped was now his new Beau. The university community was going to have a field day with this.

Jaskier rolled them over and slowly moved his head away. Valdo attempted to chase after one more kiss, making him chuckle. “As much as I am enjoying making out on the floor like we’re back in year one… are you sure? Are you alright? You were coughing up most of your lung a minute ago.”

Valdo smiled up at him and reached up to run his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. “Yes, my love, I am quite well now. You’ve restored me and I suffer no longer. Now the story I write shall have a happy ending. A proper fairy tale after all.”

“Well, if you insist. Though I would be grateful to continue this discussion somewhere that is not the floor.”

Valdo’s laugh was bright and filled him with warmth as they both got to their feet and he began to tug Jaskier in the direction of a more private space. “Anything for the prettiest bard in Oxenfurt.”

And wasn’t Jaskier pleasantly surprised when Valdo took it upon himself to demonstrate just how much better he now felt, repeatedly and with vigor. As it turned out, stories always had more truth to them than he had ever expected, for this cursed ailment was most assuredly soothed with a Kiss.

~End~