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live-the-fangirl-life · 3 years ago

Text

By the Light of the Moon

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Ghostly Stroll

Walking through a graveyard on Halloween, what a cliché. Happy Spooktober

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Halloween Collection

Warning: Potential Crying, Mentions of Death

1358 words

*******

The moonlight shown through the cloudy sky, reflecting in the small puddles left on the paved, damp road.

Aelin liked stepping in those puddles.

She would huff a laugh every time her boot fell in the shallow water, creating rippling distortions to the light before it calmed and mirrored the moon once more. She liked the feeling of the stray droplets of water splashing against her foot.

Rowan didn’t comment, simply shook his head fondly and rolled his eyes with each passing puddle.

There was a chill in the air as a soft, crisp breeze blew through the trees. Aelin listened to the rustling of leaves—the ones that were left anyway, seeing as most had already turned shades of crimson, ochre, and toffee, before blanketing the ground.

As a particularly strong gust of wind lifted strands of Aelin’s blonde hair, now shimmering in the moonlight, Rowan reached across with the arm not entwined with hers and gently tucked it behind her ear.

She smiled at the gesture and leaned closer to her husband, savoring the feeling of her shoulder pressing into his and smiling again as he turned his head to kiss the top of her head.

“This is nice.” She said quietly, “don’t you think?”

“Which part?” he asked, facing her and meeting her blue and gold gaze.

Aelin didn’t answer him right away, instead enjoying their peaceful stroll along the empty road. She pushed a stray silver lock back from his face. “The breeze.” She smiled as sounds filtered from houses out towards the road. “The echoes of strangers telling stories. The smell of a fire and roasting marshmallows.” Aelin caught and held Rowan’s gaze. “Walking this beautiful night with you.”

They kept walking, not in a hurry to get anywhere but just enjoying each other’s company. “It is nice, Fireheart. It’s the best time of year.”

Aelin smiled again as she caught the faint sounds of children giggling as the last, straggling trick-or-treaters collected their candy before returning home. She squeezed Rowan’s arm, keeping pace with him as they strolled farther down the road, enjoying the fresh October air.

“My favorite.” She agreed.

They walked along the familiar road for a while more before the houses disappeared and gave way to a large plot of land housing graves, tombstones, and mausoleums.

Aelin turned to grin at Rowan, and he knew exactly what she was going to say.

“It’s Halloween.” She said as if that was question and answer enough. He supposed it was, but Rowan raised a brow, and she rolled her eyes before amending, “Halloween, All Hallows Eve, Samhain—the sentiment’s the same. But we’re here,” she looked toward the graveyard for a long moment before insisting, “we can’t not go in.”

“Walking through a graveyard on Halloween,” he muttered dryly, but followed her lead as they passed through the creaky metal gate. Its not like he would say no to this, or to her. “What a cliché.”

Aelin snorted and met his amused stare with her own. “You say that like we don’t do this every year.”

The front of the graveyard mostly held newer burials, all polished headstones and fresh flowers. The farther back they walked, the older the dates on the stone became. The organization also became more haphazard the further back they roamed. Near the gate the plaques and stones had been lined up in neat rows, but as asphalt turned into cobblestone turned into grass-covered paths, the headstones were placed at odd angles and spaced at random.

“Hmm” Aelin contemplated, halting in front of a new-looking stone and glancing at the dates.

“No, not again, Fireheart.” Rowan groaned, knowing his wife too well.

“I’m going to say that this woman died at the ripe old age of eighty-seven while posing for a tastefully nude portrait.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a little vulgar to make up outrageous stories about the dead?” Then he snorted. “And how would that even kill her?”

Aelin raised a brow at him even as his lips quirked up. She steered them down another aisle. “Are you saying that because you actually think that?” Her tone made it obvious she didn’t believe it. “Or are you upset because you know you couldn’t come up with anything more interesting?”

He scoffed as they landed in front of a stone with slightly older dates. He glanced down at Aelin who was watching him expectantly as if to say show me what you’ve got. He glanced around, making sure one no one else was within earshot.

Occasionally, Aelin and Rowan would spot another person or sometimes a small group of people walking through the graves or staring solemnly at a particular headstone. They would nod in acknowledgment and share a brief, understanding look.

Not seeing anyone, he begrudgingly focused on the plaque and said, “Let’s say that this fellow lived his life in the circus and had an unfortunate fire-breathing accident.”

Aelin laughed, her eyes sparkling as they continued to make up stories.

They kept walking. Every now and then they would hear a bird flying across the grounds or the wind whistling through the trees.

“Ooh here’s an older one.” Aelin glanced at Rowan before nodding, “this one accidentally shot himself with a cannon.”

Rowan snorted, “how does one shoot themselves with a canon?”

“I don’t know,” she rolled her eyes, “maybe it failed to fire, and he went to check on it and suddenly boom.”

They meandered through the aisles and slowly watched as the stones became rougher and covered in moss, the words etched into them barely legible.

The clouds had cleared and now the sky was filled with the light of the fading moon.

This far back into the graveyard, neither Aelin nor Rowan could make out the entrance from which they came.

But that didn’t matter. Not as Aelin kept her arm hooked through her husband’s while they turned down another row of ancient, long-forgotten tombstones.

Rowan stopped walking and felt Aelin press herself closer towards him.

“What do you think about these?” he whispered; voice barely audible above the low wind.

Aelin squeezed his arm. “I think,” she whispered just as quietly, “they lived a long, happy life and forever thanked the stars that they found each other.”

The stones were old. Rounded corners from age and layers of moss were identical on the pair of faded headstones. And even though the letters had long since faded, the inscription was something neither of them would forget.

Go Rattle The Stars. Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius & Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius. To Whatever End.

They stood quietly for a long moment. Their humor replaced with a calm serenity.

“How long has it been, Buzzard?” She whispered. “I lost count ages ago.”

A lie. Aelin knew exactly how many years had passed—how many anniversaries, how many holidays, how many celebrations; how many children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren; how many Halloween nights she and Rowan had made this same trek through the graveyard.

“Too long, Fireheart.” he murmured.

She held his hand even tighter. They didn’t speak again, relishing in their companionable silence and the comfort of simply being with one another, until the moon had almost fully dipped beneath the horizon.

Aelin faced him, a fond smile growing as she placed a hand on his cheek. He still looked as handsome and young as the day she’d met him, despite them having grown old together long, long, ago.

“Until next All Hallows Eve,” She promised.

It wasn’t a thing to feel sad about, nor angry or frustrated. It simply was.

She wasn’t sure how it happened or why, but she and Rowan found each other every year on this night, and she would thank the universe for letting it be so.

“Until next year.” He held her waist as she wound her arms around his neck. Rowan leaned down to press his forehead against hers. “To whatever end, Aelin.”

“To whatever end, Rowan” she raised herself on her toes to kiss him.

As the last glimmers of moonlight disappeared, Aelin Galathynius and Rowan Whitethorn faded away once more in a ghostly whisper.

*****

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prof-peach · 4 years ago

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Hey Prof, I need your advice.

My sister recently decided she didn't wanted her bulbasaur anymore (she got him on a whim about a month ago) and gave him to me, he is quite violent and tends to attack when I try to get close to him.

Now, that wouldn't be a huge problem, but my Purrloin has gotten hurt trying to befriend him, she's quite outgoing and never really liked fighting (we enjoy contests so she knows a few more flashy attacks), so she couldn't even defend herself properly.

I don't want to give up on him and my local rescue center is filled with Bunearies (you know, after Easter kids don't want their Bunny anymore) so they can't take him in right now, any advice in how I can go about this situation?

Sounds to me like you have a tricky little dude on your hands. So you're not battle orientated which will make this harder, Bulbasaur in the wild are actually quite combat minded to defend their families and territory, and a lot of their herds consist of strict hierarchy based on power and skill, often led by older, fully evolved members of their group.

Before you take any actions to befriend them, its worth noting that any pokemon who comes into your care showing aggression is usually doing so for one or two reasons that are pretty universal for any species. Fear being the main issue with pokemon who have been ditched, if a pokemon is unwell, if it feels exposed, if it is unsure of you or your home, your partners, it may lash out because it is afraid. Even what looks like pure anger can stem from a fear. Of course some individuals are just full of rage, its not unheard of, but for the most part it comes from somewhere else.

For a moment, take the time to put yourself in this pokemons shoes. It was chosen, with hopes and ambitions of its own, by your sister, a stranger to them, and for whatever reason they were cast aside. This reason may be unclear to the pokemon, it may be unfair, unkind, or even without malice just out of pure indifference. No matter the reason, this pokemon has been left behind by a trainer it at one point probably wanted to try to get along with. I don’t know what your sister may or may not have done, or provided for the bulbasaur, but it will help you understand how its feeling, if you were to ask her about their relationship prior to you receiving the pokemon. If it has always been aggressive and angry, i’d seriously consider talking to it about release, not rehome.

We humans have a preconceived notion that pokemon are pets and things to keep with us. This may be true for some sure, but not every pokemon wishes to be a captive to a human, they may want more for themselves, and wish for a free life with their own kind. We cannot put our wants and desires above that of the pokemons, so you two need to have a talk, at a respectful distance for safeties sake, to see what the Bulbasaur feels they may want. These are herd pokemon, born and bred to be with their own kind, if not a larger group, if its lonely, if it wants to go home, to start a family, or simply to not be held in a ball as some creature to be owned, then you as its current carer must give it what you can. You can always find another pokemon who wants to be your partner, but you cannot give back lost years to a pokemon who has lived a life its unhappy with. Treat them with respect, and be open and honest. At the end of the day we have a chance to help pokemon, and forcing what we want onto them is a hinderance, and will lead to them feeling unsatisfied and bitter in the long run.

Some pokemon lash out due to the process of being handed off to someone else, trust is earnt, not always just simply given to whoever holds the pokeball. Remember this as you move forward, and try to keep your other pokemon away from them, Bulbasaur are territorial species, and have to accept pokemon into their families before simply allowing them to come and go freely into their personal space. Despite their grouchy natures at times they usually do have a morally positive compass, and defend with ferocity when they love something. Perhaps in you showing genuine concern for their welfare and future, offering them not what you want, but instead what they want, they may give you a chance to get closer, but take baby steps, and try to be their friend above all else. I bet they're feeling pretty lonely right now.

Its worth sharing interests with the pokemon, talk about contests, see if they're interested, some pokemon have a predisposition for this, others have no interest and prefer more battle based lives, or even peaceful non-competitive existences. no amount of pressure will change a pokemon’s nature, and some just aren't cut out for the fine art of showmanship that contests require. You can however use powerful attacks in showy ways, so theres always hope that they could enjoy it, if you can work with them to their strengths.

If possible, work to getting them outdoors, cooping grass types up can lead to stroppy, testing personalities, many thrive in the outdoors, he may need some serious outside time to compensate for the lack of exercise and natural stimulation they may have not been getting prior to your ownership. There are plenty of areas in public that are much like tennis courts, areas of space you can book for a set amount of time too exercise difficult pokemon, these locations are often secure facilities, both outdoors and indoors, to suit a range of species. find one that has outdoor facilities and book a few hours per week to go there, increasing the time whenever possible. This exercise and time with you may help to find common ground, and topics that you and the bulbasaur can bond over. This can be anything from battles, to sun bathing, playing sports, games, swimming, running or digging, and everything in between. Bulbasaur naturally are great foragers and tend to like to snaffle about in long grass and shrubland, hiding treats like berry slices in a secure environment is good enrichment and can tire the pokemon out. a tired pokemon is usually a little less aggressive, having lower energy levels and less want to expend attacks. this process also associated you with something fun, and your scent will be on the treats too, so they'll know you were the one to provide this activity for them.

I’d also take plenty of time to observe the bulbasaur, as your sister got them on a whim, they probably had no prior knowledge of the species, or how to correctly care for them. In a month, a health complaint could have begun to show, so observe their colouration, feet, walking gait, sleeping patterns, feeding habits, and general behaviour. Excess scratching, heavy breathing, or unusual shaking or moving can suggest a health condition is starting to take form. Most can be helped if caught early, but some illnesses give the pokemon discomfort, and can lead to snappy tempers and irritability. It could be that this individual is in pain, or finding life difficult due to its health, which can cause a lot of hostility as i’m sure anyone would agree. It can suck to be sick!

This species can be won over if you can prove you have a skill of worth to them. This is the case with a lot of pokemon, having respect for something they cannot do, and learning that they need things from you can lead to them at least tolerating us humans. Its a foot in the door. A trick i like t use with particularly difficult bulbasaur is to give them their fav food, whatever it is, then put it in a clear container the pokemon cannot open. They have no thumbs, and their vines though dexterous, aren't able to open every kind of container. The pokemon will want whats inside, and be unable to access it. they will eventually give up out of frustration. this is where you come in. enter the space, don’t let your pokemon approach as this can be threatening, and open the container. leave it on the floor open, making sure they've watched you get the thing open. They can then approach and enjoy their fav food, all thanks to you and those wondrous thumbs you have. repeating this process yields good results, and starts a mutual relationship of tolerance and acceptance between you and a bulbasaur. Most will accept they want the food more than they want you gone, and you provide something they can’t get to. whatever you do, don’t let them see that you were the one to lock the food up in the container. Get a friend to do it, or do it in the room, and leave it in place on the floor, before allowing the bulbasaur to enter and investigate the item. If they see you're the one doing it, the trick is foiled, and your back to square one. Eventually this does tend to lead to the pokemon becoming less stressed with you around them, and eventually it leads to trust, and even friendship. This trick is good to use to get them use to you, once they're ok with you being around them because of your use to them, they may start to take food from you directly, engage in play, or even just sit and tolerate company for short periods of time. Do not expect this to be quick, but it does usually do the trick.

Regardless, i do have concern that the pokemon may want to be with its own, should you discuss this and find they're not interested in being housebound and a pet, feel free to send them our way, we had exactly this situation in mind when setting up the islands facilities, and have extensive locations designed with grass pokemosn needs at the forefront. Theres a small herd of about 12 bulbasaur evolutions that live north of our labs, no people see them, they are happy as a unit, and are left alone to go about their lives, with the only interactions between humans being us giving them their yearly health check, or should we spot them with an issue, we may intervene. They live away from others and pretty much free, in a poacher safe environment. Its not ideal, we like to keep pokemon in areas they come from, with people who love them, and you show great concern for the pokemon so it would be a shame to have to let them go, BUT sometimes thats just life, and theres nothing to be done about it other than accepting that the pokemons wants come first. They may just be mistrusting so try everything else first, and see how you go. hopefully you’ll yield some results from this all. Good luck out there trainer.

#long post #bulbasaur #prof.peach #peach talks

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writer-ish · 4 years ago

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φόβος, or the persistence of fear

prompt: to shower with my muse / for sex on a table/counter/desk / for our muses to try a new position + words: “make me” pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett) word count: 5.3k words | rating: super E!!! (minors dni) summary: φόβος (FO-vos) Greek. “fear”. Post-Book 3 Final Demo, Mason and Grace have some trouble overcoming their individual fears.

author note: i know you said “or”, lovely @detective-sweetheart , but to my eyes you were issuing a challenge as to whether or not i could do them ALL. i didn’t quite succeed, but hopefully it doesn’t disappoint. 😘 and, uh… *side-eyes the word count* ...yeah. really should get that ao3 account up and running huh?

warning: this smutty lil fic immediately follows the end of the final demo for book 3 (bobby route) so if you don't want any inkling of what that's all about, stay away.

XX nsfw prompts

X X X X

Saying that it had been “one of those days” would not only be an insult to days but to the concept of singularity itself.

By the time they roll into the warehouse, it's just after nine-thirty in the evening. The sun has already dipped beyond the horizon almost entirely, but there remains an eerie summer glow of light that seems to permeate the atmosphere. Not quite day, not quite night, but instead some liminal moment that feels almost otherworldly. Familiar, yet not.

Grace shivers.

Mason, sitting beside her in the roomy black SUV, turns towards her as the almost-imperceptible tremor runs through her body.

She meets his gaze, taking in his expression – tight and concerned, the grey of his irises stormy and conflicted – before she feels his hand reach across her lap and cup her outer thigh, tugging her closer to him.

They wait in silence as Adam parks and the rest of Unit Bravo gets out, Felix patting her leg reassuringly from beside her before exiting on his side. Mason gets out as well and turns to her, hands now shoved deep in the pockets of his leather jacket.

It's Grace's turn, so she gingerly exits, the weight of the day finally revealing the toll it's taken on her body. The fifteen minutes of inactivity in the car were, apparently, all it had needed as a reminder of what she'd endured in the last sixteen hours or so. All of a sudden she feels exhausted, weighted down, frustrated, and in desperate need of a shower.

"You good?" Mason asks as they walk together towards the entrance of the warehouse, shoulders brushing, a bit behind the others.

"Just tired," she responds, rubbing her eyes wearily. "Can't wait to shower and just lie down."

"Need any help with that?" The drawled reply is rife with a familiar irreverence, but there is something heavier in his tone that makes Grace glance up.

He's looking down at her, telltale smirk on his lips. But his grey eyes are dim and there's a furrow between his brows that isn't normally there.

"Yes."

Her quick response seems to surprise him; he stops walking and turns to look at her with an inscrutable expression. She can understand why—she isn't normally so brazen when it comes to his advances and she knows he revels in her shyness sometimes. Mastering the art of getting a rise out of her, making her flustered, teasing her and watching her blush.

But this time she doesn't care if her response feels bold or unlike her. Since dawn that morning, the litany of things she'd experienced were enough emotional and physical turmoil to last a person a lifetime, never mind a period that's comprised of less than twenty-four hours.

And now she wants Mason and she wants a shower and she wants to sleep. In whatever order she can have them.

Instead of saying anything flirtatious or sarcastic, he lets his eyes roam over her face for a moment and then he just nods and drapes an arm over her shoulders, leading her inside.

Upon entering the Warehouse, they’re greeted by Adam, Nate, and Felix, who appear to have been waiting for them. All three agents turn when they see Mason and Grace walking in, and Grace feels a pang of guilt, knowing that Adam will probably want to coordinate a meeting of some sort to go over the events of the day as well as next steps.

Sure enough, he intercepts them as they attempt to walk by.

“We should be debriefing on everything that just occurred." Adam crosses his arms and peers down at Grace. "And Detective, have you gotten a hold of Agent Bennett? I can’t seem to—“

Grace opens her mouth to reply, and perhaps Mason can feel the way her body leans away from him, already attempting to gear herself up for the meeting Adam has planned for them all, because he tugs her closer and begins dragging her away, speaking over her before she has a chance to respond.

“The Detective,” he announces, forcing her to keep pace with him, “is currently unavailable."

She can feel Adam's disapproval radiating at her back and she looks up at Mason helplessly.

"Stop," he commands her, then says over his shoulder: "She's had a rough day, okay? We'll meet in the morning."

Adam grumbles his reluctant acquiescence and Felix shouts after them: "Don't forget how thin the walls are!"

Nate splutters, as Mason throws back: "They're concrete!"

Nate’s splutters turn into a groan as Felix responds: "With you two it doesn't seem to make a difference."

Grace groans as well, feeling the heat surge up into her cheeks as she buries her face in her hands. Mason just laughs and continues to drag her along.

As soon as she gets to her room, she lets him in and then closes the door firmly behind them, leaning on it heavily with a deep sigh.

Mason is already walking around the small room, inspecting the current aesthetic. When the room had been set up for her, cues had apparently been taken from her own apartment. So there’s a vibe that can definitely be considered “cozy”, like her style – long white curtains, a plethora of pillows, a down comforter – while also being weirdly unfamiliar. It’s like a Sims version of her own place in some Bizarro universe. She isn’t sure if it makes her feel more at home—or less.

“What did you bring from your place?” His voice breaks her out of her reverie and she looks at him in surprise.

“Oh, uh—” Taking a look around, her brow furrows. “Honestly, not much. After what happened this morning, I didn’t have the wherewithal to grab anything that I really needed. Thank god there’s some stuff here. But I’m going to have to go back tomorrow and sift through the damage. See what can be salvaged.” She shrugs, then to her horror, she can feel her eyes inadvertently well with tears.

“Hey, hey—” Mason is in front of her before she can blink, tilting her chin up. “What’s that for?”

“Ugh, just—” She rubs her eyes frustratedly. “What a fucking day.”

“Yeah, you’ve been through it,” he agrees, before roughly pulling her into his arms. “One for the record books.”

His arms around her provide more comfort than he could probably ever understand and she feels her whole body wilt into his strength and his heat and his scent.

“I’m so sick of days ‘for the record books’,” she mumbles into his chest and she can feel his chuckle more than she hears it.

“Why don’t we see if we can make this one a bit better, hmm?” She looks up just in time for him to capture her lips with his.

Letting out a little sigh, she twines her arms around his neck and allows him to kiss her slowly, leisurely, taking little sips from her mouth, stroking her tongue with his own, stoking a slow fire that always seems to be maintaining a low burn in his presence. She presses her body closer, enjoying the feel of her breasts against his torso, his growing hardness pressing into her stomach.

He glides his hands down her back and cups her bottom, squeezing it appreciatively, before pulling her even closer still.

Moving his mouth to her neck, his teeth glide against her pulse point, and her heart skips a little beat when she feels the sharpness of his canines against her sensitive skin.

“Relax,” he whispers, kissing her softly right in the place where his teeth had just scraped. “This isn’t where I want to taste you.”

She lets out a little whimper and brings his mouth back to hers, kissing him fiercely, feeling the points and ridges of his teeth with her tongue crowding his mouth. He pulls her tightly to him, dragging her body up so her feet leave the ground, and then he drops her backwards on the bed, his knee already down on the mattress with her, poised to pounce.

“No—” she protests and before she can blink he’s off of her and standing at the edge of the bed.

“What is it?” His voice is calm, with none of the frustration she would assume he’d be feeling in that moment.

“No, it’s just—” She pauses and glances at the door to the ensuite bathroom, teeth digging into her bottom lip. “I really need a shower, before any… tasting happens.”

He blinks and then in a flash he’s on her again, his body pressing her deep into the soft mattress.

“For what it’s worth, sweetheart,” he says, nipping at her lips, “I’ll taste you whenever, however.”

“Reassuring,” she laughs, “but trust me when I say a shower is needed.”

“Then let’s get you wet.” She laughs again with a groan, allowing him to hoist her up.

He tugs at her shirt and she raises her arms accommodatingly, allowing him to lift it up and over her head. Piece by piece, he undresses her, hands grazing her skin with each article he removes, discarding the item as quickly as it comes off her body, until she stands in front of him fully nude.

Self-consciousness at her nudity is a forgotten pastime now that she’s with Mason. It’s something about the way he looks at her —he’s always just so pleased. With her or with himself she can’t tell, but either way it does wonders for one’s self esteem.

Even now, she can almost feel the heat emanating off of him, a hungry smoulder of pure energy as his eyes roam up and down her body.

“Shower,” she squeaks, not sure who needs the reminder more.

Instead of answering, he lifts her up effortlessly, dragging her thighs around him until she can cross her ankles behind his back. She feels the fabric of his clothing rubbing every inch of bare skin it encounters – the leather of his jacket against her nipples, his jeans between her legs – and he settles her onto a dresser that she literally hadn’t even noticed before that moment.

Her breathing escalates in anticipation and yearning, waiting for wherever his mouth or his tongue or his teeth go next, but instead he remains quiet and still, before leaning forward and resting his forehead on her shoulder.

She freezes, unsure what he wants or even what she should do. And then she feels it.

A light tremor, scarcely noticeable, running through his body.

Before she can react, his arms tighten around her in a crushing hug and she instinctively hugs him back fiercely, running her hands up and down his back, pulling him closer with her legs.

“Mason,” she whispers. “What—?”

With a growl, he lifts his head and captures her mouth with his own, teeth and tongues clashing in a hungry, desperate kiss. His fingers tangle in her hair as his thumbs caress her cheekbones in a juxtaposition of rough and gentle.

She kisses him back, trying to keep up with the shift in his mood. Pulling away with a gasp, she attempts to catch his eye.

“Are you—?”

Groaning, he leans in and kisses her again, hands running over her body in frantic strokes, as though memorizing the shape of her with his palms.

When he lifts his head again, she sees the conflict in his narrowed gaze, the grey irises stormy with anger and desire and another, less discernible emotion that causes gooseflesh to rise on her bare skin.

“Just look at you.” His voice is harsh, almost angry, and her jaw slackens in surprise at his tone. He tilts away from her as he speaks and she registers the absence acutely as cool air hits bare skin that now feels on display, her legs still spread open around him.

Shyness overcomes her as she becomes truly conscious of her nudity for the first time. She makes to close her legs and he grips them tighter around his hips so she can’t move them, his eyes flicking between hers, seeking answers and absolution.

“You’re so soft, so small,” he continues, his voice still rough with shades of anger, even as his words feel hollow and almost somehow reminiscent of—grief? “This skin, this body you’re in—it’s so weak.”

“Mason!” She finds her voice finally, confusion and indignation at war with one another in her mind as she tries to coincide his expression – which can only be described as tortured – with the hurtful things he’s saying.

“How can we let you go back out there?” His voice is raw now, the anger appearing to slowly fade away, leaving him worn-out and desperate in its wake. “Unprotected? Out in the open for any fucker to grab, to take. To hurt?” He gives her a little shake and she gasps. “Huh? How?”

Understanding dawns. Yes, it had been a rough day for her. One of the worst.

But it looks as though, maybe, it had been a rough day for him, too.

Immediately, her hands begin to move of their own volition, running up his chest and over his shoulders. His whole body seems to sag, the fight draining out of him completely, and he closes his eyes, turning his head away from her.

“I have the Agency,” she murmurs as she tries to soothe him with her touch, her tone, her words. She tucks her hands under his jacket and pushes it off until it drops on the floor. Smoothing her hands back up his arms, she doesn’t stop until they cup his face. “I have them to protect me.”

She turns his head and waits until he opens his eyes, his gaze still narrowed, but with a telltale furrow in his brow.

“And I have you,” she adds, softly. “To protect me.” She pauses, watching the creases in his forehead smooth even as his eyes drift away from hers once more. “I’ll be okay.”

He reminds her now of a beast being soothed; a wolf, perhaps—hackles still up, but with the understanding that the threat has passed, for the time being, at least.

She knows not to look too much into it; loyalty is intrinsic to Mason’s being. His defence of her would be his defence of any of them.

But she kisses his brow anyway, just in case. His cheek, too, even as he stiffens in her arms.

“I’ll be okay,” she repeats, “unless I don’t get a shower in the next thirty seconds.”

His expression shifts back to a familiar one: arched brow, lips curled up on one side, white teeth showing one sharp canine. He seems almost relieved, though at what she’s not sure – the reprieve? Her unspoken forgiveness? Her assurance?

Regardless, she knows she won’t get the answers she seeks and, sure enough, he says nothing, only lifts her back into his arms and carts her off to the bathroom.

She can’t help but laugh against his neck, although her heart still thumps an erratic beat at the odd moment they’d just had.

Depositing her by the sink, he peels off his shirt, dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor as he reaches inside the shower to turn on the water. He then strips out of his pants and underwear just as quickly, appearing more comfortable in his nudity than he is clothed—a fact that she’s come to realize is true.

She can’t help but take him in, flawless and muscular, a constellation of freckles across his upper body and arms. Unruly onyx waves tumble towards his shoulders and her fingers itch to run through them. His chest is covered in short, curling hairs that stretch across his pectorals and down, over his defined stomach and even further still. His prominent erection is unselfconsciously on display, flushed and waiting, apparently, for her.

Feeling the colour rise in her cheeks as she stares, she hazards a glance back up to his face.

He’s regarding her quietly, a growing smile on his lips, his gaze half-lidded and pleased.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?”

“Always,” she responds before she can lose her nerve, her face heating even more.

He chuckles softly, taking a step towards her, stroking his knuckles down her cheek. “The feeling is mutual.” He nods towards the running water. “Feel that and tell me if it’s okay.”

Hopping off the counter, she reaches her hand in. The water is scalding and she hisses out a breath, before adjusting it slightly cooler. She waits a beat until it runs at a suitable temperature on her palm and wrist. “That’s good for me. You?”

She finds herself craning her neck to look up at him. He’s standing tall in front of her, looking down without really tilting his chin. He has a half smile on his face as he watches her and she feels herself redden again under his gaze.

“I’ll be fine,” he says eventually, before crowding her until she has no choice but to take a step in.

Entering the shower fully, she allows the water to run down her back, tilting her head to wet her hair. He follows her in and runs his fingers softly down her chest, snagging on her nipples, already distended and aching.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, tracing over her lightly with his fingertips, playing and stroking. One finger circling a nipple before going down further until it grazes between her legs.

She bites back a moan as her eyes shut briefly, her palms pressing back against the cool tile of the shower for some sort of purchase.

He loops an arm around her waist and brings her to him, kissing her wetly, open-mouthed and demanding, their bare skin slipping against one another.

Swiftly, he turns her, pressing himself into the cleft of her ass. She can feel his hardness wedged deeply between her; a new sensation, but not entirely unpleasant, either. She wriggles experimentally and gasps at the titillating pressure.

“One day,” he murmurs in her ear, reading her mind, and she knows from the way he chuckles that her cheeks have gone truly red this time.

He strokes down her forearms, linking his fingers overtop hers before pressing them onto the tile so that her body is forced to tilt forward slightly. Then, he adjusts the spray of the water so it’s not hitting them directly.

“Open.” His voice is a gruff command and she can’t help but obey, her feet slipping slightly in her haste to spread her legs.

She feels his hand course over her wet skin, erection still pressed against her bottom, as his fingers move across her, teasing and playing, until they settle into the warm, liquid centre of her.

She lets out a protracted moan, her legs shaking, the relief of finally having him touch her right where she needs him to almost more than she can bear.

He strokes her masterfully, a finger delving into the wetness her body is producing just for him, for his touch, and then circling at the apex of her thighs. Her clit throbs with his attention and she can’t help but cry out as he applies steady continuous pressure. The shaking in her legs increases and his body presses against her even tighter, his other hand coming up to cup her breast, thumb strumming her nipple at the same pace as his other finger works her clit.

“I want you to come,” his voice grinds out next to her ear. “I want you to come all over my hand. I can already feel you dripping all over me, all over yourself. Let go, sweetheart.” He bites her neck lightly and she feels the sharp prick of his fangs on her sensitive flesh. “Let go.”

The pain and pleasure intertwine into a blinding flash of white light, her body convulsing as she cries out, her shout echoing throughout the small room. Her legs give way and he holds her steady against him, his arm the only barrier between her and the tiles.

She comes down slowly from her climax, her shaky breath echoing around them, trembling fingers still scrabbling for purchase on the wet tiled walls of the shower.

Before she can fully catch her breath, he turns her around wordlessly and crushes his mouth to hers again. She matches his fervour, opening her mouth and allowing him to consume her. Their kisses feel hungry, desperate, and she whimpers against his lips. Tightening his hold, he lifts her up into his arms, pressing her against the cool tiles. She can feel his hands splayed across her back, cushioning the impact, and she tightens her legs to draw him closer.

His erection is notched between her legs, stroking hotly up and down the teeming wetness there, both from the shower streaming between them and also, she knows, from her own body’s response to him, his nearness, and the promise of what’s to come.

She reaches between them and grips him, running her hand up and down his length as he tilts his head back and groans.

“Jesus, Gracie,” he bites off, and she can feel his fingers digging into her where they rest on her upper and lower back. “You gotta stop that, sweetheart, before I—”

“Make me,” she teases, revelling in these small, rare moments where she has the upper hand.

His head snaps up and she feels her heart skip a beat at the expression on his face, those silvery irises as thin as crescent moons against the deep black of his dilated pupils. His lips curl in a familiar smirk as he bounces her up higher in his arms. Laughing in surprise, she loses her grip on him and has to put her arms around his neck instead for balance.

At the new height he has her, she can feel the tip of his cock nudging into her liquid centre.

She lets out a breath that extends into a moan, feeling him enter her as she opens for him further. He holds her steady, hands cupping her ass as he guides her down, then back up, then down again, allowing her body time to accommodate him comfortably.

“Oh,” she whimpers, the sensation almost too much for her to bear. “I can’t—I’ve never—”

“Shhh.” He shifts and one hand goes to the back of her neck, drawing her head down his shoulder, while his other arm grips her around her hips. “I got you.”

Slowly, slowly he thrusts and pulls back, thrusts and pulls back, shallow and fluid movements, her body giving and giving some more, until he holds her tightly against him, their pelvises notched together, him fully seated within her.

There is never a moment in which she feels so vulnerable as the moment when they’re connected like this. Her body trembles with emotion, the full weight of the day finally crashing down on her. She tightens her thighs against his hips and her arms around his neck, tilting her head to kiss his wet, freckled shoulder, neck and jaw, happy that the steady stream of water from the showerhead prevents him from noticing the tears streaking down her cheeks.

She can’t do this right now, she can’t allow herself to succumb to this moment, these feelings, because if she does, she’s going to say something she regrets. Something that will ruin everything.

So she distracts herself with the physicality of what they’re doing and with the pressing need for release.

“Move,” she begs with a sob that hopefully he believes is impassioned rather than emotional. She rocks her hips against him, needing the moment to end just as much as she needs it to last forever.

He quickly and silently obeys, using her body to create a rhythm that matches his own, crowding her against the corner of the shower, holding her securely in his arms. She can feel his heart pounding against her body and without thinking, she digs her teeth into the soft skin where his neck meets shoulder, not hard enough to draw blood but certainly enough to leave a mark.

The sudden action, fierce and uncharacteristic of her, almost possessive in its intensity, clearly surprises him. His hips stutter against hers and his hands grip her tightly—so tightly that she knows she’ll be seeing the bruises in the morning. He lets out a hoarse shout and she can feel his release inside her and that’s all it takes to send her hurtling over the edge with him. Letting out a cry that matches his, she rides the wave of her own climax, her body holding tightly to his, inside and out.

They stay like that for a beat, hearts pounding, Grace’s breath echoing shakily against the tiles. Gently, Mason disentangles her from him and sets her down, still holding her against him firmly. He strokes her back until she can get her breathing and pulse under control.

Once she’s steady, he pulls away from her. She inadvertently lets out a whimper as the water, now lukewarm, causes goosebumps to rise on her skin, the heat from his body too tempting to be taken from her. She has no reason to be concerned, however, because he’s back on her almost immediately, this time with a soft, soapy cloth in his hand that he begins to wash with her with.

Long, languid strokes down her back, her arms, the backs of her legs. Gently between her legs as he washes away the intermingled essence of what they’ve just done, rinsing and rewashing, in light, soft strokes.

She allows him his ministrations, feeling sleepier and more languorous by the moment, enjoying the feel of him caring for her. She registers that the soap has a light scent, inoffensive to her own nostrils, but she can’t help but wonder if it bothers him.

Reaching up lazily, with an arm that feels sluggish and heavier than usual, she brushes the damp hair back from his forehead.

“The soap—?” she tries, taking the wash cloth from him and allowing it to drop between them. She steps back slightly and rinses herself with the water streaming down.

“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I can only smell you.”

“Me—?” She realizes belatedly he means her arousal, and the evidence of their union, and her face flares up with heat once more. His smirk turns into a full fledged grin.

“Oh, sweetheart, if I could make you blush like that forever, I’d be one lucky son of a bitch.”

The word forever seems to hang between them and the smile drops quickly from his face at her sharp intake of breath.

“Turn around,” he says gruffly and she obeys quickly, reluctant to allow the moment to be shattered completely.

She hears the sound of another liquid dispenser and the telltale coconut scent of her favourite shampoo fills the humid space – when the Agency does something, they really do it right, she thinks, impressed and a little weirded out – before she feels Mason’s hands in her hair.

If she’d expected impatience or roughness from him in this endeavour, she’s pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong. For all his brusqueness and usual lack of desire to perform acts of service for others – outside those related to sexual pleasure – he takes his time with her hair, leisurely massaging in the shampoo, fingertips expertly pressing into her scalp and lathering the wet strands.

She tilts her head back and closes her eyes, a hum of pleasure escaping her lips. The warm water streams over her body and she’s convinced she’d be able to fall asleep standing if she let herself.

After a few more moments of quiet bliss, Mason places his hands on her shoulders and turns her back around. He gently tilts her chin up until the water is streaming over her hair now and she brings her own hands up to assist in rinsing out all the shampoo.

As she gets the shampoo out of her hair, his hands idly tease and caress her, his fingers running over her body once more in light strokes. The touch doesn’t seem to be intended to reignite anything; instead, it appears to be for the simple pleasure of just touching her.

They’re both quiet, the need or the desire to speak seemingly sapped out of them, and she allows him his touches, until all the soap is out of her hair and off her body. Then, she languidly opens her eyes and just watches him—watches how his eyes follow his hands as they move over her body, tracing her with his gaze as well as his fingers.

“Your turn?” she asks, finally, her voice a quiet echo in the small space.

He shakes his head and gathers her close to him, kissing her soundly on the mouth. “I’m good. Ready to come out?”

Instead of answering, she wraps her arms around his neck, stroking down his back and into his damp hair, the unruly waves curling around her fingers more than usual. She kisses him again, then nods against his lips, her eyes dropping closed of their own volition.

The rest is a blur. She feels him towel her off, remaining completely boneless the entire time and succumbing to his ministrations with nary a physical protest. He must dry himself as well, but who knows, because next thing she feels is him carrying her to her bed. She snuggles even more securely into his arms and she can swear she registers his lips against her forehead.

When he settles her on top of the covers she doesn’t even bother to do anything except burrow herself underneath them, still naked, hair frizzing and damp.

Her eyes are still closed, but she knows he hasn’t left, can feel him like a physical ache. Hovering but not touching or sitting. She doesn’t know if he’s in the process of dressing or stark naked. Doesn’t know if his intent is to stay or to go.

The need to keep her feelings inside, to not...ruin things, or push him away, is so, so strong. She could ask him to stay and he could go anyway, taking her heart with him. She could stay silent and wait for him to make his own decision, knowing the outcome would likely be the same.

As she wars with herself, feeling time ticking past, feeling him slowly slipping away, an image arises in her mind unbidden.

It’s his eyes.

She thinks of how they’d looked that morning, clouded with worry and not a hint of lasciviousness, even though she knew she’d been about ninety-nine percent see-through as she’d squelched up the drive.

How they’d looked when he’d apologized to her for his harsh words at Haley’s the other day, contrite and a little bit confused.

The way they’d held anger and, more than that, hurt when Bobby had spoken about kissing her.

And then she thinks about the look she’d seen in them as they’d all been overrun by Trappers and, immediately afterwards, as she had faced certain kidnapping by a supernatural he knew he could not defend her from.

He’d been terrified.

Those storm-grey irises, so familiar and already so dear, had been filled with abject terror and fear.

Fear for her.

The images fade as she hears him rustling, collecting his things.

She thinks again about how he’d been scared for her. Scared of losing her.

She’s scared, too.

She’s scared that all of this might be for naught. That she’ll fall deeper and deeper in love and he’ll soon be looking for a way out.

But tonight isn’t for fears, she decides. Tonight, they’re safe. Tonight, they’re together.

Tonight, he's hers.

“Mason?” Her eyes remain closed, but she hears his movements stop. She lets out a shaky breath, releasing the final bit of her trepidation, before speaking with conviction:

“I want you to stay.”

X X X X

👀 tags: @utterlyinevitable , @ethansramsey , @otherworldlypresents , @worldoffandoms , @raleighcarrera , @ejunkiet , @starrystarrytrouble , @terrm9 , @openheartthot , @octobereighth , @campsearchlight , @coldshrugs , @kelseaaa , @homeformyheart , @intothestrawberryjar , @magebastard , @kodysteach , @newfangledsoul , @silma-words , @lalizah , @detective-sweetheart , @lem-20 , @ifshebreathes-shesathot , @takemyopenheart , @v2itbwstct (if you want to be added/no longer want to be tagged, pls let me know!)

#the wayhaven chronicles #mason x detective #twc fanfic #mason x grace #twc mason #specialist agent m #twc #twc demo #twc demo spoilers

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 8 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

“Oh, hello there Sakura.”

She almost lost her balance when she saw her next customers. Standing beside Kakashi with her arm entangled in his was a brunette, a spitting image of Dr. Aki Nohara, a giveaway that this was her sister. Sakura’s surroundings dimmed out of focus, and her hearing became muffled as if she was submerged underwater.

“Couldn’t mistake that green eyes for anyone,” Kakashi continued. “I’ll have a caramel butterscotch with extra whipped cream – make it super heavy – and Rin –“

“That’s supposed to be my order, you dummy,” the woman replied beside him. He chuckled in fascination and tightened his hold on her arm. “Besides, you don’t like sweets.”

“You’re still on a specialized diet so allow me to eat and drink whatever you want while you stick with – “ Kakashi glanced at Sakura, and she immediately mustered a tight-lipped smile. “One iced americano in your smallest size please. Thanks, Sakura.”

She took in a deep breath, suddenly aware that she wasn’t able to acknowledge her teacher and his companion, but so many things have been running through her head – like how did he know it was her? Why was he with Rin? Did he propose already? She hasn’t even confessed yet.

Somehow, in the dragging silence in her ears, she heard Sasuke cleared his throat. That was enough to break her from the spell, and she put on her bravest mask. “Hi Kakashi-sensei. Nice of you to drop by! I’ll have your order ready in a jiffy.”

Kakashi turned around and waved lazily at Sasuke. “One of my students is here too. Are you on a red eye advance study?”

“Can’t sleep so might as well have caffeine.”

“You’re too young to have this energy.”

Rin jokingly slapped Kakashi on the arm. “You talk as if you’re old already.”

“But aren’t I?” The pair slowly drifted away to find a table, but Sakura noticed the flash of recognition when Rin took a long good look at Sasuke, but her friend stared at them like he was throwing sharp draggers.

“He looks happy,” Sakura noted as she fixed their drinks.

“I want your favorite coffee,” Sasuke quipped out of nowhere.

“There’s a thing called palpitations. It’s caramel macchiato.”

“Might do me some good while I wait for you to finish your shift.”

Sakura sighed, feeling the tiredness come upon her all of a sudden so she relented. “Just take it to-go. I want to get out of here.”

She quickly asked permission from the manager, saying she felt sick and fatigued, and with her clocking overtime in the past few weeks, her request was immediately approved without deductions. The mixed winter and spring air hit her lungs as soon as she stepped outside. Sasuke waited for her across the street, a gesture that implied she could go to him or separate ways right now. As she vied for time to decide, she took one last look through the window.

It was a foreign sight. She has never seen Kakashi’s attention torn apart from his books. Even if he was talking, there would be an open page on his side, stealing glances on passages when the conversations got boring, yet there he was, fully attuned to whatever Rin was saying with no book around him…like she was his favorite book and he enjoyed reading every letter of her.

And Sakura realized she could never be the story he would even want to pick up.

She felt the tears coming so she started her pace on the same road. Across from her, Sasuke got the signal and went the other way.

--------------------------------

The last term of their second year came like a bazooka. Sakura threw herself on her pet project as a sort of coping mechanism. The announcement was done during the general assembly which did not generate the intended buzz or reaction. After all, it was a tricky topic to handle and many facets of which were still stigmatized when talked openly in public. Naruto, ever the people magnet, broke the agitated atmosphere in the auditorium with a slow clap and was soon joined by many others.

The council created a Google form which allowed students to anonymously register, and they get assigned a schedule on the day their contracted psychiatrist comes to visit. All they had to do was provide their designated client number. The council further complemented this with short programs that serve as mental health breaks for the student body. Sometimes, this would be as light as a block screening of a coming-of-age film or heavy like a conference with faculty and teachers and questions and concerns are remotely flashed.

Then came Valentines’ Day, and the council organized this some kind of literary showcase that presented the opportunity to mingle woes of personal sadness and griefs with confessions that would have been left unsaid. Naruto and Sasuke both helped in constructing the makeshift stage in the middle of the soccer field that would be used later that afternoon.

“Cookie points for my crush,” Naruto grinned as he hammered away. “Thanks for picking the poem I will be reciting tonight, grumpy. Didn’t know you were into literature.” He jokingly elbowed the raven-haired beside him, and he got a death glare in return.

“Do it properly. Look at that nail sticking out like your porcupine hair,” Sasuke grumbled. “And yes, I’m not as uncultured as you are.”

“But I still don’t understand it though.”

“Ugh, just use the internet to search its meaning, idiot.”

“Meanie!”

A fellow runner peeked into their work area and knocked on wood. “Hey Uchiha. Some girl is looking for you.” Her face expressed grimace, having done this for more than five times already within the span of an hour. If it wasn’t Sasuke, it was one of Naruto’s fan girls or boys.

Sasuke went to her and fumbled around for cash in his pocket. “Next time someone looks for us, tell them we went home for the day. Here’s money for your date later. If you have anyway.”

“Whatever grumpy.” The runner replied, still half-angry, half-frustrated, but she took the money all the same and told the girls that ‘They told me to tell you they went home for the day so shoo shoo.’

Naruto laughed at Sasuke’s successful attempt at bribery. “Look at that rich money. I wonder whether Sakura will give us chocolates.”

“Have you seen their office?” Sasuke flipped open the curtains that will be hang as backdrop. “Their desk is filled with chocolates from her admirers – platonically, romantically, whatever. Some people from other schools dropped by too. You got serious competition.”

Naruto chuckled nervously. “As if I do not know that already. Haven’t you told me before- she likes everyone and everyone likes her.”

Not really true at all now, Sasuke thought to himself. But ignorance is bliss, Naruto.

--------------------------------

The three sat on the grass beside the stage, having full view of the student body listening to the reciters. Throughout the program, Sakura went through each package given to her, visibly stressed with evident signs of sleepless nights under her eyes.

“Before I forget, happy Valentine’s day you two. My council-mates told me you didn’t get any chocolates,” Sakura gave each of them a pouch of small chocolate bars. Sasuke didn’t have to guess if it was store-bought or homemade based on the cuts on her fingers.

“Sakura, stop eating. I almost gagged at the seventh chocolate,” Naruto complained. He tried to get the basket of sweets from her, but she just moved it away from his reach.

“Everything tastes bitter,” she muttered under her breath. “I need sugar. My energy can’t keep up with the countless interviews. I understand that the school board liked the exposure, but the burden falls on me. At least have a teacher back me up?”

“Heard Kakashi-sensei volunteered to accompany you in interviews?” Sasuke was too late in shutting Naruto up, but the most that question got out of Sakura was an eyebrow raise.

“I need more sweets.” She proceeded to jam the rest of the Hershey’s kisses in her mouth.

“Okay, we have a submission from Uzumaki Naruto,” the announcer said. “Shout out to our rookie MVP!” A round of applause. “And who might be the recipient of this poem? We heard through the grapevine that he hid from his admirers all day. I know several people are waiting to confess to him!”

Sasuke instructed him earlier to send the poem anonymously and address it to Sakura, but the dumbass blonde mistakenly exchanged it. He rubbed his forehead in annoyance, but he can’t bring it up right now.

“Just read the poem!” Naruto shouted on the side, clearly embarrassed now. Sakura looked up at him, genuinely curious now, and her sticky chocolate-filled mouth was on the edge of firing him questions.

“Sasuke and I sent in poems! Just to support your program, nothing really too deep into it ehe.” Naruto glanced at Sasuke with slightly widened eyes. “Right, Sasuke?”

“Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare,” the person started.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,

Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,

When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Sakura slapped Naruto on the arm. “Didn’t know you read Shakespeare! What a romantic!”

“Isn’t it a tragedy?” Sasuke remarked, a look of disgust in his face when Sakura mindlessly offered him a toblerone. “No sweets for me.”

Sakura guffawed at Sasuke’s remark, and her laughing was a rare sight recently. She was in too deep in her student council functions that they barely see her. And when they did, she’d be a little bit closer to fatigue.

“What’s funny? Who’s Shakespeare? Let me in on the joke!”

“Let’s call on Kakashi-sensei, our very own student council advisor and youngest teacher in the university. He’ll be reciting a poem by Pablo Neruda. A man of culture, we see,” the emcee announced.

Sakura stopped laughing as soon as she heard his name. If Sasuke could glean into her thoughts, she’s probably making up excuses to escape right now.

Kakashi stood in the middle of the stage, holding an open book. “Let me just ramble on here for a bit. Neruda is a Chilean poet and a politician, but just as much as he is a revolutionary, he is a romantic and a worshipper of ideals and ordinary things. He often compared his muses to earth and nature – basic providers of our existence. It’s interesting to see. Now, this poem is what I would have wanted to say to someone who is fundamentally part of my existence, but she won’t listen to me.” Kakashi smiled even more at the onset of outburst of giggles from the students. “So you’re gonna be the audience whether you want it or not.”

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,

your hands the color of a savage harvest,

hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,

I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,

the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,

hunting for you, for your hot heart,

like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

A thundering applause followed Kakashi’s poem and random shouts of, “Drop her name sensei!” “Good luck to your love life!” “Happy for you, sensei!”

As the lights went out on the stage, Sakura fished another pouch from her vest pocket, and Sasuke knew at once that it was Kakashi’s. She popped a bar into her mouth, staring blankly ahead.

“God, it’s so bitter.” Her lips started to quiver, and she started to cry.

Naruto threw a worried glance at Sasuke, but his expression must have given something away because the blonde didn’t prod, and he looked as if all the puzzles fell into place.

Sasuke just didn’t expect to be confronted about it as soon as the program finished. He was carrying blocks of wood to the shed when Naruto dropped the question – a question he already knew the answer to.

“You like Sakura.”

Sasuke inhaled sharply and halted his steps. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stacked the wood against each other and turned to face the blonde. “Besides, shouldn’t you be worrying about exams?”

“What exams? We’re exempted from it,” Naruto bristled.

Sasuke smirked. “No, you’re not. You didn’t qualify for finals.”

“Oh shit.”

--------------------------------

“What do we get in return?” Sakura asked as she munched on her bento box. Shouts of the practicing dragonboat team filtered through their space.

“But last time you volunteered!” Naruto said.

“We’re friends so my services don’t come free anymore,” she chided back.

Naruto glared at Sasuke. “If she’s not gonna do it, you’re gonna do it.”

Sasuke nonchalantly shook his head as he skimmed through Naruto’s notes. “What she said.” They weren’t notes per se, but doodles of Sasuke and Sakura and interestingly, projections of different batting stances. “I’m also not gonna forgive you with the duck butt hair.”

“But you have a duck butt hair!” Naruto crossed his arms and huffed menacingly. “Ramen?”

“Same old, same old.” Sakura finished her lunch and started to sip her cranberry juice. “Give us something new.”

“Ramen and…..karaoke?”

Sakura brightened up at the prospect. “Deal.”

“At least add snacks to your place,” Sasuke interjected. “And not just ramen. Put some nuts or fruits in your fridge.”

Naruto grumbled but raised two thumbs up in defeat. “Deal.”

--------------------------------

Sasuke has thin patience when it came to teaching Naruto, Sakura observed. She didn’t know how these two managed to do the supplementary math lessons when she wasn’t a part of their group yet. She didn’t mind teaching, but Naruto’s short attention span was a devil of its own. He would be attentive to her for 15 minutes and then drowse off so Sasuke and her agreed on non-negotiables.

“No ramen break for you if you don’t finish this set of problems,” Sakura told him.

“You’re demon spawns,” Naruto cried out in defiance.

“If you don’t get a passing score on this sample test, no kani toppings for you.” Sasuke raised the stakes.

“Demon spawns,” Naruto repeated.

“You won’t call us demon spawns if you see your name on the list of passers.” Sakura started the stopwatch on her phone. “Now go.”

This took her mind off things, from Kakashi’s public confession to the blank career form hidden within the pages of her history textbook. It was a good distraction until the penultimate exams day. Naruto came in with a bandana on his forehead with FIGHTING written in the middle of it. Sasuke, as usual, breezed through it, already finished by the thirty-minute mark.

And she? Well, she liked exams. The time limit and the pressure allowed her the reprieve to shut the rest of the world out so she relished answering each number until the bell rang. It was a moment where she can focus fully on the paper in front of her, the sound of her pen scribbling, and her mind working full force to cull out the answers in her memory. Her utmost concentration on questions suspended her own questions on her feelings for a teacher, on her parents’ divorce, on her future.

When the school plastered the results on the bulletin board, she couldn’t help but release a satisfied chuckle. She turned to Sasuke who was surprisingly stoic about the results. “First place! The bonus point really helped.”

“Why should I bother with a teacher’s middle name for the bonus question?” Sasuke grumbled back. “Congrats. Stop rubbing it in my face already.”

Naruto was too busy pointing his name on the board and bragging about it to the student body, most especially the freshies. When he found them on the back of the crowd, he rushed to them and placed his arms around their shoulders “Drinks on me!!!!!”

--------------------------------

“He really shouted drinks on me in the middle of the school, sauntered in here like he’s loaded, and ordered two pitchers of iced tea.” Sakura kept bringing this up since they entered the karaoke room ten minutes ago.

Naruto was preoccupied with inputting song numbers on the machine to respond to Sakura’s banters. “Technically, they’re still drinks!”

Sasuke was on the phone with the kitchen, and from what she could hear, he was ordering almost everything on the menu. When he sat down on the adjacent couch, Sakura leaned forward to him. “Are you gonna finish all of that?”

He jutted his index finger to Naruto. “No, but he will.”

The first notes of Michael Jackson’s Thriller wafted through the room, and the blonde made a quick impression of the artist’s famed moonwalk.

“Why are you opening with that?” Sakura cried out in amusement. “It’s not even Halloween!” Sasuke watched Naruto try to dance with a straight face, but she thought he was itching to face palm the whole time.

Naruto kept beckoning Sakura to join him in the middle of the room, but she was busy laughing at him and taking videos. “I’ll send these to Haru as a pick-me-up. I think this is the best remedy.”

Next was Sakura’s pick – Heaven is a Place on Earth by Belinda Carlisle. She couldn’t contain her laughter in between verses when the two boys finally heard that she was tone deaf. Naruto joined her with the other mic, trying to drown out the off-key notes. By the bridge, Sasuke stood up with them, a glass of juice in his hand, and mouthed the words.

“You know this song!” Sakura said excitedly.

“I don’t live under a rock!” He yelled back amid the loud music.

“OOOH BABY DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT’S WORTH OOH HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH. THEY SAY IN HEAVEN, LOVE COMES FIRST. OOH HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH!”

“Okay who’s next?” she asked when the next number flashed on the screen. Sasuke silently took the mic from her and faced the monitor with a hand in his pants’ pocket.

Naruto gripped the mic harder when the song started. “I’ll be your second voice, grumpy!”

She immediately went to the front and started recording. “One for the road.”

“No videos, Haruno,” Sasuke warned.

“Come on, it’s my remembrance,” she whined. He wasn’t able to clap back when the lines started to move.

“Turn around…” Naruto sang.

“Every now and then, I get a little bit lonely and you’re never coming ‘round,” Sasuke’s baritone voice filled the room like an empty coliseum.

“The fuck. You can sing?” Sakura gasped out loud. “How can you have that voice and not sing - like you know, every day?!”’

Sasuke gestured her to stop as he belted, stoic-faced, through the chorus with Naruto singing like a slaughtered pig in the background. Sakura stopped recording and joined them for the rest of the song.

Two hours and three pitchers of orange juice later, they finally settled on the couch and munched on Naruto’s leftovers of fries, buttered chicken, nachos, and calamari. On the karaoke monitor was David Bowie singing Heroes.

“Can’t believe we’re already seniors two months from now.” He stared at the ceiling, his eyes following the tag game of disco lights. “Elections of officers will be tomorrow which means Captain Haru will be formerly stepping down.”

Sasuke reached out and shook his hand. “Good luck next captain.”

Naruto immediately pulled out from his grasp. “What do you mean next captain?”

Sakura chuckled and patted his back as assurance. “Everyone knows it’ll be you. Have you seen how your teammates look at you when you’re discussing strategies?”

In the dimness of the room, she saw the flush on Naruto’s cheeks, and she found it amusing how he cannot take compliments.

Naruto scratched the back of his head. “Well, everything is possible, right? That said, I still haven’t filled out my college form, but I’m really set on getting an athletic scholarship and eventually be part of the national team! How about you grumpy? Changed your mind yet?”

“About what?” Sakura glanced at the silent raven-haired guy beside her. To be able to see this much of him was a nice privilege.

“I’m moving away after high school.” Sasuke fiddled with his half-empty glass, his eyes trained on the slushing juice. “I already sent applications to some universities in Europe.”

“We also have good medicine programs here. I don’t get why you have to move away so far. I’m so bad with converting time zones.”

Sasuke scrunched his nose in annoyance. “Are you dumb? The schools you listed are also out of this district.”

She seemed to be moving farther and farther from their exchange. Like an outsider peeking in, she understood the frailty of the moments in front of her, and by the time the next two months set in, the stopwatch would have started running its last lap. The bonds she has made so serendipitously were in danger of being cut off by dreams. She breathed in, engulfing the noise and scent of this room, panning every color and shape assembled like supercut in her head, praying that someday if she would lose herself, she’d come back here right at this frozen memory and relive the wonderful indecisiveness of adolescence and the chance to say I don’t know without repercussions.

“Sakura to earth?” Naruto’s voice.

“Idiot. It’s earth to Sakura.” Sasuke’s voice.

She blinked fast, returning to the moment that wasn’t finished playing out yet. She quickly brushed her hands on her eyes as if something got into her eyes, hoping they don’t see the small droplets of tears that have formed. “Oh uh, I have a list of prospects, but I’m not quite sure what to take.” The form was still blank actually.

“That’s a usual problem of anyone who’s too good at everything,” Sasuke replied.

“Are you complimenting me?” I wish I was.

“Should I take it back?” He proceeded to gulp down the remnants of his glass.

The monitor suddenly turned off, indicating their time has run out. “Hey guys, for our last term, let’s make the most out of it, all right?” Naruto asked. “I’m so happy we became friends.”

“No hugging please,” Sasuke said, but it was too late. Naruto’s arms were too strong to pull away from so the two allowed him a few seconds of skinship.

Naruto’s words struck a chord in Sakura; it was a resolve she tried to form and disfigure for several months now. Before they could stand up to fix their things, Sakura blurted it out loud before her courage took the best of her.

“For our last term.” She flexed her fingers and curled them up against her palm, placing weight on her lap as she ground her fists onto it. “For our last term, I’m gonna confess to Kakashi.”

AO3 LINK | NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER 9

#SCPS #student council president sakura #sasusaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #uzumaki naruto #hatake kakashi #kakasaku #narusaku #anime fanfic #fanfic #sasusaku fanfic

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theladyofdeath · 4 years ago

Text

City of Starlight {Epilogue}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses & Throne of Glass Crossover, Modern AU fanfiction.

Based on a prompt sent in for the 5k follower contest {winner}, from Anonymous: “Competitive arts school tog x acotar crossover”

Summary: Velaris School of the Arts is the most prestigious school of talent on the continent. Whoever wants to be someone wants to get in. As her senior year of high school is coming to an end, all Aelin Galathynius wants is to go to the city of starlight and play music. Feyre Archeron, however, longs to paint for the rich and famous. Painters, singers, dancers, actors, and filmmakers come together in friendship, love, and lust, and find that they have a lot more in common than they thought.

A/N: One last chapter written with @snelbz. The end :)

Warnings: language.

Links:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me ANYTHING!

City of Starlight {ACOTAR/TOG crossover}

> Characters Detail Sheet <

Lorcan was driving, and none of them had any idea that he drove so slow. He claimed it was because of the snow, but it was absurd.

“You know, I can drive-.”

“We’re almost there,” Lorcan snapped, cutting Cassian off.

Elide just chuckled.

The snow was calming, the big flakes falling in slow, silent streams. The sight was beautiful, mesmerizing. Lorcan drove in it, expertly, slowly as hell, until he pulled up to a little, old house in the suburbs. For a moment after he put the car in park, he just sat there and took a deep breath.

“Ready?” Lorcan asked, more to himself than the others.

“It’s going to be perfect,” Elide assured him, leaning over from the passenger seat to press a kiss to his cheek.

Cassian was a little more hesitant, but he nodded in agreement, nonetheless.

They were soon out of the car, heading toward the front door on the walkway, their luggage remaining in the trunk. Lorcan led the way, his hand in Elide’s, Cassian trailing just behind.

After not bothering to knock, Lorcan was pushing his way inside of his childhood home. Cassian only hesitated for a moment before crossing the threshold.

“Mom? I’m home!” Lorcan called, walking down the short hallway before coming out into the open living room.

“We’re all in the kitchen!” a high-pitched, excited voice traveled through the house.

Lorcan shot them both a humored look before leading them through the living room and into the bustling kitchen.

Five sets of eyes shot their way, and before Cassian could even calm his thoughts, they were all rushing toward Lorcan, then Elide, and Cassian himself. The three of them were wrapped in hugs, and all the women were talking so excitedly at once that none of them could be deciphered.

It wasn’t until they had all gotten their hugs out of the way that introductions occurred.

“Oh, I’m just so happy to have you all here,” Lorcan’s mother began, her hand over her heart, the sweetest of smiles plastered on her lips.

“Glad to be here, Ma,” Lorcan smiled. “Everyone, this is Elide, my girlfriend, and Cassian, my...brother. Our brother, I guess.”

The word shocked Cassian so much that he had to clear his throat to bring himself back to reality.

“And this is my mom, Natasha, and my sisters - Delaney, Koda, Becca, and Little Liza,” Lorcan continued.

“I’m not little anymore, Lor,” Eliza argued, rolling her eyes, even though she hadn’t even hit thirteen.

Lorcan chuckled. “Right. Sorry. Should I go with Eliza, then? Or, do I need to call you the full Elizabeth?”

Eliza took a moment to think about it. “Eliza’s fine.”

“You have a beautiful home, Ms. Salvaterre,” Elide noted.

Natasha smiled. “Call me Natasha, and thank you, that’s very kind. Lorcan should show you the rest of it - no, wait, he’s been gone too long. Laney, give them a tour!”

Delaney’s snort was so much like Lorcan’s that it made Elide giggle. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Elide, you’ll be sleeping in Koda’s room, and the boys will share Delaney’s while the girls share a room with their mama,” Natasha winked.

Lorcan hesitated. “I, uh, thought we were going to stay at the motel?”

Natasha raised a brow. “And miss opening presents bright and early Christmas morning? I don’t think so.”

The look he shot Elide was much more apologetic than the one he shot Cassian. But his girlfriend didn’t seem to mind, not as she fell into easy conversation with the other most important women in his life. She was laughing and Lorcan could see the true joy in her eyes when she glanced over at him every now and again. He couldn’t hide the smile on his face.

“I guess we can go get our bags then?” Cassian asked, clearing his throat.

“Good call,” Lorcan said, looking out the window at the quickly accumulating snow.

The boys were in and out as fast as they could, dropping the bags unceremoniously in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

Lorcan stepped into the threshold of the living room, where his mother, Elide and Dakota were currently looking at an old, and extremely embarrassing, photo album of Lorcan’s earliest recitals. “Mom, can we discuss the…sleeping arrangements?” He asked, clearing his throat as he leaned against the doorframe.

Elide’s eyes went wide as she looked up at him.

Lorcan looked quickly away, back at his mother.

In true Natasha Salvaterre fashion, she rolled her eyes but followed him into the kitchen, nonetheless, and Cassian quickly joined the others to look at embarrassing photos of Lorcan.

“Yes, my son?” she asked, the slightest hint of sarcasm laced in her tone.

Lorcan looked back in the living room at Elide, who was still looking through the book, sitting between Cassian and Dakota. “I really like her, mom.”

Her head tilted slightly to the side. “I can tell. And?”

Lorcan blinked. “So, don’t scare her away.”

Natasha sighed. “Lorcan, you have never brought a girl home to meet me. Ever. Do you really think that I would try to scare her away?”

Lorcan hesitated.

“Girls like seeing embarrassing pictures, they think it’s cute. Besides, you were precious when you started dancing, so hush, I show those pictures to everyone.”

Lorcan gawked. “Everyone?”

“And you should really try and be more welcoming towards Cassian, dear,” Natasha continued, ignoring Lorcan’s comment. “Me and the girls will be as welcoming as possible, but you are both the only boys and one of the only people here he knows. He’s nervous being here, I can tell.”

Lorcan knew it would be interesting bringing Cassian into his home, into his family. It would be an adjustment, but Cassian seemed like he truly wanted to be there.

He nodded, understanding her. “I will be. Speaking of that, he’s going to want some time to himself. To call his own girlfriend and stuff like that. So.”

“So?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “He can take Koda’s room to himself.”

“That’s very sweet of you to offer to sleep on the couch, the whole break,” she said, pointedly.

“Mom, I’m almost twenty-one. She’ll be twenty in two months. Do you really think we don’t sleep together at school?”

“That’s at school,” she said, sounding decidedly motherly. “You’re home, though, and under my roof. It doesn’t matter how old you are, rules are rules, Lor.”

“We were planning to stay at the motel,” he reminded her.

“Rules are rules,” she repeated.

Lorcan’s jaw locked. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Natasha lifted a brow. “You wanna try that again?”

Lorcan sighed. “I love you, but you’re being ridiculous.”

“You and Cassian will sleep in the same room,” Natasha said, simply. “That’s final.” Lorcan sucked in a frustrated breath, but Natasha kissed him on the cheek and hurried back into the living room to look at Lorcan’s baby pictures.

Lorcan watched from the doorway of the living room, shaking his head, slowly. Elide was fully engrossed in looking through the photo albums, Cassian was talking with Eliza about her love of dance, and for a moment, everything was perfectly perfect.

The afternoon went about like that, everything falling into place. The perfection of it made the time fly by, and when Christmas Eve dinner came around, Lorcan was actually smiling.

The food was delicious, the laughs were never ending and Lorcan and Laney were half buzzed after sharing a bottle of wine. Cassian was playing piano while Eliza and Becca sang Christmas songs, and Dakota was ogling Cassian from across the room.

“I think Koda has a crush,” Elide said, under her breath to Lorcan, as the couple stood in the corner, holding each other’s hands and sipping on wine.

“Koda?” Lorcan snorted. “She just broke up with what’s-his-name, Cass is just her rebound.”

“Her rebound?” Elide repeated, laughing quietly.

“Not that she’ll try anything,” Lorcan said, unable to stop his grin. “She just needs a guy to check out in the meantime.”

Elide laughed, watching as Cassian told the girls that it was time to get ready for bed. It was approaching midnight, which meant that the house would soon have to go quiet and they would all have to retire to their rooms.

Lorcan groaned, facing Elide. “I’m sneaking into your room in an hour.”

She chuckled. “Your mom said no, and I respect that.”

Lorcan groaned, yet again, pulling Elide close to him and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Be rebellious.”

Elide gave him a mock frown. “But Santa won’t bring me any presents.”

“I’ll still bring you presents,” he mumbled, meeting her lips with his own.

“Break it up you two!” Becca hollered, making her way up the stairs.

“Come on, Elide!” Eliza followed, excitedly. “We’re going to have girl talk before bed!”

Lorcan snorted, but Elide was smiling up at him. “Gotta go. Girl talk awaits.”

“Have fun,” he whispered, giving her one more kiss. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she winked, hurrying after Lorcan’s sisters.

Natasha watched them, fondly, as she picked up the plates and napkins that they ate their deserts on around the living room. “She fits in well here, Elide.”

“She fits in well anywhere,” Cassian chuckled, helping Natasha pick up the mess.

Natasha’s smile widened as she met Cassian’s eye. “You fit in pretty well here, too, you know.”

Cassian’s eyes flickered to Lorcan before returning to his mother. “I, um...I wanted to thank you, Natasha. For welcoming me here for Christmas. You didn’t have to-.”

“You’re family,” she interrupted. “Family spends Christmas together.”

Cassian smiled as he nodded and took the dishes to the kitchen sink.

“Go to bed,” Natasha said, kissing Lorcan on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Twenty minutes later, Cassian and Lorcan were settling down for bed, the former on the bed, the latter on the floor atop a mountain of blankets.

Lorcan felt like he had just closed his eyes, finally falling asleep when banging on the door had both he and Cassian sitting up quickly.

“ITS CHRISTMAS, D BAGS,” Koda called. “TIME TO GET UP!”

Lorcan heard his mother say, “Dakota Caroline!” as he fell back against the blankets and chuckled.

“Hope you didn’t want to sleep in this morning,” he said, rubbing his eyes.

Cassian was checking his phone when he laughed quietly. “Seven is a little early for my tastes, but Nesta has been up for two hours, so I should probably call her.”

Lorcan was already climbing to his feet and stretching when he said, “Yeah, Elide isn’t an early riser, so I’m sure she’s still asleep. I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Sounds good,” Cassian said, sitting up and yawning. Lorcan was almost to the door when he added, “Hey, Lor?”

He turned and asked, “Yeah?”

Cassian smiled and said, “Merry Christmas, brother.”

Lorcan chuckled, his smile genuine. “Merry Christmas, brother.”

~~~~~~

Bryce could have gone home for Christmas - probably should have, if her mother had a say in it - but she decided to keep it simple, for once, and remained in Velaris to prepare for the classes she would be instructing.

She was doing okay spending the holiday alone, until the holiday actually arrived. By the time eight arrived and she’d eaten a stack of holiday pancakes, she was already growing restless.

By eight-thirty, she had her boots on and was taking a drive to the edge of campus, where a familiar apartment stood.

She’d been checking on him often, daily, although she usually just called or texted him. When she texted, they kept texting for the rest of the day, and when she called, they would talk for hours.

They were growing closer, again.

It terrified her as much as it excited her.

When he had finally woken up in the hospital, he had no recognition of the hours leading up to his overdose. Nor of the time he was unconscious, including Bryce’s tearful admission.

But his evident relief at seeing Bryce by his bedside had told them both what the other hadn’t said. They needed each other.

She hadn’t told him what she’d said before he’d woken up, instead she wanted to prove it to him, every day.

And she had been trying to do just that.

Now, on Christmas morning, she was knocking on his door.

She only had to wait a few seconds before he was opening up the door, a broad smile on his lips. He was dressed in jeans and an ugly Christmas sweater, his feet bare.

“I thought we said noon?” he grinned, although the light in his eyes said he didn’t mind that she was early for their Christmas lunch.

“Figured I’d beat the crowd,” she said, shrugging as he let her in.

He laughed, taking her coat from her and hanging it up by the door. It would only be the two of them, but whatever her excuse, he wasn’t about to complain.

“What’s that over there?” She asked, her eyes falling on the bright red package sitting on his kitchen counter.

“That’s none of your concern,” he said, picking it up and taking it into the living room. “Until after lunch, that is.”

She began. “About lunch…”

He turned, eyes narrowing. “What about lunch?”

“What if we did Christmas breakfast instead?”

He arched a brow. “If I know you as well as I think I do - which, I do- I know you’ve already had three pancakes shaped like Christmas trees.”

Bryce blinked. “So?”

“So come on in and help me cook,” he grinned.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” she crooned, making her way into his kitchen.

They spent the entire morning making pancakes that roughly resembled trees, and by the time Bryce was sitting on his couch, watching Elf, bundled up in her own ugly sweater, it was nearly eleven. When she heard Hunt’s soft footsteps padding into the room, she turned and found him carrying two mugs of hot chocolate.

“I was hoping you remembered,” she said, grinning.

Hunt snorted, handing her a mug and setting his on the side table on the other end of the couch. “Trust me, I’ll never forget to have a box of hot cocoa in my pantry during the holidays.”

A few years back, things had been busy for the both of them leading up to the holidays. Bryce was the lead in not only V-SOT’s Christmas recital, but two other companies she danced for had recitals the same week. Hunt had his own engagements, from the showcase to a Christmas EP he’d been trying to release on time. Somehow, the box of hot chocolate ran dry before Christmas morning and the meltdown Bryce had rivaled that of some toddlers.

After Hunt told her she was acting like a child and she said he was acting like an asshole, they’d screamed at each other until Bryce grabbed Hunt’s face and kissed him. They’d made up pretty quickly after that.

Now, Hunt sat down on the other end of the couch and his attention was soundly on the movie. Bryce looked to where her feet were tucked under herself on the couch. He’d always sat there before, it had never mattered to him.

After a second, she cleared her throat intending to tell him he was more than welcome to sit next to her, but when his dark eyes fell on her, she choked.

“When are we opening presents?” She asked coolly.

He grinned, cocking his head to the side. “You always were impatient.”

“Not true,” Bryce said, but knew it was a lie.

“You said presents,” Hunt said.

Bryce blinked. “Yeah. So?”

“That means I get one too?” he asked.

Bryce couldn’t help her smile. “You think I’d show up here on Christmas empty handed?”

Hunt shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know, I’ve been pretty naughty this year.”

Bryce laughed. “Well, good thing Santa was pretty forgiving.”

She got up and went to her bag where she pulled out a gift wrapped in royal blue foiled paper.

Hunt tracked her every movement as she approached the couch, yet again. “Here.”

He stared at it for a moment before taking it into his hands. “You know, I was just kidding, you didn’t have to get me anything-.”

“Open it, Hunt,” Bryce said, gently.

He slid his finger underneath the paper, gently pulling the tape loose. “You didn’t spend too much, did you?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I made them myself.”

Hunt’s eyes flicked up to her. “Really?”

She smiled softly. “Really.”

Hunt looked back at the box and-.

“Fuck!”

He pulled his hand back, blood welling along his finger. “Shit, my bad.”

“Your bad?” Bryce asked, jumping up and hurrying into the kitchen. “Hunt, you’re bleeding!”

“It’s just a paper cut,” he said, sighing as she went into mom mode.

Bryce hurried into the kitchen and grabbed a paper towel before hurrying back to him. She pressed it against his finger. “Just hold it on the cut until the bleeding stops.”

“It’s a paper cut,” Hunt snorted. “I didn’t get stabbed.”

“You’re bleeding,” Bryce argued.

Hunt scoffed. “Hardly.”

Their eyes met, and suddenly Bryce was rethinking everything. She pulled back, her hands falling onto her lap, instead of on the paper towel she had been pressing into Hunt’s hands.

“Thanks,” Hunt said, at last.

“I’m sorry my gift injured you,” Bryce said, chuckling.

“It’s okay,” he laughed, unceremoniously ripping the paper off. No more paper cuts for him.

The gloves were crudely knitted together. He thought they were supposed to be gloves, at least. Hunt could see that there were four finger holes and a thumb off to the side - he thought, at least. The tips of the fingers were…missing though.

“You mentioned how cold your hands have been getting when you play guitar.” Her words were soft and she’d answered his question before he’d even had a chance to ask. Her eyes were glued to the soft, dark grey fabric in his hands. The stitches were spaced out and when he ran a thumb over one, a callous snagged on one of the strands. He wasn’t even sure they’d hold up when he tried them on, they may just unravel into nothing.

No gift had ever meant as much to him as these shitty, handmade gloves.

“I thought I could buy you some, but, you know, it’s Christmas…..” she shrugged. “I-.”

“I love them,” he interrupted. “Thank you.”

She nodded, slowly, unsure if she believed him or not. “You’re welcome.”

He grinned, pulling the gloves onto his hands, praying they held together long enough that she wouldn’t feel bad. Once they were on, he stretched out his fingers. They really were soft, even if they weren’t the sturdiest.

He met Bryce’s eyes. “I’m never taking them off.”

Bryce rolled her eyes. “You’re so full of shit.”

“No, I mean it,” he protested. “Never. Bed, shower, gym, everywhere.”

Bryce couldn’t help her laugh.

Hunt was on his feet, padding over to the tree and picking the package up. He sat it in her lap as he sat back down next to her and Bryce grinned up at him.

She removed the paper with much less care and he was surprised she wasn’t bleeding by the time she held the seek black box in her hands.

There was no writing on it, but as she clutched it, he could tell she knew exactly what was in that box.

She wasn’t breathing.

“Hunt, you’re joking.” Her words were barely a whisper.

If she could breathe, she would have been in trouble. His answering grin was breathtaking. “Open it.”

Bryce lifted the lid with shaking hands.

The satin shoes inside were impeccable and the ribbons slid between her fingers as she picked them up.

“I figured you still wore the same size,” he said, softly. “I had some help picking them out.”

It was true. With the assistance of Cassian, Nesta and Manon, though it was mostly Manon, Hunt had found the perfect gift.

“These are the Graynor Minden,” she said at last. “These are like…the Bugatti of pointe shoes.”

“So I’ve been told,” he said, chuckling. “The sales woman talked my ear off about them. Tried to sell me a men’s pair, too, but I politely declined.”

“Shame, I would have loved to see you in those,” Bryce said, meaning it as a joke, although she had a difficult time putting all the strength into her voice.

He had bought her a beautiful pair of slippers.

“You like them, then?” Hunt asked, quietly, his eyes soft.

Bryce slowly put the lid back on the box. “Hunt, I love them, but you didn’t have to-.”

“You’re going to be an instructor here,” he interrupted, gently. “A new job means a new wardrobe, right?”

She stared at the box on her lap, unable to grasp that she was living the reality she was currently in. “Hunt…”

She said no more, her words trailing off, unable to form a thought. He was moving her chin, then, with just one finger until her eyes met his. He reached up with his other hand, brushing her fiery hair back behind her ear.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, quietly.

She wanted to laugh, wanted to tell him that there was nothing to be proud of, but she didn’t have time. Instead, he was leaning toward her for the softest, sweetest of kisses.

It was nothing more than a few seconds, but that was all it took for them both to realize that it didn’t matter what life threw at them, be it career-altering injuries or life changing accidents. Without the other, there was no life. Just an endless sea of loneliness and longing.

When Hunt pulled away, his eyes were bright. Neither of them acknowledged the moment that had passed between, but they both knew. Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against Bryce’s and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Quinlan.”

Bryce felt an overwhelming sense of joy as she whispered back, “Merry Christmas, Orion.”

~~~~~

“On the count of three.”

“Can’t we go inside? It’s freezing.”

“Not until I kick Aedion’s ass,” Aelin hissed.

Rowan just rolled his eyes. There was no use trying to talk Aelin Galathynius out of a snowball fight.

“Fine,” Rowan sighed. “On the count of three.”

“One. Two.” Aelin held the giant snowball in her hands. “Three!”

The moment she came around the tree trunk, though, she was met with a giant snowball hitting her right in the face.

“We said the face was off limits, Aedion!”

His reply was brief. “So was the groin. Didn’t stop you!”

Aelin was chuckling as she turned around and shook snow out of her hair. It was true. The second she’d seen Aedion lifting that huge ass snowball above his head, she just couldn’t help herself. With brilliant accuracy, she’d thrown a tightly packed snowball riiiight at the front of Aedion’s jeans.

He’d dropped that big ass snowball directly on to his head and Aelin had rolled around in the snow, laughing for five minutes. Which was coincidentally how long it took Aedion to get up out of the snow too.

“Where are you going?” Aelin asked, as she watched Rowan’s giant frame striding steadily through the snow.

“Inside!” he called, without looking back at her. “Warmth! Food!”

“I’m with him,” Lysandra agreed, hurrying after Rowan towards the back door of Aelin’s parent’s house. Her parents were in the south, touring the coast of Eyllwe, but told Aelin she could party with her friends in Orynth for a few days for winter break.

Which is exactly what she did.

Now, on Christmas day, their morning had been spent decorating a tree they had cut down in Aelin’s backyard and playing in the snow. Aelin had wanted to try her hand at a proper Christmas meal, but settled on frozen pizzas and wine instead.

She wasn’t the best cook.

“Fine,” she groaned and began heading towards the door. “You’re all just a bunch of- AHHH!”

The high pitched scream had both Rowan and Lysandra turning around, looking for an in seen assailant. All they found was Aedion, laughing his ass off, and Aelin, furiously trying to shake the snow out of her shirt.

“That was fucking cold!” She cried, chasing after him, already scooping up a handful of snow. She and Aedion were both laughing, so Lysandra and Rowan rolled their eyes and hurried inside, back to the hot chocolate and toasty fire in the living room. Just a few moments later, they heard another high pitched squeal, which had Lysandra snorting as she watched Aelin take her revenge, a huge scoop of frosty white powder getting trapped in Aedion’s pants.

“They’re as bad as children,” Rowan muttered, sipping from his Rumchata infused hot chocolate.

“We love them anyways,” Lysandra agreed.

Rowan just chuckled as the two came in through the backdoor. Before anyone could say anything, Aelin was pointed up. “Patio. Hot tub. Necessary. Now.”

She continued on, hurrying up the stairs without another word. Aedion, his teeth chattering, followed. Rowan and Lysandra shot each other a look before following their significant others up the stairs.

Aelin was slipping on her swimsuit already when Rowan opened her bedroom door with an arched brow.

“I’m so cold I can hardly move,” she said, wrapping a blanket around her body once her suit was secure. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

Rowan simply shook his head with that soft, fond smile he only kept reserved for her. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Only a little,” she said, teeth chattering quietly.

He chuckled, wrapping her up in his arms until she stood shivering. He asked, “Better?”

“Better,” she sighed, forehead pressed against his chest. After a minute she looked up and gave him that dazzling smile that left him senseless. How he’d managed to make this amazing woman fall in love with him, he’d never know, but he thanked the gods every day for her.

“Let me change and I’ll be right down,” he murmured, his lips already brushing hers.

“Mmhm.” She replied, but clearly had no intention of going anywhere.

It was only a few moments later that a fist slammed against her closed bedroom door and Lysandra cooed, “Break it up in there, you two.”

It was Rowan who held his middle finger up to the door and that fact had Aelin laughing. “Go,” he muttered. “I’ll change and be right down.”

“Okay,” she chuckled, and gave him one last kiss before slipping out her door and following after Lysandra.

Rowan quickly pulled on his shorts before making his way downstairs to the kitchen to grab Aelin’s Grinch Punch. Rowan hadn’t asked what she had put in the pitcher, but from the smell of it, he knew it included a whole lot of vodka. With the entire pitcher in hand, and four glasses, Rowan was walking back upstairs to where the back deck entrance was, and once he was through the sliding door, he was met with the grins of Aelin, Aedion, and Lysandra, all of whom were staring at the punch and not at him.

“Look who brought the Christmas party!” Aelin winked, gesturing for Rowan to fill her up a cup. He poured them each a glass before slipping into the steaming water. He immediately relaxed, as Aelin scooted closer to him, practically sitting on his lap. Not that he would have complained.

Lysandra sighed happily, sipping on her straw and Aelin asked, “What’s got you grinning? We said the hot tub stayed PG-13.” She narrowed her eyes at her cousin, who held up his hands in surrender.

Lysandra snorted. “I was just thinking about the beginning of the semester versus now. None of us knew each other. Who would have thought on day one we’d be here?”

Aelin and Rowan eyed each other. Definitely not the two of them, not after their first encounter.

“Actually,” Aedion said, after draining his cup and reaching for a refill. “Technically, Aelin and I knew each other before we got there, so your logic is flawed, babe.”

Lysandra rolled her eyes as she elbowed her boyfriend in the ribs. “Okay, except for the two of us that are related, none of us knew each other.”

Aedion grinned as he began his second glass of neon green goodness.

“It’s been a pretty exciting semester,” Aelin agreed. “I’m pretty excited to see what the rest of the year holds.”

“And the years after,” Lysandra added, lifting her glass in the air. They all followed her lead, raising their glasses high as the snow slowly began to fall from the clouded sky.

“Merry Christmas,” Aelin said, laying her head on Rowan’s shoulder. “To friends.”

“To friends,” they repeated, and clinked their glasses together before getting wasted on whatever concoction that had come from the festive mind of Aelin Galathynius.

~~~~~

Nesta had already talked to Cassian twice today, but she still missed him. They hadn’t gone more than a couple days without seeing each other since they officially became a couple, and not being able to see him on one of her favorite days of the year…sucked.

Hence why she’d volunteered to cook Christmas dinner for everyone. She knew Elain and Azriel would be at the soup kitchen until just after lunch and she wanted Feyre and Rhys to relax. Plus, she loved to cook.

She was just finishing up the mashed potatoes when she heard a knock and then her door cracked open. “Hello?”

“Come on in,” she called, trying to keep her sweater’s long sleeves from falling into the fluffy potatoes in the deep pot.

Feyre strolled in carrying a covered bowl, Rhysand just behind her with a bag full of presents.

Nesta lifted a brow. “What’s that? I told you to rest.”

Feyre glanced at the bowl in her hands before setting it down on the counter. “Oh, calm down. It’s just homemade applesauce.”

“Mom’s homemade applesauce?” Nesta asked, lifting the lid to take a peek.

Their mother had always made the worlds best crockpot applesauce when they were kids, before she passed.

Feyre grinned. “Yup. I would’ve had more to bring, but…” she shot a look at Rhysand.

He shrugged, setting the gifts down in front of the tiny table top tree Nesta had put up in the apartment. “What? It’s delicious. Once I started, stopping was hard as hell.”

“Welcome to our childhoods,” Nesta laughed, setting it with the rest of the food. “Except we learned early not to eat too much.”

“You’d get sick?” Rhys asked, raising an eyebrow as he walked back to the kitchen.

“Gods, no,” Feyre laughed. “Mom would ground us by not letting us have any more, even with dinner.”

“That’s just cruel,” Rhys muttered, wrapping an arm around Feyre’s shoulder. “Please tell me you'll use that on our son.”

With a snort, Feyre said, “Absolutely.”

The front door was thrown open and Elain and Azriel entered.

“Merry Christmas!” Elain hollered, then froze. “I sense mom’s applesauce.”

Rhysand lifted a brow. “Alright, that’s impressive.”

Nesta laughed, opening up the oven to take out the turkey. “It’s for dessert.”

“Fair enough,” Elain said, grinning as she set her and Azriel’s gifts by the others. “It smells delicious.”

“Thanks,” Nesta beamed. “I’ve been cooking since eight.”

“That’s longer than we’ve been up,” Feyre said, stretching and perching on the arm of the couch. “This one kept me up all night.” She rested a loving hand on her stomach. Her bump was definitely showing, but at just four months she was still able to conceal it by wearing baggier clothes. Around their family, though, Feyre had nothing to hide. The form fitting sweater showed her bump off and neither Feyre or Rhysand could hide their grins.

“Which is why I’ve been telling you to rest,” Nesta argued, starting to set all of her dishes in the center of the table. “Instead you’re making applesauce.”

Feyre rolled her eyes.

“Anything I can help with?” Elain asked, stepping into the kitchen.

“Oh, no, I’m almost done,” Nesta said, taking a bowl of corn and setting it between the potatoes and the basket of rolls. “All I need is for all of you to sit down and get comfortable, because we’ll be around this table for a while.”

As everyone got up, Nesta’s phone vibrated. She didn’t even bother looking who it was from before she answered.

She already knew.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” his sweet voice came from the other end. “How’s your lunch coming along?”

“Just got done, we’re about to sit and eat,” Nesta said, smiling as she leaned back against the countertop. “What are you doing?”

“Well,” Cassian began, “we ate the world’s biggest breakfast, so apparently lunch isn’t for another three hours.”

“You’re also two hours behind us,” she laughed. “Have you opened presents?”

“Yeah, and I feel like shit because I only brought one for Elide and Lorcan.” He sighed. “Nes, they all had me something.”

She could hear the emotion in his voice, could hear how confused and overwhelmed but happy he was. “That’s amazing, baby. I can’t wait to give you yours.”

The way her voice lowered just a bit at the end told him that it wasn’t a gift he’d be able to show his friends.

“Speaking of,” he said, and she could tell he was hurrying out of the room. “Have you been in the back of your top left dresser drawer today?”

Nesta’s eyebrows rose and she, too, snuck off to her bedroom. “You mean, my underwear drawer?”

“Is that what you keep in there?”

She could hear the mock innocence in his voice and she rolled her eyes as she opened it and reached her hand into the very back.

Her fingers closed around a box.

“Cass,” she whispered, shaking her head as she pulled off the lid.

A silver whole note hung on the end of a long, silver chain.

When she said nothing, staring in awe at the thoughtful gift, he said, “Merry Christmas, Sweetheart.”

“I love it,” she breathed. “Cass, I love it.”

“Good,” he said, his smile evident. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she promised, her heart overwhelmed with how much joy was in it.

“With my whole heart,” he added and Nesta couldn’t help the groan as she rolled her eyes.

“That was so cheesy,” she sighed, holding the phone between her ear and shoulder as she removed the necklace from the box and latched it around her neck.

Cassian asked, “But you’re smiling, aren’t you?”

She reached up and fingered the circular charm hanging around her neck. “Yes,” she admitted.

“Good,” he said. “Now, go eat all the delicious food you made for our families and pass out into a much needed food coma. I’ll call you in a little while, okay?”

“Okay,” she breathed, still spinning the charm. “I love you, Cass.”

His answering chuckle was full of love. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

After hanging up, she looked in the mirror and admired the necklace. It truly was beautiful. She had no idea how he had afforded it, something so grand and lovely.

When she showed her sisters, they were all grinning like fools.

Just as they had sat down to begin their extravagant meal, Azriel’s phone buzzed, and he only looked at it for a second before shaking his head with a quiet laugh and shoving it back into his pocket.

“Dorian again?” Elain asked, plopping a helping of mashed potatoes onto her plate.

“Mhmm.” Azriel helped Elain to a helping of turkey before he put some on his own plate. “He went home with Manon for break. Apparently, her grandmother is terrifying.”

“He’s called ten times today,” Elain laughed.

Rhysand was shaking his head. “Poor guy.”

It was perfect. A perfect meal, a perfect day, a perfect gathering of family and loved ones. After lunch, they sat around the living room and opened their gifts. They laughed, drank, and ate way too much food, but the memories made would last a lifetime.

And to think, before the school year started, each one of them were living completely different lives.

It was only Christmas.

Nesta decided she couldn’t wait to see what the New Year would hold.

The End

#shacmc #acotar #tog #the end #crossover

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itsukkie · 4 years ago

Text

On My Mind

Characters: Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Words: 3.1k

Genre: fluff :)

Summary: How long is it going to take for Tsukkishima to get over himself and finally confess to you? Five times Tsukki wanted to kiss you + the first time he did.

Edited?: nope

a/n: I’m new to tumblr! I’ve never written my own fic before. I mostly wrote this to cope with my own yearning... If you have any suggestions for how to improve my writing or formatting please let me know.

You never liked chemistry, but that’s why Tsukishima was there. You were fully capable of understanding the material by yourself but Tsukki didn’t have a great deal of faith in your patience.

You groaned slumping back into the kitchen chair and stared at the sheet in front of you. What were you doing wrong? Tsukishima could tell you were getting frustrated by the way your cheeks were flushed and the way your hands were tangled in your own hair as you racked your brain for the right answer. Tsukki briefly glanced at you, studying the way you furrowed your brows and pursed your lips while thinking before silently returning to his own work. Although his eyes were focused on his own work in front of him, he wondered why you hadn’t caved already and asked for his help.

“Tsukki-,” you looked over at him.

“Do it yourself,” he replied, not even glancing up from his English homework. You let out a small huff. Why did he do that? He wanted to help you. He wanted to lean over your shoulder and feel the warmth of your back pressing against his chest and smell the honey tones of your shampoo. He wanted to see if he could make you flustered by whispering in your ear. But more than anything he wanted to see up close the look in your eyes when he told you that you were correct. So why did he do that?

Maybe he could just walk to your side and lean over the table, using his hand to guide your face to look at his. How would you react if he leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead, pulling you into his chest? Would your body relax under his if he whispered sweet affirmations, letting you know just how smart and amazing he thought you were?

But before Tsukki could act on any of his daydreams the front door thrashed open. You looked up to see Hinata and Kageyama panting, kneeling at your front door catching their breath.

“I touched the door first,” Kageyama uttered in between shaky breaths.

“I was first inside though!” Hinata yelled, getting up from the floor and walking toward the kitchen where you and Tsukki sat. “Y/N! Thank you once again for tutoring us on a weekend,” he said through a toothy smile.

Tsukishima sighed as he watched you close your chemistry textbook and greet his two annoying teammates. Pulling his headphones from around his shoulder and onto his ears, he tapped his foot to the sound of soft lofi music. But no matter how loud he set the volume, he couldn’t drown out the sound of your intoxicating voice.

Tsukishima will deny the fact that he was eagerly awaiting your call when he heard a new art exhibition opened up in town. Of course he’d never have the guts to ask you himself, he just always counted on you to make the first move.

That’s why both of you stood in front of a canvas encased in an elegant gold frame. Your eyes were fixed on the painting, and given the fact the tickets were 2000 yen Tsukki should’ve also been relishing in the beauty of the exhibit. But he just couldn’t take his eyes off you. The headphones that were wrapped around his head were silent, the calming voice of the tour guide on pause, preferring to hear you talk about how you read about this painting in an art history book.

He loved the way your wide eyes sparkled, even in the dim lighting of the exhibit. When you walk forward, hoping to get a better view of the detail work, a gold ray of light, reflected off the statue standing behind you, makes its way onto your face, and Tsukishima swears you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. With all the people crowded in the exhibit he wonders why no one has yet to stop in front of you to admire you the way he does. And when your mouth slowly curls up into a smile he basks in your magnetism.

He’s thankful you’re wearing headphones, listening to the virtual tour guide, because he forces himself to take a deep breath to stop himself from wrapping his hand around your waist and pulling you into him. He wants to tell you just how grateful he is that you always ask him to come with you to visit new showcases, even though he rarely pays attention to the actual exhibit. He thinks to himself that this is probably the most romantic place to kiss you right now. But he holds back, turning on his heels and walking to the next painting.

You were a smug little brat. Look at you smiling at him from across the classroom, your shoulders rolled back and your chest puffed up with confidence. Debate was Tsukki’s least favourite class activity given his natural aversion to public speaking. But in the moment Tsukishima barely realized that all eyes were on him as he stood at the podium, because how could he focus when you were right there, standing across from him, refuting his arguments one by one?

Tsukishima kept his usual cool outer appearance but he just wished he could let everyone know how proud he was whenever you delivered an especially cruel line. Look at them, that’s the one I love, and they’re smarter than any of you. Of course it was just as fun watching you get flustered, stumbling over your own words trying to formulate your response to his remarks.

Something about watching you argue ignited a fire under Tsukishima. You were throwing facts and evidence at him, smirking as the class banged their fists against their desks in support after every point you made. But Tsukki long forgot about his classmates, not even addressing them in his speech, he was only talking to you.

You kept looking toward your peers, staring them in the eyes as you spoke with charisma. Look at me, Tsukki thought. He wanted you to look him in the eyes while you demolished his arguments. Watching your self-satisfied smile, he wanted to shut your mouth the one way he knew would make you stop talking. What would happen if he snuck his hand into your hair, pulled you to his chest and forced you to look up at him? Would you still have all the confidence you do now?

Tsukishima let a small smile form on his lips. You were too smart for your own good.

Tsukishima doesn’t understand why you prefer studying at a library when home is so much more comfortable. Plus, if you guys had just stayed home he wouldn’t have needed to walk in the freezing cold winter air with you to get home. But he agreed to coming with you anyway because for some reason it’s just too hard to say no to you.

At least his hands were warmed by the coffee cups he held in his hands. You were beaming about how you heard this place sells the best hot chocolate when you guys passed it. Now you were putting your wallet back in your bag as Tsukki held both of the cups for you. He remarks to himself that one day he’ll pay for both of you. When you grab your cup you shoot him a smile as you keep walking down the sidewalk. You take a large sip and yelp at the scorching temperature of the drink, your tongue now feeling numb.

“Idiot,” Tsukki utters, watching you fan your tongue.

“Okay I probably should’ve let it cool down a bit, but it was so worth it, try it.”

Tsukki glances down at your eager eyes and reluctantly lifts the cup to his mouth. Closing his eyes he slowly takes a small sip, careful not to burn himself and that’s when he hears your roaring laughter. When he looks down he sees what you’re giggling over. His vision was impaired, his glasses completely fogged up from the steam of his hot chocolate. Of course he couldn’t see you but he was sure you were relishing in how stupid he looked in that moment, but hearing your laugh he thought to himself that it might just be worth it.

Still giggling you stand on your tippy toes and pull his glasses from off his face. Tsukishima is startled, although he doesn’t show it. He watches your blurry figure clean his glasses on your jacket before watching you slowly come into focus as you gently lay them atop his ears again. He realizes just how close your face is to him, he realizes how precariously you’re standing. If you were to lose balance you’d fall right into his chest, or maybe your lips might even collide with his.

“What’re you thinking?” You ask, stepping back to look up at him. What is he thinking? He was thinking of how stunning you looked with snowflakes lightly decorating your hair and your nose and cheeks dusted red from the cold air. He was thinking about pulling you back up to where you were, holding onto your cheek and your waist and leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“It’s mediocre at best,” he scoffs and continues walking. You feign a hurt face and quickly catch up to him. He thinks that tasting the hot chocolate from your lips would make it infinitely better.

Tsukki wanted to kill whoever was knocking on his cabin door at 1am. He was already exhausted from all the hiking, climbing, and biking he had done the day before. Tomorrow morning his year would make their way back to school and Tsukishima hated sleeping on the bus.

He groaned as he stood up from his bed, walking past a groggy Yamaguchi who also heard the soft knocks at the door. He opened it, looking through squinted eyes, and was unsurprised when he was met with the wide awake eyes of Hinata and Yachi, and a yawning Kageyama who lazily propped himself against the cabin wall. But he was shocked to see you with them, standing in your plaid pajama bottoms and an oversized hoodie.

“Do you wanna go stargazing?” You asked, jumping up and down to keep yourself warm

Was that even a question? He hates to admit to himself how many times he has imagined a moment like this with you.

“It’s way past curfew, we’re gonna get in trouble.” Tsukishima heard himself reply in a raspy voice. Yamaguchi poked his head out from behind Tsukki, seeing what all the commotion was about.

“We checked the teachers’ cabin and they’re all asleep, and we’ll be quiet.” Hinata was beaming with excitement. He wanted to try playing on the beach volleyball court.

“Is it even possible for you to be quiet?” Tsukki glared, leaving Yamaguchi lightly chuckling.

“Please,” you pleaded, making the saddest puppy eyes you could. How could he not say yes to your wide and playful smile? Before he knew it, he had thrown on a sweater and was quietly running along the dirt path. The six of you giggled and hushed each other as you made your way to the open field.

Tsukishima felt his heart stop completely when you took his hand, making him run alongside you after you noticed him lagging behind. Your laugh was the most contagious thing he’s ever heard.

You two laid on the grass looking up at the clear night sky. You explained astrology to him while he rolled his eyes, and he explained the physics behind star formation. You had read about constellations and the Greek mythology behind them, and as you passionately ranted to him about the fresh-water serpent Hydra while pointing to the sky, he never lifted his eyes from your face. He noticed a few of your moles and freckles that dotted your side-profile, and in his head he created his own myth behind the creation of your constellation.

You felt his gaze on your side-profile and when you turned your head to face him, his heart dropped and his hands twitched as they longed to reach out and brush through your hair.

“What?” You smiled at him. Tsukishima wanted to tell you that you looked beautiful and that, despite all his best efforts, he had hopelessly fallen in love with you. Just look at you. You were so beautiful in the moonlight. He wished he could stare at you all night long, he wished the sun would never come out and he could lay there by your side forever.

“You have dirt on your face,” he coldly let out, wiping at your chin and pretending to wipe the dirt of his finger before turning away from you to look back up. You muttered an embarrassed ‘thanks’ not even noticing the way his fingertips lingered on your cheek before looking back up as well.

You both had turned silent, and Tsukishima was angry at himself for ruining the moment. He wished he was braver and bolder, he wanted the confidence to tell you how actually felt. But before he could think about it more, Hinata came running over, pulling you up from the ground and leading you to where Yamaguchi and Yachi found a frog.

As Hinata tugged you away, running at lightning speed, you barely had the chance to look back at Tsukishima, who had sat up, watching you talk to his teammates. He dug the heels of his hand into his eyes, sighing before looking up at the moon.

“The moon is beautiful isn’t it?” He whispered to himself.

Tsukishima wasn’t himself today. How was he supposed to be when you weren’t there? He stared out the window all day instead of teasingly kicking the back of your chair, throwing playful notes onto your desk when the teacher wasn’t looking. How was he supposed to focus on the lecture when you weren’t there to motivate him? Lunchtime was quieter than usual. He listened to Yamaguchi rant about this new anime he had started and stared silently at his shortcake. He missed the way you’d interject with your own (usually idiotic) opinions and whine on his shoulder, asking for a piece of strawberry. Sometimes you would make him feed it to you, and although he’d never admit it, he loved it when you did. The last straw was at practice where Kageyama just wouldn’t stop bugging him about his lazy decoy work. Tsukishima was supposed to be the sharp one, the one with the best game sense, so how come he kept missing spike after spike, serve after serve, block after block.

Coach Ukai let him leave early, today obviously wasn’t his day, and Tsukishima complained that if he was in the same room with Kageyama for another minute someone was going to get hurt. It was all your fault, he thought to himself as he stopped in front of your house. You were such a fucking dumbass. You just had to get sick today.

Your mother let him in, smiling at the familiar face and let him climb the stairs to your bedroom. He softly opened the door expecting you to be sleeping but you were sitting up straight in bed, sipping on a steaming cup of tea. He loved the way your hair was tousled and how you looked at him with tired eyes.

“You should be sleeping,” he said plainly, dropping his bag onto the floor by your desk.

“Did you miss me that much,” you remarked in a raspy voice. He wished he had bought cough drops for you.

“I just came to drop off the work you missed.” Tsukishima turned away to rifle through his backpack, hoping that with his back turned you wouldn’t hear how shaky his breathing was. Plopping the papers on the desk, Tsukki turned back around to see you with your arms stretched out.

“Can I have a hug?”

“No, you’re gonna get me sick.” Tsukki hated himself for saying that. Why couldn’t he just get over himself and his stupid pride. All he’s ever wanted was to lay in bed with you, tuck you into his chest, and feel your shoulders rise with every breath you took. He’s imagined the way it would tickle to feel your steady breaths against the skin of his neck more times than he’d care to admit. “Go back to sleep.” He said plainly before slinging his bag back around his shoulders and leaving you to rest.

Just as Tsukishima was about to leave through the front door, your mother bumped into him with a bowl of soup, asking him if he’d be so kind as to bring it to your room.

When he opens your door again he laughs to himself seeing you had already fallen fast asleep, in just a matter of seconds. He gently placed the bowl on your bedside table, gently nudging you to wake up. But you were out cold; even when Tsukishima said your name your body had no response. The soup probably needed time to cool down anyway, what’s more important is that you get enough rest.

Tsukishima took this opportunity to admire you. How your parted lips enticed him, how the skin of your cheeks flushed from your fever, the way your hair stuck to your forehead from all the beads of sweat that ran down. Tsukki decided to head to your bathroom, running a hand-towel under some cold water. He knelt down in front of you and gently dabbed the sweat off your face, careful not to wake you up. You looked so peaceful.

Tsukishima thought about the way you lived in his mind. You were everywhere now. Looking at your parted lips he thought about how your fingers brushed up against his cheek that one time drinking hot chocolate, how he remembers that moment every time he reaches to put his glasses on in the morning; about how he could never look at the stars without hearing your faint, siren-like voice echoing in the back of his head. You had slithered your way into every aspect of his life. He thought that maybe if he indulged a bit, you would stop showing up in every single one of his dreams at night. This was his chance to do so.

He thought of himself as a coward, he could never bring himself to tell you how he felt while you were awake. This was greedy self-indulgence.

He called your name again, and when you didn’t budge he whispered a faint “I love you”, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. Standing back up, he placed the towel by your bedside before picking up his bag and leaving.

A weak smile made its way across your lips, your eyes barely fluttering open when you heard the front door close.

You whispered in a raspy voice, “I love you too.”

#haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu writing #haikyuu fluff #fluff #hq imagines #tsukishima #tsukki #tsukkishima kei #tsukkishima x reader #tsukkishima fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu x gn!reader #hq tsukishima #tsukishima fluff #haikyuu tsukishima #vez! writes

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wonhaebunny · 4 years ago

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📂📂📂 i have no idea how many youve gotten but, i don't ever want it to end so here.

gosh i'm finally back on these,,,

now consider,, katsuki just being weirdly knowledgeable about bombs. not because he's intentionally trying to be edgy or anything, but simply because when he realised the potential for his quirk when he was a kid, he got super excited and raided the local library's books on explosives. he read up on anything even remotely related to explosives, and while this got him a very explicit understanding of his own quirk, it also gave him very obscure knowledge of other unrelated things related to explosives.

so one day aizawa storms into class like, "everyone evacuate now, there's been a bomb threat."

the class starts to panic slightly, and denki goes, "wait, but is there an actual bomb or is it just a threat??"

kyouka hushes everyone for a moment so she can use her quirk, and she pales very quickly.

"it's real. i can hear it ticking," she breathes, terrified.

meanwhile, aizawa is doing a head count.

"where's bakugou?" he interrupts harshly.

the class freezes. katsuki had gone on a bathroom break about twenty minutes ago, and hasn't returned since.

"jirou, find him." aizawa instructs, but kyouka's attempts are fruitless.

"i can't hear anything to characterise him." she explains helplessly. "there are too many people in the building for me to pick him out."

aizawa is growing more tense by the moment, but simply steels himself and continues to evacuate the rest of the class dutifully.

when they're all standing outside on the lawns and staring at the empty school fearfully, a few of the teachers head in to look for katsuki.

the fear is fully unnecessary, though, because moments after the teachers enter the school building, katsuki is walking out, bomb in hand and looking very excited.

"bakugou." aizawa says, slightly faint with all the stress the teenager is causing him. "that's the bomb. why did you bring the bomb here to us when we just got the students away from it?"

katsuki turns to grin at him with shining eyes.

"don't worry, it's defused." he says easily. "but man, the fuckin' design of this thing is sick. i've never seen anything like it, sensei."

"defused?" aizawa echoes hollowly, before turning to kyouka for explanation.

she swallows.

"i swear i heard it ticking." she says.

katsuki turns to give her a frustrated frown, like she's being unreasonable.

"well, yeah, but i literally just said that i defused it. keep up, seriously."

the group blinks at him.

"you said it was defused." aizawa points out slowly. "not that you defused it."

"what did you think, it defused itself?" katsuki scoffs, too busy examining the now-dormant bomb to notice his homeroom teacher's rapidly shuttering expression.

"bakugou." aizawa says after a long moment of silence.

"why did you know how to defuse a bomb?"

at this, katsuki actually looks up, just to give his teacher a vaguely offended glare.

"sensei, i'm literally a walking bomb." he says incredulously. "this is like you asking deku why he knows what broken bones look like."

from the sidelines, izuku makes a weak noise of protest that's ignored.

"put the bomb down." aizawa sighs finally. katsuki looks like he's been slapped.

"no!" he cries. "what the hell, it's mine now! if you think i'm letting go of this work of art then i've got fuckin' news for you!"

"katsuki." aizawa stresses slowly. "we don't know if the bomb has been permanently defused. i need you to put it down and step away from it."

katsuki hugs the explosive tighter to his chest, making his teacher and classmates wince collectively.

"at least..." aizawa groans. "at least let the bomb squad look at it. then you can have it."

katsuki looks greatly miffed about the entire ordeal but agrees nonetheless.

the squad of professionals check it over, the group of them looking somewhat bemused as they sit through katsuki's detailed explanations of the bomb's "fuckin' gorgeous" design. finally, it's returned to the blonde's possession again. he cradles the bomb tenderly, with more care than he's shown for any living thing in his sixteen years of existence.

god, does aizawa deserve a raise for the shit this kid puts him through

#this is crack tbh #folder asks!!#he names the bomb rodrick #it sits on his bedside table #sometimes he'll read it a bedtime story #bunny's headcanons #bunny's asks #bunny's drabbles

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yuulina-vre · 4 years ago

Text

Gifting you a new life

First Meeting

Pairing: Steve x Bucky, Reader insert

Warnings: None here :D just mentions of Migraines

Word count: 3197 words

Part: One

Summary: Y/N lifes with her best friend Steve in a house she inherted from he grrandmother. Starting the day is different this morning.

Masterlist

* * *

Waking up is almost always a struggle. Not only because sleeping is just the best thing in the world but because you have to face the real world, the real problems. You have duties and responsibilities. You have to get up and to work, hence all the early mornings and nights with too few sleep. The worst of waking up, though, are the people that are chipper in the morning and start chatting before the first three cups of coffee. Bombarding you with questions, tasks, chatting idly about the happenings of the last few days, that you mostly have witnessed by the way, and still sound happy. Y/N hates people that are like that. They don’t have to come close to her before it’s 10 am and even then, she’s still grumpy and sleepy, answering only with grunts and looks.

She clearly isn’t a morning person, and she doesn’t intend on getting be one. She loves sleeping as long as she can, never wakes before her last and loudest alarm and even then, it’s a fight to not turn around a last time for some shut eye. It’s a miracle if she gets up before it or stands up right away. She’ running late more often than she’s actually on time. Steve knows that very well, having witnessed enough panicking mornings with rushing, grumbling and hectic. Occasionally he got punched for scolding her, which resulted in him not saying anything anymore, instead just watching while calmly sipping his cup of coffee and eating Y/N breakfast, which he knows she won’t have time to eat. Some mornings he’s up to the challenge and cautiously wakes her up, dodging half attempted, sleepy punches and laughing at muffled insults. Though, he always greets her with a cup of coffee in the kitchen, on rare times even at her bed.

Today, though, Y/N wakes before her last alarm and she feels good, great even. She’s fully rested, having fallen asleep earlier than usual and slept like a baby with a proper amount of eight hours of sleep, that her body seems to need and rarely gets. Turning her alarm off, she wonders mildly why Steve wasn’t here to wake her for the fifth time like the rest of the week. He had made it his goal to get her up early and annoy her to ends. Sadly, her roommate is a morning person and succeeds in annoying her. Usually, he’s wide awake before her first alarm blares through her room. By the time she walks down, he was on his run, has showered, was eating his breakfast, and reading the latest paper, always greeting her with a soft smile. She hates it. Y/N stretches the arms over her head, pressing her hands against the wall and stretches her whole body as long as she can, toes almost reaching the edge of the mattress. A high-pitched sigh escapes her, back popping once, just then does she stop, sits up and swings her legs out of her bed. She wonders briefly if she’s feeling what Steve feels every morning. It doesn’t feel as bad as she thinks.

The floor feels cold to her bed-warmed feet. She doesn’t like cold feet. It’s a chilling feeling and Y/N always feels like it takes half of the day to get warm again, at least when she’s not putting on socks soon. Looking around her room she tries to find her fluffy socks that she knows she had put out yesterday, but in the depth of her room that’s filled with dirty laundry, school stuff, pencils, canvases, and some books, it’s difficult to spot the socks. Steve had gifted them to her after they moved in together. He always complained when she had shoved her ice feet under his thighs on the couch to warm them up. She looks around but doesn’t spot them. She sighs deeply and wanders into her attached bathroom to grab a quick shower. Since she’s up early she has the time for a pleasure like that. Most of the time she’s so late that she reduces her showers to be at night before she goes to bed.

The warm spray of water feels incredibly on her limbs, she feels wide awake. It’s a secret, that she can understand morning people right now, but no one ever will hear her say it out loud. She shuts the water off again, without really washing herself. She did that the night before and wasn’t sweating at all the whole night, so it’s okay for her. Stepping out of the shower cabin she’s freezing. The air in the room is chilly on her wet skin, not having the time to heat up. Not even the mirror is fogged over. Wrapping herself in a big blue towel, hair secured in a smaller one, so it won’t make her screech when the cold, wet meet’s her skin on moment she hasn’t counted it on happening, she walks back out.

She glances at her door to the hallway and debates if she should look for Steve or not. He’s a grown up after all and maybe he just wasn’t feeling like waking her up this morning. She looks to her clock on the nightstand. She still has about forty-five minutes until she needs to head out, so she leaves her room only to stop at Steve’s closed, a clear sign, that he’s still inside and not on his run or something. “Steve are you up?” She listens for an answer an any other sound but hears nothing. “Maybe he went for a run after all.” She thinks before she continues her way down into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water to take up to her room. It’s not unusual for Steve to go on an early morning run and stretch it a bit longer. He did that a lot when they were still in the university, less since they work, though.

Back in her own room, she takes a big gulp of water before she dries her hair as best as she can and then takes her hair dryer to get it actually dry. She quickly slips into her bra and a panty, dark blue jeans and a white blouse, studying herself in the mirror. One look to her nightstand shows her, that it’s quarter past seven and Y/N frowns a little. If Steve is actually on a run then he would already be back by now, making breakfast and complaining about her needing so long. Which she can’t understand, since she’s not doing any make up for work, she’s actually pretty quick in getting ready, at least when she’s already up. She needs longer to get out of bed than to actually get dressed. She walks back into the hall for the second time after putting the towels back into the bathroom for drying. “Steve! Get up or you’ll be late! It’s the second time that I knock now.” Y/N knocks on his door but there are still no sounds from inside. She shakes her head, goes back to her bathroom, and quickly brushes her teeth and her hair, pulls it up into a ponytail and looks herself over for a last time. In her bedroom she packs her bag for work and goes out into the hall for the last time, stopping at Steve’s room again and frowns a little.

She’s the one who loves to sleep in and sometimes Steve has his dear struggles to get her awake and presentable in time. When he’s not waking her then he’s either on his run or she’s the one to wake him but that is pretty rare. Sometimes Steve grades his essays until deep into the night or he does some art of his own. That always causes him to sleep in a little. He usually gets up by the second knock though and Y/N knows that he did neither of the things last night.

She knocks again. “Steve? You’re up?” She waits but receives no answer, just like before. “I’m coming in, yeah?” She waits for him to respond again but as the silence stretches, she lets her bag fall to the floor and opens the door carefully. The room is pitch black. No sound comes from it and Y/N is a little confused. Steve rarely draws his blinds closed. He loves to gaze at the stars and search for constellations when he can’t fall asleep. She steps in slowly and looks around until she spots Steve’s figure on his bed. “Steve?” The man does not react to her call aside from a little twitch. She sighs a little frustrated and turns to the light switch to turn the light on as she hears his, surprisingly silent and tired sounding voice. “Please don’t. No light.” Y/N raises her eyebrows in surprise before she frowns at him again and she walks over to Steve’s bed, crouching down beside him. She sees his features. He really looks tired. And pale, even in the nonexciting light. She raises her hand and places it on his forehead. “Are you sick?”

“Nah.” He answers with a rough voice and then groans. “Migraine.” Y/N winces in sympathy. She knows Steve’s migraines are getting pretty bad sometimes. Normally it’s just a mean headache that sits behind his eyes, letting him think they pop right out. He still powers through teaching then and collapses on the couch when he’s home to sleep it off. Y/N usually strokes through his hair then and sometimes reads from her recent book to him until he falls asleep. If the migraine is worse, than he can’t get up from bed. Light feels like it’s making him blind, and he constantly feels sick but never vomits, which makes him mentally exhausted and a little antsy sometimes. He’s always waiting to vomit, hoping he would feel better afterwards. His limbs would hurt pretty much, and he rather stays in bed then move an inch. Y7n levels her voice to a silent, soft tone. “How long has it been now?”

“Started around three.” He groans again and hides a little further into the pillows. Y/N runs her hand lightly through his hair, scratching her nails a little at his neck and massaging it. Steve let’s out a small sigh. “You should have woken me, Stevie. I could have done something.”

“Nah. Didn’t want to wake you up. Can’t do anything ‘bout it that helps anyway.” Y/N sighs and shakes her head, watching the blonde hide in his pillow. She runs her hand through his hair carefully and sighs. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Her voice is low and soft but a little annoyed, showing him that she’s not pleased that he didn’t say anything but still worries and cares about his wellbeing. She stands up silently, leaving the room. There’s not that much time left she needs to leave for work, but she takes what little time she has to make sure Steve has everything he needs. God forbid she leaves him hanging in his misery. Y/N practically runs down the stairs to the kitchen to gather three water bottles from the fridge, some light food, and another pack of pain meds out of the first aid box under the sink. As fast as she can she runs the stairs back up and to Steve’s room, trying to make as few sounds as possible. The door is pushed open with her hip and she tiptoes back over to Steve and places her gatherings on the nightstand, arranging it after his possible needs, before lightly touching his back, where his shirt had ridden up. She scratches his skin a little making him groan. She doesn’t really know if it’s in comfort or not, but he’s not struggling away, so she takes it as a win. “Stevie. Take some painkillers. No, don’t give me this look. Come on.” Y/N helps him to sit up, holding his shoulders while he blinks for a few moments. He probably git dizzy, no matter how slow he sat up. She has to admit that he actually looks a little green around his nose, too. “need to puke?”

“No…” Steve shakes his head lightly, groaning instantly afterwards. “Feels like my eye pop out.”

“Hopefully not. Would be a shitty kind of work to get them back in.” She jokes and is pleased to see the littlest smirk on his face. She manages to coax some water in his hands and a few painkillers in his mouth. Steve gets them down in record time, taking some cautious sips of his water and passing it back to her. The moment the water is out of his hands he collapses back down with a groan. “It’s a really bad one, huh? You’re several shades greener than before.”

“Hm.” Steve hums and drapes his arm over his eyes. “Shit.” Y/N curses and rubs his arm. She feels conflicted. She really needs to leave to get to school on time, but she doesn’t want to leave Steve alone if he feels this bad. She knows he can cope with his migraine and that she actually can’t really do anything to help him if he stays but her mind would be at ease. Who knows, he could fall over while attempting to go to the bathroom or something. If she stays home, she will know he’s alright and not dying in some dark corner. Pepper and Tony wouldn’t be happy about her calling them both in sick, though. And Steve wouldn’t either. “I can stay, you know.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” She frowns a little, placing her head on the mattress next to Steve, hugging him a little with her arm over his chest. She stays for a few seconds like that, only listening to his breathing and the faint ticktacks of a clock somewhere. “Alright, okay. I need to leave.” She sighs again and sits up, rubbing her hand over his chest. He hums at that but doesn’t move more. “Did you call or text Pepper? Called in sick?” Steve grunts a no. “That’s okay. I’ll do it on my way to school. You just stay here, okay? Rest, don’t move. Maybe try to sleep a little.” She leans in and presses a soft kiss to the space on his forehead that she can reach before she stands back up. “Call me if you need something. Anything.” She waits a second until he nods before she gently squeezes his ankle in and silently slips out of his room. She quickly grabs her bag and a toast from the kitchen to eat while driving. She grabs her keys and leaves the house, almost running because she’s actually running late now and sprints the way to her car. She fumbles with her phone while opening the car door, slips in, starts the engine and drives while dialing Pepper‘s office number, toast in her mouth. She barely managed to grab it. “Stark’s school for gifted children, Pepper Potts, hello?”

“Hi, Pepper. It’s Y/N.” Y/N quickly chews the last bite and swallows it down, suppressing the need to cough because she didn’t chew it properly and it almost got stuck. “Hello Y/N. Good morning. What can I do for you?” Pepper’s chipper voice sounds through the speaker making Y/N aware of her hate for morning people. But she likes Pepper. Not only is Pepper the school’s secretary, she’s also Tony’s wife and deputy headmistress. And almost always in a good mood, except if Tony did any dumb stuff again or someone even dares to look at the school, kids or the teachers in the wrong way. “I want to call in sick for Steve. He’s sick and won’t make it to work today. And maybe tomorrow from the looks of it.” Y/N is glad that it’s actually Thursday already, so the students won’t miss anything important now. Summer break is in two weeks and the most stuff they have to teach is over. Now the children only have to study on their own most of the time to get ready for the last big exam before they go on their much-needed break. She hears Pepper sigh, if it’s in sympathy or something else she can’t tell but she knows Pepper never means to hurt someone, so she hopes its sympathy. At least her voice sounds like it. “Oh no, okay. I type him in. Is it that serious? His asthma?”

“I hope not, and his asthma is fine, still as few attacks as usual. He says it’s a migraine. But a bad one as it seems. He was pretty pale and couldn’t even sit up in bed for long.”

“Oh man. That’s the second one this month. Will he be alright? You did order him to sleep it off, right?”

“Who do you think I am? Of course, I made him sleep. He’s not supposed to move an inch.” Y/N smiles while she stops at a red light. She really likes that Pepper worries about her and Steve so much. They actually got pretty close in the last year. They consider each other as friends already. it wasn’t so easy with Tony, at least for Steve. Tony almost instantly liked Y/N after they started teaching five years ago. Steve, though, was a whole other story. Somehow, the two men almost constantly were on each other’s throats. Last year Y/N and Pepper had enough. They had sat them down in a room, gave them a lecture and locked them in it with the promise to let them out when they got things sorted. It actually took an hour for both of them to get along. Y/N remembers lots of shouting, but it worked out fine. Since then, they are pretty good friends. Still fighting now and then but always making up after a week or so.

“That’s good. I can see here that he has three art classes today.”

“I can take them. One is in my free hour and one after I’m usually finished. The other one can be put together with my art class for the new kids. I can make them work together. They can learn a thing or two. His history classes should have enough work to do with studying for the exam he set up for Monday. He has just two of the starter classes today if I’m right.”

“Yeah, I see it. His plan tomorrow is with only one art class and four history classes. You need to call in tomorrow morning to tell me if he’s coming.”

“No problem.” Y/N only needs five more minutes until she’s driving on the parking lot of the school, so she drives a little slower, not speeding so much. “Okay. But he’s supposed to have a meeting with Tony around two, today. I need to talk to Tony about it.”

“If it’s about the art classes than I can take the meeting over, otherwise I’m afraid you need to reschedule.”

“I’ll talk to Tony. You better come in when you arrive.”

“Sure.” She tells Pepper she’s there in two minutes and comes straight to her. Then she hangs up and sighs.

Next Part

#Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Steve x Bucky #reader insert #Reader #Bucky x Steve #Yuulina writes

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thesquishywizard · 4 years ago

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How to make a Grimoire!

This took me a week to compile so if you enjoy it and want to support me, this a link to my ko-fi!

Hey there, I’m Ismo the Squishy Wizard, and today I want to talk about how you could go about making a grimoire for yourself. Grimoires are very personal despite being for information and reference, so it is understandable that some of my advice just won’t fit your way of doing things. The following advice is based on my experiences and the experiences of other magical practitioners and witches I have spoken to or watched on youtube, so hopefully you can avoid some problems we have ran into.

What is the difference between a grimoire and a book of shadows (BoS)?

A grimoire is often only a magical reference book while a book of shadows is not only a magical reference book, but also a diary, record of magical activities and ultimately, whatever you make of it. The reason why you might want one more than the other is purely down to personal taste.

A grimoire will detail what things mean, their origins, uses and personal associations. It is in an order that will help the witch easily find what they’re looking for, whether that is in alphabetical order, simplicity to complexity, importance to you or some other personal order. Grimoires tend to be quite formal, being written in highly decorated documents on a computer, high quality notebooks, scrapbooks or sketchbooks.

A book of shadows may do all that too but also include records of daily practice, experiences with deities or spirits, personal reflection and introspection, thoughts and questions about the craft, results of spells and maybe dreams too. It generally is in order of learning and experiencing so can be slightly harder to navigate for reference for some people. Books of shadows tend to be more casual and some people write them in old school books and notebooks. Some people separate things further and put dreams and personal reflection and introspection in a book of mirrors, so that might be a good thing to think about.

Other people don’t define grimoires and BoS in this way and see it as two terms for the same concept and use “BoS” and “grimoire” interchangeably, so this may still be useful advice for those making a BoS. Neither a BoS or a grimoire is better universally, it is about what is best for you and the way you practice.

I personally have a grimoire and a magical diary as two seperate books!

Why might you want a grimoire?

Grimoires are useful for compiling knowledge all in one place, in a language you understand and work well with. With a grimoire, you might not feel the need to get several books out, just your grimoire because you will have used your knowledge and experience and the authors of those other books experiences when writing information in your grimoire. It also allows you to remove any jargon you don’t understand or add useful diagrams and pictures if you are a visual learner. A grimoire still shouldn’t be your only book, always continue learning and researching with others’ insights, grimoires are just more compact and quick for when you quickly need to find something out or need a bit of help. However, you don’t need a grimoire, if you think a book of shadows, a magical diary or just using pre-existing books is more useful to you, don’t make a grimoire. Grimoires can be an awful lot of work, only make one if you feel like you need it and are going to use it.

Don’t instantly begin making a grimoire, wait at least three months

A grimoire holds all the information that is important to your craft and though the beautiful, awe inspiring pictures of grimoires get a new witch raring to go, it is probably not best to make a grimoire yet. Making a book of shadows or a simple diary would probably be more useful and less overwhelming to begin with and you can still record new knowledge you come across, it is still important to learn and research as this is what will get you ready to make a grimoire.

Trying to make an organised, informative grimoire when you are still new to the craft can be very hard and may cause you to include misinformation or elements of witchcraft that are simply not relevant to your life soon after looking into them, as a witch’s practice changes a lot drastically in the first year or two, and their path will still change, but often just slighter, through their whole life.

This might mean that whole sections of your grimoire are never used, putting your hard work to waste. Some witches don’t start making their grimoire until they are years into their path, as they are now more sure of their beliefs, the way they practice and their thoughts on things so they can guarantee everything is of use to them, and should be for a long time.

I started my first grimoire five months into my path but I honestly should have done it later, as my path underwent some drastic changes only six months later (so eleven months into my path), but I’ve had a very stable path for about a year now so I’m currently making a new grimoire. Now I’m learning additional things, so I feel more comfortable starting my grimoire again. I’ve not learnt things that reshape my whole way of thinking and practice for quite a bit, though this can still happen at any point in your journey and it should be welcomed with open arms, but just a warning, that sort of thing is more likely to happen early on in your path.

Research and meditate on your findings!

To work out what path you want to take and how that may inform what goes into your grimoire, you need to research. You’ve probably heard before that the first step to anything in witchcraft is research which is very true and the sooner you start researching the quicker you’ll be able to understand and confidently start your grimoire. Bookmark websites, stick post-it notes and bookmarks in your books, or even begin collating your information into a computer document or writing it down in your diary or BoS.

Experience being a witch before beginning to write your grimoire, try out those spells, try out those ideas, you may find that they simply don’t work for you or mesh right with your personal experiences or you may find that you’re a lot more into that area than you first thought you would be and you need to do deeper research and learn even more! Explore the world around you and record it in your diary, BoS, phone or elsewhere. Get to know the plants common in your area and therefore useful in your practice, the constellations in the sky, the food you can make, anything, just get to know what you like. Also make sure you fully understand a subject before deciding to put it in your grimoire, I’ve known witches who have written about things such as chakras, only to later find the western model of chakras is very warped from their Hindu and Tantric Buddhism origins and I myself have written about plants that are native to the Americas, despite me being British and having no way to access them because I didn’t properly research.

When researching information, always think about whether it is relevant to you and whether you enjoy it. It can be tempting to research anything and everything but you might get burnt out and find the craft overwhelming that way and also some things are from closed practices. You should always check if something is from a closed practice, even if it seems to be commonly used.

Always use multiple resources even when it comes down to something as simple as latin names. The book I was using for British plants and wildflowers was written in the 1910s, which meant some latin names had changed so I crossed referenced every one with both British wildflower websites and wikipedia.

Drafting and planning your grimoire

Once you’ve collected some reliable resources and you feel comfortable in your understanding of the subjects that you’re interested in, you could start planning out your grimoire.

I recommend planning your grimoire so you don’t get overwhelmed by all of the things you want to put into it and how you want to present it.

First, think about what medium you want to construct your grimoire in, do you want it to be a digital grimoire? Or maybe in an actual book? Both? Next, think about the order you want everything in, though it isn’t yet made, plan it out something like a contents page. Make sure the order of things makes sense to your brain. Also, maybe have a little think about the future, maybe you could futureproof your book if you know there are areas that you want to look into one day or look into further and take into account the extra room you might need.

If you choose to make a physical grimoire, consider making a first draft before the finished project. You can do this in an old notebook or digitally. Mistakes are made and you don’t want to fumble your words so you could write it in full before writing it in your book, but many just plan a series of points they wish to cover. I planned mine in full in google docs, just without pictures. This meant I had all my knowledge and research already compiled and worded in a way I was happy with, I can often mess up my wording on the fly.

If you choose to make a digital grimoire you don’t have to worry as much about drafting, but it’s still important to make a structured plan for how you will organize things within your grimoire. Moving sections about can be a bit tricky! It’s also a good idea to choose which program you want to make your grimoire in, make sure it’s one you know how to use well so you don’t get frustrated, making a grimoire is meant to be fun. Some people enjoy using an art program to digitally draw and write their information, then they print them out! Some people instead use something like a google doc or document program, adding information in the form of text, pictures or charts but keeping it digital.

Tips for actually making your grimoire!

If you’ve planned a physical grimoire, it might be a good idea to get a larger book than you expect to actually need! You will keep using this book in the future, and continue to add information to it. You don’t want to run out of space when you have something really cool to talk about! As previously said, you could also futureproof it by leaving spaces or whole pages blank for extra information or new subjects.

A digital grimoire doesn’t mean a dull grimoire! Download some free fonts, lots of free witchy fonts exist and can really inject more of you into your document. There’s also lots of free photo websites or you could take your own photos and put them in your document. It doesn’t have to be all text in times new roman. I really like ‘Adalind’! https://www.fontspace.com/category/witch

Some people find it is a good idea to source their information, especially when they are using their experiences and the experiences of several other people. This means that things can be checked later, years into the future if you are confused as to why something might be so.

You don’t have to know how to draw well to make a physical grimoire! You can print out pictures, you can take pictures out of magazines or books, or you can use something like postcards, tea cards, trading cards, lots of things! Don’t just restrict yourself to photos and drawings you’ve done.

Pressing flowers and leaves can be a wonderful idea for a physical grimoire, especially if you don’t have access to a printer or you feel like your art skills aren’t there. It can also give your grimoire that field journal feel! However, pressing flowers and leaves can mean some colour loss. To retain the most colour, keep the plants pressed for two or three weeks in a warm room. Most small flowers or leaves in a warm room will be pressed after just under a week. Never press a plant for more than a year, you don’t need to wait that long and also you run the risk of making your sample brittle. You could also laminate leaves (but not flowers, the heat seems to mess them up) and this seems to retain the colour better.

When making a physical grimoire, if using a book, make sure the book has a thick, sturdy cover, the book might get damaged with a soft cover, so a hard card, leather or even cork cover is a good idea to look out for when selecting your book. When selecting a book, never go for a type of binding known as ‘perfect binding’, as it uses glue to bind the pages to the cover. With the nature of grimoires, they tend to puff out quite a bit with all the flaps, pictures and pressed samples, which can break the inflexible glue binding. A good binding is wire or spiral bound, this means you can completely fold the pages over, reducing the total spread of the book on a work surface at any given time. Another good type of book is screwpost binding, here screws that can be easily screwed in and out hold the book together or alternatively bits of string to bind the book instead of the screws (this is my book’s binding). You can take the bits out and punch holes in your paper to increase the total amount of canvas you have to work with, it’s a lot like a ring binder, except it’s a book! Lastly, another common type of grimoire binding is section sewn, this is usually found in handmade leather grimoires. It’s virtually impossible to add paper to these, but they’re very sturdy and look quite magical. You can also bind your own books this way!

If you choose to make a ring binder grimoire, try to get a sturdy, high quality one. Many ring binders rings can’t actually match up, which can shred your paper as they pass over these sharp points. Also keep in mind a sturdy cover, some ring binders have a thin flexible plastic sheet, but cardboard or even wooden covers are out there and are a bit better at protecting your work.

If you plan to use multi-media methods of creating your grimoire, or heavy types of ink, I suggest you go for a heavyweight type of paper, something like a high quality notebook or sketchbook will be good. Handbound artisan books tend to come with heavyweight thick paper, so you don’t have to worry about those too much. Loose leaves of heavy paper can be bought from art shops if you are making a ring binder grimoire or need to add pages to a screwpost binding style book and are also using heavy inks, paints or making it scrapbook style.

Through all this, remember that the grimoire is primarily meant for you, you aren’t making it for other people, so don’t beat yourself up if it isn’t the most aesthetic and gorgeously professional thing ever. There’s a lot of pretty grimoires online for inspiration, but try not to just completely copy their work, or constantly compare your own creation to other peoples. They likely have been making grimoires for a very long time. As long as it gets the job done and makes you happy, that’s all that matters. It should be a little piece of yourself that looks and feels like you.

Things to possibly include in your grimoire

Witches never have to do all of these, it is your path so pick and choose what inspires you!

Most grimoires have a title page including the date it was started and your magical name if you have one.

Some people include an invisibility sigil to prevent prying eyes, a curse that punishes them for looking or a warning that this book isn’t for them. Others bless their book!

Many people have a contents page so they can remember where to find the information they need.

A lot of witches include a personal introduction, explaining what brought them to the craft, a bit about who they are, favourite things like herbs, crystals and colours, any familiars they work with or any magical abilities they have. Some people almost make a little correspondence page about themselves, including key herbs, a natal chart, their birth tarot card and personal sigil.

Not all magical practitioners work with deities in their craft or are religious at all, but if you are, having a section about your deity or whole pantheon is a good idea. Write about what your deity acts like, what they are the deity of/over, things they enjoy as offerings or how you came to first begin working with them.

If you follow a wheel of the year or have celebrations, a page on these is a good idea. What does the celebration represent? What are some ideas for activities to do then? What does it mean to you?

Some people have a series of morals or tenants they follow and believe in. Maybe write down yours for your path.

The main chunk of the grimoire should be about what you work with. This could be plants, food, crystals, animals, colours, astrology, planetary magic, fair folk, magical creatures and much more! For each entry, explain the concept’s or item’s correspondences and uses, whether that be the common use or your personal uses and associations, what the item is like, where to find it, folklore about it, non-magical and mundane uses and maybe how to make it if it is something like food.

Another big chunk is often common spells, potions, practices or rituals you do and how to do them. Spells such as banishing, protecting, removing curses are all popular spells to record in a grimoire and meditation, grounding and centering methods are some non-spell things that are still important for many witches to know.

You might also want to talk about different types of spells in general, how to create one and what the differences are between them.

Some people talk about the tools they use, especially in practices like traditional Wicca, where there are important tools like chalices and athames. More universal tools like taglocks are another good thing to cover.

It's a good idea to talk about the divination methods there are or just the ones you personally use if you use any. Also cover any layouts, spreads or boards you might use. Witches don’t have to do divination, so if you don’t, you don’t have to include it!

Some people include a section on magical theory, how they believe magic works. You could also do a section on how divination works for you. Some people think it helps introspection and decisions while others think it helps peer into possible futures.

You might want to include different alphabets relevant to your practice. If your practice is norse based, different futharks might be useful, whereas for hellenic practices, ancient greek alphabets will probably be of more use. The theban or witches’ alphabet is a common alphabet to be found in modern grimoires. Alphabets can help you code things from prying eyes or make sigils.

If you do ancestor or spirit work, you could talk about your ancestors or the spirits you work with. What they were/are like, wisdom they have passed on to you and other information you think is important.

Talk about how to work with spirits if you work with them. How to call them, how to respect them and how to banish them are important things to know.

If your path is a pre-existing one, talk about the history and origin of your type of witchcraft. If religion is heavily important to your path, talk about the history and how it has changed over time too. If your path is unique to you, talk about how you discovered and formed it!

Most witches include folktales, superstition or local wisdom and customs from their area. This could be ghost tales, how to keep crops safe, or even local magical goings on, anything that connects you to the land of your area.

Some people have people in their family who did things that could be considered magical. Many people used to do divination, herbalism (herbalism isn’t inherently witchcraft, it is using plants for healing and health and may or may not have a magical element to it) or use country wisdom and did not consider themselves witches or magical practitioners. Maybe talk about your relative or if you are an open witch and they are still around, ask their opinions and thoughts on matters and include a section on them.

If you are a hereditary witch, you could talk about what you’ve learnt from your family too! Though I feel you probably don’t need my advice on making a grimoire if you are one XD

Some people talk about places that feel magical to them. Explain exactly how the area makes you feel, maybe the reason why or what you have found in that place.

Always remember, your grimoire will never truly be finished, you’ll get it to catch up with your current knowledge at points and may not add new stuff for a bit, but part of being a witch is always learning, so there’ll be more to add soon! It is also important to keep in mind, there is no shame in remaking your grimoire or having to get another volume, it is the collection of your knowledge and it's actually quite common for experienced witches to have multiple volumes of their grimoire or old ones they don’t really refer to anymore, I know grimoires are often talked about in a singular way but it really is common to have multiple.

Most of all, have fun with it. Make your grimoire! I wish you a pleasant journey on your long and winding path <3

Resources!

How to press flowers: https://www.nhm.ac.uk/discover/how-to-press-flowers.html

Types of binding: https://www.studentbookbinding.co.uk/blog/types-of-binding

Magical alphabets and historical alphabets: https://www.omniglot.com/

British plant, fungi and animal species: https://www.wildlifetrusts.org/wildlife-explorer

British plant and fungi species: https://www.plantlife.org.uk/uk/discover-wild-plants-nature/plant-fungi-species

British plant, fungi and animal species: https://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/

(I’m British so these are the resources I know are good for the UK)

#grimoire #grimoire ideas #grimoire prompts #witchblr #witchcraft #magic #wakingwitchblr #witch community #witch #witchythings #baby witch #new witch #wizard work #references #this is long and rambly and its the first proper informational post I've made so I hope its good and no one yells at me :/#nervous!!!

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divinity-infinity · 4 years ago

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MAG π: Gallery

Statement of Josh Wheeler, regarding an art gallery.

Inspired by this post by @sexchangelingcastiel, I wrote my own original statement about it!

Content warnings: large spaces, disassociating

See this also on ao3! Link is in the source

I don't understand abstract art, nor the people who appreciate it. They're just color and lines and shapes all randomly splotched onto something and called "art". A child could make some random paint splatters on paper and to me it would look the same as those abstract artworks hung up in galleries. I don't see how people could look at one of those splotches of color and lines and call it art and see some deeper meaning in them. They just don't make any sense!

Or maybe it's just me. I've always had trouble looking into the deeper, hidden details in art or poetry or writing, to me it's just at that. No metaphor for this, no symbolism for that. Trying to look further into something just confuses me. Besides, it's not like I'm going to be an art curator or art historian or literature analyst, so why should I bother reading into things?

But I had to go to that weird abstract modern art gallery. Not my fault. A close friend, Spencer, wanted to go and apparently I was the only one in our friend group who had a schedule clear for the day.

I wasn't planning on doing anything that day and was bored out of my skull but I really didn't want to go. However, as a Good Friend, and perhaps to see if This Time I could finally see into art and figure out the meanings of them, and maybe to get to spend some time with him, I went.

It was a small building. A collection of abstract art from various artists all over, curated by Mx. Halley Hiraishi, some painter they know that's apparently slightly known in the world of art, mostly digital art. Not that I'm undermining his artist abilities, I really just don't know them due to lack of ~artistic knowledge~.

Anyway we went inside and were greeted by Halley Hiraishi themself. He even offered to tour us around the gallery themself. Of course Spencer obliged. They asked us to call him Hiraeth.

He gave us a bit of information about things we looked at for a bit, typical art gallery stuff. I couldn't really get into their explanations having no knowledge of art appreciation or anything, but Spencer seemed to be really interested and listened intently.

I found myself wandering around the room a bit while Spencer and Hiraeth had a lively conversation about the meaning of some sculpture made out of old book paper, something about how the book supposedly contain supernatural power and someone repurposed the book into a sculpture to nullify its effects and to represent how humanity is ever evolving and trash can be art or whatever.

They didn't seem to notice me not-paying attention and I instead looked idly at the different displays. I made sure though to turn back every so often just so I wouldn't get separated from my friend and our guide.

I don't know why but the paintings with their swirls and spirals and patterns, they sort of had a kind of hypnotizing effect about them. Like they were those optical illusions designed to trick the eye. I couldn't stop looking at them.

When I did pry my eyes off of the displays, I realized that Spencer and Hiraeth were no longer in the room. I must've gone into another room without realizing it.

I turned back to where I came, but got into yet another room. In this place the sculptures and paintings seemed slightly bigger somehow, and figured maybe they just sorted the different areas by size.

Still, I tried to go to other areas of the place, that I just knew led back to the entrance, only to lead right into another room. All while the paintings and sculptures and art, and even the room, seemed to grow bigger. I realized that I was in fact lost, which shouldn't even make sense considering the small size of the building.

I didn't know how long I've wandered in those ever increasing rooms and art, but at one point I was in a room so large, like the floor area of a mall at least. The paintings were massive, bigger than murals! My mind just spun thinking about how Hiraishi could have even painted or sculpted or collected such things.

I figured I shouldn't go anywhere else if the rooms were only going to get larger, so I sat down and tried to think of what to do, or maybe to tell myself that I must be dreaming, this wasn't real.

It shouldn't even make sense, I mean for a small building it shouldn't have been able to fit all those rooms that got increasingly larger. All while I was just walking on the same floor! I wanted to think that for some reason there was this shrinking illusion that was supposed to be some performance art that made you think you were shrinking, but no, the doors were still sized for me to fit in, for a human to fit in, and the windows-- yes! The windows! I thought at that point that I could maybe climb through the window and get out.

But as I went to look out the window, all I could see was the cityscape, so miniscule it could be compared to that of a map. I couldn't jump off a height that high, and even so, from what I know I was walking along the first floor all this time! How would I end up so high up? And even then the building was about four stories high at most! There shouldn't be a reason for a four story building to have the fourth floor at this height!

I didn't know how long I was in that room. It was just me staring at the tiny details of the painting now in front of me, getting lost in those splotches of paint that didn't make sense. I thought that if Spencer were with me he'd probably say something like, "we're just the size of a small spot of paint and the bigger picture is so massive. From this perspective it almost seems like a comparison to how small life is and how unimportant things are; they're always part of a grander picture. How unimportant a detail is from our tiny perspective. It didn't matter, how small we all are, how insignificant as a small speck in a place of art."

I would've been surprised that for the first time my mind tried to look at a detail and gave it a meaning, but during that time all I could think about was how much I missed Spencer.

He would've enjoyed trying to insert and shove metaphors into every single bit, trying to give meaning and identity to something so abstract and meaningless, if they were there but me? I hated every second of it, couldn't stand the place and its little metaphors and abstractions that messed with my head.

I tried to go through the door I once came through and once again in the hope that I would finally end up back in the small space of the building I once entered, only to end up in a room whose size was so huge I couldn't fully comprehend its size. I felt like the size of an ant in a large, human sized room.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to yell in frustration and so I did. Didn't even make an impact; the room absorbed it in. The room was nothing but a void of paintings.

And then I saw it, out of the corner of my eye, a figure stepping into a yellow door out of sight! It even seemed like it was Hiraeth who went in there, and I would've followed except...the door seemed to be part of a painting, a massive one that's also been left to dry. The crisp and clear image of the door seemed to be out of place for an abstract, but I saw it! Someone used that door! I went up to the painting in question...and tried to touch it.

At first all my hand felt was the thick acrylic paint. Yellow and black - the handle was painted black - but then I felt something metallic underneath that felt like an actual door handle - so it wasn't an illusion! - I turned the handle and felt the door open up slightly and in my desperation to just get out of the place I flung myself there. I felt myself collide with a wall of paint but I just had the strongest feeling it would get me out of that void.

And it did. Next thing I know I was being woken up by Spencer and Hiraeth looking over at me worriedly. I was sitting near the painting I think I went through, now normal sized and untouched. I want to believe it was just some dream, that perhaps I fell asleep and collapsed, but here's the thing - I was mostly covered in still wet acrylic paint.

While Spencer seemed a bit perplexed as to how I got covered in paint, Hiraeth seemed to be unfazed by it and simply offered a tip that acrylic can wash out of clothes as long as it's still wet. I was still a bit confused by it all and simply did what I was told.

At some point a few days later I tried to explain what happened. He apologized for giving me a rough time but I really didn't care. He seemed to have a good time there and I told him that that's what mattered.

Anyway, about the whole experience thing. While we both had a conversation that we ultimately chalked up to a dream, we still couldn't explain the paint thing, and so he suggested I go here, tell my story for maybe an investigation or whatever you guys do with stories. I just want to get it all behind me.

#tma #the magnus pod #the magnus archives #the vast #the spiral

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heythatpenguinhere · 4 years ago

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The Day Avalor Won’t Forget- Eleteo Finale Fic

It’s finally here!!!! I cannot thank the EoA Discord enough for all the laughter and emotions shared after the Finale! Fan fic, art, and more were thrown and in the midst of it all a story began to unravel. Below is the culmination of the ideas of myself, Gus, Sushibelle, Halloweennut, and more who contributed to a silly head canon I had. Without you all, this story wouldn’t have happened and you all deserve equal credit. So without further, please enjoy! (P.S. It’s a long one!)

In the Kingdom of Avalor…

The laughter of children could be heard coming from the village square. Giggles of different tones and pitches were mixed about as soon applause joined them.

A small puppet show’s curtain fell and the puppeteer himself stepped out in front taking a bow.

“Armando! Tell another one!” A small child in the front said happily.

“Yes! Please?” came another pleading voice, followed by a chorus of agreeing voices urging the man on further.

The man, Armando, looked around at the crowd and then back at his lovely wife who motioned for him to continue with a large smile on her own face, saying she clearly wanted to see him continue as well.

With a half sigh, Armando smiled back at the crowd, “Alright then! One more story.” He said and moved towards the back of the puppet theater stage.

The children cheered and began to chatter amongst themselves as he prepared the next performance for them.

“What story do you think he’ll tell next?” Asked one of the older girls, braiding flowers into her long hair.

This made a younger girl next to her think. “Hmm, what if it’s about the Sunbirds?” She said, flapping her arms like wings.

“Shhhh! He’s about to start!” came another voice.

The crimson curtain began to rise and Armando’s voice rang out, “This is the story of a beautiful Queen and a powerful Wizard… The tale of a day no one in Avalor would soon forget...”

Queen Elena flopped herself onto the throne in the ballroom, her crown tilting forward slightly as she did so. It had been a tiring day filled with royal documents and decrees piling up slowly on her desk. This was the side of ruling she hadn’t been looking forward to at all. But she bore it all with as much motivation as she could knowing that she had a duty to her people she had only just begun!

Still… she could afford to take a little break and the quiet of the ballroom currently was quite relaxing to the new Queen, so much so that she began to close her eyes and breathe in deeply.

The large doors at the top of the stairs slamming open against the marble walls however ended any moment of rest she had begun to have.

Elena jumped alarmed, turning toward the stairs where her sister now scurried frantically down to her.

Princess Isabel looked disheveled and out of breath enough to concern her sister who stood up to meet her.

“Isa? What’s wrong!” She said, looking her over for anything off.

The princess groaned, cupping her cheeks, “Elena! I have a serious problem!” She stated.

“What is it? Are you alright? Did someone do something to you?” The Queen continued questioning, taking in her sister’s demeanor, and trying to find the source of her agony.

Isabel paused before mumbling, “Prince James… asked me to go on a… date with him…”

Elena got closer, “Prince James did what?” She asked, not fully understanding her little sister’s muttered words.

“Prince James… ASKED ME ON A DATE.” The little princess ended up yelling in frustration, ducking her face into her hands.

Elena was temporarily stunned. Her little sister had been asked on a date by a boy. She knew this day would come after all Isa was beautiful and smart! Isabel possessed so many amazing talents and traits that would surely one day wow someone in a different way… But she had no idea it would come so soon. She had seen them hit it off well at her Coronation and even dance, but an actual date?!

“Earth to Elena… Say something please?” Her sister said, peering out from her hands.

“Sorry Isa, you just caught me off guard there! Wow, so Prince James huh?” The Queen said now teasingly with a wink.

A groan from between hands confirmed that the teasing had worked. “Yes yes, now please I’m freaking out here. What do I do?” She said fully facing her sister.

“Isa, I’m flattered truly that you’d come to me with this, but why did you come to me for this kind of advice? Why not Abuela or even Naomi? Don’t you think they’d have a little more… expertise here?” Elena said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

Her sister looked at her confused, “What do you mean more expertise? I figured you’d know enough. I mean haven’t you and Mateo been seeing each other this whole time?” She dropped casually.

Elena didn’t know what she had been expecting as a response, but THAT definitely hadn’t been it. It was equivalent to the feeling of freezing water pouring over her.

“I-I… what?!” She sputtered out, eyes wide.

“You don’t have to be shy about it, we all saw you guys dance together at your Coronation. Plus you guys basically live together here at the palace. It’s not actually a secret.” Isabel said, waving her hands around her.

Elena still hadn’t moved an inch.

“Did I hear that we’re talking about Elena and Mateo?” popped a blonde head from the top of the stairs also.

Chancellor Naomi seemed almost giddy with excitement as she looked over at the two sisters.

“I-I..” Elena continued to stutter, not being to form any coherent thoughts.

“Oh come on Elena, it’s okay! You can totally let up on the secrecy. I think by now most of the Ever Realm has a pretty good idea of what’s going on between you to two.” Naomi said, causing Isabel to laugh a little.

Elena however still felt like she wasn’t even breathing.

“Um, Elena?” Asked Isabel a bit concerned when she realized her sister was still frozen in place.

Just then one of the palace maids came by with a bucket and mop, “For what it’s worth your Highness I must say I think you both make a wonderful pair. You remind me of me and my own husband when we were young.” She said kindly with a warm smile, before continuing with her tasks.

“W-We what?!” The Queen finally said.

“Wait… unless there isn’t something going on… or you just really didn’t know?” Naomi suddenly responded connecting the dots with Elena’s shocked behavior.

Inside the Queen’s mind was a jumble of emotions and thoughts threatening to flood her. Her dress wasn’t flashing different colors, but emotions flashed across her face just as clearly.

It wasn’t until the throne behind them began to tremble did the girls realize Elena was about to burst.

Across the hallway, an older woman carrying a basket overheard the topic of discussion from the opened doors of the throne room.

One Rafa de Alva couldn’t help but listen in when she heard her son’s name mentioned and boy was she happy she did! Her son and the Queen?! How wonderful!

Her steps became much more quick and joyful as she now moved with even more purpose to see her son.

“Mateo! It’s me, your Mami!” She called down into the Master Wizard’s secret library.

A thump and the dropping of something was heard before Mateo de Alva appeared.

“Mom! I didn’t know you’d be visiting… Wait how did you even get in?” He said looking up at his mother skeptically.

She smiled proudly back down to him, “That’s not important, what is that I brought you some of your favorite baked rolls!” She said holding up her woven basket.

“Oh, thanks! I’m in the middle of working on a potion, but if you want you can come down” He said sheepishly looking back over at his half-completed potion and books.

When he turned around Rafa had already made her way down the spiral stairs and was grinning ear to ear.

Mateo moved to give her a hug and take the basket from her, but her unusually extra bright smile was confusing him a bit.

“Um, thanks again Mami.” He said before turning back to his books, trying to ignore the strange vibes he was getting from his mother. Maybe she had just really missed him lately?

“You’re welcome mijo! Now, Mateo did you really think your own mother wouldn’t find out about what you’ve been up to in the palace?” She said leaning in close.

Now Mateo was really confused. What he had been up to in the palace? What did she mean? He’d been pretty busy since the Coronation brewing new potions and working alongside both the Royal Guard and Isabel to improve and incorporate their magical defenses further.Besides that he had taken on teaching the Delgados more magic as well. He really hadn’t had much time for leisure, so what could she be meaning?

“What do you mean?” He asked, turning around to gather a bottle of pure lavender extract.

Rafa laughed, “Why when the wedding is!” She stated simply.

Mateo stopped mid-pour.

“The...what?” He said slowly to comprehend what he was hearing.

“Oh, mijo you don’t have to be so shy with your mama! I’m so happy to hear the news! The Queen of Avalor and my son?! You’re growing up so quickly!” She said with a joyful tone.

It was at that moment that Mateo in his stunned brain fog ended up dumping the whole bottle of extract into the potion brew and the entire room erupted in a cloud of purple smoke. A small explosive sound could be heard from that side of the palace causing everyone nearby to stop what they were doing.

“Let’s go over this again so I fully understand… So you were on the way here when you heard Elena and Naomi talking about… me?” Mateo said as he was still trying to wipe the purple residue off his robes and process what his mother was telling him.

He couldn’t believe he had been so distracted he had caused a minor explosion. Luckily for his mother and him, it wasn’t anything serious beyond coloring them in purple powder. He had given several maids and royal guards a near heart attack however in the process…

“Yes! I even overheard one of the palace attendants mention that she thought you both were a lovely pair, even reminding her of the relationship with her husband. Isn’t that so sweet?” She said, clasping her hands with a dreamy tone.

Mateo couldn’t help but facepalm. This had to be a misunderstanding. Him and Elena? They were just very close friends… Sure they had been through a lot together and he thought she was the most amazing person in the world, but again they were just friends, even if Mateo sometimes wished they were more. Deep inside, he had a pretty good idea how he felt but he would always put Elena’s happiness and needs first, even if it meant above his own. This mentality had caused him to lock away his feelings for the better part of the past 3-4 years.

Having now cleaned up fully, Mateo put down the rag he had been using. “I’m going to go talk to Elena.” He announced.

Rafa beamed, blotches of purple still visible on her, “Oh of course! Can’t stay away from true love.”

Mateo instantly blushed hard, pulling at his robe collar, and walking toward the throne room.

“Alright Elena, let’s just calm down here.” Naomi said, backing away slowly from her friend.

“Yea! We were just teasing. I’m sure not the entire realm knows!” Isabel offered in support, also slowly backing away.

“What?!” She exclaimed as her throne began to shake and hover in the air.

Realizing that her flurry of emotions was causing a scene yet again, she instantly closed her eyes and began to recite, “Baby Jaquins. Abuela’s Chocolates,” and more things that made her happy and relaxed.

And yet even with all those lovely things in mind Elena still felt her breath quickening. Mateo and her?! Everyone knew apparently?! But they were just best friends?! ….Weren’t they though? The last time she had fully seen him had been her Coronation several days ago. When she had appointed him officially the Master Wizard and he had asked to be her first dance…

She felt herself gasp lightly. Was that a sign? Was there more meaning behind it? Yes, they had danced quite a bit together in the end… but he had been dancing with Carla too? They even look quite comfortable with each other…

Her heart clenched as this new thought came with a new emotion.

“Okay whatever you’re thinking about now, don’t!” Naomi yelled as she and Isabel observed the plants in the ballroom suddenly begin to grow violently in length, threatening to envelop the entire room they were in.

The plant vines quickly began to reach outside the open windows and through the connecting doors, spilling out to other areas. Those outside could suddenly see vines wrap themselves around the north palace tower and began to flee in horror, wondering what kind of magical mishap or creature had been unleashed now.

Elena could only watch on in horror, hands clasping her face.

“Oh no no no!” She said trying to fan herself to hopefully calm down a little.

Not even a full week into her reign as Queen and she had already lost control of her magic… again.

Mateo jumped backwards just in time as a large mass of green sprung into the hallway from the throne room.

“Woah!” He exclaimed, examining what he now realized was a plant vine moving further down the hall.

“Elena!” He yelled realizing the source of the vines was coming from the room his mother said she was last in.

The thought of her being in danger somehow motivated him to move and with a blasted spell, he made it through the nearly blocked doorway.

As he looked down into the room, he was surprised to find that the only ones in the room were Elena, Isabel, and Naomi; not a malvago or creature in sight. The vines were continuing to move around, but he also took note of the hovering throne and banners flying around in a magical mess. Isabel and Naomi seemed to be trying to seek cover, but Elena was found in the center, looking around rapidly in fear.

His eyes softened when he realized what was happening and he put his Tamborita away behind him.

Elena’s eyes continued to flash around until they settled on him.

“Mateo.” She simply said, some relief coming to her in seeing him.

The vines halted their growth and expansion and the throne, along with the banners, fell to the floor. He noticed this and smiled. He knew she could handle herself; he never doubted her. He was still glad to see that he had a calming effect on her nonetheless.

Little pitter pattering footsteps hopped behind him and soon the ever colorful Flo was standing in between the two friends.

“You guys are getting married?! Can I be the flower girl, please?!” She squealed happily.

Both Elena and Mateo found themselves stunned for another time again today. Caught with saucer-shaped eyes and mouths hung wide open, the room around them began to shake yet again.

“Oh no…” Isabel said from behind a pillar.

Mateo turned to see the movement resume before landing on Elena once more, just in time to see her flush a wild red and suddenly begin to tumble.

He rushed forward and caught the Queen, delicately holding her in alarm, her crown tumbling from her head and rolling to a stop in front of Flo.

No one in the room dared to move. Not even the vines.

“Sooo… Should I take that as a no?” Flo said innocently looking at Mateo and the Queen now laying in his arms.

“I can’t believe this all happened…” Elena said, flopping back onto her bed.

Mateo moved to sit next to her cautiously, fiddling with his hands. “I’m so sorry for my mom’s gossip…” he said, feeling so guilty that this ended with Elena even fainting and the palace covered in vines still.

She turned to look at him, “Oh Mateo, this isn’t your fault. Or your mother’s. Truth be told, what she did overhear technically happened…”

This caused Mateo to look at her strangely.

“Isa came to me for dating advice and she, well, she thought you and I… were a thing? And that’s where this whole mess started… Because I couldn’t handle my emotions and react properly. I’m sorry…” Elena admitted, sitting up against her pillows and avoiding eye contact in embarrassment.

Mateo felt the rose tint fill his cheeks again. So that’s where the rumor came from.

“I-It’s okay, really! You don’t have anything to be sorry about. It was all just a big misunderstanding.” He said, trying to contain his blush.

“Of course… just a misunderstanding…” He heard her mumble from beside him.

The almost disappointed tone in her voice caught his attention and despite his blushed appearance, he turned to her. Her face was lowered and she was staring at her hands. She seemed sad almost?

“Elena? It was just a misunderstanding right?” He asked carefully, not daring to insinuate something too deeply and risk their friendship. Afterall he had very firmly accepted his place in her life, as a best friend and trusted ally, and nothing more. He was content with that. Whatever made her happy, he would support her. He would be with her always.

Her honey eyes looked up at him finally, “You know, apparently Isa wasn’t the only one that thought that? Naomi and even some of the palace staff noted our… bond. The way we danced at the Coronation and how close we are on the daily, they just took it naturally as a sign of something more. Accepted it so easily and even celebrated it…”

He didn’t know what to say to all that. Was it really that obvious how deeply he cared for her to others? So much so that people didn’t even question it, but happily accepted it? And they thought it was mutual?

“Mateo… Was it just all just a misunderstanding?” She finally asked him in return, a curious look on her face.

Here it was. A moment. A door. She was asking him. Would he speak up? Would he finally pour out his feelings after years and risk their bond? Or would he deny them and keep their friendship where it was? He had spent moments wondering if he would ever get to this moment and what he would do when he did. Now it was actually here.

While she looked at him still cautiously and hadn’t moved closer to him, he swore he could note every single tiny detail about her in this moment. She looked so vulnerable. Her eyes wide and observing him. He loved her eyes; he could stare at them forever, even now. They were the eyes of his best friend and the one person in the world that he swore knew him more than anyone else. But they were also the eyes of the newly crowned Queen. They were the eyes of someone who had been through so much and deserved to be happy. Could he face those eyes with this reality? With his truth?

Could he really live a life without doing so?

He hesitantly reached out for her hand, Elena’s breath hitching.

“What if… what if it wasn’t fully? What if there was some truth?” He said, leaping into the unknown.

Elena’s face was reading a thousand emotions all at once when she whispered, “What was true…?”

“The truth is that while we might not ‘be a thing’, the thought might have crossed my mind once or twice… or more than that. The truth is that we do have an amazing bond and I-I treasure you dearly. Dancing with you at your Coronation was one of my favorite memories… I could have danced with you all night and more if you’d let me…” He finally confessed carefully, feeling a large weight fall off his shoulders and now the fear of her reaction sinking in.

“B-But what about Carla?” She suddenly asked, before covering her mouth embarrassed.

“Carla? Me and her made up. We’re friends now and yes we had a great time at your Coronation, but Elena it was you that I wanted to be by all night. But it was your day, you deserved to choose what made you happy. You were so joyful and carefree that night, I didn’t want to impose myself… I’ve always just wanted you to be happy.” He replied, clasping her hands gently to steady himself as the truths made themselves known.

She felt almost stupid for being jealous… Here he just shared his heart to her, like he had done many times before, but this time he was sharing it fully… With the fear of the unknown hanging around them.

What would she say now?

“But… but what if you also make me happy?” She tested saying out loud.

Mateo sat up straight as a rail. Had he heard that correctly?

“M-Me?!” He stuttered out in disbelief. His hazel green eyes looking at her with hope.

Her hands gripped his further, “Yes you, Mateo de Alva. You also make me happy. If I’m also honest, you make me very happy actually.”

He swore her own beautiful eyes were shining right through him. This was definitely a moment he knew he would never be able to forget for as long as he lived. He wanted to ingrain every single second of it to memory. He never thought this would actually happen, yet fate it seemed had other plans.

“So… where do we go from here?” He asked bashfully, leaning closer to her. He knew where he wanted it to go, but he would wait as long as she wanted if he had to.

Elena smirked, “Wherever we want to go querido.” Taking the plunge and addressing him with a term of endearment that she had heard her mother use for her father.

Mateo couldn’t believe this was actually happening. “Well, I guess you’ll be able to give your sister some advice after all huh?” He said back, suddenly more confident and even flirty with her.

“Just shut up and kiss me.” The Queen said, pulling him even closer and closing her eyes.

“Whatever you wish for my Queen.” And soon the two were locked together, the day’s chaotic events fading around them, making way for the start of something truly magical.

“And so the Queen and her Wizard began their love story together that day. Their love not only fixed the magical vines, but bloomed an entire field of roses in the palace gardens. Their love still lives on strongly, for there is no greater magic than love, and the entire kingdom of Avalor knows this because of them.” The puppeteer said, having the puppets of Queen Elena and King Mateo join in a hug, surrounded by hearts, before the curtain fell down again. Marlena finished strumming the last notes of the love song she was accompanying the show with.

Loud applause filled both of their ears as the town’s children and some passersbys stood to their feet.

“Bravo! Bravo!” They said together and Armando couldn’t help but blush as he took his wife’s hand to bow together.

Looking over at Marlena’s smile, he couldn’t help but feel so blessed to have his own piece of a fairy tale as well.

“I love hearing that story! It’s so different getting to actually see it though right Joaquin?!” said one of the older girls in the back of the crowd.

Her large hazel eyes had a far off dreamy look to them as she played with the flowers in her wavy hair.

Her brother however looked nearly disgusted, “Ew! As if we didn’t have to already deal with mom and dad daily Alicia…” He said crossing his arms and rolling his amber eyes remembering his parent’s constant displays of affection throughout the palace and beyond.

She sighed, “I think it’s lovely. They are still so in love just like that day once upon a time ago...”

#fanficiton #Elena of Avalor #elena castillo flores #mateo de alva #eleteo #romance #comedy #fluff #finale fic #EOA #eoa spoilers

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delirious-and-slightly-murderous · 3 years ago

Note

For the WIP ask game: please tell us something about Procrastinating Painter and exasperated but horny manager?

Hi Anon!😊 So glad you asked about this one.

So this is, at its core, a character study.

A little tidbit of information about me: I am a master procrastinator. And not only when it comes to writing but in all aspects of my life too. I am lazy. If I can do it later, I will do it later. And I'll keep pushing it back as much as I can until I can't anymore. Thanks to this I've become a master at finishing projects with very little time and a deadline hanging like a sword of Damocles over my head. I work best under pressure. That's why I sometimes lose interest in my fics so easily. If I don't have a deadline it's very hard for me to get stuff done.

Soooooo, all this to say that one day, while I was despairing over my WIPs I started thinking about the different ways an artist or creator can deal with procrastination. And then, because every idea I get now mostly concerns or can be applied to Berlermo, I said to myself: But what if Andrés was a master procrastinator like me?

And BAM!

This thing was born. (Also I find it kinda ironic and hilarious that a character study in procrastination ended up as a WIP, don't you agree?).

So the basic idea is that Andrés is a moderately known and successful painter. He's not as successful as he could be because he's very particular and picky with his work and who he works for. So he only paints when he wants to and what he wants to. Which would be fine except that he is a procrastinator so his work is scarce.

Enter Martín, who is Andrés' best friend/agent and kinda friend with benefits. He is the one in charge of making sure Andrés gets stuff done even if the man in question does not want to. This means that Martín lives in a constant state of awe at Andrés' genius and talent, and also exasperation because of his laziness and inability to do what he's told. Also he is very much in love with Andrés and hates himself because of it.

So the fic in itself would cover the span of a month while Martín tries to get Andrés to work on an important commision for a famous gallery. From him we would see his struggle with perceived unrequited feelings for a man he feels he cannot fully come to understand. Andrés would procrastinate and we would see all his process and struggle with it. Until a couple days before the exhibition when Martín is about to kill Andrés, his genius strikes and he goes and produces a masterpiece (a masterpiece that may or may not be inspired by Martín).

So mostly it would focus on the art, the feels, the procrastination, and then the mad rush to get things done in time. (And I'd like to think I'd write it with a very oniric feel to it. Oh and also smut, so very like soulful and poetic smut. But well I don't think that's gonna happen.)

(Oh and also a happy ending where they end up confessing their feelings because I'm weak like that😁.)

So here have a snippet:

Martín started pacing and swore as he narrowly avoided walking into a bucket of bright red paint.

The room was positively tiny and he still couldn't understand why Andrés insisted on spending all his time in it like some kind of recluse. The monastery was big enough to accommodate docens of people at one time but Andrés was happy to cram himself in the tiniest, most uncomfortable room he could find.

He wondered how Andrés could live like that. The room was cramped, cluttered with books, canvases, sculptures and various bits of artistic trash. It looked like a museum's warehouse, if museums threw invaluable works in a warehouse without thought or care to what became of them. As he walked he deftly avoided discarded pieces of paper, empty paint tubes and old brushes. It was dirty, paint and dust covered every surface. The space not taken up by art supplies was used by a mattress on the ground shoved unceremoniously into a corner, a small coffee table and an enormous oak work table that seemed to be the centerpiece of the place.

Amongst all this chaos there stood Andrés, serene and unperturbed, unaware of his surroundings. With a brush on each hand and one clenched between his teeth. Before him a half painted canvas stretched like a vision of doom. The colors bleak and depressing. A mirage of untold horrors that sucked the life out of the area around it. The air seeming to grow heavier, dense and charged, stilted and dead.

Martín could feel it in his bones, the emotions Andrés put into his work always expanding and resonating within him, turning him into a vessel for what Andrés couldn't say.

He was choking on an invisible weight and fought against it to unfurl his tongue from the dry cavern of his mouth and produce a sound. He knew the other man wasn't happy and that his intervention would only make things worse. But he had to shatter the looming tension before it swallowed him whole.

"Why don't you find another place. Maybe an apartment closer to the city."

Andrés didn't stop in his work but his shoulders tensed imperceptibly and the fingers of his left hand started drumming against the brush he wasn't currently using. He shook his head softly, his motions fluid and liquid. A delicate movement of silk floating in water.

"I'm not moving in with you Martín."

Martín closed his eyes, the bright hot pang in his heart a familiar caress at this point. He was like an addict, his feelings for Andrés a raging force that ravages his body and leaves him empty and aching. And still he willingly comes back for more, each time climbing higher with the knowledge that when he hits the ground it'll be more violent than before, the pieces impossible to pick up.

"That's not what I'm asking, you know it's not."

Andrés dipped his brush in a mug near his hand, washing out the dark paint, flicking the brush and creating a splatter of black bottomless dots, giving birth to a galaxy in the space that separates them.

"Don't ask things for which you know you won't like the answer."

Andrés' strokes become forceful then, the brush colliding against the canvas in an uncontrolled manner. The anger and frustration behind the movement captures Martín. He feels like a chick standing at the precipice. He can jump and take flight, taste the freedom and exhilaration of the wind rushing through his wings. Closing his eyes and diving not knowing if he's ready to fly the possibility of the deadly agonising crash a dark shadow at his back.

He was saved from having to make the choice by Andrés humming lowly in his throat.

"I love you Martín, but I'm not going to give up my life for you."

That familiar caress is back and the little chick is safely back in it's nest. The precipice dissolving and the unforgivable ground surging up to meet him, ripping him away in a manner more painful than any death. He shrugs, hunching in on himself, knowing the matter is closed and forgotten.

"Pass me my coffee." He demands, plastering a fake plastic smile on his face. While Andrés chooses to ignore the burning heat of things left unsaid that slowly melt the plastic away. Leaving behind a partially uncovered picture of a grotesque truth.

"I'm painting." Came the absent minded reply, the willful ignorance of man with a staggering lucidity of all the consequences of his actions.

Martín got up stretching legs that felt numb, forced to carry the weight of an unfathomable burden. He slowly walked towards Andrés, his steps the slow and lifeless cadence of the condemned, prolonging the inevitable in their approach to the gallows.

He took his mug and took a long and deep sip of the liquid inside. He became aware of his mistake when Andrés turned to him with a steaming mug in his hand and a confused frown wrinkling his brow.

Martín immediately opened his mouth, the dark paint water running down his chin like vomit, maring his shirt and staining skin and teeth. In the sickly pale light of the naked bulb, with the shadows under his eyes and the lingering hurt in his being, it made him look like a corpse throwing up thick and rotten blood.

Andrés laughed, the sound had a hysterically joyful quality to it, a discordant note in the gloominess of the room. It immediately invaded them, running through every crevice, every nook and cranny, injecting light and giving back the life that had been sucked out by the oppressing darkness.

The room changed completely, becoming bright and warm without suffering any real physical changes. It was infectious, contaging Martín and changing him from the inside out without his notice.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a comfortable silence. And the next time Martín stopped for a visit the room felt warm and homely, cosy and welcoming. He also found that the mugs had marker scribbles on them. One read 'Martín' the other 'Paint Water'.

It put a small smile on his face.

Well Anon, it's really shitty right now and needs a lot of polishing and editing, but I hope you enjoy this and that it doesn't disappoint.☺

#berlermo #I actually like this one a lot too #It's mostly me projecting my feelings onto Andrés and Martín #my feelings and insecurities #but well #i hope one day I manage to do it #and that it comes out good #but I'm not great with character studies #so 🤷‍♀️#this might die a languid death in my docs #martin berrote #andres de fonollosa #la casa de papel #alternate universe #lcdp #procrastination #fanfic #ask game #ask

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turbulentt · 5 years ago

Text

The Garden's Guardian

genre: smut | minghao!spirit x gn!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: not so much explicit content, sweet loving sex, mention to spirits, a bit of angst

summary: every night you visit your so adored garden to connect with its inhabitants, more specifically with its guardian.

“Mother,” you slightly call “I’m heading to the garden.”

It was almost midnight and you certainly were in a rush to go out to the place you so much adore. “I won’t linger much, it’s just a quick walk,” you assure her, fully knowing how much she hates when you take those walks at such hours. “So I hope,” she says firmly walking towards her room “If not, I will drag you out of there myself.” and so you smiled victoriously.

No one in the castle understood your mighty interest in the garden, but since young, you became one with the flowers and best friends with the little bugs that roam around the place. No one knew, except for you, that it was actually a magic garden full of deep and wonderful secrets. One of them being its’ graceful guardian. Xu Minghao is his name, and he is one of the beyond. According to him, he had died in that same garden, thousands of eyes prior, in some ancient Chinese war.

“Ah,” you sigh relieved “It’s not midnight yet.”

Midnight is Minghao’s hour, it is when he appears. And it is quite funny how you found that out. It was a dark but starry night when you sat by the calm little lake, talking to yourself as if someone else was there to listen to your complaints. However, as you heard the three strokes of midnight a shiver ran down your spine and you immediately silenced yourself. It was when you saw him for the first time, the first of many to come.

“You never fail to amaze me.” a sweet raspy voice echoed from not so far away “Always on time.”

He sat by your side and you smiled at the phantom before you. “How are you this fine night, princess?” he asks jokingly. Sometimes his playfulness could be irritating and never-ending. “I’m just okay. How about you, ghoul?” his non-amused face at the noun you used towards him made you giggle. “If I were to be a ghoul, princess, you for sure would no longer be alive.” he kindly blows to your hair “Treat me for what I am. A forgotten spirit.”

You look at him in uneasiness, it’s not your first time hearing the infamous “forgotten spirit” expression, but the reasoning behind it was always a secret. Minghao, since the first time, never seemed the resentful kind, nor did he look sad about his current situation, but it is a fact that his beautiful smile hid some of the darkest secrets.

“Why forgotten? Who forgot you, Minghao?”

“The question is not who forgot me, because no one did. How can you forget someone you never knew existed?” he says, a bit sorrow, as he starts walking. You stay there, just processing what you’ve just heard ‘How can no one know him? Who was Xu Minghao after all?’.

“Who were you?” you follow the spirit, staying some steps behind. “Someone whom people like you never cared about, princess.” he scoffs

You try grabbing his arm. “Foolish,” he smirks turning to you. “I care about you. You are a part of me.” you smile kindly seeing the surprise shine within his eyes. “I’m a part of you? You’ve gone mad.” he laughs.

“You are, Minghao. This garden is a part of me, you belong to the garden, therefore, that makes you a part of me.”

“Then, how come I don’t feel like it?” he takes a step closer, madness emerging from his look “You can’t touch me, you can’t feel me. For lords’ sake, you can only see me after bloody midnight.”

He screams, rage streaming from his words.

“I see you every day, coming in and out of the castle. Roaming to the library to secretly read those forbidden books, you so much love.” his aura shines in a bright blueish color, almost blinding you “It’s frustrating! You are free and I am a prisoner for this damned garden!”

Then you stretch your hand, touching his pale face.

Time stops as you feel his cold cheek against the skin of your palm. You were indeed caressing a spirit’s cheek, how fascinating. Minghao had frozen, like one of the immense statues that occupied the garden, it was the first time in a long time being touched by a human, even more, a woman.

“How is this even possible?” he whispered “Are you a witch?”

“No, I am no such thing. I guess I can just touch you now.” you giggle.

He looks up to the sky pensive but quickly drops all of his thoughts and turns his eyes to your face. “As anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” he leans over, getting closer and closer by the second. “Yes. But you aren’t like anyone else.”

“You are the most perfect being…” he rests his face inches from yours, making you eager for what would come next “...I have ever had the pleasure to meet.”

And, just like that, he attaches his lips to yours.

You couldn’t even understand how such thing was happening, but kissing a phantom was beyond anything else you’ve ever experienced. His cold feeling becomes warm in just a matter of seconds, and his grip was far more strong than what you expected. It was like riding a horse by the river, a bright and adventurous sensation that awakens your body. “You’re so sweet. It has been a while since I’ve tasted sugar, but I dare to compare,” he says smugly still holding your waist as if you were dancing. “You’re not so bad yourself, Xu Minghao.”

“Not bad?” he asks fakely “I am amazing, but you haven’t seen anything yet.”

He takes your hand guiding you to the big bush maze “I hope your dear mother doesn’t bother me taking over you for some hours.”

You knew his intentions, they were stamped in his eyes and actions. Minghao was done waiting and he couldn’t waste a possible one time chance. Running through the maze, he finally felt you were far away enough for no one to hear or even interrupt. “What I am going to do to you is far beyond wrong, but I can’t restrain myself anymore.” he then pulls you into his warmth and kisses you once again. But this time it felt rough and mad like the desperation took over his lips and wanted to invade you. Kissing him like that no longer felt like riding a horse, it was more like jumping off a cliff. The rush, the adrenaline, it all felt so good.

“Minghao,” you whispered between his lips. “Don’t rush. Let’s take out time, sweetheart.” he sweetly kisses your neck while his hands explore your body “Soon enough I will become part of you.”

You tremble at the thought, how smug could he be? How confident? You want it all, you want all of what is his’.

Minghao starts undressing you slowly as if you were a flower which the petals he was tearing away. And every time the tip of his fingers touched your skin you felt like you were being invaded, in the best way. He lost himself while diving through the silhouette of your body as if it was the most beautiful work of art that Michelangelo ever created. “Exquisite…” he said in his mother tongue, and how charming it is to listen to him speak in such way. Fully undressed and now laying on the itchy grass you waited for his next move.

He starts unbuttoning his vest and with a quick movement, he’s devoid of all clothes while hovering over you. The moonlight shining against his naked body made you realize how much alive the boy looked, so touchable, so beautiful, so well-sculptured. Minghao positioned himself between your legs, parting them and taking advantage of your fragile body.

Desperately he just covered you in kisses, the wet and powerful type, that slowly got you in a one-way trance. At the same time he wanted to take things sluggish he also felt the urge to make it abrupt and his dominant self kept kicking the door, eager to come out. “Are you ready?” his question was kind of rhetorical, he knew you were, but if you hadn’t almost moaned out a yes he wouldn’t have continued. His gentle strong hands grabbed your hips in place and in a sudden thrust he penetrated you. “Oh, you are far way better than sugar.” he groans out while adjusting his position. “Don’t say those… t-those things, you idiot.” you mouth breathless.

His hard grip will certainly leave marks on your sensitive skin, reminding you of this moment, when you and Minghao, became one for a night. It will remain forever in your memory how aroused he looked while sinking inside of you and losing himself when you both locked eyes. Nor will you forget how bright his aura seemed while releasing his spectrum liquid inside of you. At that moment you felt completed and you knew he felt the same way, just by the way he smiled foolishly.

Laying by your side, letting both of your bodies rest on the grass, Minghao admires the stars and you just stare longingly at his figure. “I love you, Xu Minghao.” you reach out for his smooth hair and caress it gently “And I will forever wait for you at midnight.”

#i couldn't leave this one in te drafts forever #it's short but very loving #kpop #kpop smut #smut #seventeen #seventeen smut #seventeen minghao #seventeen the8 #seventeen myungho #minghao smut #the8 smut #xu minghao #the8 #angst #fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff

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