#absentmindedly. but his eyes are fixed on ame in the distance and he quickly waves to follow him and talk

[zours025]

I am not finishing this because im fucking lazy so take this now too okay!!!

Alts and the like under here + One amputee iggy stump (???) warning IDK1!!!11!

[mizunetzu]

Hey! So, I decided to re-write the one female fic on my blog with male pronouns. The reason I had a female fic up in the first place was because I had a mutual who wanted to do a writing trade, but she never held her end of the deal, nor contacted me once the fic was done to my knowledge. She requested this Akaashi fic, so I hope more of you could enjoy it now that it has been male-readerfied. Happy reading!

-Mr. Mizunetzu

P.s. - the old writing makes me cringe.

——————

Akaashi x reader - Where Are You Going? (Male-readerfied)

⚠️Warnings - cringey old writing, Bokuto never saying “Akaashi” right

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

“Hey hey hey-Where you going, Akaagjnshi?”

The black haired boy froze in his tracks. Bokuto tilted his head slightly to the side, holding a volleyball he was about to spike. Akaashi gripped his volleyball bag tighter.

“...I’m going home. My mom needs me to help with dinner.”

It was such a weak, foolish excuse, Akaashi told himself. But knowing Bokuto, it would suffice.

Bokuto’s smiled quickly returned to his face. “Ah! You should’ve just said so! Tell your mom I said hi!”

“I will,” Akaashi said, dipping out of the gym quietly. Bokuto paid no attention to the small blush Akaashi was harboring, along with the few beads of sweat running down his temple.

————

“You’re gonna be late today, Aakkaggshi?”

“Yes, I...my teacher wanted to review a lesson I didn’t really understand. I can come to practice a bit late though.”

Another dumb excuse. But Bokuto’s stupidly wide grin assured him it worked everytime. Some part of Akaashi felt bad for lying to Bokuto, but the guilt eventually got buried and lost in all of the ‘I’m helping my mother with dinner’ and ‘I have to leave early to study’ excuses.

“All right! But y’know...I can come with you if you want-“

“NO!”

Bokuto stared at Akaashi with a blank face. Akaashi cleared his throat.

I-I mean, you’ll probably just get bored—and it’s gonna be quick, no need, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto blinked. Akaashi almost never got flustered or embarrassed. Was he...hiding something?

Eh, probably not.

“O...kay, I’ll see you later dude...?” Bokuto punched Akaashi lightly on the shoulder before leaving. Akaashi sighed heavily, before walking in the opposite direction of the classrooms, into the second gym.

Weird, Bokuto thought. That’s the boy’s basketball gym.

“I wonder why his teacher wants to meet him there...”

—————

“I’m leaving early, Bokuto-san.”

“Ah-is it you’re mom again? You must be a really good cook or something, if she always wants you to make dinner.”

“Yeah. I’m going now, goodbye.”

“Bye, Ajdjsfjdksjfdjkahshi!”

Bokuto waved absentmindedly at Akaashi, who bowed curtly. It’s been happening every other day, so he kind of got used to him leaving early or showing up a few minutes late.

“Oi Bokuto-don’t you think it’s weird that Akaashi-kun’s always leaving practice early?” Sarukui butted in, watching Akaashi as he hunched over, practically tip-toeing out the door.

“Yeah-why does he get to cut practice but we have to stay the whole time?” Konoha joined in, resting a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder. Bokuto brought a finger to his chin.

“Well-“ Bokuto gestured towards the door. “His mom is always telling him to come home.”

“Why?”

“To make dinner!”

Sarukui and Konoha stared at their captain like a child saying “two plus two is five.”

“You can’t be fucking serious, Bokuto.”

“I am!” Bokuto whined.

“What...what about the times he shows up to practice late?”

“That’s easy!” Bokuto clasped his hands together, eager to have another question he knew the answer to. “He says his teacher wants him to stay behind to teach him stuff he didn’t understand.”

“Bokuto...” Konoha deadpanned. “Akaashi’s in class six-he’s a straight A student.”

Bokuto furrowed his eyebrows. “Well, I-I haven’t thought about tha-“

“And Akaashi’s mom loves to cook-why would she make him do it?”

“Well...” Bokuto choked out, voice cracking a bit. “I did find it strange that he took his extra classes in the 2nd gym...”

Konoha and Sarukui looked at eachother. “....Isn’t that where the boy‘s basketball practice goes on?”

They all stood in silence for a few beats. Bokuto squinted his eyes and knitted his brows together. He still didn’t know what was going on.

A light went off in Konoha and Sarukui’s heads, gasping lightly. Bokuto tilted his head, confused.

“You don’t think he...” Konoha mused, unable to suppress the mischievous smirk growing on his face.

“Akaashi you sly dog.” Sarukui and Konoha shared a knowing smirk between eachother, while Bokuto scratched his neck awkwardly.

“Uh-“

“Bokuto...captain...buddyyyyy....” Sarukui sang. “Can me and Konoha leave practice early tomorrow? Around when Akaashi does? We’ll let you come with us~”

Ah yes, the power of friendship. How could Bokuto possibly refuse?

——————

“I’m heading home, Bokuto-san.”

“Dinner again?”

“...yes.” Akaashi was slipping his bag over his shoulder when Bokuto suddenly piped up.

“Oh! Can me, Sarukui, and Konoha come t-“

A foot was firmly jabbed into Bokuto’s own, earning a yelp from the grey-haired boy. Akaashi looked at Konoha strangely as Sarukui put a hand around Bokuto’s shoulders.

“Don’t mind Bokuto, dude. Tell your mom we said hi.”

Akaashi blinked, suspicious. “Al...right..” he waved it off as them probably going to do something perverted or stupid while he was gone, and bowed curtly once more. “Goodbye then.”

The two chorused out a farewell as Bokuto whimpered in pain and betrayal. Bokuto grabbed hold of his foot as Konoha and Sarukui’s innocent smiles dropped.

“Tail him.”

“I know, I know. Let’s go Bokuto.” Sarukui grabbed Bokuto by the sleeve of his shirt, dragging him out the gym door while they kept a safe distance from Akaashi.

“So he was going to the basketball gym...sneaky bastard.” Konoha smirked. They watched as Akaashi speedwalked to the entrance of the second gym, dusting off any dirt on his volleyball shirt and fixing his already pretty short hair.

The three ducked behind the wall of the gym, dashing towards it when Akaashi turned his back. “What’s he gonna do-he’s just standing there!”

Sure enough, Akaashi was standing idly a few feet from the door of the gym, seemingly waiting for something or someone. He messed with his fingers and tapped his foot anxiously, even though his face was completely calm and relaxed.

After what seemed like forever, the door of the gym opened ever so slightly, wide enough only for someone to slip though. Akaashi’s face lit up-even though he still held his neutral gaze-and he quickly let go of his own hands, letting them drop to his side. Bokuto and Konoha gasped, while Sarukui face held a knowing, shit-eating grin.

Standing in front of Akaashi was a boy wearing the Fukurodani basketball team jacket, and holding a basketball in his hands. He hazily tossed the ball back into the gym, before enveloping Akaashi into a hug.

Akaashi tentatively wrapped his arms around his torso. It looked like they were saying something to eachother, but Sarukui and Konoha couldn’t make out the words from their distance.

“Who would’ve thought Akaashi was dating someone...I for sure thought he was buying drugs or something...” Sarukui mumbled, eyes glued to the scene infront of them.

“Well-I thought Bokuto for sure would’ve known, right Bo? ...Bokuto?” Konoha turned to where Bokuto was standing, to see that he had disappeared. The two boys went pale.

“Oh no...” Sarukui broke into a cold sweat as he saw their loud was captian strutting towards them.

“Bokuto! You dumbass! Get back here!” Konoha whisper yelled, flailing his arms to try and grab Bokuto’s attention. It was too late. Akaashi and the boy took sight of him. Akaashi looked like a deer in headlights, while the boy looked at Bokuto with a nervous smile.

“Hey hey hey! Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend Akkaggshi!” Akaashi said nothing, instead tightening his hold on his (h/c)-haired boyfriend.

Konoha and Sarukui sighed, and stepped out from their hiding spot. Well, it’s not really a hiding spot if you aren’t hiding from something anymore.

“Who’s the guy, Akaashi?” Kohona said, smirking at the (h/c)-haired man next to Akaashi. He stepped forward.

“I’m (L/n) (Y/n), nice to meet you.” (Y/n) said. Akaashi deflated, embarrassed.

“(Y/n), please-“

“AWWW-you guys are on a first name basis?! How cute~!” Konoha made goo-goo eyes at Akaashi, while Sarukui held up a heart with his fingers. Bokuto slung his arm around Akaashi, making him stumble back slightly while he yelled things like “hey hey hey!” or “my man bro Alasshshshi!”

Akaashi looked eyes with (Y/n), practically pleading for help with his eyes while containing the last embers of his neutral collected gaze. (Y/n) just laughed, and booped him on the nose.

“They seem like nice people-why didn’t you introduce me to your team before?” Akaashi freed himself from Bokuto’s grip.

“...We’re gonna be late, let’s go-“ Akaashi linked arms with (Y/n) and tried to usher him away.

(Y/n) planted his feet firm and smirked.

“Noooo...I wanna meet your friends, Keiji-chan~”

“OOHHH HE CALLED HIM KEIJI-CHAN KONOHA THEIR PRACTICALLY MARRIED NOW-“

“Shut up, please” Akaashi begged. He pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling sharply. “(Y/n), that’s Sarukui-san, that’s Konoha-san, and that’s Bokuto-san.” Akaashi gestured to each of the boys standing around them.

“Now that you all are well acquainted, please, can we get going-?“

Akaashis pleads were lost in the sound of questions and conversations being flung at them. All going in one ear and out the other. He sighed in defeat.

After what seemed like forever, (Y/n) pried himself from the volleyball players and interlocked his fingers with Akaashi’s. “Okaaaay, lets go” he said with a chuckle.

“Finally...” thank the heavens.

“Where you guys going?” Bokuto asked. (Y/n) glanced to Akaashi for approval. Akaashi nodded.

“We’re going to grab some dinner at this one ramen place, we do it every Thursday.”

“Oh! Oh! Can we come?” Bokuto cheered. He looked like a puppy clinging to (Y/n’s) side. Akaashi deadpanned while (Y/n) laughed internally.

“But-we-“

“Sure! Let’s go!” (Y/n) said, looking straight into Akaashi’s wilting eyes. The boys clamored past him, (Y/n) in their clutches, heading out of the school to wherever they were going.

“Oh! And, Akaashi?” Konoha said, stopping in his tracks and looking back at Akaashi. He had his feet planted into the ground with a devastated look on his face. Konoha smirked, and Akaashi wished he just stayed at practice.

“That’s what you get for skipping practice so much.”

——————

[jungshookz]

🧦 stocking stuffers: hwayoung likes snow but y/n likes it more

(unfortunately i’m not sure who the maker of this gif is but i found it from this source! please let me know if you know who the original maker is so i can give credit where credit is due! :-))

➺ pairing; min yoongi x reader

➺ genre; ceo!yoongiverse!! fluffier than freshly fallen snow!! hwayoung is bundled up in like four layers and can barely move!! jimin and jungkook are keeping little miss min company while yoongi and y/n chase each other around in the back like a couple of lovestruck teenagers <3 

➺ wordcount; 1.9k

                                        »»————-　☃️　————-««

“IT’S SNOWING!”

hwayoung drops a wooden block in surprise when she sees you slide into the living room with a megawatt smile on your face

“it’s snowing, it’s snowing, it’s snowing-” you bounce up and down on the balls of your feet excitedly as you clap your hands like a seal on crack, “why are we just sitting here?? we need to go outside and play in the snow while it’s still nice and fresh-”

hwayoung tilts her head back to look up at yoongi as you continue to babble to yourself, yoongi peeking down at her from over the top of his laptop

“눈 마주치지 않으면 괜찮을거야. (don’t make eye contact with her and you’ll be fine.)” he jokes before leaning down to fix the collar of hwayoung’s little blue turtleneck sweater

he spent twenty minutes this morning figuring out what to dress hwayoung in because all of the choices in her closet were just so stinking adorable

he was going to put her in a long-sleeve burgundy henley at first but the turtleneck was the warmer option

what is it about a tiny chunky knit sweater that’s just so cute?! 

“으이고 귀여운 거... (oh, my cute girl…)” yoongi tuts, pinching hwayoung’s chubby cheek gently before sitting back up and leaning against the couch

hwayoung babbles mindlessly to herself before reaching over to pick up her fallen block 

“i’ve already texted jimin and jungkook and they’re both coming over now-” you pull your phone out of your back pocket when you feel it buzz, “ooh! jimin said they’d swing by starbucks to get us some hot chocolate- do you want hot chocolate or your usual coffee?“

“jimi…” hwayoung mutters to herself as she focuses back on her precious blocks, “jungoo…”

she was in the middle of building a castle before you came running in like a rabid dog

should she put it on the left or on the right…?

hwayoung places it on the left before leaning back a little to look at it

perfect!

she’s building her empire >:-)

“i’m fine with coffee. and i suppose we could go out for a bit…” yoongi trails off before turning to glance out the window, “and it’d be nice to get some fresh air.”

“exactly! we’ll wait til they get here and then we’ll go, but for now…” you walk over to the balcony, pushing the handle down with a kachunk! before sliding the door open

“c’mere, hwa!” you turn to look at hwa before gesturing for her to come over, “come look at the snow with mama!”

“no wid mama!” hwayoung chirps, dropping her block promptly before twisting around and grabbing onto yoongi’s knees so she can pull herself up off the ground

“화영님 가는겁니까? (you leaving me?)” yoongi lowers the screen of his laptop when he feels two little hands grasp at his knees 

“얍. (ya.)” hwayoung grunts out in response, yoongi sliding his laptop off to the side before leaning down to smack a kiss on the top of her head

he grabs her chubby arm before she has a chance to scurry away from him 

"옷 따숩게 입어야지 감기 안 걸려... (let’s pull these sleeves down first... can’t have you catch a cold after standing by the open door...)” yoongi hums, pulling her sleeves down gently before turning her around and nudging her forwards, “자 가세요! (off you go!)” 

“화영이 까요! (tank oo. i go!)” 

yoongi watches fondly as she toddles her way over to you, sock-clad feet pap-pap-papping against the hardwood floors 

“hi, sweet girl-” you grin and lower yourself down to your knees as hwayoung joins you, smacking a kiss to her cheek before turning to look outside  

“see? it’s snowing outside!” you gasp excitedly, sticking your arm out into the cool air before pointing to the pile of untouched snow on the balcony floor 

“innowing ousside!” hwayoung mimics, looking up at you and pointing out the window as well as if she’s the one telling you about this amazing new discovery 

she doesn’t know what innowing ousside means but you seem to be pretty excited about it so it’s obviously a good thing

every time you speak to her in this particular tone it usually means something good is happening so hopefully she can get away with just winging her reaction 

“mhm, that’s exactly right,” you reach forward to poke your finger into the snow, “wanna touch it?” 

“i tutchch, mama.” hwayoung cautiously lowers her hand onto the pile of freshly-fallen snow and-

!

“-!” she pulls her arm back in alarm and quickly turns around to burrow back into your warmth, letting out a little whine of dismay a second after, “no tank oo-”

“what’s the matter?” you laugh lightly, wrapping an arm around her and giving her back a couple of comforting pats, “it’s not going to hurt you, you big baby. look!” you print your hand into the snow right next to her smaller handprint, hwayoung whining again when you reach up to gently slide your cold finger down the slope of her little nose

“quit bullying our two year old.” yoongi teases, propping his elbow up on the arm of the couch and resting his head against his fist as he watches the two of you, “ this is exactly why she likes hanging out with me way more.”

“wha- hey!”

                                       »»————-　☃️　————-««

“자..... 기다려봐..... 봐봐! (and… wait for it... look at that!)” jungkook gasps animatedly, placing the duck shaped snowball in front of hwayoung before setting his snowball-shaping contraption aside, “오리! (it’s a duckie!)”

he bought this thing off amazon and he’s pretty sure it’s the greatest purchase he’s ever made

it shapes snow into little ducks

what’s not to love?!

“오리? (duckie?)” hwayoung points to it, looking up at jungkook

“그래! 오리! (mhm. duckie!)” jungkook nods, picking it up carefully before leaning over and placing it on top of her head

hwayoung immediately freezes and stays as still as she possibly can, her eyes rolling up in a poor attempt to look at the duck on her head

w-why is there a duck on her head and what’s she supposed to do next

“아니 일년에 한 번 쓸가말까 하는 걸 와 쓸떼없이 돈 낭비 하는겨? (did you really waste your money on something you can only use once a year?)” jimin frowns, hwayoung’s shoulders drooping in relief when he picks the duck up off her head and gently places it in front of her 

“yep. i even bought one that shapes snow into little snowmen.” jungkook smiles proudly, leaning over to dust some snow off the top of hwayoung’s beanie, “uncle jungkook paid forwty dowwars for shipping, yes he did-” 

“forty doll-” jimin chokes, his jaw dropping in a gawk, “아니 내가 돈 좀 아끼라고 했자너! (what happened to that lecture i gave to you about learning how to budget?!)”  

“똔 아끼. (how to buzzet.)” hwayoung sniffles, reaching up to rub at her pink nose before tilting her head back to look up at jimin

little fingers poke and prod at the bottom of jimin’s chin, “삼쬰 휴디 두떼여. (tissue pease, jimi.)”

jimin looks down, a wide smile immediately spreading on his face when he sees hwayoung blinking up at him 

“애고 우리 애기 콧물 많이 흘렸네... (oh, look at your little nose!) i think it’s about time we head in for some hot chocolate, no?” he hums, pulling a tissue out of his pocket and reaching down to wipe hwayoung’s runny nose, “엄마 아빠 찾아서 얼른 들어가고자! (we’ll see if mama and appa are done playing-)”

“y/n, do no- y/N-!” yoongi gasps when you shove snow down the back of his coat, his back immediately arching as he tries to shake as much of it out, “why, you- get back here!” 

“now, hold on-!” you let out a squeal when he whips around and starts chasing after you like an angry bull, “we can sit down and talk about this!”

jungkook twists around from where he’s sitting on the ground, “are you people going to come and play with your daugh-!” he gets cut off (quite rudely, if he might add) when a handful of snow is suddenly tossed at the back of his head, “hey!” 

“둘이 더 놀기 좀 내비둬! (just let them enjoy each other’s company!)” jimin ignores him before dismissing them with a flick of his wrist, “this fresh air is good for us!” 

jungkook twists his lips in a slight scowl, “형이 화영이랑 혼자서 놀고 싶어서 그런 거 아니고? (you’re only saying that because you wanna hog hwayoung-)”

“뭐라노. (you don’t know what you’re talking about). i’m just extending my quality time with her!” jimin coos, wrapping his arms around hwayoung and hugging her to his chest before leaning down and squishing his cheek against the top of her head

hwayoung continues to pat at her big pile of snow absentmindedly as jimin cuddles her to his chest, “사진이나 한 장 찍어줘라 (now, get your phone out and take pictures of us for my instagram-)” 

“baby, i said i was sorry!” you cackle, managing to dodge one of yoongi’s snowballs as you continue to run for cover

“you’re lying!” yoongi responds, hurling another snowball in your direction 

it whooshes past your face and you can’t help but let out another scream

“am not!” you turn to glance over your shoulder, your heart leaping in your chest when you see that yoongi’s gaining on you with a wide grin on his face

how is he running so quickly in this snow?! 

“are too!” 

“am n- aGH!” you let out a shriek when you’re suddenly being tackled to the ground, the two of you falling and disappearing into a heap of soft snow with a poof!

“you idiot-” you puff out through giggles, looking up at yoongi and resisting the urge to smash a handful of snow in his face, “now my pants are all wet-” 

“well, my back is all wet, so i think we’re even,” yoongi points out with a grin, hitching your right leg up against his waist before leaning down to slant his mouth over yo- 

“are you guys still alive?!” yoongi lets out a quiet groan and lowers his head against your shoulder when you guys hear jungkook’s voice echoing in the distance 

of course he would interrupt this particular moment 

you immediately roll over so that you’re on top before waving your arms and giving jungkook two thumbs up, “we’re okay!” 

“hm.” yoongi hums, reaching up to grab onto your waist before sliding his legs up so that you can lean back against his thighs, “have i ever told you how much i like seeing you on top?”

“oh, god-” you feel your cheeks immediately warm and you roll your eyes playfully before placing your hands flat on yoongi’s chest, “i think you’ve told me that once or twice...” 

“hey, lovebirds!” you perk up at the sound of jimin calling out for you two, yoongi propping himself up onto his elbows so he can look over the thick bank of snow blocking his vision, “are you guys ready to go back in? i’m dying for a cup of hot chocolate-”

“coming!” 

“you know...” yoongi sighs, turning his head to look up at you, “i, personally, think that making out in the snow would warm us up faster than a boring old mug of hot chocolate, but that’s just my opinion...”

❄️christmas with cee 2020 masterlist 🎄

[hrina]

In The Ring, Pt. II - Cross

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 7k REQUESTED: highly lol!

hi again! here’s PART 2 of boxer!harry :) thank u all for such a wonderful response on the first part, i can’t explain how much it means to me. i worked really hard on this chapter, so i hope u guys love it! if u do, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated, and i’ll probably ask for ur hand in marriage in return.

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

u can find the rest of this series on my masterlist, which is linked in my bio! my inbox is also there if you wanna spare a few thoughts about this part. love u guys sm, stay safe out there 💛💛💛

~*~

    January 19, 2021

It’s ten at night, and you’re curled up in bed, scrolling through social media. You should be doing the assigned readings for your anatomy class, but you’re procrastinating. Besides, watching video after video of cute kittens peeking their furry little heads out of cardboard boxes is a much better way to pass the time.

Your relaxation period is interrupted when a notification banner descends from the top of your screen. It’s an unknown number, but the content of the message makes your eyes widen in surprise.

Hi. It’s Harry. I’m at the gym.

You tap on the text immediately, waiting with bated breath as you’re taken to a different app. You chew on your bottom lip for a moment, thumbs hovering over the screen before they begin to type.

Hey! I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

Harry’s reply is short, concise, to-the-point—just like him. Oddly enough, it makes you smile.

Okay. See you soon.

~*~

The first thing that Harry notices when you walk through the door is that you’re slightly out of breath. He’s standing in the middle of the ring, his eyes fixated on the opposite side of the room as you enter. Your hair is tied up in a high ponytail, and you’re wearing a pair of leggings and a tank top under your jacket. Your sneakers squeak against the floor as you stride over to him, fingers wiggling in a friendly wave.

“Hi!” you call out, shooting him a kind smile.

Harry leans against the ropes circling the ring, careful not to put too much of his weight on the barriers lest he flip over and fall to the floor. It’s happened once or twice, and each time, he ended up with a bruised tailbone afterward.

“Hi,” he replies.

You shrug your coat from your shoulders as you draw nearer. “How are you?” you ask, peering up at him curiously.

“Good, thanks,” he says. His fingers toy absentmindedly with the silver cross pendant dangling from his neck. “Er…did you run here?”

“What? Oh, no,” you answer with a breathless laugh. “I drove. But I was hurrying—I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

You’re so fucking sweet. He’s going to throw up.

“It’s alright.” He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

“Still,” you say, tightening your ponytail with both hands. “You’re going out of your way to do this for me. And while we’re on the subject of that—thank you, again. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Harry says. He slips between the ropes and hops down from the platform. “Shall we start?”

“We shall,” you agree, biting back a teasing smile. “Am I going up against you?”

Despite himself, Harry chuckles. He shakes his head. “Not yet. First, you need to learn the basics.”

“Basics,” you echo, nodding once. “Right.”

He leads you over to the side of the ring, where a pair of punching bags have been strung up near the wall. The arrangement is nothing special—twin leather bags, one brown and one black, filled with sand and stitched together with strong, coarse thread. Reflexively, you reach out, running your fingertips along the black bag and giving it a gentle push. It swings outward before returning back to you. Harry watches you closely, examining the gentle crease between your brows and the slight glaze that smooths over your pupils. He clears his throat quietly, and you seem to snap out of your trance.

“Do you know how to punch?” he asks.

You purse your lips, looking unsure of yourself. “Um…I think so.”

He nods. “Show me, then.”

The blow that you deliver to the bag is weak at best. Harry immediately notices a handful of things that you’re doing wrong. When you pull your arm back and peer up at him, he’s trying his hardest to hold back a smirk.

“What?” You frown.

“Nothing.” He snickers softly, shaking his head again. “It’s just…that was cute.”

“‘Cute’?” you parrot, narrowing your eyes. You scoff good-naturedly, stepping back and holding your arm out in invitation. “You do it, then.”

Harry’s lips twitch. “Gladly.”

The chain hanging from the ceiling rattles when his fist makes contact with the leather. The punching bag itself swings forward in an extraordinary arc before hurtling back in your direction. You gasp when Harry stops it with his palms. He grunts quietly, stilling it before turning around to face you. There’s a small smile playing on his lips, and he’s sure that his eyes are gleaming with a smug sparkle. You just cross your arms over your chest, gazing at him evenly with your chin held high.

“Fine,” you say. “Tell me what to do.”

Harry gets you situated back in front of the bag, standing beside you and studying your posture.

“First of all,” he starts, “you need to make sure that the position of your feet matches the position of your arms.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, shooting him a confused pout.

“Like this��,” Harry reaches for your shoulders before pausing, his fingers only inches away from your skin. “Er,” he clears his throat, fixing you with inquisitive eyes, “is it alright if I touch you?”

You nod wordlessly. Harry swallows down the lump in his throat as his hands close the distance between your bodies. He slants your torso to the side before reaching for your arms, bending them at the elbow so that your fingers—now curled into loose fists—are suspended in front of your face.

“If you’re angling yourself this way,” Harry starts, mimicking your stance, “you need to make sure that your right foot is leading you. But if you stand in the opposite direction—,” he changes sides, adopting a mirror image of his previous position, “—then it has to be your left foot. Got it?”

“Got it,” you say confidently. That same crease is digging into the space between your eyebrows; Harry aches to reach out and flatten it with the pad of his thumb.

“Also,” he says, delicately wrapping his fingers around your wrists, “when you punch, you can’t drop your other hand. Keep it up at all times—you need to guard your face.”

“Guard my face,” you murmur, mostly to yourself. “Okay, cool.”

You throw an experimental punch at the bag, and Harry doesn’t miss the shadow of pain that flashes across your features. His eyes trail down the length of your arm, lingering on your fist. Before you can deliver another blow, he stops you, catching your knuckles in the calloused valley of his palm and halting your movements.

“Keep your thumb on the outside,” he says, peeling your fingers open and freeing your thumb from beneath them. “You’ll break it, otherwise.”

He curls the digits back up, this time so that your hand is settled in the proper arrangement. He then steps back, jerking his head toward the bag and encouraging you to take another swing. “Try it, now.”

The third blow is better than the past two. You beam up at Harry when a promising smack! echoes through the air. He smiles reassuringly at you, nodding his head and tugging at the collar of his t-shirt. “Good. That’s a start.”

“Put me in, Coach,” you tease, bringing your fists up to your face and bouncing playfully on the balls of your feet. Your eyes shimmer as you peek at him from behind your knuckles. Harry presses his lips together to keep himself composed, but he can’t stop the faint snort that slips out of his nose. You laugh cheerfully, dropping your arms back to your sides.

“Okay, so I know how to punch,” you say. “What’s next?”

“There’s four main punches in boxing,” Harry replies. He steadies himself in front of the bag, his left foot extended to provide balance.

“The jab—”

He punches with his left fist, pointed and forceful.

“—the cross—”

He strikes with his right hand, driving the weight of his body into the blow.

“—the hook—”

He curves his arm, angling it accordingly so that he can deliver a hit to the side of the bag.

“—and finally, the uppercut.”

He bends his elbow, scooping upward so that his fist makes contact with the bottom half of the bag. The sand inside shifts audibly as it rattles around, looping in every direction and gathering momentum. Harry turns back to you as it continues to swing in circles, cracking his knuckles loudly and seeking you out.

Your eyes are wide. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you look a bit…enthralled. His brow furrows in confusion.

“You alright?”

“Yes,” you say immediately, and he’s taken aback by the breathless quality of your voice. You clear your throat quickly, scratching at your hairline and looking away. “You’re just very…dedicated. That’s all.”

“I’ve got to be,” Harry hums. He turns back to the punching bag and ceases its movements. “This is how I make a living.” His lips quirk up with the hint of a smile. “We can’t all go to medical school and become doctors.”

A weak laugh tumbles from your mouth. “I haven’t even gotten in yet,” you say from behind him.

“But you will,” he murmurs, the reply slipping out before he can weigh it on his tongue. “Without a doubt.”

He pauses when the words finally sink in, his shoulders stiffening and his eyes stamping shut. If you weren’t standing so close, he would have leaned forward and crushed his forehead into the rough leather of the punching bag. His lips mould around unspoken curses as a heavy silence descends upon the two of you.

At last, you finally choke out, “I—thank you, Harry. That’s really nice of you to say.”

“No problem,” he grunts. He steps back, spinning on his heel but refusing to meet your gaze. You’re probably looking at him like that—with soft, glimmering irises and earnestness woven through every cell in your body. If your eyes lock, he knows that he’ll be overrun with the urge to kiss you.

And he knows that if that happens, he might not be able to hold himself back.

“What time do you have to be home?” Harry asks, subtly trying to change the topic.

You lift one eyebrow challengingly, like you know exactly what he’s doing. Still, though, you humour him.

“I told my dad I was going to a friend’s house,” you say, shrugging lightly. “We have time, don’t worry.” You smile as a thought crosses your mind. “Just make sure you don’t get me too sweaty by the end of the night, okay? I can’t go home looking like I’ve just run a marathon.”

Harry’s cock twitches in his shorts at the thought of rendering you sticky and speechless. Of watching you walk away from him with wobbly knees and messy hair. Of dropping you off at home and nibbling on your neck one last time for good measure. He quickly shoos the temptations away, clearing his throat and nodding in accord.

“Minimal sweating,” he concedes. “I’ll try my best.”

Deep down, he knows that you’ll most likely be drenched with perspiration once he’s through with you. You’ll figure that out soon enough, though.

Harry makes his way over to the ring, snatching up a pair of gloves lying on the platform. He turns back around, tossing them to you and fighting a smile when you yelp in surprise. With an awkward flail, you manage to catch them in your arms. You shoot him a questioning look, lifting your eyebrows and waiting for an explanation.

“Put those on,” he orders, clapping his hands together once. “We’re gonna try to perfect your stance, tonight.”

“Why do I need to wear them, then?” you ask, gazing down blankly at the gloves nestled against your chest.

“You don’t need to, I suppose,” Harry says, shrugging. “But your knuckles will probably be destroyed by the end of the night.”

“Oh.” You make a face, wrinkling your nose up in distaste. “Okay, yeah—I’ll use them.”

He smirks, folding his arms over his chest. “We want to be careful, don’t we? Those are the steady hands of a future surgeon.”

You scoff, laughing gently at his quip. “Hopefully,” you say, a sweet smile playing on your lips. “Let’s just pray that I get the right grades.”

You will, Harry thinks, but this time, he bites his tongue to keep the sentiment contained. You’re smart, and you’re beautiful, and you’re kind. You’re perfect. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to kiss you. I want to fuck you. I want to sleep next to you at night and prepare you breakfast in the morning. I want to make you laugh. I want to make you smile. I want to—

“Harry?”

He blinks. “Yeah?”

You fix him with a benevolent look. “Zoning out on me?”

“No.” He shakes his head, approaching you as you struggle to tug on one of the boxing gloves. His eyes fall to your hands and he reaches out, halting your movements with a gentle, “Let me.”

You peek up at him shyly as he guides your fingers into the glove. He keeps his gaze trained downward, avoiding your eyes. One of his rough palms grasps your elbow as he tugs the Velcro strip tight around your wrist. Once he’s done the same with the other one, he releases you and steps back.

“Thank you,” you say softly. He just nods in response.

“Make sure your feet are shoulder-width apart,” he says, and you spread your legs according to his command.

For a brief moment, the image of you separating your thighs to accommodate his hips flashes through his mind, but he squeezes his eyes shut and wills it away.

The rest of the night is painful—his cock grows stiffer and stiffer by the hour, spurred on by each sweet smile that you send his way. By the time you’re through with the session and bidding him goodnight as he locks up, he’s half-hard beneath his black shorts. He hopes that you don’t notice.

You shoot him a cheerful wave and drive away, and he watches before toddling over to his own vehicle. As soon as he slides into the driver’s seat, he releases a heavy, guttural groan, slouching forward and pressing his forehead to the crest of the steering wheel. Blindly, he sticks his key into the ignition and turns it, and the truck rumbles to life. A quick glance at the dashboard reveals that it’s well past midnight. Only then does he realise the extent of his exhaustion.

He backs out of the parking lot, pulling onto the main street and training his eyes on the road ahead. If he squints, he can still make out the red taillights of your car.

The journey back to his apartment passes in no time. Harry climbs sluggishly up four flights of stairs, tumbling into his home and pressing the door shut with one hand. He drags his feet down the hall and past the threshold of his bedroom, pausing only to rip his t-shirt from his torso before collapsing onto his mattress. Obscure silhouettes dance across his eyelids as they drift shut.

The last thing on his mind before sleep overtakes him is the gentle slope of your smile.

    February 21, 2021

One month and a handful of late-night sessions later, Harry finds himself inundated with guilt. He’s constantly plagued by memories of your virtual conversations—short, brief little interactions consisting primarily of him letting you know that he’s free to train that evening. Your responses, ripe with exclamation marks and prattles of gratitude. You’ve taken up the habit of texting him after each lesson, too, composing a quick thank-you message before shutting your phone for the night.

And Harry regrets everything—agreeing to teach you how to box, letting you know when he’s available to meet, encouraging you as your technique progresses. On several occasions, he’s considered breaking things off, telling you that he’s too busy, that you should be focussing exclusively on school instead of on how to throw a right hook.

But then you look at him like that. With bright, trusting eyes and open features and that easy, dazzling smile. And the wall that he’s been trying so hard to build back up—not that it was particularly robust to begin with—comes crashing down.

His match is set to start in fifteen minutes, and you’re not here. You have a midterm tomorrow—your father had mentioned it in passing. You’ve been holed up in your room all weekend, he said, permanently absorbed in the pages of your textbook.

And Harry’s nervous, because you’re his lucky charm. What the fuck is he supposed to do, now?

The minutes seem to fly by—before he knows it, he’s stepping out into the ring with the crowd’s thundering screams echoing in his ears. His opponent isn’t the biggest man he’s ever gone up against, but he’s definitely not scrawny. Harry’s maybe two inches shorter than him—under normal circumstances, the height difference wouldn’t have fazed him. But he’s already on edge due to your absence, so even the smallest observations are proving to be exceedingly disconcerting.

Looking back, he supposes that he should’ve known.

Doomed from the start, destined to fail—whatever you want to call it.

Point being, he loses. Horrendously.

And he’s not quite sure when they bring the stretcher out and peel him off of the floor of the ring, but he knows that it’s sometime after the second round. He blinks rapidly, fading in and out of consciousness as moisture trickles down the side of his face. Somewhere beneath the wooziness, he’s well aware that the match is over. Your father is standing over him, walking at a brisk pace to keep up with the two men carrying him out of the arena.

“What do you mean, he called in sick?” your father spits, his eyes alight with anger. “You couldn’t find anybody else?”

The man behind Harry’s head says something that he can’t quite discern. His response makes your father grit his teeth and pinch the bridge of his nose. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, punching in a number and bringing the device up to his ear.

A few moments later, his expression lights up, relief flooding his features. “Gioia? Yeah, hi…”

Harry’s vision fades to black.

~*~

“…going to have some strong words with the bastard that did this—”

“Gioia, please. That’s how the sport works.”

An outraged scoff. “Who the hell kicks a man while he’s down?”

No reply.

Harry drifts off once more.

~*~

When his eyelids flutter open, it takes a moment for him to regain his bearings. Through the blurriness of his vision, he sees a dim light hanging from the ceiling, bathing his surroundings in a pale white glow. He blinks rapidly, hoping that his sight will sharpen with each flutter of his lashes. There’s a dull pain throbbing against the right side of his torso, battering against his ribcage and pulling an agonized groan from his lips.

The low sound is met with a high gasp. Seconds later, a face is looming over his own. Harry forces himself to concentrate on the person’s features—kind, worried eyes, raised brows, and pretty, parted lips. His heart begins to gallop in his chest.

“Harry,” you breathe. A few gentle fingers card through his hair. The sensation of your nails against his scalp makes him shiver. “How are you feeling?”

“Peachy,” he croaks, his voice hoarse.

Despite the worry swimming around in your irises, you emit a shy laugh.

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask, pulling your hand out of his hair. He nearly whines at the loss.

“Think so,” he mutters. He places his palms flat against the surface beneath him—a bed, perhaps?—and pushes himself onto his elbows. The muted pain in his side flares fiercely, making him choke on his own breath. You reach out for him, setting one hand down on his shoulder while the other wraps delicately around his bicep.

“Easy, easy,” you soothe, tutting disapprovingly. “Be careful.”

“’M always careful,” Harry says.

“Yeah,” you reply sarcastically, nodding your head. “And that’s how you ended up like this, right?”

A short, wheezing laugh punches its way out of his lungs. “Touché.”

Once he’s sitting up, he takes note of the room—well, it’s not really a room. The only thing separating the two of you from whatever lies outside is a thin curtain drawn over what he presumes to be the exit. To his left, a single cabinet with multiple drawers stands only a few feet away. You’re both tucked into a little alcove in the wall, no bigger than a standard bedroom. Harry glances around, his gaze landing on a single plastic chair facing the bed. Everything is set up like a hospital room (but far less comfortable, and severely lacking in terms of medical equipment).

“Where’s Coach?” he asks, creases forming along his forehead.

“He went to go grab us some coffee,” you explain, your eyes scanning his face. “It’s late.”

“How late?”

“Nearly two.”

“Fuck.” His head snaps toward you. “Don’t you have a midterm tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” You chew nervously on your bottom lip. “But it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” he says, gritting his teeth and glaring at you sharply. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You recoil a bit at his harsh tone. “Your stupid medic took a sick day,” you tell him, your voice hard. “And my dad asked me to come in and have a look at you. Who knows where you’d be if I hadn’t shown up.”

Regret washes over him. He slouches back against the bed—it’s more of a cot, really—and blows out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay.” You wave his apology away with a quick flick of your fingers. “Just…be quiet for a second, alright? I need to examine you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mutters under his breath. He doesn’t miss the way your lips twitch as the words sink in.

“Can you move to the edge of the bed?” you ask, gnawing on the inside of your cheek. “I need to see you properly, but I don’t want to make you stand just yet.”

“Sure.”

He shifts his body to the right, slowly dragging his legs off of the cot with a distressed wince. The floor is cold when his feet make contact with the ground, but he pays it no attention. He’s shirtless, clad only in the shorts he’d been wearing when he first stepped into the ring. He purses his lips and feels something stiff realign against his cheek. When he brings his hand up to his face, he finds a cottony piece of fabric taped onto his skin.

“What—?” He looks up at you in confusion.

“It was bleeding pretty badly,” you tell him. “I had to stop it, somehow.”

For the first time that night, he takes you in properly. You’re wearing a baggy t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants—it looks like the type of outfit that one would shrug on if they were in a rush to leave the house. Another pang of guilt jolts through his chest.

“What happened?” Harry croaks, pulling his hand away from his cheek.

“My dad told me that the other guy was wearing a bracelet,” you say; frustration drips from your words. “He didn’t take it off before the match started. It’s not a big cut, but it’s deep. You’ll probably need a few stitches.”

“And you know how to do that?” he asks, watching as you circle around the bed and approach the cabinet on the opposite side. He twists in an attempt to keep his eyes on you, but then grunts lowly at the ache that thrums against his side. When he looks down at his torso, he discovers a large splotch of blue and purple decorating the skin covering his ribs.

“I watched my mom do it back when my dad used to coach Artie,” you say absentmindedly, rifling through a few drawers and collecting the supplies that you need. You pause, your eyes clouding over with something forlorn. “Now that I think about it, that’s probably why I want to go into medicine. I think…it would’ve made her proud.”

“It would’ve,” Harry agrees.

He watches you carefully as you make your way back over to him, afraid of prying or saying the wrong thing. Your mother’s death had hit your family hard; he rarely hears you or your father mention her. But maybe that’s for the best—wounds can’t heal if they’re being ripped open time after time again. He would know.

You dump a handful of materials down onto the bed—disinfectant, cotton swabs, tissues, gauze, a needle, thread, and a pack of medical sutures. Harry swallows heavily.

“Do you mind if I…?” you trail off, pursing your lips timidly. Somehow, he understands exactly what you’re referring to.

“No, not at all,” he says. The words fall from his mouth a bit too quickly.

With no further preamble, he spreads his legs, and you step into the space made available between his knees. You lean to the side, reaching for the disinfectant and cotton swabs on the bed, but then nearly lose your balance in the process. Harry’s hand flies upward reflexively, settling on your hip to keep you steady.

You glance down at him with wide eyes, and he hastily removes his palm from your body. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking away.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, and is it just his imagination, or do you sound a bit…breathless?

“You’ve got a couple of scrapes on your face,” you continue. You clear your throat, uncapping the antiseptic and dipping a cotton swab into the bottle. “This’ll hurt a little.”

“It’s alright—fuck!” he swears, scowling deeply at the sting that blooms across his chin. You chew on your bottom lip, dragging the swab over his injuries with practiced, nimble fingers. His toes curl against the cold, concrete floor.

Once you’ve finished sterilising his minor wounds, you turn your attention to the massive bruise on his torso.

“Can I?” you ask softly, extending your arm but pausing only inches away from his skin.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

He fights back against a shudder when your fingertips ghost over his ribs. You hesitate, applying a bit more pressure and cringing when he groans. “Sorry,” you whisper, making a move to pull away.

“No,” Harry breathes quickly. He catches your hand in his, trapping your palm back against his side. Briefly, he notes the unmistakable softness of your knuckles, so different from his own. “’S okay. Do what you need to do.”  

You nod tautly, pressing your fingers against the bruise once more. Harry grinds his teeth together, trying his best to withstand the pain. You prod around for a few seconds, your brow furrowed in concentration. When you don’t appear to find anything worrisome, you sigh in relief and drop your arm so that it rests limply at your side.

“No broken ribs,” you announce quietly. “At least, not as far as I can tell.”

“That’s reassuring,” he jokes.

A weak laugh falls from your mouth. “I haven’t gotten into med school yet, remember?”

He chuckles. Your eyes suddenly darken, and an angry scowl curls along your lips.

“He kicked you while you were knocked out,” you murmur, shaking your head in disbelief. “Fucking asshole.”

Harry’s eyebrows fly upward, his mouth twitching at your vulgar words. You catch sight of his amused expression, but instead of mirroring it, your frown only deepens.

“It’s not funny,” you say. “He fought dirty.”

“This whole setup is illegal, baby,” he says. Neither of you comment on the pet name that slips out of his mouth. He hopes that you view it as part of an expression, and not a proclamation of his affection. “Fighting dirty—they don’t care about that. If anything, it just gives them one hell of a show.”

“Still,” you mutter, gluing your eyes to the discoloured skin covering his ribs. “He shouldn’t have done it.”

Harry smiles softly, reaching out and tucking two fingers beneath your chin. Your lips part in surprise, and he tilts your face up so that he can look at you properly.

“Thank you,” he says, his tone entirely sincere, “for taking care of me.”

Your throat bobs with a hefty swallow—he can feel it against his knuckles. You lift your hand up to his face, and for a moment, he thinks that you mean to stroke his cheek lovingly. But then you scrape your thumb over the bandage covering his cut, and he’s reminded that this doesn’t mean anything.

You’re here to stitch him back up—nothing less, and certainly nothing more.

“I’m not done yet,” you say.

The two of your drop your fingers at the same time. Harry clears his throat, trying to absolve the tension in the air. You seize some of the other supplies still strewn across the bed, laying them out properly before getting to work.

You’re diligent, removing the bandage on his cheek and using a few tissues to mop up the blood that immediately begins to drip downward, rolling over the jut of his jaw. He curses when you pass another cotton swab over his injury, screwing his face up at the smarting prickle of the antiseptic.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur absentmindedly, keeping your eyes trained on the wound. “We definitely don’t want this one to get infected.”

“Yeah,” he grunts, because he can’t exactly nod with your fingers probing around.

“This is going to be the worst part,” you warn, pulling back and opening the pack of stitches.

You unwind a piece of thread from its spool, taking the string between your lips and severing it with your teeth. Harry watches you closely, anxiety frothing in the pit of his stomach. In all of his years spent boxing, he’s only needed stitches once—the procedure hurt like a bitch, especially since there had been no anaesthetic available. He remembers the pain like it was yesterday, and he’s not looking forward to having to endure it again.

When you guide the first stitch through his skin, he balls his hands into tight fists. His lips tuck themselves into a thin line, and an agonized moan bubbles up in his chest. You squeeze your eyes shut for a brief moment; upon reopening, they glisten with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you whisper. Your voice shakes.

“It’s okay,” Harry grits out. His blunt nails dig into his palms. “Keep…keep going.”

“A few more,” you babble; he’s not sure whether you’re trying to comfort him or yourself. “Just a few more.”

It takes you roughly fifteen minutes (you haven’t really had much practice, after all) to sew his wound closed with five stitches. It is by no means the cleanest application, but it’s not bad. You retrieve another cotton swab and dip it into the bottle of disinfectant, running it along the seam of his injury one last time. After that, you finally blow out the stale air that has accumulated in your lungs.

“Thank you,” Harry mutters. “Truly.”

“No problem,” you breathe. You busy yourself with gathering up all of the supplies, cradling them to your chest and making your way around the bed. As you dump everything back into the top drawer of the cabinet, you say, “Harry. Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it,” he hums. He’s nervous about speaking too animatedly, afraid to disrupt the work you’ve just done on his cheek.

“How long have you been boxing?”

He peers at you from over his shoulder, eyes following your movements as you return to his side of the cot and sit down next to him. “Er…,” he pauses, thinking, “…about ten years, now.”

“You started at sixteen?” you say, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

He smiles softly before remembering the sutures sewn into his skin. A beat of silence passes.

“Can I ask you something?” he questions.

You nod. “Of course.”

“Why did you want me to teach you how to box?” he says. You open your mouth—to feed him another lie, surely—but he carries on before you get the chance to speak. “And don’t say it’s because you were just curious, or some bullshit like that. I want the truth.”

“Harry…,” you begin softly, looking at him with pleading eyes. He shakes his head, adamant and unmoved.

“The truth.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. Instinctively, you reach for your throat, tugging at the rose-gold chain hanging there and fiddling nervously with the pendant nestled between your collarbones. It looks like you’re trying to figure out what to say, how to approach the situation without revealing something that could potentially make it any worse.

“Do you remember that guy I was seeing a few months ago?” you say, your voice small. “James?”

And oh, Harry remembers. He remembers watching the two of you swap spit on top of the bleachers at one of his matches. He remembers imagining James in the place of his opponent, and then making sure to aim all of his punches directly for the face (he won, that night.) He remembers seeing the sparkle in your eyes slowly start to dim the longer you stayed with him. He remembers the aftermath of your breakup, when James had shown up at the gym and screamed at you to come outside, deterred only after Portia threatened to call the police.

He fucking remembers.

“Yeah,” he spits. The affirmation is coated in a thick layer of venom. “What about him?”

His eyes widen a touch when it all clicks, then, like pieces of a puzzle falling perfectly into place.

“What did he do?” he demands immediately, fixing you with a stern glare. “Did he fucking touch you?”

“No!” you exclaim, shaking your head quickly. “No, no, it’s just…I’ve been seeing him around. A lot. And I’m not sure if I’m just being paranoid, maybe, but—,” you inhale deeply, “—it feels like he’s following me.”

Your name slips past Harry’s lips in a hard, firm tenor. When you look up at him warily, he stares straight into your eyes, leaving no room for you to break away.

“You need to tell someone about this,” he says steadfastly. “You need to go to the police.”

“I don’t even know if I’m right,” you tell him. Your mouth curls down into an apprehensive frown. “I don’t want to cause a fuss, especially if it all just turns out to be one big coincidence.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Harry asks. A bitter taste settles on his tongue. “How often has this been happening?”

You tilt your head to the side, lost in thought. “Two days ago,” you finally say, shrugging helplessly. “And…I don’t know. I’ve seen him, like, nine or ten times in total.”

“Ten times,” he hisses, “in a few months? That’s not normal, and you know it.”

“Harry,” you plead, tugging nervously at the hem of your t-shirt. “Please. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”

“How can you—?” he starts, but then you lurch forward, putting a dainty hand on his thigh.

“Please,” you repeat, shaking your head softly. “Just…keep this between us, okay? The last thing I want is for my dad to find out.”

And maybe it’s the tenderness brewing in your eyes when you meet his gaze. Maybe it’s the wilt in your voice, the feeblest he’s ever heard. Maybe it’s the feeling of your fingers on his leg, burning a hole through his shorts and searing a mark—a brand—into his skin. Harry sighs, looking away from you and running his fingers anxiously through his curly hair.

“You’re bloody stupid, you know that?” he asks, scoffing quietly.

“Yeah,” you reply, the corners of your mouth kinking up into a half-hearted smile. “I know.”

“Got you a latte, gioia—”

The dinky curtain in front of you is pulled back by none other than your father, who is holding a tray of coffee in his right hand. He blinks at the scene laid out before him—you and Harry on the small cot, sitting a bit too close for comfort. Your hand on his thigh. You both jump, breaking away from each other and inhaling sharply. Harry clears his throat as you cough into your elbow, standing up and reaching for one of the drinks nestled in the tray.

“Thank you,” you murmur quietly, pressing a gentle kiss to your father’s cheek.

His eyes bounce between the two of you, forehead wrinkling in curiosity as he asks, “What’d I miss?”

You peer down at Harry from over the rim of your cup, panicked and beseeching. He just shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly; the tattoos inked into his skin ripple with the act. His tone is steady when he meets your father’s gaze.

“I’ve got some bruised ribs and a wicked headache, but aside from that—,” he lies, “—nothing at all.”

~*~

Your father ends up driving him home.

He parks the car just in front of Harry’s apartment complex, watching with worried eyes as he slips out of the passenger door.

“You sure you’ll be alright?” he asks.

Harry just nods, waving away his concerns. “I’m fine, Coach, really. Thanks for the ride.”

Your father nods—still looking a little unsure—before speeding off.

Climbing up four flights of stairs with bruised ribs is hell, Harry soon learns. By the time he reaches his floor, he’s panting and wiping a thin sheen of sweat from his brow. He pulls his keys out of his coat pocket, unlocking the front door and staggering into his apartment. A pained whimper slips out of his mouth as he shrugs the jacket from his shoulders.

He slowly makes his way into the bathroom, cupping his battered side over the material of his t-shirt. The water is cold when he first turns the shower on. He grits his teeth, fiddling with the temperature and meticulously removing his clothes as it warms.

The moment the first droplet hits his skin, he lets out a deep, guttural groan. He hadn’t realised just how tense he was until now. He stands under the spray of the water, tipping his head back and letting it wash away every trace of dirt and grime on his body. His hair grows heavy with moisture, sticking to his scalp and his forehead. He leans against the wall of the shower, inhaling deeply. His eyelids flutter shut, and your smiling face appears amidst the darkness.

Almost subconsciously, his hand finds its way to his cock.

Part of him is disgusted with himself. He shouldn’t be thinking of you. He shouldn’t be thinking of you. He shouldn’t be—

He moans.

In the realm of his perverse imagination, you’re straddling him, your arms looped leisurely around his neck and your whimpers echoing into the cavern of his mouth. Your hips roll against his, unhurried and languid and deep. So fucking deep. Harry reaches down with one hand, squeezing greedily at the curve of your ass, and you whine in response, encouraging him to do it again.

He pumps his length in the shower, panting quietly.

Your fronts are pressed together as you rut into his lap, your nipples brushing against the ebony birds on his chest and your silky walls wrapped around him like a vice. He grunts; you swallow the sound down, your hot, heavy breaths wafting out onto his chin. His fingers dig into your thighs when you steady yourself on your knees, doing your best to bounce up and down on him properly. It’s frantic, it’s uncoordinated, it’s sloppy, but…it’s perfect.

Your nails scrape down his back as the two of you move together, a steady series of push and pull, like water under a bridge. If you’re the moon, then he’s the tides, bending and swirling under your gentle light. Every time you rock forward, he meets you there, your bodies connecting with faint slaps of skin on skin. You gaze at him with hooded eyes, lust simmering beneath your lashes. Electricity tingles across his shoulders.

The noises that you emit are music to his ears. Delicate sighs when he nips at your breasts, earthy groans when he hits that special spot inside of you. And woven between them, imploring pleas, murmurs of right there and oh, yes and so good.

It’s embarrassing, how quickly he finishes.

He stands there, leaning against the tiles with his cock in his hand and his release dripping from his fingertips. He has the decency to feel appalled by his actions, at the very least. If you were aware of what he had just done, he knows for a fact that you would never speak to him again.

He cleans himself up, shampooing his hair and scrubbing down every inch of his body. When he steps out of the shower and shuts the water, a wave of exhaustion washes over him, making him sway on his feet. His lips vibrate with a soft sigh.

His phone chimes from where it’s perched on the bathroom counter. When he taps on it, he finds a message from you.

Feel better soon, it reads. The guilt festering in his chest increases tenfold.

Thank you, he says back, shoving the remorse down. Good luck on your midterm tomorrow.

A moment later, your reply comes through.

Thanks! Goodnight, Harry.

Goodnight, he types. He pauses for a moment, debating over whether he should include a little red heart after the word. But then he shakes his head, rolling his eyes at his own insolence and sending the text without a second thought.

He doesn’t even bother drying himself off before padding across the hall and into his bedroom. He collapses onto his mattress, still covered in tiny droplets that bead along his shoulders and trail downward, wetting the duvet. He doesn’t care. It’ll dry, and so will he.

He falls asleep moments later, the repaired skin of his cheek tingling in the dark.

~*~

PART III: Hook

PART IV: Uppercut

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

[flowercrown-bard]

Poems for the Poet (1/ 5)

Pairing: Eskel/Jaskier

Summary: Unbeknownst to Jaskier, he inspires Eskel to try his hand at writing poetry. Eskel posts his poems anonymously to notice boards, not thinking that anyone would read them. Until he hears Jaskier's songs unmistakably referencing Eskel's poetry. (Eskel’s pov of The Way to a Poet’s heart)

Word count: ~2k

AO3

next

Content warnings: self-consciousness, self-doubt

Eskel could have been many things. He could have been handsome. At least he remembered his mother calling him such when he had still been a boy with a wide and toothy grin that he didn’t need to hide. He could have become a mage – his hill-folk blood had practically guaranteed him a place at Ban-Ard.

And maybe, as slim a chance as there had been, he could have become a poet. He remembered his mother singing to him about hens. It had been a silly song, but when he had undergone the Trials of the Grasses, the verses had been the last thing on his lips before the melody had turned into cries as fire raced through his blood.

That day, all dreams disappeared and turned into could-have-been’s that twisted Eskel’s stomach if he ever thought about them.

They didn’t matter anymore. Eskel was a witcher. One exceptionally skilled in magic, but a witcher nonetheless.

Perhaps he had even been handsome for a little while longer, but now there was not a hint of attractiveness left on him. It didn’t bother him. Couldn’t bother him.

At the very least he still had his poetry. No, not his. He had never written a verse in his life. If he had gone to Oxenfurt instead of being dragged to Kaer Morhen, he might have learned about metre and clever word-play. Now, he didn’t dare put a pen to paper. Too certain was the chance that his words would only be yet another disappointment. He’d rather keep the wish to write a might-be instead of a dreaded could-have-been. As long as he didn’t try and fail, he could still imagine that he might be able to become a poet one day. Until then, he would study his poetry collection and listen to the bards he came across in taverns, praying that their songs wouldn’t break off once they laid eyes on him.

It happened more often than Eskel would like to admit. Many times, he found himself lingering outside a tavern, just to get the chance of listening to the songs a little longer before they inevitably faded in discomfort when the bards noticed the witcher staring at them through the windows.

He would have done so today as well, if it weren’t for the long gash in his leg. It didn’t hurt too badly and it was already close to being healed, but he yearned to sit down and close his eyes for a little while, to eat and maybe, if he was lucky, to listen to some songs.

Even from outside the tavern he could hear that the bard singing a soaring ballad was talented.

So he pulled his hood up and pushed the door open. As he shuffled to a table at the corner, he tried to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible.

He knew he should have kept his eyes cast down. He knew he should have kept to himself.

Yet there was something in the bard’s verses that made Eskel’s insides sing. He didn’t know the words for what he heard. Perhaps it was alliteration or anaphor? Whatever the bard had done to give his words life, it stirred something in Eskel.

He looked up before he could think better of it; before he could remember all the reasons why he shouldn’t do such a thing.

For a blessed heartbeat he was allowed to just look at the bard. There was no denying his beauty. Clearly, many people in this room looked at the bard’s blue eyes or long fingers with adoration.

Eskel noticed those things merely as an afterthought. He was too distracted by the almost wistful expression on the bard’s face, the way he subtly swayed with his music as if he was a part of it and the meaning he put into every word as it fell from his lips.

Eskel’s chest clenched at the sight. Without meaning to, he leaned forward to see better. It must have been that movement that caught the singer’s attention, for his eyes wandered over to Eskel.

And his voice broke. Blue eyes widened and fingers had to strain not to fumble.

Abruptly, Eskel looked away, pulling his hood deeper into his face to hide his eyes and turning his scarred side towards the wall for good measure.

It was already too late. All hope that the bard might not have realised exactly what Eskel was burst when the song came to an overly hurried end.

A handful of patrons muttered disapprovingly and one even gave a shout, demanding his coin back if the bard wasn’t going to play a full set.

Out of all the people, Eskel knew he was the one most disappointed in the abrupt yet not unexpected end of the performance. He would have loved to hear more of this bard’s art, to listen for long enough to figure out just how he crafted his verses.

Yet another could-have-been.

Eskel should probably leave. Maybe if he did, the bard would pick up his song again and Eskel would be able to listen to it while he put distance between himself and the tavern. His leg ached at the thought of having to get up already, but if it meant getting to hear a little more of the bard, it would have been worth it. Eskel was just about to stand up when someone pulled out the chair opposite of him and let themselves fall onto it with little grace, but palpable excitement.

Long fingers drummed onto the table as if the person’s energy couldn’t be contained. Or as if they were waiting impatiently for Eskel to leave.

“Apologies,” Eskel said, doing his best to make his voice sound smoother than it was. “I’ll leave the table to you.”

Unexpectedly, a hand shot out and grabbed Eskel’s wrist, lightly enough to make clear this person wasn’t out for a fight, but insistent enough to make Eskel tense.

“That would be defeating the purpose of me coming here, wouldn’t it?” That voice. It was the bard’s voice. Unwillingly, Eskel’s eyes snapped up and his breath hitched when they met blue. The bard’s easy smile didn’t leave him, even as he took in Eskel’s inhuman eyes and mangled face. “After all, I came here specifically to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Eskel relaxed slightly. This he could do. “Do you have a contract for me?”

The bard let out a pearling laugh that crinkled the skin around his eyes. Eskel’s chest clenched. It was rare a human laughed in his presence. No, that wasn’t quite true. People laughed constantly, though mostly at him. They would snicker blatantly when they saw his face or snort cruelly when he said something that had been meant to sound gentle and diplomatic but evidently came out as a pitiful attempt of an oafish mutant to fit in where there was no place for him.  

But never before had someone other than his family laughed in a way that made him think that perhaps he wasn’t the one being laughed at.

“Well, no. Not exactly.” The bard leaned forward with an eagerness that almost made Eskel draw back. No one leaned towards a witcher. Least of all Eskel with his disfigured face and hulking frame. “I was wondering if you were willing to let a humble bard accompany you on a hunt?”

Eskel blinked at him. “I- no. I just come from a hunt.” Absentmindedly, he shifted his leg beneath the table. “And it would be too-“

“Oh, don’t tell me it would be too dangerous.” The bard let go of Eskel’s wrist and waved it through the air dismissively. “Geralt tells me that all the time and I’m not dead yet, am I?”

Eskel’s brows would have drawn together, if he hadn’t trained himself to keep frowns off his face to stop it from becoming even more fearsome.

For a heartbeat he could only stare at the bard, trying desperately to connect the few things Geralt had told him about his bard to the man sitting in front of him now. A lot of the details – annoyingly talkative, a petty menace, dangerously ready to fall in love with anyone he met – weren’t things Eskel could ascertain from such a short time of talking to the man. But what had was most important was the way Geralt had talked about his bard. There had been a fondness to even his most exasperated words. A fondness that Eskel could imagine only too well being directed at someone like this bard. In fact, as the bard’s smile grew wider with every second that Eskel studied him and something warm and fuzzy spread through Eskel’s insides, he found himself feeling some of that fondness already.

He swallowed and tried to clear his throat as inconspicuously as possible. “Are you Jaskier?”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up with delight. “Geralt mentioned me? Didn’t think he would.”

“He had little choice in the matter.” Eskel’s lips would have twitched if he hadn’t feared that would make Jaskier recoil. “Lambert and I kept teasing him about the fact that there was a song about him.”

As soon as the words left him, he froze. His eyes widened and he scrambled for words to fix his mistake. “I don’t mean that as a bad thing, of course. It’s an honour to have you sing about witchers and the way you weave stories is incredible.”

A hint of red crept into Jaskier’s face that must have been a trick of the light. “Thank you,” he said almost sheepishly, but then his face brightened into something radiant and beautiful. “Wait, you are Eskel!”

Jaskier practically bounced in his chair in his eagerness to drag it even closer to the table. “Geralt told me so much about you!”

Eskel felt his throat grow tight. Far too often had Geralt found him in the library, leaning over a book of poetry and songs written by the very same man that sat before him now. How many times had Eskel drunk a little too much White Gull and told Geralt that he admired his bard?

“He did?” He asked hoarsely.

“Of course!” Jaskier let out a carefree laugh. “He always jokes that one day he would hand me over to you because you are the only witcher that wouldn’t go insane if he had to listen to me sing all day.”

Eskel’s lips twitched, though he turned his head just quickly enough to hide his smile. “I can imagine worse things than listening to your songs.”

Jaskier tilted his head to the side and gave Eskel a look of unashamed curiosity. “Why, my dear Eskel, is that a compliment?”

Eskel shook his head and hunched his shoulders. Before he could stop himself, his hand came up to paw at his scars uncomfortably.

“It…It was supposed to be teasing. I don’t- I’m sorry, I’m not good with that.” His eyes darted away and then quickly back to Jaskier. Putting as much sincerity as he could into his voice, he added, “I would enjoy listening to you sing some more. You have a beautiful voice and your song made me feel like I could almost see the images you were conjuring up.”

For a moment Jaskier only gaped at him and Eskel cursed himself. Of course he had messed this up again already. He shouldn’t have tried to fix his own mistakes. By now he should know that nothing good would ever come out of that. A poet such as Jaskier didn’t want a witcher’s clumsy attempts at complimenting his art, not when he undoubtedly was used to scholars’ and nobles’ praises.

But then Jaskier’s expression shifted and his eyes lit up with something almost like awe.

“That was one of the kindest things I’ve heard about my singing in years.” He ducked his head almost shyly. “Most people tend to criticise me. Rather coldly, might I add.”

“Nothing to criticise as far as I could see.” Eskel shrugged sheepishly. “As I said, I would love to hear more of your art.”

Jaskier contemplated him for a moment that made the warm feeling in Eskel’s chest burn brighter. For some reason he didn’t mind the staring when it was Jaskier’s eyes he could feel on him.

“Does that mean you wouldn’t mind if I wrote a song about you?”

Coming from anyone else, Eskel would have thought that those were just empty words. Eskel wasn’t song-worthy.

And yet, when Jaskier eventually invited him to share the room with him to save some coin, the bard was already humming a melody to a new song.

Neither of them slept much that night. The both of them stayed up until almost the early hours of the morning, discussing rhyme schemes and talking about how writing poetry helped putting meaning into bad experiences and immortalising beautiful ones. Softly, they recited their favourite poetry to each other.

Eskel was embarrassed to admit that he had memorised some of Jaskier’s poetry but the confession made Jaskier smile brighter than any human should smile in the presence of a witcher. And when Jaskier lamented that most of his favourite lines of poetry were merely fragments lost to time, Eskel perked up and filled in the gaps for him, promising to show him his collection of ancient poetry at Kaer Morhen one day.

It wasn’t something to be taken seriously; merely a suggestion made in the spur of the moment, but Jaskier looked at him as if he had hung the stars and the moon for him and Eskel found himself hoping that maybe someday he would know Jaskier well enough to be allowed to give him such gifts.

Eskel fully expected Jaskier to be gone in the morning, and his heart skipped a beat when instead Jaskier announced that he would stick around at least until he would get to see Eskel fight.

When Jaskier finally went his own way to meet up with Geralt again two weeks later, he left Eskel with a strange yearning in his chest and verses that had been written for no one but him.

And beneath it all, Jaskier left him with an itch in his fingers that urged him to buy a quill and ink. He didn’t put anything to paper just yet. But the might-be that had haunted him for decades got just a little closer to a could-be. Perhaps Eskel could become what he had always wanted to be after all.

Perhaps next time he saw Jaskier, he would be able to share his own verses with the poet.

[badboys-imagines]

My neighbor (Henry Cavill)

PART III

A/N : I’d love to know what you think about this story so don’t hesitate to leave a comment ! Thanks for reading ♥.

Pairing : Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary : You move into the house of your dreams. It all seems like a fairytale, until you meet your neighbor, Mr. Cavill...

PART I   |  PART II  |  PART III 

Martha Lawson had always been curious, maybe too curious.

As you took the last luggage out of your car, you heard a high-pitched voice calling beside you. Ah, you would learn to hate that sound, but it’s another story.

“Hello dear,” Martha sang, ''I saw you moved in yesterday but you know how busy people can be, we didn’t get the chance to meet. I'm Martha by the way, I live across the street, the blue house.''

You looked up from closing the cars door and smiled, wiping the sweat from your forehead. Carrying all these stuffs would be the death of you, and you couldn’t count on Henry or your new desperate-housewife neighbor to help.

“Nice to meet you, Martha.'' you caught your breath, ‘'I'm Y/N.”

The woman smiled back at you, spreading tiny wrinkles around her eyes and cheeks. She was probably in her late fifties, but her surgeon had done a good job, it was undeniable. 

“I saw you and Mr. Cavill didn’t really get along, how unfortunate.” Martha said, lowering her voice, ''Oh, I don't mean to overstep. It’s just... don't mind him. He's a bit grumpy these days, it will pass.”

It wasn't a myth then. Desperate housewives living were really the worse gossipers.

“Yeah, I noticed.” you chuckled, “Do you know why ?”

“Ah, probably work, or a woman. How would I know ?”

Martha wasn’t really listening or trying to answer the question. She bent forward, her eyes taking sight of the bandage around your wrist,

“Poor sweet thing, did he hurt you in any way ?’’ Her eyes widened in fear and she looked back at you, concerned.

Your mouth opened and you huffed,

“Oh-this, no ! I...” My hand went through his window, you thought, “It was an accident. I cut myself with broken glass and it was all my fault. Really.”

Martha nodded suspiciously,

“Well then, don't let this attractive devil bother you. If you need anything, you know where to find me.” She winked and pointed at her big house again.

You nodded, thanked her and she walked away. She climbed up the stairs and waved her hand at you before closing the door. At least, she was kind.

Martha had a point : Henry Cavill was attractive. But he was also a pain in the ass.

You had quickly recovered from your little rush of adrenalin and you were now tidying your room, getting rid of the empty boxes that were still on the floor while Henry was making calls to get his window fixed.

Thinking about him and how weird he was, you couldn't help but find your devilish neighbor even more mysterious. He’d really taken care of you earlier. There was even a moment when you thought he was actually cute.

A knock on the door woke you up from your slumber and you stood up. Enough thinking about Mr. Chaos. A little conversation with someone else would distract you from these thoughts.

You opened the door, a light, polite smile curving your lips, but it was Mr Cavill. Again. A fluttery feeling twisted your guts and your smile died faster than a candles flame. This time, he looked upset.

Henry stared at you for a moment longer, enough for you both to feel awkward.

"Hello, again." he chuckled without an ounce of joy, "Glad to see you're... doing better."

A frown came up your forehead and you blushed,

"Oh, yes, I am. Thanks. I mean... Sorry. »

Wait, no, you weren’t sorry for everything…

You were about to correct yourself, but Henry spoke first,

"Apologies accepted. Well, this is embarrassing..." he muttered, "Listen, you broke my window and…"

You cut him off straight, "I know, and I'll pay for it, alright ? I'm sorry, for that." you insisted on the last words, but saw him shake his head as he bit down onto his lower lip,

"The thing is, I can afford a bunch of new windows if it pleases me.” he hummed lowly as if he disapproved your attitude, ‘'The impact made a crack on the main bay window, and now the whole set of windows needs to be replaced."

"What ?" you choked feeling dizzy, "Oh god…"

You didn’t have enough money for this kind of repair. Your hands legs started shaking.

"Please, don’t swoon again.” Henry closed his eyes in frustration, “I’m won’t ask you to pay for the whole thing. But I do need a favor. It will be snowing tomorrow and the guys who were supposed to fix this mess can't come until next Monday."

Your jaw dropped. Next Monday ? He was going to freeze to death.

"Oh shit." you swore, “Ho-how could I help you ? Do you need anything to keep you warm ?" you heard yourself talking and spluttered, "I mean... Not in a way that... Well, you know."

Heart stuttering, you cleared your throat, hating yourself for being so clumsy at that very moment. You rubbed the back of your neck in embarrassment and silence fell between you. Henry’s eyes darkened to the point they almost looked grey in the daylight.

Was it lust in his gaze ?

After a moment, he shrugged, burying his hands into his pockets, "Just a room, would be nice."

“I didn't want it to sound... I didn’t mean anything... physical.” you sighed, avoiding his blue irises.

At first, you remained silent. There were plenty of hotels out there, good and cheap ones. He'd easily find a place to stay. But then your gaze settled on his and the sentence made its way to your brains.

"You want to stay here. At my house." you’d said it out loud, as if waiting for confirmation.

Even though he kept his voice calm and indifferent, Henry uncomfortably shifted on his feet, his usually cold, pale skin tinting with light shades of red,

"Precisely.” he took a step toward you, “I despise hotels, and since I don’t think you can pay for my broken windows, I thought it would be a fair deal." he plunged his gaze into yours and for a moment, you lost yourself into them, “If you meant to keep me warm without anything physical," he repeated your own words, "it shouldn’t be a problem to live like this for a week or two.”

A week or two ? That was a lot. You gulped audibly,

"Don't you have friends for this kind of emergencies ?" you asked, but the question hung in the air and seemed to bother him more than your rejection itself.

Of course, he didn't have any friends. He was Henry Cavill, the devil himself, for god's sake.

It took you a moment to realize what it would involve. Henry living with you, even for just a week, would be a terrible mess.

Oh, no, you couldn't do that.

Or could you ?

On the other side of the street, you noticed Martha Lawson was out. She’d stopped collecting her tomatoes to watch the scene intently. She was probably trying to hear your conversation from the distance.

Slowly, you took a few steps back.

"Listen, let’s try to find a solution. Just... Come inside, before Mrs. Lawson makes up a whole story about us."

Henry swiftly glanced behind him, as if perplexed and he walked in. You closed the door as he did, and you grew even more nervous. His scent invaded your lungs, intoxicating. It was surprising, how you hated and liked it at the same time. Your heart started pounding when you didn't want it to. Your body seemed to follow its own instincts and they weren’t good. As you turned around, you tried to shrug off these unwanted emotions. Absolutely certain you could control them, you finally locked eyes with Henry Cavill. As soon as his blue gaze pounced on yours, you lost it. You lost everything.

Crossing your arms, you tried to sound and appear indifferent, denying the physical attraction, the animal desire that slowly but surely invaded your mind,

"Alright. How... How would we proceed ? We don't get along, you don't like me, and in case you didn't notice, we are more likely to kill each other than to live together."

Eyes absentmindedly wandering around, Henry took a few steps across the living room. Observing, he seemed like he was about to throw another unpleasing comment at you, maybe about the house or its furnitures, but he didn't. Instead, he just turned around to face you,

"I never said I didn't like you." he corrected you, impossibly calmly.

You raised your eyebrows,

"You've been rude to me from the start. And you didn't even feel the need to apologize."

Once more, Henry shrugged. It was his turn to cross his arms against his torso, his attitude displaying the sassiest aspects of his personality in one posture.

"I don't have to. You disturbed me, I told you to stop, you violently punched my window and broke it…"

Oh, god damn you Cavill.

Blood rushing to your head, you were about to jump like a lion and dig your claws deep into the soft skin of his throat to rip his head off.

“Shut up,” you raised your voice, “I got it, we're... different. We have our own opinions on how to behave with other people." you uttered, trying to manage your anger as he played with your nerves, "But apologizing doesn't always mean you're wrong and the other person is right. It just means you value your relationship more than your ego."

Tilting his head, Henry narrowed his eyes and contemplated you,

"My bad," he rasped, "I didn't know we were in a relationship. I apologize, then.”

At his words, you couldn't help but blush instantly.

"That's not what I meant..." you stuttered, but he came closer, his face only a few inches away from yours.

"While you decide the words you wish to speak wisely, Miss Y/L/N, will you or will you not let me live here temporarily, until this damn window you broke gets fixed ?" he asked, the tone of his voice deep and commanding.

Gaze plunged into his, you tried to utter something like a no. Your lips moved as to form the word, but not a sound came out of your mouth. Your heart was racing as if a predator was threatening to bite you, and yet you were completely turned on by the feeling. It didn’t make any sense to you. And it didn't make any sense either that you just nodded at him, accepting his proposition.

"Fine, you can stay."

-

TAG LIST - OPEN

My Neighbor Tag list : @boiled-onionrings​, @sheanaghgoldenheartblog,@allnewimaginecharliehunnam​, @drewmcintyreinarefereeoutfit​, @mc225g​, @supernaturalvikingwhore

Tag list Henry / Geralt : @d14n4ol​, @alwayshave-faith​

Tag list * Geralt of Rivia : @emmalbg​​

[jinterlude]

Our Second Chance (Ch.7)

↳ Header created by the amazingly talented @koophoriia​​​​​ from the BHQ’s Banner Request Board.

➳ Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Female OC x Kim Namjoon

➳ Genre(s): Modern!AU, Royalty!AU, Modern Royal Family!AU, Enemies turned Lovers, Love Triangle, Friendship, Humor, Romance, & Angst

➳ Warning(s) & Rating: swearing, mentions of death (passing of a loved one), jealousy  | PG-15

➳ Words: 5.7K

➳ Summary: Have you ever gotten that familiar feeling when you first see someone? That strange connection between yourselves even though you have no clue where that came from. Yeah. That was the sensation that Sumin felt daily ever since she has come face-to-face with only Kim Seokjin. Despite being named after their ancestors, two people who were madly in love with each other, they cannot stand to be in each other’s presence. However, that must change, or else history will repeat itself. Sounds like an adventure, right? 

※ Previously: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | ch.6

※ Next time: coming soon!

—A/N: And finally! I have kept my promise and updated this series after not doing so for almost TWO years! I’m honestly quite surprised and proud of myself for updating this series as I genuinely thought I was going to leave it unfinished. However, I honestly want to thank the friends I made over that BHQ for igniting that passion for writing once again. I especially want to thank @jinned​ AKA BEAN because without her, I truly believe that this series would have been discontinued AND she introduced me to this amazing group called, “ASTRO,” so enjoy her OC + JinJin and let me know what you guys think! 

- Kim

Chapter 7 – The Heart Wants What It Wants

Previously

It was crazy that in just a few minutes, she went from battling between her rational and emotional side to only allowing her emotional side to take control.

Now, she thought about everything and anything that led to more emptiness within her body.

Maybe, she should just marry Namjoon. He wouldn’t hurt her. He would always protect her from any form of danger.

But then…

Would she be happy with him?

Would she learn to love him?

So many questions flooded her mind, causing this strange yet intense tension to emerge.

Great, now she had a migraine…

What else could go wrong?

“Princess Sumin…your father would like a word with you.” She heard the royal messenger say.

Fuck…

Her…

Life…

“Okay. Tell my father that I’ll be right there.”

Letting out what it appeared to be the millionth sigh that evening, Sumin stood up – with the assistance of Jungkook, of course – and dusted off her hands. She then smoothed out her dress, wiping away any dust or dirt that decorated the dusted pink silk fabric before taking one final deep breath and releasing it nice and slow.

If she were to have a serious talk with her father, she needed to be calm and collected. Her heartbreak because of Seokjin had to be put on the back burner for now.

“Alright. Now I’m ready to talk to my father.” Said the princess as she nodded politely to one of the royal guards. The guard bowed his head out of respect and responded to his princess’s words before guiding Sumin to her father.

Just as the two walked away from their spot, two out of breath men came to an immediate halt under the entryway. Their frantic eyes scanned the ballroom in hopes to find a familiar face.

Unfortunately, luck was definitely not on their side, as the panic gentlemen came face-to-face with an endless sea of party guests. No matter where they looked, Seokjin and Namjoon could not find Sumin, which meant their chances at winning over the poor girl’s heart grew slim—especially Seokjin’s chances.

A low growl escaped Namjoon’s lips as he angrily ruffled his hair, no longer caring if his hair didn’t look princely. Then, his heated gaze flickered towards Seokjin before grabbing the pretty boy’s jacket and roughly pulling him forward. Their noses practically bumped into each other.

“This is all your fault,” Namjoon growled deeply.

Seokjin scoffed, roughly pushing Namjoon’s hands off his jacket; thus, creating space between them.

“My fault? Are you fucking kidding me?!” The fuming duke took a step forward, almost towering over the intelligent prince, “If you haven’t goaded me into saying those obvious lies, then Sumin wouldn’t have heard me and runoff,” Then, Seokjin paused as a thought planted itself in his mind, “Correction, if you haven’t called me out to talk to you in her stupid foyer, then this stupid, unnecessary shit wouldn’t have happened in the fucking first place!” The irritated duke finished, smiling politely at the random bystanders who awkwardly glanced their way. For added measure, Seokjin stepped away from Namjoon and fixed his appearance.

Now it was Namjoon’s turn to scoff, and just as he opened his mouth to argue back, he noticed a familiar dress brush by the dessert table.

“Sumin…” He whispered, hoping that Seokjin – his competitor – didn’t hear him but much to Namjoon’s dismay, he did.

The handsome duke swiftly spun around, his focus homed in on Sumin as she closed the distance between herself and her father, the king.

“Shit…” The competitive rivals cursed; their eyes briefly met one another. As if they were on the same page, they dashed towards Sumin’s direction. However, the lovesick men soon halted as they came face-to-face with a furious queen—Sowon.

Rage burned brightly in her eyes as she breathed heavily through her nostrils while Jungkook innocently stood behind her. He awkward waved at his older friends, kindly mouthing that they were about to painfully die by her hands. He even added gestures, thinking that it would be helpful.

It wasn’t.

It only terrified Namjoon and Seokjin, and out of that fear, the two idiots spoke over one another. Both of them desperately hoped that their words would persuade Sowon and allow one of them to talk to Sumin.

Sadly, it didn’t. It only angered Sowon more.

Suddenly, she held up her hands, her cold stare silenced the bumbling idiots that stood before her.

“Good. Now listen to me and listen carefully,” Sowon stepped forward as she grabbed both Namjoon’s and Seokjin’s tie and yanked them forward. The two contenders for Sumin’s heart were now to Sowon’s eye level. “I don’t know what you did, nor do I give a fuck. The only thing that I do care about is that you,” The agitated queen released Namjoon and poured all of her fiery rages toward the handsome idiot, “Broke my dearest friend’s heart. Therefore, you are dead to me. You’ll never be allowed near Sumin.” She threatened with her voice as cold as ice.

Namjoon did a silent cheer. He could always rely on Sowon to do the right thing.

“And you!” The prince heard, quickly squashing his triumphant mood.

On second thought…

Now, it was Namjoon’s turn to be yanked forward, nearly choking the poor prince.

“I know that the stupid Duke’s harsh words were a result of your carefully planted sentences since I know how calculating you can get when you want something to turn in your favor,” Sowon stated as she let go of Namjoon’s tie. The stupid prince had Jungkook to thank as the young lad was the voice of reason for her.

Out of the corner of Sowon’s eye, she noticed a hand slowly raised. Rubbing the sides of her forehead, hoping the massage would soothe away her headache, she asked what Seokjin wanted, but he better picked his words wisely. She already loathed him after the stunt he pulled earlier.

“So, does that mean I have more time to plead with Sumin?”

Both Sowon and Namjoon snapped their gaze onto him. Simultaneously, Jungkook shook his head, silently berating his oldest friend for asking such a stupid question.

Instead of answering, the frustrated queen stalked up to Seokjin and stomped on his foot before walking away. She then sarcastically yelled,

“OOPS! I DIDN’T SEE YOU THERE!”

Seokjin cursed, hopping one foot as he grabbed his aching foot. The poor duke looked utterly flabbergasted as he shot Jungkook a look that practically said, “Are you seriously with her?”

Jungkook simply shrugged, unsure how to respond to Seokjin’s question. The naïve prince then turned to his side, hoping that Namjoon was still there, but he wasn’t. Only a vacated spot remained as the two fellas wheeled their brains over the events that took place.

“I’m not getting Sumin back, am I?”

“For your sake, I hope so, dude. I really hope so…”

In a different part of the castle, a troubled princess stared blankly out the window, with the moon spotlighting certain areas of her father’s office. Almost as if splotches of white paint decorated the flooring. Sumin’s absentmindedly traced the fabric of the ivory lace curtains, the lined material contrasted the softness of her fingers.

Soon, Seokjin’s harsh words flooded her mind as her eyes gradually became glossy. Her breath hitched briefly while her lips thinned as if Sumin tried her hardest to compose herself. The depressed girl shut her eyes, causing a tear to trickle down her precious cheek.

“Sumin?” heard Sumin before she quickly composed herself and wiped away any stray droplets.

With a deep breath, the princess turned away from the window with a soft yet fake smile.

“Yes, father?” questioned Sumin, treading towards him as he stood near the fireplace with his back facing her. She then placed a warm hand on his shoulder, subtly announcing her presence to her father.

“I know that something happened between you and Sir Seokjin and before you argue with your old man. I know,” The king faced her, displaying a loving yet almost sad smile, “Call it a father’s intuition. Still, I know that the duke broke my little girl’s heart, which means that you successfully found someone to marry out of love.” He finished, his voice dropped to almost a whisper as he slowly nodded, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his little girl was no longer that. What stood before was this beautiful young woman who strongly resembled her mother, but of course, she had his smile and nose. But everything else came from her mother’s side—just like his ancestor, Queen Sumin I.

Talk about oddly strong genes…

After what seemed like forever, the king forcibly removed himself from his many beautiful memories of his beloved daughter. The king cleared his throat and took a seat on his wine-colored sofa chair. He crossed one leg over the other before instructing Sumin to sit as well.

“Now, Sumin, when are your upcoming nuptials to the duke?” asked her father, and instantly, Sumin’s body tensed. Her hands fisted the fabric of her dress while her eyes remained glued on the luxurious rug.

How was Sumin going to tell her dear old dad that she was unsure if she’s still engaged? The answer? She couldn’t, but she had to since Seokjin bluntly confessed that he never loved her, and it was all a lie.

Yet her stubborn heart refused to believe his words. A tiny part of her knew something was up, but all signs pointed that – maybe – just maybe – he told the coldhearted truth.

She glanced towards the ceiling for a second, praying that no tears pooled in the brims of her eyes. She breathed in and out, nice and slow, as she collected herself.

With a sweet smile gracing her lips, Sumin finally answered her father,

“Unfortunately, father, a wedding for Seokjin and I is no longer written in the stars.”

The king’s brow quirked up as confusion slowly washed over his face.

“What do you mean, my dear?” He pointed at Sumin’s ring finger, “I see that you are now dawning our ancestor’s engagement ring, so why do you say that there’ll be no wedding? Did Seokjin do something to you?” He questioned as his voice grew cold near the end, while anger quickly flashed in his eyes.

“No!” Sumin swiftly answered, eliminating any doubts in her father’s mind. However, her answer did the opposite. The fact of how fast she responded to his question planted seeds of distrust in his head. Also, it didn’t help that her face went pale, not even a minute after his question.

Something was wrong, and as the king, it was his duty to get to the bottom of his daughter’s heartache.

Letting out a tired grunt, Sumin’s father stood up, cracking a few bones as he gently took his daughter’s hands into his before pulling her up. Then, without uttering a single word, he wrapped a loving arm around her bare shoulders and hugged her.

With that single hug, Sumin broke down sobbing. This wasn’t a princess crying crocodile tears to her daddy – the king – but a broken-hearted daughter who needed the comfort of the one man that would never crush her heart.

“I don’t know what I did wrong, daddy,” She hiccuped, crying harder, “I thought he loved me.” She said with a voice so devastated that it caused her father’s eyes to become glossy.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” The king tried his hardest to soothe his daughter’s pain, not as a king who needed to secure the future of his kingdom and his daughter’s reign, but as a father who only wanted his only child to be happy.

Slowly, while it pained him to do so, the king released his daughter from his embrace but still held her within arm’s length. A blanket of silence covered them as the king and princess stared at each other. No words were necessary as their troubled facial expressions spoke for them. However, he couldn’t sleep peacefully, knowing that his little girl was utterly destroyed.

So, as if their ancestor guided his attention, the king’s gaze fell onto the family portrait of Queen Sumin I with her parents. Slowly, a soft smile danced on his face while he briefly closed his eyes, breathing through his nostrils. Then, as he reopened his eyes, he shifted his stare towards the portrait once more.

“Do you recall the old tale of how Queen Sumin I ultimately decided on following through her marriage to King Ji Yong?” The king suddenly asked, instantly capturing Sumin’s attention as she softly shook her head.

In response, he slowly nodded, taking a seat on the wine sofa chair. He gestured for his daughter to retake her seat. If he were to tell this story, he wanted both of them to be comfortable.

Sumin’s father cleared his throat a few times and began his tale,

“Well, of course, it began during nightfall. Your ancestor, King Jin Hwan, summoned his daughter to his deathbed and…”

Grabbing a handful of her skirt, Princess Sumin rushed to her father’s chamber as tears cascaded down her precious cheeks. She didn’t care if the clicking of her heels woke up the entire castle. Her nurse tragically announced, minutes prior, that her father didn’t have much longer, and he could peacefully die in his sleep. But Sumin refused to believe it. Without a moment to lose, she dashed out of her father’s study and sprinted towards her parents’ bedroom.

She already lost the love of her life – the real keeper of her heart and soul – Kim Seokjin, now she was to lose her father?

She might as well hand over the kingdom on a silver platter to her “doting” fiancé, King Ji Yong, at this point.

Pushing past her parents’ royal guards, Sumin roughly pushed open the doors, walking by the royal physicians, nurses, and servants with her eyes focused on her parents’ bed.

With each big, painful step, the princess closed the distance between her and the bed, where her father laid, barely breathing.

Sumin choked back her tears while her mother wept, desperately grasping her husband’s hands.

“S-Sumin…” the distraught princess heard her mother hiccup while maintaining her gaze on the dying king.

“F-father…” Sumin finally broke down, falling to her knees as her legs gave up on her. No strength lingered in her body, both physically and mentally.

Sumin was utterly defeated, and she needed her father more than ever.

Gently taking one of his hands into hers, her mother released one of them seconds earlier, the daughter softly cried as she pressed a tear-stained cheek against his hand.

“I do not know what to do, daddy,” The troubled princess began, “Sir Seokjin is captured and awaiting his execution and has been for almost a month now, and I am so lost.” She sobbed silently, hanging her head low.

Suddenly, she felt something on top of her head. Sumin quickly looked up and was instantly greeted with a tired yet soft smile from the king.

“My darling princess…” He began in a breathy tone, “It saddens me to see you so broken, and if I were at my all-time strength, I would toss that horrid man out of our kingdom and place an eternal ban on him.” King Jin Hwan stated before coughing. He could feel his time coming to an end with each cough. However, he needed to depart one final word of wisdom to his daughter—even if it meant breaking their families’ beloved tradition. Their personal belief that everyone deserves a chance at marrying for love.

Maybe one day…

That tradition will come to light again…

But for now, Sumin needed to do what was best for her people.

“Sweetheart, I know how much you truly loved your knight, and—”

“I love him to the moon and back father. I have been in love with that man ever since we were mere children, and that is why I will do anything to get him back home safely. Even if it means surrendering myself to that wretched king.”

Her words alarmed both the king and queen. Maybe it was not necessary to influence his daughter to follow through with the wedding after all.

After all, he raised his daughter to always follow her heart, and he could die peacefully, knowing that his headstrong child would remain just that—strong-willed.

She should be fine…

Right…?

As the embers slowly fizzled out, the king looked to his wife and then to his daughter before gazing at the ceiling and whispered,

“Remember, I will always love you two. My favorite women…”

Like that, Queen Sumin I went along with the wedding to King Ji Yong, breaking Sir Seokjin’s heart and living in misery until her early death. Sumin’s grandparents explained that the reason for her ancestor’s premature passing was because of a broken heart. They told her that it never healed after Queen Sumin I parted with her beloved knight that infamous day. Just the mere thought alone terrified the young princess; thus, molding her into believing that her true love was out there. She only had to find him, and then, she could have the happy ending that her ancestor never received.

Unfortunately, the idea of a happy ending was so out of reach for the princess.

She found the man believed to be her soulmate.

The two of them fell in love.

And then…

As if someone woke Sumin from her beautiful dream, everything vanished.

All that remained was her ancestor’s engagement ring nestled on Sumin’s ring finger. It served as a cruel reminder that Seokjin, Duke of Birch Ridge, took out her beating heart and stabbed it.

The troubled princess couldn’t help but wince as she clutched her chest. She felt the coolness from her ring, and as if it were suddenly burning her soft skin, Sumin tore it off her finger and carelessly tossed it on the end table next to her chair. Her odd action alarmed her father, and as he opened his mouth to speak, Sumin snatched her family heirloom, cradling it in her chest.

She quietly chanted with closed eyes, “I’m so sorry for any dishonor I may have done…”

“Oh, my precious jewel, you have done nothing of the sort,” Sumin heard her father say, snapping her out of her hypnosis, “You simply fell in love with someone who fooled you.” He finished, his eyes dripping with worry.

“Yeah, but the deadline is soon approaching, and…” The princess paused, recalling the tale her father finished reciting moments earlier, “I will officially accept my betrothal with Namjoon.” She suddenly stood up, rubbing the engagement ring between her fingers and eyed the piece of jewelry intensely. Then, she held it in front of her father. “Here, father. I don’t think I’m worthy of holding onto this precious heirloom as it symbolizes true love, and I, unfortunately, don’t have that. Not anymore.” She stated; her voice so quiet and destroyed as she dragged herself out of the king’s study.

The door slowly closed, letting out this painful creak before shutting and leaving the king alone with his thoughts.

He gazed at the ring, marveling at its beauty while his mind recalled his interaction with his daughter. He had never seen his daughter so utterly destroyed. Not even when the tabloids reported horrific and untrue things about her.

This Seokjin fellow damaged his daughter to the point that she finally waved the white flag.

And before this deal between father-daughter began, he would’ve been ecstatic. He got his wish.

Princess Sumin wedded to Prince Namjoon.

But now?

He could see how much his child loved the duke, and at the end of the day, his daughter’s happiness meant the world to him.

Clearing his throat, the king called for his personal assistant as he tucked the ring away in his breast-pocket. 

Minutes later, sounds of knocking bounced off the four walls of the royal office, followed by that awful creaking, signifying that the door slowly opened.

“Your majesty?”

“Ah, Marshall. I need you to collect everything you know of Seokjin, duke of Birch Ridge, and the rest of his royal family.”

“Sir?”

“I believe that his cousin, Eun Ji, and her family rule over Ilqero.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

 Then, as Marshall turned to leave the office, the king stopped him.

“Oh, and Marshall.”

“Sire?”

“This conversation never happened. Understood?”

Marshall simply nodded, understanding that his master wanted nothing but discretion. He bid the king a goodnight before leaving his presence.

Releasing the tension in his face with a relaxed sigh, the king walked over to his office chair and slumped in it. He placed his hands on the armrests as he looked heavenward, his gaze focused on the stationed ceiling fan.

Then, out of nowhere, a fond smile danced across his face as he imagined how happy his daughter would be after he completed his secret mission.

“I just hope I’m not too late…” He mused, shutting his eyes as he continued picturing his daughter’s beaming expression as he walked her down the aisle.

Slowly, the beautiful, luminescent moon descended toward the ocean as the stars faded into the cover of darkness. The waves relaxed, softly crashing into the cliff as the pitch black, night sky gradually lightened up. It was as if a painter took a large paintbrush dipped in white paint and softened the harshness of the dark sky. Soon, gorgeous strokes of orange mixed with red decorated the once night sky. In the horizon, a spot of yellowish-orange peeked its head slightly from underneath the cold, salty water, and as the minutes rolled by, that spot raised towards the sky, brightening up the beautiful planet and all that inhabit it.

A soft breeze traveled through the vacant castle ground as it made its way towards a specific window. It brushed by the lavender laced curtains and fanned a certain princess’s sleeping face. The cold wind stirred the exhausted girl from her slumber as she slowly fluttered her swollen eyes open.

Small groans escaped her lips as she glanced at her clock with a tired gaze.

“It’s barely 8 A.M.” She mumbled as she pulled the covers over her splotchy face and went back to sleep.

Unfortunately, someone else decided it was time to wake up. This annoying, repeating knock bounced off the walls of the princess’s simple yet elegantly decorated room. The mentally tired princess prayed that the intruder would get the hint and leave, but no. Not even a minute later, after the banging stopped, her bedroom door practically flung wide open.

“Sumin, what are you doing still asleep?” questioned the queen as she strode over to her daughter’s bed and ripped off the covers. “Ah, why is your face all puffy?” She added, beckoning over Sumin’s personal maid, “Miss, please rid of all evidence of my child’s sobbing and—”

“MOM! I say this out of love, but enough! I just got my heartbroken last night, and I really do not want to plan my wedding to Namjoon right this minute! Okay? Please. Just be a normal parent and comfort me. Dad did last night. Why can’t you?”

Sumin’s emotionally inspired speech left her mom in utter awe as this look of embarrassment washed over the queen’s face. Her daughter was honestly right. Ever since her child turned 18, she lost sight of what it meant to be a mother. She went from ensuring her daughter’s happiness and learning essential life lessons to full wedding planner mode. All she cared about was the royal wedding that she completely ignored how unhappy Sumin indeed was.

What kind of mother was she? What type of parent disregarded her child’s happiness?

A terrible one…that’s who…

Snapping back into reality, the queen dismissed her daughter’s maid and sat in the corner of the bed, gesturing for Sumin to sit up.

“I am so sorry for being a terrible mother, Minnie.”

“It’s okay, mom. I’m sure I would’ve done the same if it was a parent and needed to secure my child’s future reign.”

Then, the queen softly shook her head, telling Sumin to not make excuses for her horrid behavior and actions.

“While, yes, I am the queen and need to do what is best for our kingdom, I am, first and foremost, a mother. A mother’s duty is making sure that their child is happy, and I have failed you.”

A soft smile graced Sumin’s face as she reached over and gently took her mother’s hands.

“I forgive you, mom. Starting today, let’s have a clean slate—no more unprompted appearances with the royal dressmaker. No more stacks of wedding magazines magically appearing on my desk, and finally, no more talking about potential wedding destinations. Got it?” stated the princess, voicing her terms of condition.

Slowly, the queen nodded her head as a gracious smile danced across her beautiful face.

Then, she held out her hand for her daughter to shake, symbolizing that the elderly woman agreed to her daughter's terms.

“Deal.”

Later that afternoon, Sumin shockingly found herself combing through the many scattered wedding catalogs. After her stimulating morning conversation with her mother, the princess randomly felt the urge to look through countless magazines. After all, Sumin accepted the fact that she was going to meet Namjoon at the altar—not Seokjin.

Currently flipping through the seventh bridal magazine with pursed lips and knitted brows, Sumin sighed loudly as she carelessly tossed the catalog aside. Only ideas for a Spring wedding filled the pages. Yeah, that would definitely be helpful…if she and Namjoon wanted a Spring wedding.

With a deadpan expression, the frustrated young woman reached over for yet another bridal magazine until suddenly, her laptop repeatedly pinged, notifying the princess that she had an incoming video call with someone. But who?

Swiftly closing the bridal catalog, Sumin slid it to the side of her desk before unlocking her laptop. Tiny creases formed on her forehead as curiosity settled within her face as the princess wondered who would be calling her. She told both Sowon and Jae Hwa that she would reach out to them in a few days as she still needed time to heal.

It couldn’t be Namjoon either as she told him that she would seek him out sometime next week since they needed to scout places to host their reception.

So that left one person…

Seokjin…

But that stupid duke ended things between them, so it made little to no sense for him to reach out to her.

Unless…

Without a moment to lose, Sumin fixed her appearance, positioning her hair in a way that made her look attractive. She double-checked that the puffiness in her eyes wholly vanished. She then lightly pinched her cheeks, causing this rosy tint to slowly creep on her face.

And once she deemed herself presentable, she answered the call, brightly smiling.

“Oh, my God, Sumin?! You’re such a liar! You said that you would invite me to your birthday ball, but I didn’t get an invitation! I am quite offended, young lady!” shouted a familiar voice, but it didn’t belong to the one person that she yearned for—Kim Seokjin.

It did – however – belong to a certain duchess, who became part of the royal family after her marriage to Prince Jinwoo of the kingdom of Ahora.

Eun Byeol.

Without realizing it, Sumin’s eyes went round as she leaned forward, wanting to get a better look at her good friend. Her mouth fell slightly open as she was in complete awe with how much Eun Byeol changed in the last year. She looked incredibly gorgeous for a married woman.

“Eun Byeol! How have you been?” asked Sumin, beaming from excitement.

“I’m doing well! Jinwoo is right across from me if you want to say hi!” announced the duchess, swiveling her laptop and displaying her handsome husband, who smiled politely and waved.

Sumin chuckled softly, finding their interaction adorable, though, she couldn’t help but feel a tad envious of their relationship. The two of them looked and behaved like they were utterly in love. Then, as the princess stared at her screen, the more the envious thoughts grew and soon developed into feelings of longing—a sense of desire for a certain duke that Sumin knew deep down that it was unfortunately over.  

“If it’s over…then why can’t I let you go…?” mumbled the now troubled princess, unknowingly alerting her dear friend.

“Let who go, Min?”

“It’s…maybe you can help me, Byeol.”

Eun Byeol quickly said, “of course,” before kicking her husband out of the room, however, as the prince walked out, Sumin stopped him. She then explained to the duchess that she actually needed advice from the two of them since Prince Jinwoo married someone who wasn’t a princess, which, up until their marriage, was unheard of in Ahora.

Eun Byeol always did like breaking the rules and challenging the monarchy.

Sumin just thought her buddy would do that in a kingdom that welcomed challenges. Not in a realm that strove off traditions, but then again, Eun Byeol was what Ahora surprisingly needed to usher them into a new era. Now, the citizens were happy as ever, and their economy was incredibly strong and stable.

Which made the princess think if those results would appear if Sumin married Seokjin.

Running her fingers through her semi-wavy hair, the frustrated princess swiftly shook away all thoughts of that irresistible jerk before asking the married couple a few questions. Questions that ranged from Jinwoo’s parents' initial reaction to Eun Byeol to how their subjects reacted to the engagement announcement.

Both Jinwoo and Eun Byeol hummed in response; their lips thinned as their gaze flickered towards one another.

“Uh. Well. At first, my parents did everything and anything to ruin our relationship. They even introduced me to another princess, but I immediately terminated that blossoming ‘romance’ as I could not see myself with no one else but my little star.” Replied Jin Woo before placing a sweet kiss on his wife’s temple, causing the little lady to blush profusely. “Eventually, my parents accepted Eun Byeol in the royal family, and now they even like her more than me.” He added, lightly joking about the 180 his parents did.

Eun Byeol nodded, smiling brightly as she agreed with everything that her husband said.

“Does this help, Min?” asked the duchess, hoping that their words helped shed some sort of light for the troubled princess.

Sadly, it didn’t.

If anything, it strengthened Sumin’s desire for Seokjin and made her question her rash decisions.

“Is it too late to back out of my words, Byeol?”

“Last time I checked, you’re the princess between us two; therefore, you can legit do anything that you want.”

Sumin whined, burying her face in her arms. Then, she peeked up, only revealing her chocolate-colored eyes.

“If that’s true, then can you introduce me to anyone that won’t cause me any problems.”

“Well, I have a friend and fellow prince, named Myung Jun, but my other comrades and I call him MJ.” Piped up Jin Woo, flashing a friendly smile. “You two might make a nice couple.” He added.

Eun Byeol rolled his eyes and lightly smacked her husband before shooting him a dirty look. Jinwoo asked what that was for, rubbing his injured bicep and pouting cutely. The annoyed duchess kindly explained that Sumin needed a man that would give something more than just the title of a “nice couple.”

“A princess needs someone who not only makes her unconditionally happy but who also challenges her to become a better version of herself. Kind of like how I am with you.” Eun Byeol further explains, unintentionally planting seeds of realization into Sumin’s confused brain.

Then, like clockwork, Sumin shot up straight with widened eyes.

Both Eun Byeol and Jinwoo snapped their attention on Sumin, concerned for the princess.

“I don’t want to go through with my wedding to Namjoon,” Sumin muttered, panting slightly.

“Min?”

“I want to marry Seokjin because…”

“Because?”

“I am in love with him, and I can’t imagine myself with no one else but him.”

Slowly, a look of relief washed over the princess’s face as this gentle smile danced across her face.

Suddenly, she shot up from her seat, and not even seconds later, a knock was heard in the princess’s office.

“Well, duties call. I’ll video chat with you this weekend. Sounds good?”

Eun Byeol simply nodded, waving goodbye to her friend before disconnecting from the video call.

Sumin closed her laptop and shouted a quick, “enter,” granting permission to enter her office.

“Your highness.” Greeted her father’s personal assistant, respectfully bowing his head.

“Hey, Marshall! How’s everything going with my old man?” asked the princess, stepping away from her desk and striding up to the elderly gentleman.

Marshall released this airy chuckle as he playfully shook his head. He always did love the princess as if she were his own daughter—the joy of working alongside the royal family since the queen’s pregnancy with Sumin.

He had the privilege of watching the princess grow up to be this beautiful, confident young woman.

Speaking of beautiful…

The assistant quickly fished for something in his breast pocket, and once he felt the cold piece of jewelry, he held out in front of Sumin.

Sumin froze slightly. She didn’t expect to see it this soon…

“Prince Namjoon wanted me to give you this.”

Remaining silent, the shocked princess simply held out her hand and allowed Marshall to drop the ring into her palm. With her free hand, she picked up the engagement ring and held it between her thumb and index finger.

“It’s quite extravagant, is it not? Judging by your silence, I am guessing that you love it, and I will relay a thankful message to the princess.”

Snapping into her senses, Sumin eyed Marshall with nothing but confusion written all over her face.

“Your highness?”

“What happened to my ancestor’s engagement ring?”

“Oh, Queen Sumin’s ring?” Marshall let out a small hum, “Ah. Your father gave it to Seokjin and told him to fight for you. Then, once the duke’s successful, the king gave him his blessing to propose to you.”

Slowly, the princess nodded her head as if she didn’t quite hear her dad’s assistant correctly.

Then, it finally registered in her precious mind.

“My dad did what?!”

Our Second Chance is copyright 2018- 2020 by jinterlude, all rights reserved.

[flutteringphalanges]

                            Stifling the Howling Wolves

Summary: “Quid Pro Quo, Agatha. Consider it a friendly gesture of sorts. You give me what I want and I’ll return the favor.” The Count offered her a toothy grin and even though she was safe behind the prison wall, the nun still felt a shiver run down her spine. “And what would that be?” She inquired, maintaining her calm, collected state. “I’d love to learn more about you,” he answered simply. “In exchange for your blood, I will tell you everything. Just a small amount. The offer stands.” She thought hard. Harder than she’d ever had. They were losing time. Mina’s life was in mortal danger. She had to make the decision now. “Okay,” she agreed. “You have a deal.”

Ship: Dracula/Agatha

Rating: M (may eventually be change to Explicit) 

“Silence of the Lambs!Dragatha”

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N:  Firstly, I want to say welcome! I'm so stoked to be taking on an idea like this! This is dedicated to @mitsukatsu because it's one of her favorite movies and she's been here since day one of planning this. Also almost all characters used in this story are from the show! I really love incorporating all of them in. Anyway, sit back, relax, and enjoy! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated -Jen 

                                                 Chapter One

                                                Budapest, Hungary

Agent Philip Sokolov wasn't at all bothered by the icy air as he stepped out of the black vehicle and onto the stone walkway. After all, he'd served in the British Royal Navy and knew the cold like the back of his hand. Adjusting the file folder in his grasp, the man's eyes fixed forward, taking in the sight of the large, stone abbey that lay before him. St. Mary's Convent of Budapest, Hungary. A decent sized monastery tucked away from society and the thrills of modern day life. Yet despite this, it hadn't taken him long to locate what he was looking for. Or rather, who.

"Do you really think she'll be able to help? She's a nun after all."

For a Mobile Surveillance Officer, Olgaren tended to stick out like a sore thumb. He was tall, towering nearly fifteen centimeters above the other man and quite burly. And on one or more occasions, his "mouth of a sailor" had gotten him in trouble. Despite this, he had been a reliable and loyal partner, probably one of the only people Sokolov entrusted his life with. But his skepticism on the agent's judgement that day wasn't exactly the most welcoming. Especially since he could very well be putting his job on the line.

"She's our last resort," Sokolov explained as they walked up the long pathway towards the main gate. "If there's the slightest chance she can get something out of him, I'm willing to take it." The two men stopped at the entrance, the former captain now holding the officer's gaze. "Agatha Van Helsing is our only hope."

Olgaren's lips pressed into a firm line, but he offered Sokolov a nod. Further questioning would have to wait. In front of them on the opposite side of the gate, a woman was approaching. Her face was round, framed by a white habit that fell against her dusty blue robes. Sokolov smiled as genuinely as one could as the head nun stopped in her tracks.

"I see you made it here safely," she commented, her eyes looking both men up and down. "The roads can be treacherous."

"We managed just fine," he agreed. "I believe we talked on the phone a few days ago? You're Mother Superior if I'm not mistaken?" Sokolov began to fish in his pants' pocket with his free hand retrieving his wallet. "These are my credentials. I'm from the United Kingdom's Security Service, MI5. Thank you for being so cooperative with us."

"I didn't think I had much of a choice," Mother Superior replied, unlatching the gate. "I must admit I am still confused as to your reasoning for coming here. Besides, of course, wishing to call upon one of my nuns." She took a step back, allowing them passage. "You must understand my concern seeing as our convent has no association with England."

"I apologize for the lack of disclosure. Believe me, if I could, I would answer your questions. But this is a matter of national security. My orders were to talk to Sister Agatha, and to Sister Agatha alone." He gave the woman a sympathetic look to which she merely frowned in response. "Does she know we're coming?"

"She's expecting you, yes." Mother Superior spoke, motioning for them to follow her. "I'll take you to her quarters. I believe she's in there now."

Sokolov had begun to notice multiple pairs of eyes watching him as he made his way down the cloister. Nuns had begun to appear, standing their distance as they whispered to one another. It made him feel strangely uneasy. It wasn't like they were going to do anything. If he had been in their situation, he'd stare too. Doing his best to stay focused, he met the head nun's surprising fast pace until they stood in front of a door.

"She's in there," Mother Superior nodded. "I suppose I'll leave you to your visit then."

The woman turned on her heels and walked away leaving both Sokolove and Olgaren to their own bidding. The taller man glanced over his shoulder before looking back at his partner with a shrug. Sokolov found himself absentmindedly readjusting the folder in his grasp before he raised a fist and gently wrapped on the door.

"Come in."

The door let out a soft creak as the man pushed it open. The room was small, simple with a bed, book shelf, and a desk squeezed into a corner. To Sokolov, it seemed to be a rather boring set up. Then again, this wasn't a lifestyle he'd have chosen.

"You look surprised."

Sokolov's attention turned to a woman, much younger than Mother Superior, sitting at the table. She seemed rather relaxed all things considered, her blue eyes bright, lips curved into a smile. When she stood up, the nun was the first to extend her hand in greeting. Sokolov took it and for a moment was a little taken aback with how strong her grip was.

"If I may apologize for being blunt, but might I ask why you are here?" Agatha smiled looking at either men. "I'm assuming I haven't broken the law. If I had, I think it'd be Hungarian authorities after me, not some men from England."

"No ma'am, you haven't done anything wrong," Agent Sokolov explained quickly. "My name is Agent Sokolov and this my partner-"

"Yes, yes, I know who you are. Mother Superior did inform me that you'd be visiting." The nun said with the wave of her hand. "But I'd like to know what brings you to here." She motioned around her as if to emphasize her point. "You've come a long way."

"Sister Agatha…"

"Please," the woman smiled. "Just Agatha will suffice. No need for such formalities."

"Agatha," the agent corrected. "I suppose there isn't a best way to jump into this discussion, so I'll get right to it. You are the distant relative of Abraham Van Helsing? The vampire hunter?"

"Something tells me you aren't asking me because you want to write a book." The woman replied after a long moment, studying both men's expressions. "Yes, Abraham was my great, great, grandfather. I am very well versed in his history."

"So you know about vampires?" The man ventured.

"Well yes." Agatha chuckled, looking rather amused as if waiting for the punchline of a joke. "But many people do, don't they? While I did grow up being told the legend of my grandfather, one can simply google about the creatures."

"What about Count Dracula?"

The smile faded away from Agatha's face, her expression changing to one of uncertainty. "What about Count Dracula?" As if suddenly concerned by the appearance of her bookshelf, she began to rearrange her books. "He was just a story. Just as all of the other ones were. He never existed."

"But you don't really believe that to be the case, do you?" Sokolov watched as Agatha seemed to hesitate, one hand resting on the wooden case. "Agatha, we're here to tell you that Count Dracula is in fact alive and is being detained in England. Has been for many years now."

She was silent for a moment. "That's not possible." Agatha turned, facing the agents once more. "Count Dracula was said to have died on The Demeter. His body was never recovered, but there was no evidence that he had survived."

"Dracula is a very intelligent and highly skilled man-if you even want to call him that," Olgaren frowned. "He was finally caught in England three years ago when one of his victims managed to escape. Jonathan Harker. When we were able to locate and imprison him at a highly secure facility, we believed that to be the end of things. We paid the Harker family a lump sum of money to remain quiet about what Dracula was and that was that. No need to get the public up in arms. Life had resumed to normal."

"Until very recently," Sokolov finished. "When new cases began to show up. Strange murders that, in a sense, mirrored Dracula's. But at the same time they were different. More...ritualistic. Agatha," he exhaled, looking directly into her eyes. "We believe we are dealing with another vampire. A serial killer at that."

He held out the case file towards Agatha. She eyed it for a moment almost hesitant before accepting it. Sokolov watched as she flipped through its contents, her brow furrowing as she studied the papers from within. After a while she looked up, closing the folder as she did so.

"So why is the MI5 coming to me?" The woman questioned, not offering the file back to Sokolov. "I'm not my grandfather."

"Dracula refuses to talk to anyone," the agent responded, looking from Olgaren and back to the nun. "We're hoping that maybe he'll speak to you. Because of who you are. We need to catch the killer before things get really out of hand and we think that Dracula knows more than he's telling us. That information in the folder alone is what we have on Dracula. If you agree to come with us, we can share with you everything that we can. You'll have our entire archive at your disposal." He inhaled, his tone almost pleading. "England needs you, Agatha. Won't you help?"

                                                         XXX

Agatha could count on how many times she'd ridden in a plane on one hand. Her most recent, being many years ago, when she left Holland to join St. Mary's in Hungary. As the plane took off, she relaxed in her seat and gazed out the window as the ground was replaced by the cloud covered sky. It felt surreal leaving the convent. Saying goodbye to her sisters she'd known for so long. But it felt even more bizarre finally having the confirmation that Count Dracula, her family's one true enemy, was alive. Something she had begun to give up hope in learning that was true.

"I want to thank you again for coming."

Sokolov's smile was warm as he took the seat beside her. She straightened up, turning her body to face him. Methodically, he pushed another folder over the tray table towards her. On the opposite side of the plane, Olgaren was fast asleep, snoring rather loudly. Doing her best to block the noise out, she took the file and opened it.

Agatha would be lying if she didn't admit that her stomach immediately twisted at the picture that lay before her. A woman, skin so pale it was almost translucent, was stretched across a long, metal table. Against her own better judgement, she flipped to the next picture. This time she was looking at the neck. At the flawless skin defiled by a set of sharp, fang like marks that dug deep within the flesh. Again she turned to the next image, feeling the bile begin to rise into the back of her throat. Right in the middle of the chest was a large hole as if something big had been shoved into it, penetrating past the rib cage and into the heart itself.

"Kathleen Piper." Sokolov explained as the nun took a moment to collect herself, closing the folder. "She was his second victim, found floating in the Thames. Completely drained of her blood. Based on the particles we found within her chest cavity, the object is always made of wood."

"A stake," Agatha said quietly. "He stakes them."

"We believe so, yes," Sokolov agreed. "Almost as if he is trying to keep them from turning. We don't understand his motive behind that. There's a lot we don't understand which is why we need you." He folded his onto the table. "We've dubbed him the Midnight Slayer. It lacks creativity, but he does only seem to kill at night. All of his victims so far have been young women."

"And that's the reason you've been led to believe he has to be a man?" The woman questioned, a slight frown forming on her lips.

"No," the agent sighed. "It's because the only detail Dracula ever offered up was that we were looking for a man. That's how we know the Count has more information on the case. Which is why we need you. Because maybe he'll open up more to you more than he has to anyone else." He exhaled, running a hand through his graying hair. "Because you're a Van Helsing."

She stared out the window for a bit, watching as the white clouds floated by. Just hours ago, she was just a nun. Living a quiet life, left to her own devices. But now she was being pulled into a horror of a mess. Chaos that involved Count Dracula himself. A monster she had believed to be dead after years and years of researching. And though she wished she could just turn around. Pretend that this never happened. Her curiosity, ambition, and aggravating need to do what's right overweighed that.

"I'll help however I can." She responded, finally returning her attention to Sokolov. "But don't expect any miracles."

The man chuckled at her words. "An odd statement coming from a nun. Aren't you supposed to believe in that sort of thing?"

"I'm not your average sister." Agatha with a small smile, watching as the plane began to descend towards the airstrip below. "Far from it."

"Well, I should hope as much," he agreed. "We certainly do need that." Sokolov sighed, leaning back in his chair momentarily allowing his eyes to close. "We certainly do."

[schrijverr]

Cute Cuts

A compilation of cute Destiel moments that have been cut out of previous videos.

Part of the Famous Husband Verse, which is also a series

On AO3.

Ships: Destiel

Warnings: None, but I’ll be happy to tag something for you, no questions asked. Just hit me up

~~~~~~~~~

Dean was sitting in the middle of the screen, he waved and said: “Hi Hunters, welcome back. Today is a bit of a different video. I mentioned this in my recent Q&A video and you all seemed to love the idea, so here is some stuff about my husband I’ve had to cut out of previous videos. This is either from the videos we did together or from videos before the reveal when I said too much. Anyway, that is enough babbling from me, I hope you all enjoy it!”

The intro rolled, it was a drawn impala that came down the road, it stopped in the middle of the screen and the drawn Dean gave a wink to the viewers, then he sped off again and the smoke was bridge back to the video.

The first clip was from the reveal video, Castiel was looking into the little screen on the side of the camera as he mussed with his hair and huffed. He turned to Dean and asked: “Do I look okay? I want to make a good first impression.”

Out of frame you could hear Dean, who said: “You look absolutely stunning, huggy-bear.”

Then he leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

~

The next clip was out a video about something stupid Dean had done in college. He was in the middle of a sentence when he was interrupted by a knock. He looked to the side and called out: “Yeah, come in.”

“You’ve been recording for two hours, so I brought you a donut and some coffee.” Cas said as he got into frame to hand over the snacks.

Deans face lit up and he made grabby hands to the goodies. It made Cas laugh as he gave him the donut and coffee. Dean immediately took a sip right in the middle of Cas warning him for the heat. He spat out the sip when he inevitably burned the roof of his mouth.

Cas laughed a bit at him and Dean looked up with a pout and said: “It’s kind of your fault, so you need to kiss it better.”

“Oh, is it now?” Cas replied with a raised brow, but he was already leaning in.

~

After that it cut to them sitting opposite to each other while Cas was concentrating on Deans eye make up. Dean softly said: “Cas?”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas replied absentmindedly not breaking his focus.

“You’re really cute when you’re concentrated.” Dean said, smiling as Cas spluttered and stopped what he was doing to hide his face in Deans chest.

Dean hugged him and kissed the top of his head, before releasing him to get back to what he was doing.

~

It cut to an older Q&A, where it was Sam and Dean driving in the Impala. Sam read from his phone: “I want to know something about your mysterious boyfriend, at least give us an eye color please.” he looked up, “A lot of people liked this one, seems like they’re really curious about him.”

Dean laughed: “Yeah, they always are.” he looked to where the camera was for a second, before turning his attention back to the road as he answered, “His eyes are this amazing sort of blue, you know. They’re piercing when he looks at you and it’s almost like they draw you in, fixating and you have to look. He’s really good at staring, so you’ll just get sucked into these beautiful pools of blue so bright they could rival the sky on a sunny summers day, but they’re also icy and cool if you manage to piss him off. In short they’re stunning and amazing.”

Next to him Sam rolled his eyes and commented: “That’s enough poetry about his eyes for today.”

Dean far off dreamy look disappeared of his face and was replaced by something sheepish as he said: “That was a bit much, maybe. Although it is all 100% true. I’ll probably cut this part.”

“That’s fair.” Sam replied, then he smirked and ribbed: “You really are whipped for him, dude.”

Dean blushed heavily and he said: “Shut up, like you’re any better about Jess, bitch.”

Sam pouted and shot back: “Whatever, jerk.”

~

Then it went to the next clip, which came out of the Q&A video. Dean was about to read something of his screen when Cas stopped him. Dean gave him a questioning look, but Cas just fixed his hair and murmured: “You ran your hand through it again.”

Dean nodded in understanding and smiled softly, before clearing his throat and pulling his attention back to the question.

~

The clip after that was out a solo video of Dean, he did his intro: “Hi Hunters, welcome back. Today-”

He cut himself off and turned back to the surface next to him where he sometimes put stuff he needed to show for a video. The space was now occupied by a photo frame. He picked it up and smiled down at the photo.

“Sorry, cut this out. I got this picture from the living room, so I can look at it. Cas will be back tomorrow from that school trip.” he explained, looking down once more.

~

After that it cut to a bit from the husband tag, it was the discussion which had gotten cut out. To refresh memories he had left in the first bit as well. It began with Cas whining: “How many times do I have to tell you that I am not a strange being.”

“When you can prove you’re not.” Deans shot back instantly.

Cas threw his hands up and said: “How can I prove I’m not immortal, without dying.”

Dean took a deep breath and said: “You could try and teleport or fly, if you are an angel you should be able to fly.”

“I am not an angel, Dean. I have told you this many times before.” Cas said.

Dean smiled and replied: “With a beautiful face like that you could’ve fooled me, darling.”

Cas blushed, but recovered quick enough, by saying: “Flirting won’t work as a distraction technique to avoid that you do not have any arguments.”

“I have arguments.” Dean exclaimed.

Cas gave him a look and Dean went on: “Like, History, you know too much about, like you were there when it happened.”

“I studied History, Dean.” Cas sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Dean squinted at him with suspicion and said: “I’m not convinced, babe.”

“Sure,” Castiel rolled his eyes, deciding it wasn’t worth it right now, “Shouldn’t we get back to the video now?”

Blinking confused Dean looked back to the camera with surprise, before smoothing over his features and getting back to the list of questions.

~

The next clip was from another story time video. It wasn’t long.

“So then me and Cas ran back like Hell, with this mad store owner on our asses.” Dean said, with a sparkle in his eyes, then he frowned and told the camera: “I said Cas again, didn’t I? Stupid, sorry, I meant Rick, my roommate. Let’s do that again.”

You could hear him pout: “Cas is much more fun.”

~

It cut to a clip from the husband tag, they were still prepping. Dean was fiddling with the camera and the focused wobbled a bit, but you could clearly see Cas sitting next to him. Once everything was clear, you could also see the love stricken look on his face.

Dean turned around and smiled as he asked: “What’s that face about?”

“Nothing, I just love you that’s all.” Cas shrugged.

The smile on Deans lips broadened as he replied: “Love you too, Cas.”, then he nodded to the camera and asked: “Are you ready?”

“Probably not, so let do it.” Cas answered.

~

The last clip was from when Dean had attempted to teach Charlie how to bake a pie to impress the ladies, which had been an experience to say the least. Nothing much was happening at the moment, they were just kneading the dough and at this point they had already captured some funny shots of that, so they weren’t really focused too much on the video itself.

In the distance you could hear a door open and close. Then a heavy thud followed by a long groan. Dean and Charlie shared a look, before Dean called out: “You okay over there?”

Cas’s voice flowed down the hall: “Yeah, just work.”

“What happened?” Dean yelled back, there was some shuffling after that and it was to be assumed that Cas had appeared in the doorway, which was just out of frame. When he saw the set up he quickly said: “Oh, you’re filming, I can come back later. Wouldn’t want to disturb.”

Dean looked at the camera and immediately said: “No, we have the stuff we need for now, we have time. Really. Come in. It’s your own damned house. I’ll cut it out, promise.”

“Don’t worry, just vent.” Charlie said from beside him.

Cas stepped into frame and gave her a short hug as he greeted her, before turning to Dean and nearly collapsing against him. Dean couldn’t really hug him, since his hands were dirty, but it seemed effective none the less.

Dean asked: “Wanna tell me what happened?”

“I had forgotten I put the deadline for three classes on the same day.” Castiel said, his voice muffled slightly, “Which means I have to grade 90 fucking papers all at least 3 pages long and I hate everything right now.”

Smiling softly Dean said: “That sounds like it sucks, angel.”

Cas looked up and complained: “It is.”

Charlie tried to comfort him: “Well at least we have comfort pie in a few hours.”

“Thank you, Charlie.” Cas said, then he sighed, “I think, I’m going to try and get started on the papers, good luck with your pies.”

“Same.” Charlie replied.

“Yeah, good luck.” Dean said, then he slapped Cas’s ass when he walked off.

Cas squeaked and frowned at the flour now staining his jean, leaving an obvious hand print. He quickly threw a bit of flour in Deans hair and dipped his hand in the flour making a hand print on Deans shoulder, before hurrying out of the kitchen.

A lot of fans remembered that, there had bee loads of theories that Charlie and Dean were secretly together with the jump cut and the sudden appearance of the hand print as proof.

Then it went to the end card. It was the same Dean from the beginning of the video and he said: “That was a lot of fun to put together, honestly. I hope you all liked it, if you did hit the like button and subscribe and hit that bell. Bye Hunters, see you on the road!”

Then the video ended.

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

God, Sam, didn’t lie about the

poetry

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

the casual i love yous make my

queer little heart hopeful bitches

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

OMG teachers hate their own

deadlines #karma

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

HE HAD A PICTURE WHILE CAS WAS GONE!!! I CAN’T!!!

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

I need a dentist now, damn

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

So far we got:

sunshine

angel

darling

huggy-bear

babe

Just how far does this mans

nickname vocab go??? Where

does it end???

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

He really tried to use the History

knowledge as an argument when

Cas studied History, like he’s

lucky he’s pretty, you know.

We stan a dumb bitch

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

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Sweltering

This is a request from a few months ago? Well technically two in one. Someone asked for Arthur and reader to go swimming and another asked for the same thing but with smut SOOOOOO

You swore that Hell itself had rolled through your little town overnight.

It was only 10 am, and even through the air conditioning of your house, the heat was sleeping through slowly. You sat at your kitchen table, munching on some cereal as you scanned the weather app on your phone. It was 86 degrees, and due to reach almost 100 by midafternoon. You sighed and put it down, knowing it would probably be best to stay in today.

“Somethin’ wrong, darlin’?”

You looked up at Arthur who sat across from you. “It’s gonna be hotter than Satan’s balls today,” you replied, “It’s just an expression.” You quickly added with a giggle, catching the look of confusion on his face.

He hummed in response, glancing out at the window. The sun shone through the blinds, streaming a golden light into the kitchen. “Good thing we ain’t out there then.” He chuckled slightly.

You nodded, finishing off your meal before standing up. Halfway across the kitchen, the steady hum of your air conditioner suddenly went short. You stopped in your tracks, listening to the now complete silence that surrounded you. ”Uh…”

“What?”

Your eyes first went for the microwave, searching for the bright green numbers on the screen. There were none. You turned and flipped the light switch experimentally, your gaze fixated on the bulb above. Nothing happened.

“Well,” you sighed. “There goes the power. Which means it’s gonna get hot in here real quick.”

Arthur leaned back in his chair and looked at you curiously. “So what now?”

You sighed in thought, wondering what the extent of this power outage was. Town-wide? County-wide? How soon would it come back on? Either way, you weren’t determined to sit around and find out. You scratched your head, contemplating on driving around town to see if any stores would be open to keep cool in. Perhaps the movies, even?

Grabbing your phone, you began to check your social media. Statuses began to appear, complaining about the recent outage. Apparently it was county wide, meaning you were shit out of luck for doing anything local. You groaned lightly and scrolled through some more absentmindedly, hoping for some other news, until something caught your eye. It was just a simple ad, one that you’d scrolled past dozens of times. A photo of an island beach with clear skies and crystal clear water against perfect white sand.

You hadn’t been to the beach in forever.

“Arthur,” you looked up from your phone. “How do you feel about going to the beach?”

--

In an attempt to beat the heat that slowly crept into your house, it didn’t take long for you to get ready. Although you spent at least ten minutes trying to dig your bathing suit from storage, silently cursing yourself that you hadn’t done it much earlier this year. After putting a light colored sundress overtop it, you began to pack other necessities. Towels, sunscreen, sandwich ingredients and drinks, the works.

Since you didn’t have swim trunks for Arthur, you planned on stopping by one of the surf shops to grab a pair. Once you had a tote bag and a cooler packed and ready to go, the two of you headed outside. Stepping outside was like diving into a blanket of fire, the heat pressing into you as you hurried to your car.

The initial drive wasn’t long; at least an hour. The scenery gradually changed, the mountains giving way to summer rental houses and corner shops. You passed by many boats being towed, cars with surfboards or kayaks on top. The sidewalks were littered with people in shorts and tank tops, excited kids already in swimsuits carrying buckets and shovels.

It was obvious that it would be busy today, to which you didn’t mind. You found a parking spot fairly close to the shoreline, although your first goal was to get Arthur his own swimsuit. Stepping out, you could smell the ocean in the warm breeze. You led him to the nearest shop, which was fairly busy. You managed to locate swim trunks, pointing them out to him so he could pick out a pair.

You noted the look of confusion on his face. Of course, swimsuits from his time were much different. He eventually pulled out a pair of dark blue trunks, which you promptly paid for and headed back out.

The walk from the shop to the shore took only five minutes, but you were sweating already. From the edge, you observed the huge crowd that already took up the majority of the beach. It certainly would be hard to find a spot, but that didn’t matter at the moment. Off to the side, a building with bathrooms caught your attention. The changing area.

Wandering over, you pointed Arthur to one of the changing stalls. As you waited, you peeled off your sundress. You were eager to get into the water and cool off.

Hearing the door open, you turned to see Arthur stepping out. He seemed a little shy, looking left and right before emerging entirely. God, you could never get tired of looking at that man’s torso. As soon as his gaze landed on you, his eyes widened.

Of course, this was his first time seeing a bikini.

“Jesus, Y/N. You’re practically naked!” he exclaimed.

You merely shrugged. “These are pretty common, don’t get yourself worked up.”

He mumbled something that you didn’t hear, and you began walking out into the sand. Up close it was easier to find a spot, placing yourself a small distance between other beachgoers. You could feel Arthur’s eyes on you as you set up the towels and umbrella.

Once you finished, you eagerly shook your sandals off and turned to face him. It’s as if the awe were permanently plastered on his face as he was poorly hiding it. “Arthur?” you said, catching his attention. “Arthur, you’ve seen me naked. And look around, most women are dressed like me. This isn’t a big deal.”

His cheeks flushed slightly, tearing his gaze from you as he rubbed his neck sheepishly. “M’ sorry, just ain’t used to…seein’ you like this in public. I’m from-”

“A different time, I know,” you huffed slightly. “Just ignore it, okay? We’re here to cool off and have fun,” you reached out for his hand. “Now, let’s get into the water!”

He looked at you again. “You go on n’ have fun. I’ll join ya in a bit…I’m hungry.” He added, noting the look you gave him.

“Alright, don’t take too long, cowboy.” you said, stretching up to kiss his cheek before stepping away and running to the water.

As you approached the water line, you stepped into an rolling creep of a wave. The cool water immediately felt so relaxing, washing up over your feet. Walking in closer, allowing yourself to become waist deep before diving in, engulfing yourself within an oncoming wave. The force pushed you back up to the surface. Taking a deep breath, you whipped your hair out of your face. The water felt so refreshing.

Continuing to swim around, diving into waves and floating atop them, you realized a little bit of time had passed and Arthur hadn’t joined you. You glanced out towards the sand, spotting him sitting underneath the umbrella. He didn’t seem to be eating like he said he would.

Frowning, you made your way back to the shallows and stepped back onto the sand. Dodging a pack of little kids, you approached him. He had his knees up, arms wrapped around them and looking uncomfortable. Upon seeing you, his expression changed. “Done already?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I’m wondering why you’re not joining me. And why you haven’t eaten yet.” You glanced toward the cooler that hadn’t changed position since your arrival.

“I…” he trailed off, shifting slightly in his spot. “I just…”

Your head tilted in curiosity, and you knelt down in front of him, feeling genuinely concerned. “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

He broke his gaze from you, although you could have sworn his eyes went straight for your cleavage beforehand. His cheeks bloomed pink. “It’s…kinda embarrassin’…” he murmured so quietly you had to strain to hear.

“What?” you asked, leaning a little closer to him.

His lips pursed, still keeping his head turned. “I, uh…” he huffed. “I-I have a problem…”

You stared. “Problem?” you repeated, unsure what he meant.

“You know…” he continued, giving you a side glance. “My-”

“Oh!” you exclaimed, a little too loudly. His flinch calmed you down. “Sorry,” you dropped your voice, shuddering with a small giggle. “Really?”

“It’s that damn swimsuit,” he said through gritted teeth. “I can’t help it…”

You couldn’t help but to giggle more. “Is that all? Why are you embarrassed about that?”

He gave a sigh of annoyance. “Cause I can’t get rid of it, Y/N. I try to think o’ somethin’ else, but nothin’ helps. All I see is you…in that godforsaken outfit.”

Oh, this poor man. More like a hormonal teenager who thought with his dick. You kept that thought to yourself, however. You reached out to caress his cheek. “Guess I should have shown you beforehand, huh?”

“So I could fuck ya in the privacy of your home, yeah.” He muttered, though slight amusement in his voice.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise at this. So straightforward. “So…you wanna fuck me right now?” You asked.

He snorted slightly, staring at you directly now. “You have no idea, woman.”

His expression was so intense, those blue eyes reflecting the arousal within him. It wasn’t the ideal place to do so, not while being surrounded by families. You glanced back toward the changing building. A little bit of a distance away, but somewhat private. Maybe you could get away with it.

“Then let’s fix that,” you gestured for him to stand. “Come on.”

He looked at you, confused and surprised. “What...wait, I can’t-”

“Tuck it in your waistband, silly,” you instructed. “Then follow me back to the building.”

Arthur did as you told, carefully shifting himself without making his actions too obvious. He then stood up awkwardly, trying hard not to tug on the fabric as he stepped behind you. He kept close as you led the way, noting the amount of people entering and exiting the changing stalls.

They were mostly empty by the time you’d approached them, with a couple still closed. Quickly looking around, you pulled Arthur into one farthest away from anything else. Closing the door behind him, you turned to face the blushing cowboy.

“Ya sure we’re good in here?” He asked, appearing sheepish. “Ain’t want trouble from anyone.”

“We’ll be fine,” you said reassuringly, reaching for his swim trunks. Tucking on the drawstring, you loosened the waistband. The bulge underneath immediately released with it, and you tugged the fabric down to unveil it in its entirety. “Just be quiet.” You added, wrapping your hand around his length.

His breath hitched slightly at your touch. He opened his mouth to speak, yet was cut off when your mouth engulfed the head with ease. A low groan emanated from his stomach as he leaned against the wall.

You teased him first, sucking just a little and placing small kisses along his warm pink flesh. His hand tangled itself within your wet hair, prompting you to go further. You did so, slowly taking his length to the root, before pulling back and bobbing slowly.

He shuddered against the wall, quietly moaning your name. His touch gentle, yet firm as he pressed on the back of your head for more. You have in to the pressure, swallowing him a few more times at a tantalizingly slow pace. Though you weren’t planning to spend much time on the foreplay.

 Another moment passed by, sliding your lips back to the tip, popping them off before standing back up. The slight forlorn look on his face soon changed when you shimmied off the bottom of your bikini.

It was as if a switch had been flipped. The hunger in his eyes gleamed brightly as he practically lunged forward to you, his hands gripping your hips hard it was almost painful. “Turn around.” He commanded, the dominant growl in his throat sent a shiver down your spine.

You obeyed silently, turning to face the opposite wall and sticking your ass out teasingly. You heard him make a satisfied noise as his hands ran down your back. He squeezed the soft flesh of your butt as he stepped forward, running his erection along your folds and center. It didn’t take long for him to begin, easily sheathing himself in one smooth glide. You gasped softly as your inner walls stretched for him, and uttered a soft moan as he began to move within you.

He gripped your hips again, using the leverage to drive himself deeper. The sudden change brought up a yelp that you bit down. It certainly would be hard to keep quiet.

“You feel amazin’,” he growled lowly, leaning to kiss the back of your neck. “Fuck…”

Your only answer was a moan, your back arching to enhance your pleasure. He hit your G-spot perfectly, your knees buckling from the sheer ecstasy that washed over your body. He managed to hold you still, pounding away with such power.

His teeth ravaged your flesh, knowing he’d leave marks on your already mostly bare body. His nails dug into your skin, so tight with your hips. He was relentless in his pursuit of his pleasure, wanting nothing more to release the energy into you. The way his voice rumbled was like music to your ears.

He whispered profanities to you, sinful utterances which ignited your core even more. A hand brushed against your belly before his fingers found your clit, expertly dancing against your sensitive nerves. Throwing your head back, forcing down another yelp that nearly left your lips. Arthur was quick, covering your mouth with his other hand. Though muffled, you were able to express your pleasure.

“That’s it, darlin’.” He groaned to you. He eagerly buried himself to the hilt over and over, feverishly toying with you without a pause. Somehow it seemed as if he was going even faster, the sounds of his hips slapping against your ass overtook your muffled mewls.

Your peak was arriving quickly, your mind too addled to staunch it. The climb was short; the explosive ache that cascaded down your core. You sang out loud, though still stifled by Arthur.

“That’s m’girl.” he huffed, pausing to kiss the back of your neck. The fresh moment of intimacy swayed you, your knees trembling, threatening to buckle as your body came down from your high. He didn’t give you any time to recover, as he thrust deep within once again. His hand moved from your soaked pussy to run his hand down your back a second time before gripping your waist.

“Arthur!” you cried out against his fingers, the muscles in your legs almost rendered to jelly. It was amazing how you still stood, though part of it had to be from him. Pinned between the wall and his strong grip, letting him have his way in this miniscule changing booth.

“I-I’m close.” he grunted, shoving himself even harder within you. Tears formed in your eyes as he hit a sensitive spot, though the pain felt wonderful. Your hands grasped at the smooth wall, unable to hold onto anything. With a few more heavy pounds, he released your mouth to grip your waist hard, so hard that you whined. Growling your name, his hips pressed hard with yours, he held you still as his spend emptied deep within you.

The silence surrounded the two of you for a long moment, until Arthur eased his grip. He pulled away from you slowly, a trail of his seed dripping down your leg instantly. He took a deep, shuddering breath and straightened up. You turned to face him, pulling the swimsuit bottoms up, the warmth gathering in the damp fabric.

“Feel better?” you asked, a hint of amusement in your voice.

“Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “Christ, that’ll keep me good for a while.” He pushed his slightly sweaty hair out of his face and fixed his swim trunks.

“Good,” you responded. “Now will you join me in the water?”

He gave a short chuckle. “’Course.”

You exited the booth first, carefully peering around to make sure no one was within vicinity. You hoped no other beachgoers heard what was going on, but it seemed safe enough. Arthur quickly joined you, heading back to your spot on the beach as if nothing happened. Despite the ache that lingered between your legs, you were able to hit the waves once again, pulling Arthur in with you.

[dinfeanoriel]

Missing Legend Pt. II

Part two of Missing Legend! Linked Universe belongs to Linked Universe and Jojo56830. Be sure to check their art out! 

I own nothing but my writing.  Bit long, over 4K!

~~~~~~~

“Say, what’s with the rabbit?” 

Warrior’s question drew the attention of all Links to the pink bundle huddling in Wild’s protective embrace.

Time quirked an unimpressed eyebrow. Part of him did wonder at the unusual coloring of the rabbit, but the other part of him wondered where in his previous instructions of locating Legend Sky and Wild had determined he’d given them permission to adopt a unique bunny.

Wild’s arms tightened around the rabbit, holding it close to himself. He gave Time those pleading eyes.

Twilight had to look away, lips trembling from the urge to smile and laugh.

Time’s brow rose higher, the eldest of the group seemingly unaffected. 

Sky placed a gentle hand on Wild’s forearm, turning to face Time and speaking on the younger Hero’s behalf, 

“We rescued him from a terrible man,” He briefly explained, eyes flickering as he recalled the hunter from before, “Wild didn’t want to part from him and the rabbit was reluctant to leave him also.”

Time refrained from sighing aloud.

The look Wild wore grew more pitiful.

Why?

Why him? 

“Wild,” Time pinched the bridge of his nose, his only good eye sliding shut in fond exasperation, and just when Wild was about to turn to Twilight for help, he said, “You can stop with the kicked puppy look.”

Wild brightened. Did that mean-?

“You can keep the rabbit,” Time conceded, and the whites of Wild’s teeth flashed as he grinned. The leader had to fight not to smile in return. 

“But,” He raised a finger, “You are solely responsible for him. I don’t know how well the rabbit can handle our constant travelings and skirmishes, however, if you think you can handle caring for him, then I see no issue in allowing you to keep him.”

Wild’s smile broadened, silently thanking Time. Time purposefully averted his gaze, wondering what in Hylia’s name he’d done to deserve this. He narrowed his gaze on a chuckling Twilight, who’s hand was pressed against his mouth in a futile attempt to suppress the traitorous snickers.

“He’s your responsibility too, Pup,” Time lowly added, giving Twilight’s shoulder a squeeze. The Orodonian sputtered and shot Time an incredulous look.

“Mine?!”

Time didn’t deign him with a response, instead waving a hand nonchalantly in the air and heading for the forest surrounding them.

“Come along now, we have a Legend to find.”

The grimness from before returned and the Heroes quickly followed after their leader. 

“If Wolfie couldn’t find him, how can we expect to find him?” Warrior overheard Hyrule softly asking himself. The Knight looked to see Hyrule fiddling with his hands, worry and concern shining in his dark eyes. The Links knew Hyrule idolized Legend, having heard many tales revolving around him growing up in his world. He’d been incredibly excited when they learned they would be working alongside him in order to stand against Dark Link. 

When they’d met Legend, all of the Links had been thrown off by the snarky and outspoken Hero. Hyrule didn’t seem to notice- or he just didn’t care. 

Oddly enough, the two had become...friends? Warrior supposed he could call them that. Legend looked out for Hyrule. He looked out for all of them in a less noticeable fashion. Once you learned to read between the lines and deeper into Legend’s sarcastic words or snarky comments, you found the hidden truth. You saw what Legend wasn’t outwardly revealing. 

It had taken some time for the Knight to realize this. 

Warrior also realized just how much he missed his and Legend’s bantering. Not one day passed without them tossing scathing remarks or jabs at one another. They never meant any of it. It was mostly for fun and to pass time. 

Warrior shook himself from his thoughts. He needed to stay focused. Finding Legend was the top of their priority, but...

His gaze slid over to Hyrule, withholding a sigh at the nervousness and worry Hyrule did his best to hide. 

He knocked the shorter Hero on the head with his fist, 

“Don’t think so negatively,” He told Hyrule when the younger of the two looked to him in confusion, “We’ll find him.” 

Hyrule didn’t know why, but hearing the confident statement comforted him. Before he could thank Warrior for his words, a sudden weight landed on his head nearly knocked him off balance. When he looked, he saw the face of the pink bunny Wild and Sky had rescued peering down at him, clucking and thumping his foot on his head. 

Warrior laughed at the look Wild wore as he blinked down at his empty arms then to the rabbit on Hyrule’s head in disbelief. The distance between himself and Hyrule, while not extensive, was still quite far, but the rabbit had covered it with hardly any effort.

Twilight smirked from where he stood with his arms crossed, impressed. 

“That takes coordination and remarkable aim.” He remarked. Time cuffed him lightly on the back of his head. 

“Only you would find that feat impressive.” 

Twilight made to retort but stopped when he saw Time watching the rabbit intensely. 

“There is something unusual about that rabbit,” Time murmured to Twilight, leaning closer, “He’s intelligent. You can see it in his eyes that he understands us. Not to mention that pink bunnies are supposedly nonexistent.” 

“What are you thinking?” Twilight whispered in question, studying the rabbit alongside his mentor. 

Time frowned, “I’m not sure...Just keep a close eye on him and Wild.”

Twilight curtly nodded. Time drew back, satisfied. 

“Is he comforting Hyrule?” Wind asked, stars in his eyes. “That is so adorable!” 

Four could only shake his head at the bedazzled Hero. 

Hyrule carefully reached up, shyly grabbing the bunny and taking him into his arms. The bunny bumped his nose with his paw, as if telling Hyrule not to worry so much. For whatever reason, Hyrule felt even better. 

He hugged the bunny close to him, a small, grateful, smile appearing on his lips. 

The rabbit wheezed, eyes wide at the crushing embrace, but didn’t dare move. 

Time never once looked away from him.

~~~~~~~

Hours of searching unsuccessfully passed. The Heroes refused to give up despite the sense of discouragement slowly seeping in. They looked all through the afternoon and far into the night, separating into groups and calling upon Wolfie once more to find Legend.

They had no idea how much time had passed until a new dawn began to approach. The sun could be seen peeking from behind the distant mountains, outlining the snow-capped ridges a crimson red. Light chased away the dreary black and greys clinging to the landscapes, forcing the shadows to recede back into the forests and beneath the outcrops of rocks and boulders.

Wild had tucked the rabbit into his pack, removing various items to give him some space to move and make himself comfortable. It made it easier than leaving the rabbit to hop after them. 

The bunny hardly budged. His head appeared from beneath the flap of the pouch, chin hooked over the edge and dark eyes examining their unfamiliar surroundings. His ears drooped as his nose twitched. 

Wolfie often flashed him curious looks. 

There were times Wild would catch a low rumble coming from the back of Wolfie’s throat as he tried communicating to the rabbit. When this would happen, the pink bunny would vanish into the pack and not emerge until minutes had passed and he deemed it safe to return. 

Guess he’s not quite comfortable with you, Wild signed to Wolfie. Wolfie grumbled in response.

Scary wolf. Wild teased. 

This earned him an indignant look. I am not scary.

You always look so fierce.

I do not!

Wild raised a disbelieving eyebrow at Wolfie. The rabbit’s head poked out again and Wild absentmindedly pat his head.

“We need a name for him,” Four piped up, startling Wild momentarily. He’d forgotten Four had teamed with them- he being the only other Hero, excluding Time, to know Wolfie’s secret. “Calling him ‘him’ or ‘bunny’ or ‘rabbit’ is a bit redundant and boring, don’t you think?” 

Although Wolfie’s name isn’t that much better, Four added in his mind. He kept that remark to himself, however, seeing as it had been Wind who’d enthusiastically given Wolfie his name. 

Wild pondered Four’s words and nodded in agreement. He looked down at the bunny, considering.

The rabbit returned the stare, fixing Wild with a look that clearly stated,

You’d better not give me some stupid name like ‘Wolfie.’

Wild grinned, a gleam entering his eye.

This, the rabbit found he didn’t quite like. He flashed Wild a warning look.

Don’t you dare-

“Skittles!”

Wolfie snorted, coughing as if he were trying valiantly not to laugh.

The bunny- now dubbed Skittles- looked absolutely horrified. He disappeared into the pack and Wild felt tiny paws punching his side at lightning speed.

“Hey!” Wild lifted the wriggling pack from his hip, “It’s better than Bubble Bean!” He defended himself against the furious bunny. 

Four choked and Wolfie stumbled.

“Bubble Bean?” The shortest Hero coughed, striking his fist against his chest as he attempted to recover himself.

Skittles reappeared, glowering fiercely at Wild.

“Would you prefer Sugar and Spice?” Wild suggested. The look intensified. Four had to admit he was impressed by Skittles’ fierceness. For such a cute, floofy, bunny, he certainly looked capable of throttling Wild. “Timber Toast?”

“Skittles!” Four wheezed. In his mind, he could hear Vio, Blue, and Red losing themselves at the names Wild had suggested. “Skittles is perfect!”

Wolfie rumbled in agreement, nodding vigorously. Skittles clucked his teeth, paws flailing in the air indignantly.

“Sure?” Wild asked them, “I have several more names readily available.”

As curious as Wolfie and Four were to discover what other...creative...names Wild had stored away, they assured him that Skittles was a very fitting name for an adorable and temperamental, pink, bunny.

And so it was from that time forth, the bunny was referred to and addressed as Skittles.

Skittles slouched, depressed, paws dangling in the air. Wild, however, was grinning widely.

Wolfie rumbled again and Skittles turned his head towards him, one ear flicking in his direction. Wolfie made various sounds, pitching his growls and rumblings as he spoke to the despondent animal. Cobalt blue eyes darted meaningfully up towards Wild then back to Skittles. Skittles looked also, taking in the light smile Wild wore and the glimmer in his eyes.

He studied the happiness and contentment etched onto Wild’s features for a long moment then released a defeated sigh. Skittles’ nose twitched as the bunny made a small sound and slumped his shoulders. Wolfie flashed him the best grin he could manage in his form.

The corner of Four’s lips curved upwards.

Twilight, always looking out for Wild.

“Say, Wild,” Four spoke up again when silence fell, “Where did you find Skittles?”

Skittles’ gaze peevishly rolled his way, huffing indignantly. Four felt as if he’d had that look directed towards him once before...

It was eerily familiar...

Wild pat Skittles’ head, “A hunter trapped him.” A hint of anger seeped into his tone and Wolfie glanced towards him, “Sky got caught in one of the traps- oh!” Wild paused mid-stride as a thought struck him, “We forgot to purchase new boots for him!”

Ah, yes, Four had noticed the puncture holes in Sky’s right boot. He’d wondered about them, but didn’t ask questions considering the circumstances. It didn’t appear Sky had cared all that much, either. All that mattered was finding Legend. 

“I suppose that doesn’t really matter right now,” The quiet spoken Hero murmured to himself before continuing his story, “The trapper put Skittles into a cramped, rusty cage and planned on keeping him rather than killing him.” Wild’s hand curled protectively around Skittles’ neck, “I couldn’t let him. I couldn’t leave Skittles with him. Skittles’ foot was in bad shape- mutilated beyond recognition.” Wild grimaced as he recalled the disfigured rabbit’s foot Sky’s fairy had generously healed. “He was in so much pain…”

“So you and Sky rescued him.” Four finished for him, and Wild nodded.

“Sky convinced the Hunter to sell him to us.” A smirk grew on Wild’s lips as he remembered just how Sky had ‘convinced’ the man to let them buy Skittles. “Didn’t give him much of a choice, really.”

Sky could really put his foot down when he wanted to. 

Four had a feeling there was more to the story than Wild was telling, but he didn’t press for details. They were, after all, searching for a missing Link. But it helped him to keep his mind preoccupied.

Suddenly, Wolfie stiffened, head snapping up.

Wild and Four stilled immediately.

“What is it?” Four lowly asked, creeping closer to them. His fingers loosely curled around the hilt of his Four Sword, ready to unsheathe it at a moment’s notice.

Wolfie sniffed the air then bolted to the left, flying past Wild. Wild and Four didn’t hesitate to follow him. Hope blossomed in their chests as they expertly chased after the great beast.

Had he caught Legend’s scent? Had they found him?

Poor, helpless, Skittles was flung back into the pack and left to bounce around as Wild ran. 

They stopped once they emerged into a small clearing.

Wolfie scoured the area with his nose pressed to the ground, sniffing diligently and tracking whatever scent he’d caught.

“Legend?” Wild dared to ask when Wolfie paused. Wolfie dipped his head but there was a worried glint in his eyes neither Hero failed to catch.

“What is it?” Four asked before Wild had a chance to. Wolfie’s head disappeared into a large flower brush nearby, teeth clinking against metal. When he reappeared, he held a familiar rod that caused Four and Wild’s hearts to drop. 

“Legend’s Fire Rod.” Wild murmured, taking hold of the staff. Skittles popped out from the pack, dazed and indignant. 

When he saw what Wolfie had, however, all he could do was release a dismayed cluck. 

Wolfie sharply looked to him. He barked...

...but Skittles remained silent. 

~~~~~~~

Time watched Hyrule cradle Legend’s Fire Rod in his hands as the grim Heroes circled around the campfire. 

The atmosphere hanging o’er the encampment was dismal and troubled. It had been with great reluctance that the group had settled in for the night.

Wind was seated in Warrior’s lap, the elder of the two’s arms wrapped loosely around him as they stared blankly into the fire. The miserable and sad look Wind wore tore at Time’s heart to see. The young sailor was usually so optimistic, bright, and cheerful, but with Legend’s mysterious and worrying disappearance, he had grown quiet and sullen.

Around this time, Sky would have already been slumbering away, but this night, he found himself to sleep. He was resting against a log, arms crossed, and worry clinging to his features. Next to him was Four. The smallest Hero had taken to sitting on the log, back bent and hands dangling over his knees. His lips were tightly pursed together, brow creased as a look of deep thought stole over his youthful visage. 

There was no murmuring to be heard from him that night.

Twilight, still in wolf form, was lying nearest Time, head pillowed on his paws and cobalt blue eyes fixed on the forest. His ears often twitched as he listened to sounds that could not be heard by Hylian ears.

Time knew what Twilight was doing. Although they both knew it was useless, Twilight never stopped and Time didn’t tell him to.

Wild was silently preparing a meal for them to eat and Time noticed his eyes would often dart to where Legend would normally sit. His spot was empty. 

There were no snarky remarks, no lighthearted jabs, or bantering. No stories being shared, tales being told, or memories of times past.

All was unnervingly quiet.

Time did not like it. He did not like any of this. Legend was gone. His Fire Rod had been found, spelling trouble for the Heroes. Something had befallen their companion, their friend, and they didn’t know what. They didn’t know whether or not Legend was hurt, whether he was near or far from them, or if he were alive..

No.

Legend had to be alive. Possibly hurt, but still alive. Time would believe in this. Legend was too stubborn and resourceful to die.

Where was he? Why hadn’t they been able to find anything that could lead them to him? Twilight had been unable to relocate Legend’s scent, informing Time of how his scent had simply vanished. This did not bode well with Time. Then Wild, Wolfie, and Four return with Legend’s Fire Rod in hand…

According to Wild and Four, there had been no signs of a struggle or battle, so why had Legend drawn his Fire Rod? Perhaps a light-footed enemy had caught him by surprise? Had struck too quickly for Legend to react?

But no. That couldn’t possibly be it. Legend was one of the swiftest of the Heroes to move and react. He was experienced, senses and reflexes honed. Someone Time could tell had seen and done plenty in his short lifetime.

He hid it well, but there was a bitterness, forlornness, and weariness in Legend’s eyes Time recognized and understood, for he saw it in his own each and every time he would glance at his reflection.

Time quietly sighed as he raked his gaze across the camp once more. The lack of activity and conversation only amplified the fact that one of their own was missing. They felt his absence keenly.

Deciding he had had enough of the silence, Time turned his head to face Wild and his eyes fell upon the pink bunny nestled beside the Hero.

Ah...A perfect excuse to strike up a conversation.

It was mostly a distraction, but Time could care less at the moment.

“Have you given your rabbit a name, Wild?”

Wild blinked slowly, taking a moment to realize Time had addressed him. He lifted his chin and faced Time for a brief moment before his gaze settled on the bunny hunched next to him. He smiled faintly and nodded.

Wolfie snorted and Four coughed lightly into his hand.

This sparked intrigue among their fellow Heroes.

Wind perked up, “What did you name him?” He curiously asked. Time felt a tendril of happiness spark upon hearing his voice.

The rabbit glared up at Wild.

Go on, Time could almost imagine it saying, Why don’t you tell them what horrible name you’ve given me?

He felt an odd pang in his chest at the odd thought.

That was definitely something Legend would have said.

“Skittles.” Wild answered. A smile grew on Sky’s lips and Warrior had to muffle a laugh. Wind brightened considerably, grinning toothily.

“Aw! That’s such a cute name!”

Wild shot Four and Wolfie a triumphant look.

See? He signed to them, They like what I named him!

Warrior could have sworn Wolfie rolled his eyes...but that couldn’t be possible.

Hyrule studied the pink rabbit with a hint of melancholy. He remembered the small stories Legend would whip up whenever Hyrule couldn’t sleep at night or was adjusting to being with eight other Heroes. He would weave tales of a helpless, pink, rabbit that had to survive in a dark world teeming with monsters and nightmares lingering around every corner. 

If only Legend could see for himself that pink rabbits actually existed and weren’t something he’d made up. 

“It fits him.” Hyrule finally remarked, and he could have sworn Skittles was studying him intently. 

“It was better than the other names Wild suggested.” Four piped up, a grin lining his lips. “I think one of them was Bubble Butt or something.”

Warrior snorted while Wind burst out laughing. Sky was chuckling to himself, Wolfie coughed and hacked, and Hyrule smothered another smile behind his hand. Even Time cracked an amused grin. 

Wild was momentarily indignant and Skittles absolutely appalled by the possibility of being given such a name.

“Bubble Bean, Four, not Bubble Butt!” Wild corrected, jabbing his wooden ladle at the Hero. Four waved a hand dismissively in the air.

“My bad.”

But Time could tell from the satisfied gleam in his eyes that he’d purposefully butchered the name. He gave a light grin, appreciation swelling in his chest. Four had done it to lighten the mood, and he’d succeeded. It wouldn’t last, but it was enough for now.

“The other was Timber Toast,”

“Timber Toast?” Warrior echoed, incredulous. “Where do you come up with these names?!”

Time wouldn’t admit it, but he also wanted to know.

“And the last?” He inquired instead, coaxing Wild to talk a little more.

“Sugar and Spice.” Wild promptly replied, petting Skittles fondly.

Skittles was disgruntled, making an iconic little bunny face Time found rather amusing. He hadn’t even thought it possible for bunnies to glower- but this one sure could.

“Ah, I would have gone with that one.” The leader told them, waving a finger.

The Heroes turned to him.

“Really?” Wild asked, and Skittles clucked indignantly. Wind hummed thoughtfully,

“Well,” The sailor began, tapping his chin, “If you think about it, Skittles can be sweet and adorable one minute, and then fierce and feisty the next, so it does make sense.” He nodded sagely and leaned back against Warrior’s chest, making himself comfortable.

The two really were more like brothers than anything else, Time observed.

Skittles’ nose twitched and he shifted, practically glaring at Time. Wild suddenly slid a hand beneath him and lifted him up to his shoulder, sparing a moment to pet him as the pot boiled.

Time narrowed his eye on the rabbit in return.

Something about that animal struck him as odd. The animal was far too intelligent for its own good. It sort of reminded him of Wolfie, but then again, Time knew Wolfie was Twilight, so of course he was smarter than every other animal in the world.

“I was thinking more along the lines of his unusual coloring and foul personality.”

Skittles growled and Wolfie peeked an eye open.

Wild pat Skittles’ head.

“There there,” He soothed the seething rabbit, “Don’t listen to the Old Man.”

Time raised an eyebrow but Wild ignored him.

“I’m sure he would make for a delightful meal.” 

“Pops!” Wind scandalously gasped and Wild had to tighten his hold on the murderous Skittles that fought to lunge at Time.

~~~~~~~

Later that night, when the Heroes turned in and Four had taken first watch, Skittles lie waiting.

He’d been scheming for this precise moment. For when the Heroes were asleep and oblivious to the outside world. 

He’d been tucked close to Wild, the teen curled up on his side and arms loosely wrapped around the bunny as he slept. Wolfie was lying protectively next to Wild, tail shielding his eyes as he rested.

Sugar and Spice indeed, Skittles thought darkly to himself, glaring at the peaceful form of Time across from him. His nose twitched as his previous ire returned and an evil plan entered his mind.

He snickered to himself. The Old Man needed to be taught a lesson. He was no helpless bunny.

No. He was not just any bunny. He was smart, resourceful, and quite vengeful.

Now, was the perfect time for him to extract his revenge. Without anyone to hold him back, he was free to do as he pleased. Carefully slipping himself from Wild’s hold, Skittles ducked under an arm and gently lowered it to the ground.

He froze when Wild shifted, confusion furrowing his brow until Skittles had bundled up a nearby cloth and tucked it carefully into his hold. Wild settled, hugging the bundle close to him.

Skittles nodded to himself, pleased. He ignored the strange, warm, feeling that grew within him when he recalled the kindness and gentleness Wild had treated him with. He tried not to think of the bubbliness that arose whenever Wild would draw him close in a loose embrace or rest a hand on his back or head.

Feelings he remembered experiencing years ago...

He stubbornly squashed them and stomped them down. It was better this way. He didn’t want to end up disappointed or hurt again. He was tired of it all, and so he maintained a distance from it all. He feigned indifference.  

He’d grown desensitized.

At least...He’d thought he had.

Vigorously shaking his head, ears flapping, Skittles banished the thoughts from his mind and quietly made his way across the encampment. He scooted past the glowing campfire, its ambient light causing his pink fur to shimmer.

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

Skittles jumped, startled by the curious voice and whipped around to see Four peering at him questioningly.

“He has that look on his face,” Four commented aloud, his voice slightly altered and eyes flashing a different colour.

“Mischievous.” Another voice.

“He’s up to no good.”

“Would you guys please be quiet?” Four grumbled, raking a weary hand through his golden-blonde hair.

Skittles would have raised an eyebrow if he could, but instead settled for giving the small Hero a confused and slightly concerned look.

Four understood it and grinned ruefully. “Voices,” He vaguely explained, tapping his temple, “In my head.”

Skittles leaned back, weirded out.

Four rolled his eyes with a huff of laughter, “I’m not crazy, if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

“You’re talking to a fluffy, pink, rabbit, Green,” The second voice from before deadpanned, “I think that qualifies as crazy.”

“It does not!” The third voice retorted. “I talk to animals all the time!” 

“Guys!” Four growled again. “Settle down.”

Skittles blinked at him.

Four suppressed a groan, tapping the Four Sword that rested across his knees.

“It’s weird,” He murmured, studying Skittles closely, “It’s clear that you can understand our speech…” he tilted his head thoughtfully, “Quite like Wolfie.”

Skittles did not react, but Four saw his dark eyes flicker.

“Animals are more intelligent than they are given credit for,” A bored voice tumbled past Four’s lips, and Four gave an exasperated sigh.

Skittles didn’t know why. Maybe it was because he was an animal and was experiencing heightened animal senses, but he could tell it wasn’t Four speaking. His eyes would change colour, and his expression would alter slightly with each new voice he spoke in.

Four different personalities skillfully hidden behind Four’s persona.

A sudden thought struck Skittles then and there.

Four.

Perhaps he wasn’t called Four because he wielded the Four Sword, but because he had a split personality?

Oh boy…

“You guys are not helping me at all,” Four grumbled, “It’s bad enough everyone thinks I’m crazy.”

You are, Skittles deadpanned, but he shrugged it off. He supposed he’d seen weirder and darker things in his life.

“I’m not crazy,” Four found himself telling Skittles, “My constant mumblings and changes in personality have to do with this lovely thing,” He explained, patting the Four Sword.

Skittles supposed it made sense. Although he didn’t understand what exactly the Four Sword had to do with it, he supposed it was called ‘Four Sword’ for a reason. As curious as he was to learn more about it and Four’s strange shifts in persona, Skittles wouldn’t pry.

Not that he could anyway. 

“So,” Four straightened, fixing Skittles with a raised eyebrow, “What were you doing?”

Skittles raised his paws and lifted his shoulders in a shrug. An eerily human-like gesture. 

He appeared all too innocent.

“I know you’re up to something.”

Skittles rolled his eyes.

Your powers of observation are astounding.

He turned away and continued towards Time. Four watched as Skittles paused close to the Old Man and considered him for a moment.

Ah. Then it hit Four. Skittles hadn’t forgotten Time’s earlier remarks.

“Vengeful little animal, aren’t you?” He commented under his breath.

Skittles thought long and hard about what he would do.

And when he finally settled for an idea, Skittles set to work. 

[mizunetzu]

hulloo〜 can I request an Akaashi x Reader of Akaashi secretly slipping in and out of club time to meet with their crush/girlfriend who happens to be on the cheer team or the girl's vb team. Then one day one of the members like Konoha pointed it out so they all kinda stalked Akaashi to see what he's been up to huehuehuehue thankchu sorry if my request was kinda weird 🥺🥺 -Ally

Aaaahh sorry this took so long!! While I was writing I got another request, so I started writing this one and the other one at the same time ripppp. Anyways LMAO enjoy I love you 🥺

————

Akaashi x reader - where are you going?

⚠️ warnings - female reader? None

Pronouns - female, she/her

——————

“Hey hey hey-Where you going akaagjnshi?”

The black haired boy froze in his tracks. Bokuto tipped his head slightly to the side, holding a volleyball he was about to spike. Akaashi gripped his sports bag tighter.

“...I’m going home. My mom needs me to help with dinner.”

It was such a weak, foolish excuse, Akaashi told himself. But knowing Bokuto, it would suffice.

Bokutos smile quickly returned to his face. “Ah! You should’ve just said so! Tell your mom I said hi!”

“I will,” Akaashi said, dipping out of the gym quietly. Bokuto paid no attention to the small blush Akaashi was harboring, along with the few beads of sweat running down his temple.

————

“You’re gonna be late, aakkaggshi?”

“Yes, I...my teacher wanted to review a lesson I didn’t really understand. I can come to practice a bit late though.”

Another dumb excuse. But bokutos stupidly wide grin assured him it worked everytime. Some part of Akaashi felt bad for lying to Bokuto, but the guilt eventually got buried and lost in all of the “I’m helping my mother with dinner”s and “I have to leave early to study”s.

“All right! Yknow-i can come with you if you wa-“

“NO! I-I mean, you’ll probably just get bored and it’s gonna be quick, no need.” Bokuto blinked. Akaashi almost never got flustered or embarrassed. Was he hiding something?

Eh, probably not.

“O...kay, I’ll see you later dude...?” Bokuto punched Akaashi lightly on the shoulder before leaving. Akaashi sighed heavily, before walking in the opposite direction of the classrooms, into the second gym.

Weird, Bokuto thought. That’s the girls volleyball gym.

I wonder why his teacher wants to meet him there?

—————

“I’m leaving early, Bokuto-San.”

“Ah-is it you’re mom again?? You must be a really good cook or something, if she always wants you to make dinner.”

“Yeah. I’m going now, goodbye.”

“Bye, ajdjsfjdksjfdjkahshi!”

Bokuto waved absentmindedly at the retreating boy. It’s been happening every other day, so he kind of got used to him leaving early or showing up a few minutes late.

“Oi captain-don’t you think it’s weird that Akaashis always leaving practice early?” Sarukui but in, watching Akaashi as he hunched over, practically tip toeing out the door.

“Yeah-why does he get to cut practice but we have to stay the whole time?” Kohona joined in, resting a hand on Bokutos shoulder. Bokuto brought a finger to his chin.

“Well-“ Bokuto gestured towards the door. “His mom is always telling him to come home.”

“Why?”

“To...make dinner?” Bokuto said, matter-of-factly.

Sarukui and Kohona stared at their captain like he’d cut off his own hand. “You can’t be serious Bokuto,”

“I am!”

“Wha-What about the times he shows up to practice late??”

“That’s easy,” Bokuto clasped his hands together. “He says his teacher wants him to stay behind to teach him stuff.”

“...”

“Bokuto...” Kohona deadpanned. “Akaashis in class six-he’s a straight A student.”

Bokuto furrowed his eyebrows. “Well, I-I haven’t thought about tha-“

“And Akaashis mom loves to cook-why would she make him do it?”

“Well...” Bokuto choked out, voice cracking a bit. “I did find it strange that he took his extra classes in the 2nd gym...”

Kohona and Sarukui looked at eachother. “....Isn’t that where the girls volleyball practice goes on?”

They all stood in silence for a few beats. Bokuto squinted his eyes and knitted his brows together. He still didn’t know what was going on.

A light went off in Kohona and Sarukui heads, gasping lightly with a faint blush spread across their faces. Bokuto tilted his head, confused.

“You don’t think he...” Kohona mused, unable to suppress the mischievous smirk growing on his face.

“Akaashi you sly dog.” Sarukui and Kohona shared a knowing smirk between eachother, while Bokuto scratches his neck awkwardly.

“Uh-“

“Bokuto-captain-buddyyyyy....” Sarukui sung. “Can me and Kohona leave practice early tomorrow? Around when akaashi does? We’ll let you come toooooo~”

Ah yes, the power of friendship. How could Bokuto refuse.

——————

“I’m heading home, Bokuto-San.”

“Dinner again?”

“...yes.”

“Oh! Can me, Sarukui and Kohona come t-“

A foot was firmly jabbed into Bokutos, earning a yelp from the grey haired boy. Akaashi looked at Kohona strangely as Sarukui put a hand around Bokutos shoulders.

“Don’t mind Bokuto, dude. Tell your mom we said hi~”

Akaashi blinked, suspicious. “Al....right..” he waved it off as them probably going to do something perverted or stupid while he was gone and slung his volleyball bag on his shoulders. “Goodbye then.”

The two chorused out a farewell as Bokuto whimpered in pain and betrayal.

“Tail him.”

“I know I know-let’s go Bokuto,” Sarukui grabbed Bokuto by the sleeve of his shirt, dragging him out while they kept a safe distance from Akaashi.

“So he WAS going to the girls gym!” Kohona smirked. Akaashi briskly speedwalked to the entrance of the second gym, dusting off any dirt on his volleyball shirt and fixing his already pretty short hair.

The three ducked behind the wall of the gym, dashing towards it when Akaashi turned his back. “What’s he doing! He’s just standing there!”

Sure enough, Akaashi was standing idly a few feet from the door of the gym, seemingly waiting for something or someone. He messed with his fingers and tapped his foot anxiously, even though his face was completely calm and relaxed.

After what seemed like forever, the door of the gym opened ever so slightly, wide enough only for someone to slip though. Akaashis face lit up (even though he still held his neutral gaze) and he quickly let go of his own hands, letting them drop to his side. Bokuto and Kohona gasped, while Sarukuis face held a knowing, shit eating grin.

Standing in front of Akaashi was a girl wearing the girls fukurodani volleyball jacket, holding a volleyball in her hands. She hazily tossed the ball back into the gym, before enveloping Akaashi into a hug.

Akaashi tentatively wrapped his arms around her waist. It looked like they were saying something to eachother, but Sarukui and Kohona couldn’t make out the words from their distance.

“Who would’ve thought Akaashi had a girlfriend...” Sarukui mumbled, eyes glued to the scene infront of them.

“Well-i thought Bokuto would’ve known-Bokuto?” Kohona turned to where Bokuto was standing, to see that he had disappeared. The two boys went pale.

“Oh no...” Sarukui broke into a cold sweat as he saw their loud was captian strutting towards them.

“Bokuto! You dumbass! Get back here!” Kohona whisper yelled, flailing his arms to try and grab Bokutos attention. It was too late. Akaashi and the girl took sight of him. Akaashi looked like a deer in headlights, while the girl looked at Bokuto with a nervous smile.

“Hey hey hey! Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend Akkaggshi!” Akaashi said nothing, instead tightening his hold on his (h/c)-haired girlfriend.

Kohona and Sarukui sighed and stepped out from their hiding spot. Well-it’s not really a hiding spot if you aren’t hiding from something anymore.

“Who’s the girl Akaashi?” Kohona said, smirking at the (h/c) haired person next to Akaashi. She stepped forward.

“I’m (L/n) (y/n), nice to meet you.” (Y/n) said. Akaashi deflated, embarrassed.

“(Y/n) please-“

“AWWW-you guys are on a first name basis?! How CUTE~!!” Kohona made goo-goo eyes at Akaashi, while Sarukui held up a heart with his fingers. Bokuto whipped his arm around Akaashi, making him stumble back slightly while he yelled things like “hey hey hey!” Or “my man bro alasshshshi!”

Akaashi looked eyes with (y/n), practically pleading for help with his eyes while containing the last embers of his neutral collected gaze. (Y/n) just laughed and booped him on the nose.

“They seem like nice people-why didn’t you introduce me to your team before?” Akaashi freed himself from Bokutos grip.

“We’re gonna be late-let’s go-“ Akaashi linked arms with (y/n) and tried to speed walk away. (Y/n) planted her feet firm and smirked.

“Noo I wanna meet your friends Keiji-Chan~”

“OOHHH SHE CALLED HIM KEIJI-CHAN KOHONA THEIR PRACTICALLY MARRIED NOW-“

“Shut up, please” Akaashi begged, then sighed. “Okay, (Y/n), that’s Sarukui, that’s Kohona, and that’s Bokuto-San.” Akaashi gestured to each of the boys standing around them.

“Now that your well acquainted, can we please get goin-“

Akaashis pleads were lost in the sound of questions and conversations being flung at them. (Well-mostly (y/n) )

goddamnit.

After what seemed like forever, (y/n) pried herself from the volleyball players and interlocked her fingers with akaashis. “Okaaaay, lets go” she said with a chuckle.

“Finally...” thank the heavens.

“Where you guys going?” Bokuto asked. (Y/n) glanced to Akaashi for approval. Akaashi nodded.

“We’re going to grab some dinner at this one place, we do it every Thursdays.”

“Oh! Oh! Can we come??” Bokuto cheered. He looked like a puppy clinging to akaashis side. The boy deadpanned while (y/n) laughed internally.

“But-we-“

“Sure! Let’s go!” (Y/n) said, looking straight into Akaashis wilting eyes. The boys clamored past him, heading out of the school to wherever they were going. Akaashi just wanted some alone time after practice with his girlfriend, but now he has to take care of the people he was trying to get away from. Fuck.

“Oh! And, Akaashi?” Kohona said, stopping in his tracks and looking back at Akaashi. He had his feet planted into the ground with a devastated look on his face.

“That’s what you get for skipping practice so much.”

——————

Tag list...? @kenmas-consoles

[honeymoonjin]

Chapter Ten

Summary: When you hear that your recently deceased grandmother left you her property in her will, at first you think that a dinky old cottage in the middle of nowhere isn’t going to mean much for you. But after spending a night there, you discover something far more valuable than the house itself: a hidden door that leads to another time, the same place but over 200 years in the past. In the late 18th Century, there is a king who will die before his 21st birthday unless you can save him. Will you help him, even if it means leaving your own life behind?

--

In the end, you had to promise that you'd stay a night in the castle before he agreed to stay out of the water. King Jeon tried to talk with you, joke with you, but your mind was whirring.

It didn't make any sense to you. Perhaps that just so happened to be a common turn of phrase in this century - "I'll make him an offer he can't refuse" - but it seemed unlikely. How was it, then, that a man apparently from this time knew a modern-day movie quote?

"Come on, I didn't invite you here to sit all glum like that. What's the matter, my sweet maiden? I would think you'd be happy since you managed to take away all the joy from this trip like you wanted."

Your eyes flicker up to the young man as he stands above you, blocking out the sun. You were shivering and probably looked less attractive than a wet sewer rat, curled up on a rough-hewn picnic blanket. He stood in front of you, practically glistening like a Greek God, looking perfect as always. It made you even more bitter than you already were. "Excuse me for wanting to protect my King. It's not like it's my job or anything."

He scoffs, turning his face away from you in disbelief. "You know, I didn't bring you here expecting that you'd ruin all my fun."

"No. It seems you were expecting me to take all my clothes off and freeze to death in the water." In the near distance, further around the edge of the lake, his guard shot you a warning glare. That man had impeccable hearing, it seemed, and you frowned pettily at the way he shook his head at you, barely focussing on the fishing rod he was working on with the other soldiers. Maybe you should be speaking more politely to the ruler, but you could barely speak at all with your lips going numb and your mind whirring at an alarming pace, trying to work out what exactly was going on.

The man standing in front of you shrugs, runs a hand through his dark locks to squeeze some more water out, and moves to sit beside you. You jump at the sudden proximity of his skin on yours, but the way his arms have somehow been warmed in the sun is a welcome relief to your clammy, goosebump-covered flesh. "There we go," he says simply, wrapping an arm tightly around your shoulders, "I do believe you're so grouchy because you're cold. Perhaps your vital organs are shutting down and your brain is too frozen to see reason. Surely there's no other explanation for why you'd be so rude to your King, hmm?"

You resist the urge to glare at him, too grateful for the warmth he provides. "Sure." You fix him with a curious stare. "How did Jin become your healer?"

He looks down at you, eyelashes clumped into stars that frame his glittering eyes. You become a little lost in those depths, unable to tear your gaze away. "He approached me one day," he answers simply. "A long time ago, when I was barely thirteen. I had technically been King for several months at that point after my mother... passed away, and he told me every good leader needed a man to look out for his health. 'What if danger befalls you suddenly, and you do not have time to seek out a shaman or a healer from his home? A kingdom cannot afford to lose it's ruler so easily.' So, I gave him a place to stay, and he's been loyal to me ever since. In many ways, he raised me. I don't have any family, you know."

Suddenly, your conspiracy theorizing seems far-fetched. "I didn't know that," you answer quietly. "I'm sorry."

"Ah," he dismisses, "we all have our origins. As painful as they might be, they make us who we are today. They give us wings to fly. I do believe I wouldn't be half the ruler I am today without his guidance." King Jeon lifts his gaze to the edge of the water, where the leather-clad guard squeals at a flopping fish his companion waves in his face. "Seokjin and Hoseok. Those two... I owe them everything. It's not easy being where I am. Some days I wish I wasn't at the center of my own universe, you know?"

You think of your own adventures; how much strife they've caused you. The strain on your relationship with Jimin that never existed before, the pressure to impact history itself. "I get that," you reply honestly. "I don't think you should be so hard on yourself. You have two men who love you, and a kingdom of people who are grateful for your reign. All you can do is count your blessings and take things one day at a time."

He laughs lightly out his nose, patting your shoulder absentmindedly. "You, my kind healer, seem to be wise beyond your years. Why is that?"

You hide a grin. If only you knew. "I'll take that as a compliment, I suppose." You can barely stand the way he looks at you now. Like nothing in the universe exists. Like he's watching the sun rise. You break the stare and pick at the tufts of fabric on the felt blanket. "Your Highness, I want to thank you again for letting me work for you. I... I can't really explain, but it's very important to me. So I appreciate it."

He hums, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, as much as you stubbornly try to avoid it. "Y/n. Look at me." You glance up quickly and then drop your eyes back down. "That's a royal decree, little madam."

"Okay, fine. But it's not fair that you get to whip out your privileges every time you want something."

He chuckles at you, eyes crinkling in the corners, and you force yourself to keep looking at him as ordered. The you one week ago would only want Jimin to look at you like this, not a random stranger like King Jeon was. The you a week ago would never have this weird feeling in her stomach every time she looked at someone other than Jimin. "Y/n," he repeats, and you can't help but wish he'd say it one more time, "when we're like this, just us two... You don't have to call me Your Highness. Call me Jungkook."

Your eyes widen slightly. You'd never even thought to wonder what his first name is, you realize. Jungkook. It fits him. "Jungkook," you recite experimentally, heart leaping at the bright grin he gives you as a reward.

"Fine, then," he says loudly, breaking the intimate moment between you two, and catching the attention of the other men at the same time, "you've worn me down, you cruel mistress. I suppose we'll head back now, after all. Perhaps our next outing can be somewhere with a little less water, hm?"

A cold shiver runs down your spine when he breaks away from you to stand up, but you mask the odd streak of disappointment with a smile. "Sure."

--

"Woah, this is so exciting! You're basically royalty, Y/n!"

You let out a hearty chuckle at Taehyung's enthusiasm. "Not really." The two of you were in a lushly decorated but fairly small bedroom, the same one you had found yourself in before, when Taehyung had locked you in it. You were glad that this time you were here on your own free will. "Yoongi got the message?"

"Yeah, he's there now. I can't believe you let him go to the future instead of me, Y/n. It's heartbreaking."

Not the most ideal of situations, you had requested that Yoongi sneak through the doorway to your time with the express purpose of sending a text to Jimin that you were sick, and that he at no costs could come out to visit you. Hopefully it would keep him away overnight while you were gone, and you were desperately hoping Yoongi didn't get up to too much mischief while he was there. "Yoongi promised me he'd go straight there and back, no detours. You can't tell me that if you really traveled two hundred and fifty years into the future that you would be able to resist the temptation to explore?"

The boy purses his lips, then lowers his shoulders in defeat with a dramatic sigh. "Yeah, fine, you're right. Maybe one day?"

You can't resist those puppy eyes. "Maybe," you allow. "If I can figure out who the hell is trying to kill the King."

"Oh, yeah!" he gasps, throwing himself into a heap on the bed with a squeak of the springs. "Did you save his life again?"

"That's the thing," you say with a frown, joining him with less energy, "nothing happened. I mean, I did make sure he never really went properly swimming in the first place, so perhaps he really just would've drowned on pure accident, but... I really can't work out what's going on. I had a suspicion, but I'm not so sure."

"Well, what's your suspicion? My lips are sealed, I swear!" You aren't so certain as to the validity of that comment, but you have faith that the only person he'll blab to is the one man who's already in on it.

"Fine. I was thinking it was Jin. Think about it," you protest when he opens his mouth to question it, "nothing happened today, but Jin wasn't there. If it wasn't for me being invited, he would've gone along, and maybe Jung- King Jeon would've drowned because I wasn't there to stop him swimming."

Taehyung frowns, and scoots further up the bed to cross his legs. "It just seems like you don't think Jin is a very good healer. Which, honestly, sure. That could be true. But..." he breaks off into a sigh. "Listen, I so wish this was exciting and dramatic, and there were murder attempts and stuff. But maybe the King's life is at risk purely because we aren't as evolved as you. Maybe there's no ill intention. Maybe this is just the way it is." His eyes lower, and the corner of his mouth sinks. "I've been thinking a lot. About the inevitability of fate. What if we're messing with something that should never be messed with? What if all of this is futile?"

Your nose twitches, eyes stinging slightly. "I don't want to think about that. I need to save him. Someone I love very much will die if I don't. At least, I'm pretty sure that's how this works. Fuck, I wish time traveling came with a manual. This is a nightmare."

He smiles softly at you, and silently leans in to snake his arms around your middle and give you a hug. You blink tears away and pat his back awkwardly, grateful for the contact. When he hears a sniffle, he tightens his grip. "Don't cry," he mutters into your shirt, "everything will be okay. Even if  the King still dies, I'm happy that you came here. For the first time in my life, I have a friend."

"Yoongi's your friend," you answer reflexively.

"Yoongi turned me into a pig. He tolerates me on good days."

You grin, wrapping your arms around him and returning the hug. "Then I guess that makes us best friends. I'm glad you're here, Taehyung. I'm glad I met you."

His grip gets impossibly tight. "Me too."

--

TAGLIST Message me or send an ask to be added to the taglist for Sovereign, and never miss a new chapter!

@sonyeonsideupsmile  @sweetcheeksdna (I can’t seem to tag you!)  @hoodiebangtan @mntchcchp @shay-the-turtle @under-dah-sea

[clonerightsenthusiast]

we will be happy (together tomorrow)

[5.5k words, gen, Hadrian&Hella]

It was a quiet morning when Hadrian came to see him.

 Life with Red Jack, while it held its own kind of peace, was rarely quiet, so Throndir relished the rare mornings when he had the house to himself. With both Red Jack and Blue J out with the sunrise and Throndir in the rare position of having no pressing responsibilities, he had been planning on leaving the library in Lem's dubiously capable hands and spending his morning doing nothing more demanding than checking Kodiak's fur for burrs.

 However, because life is rarely fair, he'd barely gotten as far as putting a kettle on the stove to boil for coffee when there was a rapid knocking at the door that, naturally, set Kodiak barking. He shushed his dog and herded him out of the way to open the door, revealing a harried-looking Hadrian with his fist raised to continue knocking. He blinked and visibly refocused as Throndir appeared in front of him.

 "Throndir," he said, then stopped like he wasn't sure how to continue.

 "Hey, Hadrian," Throndir said, looking him up and down for any sign of what could have brought him here in his current state. He was dressed in his usual plainclothes, a little ruffled maybe but put together in a way that didn't suggest an emergency. "What's up? Is something wrong?"

 "What? No, I…" Hadrian paused to take a deep breath and visibly centered himself, one hand going to his pocket. "Could we talk?"

(read on ao3)

 "Yeah, of course!" Throndir said quickly, stepping aside to make room for Hadrian to enter. "Come in, make yourself at home. It's just me here, so…" he trailed off, leading the way back to the kitchen.

 Hadrian dropped into one of the seats at the kitchen table--one of the regular ones, not the massive Red Jack-sized chair that barely fit. Kodiak took his time greeting Hadrian and inspecting him thoroughly for treats while Throndir checked the kettle and sat down across from him. Satisfied that Hadrian wasn't holding out on him, Kodiak returned to his spot by the fire with a contented groan.

 Hadrian didn't immediately say anything, instead drumming his fingers on the table with an odd, nervous tension.

 Throndir finally cleared his throat. "So, uh…" he began, fidgeting awkwardly with the laces of his shirt.

 Hadrian startled just a little at the silence being broken. He looked up and flattened his hands against the table, fixing Throndir with an intense, searching gaze. "You still visit Ephrim, don't you?"

 Almost against his will, Throndir stiffened, sitting upright and drawing ever so slightly away from the table. His hands curled into fists in his lap. Over by the fire, Kodiak lifted his head as if sensing the sudden tension.

 His loyalty to Ephrim wasn't a secret, exactly, but it was a mostly unspoken truth. Every mention was the possibility for an argument he didn't want to have and wasn't willing to budge on. Whatever anyone's opinion on Ephrim--whatever Throndir's own opinion on what he'd done--making time to see him in his quiet little exile was the least he owed him after a decade of stalwart friendship.

 "Look," he said slowly, forcing his tone even. "I do, yeah. It's Ephrim. We went through too much together, Hadrian. I couldn't…" he trailed off, the words dying in his throat. There were days--not all of them, but some--when he trekked out to Ephrim's little cottage on the outskirts of the settlement and the visit hurt. When the unspoken regrets and betrayal became unbearably oppressive, and all they could manage was kneeling in the garden side by side in silence, until Throndir went home with an ache in his chest. But even on the very worst days, the thought of abandoning Ephrim hurt worse.

 Hadrian, for his part, didn't seem to notice the tension. If anything, he seemed relieved. "That's… that's great," he said, and sounded honest enough to startle Throndir out of his defensive posture. "If anyone gets it, it's you, Throndir."

 Throndir exchanged a baffled look with Kodiak, who let out a huff and unhelpfully dropped his head back down to resume his nap. He looked back at Hadrian. "Is this… are we still talking about Ephrim?"

 Hadrian laughed, more surprised than amused. "No," he said. From his pocket he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and laid it out on the table between them, smoothing it out until it was legible. It took a long moment for the lines and shorthand scribbles to resolve themselves until Throndir realized what it was he was looking at: a map of the Rhizome, with the Last University in one corner and a location marked helpfully with an X in the opposite.

 "I'm talking about Hella."

 --

 Throndir returned to the table and handed Hadrian a mug of coffee, settling back into his chair with his own. Hadrian muttered a thanks and immediately wrapped both hands around the mug but didn't drink it. Throndir took a long sip to give himself time to gather his thoughts.

 "So let me get this straight," he said finally, setting his mug down. "Hella's been sending you letters from wherever she and Adaire ended up, and now she's sent you this map and wants you to… what, exactly?"

 Hadrian made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. "I don't know exactly," he said. "Just… meet, I guess. Talk."

 Throndir hummed in acknowledgment. "And you're… not sure if you should go?"

 "Well of course I'm gonna go," Hadrian said, letting go of his mug with one hand to wave it around in agitation. "It's Hella."

 Throndir snorted. It wasn't like he could argue with that logic. "Okay," he said. "Fair enough. But uh, no offense Hadrian, then why are you here?"

 Hadrian fixed him with a wide-eyed earnest look that had him already dreading what he was about to say. "I want you to come with me," he said.

 Throndir rubbed his temple. "Why?" he asked. "Not that I wouldn't be happy to see Hella, of course I would, but--"

 "I need you to help me follow the map," Hadrian said. "You're better at navigating than I am. You were the Ranger, man."

 Throndir grimaced, folding his hands in his lap to hide the twitching of his trigger finger. "That was a long time ago."

 "Well I can't ask Blue J to do it," Hadrian huffed, leaning back in his seat. "You're all I've got. Plus, you know," he added, waving a hand. "You're her friend, too."

 Throndir frowned and leaned forward, peering at him suspiciously. "That aside, why can't you ask Blue J? Have you told Benjamin where you're going?"

 Hadrian grimaced, which was answer enough. Throndir's ears flicked back in displeasure. "Hadrian," he said reprovingly.

 "He wouldn't… he wouldn't understand," Hadrian grumbled, finally taking a sip of his coffee and refusing to look Throndir in the face.

 "So you're just gonna lie to him?" Throndir asked incredulously. "Isn't that how all of this started?"

 Hadrian got over his discomfort enough to glare daggers at him. "Hey, this is nothing like that! I'm not hurting anybody here."

 Throndir sighed and decided to try a different angle before he gave up entirely. "Have you considered that maybe he misses Hella, too?"

 It was Hadrian's turn to look incredulous. "Miss her? Throndir, c'mon, you saw how angry he was. And he's… he can be impulsive. He might do something he ends up regretting. It's better if he just… thinks we're going hiking or something. For old times' sake, you know."

 Throndir sighed. "I think you're underestimating him, is all," he said wearily. "And you can be mad at someone and still miss them."

 Hadrian waved his hands, getting more agitated. "Look, if Benjamin comes to me and says he wants to make up with Hella, I swear I'll do everything in my power to make that happen. But for right now, I just want to go see my best friend without worrying about--any of that." He leaned forward again, flattening his hands on the table and looking at Throndir with pleading eyes. "So will you help me do that or not?"

 Throndir sighed and looked down at the map again. Adaire's style was familiar; nearly all the maps of the Rhizome they had were at least descended from it. Far from perfect, but he knew by now how to judge distance from them. The spot she'd marked was probably about a half day's journey from the Last University. Barely a journey at all, after their past adventures. And at the end of it…

 He turned back to Hadrian and finally softened, covering one of his hands with his own. "Yeah," he said. "Of course I will, Hadrian."

 Hadrian sagged in relief, flipping his hand over beneath Throndir's and squeezing it briefly in thanks. "I knew I could count on you," he said, getting up from the table. "I'll get a grasshopper ready."

 Throndir stood up as well, his eyebrows shooting up. "What, are we leaving now?"

 Hadrian blinked. "Why, are you busy?"

 Throndir looked at Kodiak. Kodiak gave him a long, beleaguered look in return, then slowly heaved himself to his feet. Throndir turned back. "Uh, I guess not."

 "Great." Hadrian flashed him a grin, grabbing the map and stuffing it back in his pocket. "I'll meet you at the gate." He shot a, "Thanks for the coffee!" over his shoulder as he headed for the door, leaving his mostly-untouched mug behind.

 Throndir gave him a half-hearted wave, watching him go. Kodiak lumbered over, pushing his head into Throndir's hip demandingly. Throndir obliged him by scratching behind his ear, looking down at his faithful companion with a huff. "Well, Kodiak," he said. "I guess today's gonna be a little more exciting than we thought, huh?"

 --

 "This must be it," Throndir called from the back of the grasshopper as they emerged from the woods the map had led them to into a large clearing, like a small natural park. Hadrian reined the bug to a stop, absentmindedly patting it on the shoulder as he slid off. Behind him, he could hear Throndir setting about freeing an antsy Kodiak from his traveling harness and the bug food they'd packed. He ignored him in favor of walking further into the glade, looking for any sign of Hella.

 "Are you sure this is the right place?" he called back when nobody made themselves known after a minute or so.

 "I mean, I guess I could've read the map wrong," Throndir said dubiously, finishing tying up the grasshopper and coming over to join him. "But I'm pretty sure we're in the right place. Did Hella give you like, a time to meet her?"

 Hadrian shook his head, his frown deepening. "No, she just sent the map."

 "Well, maybe she's planning on just checking in and she's not here right now?" Throndir offered, sounding distinctly unsure. "Or maybe her letter got delayed, and she thought you'd have already been here, and she thinks you're not coming? Or maybe she's not expecting you yet?"

 Hadrian shook his head irritably. No, no, that couldn't be true. He had to believe that Hella knew he would come; she had to know that he would always come when she asked. And it followed that if she knew he was coming, assuming they were in the right place--she would be here. "She'll be here," he said firmly.

 "All right," Throndir acquiesces. "You know her better than I do."

 Kodiak barked, then barked again. Hadrian normally wouldn't be bothered (after all, he's a dog, barking is just what dogs do), but beside him Throndir straightened up and twisted to look at him.

 "What?" Hadrian asked, also turning to look. Off to the side, Kodiak had stiffened and was peering intensely at what seemed to be nothing but thin air. He let out another bark, following it up with a low growl.

 "He's seen something," Throndir said. "But I can't tell what it is, can you?"

 Hadrian opened his mouth to ask whether Kodiak could have seen maybe some sort of squirrel or other woodland creature, but he was interrupted by a familiar voice calling, "Hadrian!" and suddenly where there had been nothing there was now Adaire Ducarte with a put-out expression and a large white dog.

 Hadrian hardly noticed her, however, because striding towards him, with her sword on her back but no armor and a grin on her face, was Hella Varal.

 For a moment he was frozen in place, his brain stuttering at the sight of her. Before he could react she had already crossed the distance between them. Belatedly, he stretched out a hand--to clasp her arm, maybe, he hadn't thought it through all the way, but it didn't matter because Hella took hold of it and used it to yank him forward into a crushing hug.

 All the breath went out of him like she'd gut punched him instead. His body reacted before his mind could and he reached up to clutch her back just as tightly.

 When she and Adaire left the Last University he hadn't realized, at first, that it was for good. He'd understood that they had fled from Benjamin's crusade, but initially he had assumed they were just going to lie low for a while and come home once things had blown over. It wasn't until he'd started getting Hella's letters that it sank in that they weren't coming back. That he might never see them again. That he'd lost his best friend without even a proper good-bye.

 And now here she was, months later, close enough to touch.

 They pulled apart after a long moment, each taking the time to peer into the other's face, cataloguing the differences time apart had put there. Hella seemed largely the same; Hadrian wasn't sure how much she could change in the modified pala-din body she inhabited now. He thought, maybe, that she had more smile lines around her eyes now.

 "Hey," she said, with all the warmth and suffused humor he remembered from Hella-at-peace. "It's good to see you."

 "Yeah," Hadrian said around the lump in his throat. "Yeah, it's good to see you, too."

 "Hey, Hella!" Throndir's cheerful greeting startled Hadrian and it was like a bubble had popped and the rest of the world rushed in all at once. He took a half-step to the side, turning so he wasn't standing between the two of them anymore.

 Hella reached out and clasped his arm. "Hey, hi," she said, still grinning broadly. "How've you been?"

 "Good, I've been good," Throndir said. "Keeping busy with the library and stuff, y'know."

 "Yeah, yeah, I remember," Hella said. "You're still doing that, huh?"

 Throndir shrugged. "Yeah, I mean… y'know. Somebody's gotta do it, right?"

 "Oh, sure, sure."

 Hadrian opened his mouth to interject before their smalltalk made him burst, but a loud throat-clearing beat him to it. The three of them turned as one to see that Adaire had crept up on them while they were talking. She stood with her arms crossed, doing her best to look dispassionate--but Hadrian could see the corner of her lip twitching like she wanted to smile.

 "Hey," she said simply.

 "Hey," he said back, more warmly than he'd even really intended. They'd never had the friendliest relationship, but he was surprised by how glad he was to see her. Maybe it was just nostalgia, or the residual joy of seeing Hella again. But her lip twitched again and he thought maybe the feeling was mutual.

 "You two didn't bring a bunch of guards with you, did you?" Adaire asked after a moment in a dry tone that made it impossible to tell if she was joking.

 "Adaire," Hella chided, rolling her eyes. She slid an arm around Adaire's shoulders, turning towards Hadrian and Throndir with a long-suffering look. "Adaire was convinced we might show up to get arrested, or something."

 "I wouldn't say convinced," Adaire protested. "I was only advocating for a healthy amount of caution. There was no telling whose hands that map could've fallen into. Plus, Barbelo could use the exercise."

 "Hadrian wouldn't do that to us," Hella said, and Hadrian's heart clenched in his chest. He wouldn't, of course, the thought hadn't even occurred to him. From the moment he'd unfolded the map and realized what it was, he'd been thinking of following it himself. But now that the possibility was before him, he realized what a risk Hella had been taking in directing him to find her--what faith she'd had in him.

 Adaire didn't seem to notice his momentary crisis; in fact, she was barely paying him any attention at all, half-turned in Hella's embrace to better banter with her. "I mean, technically he did bring a cop," she said, gesturing at Throndir.

 "Hey," Throndir protested mildly, then brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "Though actually I'm… not that, anymore. The Golden Lance isn't really a thing anymore. I dissolved it."

 Adaire and Hella both looked at him with raised eyebrows. Hella looked pleasantly surprised; Adaire seemed largely nonplussed.

 "Kept the gun, though," she said.

 Throndir snorted. "I mean, I wasn't gonna give it back."

 "Fair," Adaire said, and finally smiled.

 "Seems like a lot's changed," Hella said. Her eyes shifted sideways to Hadrian again, and he cleared his throat and met them.

 "Yeah," he said, holding her gaze. "You've missed a lot."

 Hella's eyes softened and she took a step towards him. "Hadrian--"

 "Hey, Throndir," Adaire interjected, her voice a little too loud. She stepped over to Throndir's side and jammed her arm through his, forcibly leading him over towards where the grasshopper was tied up. "Why don't you tell me how the bugs are doing."

 "She's only gotten more subtle," Hadrian drawled.

 Hella snorted and reached out to bump his arm with her knuckles, too lightly to really be called a punch. "C'mon," she said. "Let's talk."

 --

 "How much have you heard from everybody else?" Hadrian asked, settling against the fallen log at the edge of the glade.

 Hella hummed thoughtfully. "I mean, it varies," she said. "Lem writes a whole novel when he remembers, but honestly I have no idea what he's talking about most of the time. A lot of rocks? But I don't know if he means like, the rock person or just actual rocks." She paused and looked over at him. "Would you look in on him? You know how he can get… weird. Like he was in Aubade. I'm a little worried about him."

 Hadrian shrugged. "I'm pretty sure Lem is always weird, but sure, I'll check on him."

 Hella flashed him a smile. "Thanks," she said, then went back to considering her other pen pals. "Ephrim likes to complain, mostly." She paused. "I haven't heard anything back from Fero."

 "He left, not long after you did," Hadrian said. "Just up and disappeared one day. No one's seen hide or hair of him since." He shrugged, a slow drag and heavy drop of his shoulders. "He could be anywhere by now."

 Hella let out a long breath, and Hadrian knocked his knee against hers. He'd liked Fero fine, but he was pretty sure Hella was one of the only people Fero might have actually counted as a friend. "I guess he didn't leave a forwarding address, huh," she said finally, shooting him a wry smile.

 Hadrian snorted. "God no, you think he wanted to hear from any of us?" He elbowed her lightly. "I'm sure you'll figure something out."

 "Yeah," Hella said on a big exhale. "Maybe he'll get bored eventually and come say hi."

 "Maybe." Hadrian shrugged. It seemed like something he would do. Or it didn't! He'd never claimed to understand Fero's whims.

 After a long moment of silence, Hella nudged his shoulder. "How are you doing, Hadrian?"

 Hadrian shrugged again. "Oh, you know me. I'm fine."

 Hella hummed encouragingly. "Yeah?"

 Hadrian waved a hand. "Yeah, 'course. The church is great, Rosana's great, Benjamin's great, everything's great." The hand resting on his knee curled into a fist of its own accord. "World hasn't ended yet and we haven't been taken over by a conquering army, so yeah, I'm doing fine." He surprised himself by slipping into heavy sardonicism; he hadn't meant it to come out that way. He was fine, he was pretty sure.

 He looked away, but he could feel her eyes on the side of his face.

 "Are you mad at me?" she asked finally. Hadrian closed his eyes and scrubbed his hands over his face. She didn't sound upset, almost just… curious. Like she just… wanted to know.

 He sighed, long and weary. "That's a complicated question," he said, to buy himself time. Was he mad at Hella? When Benjamin had come to them with the information on the Understanding, he'd been… shocked. Upset, certainly, but also confused. He'd wanted to talk to Hella about it, to get answers straight from her about what she was thinking, why she'd done it. But she'd left town before he got the chance, and then any anger he might have been harboring had gotten tied up with the sudden grief when he realized she was gone. Even when he started getting her letters he'd been too preoccupied with missing Hella to consider being angry at her. And that was really it, wasn't it? It wasn't even the lying and the abuse of power he was angry about, not really. He certainly wasn't happy about any of that, but--he was upset that she'd done it because she'd had to leave.

 "God," he said finally, clunking his head back against the log. He turned his head to face her. "Why'd you do it?"

 It was Hella's turn to sigh. "Does it really matter anymore?" she asked wryly, shaking her head.

 "It might," he shot back, and she snorted.

 She sighed again and leaned back too, drawing her knees up and resting her arms on them as she gazed up at the trees above them. "I thought… I dunno, I figured if they were gonna do it, and they were, someone should be there to… keep it from getting out of hand."

 "Yeah, 'cause that whole situation was definitely in hand," Hadrian snarked.

 Hella elbowed him, the corner of her lips quirking up. "Don't be an asshole," she said.

 "I'm the asshole?" he demanded, without any real heat. "I'm not the one who joined the secret council that lied to and manipulated everyone!"

 That startled a laugh out of Hella. "I was trying to help!" she insisted, and when she turned her head to look at him she was smiling for real. He grinned back, reveling in a moment of joking with his friend again, before the weight of the topic at hand sank in again and his smile faded. After a moment, Hella's did too.

 "I wish you hadn't done it," he said. It came out rawer than he intended, pulled from the deep aching place in his chest that had been there since the whole mess started. That was the heart of it, really; more than anything, he wished she hadn't done it. "Goddamn, Hella."

 "I know," she said, softly. "I was doing what I thought was right."

 "I know," he echoed back, and she smiled at him again.

 --

 "Y'know," he said, watching Kodiak and Barbelo chase each other around across the glade, "I always knew you and me were gonna make it through all the nonsense we were dealing with back in old Hieron."

 "Of course we were," Hella said with a laugh, waving a hand dismissively. "What was gonna stop us?"

 A smile tugged at Hadrian's lips at the plain confidence in her voice. He'd relied on faith to get through the dark times, but Hella had always had confidence. "Right," he said, and the smile slowly faded. "So I always figured, y'know, there were two options. Either we would kill each other, which was unlikely and certainly not what either of us was going for, or we'd… y'know. Retire together."

 Hella made a soft, hurt noise like he'd hit her. "Hadrian," she said plaintively.

 Hadrian continued over her, shredding a leaf as he talked. He watched the pieces flutter to the ground between his boots rather than look at Hella. "You and me, going spoon shopping on weekends, working at the church, making sure the next generation of adventurers can cut it, all that stuff. And now…"

 Hella's hand crept into his view, resting on top of his and stilling their restless movement. He looked up to see her looking at him mournfully. The sight was almost more than he could take. "I thought that too," she said, like an admission. Her lips quirked up. "With maybe a little less spoon shopping," she added, with a little more levity.

 "You liked spoon shopping," he said, with half-hearted mock offense.

 "Sure, it was fun once in a while, but every weekend, Hadrian?"

 Her teasing managed to pull a smile from him. "They have new spoons every time!"

 She grinned back, shaking her head. "But you don't need to see all the new spoons. There is such a thing as enough spoons."

 Hadrian scoffed playfully, but it wasn't long before his smile fell again. "You're gonna miss Benjamin's wedding," he said. Hella sighed. He continued regardless. "You're not gonna see the church grow, or… scare the new city guard into shape. We're not gonna find out what happens if you try to sail your boat up the inverse waterfall."

 "Hadrian," Hella cut in, her voice tinged with sad frustration. "Of course I wish I could do all that. Of course I do! But…" She squeezed his hands, her voice gentling. "We can't… we can't dwell on what the future isn't. Things are different from how we thought, but when have things ever gone the way we thought they would? I mean, come on. Look at where we are right now!" She gestured with her free hand all around, encompassing the new foliage, the giant grasshopper tied up across the way, the branch far away above them, the whole Rhizome. 

 She took his hand properly in both of hers, tugging until he looked her in the eye. He did, and saw nothing but sincerity. "Hadrian, I'm happy where I am right now. I really am. I love Adaire, and I love the kids, and the home we've built together. I hope someday you can come visit for real. And sure, I wish things could be different, but we can't change the past. All we can do is… find ways to be happy in the present." She squeezed his hands again. "You deserve to be happy, Hadrian. We deserve to be happy. Even if it's apart."

 Hadrian took a deep, ragged breath and swallowed. "I'm sure gonna miss you, though," he managed to get out past the lump forming in his throat. "You're my best friend, Hella. I don't know what I'll do without you."

 Hella reached out and clapped a hand on his shoulder, a broad grip right where it met his neck. "You had faith in me when no one else did," she said, and he took solace in the fact that she was clearly struggling too. "And I'll always be grateful. This isn't… this isn't the end for us. I promise."

 Her grip tightened and Hadrian let her pull him into another hug. He held her tightly, his face pressed against her shoulder and just breathed as it sank in that whatever the future held, in one way or another, this was good-bye. They could keep in touch, write letters, even have visits like this one when they could, but it would never be the same as it was. It might not be the end--but it was an end, and in Hella's arms Hadrian let himself mourn for what couldn't be, just for a little while.

 Finally, he drew back, catching both her hands in his. He took a deep breath to re-center himself and watched her do the same. "You changed my life, Hella Varal," he said. "I'll never forget you."

 Hella smiled at him, that wry smirk that somehow still managed to be sincere at its core. He couldn't help but mirror it. "Yeah," she said, squeezing his hands till her knuckles turned white. "Same to you."

 And really, that was all there was to say.

 --

 Tucked under Hella's arm with an arm around her waist and a satisfied smile, Adaire looked for all the world like a hostess seeing them off after tea.

 "And make sure Rupert is getting the berries he likes," she finished telling Throndir, who was nodding frantically and looking like he wished he'd brought something to take notes with as Adaire instructed him on the proper care of her favorite bugs. "They're a bit of a pain to get, but he deserves them. He does a good job."

 "Yeah, of course," Throndir said quickly. "I can--I'll make sure."

 "Great," Adaire said, flashing him a smile. "You're a peach."

 Hadrian surprised both of them by pulling her into a hug.

 "Oof!" she said, patting him awkwardly on the back. "Yeah, yeah, it was good to see you too, big guy."

 Hadrian snorted and pulled back. "Look after her, okay?" he said, squeezing her shoulder.

 Adaire softened, giving him a genuine smile. "I always do," she said fondly, looking up at Hella.

 Hella rolled her eyes. "I don't see how I'm the one that needs looking after, here," she said, but her voice was full of affection and she leaned down to press a kiss to Adaire's temple. She looked back at him, smiling. "Thanks for coming."

 "Of course," Hadrian said. "Thanks for the map."

 "Of course," she said back, then stepped forward to hug him one last time. "Good-bye, Hadrian."

 "Good-bye, Hella," he said softly.

 She stepped back, giving him one last smile and a squeeze on the shoulder, then moved aside to hug Throndir and the moment was over.

 Hella and Adaire helped them secure the now-empty case of bug food back to the harness, as well as Kodiak, who was saying his own good-bye to Barbelo. In no time at all, the grasshopper was fully kitted out and ready to go, and Hella and Adaire retrieved Barbelo and stepped back, clearing the area.

 Throndir came up beside Hadrian and lightly touched his elbow, startling him out of his reverie.

 "You ready to go home?" he asked gently.

 Hadrian looked over at Hella and Adaire, and raised his hand to wave. Hella waved back, one arm around Adaire and Barbelo sitting neatly on her other side.

 "Yeah," he said, turning back to Throndir. He clapped a hand on his shoulder, then moved over to the grasshopper to heave himself up. "Yeah, let's go home."

 --

 It was late when they got back to the Last University. The ride passed mostly in silence; occasionally, Throndir would call forward some bit of small talk or piece of direction from the map, but a grasshopper ride was really not the most conducive to conversation, and Hadrian was distracted, anyway.

 He and Throndir unloaded the grasshopper and got it put away quickly, both beginning to droop and thoroughly ready for bed by the time they were done. Before they left, Hadrian grabbed Throndir's arm.

 "Hey," he said, letting go as Throndir turned to look at him with one raised eyebrow. "Uh, thanks for coming with me today. It means a lot, y'know."

 "Yeah, of course," Throndir said warmly, reaching out to touch his arm. "I know I maybe wasn't the most enthusiastic when you asked, but… I'm glad I went. Thanks for asking me."

 "Yeah," Hadrian said, flashing him a smile.

 Satisfied, he turned to leave when Throndir stammered out a, "Wait, Hadrian--"

 Hadrian stopped and half-turned back to face him.

 Throndir hesitated, starting to reach out towards him, then pulled his hand back to rub the back of his neck. "Um, it's just… y'know, if you're not busy or anything, and you wanted to come next time I go visit, uh… I'm sure Ephrim would be happy to see you."

 Hadrian hesitated long enough to see Throndir's face start to close off, then burst out, "Sure, okay."

 Throndir blinked. "Yeah?"

 Hadrian shrugged. "Sure, why not. It's only fair, right? Let me know when you're next headed out that way."

 "Yeah! Yeah, I'll do that," Throndir said quickly. "In the meantime, I should head home. I'll see you around, Hadrian."

 "Good night, Throndir."

 Hadrian watched him go for a long moment before starting off towards his own house. He hoped desperately wanted to be home all of a sudden. He wanted to crawl into bed beside Rosana and sleep until the sun woke them both, and then he wanted to tell her about the trip, and the ache in his chest, and ask for her help.

 He would keep working on the church. He'd check in on Lem. He'd spend time with Benjamin while he was still in town.

 He would move forward.

 It was the only thing to do.

[friendshipcampaign]

Steady

A short conversation as Kriv and Volfred walk to town in Soreth.

While the welcome was warm and inviting, Kriv was anxious to leave Soreth castle and soon excused himself, citing the need to pick up his commission from Undwyn. He hadn't been meaning to walk out of the castle so quickly, but once he and Volfred find themselves outside once more, he slows down to a normal pace and sighs in relief. "If you'd believe it, the last time I was here I left with the unconscious former laird of the castle on my back," he says to Volfred, forcing a lighthearted smile.

Volfred nuzzles his shoulder gently as they walk. "When it comes to your and your companions," he says, "I can believe many things."

Kriv scratches under Volfred's chin absentmindedly. "Yeah. It was our first real mission from the Lady and, while things worked out all right for the most part, a lot of it went... poorly." For a moment he glances towards the mountains in the distance. "I think I told you that Erwyn died once, right? It was somewhere up there as far as I remember. Was stuck in a ring for a week and was the most talkative he'd ever been up until that point. Not saying much since I don't think I had spoken more than ten words to him at that point."

"I suppose if talking is all you can do you are likely to do more of it," Volfred replies, pausing to take a bite of a particularly verdant roadside bush.

"Mm, yeah, I guess I hadn't thought of it that way." Kriv stops and waits, eyes wandering over the fields. "This may be a strange question to ask at this point, since we'll probably be doing this job for a while, but when it is all over, do you have anything you want to do?"

Volfred seems to consider for a moment. "Helping you is what I want to do," he says. "And having the chance to be here in the world. When I have finished with that . . . I do not know."

"Well, we're both in the dark on that front, then," Kriv replies and starts walking and gestures for Volfred to continue as well. "I think you will like my family and friends back home and at the Mews.  Those are my first destinations the moment this whole..." Kriv gestures with his hands vaguely. "...thing that we are a part of is over. But I do not know after that what I will be like, or who will be there, besides you. I'm grateful to know that, at least." He gives Volfred an appreciative ear rub.

"Do you expect your companions to part ways once you are released from your bondage?"

"Well first we all have to make it out of this situation in one piece, all of us." Kriv thinks for a moment. "Given that we all survive, I do not know. I cannot predict what our relationships will be at the end, or what we will learn about each other as we go. My feelings about all of them, they shift and change much more than the bonds I have with the people I knew before I started off on my own. I never questioned or doubted the feelings of my brothers and sisters, or the rest of my family, or my best friends, or even my casual friends, because I never needed to. I know just enough about these people to know that I do not know them well enough."

Volfred nods. "That is wise. I have seen many changes already during the brief time I have spent among your companions, and all I know for certain about the future is that it brings more changes with it. In circumstances like these, relationships can become stronger or they can become more fragile, and sometimes they are both at once."

Kriv sighs loudly and stretches his arms above his head. "You are probably right, as always. Might as well wait and see where fate pulls us." He side-eyes Volfred and stifles a laugh. "You are not hiding some strange criminal past from before you were a big goat, right?"

"Oh yes," Volfred replies, deadpan. "The slopes of Mount Celestia are positively brimming with petty crime."

"Could be before then. I cannot say how old you are," Kriv says, outright laughing now. "Speaking of, though, I did see a version of Celestia during our days in the Gatekeepers' trials. It was very beautiful, though I doubt it compares to the real thing. Plus, I was too nervous to enjoy it and then was told I do not pray enough. Or that I drink too much? They were vague on which part was more important."

"They have high standards," says Volfred. "And if it was not the real thing I doubt Bahamut was there to help you skirt them."

"I cannot say they were wrong about me, but that made what they said about some of the others a little more upsetting to hear. Again, it is hard to know what to think." The town is close already, even on the more roundabout route Kriv had chosen, and he stops to look at it from a distance. "It makes sense to hold myself to high standards, though. Despite the harshness, I am grateful. And besides," Kriv pauses with an embarrassed expression, "directly before that, I drank myself sick on healing mead in fake-Ysgard? So, in your absence, they were a good wake-up call."

"Krivo," says Volfred, fixing him with a piercing stare. He sighs. "I hope circumstances will not require me to be absent too often, but try to take care of yourself when I am. I suppose it is too much to hope that any of these travelling companions are good influences." There is a playful tone to his last sentence, but Kriv can detect a hint of worry behind it as well.

Kriv smiles sadly. "They cannot be expected to watch out for me when they seem to have so much going on themselves." He leans against Volfred's shoulder and stares off at the town. "The least I can do is be responsible for myself. And I have other support as well." He waves the little bag holding the scale in Volfred's line of sight.

The goat nods, and then he butts his head gently against Kriv's shoulder. "Yes," he says. "I am glad of it."

"We are headed for even bigger things, you know. Maybe even world-shaking, if hags are to be believed."

Volfred twitches an ear. "Hags are notoriously unreliable, but ignoring them is also perilous. This is sadly the case with many creatures that can see beyond this Plane." After a pause, he adds, "Even if we are headed towards events that shake the world, I will do my best to be steady at your side."

"And I will do the same for you, my friend." Kriv gives Volfred's neck a good pat and sets off down the road once more.

[thunder-birb]

The 5 times Tamaki accidentally confessed to Mirio and the one time he didn’t have to

Mini Series Part II 

2.

“Tamaki! Hey! I hope you don’t mind me joining you” The familiar weight of Mirio, nudging against my shoulder for the briefest of moments and then preceding to scoot a few inches away from me to give me some space; is one of the nicest, most unassuming gestures anyone has done for me. Most people like my parents, sister and even some of our teachers presume that they know exactly what I need when I’m feeling clammed up or nervous. However, that usually takes a turn for the worse and the guilt of making everyone worry about me always elevates my anxiety.

That’s why most people have resigned to not doing anything at all. And in most circumstances, I would actually prefer this method, but there are those moments in which being alone is the worse possible decision I have ever made in my life. Because then, nothing hinders my mind from spiralling into a poisonous cycle of crippling vitriolic thoughts.

Enter Mirio Togata. He has witnessed a fair share of my anxiety spells and usually lets the ‘capable adults’ deal with it. However, when it is just the two of us, Mirio has the brightest idea of all and simply asks me what I need. No one and I mean no one, has ever done that approach and through many incidents, I learned, just as much as Mirio, that I actually don’t like being by myself when it happens.

It still doesn’t mean I also want to be enveloped with attention either. That just makes me feel suffocated, cornered and incapable of handling my own emotions. So, Mirio does what he does best and just stays by me instead. He lays on the grass when we’re outside at the park or watches Television when we’re sitting in his couch or continues to read his favorite comic; ready to talk about it if I need to or not say anything at all.

He gives me the space I need to pull myself together again and does not try to fix what isn’t his to solve.

Today is one of those days and surely enough Mirio is laying on the grass next to me by the soccer field, his school jacket bunched up together as his makeshift pillow with pocky in his mouth and a new manga volume he’s been dying to read. He’s really into his manga that he doesn’t even notice me watching him; observing how he’s almost finished his first box of pocky all by himself. Or how he’s been tapping his white sneakers to the beat of another one of his favorite rock ballads. Sometimes he even starts humming absentmindedly, but I get too nervous to ask him what he’s actually singing in case it embarrasses him and I’ll never hear him humm again.

“Hey, you’re back. Everything alright?” He stops tapping his foot and drops the manga to his chest. Then, he places his hands behind his head and turns to peer at me, blue button eyes shining in the sunlight reflecting the ocean-like hues of the sky above.

“Yeah… It’s just-- Everyone always expects something from me. The teachers, the students, my parents and I can never give them what they want. I can’t even manifest anything more than a lousy bud, but they still want more just because I lucked out and got a really ‘cool quirk.’ Too bad I’m terrible at everything I do and-- ” I start to explain, but the feelings of disappointment and frustration begin to flood my consciousness and I just don’t want to go back to the gym with everyone’s eyes on me.

I shake my head and tightly shut my eyes, trying not to think about how I could not for the life of me do anything worthy of my quirk. Not with everyone watching, eyes heavy with anticipation, making me short of breath and prickling with nerves that I know I’m visibly shaking.

Just Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In.

And that’s when he starts singing. No longer only to himself.

“Here are days where things don’t go well

But even in the scarce light filtering through the leaves

I can still feel the same sun

Even if it’s a dream where I’m covered in snow

I will keep going your way

I believe I will go walking this road

So as not to lose my way”

It’s almost a crime that Mirio can actually belt a note without sounding like a seal. I already can’t see his flaws as flaws, but silly attributes or even as quirks before that became the national term for our mutations. So naturally, everything good about him unsettles every fiber of my body, but in a crazy good way. Too good that I feel like I might throw up sometimes.

“Oh man! Sorry you had to hear that!” He laughs, the rich kind that’s a little exaggerated at the end to show he’s starting to get self-conscious. “I was only gonna sing a line or two, but that song just really gets me going you know? And I figure maybe it can help you, too” Mirio pinks a little bit, which does further damage to my Broca area that I could no longer speak or look at him without physically hurting from his brightness.

“That bad huh? I’m sorry Tamaki! As a hero I will do everyone’s ears a favor and never sing again!” he laughs, self-awareness out the window and resigns to looking up at the sky.

☀️☀️☀️

I don’t know exactly how many minutes we spend laying in complete silence, watching the cottony clouds take form and float by like strangers in passing at the crosswalk, but it settles the last bits of my nerves. Mirio proceeds to point out really rad looking cloud shapes, and swears one even looks like a bowl of ramen. I chuckle not seeing it at all, but Mirio insists and surely enough so does his stomach as it growls particularly loud and hangry.

We turn our heads at the same time and laugh so hard my cheeks starts to hurt. I try to avoid Mirio’s face because now both my stomach and cheek muscles are starting to tighten, but it’s so hard to resist looking when he’s smiling so vividly that his ears are turning pink. In an attempt to stop, he gets up, but somehow trips on the way up and falls on his bum.

We laugh even harder and now I really have to stop. My face is turning red from straining itself and the pain is getting unbearable, so I start doing the breathing exercises my sister advises I practice. I am so caught up in centering myself, I don’t notice Mirio get up, put his jacket back on, throw his trash in the bin and stash his manga back in his duffel bag. He has his hand out for me by the time I open my eyes and I gulp down the nerves attempting to choke me up. Wow his face is real close and ears still a little rosy.

“C’mon Tamaki! Let’s get some food!” He suggests and I nod, shying away from his gaze as he kindly pulls me up. I bite down on my lip, trying to gain some control of myself and we head to the night market Mirio frequents.

The smell of beef, barbeque, and fried seafood of every kind has us salivating and we make quick steps towards his favorite stand. The old man greets us with his signature smile and Mirio makes small talk as he does with everyone. After ordering, we sit at our usual spot at the far right end of the stall and start devouring our noodles the moment the Ojichan hands it to us.

We finish our food quickly as if we have not eaten the whole day and by the time we clean our bowl, I feel so full, so happy and like I can do anything.

“Hey Mirio, watch this!” I call his attention and manifest my left arm into the noodles we just ate. It’s stupid and spontaneous and I don’t even really think it’ll work, but Mirio’s jaw drops so low I immediately howl with laughter with my noodle arm (it really worked!) smacking the table. Mirio almost slides off his chair from laughing too much as I continue to flail my noodle arms around. But, eventually everyone starts noticing and we huddle closer in secret. It can’t stop us from playing around too much though and ultimately we are escorted out as usual because we are starting to bother the obachans.

🐙🐙🐙

The walk home feels light and the incident earlier today feels so far away and minor when usually I spend the rest of the time replaying the worst bits of it. But not tonight and we fall into step, strolling through the familiar streets, while Mirio starts humming again. I listen to the melody and realize that it’s definitely the ballad he sang earlier. I get lost in it, crossing the roads in routine that I don’t notice we’re standing in front of my house and how he’s stopped humming for some time now.

“Well I’ll see you tomorrow Tamaki! Goodnight~” Mirio waits until I look at him, then squeezes my shoulder and smiles in that way that he does that I couldn’t help the small groan that escapes my throat.

“Goodnight Mirio! Get home safely” I mumble, opening the gate and hurrying through, but then I stop in my tracks and go back outside. It just wouldn’t be right not to tell him. “Mirio wait--” I yell, hoping he isn’t too far away and then he turns his head to look at me.

“Did you forget--”

“You have a great voice!” I yell back trying to hold on to the sudden burst of bravery subduing my innately antsy nature. 

“I mean everything you do is pretty much incredible-” No. Did I just say that out loud?? Crap damage control say something anythingggg “--and uh---I-- I know you’ll master your quirk soon enough too!” word vomit once again takes over me and I’m so freaking nervous after saying that out loud baka baka baka that I keep my head down, shaking worst than earlier. This was a mistake.

“Tamaki, you really overestimate me!” he says back and I slowly lift my head, stopping just below his mouth. “But I always appreciate your kind words of encouragement and if anyone was awesome today, it would be you Noodle Arms! Now that’s cool!” Mirio wiggles his arms around in demonstration even crouching a little so, I see it in my line of vision. Then, soon enough I can’t help, but smile at him and his permeating warmth and enigmatic way of uplifting any bad situation like a real pro hero.

“Say hello to your family for me!” He waves one last time and then turns back to cross the street. I watch him until I can no longer see the blonde hair from afar, just soaking up all the brightness now that it’s at a safe distance from me.

“Tamaki! What did I say about hanging around outside at this time of the night?” my okaasan yells from the front door and I quickly make my way inside. “You know you could just invite him over if you don’t wanna say bye just yet” My mom suggests and I squeak, run past her and head straight to my room.

“Tamaki wait! You have to eat---” was the last I heard before I blast my music, wrap my body in all of my blankets and fall fast asleep from the warmth of the day.

Part 1 of 5

And here is Part II! Thanks to all who have read and liked the story. It really means a lot to me and if anyone is wondering, the song Mirio sang is Yume no Tsubomi by Remioromen (which is the band his Hero name partly came from, if I’m not mistaken). Thanks again and I hope you enjoy this just as much as the first part ^^