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ghostlywritten · 4 years ago

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If Only I Had Stayed In The Shadows - Chapter Five

James Potter x OC

Words: 3,5k

Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four

Time flies fast when you have fun. And I had a lot of fun for a week after the party. Despite the harsh weather, despite the essays piling up, despite the training sessions getting tougher it was all worth it in the end when I was left alone in the Common Room with James, chatting about everything and anything. Occasionally even Sirius, Remus and Peter would join us if they weren't in the mood to go to sleep yet and we would play Chess or Exploding Snap.

Of course I knew I would never be part of their unique friendship quartet but I was glad they would let me join in on their fun from time to time. Though I suspected they mainly missed James and didn't want to abstain from him too much.

One particular evening left me alone with Sirius and a few empty bottles of Firewhiskey after Remus and Peter decided to head to bed early and James insisted on retrieving some midnight snacks, sneaking off with a Disillusionment Charm. How he had managed that spell when we hadn't learned it in class was beyond me. Anyways, this got to be the first time I had ever been in the lonely presence of the school's heartthrob with no one and nothing in the near vicinity to distract him from me.

I swallowed nervously whilst the dark-haired boy seemed pretty relaxed, his posture slouched in his armchair.

"You know, I do wonder sometimes how things come together," Sirius' voice cut into the silence and I looked up from my fiddling fingers in my lap to see him pensively watch the flames flicker around in the fireplace, the light giving his features a warm glow.

"In what way?" I asked quietly, not wanting to somehow interrupt his peaceful posture.

"I mean, the way things have turned out in the end," he said, waving his hand to gesture around us, "Everything that brought us to the point of sitting here in the Common Room of the Gryffindors in the middle of the night. I got the best friends I had ever imagined I would get. Ever." I smiled at this. "I'm a Gryffindor, which is the least likely house a Black would get in. I ran away from home and am living with my best friend the life and with the family I've always dreamt of." Now this wasn't exclusive news. Everyone knew about Sirius' escape from the Black House last summer and that he was staying at the Potter's. I was sure a lot of people had their opinions on it but were clever enough to not voice them out, at least not with any Marauder nearby.

I was a little surprised however that he opened up about it when he had refused to say anything on the matter for the past months. One glance at the empty bottles on the table gave me the answer though. 'Everyone gets a loose tongue after a few drinks. Good thing I don't drink...much.'

"I'm glad you are out of there," I said sincerely, recalling the one time I had been pushed into the boy's locker room by my fellow female, giggling team members and had caught a glimpse of the many bruises on his back. I didn't know why but I immediately had a hunch that those hadn't only been from Quidditch. They had looked too nasty. My attempts to talk about child abuse with him were instantly cut off by the boy himself, the cold glare still giving me chills even in mere memory.

"Me too," Sirius sighed blissfully, "The Potter's are truly the best."

"Now all that is missing is the future Mrs. Black," I teased.

He wiggled his eyebrows, "I have encountered a lot of worthy candidates so far. Wanna be next?"

"Thanks, but I'd rather not catch anything," I replied, wiggling my eyebrows back at him. He gave me a mock affronted look before he smirked devilishly, my breath catching involuntarily at the handsome enhancement of his features, "Don't worry, I wouldn't ever date the future Mrs. Potter."

I almost choked on my spit, "Excuse me?"

"Oh, you heard me just right," he barked out a laugh at my red face, "And you can't tell me there is nothing going between you two."

"Ehm, I can because there is nothing going on between us," I retaliated, forcing down the blush from my cheeks.

"You don't have to hide it from me," Sirius said with a shrug, his shit-eating grin still ever so present on his face and I grimaced at him, "I don't blame you. And the Potter's are the best family you can meet."

"Sounds like heaven," I replied deadpanned and he nodded his head with wide eyes and a straight grin before he reached for his forgotten half-empty glass of Firewhiskey. Sobering up slightly, I pondered on my next words before voicing them out carefully, "Don't you miss your actual family though?"

"Hm?" Sirius hummed but I knew he had heard me clearly, stalling as he took a long sip of his drink.

"You don't have to answer that if you don't want to," I added hastily when I noticed how his features hardened, "I'm just a curious cat, wondering if I could ever leave my family like that."

"Do they abuse you mentally and physically every hour of the day?"

"Ehm...no."

"Then you don't have to wonder about it," Sirius said darkly, "You can consider yourself one of the luckiest people on earth." I kept quiet, watching him close his eyes and breathe in deeply through his nose. 'Maybe I should have just kept quiet like always,' I thought, mentally kicking my tactless ass.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked," I apologised softly, looking down at my lap awkwardly. Hearing him sigh made me peek at him through my lashes, "It's okay, Cec." I beamed in relief at the nickname. "My family is just a touchy subject."

"I get it, you don't want anything to do with them," I agreed quickly, trying not to agitate him further.

"It's not that I don't want to...," he sighed for the umpteenth time, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "I just can't deal with them anymore. And Reg..."

"Regulus Black? Your brother, right?" I asked, having heard that name before. Apparently, he took after his brother, being the heartthrob of his year and part of the Slytherin Quidditch team albeit a Seeker.

"Yeah, my little brother," the dark-haired boy said, a smile unconsciously lifting the corner of his lips before they dropped into a bitter frown, "Of course, he is just as brainwashed as the rest of them, all thanks to our dear mother," he almost spat the last word and I winced at the hatred in his tone. At this point, it almost sounded like he was talking to himself, barely realising the other presence in his proximity. "I wish he would have just come with me," he mumbled, a vulnerable look on his face.

"You could still try to be close to him," I offered a weak suggestion, which he immediately dismissed with a scoff/hiccup. "Yeah, right. As if he would listen to me after I ran away. He won't even look my way anymore."

"But-"

"Don't think I haven't tried. He even said we weren't brothers right when I left." I frowned at the crack in his voice, my heart squeezing slightly at the pain in his eyes. Who would have known how much he suffered under all that loud and playful facade of his.

"Maybe he was just mad that you were leaving him behind," I pondered softly, racking my brain about how to make him feel better, "Sometimes we say things in the heat of the moment that we don't really mean." Sirius kept quiet, pensively watching the flames as he refused to make eye contact. I looked away from him, figuring he wouldn't like eyes on him at his vulnerable state, "I think, you two could still be close despite all the differences."

"...You really think so?"

"Yeah, one of you just has to make the first move."

"How do I know he won't reject me?" he asked like a small child, the armchair he sat on suddenly looking too big for him.

I thought it over. The possibility of rejection was definitely there, I wouldn't lie to him about it. After all I knew nothing about his brother's personality. "You don't," I responded, "But the world is full of lonely people waiting for the other to make the first move. And so many bonds get lost because of it. Don't you think that's sad?" His grey eyes snapped over to mine for the first time we had started this serious talk, surprise flickering through them before they were set into something akin to determination.

Before he could open his mouth to say anything though, James came bustling through the portrait hole, his arms packed with various snacks as he giggled like a fool. "Dig in, guys!" he cheered, dropping everything on the coffee table and just like that the serious mood was broken.

I watched Sirius pick up some cookies, munching on them as he chatted up a storm with James about the upcoming Quidditch match. By now, I knew it had been mostly the alcohol that made him spill everything. I just hoped he wouldn't feel too awkward about it the next morning.

The game against Slytherin had packed a punch. The Hufflepuffs' Bludgers were nothing against their aggressive tactics.

Let's just say no player got out there unscathed and the Snitch got caught by Regulus Black - the Slytherin Seeker - just before Angie managed to get a goal that would have gotten us a win if it had only been a few seconds earlier.

I rubbed my sore side where a Bludger had hit me at the beginning of the game as we went inside the locker room, the Slytherins celebrating on the field and laughing at our backs.

"Worst game ever," Frank, who was trudging next to me, muttered and I nodded wordlessly, my eyes watching the stiff back of our Captain as he led us into the little hut.

"This game was pathetic!" James hissed as soon as the door closed to our locker room, "Nothing worked the way we have practiced. Sirius, Frank where the hell were you two when they rained the Bludgers down the Chasers?"

"I-" Sirius started but James continued, still heated, "Oliver? You're the Keeper, right? You are supposed to keep the Quaffles out of the hoops and not hit them through!"

"I didn'-"

"And Angie? Were you even on the field? I couldn't bloody see you once near the opposite hoops."

"James, I was trying everything," Angie protested next to me, "The Slytherin Chasers w-"

"Don't even try any excuses on me," James spat agitated, "I know you want to quit after break but the way you play makes me think you want me to kick you out right now."

"James," I spoke up astonished as Angie sat back with a pissed off look. I knew he could get angry from past experiences during matches but that was straight out rude. "Calm down, we all tried our best."

"Tried your best?" the boy hissed, and I resisted the urge to tell him he sounded like a snake. No, that would probably make him madder, "If that's your best you can say bye-bye to your dreams of becoming a professional Chaser, Cecily. Not even the Montrose Magpies would want you!"

My eyes widened in surprise, his words cutting a knife through my chest.

"James," Sirius started this time, his gaze actually serious for once as I deflated into my seat, feeling more hurt than I had expected, "It's enough now."

The Captain sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose to calm himself. "Fine. Get dressed, we will talk about this at practice next week. Whoever needs to go to the Hospital Wing, stay back. We will go together."

I jumped out of my seat as soon as he dismissed us, rushing towards the girls' room to take a shower and change, his words repeating in my head like a mantra.

"Don't take him seriously," Angie soothed, interrupting the silence around us, "He always gets pissy when we lose a game."

"I know," I said with a sigh, wincing when I touched my side. Angie grimaced at the already bruising spot, "You should get that checked by Madam Pomfrey."

Nodding in agreement, we walked out together.

"Don't you wanna wait for the others?" Angie asked as I kept walking. "No, let's just go," I said over my shoulder, forcing her to concede when I didn't stop.

"Ms. Grant," Poppy greeted me, "It's been a while. I hope you realise, neither the sweets nor Mr. Potter have changed my mind, no matter how persuasive the Pixie Puffs can be."

"It's not that," I replied, shaking my head at Angie when she gave me a questioning look, "I just need to get my side checked."

"Ah, the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryffindor has been today, right?" Poppy remarked, frowning at the sight of my bruise when I lifted my shirt, "Honestly, this game should be banished from school. It always gets way out of control."

"Still nothing that you can't fix," I replied, watching her shuffle through her cupboards after setting me down on one of the beds.

"What was that about Pixie Puffs and Potter?" Angie asked as we waited.

"Just me unsuccessfully trying to get an internship here at the Hospital Wing," I explained quietly as the doors of the Wing opened once more to reveal the other players trudging inside, pushing aside the few Slytherin players that tried to walk in as well. Luckily, they were in too much of a good mood to stir up a fight like they usually would, instead opting to just verbally make fun of the boys in the background.

"Didn't I tell you to wait?" James asked annoyed as he sat down on the unoccupied bed next to us.

"Yes, and I didn't," I snapped back, pissed off at both him and the pain in my side. James opened his mouth, but Sirius clasped his hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. Shooting the grey-eyed boy a grateful look I turned around as Poppy came back, gesturing for me to lift my shirt. I obeyed, hissing as she applied some balm on the bruise but sighing immediately in relief as the pain diminished into a dull ache. "Apply this once more tonight and it should all be well by tomorrow," the matron instructed as she handed me the tube and I thanked her with a quick smile before I hopped off to leave. Bidding the others goodbye, I ignored James' lingering look, particularly at my bruised side, and left to have a quick dinner and head to bed.

This day had been exhausting enough.

The following days were miserable to say the least. The Slytherins were still gloating about their win, classes were hell as nothing went into my brain and on top of that I wasn't on speaking terms with James and therefore, the rest of the Marauders as well.

It wasn't like I didn't want to, but his words had left a sting more painful than the bruise on my side; Bringing up my deepest desire and throwing it back in my face was a big no-go. I almost regretted opening up to him like that and the more days passed with him not talking to me the more I wished I hadn't ever walked up to the Quidditch pitch for that game with a little extra-confident swagger in my steps.

I also wished I didn't have to attend the regular Quidditch practices; James was more commanding than usual, which led us to double laps and longer simulated games until it was pitch black outside. The only bright side was that at least Sirius tried to cheer us all up and even occasionally chatted with me in-between breaks.

"I think something is wrong with Peanut," I mused, adjusting my grip.

"Something is wrong with what?" Sirius asked perplexed.

"Peanut," I repeated, gesturing towards my broom. The dark-haired boy stared at me. "You...named your broomstick Peanut?" he asked slowly, uncomprehending.

"Yeah, why?"

"Just- no matter," he dismissed quickly, his lips twitching in amusement, "Why don't you tell James that something is wrong with Peanut? He can fix it."

Raising a brow, I stated, "First of, Peanut is a splendid name for a broomstick." I rolled my eyes as he burst out into small barks of laughter. "Secondly, I'm not on speaking terms with our dear Captain right now and you know that."

"Yes, I do." It was his turn to roll his eyes. "And I still think it's ridiculous."

"It's not! He mocked me!" I protested.

"Yeah, but weren't you the one, who told me that people say things they don't mean in the heat of the moment?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, "I don't appreciate you using my words against me!"

Sirius grinned before he turned sirius again, "He was angry, and I can safely say that he did not mean a single thing he's said back then."

"And why isn't he talking to me then? He hasn't even apologised!"

"Because he is also proud ass. Or rather, he doesn't know how to approach you," Sirius snickered and my eyes widened in surprise.

"He doesn't know how to approach me?"

"Yeah, he thinks you are angry at him-" "Which I am!" "-and he is still trying to figure out how to apologise." I stayed quiet, watching the subject of our conversation fly around the field, giving instructions to each player. "If you let it up to him, I would say he will work up his courage by the end of the year. At the earliest."

Later that evening, I decided to stay up after dinner. The others went to bed quickly whilst I sat on my bed with my broom on my lap, contemplating whether I should go down or not. I didn't even know if James still waited at the fireplace as I hadn't been there the past few days but figured it couldn't hurt to try.

Putting my robe over the sleeping clothes, I softly padded outside, carefully taking a peek around the corner into the Common Room after walking down the hallway. The space was empty except for one lonely person lounging on the loveseat in front of the warm fire, the sight achingly familiar.

Swallowing nervously, I gripped my broomstick tighter as I headed down the stairs with purposefully loud steps (as far as possible with socks on). His glass-rimmed eyes snapped over, widening, and he immediately sat up when I approached him.

"Hey James," I greeted him awkwardly, holding my broom in front of me with both hands, almost as a form of protection.

"Hey Cec," he breathed out as if in relief, his eyes rapidly flickering from me to the broom and back to me.

"Um-"

"Come sit," he offered quickly, patting the seat next to him and I obliged, relaxing and simultaneously feeling nervous at the proximity, "Why do you have Peanut with you?"

"Oh, right. Ehm, I think something is wrong with it," I explained, handing it over at his request, "It's not turning as smoothly as it used to."

"Hm, 'might have gotten tweaked during the last game," James mused, brows furrowed in concentration as he examined every inch, "It got hit by a lot of Bludgers, didn't it? Bloody Slytherins. But nothing I can't fix."

"Yeah, I figured that was the cause," I nodded in agreement and his eyes flickered over to me, the fire giving his irises a honey-coloured tone. "What about you?" he asked softly, "Is your side doing better?"

"Perfectly healed, thanks," I informed him, melting slightly on the inside at his concern, "You know Poppy." He cracked a grin at the nickname (causing my heart to miss a beat) before looking back down at the broom, his gaze turning serious.

"Cecily, I...wanted to- you know- I kind of said some messed up things after the game," he stammered slightly, fiddling with the broomstick nervously. My features relaxed at his nervous state and I allowed a small smile as he continued, "I really shouldn't have said what I said- you know the thing with the Montrose Magpies and you- and everything else I said to the others, I didn't mean any of it and I will never do it again, I solemnly swear! I guess, what I'm trying to say- and what I've been trying to say the past few days, but I didn't know how- well first, I figured I should probably give you some space since I never do that with Evans and she always gets madder and madder, but-"

"James," I cut him off and he immediately shut his mouth, "It's alright."

His brown eyes widened, "Really?"

"Yeah, I get it. It's okay."

"You are not mad anymore?" he asked tentatively, staring incredulously as I shook my head, "It's that easy?"

"Well, it can be," I replied with a grin before sighing, "I just don't wanna be mad anymore." And I missed his presence. But hush.

James also sighed, in relief as he leaned back. "Good, I don't think I could have waited any longer."

"Waited? For what?"

"Asking you out, of course."

This time, I really choked on my spit.

Chapter Six

#James Potter #james potter x oc #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter fanfiction #marauders imagine #sirius black #remus lupin #Lily Evans #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #harry potter imagine #marlene mckinnon #Marauders

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citydreamgrls · 4 years ago

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how much have you had to drink?

george weasley x fem!reader

words: 2,387

a/n: maybe I did use too many differing pov’s but it is what it is,, enjoy!! :)

warnings: none ( i think )

I had been the first, and only person to prank the twins back at Hogwarts. Everyone else in the school was too afraid of their tricks that it was easier to stay out of a never-ending war with them. But I'd always been up for a good challenge, even if it was a 5 year long one.

As usual the twins joined me at breakfast, ignoring Angelina who had been telling me about the upcoming halloween party, and sat either side of me.

“Morning boys,”

“y/n,” they acknowledged in unison, both reaching for toast.

“Sleep well?” I asked George.

“Oh yes, perfectly.” He said sarcastically, taking a large bite of food.

“Almost as if someone slipped us a sleeping potion.” Fred joined in on the other side of me.

“Well I had to test my homework on someone,” I admitted, unashamed of my great potion-making skills. “Anything else strange happen last night?” I asked innocently.

“Nope.” they said.

“You sure? Because I managed to get some very lovely pictures of you too sporting some very sweet hairstyles.” I waved the photos of their sleeping forms in their faces, the little red pigtails flashing before their eyes.

Oliver Wood, having caught onto the end of our conversation leant across the table to see what I had.

“So that’s why you too looked like that this morning, I was beginning to worry I’d started sleepwalking.. Or styling.” He laughed, earning a glare from the boys beside me.

“You know we will get you back y/n,” Fred warned, but his threat was empty.

“Oh come on, you boys always go easy on me.” I laughed, taking a sip of my juice and immediately spitting it back out. “Gross!”

“Oh do we?” George asked, barely looking up from his book to hex my plate into slugs.

As much as the twins and I battled, they were still my best friends and I had spent pretty much my entire time at Hogwarts at their side. Unless Angelina pulled me away to gossip about whatever ‘exciting’ thing was coming up next.

This time it was the halloween party.

“I just don’t get why I have to dress up Lina, I'm already a witch. Can’t I go as myself?” I huffed, resting my legs on her lap as we sat in front of the fire.

“The Weasley’s won’t let anyone in who isn’t dressed up, it’s the rules.”

“Oh that’s easy, they’ll let me come regardless.” I laughed.

It was as if they appeared at the sound of their name, popping their heads over the back of the sofa. Both Angelina and I jumped out of our skin, immediately reaching up to hit them in retaliation.

“Hey, you guys will still let me come to the party saturday if I don’t dress up right?” I asked with an expectant smile.

“No costume,” Fred started

“No entry,” George finished. And then walked off to the dorms.

“Oi, but it’s me-”

“No exceptions,” They called back.

I fell back into the sofa, ignoring Angelina’s smug face as she started discussing costumes once again. Tossing up whether to go as a cat, or some sort of muggle character. Not that she really knew any, but she just wanted to impress one of the boys in the year above.

“Will you help me y/n?” she pleaded, to which I finally gave in. Knowing I didn’t have anything better to do.

Saturday morning rolled around and I still hadn’t sorted my own costume, but at least Angelina was happy with her Daphne costume that I’d helped organise.

Fred and George had slipped away early from dinner last night, claiming that they had to ‘finish up party plans’. But I felt uneasy, having swapped their ties for two slytherin ones and then locking them in the dorms until 2 minutes before classes started that morning.

Yes it made me late for Mcgonigall’s lesson too, but seeing them rush in wearing the wrong uniform and having to explain that it had just been mixed up somehow to their head of house was well worth it.

Still, they could be planning payback.

The party was starting in an hour, and everyone was in their dorms getting ready. Including about three more girls than were usually in mine and Angelina’s dorm, racing around with masks and lip liner and other parts of costumes.

I walked in to see a hat with bunny ears laying on my bed.

“It’s all I could find,” Angelina told me, as she passed by to grab her purple jacket. “Dunno if it’ll be enough though.”

“I’ll sort something out, thanks Lina!” I shouted after her as she raced to use the bathroom before anyone else slipped in.

My only thought at the time was clown makeup, but I didn’t have any white face paint, and never really enjoyed its feel as it was. So I took a red lipstick and some dark eyeshadow to draw diamonds round my eyes. With the bunny hat on I looked far from scary, but paired with the clown makeup and a dark lip, I at least looked creepy.

Angelina leant me some fishnet tights to wear with my black skirt and I threw on a zip hoodie I had stolen from one of them twins years ago. I couldn’t remember which one if I was being honest.

Oliver and I had been sharing a bottle of vodka I'd brought with me from home, knowing it got everyone drunk quicker than wizard booze. Without realising it, an hour had passed, and I was yet to see either of the twins.

“You seen Fred or George tonight?” I asked the boy beside me, who was enjoying his stress-free evening.

“Yeah, Fred is dressed as a fighter pilot and I think I saw George in some kind of lab coat… or maybe it was a doctor?” He laughed to himself.

I headed up to their dorm room to see if they were there, and sure enough I just avoided a head on collision as they walked out.

“Whoa, nearly lost me there!” I screamed, stumbling back with a laugh. “What are you guys doing up here,”

“Nothing,” George spoke quickly.

“How much did you drink, y/n” Fred asked, helping me down the stone steps until we made it safely to the common room.

“Not loads, hey that’s not right.” I frowned at the boy holding me steady. “Oliver said you were dressed as a Pilot Fred, not George.”

“I am George!” The boy, with the aviator sunglasses on, teased. “You’re as bad as mum honestly.”

“Yeah, at least our costumes are legit!” the other teased, flopping the bunny ear that had fallen over one eye away.

“Do you like it?” I spun round, the skirt bouncing around I did.

“It’s an interesting combination,”

“Well you haven’t kicked me out… yet.”

Unbeknownst to y/n’s knowledge, the twins continued to confuse her. Constantly running off to swap costumes, and mess with their friend further. Although it kind of backfired, as the more she drank, the less she trusted herself to tell them apart and gave up altogether. In the end they went back to their original costumes, Fred as the Pilot and George the bloody doctor. They both decided to tell y/n the next morning, when she could at least have a chance of understanding.

Everyone else was in bed, except for the twins and I who sat up singing by the fire and sharing the last bottle of gin that I could find in my stash.

“I’m gonna have to stock up my stash at christmas,” I laughed as the last swig was taken and we fell into each other's shoulders. I slumped between them, laughing at the memory of Ron and Hermione’s perfect dance routine to livin’ la vida loca earlier that night.

I felt a lump in my jacket pocket and remembered that’s where I’d left my cigarettes since being at home. I stood up, startling the boys and declared what I was leaving to do.

“I’m off for a smoke, see you in a bit.” They shook awake.

“Wait y/n, you can’t smoke here rememb- oh god she’s gone.”

“Well go on then George, stop her!” Fred grumbled to his brother, having already drifted back off to sleep.

George ran down the staircase, being careful not to make too much noise as his doctor’s coat flew behind him. He had only been a few seconds behind y/n, how could she have disappeared already? Still, he headed for the black lake, knowing that was her favourite spot to go when she wanted to be alone. He had watched her there many times, far away enough that she had never spotted him though.

“Y/n!” He whisper-shouted, running down the bank towards her. She was already sat down, the lighter in one hand and a cigarette balanced between her lips.

“What are you doing Fred?” she asked, mistaking him for the other twin.

“Oh about th-”

“At least it’s you and not George,”

The boy felt hurt by her words, always having looked after her without her knowing. Most of the time the lack of retaliation from the twins in their prank war was because George would sabotage it. He always felt guilty playing tricks on y/n.

“Why’s that?” He asked, playing along with what she believed to find out the truth.

The girl lit her cigarette regardless of his warning, and puffed out a breath of smoke offering it to the boy beside her who reluctantly agreed. Knowing that if his mother could see him now, she would have a heart attack.

“I always embarrass myself in front of George,” y/n admitted. “Whether it’s being drunk, or making stupid jokes. I just look like an idiot when I’m around him.”

“I don’t think you do,”

“I can’t help it though, it’s different with you. You’re like a brother to me Fred.”

“Actually y/n-” George started, wanting to come clean, but she kept going.

“But George, he’s just more than that you know. He always cares for me and makes sure I’m safe, hell he thinks I don’t notice when he watches me sulk down here.” She laughed lightly to herself, leaning to rest on the boy beside her. “I was so sure I knew him better than anyone else, but obviously not.” Her shoulders dropped in despair.

“Why’s that?”

“He probably just sees me as a friend right? I mean, I couldn’t even tell you two apart tonight, I thought you were him.” She scoffed.

George swallowed, knowing that him admitting to their prank would most likely cause some backlash from the girl. But he bit the bullet.

“I am George.”

Her body froze.

“Don’t joke.” She said flatly.

“I’m not, honestly. It was just supposed to confuse you earlier but I am George.”

Y/n stood up, dropping her cigarette into the water and headed up the hill towards the courtyard. George ran after her again.

“Please y/n wait!” He called out, grabbing her hand to stop her. She spun around, tears running down her face. “Oh god i’m so sorry, I didn’t realise you thought I was him, I just came to check on you.”

“I’m such an idiot god.” she huffed, trying to drag herself away but he wouldn’t let go. “I can’t even tell it’s you when you’re right here,”

“Yes you could y/n, that’s the whole point.”

“Still I just told you how I feel about you, with no intention of actually telling you, yet here we are with you being kind and nice and perfect and I’m just embarrassing myself once again.”

George followed her into the hallway and up the stairs, not wanting to call out until they were clear of the earshot of others. He managed to stop her just before the common room, pulling her aside into a secluded corner.

“Y/n, darling..” she had never heard him call anyone that seriously until now, and she couldn’t help but feel special because of that. “I have never seen you as an idiot, and you have never embarrassed yourself in front of me. In fact, I’ve always thought you were the perfect one.”

“Then why are you only telling me this now?” The girl asked him.

“I always thought you liked Oliver,”

“Wood?” she laughed and he hadn’t heard a sound better “God, he’s way too intense. Even tonight he wanted to talk game strategies with me, it was so boring.”

“Well that’s a relief.”

“So… you’ve always liked me?” She teased him slightly, playing with the seam of his costume. George just rolled his eyes and held her face, making her look up at him. Of course she had stood next to him before, but it was only in this moment that she felt the sheer height gap between them.

He leant down and kissed her lips, still clutching her face as her hands dropped from his coat in shock. He was soft and sincere, holding her as if he’d longed to do so for quite some time. Y/n smiled against George’s lips, making the boy blush to himself and thank Merlin that she couldn’t see him do it.

They broke away after what felt like nowhere near long enough, y/n rested her head into his chest and sighed happily.

“We should get to bed, it’s late.” George whispered and she nodded. “You tired?” y/n nodded again. “Okay darling let’s go.” He took her waist and lifted her off the ground, letting her wrap her legs around him and nestle into his neck.

He passed Fred who was slipping into unconsciousness on the common room sofa.

“Night Fred,” they called to him, and he just groaned back.

“Don’t worry, we can tell him in the morning.”

“George,” the girl in his arms groaned.

“Yesss..”

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Of course darling,” George said softly and took the girl up to his dorm so she could sleep comfortably in his arms, her little head tucked between him and the bed. He laughed at the bunny hat discarded on the chair, remembering how sweet she’d looked in it.

Even as a creepy clown George had wanted to kiss her.

#george weasley #george wealsey x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #weasley #weasley twins #fred and goerge weasley #fred weasley #harry potter #y/n #george weasley x reader #the weasleys #the weasley twins

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soundsaboutrighttumblr · 4 years ago

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Okay, meta of the scene in ep 5 between Shu Yi’s Dad and Shi De.

Shame on me, because I have to digress at the very beginning even, because that piggy back scene reminded me of something Sam said in an interview, and that is that Yu’s body felt soft to the touch, like a cat’s, and that it is totally a good thing. In the way he molds himself to Shi De’s back, and later slithers off him into the bed, I must say, I totally see it, what he means, and I am loving it. He’s probably very good at winding himself out of your hold when he doesn’t want to be there, and fitting himself to every part of your body when he wants to. Bendy, non-resistant, viscuous, long, warm limbs, I can just imagine the morning stretches. And yeah, I would totally try to pet him, even at the dangers of scratch and bite.

Back to topic:

That scene with Dad. I laughed out loud several times, it is amazing, but also heart wrenching and a psychological roller coaster of course, but I loved how the acting toed the line between serious and comical at times. How Shu Yi’s Dad seems so much like Shu Yi in some moments, when he angrily stalked over towards a wide-eyed Shi De – with Shu Yi on his back-, or later the end of the scene, his impulsive face journey, and how you can see where Shu Yi got his bearings and mannerisms from. Great choice of actor, great acting, I laughed so hard.

On to the psychological ride that is this scene:

So, we’re still digesting the piggy back ride with Big Cat Shu Yi, and there he comes, Dad, dorky and enthusiastic and overbearing, already in Shu Yi’s apartment, with food and presents, but so happy to see his son.

And he comes face to face with a doe eyed, clumsy looking, caught in the act-mannered Gao Shi De, and of course that phallic symbol in Dad’s hand has to be broken for effect (You know, the phallus shaped snack that Shu Yi really likes, that Shi De will take to him later?).

And the music and all plays into the comedic aspect, but also into the role that Shi De takes on here, which is to a point calculated, I believe. It’S the playing weak he will be accused of later. He still tries to win Dad over by playing a more submissive role, not offending his pride, but allowing for his authority, still trying to maybe appease him for Shu Yi’s sake, to make him maybe come around without having to play hard ball.

Dad prowling over menacingly, shushing him, only to take the shoes… yeah. Laughed. His priority is his son, even if he is misguided about what he needs to protect his son from. A thought: The relatives, not the love of his live. But, of course, that is easier said than done, because Dad, too, is entangled in family and corporate webs.

But first things first, Shi De takes his big cat to the bedroom, and this time the statue and rabbit on the window can look on, because nothing scandalous is happening, the snow globe with the Statue of Liberty seems gone, no more freezing American secrets to disturb, it seems.

And is this the look of a man wo just decided that he wants to marry the one sleeping in front of him, again, and over once more? Yes, it is.

It is also the look of a man, who decided to try and win over his fiancé’s dad once more, because even if he knows Shu Yi will stand at his side against him, the happier future he wants for Shu Yi would be with Dad on their side, because despite it all they are close, so close they share mannerisms and face journeys.

So, he showers, in Shu Yi’s space probably owned by Dad, washing off past mistakes, preparing to be his best self when meeting Dad downstairs again. Also? Making Dad wait for him, what a power move, Shi De is capable all right.

When he finally comes down to meet Dad, he takes on the role of a more submissive junior again, polite and respecting authority, because he is the one who asks something that Dad thinks it is his to give, and thus hehas the disadvantage, or at least wants to appease Dad by making him feel that way.

He plays along Dad’s rules, apologizing for breaking a promise that was a set up from the beginning, and he knows.

He presents the documents of his ‘worthiness’, humbly apologizing for them to be lacking in Dad’s eyes. Dad keeps eating, not paying back any of the respect he is shown, still to caught up in his entitlement.

Dad’s remark of it being the betrothal presents is meant to ridicule Shi De’s efforts and love.

Shi De gives him one last out, when he overlooks the tone, and just says yes. You can see it as my dowry, being totally honest and unoffended, as a move of power.

And Dad falls into his trap, out of arrogance, out of underestimating Shi De. Ridiculing something, that is not his to judge, laughing. Entitled: You are never getting into my family.”

Edit: for further intricacies about dowries and betrothal presents in Asian cultures, go here a post by @noona96n that gives more sense to it. I’ll leave my take before reading here nonetheless, because the gist is there, lol. But that reading of the beginning of the scene with the documents and the dowry and dad’s entitlement makes more sense.

And that is when Shi De changes course.

Leaving the submissive pose behind, sitting down at the table, an at least equal partner at the bargaining table.

And what he says, that he can let Shu Yi into his own family, because they are accepting him with open arms? It is a strike that is powerful, proving that equality, if not superiority.

It reminds me of when Shi De said in their first encounter after America, that he will accept the deal, because he knows Shu Yi will never be happy without his father’s approval. Dad should have seen it then, maybe he did and forgot, and underestimated again.

Shi De is a psychological menace when it comes to bargaining and debating, and don’t you make the mistake to underestimate that. Now they are playing hard ball.

Because he brings Shu Yi’s happiness into it, something he knows is something Dad cares about deep down, even if he is misguided how it should look like. It also plays into parental duties and responsibilities and being a good parent, supporting your child and accepting and loving him for who he is.

He appeals to Dad’s guilt over that, all the while putting him in his place, because he, Shi De has that love that loves Shu Yi unconditionally and wants what makes him happy, he has parents that will love him and may take Dad’s place if he does a job that is lacking.

t’s also a hit to Dad’s fear of losing Shu Yi, that he admitted to in the bar, when saying not only daughters can leave their families. He treatens to take Shu Yi away into a new family.

Shi De builds himself up as Dad’s equal here, with a love that is true for Shu Yi, and also one that chooses Shu YI’s happiness. He’s saying, if they are to be competitors for Shi Yi’s love, Shi De might just come out winning, so Dad should rethink his course.

And Dad realizes then, that he has underestimated Shi De, he has leaned back in his chair while Shi De leans forward. He’s not laughing anymore.

Shi De is very confident in enunciating the syllables, leaning forward, no cowering in his eyes any longer. Everything about his posturing is dominant now. Demanding respect, not asking for it any longer.

So much that Shu Yi’s Dad is backed into a corner, offense his only defense: Are you threating me?

Now it is Shi De who is laughing. What a terrifying opponent in a negotiation. Business man and alpha males through and through… ah, alpha, wasn’t that the project that Shi De… anyway.

Shi De’s reaching out an olive branch, trying to soothe the situation for politeness sakes. All instruments in the psychological engineering of that scene.

And Dad has to give that credit, even if he gives it the tone of an insult.

“You played weak before.”

I am not sure if he means Shi De portrayed himself as weaker than he was, or if he meant play dirty. In any case, he misjudged Shi De. Edit: I think it means playing dirty. Which dad has done, too. Edit’s Edit: Although @noona96n post on the japanese subs ead in me into an iterpretation of playing weaker than he is again... I am torn. both, both is good.

And Shi De again pretends not to hear the tone, just takes it as face value, not letting Dad getting personal. But also, Shi De delivers a lethal blow:

Reminding Dad again, that yes, Shi De played that game for Shu Yi’s happiness, thus having the moral higher ground, but also reminding him that yes, he chose to play the game that way, dirty if he must, with all the capabilities he now proved to have, and that he is not afraid to sacrifice on personal levels, or his pride, to get what he wants, which is ultimately a happy Shu Yi.

Also reminding him of the emails, how dirty he COULD play, leverage that Dad until now maybe thought he still had, but that Shi de now holds over him.

You can see how Shu Yi’s dad doesn’t have anything to set against that. So, he just turns to an insult, trying to put Shi De down again.

But Shi De twists it in his mouth, taking it as confession, just to rile up Dad. Then calling him Dad/Father-in-law, to remind him that with how things are looking now, this is the foreseeable outcome of their future, one where Shi De gets his way and Dad doesn’t.

Edit: @noona96n‘s post on the japanese subs and marriage and family in Asian culture led me to believe that Dad’s scolding of calling Shi De an ungrateful creature/child, as if he was in fatherly position to do so, made Shi De trap him with the question, if he had accepted the marriage/Shi De as his child, and he calls him Dad. I also think that Dad was really impressed by Shi De’s negotiation Skills, and maybe because of that slipped up like that... For those interested, sometimes we have interesting conversations in the comments and notes, lol.

I correct myself; I think that was the lethal blow, lol.

And Dad can only turn to blind rage, lashing out with anything that comes to mind. How the incident in the company still might cost him that future with Shu Yi. Hm. Sus.

You know, the incident, where someone maybe paid a lot of money to destroy/test Shi De’s company and future, by stealing the title alpha, ahem, project alpha from him, only for Shi De to rebuild what alpha means from the ground up, out of his resources, to present it to Dad’s company? Yeah, am I getting this right? Metaphors and all?

Anyway, Shi De has his capabilities and team and support to trust he will resolve that matter, so he is not in the slightest intimidated by that veiled threat.

He concludes by turning back to politeness, thanking Dad for his criticism/warning and paying back some respect to his authority, by bowing and promising to not let him down. Being the bigger man and all.

Then he steals the food Shu Yi likes, that Dad brought, out from under him. Because he CAN.

Yeah, that frustrated face journey by Dad is everything.

But. Maybe someday, when he gets over his pride and anger, he will even be impressed by his future Son-in-law, because yeah, Dad just met his match on a psychological scheming business war-fare level. He got his a... handed back to him.

He HAS to see how that will be good for Shu Yi to have in his corner, eventually.

Edit: After reading @noona96n ‘ post on weddings and family in Asian culture, I believe that interpretation fits the beginning of the scene better, but I do think once Dad rebuffed Shi De’s ask to marry into the family so harshly, Shi De really went into ruthless negotiation mode, to prove to Dad who thinks him unworthy of his world, that he can scheme and negotiate with the best of them, it is not a negotiation of Shu Yi’s future as much as they are pithing their negotiation skills against each other, and I believe Shi De succeeds in impressing Dad, which leads to Dad’s slip up in scolding him like achild, also maybe letting slip he knows of the stolen project, even though everyone has signed confidentiality agreements.

#wbl #we best love #meta #we best love: fighting mr. 2nd #gao shi de #shu yi's dad #what a scene #phallic symbols and power plays #Shi De you are a menace #@noona96n #noona96n #episode 5

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the-silentium · 4 years ago

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Folded messages

Masterlist

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Words: 4900 words

Warnings: TUA season 1 and 2 spoilers, swearing.

Requested by: Anon

Hello!! I just recently read you 11 Five fic and I have to say it was incredible. I have no words to describe it, your writing is so good💖💖 with that, I was wondering if you did fics based on songs, if you do, would you mind doing a 5xreader based on “sway with me” by Micheal Buble? Idk what the plot could be, maybe they are in a mission from commission and have to go to a fancy ballroom. Maybe they are enemies. Maybe reader pulls him to dance around S2. The choices are endless, go crazy :”)

A/N: Finally I found time to write! I've had insomnia for too long because I couldn't write! Damn day job!

On a better note, I really hope you guys like this little piece of fluff 💜 I swear, this started as a small idea and then it just got bigger and bigger. Sorry not sorry!

Was it even possible? The prospect of falling in love for someone of his nature was almost as high as his targets' survival rate. He wasn't an emotional man, his feelings were deeply buried in the depth of his heavily guarded heart, locked away in a three inches thick chest that was itself hidden in an impossible maze where traumas and demons were furiously protecting the paths.

Add this to the fact that he never saw her, not even once, the only proof of her existence being the small animals made of colorful folded paper that appears in his jacket pockets whenever he crossed her path, the possibilities of developing such feelings were in no way probable. The origami aside, the woman seemingly took pleasure in throwing wrenches into his work. He was asked to assassinate a brilliant inventor who was getting too close to discovering the secrets of time-traveling? It would have been an easy job if it wasn’t that every single bullet he had in his possession suddenly disappeared, forcing him to finish the job with his knife.

There was another time, he was tasked with the termination of a group of people meeting in the back of a bar, his guns were loaded, his knives were sharpened, he was full of juice, there was no way that this job would take more than one minute and forty-three seconds. He made his way to the door leading to the room hosting his targets when he noticed a small dark purple llama on the door handle. He pocketed the folded piece of paper for later and tried the handle to find out that it wouldn't even turn on itself. The assassin rolled his eyes at the futile attempt to keep him from completing his mission, he closed his hands into fists but his ability decided to fail at this right moment.

The door behind him closed on a loud banging noise, a delicate click following closely behind, indicating that the door was locked from the other side. Five remembers it clear as day, the moment he knew he had found his equal. He heard you giggling lightly on the other side of the door and his heart started speeding up. Not in anger, not in annoyance nor in embarrassment. He couldn't say what it was, but he knew for sure that he wanted more of it.

It happened four times, you making his job more challenging and him receiving a small gift before Five decided to do some research. In a box carefully concealed under the double bottom of his drawer were stored every paper animal he found during his missions along with books about origami and colors.

An olive green and lavender cat, a dark blue dragon, an orange fish and a dark purple llama were now aligned on his desk in order of acquisition. The different books were opened on different pages and then Five started his information gathering. He scribbled in his notebook the different significance associated to each color and animal and an hour and a half later, he was contemplating his findings.

The cat was a symbol of independence and mystery among other things. Its olive-green body with the patches of lavender told him that the first gift was, in fact, a peace offering from a feminine person. Her very own olive branch that he took long enough to decipher.

Then there was the dragon, symbol of power, wisdom, mastery and success. The dark shade of blue told him that the dragon was full of knowledge, power and seriousness. He frowned, thinking and slightly hoping that maybe this was how she saw him.

He didn't know what to think of the orange fish. Happiness, freedom and energy. He couldn't relate to this one, having not been free for many years now as stipulated by his contract with the Commission. He was a slave, used for his ability and his will to do everything to survive one more day and save his family from their imminent doom.

Maybe the fish was a reference to yourself. This was the only explanation he could find. You were a young adult from what he deduced of your giggles and were pretty happy and free if the folded paper was anything to go by.

The last gift proved that Five's theory stipulating that every origami was a metaphor about yourself and himself was correct.

A dark purple llama. An animal representing hard work, endurance under difficult situations and responsibility. His heart accelerated at the possibility that you knew that he was trying to buy some time and betray his employer sooner than later. Would you rat him out? He really hoped that the olive cat meant that you were on his side and not against him, he would really hate to put an end to the warm feeling dancing in his chest whenever he realized that you were around and ready to play a trick on him.

Now if he followed your logic, the next one he will receive will say more about yourself and he couldn't wait to be assigned to another mission so that he had a chance to learn more about you or even possibly see you. You, his little time traveler. Five had thought about this for the longest of time and he came to the conclusion that you were indeed a time traveler. The Commission kept very close control over their briefcase so there was no way that you had one in your possession, he would know, after all, he checked the lost briefcases records and they were all reported destroyed.

To his dismay, his next mission was uneventful. He got in and got out. No hiccup, no paper animal. Nothing. It went like this for his next six missions and with every passing success, Five found himself getting irritated. Every night he found himself chasing your shadow in his dreams and every time you managed to evade his attempts at catching you. One morning when even his first coffee of the day wasn't enough to ease his frustration, he thought of a plan that would allow him to finally see you.

To avoid making his kills personal, Five always prioritized a long-range way to kill, meaning with guns. Guns had a way to remove all responsibilities off his shoulder and lighten his soul at the end of the day. He had enough demons consuming more and more of his conscience on a daily basis, he definitely could do without this kind of remorse. Sure, he was the one who pulled the trigger, but ultimately, it was the bullet that killed the target, not his hands.

But tonight, Five decided that he would complete his mission with the idea that you were around. If you were, then he would finally meet you. If not, he would need something strong to accompany his coffee. Whiskey maybe.

He abandoned his prized sniper in the deserted building next to the one his target was currently dancing in and made his way to a back door. There he space-jumped inside the building and quickly blended himself with the crowd. He found himself straightening his suit in the case you were around and made his way to the bar.

A glass of whiskey in hand, Five turned his back to the counter and analyzed the crowd in search of his wealthy bastard who was enjoying his very last evening on this Earth. There he was, dancing around, totally unconcerned of the people around him.

Unconsciously, Five reached into his pockets where the gifts usually appeared out of thin air, his fingers searching around as they did a hundred times before but ultimately finding nothing. With a frustrated groan, Five grabbed his glass, emptied its content in one gulp, smashed the glass back on the counter and pushed his way to his target. Another night without your little schemes meaning another night chasing your shadow in his sleep. If this was how the night would unfold, then he wanted to finish this quickly.

Five's hand reached for his target, grabbed a hold of his upper arm and pulled him in a nearby hallway before jumping the both of them in the nearby abandoned building where his weapons were patiently waiting for him.

Five turned around to face his target, knife in hand and ready to strike when his breath caught in his throat and every muscle in his body contracted, stopping every movement. Where his prey stood mere milliseconds ago was now an elegant woman in a beautiful gown, all smile and giggling at his reaction. He knew it was you the second he heard your giggles, causing his heart to skip a beat and his fingers to let go of the sharp weapon.

He stopped himself from moving a stray strand of hair behind your ear, instead choosing to release his grip on your arm and take a step away. You were too beautiful, so much more beautiful than what he imagined, with your shining eyes, your soft-looking hair, your perfectly curved body, he tried to burn every detail into his memory.

"Dance with me?" You asked, closing the distance and reaching for his hand. Your movement got him out of his thoughts and everything came back full force. The mischievous glint into your eyes caused a smirk to form on his lips.

"You just want to keep me from my job." And you were doing a magnificent job at it.

"Is it working?" You batted your eyelashes in an innocent way, making Five roll his eyes before he positioned your hands correctly and pull your body so that you were almost touching each other.

You smiled in satisfaction, following his steps flawlessly on a tempo only he could hear. The blue-eyed man enjoyed the silent minute, savoring the feeling of your soft skin cradled into his palm and the warmth of your waist radiating through the fabric under his opposite hand. The comfortable silence was soon replaced by a soft song playing in the background, stopping Five in his tracks and almost causing you to fall if it wasn’t for his strong arms keeping you up and close.

Five eyes finally left your face and widened at the new scenery surrounding him. The once dusty floor was now pristine and exempt of all the trash and needles that were once lingering around, the tagged walls were perfectly painted in a new shade of light grey, giving the room a nice glow under the gleam of the light strings hanging from the ceiling.

Five didn’t know his mouth had opened in awe before you chuckled and your hand left his shoulder to caress his chin, effectively causing him to close it.

"I take it that you like it?" Your eyes were shining under the soft lights and the pride he saw in them almost got a smile out of him.

"You made this?" He was still stunned about the complete makeover of the room. Even the lingering moldy smell disappeared, letting a pleasant smell floating around in its place.

"You’re not the first one the Commission took a liking to, ya know. I’m kinda like an illusionist, but my stuff is the real deal. They saw my potential and offered me a job, which I refused and they’ve been on my tail ever since." You shrugged, replacing your hand at its rightful place on his shoulder.

Five was truly amazed by the woman standing in front of him. Her ability had so many possibilities and she managed to escape the Commission for seemingly a long time. Add this to the fact that she can time-travel and play tricks on the best assassin this planet has ever seen, Five has never been so interested in someone like that before, not even Dolores who has been his everything for many years.

"I can see why they were interested in you." He resumed his dancing, this time following the rhythm of the soft music playing around them. "Having two abilities is pretty rare."

You shook your head, before clarifying. "I only have one. I don't know where you get the second one from." You frowned in confusion, which reflected on his own face.

"But you time-travel." He remembered finding the folded fish in the 1800s, the dragon around the 1950s and today was September 23th, 1987.

"Yeah, the same way as you. With a briefcase." You nodded toward the black briefcase neatly placed near the window. Five only got more and more confused.

"But they were all dest-" He cut himself at your cheeky grin. "You created your very own. Impressive."

"Thank you." You were beaming at that point and Five felt proud that he was the source of your happiness.

The slow song ended but neither of you stopped moving your feet in unison. Five was enjoying himself like never before and he wasn't in a hurry to end it. The corner of his lips quirked upward when he realized that you pressed yourself against him when the song ended, your way of saying that you didn't want this to end either.

You silently danced the second song in its entirety, living every second like everything would disappear at any moment. Five was scared that this was a one night deal and that he would never see you again. Why did you reveal yourself tonight of any other night?

Before he gathered the courage to ask you, the song reached its end and a completely different kind of music floated in the air.

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

Five pulled away slightly, not much, only to be able to see the sheepish smile on your lips. "I love this song." Was your only answer to his frowned brows.

Five laughed softly before stepping away and made you spin. He pulled you back to him, your melodious laugh bouncing around him like the greatest melody ever written.

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

It was clear that neither of you knew how to dance on this song, but you didn't care. You were both moving around freely, Five making you spin from time to time.

Other dancers may be on the floor

Dear, but my eyes will see only you

Only you have that magic technique

When we sway I go weak

Five's heart was beating quickly, not because of the physical exercise, he was trained to accomplish way more than dancing without breaking a sweat, but because the sight of your delighted face stroked something deep within himself. A primal need. The need of a life partner. Someone who he could trust blindly and love without holding back.

I can hear the sounds of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now

A too-quick step made you trip on your own feet, in an attempt to keep you on your feet Five reached for your arms but it was already too late. Instead of helping, Five only unbalanced you more leading you to fall to the ground and drag the man with you. Thanks to his sharp reflexes, Five caught himself on his forearms before he crushed your small form under his larger one.

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

For a moment the assassin's heart stopped in fear. He hasn't felt afraid in years and it definitely wasn't a feeling he had missed. Your laugh flicked a switch in his heart, making it beat again in an erratic rhythm that he was almost embarrassed of. He guessed that if feeling that good meant that sometimes he was going to be afraid, it wasn't a big deal. He could deal with his fears if at the end of the day you were fine and happy in his arms.

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

"I'm so sorry Five!" You managed to say after catching your breath. Tears rolled from your eyes and into your hair, the reflection of the lights above creating stars in your eyes.

"It's fine." Was all he could say, for his brain had stopped working when he realized that only a couple of centimeters separated the two of you. His body started heating up to his dismay, Five pushed on his arms and sit on his heels to help you sit up.

When marimba rhythms start to play

Hold me close, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

"Thanks." You muttered while passing a hand through your messy hair.

The sound of a metallic object falling on the ground made you jump. Five frowned, confused as to why the Commission would send him another assignment right now and not wait until his return.

"What was that?" You whispered.

"My employer." He was beyond annoyed by the interruption. They couldn't have chosen a worse time than tonight.

Offering you a helping hand, Five got up and helped you when your hand closed on his. He couldn't stop himself, he enlaced his fingers through yours, the tightness of your grip made him chuckle.

"Don't worry, they are not here." He lightly hit the wall near the window with the underside of his fist, searching for a spot on the wall that wasn't hollow. When he found it, he searched for the dissimulated door and took the canister with his name written on it.

Releasing your hand, Five opened the canister, took the folded paper and read the words. Terminate Y/N L/N. How was he supposed to terminate someone he didn't even know? This job was so frustrating! He folded back the paper, storing it in his pants pocket. This would have to wait. He turned back to you and the sight bring a genuine smile to his lips.

You were smiling at something outside the window, the light of the moon joined to the string lights gave you an angelic glow. He would have loved to contemplate you longer, but duty called and he now had two targets instead of one.

"I have to go." He didn't dare say it too loud, maybe time would stop and let him live this perfect night for all eternity.

You turned around with a small smile on your lips. He could see that you were disappointed even though you nodded like it was nothing. "Well, tonight couldn't go on forever." You walked up to him, with each one of your steps Five felt himself growing weak in the knees. Oh how he didn't want to go. "It's fine. I'll find you again." At that, you tenderly reached for his cheek while your lips pressed a delicate kiss on the other one, stealing his breath.

You giggled, surely at the blush covering his cheeks and walked away, the illusion fading along with your steps. Just as you were about to walk down the stairs, Five remembered something.

"Wait! I didn't get your name!" He quickly space-jumped in front of you to block your path.

"Y/N L/N." Her smile dropped when a dark expression fell on his face. Even if he tried, he couldn’t have repressed it, the surprise and the anger were too much.

"You have to leave." He didn’t know how they found her, he always made sure he didn’t have any bug on himself before going on a mission.

"N-not that I wasn’t doing that anyway, but w-why the long face?" His fingers twitched at the waver in your voice. It wasn’t his intention to scare you, even less to scare you off.

"The Commission knows you’re here. I don't know how, but they know." Five was starting to get tired of them pretty quickly. Maybe one day he would get out of there with explosions resonating through the hallways. Maybe he could use grenades. Yeah, grenades were good.

You started to walk down the stairs when you stopped and turned to him, one last time. "Be careful."

Five smirked although your concern was touching. "I should be the one telling you that."

With one last giggle, you walked out of his sight. Five returned to his very first task of the night, took place at his spot by the window and finished the initial job.

Back at the Commission that night, Five removed his jacket, eager to go to bed and find himself dancing in your arms again to the sound of soft slow music. A sound caught his attention when he threw his jacket on the back of his chair, the sound of crumbling paper.

His hands searched his pocket, grabbing the grey fox that somehow found its way into his jacket without him noticing. A smile stretched his lips before he carefully slipped the fox under his pillow and went to bed.

A whole year passed before the next animal appeared in his pocket. As frustrated as he was of being away from you for a whole year, Five knew why this was necessary. The Commission was close on your tail. Apparently, he wasn't the only agent tasked of your termination and some got lucky enough to find your location but not enough to hurt you.

The whole year he kept tabs on the Commission's information on you and kept worrying that someday he would find a red stamp crossing out your picture. As of today, his worst nightmare hasn't yet come true, so he pushed his worry aside and continued his job.

He assembled his sniper, preparing himself to kill the president of the United States in 1963 when something hit him in the head. It didn't hurt or anything, it was light as a leaf. Frowning, Five pulled away from the scope of his weapon to discover a brown frog made of folded paper lying on the ground next to his feet.

Receiving one of your signature gift after all that time caused his heart to skyrocket in his chest. All those feelings he had repressed, fearing that one day you would be gone for good and that he would definitely be alone in this cruel world, came rushing back at full speed, making him drop his gun and look around for you.

You weren't far, waving at him with a tired smile on your face, dark shadows marking the underside of your eyes. He didn't take the time to run, simply jumping to you and engulfing your body into his arms.

Many times he thought about how much he had fallen for you after only one dancing night and five tricks followed by origamis. If it were someone else, he would have told them that they were being stupidly influenced by their primal urges that forced them to find a partner and procreate, for this was the circle of life since the dawn of time. In his case, he knew it was much more than that. It was more important to him than a need to procreate. He had found his equal, someone that sparked an insatiable interest in him and showed him that there was way more in this life than what he originally knew.

Five tensed as soon as he heard the first sobs. Immediately he started to scan your body for wounds or blood, anything to show that you were hurt. However, his analysis was cut short by both your hands cradling his cheeks.

"I'm fine. I'm just real' tired and I'm so happy to see you." Your arms wrapped around his neck forcing Five to hug your body closer. Not that he minded.

He whispered words of reassurance into your hair while thinking of what to do next. You couldn't keep fleeing the Commission alone, not in your state. They would catch up to you in no time and he couldn't have that. He couldn't say that he killed you to get them off your back, the higher-ups would request physical proof of your death. It only left him with his last resort. He would have liked to find the good variable, but time was against him so he would have to deal with it.

"I have a plan, don't worry." He dried her tears with his thumb when she lifted her head to look into his eyes. "I'll get us out of here."

You managed a smile before chuckling. "I know. Why do you think I gave you a brown frog? A frog to ensure a safe return of your journey and brown for home."

Five shook his head, once again amazed at how perfectly you could read him despite everyone else describing him as unpredictable.

He grabbed your hands in his, mentally reciting the equation he passed the last 45 years developing. Before the portal appeared, Five stopped everything in a hurry, scaring the shit out of you. He let go of your hands for two seconds, enough time for him to run back at his sniper, grab the brown frog and run back at you. You rolled your eyes when he secured the frog in his jacket pocket, quickly saying that it has sentimental value, before concentrating on the portal again.

The blue vortex appeared, its power pushing them away. It took every ounce of strength into Five's body to pull you with him through the portal, your weakened state left you helpless in front of the blue resistance.

Five did his best to catch you during the fall, your body falling directly on top of his, stealing his breath for a moment.

You managed to roll off of him, allowing him to take a nice bowl of air to fill his lungs. He made it. You weren't 100% safe, but he could have help now. He cou-

"Five." The worry in your voice along with your hand closing tightly on his forearm pushed him to sit up quickly and find the source of the danger. He understood your reaction when his eyes fell on his siblings who looked like hell.

"You guys didn't change one bit." He deadpanned. His usual unimpressed face was back in service at the gaping fish-like faces of his siblings.

"We should be the one telling you that. You haven't aged at all!" Klaus yelled, his outstretched arms moving up and down in his direction.

Confused, Five glanced at his body and realization hit him like a brick. He knew something wasn't right!

Your repressed giggles caught his attention, he found your 13 years old body, a hand on your mouth desperately trying to keep a full-on laugh in. He couldn't help but notice how much more tired you looked in your younger self.

"It's not funny." Was all he said before he spacial-jumped the two of you to his old bedroom. There he guided you to the bed where he helped you get under the covers and watched you get comfortable.

"It is funny." Five scoffed and went to the door, knowing his siblings were gathered behind it and very probably listening to their conversation. He hit the door with his foot and as expected, Klaus yelled in pain, complaining about his hurting ear.

"I'll be downstairs to talk in a few minutes so get lost." He told them through the door. He was awarded by some angry muttering and finally, fading footsteps.

He walked back to your side when he was sure that everyone went on their merry way, sitting on the nearby chair with your hand in his.

"You need to rest. You'll be safe here." He kissed your hand at your tired smile. "I'll stay until you fall asleep, that okay?" You nodded, already your eyelids seemed pretty heavy.

"I missed you Five."

You were out in less than two minutes, your breathing became deeper and slower, your facial muscles relaxed and your mouth opened slightly allowing Five to hear your even respiration.

The boy didn't notice exactly when it happened, but the demons were now silent and the traumas shrank in size, forming a clear path toward the center of the maze that was his heart. There, the three inches thick chest that was protecting his feelings was now wide open, strings were delicately wrapped around them, not too tight as to not suffocate them, but with just enough contact so that he could permanently feel her affection enveloping him.

"I missed you too."

[A/N] This passed SO close to having an angsty ending! So close! I figured you guys had enough angst with 11 already… and the part 2 that's coming next.

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #number five #number five x reader #number five imagine #five hargreeves imagine #the boy #tua #tua s1 #tua s2 #the umbrella academy

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theseshipsshallsail · 4 years ago

Link

There’s a new club in the Village - Infinity emblazoned in bright, neon letters - and naturally, the building is jam-packed with society’s outcasts on its opening weekend. Oliver grimaces, pressing his third beer to the side of his face, yet the condensation does nothing to soothe his overheated skin. It’s like a furnace of writhing bodies, and with every bead of sweat that bisects his neck to soak into his collar, he can’t help but wonder why he ever agreed to come in the first place.

“Drink up,” Vanessa says, brandishing a bright amber concoction as she slides into the booth opposite him. “You look like you need something a little stronger.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow as he returns the bottle to the table, then plucks the wedge of orange peel from the rim of the proffered glass. It’s been three years since he tasted a negroni, and the potent combination of gin, Campari, and vermouth sends his mind reeling in directions he usually fights tooth and nail to avoid.

“Remind me again why you brought me here?” he asks, trying not to wince at the bitter aftertaste. “This isn’t exactly my scene.”

Vanessa scoffs. “Well, if you ever left your study...”

“I’m up for promotion!”

“You’ll be up for an ulcer if you don’t slow down. Besides, you deserve to let loose after... you know.”

You know, meaning his divorce, and the eighteen month shit-storm that preceded it.

Vanessa has the office next to his, and in between general grousing about University politics they’ve become close friends. It helps, of course, that she understands his situation all too well, and even though her parents never tried to strong-arm her to the altar, she and her girlfriend still have to hide their relationship from the rest of their colleagues.

Oliver sighs as he takes a second sip of his drink. “It’ll take more than a one night stand to loosen me up,” he tells her, and the filthy smirk that curls Vanessa’s lips has him tempted to bang his forehead against the table.

“Whatever tickles your pickle, Professor.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Hell if I know.” Slurring somewhat, she taps their cocktails together, and Oliver laughs as she leans forward, poking him in the chest. “Listen, Ollie, you and Micol did a spectacular job of making yourselves miserable, but at least you stayed faithful ‘til the end. Why not enjoy yourself, yeah?”

“Why not indeed?”

He’s aiming for sarcastic, yet his tone falls somewhere short of exhausted. She’s right, he realises, but Oliver hasn’t had much interest in men or women for a while. He’s not so deep in denial to admit his heart still belongs to another, and being hopelessly in love with someone he can’t have has done a real number on his libido.

“Damn! This place is heaving!” Simone says, slumping in her seat when she returns from the bathroom. Slinging an arm around Vanessa’s shoulder she drops a quick kiss to her cheek, and Oliver averts his eyes, the casual intimacy leaving him yearning for the impossible. “A few too many student-types for my liking, though. Makes me feel like I’m back in the theatre department.”

“Makes me feel like I’m pushing thirty,” Oliver mutters, painfully aware of the significantly younger crowd as he tugs at the cheap material of his shirt. Too many curries and not enough exercise has made him self-conscious of the few extra pounds at his waistline, and depressingly, twenty-eight feels ancient in comparison.

“You wanna call it a night?” Vanessa asks, and Oliver nods absently as his gaze catches on a couple in the middle of the dancefloor.

Caught in a world of their own, they make a striking picture. The taller of the pair is bleached-blond and athletic, his arms wrapped tightly around the slim waist of the man in front of him in a surprisingly protective gesture. Oliver can’t see his partner clearly from this angle, but his skin is pale and shimmering as they move to the beat, dark curls falling in a tousled mess. Whether it’s by artful design or sweat-damp from dancing, he can’t quite tell, yet Oliver is hypnotized by the way they bounce as he loses himself to the music, obscuring his vision until the other man reaches forward, gently brushing them away.

The bass pounds in his rib cage, and Oliver’s throat feels constricted as he watches the brunette link his hands behind his lover's neck. Profile half in shadows, he raises up on tiptoes to whisper in the shell of his ear, and Oliver experiences a crisis of tenderness when he butts their temples together. Something squirms in his stomach. Something raw and envious. Memories flare, unfair and brutal, and he immediately blames the burning of his retinas on the relentless assault of the strobe lights surrounding them.

“Oliver? You okay?”

No.

Definitely not.

The jostling crowd causes the blond to alter their position, and Oliver’s head spins from more than just the alcohol as his blood runs cold in his veins.

“Elio…” he murmurs, vaguely aware of Vanessa’s stifled gasp when she tries to get a better look.

“Your Elio?”

He wants it not to be - wants his eyes to be deceiving him - yet there’s no denying the truth. All that he’s forgotten - all that he’s clung to - coalesces in a rush of unslaked longing, and between one blink and the next, Oliver remembers everything.

“Not anymore,” he whispers, but then, why would he be?

Elio was seventeen when they first met, and Oliver isn’t naive enough to think he hasn’t fallen in and out of love many times since then. He’s beautiful, intelligent, talented beyond measure. Was he really so arrogant to imagine he would still be single? Pining for him, maybe? Saving himself? And for what? A six week romance one too-hot Italian summer? Something his cowardice cut short with a long-distance phone call?

He was, wasn’t he?

Arrogant.

And so very stupid.

“Of all the gay bars in all the world…” Vanessa takes a swig of her piña colada as he continues to spiral. “I thought you said he lived in Italy?”

“He did,” Oliver replies, picking at his thumbnail. “He moved here for school.”

“And you didn't contact him?”

“To say what?” His ears ring from the shrillness of her tone. “Hey, Elio. Remember that time I broke both our hearts ‘cause I’m a gutless schmuck? How about I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

“It would’ve been a start.”

“It would’ve been selfish,” he says, tearing his eyes away. “He has enough on his plate with Juilliard. I’d only get in the -”

“Juilliard?” Simone’s low whistle interrupts his self-reproach. “Impressive.”

“Son of a professor,” Oliver explains. “I always knew he was a genius.” He gathers himself with a quiet huff. “Though he’ll probably say he knows nothing.” The spark of nostalgia is crippling, and it takes everything he has not to break down on the spot. “I should go,” he says, draining the remains of his drink as he rises to his feet.

“Oliver -”

“Why don’t you come back to ours?” Vanessa offers, making to follow, but whatever expression is on his face causes Simone to catch her by the wrist.

“We’re here if you need us, alright?”

“I know,” he says, eternally grateful for their support as he pushes some cab money into her hand. “Get home safe. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“You’d better,” Vanessa tells him, obstinate in her concern, yet all he can focus on right now is leaving.

The swirling thoughts inside his head are all-consuming, but Oliver is determined to reign in his emotions for a little while longer. Ignoring the way his shoes stick to the tacky vinyl flooring, he grits his teeth as he snakes his way through the crush of humanity. He needs space. Fresh air. Hell, a damn time machine wouldn’t go amiss. He has nobody to blame but himself, and he’s halfway to the exit sign when his pace grinds to a halt, his masochistic streak unable to resist one last glimpse.

A flash of irrational panic makes him breathe in deep - hold it for a count of three - and when he turns to scan the roiling bodies that fill up the dance floor, he finds them immediately. The shock doesn’t lessen, and if Oliver thought his heart had broken when they’d clung to one another on a train station platform, it’s naught compared to when Elio tips the other man’s chin up with the same fingers that used to play his body like a finely tuned instrument. White noise fills his ears as he ghosts a kiss to his lips - two chaste pecks at first - and then harder. Hungry. Mouths open. Tongues swirling. Deep and dirty.

Just the way he likes it.

Fool that he is, Oliver doesn’t turn away. But he’s not the only one. Their bawdy display has garnered a small audience of the jealous and horny, and when the cat-calls eventually die down he notices a clearly disappointed red-head stalk past them on route to her table of friends.

Time has not domesticated him, it seems, and Oliver feels like crying as the world returns frame by frame - the oscillating pulse of the dance track. The lightning burst of colour from the laser system above. An innate sense of powerlessness floods through him - the depths of which he hasn’t experienced since Elio sobbed against his chest in an attic bedroom - and a heavy weight settles in his belly as he recognises the cues and rituals that were once directed at him alone.

Elio has obviously flourished in his absence. His body language is looser, more relaxed, assured in a way his younger self could only dream of, and Oliver allows an almost-smile as the couple laugh for a moment before turning to walk away.

His fingers itch for a cigarette - a habit he’s struggling to waive - and the next thing he knows he’s taking a seat at the bar, a double shot of bourbon in his hand he doesn’t remember ordering, and a screaming admonishment from his better judgement to not do anything stupid.

All I had to do was find the courage to reach out and touch, Elio said once, rife with self-mockery, and Oliver’s advice was to try again later. Was this it? Their later? And if not now, when? Because whatever his feelings of bitterness - whatever his misguided envy - if he lets this opportunity pass him by, he will always wonder. Always look.

In truth, he already does.

Ever since Samuel mentioned Elio was moving to the States, he’s carried the idle fantasy of crossing paths in some random book store, eyes locking across a busy street, a name - his, theirs, both - shouted across a bustling coffee shop. Of all eventualities, though, he hasn’t prepared for an Elio who might not be happy to see him. Who might dismiss him. Cast him aside like some ill-fitting chapter in the editing process. The context is all wrong, and for it to happen like this is akin to being plunged into the icy waters of the berm.

“Accidenti!” an achingly familiar voice says from somewhere behind him. “Are all Americans incapable of taking a hint? Or is it just an East Coast thing?”

“It’s the accent, mio amico. Fries their brains.”

“Never mind their brains,” Elio replies in the same lazy drawl. “I think you’ve sprained my tonsils.”

There’s a snicker to his left, and like a moth to a flame, Oliver peers up into the mirror behind the bar, only to find his living nightmare mere meters away, sharing a cigarette. Elio’s still wearing the same bracelets he did that summer, and three years of sleepwalking collapses around him as Oliver hunches over, palms sweating.

“Seriously though,” the blond continues. “Look at this place! Wall-to-wall entreés, and you won’t so much as skim the menu. You’re spoiled for choice, compagno.”

Elio scoffs as he brings the filter to his lips. “Didn’t I tell you choice is an illusion?”

“As is time, according to Adams.” The man slings an arm over his shoulders. “And here you are, free as a bird, wasting the perfect opportunity.”

Elio flips him the middle finger. “Stronzo,” he says, leaving Oliver more confused than ever as he studies him over the rim of his glass. “It’s a curse.”

“Self-inflicted, maybe.”

“So what’s the answer? And don’t say forty-two.”

The guy chuckles. “Variety,” he says, signalling the harried bartender. “Things didn’t work out with the violinist - I get it. È la vita! You’re not in the mood for pushy red-heads? Fine. But don’t sell yourself short. Trust Fund Tina’s not the only one checking you out.”

“Perhaps.”

“What perhaps?” A knowing smirk shoots in Oliver’s direction. “See for yourself.”

It’s like experiencing the first tremor of an earthquake. Elio was always a force of nature, and bracing for disaster, Oliver feels the fault lines buckle beneath him. He thought he was done letting fear and shame dictate his life, yet even now, at peace with his true self, he can’t bear to witness the seismic shift between past and present. Instead, he falls back on avoidance, tearing strips off a frayed beer mat until the hair prickles at his nape.

He can feel it - the instant his fate is sealed - and taking a deep breath Oliver returns his eyes to the mirror, meeting Elio’s stunned features. Dark brows climb towards his hairline as the happiness on his face shifts into something else. Something measured. Unrecognisable. A blank slate, almost. For a moment, Oliver fears he’s going to ignore him completely, but then Elio straightens his spine, offers the half-smoked cigarette to his friend, and with a few whispered words strides forward with purpose.

His daring is a law unto himself, but the look he’s giving him now exudes superiority - omniscience, almost - as if he can read every thought that’s going on inside Oliver’s mind, and has already deemed them wanting. It shouldn’t be such a turn on, yet his heart skips a beat regardless. Then another. Every instinct in his body tells him to reach out, to hold Elio’s hand, tuck those wild curls behind his ear, but it’s no longer his place - if it ever really was to begin with - so Oliver takes a deliberate sip of his whiskey, scared and aroused simultaneously, before swivelling towards him.

“Oliver.” His name on Elio’s lips - three smooth syllables - and he feels reborn. “Long time no see.” Hesitating, he offers up a pack of Luckies. “Fumo?”

“I shouldn’t,” he says, dragging trembling fingers through his hair. “I told myself I’d quit. God knows it won't take much to -”

“Tempt you?”

Heat rises to Oliver’s cheeks. “Yes,” he admits, and Elio’s smile is a shallow, brittle thing.

“Well, you know yourself,” he says, returning the cigarette carton to his pocket. “Don’t let me ruin your good intentions.”

His flippancy is like a red rag to a bull, and Oliver’s hackles rise as he sets his drink on the counter, irritated enough by Elio’s calm exterior to try and provoke a reaction. “Is your boyfriend not the jealous type?”

All he receives is an eye roll. “Bruno’s not my boyfriend.”

“Could’ve fooled me. From what I saw earlier.”

“You saw nothing,” Elio replies, defensive. “We’re friends. Roommates.”

“Roommates?” Rising from his stool, Oliver takes a step towards him. “That kiss -”

“Is none of your business. Not anymore.”

It hits him like a punch to the gut. Oliver’s lips part, but no sound passes between them. He’s being irrational, he’ll accept, but old habits die hard, and through sheer force of will he quashes down his guilt, knowing better than to use it as a weapon.

“Of course,” he says, chastened. “You’re right.”

“I usually am.”

“Elio…” This isn’t how he wants the conversation to go. ��I know it’s too much to expect your forgiveness, but please don’t be angry with me. We were friends, once. Before anything else.”

“I’m not angry.” A beat. “Not anymore.” Tipping his chin, Elio folds his arms in front of him. One more barrier despite the brush-off. “I’m processing.“

“Processing?”

“Yes, processing. Originates from the Old French proces. Related to the Latin processus, and from the verb procedere in Middle English.”

“Wise ass.”

“Sempre.” Elio shrugs, watching him openly. “What are you doing here, Oliver?”

“My friends saw the flyers,” he says, bypassing the here, specifically, when Elio’s attention drops a few inches lower, and he realises he’s staring at his ring finger.

At the white line that’s all but vanished since he signed his way to freedom.

“You’re…”

Oliver clears his throat. “Divorced,” he manages, shuffling his feet. “Almost three months now.”

“Divorced?” Elio’s mask slams back into place, the distress in his voice palpable. “Why?”

And there are so many things he could say to that - the stress of his job, money, differing expectations - but this is Elio. His first love. His forever love. He, above anyone, deserves the truth.

“I think you know why.”

“Do I?” That same phony indifference. “What the eyes see, and the ears hear, the mind believes.”

“The truth is never that simple.”

“Not for us, it seems. Not in this world.” Elio gives his head a small but firm shake, blowing out a frustrated breath. “You know, tonight was supposed to lower my stress levels, not raise them,” he says, granting them a temporary reprieve. “But then, you always were hazardous to my blood pressure.”

“Trust me. The feeling’s mutual,” Oliver tells him wryly. “Might I recommend some deep breaths?”

“Deep breaths?” Elio rocks back on his heels. “If I had any peaches I’d be using my right hand.”

It catches him unawares, and Oliver can't help it. He snorts. Overcome by relief. Then he laughs - a weak sound, and damn near helpless - but a laugh, nonetheless. Cupping a palm to his mouth. Moving it to his eyes. Feeling the tears he’s been fighting since this whole debacle began.

“My God you’re incorrigible,” he mutters, the sharp stab of regret cutting him to the core as he glances over his shoulder, and the blond - Bruno - shoots him a wink. “When you said I saw nothing...”

The hesitant curve of Elio’s smile lights a fire in his chest. “There was a girl on the dance floor who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Lucky for me, Bruno’s never been shy about putting on a convincing performance.”

Oliver winces. “Well, I bought it.”

“Mission accomplished, then.” Elio edges closer. “I could’ve said the same for you, once upon a time.” The air between them grows charged. “Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “Italy, I mean?”

“Every single day.” Oliver finds himself captivated by the smattering of stubble along Elio’s jawline. The touch of smudged kohl beneath his lashes that turns his gaze smouldering. “Do you?”

“In a way.”

“Just a way?” He’s not entirely certain they’re talking about the same thing, and Vanessa’s advice seems all the more pertinent. “Let me buy you a coffee?” Oliver asks, and Elio frowns.

“What? Now?”

“If you like.”

“It’s gone midnight!”

“Tomorrow, then. Whenever you’re available.” Suddenly desperate, he closes the gap between them. “I can’t excuse my actions, Elio - I know I can’t - but at the very least I owe you an explanation.”

“Oliver...” This time it’s Elio who reaches out, his usually steady hands uncertain as they entwine with his. “I was young, not stupid. What’s there to forgive? You left because you had to. You married because -”

“I was weak.”

“Cazatte!” The tension in Elio’s body snaps back like a coil. “My father would have carted me off to a correctional facility,” he murmurs, squeezing his fingers tightly. “I’ll never forget those words.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be!” Elio sounds furious on his behalf. “Weak, you say? No. Control over others is the true weakness. Coercion. Conformity. All it does is breed hatred. And that’s not you. Not my Oliver.”

“Am I still?” he asks, laying his cards out on the table. “Your Oliver?”

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

Oliver swallows thickly. “I guess we will,” he says, dropping his forehead to Elio’s crown.

He’s braver at twenty-one than Oliver could have dared imagine, and for the first time in years the dull ache beneath his ribs is replaced by a different sort of craving. The way they fit together so easily, like no time has passed, fans the banked passions within him - the desire to press his lips against Elio’s neck, to nip his way along countless freckles until he can fist those unruly curls and guide his mouth back to where it belongs.

Flush against his.

Devouring.

But not yet.

This isn’t leading to sex. Not tonight. This is about reconciliation. Reassurance. Redemption.

“There’s a late-night diner on the corner…”

It’s a whisper against his cheek - so quiet he barely hears it - and Oliver leans down, pressing his face to Elio’s collarbone, breathing him in. He knows this won’t be easy - knows there will be dark clouds before the dawn - yet here they are, older and wiser, and three years might as well be yesterday as the parting crowds provide a temporary island in which to weather the storm.

#cmbyn roll the dice challenge #fanfic #oliver pov #elio and oliver #cmbynrollthedicechallenge

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years ago

Note

Benjamin #5 (smut list)

5. restraining the other

In my Twilight days, I came across a thread that talked about how Meyer originally wanted her story to be a human/faerie romance. Her publisher said, NAY, beetch! Vampires sell! and as it turned out, Meyer didn’t know much about vampire lore and violated many of the core concepts that make vampires interesting. Sparkling, vegetarian vamps without fangs, with venom in their saliva, that are seemingly indestructible aren’t nearly as fun, in my opinion.

What I love about the True Blood vamps is that Charlaine Harris honors much of the canonical lore. My biggest complaint with Meyers is that I just can’t fuck with a vampire that doesn’t have fangs that go … *snick*

So, the version of Benjamin in this fic will be more in canon with vampire lore.

Warnings: Blood sucking, wrist restraints, jealousy, and copious smut

“Benjamin! You’re not playing fair,” you pouted as you struggled against your restraints.

“You wish to talk to me about fair? Let’s start from the beginning.”

You narrowed your eyes and waited, knowing it was useless to interrupt.

“First, you come into our home smelling like … like him.”

“Second, you spend all day with … him … and then lie about it to me.”

“Third—”

“How many points do you need to make? I am human and will eventually need to use the bathroom.”

Benjamin appeared beside you, moving too quickly for your eyes. You turned your head from where he had been standing and looked up to meet his gaze. His eyes weren’t wholly black. Little starbursts of crimson remained around his pupils to indicate that while he may not yet be starving, he was definitely hungry.

Waving his hands, the wooden slats on the headboard tightened around your wrists. You were sure that if he could breathe, he’d be taking short, shallow breaths as he wrestled with his jealousy. Instead, you concentrated on his eyes, watching the way they narrowed as he manipulated the earthen molecules that moved through the wood.

“Too tight?” he asked with a casual raise of his eyebrow.

“Nope,” you lied.

“You’re lying.”

Benjamin flexed his fingers and the slats loosened their hold, not enough for you to escape, but enough for you to wiggle your wrists if they grew uncomfortable.

As soon as night fell, Benjamin had been on you, running his hands over your body, inhaling along your pulse points, and with a growl, he had stripped you down to your bra and panties then restrained you in the bed.

He could sense your emotions, but watching your body gave him an even keener insight into what you were feeling. He could smell your arousal, then watch as your panties darkened at the juncture of your thighs; he could observe the blush that crept across your chest when he began to shed layers of his own clothing; and he could uninhibitedly listen as your pulse quickened or steadied.

With a frustrated sigh, your eyes ran over his torso. The lithe muscles covered by his olive skin, his dark nipples hard as he continued to look at you, clearly torn between wanting to ravish and wanting to punish.

Belonging to the undead had its perks, and its detriments. Benjamin loved you, needed you to sustain his own existence and you let him take that from you, delighting in the power you felt when his teeth slipped into your neck, or better yet, into the femoral artery of your thigh. He wanted to make you his, sire you so you would be bonded for eternity, but you weren’t ready yet.

The daytime still offered so many things, namely, the sun. Your current predicament began two weeks ago when you went to the beach with a few friends. As it turned out, your best friend wanted to set you up with one of her brother’s friends: a sweet, good-looking, pre-med student. Because Benjamin was a secret, you couldn’t say no without hurting a slew of feelings, so you figured you could go out on a couple of dates, then discreetly break it off with the whole “it’s not you, it’s me” thing.

None of this you felt was pertinent information for Benjamin to know—that is until he saw you with him.

“Third,” sounded Benjamin’s voice from a shadowy part of the room. You blinked and looked for the movement of his form. “He can give you everything I can’t.”

Your heart ached at the sadness in his voice.

“Benjamin—no. I don’t want anything you can’t give.”

“Children. Safety. A life in the sun and not in the shadows.” His accent was thicker, his tone less controlled, as he shared his deepest fear.

“But you can give me forever.”

Benjamin slowly stepped back into the light, his muscles flexing beneath his torso as he walked. His face was a mask, a perfectly carved Adonis that conveyed nothing its owner didn’t wish to share.

“So, you will not see him any longer?”

“I’ll break it off tomorrow morning.”

“And you will never do this again?” Benjamin asked, but underneath the question was a warning.

“Never again.”

“Then I’ll release you.”

Before he could loosen the slats, you cleared your throat and shifted on the bed. “Or . . . you could fuck me like this? Restrained and at your mercy.”

Benjamin shivered, like the visual equivalent of a cat’s purr as he circled the bed, waiting for any sign you weren’t being honest.

“Please,” you begged, flexing against the wood. “Teach me a lesson.”

Benjamin’s mouth popped open as his fangs snicked out, his tongue poking between them to wet his lower lip. A quick glance at his trouser fronts told you he was very excited to have you at his mercy—not that you weren’t naturally a creature of lesser power, but this game . . . this was new.

“You,” he began, his accent once again thick, sultry, “belong to me.”

He removed the rest of his clothes, once again too quick for your mortal eye. Your breathing quickened with excitement as your eyes roved over his body, travelling from his face, down his chest to the dark patch of hair at the base of his fantastically hard cock.

You watched the muscles of his thighs flex as he stepped toward the bed, and in another blur of movement, you were naked, too, another set of underwear torn to shreds.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Exposed. Vulnerable. Your body begging for my touch.”

He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth, and you watched, wanting to do the same, to curl your tongue around those deadly points.

“Please, Benjamin,” you whined as your wrists twisted in your restraints, your fingers flexing.

“Tell me,” he said, crawling onto the bed and straddling your thigh. “Did you kiss him?”

“Of course not!”

“Why?” Benjamin’s hands ran up your body, feather light and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Because I’m yours.”

Benjamin grasped your breasts, gently squeezing before he took your nipples between his forefingers and thumbs, rubbing and pulling lightly.

You gasped, your hips bucking up, but restrained by the weight of his body on your thigh. Your wrists were caught in the slats as you unconsciously moved your arms, wanting to touch him.

Benjamin’s eyes flickered to this movement and his face broke into a smirk.

“Did you want him to kiss you? To press his lips to yours as his tongue slid along them, seeking permission to claim you?

“No,” you shook your head, your eyes locked on his. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m yours.”

Benjamin’s fangs retracted with a hollow snick and he descended on your mouth, claiming you with a bruising kiss. He sucked and nipped at your lips, his cock grinding into your abdomen while his tongue explored every inch of your mouth until you were struggling to breathe. He pushed, kissing you to your limit, and when he pulled back, your chest was heaving, your body tight with an ache that only he could soothe.

He looked down at you, his eyes predatory, and he opened his mouth, his fangs popping out.

“You are mine,” Benjamin stated with finality and when his fangs slid into your neck your body arched, rolling against his as your eyes rolled back from the sting of pain that was quickly followed by a surge of pleasure as he sucked, drawing your blood into his mouth and swallowing before he licked at the wound. He pierced the tip of his tongue with his fang and used his blood to heal the puncture marks, leaving nothing but your smooth skin looking as if it had never been touched.

“Please, Benjamin. I need you. Please,” you begged, tugging again at the headboard, your fingers tapping into the wood, pressing with the desire to angle yourself so he could slide into your soaking pussy.

Benjamin ignored your plea in favor of kissing down your body at an agonizingly slow pace. There wasn’t a patch of skin left on your torso that he didn’t press his lips against, that he didn’t taste. Tears stood in your eyes as you wriggled under his weight, your clit swollen with need.

You’d given up begging, and instead were reduced to whimpers as he teased you, and when he finally moved his weight to spread your thighs open two fat tears leaked from your eyes. Benjamin chuckled and caught them on his tongue, licking along your jaw and up your cheeks before he returned to his spot between your legs.

His mouth was sinful considering his tongue could flick across your clit at a rate no human man could match, but your pleasure wasn’t a part of this game, not yet.

Benjamin asked you to watch him, drawing your eyes open so you could look down your body at him, his curly head moving across your abdomen, drifting over your upper thighs, and when he kissed your mound, he looked up at you, his eyes more red than black now.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You—I be-be-belong to you,” you stuttered as his tongue touched your clit.

He smirked and licked you again, unbearably slow.

You groaned, desperation making the muscles in your abdomen and your thighs tremor.

He flicked his tongue across your clit in earnest, building you up to a climax, but before you could tumble over the edge, he stopped and moved up your body so quickly that he seemed to just disappear and reappear. He clutched your jaw and your eyes opened wide as he spoke, his lips just close enough to yours to touch, for you to feel as he said, “You. Are. Mine.”

And in another blink, he was back between your thighs, sucking on your clit and sending you over the edge, and just when you thought your orgasm was ebbing, Benjamin’s fingers slid inside of your pussy and stroked your g-spot as his fangs slid into your thigh. The pinprick of pain was mixed with the pleasure of another orgasm, this one full-bodied and so intense that it coated Benjamin’s fingers and hand in spurts of your arousal.

Noises of pleasure thrummed from your throat and your body chased after his fingers, needing more.

With a groan as he licked off his fingers, he released you from your restraints. You shook your wrists, but in a flash your legs were hooked under his arms and pushed nearly up to your chest as he thrust inside of you, and for the first time, he moaned, a low, deep rumble.

“Mine,” he growled against your lips before he kissed you, the taste of yourself, your blood and your arousal, mixed bittersweet on his tongue.

“Yours,” you panted. “Yours. Yours. Yours.”

Benjamin fucked you, alternating between deep and hard and shallow and sweet until you were on the brink again, wanting nothing more than to come with him, another advantage of the control Benjamin possessed over his body and yours.

He had you on your hands and knees now, his cock pistoning into you at a fast pace, your breath coming in pants, and this time it was Benjamin who begged in a display of humbling reciprocity.

“Can I come inside of you now, my love? Please—can I come?”

“Oh, fuck, Benjamin! Yes, yes!”

You tumbled over the edge together, Benjamin’s hips never faltering as the cool sensation of his cum filling you up made you shiver, then shiver again as he pulled out and pumped himself dry, more ropes of cool cum splashing onto the cheeks of your ass.

You collapsed, out of breath and strength. Benjamin was gone and back in a flash, a warm washcloth rubbing between your legs and over your backside to clean you up.

You felt Benjamin’s body hover over yours as he pressed soft kisses up your spine.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked with genuine concern.

“God no,” you mumbled into the mattress, your breathing still erratic.

He continued to pepper you with sweet kisses until you rolled over, pushing your tangled hair out of your eyes.

His eyes had become that beautiful, deep red and his features seemed softer, even younger than they had an hour or so ago. Reaching up to trace his cheekbones and his nose, you watched him as he watched you, love radiating from his gaze.

“I want it to be like this, always.”

Benjamin smiled, a full grin of joy, as he answered, “My love. When you are ready, it will be better than this. For always.”

“Why? Because you’ll have no one to be jealous over again?” you teased.

He narrowed his eyes and his grin faltered to a thin-lipped smile. “I will make sure to remind you, often, who you belong to.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

Benjamin laughed, the carelessness returning to his features that made him so boyishly handsome.

“Haven’t you yet learned that I will give you anything you want?”

“Anything?” you asked, reaching between his legs and pumping his cock, once, twice, before he grew hard in your hand.

“Anything,” he growled, his fangs flashing.

#Benjamin #Benjamin x Reader #female reader #Twilight #sort of #SMUT #Rami Malek character #Benjamin fic

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years ago

Text

Light Fingers (The Umbrella Academy)

Diego’s vigilantism brings him repeatedly across the path of a young cat burglar. But as he finds himself developing feelings for the thief, he begins to wonder if there’s more to her than meets the eye, and whether they’re really on opposite sides. And as their relationship deepens, it brings with it a plot involving his estranged adopted father, and threatens to destroy all of them.

CHAPTER 9: FOR BETTER OR WORSE

Word Count: 2597 Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader Rating: T Cross-posted to AO3: here

Previous Chapter: Tireless || Masterlist

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“Is there one you’re trying to match?” the clerk asked as Diego stared in bewilderment at the case of rings.

“Oh. Uh, no. We didn’t really...do things the traditional way,” he explained awkwardly.

“I see…” the clerk nodded knowingly, in a way that made Diego fairly certain they actually didn’t. “Well, we have some nice simple sets in case you decide to go back and fill in later, or you can buy it now with these ones?”

He pressed his lips together in thought. One the one hand, why get a ring symbolizing something that never happened? On the other, Y/N deserved all of the nicest things he could offer her, nicer than he could actually.

“Let me see what you have,” he stated decisively, even though it was a decision not to decide until he had thoroughly looked over all of his options.

At first, everything in the tray that the clerk pulled out looked exactly the same, and exactly like the kind of thing Y/N would hate, all unnecessarily large gemstones and gaudy detailing. And then one, nearly lost in the sea, caught his eye: the ring was solid silver, and made of three uneven, textured bands woven together. He pointed it out to the clerk who raised their eyebrows in surprise but offered it up, explaining that it had been a custom piece the purchaser never picked up. Upon closer inspection, Diego realized that the bands were each shaped to look like a different material: rope, barbed wire, and chain, all intricately braided with knots like roses where the three shapes met. It was perfect, like fate had designed it for you.

“This is the one,” he breathed, awed by the luck of finding it, actually feeling tears sting at the corners of his eyes.

“An...excellent choice sir. I’ll just box it up for you. Unfortunately we don’t have any that would sit right with that one as a stack, but we do have one men’s band that has a similar braided motif if you’d like to take a look at that and forgo the third?”

He nodded, and the clerk moved over to another case to pull out another ring, this one a solid, flat silver with an engraved “rope” spiralling loosely around it. It wasn’t a perfect match, but it complimented the other well. He had never been one for metaphors, but this one smacked him in the face hard enough to not be ignored.

He paid the clerk for both rings, not even caring about the price, and checked the time, deciding there was enough to visit the consignment shop down the road and at least find a clean shirt to wear.

“Heeey, Daniel,” you said cheerfully. “What are you up to this morning?”

“I was sleeping, since I have a day off for the first time in who knows how long,” your brother answered, voice still cottony from sleep but twinged with a sharp irritation.

“Great! Can I ask you a huge favor?” you smiled pleadingly at the receiver, even though you knew he couldn’t see you.

“What did you do?” you could almost picture him scowling as he leaned forward, all professional now.

“Nothing. It’s actually about what I want to do. It’s a long story, and kind of complicated. There’s this guy. I’ve been dating him for a few weeks, but also we’ve kind of had a...thing for almost two years,” you paused marvelling at the realization you had known Diego for so long and yet also that it felt like so much longer. “And we decided to…” you trailed off, knowing that his protective instincts would kick in, and also that he was prone to being judgmental. “Look, can you please, please, please meet us at City Park in an hour and be our justice of the peace?”

“What?!”

“I know that it sounds nuts and that as my big brother you have every right to question my sanity, but, don’t fight me on it. I love Diego, more than anything. Please?”

There was a long pause and you wondered if he had put down the phone, or fainted, or something.

“Are you sure about this?” he finally asked.

You took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to answer that.

“No,” you finally answered. “I don’t know how to explain. It’s just this…feeling I have. Maybe it’s a mistake, but I’m taking a gamble. Chasing what I want. It’s worth it. He’s worth it.”

You heard a rustling and the slam of a drawer. Daniel sighed.

“You’re going to need two witnesses.”

“I know, I’ll get that bit sorted. Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“You know I’ll do anything for you, Munchkin. I want you to be happy.”

“I am,” you assured, unable to keep the smile from your face, or out of your voice. “I really, really am.”

You said your goodbyes and hung up the payphone, trying to hold in the overwhelming joy you wanted to scream to the universe. Continuing down the street, shoulders slightly hunched to the morning breeze, you stopped short when you passed a little boutique, something in the window catching your attention.

As luck would have it, the owner was just flipping the open sign in the window, and when she saw you looking at the display mannequin, she offered you a small smile and waved you in, as only charming old ladies can.

Your heart was in your throat as you walked briskly toward the park where you were supposed to meet your brother and Diego. You wanted to drag out the distance, afraid that rejection waited for you at the end, that he had decided your whole plan was outrageous and left, maybe for good. But at the same time, you were anxious to get there, both because of the frosty chill in the air, and more importantly, because of the excitement that made you feel like you were about to burst.

Patch kept pace with you easily, her long coat fluttering behind her and a soft smile on her face. Every once in a while she stole a glance over at you, marveling at how beautiful you were in the lilac dress you’d bought, your hair swept back and up by a thousand tiny bobby pins, (on anyone else the look would have been ruined by the black boots laced to your knee, but somehow on you it just added to it) and also pondering whether this was all some elaborate prank. She wouldn’t put it past you and Diego.

When the gazebo was finally in sight, three silhouettes on its open platform, your feet skidded to a stop.

“I can’t do this,” you said suddenly, turning to walk away before Eudora caught your arm.

“What are you talking about, Y/N?” she asked softly, giving you that patented look of concern that made you want to spill every secret and fear you’ve ever held.

“It’s been three weeks,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks and making you grateful you hadn’t taken the time to stop for mascara. “And we just decide this morning to…? The first time we said ‘I love you’ was yesterday. This is crazy. He’s crazy.”

“Y/N,” she said, taking you by the shoulders, grounding you with her touch. “It’s alright to be nervous, or scared, or have your doubts. And you don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to. You get to decide what happens next. So, if you want to walk away, I’ll walk with you. Do you want to?”

You thought for a moment. But any attempt to rationalize or approach the question with logic like you thought you should was drowned out by the sound of laughter, the crinkle of warm brown eyes, the feel of a hand in yours and your heart beating out a rhythm matched to his that seemed to say “I’m home, I’m home.”

You shook your head, swallowing thickly. “I don’t want to run; I want to do this?”

“That sounded like a question. Are you sure?”

You swallowed again, nerves making your tongue feel heavy. “Yeah. Yes. I’m absolutely sure.”

She smiled at you and you couldn’t help answering the expression with one of your own.

“Good,” she said. “I think we should probably keep moving then, before he has a heart attack waiting.”

You laughed, wrapping her quickly in a hug and murmuring a word of thanks.

Diego felt his knees go weak and his stomach do flips as he watched Y/N and Eudora approach up the cracked cobblestones of the park path. She was always beautiful, but now she looked actually angelic in the pale purple dress that trailed down to her calves. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening, even though he had been standing around for quite a while now, rings heavy in his pocket, as he talked with her brother and his wife (people he had met only once before, and now were part of the small group there for the most important day of his life) and they went over how the whole event would play out.

Part of him wished he had been able to track down Klaus, or maybe extended a temporary olive branch to Vanya, or maybe even Luther, just to have someone there. But Y/N was there. And that was really all that mattered, the two of them. And Patch was as much a friend to him as to her, so it was something. A shabby-looking dark haired man walked past his peripheral vision and he turned his head quickly, hoping beyond reason. Unfortunately, it wasn’t his wayward brother and he sighed.

Eudora and Y/N finally climbed up the steps, and Diego forgot all about his nerves and concerns when the woman of his dreams smiled at him, slipping her hands in his as they faced each other.

“Hi,” he murmured.

“Hi yourself,” she countered. “Ready?”

“Never readier.”

Daniel cleared his throat and began to speak.

“Thank you for being here this morning, as Diego and Y/N enter into this union, a commitment of everlasting love, respect, and partnership. They join together now not as halves of a whole, incomplete without the other, but as equals, each complete and choosing the other as a compliment to themselves. They have seen each other for what they are, and what they are not, and actively decide to accept and cherish in all that entails,” your brother started.

You shot him a glare, cutting him off before he could launch into a lecture.

“Knowing my little sister, and the impromptu nature of today, I am prepared with something of a traditional reading, or we can forgo in favor of the more essential elements of the ceremony?”

You and Diego looked at each other. He shrugged. You rolled your eyes. “Skip the reading.”

Daniel moved on, turning to Patch and Amelia and asking, “Do you, as witnesses to this day, support, encourage, and affirm this union?”

They both looked over at the two of you, nearly lost in your own world and smiled. In near unison, they agreed. Several more formalities passed in something of a blur.

“Do you have rings?” Daniel asked, quirking an eyebrow in an expression nearly identical to the one Diego was familiar with from you.

“I do,” he said, fumbling in the pocket of his jacket, thrown over the rail behind him to pull out the small blue box. “I just hope I picked good ones.”

You gasped as he opened up the box, showing you the rings he had picked out that morning. Your hands shook as you took it, looking closer at the detailing.

“Oh Diego,” you sighed, smiling waterily at him. “They’re perfect.”

Daniel whistled lowly, losing his official mask in favor of being just your brother for a moment. “Damn. If I didn’t know better I’d think these were custom-made.”

Diego shrugged, blushing uncomfortably under the dual praise. “Nope, just got lucky.”

“Well, maybe that’s a good sign then, for the marriage,” Amelia chimed in, beaming at the pair of you. “Which we still need to finish…?”

“Right,” Daniel said. “Where were we? Vows!”

“I, Diego Hargreeves, take you to be my spouse. I promise that from this day forward I will regard you as my equal, my partner, and my closest friend. I will love and cherish you above all others. Our decisions will be together, in consideration of your needs and wishes as well as my own. For better or worse, sickness or health, no matter what we are going through, I will be there at your side, with love and support. Until the end of the world. I love you, so much.” He smiled, flashing you a wink before slipping your ring onto your finger.

You laughed, winking right back before reciting the same promises in turn and slipping the other ring onto his hand, keeping your fingers locked together after.

Daniel discretely swiped a tear from his eye.

“With these rings and vows exchanged, a promise made before witnesses and a symbol of that bond between you, it is my greatest pleasure, by the power vested in me by the state, to pronounce you as married, joined in spirit and in law.”

Diego grinned, sweeping you into a kiss, holding you tight against him, until three voices around you cleared their throats.

“Breakfast?” Patch asked. “On me, as a gift to the newlyweds?”

An hour later, you sat beside each other (everyone else having left to go about their day), people passing by blithely unaware that for the two of you life had just changed, both staring down at your interlocked hands and the bands on your fingers.

“Did we actually just…?” he asked breathlessly.

You laughed. “You were there Diego. You said the words, same as I did.”

You hesitated, fearful still that he hadn’t intended it to be real, that it had been a joke or a fantasy you had taken too far.

“It’s not too late to undo it, though,” you explained hurriedly. “I mean it’s a weekend so Daniel won’t file the certificate with the city until at least Monday, so we can ask him to just rip it up and forget it ever happened. Or if he does file it early somehow, annulling this kind of thing is pretty easy since we haven’t mingled assets or anything. I just thought...well I don’t actually know what I thought.” Tears started to well up as you stumbled over yourself in your rush.

He tilted your chin up with his free hand, kissing you tenderly, as if he could pour every feeling and thought in his heart into the one action.

“I don’t want to undo it,” he murmured, eyes crinkling with mirth. “I just can’t believe we actually got married in the first place.”

“Well believe it. You’re stuck with me now.” You laughed, kissing the end of his nose.

“There’s no one else I’d rather.”

Your heart swelled at the confession as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Well, husband, what do you say we go home, spend the rest of the day as newlyweds should?”

He smiled, groaning as he stood and his battered body protested the idea of moving. As you let him tug you to your feet, you felt probably almost as bad as he did, aching from head to toe, the events of the night catching up to you.

“Or maybe we spend it sleeping…” you mumbled.

#I have lost all hope of subtlety in titles and just gone for the obvious now #because they really don't matter compared to the chapter #in which we make it obvious that we've switched from 'slow burn' to 'hyper-speed'#and it's fantastic #not the ending though #it could be. In fact: if you want a happy ending to this story stop reading here #Light Fingers #Diego Hargreeves x reader #The Umbrella Academy fic

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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With Their Gold be Generous, 1/5 (Rosénali) - Mattels

the year is 1974 when rosé teaches denali to love

potential tw for homophobia

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30316788/chapters/74726673

The woman handing out flyers by the corner of a mom-and-pop grocery store is loud, Denali’ll give her that. Persuasive or convincing? That’s another story entirely.

Denali isn’t totally sure what she seems to be advertising or selling, but one glance of the woman shoving a brightly coloured flyer into a pair of unwilling hands, tells Denali all she needs to know. She makes a bee-line around her, head down, no eye contact, no thank you ma’am, not today.

She breathes a sigh of relief when she steps past the woman, no promotional whatever in hand.

“Excuse me!” A finger taps her shoulder. Spoken too soon. “We’re staging a pride celebration on Monday–” Denali reluctantly pivots herself around, trying desperately hard not to roll her eyes.

She wants nothing more than to walk away from the chirping woman, slinging a half-assed ‘Sorry!’ over one shoulder as she goes, but she finds herself glued to the sidewalk.

The woman is a little brassy, sure, but for what she lacks in the conservative femininity Denali is used to, she more than makes up in beauty. She seems to command the Chicago sidewalk like it’s a stage, bright pink curls coiffed into a faux-mohawk of sorts, reminding Denali of a show-pony. Her green eyes sparkle as she talks, wildly animated and gesticulating with her hands.

“–We’re meeting outside Phenomenon up on the big intersection by 13th, you know the one?” Her voice lilts slightly, some watered-down accent half tacked onto the end of her sentences. “Well you can’t miss it!”

Denali blinks, shaking her head, “sorry, what?”

“ Phenomenon? It’s the café on 13th avenue? Y’know, like, on the big intersection?” The woman speaks with a suppressed laugh, looking slightly quizzically at Denali.

“And this is for…?”

“The celebration?” The woman arches an eyebrow.

“For…?”

The woman takes a deep breath and Denali has to will herself not to take a step back from her, convinced she might be about to get yelled at. Or slapped. Or maybe both if she’s extra lucky.

“In support of the LGBT community,” she says it slowly like Denali is a child, “like, to commemorate the anniversary of Stonewall? It was five years ago… So, like, it’s kind of a big deal this year.”

Denali feels her face flush pink. Sure, it’s not a secret that she had left her hometown in Alaska for something bigger, something more than that stupid one-light town where the light seemed to perpetually be red. Chicago had just seemed like the perfect place– a big city filled with people like her, and swarming with opportunities to be, as cliché as it seems, herself.

She remembers the Stonewall protests– she had listened to the shitty coverage of it on an old tinny radio locked away in her bedroom. When it had started playing in the kitchen after her mother had asked her to turn on a channel as they cooked, Denali had burned red, ducking her face out of view of her mother’s eagle eyes.

“Change the channel, Mija.” Her mother had said, “I don’t want you listening to this.”

Denali changed it immediately, only taking it from the kitchen and listening to it under her covers later that night when she was sure nobody was awake.

The woman laughs sharply, “you okay honey?”

Denali’s face glows warmer. “Fine!” She squeaks out, trying desperately to break eye-contact and duck away from the woman’s piercing stare.

“So you’ll come?”

“I–” Denali feels like she’s short-circuiting, brain overloaded by the knowledge that the woman is offering her an olive branch of sorts, inviting her to come and celebrate alongside a community she had yearned for for so many years. She might be bad at dot-to-dots, but Denali isn’t dumb.

“Don’t tell me I’ve read this wrong, sweetheart.” The woman cocks a hip, blue denim stretched taught across the skin. “My gay-dar is usually spot on!”

“No, uh,” Denali blushes, eyes focused intently on her scuffed sneakers. “You’ve, erm, not read it wrong.”

The woman puts a warm hand under Denali’s chin, forcing her gaze up, where she beams at her. White teeth, Denali notes. “Well I’ll see you there then doll, nine AM sharp– the info is on the flyer!” The woman smiles at her again, turning away with a little wave.

“What’s your name?” The words rush out of Denali’s mouth before she can stop them. The woman pivots around.

“Hm?”

“What’s your name?” Denali sputters out. Her heart is palpitating in her chest and her head is spinning.

“Rosé,” she shoots her another dazzling grin. She extends out a hand for Denali to shake.

“Denali,” she knows she’s gripping Rosé’s hand a little too tightly and her palms are definitely weirdly clammy despite the June heatwave, but Rosé still shakes her hand with vigour.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Denali.” Rosé replaces her hand with a brightly-coloured flyer. And then she’s gone, turning back around to continue to pass the leaflets to other passerbys, undeterred by the constant rejection she seems to face.

Denali stays put, watching for a second. A couple of people tell Rosé to go to Hell, alongside other strongly-worded and remarkably aggressive insults, but she still smiles sunnily, enthusiastic despite the harassment.

Denali reads the flyer properly as she starts walking, recognising a handful of photos from the Stonewall Riots and the subsequent pride celebrations that had happened on the last few anniversaries. It has an address on the front, written in big black letters and Denali makes a mental note to look it up in the big dictionary she keeps in her apartment later.

Her heart flutters a little in her chest when she thinks about Rosé, remembering the brush of her knuckles when they shook; the tiniest dimple in her cheek when she smiled; the crease in her forehead when she frowned that Denali had wanted to wipe away with the pad of her thumb.

Denali blinks. Woah. That’s… a lot. She blinks again, banishing the image of Rosé from her mind with one fell swoop.

☆☆☆☆☆

Denali counts herself lucky to live alone.

To call her arrangement ‘living alone’ seems like a stretch half the time when she has to share a kitchen and a slightly grotty row of communal showers with her building like she’s still at school. The tiny living room and bedroom she gets to herself makes up for it, though. Mostly.

Everyone who lives in the building seems to be a total asshole. There’s the group of college-aged guys who hit on her every morning without fail; the chain smoker who feels it’s okay to smoke without bothering to crack open a window; the couple down the hall who have loud rows and even louder sex every other day. A real melting pot of characters , as she had described to her mother on her shitty landline when she had first moved in, trying to remain optimistic.

Melting pot, my ass, she thinks to herself. Honey this is an on-fire garbage can, at best.

Although the everyone in the building seems fucking awful, a few people from the sister building next to theirs had been somewhat welcoming to Denali when she arrived.

The woman who’s window faces directly into Denali’s, Kahmora, always flashes her a smile when they pass outside, occasionally stopping to ask how she’s finding the city. She’s also remarkably beautiful– Denali is sure she knows it as well, based on the number of times she’s caught her staring at her own reflection in a mirror across the windows.

From the couple of times Denali’s met her, the landlady of her own building, Bianca, seems nice enough too. During their first meeting, Bianca had given Denali a big map of the city, circling restaurants and clubs to check out, which Denali had been more than grateful for.

Denali kicks off her sneakers as she walks into her room, nudging them together with a socked foot to put them together by her door. She tosses her keys into a flower-shaped bowl she keeps by the front door, given to her as a gift by her parents the first time they had come to see her.

She had hated every minute of that trip, if she’s being perfectly honest. Hated having to let her parents into the space that she had deliberately built up to be nobody but hers. Hated their poking and prodding of everything, squeezing and suffocating Denali, grinding her down to a repulsive paste that had left a bad taste in her mouth for weeks after.

Her room is her pride and joy. She’s accumulated enough plants to cover every surface that gets a trickle of sunlight. They cover her shelves and tables, leaves creeping around her bedroom; a trail of life wherever she goes. A couple stray vines seemed to have glued themselves onto a worryingly damp windowsill, roots growing happily into her walls, which Denali (equally happily) chooses to ignore.

She’s put up a curtain of clear plastic beads to divide her room into two, putting her bedroom on the other side. When it’s sunny enough, the beads catch the light, throwing it around the rooms and dispersing tiny rainbows.

Anything that Denali has completely to herself is some sort of sacred. She revels in being able to take up her own space, something she hadn’t had the luxury of having when she was growing up, sharing her already minuscule room with her sisters and then with all of her cousins during the holidays.

Her room is a sanctuary of sorts, a place where she can shield herself from the outside world. Built up with green plants and warm-toned carpets and cheap hanging lights that only half-work that were left in the room from the last person who lived there. She’d been tempted to get a cat when she had first moved in four months ago, but decided it was too much of a cliché for her to handle.

She collapses onto her bed, looking up at the discoloured ceiling above her. Denali had stuck little stars she’d painted with gold glitter up onto it a few weeks ago, trying to put them into proper constellations but giving up almost immediately when she had realised how complicated it was. They’re dotted around instead, shedding sparkles over Denali’s white linens like it’s their job. It irritates her immensely, but they’re practically super-glued to the ceiling, refusing to come off no matter how hard she wedges her fingers under them.

Denali thumbs the flyer again, fishing it out of her pocket where she had neatly folded it. She kneels up on her bed, turning to the wall above the headboard where she’s put up a small cork board. Despite living in Chicago for enough months to have filled it up with interesting things, it remains remarkably bare. A ticket from one of the local ice-rinks is tacked up onto it, alongside her plane ticket, which she had excitedly pinned when she first arrived.

She pulls out a red thumbtack, piercing the flyer so it’s stuck right in the centre of the board. The late afternoon light pools in a warm puddle across her bed, bathing the room in a glow foreign to Denali’s Alaskan summers.

Lying flat on top of her sheets, she feels full with the promise that the flyer brings.

#rpdr fanfiction #rosé #denali foxx #rosnali #with their gold be generous #70s au #lesbian au #background crygi #background jankie #mattels #tw homophobia #submission

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simp-for-spencer-reid · 4 years ago

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Sugar with a Side of Coffee Ch. 10- Trivia Night

Chapter 10: Trivia Night

Series Masterlist

The team could deduce that Spencer and Cate had made up; he began to show up with his hot coffee and a fresh baked good in the morning again. JJ tried to talk with him about his and Cate’s relationship, but he insisted they were just friends. Emily suggested having another night out, but Spencer wasn’t keen on that idea.

Especially after seeing how easily someone could get to her through him, like the photographs made clear, he wanted to keep her at an arm’s distance. He would rather have her safe than to be the reason she got hurt.

Derek and Penelope had grown impatient waiting for Spencer to introduce them to her officially. Sure, Derek had met her briefly at the bar, but the team as a whole wanted to get to know her, maybe give their stamp of approval. They all knew how much Spencer deserved a ray of sunshine in his life. They also wanted to see what had Spencer so captivated by her.

Luckily, they had schemed up a little plan to not force, but encourage an introduction. Penelope had seen a flyer on her way into work about a Trivia Night being held at the bar on 18th that they frequented. The team as a whole was due for a night out anyhow, so they could play it off as a coincidence. Derek was one step ahead of Penelope, he had stopped into The Empty Mug to talk to Marta about their plan. He had assumed that since Cate typically worked the cart, that Marta would be inside the shop. And like the profiler he was, he was right.

Marta recognized him right away. She quickly got through the line to take care of his order.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Marta smirked at him. Derek laughed her off.

“I have a plan to get our Pretty Boy and your friend together.”

It took little convincing to get Marta on board of he and Penelope’s plan. Even Marta was tired of the pining and wanted to help them finally get together. Spencer and Cate were painfully obvious to anyone else about their feelings, but to each other, they kept them hidden.

Marta could see how Cate’s spirits were lifted when she came in from a shift after seeing Spencer. And on the nights when he walked her home, Marta could see Cate’s face light up. Marta was also a witness to the mutual blushing between them. She could see the stolen glances and the way the two teetered on the edge of friends or more.

When Cate came in after her shift on the cart, she was smiling and had a bit of a bounce to her step. Marta could only assume she and Spencer had seen each other this morning. As soon as Cate reappeared from the back, Marta was hot on her trail.

“So,” Marta started, already putting on her begging face. “I was thinking that it’s been a while since we last went to the bar on 18th and we both could use a night out! I’ll even drive!” Marta had her hands placed on Cate’s shoulders, slightly shaking her as she pleaded.

“Uh, yeah I don’t have any plans, I just have to run home and feed Shrimp and I’ll meet you back here?” Cate had told Spencer she was free tonight when she saw him this morning, but she’d have to update him later. Marta was doing a small celebratory series of jumps. Just as soon as she had ran up to Cate, she was shooing her out the door to move her along to go get ready.

“Perfect, I’ll expect you back here by five thirty, I want to be there by six.” Marta watched as Cate walked to her apartment, the two of them laughing to themselves.

Cate’s apartment felt different since the leak. She no longer kept her books out on shelves or anywhere they could be damaged. She traded them out for little figurines and pictures in frames. It made Cate’s place feel less like her, but she never wanted to risk her books until she found a more reliable place.

Shrimp batted a little golden pom pom with wings around Cate’s living room floor. She was busy in her room, pulling clothes out for a cute outfit. Her bedroom door was open, allowing for Shrimp to walk in and jump on her bed to watch what she was doing. She turned when she heard his bell and held up a hanger with an olive green shirt on it.

“Which do you prefer?” Cate asked the orange cat as she swapped between the green shirt and a mustard yellow one. Shrimp just closed his eyes and curled up to sleep. “Thanks for the help.” Cate smiled and decided on the yellow shirt. She paired it with dark blue jeans and some tan heels.

After putting the other clothes back where they belonged and taking a quick shower and changing, Cate walked to her kitchen, enjoying the sound of her heels clicking on the floor. She filled Shrimp’s bowl and gave him fresh water. Taking her phone out of her back pocket, she lifted it to her mouth to record a voice message for Spencer.

“Hey Spence, I know I said I was free tonight, but Marta wanted to go out, so I can’t hangout- if that’s what you wanted to do!” She had rushed the last part, mentally scolding herself for making assumptions.

Spencer would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little disappointed that Cate had managed to come up with plans that didn’t involve him. As he sat at his desk, He was tempted to ask where she was going, but he didn’t want to pry. As he set his phone down, Penelope approached his desk. She wore her smile as well as she sported her colorful clothing and accessories.

“Good evening, Boy Wonder! I come bearing some fun times. Tonight, we- as in Morgan, Prentiss, JJ and I are going to a trivia night! Would you like to come?” Penelope held a pink papered flyer in her hand.

“Wouldn’t it be cheating considering my eidetic memory?” Spencer furrowed his brows at her.

“Well, yes we would have an advantage, but it will be fun winning and we can celebrate with drinks or something. Consider it team bonding time!” Spencer wondered how much bonding the team could really have. Since he and Cate were not going to see each other, he might as well fill his night with fun with his team.

He didn’t bother going home after work, he rode with Emily, and JJ to the bar on 18th. They parked around back, Derek and Penelope pulling in front of them. The air was cooling down as they exited their cars. Derek finished up a quick phone call as they were parking. The group made their way to the entrance, walking to the right side of the trivia section, picking a table that would fit their team of five.

Cate had made it back to The Empty Mug shortly before Marta had wanted her to arrive. Of course, Marta was running a little late, and hadn’t even gotten dressed yet. Cate went up the stairs and greeted Marta’s parents having dinner. Marta was in her room, still in a towel as she dried her curly hair.

By the time they got to the bar on 18th, it was a little after six. Marta and Cate took a tall table on the left side of the trivia table. On the table there was a menu of appetizers that were half price for the duration of the trivia night and a list of rules for trivia night.

“Wow that looks fun, should we try our hand at a giftcard for this place?” Marta referred to the grand prize: a thirty dollar gift card to the bar. Cate scoffed.

“You know we might as well. It beats paying full price for some food.” Cate glanced over the menu, deciding what sort of greasy food would hit the spot.

The host for trivia spoke into the mic, checking it to see if it was on. They welcomed everybody and went over the rules for the game. Some general rules: teams must consist of 2-6 players. One player must present their answer to the host per team. The game will consist of ten questions. If needed, a tie breaker will be introduced to the game at the end of the night.

“Alright, everyone, I am going to spin the wheel to decide our first category and question.” The host announced. They gave a large wheel with different colored pie slices and pictures representing categories a spin. “Our first category is Math, get your pencils ready.”

What is the top number of a fraction called?

Marta flew out of her seat and made a run for the host’s table. One the way, she saw that Derek had beat her to the table. She groaned, dramatically throwing her head back.

“Nice to see you, too.” Derek sauntered over to Marta after giving his team’s answer to the host. “Cate is with you?” Marta nodded and confirmed their table’s whereabouts. “Perfect. We can’t see you from our table. We’ll send Reid to the host for the tenth question.” After keeping it short and brief, Derek walked back to their table. Marta walked back to her and Cate’s table. Marta had to tell Cate that she wasn’t fast enough.

The host called everyone’s attention to confirm the correct answer was given. They spun the wheel again, the next category was Music.

How many black keys on a piano?

“Out of 88 keys on a piano, 52 are white and 36 are black.” Spencer recited from memory. Penelope scribbled the number down and made a break for the host. She spotted a brunette low ponytail with her back to her. Penelope recognized Cate. Penelope turned on her heel, and walked back to the table of agents.

It would seem that Cate and Marta held their own against other teams who consisted of more than two people, especially the team of agents across the section. They had been neck and neck for first place. Right now, the agents were in the lead.

The trivia host spun the wheel to decide the category. The wheel seemed to spin forever as it slowed. Finally landing on Science, the host plucked an index card that held the question and answer from a rotating filing system for index cards.

Which scientist is credited for the modern study of genetics?

Cate launched from her seat. Her and Marta were one point from tying with the team in first place. Cate had gotten quite invested in this silly game of trivia. Her competitive side was coming out, and her need for the win was strong. As she was reaching the host’s table she caught sight of a familiar face. She shook her head to keep focused, and gave the host her slip with the answer. Instead of walking back towards her table, she continued to the right of the host, towards Spencer.

“What are you doing here?” Cate stopped in front of him. Spencer held his team’s slip in his long fingers, folding it over nervously.

“Some of my team from the BAU wanted some ‘team bonding’” Spencer told her. It was clicking in his head; Garcia’s persistence, Cate’s last minute change of plans, Derek’s phone call. They had been set up. Cate nodded at him.

“Sounds fun! I’ll catch you later then.” She turned to go back to her table. The host called that there were only two questions left. Cate’s answer was announced as correct, putting her team and Spencer’s team in a tie. The next two points were taken by other teams, but Spencer and Cate’s teams were tied for first. It was the final, tie breaking question for the two teams in first. The wheel spun and landed on pop culture.

Give the five digit code used to access the Ministry of Magic from the red phone booth in Harry Potter.

Cate was ecstatic that her extensive knowledge of the Wizarding World was coming in handy. Marta shoved her in excitement and Cate bounded through tables to get to the host’s booth. Spencer had taken longer than he liked to rifle through his first readthrough of the series. He was glad his long legs allowed him to take long strides. He looked for Cate in the aisle in front of the host’s table. She was on the floor, gripping her ankle. Because there were no other teams to worry about, he moved to go see if she was alright.

Her hair was in her face, and he couldn’t see her face well enough to read her expression. He hadn’t noticed the heels she was wearing. He hadn’t known her to wear heels in all the times they’d hung out. He bent down, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, I think I mis-stepped and rolled my ankle on something.” Cate looked around the floor around her, for what she could’ve stepped on. Spencer held a hand out, ready to help her up. Cate had other plans, though and pulled herself up, pushing him behind her to throw her paper at the host, who was shaking his head laughing.

“That’s cheating!” Spencer looked at her, mouth agape.

“And having a certifiable genius on your team isn’t?” Cate smiled back. With the announcement of Cate and Marta’s win, both teams walked to their partners.

“Well played, Cate.” Derek said as he approached. JJ and Emily introduced themselves to the girls. Cate looked to Penelope. With a smile she extended her hand.

“Nice glasses.” Penelope was wearing the red frames again, Cate remembered Penelope from the coffee cart. Her first taste of the coffee order of Spencer Reid.

“Spencer has definitely met his match with you.” Emily spoke to Cate, the two glancing at Spencer after she said it. A blush was creeping up the back of his neck.

“He definitely didn’t mention how pretty you are!” JJ said. Spencer’s blush made its way to his ears. “No wonder he stops for coffee every morning.” Everyone turned to Marta. “And the coffee is amazing, thank your parents for delivering to the Bureau.” The whole team was loving the change in coffee. It was a definite upgrade from the cheap stuff they used to buy. The team and Marta and Cate pulled chairs over at the agents’ table to converse a little while longer without being in the way of any servers.

Spencer and Cate walked together out the door of the bar, his team had not to subtly been shooting him looks of approval. If Cate had said anything to prove she was remotely compatible with Spencer, they would look at him- wide eyed and raised brows. Spencer had tried not to make eye contact with any other agent at the table.

“6-2-4-4-2.” Spencer spoke first. Cate smiled. “I did know the answer, for the record.”

“Magic.” she replied. “You never cease to amaze me, Spence.” Cate looked up at him, smiling. He just shoved his hands into his cardigan.

Spencer walked her to Marta’s car, Marta already inside waiting for her. He opened the door for her to get in. She smiled a thanks at him. If she smiled like that again at him, Spencer swore he might combust.

In Emily’s car, JJ and Emily were waiting for Spencer to come back. As soon as he shut the door, they were squealing with excitement. The entire ride back to the bureau, they spoke highly of Cate, and pinpointed exactly what qualities they thought balanced Spencer out and how she was his perfect match. Spencer didn’t deny any of their words; he just smiled and thought about Cate. He wasn’t so sure he could keep up being just friends anymore.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #sugar with a side of coffee fanfic

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cheeriecherry · 5 years ago

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The Dogma Of Childhood Friends [2/4]

Shinsou Hitoshi x Reader

Warnings: fluff

Part 2/4

It’s been months since you and Hitoshi last spoke. In the beginning, you’d chalked it up to him being disappointed about the hero course, and not knowing how to react. You’d seen him in the hallways at school, and tried to talk to him.

You know, to extend the metaphorical olive branch.

But every time you were left hanging, with him pushing past you, turning away, or just flat out ignoring you.

It crossed your mind that he might be jealous, but you discarded the thought as quickly as it came. Hitoshi wasn’t that kind of person, and even if he was, it wasn’t enough to warrant his actions.

And, somehow, said actions only worsened when the students moved into the dorms. Any time you’d see your best friend -in the hallways, on campus- he’d turn on his heel and start walking in another direction. Despite him being your oldest friend, he was making it very easy to be annoyed with him.

It was to the point where even your classmates started noticing.

“So,” Mina began one morning, sidling up to your desk, “what’s with you and the purple haired guy?”

“Huh?” Maybe if you played dumb, she’d leave it alone.

Uraraka turned around in her seat and regarded you with a smile. “I think she means Shinsou,” she clarified, “and I’ve been wondering the same thing! He avoids you like the plague. Were you guys rivals in middle school, or something?”

You fidget with one of your pencils. You supposed it wasn’t really a secret, what had happened. You weren’t ashamed or scared to tell anyone. They’d just...never asked? Maybe.

“Well…” and yet saying it out loud was still difficult.

“We’ve...actually been best friends since we were little. Our classmates used to pick on him because of his quirk, y’know? I stood up for him, the day we met, and it turned out that we had a lot in common. The rest is history.”

Mina cooed softly beside you, her eyes alight with mischief. “That’s adorable!”

“But it doesn’t explain why he ignores you,” Uraraka pointed out.

You sighed.

“Fine, fine. We applied to Yuuei together, hoping to get into the hero course. When he found out I was in 1A, and he was in the general studies department...he kinda just...stopped talking to me.”

Your two friends stare at you, the beginnings of anger blossoming on their faces.

“I still send him texts from time to time,to let him know what’s going on, but he never replies. Always leaves me on read.” You had hoped to placate the situation, but your words only seemed to make it worse.

Mina stands up tall, and crosses her arms. “You still consider him your best friend?! Why?”

You shrug. “Of course. Whatever he’s going through, whatever he’s feeling, I’m not giving up on him so easily. He’sprobably got it in his stupid purple head that he’s not good enough for me, or something. I won’t let our friendship die just because he’s being a dumbass about it.”

Uraraka looks sad beside you. “That doesn’t make it okay for him to treat you the way he is.”

“I know,” you say, “and I won’t pretend it doesn’t, like, hurt or anything, but friendships can be complicated. Especially when negative feelings come into play…”

Mina looks like she has a whole lot to say, but is cut off by Mr. Aizawa sauntering into the classroom, so she takes her seat instead.

Halfway through the lesson, Uraraka passes a note back to you;

‘If you still care about him, make a gesture that will mean a lot to him. Maybe he feels bad for what he’s done, and doesn’t know how to apologize.’

A grand gesture, huh?

You think on it for the rest of class. You’ll have to consult Mina on it later.

----

‘Later’ turned out to never come.

After classes had finished for the day, you’d rushed back to the dorms to prepare the idea you’d had during English. It was a little corny, but you’d decided that a small gift and an uplifting note would be perfect for Hitoshi. It was unassuming and personal, but more than a few simple texts.

You doubted he’d accept it from you directly, though, even if you could manage to hunt him down. No, instead you waited until most of the other students had gone to bed, and then sneaked out to drop the parcel on the 1C dorms doorstep. Addressed to ‘Shinsou’, of course.

It wasn’t until the next morning that you realized your mistake.

“Y/N, did you hear?!” Mina practically dove on you the moment you entered the classroom. “That Shinsou guy has a secret admirer! Someone left a present for him in the dead of night, and one of his classmates found it this morning!”

You felt like your stomach had been filled with rocks.

“Mina…” you groaned, “that was me!”

“You have a crush on him?!”

“No!” you retaliated, voice squeakier than you would have liked it to be. No, there was no way you had a crush on him. Not a chance.

Unless.

No. No way.

You realize Mina is staring at you curiously, so you make haste and explain the genius plan you’d had last night. The peace offering gift, the uplifting note, the midnight drop off.

“I guess I forgot to sign my name on the note…”

Uraraka pats your shoulder sympathetically. “Hey, maybe it’s better this way. Shinsou might be more likely to accept your gifts if he doesn’t know they’re from you.”

You hide your face in your arms, sinking deeper into your seat. “That completely defeats the point, though. He’s supposed to know they’re from me. What if…”

...what if he thinks they’re from someone else? What if he wants them to be from someone else?

You couldn’t place why the thought left such a sour taste in your mouth. The thought of him wanting someone else, someone besides you…

“Oh my god!” you groaned, gripping at your hair and tugging. “Mina, you’re right! I like him! As more than a friend!”

Both girls attempt to soothe you, trying their best to calm your overwhelmed nerves.

There was no way you could do this.You had to keep giving him gifts, had to keep showing you cared! But now, the thought of him finding out you were behind everything? You could practically see the look of utter disappointment on his face, having expected the trinkets and letters to have been from a pretty classmate, instead.

Not you. Never you.

“Everyone, take your seats, and open your textbooks to page thirty.”

You glance up just in time to see Mr. Aizawa bumble into the room, and begrudgingly do as you’re told.

----

You decide to actually consult your friends that evening, instead of going ham with a plan you thought was good. You were bent on making sure you didn’t make any more dumb mistakes with the next gift to Hitoshi.

“I gave him licorice snaps shaped like cats yesterday, so I was thinking tonight I might go with something cute? I found a cat figurine dressed as All Might the other day, so I had to buy it. He might get a laugh out of it.”

On the floor beside you, Momo smooths the pleats in her skirt. “I think that’s a sweet idea. It’s small and simple, but I bet he’ll smile when he sees it.”

“You should do it,Y/N!”

“Yeah!”

You nod as the girls around you cheer you on. “Alright! I’ll do it! And this time, I’ll make sure to leave the note anonymous on purpose!”

The four of you giggle a bit.

It takes about twenty minutes to find the necessary wrappings for the gift, and another ten for you to decide what to write in the note.

“I don’t really want to be over the top,” you say, “he’s not on for dramatics, but he likes honesty.”

Mina reads over the several discarded notes on the floor, wincing at how choppy and blocky they were. “Why don’t you go with something personal that he’s done for you, or something about how he makes you feel?”

You chew on the end of your pen. “That could work. How about this: You’ve inspired me every day to work hard in achieving my goals. I know that one day, you and I will be great heroes!”

The pink haired girl quickly snatches the note out of your hand, folding the paper into a heart and depositing it in the gift box. “It’s perfect,” she assures, “raw and to the point, as a love note should be.”

You feel your face heat up at that, but say nothing to disregard her.

“All right, I’m going to go drop this off, but if anyone asks, I’m just getting some air.”

----

Over the next week, you continue to drop off little presents in front of Hitoshi’s dorm. Every night, it was harder and harder to get the parcel into place, the students of 1C staking out the doorway until the wee hours of the morning.

It was when you almost got caught that you realized you couldn’t keep this up. Which eventually found you at your desk on friday evening, writing your final letter.

‘Thank you for being a good sport about all this, it’s been fun to show you even a fraction of my appreciation for you. But I’m not ready to tell you who I am yet, and it’s been difficult to sneak around (though I guess it was good practice for stealth missions, huh?). Even though my gifts will stop, know that there is someone out there who loves you as you are, and admires so many things about you. By the way, congrats on officially getting into the hero course next year!’

You carefully fold the piece of paper and slide it into an envelope. Hopefully it’ll be easier to stash away than a whole gift would. You at least hoped it didn’t get overlooked.

----

The following Monday, you wake up late. Having worried all weekend about whether or not your letter was received, you’d not slept particularly well.

Thankfully, you arrived to class before the final bell, but you were certainly frazzled by the time you stepped into the classroom.

Immediately, all eyes were on you.

“What?” you ask, “I’m not late, so don’t scold me.”

A couple of the girls break out in giggles. “That’s not it at all!”

“I guess Shinsou’s secret admirer gave other people ideas!”

“Y/N has a secret admirer now too!”

You felt your face heat up, pure disbelief bubbling up in your chest.

“What?!” you exclaim, louder than intended. You all but run to your desk, almost tripping over Uraraka’s bag. Sure enough, there, on the small tabletop, is a small box with your name on it, wrapped in a pastel version of your favourite colour.

#shinsou x reader #hitoshi x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #reader insert #bnha x reader #bnha #mha x reader #mha #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x you #hitoshi x you #shinsou hitoshi x you #childhood friends au

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unholyplumpprincess · 4 years ago

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Seeker

Last of the survivor installments for @realityinspace featuring their OC Alex and his adventures in fucking killers.

Reblogs > Likes

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked on sight!!!

Fandom: Dead by daylight

Relationship: The Trapper/Male OC (Alex)

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Dead by daylight normal violence, fluff, making love, mentions of scarring, twist ending?, gay shit man.

Words: 4.1k

__________________

The game of cat and mouse between survivor and killer had been going on for so long that some spice was needed. Planting the seeds within Alex had been easy enough, he had already started making his switch whether he knew it or not. His want for revenge through pain and agony meant he was no longer willing to just play the Entity’s little game of fix the generator; It meant he was actively seeking out specific killers and making plans if he could snatch their weapons and slit their throat.

An interesting survivor he had been since he arrived, the Entity had tiptoed along the lines of what he would be at first. And yet, now he is showing them his true colors. Running may have been his strong suit, and helping fellow survivors, but when it came down to it?

You could only be a toy for so long.

~Rest under the cut~

Since the run in with the Wraith, Alex has been back on his feet and more focused it seems. Yet, even other survivors can note his distance. The seeds of doubt were sown in his chest after all. If a killer could treat him as gently as the Wraith did, and the survivors just used him-

No, didn’t use him, he made his role this way-

Wait, no, what if that wasn’t true? Was he forced t--

No! That wasn’t true- was it? No. This is all...

All so confusing.

Alex’s mind is jumbled and stressed every night, flickers of the rights and wrongs, what was up, what was down, what was true? He can’t quite find it.

Nor can he feel the flickering lights inside of his own body calling to him to come into the fog, to come play with the big dogs, to enter the loving spider-y arms of the Entity who would love and care for him.

Just take the leap.

Alex’s mind at night is plagued by whispers, whispers he doesn’t remember in the morning yet whispers he does once he closes his eyes. The warmth of the fog around him, the idea of warmth sliding down his hands. Sticky sweet- crimson over his bare hands. The idea of getting vengeance is tempting, the idea of hearing another person scream that isn’t his own-

Now that was a thought.

Perhaps it has something to do with an event that happened a few days ago between a certain grinning masked killer and the arachnid beast that haunted its very own playground.

“I’ve been here since day one doin ’ what ya asked of me. Haven’t asked ya for one damn thing, have I?” A gruff voice is heard only to one specific being. It doesn’t show itself, merely a mash of oranges, yellows, and blacks. It should have come to life as your nightmare, but considering the Trapper was no longer just a mortal man, it can only show up in this torrent of energy floating in front of him.

The Trapper stands in the thick, dark fog, arms crossed and waiting for a response. The being before him shakes, as if seeming to laugh, but then it pauses, waving to the left and then to the right before a booming voice enters the Trapper’s head. It sounds like twenty different voices talking in sync, all in different pitches and emotions yet the most being prominently like a smoky feminine tone, “And, what, my dear Trapper, is it that you wish from me?”

“The boy. You know the fuckin’ one. Been givin’ ya hell, hasn’t he? ” The Trapper begins as if in a huff , watching carefully as the begin changes form into the very same one he’d been fantasizing about. Alex. Except instead of his lovely olive toned flesh and his red hair, the being is completely black with glowing yellow eyes- far too many, maybe six all blinking at him and a wicked grin aimed back at him.

The Entity was toying with him.

“Oh, this boy?” It speaks, running a hand over its own throat up into its hair with a sigh as if pleasured. “Ah, yes, Alexander was it? What a lovely body he has...” It continues, running a hand down the curve of its toned body, only for its eyes to snap open and glare at him, “The one who has been distracting you and making you fail my little assignments?”

The Trapper bites his tongue despite having no need when he doesn’t use it to speak. Shamefully, he casts his eyes down to the floor to the side and briefly nods. No lying.

“This is not how this game works, my dear.” The voice continues, less angry and much softer now. When the Trapper looks back up, the being is shifting forms and is now one of more just spider legs outreaching down from the sky- a favorite of theirs. It reaches towards him, stroking over the mask’s cheek affectionately. “You are my favorite and most reliable, Evan, you must understand this,” It sounds so soft, gently, but then it turns to a low growl, all voices seeming enraged like a disappointed mother. “But, this is my game, not yours. Return to your realm and do as told. ”

However, this conversation was not ignored, that much Evan could feel as he leaves the fog with his head held like a disappointed child not getting what he wanted.

Alex’s moods shift through each trial as if he can’t quite get a grip of himself. He avoids the other survivors, yet still feels affection for them as he normally did. He still confides in Claudette the same as she’ll do to him, finding comfort in her sisterly aura and the way she confides in him back. Nothing but the truth between them, a sibling’s bond, truly. He still feels the need to protect, but there’s something more...

More primal about it.

He’s gone from just taunting the killers from afar and running to running AT them. Making the moves he needs to get a hit or two on them. He’s becoming more emotional, reckless- hell he bit poor Michael last round on the HAND!

So, imagine how Alex feels when he sees the familiar white face of The Ghost.

It’s like a switch in him. All Alex sees is red. The feeling of his pride being stolen from him, the burn of the scar on his hip. One could say there was no point in his anger, considering it had just been a hook, he’d finally been caught, and yet...

He’d been branded. He’d been claimed- by someone he had no interest in being claimed by. It had been stolen from him, this sort of pride and aching that had him running circles around the killers for sport-

The Ghost is tricky to find, he moves quietly and sneaks up on his prey. Thankfully Alex is following footsteps and the wisp of a cloak. Only briefly losing him only to hear a scream to his right- Claudette.

He whips around the trees just in time to see a knife going up and Claudette kicking, always the fighter.

There were unspoken rules in this realm. A Mori was a special gift bestowed upon a killer, you were to not interrupt it. You were to allow it to happen or run off before you could be seen. That’s how the games went, you were forced to obey these rules- you had to.

And yet, as if in slow motion, Alex finds himself darting towards the cloaked killer. Snatching him around the waist in a tackle and throwing his lesser body weight into the Ghost. There’s a cry from behind him of ‘Alex, don’t!’ in fear, but his ears are ringing as he struggles for the upper hand. Rolling once before slamming his legs on either side of the killer’s chest, knife in hand.

There’s no second thought, just the loud humming of whispers of ‘do it’ ringing in his head tauntingly, as if excited by this turn of events. The world seems to shake around him, vision flashing oranges and reds as he stabs the knife straight through the Ghost’s neck with a cry.

And just like that? The world around him goes black. Alex is left with his legs straddling no man, nothing seems to be underneath him. He’s on his knees, knife stabbed through nothing, and confusion buzzing through his now quiet head. Knitting his brows, he slowly begins to get up, turning his head this way and that as the foggy shadows seem to envelop him.

A soft noise behind him that sounds like a skittering insect has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Whipping around, he finds the spider-y legs hanging from seemingly nowhere reaching out to him as if beckoning him closer. Alex goes to move towards it, to take a swing, but it feels like his legs are walking through thick slime. He huffs, trying to open his mouth, but it feels like his jaw is aching and sore- like he was trying to break a jawbreaker for hours. His words are slurred, echoing as he tries to take another swipe at the leg that’s reaching out, aaaalmost touching him- aaaalmost able to hit it and then-

A whirling sensation. Like he’s being ripped from the fog. Alex finds himself in a dark area, like a forest of sorts as he lands harsh on his knees with a gasp. His head whips around, lifting his body up so he can pat himself down to look for any injury. Nothing. Yet, also, no weapon. Frustrated and full of rage, he screams at nothing and slams his hand on the ground with a loud, “Damn it!”

It takes a few moments to calm down, eyes whipping around at his surroundings.

The sky was dark and cloudy, almost a dark blue shade like the moon was full somewhere. The wind is soft, rustling the trees overhead and surrounding the stone path leading to a. ..a building nearby- a house. It looked like a two story house, almost like an old farmstead feeling to it. The porch had two lights lit on it with a rocking chair, the chimney churning out smoke and all the lights were on. It felt homey. It almost whispered to him to come closer.

Hell, he hadn’t seen anything that comforting in months- or however long he’d been trapped here.

Alex should have paid closer attention to the bear traps mounted on the wall outside or how he could see a deer head mounted inside. It takes him a moment to work himself up to slide up onto his feet, arms and legs aching and feeling out of breath. It takes him a moment longer to roll his neck to work out the aches only to freeze.

Bear traps.

The Trapper.

What if this was a one versus one scenario? What if he’s playing into this game of cat and mouse? What if he had all this time for a head start and didn’t run?!

Yet, the crunching of stones behind him tells him he isn’t alone. Alex’s breath is shaky, holding his head high to stabilize himself and to feel more in control. His fingers clutch into fists at his sides, hearing the huffing breaths coming from behind him much like an irritated bull.

A feeling washes over him, as if someone is prodding at his mind and trying to find something before it clicks and he hears a voice breathe out, echoing around him, “I changed my mind.” It’s got this southern drawl to it, gruff and hardly used sort of tone. It sends a feeling over him he can’t quite describe- familiarity perhaps.

Yet, Alex still whips around, taking a step back just as he sees a rough hand reaching out to him and the large, tall body of the Trapper stepping into the light. He bares his teeth, making a show of snarling the best as his mortal throat could allow before barking out a laugh to hide his nerves. “Changed your mind on what, huh? Not gonna fight me like a fuckin’ man? Going to just stand there and gawk?” He lets the taunts fly free from his mouth, trying to hide the way his hands shake.

But, before Alex can take another swing with his words, the Trapper pauses. Doesn’t move any closer to him, just slowly reaches up and removes his mask much like someone would with their hat. He holds it at chest level, head bowing slightly to appear smaller and more at level with Alex despite being two heads taller. “I changed my mind on you just bein’ a passin’ fuck, Alex. ” His mind echoes the words, yet he watches as full, scarred lips don’t move.

Even just the way that the Trapp—Evan says his name makes a shiver run down his body. He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling weak and strained all at once as he swallows a lump in his throat. Alex briefly remembers confiding in the Wraith about being tossed around roughly like a toy and wonders if he’d had a chat with the guy in front of him for that reason exactly. Something Alex would have to thank Philip for another time.

“Come inside,” Evan begins again, voice soft and taking a step closer slowly, as if Alex was a rabid kitten. When he doesn’t flinch or move away, Evan comes a bit closer until he’s arms length away. “I made dinner? I know that may seem strange- I don’t think y’all are allowed those comforts, right?” His voice is oh so soft, and even the word ‘dinner’ makes Alex’s stomach growl. Something they both hear.

Evan just sounds so...convincing, that even if this was a trap? Alex still follows without much of a fight. A hungry man was a hungry man, after all. Besides, he’d been put through worse than someone trying to invite him into his home only to get stabbed.

Yeah, wow, these games were really fucking him up, huh?

But as Alex is led inside and the smell of food hits him, he genuinely begins to wonder if this was even a trap. Evan is so kind, pulling out his chair for him and pushing it in. The plate is filled with home style cooking and Alex about drools over his plate. The whole set up was rather sweet, a small table that they could reach each other across, different sides and dressings set around a ham that looked too good to be true. Everything was delicious once he finally put some in his mouth.

Evan the whole time is sweet, looking like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Alex quickly gets over the fact his mouth doesn’t move when he speaks, able to trace his eyes over Evan’s face and how his facial expressions change. Evan tries to flirt in little ways, which is rather sweet in its own way and a big surprise to Alex. Philip must have talked to him, it’s the only answer- something must have switched in him.

Evan’s features are rough with chiseled cheekbones and a strong, sharp jaw. His eyes are piercing and heavy set, seeming to be a hazel gold color with flickers of glowing orange inside that must have been the Entity’s influence. His nose is strong, the bridge obviously having been broken a time or two in the past with his lips full and a scar going from the left of his chin, up over his lips, past his nose and ending at his blurrier right eye that must have been blinded in some fashion. Yellow and orange lines seem to cut through his skin, including on his face.

He was rugged and handsome, but not in a conventional way. It was kinda nice, considering what a pretty boy Alex was IN a conventional way.

Evan, despite all of his doings in the past and what he is, is fairly kind while he flirts. Alex decides to play along, absolutely endeared as he nudges his shoe at Evan’s calf and hooks it around in an act of footsie.

It isn’t until after dinner where Evan gently picks up Alex bridal style, unlike the way he’d been tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes in the past. Alex laughs, feeling free and at ease for once as he’s carried up the stairs and to a bedroom. It looks well cleaned, just a regular bedroom with the bed creaking as he’s sat on it. It smells like blade oil and pine.

He expects Evan to shove him down, ravish him- hell, Alex almost wants that to happen. But instead, he’s asked oh so softly by the huge man, “Philip lemme know ya had a bad run in with someone...left somethin’ ya don’t want .”Alex’s breath falters for a second, turning his head briefly but is caught by rough fingers gently grabbing his cheek and bringing him back to look up at Evan. “ Lemme take care of ya, pretty boy. I’ll be real gentle- know a thing or two about scars. ” It’s said so gently, a soft echo in Alex’s head that he can’t even sass.

Carefully, Alex kicks off his shoes and socks at the words of Evan to get comfortable. He stands on command for Evan, shimmying his jeans down enough to expose his hips and hiking up his torn up shirt to show the ugly scarring left behind. Jagged words that made him irate. Left by a man who had no means to claim him as his own.

Watching Evan sink to his knees should not make Alex’s heart twist like it does. He’s so gentle the way he traces the scarring, it was pink and flaked, but not as deep as Evan had thought it would be. Some salve and some deliberate marking towards that area should fix it to let it fade in due time.

It’s quiet and soft. And once Evan raises onto his feet, Alex can’t help but watch him, watch as he tries to come up with something, watching Evan’s eyes flicker to the bed. “Do you wan- ”

“Yes.” Alex quickly responds, nodding vigorously in approval.

That’s how they wind up on the bed. With Evan’s overalls and boots thrown to the side with just his boxers on and Alex’s clothing having been gently and gingerly taken off until he was only his boxers as well. Evan kisses him like a lover this time, soft and gentle as he could be with his body weight lying on top. Alex’s legs are framing one of Evan’s thighs, who is brace himself on his arms on either side of his head. One large hand caressing Alex’s red dyed hair as if he meant so much.

He felt it too.

The kisses start to get hotter, heavier with Alex starting it by biting Evan’s bottom lip. His hips grind up shamelessly into the large thigh between his own, Alex making a lovely, soft sound that just spurs Evan on into growling. It doesn’t sound possessive or angry, it just sounds aroused, a noise Alex could get used to. Not to mention all the soft, yet heavy pawing on his body.

When the kiss parts, Evan fits himself between Alex’s thighs to spread them apart. Alex’s cock is leaking onto the front of his boxers, a dark spot on the gray that makes his breath shake. His eyes are half lidded, lips rosy and his teeth biting at his bottom lip in desire. There’s no words, there’s no need for them right now as Evan slots his clothed cock up against Alex’s so they can both shamelessly grind together.

Alex looks a pretty dream, toned body flexing as his hips push up to rock his dick against Evan’s. It’s heavy, dirty, dry humping. Fit with Evan cupping the side of Alex’s chest so he can thumb at a nipple and use his other hand to wrap a hand loosely around his throat. The noise Alex makes is worth it, a low whine and an arch up into his hand as if asking him to put more pressure. Evan doesn’t, just holding him right where he wants him.

“I wanna consume every inch of ya,” Evan starts just as he works Alex’s underwear down. A fumble for lubricant left in a nightstand drawer and a generous amount on his fingers is Alex’s demise as he dissolves into soft laughter. It makes Evan’s heart constrict in adoration.

“Inside and out,” Evan continues, a smile on his lips as Alex’s eyes flutter before shutting just as he works a finger inside of him. His hand that had been thumbing at his nipple traces down the curve of his body to his hip, squeezing fondly. “I want you to be mine. Mine and mine alone...Think I could share ya, if ya knew that. ” Making a note to remind Alex that even if he still wanted to be sexual with others, he wasn’t going to stop his fun. As long as he knew who he belonged to.

The noise, regardless, is worth it when Alex chokes on a sob as two fingers push into him. Carefully working him open and quirking upwards to make his smaller cock jump against his abdomen. So cute. So pretty.

“I think I love you.” Evan’s voice is an echo of sincerity in Alex’s mind. It makes him choke on another sob, this time for various reasons. He nods in agreement, one hand reaching down and patting until he can grip Evan’s wrist on the hand that holds his hip. Thumbing over his pulse point adoringly.

It makes Evan about break.

Fitting his cock inside of Alex is much easier than all the times before. With lubing Alex up as well as himself and taking the time to stretch, he slides in with hardly any resistance besides Alex’s harsh panting and whining telling him to hurry up. He’s only silenced by hard, bruising kisses with desperate thrusts inside of his body.

Evan doesn’t take him like an animal, not this time. His thrusts are well timed and deep, making sure Alex feels every inch of him inside of him. Making sure that Alex is moaning against his lips only out of pleasure. Alex’s arms wrap around his neck, holding him tight in turn as his hips start to cant and hump with Evan’s. Trying to reach his peak without a care in the world. As long as Evan’s heat stayed on top of him.

Evan’s voice is a sweet symphony in his head of praise. Calling him a pretty boy, that he’s doing so well taking him, that he’s going to be his sweet little boy toy isn’t he? And all Alex can do is nod furiously in turn, clawing at his back and grabbing onto a hook jutting from Evan’s shoulder as he cums with a loud cry of his name. Spilling all over his own abdomen as Evan smashes their bodies together to vigorously pump into him.

Alex is left feeling full and exhausted. Vaguely, he can feel Evan cleaning him up and wrapping him in a blanket, falling asleep in his arms. For once, feeling safe.

His dreams are plagued, however. As oranges and yellows spin around his vision. The spidery legs coo to him in their multi-voiced persona, “What a special day it is for you. I am sure you shall keep my favorite sated, yes? And in turn, I give you another chance, Alexander. You shall play for the other side.”

Alex can vaguely feel the change in his system, hardly fighting against it as the legs reach out to him, stroking down his cheeks fondly. “You will be accepted and adored by the rest of my toys.” Its voice is sickly sweet, sounding like a delighted child getting a new toy.

“Let the rage consume your heart...Seeker. ”

A scared, panting survivor darts around a new arena. Their eyes flickering all around the new map. It looked like a huge gym, darting into hallways of a broken down college. Equipment in the gym allowed them to hide and a huge locker room to boot. Yet, it was far too open, you had to be careful about the generators all tucked into dead ends.

You had to be careful of the new bare foot killer with a beaming fox mask with a dangerous weapon of kukri. For if you made a sound, anywhere he could hear, you’d hear the rapid padding of his feet heading right for you.

May the hunt begin, and let rage consume your very thoughts,

O’ dearest Seeker.

#The Trapper x Oc #The Trapper #Dead by daylight #dick by daylight #dbd #Alex (Oc)#nsft #lemon #commissions #princess writing

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arotechno · 4 years ago

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The Heartless: Chapter 9

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Chapter IX: in which people can change

Travelling with Knife Boy was something of a fever dream; I would wake up every morning of the journey a little unsure of how I got there, trekking eastward with a near stranger who had for months prior been appearing in my nightmares as the faceless specter of everything bad that had ever happened to me. In the light of day, he was strikingly ordinary, albeit a little peculiar, but with all due respect to myself, I had little room to talk about peculiarities. My very existence was an anomaly, born out of something incomprehensible and bordering on evil, a fact of which Knife Boy liked to remind me any chance he got but which seemed to bother him very little. For all he did to hold me at arm’s length, he never threatened to expose me, and I started to be convinced that he really didn’t wish me any ill will. But Carita had had ulterior motives for helping me, so I kept one proverbial eye over my shoulder and waited for the other shoe to drop.

Why I agreed to the plan in the first place was beyond me, and I often went to bed expecting Knife Boy to either kill me in my sleep or be long gone by morning. Nevertheless, he was always there when I woke up, sprawled on the ground examining the maps or scattering the remains of the burnt-out fire to hide the evidence of the previous night’s camp. (While Knife Boy typically slept on the ground, I still took to the trees every night, fearing what would happen to me should anyone discover us and realize who—or what—I was. For all the things we had in common, that was the key difference between us, I came to realize.)

Knife Boy beckoned me out of my tree one morning a few days into our journey by pelting me with acorns from the ground below. I nearly tumbled to the forest floor as I bolted awake, but managed to right myself in time, hanging upside-down with my arms wrapped firmly around the tree limb.

“Do you mind?” I snapped.

“Come down here,” demanded Knife Boy’s upside-down likeness rather impolitely as he tossed another acorn that hit me square in the forehead.

In my still half-asleep delirium, I had half a mind to stay like that just to laugh inwardly at his inverted figure, but it occurred to me that if Knife Boy wasn’t in on the joke then it wasn’t as funny—so I scrambled to find purchase and dropped down to the dirt, Knife Boy’s disgruntled form flipping right-side-up. He waved me over to where he had multiple maps spread out and knelt before them, huffing exasperatedly as he waited for me to join him. I noticed that the remains of last night’s fire had already been scattered and Knife Boy’s usual leaf pile dismantled; I wondered if I’d overslept, which would explain his somehow worse-than-usual bad attitude.

“While you were sleeping away precious daylight, I came up with a plan,” he explained tersely, smoothing his hand across the maps. He pointed out our current approximate location, in the northeastern woods just a stone’s throw from the nearest town. Then he traced his finger along the perimeter until he reached the castle grounds at Amistadia’s eastern edge.

“We should probably stick to traveling through the woods as much as possible. The towns close to the castle grounds are crawling with royal guard,” Knife Boy explained, tapping the parchment for emphasis. “Then,” he switched to a map of the castle grounds, “we’ll approach the castle from the north by night. There, we can hide and wait for the best time to make our move. It’ll take us a few days to get there, but if we ration the rest of our food, we should be able to make it without making a supply run.”

I nodded, but there was a question nagging at the back of my mind. “Where did you even get maps this detailed?”

“They were my mother’s,” Knife Boy replied simply. “She was a historian.”

His tone welcomed no further interrogation, given the No Personal Questions Clause of our unwritten contract, so I kept my mouth shut and went to gather my things for the next leg of our journey.

Knife Boy was a perplexing mix of pensive and disagreeable as we traipsed through the woods, picking at our meager rations from the alley in complete silence. As the lingering fog of sleep cleared from my brain, my mind began to race with thoughts that what we were doing was a spectacularly stupid idea, conjured up by a younger boy with unclear motives and something to prove. However, given that saying as such while Knife Boy was in a mood would likely get me nowhere, I opted to apologize for my own shortcomings instead in an effort to wipe the glower from his face.

“I want to apologize if I overslept this morning,” I said. “I had some trouble sleeping last night.”

Unfortunately, Knife Boy’s expression softened only into a grimace (if that could be called a softening of any kind).

“I did not ask, and I do not care,” he shot back. Then, more neutrally, he added, “If it were that much of a problem, I would have woken you sooner.”

“Ah,” I mused, “so you were being nice.”

Predictably, Knife Boy puffed up like a defensive cat and growled, “I was not.”

I smirked, satisfied to have gotten a rise out of him since my olive branch had been rejected.

“So, why’d you let me sleep in, then?”

“So I didn’t have to listen to you run your stupid mouth.”

“Sure,” I snorted.

“What, you don’t believe me?” Knife Boy prodded indignantly. “I’ll have you know I— Do you hear something?”

I stopped in my tracks, listening. My ears pricked at a rustling in the bushes, and the distant sound of voices. I knew Knife Boy heard it too when his eyes widened in surprise.

He hissed, “Someone’s coming! Could be guards, hide!”

I dove into the brush, thorns and branches snagging my clothes, and lay flat on my stomach in the dirt, blood rushing in my ears. Belatedly, I noticed Knife Boy had not followed me and peered through a small gap in the bushes to see him standing where I had left him. I nearly called out to him to move, but before I could open my mouth, two men appeared from the right in the unmistakable opulent uniform of the royal guard.

“What are you doing out here in these woods, boy?” the taller of the two asked darkly, eyeing Knife Boy suspiciously. Slowly and silently, I drew an arrow and lay as still as possible, barely breathing.

“I’m homeless, sir,” Knife Boy responded, taking a measured step backward. “An orphan.”

The shorter guardsman laughed. “A street rat like you, all the way out here in the east? You must be joking.”

“It’s no joke, sir.”

The taller guardsman closed the distance and towered over Knife Boy, but the latter stood his ground.

“What’s in the bag?” Tall questioned, gesturing at the sack of food clutched in Knife Boy’s hands. Even at this distance, I could see his grip tighten. For a brief moment, he reminded me of Petra, small and vulnerable and doing what was needed to survive. It was crystal clear, then, who our common enemy truly was.

“Food scraps, sir,” Knife Boy answered honestly, earning a hearty chuckle from Short.

Tall, however, was not laughing. “Looks like it’s time for you to pay your taxes, boy.”

Short stepped around from behind and kicked Knife Boy’s legs out from under him. When he hit the ground with a thump, the bag flew from his grasp, and Tall quickly snatched it up. Before Knife Boy could regain his footing, the two royal guards were already passing him by.

"Stay out of trouble, kid,” Tall called over his shoulder. “You’re not going to like what happens if you don’t.”

Knife Boy and I both stayed on the ground as they disappeared into the woods, lying in wait like two wounded animals playing dead. Eventually, the sound of the guards’ heavy footfalls faded from earshot—Knife Boy sat up and looked in the direction of the bushes where I was hiding. I took that as a cue that the coast was clear and scrambled out, shaking the dirt and leaves from my limbs. I put my bow away and reached down to help Knife Boy to his feet, but he pushed himself to his feet on his own, pointedly ignoring my offered hand.

"Are you alright?” I asked.

Knife Boy wiped the dirt from his pants.

“I’m fine,” he responded, voice a bit clipped.

I was quiet, unsure of how to address what had just transpired.

“Well, now we’re going to have to go into town for supplies after all,” Knife Boy lamented.

“Why didn’t you hide?” I blurted. Whoops.

“I thought we agreed on no personal questions,” Knife Boy grumbled.

I couldn’t resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“I hardly think that counts as a personal question.”

Knife Boy huffed, “My legs just wouldn’t move, okay? I wasn’t fast enough.”

“A practiced thief not fast enough to move on instinct? I find that hard to believe, if a certain encounter a few days ago is anything to go by.”

“That was different.”

“Why is it any different?”

Knife Boy whirled around, and I immediately regretted prying.

“Because I’m scared of the royal guard, you asshole!” he shouted, fists clenching at his sides and face contorting in rage just inches from mine, though he was a bit shorter than me. The dagger on his belt caught the rays of sunlight peeking through the treetops like a deadly kaleidoscope, and I was suddenly reminded that this kid could kill me if he wanted to.

Knife Boy must have seen this in my eyes, as his expression softened and he took a step back, looking a bit shameful.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking away. He started walking ahead. “No more questions, please.”

I followed tacitly behind, too stunned to say anything more. Any rapport we had established in our fragile partnership seemed to have crumbled beneath our feet, leaving us both to scramble for higher ground.

***

“Okay, here is our mission.”

Knife Boy peeked out over the top of the stone fence surrounding the market square, where vendors were closing up shop for the night as the sun dipped below the horizon. The place was mostly empty, save for a few lingering shopkeepers and a young woman who was lighting the streetlamps in a battle with the dwindling daylight of autumn. Knife Boy scanned the area for a moment before ducking back down, crouching beside me.

“You see that man on the far side of the square?” he whispered conspiratorially. “The one with the baskets of apples?”

I spared a quick glance into the market and nodded.

“I’ll go distract him. You sneak around the other side, and when his back is turned, take the goods, got it?”

“Got it.” I nodded resolutely. We’d already swiped some scraps from a nearby tavern like before and filled our canteens at the town’s well without incident, so this was going to be easy as raspberry pie.

Knife Boy copied the gesture. “Good. Let’s go.” He stood and waltzed into the market, shoulders held high with undue confidence as he approached the fruit stand. I slipped around the outskirts of the square behind the wall, more or less crawling along the perimeter.

“Good sir! May I ask you some questions?” Knife Boy was saying to the man when I arrived on the other side, voice dripping with faux reverence.

“Why, sure, what for?” the fruit vendor replied, voice firm but not unkind. Briefly, I felt bad about what we were about to do, but if the elegant wool coat draped over his shoulders was any indication, he wasn’t going to miss a few apples.

“Well, as you can see, I am very poor,” Knife Boy lamented sweetly, and I had to suppress a chuckle. “I noticed you were selling such wonderful looking fruit, and I was hoping you could tell me about it. You see, I am hoping to grow my own food.”

The man’s voice softened as he said, “Ah, I see,” before launching into an animated explanation of best growing practices and the proper time to plant and harvest. As he spoke, I reached silently over the wall and grabbed a few apples from the large basket behind the man.

“Uh huh, that’s real interesting,” Knife Boy said with obvious disinterest, eyes wandering to watch my movements.

The man paused. “Kid, what are you looking at?” he asked, and started to turn around.

“Wait!” Knife Boy shouted, drawing the attention of both the fruit vendor and the lamp lighter, who was passing by. The latter looked up and spotted me, still half-splayed over the wall, apples in hand. For a moment, her eyes lit up and I held my breath, but then she merely shook her head with a smile and kept walking.

“What now?” The man was starting to sound exasperated. Seeing an opening, I hoisted myself back down onto the far side of the wall and scrambled back around to the other end of the market.

“Um, uh,” Knife Boy was floundering, and I stood just in time to see him upturn a basket on top of the display stand, turn heel, and run off toward me. As he approached, he waved a hand at me frantically, and I took off in a sprint down the street.

“Hey, get back here, you brats!” the fruit vendor shouted after us, scrambling to chase down the rogue apples rolling through the market square in Knife Boy’s wake. Somewhere behind me, I could hear the young lamp lighter laughing.

Knife Boy and I kept running until we had left the marketplace in our dust, and skidded to a stop in a quiet neighborhood on the edge of town, both of us doubled over and panting.

“What was that?” I teased between ragged breaths.

“Look, I panicked!” Knife Boy responded defensively, equally out of breath. “It’s been a long day, I’m off my game.”

We stared at each other for a moment before we both burst out laughing, our ugly cackles echoing through the empty streets like discordant church bells.

“You should have seen his face when you started running!” I snorted.

Between peals of laughter, Knife Boy mused, “You know, we actually make a pretty good team.”

I could not believe my ears.

“Yeah?”

Knife Boy nodded.

“I still think there’s something messed up about you, and you still kind of freak me out,” he began, which did not set a high bar for the second half of his statement. “But you know what? You’re not so bad.”

The honest smile on Knife Boy’s face belied his seemingly harsh words. In a different life, it occurred to me that maybe we could have even been friends—but an enemy-turned-ally, even if only for a short time, was more than I’d ever expected to find, and more than enough for me. I returned Knife Boy’s smile with one of my own.

I couldn’t help but laugh again.

“You know, I’ll take it.”

#the heartless #aro #aromantic #aro writing #aro writers #aspec #aspec writing #aspec writers #writing #writeblr #op

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mysteira6 · 4 years ago

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FukaFlower - Snuggles in the Rain

Summary:

Rainy days are the best for them. Because that means that they can snuggle in their bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Note: I need to make fluffier one-shots with these two!! I love them when they sing together!! Especially for songs like Suki Kirai!!

Take note: in this (relatively short) one shot, Fukase and Flower are both 19 and are already a couple~ <3

Bullying is also mentioned (though not emphasized on). Also, cyborg Fukase, let’s go~~

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He was awoken by the sound of rain pattering on the roof.

It was a chilly Saturday morning, the room feeling particularly colder due to the moisture seeping through the windows and entering their room. Fukase could feel a chill creeping up the right side of his body, forming a few goosebumps under his night clothes as he slowly sat up in bed. He turned his gaze to the windowsill of the bedroom, the spectacle of the morning sky littered with light grey clouds greeting him. A soft, soothing melody of rain drops echoed through the room. It sounded like a light rain for now, but who was to say that it wasn’t going to get heavier later?

He secretly wished that it did. Rainy days were the best…

“Mmrph…”

A quiet murmur coming from the figure on his right snapped him out of his thoughts, cueing him to turn his attention to the still-sleeping girl who was lying next to him, some strands of her short white hair splayed across her face. His heart warmed at the sight of her as she snoozed, his body lying back down as he propped a hand on the bed to support his head. How in the world could anyone look so cute and so beautiful at the same time?

Only she would, he internally decided, as his left, cybernetic hand subconsciously reached out for her hair, his fingers combing through it as he let out a sigh of relief. For a long time, he didn’t like how he looked like a cyborg, an absolute oddball in the sea of Loids that mostly consisted of normal boys and girls. Sure, you have your occasional special ones, such as Lapis and Merli being fairies, Oliver being based on Frankenstein’s monster and Hio being a vampire, but him? A boy who looked more scary and intimidating than any other Loid that ever existed because the left side of his face looked like a mess?

He could recall the day that he arrived in the Vocaloid Office, with everyone staring at him and murmuring amongst themselves about his appearance. He didn’t need to take off his headset to hear them discussing about what happened to the left side of his face, or about his left hand, or-

“Mmmmrph--”

Again, his attention was brought back to the girl next to him, her hands shuffling about as her closed eyelids shriveled slightly. A sign that she was about to wake up, he noted with a smile, his hand continuing to brush through her hair regardless of the fact that she was about to awaken.

He really liked combing his fingers through her hair. Mostly due to the fact that she was slowly starting to grow it out again after they fell in love. When he first saw her, she had her snow-white hair in a tomboyish cut that greatly resembled a boy, along with a few lower hairs and a single strand being dyed black. As he learned from her later (and after he had caught the sight of her old pictures that featured her with longer, wilder hair), the reason why she decided to change her hairstyle so much was because of how she had been bullied in the past, how people had picked on her because she looked so feminine even though her voice was androgynous. In her attempt to prove them wrong, she trimmed her hair drastically and changed her whole look so that she could accept herself as a tomboy.

But, as Fukase had heard from her when she confessed her fears to him a while ago, the attempt backfired. And instead of accepting herself, she ended up hating herself even more for succumbing to what the bullies wanted from her. She was a girl, after all, a girl who liked cute things such as cats and sweets. And to think that she tried to cut off her interests like that just because she wanted to prove some jerk’s opinion about her to be true… The teenage girl couldn’t truly love herself as a result of the destructive cycle that she placed herself in.

As Fukase recalled the memory of the past, he watched as the sleeping Loid finally opened her eyes, the violet orbs in them shimmering brightly, even though the sky was barely allowing any sunlight to peek into their room. The sight of her tired face accompanied by their dazzling eyes caught Fukase off-guard, and his left hand quickly stopped as he gave her a warm smile. “Good morning, Hana-chan~” He cooed.

“Morning,” She mumbled back sleepily, her voice surprisingly softer than usual. Perhaps she hadn’t woken up yet.

He chuckled at her drowsiness. “Did I wake you up?” He inquired as he retracted his cybernetic hand from its hovering position above her head, instead guiding it back towards his right elbow perched on the bed. Flower squirmed a little under the covers, her hands attempting to pull them up to her chin. “Mm… You were playing with my hair again, weren’t you?” The girl murmured softly as she closed her eyes again, likely on a pursuit of going back to sleep.

The redhead huffed internally; he wanted to talk to her! Not for her to fall back asleep…

Fukase hastily raised his hand back to her hair, this time ruffling through it in an attempt to annoy her awake. His attempt proved to be successful, as Flower soon opened her eyes again, narrowing them at the persistent boy. “Fukase, lemme sleep…” She complained, trying to duck her head deeper into the covers to prevent him from bothering her.

He grinned cheekily. “Can’t help it, Petals,” He shrugged innocently, despite the otherwise pesky act he was committing. “I just like combing my fingers through your soft hair~”

“My hair’s soft?” A quiet puff came from her mouth as she added. “No way, I’m pretty sure that your hair is fluffier than mine is,”

“Not you too…” Fukase sighed as he shook his head, though he was still smiling. Just the other day, everyone in their friend circle had pointed out how bouncy his crimson hair was, with some of them even telling Flower of how jealous they were that the redhead was her boyfriend. Though she was quick to nod politely at them , the shy girl was secretly beaming inside, her mind floating back to the times when she buried her fingers into his smooth, crimson curls and mused at how soft they were.

“Yes, your hair is very soft, Mr Mad Hatter,” Flower’s whispery voice grew louder as she sleepily placed a palm against his hand, a flawed venture to halt him from waking her up. “Now stop playing with my hair and lemme sleep,”

The impatient tone in her voice was hard for Fukase to miss, however, he only smirked at the sound of it. “How about no?” He insisted as his fingers continued combing through her hair.

“Fukase…”

“I’ll stop once you wake up, Petals,”

“But it’s our off-day…”

“Still not stopping~”

After feeling him play with her hair for a little too long, Flower had had enough with the mischievous boy, her mind quickly devising a plan to get back at him. As soon as he was about to skim his fingers through her single black strand of hair, she mustered all of her strength into her right arm, raising it quickly to grab Fukase’s hand before he could continue annoying her. Her fingers coming in contact with the chill of his metallic skin startled her slightly, though it didn’t faze her too much to stop her from slowly opening her right eye to take a peek at his hanging jaw.

Seeing him look so surprised cued her to quietly giggle as she opened her second eye to shoot a confident look at him. “Well…” She mused softly, the sound of her low voice causing Fukase’s cheeks to grow hot. “If you’re not gonna let me sleep… I guess I’ll have to force you to, won’t I~?”

The boldness in her tone not only baffled the redhead, but he swore that his heart started pounding faster at the sound of it. Her violet eyes flashing with confidence had his own pupils shrinking a little; how in the WORLD could she switch into such an assertive demeanor so quickly? Was her morning drowsiness getting to her?

He couldn’t stop himself from stuttering. “W-what are you gonna d-do?”

Hearing no reply come from the female Loid intimidated him quickly and Fukase could barely move a muscle as she gradually rose from her lying position on the bed, her hand refusing to let go of his as she shifted her body to hover over Fukase, her longer locks of black drooping across her shoulders that were unconcealed by the shirt that she wore to sleep. It was one of HIS shirts, too, which meant that its shoulder length was a little bit wider than her own, allowing her shoulders to occasionally peek out and entice him.

As she stayed in that position, both of her hands by the sides of the male Loid’s head (while grabbing ahold of his hands, too) and her eyes trained on him, he could barely stop his cheeks from turning red, the accumulating heat soon spreading across his whole entire face. He wasn’t a stranger to her being this brave, but that definitely didn’t mean that he was used to it, either.

Before their staring contest could escalate any further, Flower dispelled the silence between them by burying her face into the male Loid’s chest, her whole figure lightly resting on top of his as she squeezed her hands in between the mattress and his waist to wrap him in a tight hug. The air that Fukase had been unconsciously holding onto left his lungs as soon as she started to press her ear against his body, feeling her own heart beating against his skin. Truly, to say that he was astonished was an understatement.

“Uh… Flower?” He asked. “What are you doing…?”

“Keeping you here, of course,” She simply replied, closing her eyes as a sweet smile graced her face. “You can’t leave the bed unless I get off of you. And there’s no way that I’m gonna let you go,”

The red-haired Loid found himself amused at his partner’s plan. “You’re gonna try to fall asleep on me?” He stifled a small chuckle.

He could feel her nod against his chest, reminding him of a memory from a long time ago when he first showed her how his body really looked like. How the nuts, bolts and strips of metal poking out of his face weren’t just for show but were real parts of him. They were all remnants of the accident that occured during his production, the malfunction that caused him, a Vocaloid, to look more like a robot than a human virtual singer.

But unlike everyone else who tended to avoid him and his ‘messed up’ face, Flower was the only one who seemed interested in him. Perhaps it was the fact that she, a kuudere, could relate with him about being isolated from all the other Loids that ended up drawing them closer together.

Fukase sighed in content, soon wrapping his own arms around the girl lying on top of him to return her hug. “You sure that you wanna sleep on me for the rest of the morning?” He joked, thinking that it must be uncomfortable for her to be lying on a cold surface of metal that was half of his body.

Instead, she shook her head. “I don’t mind it. At least I can hear your heart beating,”

“That’s sweet but…” After feeling a bit bad for annoying her this morning, Fukase was determined to at least make her feel comfortable while they snuggled together in bed. With that in mind, he gently turned his body to the right, causing the female Loid to land on the bed again while his right arm remained wrapped around her smaller figure. A wide but nurturing smile found its way to his lips as his left hand held tightly to her own. “I prefer holding you like this,” He began before winking at her in his usual, confident voice. “Do you mind~?”

Now it was Flower’s turn to get embarrassed as a light pink blush flourished on her cheeks, though she gradually broke into a lovely smile that got her partner falling in love with her all over again. “Sure,” She finally said in a whisper as she moved her body a little closer to him again, partaking in the warmth of his embrace.

Because in his arms, she was at home, protected.

And with her in his embrace, he was at peace, feeling loved.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Outside, rain continued to fall from the sky, decorating the roof of their home with pinpricks of transparent water drops that dribbled down the tiles, the residual water flowing into the vertical pipes of their dorm to be discharged into drains.

But even as the rain poured, nothing could bother the sleeping couple as they snoozed through the morning of their day off.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N: Writing about them makes me feel all fuzzy inside... I love them so much- QAQ

#fukaflower #flokase #vocaloid #fukase #vocaloid fukase #v flower #v4 flower #flower vocaloid #vflower #one shot #fanfiction #rain #snuggling in bed #playing with hair #cyborg fukase #sweetheart flower

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