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drakenology · 4 years ago

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www.pornscape.com/janitors-closet-kirishima

janitor’s closet - kirishima x reader

categories: cunnilingus, blow job, riding, exhibitionism, slight degradation, unprotected sex, cussing, cervix kissin’, nasty hook up in the janitor’s closet.

author’s note: welcome to the pornscape! i hope you guys enjoy this event and this piece as well. please check out the others who have participated and as always, cum again ;). read the other works here

Hanamura Corp; a place known for legitimate business. Every employee including yourself was very capable of their job and it was wonderful to be a part of. But God was it fucking boring. Everyone there just ignored each other, did their job and clocked out once their shift was done and over with. With the exception of a few women you’d talk to around break time, The entire building was often so quiet you forgot other people worked there.

One thing that made your job a little bit exciting was the escapades that took place every Wednesday in the janitor’s closet. The janitor who worked mostly Wednesdays was quite possibly the most gorgeous man to walk those halls.

Ejiro Kirishima; a sweetheart who worked as a janitor here at Hanamura Corp for a few years now. What he was doing working as a janitor and as not a male model was a mystery.

He was tall; 6′11 to be exact, with long red hair he often had tied back in a messy bun, strands of his hair cheekily escaping from the sides. Not to mention his body. Eijiro was an absolute beast of a man; his entire body was ripped. His arms were gigantic and covered in tattoos. The women of the facility often gossiped about the ginormous janitor who came by their cubicles with a warm smile and a tip of his cap.

“God, he’s so sexy. I’d like to just jump his fucking bones.”

“I wonder what he’s like in bed. Probably an insatiable beast.”

“I just know his dick is huge. Fuck, I can only imagine.”

She guessed right. His dick is huge. How do you know that? Because you’re the one fucking him in the Janitor’s closet every so often. Every Wednesday when he worked, he’d walk past your cubicle and tap you on the shoulder. You’d turn and practically drool at the sight of him, knowing that in a few hours you’d be getting railed until you can hardly walk back to your desk. How this became so routine? Hell, you’ve long since forgotten. But who gives a fuck about the details?

“See you at noon?” He’d whisper in your ear, chuckling when you nod meekly. 12 o’clock was the time everyone usually took their lunch break which had proven to be the perfect time to get fucked on the job.

Once the clock struck 12, you slide your panties off under your desk and tuck them in your briefcase, a rule set by Kirishima to ensure that your cunt is exposed and ready for his filling. You walk towards the janitor’s closet; the one next to the women’s room and stand there to wait, awkwardly waving at the women who came out of the restroom with a weird stare. Suddenly the door opens and someone pulls you inside.

Finally. He kissed you hard, his big stern hands grabbing and caressing your ass as if he owned you and everything attached to you. You moan into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist when he lifts you and pins you against the cold steel supply shelf. “Miss me, gorgeous?” Kirishima asks, his lips ghosting over yours as he hikes your skirt up over your ass, biting his lip when he feels you’re completely bare underneath.

“You’re such a little slut for me, taking your panties off to come and get fucked in the janitor’s closet.” He starts kissing your neck, nibbling slightly to mark you just a little; he can’t help himself.

You’re already getting so hot, your slick pooling at his fingertips as they run along your folds. He stands you on your feet and turns you around, getting down on his knees to worship your ass. His hands slap each cheek firmly, causing you to flinch and lean into the wall, ass sticking out for him.

Before you can speak, his hands spread your ass apart, spitting onto your pussy. His tongue starts lapping up your slick folds as his hands squeeze your ass, your nails digging into your palms as you groan into your sleeves. You’re mewling so much you could swear someone could hear you, Kirishima’s thick fingers now sliding inside you while he stands on his feet.

“Gotta get that tight cunt ready for me, baby. You like that?” He huffs into your hair, pumping his fingers inside you at a slow pace. You nod as you back your hips into his hand, Kirishima grabbing one hip to keep you still.

“So eager. Stay still would, ya?” Kirishima taunts, speeding up his fingers as he smacked you ass to scold you. You yelp, the sting from the hit fading into blinding pleasure as he fingered you, your cunt squelching and making obscene noises as you feel your legs turn to pudding.

“Kiri I c-can’t, you’re gonna make me c-cum!” You whine, chewing on your bottom lip.

“That’s the idea. Mm, cum all over my fucking fingers.” He urged, his fingers diving deeper into your greedy walls, your cunt sucking him inside as you cum with a hard clench. Kirishima smirked and pulled his fingers out of you, sticking them into his mouth with a moan at your flavor.

“Good fuckin’ girl. On your knees.” He demands, pointing towards the floor. You obliged, moaning when you see him take his cock out of his uniform pants. Good lord, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing it in all its glory.

He was impossibly thick and long, prominent veins running along the shaft and a perfectly soft and spongey head; the one that kissed your cervix with every thrust. You open your mouth for him, tongue lolling out as he sticks his cock inside. Your lips wrap around him, moaning at the taste of his skin as you bob your head. Kirishima takes a fistful of your hair and fucks your throat, hissing when you gag and drool all over his cock. Your hands start grabbing at your breasts, unbuttoning your top to pull them outside of your bra.

“God, look at you..” Kirishima groans, you giggling when he pulls you off his cock with a lewd “pop” sound. “Such a dirty girl.” Kirishima takes his thick cock and slaps it against your wet lips, pressing between them to get your mouth open again. Sucking him off got you so wet; the sounds of slurping and gagging. All of his dirty words laced with pleasurable grunts stirred your insides as your cunt ached with need.

Every time his cock hit the back of your throat you moan, reaching your hand down to help relieve the ache in your core.

“Shit..” Eijiro moans at the state of you, a usually prim and proper business woman on her knees for him looking so fucking sloppy.

It was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, taking his hand to pinch and play with your nipples as you suckle on his dick head, taking it and slapping it against your tongue with a love struck look in your eye.

He burned that image of you in his mind, wanting to revisit this moment later when he was alone while bucking his hips to get you to wrap those soft lips around his cock again. Your fingers rub lazy circles on your swollen clit, moaning around his dick as he fucked your mouth.

“So fucking sexy, baby.” He hissed, pulling his cock from your lips and sitting on his haunches.

“C’mere.” He demands, slapping his thighs to get you to sit in his lap. You straddle his waist, his length resting on your slick cunt. He grinds your hips against his, the under side of his cock rubbing against your swollen clit with a groan. Kirishima lowers his hand and gives you the filling you’ve been craving all week, pressing his length against your weeping hole and pulling your hips down onto his length.

The dull stretch caused you to grab onto his shoulders and hold tight, bouncing on his cock slowly to adjust to his monster of a cock. It was all so delicious; Kiri running his thumb along your swollen bud with a satisfied grunt.

“Fuck, I’m cumming already, Eiji- shit!” You wail, breathy moans leaving your lips as he ruts his hips upwards, one of his big hands grabbing at your breast, the other rubbing your clit in soft circles.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby..” He groans, rolling your hips into his as his hands run along your soft ass, striking it harshly. You’re drooling into his shoulder, holding onto the shelf that contained cleaning supplies for good measure, trying to keep up with his movements. With all the shaking, all the cleaning products started toppling over, loud clangs of the metal shelf echoing through the small closet to mask your loud moans.

You both let out breathy half giggles, melting into each other’s bodies as Kirishima reached up to wrap your hair around his hand to yank it, attacking your now exposed neck with hot kisses and nibbles. He stands on his feet, fingers pressed into your ass to keep a tight grip on you as he lowered you onto his cock. You see stars as Eijiro picks you up and drops you onto his thick cock, scrambled sentences leaving your mouth as your mouth hangs open in bliss.

Kirishima kicks over a bucket, the stupid thing in his path as he pressed your bare back against the cold concrete wall. He rolls his hip into yours, lips wrapped around one of your nipples, nibbling lightly. Grunting and high pitched whines fill the closet, your bodies practically sticking together from the heat you both omitted. Tongues intertwined with each other, hands traveling along naked skin as he hit your g-spot over and over again in a blind rage.

“F-Fuck! I’m gonna cum for you, baby.” you squeal, toes curling so hard you feel a cramp coming on; Kirishima bucking into with more fervor as you both reach a climax.

“’M gonna cum inside you. Gonna make you my fuckin’ cum dump.” He huffed, your eyes rolling to the back of your head with every hit against your cervix.

You both grunt; Kirishima painting your insides white as he rests you both onto the floor, grinding his hips a few more times before pulling out his flaccid form. Your back laid flat on the cold floor, looking up at him with clouded eyes from all the tears you shed from your encounter. Sex with Kirishima made working at this stuffy place so much more worth it. As he looked down at you he helped fix your clothes, the timer on his watch beeping to signal it was time to get back to work.

“Ya know, we don’t have to wait to see each other once a week. I could fuck you like this every day, every night...” Eijiro said, wiping the sweat from your brow.

“Are you asking me out?” You tease, sitting up to button up your shirt.

“Depends.. are you saying yes?” He asks, raising his eyebrow as he adjusts his pants.

“Maybe.”

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laurasimonsdaughter · 3 years ago

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The Counterfeit Marquise

A literary fairy tale published in 1697, presumably by Charles Perrault and François-Timoléon De Choisy (who spent a considerable amount of his life in drag, just like the protagonists of this story).

Translated by Ranjit Bolt, featured in Warner’s Wonder tales: six stories of enchantment (1996).

Cw: gender disphoria.

The Marquis de Banneville had been married barely six months to a beautiful and highly intelligent young heiress when he was killed in battle at Saint-Denis. His widow was profoundly affected. They had still been very much in love and no domestic quarrels had disturbed their happiness. She did not allow herself an excess of grief. With none of the usual lamentations, she withdrew to one of her country houses to weep at her leisure, without constraint or ostentation. But no sooner had she arrived than it was pointed out to her, on the basis of irrefutable evidence, that she was carrying a child. At first she rejoiced at the prospect of seeing a little replica of the man she had loved so much. She was careful to preserve her husband’s precious remains, and took every possible step to keep his memory alive. Her pregnancy was very easy, but as her time drew near she was tormented by a host of anxieties. She pictured a soldier’s gruesome death in its full horror. She imagined the same fate for the child she was expecting and, unable to reconcile herself to such a distressing idea, prayed a thousand times to heaven to send her a daughter who, by virtue of her sex, would be spared so cruel a fate. She did more: she made up her mind that, if nature did not answer her wishes, she would correct her. She took all the necessary precautions and made the midwife promise to announce to the world the birth of a girl, even if it was a boy.

Thanks to these measures the business was effected smoothly. Money settles everything. The marquise was absolute mistress in her château and word soon spread that she had given birth to a girl, though the child was actually a boy. It was taken to the curé who, in good faith, christened it Marianne. The wet nurse was also won over. She brought little Marianne up and subsequently became her governess. She was taught everything a girl of noble birth should know: dancing; music; the harpsichord. She grasped everything with such precocity her mother had no choice but to have her taught languages, history, even modern philosophy. There was no danger of so many subjects becoming confused in a mind where everything was arranged with such remarkable orderliness. And what was extraordinary, not to say delightful, was that so fine a mind should be found in the body of an angel. At twelve her figure was already formed. True, she had been a little constricted from infancy with an iron corset, to widen her hips and lift her bosom. But this had been a complete success and (though I shall not describe her until her first journey to Paris) she was already a very beautiful girl. She lived in blissful ignorance, quite unaware that she was not a girl. She was known in the province as la belle Marianne. All the minor gentry roundabout came to pay court to her, believing she was a rich heiress. She listened to them all and answered their gallantries with great wit and frankness. My heart, she said to her mother one day, isn’t made for provincials. If I receive them kindly it’s because I want to please people.

Be careful, my child, said the marquise: you’re talking like a coquette.

Ah, maman, she answered, let them come. Let them love me as much as they like. Why should you worry as long as I don’t love them?

The marquise was delighted to hear this, and gave her complete licence with these young men who, in any case, never strayed beyond the bounds of decorum. She knew the truth and so feared no consequences. La belle Marianne would study till noon and spend the rest of the day at her toilette.

After devoting the whole morning to my mind, she would say gaily, It’s only right to give the afternoon to my eyes, my mouth, all this little body of mine.

Indeed, she did not begin dressing till four. Her suitors would usually have gathered by then, and would take pleasure in watching her toilette. Her chambermaids would do her hair, but she would always add some new embellishment herself. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in great curls. The fire in her eyes and the freshness of her complexion were quite dazzling, and all this beauty was animated and enhanced by the thousand charming remarks that poured continually from the prettiest mouth in the world. All the young men around her adored her, nor did she miss any opportunity to increase that adoration. She would herself, with exquisite grace, put pendants in her ears – either of pearls, rubies or diamonds – all of which suited her to perfection. She wore beauty spots, preferably so tiny that one could barely see them with the naked eye and, if her complexion had not been so delicate and fine, could not have seen them at all. When putting them on she made a great show of consulting now one suitor, now another, as to which would suit her best. Her mother was overjoyed and kept congratulating herself on her ingenuity. He is twelve years old, she would say to herself under her breath. Soon I should have had to think about sending him to the Military Academy, and in two years he would have followed his poor father. Whereupon, transported with affection, she would go and kiss her darling daughter, and would let her indulge in all the coquetries that she would have condemned in anyone else’s child.

This is how matters stood when the Marquise de Banneville was obliged to go to Paris to deal with a lawsuit that one of her neighbours had taken out against her. Naturally she took her daughter with her, and soon realised that a pretty young girl can be useful when it comes to making petitions. The first person she went to see was her old friend the Comtesse d’Alettef,11 to ask for her advice and her protection for her daughter. The comtesse was struck by Marianne’s beauty and so enjoyed kissing her that she did so several times. She took on herself the task of chaperoning her, and looked after her when her mother was busy with her suit, promising to keep her amused. Marianne could not have fallen into better hands. The comtesse was born to enjoy life. She had managed to separate herself from an inconvenient husband. Not that he lacked qualities (he loved pleasure as much as she did) but since they could not agree in their choice of pleasures, they had the good sense not to get in one another’s way and each followed their own inclinations. The comtesse, though not young any more, was beautiful. But the desire for lovers had given way to the desire for money, and gambling was now her chief passion. She took Marianne everywhere, and everywhere she was received with delight.

Meanwhile, the Marquise de Banneville slept easily. She was well aware of the comtesse’s somewhat dubious reputation, and would never have trusted her with a real daughter. But quite apart from the fact that Marianne had been brought up with a strong sense of virtue, the marquise wanted a little amusement and so left her to her own devices, merely telling her that she was entering a scene very different from that of the provinces; that she would encounter passionate, devoted lovers at every turn; that she must not believe them too readily; that if she felt herself giving way she was to come and tell her everything; and that in future she would look on her as a friend rather than a daughter, and give her such advice as she herself might take.

Marianne, whom people were starting to call the little marquise, promised her mother that she would disclose all her feelings to her and, relying on past experience, believed herself a match for the gallantry of the French court. This was a bold undertaking thirty years ago. Magnificent dresses were made for her; all the newest fashions tried on her. The comtesse, who presided over all this, saw to it that her hair was dressed by Mlle de Canillac. She had only some child’s earrings and a few jewels; her mother gave her all hers, which were of poor workmanship, and managed at relatively little expense to have two pairs of diamond pendants made for her ears, and five or six crisping pins for her hair. These were all the ornaments she needed. The comtesse would send her carriage for her immediately after dinner and take her to the theatre, the opera, or the gaming houses. She was universally admired. Wives and daughters never tired of caressing her, and the loveliest of them heard her beauty praised without a hint of jealousy. A certain hidden charm, which they felt but did not understand, attracted them to her and forced them to pay homage where homage was due. Everyone succumbed to her spell and her wit, which was even more irresistible than her beauty, won her more certain and lasting conquests. The first thing that captivated them was the dazzling whiteness of her complexion. The bloom in her cheeks, forever appearing and reappearing, never ceased to amaze them. Her eyes were blue and as lively as one could wish; they flashed from beneath two heavy lids that made their glances more tender and languishing. Her face was oval-shaped and her scarlet lips, which protruded slightly, would break – even when she spoke with the utmost seriousness – into a dozen delightful creases, and into a dozen even more delightful when she laughed. This exterior – so charming in itself – was enhanced by all that a good education can add to an excellent nature. There was a radiance, a modesty in the little marquise’s countenance that inspired respect. She had a sense of occasion: she always wore a cap when she went to church, never a beauty spot – avoiding the ostentation cultivated by most women. At Mass, she would say, One prays to God; at balls one dances; and one must do both with total commitment.

She had been leading a most agreeable life for three months when Carnival came round. All the princes and officers had returned from camp, and everywhere entertainments were being held again. Everyone was giving parties and there was a great ball at the Palais Royal. The comtesse, who was too old to show her face on such occasions, decided to go masked and took the little marquise with her. She was dressed as a shepherdess in an extremely simple but becoming costume. Her hair, which hung down to her waist, was tied up in great curls with pink ribbons – no pearls, no diamonds, only a beautiful cap. She had dressed herself, but even so all eyes were fixed on her. That night her beauty was triumphant.

The handsome Prince Sionad was there, dressed as a woman – a rival to the fair sex who, in the opinion of connoisseurs, took first prize for beauty. On arriving at the ball the comtesse decided to go and sit behind the lovely Sionad. Chère princesse, she said as she drew near and introduced the little marquise, here is a young shepherdess you should find worth looking at. Marianne approached respectfully and wanted to kiss the hem of the prince’s dress (or should I say the princess’s) but he lifted her up, embraced her tenderly and cried delightedly: What a lovely girl! What fine features! What a smile! What delicacy! And if I’m not mistaken, she is as clever as she is beautiful.

The little marquise had responded only with a bashful smile when a young prince came up and claimed her for a dance. At first all eyes were fixed on him, owing to his rank. But when people saw her answering his questions without awkwardness or embarrassment; saw what a feel she had for the music; how gracefully she moved; her little jumps in time; her smiles, subtle without being malicious and the fresh glow that vigorous exercise brought to her face, total silence, as at a concert, descended on the hall. The violinists found to their delight that they could hear themselves play, and everyone seemed intent on watching and wondering at her. The dance ended with applause, little of it for the prince, popular though he was.

The acclaim that the little marquise had received at the Palais Royal ball greatly increased the comtesse’s affection and concern for her. She could no longer do without her and she offered her rooms in her house, so that she could enjoy her company at her leisure. But on no account would her mother agree to this. The little marquise was almost fourteen and, if the secret of her birth was to be kept, it was vital that no one should be on intimate terms with her except her governess, who got her up and saw her into bed. She was still quite ignorant of her situation and, though she had many admirers, felt nothing for them. She cared for nothing and no one but herself and her appearance. People spoke to her of nothing else. She drank down this delicious praise in long draughts and thought herself the most beautiful person in the world; the more so since her mirror swore to her every day that the praise was justified.

One day she was at the theatre, in the first tier, when she noticed a beautiful young man in the next box. He wore a scarlet doublet embroidered with gold and silver, but what fascinated her were his dazzling diamond earrings and three or four beauty spots. She watched him intently and found his countenance so sweet and amiable that she could not contain herself, and said to the comtesse: Madame, look at that young man! Isn’t he handsome! Indeed, said the comtesse, but he is too conscious of his looks, and that is not becoming in a man. He might as well dress as a girl.

The performance went on and they said nothing more, but the little marquise often turned her head, no longer able to concentrate on the play, which was The Feign’d Alcibiades. Some days later she was at the theatre again in the third tier. The same young man, who drew such attention to himself with his extraordinary adornments, was in the second tier. He watched the little marquise at his leisure, as fascinated by her as she had been by him on the previous occasion, but less restrained. He kept turning his back on the actors, unable to take his eyes off her and she, for her part, responded in a manner less than consistent with the dictates of modesty. She felt in this exchange of looks something she had never experienced before: a certain joy at once subtle and profound, which passes from the eyes to the heart and constitutes the only real happiness in life. At last the play ended and, while they waited for the afterpiece, the beautiful young man left his box and went to ask the little marquise’s name. The porters, who saw her often, were happy to oblige him; they even told him where she lived. He now saw that she was of noble birth and decided, if possible, to make her acquaintance, even if he went no further. He resolved (love being ingenious) to enter her box by accident.

Ah, madame, he cried, I beg your pardon: I thought this was my box. The Marquise de Banneville loved intrigue and made the most of this one. Monsieur, she said to him with great frankness, we are indeed fortunate in your mistake: a man as handsome as you is welcome anywhere.

She hoped in this way to detain him so that she could look at him at her leisure; examine him and his adornments; please her daughter (whose feelings she had already detected) and, in a word, have some harmless amusement. He hesitated before deciding to remain in the box without taking a seat at the front. They asked him a hundred questions, to which he replied very wittily. His manner and tone of voice had an undeniable charm. The little marquise asked him why he wore pendants in his ears. He replied that he always had: his ears had been pierced when he was a child. As for the rest, they must excuse these little embellishments, normally only suitable for the fair sex, on the grounds of youth.

Everything suits you, monsieur, said the little marquise with a blush. You can wear beauty spots and bracelets as far as we’re concerned. You wouldn’t be the first. These days young men are always doing themselves up like girls. The conversation never flagged. When the afterpiece was over he conducted the ladies to their coach and had his follow it as far as the marquise’s house where, not daring to enter, he sent a page to present his compliments.

During the days that followed they saw him everywhere: in church; in the park; at the opera and the theatre. He was always unassuming, always respectful. He would bow low to the little marquise, not daring to approach or speak to her. He seemed to have but one object, and wasted no time in attaining it. Finally, after three weeks, the Marquise de Banneville’s brother (who was a state councillor) called and suggested that she receive a visitor – his good friend and neighbour, the Marquis de Bercour. He assured her that he was an excellent man and brought him round immediately after lunch. The marquis was the handsomest man in the world; his hair was black and arranged in thick, natural-looking curls. It was cut in line with the ears so that his diamond earrings could be seen. On this particular day he had attached to each of these a pearl. He also wore two or three beauty spots (no more) to emphasise his fine complexion.

Ah, brother, said the marquise, is this the Marquis de Bercour? Yes, madame, replied the marquis, and he cannot live any longer without seeing the loveliest girl in the world.

As he said this he turned towards the little marquise, who was beside herself with joy. They sat and talked, exchanging news, discussing amusements and new books. The little marquise was a versatile conversationalist, and they were soon at ease with one another. The old councillor was the first to leave, the marquis the last, having remained as long as he felt he could.

After this he never missed an opportunity of paying court to the girl he loved, and always made sure that everything was perfect. When the good weather came and they went out walking to Vincennes or in the Bois, they would find a magnificent collation, which seemed to have been brought there by magic, at a place specially chosen in the shade of some trees. One day there would be violins; the next oboes. The marquis had apparently given no instructions, yet it was obvious that he had arranged everything. Nevertheless, it took several days to guess who had given the little marquise a magnificent present. One morning a carrier brought a chest to her house which he said was from the Comtesse Alettef. She opened it eagerly and was delighted to find in it gloves, scents, pomades, perfumed oils, gold boxes, little toilet cases, more than a dozen snuff boxes in different styles, and countless other treasures. The little marquise wanted to thank the comtesse, who had no idea what she was talking about. She found out in the end, but reproached herself more than once for not having guessed at once.

These little attentions advanced the marquis’s cause considerably. The little marquise greatly appreciated them. Madame, she said to her mother with admirable honesty, I no longer know where I am. Once I wanted to be beautiful in everyone’s eyes; now the only person I want to find me beautiful is the marquis. I used to love balls, plays, receptions, places where there was a lot of noise. Now I’m tired of all that. My only pleasure in life is to be alone and think about the man I love. He’s coming soon, I whisper to myself. Perhaps he’ll tell me he loves me. Yes, madame, he hasn’t said that yet; hasn’t spoken those wonderful words: I love you, though his eyes and his actions have told me so a hundred times. Then, my child, replied the marquise, I’m very sorry for you. You were happy before you saw the marquis. You enjoyed everyone’s company; everyone loved you and you loved only yourself, your own person, your beauty. You were wholly consumed with the desire to please, and please you did. Why change such a delightful life? Take my advice, my dear child: let your sole concern be to profit from the advantages nature has given you. Be beautiful: you have experienced that joy; is there any other to touch it? To draw everyone’s gaze; to win all hearts; to delight people wherever one goes; to hear oneself praised continually, and not by flatterers; to be loved by all and love only oneself: that, my child, is the height of happiness, and you can enjoy it for a long time. You are a queen, don’t make yourself a slave: you must resist at the outset a passion that is carrying you away in spite of yourself. Now you command, but soon you will obey. Men are fickle: the marquis loves you today – tomorrow he will love someone else.

Stop loving me! said the little marquise. Love someone else! And she burst into tears.

Her mother, who loved her dearly, tried to console her and succeeded by telling her that the marquis was coming. There was a lot at stake and this incipient passion caused her considerable alarm. Where will it lead? she asked herself. To what bizarre conclusion. If the marquis declares himself – if he plucks up courage and asks for certain favours – she will refuse him nothing. But then, she reflected, the little marquise has been well trained; she is sensible; at most she will grant such trifling favours as will leave them in ignorance – an ignorance essential to their happiness.

They were talking like this when someone came to tell them that the marquis had sent them a dozen partridges, and that he was at the door, not daring to enter as he had just returned from hunting.

Send him in! cried the little marquise. We want to see him in his hunting clothes. He entered a moment later, all apologies for powder marks, sun burn and a dishevelled wig. No, no, said the little marquise. I assure you, we like you better dressed informally like this than in all your finery. If that is so, madame, he replied, next time you will see me dressed as a stoker.

He remained standing, as though about to leave. They made him sit and the marquise, kind soul, told them to sit together while she went to her study to write. The chambermaids knew what was what and withdrew to the dressing-room, leaving the lovers alone together. They were silent for a while. The little marquise, still flustered after her talk with her mother, scarcely dared raise her eyes, and the marquis, even more embarrassed, looked at her and sighed. There was something tender in this silence. The looks they exchanged, the sighs they could not contain, were for them a form of language – a language lovers often use – and their mutual embarrassment seemed to them a sign of love. The little marquise was the first to awake from this reverie.

You’re dreaming, marquis, she said. What of? Hunting? Ah, beautiful marquise, said the marquis, how lucky hunters are! They are not in love. What do you mean? she rejoined. Is being in love really so terrible? Madame, he replied, it is the greatest happiness in life. But unrequited love is the greatest misfortune. I am in love and it is not requited. I am in love with the most beautiful girl in the world. Venus herself would not dare put herself before her. I love her and she does not love me. She has no feelings. She sees me, she listens to me, and she remains cruelly silent. She even turns her eyes away from mine. How heartless! How can I doubt my fate? As he spoke these last words, the marquis knelt down before the little marquise and kissed her hands – nor did she object. Her eyes were lowered and let fall great tears.

Beautiful marquise, he said, you’re crying. You’re crying and I know the reason for your tears. My love is irksome to you. Ah, marquis, she answered with a heavy sigh, one can cry for joy as well as pain. I’ve never been so happy. She said no more and, stretching out her arms to her beloved marquis, granted him the favours she would have denied all the kings of the earth. Caresses were all the protestations of love they needed. The marquis found in the little marquise’s lips a compliance that her eyes had hidden from him, and this conversation would have lasted longer if the marquise had not emerged from her study. She found them laughing and crying at the same time, and wondered whether such tears had ever needed drying.

The marquis immediately rose to leave, but the marquise said to him pleasantly: Monsieur, won’t you stay and dine on the partridges you brought? He needed little persuading. What he desired more than anything else in the world was to be on familiar terms in this house. He stayed, even though he was dressed in hunting clothes, and had the exquisite pleasure of seeing the girl he loved eat. It is one of life’s chief delights. To watch at close quarters a pink mouth that, as it opens, reveals gums of coral and teeth of alabaster; that opens and closes with the rapidity that accompanies all the actions of youth; to see a beautiful face animated by an often repeated pleasure, and to be experiencing the same pleasure at the same time – this is a privilege love grants to few.

After that happy day the marquis made sure he dined there every night. It was a regular affair and the little marquise’s suitors, who had had no cause to be jealous of one another, took it as settled. She had made her choice and they all admitted that beauty and vanity, however powerful, are no defence against love. The Comte d’****, one of her most ardent admirers, had a keen sense that his passion was being made light of. He was handsome, well built, brave, a soldier: he could not allow the little marquise to give herself to the Marquis de Bercour, whom he considered vastly inferior in every respect to himself. He decided to pick a quarrel with him and so disgrace him, thinking him too effeminate to dare cross swords with him. However, to his great surprise, at the first word he uttered when they met at the Porte des Tuileries, the marquis drew his sword and thrust at him with gusto. After a hard-fought duel they were parted by mutual friends.

This adventure pleased the little marquise. It gave her lover a war-like air, though she trembled for him nevertheless. She saw clearly that her beauty and her preference for him would constantly be exposing him to such encounters, and she said to him one day: Marquis, we must put an end to jealousy once and for all; we must silence gossip. We love one another and always will. We must bind ourselves to one another with ties that only death can break.

Ah, beautiful marquise, he said, what are you thinking of? Does our happiness bore you? Marriage, as a rule, puts an end to pleasure. Let us remain as we are. For my part, I am content with your favours and will never ask you for anything more. But I am not content, said the little marquise. I can see clearly that there is something missing in our happiness, and perhaps we will find it when you belong to me entirely, and I to you. It would not be right, replied the marquis, for you to throw in your lot with a younger son who has spent the bulk of his fortune and whom you still know only by appearances, which are often deceptive.

But that’s just what I love about it, she interrupted. I’m so happy that I have enough money for us both, and to have the chance of showing you that I love you and you alone.

They had reached this point when the Marquise de Banneville interrupted them. She had been closeted with her agents, and thought she would refresh herself with some lively young company, but she found them in a deeply serious mood. The marquis had been greatly put out by the little marquise’s proposal. Ostensibly it was very much to his advantage, but he had secret objections to it, which he considered insurmountable. The little marquise, for her part, was a little annoyed at having taken such a bold step in vain, but she soon recovered, deciding that the marquis had refused out of respect for her – or that he wished to prove the depth of his feelings for her. This thought made her decide to speak to her mother about it, and she did so the following day.

No one was ever more astonished than the Marquise de Banneville when her daughter spoke to her of marriage. She was sixteen and no longer a child. Her eyes had not been opened to her situation, and her mother hoped they never would be. She was careful not to agree to the match, but to reveal the truth would have been a painful solution both for her daughter and the marquis. She resolved to do so only as a last resort. Meanwhile she would prevent, or at least postpone, the marriage. The marquis was in agreement with her on this, but the little marquise – passionate creature that she was – begged, entreated, wept, used every means to persuade her mother. She never doubted her lover, since he did not dare oppose her with the same firmness. Finally she pushed her mother to the point where she said these words to her: My dear child, you leave me no choice: against my better judgement I must reveal to you something that I would have given my life to conceal from you. I loved your poor father and when I lost him so tragically, in dread of your meeting the same fate, I prayed with all my heart for a daughter. I was not so fortunate: I gave birth to a son and I have brought him up as a daughter. His sweetness, his inclinations, his beauty, all assisted my plan. I have a son and the whole world believes I have a daughter. Ah, madame! cried the little marquise, is it possible that I …? Yes, my child, said her mother embracing her, you are a boy. I can see how painful this news must be for you. Habit has given you a different nature. You are used to a life very different from the one you might have led. I wanted you to be happy and would never have revealed the sad truth to you if your obstinacy over the marquis had not forced me to. You see now what you were about to do? How, but for me, you would have exposed yourself to public ridicule?

The little marquise did not answer. Instead she merely wept and in vain her mother said to her: But my child, go on living as you were. Be the beautiful little marquise still – loved, adored by all who see her. Love your beautiful marquis if you like, but do not think of marrying him. Alas! cried the little marquise through her tears, he has asked for nothing more. He flies into a rage when I mention marriage. Ah! Could it be that he knows my secret? If I thought that, dear mother, I would go and hide myself in the furthest corner of the earth. Could he know it? In floods of tears now, she added: Alas, poor little marquise, what will you do? Will you dare show your face again and act the beauty? But what have you said? What have you done? What name can one give the favours you have granted the marquis? Blush! Blush, unhappy girl! Ah, nature you are blind: why did you not warn me of my duty? Alas! I acted in good faith, but now I see the truth and I must behave quite differently in future. I must not think about the man I love – I must do what is right.

She was uttering these words with determination when it was announced that the marquis was at the door of the antechamber. He entered with a happy air and was amazed to see both mother and daughter with lowered eyes and in tears. The mother did not wait for him to speak but rose and went to her room. He took courage and said: What’s the matter, beautiful marquise? If something is distressing you, won’t you share it with your friends? What? You won’t even look at me! Am I the cause of this weeping? Am I to blame without knowing it?

The little marquise dissolved in tears. No! No! she cried. No! That could never be, and if it were so I would not feel as I do. Nature is wise and there is a reason for everything she does.

The marquis had no idea what all this meant. He was asking for an explanation when the marquise, who had recovered a little, left her room and came to her daughter’s aid. Look at her, she said to the marquis. As you see, she is quite beside herself. I am to blame. I tried to stop her but she would have her fortune told, and they said she would never marry the man she loved. That has upset her, Monsieur le Marquis, and you know why.

For my part, madame, he replied, I am not at all upset. Let her remain always as she is. I ask only to see her. I shall be more than happy if she will consider me her best friend.

With this the conversation ended. Emotions had been stirred, and would take time to settle. But they settled so completely that after eight days there was no sign of any upheaval. The marquis’s presence, his charm, his caresses, obliterated from the little marquise’s mind everything her mother had told her. She no longer believed any of it, or rather did not wish to believe. Pleasure triumphed over reflection. She lived as she had done before with her lover and felt her passion increase with such violence that thoughts of a lasting union returned to torment her. Yes, she said to herself, he cannot go back on his word now. He will never desert me. She had resolved to speak of it again, when her mother fell ill. Her illness was so grave that after three days all hope of a cure was abandoned. She made her will and sent for her brother, the councillor, whom she appointed the little marquise’s guardian. He was her uncle and her heir, since all the property came from the mother. She confided to him the truth about her daughter’s birth, begging him to take it seriously and to let her lead a life of innocent pleasure that would harm no one and which, since it precluded her marrying, would guarantee his children a rich inheritance.

The good councillor was delighted at this news and saw his sister die without shedding a tear. The income of thirty thousand francs that she left the little marquise seemed certain to pass to his children, and he had only to encourage his niece’s infatuation for the marquis. He did so with great success, telling her that he would be like a father to her and had no wish to be her guardian except in name.

This sympathetic behaviour consoled the little marquise somewhat – and she was certainly distraught – but the sight of her beloved marquis consoled her even more. She saw that she was absolute mistress of her fate, and her sole aim was to share it with the man she loved. Six months of official mourning passed, after which pleasures of all kinds once again filled her life. She went often to balls, the theatre, the opera, and always in the same company. The marquis never left her side and all her other suitors, seeing that it was a settled affair, had withdrawn. They lived happily and would perhaps have thought of nothing else, if malicious tongues could have left them in peace. Everywhere, people were saying that, while the little marquise was beautiful, since her mother’s death she had lost all sense of decorum: she was seen everywhere with the marquis; he was practically living in her house; he dined there every day and never left before midnight. Her best friends found grounds for censure in this: they sent her anonymous letters and warned her uncle, who spoke to her about it. Finally, things went so far that the little marquise went back to her first idea and decided to marry the marquis. She put this to him forcefully; he resisted likewise, only agreeing on condition that the marriage would be a purely public affair, and that they would live together like brother and sister. This, he said, was how they must always love one another. The little marquise readily agreed. She often remembered what her mother had told her. She spoke of it to her uncle, who began by outlining all the pitfalls of marriage and ended by giving his consent. He saw that, by this means, the income of thirty thousand francs was sure to pass to his family. There was no danger of his niece having children by the Marquis de Bercour whereas, if she did not marry him, her notion that she was a girl might change with time and with her beauty, which was sure to fade. So a wedding day was fixed on, bridal clothes made and the ceremony held at the good uncle’s house. (As guardian he undertook to give the wedding feast.)

The little marquise had never looked as beautiful as she did that day. She wore a dress of black velours completely covered in gems, pink ribbons in her hair and diamond pendants in her ears. The Comtesse d’Alettef, who would always love her, went with her to the church, where the marquis was waiting. He wore a black velours cloak decked with gold braid, his hair was in curls, his face powdered, there were diamond pendants in his ears and beauty spots on his face. In short, he was adorned in such a way that his best friends could not excuse such vanity. The couple were united for ever and everyone showered them with blessings. The banquet was magnificent, the king’s music and the violons were there. At last the hour came and relatives and friends put the couple together in a nuptial bed and embraced them, the men laughing, a few good old aunts weeping.

It was then that the little marquise was astonished to find how cold and insensitive her lover was. He stayed at one end of the bed, sighing and weeping. She approached him tentatively. He did not seem to notice her. Finally, no longer able to endure so painful a state of affairs, she said: What have I done to you, marquis? Don’t you love me any more? Answer me or I shall die, and it will be your fault.

Alas, madame, said the marquis, didn’t I tell you? We were living together happily – you loved me – and now you will hate me. I have deceived you. Come here and see.

So saying he took her hand and placed it on the most beautiful bosom in the world. You see, he said, dissolving in tears, you see I am useless to you: I am a woman like you.

Who could describe here the little marquise’s surprise and delight? At this moment she had no doubt that she was a boy and, throwing herself into the arms of her beloved marquis, she gave him the same surprise, the same delight. They soon made their peace, wondered at their fate – a fate that had brought matters on to such a happy conclusion – and exchanged a thousand vows of undying love.

As for me, said the little marquise, I am too used to being a girl, and I want to remain one all my life. How could I bring myself to wear a man’s hat?

And I, said the marquis, have used a sword more than once without disgracing myself. I’ll tell you about my adventures some day. Let’s continue as we are, then. Beautiful marquise, enjoy all the pleasures of your sex, and I shall enjoy all the freedom of mine.

The day after the wedding they received the usual compliments and, eight days later, left for the provinces, where they still live in one of their châteaux. The uncle should visit them there: he would find, to his surprise, that a beautiful child has resulted from their marriage – one to put paid to his hopes of a rich inheritance.

#Charles Perrault #François-Timoléon De Choisy #genderqueer folktales #trans representation #laura retells #except not really it's more like laura copy pastes this time

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gotnofucks · 4 years ago

Text

Pot of Gold

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Summary: You went broke and bet your pussy.

Words: 2k

Warnings: Fluffy smut, slight dom Steve, language, 18+ ONLY

A/N: dedicated to the anon who said she needed fluffy Steve smut so that she could get out of her bed. Hope you feel better hon <3

MASTERLIST

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“And what do you bet?” Thor asked you, stacking other’s money in the center of the table. It wasn’t game night yet, but since no one wanted to go out you lot pulled out a few board games. It was going great until the betting started, because the Avengers just can’t play like normal broke people. You had like an amateur lost all your cash in the last round of poker, and now sitting around some stupid board game with pictures and dices, you were the only one who was penniless. Everyone else had tossed on hundreds of dollars and looked at you curiously.

“I bet my pussy” You said at last and a hush fell around the table. For the first time tonight, you were glad to be the only woman present. The reaction you received from the men was very flattering.

Tony, Steve, Thor, Sam, Bucky, and Clint all looked dumbstruck for a moment, their mouths hanging open in surprise. It was when Tony snorted in amusement that they shook their head and gave you disbelieving looks.

“Don’t look at me like that. I have it on good authority that its like a pot of gold.” You remarked and saw more than one man blush. You didn’t care much about modesty, or shame for that matter.

“Y/n, you can’t be serious” Bucky said, and you shrugged nonchalantly.

“Of course, I am Buck. My pussy is worth more than your money put together, so whoever wins will be more than pleased with the outcome. If someone else wins that is. I have every intension of winning this time ‘round” You declared while cracking your knuckles.

“Cool then. Game’s simple enough. Roll the dice, get big numbers, and cross the obstacles. Whoever reaches the finishing line first wins and takes the prize.” Tony said and Steve looked scandalized.

“You can’t be serious Tony!” He exclaimed and you rolled your eyes right along with Tony’s.

“Listen up Capsicle if the lady wants to bet her cooch, so she can. I for one really want to win this round.” Tony said winking at you, and you giggled.

“You got competition here Stark. I want that pot of gold.” Thor stated and you would be a liar if a fire didn’t start in your belly. You wouldn’t mind any of the men taking you, or all of them.

“Oh baby, you are gonna get some chocolate spread this evening” Sam was rubbing his hands the way villains do and you gave him a once over, licking your lips at the end making him groan. “Cap and Tin Man make be from the 90s, but I can give it to you good.”

“I can give it as good as you Birdguy. Just you wait and see. She’ll be screaming from the rafter!” Bucky was also flexing as if it was a wresting match. You couldn’t help the smug smile that was splitting your face in half. This was much better than any evening out would have been.

The game began without preamble now and you saw more than one salacious look tossed your way. Even Steve and Clint who had so far not made their desire known were looking at you with hot eyes, each person rolling the dice with greater gusto. Sabotage became common, someone trying to knock their elbows and move their pieces. Arguments broke out, the board was almost flipped twice, and the game was nearing the end. You were holding the dices in your hands, rolling them between your thumb and finger as you carefully measured your score. You’d need a 10 to win. Or else you were out. Everyone’s eyes were trained on and you felt the pressure mounting. You breathed deeply then let the dices fall with a loud exhale, holding your breath as they came to a still.

5 and 4

“Fuck!” You shouted and the sentiment was echoed, more like cheered. You sat back on your chair with a huff and cross your arms while Thor puts a hand around you.

“Its okay Y/n, I’ll make sure you win even as you lose.” He made his move and the other guys booed as Thor lost too. You were at the edge of your seat, watching as one by one everyone else rolled the dices across the board. Clint groaned and mimicked your actions when he didn’t make the line, followed by Sam who simply got up and left. You watched Tony, Steve and Bucky battle it out, their tongues between their teeth. You were as anxious as any of the others, legs bouncing in anticipation. You made a small noise of dejection when Bucky lost and pouted. You really wouldn’t have minded that metal hand between your legs.

“Capsicle, why not give up now. It’s not like you’ll know what to do with a woman like our girl here.” Tony goaded Steve who glared at him.

“Make your move Stark.” He simply replied and you leaned forward as the dices rolled. They spun on their edges, making the suspense comically longer and when they finally laid still you started chuckling.

“Next time, Tony.” You consoled, your hand patting his knee. He looked so forlorn that you almost suggested a rematch.

“He still has to make a move! He hasn’t won yet.” Tony pointed at Steve who with all the stoicism bred into him tossed his dices and got the perfect score.

“In your face, playboy!” Steve triumphed and to everyone’s surprise just lifted you onto his shoulders like a sack and began walking away. “Leave the cash with Buck. I’ll take those earnings after I’m finished with the real prize”

Cheers and howls followed you as you dangled over Steve’s back. You had no idea he could be this passionate, but you had no reason to complain. You let him haul you away to his room in relative peace, only getting a slap on your butt after poking Steve’s ass through his joggers. He threw you on the bed and shut the door behind him, turning to look at you with fire in his eyes.

“Velvet or silk?” He questioned and your throat went dry as he walked to his closet in the corner. He raised an eyebrow when you didn’t respond, and you cleared your throat.

“Velvet?” You answered, unsure what you agreed to. Steve came back with velvet lined handcuffs in his hands and you creamed. Holy shit, who would have thought that prim and proper Captain could have a kinky side too.

“Hands behind your head” He ordered in his captain voice and you swore your thighs were trembling in need. This was something so out of the realm of possibility you felt out of your element for a while. You complied, your hands holding the headrest as Steve came forward and cuffed them, the velvet delicate on your skin. He rattled them a little, looking at you in question. “Feel okay?”

You only nodded, too stunned to speak, and licked your lips when Steve removed his t-shirt, his bare chest only serving to make you hotter. You didn’t realize you had parted your legs in welcome until Steve climbed between them, his blue eyes almost black with lust.

“Do you have a safe word?” He asked and you nodded.

“Oatmeal” You answered, and Steve paused as if making sure he heard right. “It is a long story.” You sighed. Steve smiled before leaning over you to kiss you softly, his hands travelling from your hips to your sides, caressing them languidly and then reaching your breasts. You moaned in his mouth when his fingers found your stiff nipples, and you bucked up trying to bring him closer.

“You need to tell me if I hurt you, okay?” Steve urged, his mouth licking a fiery trail on your neck. You nodded, too busy in the feel of his mouth to do more than moan. Oh god, Tony was sooo wrong. Cap knew what to do with a girl alright.

He pulled back enough to take hold of your top and tear it straight down the middle, his inner caveman coming back. Your bra fared the same and Steve wasted no time in lapping up your supple flesh. You were sure your voices carried all the way down to the common room, Steve’s tongue making you go wild.

“No holding back sounds tonight, sweetheart. Or I’ll hold back your orgasms, that clear?” He said and hooked his hands into your pants to pull them down, his hands tracing your bare legs. The look in his eyes made you feel like you’ll combust if he didn’t touch you down there right now.

“Please Steve, don’t tease.” You whined and he bent over you, pulling your panties down with his teeth. You are going to write him a fucking glowing performance review and mail it to Tony tomorrow. Your wildest fantasies couldn’t have prepared you for it. He slipped out of his joggers and boxers, his cock hard and weeping. Your mouth watered and you downright salivated when he stroked it. Steve saw your expression and chuckled.

“You’ll get a taste later. But right now, I’m gonna dip my prick in your pot of gold.”

You wished your hands were free when he fitted himself between your legs, helping you wrap them around his thick frame. He torturously lubed himself up in your juices and entered you sinfully slow, letting you feel every bit of him. You both moaned, your mouths meeting for a sloppy kiss when he started moving, getting faster by the minute. One of his hands reached between your bodies to tweak your clit, alternating rough and soft until you bordered on the edge of your cliff. He was so thick you were stretched almost uncomfortably wide; each inch of your walls being rubbed in the most delicious way. You chanted a crescendo of “yes” and “oohs” and “please” and “faster” along with his name. You didn’t seem to be making sense, but he clearly didn’t care since he did little but grunt in pleasure, hips hammering in you hard enough to bang the headboard against the wall.

“Come on darling, scream for me!” He ordered, his fingering pinching your bud and you exploded around him, your body arching in pleasure. He fucked you through your high, thrusts getting sloppier with every second. “Are you on the pill?” He really should have asked earlier.

“I get a depo shot. Don’t you dare waste a single drop. Need you in me!” You honestly didn’t know what you were saying, instead you seemed drunk on his passion and power. You needed him to fill you up, the very primal animalistic part of you craving his seed.

Steve stuttered, his breath coming out in broken gasps when he finally released in you, hips lazily moving until he went limp right over your body. His weight crushed you, but you didn’t tell him to roll off just yet. The warmth of him fell nice.

He raised his hands and reached to undo your hands, massaging your wrists gently and you fisted them in his hair, pulling him into another deep kiss before letting go. He settled beside you, sweaty body holding yours close.

“You’re not leaving tonight; I still need to taste you.” He murmured in your ear, biting the earlobe, and making you squeal.

“Yes captain” you conceded, and his hand swatted your behind before pulling you closer.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You whispered in his ear after your breaths had settled to normal. He hummed in reply and you sat up, your eyes twinkling. “I lost on purpose”

Steve blinked before a laugh bubbled from deep within him, his arms pulling your body under his as he caged you.

“My god, I think I’m gonna have to fuck you good enough that you never think of letting another man fuck you. This pot of gold,” he cupped your pussy, “I have no intension of sharing it”.

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Gonna re-blog with tags later

Taglist is Open.

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x you #steve x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n

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frenziedpriestess · 2 years ago

Text

“Are you sure you don’t want to try any?”

“Yes, I’m quite sure.” The Diatomist shook his head rather firmly, though it was clear by his expression that it was not meant with any ill intent. “I’d rather my mind not be dulled by any sort of substance if I can avoid it, really.”

“You’re no fun,” Lilith replied with a sly smirk. She paused for a moment and her smirk turned to a pout. “Are you calling me dull?”

The Diatomist retorted with a small, yet cheeky, smile of his own. “Of course not. I merely wish to keep my head clear, as it were. Not to mention, I..certainly don’t wish to become honey-mazed, or anything of the sort.”

“I’ve been perfectly fine, clearly.” That earned a quiet chuckle from him. “But..your reasoning is sound. I’d expect no less, really.”

The Diatomist did an awkward mock bow from his cushioned seat beside hers, and she returned with a few small sarcastic claps before finally reaching for the silver spoon full of honey that had sat on the table between the two. She stared at the honey for just a moment as she pulled her hood back. Then, with a small little cheer of the spoon pointed at the Diatomist as if it was a mug of beer, she tilted her head back and greedily sipped the golden liquid from its vessel.

The moment the last drop had passed beyond her lips, she vanished. This was what always happened, of course, and the Diatomist was not alarmed. But nevertheless it put a frown on his face. It was easy to be certain people were relatively safe when under the influence of more mundane substances - wine, cigars, laudanum, even. But to disappear entirely only worried him. What dangers lurked in honeyed dreams?

For now, he waited anxiously for her return and returned to his notebook to write a few more ideas for new experiments down. He needed no honey to muse on such things!

Fortunately for him, her departure from this reality would be a relatively brief experience. Only about half an hour had passed by the time she reappeared. The Diatomist’s first glance of her return brought a smile to his face, but it was quick to disappear. Her own face was not one filled with delight or pleasure, but of sorrow…did something hurt her in those dreams? Was it nightmares instead of pleasant things?

It only took a moment for her to begin to sob violently. She brought one hand to her face to hide her eyes and her tears, but the Diatomist could quite clearly see them trickling down her cheeks, still glistening with golden sunlight.

“Wha-What’s wrong?” He stuttered, glancing all over her for any sign of harm. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“No, n-no, I’m sorry, I-“ Her words catch in her throat as she lets out another forceful sob. “I’m fine, please, don’t-don’t look at me!” She half-heartedly reached out an arm as if to push him away with her free hand, but instead only batted at the air as she turned her face away.

The Diatomist leaned forward with his arms partly outstretched towards Lilith, but froze. He did not know how to handle this situation at all. Should he console her by holding her? Or would that be inappropriate? Yet, words alone didn’t seem quite enough for a weeping woman. But the problem would solve itself, in a way, as Lilith saw his open arms as enough of an invitation to turn and bury her head into his chest. He recoiled from the touch and fidgeted nervously. He was nearly equally as unsure on how to proceed in this situation as well..but decided on gingerly placing his arms on her shoulders and awkwardly looking around the room as if to ask for advice.

Lilith lifted her head up, sniffling and wiping away her tears as her eyes darted around the room to measure how many were staring. Bouts of any emotion were common in honey-dens - none gave much of a glance.

“Godz, I’m..sorry.” Her gaze turned back to him with golden eyes still shining brighter with tears. “I am fine, now, it was just..” Her words trailed off before she leaned back and brushed herself off.

It was not a sentence that needed to be finished..but the Diatomist gave a hopeful glance anyway. He had pulled back completely by now, arms untethered, but still leaning awkwardly on the edge of his cushion to remain close.

Lilith cocked and tilted her head, reaching a hand to pull back one side of her hood enough to let her left ear peak out unimpeded. One last wary glance around the room before she lowered her head, leaned in, and spoke quietly.

“I..I was in a dream where I was on the surface again. In a grand, green cathedral, soaking in all the splendor of sunlight like I was right back up there again.”

“That sounds..rather lovely.”

“It was..it really was. Which was what made it so hard to leave. I wanted to come down here to the Neath, to Fallen London, and yet there’s some part of me that misses being up there.” She stared off wistfully. “The sunrise and the sunset, the sun against my skin, the smell of freshly cut grass…”

“Maybe we can go up to the surface again one day.” He gave a small but comforting smile. “Together.”

A small scoff escaped her lips, halfway between derision and longing. “Maybe..one day.” A pause. “I do not know why I miss it as I do. I came down here to..” She hesitated, eyeing him cautiously. “..to be myself.” No more specification needed, not here, not with him. No secrets given freely. “I wanted to experience all the delights of the Neath, such as this-” She outstretched an arm to wave broadly at the den and its denizens. “-uncover all its knowledge, see its sights for myself. I came of my own accord.”

The Diatomist nodded along as she spoke. “I know how you feel..I miss it too. The good and the bad.”

A nod and one last sniffle. “Indeed. It is hard to move beyond that. Though..there is plenty good down here, too.” A cautious smile began to form on her lips at last as she adjusted her hood and leaned back.

A smile formed on his own face, a proper grin. “Good company and algae alike.” He tapped a finger against the arm of his chair. “One day.”

“One day.”

#oc: lilith #fallen london #writing #cloistered diatomist #why is tumblr formatting so WEIRD

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winterscaptain · 4 years ago

Text

an unrivaled force of nature.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: thank you all for taking this ride with me. we’re almost finished, so tell me what you think, how you felt, how you are. i couldn’t do this without you.

words: 3.3k warnings: language, sad

summary: “give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o’er wrought heart and bids it break.” - william shakespeare, macbeth. a eulogy, an offer, a return.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You brush some wayward snow off of Anderson’s coat as he puts his pallbearer gloves on, and one corner of his mouth tips up. “Thanks.”

“Mhmm.”

You have to do something. Staying still and letting your restlessness eat at you right now is not an option.

Will tacitly asks for your help with the little buttons on his pair of gloves, and you secure and smooth them over his wrists. When you’re done, he presses a kiss to your temple before taking his place on the curb.

Derek is crisp and stone-faced, his gloves perfect as he prepares for Haley’s arrival. You cross to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and kissing his cheek. His eyes shut for a second, but otherwise, he doesn’t move.

There’s a tug on the hem of your coat, and you find Jack standing before you. You kneel to his level and needlessly fuss with his collar.

“Are you coming with us?”

You nod. “Yes, my love. I’ll be right there with you and Aunt Jess and Dad.”

He nods and grabs your hand. You keep his fingers tucked into your palm as you stand back up. Aaron’s a little ways off, speaking with the Father before the hearse arrives. You lead Jack to his side, and he absent-mindedly puts a hand on his son’s head.

When you move to give them a little space, Jack holds you fast, so you settle for stepping just off Aaron’s shoulder. Jessica approaches you then, and you hug her with your free arm.

“Thank you for being here,” she whispers. “I know it’s -” Her breath catches. “I know it’s hard.”

You shake your head where it rests on her shoulder. “Anything for you, anything for her.”

She leans back, and you catch Aaron’s final words as the hearse arrives.

“...Thank you, Father. I appreciate it.”

+++

You walk a little in front of Emily, behind Jessica and Aaron. Jack let you go and is walking steadily beside his father. You have no idea where Aaron’s head is, but all you can do is be there, on his six, just like you always are.

The pallbearers set Haley into her place with a reverence that makes you dizzy. Or, maybe that was just the tears already pushing at your eyes or the fact that you couldn’t stomach breakfast.

The Father starts to speak. Jack looks up at you where you stand behind Jessica, and reaches for you. Jess makes some space, and you settle in beside her. Your hand falls to Jack’s shoulder, and Jess tucks her hand into the crook of your arm.

Sooner than you thought possible, Aaron leaves Jess’s other side and pulls his notes from his coat pocket. His hands shake.

“W.S. Gilbert wrote, ‘It's love that makes the world go round.’ And if that's true, then the world spun a little faster with Haley in it.”

How does he always know what to say?

“...Haley was my best friend since we were in high school.”

You’ve thought about it before, and you know you’d think about it again, but the loss of a twenty-five-year friendship makes your heart ache. There’s part of you that wishes you could check out, let your mind drift as you stand in the December chill.

But you can’t. You have to feel this. You need it.

You can’t leave Aaron, Jess, Jack alone in this.

“We certainly had our struggles, but if there's one thing we agreed on unconditionally, it was our love and commitment to our son Jack. Haley's love for Jack was joyous and fierce. That fierceness is why she isn't here today.” He takes a breath. “A mother's love is an unrivaled force of nature.”

He looks around and you meet his eyes. Your sole focus is your breath. He can see it in the cold air, and does his best to match it. It’s your eyes and the eyes of his son keeping him upright today. You nod, and he turns back to his notes.

The whole exchange takes less than a second.

“And we can all learn much from the way Haley lived her life.”

So so much.

“Haley's death causes each of us to stop and take stock of our lives. To measure who we are and what we've become. I don't have all those answers for myself, but I know who Haley was. She was the woman who died protecting the child we brought into this world together. And I will make sure that Jack grows up knowing who his mother was and how she loved and protected him,” he swallows thickly, “and how much I loved her.”

Aaron loves like you’ve never seen before. He’s reserved, quiet about it, but somehow it’s also the most obvious thing about him.

His love is deep and intense and all-consuming.

You see it in the way he watches his son.

You see it in the way he deftly guides victims to safety, making them feel safe on the worst day of their lives.

You see it in the way he takes care of all of you on long days and longer cases, the way he tells you all to get some sleep.

In short, you’ve never once doubted his love for Haley.

You choke back a sob, and you can hear Jess do the same beside you.

He collects himself again. “If Haley were with us today, she would ask us not to mourn her death but to celebrate her life. She would tell us -” His voice breaks along with your heart and he takes another breath.

You can feel Dave shift beside you and you’re not sure what he’s going to do, but you reach for his sleeve, letting go of Jack for just a second. “Let him,” you whisper. He looks at you, nothing but concern in his eyes. You nod. “Let him.”

Dave nods, and you return your hand to Jack’s shoulder.

“She would tell us to love our families unconditionally.” Another crack in his voice, another in your heart. Your tears flow even faster now, your hand shaking where it rests on Jack. “And to hold them close, because in the end, they are all that matter.”

You take stock of your own family. Derek stares straight ahead on the other side of Haley’s casket, but his eyes are misty. JJ is practically a puddle, her lashes wet and blue eyes oddly beautiful - the color brightened by her tears. Emily’s beside her, as is Will with Henry in his arms.

Dave, Spencer, Penelope - all in shambles.

Jessica.

Jack.

Aaron.

Haley.

She’s your family too. You’ll love her for the rest of your life. You’ll love her son. You’ll love her Aaron. You’ll not only love them for yourself, for them, but for her.

Aaron’s right. Family is all that matters.

“I met Haley at the tryouts of our high school's production of The Pirates of Penzance. I found our copy of the play and was looking through it the other night, and I came upon a passage that seemed appropriate for this moment.” He settles himself again with another deep breath. You're proud of him - for breathing, for speaking, for being brave.

You knew there was no way to prepare, but it’s harder than you thought - standing here, listening to Aaron attempt to summarize all that Haley was, is, to him.

Even harder still? Knowing that the last time you spoke to her, embraced her, laughed with her is already behind you.

You look down and your tears fall into the grass. The story of how Haley and Aaron met is one of your favorites. Once, Haley snuck you into the garage and showed you the photos, making you swear that the knowledge will go to your grave.

For you, Haley? Anything. I never need to breathe a word of seventeen-year-old Aaron in tights and a ridiculous hat.

"Oh, dry the glistening tear that dews that martial cheek…”

That’ll be just for us.

“...for, oh, they cannot bear to see their father weep."

+++

“No, not today.” You look across the table at JJ, who stands as her phone rings. “They can’t call us in.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

The next minute or two is tense while you wait for JJ to finish the call. She returns, and you know just by the look on her face you’re not going to like what she has to say.

So, you preempt her. “Tell Strauss they need to send another team.”

She shakes her head. “No other teams available.”

“I’ll get Rossi,” Derek says with a sigh. There’s nothing you can do. He walks out onto the patio and exchanges a few words with Dave and Aaron.

After a minute, Derek and Dave leave Aaron out on the patio. He turns, looking at all of you through the window for a moment before turning his back, resting his elbows against the stone balustrade.

You gather your things, following Emily out into the main foyer, but you lose your breath along the way, your shoulders sinking and your eyes dropping to the floor. Will places a soft hand in the middle of your back.

“You alrigh’?”

You shake your head, pulling a sharp inhale in an effort to keep your tears at bay, and he catches JJ’s wrist. She looks back for just a moment before reaching forward for Derek, tugging a little on his sleeve.

Your acting unit chief turns around, a softness in his dark eyes. The rest of the team is staring at you. An overwhelming feeling of weakness, almost humiliation, falls over you.

Why can they leave him and I can’t?

Derek heaves a sigh and says, “Five minutes,” gesturing with the tiniest dip of his chin. The rest of the team follows him out like a pack of well-trained ducklings. JJ’s hand runs down your arm as she passes, and Will presses a kiss to the side of your head.

Sometimes, you think, Will is a better man than any of you deserve.

You send him a silent thanks and turn on your heel, almost jogging out into the cool night air. It’s more than kind of Derek to release you for even a moment - he doesn’t have to, but you know the role is wearing on him.

The more time you get with Hotch, he figures, the faster he can come back to work.

Aaron hasn’t moved by the time you reach him. You breeze to his side, only slightly out of breath. His scotch sits untouched in front of him, but you can’t fault him for that. Today is not the kind of day that can be blunted by alcohol.

You’re quiet for what feels like a long time, just sharing space with one another.

“You should go,” he says. “The team needs you.”

“I -” You cut yourself off, afraid of sharing too much. There’s so much you could say, so much you need to say. Both to him and to Haley.

You miss her. Even when she was in WITSEC, there was the hope that one day she would be home, ready to greet you with a wide, crooked smile and, if you were lucky, a laugh.

That hope is gone and with it, parts of your life you never thought you’d lose.

Fuck it. Nothing you can say will be wrong.

“I wanted to be with you for another minute before we left.”

Aaron’s quiet, but his shoulders drop just the smallest amount. “Thank you.”

You tip your head to the side, letting it rest on the edge of his shoulder. I wish we didn’t have to leave you.

I know, his sigh says. It’s okay.

Tears spring into your eyes again without prompting. It seems your heart has been breaking since Hotch’s voice first wavered in his eulogy. The grief radiating off him in waves only amplifies your own.

There’s a thickness in his voice as he speaks again. “She really liked you, you know. She -” He clears his throat, a useless endeavor. “She loved you.”

A little smile pulls at your lips and tears leave your eyes - just two - without your permission. “I know.” Quietly, you add, “I love her, too.” The past tense is too painful, so you keep her with you in the present.

“She trusts you with Jack. Always has.” He huffs a humorless laugh. “Can’t even say that for myself.”

There’s nothing you can say to that, but you shake your head. An inaudible, “Yes you can,” leaves you. You know he hears it - the little smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth tells you as much.

Belatedly, you realize it’s probably been more than five minutes, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Can I ask you for something?”

You lean back, looking him in the eye. “Anything.”

“Can you -” He stops, his lip quivering and tears pushing at his eyes. He swallows, his jaw tight, as he collects himself enough to speak without losing it. “Can you help me keep my promise?”

Your brow tugs in the middle. “Which one?”

“All of them,” he says. “I want Jack to know -” He can’t finish, but you watch him. He knows you understand. “I also promised to spend the rest of my life making up for…” He gestures vaguely. “...this.”

You reach toward him, pressing a fervent kiss to his cheek before hooking your chin over his shoulder. You cling desperately to his coat, knowing if you hurt him, he’ll tell you.

He returns your embrace, locking his arms around your back. A whisper leaves you. “Of course.” Now that you’re pressed against him, you’re not sure if you’re shaking or he is, but you only hold him tighter to stem it.

There are no other words exchanged between you as you pull away and meet his eyes. You needlessly smooth his collar.

When you make your way to the door, you turn over your shoulder once more. He’s watching you. “See you when we get home.”

He nods. Be safe.

You offer him the smallest of smiles. Always.

+++

It’s the middle of the night when your phone rings. You answer it before looking, your last name rough as it leaves your mouth.

“It’s Hotch.” His voice is just more than a whisper, but of course, you’d know it anywhere.

You sit up straight in bed, rubbing your eyes. “Are you okay? What’s wrong? Is Jack alright?”

There’s a sigh. “Nothing. I’m...fine. Jack’s asleep here with me, but I just…” He pauses. “I just needed to know you’re okay.”

The tension leaves you as relief floods your system. “Yeah. I’m okay. We’re sleeping in shifts. I’m back on in,” you check the clock on the bedside table, “four hours.”

“Ah,” he says. “I’ll let you sleep then.”

You know he’s about to hang up, but you stop him. “Hotch, wait.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone, so you can only hope he’s listening.

“If you want to stay on for a little while, I can’t promise I’ll stay up, but you don’t have to hang up.”

A heavy exhale sounds in your ear. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You tuck yourself back into bed. “I can talk about nothing, if you want. I’m no Spencer, but I’ve picked up a few of his tricks.”

“Alright,” he says with a quiet laugh. “I don't want to keep you up, but -”

“Oh, please. Let someone take care of you for once, would you?”

There’s a huff followed by silence, so you take your cue. You tell him all about the drive out to the crime scene today - it was a gorgeous, winding road through the Tennessee mountains. There was plenty of snow and the air was crisp and cold.

You skip over the case details, just describing the landscape as best you can. Your yawns come faster than your words after a while, and you figure it’s time to check in.

“Hotch?”

There’s a little shuffle on the other end of the line, and a little hum. That’s good enough for you.

“Goodnight, Aaron.”

Another hum. “Night, sweetheart,” he slurs.

You know he’s barely conscious, but that doesn’t deter the adrenaline rush. You manage a, “Sleep well. I’ll text you in the morning,” before hanging up. You stare at the dark screen of your phone for a moment. The dark is the only thing there to hear your whisper. It listens.

“I love you.”

+++

There’s another call in the late afternoon. You step out to take it. Derek hardly takes a second glance at you as he and the rest of the team continue working.

“Aaron?”

“Hey,” he says. “Strauss just left.”

Your brow crinkles. “What?”

“We did have a meeting scheduled, but she came to the house so I wouldn’t have to take Jack to the office or leave him here.”

“That was...generous.” It was hard to find the word, but you got there eventually.

He sighs. “Yeah, I thought so too.”

“So, what’s up?”

I know you’re not calling me without reason so just spit it out.

“She offered me retirement. Full pension, full benefits.”

Your heart drops and you try to hide the anxiety in your voice. You’re not sure it works. (From his end of the phone, it doesn’t.) “Are you going to take it?”

“That’s the thing -”

You check the team on the other side of the window. Derek taps his watch, and you nod.

“- Jess offered to take Jack whenever I’m away. She wants to.”

You’re speechless. You can’t say you’re surprised, knowing Jess as you do, but it's so big. She’s basically becoming a mother overnight. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Aaron, I’m so sorry -”

“- Get back to the case. I just wanted to tell you because...I don’t know. I’m gonna sleep on it and then figure it out in the morning.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” You check the time. “Kiss Jack goodnight for me, will you?”

“Of course. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” You hang up, neither one of you stuck on pretenses of politeness anymore. You slip back into the room with an apologetic glance at Derek.

Spencer looks back at you. Hotch?

You wave him off. Later.

+++

You're antsy to get off the plane, your knee bouncing, and your lip between your teeth. With Derek’s permission, you fly out of the office like a bat out of hell in the afternoon light, trying to make it before the sun sets.

You know exactly where to find him.

Parking the car, you step out and button your coat against the chill. He’s visible from here, on the bench, with his elbows resting on his knees and his head bowed.

You don’t know this, but of course, he knows you’re coming. He’s not surprised when you sit beside him. He offers you a hand and you take it.

“Have you told her, yet?”

There’s an almost-smile on his face, closer to something you recognize than anything the week prior. “Told her what?”

“That you’re coming back to us. That this team, this work, is who you are?”

His eyes are trained on the temporary marker as he replies. “You know I don’t have to tell her. She already knows.”

You look at him for a second, studying his profile. “I’m proud of you.”

He looks at you, almost doubtful.

With the smallest of smiles, you add, “She’s proud of you, too.” At another questioning glance: “She told me as much, last spring. She’s so proud of you, Aaron.”

He nods with a deliberate slowness and turns his gaze back to Haley. He squeezes your hand.

You squeeze back.

+++

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#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #shut up tali #a joyful future fanfic

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the-cheese-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Makeover ~ Prinxiety

TW: Deadnaming, transphobia, mentions of dysphoria, one use of bad language

Word count: 3148

A/N:

Virgil is mtf and lesbian and Roman is now a girl called Rowan :3

Hope you enjoy this fluffy fic that was actually inspired by a scene from Burlesque.

~ Bre

----------

“Virgil! Can you help your father with something please?” Cringing at her deadname, Vera closed her notebook and stashed it away before calling back to her mother.

“Coming mum!” When she got downstairs, she saw her dad holding up a shelf on the wall and holding out a screwdriver for her.

“Virgil!” She cringed again. “There you are. Come help me with this,” her father said. Taking the screwdriver, she grabbed a few nails from the box and screwed them into place, twisting firmly until they were secure.

Stepping back, she smiled a little at her dad and handed back the tool. “Thanks son. You seem to know the basics, which is great! Diy skills are a great trait to have in a husband. Whoever your wife will be one day will be happy.”

Though she was crying inside, Vera nodded and plastered the best smile she could for her parents before turning around and quickly heading back up to her room. She was on the brink of tears and as soon as she closed her door, she broke down, feeling an overwhelming wave of discomfort and utter hatred for herself and her body wash over her.

Her parents would never understand. How could they? They were cisgender heterosexuals; they could never fully understand the dysphoria people like her had. How damaging it was, how detrimental it could be to her and her mental health and how pronouns were so much bigger and meaningful than mere words.

Knowing she couldn’t take this alone, Vera texted her best friend, Rowan and asked if she could come over. Within seconds, she got a reply and Rowan, being the gracious princess of a girl she was, said that she could.

Grabbing her hoodie, Vera made her way down and out the door, telling her parents where she was going before she left.

“Mum, Dad, I’m going to Rowan’s,” she said as she grabbed her keys from the shelf.

“Okay sweetie! See you later,” her mum replied. For a moment, Vera thought she had survived and quietly exhaled relievedly. But unfortunately, her satisfaction didn’t last long.

“Bye son!” She heard her father call just before she fully closed the door.

And that tipped the scale.

A waterfall of silent tears plummeted down her face as all her pent up feelings of bitterness and disdain crashed down with them. She sobbed soundlessly through the streets all the way to Rowan’s house, her hood hiding her face and tears from everyone who passed.

Those who gave her a small look, whether it be from sympathy or disgust, didn’t bother talking to her, but that was just as well, because she couldn’t deal with social interaction at that moment. All she cared about was reaching Rowan because, as far as she was concerned, she was the only person who would be able to comfort her and know what to do.

Vera considered knocking at the front door, but then she realised that Rowan’s parents might be home, and she definitely didn’t want them seeing her in her ruined state. So she climbed in through the window, as she usually did, because if you don’t go into your best friend’s home through the window, are you guys even best friends?

Hearing rustling outside, Rowan smirked and turned around on her chair after she heard her window open.

“Really? Coming in through the window? Why did you need to put in all that effort when you could have just simply walked through the door…” Rowan’s voice trailed off once she saw Vera’s tear stained cheeks and messy hair through her purple plaid-pattern patched hood.

“Virgil?” She instantly ran forward and hugged her.

Vera knew she meant well, but Rowan accidentally deadnaming her only brought forward more tears to the table and she broke down in her friend’s arms.

They sank to the floor, Rowan holding her the whole time and when they eventually pulled away from the hug, Rowan took Vera’s hands in her own and lowered her hood.

“Hey, hey,” Rowan said softly, rubbing the back of Vera’s hands with her thumb, then wiping away a few tears from her cheeks. “What’s wrong hun?”

Looking down at their hands, Vera stared at them and blushed a bit at the feeling of Rowan’s gentle, ever-comforting touch on her skin. She gazed up at the gorgeous girl in front of her and shook like a leaf as she considered telling her best friend her biggest secret.

Revealing to Rowan what Vera had been wanting to tell her for so long could potentially put a strain on their friendship and Vera had such a strong bond with Rowan - she didn’t want to lose it. But she figured that one day, Rowan would find out the truth, so why not now, when they were in their teen years and could still live life to the fullest?

“I…” Vera began and Rowan leaned in in anticipation. “I was… deadnamed.” Holding her breath, Vera anxiously glanced up at her friend through her bangs. Rowan’s expression was unreadable at first, but then a confused look was painted across her face.

“Deadnamed… but that’s what happens when-” she mumbled, then cut herself off, realising what Vera had just told her. She stared at her with wide eyes. “Are you saying that… that-”

Vera nodded, bucket loads of tears springing through her eyes. “I’m trans.”

She cried into her palms and braced herself for the worst, knowing what Rowan’s reaction would be.

‘You’re trans? How can you be trans? You were born a boy so you’ll stay a boy.”

“Trans? But you’re 16 you’re just confused. Give it a few more years you’ll grow out of it,”

“Are you sure you aren’t just interested in girl stuff?”

“How can you expect me to just suddenly use these pronouns for you now? Do you know how hard that is?”

She would be just like her parents and then she would lose everyone. Her loved ones, her friends and most likely her home. Frantic thoughts churned around her mind as she quietly cried.

‘I’ll be homeless, unloved, forgotten, discarded, abandoned I’ll never-’

A pair of warm arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her in for a kind embrace, halting her train of worries. Weeping into her friend’s shoulder, Vera allowed Rowan to hold her, stroke her hair and comfort her, washing away all her negative thoughts with a single touch.

“I’m so sorry I deadnamed you. You’re no more different to me than you were before. I still see you and view you exactly the same,” said Rowan in a soft voice, calming Vera’s frenzied nerves. “You’re my best friend and I’d never trade for even the biggest diamond in the world, even though that’s already you.”

Taking Vera’s face in her hands, Rowan wiped away more tears from her cheeks and this time, they finally stopped falling. There was a beat of silence. Vera hung her head and steadied herself and her breathing.

“Do you have a new name?” asked Rowan after she saw Vera compose herself.

“Yeah,” she answered, fidgeting with her hands. “It’s Vera.”

Rowan gasped and smiled, placing a hand to her chest. “Girl, that’s a gorgeous choice.”

Hearing Rowan nickname her ‘Girl’ sparked a new and welcome feeling in Vera. It felt freeing, ecstatic, joyous and her whole soul was more jubilant than it ever had been before.

It’s funny how much one small word can affect a person.

“Thanks,” she beamed. “I wanted to choose something unique and interesting. ‘Vera’ just stood out to me.”

“And it fits you like a glove,” Rowan added almost instantly, without any hesitation. Blushing, Vera looked down and hid her face.

“You can still call me Vee though. I always liked that nickname,” she said, laughing softly.

“Whatever you want, Vera,” said Rowan, smiling and Vera delightfully grinned back. Suddenly, Rowan’s face fell and raised a hand to her cheek. “Oh no. Your concealer and eye shadow’s wiping away…”

“It’s nothing, just makeup I’ll live,” Vera chuckled softly, holding Rowan’s hand on her face.

“Nothing? Nothing?? Makeup is more than just nothing. It makes us feel dazzling, beautiful, stunning and just downright gorgeous.” Raising her hands and moving them flamboyantly, Rowan stood up and walked to her drawers and opened the top one. She seemed to be searching for something, Vera noticed, hearing the rustles and movement.

“Hmm,” Rowan hummed quietly. Vera tilted her head, intrigued.

“What’s up?”

“I’m running low on eyeshadow and other makeup supplies.”

“Wait, didn’t you just buy some new ones 2 months ago?” asked Vera. Rowan just went silent.

“Your point being?” she eventually replied, turning around with her hands on her hips and Vera giggled. Smiling at her laugh, Rowan then grabbed a bag from her chair - that was unsurprisingly already packed - and took her best friend’s hand.

“Where are we going?”

“Out. I’m giving you a makeover,” Rowan said with a smirk, before pulling Vera out the door with her.

After she grabbed her keys and said goodbye to her parents, the two girls walked to the town centre, discussing Vera’s sense of style along the way. Rowan seemed to understand her preferences and when they arrived at the mall, she got to work straight away buying all the clothes that would look great on her.

“Vee look at this!” Holding up a black skirt, Rowan showed it to her friend, who beamed at the sight of it.

“Ro I love it!” She then lowered it to her waist to measure.

“It seems like it’s your size. Wanna try it on?” All of a sudden, Vera’s anxiety spiked. It was then that she remembered that, though she was a girl, she still looked like a boy to those around her.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean…” she gestured to herself and Rowan’s eyes softened in sympathy. Gently, she held Vera’s shoulders.

“I understand Vee. I’m not gonna ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with yet. We can just try it on back at my place,” she reassured comfortingly in a soft voice, melting Vera’s heart and walls. She blushed and smiled back, then Rowan held up the skirt. “So we’re getting it?” she asked eagerly and Vera nodded.

After around an hour and a half later of shopping, Vera looked down at the three bags they had. They didn’t buy a lot, since she had found a way to reuse most of her old clothes, but purchased a decent amount of new, more feminine clothes. To finish their shopping spree, they were lastly going to buy some makeup for them both.

But Vera felt a little guilty seeing that Rowan had spent all her savings on her. She knew that Rowan wouldn’t want her too, but she couldn’t help it.

“Hey Ro?” Vera said. Rowan hummed in response and turned her head. “I appreciate all of this, I do. But you really didn’t need to bother yourself so much with me-”

“Ahem? Back. The hell. Up.” Rowan suddenly stopped in her tracks and raised her free hand, pointing up her index finger. Vera couldn’t stop the smile etching onto her face from her amusing actions as she turned around to her. (She had stopped a couple steps ahead.) Rowan was always an extravagant queen; Vera didn’t know why she didn’t expect this to happen.

“I very much did need to bother myself with you,” Rowan stated, taking a few paces forward towards her. “This shopping session was to help get your mind off all the current shit happening in your life, since it’s not fair that it’s all happening to you. I’m here to help build your confidence, however I can, and obviously clothes play a big role in it.” She held up the bag she was holding and Vera chuckled. However, her face quickly fell.

“But.. your money-”

“Was well spent. Whatever I was saving up for doesn’t matter anymore and in actual fact I can’t remember what it was, nor do I even care now! All I know is that I spent it well and on a beautiful, gorgeous, caring, sweet girl,” said Rowan, emphasising the word ‘girl’ and making Vera beam. She hugged her friend tighter than she ever had before and when she pulled away, a bold thought suddenly crossed her mind as their eyes met, but she hastily swiped it away.

“Come on.” Rowan took her hand and led her to their last store. “Let’s finish our shopping session.”

***

“Are you done yet?” Rowan called from outside her room. Vera was inside, trying on the clothes they had bought and this was her final outfit. She was so excited to see her new friend in all her gorgeous glory and Vera had teased that this was definitely her favourite clothing combination. Rowan waited impatiently for her, tapping her feet and leaning against the door.

“Almost!”

After around 15 more seconds, Vera finally said, “Alright! You can come in now!” and Rowan wasted no time in opening the door. She gasped and froze in shock and awe.

“Vera… you look so marvellous,” she said, barely any louder than a whisper. Vera had managed to steal her breath away, merely by just standing there.

She wore a purple, oversized printed t-shirt accompanied by the black and white grid skirt they saw earlier. A pair of black lace-up boots sat at her feet and black mesh tights covered her legs, and to top it all off, Vera wore a few silver chains around her neck, accentuating her whole look and a couple of silver earrings too.

To put it simply, Rowan was starstruck.

“Thanks,” Vera said shyly, looking down to hide her burning blush. “I wish my hair was a little longer though.” Blowing a few chocolate strands out of her view, Vera reached up a twirled a couple as Rowan took some steps closer.

“I think you’d look exquisite either way and, to be honest, I kinda prefer this look more with a pixie cut. It suits you,” she said with a sweet smile, which Vera returned.

“Thank you Ro.”

Rowan then pulled her over to her bed and sat her down as she searched in their bags for their newest makeup items. She handed Vera a brush and her concealer and foundation, but Vera pushed them back.

“Actually, can you do it this time? It’s not that I’m uncomfortable or anything, but I just wanted you to do it, “ she said innocently, gazing up with wide eyes.

“U-uh. Sure. Okay,” Rowan stuttered. Gingerly, she reached up and brushed Vera’s hair out of her face, their eyes momentarily locking, then gave her a headband to wear. “What do you want?” she asked after Vera had put it on.

“Um, I dunno. Surprise me,” Vera winked and Rowan smirked, then set to work.

The two played Disney songs as Rowan worked and sang to their hearts’ content, but occasionally smudged a few aspects of the look in doing so. Rowan didn’t mind though. As long as they were having fun, she didn’t mind if Vera accidentally messed it up a thousand times. As long as she got to see her smile.

When she was finished, Rowan got a mirror and handed it to Vera. “Take a look.” And she did, gasping quietly as she admired her eyeshadow and most of all, her lips. They were a kind of ombre tone - lined black and gradually fading into a subtle burgundy red.

“Jee-muh-nattie Ro, you really outdid yourself here. Colour me impressed!”

“Thanks Vee,” Rowan grinned. “The lipstick should be dry by now.” She then started tidying her things and packing up her brushes and new palette, storing them back in their drawer. Vera was still admiring her appearance in Rowan’s full-body mirror when she finished cleaning up. Truth be told, Rowan loved how much Vera was loving her looks and who she saw in the mirror. It wasn’t every day that she was so confident, and Rowan was so glad to see a shift in her self-esteem.

“You look absolutely stunning, you know,” she complimented as she sat back down on her bed, making Vera’s face instantly flush.

“Thank you Ro, for everything you’ve done for me today,” Vera said as she joined her.

“Ah, it was nothing,” Rowan waved it away, but Vera shook her head.

“No, seriously. You don’t know how much it’s helped me.” She took her friend’s hands in her own. “I don’t know what I would do without you, I’m not sure what I would have done in that moment if you weren’t there to help me. Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart Ro, for all you’ve done since day one.”

Tilting her head slightly, Rowan smiled kindly at her best friend, feeling her face heart up the longer she stared. “And thank you for being the incredibly charming little cherub you are!” she replied, booping Vera’s nose and causing her to giggle.

Her expression soon turned to concern however, as she remembered that Vera didn’t actually live with her (unfortunately). “Vera, what are you going to do when you get home? Won’t your parents think spitefully when they see you like this?”

Looking down, Vera furrowed her eyebrows worriedly, all the while grasping Rowan’s hands. “I’m not sure. I don’t really know what I’m gonna do, because they obviously are too scared to accept me.” Rowan nodded understandably. “But, right now I just want to focus on now, and being here with you and spending the best minutes of my life with you.”

“As do I,” replied Rowan, raising Vera’s knuckles up to her lips and kissing them softly, flustering her.

Then their eyes locked, again, and they lost themselves in each other’s eyes. Suddenly the world was still and quiet, the wind stopped blowing and the room around them faded away. And before they knew it, they were kissing.

It was sweet and juvenile, like them, and their lips moved perfectly together, fitting flawlessly like pieces in a puzzle. Rowan raised a hand to Vera’s cheek, slowly sliding it down to her neck, whilst Vera grabbed her opposition’s waist, pulling her in closer ever-so-gently.

After a couple minutes they pulled away, muted by shock and the butterflies dancing in their stomachs. Rowan was the one to break the silence, laughing breathlessly and grinning, Vera soon doing the same. She hesitantly looked up, their eyes meeting again and Rowan grazed a tender hand on her cheek, which Vera leaned into.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” she said lovingly, completely entranced. “Be my girlfriend?”

“Of course!” Vera replied excitedly, almost instantly and lunged at Rowan, encasing her in a hug but causing them to tumble off the bed and onto the floor in a laughing heap.

#sanders sides #fanfic #sanders sides fanfic #brewrites #virgil sanders #roman sanders #prinxiety #hurt/comfort

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spectrumed · 3 years ago

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7. identity

The aesthetic of suffering, the allure of victimhood, it’s important to acknowledge that to many people, the idea of struggling with mental illness is hot. A common trope in teen dramas is the existence of the sexy bad boy haunted by demons of depression or addiction or some other psychological malady. Women with mental illness tend to be sexualised, less, but then again, women are most typically always sexualised, no matter the state of their mental health. But it’s not just a case of some people finding mental illness to be attractive in others, many see mental illness in themselves as something to take pride in, to celebrate and nurture. To seek out a diagnosis, to infiltrate communities that exist to provide support to those in need, and to declare themselves as being special. Fakers, you could call them. Yes, we’re going to be entering into dangerous grounds here, talking about a potentially incendiary topic that might feed the flames of controversy, but it’s a topic worth discussing. Self-diagnosis. Is self-diagnosis valid or not? Should one self-diagnose? Is it ableism to be against self-diagnosis? Is it ableism to be for self-diagnosis? Is it ableism itself ableist? I don’t know, sweetheart, you are asking a whole bunch of questions and I am hungover… But let’s go on rambling about what it means to be labelled neurodivergent.

Do you have an identity? Do you root for a particular sports team? Do you like a particular kind of music? Do you dance a lot? Are you a dancer? What are you? Simply stating that you’re just “a human” probably won’t do. Sure, it’s correct, but I am also a human, and we could be two very different kinds of people. Your identity should be that certain something that makes you stand apart from the rest, that distinguishes you from the squirming mass of flesh that is the whole of humanity. There are plenty of things about you that do figure in your identity, even though you wish it didn’t. You’re black, you don’t wish to always be “that black guy over there,” but you’ve come to realise that’s just how society views you. Maybe you are a transwoman, and you very eagerly want your friend to stop introducing you as her “trans bestie.” You’re just a woman, you don’t need her to keep labelling you as trans, even though that's what you are. There are many ways we can change our identity through direct personal action. Maybe you could start wearing a hat, and be known as “that hat guy” to the people you work with. Maybe you could embrace a punk aesthetic, looking like young Johnny Rotten stepped into a time machine and got transported to the current day. Actions like these can have a big or small impact on how others see you, but it feels good to be able to make a decision like that and get a response. This is me, this is what I am. I’m the guy who wears bow-ties, don’t I look cool? If only shaping your sense of self always came down to personal decisions like that. You don’t always have a choice.

I’ve lately been watching some Conan O’Brien (American TV talk show host who’s recently decided not to be a TV talk show host) clips. I am sure I don’t need to explain who Conan O’Brien is to my readers, but just in case this is being read by aliens ten-thousand years from now, what I can tell you is that Conan O’Brien is well known for being freakishly tall. Like, really tall. He’s an elongated leprechaun. He’s turned being tall into one of his trademarks. Like many comedians, he’s come to use his corporeal form as a source for levity and fun. While, naturally, the man did not choose to grow as tall as he did, he’s come around to use his height not as a hindrance to success, but rather as an asset. He’s “that tall irish guy on the TV,” and he’s been that person for nearly thirty years. It pays to have some distinguishing feature if you wish to be distinguished. Mr. Joe Average might be perfectly funny and charming, but being an average-looking guy can be wholly detrimental in making a career for yourself as a funnyman. At least get yourself some weird voice, or something. Maybe pretend to be some foreigner and put on a fake accent. As a comedian your job is to be exploited, you wish to be made into a commodity to be sold. People will want to watch your special because of that funny face you pull in the thumbnail. To be different can be financially lucrative.

What’s the best approach in turning something that could be perceived as an abnormal feature into something that is beneficial to you? To make jokes about it? Certainly, if I were to meet a man with a heavily scarred face, I feel there’d likely be a tension between me and him that could be dispelled if that man with the heavily scarred face made some little joke about his appearance, some little quip. “I’m sorry, I cut myself shaving this morning,” would do. The person isn’t obliged to justify his existence to me, he does not have to go out of his way to make me feel less uncomfortable. I am the one in the wrong, certainly. I shouldn’t look at a person with a heavily scarred face and feel uncomfortable, that’s me letting prejudices get in the way, I know that. But, it is what it is. If you’re looking for a practical solution, telling people to simply get over themselves and learn to not be so awkward around folks with physical deformities won’t do. It may be the right thing, but it’s not going to happen any time soon. I am sure that the man with the heavily scarred face isn’t interested in being defined by his heavily scarred face. He's probably sick and tired of that little joke, and wish he didn’t have to make it. But it does the job. Suddenly, you are not looking at something to be feared, the other, you are looking at a person, and someone with a sense of humour. The importance of humour in eradicating stigma, making it possible for the ostracised to enter in society, cannot be understated. Through humour, you can convince most everyone that you are someone worthy of inclusion, because… well, you’re just a funny guy, who doesn’t wanna hang out with you?

For those who have grown up not feeling normal, worrying that there are aspects of your character that others may perceive as unwanted, the yearning to be liked can at times become excruciating. I like to consider myself a funny person, while this blog isn’t intended to be a humorous one, occasionally small little jokes will squirm their way to the top, like worms coming up to the surface during a rainstorm. I am also a cartoonist, and produce a new cartoon every other day. My humour isn’t universal, no good humour ever is universal, but it’s done good in getting some folks to like me. Some people want to be admired, some people want to be feared. I only want to be liked. The one thing I absolutely do not want to be is pitied. I don’t want your pity, I fear your pity.

You’re probably familiar with The Sims, right? It’s a life simulation game, where you control a little digital human, known as a sim, and try to help them make the right decision through life. Each sim has a number of meters that measures their current needs. Hunger, hygiene, energy, if they need to urinate or defecate (though, frankly, the distinction between the two isn’t made in the game, so one can assume that sims are like birds and have just one cloaca that does both,) and so on. One of these meters is for social activities. If a sim hasn’t been social in a while, they go nutty. What’s interesting here, the reason why I bring it up, is that in real life, though we all (to a lesser or greater degree) crave to socialise with others, what kind of socialising you do is of a very big importance. There are a myriad of ways in which one can be social, and depending on your needs at the time, one kind of socialising may not do, whereas another kind of socialising may be just what you need. Do you want to hang out with your pals, cracking jokes and maybe drinking a couple of beers? Do you want to have a serious conversation with your partner about what you wish to accomplish together? Do you want to play with your dog? These different social situations scratch different parts of your mind, and you can’t just substitute one for the other and think that’s all alright. A person may have tonnes of friends, lots of buddies to spend their time with, but they may still desperately be yearning for another kind of social interaction, one that none of their friends can deliver. The human need for company is more complex than how it is depicted in The Sims… which, to be fair, probably shocks nobody. The Sims doesn’t pretend that it’s some highly realistic simulation of real life, it’s a game meant to be played for fun. But what’s important here is the fact that while humans do have a need to be social, how that need is fed changes dramatically on the person, and their conditions. Socialising that may bring comfort to one person, may bring discomfort to another person.

I don’t want you to pity me. I may list my diagnoses, I may tell you of the difficulties that I face in life, but I do not want you to feel sorry for me. I want you to be entertained reading this, I don’t want to make you weep thinking about how cruel life can be. I don’t want you thinking I’m special, or different, because of my diagnoses. I want you to think I’m special and different because of my writing. Sure, this blog is about living with autism spectrum disorder, but I don’t want you reading this blog just because it’s about autism spectrum disorder. I want you to read this because, while it is about a diagnosis you are interested in learning more about, you also find what I write to be well-written and at times, mildly humorous. This blog isn’t my rabid manifesto detailing all the ways my life sucks, and what must be done by society to appease me. Nah, I’m doing relatively fine, don’t feel bad for me, please. I don’t want that kind of attention. I do want attention, I won’t lie and tell you that I don’t have an ego, or that I don’t get pleased seeing people like the things I put out there. I do have a social need, it’s just that being pitied does not do it for me. It doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel bad. It makes me feel sad. It really makes me feel mad.

We’re finally getting around to the topic I promised I would discuss. Self-diagnosis. A principal concern people have with self-diagnosis is that people only self-diagnose in order to receive pity from others. The difference between someone like me, who’s got a proper official diagnosis, and someone who is self-diagnosed, is that I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to fetishise my diagnosis, this thing about me that I did not choose to be. I don’t want special favours just because of my diagnosis, I don’t want to be known as “that cartoonist with autism.” I am autistic, I’ve come to accept that, but I don’t want anyone to introduce me as “their friend who’s on the spectrum.” Some may accuse me of self-loathing, treating being autistic like some bad thing that I am ashamed of. But that’s not it. After all, I did start this blog to discuss what it is like. I just don’t want to be defined by this certain something that lies outside of my control. I don’t want it to be my “thing.” I don’t mind being referred to as a hairy cartoonist, because I am pretty hairy. I don’t want to cut my hair any time soon (especially with this plague going around.) No-one would pity me just because I am hairy. At most they may regard me as a good-for-nothing beatnik, and I’m okay with that. Ideally, I still want to be liked, but anything is better than being pitied. To be pitied is to be robbed of your own agency, your own potential. Sure, it gets you that attention you may be craving, but at the cost of infantilization. Autistic people often struggle with being infantilized by society, to the point where some folks don’t even realise that there are autistic grown-ups in the world. Anyone who would voluntarily seek out a diagnosis just to be pitied, well… it doesn’t sit right with me. It makes me, quite frankly, feel demoralised.

But not all people self-diagnose just to get pity from others, right? For some it’s genuinely their only option, likely living in a barely-functioning country like the United States where receiving psychiatric care is expensive and it’s just not something they can afford. It’s unfair of me to phrase self-diagnosing as just a quest to receive pity, it’s way more complicated than that. And yes, I’d have to agree. To know all the reasons why a person may self-diagnose, you have to go personally ask them. Even if it is possible to highlight a few certain trends, things that they all have in common, it’s bound to be impossible to make this one sweeping generalisation to explain everything. All I am saying is that there absolutely are those people who do self-diagnose with the explicit goal of getting pitied. Whether they are knowingly faking their condition or not, to them, being pigeonholed as a person with autism isn’t at all a negative. It’s their identity. It is how they have chosen to let the world see them. They made a choice. They chose this label. This is why many people who have official diagnoses are sceptical of those who've only got a self-diagnosis. Whether your self-diagnosis is accurate or not, in the end, you chose to identify yourself with it. You made a decision, oblivious of the fact that many people don’t get to make that kind of a decision, and they may bear resentment for how you are turning something they’ve faced ostracization for, into what is potentially on the same level as listening to a certain kind of music, or being a supporter of a sports team. A diagnosis is not something you should choose to have.

There are other things to say about self-diagnosis. First of all, it can be dangerous. Some of the diagnoses I’ve seen people give themselves are really serious, things like personality disorders or psychosis. Psychiatrists are very careful when putting these kinds of labels on people, knowing the harm that it can do. A diagnosis is meant to only be given after careful deliberation, and after long conversations with the patient. Psychiatrists know that reducing a person to a set of symptoms can have detrimental effects to that person’s sense of self. If you’re trying to cling on to a diagnosis, seeing it as a major part of your identity, then that may hamper any attempts you make to become a better person, to improve your mental health. You will feel as if you need to correspond to the exact specifications of the disorder, and you will not allow yourself to grow naturally as a complicated human being, a human being whose internal life is far too vast to be fully rounded up with some psychiatric jargon. There are plenty of things about me that do not line up with the diagnostic criteria for autism spectrum disorder, and guess what, that’s quite good actually. It doesn’t mean that I don’t have autism, I very much do, but I realise that as a person, I am more than just my diagnosis. The diagnosis does not define me, I define the diagnosis. If you self-diagnose, do you comprehend all that you are getting yourself into? Are you going to find yourself in psychological traps that will only serve to worsen your mental health? It’s hard to look at yourself objectively, you could easily be misrepresenting yourself inside your own mind. You may effectively be locking parts of yourself away, making it so you are no longer able to see the full you. You will no longer be all there, you will be segmented in favour of upholding the defining marks of a diagnosis that doesn’t suit you.

Instead of self-diagnosing, try doing a self-assessment. Keep in mind that, while you may have this diagnosis, it’s too early to say for sure. You’re going to need somebody else’s input. You’ll need to sit with it for a while to see if it sticks. Keep an open mind, realise that there’s no easy way to explain exactly who you are, or what you are like. It’s very possible that you will come to realise that you are in fact autistic, or have whatever other diagnosis you may suspect describes you. I, after all, came to the conclusion that I was autistic before I got the diagnosis (though, I was going to therapy at that point, and I was on the way to undergo a neuropsychiatric evaluation.) It’s not bad to try and get to understand yourself, don’t come out of this thinking that self-reflection is only possible with a psychiatrist looming over you, telling you how to think about things. We all need to come to certain conclusions over how we self-identify, and sometimes you need to take mental leaps to explain certain things. Just don’t feel as if your best option is to put a label on yourself that can potentially negatively affect your psychological well-being. If you are truly searching for understanding, if your goal is to find out more about yourself, you should act with caution and concern for what you are doing. If all you are looking for is to have people pity you, then… well… I don’t know what to say, really…

#neurodivergent #neurodiversity #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health #diagnosis

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pikemoreno · 5 years ago

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if you ever wanna be in love

Chapter I: Coffee Cures All Ills

a/n: Here it is folks! The first part of a Marcus fic heavily inspired by the Netflix rom-com Set It Up.

It’s more structurally and conceptually inspired and not an exact scene-for-scene remake because a) I was interested in the idea of this not even really being an AU. This is extremely canon-compliant and you’ll see more of that as we continue on. 😏And b) because I had lots of ideas that spun off from watching Set It Up that I just liked better for the purpose of this fic. So that’s what you can expect. It’s gonna be cheesy and fun and great.

The first couple of chapters are a lot of, well, set up (which has been infuriating). But we’ll get into the meat of it soon. My outline says so.

As a side note, a lot of the gifs I’m going to be using are from the movie, but these are not my face claims for any of the characters. I’m using them simply for the ~vibe~ of the chapter. Reader is not a small white girl... Or she might be. She is you. Or whatever OC you’d like her to be. Period.

And that’s it. Let’s go, I guess.

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 2k (probably one of the shortest chapters we’re gonna see out of the 14-ish lolz)

warnings: none, and i don’t expect there to really be any serious ones in upcoming chapters either. this is just fun.

Marcus Pike never wanted to fall in love.

He’d seen what it had done to him in failed relationships including everything up to a failed marriage. Some would argue that it wasn’t love then, that love doesn’t fail, so it couldn’t have been. But he disagreed. He knows it when it hits. It comes on you like lightning, bright and fast. You accept it, letting it run through your veins, and risk suffering a fatal blow to your heart. And it most definitely can fatally fail. It can cause joy and pain in equal measure. He’d already been struck so painfully once, the blow of the electricity going straight to his heart. He was beginning to hope to the high heavens that he wouldn’t be so unlucky as to be struck a second time, just in case it should reach his heart so painfully once more.

Marcus Pike never wanted to fall in love.

He felt that especially strongly as he watched Adrian go through his recent break-up. He felt for his fellow agent, he really did. Adrian was completely convinced Sam was the one, sold to the point of going ring shopping soon. But one brief mention of an engagement sent Sam running for the hills. He’d been moping around the office for a couple of weeks now and, as much as Marcus understood the pain, he was already really looking forward to Adrian’s rebound or some similar distraction. He was needing his friend’s signature fire back right about now, not to mention his focus. His work had gotten sloppy in this mourning period. He was constantly distracted. Marcus was dreading getting him on this case today, but maybe it was just the push he needed. He hoped. He stepped up to Adrian’s desk, watching the glazed over look in his eye.

“Hey, Adrian, do you mind getting a head start on this? I’d really like you to be our head man on--” he slid the file onto his desk, but was cut short by Adrian’s response. A response that had nothing to do with anything Marcus had just said.

“I’m gonna die alone,” he muttered, hands supporting his chin, elbows on his desk. Marcus let out an exasperated sigh that he didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re not gonna die alone,” he played along once again, rubbing his temple.

“Maybe I’ll go be a monk. They never have to worry about this shit.”

“An honorable profession.”

“Yeah.” Adrian blinked out of his dream-like state. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” Marcus nodded rigidly. “Sorry, Pike.” He opened the file, nodding slowly, “Yeah, I’ll get on this.”

“You look exhausted,”

“I am,” he admitted sheepishly.

“I’m making a break room run to get coffee, you want one?”

“Please.” Marcus nodded his understanding and made his way down the hall to the break room. He doubted a case and a coffee could get his friend back on track, but he could hope, right?

***

If you had to listen through one more of Wendy’s mood swings, you might just scream. You love the girl, you really do. She’s your friend and the best boss you could’ve asked for, but Lord Almighty, had she been in rare form. Some days she was perfectly fine, strutting around like she didn’t care that her asshole boyfriend Daniel gave her an ultimatum instead of a ring on their last anniversary. Other days would see her doing a complete 180, shutting herself in her office and weeping into suspect files. Your least favorite days, though, were days where the heartbreak made her angry, where thinking about Daniel saying “It’s me or your job” made her border-line vengeful. But, unfortunately for you and the rest of the team, he wasn’t around to take the beating.

You couldn’t say you entirely understood. The short catalog of even shorter flings that you boasted brought largely apathy rather than heartbreak. You couldn’t say you’d ever been in love like Wendy had been. You’d never felt anything quite that strong-- and thank goodness for that. It wasn’t something you particularly looked forward to, at least, not the way you’d seen it lately. It was an uncontrollable force, dangerous and all-consuming. You liked control, liked being in your right mind. If love was to take up it's unfortunate residence, you could only hope it was for someone worth losing your mind over. You hadn’t seen anyone of the sort so far.

Unfortunately, it was already too late for Wendy Harrod. The already intimidating head of the Jewelry & Gem Theft Program in Texas was in rare form. You watched as an HR intern ran from her office in near tears. Poor Randy. Her sharp “come in” in response to your knock on her door made you wince.

“Harrod, I have the results of that house search you requested if you--”

“No, no! Absolutely not, I cannot handle this right now,” she was absolutely raging, leaving you grasping at straws for a response.

“I-- Uh-- Of course. I’ll just leave it right here whenever--” you placed it gently on the end table by the door before being interrupted again.

“Ughhhhh,” she groaned out before flopping into her desk chair, the red leather creaking as she let sit spin her around once, “I’m sorry. I’m being mean.” There was your Wendy.

“Just a little.”

“Sorry, sorry. Bring that here please.”

“What can I do for you? As your friend, I mean. You--” you weighed your words carefully as you hand her the report, “You haven’t quite been yourself since…” you stopped that thought, “Well, lately.” She sighed, shaking her head.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I need,” she began to skim the report before looking back up with you with a tight lipped smile, “Maybe a coffee? For the more immediate problems anyway.” You laughed.

“Now that I can do. I’m headed there now. Break room coffee ok?”

“That’d be perfect.”

“The usual?”

“The usual.” She yelled after you as you walk down the hall, “You’re an angel!”

She wasn’t gonna be saying that when you came back without coffee.

The sign on the coffee pot reading “out of coffee” was going to seriously ruin your reputation and Wendy’s sensitive mood. You ran through the options: you couldn’t leave to get her a Starbucks; there were some bottled iced coffees in the fridge, but Wendy hated them; you could wait for someone to make a run at lunch and pass on the order, but this was too urgent. Then it hit you. Everyone knew the sixth floor had the better coffee stock anyway. The art freaks loved their fancy stuff. You could always just waltz down a floor and snag two cups from their stash. 5 minutes in and out. No harm done, no questions asked.

Or so you thought.

The sixth floor break room was already occupied when you walked in, finding another agent also brewing a morning cup in a single cup coffee maker.

They really did have everything here: multiple pots, another much fancier looking machine that looked like it might come to life and attack at any moment, recyclable coffee cups, every type of creamer. You name it.

You’d have to sneak over here more often.

You stepped up to the larger coffee pot, rinsing out the carafe before reaching for the container of grounds. Empty.

They had everything here. Except coffee.

Was the whole damn building in a coffee famine? You didn’t have time to check.

“No, no, no, no,” you panicked, frantically searching the cabinet for another container. In your peripheral you could see the other agent look at you like you’d grown two heads. You couldn’t be bothered with his judgement, but you met his eyes to ask, maybe a little too frantically.

“Is that the last of it?” you questioned, eyeing the cup he was brewing.

“Well, yeah, sorry.” It was obvious he meant it, but apologies were not what you were needing right now.

“Shit.”

“Withdrawals?” he laughed a little at your panicked state, but it wasn’t demeaning. He was genuinely amused, and maybe a little concerned, but it made you narrow your eyes at him all the same. You were not in the mood for the mocking, no matter how light-hearted it may be. No matter how much it was softened by the bright smile next to you.

“It’s not for me. It’s for my boss. My very upset boss who needs just one small ounce of joy in her life right now. The kind of joy that can only come from the fueling of her caffeine addiction, so if I could please just have that cup?” You blinked at him innocently, but his dark brown eyes widened as he shook his head

“What? No. I have a friend who needs this. If I don’t bring him this, he won’t be working for the rest of the day.”

“If I don’t bring my boss a cup of coffee in the next two minutes, I will probably not be working again. Ever. I will be dead. Do you want to be complicit in a murder, Agent--” you glanced at his badge, “Pike? Can you really live with that?”

“You’re awfully dramatic aren’t you?”

“I wish it was an exaggeration.” He inspected your badge then too.

“Jewelry and Gem Theft. Floor 7, right? What brings you down here to steal our coffee?” The argument was pointed, but his demeanor was anything but. He was smiling, enjoying this. A little too much, you seethed. You couldn’t stand around arguing all day.

“We’re out too.”

“Try another floor?”

“Time is of the essence here, Art Squad.” There was no room for addressing him politely now, he was riling you up on purpose.

“If you didn’t stand here arguing with me you could’ve tried another floor by now, Jewels.”

He must think he’s so clever.

“Please. This is DEFCON 5.”

“You do know DEFCON 5 is the good one, right?”

“You know what I mean. Please.” He looked at you and then the newly brewed cup, biting the inside of his cheek, thinking through the problem.

“Tell you what. I am willing to split this if you are. Maybe it’s enough to fix both of them.” The crease between his eyebrows was deep as he studied your face, “I know Adrian is too out of it to notice he’s getting jipped, not sure about your boss.” You shrugged.

“Wendy will manage. It’s enough to keep her from throwing something at my head next time I walk in.” He dutifully split the coffee between two of the recyclable travel cups and handed one to you. You took it gratefully.

“I hope this keeps you from… Dying? What’s up with that anyway?” You’re not sure what made this person that was essentially a stranger so interested in your life, but something about it feels nice.

“She had a really bad breakup: anniversary, thought it was going to be a proposal, instead it was him being a piss-baby. She’s a little all over the place right now. They’d been together for years and now there’s just… A hole. She doesn’t know how to deal with it.” Pike’s nod in response is emphatic, giving the cup in his hand a little wave.

“Same with him. Terrible breakup. He didn’t see it coming at all. She broke up with him on a voicemail… Then moved. ‘Course it just put him in this crazy funk, though. Doesn’t wanna work or do much of anything. No violence. Yet. But it’s sad to see.” You winced.

“That’s a rough one. Best of luck with him, Art Squad. Thank you. I owe you one. Seriously.”

“You definitely do, Jewels.” His smile is blindingly bright as he jokes. It makes you smile back.

“See you around.”

series taglist: @whiskeyslasso @ahopelessromanticwritersworld

forever tags: @acomplicatedprofession @hdlynn @makaela27 @space-floozy @catfishingmorales @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @princessbatears @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @findhimfives

#im not in love with this first chapter but hey!#gotta start somewhere #marcus pike x reader #iyewbil #bri writes

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drakenology · 4 years ago

Text

Make Me. - Yuuji Itadori & Sukuna

summary: being the bratty little sub you are you push your boyfriend’s buttons until he makes you remember why you call him d*ddy.

warnings: smut! , mirror sex, dom!yuuji, sub!reader, bratty!reader, slapping, overstim, use of the word d*ddy in sexual context, male receiving oral, sukuna comin out to playyy, the sweetest aftercare ever 🥺, cussing of course and sukuna being mean (degradation)

author’s note: happy valentines day babies! I’m writing this as a gift for you guys as a thank you for your support and to celebrate valentines day! enjoy lovelies!

You have no idea why. No rhyme or reason how. But today, you awake in a very temperamental mood.

Poor Yuuji was just sleeping; snoring next to his beautiful, sweet and kind girlfriend. Well she was gone today. A bratty little snatch had arisen and it was about to become everybody’s problem. You were always such a good girl. Never started fights. Never really acted out. But today, you just felt like being the baddest you could be.

Yuuji being the perceptive boyfriend he is already knew you were being testy. He tried everything to make you feel a little better. He was so sweet; so caring and understanding. But you just would not budge.

“I have an idea. Let’s go out, hm? Get us some food? I know you’re hungry.” He coaxed, earning a nonchalant “whatever” from you. Yuuji just shrugged it off but the raging curse, Sukuna was in the back of his mind reeling him for letting you off so easy.

“You need to put that little brat in her place. If you keep allowing her to step all over you then I will take care of her.”

Yuuji just pushed his voice to the very back of his mind, hating having to punish you. Sukuna got a kick out it though; always urging Yuuji to hit you harder, fuck you faster. Even he himself found it absolutely tantalizing to see you submit yourself to him, completely helpless as he fucked you so hard that all you could do was lay there and take it. But still, hurting his precious baby was no easy feat. Fuck.

You and Yuuji spent rest of the day at the mall after you two ate; not a single conversation without ending in an argument. He was losing his patience with you, your bratty tendencies becoming such a pain in his side. What the hell was up with you?

You were walking through the mall with him, lazily holding his hand until you saw the biggest stuffed animal you’d ever seen. You wanted it; hell you needed that stuffie.

“Ooh! Look! Can I have it Yuuji? Please?” You pleaded, pointing at the stuffie through the display window.

“No, Y/N. We’re leaving. You got enough treats today.” He said.

“But I want it!” You persist.

“Drop it, Y/N. You’re really starting to get on my nerves. Let’s. Go.” Yuuji said sternly.

Your eye twitched in annoyance, ready to throw a fucking temper tantrum just because. You cross your arms and stand right in front of the store.

“Make me.” You tease, sticking out your tongue like a petulant child.

That’s it. You’ve done it. The straw that broke the camel’s back. Yuuji was livid at this point.

He raised his eyebrow and towered over your body, face close enough to kiss you.

“Oh I’ll fucking make you, alright.” He said, grabbing your arm and pulling you out of the mall with enough force to scare you straight.

Yet still you test him, cussing and screaming at him to let you go all. The way. To the car. Yuuji stops and pins you against the car, your back facing him and the same arm he held now folded behind you.

“When we get in this car, you’d better be quiet the whole way home or else.” He hissed, nearing himself close to your ear.

“Or else what?” You persist, immediately regretting it when Yuuji lifted up your skirt and yanked your panties down.

“You just don’t know when to quit do you? Get in the fucking car.” He snarled, pushing you towards the car door as he stuffed your panties into his pocket.

You stumble, struggling to get the door open as your legs tremble in devilish excitement. God he was being so rough. Maybe this is what you needed all along. You crawl into the car, becoming meek as Yuuji gets in the driver’s seat and slams the door.

“You know how much trouble you’re in? Huh?” His deep voice echoing in your ears as you stare down at your thighs, not answering him. Yuuji let out an aggravated growl and grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

“Got nothing to say now, princess? You had so much mouth earlier. What happened?” He chuckled darkly, slipping his hand between your legs to palm at your already wet pussy.

“You like talking back to me, don’t you? You’re gonna fucking get it.” He says as his hand reaches down to choke you while the other stuffs one meesely finger inside your weeping hole. You’re stifling your noise, panting lightly as you try to grind up against his hand until he stops his movements completely.

He completely pulls away and says nothing, starting the car and driving away. Your whole body is hot and needy for Yuuji to fuck you or even toy with you just for a little.

Should you risk touching yourself without permission? Should you just be good for once? All your thoughts leave your mind as Yuuji slips his hand back between your legs, this time using two fingers. You gasp, shocked at his sudden move until you look up and see you’re at a red light.

It felt so good; Yuuji’s fingers hooked deliciously to find that spot he knows drives you insane, urging you to rub your clit for good measure. It was all too much, your legs trembling as your pussy drooled all over his hands and the seat of his car. Your eyes were locked onto Yuuji’s fingers, losing focus quickly as you start to come undone.

Then he stopped. The light was green and Yuuji pulled away from you to drive once more. He made sure to lick his fingers and laugh at your dissatisfied face.

“Oh come on, don’t give me that look. We’re almost home.” He teased, your eyes tearing up as he snatched your hands away from your puffy clit. You whimper and try rubbing your thighs together to relieve the ache between your legs but no dice. You needed him to get you off now, or else you might just go off the deep end.

As the drive home went on you dreaded every light signal; hoping he’d catch every greenlight so you’d calm down, get your barings. But of course you weren’t getting off that easy. The light just before your block just had to turn red.

You could feel Yuuji’s eyes burning a hole in the side of your head, trying to close your legs before he could attack your cunt again. Of course you’re over powered by his strong hands, your thighs now split apart for his every so desire. He’s using three fingers now, demanding you rub your clit for him as he fucked you with his fingers.

Your pussy emitted the dirtiest noises, Yuuji groaning as you moan and writhe in the passenger’s seat. Your eyes were at the back of your head, begging and pleading for him to let you cum only for him to chuckle and stop again. You sob pathetically, tears threatening to fall as Yuuji started driving again.

“Now you wanna cry. Heh. Pathetic.” He spat, his mean words burning as you shamefully become feral at his insult.

The car slowed, signaling you were finally home as you pulled your skirt down to get out. Yuuji climbed out of the car without a word and led you inside, the tension so thick you could cut it with a sword. He shut the front door with a slam, lifting you up and throwing you onto his shoulder as if he were carrying a sack potatoes.

“I hope completely showing your ass today was worth it ‘cause now I’m gonna fucking ruin you.” He said, walking to the bedroom with you hanging over his shoulder like a rag doll. He opened the door and kicked it closed, slamming you onto the bed.

He was so angry you could see it in his pretty eyes. So angry that Yuuji just wasn’t Yuuji anymore, Sukuna’s tattoos taking form on his face and body as he stood over your now shaking body.

“Finally. I’ve been waiting to bring you to your knees, brat.” Sukuna says, his face pulling the most intimidating smirk you’d ever seen.

Only once in a blue moon you act out so badly to the point Sukuna gets tired of seeing you be let off so easily and takes over Yuuji. In fact, he’s the reason you only act out once in a blue moon. Sukuna was rutheless. The way he fucks you should be down right outlawed. Your body was always incredibly sore when he was finished with you.

“I’m tired of toying with you. Get on your knees. Now.” He demands, motioning you onto the floor. You oblige, sitting on your legs as Sukuna pulls you towards him by your hair. He rips off his shirt in true Sukuna fashion and pulls out his massive, heavy dick; the sight nearly making you drool as it slaps against his stomach. Yuuji had a nice dick but Sukuna- oh boy. Sukuna only enhanced his size, girth and length along with some of the most devine veins you’ve ever had the pleasure to have inside you.

“Open.” He said, forcing his length down your throat as soon as you do. You gag around him, forgetting how fucking huge he was. Sukuna laughed as he watched you struggle to take him all in, drool dripping down the sides of your mouth as he fucked your mouth. Your cheeks hallow with every thrust, eyes clouding with tears as he forcefully bobbed your head onto his dick.

“That’s right, slut. Suck my fucking dick like a good little whore.”

You blink away your tears and look up at him, sticking your tongue out to lick the underside of his dick as you reach your hand down and rub clumsy circles on your sensitive bud. Sukuna cussed and yanked you off of his cock, slapping you as you gasp. The sting fades into a strange pleasure you hadn’t felt in so long, the sensation going straight to your pussy. You had to admit being hit in bed was so wrong but so fucking right. Though Yuuji could never bring himself to hit you, Sukuna had no problem.

“Who said you could touch yourself? You ask me permission first, do you under fucking stand?” He barked. Sukuna paused waiting for your answer, his hand still holding your hair as he forced you to keep your eyes locked on his.

You nod, out of breath and mind hazy as Sukuna yanks your head back to spit in your mouth.

“So good when you listen, slut. Bend over in front of the mirror. I want you to see how fucking pathetic you are.”

You do as you’re told, crawling on your hands and knees towards the large full body mirror you convinced Yuuji to buy one day at the mall. Who knew you’d eventually be fucked in front of it? Sukuna made sure to say every demeaning and degrading word to you as he walked behind you while you crawled, kneeling down behind you once you get to the mirror.

Sukuna made his dominating presence known as he slapped his dick against your pussy, watching you flinch at his sheer girth. Sukuna grabbed your hair and pulled you up to face the mirror.

“Look at yourself. Such a fucking whore for us, hm? I think you owe us an apology.” Sukuna said rubbing the head of his dick against your needy pussy. You stutter, moaning as he prods himself at your entrance, Sukuna not moving a single muscle until he hears you beg for him.

“I-I-‘m sorry.” You breath out, Sukuna striking your ass hard in protest.

“Not good enough. Say it like you mean it.” He demands, his grip on your hair tight as he pushed himself just barely inside.

“Fuck! I-I said I’m sorry. Please, daddy. I need you. I’ll be good I promise.” You whimper, a sharp gasp leaving your mouth as Sukuna sunk himself deep inside you.

Your eyes lock onto Sukuna’s body in the reflection of the mirror, the tattoos all over his muscular body accenting his lightly tanned skin. Pink hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, eyes locked downward towards where you connected. You watched as his body rutted inside you with brute force. He was truly the most gorgeous thing walking. Even if he was inherently evil, the way he fucked you as if you meant nothing more to him than a cheap fuck was sickeningly addictive.

You’re a mess, panting and wailing filthy words as Sukuna fucked you with one leg propped up and the other kneeled on your side. He’s mumbling about how worthless you are, only fucking you this way because Yuuji just can’t do it without his help. Every long, deep thrust of his veiny cock sent your body ablaze; your orgasm violently approaching as you cry out for more.

“God, look at you. Crying for my dick. So pathetic.” Sukuna says clearly, the feeling of your pussy alone not enough to completely break him. He is a curse after all. Still, he sees why Yuuji loves you so much. If he had more control over his vessel, he’d be fucking you like this every night.

“G-Gonna cum, daddy! Please, please, please.” You gasp, digging your nails into the rug as he rocks his hips into you; harshly bumping his cockhead into your cervix. You inhale sharply, pain and pleasure mixing as your eyes flash white.

“I guess you can cum. Go on then. This body can’t last for shit anyway.” Sukuna shrugs, a little disappointed his time was almost up. Yuuji was fighting him for control over his body and Sukuna was losing his grip, his tattoos fading as Yuuji returned to finish the job.

You don’t notice the switch, your body stuck to the floor as your orgasm tears through your core. One final thrust and Yuuji was coating your insides with his cum, fucking it inside you with loud grunts as he smacked your ass one last time. You both sit there for a moment, your highs crashing down as you’re both out of breath and drained.

“Hey.” Yuuji said, only getting a weak “hm?” from your fucked out body.

“Was he too rough with you? I saw him hit you. I-I’m sorry I didn’t stop him.” Itadori explained, rubbing softly on your bruised ass, a huge hand print embedded into your left ass cheek. “God, you’re all bruised up. Stop being so bad, you hear me?”

“Y-Yuuji. ‘S okay.. I liked it.” You slur, words muffled slightly since your face was buried into the floor. Yuuji laughed nervously, pulling himself out of you; simultaneously whimpering with you at the feeling.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” Yuuji said, scooping you up off the floor and taking you to the bathroom. You smile into his shoulder, his strength still a shock to you as he effortlessly sat you on the edge of the bathtub. He said nothing, instead kissing every mark and bruise Sukuna left on your body as he drew your bath.

“I’m sorry I was such a brat today.” You say weakly, stepping into the water once it’s ready, grabbing Yuuji’s hand to get him to get in with you.

“Oh I know you are. I heard you apologize. Ah~ I said I’m sorry!” He mocked, laughing when you splash him with the bath water. He sat behind you, running the warm water down your bare back and grinning as you sigh and relax.

“Love you, Yuuji.” You say, leaning into his chest closing your eyes.

“I love you more, love bug.” Yuuji smirked, kissing your forehead as he continued to wash you up.

#jujutsu kaisen #yuuji itadori #yuuji itadori x reader #itadori headcanons #itadori smut #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen megumi

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moonlight-breeze-44 · 4 years ago

Text

sacrifice (i would have loved you all my life)

The fic based on a prompt from @thelightofthebane is finally here! It will be posted in four chapters, this being the first <3 I hope you enjoy!!

Read on AO3

Alec took a deep breath and willed his hands to stop shaking. He didn’t have much time.

The half-written letter on his desk glared at him, and Alec sighed. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t find the words. How was he supposed to tell his family that he would never see them again? It was feeling more and more like an impossibility with each minute that ticked by.

“Right,” Alec muttered to himself. “I can do this.” He picked up the pen once more.

Jace,

By the time you find this, I’ll be gone. You’re going to lose your parabatai rune. It’s going to feel like I’m dying, but I’m not. I can’t explain everything, but I’m doing this for Magnus. You didn’t see him at the loft, after I tried to propose. He was devastated. Heartbroken. He can’t go on like this, without his magic. He needs it back. This is the only way. I’m sorry. I love you and I wish I didn’t have to do this.

Please don’t look for me. I know I’m making the right choice. It’s hard, but it’s for the best. Watch out for the others. Don’t do what you always do and get yourself killed. Clary and the others are there, if you’d just let them be. Please let them, Jace, for me.

I’ll miss you. You’ll be okay, Jace. Everyone will be.

Remember that our rune is just a symbol of what we have. When it breaks, we won’t break. We’ll always be parabatai, even without the rune.

Alec

Alec exhaled shakily and folded the letter into an envelope, scrawling Jace’s name on top of it. There. That would have to do. There was so much more that he wanted to say to his parabatai, but he didn’t have the time. He still had to write letters for Izzy, his mom, and Magnus.

Alec took a deep breath and reached for another sheet of paper. He didn’t regret his choice, but he was starting to realise just how much he had to give up. Magnus, he reminded himself. This is for Magnus.

With that, Alec steeled himself and started to write once more.

Izzy,

By the time you find this, I’ll be gone. I’m not dead. I’m not being coerced into writing this. This is my choice. Please don’t look for me. Tell Jace not to look for me, too. Things are going to be bad for a while, but this is the way it has to be. I’m sorry.

I can’t explain everything right now; I’m running out of time. But just know that I’m doing this for Magnus, because I love him and because he deserves so much more than I could ever give him. Please take care of him for me, Iz. I know this won’t be easy, but it’s for the best.

I’ll miss you, Izzy. It’ll be alright, I promise. You’ll be okay without me. I love you, little sis.

Alec

It took all of his willpower to keep from breaking down. This was Izzy, this was his little sister, this was the person that he had watched over and taken care of since he was five. Leaving her felt a little like leaving a piece of himself behind, and Alec had to wonder how many pieces he would have left at the end of all this.

His shoulder burned for a split second, and Alec looked back just in time to see another rune disappear from his skin. He sucked in a deep breath, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He had to keep going. The curse was working faster than he was.

Alec wrote Izzy’s name on her envelope and set it to the side with Jace’s, reaching for another sheet of paper. He had to hurry.

Mom,

By the time you find this, I’ll be gone. I can’t explain everything, but please know that I am alive and safe. I can’t promise you’ll see me again, but I can promise that this is for the best and this is my decision and mine alone.

I know you won’t understand, even if you figure out the truth, but all I can say is that I love Magnus and there is nothing that I wouldn’t do for him. One day - maybe with Luke (and yes, I know) - I hope that you’ll understand.

I love you, Mom. I wish we had more time together, to fix things. As it is, I’m counting on you to do right by Jace and Izzy. I know you haven’t always seen eye to eye with them, but they’ll need you. Take care of them for me.

I’m sorry.

Alec

Alec blew out a harsh breath and folded his mom’s letter, giving it the same treatment that he’d given the others. The letters were forming a pile now, a little stack of white that made dread settle in Alec’s stomach. They were the last of him that his family would have, and that thought made him want to collapse to the floor and weep, mourn everything that he was going to lose and everything that he would miss and all of the people that he was letting down. But he knew he couldn’t. His runes were steadily disappearing and he still had work to do.

Feeling sick, Alec grabbed one final sheet of paper and prepared himself for the last letter he had to write. Magnus’s letter.

Dear Magnus,

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. Please don’t come looking for me. You can’t interfere. Please leave it alone. I promise that I will be okay.

I can’t possibly begin to explain this to you, but I know that I have a responsibility to try. Magnus, when I saw you break down like that in the loft, it made me realise something. It made me realise how badly you were hurting and how much you were suffering without your magic. I’m so sorry that I didn’t realise before. I was so caught up in saving Jace and stopping Lilith that I never stopped to think about how much you might be hurting. I’m sorry.

I had to do something after that, and this is me doing something. I won’t explain it all to you, because I know you’ll try to come after me and undo what I did, and I can’t let you do that. I won’t let you go back to a life without your magic. It was killing you.

Magnus, you deserve so much - you deserve someone that will always make you a priority and never put you in second place. You deserve the world. You don’t deserve me. I will never be good enough for you, Magnus.

I know it’ll be hard, but please try to move on. Find love again. Get married. Have kids. Love your life like you used to before everything got so complicated. You deserve that. You deserve everything.

I love you more than words can say, and I will miss you so much. I’m sorry, Magnus. Please, please choose again. Choose somebody better. I’m not your choice. I’m sorry.

I love you.

Alec

Alec folded the letter with shaking fingers, ignoring the teardrops that splashed onto the paper. He stuffed it into an envelope and just managed to scrawl Magnus’s name on top of it and toss it onto the pile with the rest of them before he broke down in tears.

Memories rushed into Alec’s mind, unbidden - his first kiss with Magnus, at his wedding, and the way Magnus had kissed him back like he was air and Magnus couldn’t fucking breathe. His first mission with Jace, and the way that they moved together so fluently that they just knew, right from the very beginning, that they were destined to be parabatai. When Izzy was born, and Alec had slept beside her crib for three nights afterwards, whispering promises into the air about always protecting her and keeping her safe.

Alec choked on a sob and desperately tried to pull himself together. He felt the burn of his deflect rune disappearing, and that made him dig his fingernails into his palms, hard. The extra bite of pain grounded him, centered him in a way that nothing else could at the moment. That was the rune that Magnus had always loved, always said was “placed perfectly, Alexander” and always damn near worshiped in bed. Losing it was like losing a tie to Magnus, and Alec had to grip the edge of his desk so tightly that he feared his fingers might break in order to keep himself under control.

Right. He had to snap out of it. There was still more to do.

Alec glamoured himself invisible and slipped out of his office, letters in hand. He stopped by the training room to grab his bow and quiver before he made his way to Jace, Izzy, and Maryse’s rooms to slip their letters under their doors. By the time they woke up in the morning, Alec knew, he would have no idea who they were. That thought alone made him want to break down again, but he shoved his emotions aside with practiced ease and continued on.

The cool night air was a welcome change from the Institute’s stifling atmosphere, and Alec took a deep breath, trying to appreciate the sights and sounds of New York before his last rune disappeared.

By the time he made it to Magnus’s, Alec only had four runes left - his glamour, his iratze, advanced hearing, and his parabatai rune. He shivered, trying not to think about it. His parabatai rune, he knew, would be the last to go, and all Alec could do was hope that the other runes would take a few hours to disappear so that the breaking of his bond with Jace wouldn’t wake the other boy up. He at least wanted Jace to be awake, maybe have Clary with him, something. The hardest part of all of this was leaving the people he cared about behind.

“See that Mr. Bane gets this tomorrow morning,” Alec instructed the boy who worked at the front desk of Magnus’s apartment building, slipping him a 20 for good measure. With that, he walked out of Magnus’s building for possibly the last time, and headed for the park.

Alec wasn’t sure what made him choose the park, of all places, to lose the last of his runes, but the feeling of the gardens settled something in him when he sat down on the park bench. This would be the last time he sat in this park as a Shadowhunter, the last time he would look down and see the physical representation of his bond with Jace marking his skin. Finally, for the first time all night, Alec put his head in his hands and allowed himself to cry.

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gotnofucks · 4 years ago

Text

Their Poison

Pairing: dark! Steve x dark! Tony x dark! Stephen x Reader

Summary: A billionaire, a sorcerer and a soldier walk into a bar. Their only poison of choice is you.

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: Non-con, smut, language, 18+ Only

A/N: This is a birthday gift for my lovely girl @ironlady1993 who not only is the queen of dark drabbles, but also one of those people you can’t help but love. She’s been my cheerleader since the day I joined this site, encouraged me and keeps uplifting me everyday. Her talented mind is a wonderful place, and I can’t express into words how special she is to me.

A billionaire, a sorcerer and a soldier walk into a bar. Their only poison of choice is you.

Private parties thrown by Tony Stark always got wild, but you got enough tips that more than made up for it. There were little guests tonight and most of them were drunk beyond measure, silently being escorted out by Happy. You were cleaning up spilled liquor on the counter when the three men sat before you.

Tony, Stephen, and Steve were the most mismatched pair of friends you’d seen. The only thing they seemed to have in common were their good looks and arrogance. You tried not to squirm under their combined gazes that you’d felt on your person all night long.

“What can I get you?” You asked them with a forced smile.

Steve placed his elbows on the bar and leaned forward, a charming smile on his face that did little to ease your nerves.

“Shots.” He said, licking his lips. You nodded and set about pouring them their drinks, lining up shot glasses in front of them and a tray of salt and lemon.

“Here you go” You said and turned around, hoping to walk away when Steve held your wrist, pulling you back.

“No salt?” He asked and you stuttered, looking around, sure you’d just put it on the table.

“I – it was right here.” You said.

Tony and Stephen tutted, shaking their heads. Steve still hadn’t let go of your hand and you watched in trepidation as Tony walked behind the bar over to you, pushing in close so you were flush to the counter.

“We can’t do shots without salt now, can we sweetheart?” He purred in your ear and you squirmed. You tried to pull away from Steve but only ended up rubbing yourself against Tony who groaned.

“Not to fear Stark” Stephen piped up, rolling his sleeves over his elbow. His scarred hands were beautiful and methodical, the surgeon in him lost, but not gone. “We all have a natural saltiness in us. Come up here darling.”

You sputtered as he patted the counter, looking at you expectantly. Shaking your head you blinked away the tears kissing your eyes and protested. They were so polite, still smiling, but you felt dirty as they looked at you.

“I’ll just go and get more salt now.” You offered in a broken voice, but Steve chuckled, gesturing to Tony who quickly picked you up and dropped you on the counter, holding you down by your shoulders.

“Don’t worry, got it right here.” Stephen said and flipped your skirt, hands trailing up your thighs until they met the band of your panties and pulled down.

“No!” You shouted, wiggling around. Steve shushed you, leaning closer as he cupped your face, his blue eyes bright with amusement and lust. He brushed a soft kiss against your cheek before roughly capturing your lips, bruising them with his passion. Another set of lips was trailing kissing and bites down your neck while Stephen parted your legs, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against your moist core.

You were overwhelmed, struggling but not knowing what was happening. They were everywhere, their arms surrounding your torso and holding you captive, mouths hot against your sweaty skin and moans that vibrated against you. You didn’t realize when Tony had pushed you down to lay on your back, his hands kneading the flesh of your breasts gently.

“Be a good girl sweetheart.” He warned before biting on your nipple from over your shirt, causing you to yelp. Steve unbuttoned you, quickly divesting you of your clothes until you lay on the sticky table, trembling before the three powerful men.

“Mr. Stark, please.” You begged. You had no idea what you were begging for, but you lost focus as Steve’s warm hands trailed down your hips and then to your warm center, parting your folds to bare you to their ravenous gaze.

“So pretty.” Stephen commented, pulling on your soft curls that glistened with your slick. You were embarrassed at how wet you were, how you seemed to become putty under their hands. You watched Steve take a lemon wedge and bring it to your mouth, raising a brow until you caved and held it between your teeth. Stephen tilted a shot glass into your belly button, some of it sloshing off.

“Me first!” Tony said and slid you to the side until your legs were dangling down and he was between them. He grinned at you before lowering his mouth over your belly, slurping on the alcohol, his beard tickling your skin. You moaned, feeling him sliding down until his tongue traced a path from your weeping hole to your clit, savoring your natural saltiness. You bucked your hips, groaning as his mouth met yours to suck on the lemon wedge, the sour juice slipping down your tongue and into your throat.

He smacked his lips, giving you a wink and stepping aside for Steve to take his place. By now, all pretenses were down, and Steve didn’t bother with the shots. His fingers delved inside you, swirling in as you arched your back, collecting your slick on his fingers. His smeared your wetness around your stiff nipples, coming in close so he could ground his hardness into you as he leaned over to suck your stiff peaks.

Your mouth parted, lower lip between your teeth as you tried to hold in your moans, tried not to let their ardor sweep over you. Steve was so large he almost covered your entire body, his warm tongue swirling around your nipple, tasting you.

“Oh god!” You exclaim, your juices leaking onto Steve’s pants and staining them. You felt him smile against you skin and hid your face in shame.

“Move the fuck over Rogers” Stephen suddenly said and Steve was pushed away from you. The doctor snapped his fingers and his red cloak flew over. You were pulled up from your arms and felt the cloak wrap behind you, hoisting you in air. You let out a terrified squeal, hanging in the air, flailing your legs, and begging to be let down.

“It’s okay darling, I got you.” Stephen shushed you, grabbing your floating legs and pulling you down until your cunt was right over his face. Tears dripped down your face when his lips enveloped your folds, your figure hanging like that of Christ on a cross and being devoured by the hungry crowd. It was appalling how easily your body betrayed you, how smoothly it succumbed to its baser nature and gave control over to these men.

He skillfully ate you out, wrapping your legs around his head and pushing you closer to his mouth by your ass. You felt the cloak pushing you back down and choked on a scream, laying supine in midair. Tony and Steve came forward, removing their clothes and fondling you, praising you, calling you their princess.

“You gonna cum for us princess?” Steve teased you, reaching out to play with your clit. Tony was busy sucking his marks into your skin, and the combined sensation from them pushed you over the edge, a tremendous heat bubbling in your womb and spilling over.

You sobbed, drenched, and exhausted, falling limp into their arms, not protesting as they lowered you on the floor. Sweet kisses were peppered over your face and hands, inner thigh massaged with large hands, warm bodies tangling to form a canopy of protection around you.

“Are you okay our love?” Tony asked, brushing his lips on the pads of your fingers. You breathlessly nodded, turning your palm to cup his face, smiling when he nuzzled. Steve sat behind you, resting you against his chest, and let Stephen massage your legs, easing the burn.

“Need a little breather before we continue?” Stephen asked and you bit your lip before nodding.

“Yes, I didn’t know it would get this intense. Maybe once I’ve caught my breath.” You answered and felt Steve kiss your head softly.

“We don’t need to fulfill all your fantasies in one night princess, we have the rest of our lives.” He assured you and you grinned, looking at your men who held you dearer than their own lives. They had denied you nothing, entertained your darkest, most insane desires of the flesh.

“No, I’ll be fine. Gimme a few minutes and you can go back to being cavemen again. The last time I came that hard was when I had you fuck me during that last alien invasion. I need this thrill.”

They chuckled, letting you rest and hydrate before giving you all that you asked for and more.

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tenspontaneite · 4 years ago

Text

Cat’s Cradle (Chapter 2/?)

In which Hikaru's life undergoes some rapid adjustments due to the unceremonious entry of a particularly weird cat therein.

(Chapter length: 8.5k. Ao3 link)

---

Hikaru wasn’t entirely sure what he did for the next few minutes. Either way, they concluded with him absolutely blubbering, the rims of his eyes swollen with tears and his cheeks salt-burned and stinging. At some point, the cat – Sai – migrated to his side, and patted at his leg with a white paw. Hikaru looked at the blurry white shape and, caught between at least four different intense emotions, started laughing. It was sort of sobbing at the same time, but the point was, he was laughing. A little hysterically.

“You’re a fucking cat.” He gasped, between uneven bursts of tears and laughter. He had no idea what was going on. What had happened to his life? What had happened to this week? It was going to kill him, honestly.

Sai huffed at him, ears very slightly slanted backwards, and that just set Hikaru’s laugh-crying off even worse. It looked like Sai, was the thing, with that vaguely sulky expression he got when Hikaru was being particularly unreasonable, just…translated to a fuzzy cat face. It was stupid. So stupid.

“A fucking cat.” He said again, utterly unable to get over it. He laughed, and gasped, and caught something approaching a measure of breath. He shuddered, and breathed, and giggled, then breathed again. “Okay.” He muttered, a little more calmly. “…You’re a fucking cat. You’re…” He swallowed back a fresh burst of hysterical tears, then matter-of-factly reached out and pulled Sai-the-cat to his chest. The cat in question made a surprised chirping sound at it, and he was fluffy, and small, and that was so weird when it was Sai. Whenever he’d hugged Sai before, he’d been bigger, and shrouded in so many robes that he was twice the size he should be. “You’re so little.” Hikaru blurted, stupidly, and received a vaguely disgruntled noise for his troubles. He held Sai up to look at him, utterly uncertain what to make of this situation. “You’re a cat.” He said again, for approximately the hundredth time.

Sai made a grumbling murmur that was definitely approaching a growl, and glowered at him. I did notice that, Hikaru, he might have said, if he’d been capable of it. And that was a thing, wasn’t it, Sai was here, and actually alive, though in a thoroughly unexpected form, but he couldn’t even talk now. And…

“I can’t believe you got yourself reincarnated or whatever and you still can’t play your own Go stones.” Hikaru said, and Sai hissed at him, thoroughly displeased. He was probably feeling very salty about the situation as well. But…he had got those first hands onto the goban somehow, hadn’t he? “How did you get the first bit of the game onto the board, anyway?”

Sai’s ears flickered, and then he squirmed easily out of Hikaru’s hands. It was kind of weird, actually – his grip had been pretty firm, but…Sai was unusually strong. Maybe that was how he’d managed to jump nearly to a second-floor window.

The cat padded neatly over to the stack of textbooks Hikaru had noticed earlier, and then moved up to sit on it. Then, very very carefully, he demonstrated how he could very clumsily lodge a stone between two of his toes, holding it in place with the other paw, before putting it back down where it had been. He had to pat it into place once it was on the board, as it had skidded away a little, but…well, he could sort of place stones. He looked up at Hikaru, the expression on his face saying, clear as day, see? I absolutely can place stones, Hikaru, you take that back.

“Consider me told.” He said, giggling again, and for a moment thought it was going to bubble back up into hysterics, but…he sighed, put a hand to his face, and collapsed backwards onto the floor. Sai made an alarmed mow sound, and quickly padded over, staring anxiously down at him from fairly close proximity, given he wasn’t all that tall.

“Maow?” He asked, looking a little worried.

“I can’t believe this.” He said, conversationally. “This is just…fucking nuts. I’d literally just started accepting that you were gone, and now you’re here and you’re a cat.”

Sai offered a thin purr that seemed like it was meant to be comforting, but given he still looked hilariously worried, it was mostly just…funny, and a bit endearing.

“Why did you have to be a cat?” He asked, suddenly a little exasperated. “My mum is allergic to cats.”

The cat meowed sadly, and looked down at him with wide pleading eyes. It was a much more effective expression now that he was a cat.

Hikaru sat up, shaking his head. “I mean, obviously I have to keep you.” He said, and received a happy trill in response. “What? It’s the only option. If I don’t then you either get sold to someone or put in a shelter, or you have to live wild. We’re not letting that happen. Duh.” He said, and Sai’s fur went a bit bristly at the thought. Maybe he’d been worried about that? If he hadn’t been able to get Hikaru to realise who he was…

Hikaru shivered. Yeah, it didn’t really bear thinking about.

“I guess if my mum won’t be okay with you, I’ll have to move out.” He thought, out loud. “It’s not easy to find cheap apartments that allow animals….but I guess I could always just not tell them. You’re not a normal cat, it’s not like you’re going to pee on the walls and scratch the furniture.”

Sai produced a very insulted mrow! At that, which neatly conveyed his thoughts on the matter.

“And yeah, that’s another thing.” Hikaru said, pensively. “You’re not a normal cat. But are you just like that because you’re Sai, or because you’re actually…a bakeneko, or nekomata, or something? Like…I don’t really know much about what those are meant to be able to do. Set things on fire, maybe? Have you noticed any weird powers? I mean, you can jump way higher than normal cats, but…anything else?”

The cat shrugged at him, helplessly. It was a really weird gesture to see on a cat. After a moment, he stood and walked over to the minifridge that Hikaru had in his room but didn’t actually use for the purpose. It was never plugged in so he just used it as storage. It was metal, though, and when Sai held up a paw and extended his claws, Hikaru was definitely watching.

Then, with a horrible screeching sound, Sai proceeded to score several long lines through metal. He retracted the claws and padded back again. “Mow.” He said, a little smugly.

“…Yeah.” Hikaru said, for lack of anything else to say. “Okay.” And this just after Hikaru said that Sai wouldn’t scratch any furniture.

He sat silently for several minutes, mind working furiously over all of the implications. So far Sai could jump stupidly high and scratch metal, but he was still pretty young. Would he gain any other weird abilities? Would Shimura be weird about letting Hikaru have him? Would his mother be weird about letting Hikaru have him? How would he and Sai communicate, when he couldn’t talk? How would Hikaru have to care for him? What did Sai even eat, anyway? Cat food? That seemed…demeaning.

In the end, Hikaru leant to the side and fished around in his backpack for a pen, and then tore off a bit of notepaper from one of his notebooks. He scrawled a quick note on it – ‘Figured out what’s up with this cat, I need to talk to you about him tomorrow.’ He figured there wasn’t any need to sign it. He set it aside, and gestured at it. “I’ll want you to take that to Shimura tonight when you go back, and then…I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

He could have done it today, but…frankly, he was feeling pretty emotionally exhausted right now.

He shook his head and sighed. “You’re a pain in the backside, Sai.” He said, finally, and the cat grumbled at him. “But, you know what…let’s just finish this game. We’ll figure everything out later.”

And so Hikaru sat down with a cat to play Go. It was absolutely fucking ridiculous. He also had to stop several times throughout to weep into his arm a little, usually corresponding to the most archetypal Sai-like moves, but he thought he could be excused for that. Predictably, Hikaru lost.

He’d never in his life been so overjoyed at such a crushing defeat.

----

“Hi, kid.” Shimura greeted him at the door, and waved him in. “I got your note. You said you figured out what’s up with the demon cat?”

“Yeah, I did. Where is he?”

“Just in the next room. There’s no point trying to keep him cooped up when he’s that smart.” Just then, Sai apparently heard his voice, because there was a loud and excited string of chirruping cat-sounds, and then he was practically sprinting through the doorway to weave around Hikaru’s feet, feathery white tail held high. He was bright-eyed and seemed exceptionally cheerful. The neighbour raised an eyebrow at the sight, which meant it was apparently unusual.

Hikaru stared at him for a second, the surreality of it being Sai occurring to him once again. “Hi, Sai.” He said, grinning reflexively just at being able to say that. “You alright?”

The cat nodded happily, then skipped away into the next room, stopping to look behind him to make sure Hikaru was following. Obediently, Hikaru moved forwards, Shimura trailing after him.

“Sai?” The man asked, curiously.

“That’s his name. It’s part of what I’ve got to talk to you about, anyway.” Hikaru nodded, and went to sit beside Sai on the part of the sofa he’d migrated to.

Shimura made a token attempt at offering refreshments, but his hospitality instincts clearly weren’t very strong, and he readily accepted Hikaru’s hand-wave without any fuss. He settled on the armchair and eyed Sai curiously. “Weird to see you so cheerful.” He said, to the cat, who deliberately turned his nose up in the air as he curled into Hikaru’s side. Shimura snorted and looked up at his first. “Well then, out with it. What’s up with this unholy thing my cats produced?” Sai did not seem to appreciate that wording, ears flicking back and eyes narrowing with distaste.

“Okay.” Hikaru took a breath. “So, it turns out this cat is actually someone I know, reincarnated. That’s why he’s been following me around.”

Shimura stared. And stared. He looked between Hikaru and the cat. “Are you fucking with me?” He asked, eventually. “That seems very damn unlikely.”

“I’m not fucking with you.” He assured. “I’d actually been, you know, mourning him. Because a few months ago he just…disappeared. But it’s definitely him.”

Shimura looked at Sai. Sai nodded. “…Well, damn.” He said, finally. “I guess it’s not any more unlikely than his impossible genetics. You know I had him tested? A few weeks in it was damn obvious he was growing too fast, so I sent off some samples.”

Hikaru looked at Sai curiously, as though he’d expected the cat to tell him about it. “Really? That’s cool. Was there anything weird?”

“Ha.” Shimura barked, and leaned back in his chair. “That cat, according to his DNA, is meant to be short-tailed, short-furred, with a blue blotched tabby pattern and white marks, and amber eyes. I thought I’d somehow sampled the wrong cat at first, but nope. Instead of how he’s meant to look, he’s…that.” He gestured at Sai, who remained long-tailed, long-furred, and utterly white all over. “I’m pretty sure he’s got extra vertebrae in his tail, too. He won’t sit still long enough for me to count them, but that tail is too fucking long to be normal.”

“Is it?” Hikaru asked, looking at Sai. The tail in question swished to the side. “I wonder if you’re going to grow another one, Sai.” The cat looked distinctly uncomfortable at the thought, and curled his single extant tail tightly around himself.

“I think nekomata tails sort of start splitting at the end until they’re two tails.” Shimura interjected. “He could just be a bakeneko, though.”

“I don’t really know the difference.” Hikaru admitted, and Sai looked up inquisitively, as if he was curious as well.

“Yeah, well, when you’ve got a cat like that, you research cat demons.” Shimura said, shrugging. “Both of those types have been mentioned with weird abilities, like standing upright, and talking-“ Sai looked very excited at that- “-and sometimes even shapeshifting-“ Sai actually trilled. “-but nekomata are a bit different. They're the ones with two tails, they’re meant to have fire and necromancy powers, and they’re pretty much always evil.”

Sai produced a very displeased hiss. Shimura ignored him.

Hikaru snorted. “Sai doesn’t have it in him to be evil. And if he did all you'd need to do is show him a frog and he'd give up right there.” The cat looked tremendously wounded at that.

Shimura grinned. “What, he doesn’t like frogs?”

“He hates them,” Hikaru assured, ignoring the betrayed meow at his side. “Anything that even looks a bit like a frog turns him into a complete mess, it’s hilarious.”

Sai hissed at him, just slightly, but on account of him being so small and fuzzy it wasn’t particularly threatening. Even though he could scratch through metal.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind, if he acts up.” Shimura's amused grin flattened somewhat, becoming a wry and slanted half-smile. “So the cat's supposedly your dead friend. How do you know he’s not just...brainwashing you, or something, to make you think that?”

Hikaru stared, and actually thought about it. He didn’t have any doubts, of course, not since the game. But someone who didn’t play Go wouldn’t get that, really. He tried anyway. “We played a game of Go. There’s no one else in the world that plays like he does.” He shrugged, leaning back.

Shimura cast him a sceptical look.

“Trust me, anyone who’s really good at Go would agree. This cat is the best player in Japan.” He gestured at Sai, who sort of drew himself up in a very regal manner. His body language was somehow even more expressive now that he was a cat.

“...Well, if you say so.” Shimura said, finally. “It doesn’t matter that much to me. You’re going to be taking him off my hands, right?”

Hikaru, who had sort of been biding his time and waiting for the right moment to bring that up, blinked. He nodded warily. “Sai’s important.” He said, uneasy, and automatically settled a hand onto white fur as though to shield it from view. “I...can't really let him go anywhere except with me. And...I know that’s kind of awkward, because...”

“Because he’s a cat I bred and therefore legally own?” Shimura suggested, voice mild.

Sai's ears flattened straight back, and he hissed. Not quietly, or hesitantly. His fur rose just enough to bristle at Hikaru’s skin.

He winced, and said “He's a person, not an animal, and just because – look, I’ll...buy him, or whatever, if I have to. I don’t know how much fancy cats are meant to cost,” he paused, long enough for Shimura to name a somewhat hair raising figure. “...and yeah, I could afford that, especially now I’m working again, but...” He looked at Sai, still sitting angry at the implication of ownership. “It’s not right. I’ll pay if I have to, I’m not letting him end up...somewhere else...but.” He stopped, at a loss for words.

Shimura sighed, and raised a hand as though to forestall any more words. “Yeah, kid, I get you.” He said, wearily. “Feels a bit too much like being a slave owner to ask for money for him. Besides, even if I were a shittier person, holding a demon hostage for money sounds like a great way to get myself in deep supernatural shit.”

Sai settled a bit, ears outwards rather than flattened back, but his eyes were narrow and resentful. Hikaru glanced at him, and then back at Shimura, feeling reluctantly optimistic. “...So....?” He ventured.

“So, you can take the bloody cat.” He said, and Hikaru’s breath came out almost explosively. “I’ll give you his fucking pedigree and everything, not that it’ll be much good to you. Don’t you have to check with your parents before you take a cat home, though?”

“I already decided that I’ll just move out if my mum doesn’t let Sai stay.” Hikaru said, hoping desperately that that wouldn’t come to pass. “I might have to, but if I do I can afford it.” Provided he kept winning games, at least.

Shimura eyed him dubiously. “Well, that’s dedication, which I always like to see.” He said, finally. “But aren’t you a bit young to be moving out? How old even are you, twelve?”

“Fourteen.” Hikaru corrected, a little balefully, and received a dismissive noise in response. “And it’s not too weird for young pros. A friend of mine moved out a good while ago. If I need to I’ll do it.”

“Hmph. If you say so.” He sat back. “Your family not like cats or something?”

“It’s mostly that my mum’s allergic.” He shrugged uneasily, and Sai pressed against his side.

“...Well, in all likelihood, you could call him hypoallergenic.”

Hikaru looked up, startled. “What does that mean?”

“Means he might set off allergies less than normal. Even if his body works the same as a normal cat for allergenic purposes, he doesn’t wash himself like a normal cat does, and the thing people are usually allergic to in cats is a protein in the saliva.”

“Er.” Hikaru looked down at Sai, whose ears flattened very slightly. He looked away as if embarrassed. “So what, people get allergic to cats because cats lick the thing all over their fur?”

“Pretty much. It’s produced in the skin as well, but the main source is the saliva, which is groomed into the fur. And he doesn’t do that, which makes more sense if he used to be human, I suppose. So you’ll have to brush his fur daily and maybe bathe him sometimes to keep him clean.” Shimura snorted. “He doesn’t seem to mind warm water too much, at least, but he was not happy with me washing him. Maybe he’ll tolerate you better.”

Hikaru stared, a thread of insistent hilarity trying to squirm out of him at that knowledge. He kept quiet for a few seconds as he tried desperately not to laugh, then cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll tell my mum he’s...hypoallergenic? Hypoallergenic.” He glanced sideways at Sai and tried desperately not to giggle. Sai eyed him back, clearly disgruntled.

Shimura shrugged. “Well, good luck, kid.” He said, leaning back. “I can host him for you till you sort out your situation or whatever. Hope the talk goes well.”

Hikaru could get behind that sentiment.

But, unfortunately, the talk did not go well.

---

Mitsuko listened long enough to hear ‘hypoallergenic' and was not especially impressed, and she listened long enough to hear ‘I'll pay for feeding him myself’ which she could at least vaguely approve of, but when Hikaru started on ‘Shimura-san said I can have him ' and ‘if it's a big problem I can just move out ' she had decidedly had enough.

“Hikaru.” She said, firmly and decisively enough that his jaw clicked shut automatically. “You stay here. I'm going to talk to Shimura-san about this.”

His eyes went wide and he tried to protest “Wait no, you don’t need to-“

She shot him a look, and he fell mutinously silent. She wasn’t certain he wouldn’t just follow her the instant she shut the door, but she could live with that. “I’ll be back in a while.” She said, and left with the contents of her usual handbag to commence the journey to the neighbour.

Generally speaking, Mitsuko was the very picture of a polite and demure Japanese housewife, just as in her youth she had generally been the picture of a demure and obedient daughter. One would not think her the sort to harbour any sort of temper. One would be wrong. One would be very, very wrong.

Mitsuko held the reins of that well-hidden, well-contained, and utterly vindictive temper very carefully indeed as she knocked on the neighbour's door. When it opened, and she recognised Shimura-san, she smiled politely. She thought that, from his sudden wariness, her ire was exactly as close to the surface as she wished it to be.

“Shimura-san,” she said, pleasantly, without a trace of antipathy, and yet still somehow making the man warier. “I would be interested in discussing why my son has just told me that you offered him a cat, and I would be especially interested in hearing why he seems to think that moving out is a perfectly acceptable option for being able to keep that cat.”

He stared at her for several long seconds, expression turning distinctly weary and satisfyingly resigned. She waited patiently. Finally, he said “I’ll happily invite you in to talk, Shimura-san. But please be aware the house might not be good for your allergies.”

Mitsuko nodded curtly, noting that Hikaru had apparently informed the man of her cat allergy. “I should be perfectly fine, but thank you for your concern.” She answered, and allowed herself to be invited in, and accepted an offer of tea from her host as she settled in the sitting room. She inspected her surroundings while she waited, noting that there were traces of cat hair everywhere and that she could already feel the tickle of it in her throat, the itchiness around her eyes. She would cope.

Movement flickered in the corner of her eye. She turned, and saw just the hint of a wide-eyed and familiar feline face disappearing around the corner of a doorway. She watched to see if it would reappear, but it didn’t. In the end Shimura-san returned with her green tea and she accepted it graciously, sipping politely as he took a seat in the armchair.

“...So.” the man said, when she had been regarding him with a heavy and expectant gaze for several seconds. “I get the impression your son didn’t tell you everything.”

Mitsuko blinked, and found herself off-balance. “...Why do you say so?” she questioned, faltering from her steady ground of maternal indignation.

“I get the impression you'd have started on a different topic if he had, is all.” The man answered, and she eyed him a little disapprovingly.

“Hikaru certainly isn’t the most open child. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had failed to mention something.” She agreed after a moment. “But I have difficulty seeing what could change the fact of the matter, which is your offering an animal to my son, who knows full well he isn’t allowed it.”

“The cat isn’t just a cat.” Shimura-san said, frankly and without hesitation. “Forgive me for how ridiculous this sounds, but he’s a fully intelligent supernatural creature that has befriended your son.”

Mitsuko sat, utterly still, and felt so incredulous that it bubbled up into a simmering anger, hissing as though water in a kettle. “Shimura-san, I have never heard anything less believable in my life, and I wonder that you think it acceptable to say such things.” She said, voice utterly icy. Was this what he had been saying to Hikaru? Her eyes narrowed into visible distaste and she didn’t try to stop them.

“I have proof.” The man said, and...he didn’t sound bothered at all. She stared at him, noting how he still looked tired, still looked resigned, but somehow perfectly confident regardless. She would have expected at least an ounce of contrition from him, at least some trace, but there was none. He spouted such ridiculous words and was utterly shameless as they passed his lips. It was almost outrageous. “Plenty of it.”

She eyed him silently, wishing very strongly to put aside the stupidity of humouring him. “Oh?” she asked instead, very unimpressed, and waited to see what he would say.

“The cat himself is a physical impossibility. I can explain the reasons why, if you want. There’s quite a few.”

“Please, by all means.” Mitsuko prompted coldly.

Shimura-san nodded, and sat back. “You’ve seen him around, I think? He's a white cat with blue eyes, large ears, a long tail, and a wholly different body type and face to either of his parents or ancestors for at least five generations. Some of that could have been random chance, like the long tail. The coat and eye colour though are actually not possible, genetically.” He seemed to consider his words for a moment, apparently disregarding her disapproving stare. “It's not possible, considering his parents, for him to be a completely white cat and have blue eyes. That just is plain impossible, it’s not something that can happen naturally, because of how white coats work with cats.”

He paused, as if to give her an opening to speak, and she accepted it. “I don’t claim to know much about genetics, Shimura-san. But I understand it’s possible for random mutations to happen sometimes. Surely this cat could simply be a unique case.” She suggested, not convinced in the least.

His lips quirked upwards at the edges, as though amused. “I wondered the same thing, at first.” He said, and shrugged. “Which is one of the reasons I sent off his blood to be tested in a lab.” He met her suddenly uncertain eyes with the same tired confidence, even nonchalance, he’d been maintaining the whole time. “It was expensive, but – Shindou-san, please understand this: that cat looks nothing like his DNA says he should, which is completely and utterly impossible. If he were just a random mutation we would see that in the blood. Instead, he’s running around looking like he is despite the tests suggesting he should be just like his siblings. Which, by the way, he is now about three times the size of.”

Her brow furrowed, and she blinked. “...What?” she said, dubiously. “He didn’t seem very large when I saw him.”

“I mean he’s growing more quickly than a cat should.” The man elaborated. “He looks like he’s over twice his actual age. And rapid ageing of that kind is another completely impossible and unheard of thing.”

She stared for a long moment, and sighed. “Look, Shimura-san, you have to understand how ridiculous this sounds.” She did not outright say ‘I think you’re possibly insane and I don’t trust any evidence you care to show me’, but she thought the implication was in the words regardless.

He hummed, still unbothered, and glanced briefly to the doorway. “Well, it’s true, me telling you this stuff isn’t going to be all that convincing. If you want proper proof, you should just talk to him.”

Mitsuko eyed him dubiously. “Talk...to the cat.”

The man smiled wryly at her. “He can’t talk properly, but he can nod and shake his head and all. I’ll let him convince you.” She opened her mouth to protest, but stopped, seeing a white shape appear around the doorframe in that very moment, as though summoned. It was the same white cat, young and graceful, with startling blue eyes. It lingered in the doorway nervously, ears held outwards and tail lashing slowly. Following her gaze, Shimura-san looked over and saw it. “Hah. You were listening in, were you? He asked, and it was very plain that he was asking the cat.

The cat straightened, almost haughtily, and then stepped carefully into the room. It looked up at her, and approached at a slow and sedate pace until it was a bare metre from her legs. Then, in a motion too deliberate to be mistaken, it bowed. Bowed. Mitsuko stared, and suppressed the impulse to bow back.

She looked up at the neighbour, who only gestured expectantly at the cat. She couldn’t shake the odd suspicion that he was playing some ridiculous joke, that he was waiting for her to talk to the cat and then laugh at how he'd fooled her. But surely there was no reason for him to do such a thing, even if he was insane.

Finally, she swallowed the self- consciousness, and conceded to the attempt. “Cat-san,” she said, very dubiously. “I am told you are intelligent.”

The cat...nodded. suddenly she felt a little light-headed. She reminded herself that nodding was well within the scope of behaviours an animal could be trained into.

“You’ll forgive me if I need to confirm that. I’d like to test this.” She told the cat, as if she believed it were possible for a cat to fully understand the speech of a human. The cat nodded again, and she decided that she absolutely would not be relying on a cat's head movements for something like this. “Please tap your left paw four times on the floor.” She requested, and waited.

She expected the cat to nod, or to do nothing, or perhaps even to shake its head, as Shimura-san had indicated it knew how to do that. She did not for a moment believe the ridiculous concept of a random housecat being a supernatural and highly intelligent creature. She expected everything except that which actually happened: the cat raised its left paw, tapped it on the flooring, and then did it thrice more.

Mitsuko went utterly still. Shimura-san, for his part, didn't comment, or move. He only watched with interest.

The cat watched her, too. Its blue eyes were utterly uncanny. Too intelligent. Too aware. Too focused.

But that was ridiculous. She inhaled quickly, and huffed her breath out again. “Your fur is black,” she said abruptly, and the cat and neighbour blinked at her with confusion. “If that is true, nod your head. If false, shake your head.”

The cat shook its head. Her pulse quickened, shocked again, but she couldn’t believe it. Surely, surely, it was a fluke. Somehow, it wasn’t significant. It wasn’t true.

“The weather today is very cloudy. Stand up if true, or tap your paw three times if false.” She instructed, and couldn’t help but inhale at how the cat craned its neck to the window as if to make sure. The cat tapped a paw three times, and indeed, the sky outside was perfectly clear.

It couldn’t be real. Couldn’t be true. She gave the cat instruction after instruction, even had it jump up onto a chair to make sure it was a real animal with a proper range of natural motion, and got more and more desperate to find some way to deny what was right in front of her. She did not believe in such fantastical things. She didn’t.

“Tell me, Cat-san, do you know basic mathematics?” she questioned, and looking startled, the cat nodded. So she presented fingers on her hand and had the cat tap out the number, had the cat tap its paw for the solutions to basic addition and subtraction and finally there just wasn’t any denying it any longer.

Mitsuko sat back in the chair and rubbed at her itching eyes, and didn't say anything for at least a minute. Finally, Shimura-san ventured to speak.

“Has he convinced you yet?” The man asked, and the cat looked up at her expectantly, as if asking the same thing. Well? Its face seemed to ask. Are you convinced?

She looked back at the cat, her emotions rendered quiescent and muffled by what felt like a thick blanket of shock. She wasn’t certain what to think. “God help me, I think he has.” She admitted, exhaling carefully, and noted the way the cat and man both seemed to relax. What a preposterous situation. Surely she was dreaming. She sighed again and glanced up to meet the neighbour’s eyes. “I still don’t understand, though, why the cat being a supernatural intelligent creature is reason for you to offer him to Hikaru.”

“Oh, right.” Shimura-san said in tones of sudden comprehension, as though he had forgotten to mention something critical, which might well be the case. “Yeah, sorry. So it turns out this cat was so obsessed with your son because he’s actually a friend of his reincarnated, or something.”

The words hit Mitsuko like a blow to the stomach. Her eyes widened and her hand rose to her mouth, shocked far more by that than even the undeniable intelligence of the cat. Said cat, now looking decidedly anxious, crouched down a little as if he wanted to hide. “A-“ She started, faintly, and looked at the cat. “A friend of his – but – surely that means-“ She stopped, aghast, the unfinished sentence playing out behind her teeth: surely that means a friend of his must have died.

“He told me he’d been in mourning recently. Don’t know if you knew anything about that.” Shimura-san looked sympathetic now, for all the good it did her. She couldn’t quite come to terms with the words, but – it made sense. It made so much sense.

It had been so sudden. Hikaru had run off to visit some place or the other and when he came back…he’d been so different. So subdued, as though all the life had drained out of him. He’d stopped playing Go, stopped going to his matches, stopped meeting his friends…as though someone had reached out and switched off the vivacity and passion and enthusiasm he’d once held. She hadn’t known what to think. He wouldn’t talk about it, wouldn’t talk to her, or even Akari-chan. He wouldn’t talk, but-

“He was grieving.” She murmured to herself, utterly stricken, and felt pain well up in her chest at the thought of what he’d been suffering, alone, without even a word to her about what he was going through. She wondered who it was that had died. Not Isumi-san, of course, but what of his other Go friends? Was it someone she had met, or heard of? Was it someone she hadn’t? She looked down at the cat, and wondered who it was sitting there.

It should have taken more thought, to accept that an apparently unnatural cat bore the reincarnated soul of one of her son’s friends. She had doubted the concept of the cat himself so much, so why not this? But…

Hikaru had been grieving. Of course he had. Of course that was what she’d been missing.

“I think I need to speak with my son.” She said, quietly, and rose from the chair. She suppressed a sneeze as the motion disturbed the air, bringing who-knew how many allergens into her system as she breathed. “Please excuse me.”

“Seems like he’s kept a lot from you.” The man nodded, and he did seem very understanding. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Mitsuko allowed herself to be shown out to the door, head reeling and heart aching, and swept her eyes quickly over the street. By some small mercy, Hikaru hadn’t followed to eavesdrop, or if he had he’d already abandoned the effort. She strode quickly across the road to the not-so-distant door of her home, turned the key in the door-

Hikaru rose from his chair the instant she entered, faltering half-standing as he looked at her. There was something heartbreakingly uncertain in his expression, something anxious and afraid. She wasn’t sure when she’d last seen him looking so vulnerable. He hid so much from her.

Before he could say anything, she crossed the space between them in a few steps and pulled him into her arms. He was so tall now. But he tensed as she embraced him, then trembled oddly, air escaping him in what felt like a failed attempt at speaking. “I wish you’d told me,” She whispered, every word hurting. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it. You were grieving and I didn’t see it.”

He shook in her arms. “He…” His voice broke off at the first word. He swallowed and tried again. “What did he – what did he tell you?”

“A lot of things that we’ll have to discuss.” She said, as gently as she could. “But the most important thing to me is what he said about you. You lost someone, Hikaru? That’s why you’ve been so withdrawn these past months?”

Her son sniffed, like he was trying not to cry. He always had been an emotional boy, even when he grew older and started trying to pretend he was untouchable. He felt things so strongly. “…Yeah.” He said, in a very small voice.

Mitsuko exhaled, her heart breaking for him all over again. She raised a hand to stroke carefully over his hair. “I’m so very sorry for you, Hikaru. There’s nothing worse than losing someone you love.” She carefully did not think of her own losses, long since buried and mourned.

He didn’t answer. But the trembling was response enough.

She drew back from him enough to look at his face, at the green eyes held averted as if he were afraid of meeting her gaze. He’d not said anything about what he’d been going through, and had just…suffered, alone, with her helpless to understand him and not knowing what to do. Part of her wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him for that, demand to know why he hadn’t just trusted her, but…

She exhaled, closed her eyes briefly, and tried to distance herself from her own hurt. Yes, she was upset that he’d not trusted her. But she knew what her son was like – if she confronted him about it, that would more or less guarantee he’d never come to her about his emotional issues ever again. He was already far too secretive and evasive, he didn’t need her exacerbating the problem.

…he’d confided in a stranger about something he’d not told her, his own mother, for god’s sake – but no, no, it wouldn’t do her any good to get angry or upset about it…

Instead of speaking any of the hundred hurt or indignant things that wanted to pass her lips, Mitsuko breathed, and then asked “What’s his name?”

Her son peered at her, in a sort of quick there-then-not flick of his eyes to hers. “…Huh?” He expressed, apparently stupefied by the circumstances or the question or both.

“Your friend.” She clarified. “That you lost. Who is…a cat now, apparently. What is his name?”

“Oh.” Hikaru blinked, looking vulnerable and almost shy. “Um.” He cleared his throat, with a sort of daunted expression that implied he wasn’t quite keeping up with the conversational turns, and would need to sit down and do a lot of processing later. “…Sai.” he said, in the end, and – that wasn’t the name of any of the friends she’d met, was it? So why did it sound so familiar? “He’s called Sai.”

“…Sai.” Mitsuko repeated, as if tasting the name, and wondered where she’d heard it. “No family name?” Did the reincarnated cat have a bereaved family out there? Should she be trying to convey him to them? Although…if the cat had been ‘talking’ with her son, and he wanted to return to his family, surely he would have been able to communicate that?

But if the cat had no bereaved family, then what did that mean? Had Hikaru befriended an orphaned child without telling her about it? Had he befriended some sort of street child, or young criminal? That would certainly account for her having never been told about him before…

“…Fujiwara.” Her son admitted, breaking through her runaway thoughts, and she blinked at him. Processed the name, and nodded. It was a standard enough family name, so why did Hikaru look almost guilty? Like he was getting away with something?

Perhaps the street child theory had some credence to it after all.

“How did you meet him?” She asked him, in the end, as politely and non-intrusively as possible. “I don’t believe I ever met him while he was…ah…alive, did I?”

Hikaru looked positively constipated at that. “Er….no, you didn’t. I, um….” He appeared to be gathering his wits, or his words, or something for several seconds. He squared his shoulders, not meeting her eyes, and eventually admitted “I met him a couple years ago. He’s…actually why I started playing Go.”

…Oh.

Mitsuko absorbed that, mentally downgrading the likelihood of her street child theory, and said “I see. Is he good at Go, then?”

“…Way better than I am.” Her son agreed, still looking shifty, like he was hiding something. And wasn’t that something, that her son the professional Go player willingly admitted to such a disparity in skill between him and his friend? This ‘Sai’ must truly be a talented player. In that case, it seemed unlikely he’d have been a street child, or some other variety of unfortunate or wastrel. She couldn’t imagine it being likely for someone in such diminished circumstances to have the opportunity to learn so much. “That’s actually how I figured out the cat was him. We…played a game, and I recognised his Go.”

She somehow hadn’t thought to wonder about that. “Oh my. I see.” She said in the end, uncertain how else to respond. She didn’t know the first thing about the game, but she supposed…modes of playing must be somewhat recognisable, then? Like an art style? “Honestly, Hikaru, I’m just barely managing to convince myself that this isn’t all a dream.” She admitted after a moment, recalling the intensely surreal experience of proving the cat’s sapience.

Hikaru actually choked out a laugh at that, and shook his head. “Me too.” He confided, and she met his eyes, and they shared a moment of utter bemusement at the circumstances of their lives.

The moment could only last so long, though. And then the problems of reality were pressing at her, and her mind went off again, wondering, wondering… “Where do you imagine this going from here, Hikaru?” She asked eventually, because the way this had started had been her son trying to negotiate for the entrance of this decidedly supernatural cat into their household.

He blinked at her, startled, and shifted uneasily. “Well…I was thinking Sai could just…move in with us?” he said, in the tones of a question. “I mean – he’s a cat, it’s not like he can be a Japanese citizen and get a job and his own house, and – yeah.”

Mitsuko eyed her son, and tentatively asked what she’d been dying to for half of the conversation. “And…he doesn’t have family he could go to? No other Fujiwara-san who are mourning him?”

Hikaru’s shoulders hunched. He carefully avoided her eyes. “…No.” he said, and despite the fact that he was obviously hiding something, that sounded truthful. “I’m pretty much the only person he has.”

If anything set off alarm bells in her mind, it was that. Though she wasn’t sure if the alarm was on behalf of her son or his obviously tragic friend. Or perhaps both.

But what to do about this? If the cat were genuinely a person, which evidence seemed to point to, consigning him to live the life of a regular cat – as property, with no dignity or autonomy – would be an appalling thing to do. He needed to live with someone who recognised his sapience and wouldn’t abuse their legal authority over him. And if the cat – Sai – had this evident personal connection to her son…then wouldn’t that make him the best choice to assume that responsibility?

But Hikaru was only a child. Responsibility for an entire not-quite-human being seemed a heavy thing to allow him to put on his shoulders. But…oh…wouldn’t that still be better than the depression he’d endured these last months, in the midst of his grief?

…Couldn’t they find someone else to host the cat? Someone close enough that Hikaru could visit with him, as he must have done when Sai was alive? The idea of what was essentially adopting another child into her household was not a very comfortable one. Even if the child was cat-shaped, and wouldn’t require schooling or clothing or whatever else. Would he complain about his bedtime? Would he be picky with his food? Would he track mud through the house? The more she thought about it, the more aghast she was at the idea.

“…It would be one thing if he was actually a cat,” Mitsuko said, eventually, deeply uncertain. “But this is a person, Hikaru. You’re asking me to take another person into the household. That’s…quite a thing to ask.”

“He won’t get in the way.” Hikaru assured her hopefully. “He won’t need much. You can just pretend he’s not there, he won’t mind.”

….she hoped that was just her son trying to convince her any way he could think of, rather than something indicative of how his friend had experienced life as a human. She tried desperately not to label this cat as an abused child, because that would make her feel protective and far too sympathetic, and then all her reservations would crumble in a second flat. “It doesn’t work that way, Hikaru.” She told her son, in the end. “If I accept him into the house, knowing that he is a person, I have a responsibility to treat him like a person. To care for him and his upkeep. His medical bills, such as they might be – we’d need to find a vet.” She shook her head, daunted at the thought. Animal medical costs would not be covered by her insurance, that was for certain.

“Then let me handle that stuff.” Hikaru returned, stubbornly, arms crossing. She eyed the set of his jaw and the line of his shoulders and acknowledged with an internal sigh that her son had well and truly dug his heels in. She lifted her hand to her head, rubbing briefly at her temples. She didn’t speak for a moment, which Hikaru took as a cue to keep talking. “If he needs a vet, I’ll find one, and pay for him. I’ll pay for his food and stuff too, if that’s a problem. I’m not really doing anything with my income, so I can.”

Mitsuko lifted her head, and regarded him silently. He was…extremely resolved about this. He’d sink his wages into caring for this cat who’d once been a human friend, and not even hesitate about it. How much of an impact must that death have had? Certainly, enough to amputate him from all joy and passion for months on end… “It’s very commendable of you to go that far, Hikaru.” She said, eventually. “But is it really your job to care for him?”

Hikaru looked at her with his brow furrowed. “Who else is supposed to do it?” He asked, as if he were genuinely curious.

No parents. No family. “Shimura-san?” She suggested, half-heartedly.

He made a face, but didn’t immediately dismiss it out of hand, as if he were actually trying to think about a good reason to refuse. That was another extremely potent sign of how much he cared about this. “He’d probably do it.” He admitted, reluctantly, after a while. “But I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be happy about it, and Sai…” He trailed off.

Mitsuko’s lips pursed. No, she had to admit, it could do no child good to live in a home where he was unwanted. Even if that child did happen to be a cat now.

Hikaru had already shaken his head and kept talking. “Anyway, I kind of don’t see the point. I’ll just move out and take him with me eventually anyway. You could stop me from doing that now, you know, because you’re my parent and everything.” He sounded sullen at the admission. “But you couldn’t stop me once I turned eighteen.”

Despite herself, she was almost a little fascinated at this display from her son. Being obstinate was normal for him, true, but…the forethought? The steely resolve? He wasn’t afraid to tell her that, with or without her permission, he’d be taking his friend in eventually. “That’s true.” She said, mildly.

He eyed her suspiciously, as though not sure what to think of that agreement. “So, the only reason you can really have for not wanting to take him in is if you don’t want the…responsibility, or whatever, of having an extra guy around.” He told her, almost challengingly. “And if it’s just that, then you let me move out with him, and it’s fine.”

“What if I wanted my son to live with me while he’s still a child, but didn’t want to take in another child?” She wondered, almost curious now. Hikaru twitched at that, and stared at her with a sort of narrow-eyed confusion that didn’t seem to match what she’d said, but rapidly rallied himself.

“Then you’d suck, because you’d be making Sai live somewhere he doesn’t want to be for years for no reason.” He informed her.

Involuntarily, she smiled. It seemed to perplex her son greatly.

“What?” he demanded, wary.

“You’re being a very caring and protective friend to this Sai of yours, Hikaru.” She said, and he stared at her, nonplussed. “While it’s a little inconvenient for me, under the present circumstances, I can’t help but be proud of you for it.”

He reddened, shoulders hunching, and didn’t quite seem to know what to do with the praise. She patted him on one of those shoulders, and sighed.

Just to be sure, she took a few moments to stare off to the side, thinking it all over again. But, inconvenient as it might be, her conclusions didn’t change. She sighed again, and felt the weight of stress settling into her bones. There was nothing to be done.

Ultimately, the only choice which didn’t involve accepting the cat-friend into her house involved standing in her son’s way, and obstructing him for years, and in the process putting an innocent person into a potentially very unpleasant situation. Knowing her son, she didn’t expect him to meekly accept her ruling, either. Three years under those circumstances could breed an untold amount of resentment between them, and he certainly wouldn’t make it easy for her. As a mother, and as a person, she only really had the one option.

“I have little idea how much of an issue my allergies might be,” she started, and watched Hikaru’s head jerk up, a cautious light in his eyes. “And little idea how the needs of a supernatural cat might differ from a normal one. If there are any problems…or he proves very expensive to house…I might have to reassess. But for the time being-“

“You’re going to let me keep him?” Her son blurted, incredulous, looking utterly stunned about the whole thing. Almost insultingly so, actually. Of course she won’t listen, that expression seemed to say. Of course she won’t understand. It troubled her, more than a little, that Hikaru apparently thought so little of…her willingness to compromise? Her receptiveness? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t like it.

Instead of saying any of that, Mitsuko sighed at him again. And said “We’ll certainly give it a try, Hikaru. I…don’t think I can be a parent to this friend of yours. But it would be very unkind of me to deny him shelter in his unusual situation.”

Hikaru had made a very weird face at the word ‘parent’, but didn’t address it. Instead, he held mute and stunned for several moments more, watching her face as though scanning for any sign of duplicity. When at last he was satisfied-

He seemed almost as surprised as she did when he darted forwards and hugged her, arms tight around her middle. He seemed almost embarrassed at it, but- “Thank you,” he mumbled, shaken and indistinct into her shirt, and she couldn’t regret the upheaval that her decision would surely bring.

Gently, she settled her hands around her son’s shoulders. I hope you’ll trust me a little more from now on, she thought to him, but did not say.

Barely a half hour later, the two of them went to collect the newest member of their household.

---

End chapter.

Notes: so I had the vast majority of this written and sitting around for the last x knows how long, and then a few weeks ago or something I wrote a random 1k in it and finished it, and then yesterday I realised that today was Hikaru’s birthday and it would be a good chance to post the bugger. Hope you enjoyed it.

Declined to read over and edit this today because I decided I wasn’t in the mood for it. Therefore, chapter is presented mostly unedited.

Author’s thoughts: though it's been a fair while since I was in Paper Cranes brain, there are two main things that stand out as bizarre to me when writing/thinking about this fic. The first: compared to Paper Cranes Hikaru, this Hikaru is astoundingly well-adjusted, and it's very weird. The second: Paper Cranes Hikaru would probably rather saw off his own foot with barbed wire than come even slightly clean to his mother about what's going on in his life, so it was very very weird for things to go this way here. I work off a baseline of Paper Cranes Hikaru when writing in this fandom, ok, so this is just plain mcfucking strange.

My current writing status: still writing in Dragon Prince, which is basically my permafandom for the foreseeable future, and am unlikely to stray hikagowards for aeons. Sorry y’all.

#hikaru no go #hikago #shindou hikaru #fujiwara no sai #nekomata #cat's cradle #i do enjoy crack treated (semi) seriously

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keichanz · 5 years ago

Text

Lullaby

inspired by this adorable fanart drawn by @magnoliajades. the song is My Precious One by Celine Dion, but i altered the last set of lyrics to fit the setting.

i gave Inuyasha glasses because i felt like it and for some reason i really like that image. also he doesn’t so much as sing the song as say the lyrics with a lilt that suggests a melody because even with how often i take liberties with his personality in AU’s i still can’t imagine him actually singing heh.

*conveniently and purposely forgets i wrote an entire fucking 27 chapter fic centered on Inuyasha being a singer*

Pushing away from the desk with a heavy sigh, Inuyasha reached up to remove his glasses and tiredly rubbed his eyes. It was just past 8 PM, he still had five pages of code to enter, and that wasn’t even including the software he had to confiture as well as debug the new website. Fuck, but if he’d known becoming a goddamn IT tech meant bringing loads of work home with you almost every night, he definitely would have rethought a profession working with computers.

Inuyasha snorted quietly and then scowled at his computer screen. As far as he was concerned, the only benefit of his career was the salary. And the free Starbucks in the company cafeteria, but that was beside the point.

Taking a moment to stretch his back and legs since he’d been sitting in the computer chair for nigh on four hours now, Inuyasha replaced his glasses – an unfortunate side effect from his college days of staring at his computer in the dark – and eyed his half-empty coffee mug sitting next to the wireless mouse. He was pretty sure it had gone cold by now since he hadn’t touched it for about an hour and he was just contemplating getting up to make a fresh cup when suddenly the apartment door slammed open with enough force to bang against the wall.

A second later it slammed closed before the sounds of jingling keys and rustling clothing reached his ears. Calm as you please, Inuyasha sat back in the chair and silently watched as his girlfriend stormed by the living room, her expression positively thunderous, before disappearing down the hall and into their bedroom.

He sighed, rubbed his eyes again, and reached up to let his hair down from the bun he’d had it in all day.

Kagome had called him earlier, just after he’d gotten home from work himself, to let him know her boss had mandated her again and she’d be home late. Not a very uncommon thing, unfortunately. Her boss was a bit of a dick and it was no secret Kagome hated his guts, but the pay was good and she genuinely enjoyed her job as a social worker. She loved being able to help children in bad situations, but it came with the awful side effect of working for Naraku Morikawa. Kagome always complained about him, saying she would never understand how a man that treats his employees so poorly and yet have the gall to work with children, and if Inuyasha were honest, he’d have to agree.

She’d never leave, though, and she’d told him as much several times. Because despite having an awful boss and oftentimes long work hours, overseeing happy adoptions and tearful reunions always made it worth it.

Today, however, must have been particularly bad since she hadn’t even bothered to say anything before storming to their room. Coupled with that scowl on her face and the angry muttering his ears were picking up, Inuyasha knew his girlfriend well enough to know not to approach and let her decide what she needed to calm herself. It would be either one of two things: lock herself in the bathroom and have a long, hot soak in the bathtub, or come to him for cuddles and silent reassurance.

Minutes ticked by and when he didn’t hear any water running, Inuyasha had a good idea which one it would be so he stayed where he was, his half-formed idea for a fresh cup o’ joe already forgotten. His girl was far more important than any caffeine kick, anyway.

Only half paying attention to what his fingers were doing on the keyboard, Inuyasha got back to work, one ear trained toward the kitchen. He could hear her moving around and knew she broke out the wine by the sounds and smell of it.

Inuyasha smiled a little to himself and absently typed in a series of commands he’d long ago memorized. Must have been a truly rough day if she was using wine to help settle her nerves. He wondered if she’d explain what happened if he asked; odds were she wouldn’t, but sometimes giving voice to the whirling thoughts in her head assisted in soothing her upset, so then again, it was possible.

He heard the clinking of glass on the counter, more unintelligible muttering, and then footsteps approaching the living room. Inuyasha didn’t look away from the computer, however, when Kagome switched off the light and shuffled over to him. A brief glance revealed that she’d shed her slacks, leaving her in just her blue sweater and black boy shorts.

Not altogether unusual, however the fact that she hadn’t finished undressing before going to the wine tipped him off that something serious must have happened at work. The first thing he and Kagome both did upon returning home was immediately change into loungewear unless they planned on going somewhere, and he knew for a fact her bra was always the first thing to go. It was extremely telling that she’d only had the patience to shed her pants before going to the kitchen and now he was almost positive she wouldn’t be in a sharing mood tonight.

Kagome wasn’t looking at him, instead glaring at his chest. Wordlessly Inuyasha pushed back and opened his arms and his girl instantly crawled onto his lap, straddling his thighs as her arms snaked around his waist. She didn’t say a word as she buried her face into his chest and clung to him, taking calm, measured breaths. Inuyasha dropped a kiss to her head and took a moment to run his hand up and down her back in wordless comfort, waiting until her heart rate had returned to normal before scooting back in and stretching his arms out to continue working.

Kagome didn’t stir, content to sit there as he worked, and not for the first time Inuyasha was glad his girl was so petit to make the position possible. He never minded having to work around her, and in fact liked having her snuggled against him, her sweet scent in his nose, listening to her breathe. He was her source of comfort when her life got just a little bit too much to bear, and he’d always be there for her, no matter what.

Time passed and the only sounds in the apartment were their steady breathing and Inuyasha’s fingers clicking against the keyboard and mouse as he worked. Kagome remained still against him, showing no signs of moving, but that was fine with him. It wasn’t until she released a heavy sigh and he felt her relax completely against him that he said something, the low rumble of his voice breaking the quiet of the apartment.

“Wanna talk about it?”

With her head tucked beneath her chin, his words stirred her hair and he felt her shake her head. Inuyasha accepted her answer with another kiss to her head and didn’t press. She’d tell him later if she wanted to. For now, this was enough, and he knew that.

They sat there in silence for another few minutes, the glow from the computer the only illumination and the half-demon’s hands moving across the keyboard filling the quiet. Kagome sighed again and turned her head so her ear rested against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart.

“Inuyasha?” His girl’s voice was barely above a whisper but he heard it anyway.

“Mm?”

“Please?”

Inuyasha paused for only a second before typing out the rest of the command. She didn’t have to elaborate. He knew what she was asking for and it was another glaring sign that her day at work had not gone well at all. Knowing that, there was no way he could refuse her, especially since it was so rare nowadays that she asked at all.

She was his girl, his beloved Kagome, and he could never deny her anything, even this.

Giving a soft sigh, Inuyasha didn’t answer and instead pressed another kiss to her head, nuzzling her hair. Idly thinking that it was a good thing he could multitask, Inuyasha took a breath and began.

“My precious one, my darling one, don’t let your lashes weep.”

Kagome sighed and allowed the deep rumble of his voice to lull her into a state of lethargy, closing her eyes. Inuyasha didn’t exactly sing the lyrics, no, but she didn’t mind. She adored the way the words fell from his lips, low with a smooth lilt that made it obvious they were lyrics, but slow enough that the cadence of the melody was entirely his own.

It was her lullaby, his promise to always protect her, and it never failed to calm the storm of her unsettled nerves, no matter what the cause happened to be.

“My cherished one, my weary one, it’s time to go to sleep.”

Safe at home and in her boyfriend’s arms, Kagome was finally able to let her mind go blank. She concentrated on his chest moving up and down as he breathed, felt the deep rumble of his voice against her ear, his breath stirring her hair, and heard the soft clicking of his claws as he continued to work. She could feel the tension leaving her body, draining out of her and for the first time in what felt like all day, a tiny smile slowly curved her mouth upward.

“Just bow your head, and give your cares to me,” Inuyasha continued, keeping his voice low, intimate. “Just close your eyes, and fall into the sweetest dream.”

Slowly, surely, Kagome’s heart rate slowed and her breathing evened out with the measured, rhythmic breaths of sleep. Her smile dimmed but didn’t disappear, serene, content.

“‘Cause in my loving arms,” Inuyasha continued, voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re safe as you will ever be.”

Kagome sighed, mumbled his name, and succumbed.

“So hush, my dear, and sleep,” he murmured into her hair, kissed her head, and sighed.

Inuyasha let her sleep and hummed the rest of the song under his breath as he finished up his work. He wasn’t surprised she fell asleep, especially since he’d sung her lullaby; Kagome always swore that his voice had healing powers since it always managed to calm her upset, but Inuyasha suspected it had more to do with the fact that her father used to sing it to her when she was a kid before he passed away.

Maybe it was a mixture of both, but whatever the case, the song had fond memories attached to it and he knew it was important to her, about as much as she was to him. So yeah, if he had to temporarily check in his manliness and sing to the woman he loved to make her feel better, then he would without question.

When he finally finished work and shut down the computer a little after nine, Kagome didn’t stir as Inuyasha stood up with her in his arms and carried her to their bedroom. He carefully laid her down, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and left to turn off the kitchen light and lock door before using the bathroom and then doubling back.

Unsurprisingly Kagome was still passed out. Shaking his head, but not without a fond smile, Inuyasha managed to take both her sweater and bra off without waking her before shedding his own clothes and crawling into bed beside her. He pulled the blankets up as Kagome rolled so she was facing him and Inuyasha pulled her close, tucking her tightly against him, his love for this woman powerful, consuming, strong enough to make him want to weep.

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispered against her temple, closing his eyes. “Sweet dreams.”

“And if you should awake I’ll kiss your soft cheek And underneath the smiling moon I’ll sing you back to sleep.”

#lullaby #inukag #inuyasha fanfiction #keizfanfiction #fanfiction #oneshot

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