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karisomk · 2 years ago

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He's just a friend, I swear! Pt. 1 Attuma x Okoye Office AU

Song: https://youtu.be/E-uwulZWpak Pairings: Attuma x Okoye Tags: Romance, approaching smut in p2. ,humor with denial of feelings. Summary:

Sometimes secrets don't stay secrets! W'Kabi breaks up with Okoye and with the combination of the stress of her office job. She decides to take a long two-week vacation in Yucatan where she meets a certain man. Both walk into their relationship as being strictly friends with benefits. Any lingering feels were dropped once her vacation was over. That was until Attuma happens to be the new transfer to her department at her office. Things tried to remain a civil level but Attuma has had enough of that. Translation: Chaak Lool = Red Flower

She was surprised to not see Attuma today, considering the other made it his mission to eat with her every afternoon when they worked together. The last time they had spoken, she knew he wanted to go out to a restaurant during their lunch break. And the two spoke about their favorite dishes and favorite restaurants. Raving about Lagos' Chicken Curry, which was her favorite dish, she knew Attuma wanted to try the restaurant with her. This was the most civil conversation they have had so far alone. Finally, Attuma understood that she was in fact a different person at work than on vacation. Or so she thought. The two abruptly stopped speaking to one another once her vacation was officially over and she flew back home. She sat with her feelings of not seeing him again, after all both agreed that this was just sex. A point for them to enjoy themselves and to say fuck her ex-boyfriend W’Kabi. That was until Attuma happened to be the new transfer to her department.

Okoye lifted a brow at the sight of the small black to-go containers with a white foam cup that was sealed with a straw on her desk.

A yellow sticky note was placed beside it that read, "Caught in a meeting but I ordered for you since I wasn't able to ask you to join me for lunch today. Enjoy!" Attuma signed the bottom of it even leaving a little smiley face next to his name. Okoye picked up the sticky note, admiring his cursive penmanship before placing it down. Opening the first large plate container, Okoye perked up at the scent of spices from the Chicken Curry and rice. Opening the second container, she smiled softly recognizing the Malva Pudding. By the time she searched her cabinets for utensils and extra napkins, her stomach growled. Keeping the lights off in her office, she only opened one of her blinds to let the sun in. Enjoying the silence for the hour in a half that was supposed to be her lunch time.

Aneka peaked in while knocking on her doorframe, "It smells good in here. I was going to ask you what you were going to eat for lunch, but I see you already got it. What did you get?"

"Attuma treated me to lunch today and it's Chicken Curry with Malva Pudding," Okoye said moving to grab her drink container. Tilting it slightly to look at the dark hue liquid threw the plastic lid, "Looks like Kirkrade."

Aneka sucked her teeth before rubbing her stomach, " I swear he's always trying to spoil you! Can I have some?!"

"Now you know you are just making things up; yes sure we will eat lunch together" Okoye started to say.

"Well, he decided to join me and kept on eating lunch with me" Okoye snorted while looking for more utensils and a small plate.

"Okoye… He likes to get you tea in the morning, and you said it yourself it is made just the way you like it. "

"Yes, so? That is very considerate of him to do so" Okoye retorted quickly. But in reality, Attuma knew something about her due to spending two weeks in Yucatan together.

"SO! He is determined to spoil you with food and spend time with you. Your little work husband" Aneka flashed a grin and even laughed when Okoye sucked her teeth at her. Though her heart fluttered, she could never tell her that what she had with Attuma was just a fling. Even if she did like him, their understanding of one another in Yucatan was that they would never see one another again.

And yet, Attuma was now her new coworker that transferred in.

Spreading some of the chicken curry and rice on a plate, Okoye even shared some of the pudding with Aneka. Aneka was practically humming after the second bite, Okoye chewed slowly savoring the flavors.

"It tastes like it came from Lagos. Not that many places over here know how to make Chicken Curry correctly."

"Isn't that like your favorite place to go, yeah?"

"Mm, it is. He did mention that he wanted to try it with me one day during our lunch breaks."

"Ah, Okoye. I'm telling you right now to go out on a date with that man." Aneka said in a hushed tone.

"We are just friends; you could be reading too much besides Attuma could be seeing someone. " Okoye countered. Not that she cared or anything, though she ignored the way her chest tightened at the thought.

"I see women attempting to flirt with him, but he's always brief with them but that's not the case with you" Aneka pointed out.

Okoye grew quiet about that, deciding to just eat more of her food, though her mind betrayed her.

Blankets and towels were neatly spread across the white sand, a picnic basket half empty while clothing from both of them was scattered around them. Large hands that firmly squeezed her buttocks while she rode him slowly, their moans muffled by bright blue waves crashing onto the beach. "Stay with me Okoye, it is beautiful here and-" he trailed, rolling his hips upwards in emphasis, erupting a moan from Okoye in response. "And we won't be far from one another either." Attuma gave that crooked smile, his full cheeks showing off his dimples when Okoye swatted at his arms.

"Hey, Okoye. Oi, earth to Okoye" Aneka chimed, waving slightly to get her attention.

Okoye blinked away at one of the many memories she had with Attuma in Yucatan.

"You, okay?"

"Mm, just a little tired" Okoye lied softly, but luckily Aneka didn't press the issue. Aneka glanced at her phone, "Hey, I'll catch up with you later. I know Ayo wanted to meet up before lunchtime is over."

“Tell your husband, I said thank you for the food too!"

Okoye parted her lips to deny that title once more, but Aneka scurried out of her office before she could say anything.

Finally finishing her food in peace until she heard another knock on her door, this time Attuma stood in her doorway with a coffee cup and a small box of food in his hand.

“Hey, how was it?” Attuma closed the door behind him, taking up Aneka’s seat near Okoye’s desk with a sigh. Worry showed on his temple and yet he smiled softly at her.

“It was wonderful, thank you for treating me.”

“You’re very welcome, chaak lool”

“What did I tell you about calling me that here?”

“But it is just us right now in your office, alone.” Attuma placed his container on his desk leaning back into the chair.

“Attuma-..”

‘Unless, you are worried about your ex-boyfriend wondering why I call you that. Does he still bother you like he did when you were with me?” Attuma flashed a teasing grin even as Okoye rolled her eyes.

“That’s none of your business.” Okoye stood up, gathering her empty containers from her desk to toss in her wastebin by her door.

“But it was my business when you wanted me to answer your phone while we were fucking each other. How much you wanted W’Kabi to know that you were no longer interested in him after the stunt he pulled with you. ” Attuma quipped back.

“KEEP your voice down,” Okoye hissed.

Attuma stood up placing his cup on her desk moving close to Okoye, “If someone is listening that would be their fault.”

Okoye placed her hand on her door handle, tempted to just leave him in her office but Attuma placed a hand on the door while he looked down at Okoye.

Closing the space slightly between them, “Chaak Lool. Are you done playing like you don't miss me like I miss you?”

“I don’t miss you, we were just-” Okoye trailed off when she was pulled closer to him, being trapped between the door and Attuma.

She avoided those warm eyes she had come to know well, until she felt one of those large hands grasp her chin to make her look up at him. Her grip still on the door handle only tightened, inhaling his lovely earthy cologne.

“And so, what. If we were just fucking, that’s our business like before,” Attuma injected quietly, letting his thumb brush against her bottom lip.

Okoye’s lips parted when Attuma moved closer, her legs pressed tightly to cease the throbbing in her sex. She did miss him, so terribly. Touching herself wasn’t the same nor was the few times she did sleep with W’Kabi.

So much for being civil with one another.

Okoye's faint moan was muffled by Attuma crushing his lips against hers, their tongues brushing against one another while she reached to wrap her arms around his neck. Attuma let his hands roam over Okoye, tracing every curve with familiarity and need. Light squeezes to her breast that made her moan slightly against his lips. His hands gripping her skirt, pulling and hiking it up to touch more of her thighs.

Okoye’s desk phone rang loudly, yanking both from their steamy moment with one another. Attuma hadn’t exactly moved but merely pressed a kiss to Okoye’s neck in hope she would just let it ring. But when she pushed past him, he made no effort to stop her but instead sighed to himself.

#fanfiction #attuma x okoye #okoye x attuma #au fic #attuma #mcu okoye #okoyuma

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wispstalk · 2 years ago

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vengeance

excerpt. read the rest of this chapter on AO3

Coradri awakes well-rested. There is a slight nip to the air around her uncovered face, but this far south of the Jeralls, the late autumn mornings are pleasant and refreshing.

The bedroll next to her is empty. Irathi, in a huff, slept outside bundled in his cloak. A luxury, one night of space in the otherwise cramped tent. She twists and stretches, wringing the stiffness from her limbs, then drapes her cloak over her head and pokes her head through the canvas flap.

It’s a splendid morning in the West Weald. They set up camp in a small thicket on the edge of a vast vineyard, and the golden light of dawn glimmers off the heavy-laden vines. Wisps of mist linger in the low hollows between the sweeping hills, slowly evaporating with the last strains of the night. Far in the distance, a rooster crows its morning greeting— or tries to. It must be a young one. Its proud call is quavery, ending in a sort of strained gurgle. Good on you for trying, little man, she thinks, and climbs out of the tent.

Irathi is already up, stirring the fire, with his cloak draped over a nearby bush to dry the morning dew.

“Did you sleep well?” Coradri purrs sweetly.

“No,” Irathi grumbles, and places his cookpot on the coals to reheat last night’s venison-and-rice stew. Two steaming mugs wait on a stump beside the fire, and she picks one up and inhales deeply. Fennel and citrus peels, with a little peppery bite from lady's smock leaves. Irathi always makes the best morning tea.

“You’re such a baby. It was only a few little slugs.”

“Leaving their slime all over my bedroll, yeah. I’m going to have to burn the damn thing now thanks to you.”

Coradri peeks in at the bedroll. There are a few silvery trails left behind on the fur, completely dry, that flake off when she brushes the hide with her hand.

He lifts the cookpot lid to stir its contents. “You know how I remembered you, out of all of Yena’s kids? It was because you put worms in my boots once.” A full-body shiver overtakes him. “Fuck, I still remember putting my foot right in them. That was the nastiest, most disgusting—“

Coradri bursts into laughter, and Irathi shoots her a glower. She must have been quite little then— she doesn’t remember it, but it sounds right. Terrorizing the haggard, serious mercenaries of the Rootless band was one of her top three favorite activities.

She can’t help herself. When they fish for their dinner in the icy mountain streams of the Jeralls, he never baits the hook, and always has some mysterious task to attend to when it comes time to gut the trout. He likes to think he’s the toughest in all Tamriel, but he pales at the sight of anything slimy and wriggling. If she had loftier aims, she’d tell herself that these pranks teach him a lesson in humility, but really, it’s just funny.

“How’d you not starve to death in Morrowind? The cooks for the Rootless probably served scrib every third day.”

“Never could stand them raw. If they were served on stakes, I made my own damn dinner. They don’t squirm when they’re roasted, or turned into jerky.”

“So if I put dead slugs in your bedroll—“

“Then I’ll put you in an early grave,” he says darkly.

“You wouldn’t. You love me. I’m your best friend in all the world.”

Irathi only grunts in response, but when he turns, she sees the flash of his gold tooth from his grin. “Come get your breakfast, you little shit.”

He reaches behind him toward a cluster of plants with thick, broad heart-shaped leaves, plucking one to use as an ersatz plate. They’ve been meaning to get her a mess kit of her own, but between closing Oblivion gates and earning his University recommendation, they keep forgetting.

“Fuck!”

He squawks and flings the leaf to the ground, shuddering and rasping his palm along his trouser leg. Coradri picks it up curiously— near the stem, there is a yellow slug the length of her pinky. Nestled in the deep vein, likely there to drink the morning dew. Timidly, it pokes its little antennae out, testing the air to see if the cataclysm is over.

“Oh, it’s pretty!” she exclaims. “I’ve never seen one like this. Look, it’s got green-and-brown stripes along its back—“

But when she brandishes the leaf at him, he backs away, eyes wide. She grins and bears down on him; he tears away from the camp, Coradri following closely at his heels and waving the leaf like a war-axe.

#elder scrolls #tes oblivion #oc: tanis #oc: coradri #ray writes

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7-wonders · 4 years ago

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For a little over a month now, you had been dating Duncan Shepherd, and it was...surprisingly low-key considering how high-profile he was. That's not to say that this is a bad thing. In fact, it's been really nice. Dinner dates at the backs of restaurants, movie nights at your place, even just driving aimlessly and talking with each other. Over the past month, you've gotten to really know the man that many magazines refer to as "untouchable," finding out that those assumptions are all lies. In fact, you've never been so comfortable in the beginning stages of a relationship with someone before.

Which is why you're waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You're not used to things going so good for you. Work, personal life, relationships--all manage to end up going in the opposite direction of where you wanted them to go. This is probably the reason that it took three weeks of Duncan chasing after you after meeting at a work conference (you'll never forget watching this 30-something man who had been covered in Forbes walk up to a group of late Millenials/early Gen Zs and look entirely out of his element) before you agreed to go out with him. You're just naturally guarded, and there's nothing wrong with that. But, you'll admit, it is nice to be vulnerable sometimes. Especially when that results in an extremely beautiful man taking out out and showering you with attention.

Said beautiful man is who makes your phone buzz on your desk. It's 3:30 on a Friday, and you're really not doing much work anyways.

"It's a beautiful day out, are you up for ditching work and going for a walk through the park?"

You feel yourself flush, as you always do whenever Duncan texts you. Before you can respond, another text comes in.

"Too late, I'm already outside your office."

Sure enough, you look up and see him chatting to your coworker. His eyes flick towards you, and he grins when he sees that you're shrugging your coat on. "Hi," you say shyly, a little flustered that he's here in your office right now.

"Hi. Hope I didn't interrupt any work."

"You did. I was very busy staring at my blank computer screen."

Duncan chuckles, wrapping his arm around you and leading you out of the office. you turn to wave goodbye to your coworker, who is currently fanning herself with her hand and mouthing "oh my god!"

"So what are you doing out of your office on a Friday afternoon?"

"Ah, they didn't have much use for me anyways." You laugh, knowing that's an obvious lie. His uncle would make him live at the office if he had the chance. "No, I figured I could take off a couple of hours early. Lord knows I've worked enough lately."

"You sure the world won't stop spinning because you're gone?"

Duncan grabs your hand, swinging it lightly as you cross a crosswalk. "If it does, at least I'm with you." You look up at him in pleased surprise, and he steals a kiss. "There is something I've been wanting to discuss with you, though. Figured this would be a good time to do it."

Oh god. The other shoe. "You're not married or something, are you?"

"No, I'm not married."

"Thank god," you breathe a literal sigh of relief.

"Was that really what you were worried about? That you were an unknowing mistress?"

"That, and that you might be a serial killer." You side-eye him. "Verdict's still out on that one."

He laughs. "I can promise you that neither of those are true."

"So what did you want to tell me? If you're not a married serial killer."

You come to a stop when Duncan does, staring at him as he nervously rubs the back of his neck. "Um, I...I have a child."

"A child?" He nods. "Like, a tiny human that shares your DNA?" Another nod.

"I understand that this might be a shock to you."

"No! No, it's not a shock. I'm just surprised, is all."

"I've never told any of the previous women I've dated about her, because typically the fling ends as just a fling, and her safety is something that I'm very protective of."

"Your daughter?"

"Yes, Elizabeth. She's three."

You smile, the mental image of Duncan as a dad something intensely heartwarming.

"As I was saying, I don't typically tell my dates about her, but you and I are getting fairly serious and I don't want to hide such an important part of my life from you."

"We're getting serious, huh?" Duncan laughs lightly. "Can I call you my boyfriend?"

"As long as I can call you my girlfriend."

"Is your daughter's mother...around?"

"No. She stuck around for two months after Elizabeth was born, and then she left. We weren't dating for very long before she got pregnant. I told her that I wanted the baby, even if she didn't." Duncan shrugs. "I guess she didn't."

"I'm so sorry that you had to deal with that, Duncan."

"I'd rather raise my daughter to know she has one parent that loves her so much instead of one parent that loves her and one parent that doesn't care." Though he hasn't revealed much about his past, you do know that he has a complicated relationship with his family, which is probably where those feelings come from.

"Thank you for telling me. I'm glad that you trust me enough to talk about someone so precious to you."

"I want you in my life, (Y/N), hopefully for a long time, but I need you to know that she'll always come first."

Well, if you didn't think you were head over heels for him before, this solidifies it.

"If you're okay with it, I want you to meet her."

You look up in surprise. "You do?"

"Of course. I'm not going to tell you all of this just for you to not meet her."

"I'd love to!" you say quickly, not wanting him to think you're hesitant. "Would she be okay with it?"

Duncan nods. "I'll talk to her about it, but I don't see why not. Do you want to come over tonight? I can cook dinner, and you can actually see where I live."

You try not to show it, but your eyes widen. Not only would you be meeting his daughter, but now you'd be visiting his place for the first time. "Um, sure!"

"I'll text you, but does five work? That gives me some time after the nanny leaves."

"Five is great."

"You sure?" He smirks. "You look a little nervous."

"I'm sure." Duncan kisses you once more before bidding you farewell, leaving you to walk home and try not to internally freak out.

///

After spending way too much time figuring out what to wear before realizing you're meeting your boyfriend's three-year-old and not the Queen of England, you're at the address Duncan had texted you at approximately 5:05 (not too late, but also not punctual or, even worse, early). You shift from foot to foot nervously after knocking on the door of the townhouse, not quite sure if you should let yourself in.

Before you can make that decision, it's made for you when the door is opened by Duncan. He's grinning, barefoot and casual, with a tiny pair of arms wrapped around his neck and big blue eyes shyly gazing up at you from where a head is hidden against his shoulder. Instantly, your nerves melt away when you see that she's truly Duncan's carbon copy, from the eyes to the brown curls to the way she looks at you as if she's trying to figure you out.

"Hi, come in." Duncan ushers you in, kissing you on the cheek as he takes your coat. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Wine?" you ask before wondering if you can even drink wine when there's a small child around.

"Perfect, I already opened a bottle." Duncan looks at his daughter, brushing her curls back before whispering something in her ear. "(Y/N), this is my daughter, Elizabeth. Lizzie, this is Daddy's special friend, (Y/N), remember?"

"Hi Elizabeth, it's very nice to meet you," you say with a smile.

She looks up at you. "Hi," she says before burying her face in Duncan's shoulder again, making both you and him chuckle.

"The, uh, food's probably almost ready. It's chicken and rice, if you're okay with that."

"Definitely!"

"I wanted chicken nuggets, but Daddy said that's not 'date food,'" Elizabeth pipes up. You laugh as Duncan blushes.

"That's where your dad and I disagree, because I would eat chicken nuggets every night if I could."

She grins, and you feel like you just won the lottery. "Me too."

"Can I set you down, sweetie? I have to check the stove," Duncan explains. He speaks to her so softly, which is such a change from the demanding man you see when he's on work calls, or the romantic who loves to make you flustered. Once she agrees, he puts her on the floor and she immediately runs off, presumably to the living room or her bedroom.

"She's so cute," you gush once she's out of earshot.

"Yeah, she is," he says fondly, moving something off of the stove before kissing you properly. "I think she likes you."

"You can tell?"

He shrugs. "Father's intuition."

"I wasn't sure if I should have brought her a gift, like a toy or something?"

"I'm glad you didn't. My mom spoils her rotten with toys, she has way more than she needs."

"Can I help you with anything?"

"Would you mind setting the table, actually?" He points to a cupboard. "Dishes are up there."

Everywhere you look, there's signs of the little girl that lives here, whether it be crayon artwork on the fridge or the kid plastic plates in the cupboard. You smile at a picture of Duncan pushing Elizabeth on a swing as you set down the plates and cutlery, Duncan putting dishes of food on the middle of the table.

"Elizabeth!" he calls. "Dinner's ready!" You can hear the pattering of her little feet before you see her sprinting into the dining room like she's racing Usain Bolt.

"Daddy, can I sit with (Y/N)?" she asks, making your heart almost explode.

"I don't know, you'd have to ask (Y/N)," he says, hiding a grin as he looks at you.

"(Y/N), can I sit with you?"

"Yeah." Your voice comes out as little more than a whisper due to how choked up you are, so you clear your throat and try again. "Yeah," you say, louder.

You sit down on the chair closest to Duncan, and Elizabeth clambers up onto your lap. Once she's comfy, she makes grabby hands at the plate that Duncan is making for her. Your hands hover awkwardly at your sides, not sure what to do. What if you move too fast and scare her off? No, that's with wild animals, not toddlers. Yet again, the decision of what to do is made for you when she gets her plate and begins to talk to you.

Throughout dinner, Duncan can hardly eat, so wrapped up in watching you interact with his daughter as you listen to every word she says and chat with her about whatever she's deemed more important than her food. He's not sure of the last time that he was ever this happy; maybe the day Elizabeth was born? Listening to you laugh at one of the jokes she learned at nursery school and has told at least a hundred times by now, he's sure that he made the right choice in saying that he wants you around for a while.

IDK who even would want to read this so I'm just tagging a couple of people @sojournmichael @michaellangdon @xavierplympton @blakescoven @mrslangdonn @michaellangdonstanaccount

#duncan shepherd #house of cards #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd imagines #duncan shepherd x reader

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magicianapprenticelyra · 4 years ago

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Day 7: Free Day!

@sweetalnazar

Featuring Lyra Nguyen and Asra Alnazar; Canon Timeline

(Established Relationship)

CW: Some suggestive scenes, but it’s not explicit.

Four to five years later . . .

After everything is finally put into place, the would-be newlyweds are taken out of their respective dressing rooms. Their families watched as the couple were brought close together, just a few feet apart. Their hands are firmly planted over their own faces; Asra shifts his weight from one foot to another as Lyra bounces on the balls of her feet.

“CAN WE PLEASE LOOK AT EACH OTHER NOW?!” Lyra demands, voice muffled from behind her palms.

There’s warm laughter all around, especially as Lyra’s bouncing soon becomes her impatiently stamping her feet.

“You may!” Nadia replies with a radiant smile.

Together, Asra and Lyra countdown from three. At one, Portia passes Lyra’s glasses over to her, quickly getting out of the bride’s line of sight as Lyra places them over her eyes. In turn, her partner draws his hands together, palm to palm. He slides them down the front of his face, just stopping before his fingertips touch the end of his nose.

They lock eyes. Asra looks like someone who's had the air pulled from his chest, as if he can't remember to breathe. Lyra’s knees buckle under her, arms flailing as she catches herself before hitting the ground.

“Oh look at you!” Lyra exclaims, immediately springing up onto her feet. She pulls Asra into a delighted hug, promptly swinging him around in a circle. The skirts of their dresses billow out from the motion, their peals of laughter echoing in the Palace’s halls.

Before Lyra can get too dizzy and drop her spouse-to-be, she manages to stop. She sets Asra back down, swaying a bit. Before Lyra can fall over for real, Asra catches her, pulling her upright.

They can’t stay in the Palace for long: the ceremony is taking place at The Shop!

Nadia and Portia usher the pair into a carriage outside. In turn, the rest of the attendees get into similar transportation.

O*O*O

Praetor Vlastomil is running a bit late. This isn’t a bad thing, for it gives everyone a chance to catch up. Aisha and Salim are trading stories with Bảo, Walterine and James; Neha is chatting with Portia, with the latter helping Neha adjust the flowers in her hair.

“I’m sorry that the Praetor continues to be unreliable,” Nadia murmurs. She’s with Asra and Lyra, the three of them just a ways away from everyone else.

“He at least had the mind to let us know he was running late,” Lyra replies. Her veil is over her face, shielding her from passersby that shout their congratulations every so often. Her eyes are drawn to Asra. He’s drawn her veil over his face, resting the side of his head against her shoulder. His eyes are closed, the picture of sleep.

“I’m envious that he can fall asleep so easily,” Lyra murmurs.

Nadia chuckles. “Depending on how it goes tonight for the both of you, you’ll probably be able to fall asleep easily enough.”

Lyra blushes, averting her gaze. Her abrupt movement makes the edge of her veil tickle over Asra’s nose, making him sneeze and waking him up.

“Mm?” he mumbles, rubbing his nose with his knuckles.

“Sorry my love.” Lyra adjusts her veil as he shifts out from under it. “How was your sleep?”

“Decent,” Asra yawns, sitting up to stretch. “Any sign of the Praetor?”

“Well—”

Worm! Faust declares.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Lyra looks down to the flower basket between her and her partner’s feet.

Their familiars are waiting patiently for their time to shine. Faust was curled up in the basket of flowers. The basket itself was etched with some glyphs. Once the magic in them was activated, the basket would float. This would allow Faust to grab flowers—and their petals—with her mouth. The morph gets to fling them wherever she pleases.

Nook, Lyra’s book-shaped mimic of a familiar, is their ring bearer for the occasion. He’s in charge of a tinier basket. Nook would need to keep the longer handle of said basket between his teeth to keep pace with Faust’s floating one.

Inside the tiny basket were two paper flowers, one set in a corsage-like arrangement while the other is attached to a hairpin. Lyra had painstakingly assembled them while Asra painted them. The corsage had the red lotus, and the pin was adorned by the purple flower of the belladonna.

Respectively, they’re Lyra and Asra’s favorite flowers. Tucked safely in the center of each flower is their partner’s ring. When the time comes, the lotus corsage would be wrapped over Lyra’s wrist, and the belladonna neatly pinned behind Asra’s ear. Afterward, the rings would go to the appropriate finger of their partner’s hand.

In the meantime however, the newlyweds-to-be watch Faust slowly raise herself from her little bed of flowers, repeating, Worm!

Lyra and Asra look at each other, confused.

Nook’s eyes snap open. His four sea green eyes shift toward the right. Nook raises himself onto his tarantula-esque feet, baring his sharp teeth as he growls.

“Nook, what’s the matter?” Lyra squeaks, startled by the sudden menace overcoming her familiar.

Nadia looks toward the direction of Nook’s line of sight, immediately getting to her feet.

“Oh no.” The disgust in the Countess’s voice is palatable. Asra and Lyra blink at her, bewildered, until they see what she means.

The Praetor had brought one of his worms with him.

O*O*O

A temporary, ramshackle pen is made off to the side of The Shop in order to contain Wriggler. The servants that came with Vlastomil are very, very apologetic in expression to the more unimpressed members of the wedding party.

“Do you suppose it’s going to hold?” Salim murmurs to James, eyeing the creaky posts that were slapdashed together.

“Gods willin’ an’ we don’t have to deal wit’ anyone gettin’ bit or The Shop getting destroyed,” the latter replies in kind, their gazes drifting to their respective spouses.

Aisha is taking all of it in, bemused. Walterine and Bảo, on the other hand, are fuming beside the Countess. Nadia is giving a quiet but adamant final warning to the Praetor that if Wriggler ever shows up to another one of these ceremonial obligations again, she’d have Vlastomil replaced post-haste.

As all that is going on, Asra, Neha, Portia, and Lyra are all staring at the gigantic worm—with teeth!—in awe.

Lyra supports Nook with one forearm under him, having his backside pressed against the front of her dress. With her free hand, Lyra has it gently clasped over Nook’s mouth. That doesn’t stop Nook from growling at Wriggler, but the precaution is there. Asra holds the basket Faust is coiled up in, the latter peering nervously over the rim of it at Wriggler.

“She’s gotten bigger since the last time I saw her—” Asra laughs as the three around him stare in abject horror.

“That worm can get bigger?!” Neha whispers loudly, incredulous.

At this point, all Lyra can do is shrug. Before anyone can say anything else, Praetor Vlastomil calls for Asra, Lyra, and their immediate families to come and step to the spots they’re going to be at.

“I don’t have all day! I have my precious Wriggler and the rest of my worms to attend to!”

“Are you ready?” Lyra asks, looking at the familiar in her arms. Nook blinks at her, his mouth curling into a grin. “Alright. Get the basket and we’ll take our places. No trying to bite Wriggler, okay?”

On it! Nook replies. Once Lyra sets him down, Nook rushes to get his basket. Some onlookers jump out of the way as he zooms past them, making Lyra laugh.

Asra waves his hands over the glyphs on Faust’s basket, murmuring the words to activate them. As Faust is lifted by the magic basket, a loud WHEE! echoing in their heads.

Lyra stands beside Asra, offering her arm out for him to hold. Asra graciously loops his arm with hers. Their expressions are mirroring each other: just a little shy, but full of adoration for their partner.

“Ready when you are, Faust!” Neha calls from off the side of the Praetor.

When Nook finally takes his place beside the morph, she commands the basket:

Forward!

O*O*O

“ . . . and by the power vested in me by the city-state of Vesuvia, I pronounce you married.” Vlastomil barely gets the words you may now—with a disgusted scoff—kiss your partner, before Asra and Lyra grab at each other.

With her veil no longer separating her lips from her spouse's own, Lyra dips him into a deep kiss. As Asra goes completely slack in her arms, Lyra wraps her arms securely around him.

Cheers and applause from their friends, loved ones, neighbors, and onlookers alike echo into the neighborhood. Bells are shaken wildly and horns are blown. Confetti and rice are thrown into the air, scattering about the ground and carried away by the wind.

She’s the one that pulls back from the kiss first. Upon seeing her partner’s face, Lyra can’t help but laugh. Asra has the most blissful expression, and she’s sure that he’s floating.

She attempts to right Asra onto his feet, but he is, indeed literally, floating off of the ground.

“Do I need to hang onto you?” Lyra asks.

“Just for a short while,” Asra replies breathlessly, eyes soft and adoring. Lyra chuckles. She acts as his anchor, having an arm wrapped behind his waist and a hand clasped with his. They turn to look on at their friends and family, now being greeted as a newly wedded couple.

O*O*O

After Wriggler and the Praetor are gone, the festivities go into full swing. Asra’s feet eventually return to the ground, but he’s still on the high of being married to the love of his life.

Nadia has to leave to return to her duties as Countess, but she wishes them well.

“Say hi to Julian for us!” Lyra bids her.

“I’ll extend your regards!” With that, a carriage whisks the Countess away.

In the meantime, the pair grab plates of food for each other, ducking past the threshold of The Shop and seeing all the tables set around so their guests could sit, eat, and mingle. Their place of honor is where the glass case counter used to be. It’s pushed back against the shelving, which is boarded up to prevent any inventory from falling out and onto the floor.

It couldn’t have gone any better.

O*O*O

As the day passes into evening, and well into the night, the guests begin to file out of The Shop. Asra and Lyra’s parents and parental figures help them to clean up the mess. James, Bảo, Salim and Walterine get the glass counter back to where it was, with Neha and Lyra quickly sweeping the floor beforehand.

Nook gets to eat whatever scraps he finds. He’s currently hidden in a corner, eating his fill as Faust snoozes in her basket.

As the table runner is placed over the display case, Walt says with a grin, “And that’s it!”

“Oh thank goodness—” Lyra leans against the top of it, slumping over from exhaustion. Asra gently pats her shoulder, garnering a few laughs.

“Before we go, Habibi,” Aisha says, coming forward, “I’d like to say a blessing.”

Lyra immediately straightens up, looking to Asra for guidance. He holds her hand, giving her a reassuring nod.

Aisha stands before the two of them. She first speaks in Zadithi, and then says in Vesuvian, “May Allah grant you blessings, send blessings upon you, and bring you together in goodness.”

“Oh, Mom—!” Asra hugs her, and Lyra follows suit. She looks ready to cry, as well as everyone else in the room.

Lyra’s eyes drift to her uncle Bảo. He’s very, very nervous.

“Bảo? What’s on your mind?” Lyra asks.

“I, uh . . .” he rubs the side of his neck, looking sheepish. “I hope this not redundant—”

With some additional encouragement from his own spouses, Bảo steps forward. “I-I have a blessing of my own. You won’t know or remember it, but I hope it mean a lot all the same.”

Bảo clears his throat, saying, “Chúc hai bạn hạnh phúc trọn đời. It means to ‘wish you both a lifetime of happiness’.”

He is not prepared for when Lyra and Asra rush him with hugs. Bảo and the others outright fall into laughter as the newlyweds lift him up in their shared embrace.

“You get pass today because it your wedding!” Bảo exclaims, legs kicking in the air until he’s set down. He’s still smiling all the same, tears brimming in his eyes.

They all join together for one final group hug. Asra and Lyra see them out the door, waving and saying their goodbyes. After making sure the front lamp is out, Lyra locks the door.

Asra hugs her from behind, nuzzling her nape. “Mm . . . you should wear backless things more often,” he teases, pressing a kiss to her exposed neck and shoulder. Lyra shivers, leaning back into his warmth.

“What, so you could decorate me with kisses there?”

“That wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it?” Lyra can feel the mischievous glint in his eye, especially when he starts to mouth over her other shoulder. Before his teeth could graze over anymore of her skin, there’s a knock at the back door.

“It’s Muriel!” Lyra wiggles out of her spouse’s hold, laughing softly as a soft whine passes from his lips.

Upon opening the door, the two of them see that Muriel’s wrapped up in his massive cloak, his head and part of his face covered as usual. However, the collar and manacles he bore for so long are now a distant memory. None of them know exactly when Muriel’s gift of being forgotten stopped working, but it wasn’t long after the Alnazars and Aster-Nguyen families started getting more and more involved in and around his life.

“Hey Muri,” Lyra greets, smiling softly. “We saved some food for you and Inanna. Lemme grab the basket.” She ducks away to do that, allowing Asra and Muriel to catch up for a bit.

“Our parents were asking for you,” Asra murmurs.

“They know I don’t like crowds. Or people,” Muriel replies in kind.

“They know; Mom and Dad are still going to invite you for lunch or dinner at their place. It’s the same with Lyra’s parents too.”

“. . . they don’t have to.”

“They want to—”

“They want to!” Lyra echoes Asra, returning with the basket. She holds it out to Muriel with a smile “Here it is. We made some lemon squares for you too.”

Muriel sighs, exasperated. Still, he accepts the basket of food.

“We can’t thank you enough for the rings, Muri,” Asra says. He and Lyra hold up their hands, the wooden rings shining in the moonlight. “They fit perfectly.”

Muriel’s smile graces his face. Upon seeing their delighted smiles in turn, Muriel flushes. “It-it’s no big deal. Congratulations. Bye.” With that, Muriel trundles off into the darkness, heading back to the forest.

Lyra closes the door, shaking her head. “One of these days we’re gonna get him to come to dinner with us and our parents.”

“Give him time. He’ll come around.” Asra stretches, languidly leaning his front against his spouse.

Lyra chuckles, angling her body so that Asra can have his arms around her shoulders. She leans back against the wall behind her, shivering as the stone chills her exposed upper back.

“Mmm . . .” Asra tucks his face into the crook of her neck.

“You okay?” Lyra asks, angling her head so that her cheek could settle against the side of his face.

“Yeah. Tired . . .”

Lyra quietly tuts, nuzzling him. She kisses his temple, murmuring, “Sounds like bedtime.”

Asra snorts, leaning back so he can bat his eyes at her. His white eyelashes flutter enticingly, but Lyra’s resolute.

“We have the morning, my love,” Lyra counters, laughing as Asra pouts. She stands up and away from the wall. She remains steady when Asra wraps his legs around her waist, locking his ankles behind her lower back.

Lyra reinforces her hold on him with her hands against the underside of his thighs. She makes a beeline for the stairs, ascending them carefully with her precious cargo in her arms.

“We’ve been up all day and I am sure you just want to flop into bed—”

“—with you—!” Asra protests. When a yawn betrays him, Asra nuzzles into the side of Lyra’s neck.

She chuckles. “All right all right,” she relents, pausing midway up the stairs.

Lyra leans back a bit, allowing Asra to untuck himself from her neck. Their foreheads touch, their lips gently brushing against each other as Lyra deftly makes her way up the rest of the stairs.

A/N: Final Word Count: 2,800+ words

This is were I found the blessing Aisha says to Asra and Lyra [LINK]. I apologize ahead of time if I misrepresented any part of that.

Happy belated birthday to Asra and Faust! I’m glad I took the extra day to get this finalized. I loved writing every bit of it.

Thanks again for sweetalnazar and the rest of the participants for making this event possible and enjoyable! Have a good day/night!

[Asra’s design is from his official Wedding Charm design from Nix Hydra, and Lyra’s wedding charm art is done by @agent-darkbootie]

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angst-fairygodmother · 4 years ago

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Brain Teasers (A Light Fingers Moment In Between)

A/N: We really run the gamut with this one, genre wise. Explains why a "Moment" in Between is longer than an average actual chapter (I did math to find out). Word Count: 3086 Rating: E(xplicit) Content Warnings: unprotected sex, public sex

“Whatcha doin?” you asked casually, entering the apartment to set down the brown paper bags in your arms.

As you turned back around to lock the door, you were surprised when Diego didn’t even look up from whatever he was hunched over at the table.

“Diego? Is everything alright?”

Concern creased your brow as you made your way over to him, groceries forgotten.

You leaned in to kiss his cheek in greeting, frown deepening when he backed away before you could. He looked up at you, eyes stormy with rage as he gestured to the papers he had been reading. Your papers.

“The mayor’s re-election gala? I thought you didn’t hit targets with people present?” he snapped.

“I don’t,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “I steal because I’m good at it, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to have a little fun with it when I can. And every thief dreams of having the skill to be able to rob the rich blind of their belongings right out from under their noses, while smiling at them over a flute of champagne.”

“What are you saying, Y/N?” his voice was hesitant but still laced with anger.

“That it was a game. A brain exercise. I would never actually do it.”

You reached out again, laying your hand over one of his where it rested in a fist on the table.

“I promise, Diego. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

He sighed, relaxing almost instantly, the tension dropping from his shoulders and his hand uncurling beneath your fingers. He slowly turned his palm upward, looping his fingers through yours and giving you a gentle tug forward until he could wrap you in a hug.

“I’m sorry for accusing and getting mad at you for no reason,” he muttered, cheek resting against the top of your head.

“All is forgiven. It did look admittedly sketchy.” You chuckled, looping your arms around his waist. “Make it up to me by putting away the groceries?”

He sighed.

“I think it’s more than reasonable,” you argued.

“Did any of it need to be chilled?”

“No, I don’t think so today. Why?”

“Then they can wait,” he hummed, trailing his lips against your jaw. “I’d rather make it up to you this way.”

You couldn’t resist the huff of amusement that escaped you, even as you tilted your head to give him more access to your most sensitive spots.

“This is not the solution to every problem, you know.” You teased, fingers tightening against his back as he nipped at your skin.

“Only most of them?”

“Groceries now, and you can be a teasing bastard later,” you scolded, trying to fight back a moan as he trailed his tongue over the spots he had been biting.

“Promise?”

Laughing, you shoved his shoulder lightly. He reluctantly let you go, chuckling and walking off to the kitchen to do as he was told.

You stayed where you were, looking down at the papers he’d been upset by. The plan was a diagram for a simple two man lift, mostly wallets and loose bracelets. Probably the most plausible scenario you’d ever mapped out, so you supposed you could see where his confusion lay. You wondered whether you should find some other way to do these exercises, or label them so they wouldn’t be an issue again in the future.

Fighting with Diego, even just the chance of it, made you feel like your world was off-kilter.

“You like puzzles...” he mused from the kitchen, interrupting your thoughts.

“You should know that already, Diego,” you teased, not looking up as you scooped everything into a pile.

“I do. Just...thinking out loud.”

You turned to look at him, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “Oh? About what?”

“Nothing,” he smiled mysteriously, walking over and pressing a kiss to your cheek as you dumped the papers haphazardly in a file drawer. “Don’t worry about it. Rice or pasta for dinner?”

“I have a surprise for you,” Diego said a few days later, not long after getting home from one of his usual shifts at the gym. “But you have to find it first. Patch helped me set up a bunch of challenges for you.”

“You’re going to make me do a scavenger hunt?” You raised an eyebrow incredulously at him.

“Yes. No? Only if you want to…?” He shifted nervously, and you couldn’t help but giggle as you gave him a quick kiss and smiled.

“I love it. Now where do I start?”

Producing a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, he proudly read a riddle off to you. Tapping your thumbnail against your bottom lip, you listened intently to every word, mind already racing. Part of you was still trying to work out what Diego was up to, but most of you was focused on winning his little game.

Solving the latest of the anagram, to generate a riddle rather than a more direct instruction, you sighed, rubbing at your temples.

“Diego, honey,” you said sweetly. “Were you planning on having me play these games all night?”

“What do you mean?” he frowned.

“This is the tenth puzzle. I’m having fun but...how many are there?”

“Just a few more, I promise,” he kissed your cheek before ushering you off to follow the latest ‘clue.’ “And it’ll be worth it.”

Under his breath he added an almost frustrated, “I hope” but you decided it was best not to respond, since you likely weren’t meant to hear it in the first place.

Finally, you made it to the end of Diego’s quest, and froze. All of his looping, wild goose chase steps had brought you to a quiet rooftop garden, perfectly laid out for a picnic. The borders of the secluded area were scattered with tiny candles and a few cut white roses were strewn across the large grey blanket. Somewhere, unseen among the flowers, a radio softly crooned.

Completely at a loss for words, you turned back to Diego who hovered a few steps behind you, smiling softly as he looked at you, framed in the dim lights and flowers. Invitingly, he stepped closer, hand held out with palm turned upward. As you placed yours on top of it, he closed his fingers lightly around you and wrapped his other arm around your waist.

“I know there’s a picnic to get to,” he murmured. “But I thought you might like to dance first?”

“I would love to,” you answered lightly, delicately placing your free hand on his shoulder.

Pressed close together, the pair of you swayed to the faint music and the night sounds around you. The more relaxed you became, the more naturally it came to you, as if the pair of you were one entity, and you wanted to stay there forever.

“Not that you’re not welcome to do romantic shit whenever you feel like it, but what’s all this for, Diego?” you asked eventually, quietly so that you didn’t shatter the moment.

“It’s our anniversary,” he led you in a graceful twirl so that you were tucked against his body, back to chest.

“No it’s not…” you let yourself there in his arms, gently rocking in time, for a moment before spinning back.

“Of the day we met,” his arm tightened around your waist to pull you a little closer. “Three years ago today. I tried to time it to the hour but you solved everything quicker than I thought you would.”

“You remembered that?” you stumbled a step, but he was quick to hold you up and help you find your rhythm again.

“Obviously. It was important. I knew it even then. You didn’t?”

“No? At the time I didn’t think anything of it,” you shrugged. “It was just another Wednesday.”

“You don’t remember the date,” the air rushed past as he dipped you and quickly righted you once more, “but you do remember that it was a Wednesday?”

“Sure. There’s only seven days in a week to keep track of, as opposed to 365 in a year.”

He chuckled and shook his head, slowing to a stop and gesturing to the picnic blanket, wordlessly suggesting you take a break. He had laid out some of your favorite foods on little plates, and a fancy bottle of lemonade, that if you knew him at all was probably freshly homemade by Grace, stood beside two thin-stemmed glasses.

“Diego...everything tonight has been so perfect,” you sighed, tears springing to your eyes as the pair of you settled into comfortable seated positions. “The food, the flowers, the garden. The fact that it feels like up here, we could be the only two people in the world.”

“It’s also the best place in the city to see the stars,” he offered casually, popping a chunk of fruit into his mouth.

“How long have you been planning this?”

“A couple of weeks. I had help with the execution.”

You wanted to fling yourself into his arms and shower him with kisses, but since that would have required upsetting everything he had worked so hard to put together, you refrained.

“I feel awful now that I didn’t remember and get you anything or do anything for you in return,” you admitted, biting your lip.

“Don’t. I did this because I wanted to treat you and show you how I feel. But I don’t need you to reciprocate. Just...having you here, with me. With me. It’s more than I could ask for.”

“Okay, that’s it,” you muttered and began shifting plates and bowls and the two wine (or rather lemonade) glasses off to the side.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching you with a puzzled expression.

“Clearing a path so I can do this.”

You reached across the space, closing the gap between you and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Pressing your lips to his, you tried to channel all of your emotions into the connection. Unsurprisingly, he kissed you back, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other finding your hips to pull you flush against him. Running your tongue across his lower lip in askance, you smiled into the kiss when he opened up for you. As you mapped the details of each other with tongue and touch as if you didn’t already know them all by heart, he drifted onto his back, bringing you across his lap to straddle his hips.

“This was supposed to be romantic,” he pointed out as you both broke for air.

“It is romantic. There’s stars and candles and roses. All the hallmarks,” you teased, rolling your eyes. “Unless you’d like to stop?”

“No!” his grip on your waist tightened, stopping you from your feigned movement to climb off of him. “I was just saying...”

“I was just going to kiss you and then go back to our very sweet picnic. This position was all you,” you smirked down at him.

“That’s not…” he sighed, realizing that he was, as usual, rising to your bait.

“I know,” you placed a swift, chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “But you’re so much fun to tease, baby. Have been since day one. Although I think then I said something about you pinning me, not the other way around.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him and hummed in agreement.

“This view is so much better though. Is teasing all you plan to do, sweetheart?” His expression shifted to a smirk of his own as he rolled his hips beneath you.

“It wasn’t, but if you’re going to play dirty...it’s tempting.”

Your lips found the most sensitive point beneath his jaw and you sucked lightly on it, drawing out a groan from him. You could feel his hardening length strain against his pants, pressing against your belly as you continued to lavish attention on the spot.

“Y/N,” he moaned. “Baby, please…”

“How can I say no when you beg so pretty for me like that?” you murmured against his skin.

His fingers dug into your hips as you rocked back enough to give better access. Bit by bit, you slowly, reverently undressed each other, pausing frequently to explore the exposed flesh with hands and lips. Fully bare before him, and him before you, you felt a hot blush creep across your cheeks at the way he looked up at you. There was desire in his eyes, yes, but more than that, he seemed to be staring as if you were a work of art, as if no matter how many times he’d seen you, he couldn’t believe that you were real.

Awed tears stung at the corners of your eyes as you tilted your head downward and kissed him. Your lips slotted against each other, moving in perfect pattern as his hands trailed down your spine and back up again. You trailed a finger across his cheekbone before you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, now fluttering back open.

“Ready?” you asked, a small smirk on your lips.

“For you? Always,” he answered, reaching between you and ‘accidentally’ brushing his fingers against your folds before lining himself up with your entrance.

Slowly, you sank down, sheathing him in you completely, a shuddering sigh escaping as you did. Bracing your hands against his chest, you rolled your hips experimentally, sparks of pleasure shooting through you as the motion dragged him against every sensitive inch of your core.

“God you’re beautiful,” he whispered reverently, tracing patterns across your skin as you continued to move.

Every brush of his fingers across your back and sides left a trail of fire behind. You bent your head to dust butterfly-light kisses across his chest, taking time to focus in particular on the scars you found there, mapping them. Gradually your pace increased as he began to roll his hips in time with yours, one hand holding your hip to keep you steady and the other massaging lightly at your breast.

“Diego,” you moaned, begging him for the last little push you needed to make you fall apart.

“Love the way you moan my name baby,” he purred. “Say it again. Please, baby?”

Teetering just on the edge of bliss, you complied, chanting his name like a prayer against his lips as he stretched up to kiss you again. The feel of his tongue dancing with yours and his hand tightening as his thrusts became sloppy and uneven made you cry out. He swallowed the sound hungrily, answering it with a swear as his release found him and he painted your insides with his seed. He gave a few more thrusts, bringing his free hand down to tease your clit and finally drive you over the edge, spasming around him, before he gently pulled out and you collapsed forward onto his chest, panting for breath.

“Christ, that was incredible,” you sighed.

“You always know how to make me feel so good baby,” he huffed in answer, still out of breath.

Sweaty and sated, you laid there for a while, listening to his racing heart as it slowly resumed its normal pace. Eventually, despite the warmth of the evening, your skin began to prickle with chill and you rolled off him, sorting through the pile of discarded clothing and passing his to him.

“I don’t know about you,” he said with a smirk, “but I’ve worked up an appetite now.”

You rolled your eyes, laying back down on the blanket with him and reaching lazily for the food you had set to the side.

“Typical,” you remarked in faux-disgust. “Sometimes I swear you are such a...man.”

With you comfortably tucked into his embrace, the pair of you picked at the offerings he’d packed for a while until you had your fill. Once neither of you had any interest in the food any longer, Diego laid back again, pulling you with him, finally gazing at the view of the stars he had promised you. In satisfied silence, you snuggled against him for a while.

“You said you knew us meeting was important,” you said softly, trailing a finger over the thick band of muscle in his forearm as it rested across you.

“I did.” You weren’t sure if his affirmation was of his statement or what he claimed to have known back then.

“Did you guess why? Or think we’d end up here?”

“Are you asking if it was love at first sight?” he countered, turning to look at you, warm breath fluttering your hair and tickling your ear.

You bit your lip. “I guess, yeah.”

“It wasn’t that...clear,” he said haltingly, struggling for words.

On instinct you wound your fingers through his and gave them a gentle squeeze. You stayed silent, waiting, giving him all the time he needed.

“But I think it was. Or something close.”

“Oh.”

You weren’t sure what you’d been hoping to hear, or what to say to that. It scared you, in a way, to know that he’d felt so deeply for you right from the start. It scared you to admit, to risk hurting him by doing so, that you...hadn’t. Your initial draw toward him was curiosity, for most of that first year, and you had fallen in love in little pieces, giving him your heart bit by bit until one day you looked up and realized he had all of it, and you were all the happier for it. It wasn’t love at first sight, not by any means. But something about it, even at that first meeting, was inevitable.

“Y/N?” Diego asked softly, pulling you out of your racing thoughts. “Where’d you go just now?”

“I…” you licked your lips, throat feeling dry and tongue feeling heavy, “was just thinking...about when I knew…”

“And?”

“And I don’t actually remember falling in love with you. One day I wasn’t. And then I was.”

He ducked his head, kissing your shoulder, soft lips lingering on your skin.

“That’s okay,” he murmured against your skin. “What matters is now.”

For a long time, you laid in silence, the radio still humming indistinctly, the stars twinkling overhead. Eventually you sighed.

“We should probably go home before we fall asleep here. It’s late,” you suggested.

“Hm. You’re probably right,” he hummed in agreement, though he made no move to actually do so.

“Diego?”

“I’m just enjoying the moment a little longer. Enjoy it with me?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you snuggled tighter against him. “I guess I can manage that.”

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End Note: So this fic has a flaw. In my head most of the puzzles have a visual component and/or I didn't know how to write them, so I had to gloss over them instead. Whoops.

#do I like this title? No but what else is new #transitions? never heard of her #Light Fingers #moments in between #Diego Hargreeves x reader #The Umbrella Academy fic #smut with feelings

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hqprotectionsquad · 5 years ago

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𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 - 𝒚𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊 𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒐𝒌𝒂

⤷ 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔, 𝒚𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊 𝒊𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓'𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒚. 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓? ⤷ 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒙𝒎𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒏'𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 ⤷ 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

word count: 3709

submission for @haikyuuwriters‘s may event - Mothers’ Day — write about Mothers’ Day. Meeting an s/o’s mother for the first time? Visiting a grave and paying respects? Fluffy moments for a couple with kids? Or is your pairing considering kids?

“Can you let me in, Hitoka?” Tsukishima’s voice is muffled through the wood and Yachi rushes to turn the handle and fling the door open. In comes a man who hauls in paper bags in his arms with his glasses on the brink of sliding off of his nose. Before she has a chance to think, Yachi pushes up his glasses and Tsukishima scrunches his nose at her action.

“What did you bring?” Yachi leans on Tsukishima to try to see what is in the brown bags he carries. It’s Thursday evening, which means after Tsukishima’s shift at the museum, he picks up groceries at the market and dinner for the two of them. “How much can I pay you for the dinner?” She asks as he begins filling the refrigerator with vegetables and fruits. Yachi stands on the outside of the fridge, where photos are suspended by magnets. One features the Karasuno boys’ volleyball team at Nationals, another has Yachi’s selfie with Tsukishima. There are also usually lists of items needed, and the papers are replenished every Monday and Thursday, when they take the list with them and buy groceries for the apartment.

“You don’t even know what I’ve bought for dinner.” Tsukishima side-eyes Yachi as he continues, “For all you know, I could’ve brought leftovers from the dumpster and you would still pay me beforehand.”

Yachi’s mouth gapes at his accusation, but she quickly composes herself. “You’re not wrong,” she says with a pout. Yachi fiddles with her phone while Tsukishima finishes unpacking the products from the bag. Now, the fridge looks happy to be full again.

Tsukishima sets the table pressed against the wall with plates and cutlery. It’s a small table, like the rest of their furniture. They both live humble lives, so why not live together? It’s not like they each take up a grand piece of space and the apartment they live in is snug enough to fit their belongings. He’s about to tell her that he bought curry and even splurged on two slices of strawberry shortcake when he passed by a bakery on his way home, but she’s already preoccupied with a call of some sorts.

“Hello?” Yachi speaks into the receiver softer than usual. She doesn’t want to attract attention, so she sinks into the edge of her bed, with her door slightly open, but she’s sure Tsukishima will end up seeing her anyhow.

“Hitoka, hi. It’s your mother. Are you free on Sunday?” Yachi barely mutters a word out before her mom continues with her steamrolling agenda. Yachi is one-hundred percent sure that her mother is calling her between clients, acting as if Yachi should be thankful that her mom reached out to her. “Great, let’s have lunch together. Sounds good?”

“Yes, that’s fine.” As quick as her mother calls her, she is just as quick to leave. Yachi is used to this, or rather she should be used to it by now. She wasn’t the most doted on as a child. Then, Yachi grew older and only saw her mother in the mornings, dashing out the door with a piece of bread in her mouth. Sometimes, Yachi would stay up much past her bedtime, with her sheets balled up in her fists by her eyes, and the light in the kitchen would spread into her bedroom by the crack by the door. Yachi would hear her mother slurping on instant noodles at two in the morning and her mother would be up again four hours later, but all without a single word exchanged between the two. By the time she applied to universities, Yachi only told her mom her final choice instead of the eight schools where she competed for a spot in their marketing department.

Isn’t it sad?

“Is everything alright?” Tsukishima enters her room with barely a warning. His footsteps are soft, but his presence is known when Yachi turns her head to see him.

With a breath in and out, she replies, “Not really, but I wish it was.”

Tsukishima has gotten far since high school. Yachi believes that she might have had something to do with his attitude change, but she knows that college has also brought him out of his shell. When they first moved in together as roommates, Yachi needed to yank his feelings out of him whenever Tsukishima would brood in his room for a weekend-straight. Now, Tsukishima will approach Yachi at times.

“Let’s eat dinner. Maybe you can get your mind off it after eating.” After he crosses the room in two steps to get to Yachi, he nudges her to get out of her room and into the kitchen.

Tsukishima serves her, not asking a single question until she mumbles through her rice, “My mom asked me to come meet her on Sunday. Of all days, Mother’s day.”

“Huh.” He says in reply, not really knowing what else to say.

“She’s barely been a mother to me. I don’t know why she comes now that I’m out of university and have a stable job that she wants to meet me.” Yachi sets down her utensils to thread her fingers through her hair with a roll of her eyes. She’s grown a tougher skin in this city she’s lived in since the start of her adulthood. “I really don’t want to be alone with her.” She pauses for a moment, letting her mind reel. Yachi’s eyes open wide all of a sudden and Tsukishima is afraid that her eyeballs will pop out. “What if you came with me to my mother’s lunch, Kei? Are you doing anything on Sunday?”

“Well, considering my family lives three hours away, not exactly.” Tsukishima shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah, I’ll come with you.” While he has gone out with Yachi multiple times, he’s never been used as a plus-one and in this situation, he has no idea what he’ll be introduced as.

The week progresses much quicker than they both could have imagined.

“Are you sure this is okay, Kei? I don’t want you to come if you’ll be uncomfortable with me and my mom,” Yachi says, looking up at him. She’s wearing a black dress, tight on top but flares out at the knees. If she saw herself on the street, she would think she’s dressed up for a funeral. Tsukishima is indubitably brighter for once, but only in comparison, as he dons a polo shirt that matches the color of the clear sky.

“If it wasn’t okay, then I wouldn’t be standing next to you on the train,” he mutters as he holds her tight against his skin. It’s something he’s used to doing whenever they are on the same train together. He doesn’t remember when it started, but he does remember why. Something to do with creepy men and Tsukishima offhandedly offering he’d hold her, and Yachi praising him for a brilliant idea. Now, they’re like this. He doesn’t mind because he’s a placeholder, an intermittent person to step in before Yachi has a person to do that for her.

Well, at least that’s what he believed when they moved in together their first year of college to save money on rent, but they’ve never moved out to this day.

Their stop arrives and everyone from businessmen to children get off and move onto the just as crowded platform. Somehow, despite the busyness, everyone knows where to go and when to shift in this march of the morning. Each step in this district is made of surreal dreams that formed out of thin air. Maybe in middle school, Yachi would be so excited to see this happen one day, but now that this day has come, her stomach wrings into tight knots.

Tsukishima sees the look on her face, something he’s seen often, caused by miniscule and large things. Without exaggeration, he could say her face is showing off green tones. Suppressing the want to sigh, he scoops her hand into his and leads them towards the station’s exit.

“Have you been to this station before, Tsukishima?” Yachi rattles off as they walk out of the sliding doors and into the next city. She continues to say whatever’s on her mind or maybe these are words to say to distract her mind.

“Hitoka, you never said where you’re meeting your mom.” Tsukishima grits his teeth as he manages to weave between the sidewalk traffic, looking down to spare his eyes from ticked off passersby. They must think they’re foreigners by the looks of their hair. “We kind of need to know so we can get to the right place.” Tsukishima pulls Yachi to the side of a building, taking refuge by this wall. He lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in after he glances at their still interlaced fingers. She doesn’t even bother to unlatch, that’s how nervous she is, Tsukishima thinks to himself.

“Right! Let me check my phone.” Yachi smiles up at Tsukishima and then her eyes drag down to where her bag bounces against her hip. “Huh?!” Her hand rips out of his loose grasp. Is she that mindless that she hadn’t realized Tsukishima’s hand was touching hers. With a crimson sweep across her face, she scans the short thread of text messages exchanged between her and her mother. “It seems like we should be heading three blocks in that direction,” Yachi says after a pause. She toys with the star charms that hang from her phone with one hand and with the other, she points in the direction of the station and onward.

“So we’ve walked three blocks, just to walk double that,” Tsukishima drawls.

“I’m sorry!” She doesn’t need to look at him to see the word disappointment written all over. “We’ll be alright, my mom’s not expecting us for another half hour,” she mumbles after feeling under the pressure of his gaze.

“Let’s just get going.” Tsukishima motions for them to join the sea of people on their way back to the office after a lunch and tourists exploring the city at this random time of day. “Come on, hold my hand so you don’t get lost.” His intentions are self-indulgent, but he presents as a protective friend, which is all that matters.

Yachi reluctantly allows it and they assimilate with Tsukishima leading. She just sees his back as they move one-by-one in this mass of bodies and she’s never been more thankful for him than in this very moment. Soon enough, they stand in front of the restaurant her mother wanted to meet up at. Unfortunately, Yachi never mentioned that the restaurant they’ll be dining at puts Tsukishima at a risk of being kicked out.

“Is this going to be alright to go inside?” Tsukishima pulls at his short sleeved shirt, but before he can continue, Yachi’s already tugging at the metal beam to open the door. She looks ridiculously small, with her fingers just barely grazing each other around the grip. He reaches over her head and pulls on the handle as well. “Well, ladies first,” he says.

“Thank you!” Her voice switches into a more professional tone as she begins conversing with the hostess of the restaurant. Despite her size and her anxieties, she’s great at stepping up when she needs to.

When she makes it back to Tsukishima, who is nestled in a chair in the corner, she tells him that the hostess will come get them when they have everything ready with the room. “My mom’s already there.” She sits on the armrest of his chair, her body fitting the edge of it precisely. She brushes the fabric of her skirt downward with a careful hand.

“You’ll be okay.” Tsukishima doesn’t know what to do or what to say. He’s never seen her this thrown off. Even during their high school years, seeing her deal with his teammates seems like a cake walk at this point. He’s never felt so weighted with the truth that isn’t even his own.

“I haven’t seen my mom in person in nearly five years. We’ve called on the phone, but it feels so transactional. She only calls when she feels like I could benefit her in some way. I don’t even know how she is on a personal basis. I don't know how she’s doing at work, if she has someone in her life. I don't know how she lives. Shouldn't I know this?” Her shoulders shake ever so slightly, and then all at once, they move up and down, side to side.

“Hitoka, it's okay. You’ll be okay.” Before he knows any better, Tsukishima stands and he just does what his instincts tell him to do.

“What?” Yachi asks as she’s being pulled into his chest, and she doesn't have the heart to ask further questions. Her hair and ear presses against the stable curve of his body. His heart is quickening as his hands land on opposite shoulders.

“Yachi-san, party of two.” The hostess calls into the waiting area, and Tsukishima nearly jumps away, now standing three steps away from her. He is sure someone saw their melodramatic performance and rolled their eyes at it. If he were on the outside, he would too. But on the inside of this bubble, maybe he’s not thinking so much about what other people think.

Yachi pays no mind to it and follows the hostess without sparing a glance to a scrambling Tsukishima, who rubs the lenses of his glasses on the hem of his shirt. First impressions start with being able to see her mother.

When they enter the private room that her mother has arranged for the lunch appointment, the first thing Yachi notices is her mother’s eyes, or rather, the lack of gaze. Her mother’s eyes are on her phone, clicking away on the device. They still contain the same beauty that Yachi admires, laced with lines around them. While her mother doesn't have the same youthfulness as she did when Yachi saw her last, she is the most beautiful.

Yachi doesn’t want to be rude, so she waits until her mother is done with her business and her eyes look to her daughter and this man right next to him. “Hitoka, it’s good to see you.” Her mother rises from her chair to meet her.

Her mother stretches her arms around her daughter and it is a foreign feeling for everyone in the room. Her mother hasn’t felt her baby in her arms in five years, Yachi hasn’t felt the comfort of motherly love, and for Tsukishima, he feels the palpable awkwardness between them. At last, Yachi pats her shoulders, in the best attempt to reciprocate this action.

When her mother releases, she gestures for the two of them to sit across from them.

The first questions that come out of Yachi’s mouth are “Are you on a lunch break? Do we have a set amount of time to be with each other?” and Tsukishima doesn’t know whether to feel appalled for her mother or be proud of Yachi for standing up for herself, in this strange manner. For sure, Tsukishima did not expect anything of the sort to happen if it were based on when they first met at Karasuno. Yachi surely has changed, but so has Tsukishima.

“No, nothing like that.”

“Happy mother’s day, I brought you something,” Yachi says. She reaches into her bag and she relinquishes a leather wallet that must have cost her a fortune, adorned in gold embellishments and pressed all over with a brand.

“Thank you, this means a lot to me, Hitoka.” And she’ll put it into her closet, with the rest of the items she’s purchased or have received as gifts. This is the woman she has grown to know as her mother. “But I didn’t ask you to come here because I expected a present. I came here because I want to see you. It’s mother’s day, but I’m not a mother without you.”

“Of course she would say something like this,” Yachi mutters under her breath as she balls her hands into fists underneath the table, her dress fabric becoming one with her hands.

“This isn’t like you, Hitoka,” Tsukishima whispers into her ear. This isn’t like her. He feels like a wedge between them, a referee of some sorts. “I shouldn’t be here.” His teeth are gritted, finding new things within a half a conversation about this girl he’s known for years.

“You should stay, Tsukki,” Yachi replies, using his old nickname. Turning her head back to her mom, she takes a deep breath and lets everything out all at once. “You shouldn’t have called me, you know. We can live without each other.”

“Is it a crime,” the woman on the other end looks right into Hitoka’s eyes and she squirms under the sudden dissection. “Is it a crime,” she repeats. “to see the woman that made me a mother? I’m sorry I haven’t been there—”

“It can be when my mother doesn’t speak to me for a few years and then she suddenly wants to get in contact with me.” Yachi holds onto Tsukishima’s hand underneath the table, their fingers intertwining, but it is different than when Tsukishima led Yachi through the streets of this city.

“But I want to get to know you now.” And there is an earnest look in her eye that causes Yachi’s insides to rub rotten. “I am telling you the truth, Hitoka. I love you, and you are my only daughter. You can ask me anything and I will not tell you a lie.”

Yachi’s lips press into a thin line and her eyebrows connect at the center of her face. Tears rush from her cheeks up to the bottom of her eyes, but she won’t let her body feel the resolution it seeks. “How can I trust you? How can I trust you, mom?” Yachi’s just letting all the words come out, not knowing whether or not her words hold the tone she’s really feeling. She tries her hardest to hold against the walls she’s built, but she can feel the crumbling from the inside.

“I don’t know what to say, Hitoka.” Madoka slides the hair tie out of the bundle and lets all of her hair fall. The strands curl at the ends without effort and they reach to the bottom of her shoulder blades. It’s as Yachi remembered, but not quite. “If you can’t trust me now, then I suppose that’s okay. But I want you to trust me eventually. I care about you, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not supporting you these last few years, but I want to make up for it.”

It’s hard to pick out what Yachi wants to hear when everything feels fabricated and made up on the spot. The muscles in her chest stretch out from the middle, or maybe it’s her lungs squeezing with too much effort. Either way, she must be on fire and her tears want to extinguish her flames.

Tsukishima feels like Hitoka’s blazes have expanded into the outside world because what he just saw go down between the two women in this room seemed like a fire truck combusting into spontaneous flames. “Hitoka,” he mutters. With his thumb, he wipes away a stray teardrop that hugs against the side of her cheek. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” Her words aren’t directed at a single person, but she still feels the need to apologize for how she’s feeling. “I’m sorry, mom.”

“I am the one that’s at fault. There’s nothing to be sorry about, Hitoka.” Her mother, the vision of poise, is blubbering her words softly, but it’s clear that she’s trying to keep everything together. She stands and is tentative with her steps. “Would it be okay if I hugged you right now?”

“Please.”

Tsukishima watches the pair make up and eventually, he notices the wistful smile he has on. He wishes he were with the rest of his family, crowded around a table to fight for food, even if it is just the three of them. This is his life now, though. He’s made up his mind on where he is living, but he doesn’t have to be set on how his family relationships lie.

Tsukishima’s hand has been long unoccupied as Hitoka speaks to her mother in hushed tones, Hitoka’s lips moving right by her ear and arms slung around her mother’s neck. He can’t hear them, but by the looks of their faces, it must be reviving conversation.

“Oh, right! Mom, this is Kei.” He can’t deny that there’s something inside that swells deep when Hitoka introduces him as Kei to her mother, but all there is to show on the outside is a polite smile.

Madoka straightens her back to look at him through slotted eyes. “I feel like I’ve seen him before, when you were in high school.”

“Right, he was on the volleyball team. Well, he’s still playing volleyball with the Sendai Frogs. He’s a great player and I try to make their games whenever I can,” Yachi beams with delight.

“Your family must be so proud, Kei.” Madoka takes a pause before continuing. “Are you two dating? Is this why you brought him today, Hitoka?” There is a teasing implication running along her tongue as she speaks.

At the same time, Yachi says “sort of” and Tsukishima says “no.” In an unironic and comical fashion, they both turn their heads at each other and stare.

“Oh,” Yachi’s mother mutters, holding a hand to her mouth. She only planned to be part of one reunion, but seeing another union blossom right before her eyes is priceless.

“I wanted to talk to you about that, Kei,” Yachi’s eyes can’t quite meet his when she says this. “Nobody else knows me like you do.”

“Right.” He glances back and forth between Yachi and her mother. This would be a weird way to confess that he’s been in love with her for the past four years, but he decides that any time would be better than this. “We should talk about this later, but I feel the same way about you.”

“Oh, great! Maybe I’ll have grandchildren one day!”

“Mom!”

tag-list: @clowninfortodoroki

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#haikyuuwritersnet #haikyuuwriters 0520 #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq!!#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu writing #haikyuu writers #haikyuu tsukishima #haikyuu yachi #tsukishima kei #tsukishima #yachi hitoka #yachi #tsukiyachi #tsukishima haikyuu #yachi haikyuu #karasuno

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fortheloveoffanfic · 5 years ago

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The One That Stays

Keanu Reeves x reader

Chapter1 Chapter2 Chapter3 Chapter4 Chapter5 Chapter6 Chapter7 Chapter8 Chapter9 Chapter10

Chapter 11- Caught

“Used to think that lovin’ meant a painful chase but you’re right here now and I think you’ll stay.” -Halsey Finally//Beautiful Stranger

"What do you think of this one?" Julie's question had Y/n raising her head, shifting her attention from the page of the magazine she was holding, to Julie's laptop screen; the tab opened to the preview of a hotel in Vegas. Taking the laptop, Y/n went through the pictures; the place had a simple, elegant design, all high ceilings with white pillow posts and pastel murals punctuated by marble floors and walls. The pool area replicated the decor of an old fashioned villa with palm trees and an artificial waterfall.

With raised eyebrows, Y/n nodded slightly, "Its nice," she hummed, "Are you gonna call them?"

Reclaiming the computer, Julie gave the place one final, decisive glance, “I think so. Obviously, I’m going to ask Eric what he thinks first though.”

“Okay,” Y/n nodded, going though a binder of wedding cakes, sticking colorful tags on the ones she knew Julie would like. Ever since Julie had told her a couple days prior that her ‘planned elopement’ would be in two weeks, she and Y/n had started planning that very evening. Thus far, they had chosen the music, the color scheme, some of the decorations and flowers and they had even compiled a small guest list. But there were still lots of bigger decisions to be made; dresses, a menu, venue, an officiant and a wedding cake, and that was just the tip of it. Three days in, Y/n was already stressed, and it wasn’t even her wedding.

They lapsed into another bout of silence, both occupied with their own tasks, until Julie spoke up, her tone cautious and a little unsteady, “Hey,” Y/n looked up, eyes questioning, “Can I ask you something?”

Scoffing a laugh, Y/n rolled her eyes, “Of course, you can ask me anything. What’s up?”

Sucking in a calming breath, Julie closed down the top of her laptop, proceeding to wring her hands together, “I was wondering.......would you give me away?”

Y/n breath caught in her throat, surprise etching her features, “Jules, are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she nodded with resolve, “You know my mom’s been gone for a while, I haven’t spoken to Victor,” her dad, “In years. Eric’s dad offered, but I want you to do it. You’re my family, and you’re the person I want at my side as I walk down that aisle. If you want to be there, of course.”

“Jules,” Y/n reached across the short coffee table, taking her hands, squeezing affectionately, “I’d be honored to give you away.”

“Really?” Julie’s large doe eyes sparkled in question; she knew it had been a lot to ask, seeing as Y/n was already going out of her way to help make sure that the wedding was perfect and didn’t want her to feel pressured into doing it just because of how close they were, “Cause you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Scooting around the oak coffee table, Y/n moved to sit next to Julie, and shoulder to shoulder, they pressed the sides of their heads together, arms around each other’s back. Julie had been like a sister to Y/n since they were kids, they had been through everything together; from the bad to the really good; Julie was family and it made so much sense that they’d do that together. “I’m sure,” Y/n hugged her tightly.

“Thank you,” Julie returned quietly, hugging her back.

Y/n had left Julie’s apartment late that evening, when Keanu swung by to pick her up with the same bike he had on their first date. They were supposed to go see a movie and then grab dinner together, but one quick stop back to his place so they could drop off her overnight bad, had gotten them distracted and they ended up forgetting about their plans.

Y/n had been staying over a lot lately and some of her things had quickly found a way amongst his; a spare toothbrush in the glass next to his, a sweater in his laundry, and her shampoo and conditioner next to his minty body wash in the shower. It was nice seeing her stuff intermingling with his, like it fit perfectly together, just like Y/n fit perfectly with him.

Instead of going to dinner, Y/n and Keanu had ordered in, and after the food had arrived, they stood in the kitchen, shuffling around getting plates, utensils and pouring wine into sleek, stemless wine glasses. They moved around in comfortable silence for a while, though, eventually, Y/n started telling Keanu about wedding planning and he listened intently, smiling at how her face lit up. “Oh!” Y/n stopped suddenly, putting down a disposable box of fried rice, “Julie asked I’d give her away.”

Turning to lean on the kitchen island, Keanu stopped trying to open a bottle of red, “What’d you say?”

Y/n shrugged, grinning lightly, “I said yes. She’s my best friend, I can’t even imagine saying no,” sauntering over to Keanu, dressed only in the plain black shirt he had been wearing earlier, Y/n ran her hands up his arms, gently squeezing his biceps, “You’re coming with me right, to the wedding? I know it’s less than two weeks away and you probably have other things planned and-”

“Do you want me there?” Keanu’s arms went around Y/n’s waist, his palms settling on her lower back. Y/n was right, in the coming weeks, he did have things scheduled; a couple events and shoots for Arch, meetings with his agent and even a lunch with a director. He had really planned to tell Y/n about each one as it came up, but if she wanted him in Vegas, then that’s where he’d be, tomorrow or two weeks from them.

Dragging her lower lip between her teeth, Y/n brushed a couple strands from her face, nodding vigorously, “Of course I want you there. And umm...” Y/n quietly cleared her throat, a little uneasy with telling him the rest. She wasn’t even sure if he was ready, and it had been so long since she’d done something like that, “My parents are gonna be there, I know it’s not the best way to meet them but.....”

“I’ll be there,” Keanu leaned down, pulling Y/n closer as their lips connected, “And I’d love to meet your parents,” he sucked in a nervous breath. The thought of meeting them was sort of nerve racking; it was obvious that they were moving quickly and he was no doubt more than twenty years her senior. But he loved her. That’s what should matter right? Besides, if he wanted any kind of future with Y/n, he’d have to meet them one day anyway.

Breathing a sigh of relief when Keanu agreed, Y/n leaned in more, most of her weight now supported by him and her arms loosely circling his neck. “Thank you,” she mumbled, reaching on her toes to thank him again, that time with a soft kiss.

“My pleasure,” Keanu obliged between the movements of their locked lips. His hands skimmed Y/n’s figure, the material of his shirt smooth and cool beneath his touch. Gently grabbing Y/n’s arms, Keanu unwound them from around his neck, lacing the fingers of his right hand with those of her tiny left one, “Come on,” he urged, pushing off from the counter as he secured his other hand on her waist.

Giggling and confused, Y/n let Keanu lead her to the center of the kitchen were the tiles were cold under her toes, “What are you doing?” Her voice shook with soft laughter, her un-held hand going to Keanu’s shoulder on instinct.

“We’re dancing,” Keanu quipped, staring to lead them a leisured version of a slow foxtrot. Keanu’s hand slid from Y/n’s waist, pressing her to him when it went back to the lowest part of her back, “We need to practice for the wedding.”

Rearing her head back to get a good look at him, Y/n playfully rolled her eyes, “There’s no music playing,” she teased.

Chuckling, Keanu pressed into her back a bit, encouraging Y/n to relax into him, “Shh,” he urged and when she finally submitted, her body sunken into his, her ear to his steady, soothing, Keanu began humming under his breath. The sound was quiet and deep, the sound rumbling in his chest.

Y/n couldn’t recognize the song, but she didn’t really care. She didn’t even care that it was way out of time with their dance. Nothing mattered outside of that moment. It was perfection incarnate; dancing with the man she loved, barefoot and in a shirt that smelled like him. Her mind slowed and her eyes slipped closed, trusting Keanu completely with any direction. Y/n had never been much of a dancer, but with Keanu’s lead, she found it easy to glide around their little bubble of cozy warmth without even stepping on his toes.

In that moment, in the minutes she had lost track of counting, in the soft breaths and his out of tune humming, Y/n felt herself willingly sink further and further into swell of fuzzy warmth that accompanied being enveloped in the safety of Keanu’s strong arms. As the feeling consumed her, the worry and stress of everything else melted away; the anxiety of a wedding that wasn’t even hers and the stress of knowing that there was the possibility that her parents wouldn’t like Keanu, slipping away

Keanu’s humming grew softer and softer as he looked down at Y/n cozied against him. He never imagined he’d get that again; the security of love. At fifty-five, Keanu often thought that his chance was gone, that he should just through in the towel or even settle for then next woman that would look his way for longer than a fling. But Y/n wasn’t a fling, and building a life with her didn’t feel like settling either. She was like a breath of fresh air after spending too long inside. Ever since he’d met her, Keanu though that he could see his future reshaping; maybe he’d give marriage a go, in past it was frightening, being with one person until the day you died, but after Y/n, he couldn’t imagine wanting or loving another. He wanted marriage with her, kids, and everything in between, if she’d have him for it.

Keanu had it in good measure that Y/n would too. They’d survived their first big fight, and hopefully, learned from it too. She’d learnt that there was nothing to be scared of when it came to her feelings for him and that the best things in life didn’t have to make perfect sense to be right and Keanu had learnt that no matter what, he’d wait for Y/n and that his love for her would always out-weigh anything that threated to separate them; he’d do anything to make sure she never had to leave like that again.

“I love you,” Y/n whispered after a while, her eyes still closed, her words breathy and almost getting lost.

Bending to press a chaste kiss to the top of her hair, Keanu’s lips lingered there as he returned, “I love you too.”

The next morning, Y/n was putting the final touches on her make-up when Keanu was sauntering out of his walk-in closet, pulling a t-shirt on, his hair still wet. “Aren’t you gonna dry your hair?” Y/n frowned, eyeing him though the mirror at his dresser.

Keanu shrugged, running his fingers through his dripping, dark mane, “It’ll dry on it’s own,” he said, plopping onto the bed to put on his shoes. He was in the midst of getting ready himself, intent of dropping Y/n off at work and then heading to Arch where he’d start working on shifting things around to making himself available for the week of Julie’s wedding.

Passing the brush through her hair one more time, Y/n discarded it on the varnished surface, grabbing her towel as she padded over Keanu. Standing with one of his thighs parting her legs, Y/n dropped the drying towel on his head. “What’re you doing?” He chortled, face hidden by the fluffy white material.

“Drying your hair so you don’t get sick,” she explained with a huff. Y/n rubbed the towel gently all over his head, in between feeling the softness of his hair between his fingers, biting back a smile. She hadn’t realized how much she could enjoy doing something so menial for someone else. Y/n thought she could get used to taking care of Keanu like that, doing little things that he could definitely do for himself, for him, just so they could be close for a few minutes more.

Keanu smiled under Y/n’s ministrations, his cheeks warming; he had probably been a kid since he last had someone do something like that for him. When Y/n was finished, his hair was barely held any dampness, still a bit cold, but it was nothing that wouldn't be gone by the time they were ready to leave. “Done,” Y/n declared, tossing the towel to the bed.

His hands found her hips, pulling Y/n into his lap, “Thank you,” he pecked her red stained lips.

Cupping his face, Y/n deepened their kiss before saying, “It’s no big deal.” Grinning, Y/n tucked some of Keanu’s hair behind his ear, her thumb tracing a nearly invisible wrinkle under his eye as she did so, “We should get going.”

“We should,” Keanu agreed despondently, “Don’t want you to be late.”

“Yupp,” Y/n reluctantly stood from Keanu’s lap, going over to the full length mirror near the bedroom door, smoothing her outfit, a pair of black paper bag pants with a white, low-necked, sleeveless blouse tucked into them, with her hands.

“Ready?” Keanu stood from the bed, putting on his watch and shoving his wallet into his back pocket.

Hurriedly, Y/n plopped into an armchair near her waiting shoes; a pair of simple black heels, “Yeah,” she breathed, “Let me just put these on.” Glancing at the beside clock, Y/n groaned inwardly, hating that she now knew that she only had half hour to get to work before she was late. It was a hustle, and one or twice her fingers fumbled, but eventually, Y/n was ready, and four inches taller.

“Thank you,” she hummed musically when Keanu helped her into her black tailored blazer.

“No problem baby,” he quipped in return, kissing her cheek before leading Y/n down the stairs. Grabbing his keys from the bowl at the front table, Keanu was about to walk them through the side door that opened to the garage when he stopped, huffing before, turning on his heel, “I gotta go get the mail. I don’t want it to get soaked if it rains again.” It had been doing that a lot lately.

With his hand still around Y/n’s waist, they left through the front door instead. Slowly, they walked to the mailbox at the top of Keanu’s tiled front yard. When he unlocked the front, Keanu got the contents out, and with her back turned to the streets, she waited as he sifted through it. “Just bills,” he grumbled, and Y/n giggled when he playfully swatted the tip of her nose with the edge of the gathered envelops, “You’ve got the cutest little nose ever.”

“Why thank you,” Y/n retreated to his embrace once again, and Keanu used a button on his keys to open the garage doors.

They were so lost in each other that neither Keanu or Y/n heard the approaching bus, slowing as it drove past his house. Startled into turning around when a voice over a microphone announced that it was in fact the “residence of Keanu Reeves.”

Sucking in a breath audibly, Y/n’s eyes widened when everyone on the tour started snapping pictures, the flashes from their camera dazzling her eyes more than the sunlight had when they first stepped outside. From the street, fans screamed his name while other turned to the person beside them, chatting quietly, probably wondering who she was.

Keanu’s arm stayed around Y/n’s waist, stiffening, more out of annoyance at their predicament than anything else when she turned to hide her face in side. He had become used to the occasional tour bus driving up his street once in a while, but Keanu knew that Y/n wasn’t and that he couldn’t even begin to imagine how she must be feeling. They hadn’t even discussed going public or the possibility of the nearly constant occurrence of a camera being shoved in their faces since the Saturday of their fight. And even that wasn’t a discussion.

Feeling her heavy, uneven breathing against him, Keanu did his best to guard her identity with a protective hand over Y/n’s face as he tried to steer them into the garage. Fans on the bus still called his name, some even bold enough to try to get Y/n’s attention, “Come on,” he urged, closing the doors when they were safely inside.

Y/n stayed in his arms, her hands circling his middle, her face pressed into his t-shirt. Kissing the top of her head, he shushed her, trying desperately to comfort her, “I had no idea that they were going to drive by today,” he said, his hug tightening, as if he were still trying to protect her from the harsh reality of his life, “I’m so sorry,” he breathed, knowing that now, more than ever, they’d have a lot to talk about.

********

Tagging- @baphometwolf666 @harrisongslimited @a-really-bi-girl @soarocks @kindainlovewithkeanu

#Keanu reeves #Keanu reeves x reader #Keanu reeves x you #john wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #Keanu reeves fanfic #john wick fanfic #fanfiction #ff #fanfic #the one that stays #Keanu reeves fluff #fluff #series #chapter 11

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etheralisi · 4 years ago

Text

ᵀᴼ ᶠᴼᴿᴳᴵᵛᴱ ᴬᴺᴰ ᶠᴼᴿᴳᴱᵀ

In which Bakugou Katsuki gets hit with an amnesia quirk and has some regrets. Namely getting hit in the first place.

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝟸: 𝙳𝚎𝚔𝚞 𝚅𝚂 𝙺𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙸 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛

Ao3

𝟷 ᴅᴀʏ sɪɴᴄᴇ ɪɴᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛ

Beep. Beep. Beep.

There’s nothing more ironic than forgetting you’ve forgotten, but in this moment, Katsuki operates on autopilot, flinging out an arm to grab for his phone on the shelf above. A groan as he blinks his eyes open, bleary vision trying to focus on the bright light hovering near an inch from his face.

As the screen sets in, so do his memories, or rather, the distinct lack of their presence, empty if not for the fleeting few he’s made from the day prior. Recovery Girl, Kirishima, the study group, it all comes back as his dreams slip away, sand through his fingers, entering the waking world with the slightest residue dissatisfaction from whatever his brain whipped up as a concoction.

He silences the phone alarm, labelled as something about a morning run for a certain amount of time or whatever, and stares at the numbers on display. New dose of information, normal him’s an early bird, early rising, early sleeping (early sleep according to Kirishima, anyhow).

This then begs the question, does he go through with his regular schedule or wait things out by killing time with introspection? The latter sounds downright foolhardy, even boring, so it’s a no brainer that he finds himself prepping for the morning run, flinging on clothes that look vaguely work out related (maybe), and heading out. There’s no reason to stick a pin in a regular routine, besides, his inner optimist hopes that if he tries going back to his old lifestyle, he may actually reclaim some of those memories lost.

(That part of him is pummeled into oblivion, shamed by his inner realist with a glare. The jog does nothing in that respect.)

What it does accomplish is the will of his past self. That guy’s right. Run. Running is good. He’s got the barest bones of a mental map for the area, merely skeletal, but better than what he had, discovering that it’s a large site and a pretty one at that. He’s even gotten a glimpse of sakura trees far out, and though he never ran through them, the pink hues looked beautiful on the horizon, the flurry of petals tinted orange through the morning glow.

When he arrives back at the dorms, he may go as far as saying that that run had been, well for lack of a better term, relaxing. The soothing ambience of a morning just does that to a person. Katsuki’s worries can be almost discounted as nonexistent, a pure oblivious bliss that shatters the very second he steps back into the common room, all sweaty and smelling for all the world like a caramelised apple. Is sweat even meant to smell like this?

There’s a couple of faces he recognises, accompanying those that he doesn’t, all busy going about their morning rituals (some of which involving excessive caffeine intake) as they trickle in, states ranging from bedraggled zombie to chipper morning person. Amongst those is a face he’s been acquainted with the most — for better or for worse — shark teeth sporting his trademark grin when he notices Katsuki from over the counter.

With those faint bruise-like circles shadowing Kirishima’s eyebags, it occurs to Katsuki that maybe he’s woken up specifically this time just for him and this is by no means a regular occurance. Like he’s become some kind of self-proclaimed guide to him for all things Katsuki Bakugou. He’ll roll with it.

“Coffee?” Kirishima asks as he raises up a kettle. Katsuki’s never tried the beverage before, but there’s no time like the present so he accepts the offer with a nod, sidling up next to him and pulling up a mug for himself.

As Kirishima pours the boiling liquid, Katsuki deems in appropriate to bite the bullet and start asking questions he’d rather be asking now than later, and if this guy really is his self-dubbed guide, gluing himself to his side like a permanent fixture, there’s no better person to ask.

Beating around the bush just sounds pointless.

“Hey, how’s today looking?” He’s yet to receive a schedule and, like with the run, there’s got to be other things to fill the day. One such thing being school, because they’re not rooming at Yuuei just for the sake of it. Things to learn, places to be.

“Okay, so you’ve got Tsu over there.” Kirishima waves over at a girl bearing a lot of resemblance to a frog, overseeing a frying pan with a keen eye on the sizzling yolk within. “And Satou both making natto and fried egg on rice for breakfast. Satou’s been under the tutelage of Lunch Rush-Sensei lately, think he’s been trying out new ground? Speaking of, Sensei’s food’ll be delivered over soon, so you’re free to have that instead.” Upon realising Katsuki was asking about the wider picture, Kirishima adds, “Of course you’ve got classes after this, lunch, more classes and then our day’s free from there!”

So they are going to lessons today. Nice to know.

“So it’s true, ribbit,” Tsuyu says, coming away from the pan as Satou takes ahold of it. Speaking of. “You’ve lost your memories.”

“Yeah, don’t remember you. Sorry.” He’s said this before, hasn’t he?

Kirishima ruffles Katsuki’s hair with a laugh. “S’got nothing up there now — what the, your hair’s so soft. I assumed it’d be all covered in hair gel? How?”

“Thanks? I think?” Katsuki’s eyes roam to the top of his peripheral where Kirishima’s hand runs through his hair, longer than the average hair ruffle should be in his book (again, he’s not in any position to say from experience). “Is this normal?”

“Nah, but you’ve gotta tell me what you use. My hair takes work, y’know. These spikes come from blood, sweat and tears.”

“And red dye, ribbit ribbit,” Tsuyu adds on, to Kirishima’s horror. He deflates, and Katsuki swears even his hair sags with him, just as disheartened as his face.

“Wha— who told you my trade secret? Who else knows?”

Tsuyu blinks, slow. The kind of gaze she used on the eggs. “It’s a secret?”

“Yes!”

“Tsu!” Calls a classmate — presumably this Satou character — just when things may get messy for both the food and the conversation, “A little help please? I’m more suited to baking.”

“Coming!” Tsuyu hops on back to her work station whilst the pair of them get set up with their coffee. Katsuki swats away the need to get in there and do things himself. Cooking is a foreign jungle he’s yet to explore.

This atmosphere. It’s… nice.

————-

After showering and changing with minimal unintentional hand explosions — because he doesn’t care what Kirishima says he smells like, he’s still sweaty — he’s heading back down again to enjoy the first meal of the day, only spending five or so minutes looking for a tie that may or may not exist and deeming the search a waste of time.

He’s not eaten since, well, he doesn’t know.

It tastes as good as it smells, which is pretty damn good (though Satou insists it’s mainly Tsuyu’s work) and it’s just as he’s finishing up polishing off his plate that he meets him, late down having received a case of faulty wake up alarm.

So far, re-meeting his classmates has been going alright. Sure, there’s been looks ranging from giggles and snickers, to concerned and downright confused, or the near impassive look of the infamous Todoroki along the way. But for the most part, he’s taking this in stride. They’re being nice to him, making him as welcome as possible in their efforts, and doing their best to keep things normal in a way he’s thankful for.

“Oh that?” Kirishima starts when he asks, “That’s Midoriya Izuku, you’re childhood friends.” Then this look crosses his friend’s face as he adds, “I mean, you and I are close, man. But you and him? You’ve got history.”

It explains the inexplicable tugging force at work towards him. What the mind forgets, the heart remembers.

Kirishima pats Katsuki on the back and pulls him over to the boy, all green eyes and a smattering of freckles, cherubic features surrounded by forestfulls of hair. This Izuku’s looking over at them quizzically, and by the rate his mouth is moving at, Katsuki will hazard a guess that he’s mumbling very, very quickly. You think the speed of light’s fast? Got nothing on this kid right here.

(Nobody notices how the tips of Katsuki’s ears dust themselves in the faintest of pinks, layer opacity five percent at best. Something inside of him flutters. He dismisses it immediately.)

“Yo Midoriya, what’s up?” Kirishima startles the boy from his spewing of thoughts, the mumbling ceasing as Kirishima makes for conversation.

“Oh, hi Kirishima, Kacchan… you’re uh, in a good mood?” He’s a little hesitant, curious, eyes flitting across his face in a calculating manner. It’s nothing of the malicious sort, merely discombobulated, as if he’s being presented with an alien situation and doesn’t know quite how to react, keeping on guard until he can discern an appropriate course of action.

Katsuki startles as the word ‘Kacchan’ passes his lips, riding sky high on a rollercoaster to cloud nine and simply not coming back down. Kirishima really wasn’t kidding about the childhood friends thing, and, even in this day and age, the cutesy nicknames stay.

Huh.

“Kacchan?” Katsuki repeats, his words sounding distant, like he’s underwater. The green boy stills. “You call me Kacchan?”

There’s a pause. “Whaa- uh...Yes?” Izuku blinks before whirling to face Kirishima, eyes swimming with unanswered questions which absolutely no one can answer until he voices them. Despite this confusion, his next words come out surprisingly firm, commanding even. “What’s going on?”

As Kirishima gives him a rundown on the situation, something he’s been saved from when it came to the majority of classmates (gossip spreads far, so Katsuki’s learned), Izuku pales considerably, skin subtly turning a sickly pallor, his freckles only becoming ever more prominent like the seeds of an unripe strawberry. A ghost may as well be choosing this moment to walk on in and announce its presence, Izuku sure looks as if he’s seen one.

But perhaps the only ghost here is Katsuki. Isn’t he but a hollow shell of who he once was? Who is he, really, without those memories? Without his core identity?

Who is he?

The boy chokes, mouth opening and closing, catching flies as an accusatory finger is raised at a wobbly snail’s pace. He’s stuck like that before he starts running his mouth with questions, topping at the list of ‘most dramatic reactions yet’ with a grand whopping total of a thousand points. That’s got to be a record. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” He hisses, and hasn’t Yaoyorozu said something along those lines? “You can’t just- this is a bad idea. Okay? And I mean a bad one.”

Katsuki’s lost, probably somewhere in between bad and idea, but Kirishima remains at ease, laid back from attitude to posture and spewing stuff like “relax” and “everything’ll be fine”. Yeah, he’s missing something big here, stepping on into a conversation part way through like he’s intruding and not meant to actually be present.

But he’s got to try saying something. He’s got this growing feeling he’s being ignored.

“So childhood friends, yeah?” And that catches Izuku’s attention, like a moth to a flame, caught somewhere in the middle of freaking out in front of Kirishima and trying to give a justifiable conclusion for it. “Great that someone here’s known me for so long, there’s gotta be a load of stories stored up there! ‘Cuz that’ll help with getting my memories back.” Then he adds on, “I’m glad you’re here Izuchan!”

The word weighs heavy on his tongue, bitter, tangy, like something he is unpracticed in saying. It feels off... somehow, but when he tries to pull up something to justify it, he’s hit with the empty feeling of blank memory banks, a canvas of white when there ought to be colour. He moves on nothing but emotion and muscle memory, the only things keeping him going when there’s little else to guide him.

And apparently that emotional drive is not helpful in the slightest.

Somehow — and he doesn’t know how — this only succeeds in making things worse. If this guy’s lucky, he’ll live until he’s fifty because he’s pretty sure he’s shaved exactly that amount of years off his life.

Oops?

(“He’s.... smiling…. at me,” Izuku says slowly once Katsuki is out of earshot, straining to push the words out, the subject hard to grasp. The few left to witness the whole conversation send him some sympathetic looks.)

(Just. What?)

_____

Excluding the odd encounter with the green boy, the morning’s smooth sailing, with a few road bumps along the way (read: Izuchan and other stories). Lessons? Not so much.

Just like the dorms, the label for their classroom can’t possibly be bigger. And even if he, for some unfathomable reason, found himself unable to follow the flow of his classmates as they meander their collective way to lessons, locating the room would be childsplay, you know, after finding the correct floor.

Yuuei sure likes its flashy titles.

He finds his seat (thanks Kirishima) and instinctually slings his feet up on the desk like a sack of potatoes, a natural reaction that refuses to leave even during memory loss’ hold. He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it either until that glasses guy — what’s his name again? Begins with ‘I’ and ends with ‘don’t remember’ — comes up, hands chopping at the air with a mind of their own like he’s cutting invisible vegetables, and calls him out on it, using examples of property damage to fuel his point. Katsuki hastily backpedals, sinking into his seat as he returns his feet right back to where they should be. On the ground. The traitors.

Katsuki doesn’t know what came over him, he swears. Can testify this in court. But he settles with apologising which gets the glasses guy to halt, then nod in approval, like the class’ proud parent.

(Or class rep, as it dawns on him later. Funny how these things come to you late.)

Then chatter tapers off into muttering as in walks a guy who looks like he’s stared death in the face and remains wholly unimpressed. Their homeroom teacher in all his glory, one of the many pro heroes here because right, that’s what they’re training to be.

Apparently, even pro heroes need to learn the mandatory normal school stuff.

Katsuki, more often than not, finds himself staring at the board rather than his notes, the creeping unease rising about jumping in mid topic, the deep end of the pool when he’s only dipped his toes in the shallow end. He doesn’t remember what he’s being told he should know, and when he flicks back to his notes, everything his past self has written feels foreign. This whole experience, it’s like he’s being shoved into the life of someone else, someone who looks so much like him, but he can’t even begin to recall. It’s all so... foreign. Someone else’s shoes he can’t possibly fill, not for lack of trying.

Katsuki wants to push himself to do better, but he’s tailing the others. He’s floundering when they’re already so far ahead, and try as he might, despite wanting to resist this metaphorical speed bump and not let it get the better of him, it inevitably does.

It must show because he can feel the concerned eyes of Izuku prickling on his neck. It realligns him with reality and he gets back to note taking.

For now, it’s all he can do.

He won’t let himself fall behind. He won’t.

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

There are many peculiarities at Yuuei.

And this is one of them.

One minute Aizawa-Sensei is there, doing that thing teachers do, standing in front of the class and talking about something that is undoubtedly important in their studies. The next, he’s out cold and dead to the world (in a manner of speaking, their teacher hasn’t just kicked the bucket from the stress of teaching them, afterall). Was that teacher seriously just taking a nap in class? Looking, for all his worth, like a human caterpillar, lying flat and ready for metamorphosis. Katsuki idly wonders about the entry requirements for working as a teacher at Yuuei, or if this sleeping correlates with his quirk in any way shape or form.

The classmates are all unperturbed by the development, seemingly a common occurrence they’d grown used to, as normal as a blue sky, or Iida reminding him to take his feet off the desk. If it doesn’t bother them, then it shouldn’t bother old him either. He keeps his trap shut as they finish up with his lesson plan.

They’re training to be heroes. They’ve known weirder.

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

By the time lunch swings around, he’s only filled up about half as many book pages as he would on a regular day. But. Katsuki’s trying. It may not mean much, but it’s all he can say, and for the meantime, before all his memories come back and shit makes sense, it will just have to do.

Whilst he may be stumped when it comes to his education, his taste buds aren’t having the same problem.

“Aaand you’re still eating that.” Kirishima grimaces with his eyes locked on Katsuki’s lunch. He really doesn’t understand where that look’s coming from, this spicy stuff is great. “Your taste buds really haven’t changed.”

“It’s a memory quirk,” Katsuki points out, as if this information isn’t obvious at this point. Apparently he holds more brain cells than them, and he’s the one with memory troubles. Talk about the irony.

“True, true,” Ashido nods along from where her head rests propped up by her elbows, “Soooo, what do you think of- whaa- Sero! My drink’s spilling.”

“Maybe if you stopped using my elbow as a cupholder,” Sero insists from his seat next to her, said drink only spilling more until Ashido scoops it up, “There’s a table. Right there. Instead of my elbows.”

“Just using my resources!” She says like the innocent flower she’s not, then looks down disappointedly at her cup “Aww, I’m going to have to get a refill.”

“Or you can have some of mine? I don’t mind,” Katsuki offers, but at her slightly taken aback look, he almost considers retracting the offer. Then the smile’s back in place like it never left, though a little softer.

Another thing he’s releasing. Smiles aren’t exclusive to Kirishima. They’re all chronic grinners here, one way or another, like it’s something contagious.

His other self sure must be something if this lot’s hanging out with him. They’re nice. Chaotic, but nice.

“Oooh,” Ashido continues, reaching out wiggling fingers across the table, “Don’t mind if I do…”

“You...may want to... reconsider,” A voice chokes from beside him, in between wheezes as he struggles for breaths. They jolt at Kaminari’s appearance, all red in the face like he’s run a marathon with no breaks, and then some. “This stuff’s just as spicy as his food. What is this stuff? Eugh, hot.”

Ashido backs away, slumping back in her seat. When she speaks, it doesn’t do the faintest thing to mask her amusement. “Maybe that’ll teach you not to steal other people’s drinks, then.”

“He offered!”

“To me. Ooo, speaking of drinks, you’re probably gonna need one before you die of spice.”

When the pair arrive back, drinks in hand and Kaminari looking significantly less red in the face and not impersonating a dog panting after a long run, Ashido wastes no seconds in starting where she left off.

“Anyway, as I was saying. What do you think of us Blasty? Come onn, admit it. We’re pretty great, right?”

“Fishing for compliments?” Kirishima asks, “Unmanly, dude.”

“No, no!” Kaminari protests, like if he doesn’t jump in now, he will forever be mournful of a lost opportunity, “This is good material. Let’s hear it.”

Put on the spot like this with all eyes on him, Katsuki sees no other option than to comply. “I mean, I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I just met you yesterday.” His eyes fall on Sero, who apparently chose yesterday of all nights to pack in up early with his study group session. “Today. Whatever. But if you’re asking then... yeah.” He meets their eyes with the utmost sincerity, a smile tugging at his lips, a hint of something small, honest. “You’re ‘pretty great’.”

Katsuki doesn’t know what to say to the silence, wonders if he’s misspoken even if he can’t fathom how. He opens his mouth, makes a move to correct whatever muck up he’s got involved in, when it’s broken by Ashido’s squeal.

“Oh get in here, you!” And suddenly there’s a blur of pink in his face, wrapping her arms around like a clingy limpet doing — oh, is this a hug? He goes ramrod rigid initially, but finds himself leaning in, a steadily rising of something warm and odd in his chest, fizzling and mushy and sending back up in that rollercoaster to the clouds once more.

“Knew you always liked us!” Someone says from amongst the bundle, and that’s got to be Kirishima, he’s sure of it.

“We’re doing a cuddle pile?” That’s distinctly Kaminari’s voice, though it sounds so, so far away, “Whilst eating? My food!”

But he’s in on the pile in seconds, in favour of his lunch, adding to the tangly mess of limbs that’s surprisingly comfortable, even with all these odd angles they’re coming in at. They make a pretzel look simple, tangled wool look neat. Yet he’s content.

“Wish I could remember you lot,” Katsuki says quiet enough to nearly go unnoticed, heck, he’s only half aware of saying it aloud. It’s true, he does. He’s a tourist in his own skin. He wants to remember all moments like this, the laughs, them.

Their grip tightens before Ashido bails out, like a diver gasping for breath. “If it’s memories you want, then it’s memories you’ll receive. Let’s make some!”

Sero looks as if this is the best idea he’s ever heard in the history of ideas, pumping his arm with a beat of enthusiasm as they untangle, “Yeah! Sure sounds like fun.”

Kaminari wrinkles his nose. “Ehhh? But how? Didn’t they say it’ll be a week?”

“At the most,” Kirishima adds, then returns to the topic at hand by shooting Ashido a confused stare, “What do you mean by that?”

“Boys, boys,” She drawls, and you can see her eyes taking a roll on the dark abyss of her sclera, “I mean let’s do something fun as a squad. Make some memories! You in?”

“Oh that?” Kaminari nods, then again with a tad more conviction, entertaining a thought that is steadily growing on him the more he mulls it over, “I mean we had to cut the last trip short, so why not head back? I’ve still got stuff to get.”

Kirishima puts his foot down at that, not in the literal sense, but rather the ‘absolutely hecking not kind,’ wincing as if Kaminari’s words cause him physical pain with a whole bucket load of flashbacks to boot. “Dude, you saw what happened to Bakugou. Really? So soon?”

Kaminari may not have, but he’s looking at Katsuki now, then Kirishima, brow creasing slightly but otherwise absolutely unphased. “There’s got to be a rule against villains not hitting the same place twice, right?”

“That’s lightning. Lightning.”

“Okay but, hear me out,” Kaminari continues like his words are spiritually enlightening and not the complete opposite, “We’re not that unlucky.”

His words seem to register after a moment, gauging their looks, tense and silent, and his face falls, crestfallen. “Nah, you’re right. We are.”

“We’re villain magnets.” Sero nods sagely.

“Cursed,” Ashido agrees, then not two seconds later, “So, a film then?”

“Yeah.”

(Not for the first time does Katsuki find himself wondering just what he’s been through with this group of individuals. But it is a first when it comes to wanting to know how they’ve gone through the wringer too.)

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

Just as there is normal schooling of the academic kind, to get people’s brain cells in gear, there’s the hero part of their training for — as it so clearly states in the title — the hero course.

And, being the heroes they are, they have the matching suits to go with. He picks his out and then frowns at the pieces as if they’ve done something to offend him by purely existing. It’s not like he’s unhappy with it — because he is, really well and truly is — but there’s something to be said for assembly. Once the flashy costume is on, you have gauntlets that weigh heavier than they look (which look heavy on their own, but these sure are something), and all those other fiddly attachments which are as good as useless when there’s no instruction manual to go with them. What’s he meant to do in the emergency case of amnesia then, huh? What then?

With a sheepish look, he’s turning for Kirishima once more, only to find the place he once inhabited utterly devoid of any spiky redheads. Already out and on the field then, having beaten him to it. What he does see, however, is someone less on the red side and more on the green spectrum.

Midoriya Izuku stands in the doorway, half awkwardly, with his nervous twitch and round uneasy eyes, the gentle breeze ruffling his hair like a sighing forest. He looks conflicted, caught in some internal debate of ‘should I or shouldn’t I.’ If he’s going to do anything other than pose by the door, Katsuki really hopes it’ll be sooner rather than later.

Or not.

Katsuki takes the leap, startling Izuku from all thoughts.

“You don’t happen to know what’s going on with this costume, huh?” He doesn’t know how aware his classmate is of his costume, but unlike Katsuki he’s seen this thing in action. That’s a better start than he has.

“Oh, of course!” And he’s not expecting that, he blinks, stupefied. This will save him some hassle for sure.

Then Izuku’s mumbling something about gauntlets, sweat, pins all the while pointing at each part individually, making this look like a rehearsed speech. He starts tinkering, picking up the parts and attaching them on all before Katsuki really knows what’s going on.

“Oh, sorry!” Izuku startles, getting a hold of himself. He rips his hands away like someone upped the temperature of Katsuki’s suit to level five: fiery inferno. But there’s nothing wrong with the fabric and Izuku’s hands are yet to blister. “You don’t mind me helping you out like this, do you Kacchan?”

Izuku drops this like he’s thus far not finished already, way too late to the party to be asking a question such as that. Try a few moments earlier, perhaps? Still, help is help.

“Nah, you’re good. Thanks Izuchan.”

Izuku pulls a face, something caught between a wince and a flush at the reiteration of the name as he pulls away completely, hastily changing the subject, be it an equally important one.

“Aizawa-Sensei paired us up for practice today,” Izuku explains, and now his awkward shuffle waiting is a whole lot clearer, or else he’s be in the field like Kirishima “I think it’s because of my notebooks I’ve got on using your quirk. He’s noticed that you may need…” He frowns. “Pointers?”

Today’s task is simple training, or at least, it should be for those with actual experience doing this thing. Him? He’s got nada. Could’ve been born yesterday for all it matters.

There’s something to be said for muscle memory, so it isn’t as if he’s working from scratch, but it can only get you so far before lack of technique becomes a hindrance. Ever since last night, he’s been setting off sparks, occasionally and not all intentional, coming to grips with his quirk as it comes back to him like a well oiled bike. He’s far off where he probably was only a mere few days ago, hasn’t even had time yet to practice full attacks, but he can’t afford to be useless for when a real threat comes.

If he slacks off, even for just a day, there’s no way he can rise to the top. To be the best hero he can possibly be.

He’s done this before, and maybe, with the assistance of Izuku’s olive branch, he can do this again.

(Izuku pays attention to his quirk, his mind screams. There’s a notebook out there on… you.

He doesn’t know how he feels about this.)

“Sure,” Katsuki finds himself answering, tightening up those gauntlets and ready to give it his all, “I’d like that.”

-------

Izuku’s not going easy on him. Which is good. He doesn’t want that. His limits are there to be tested and tried, and if anyone thinks babying him just because of a slight case of memory loss is the way to go, then they can suck it.

Besides, he’s not going to go easy on anyone either.

In fact, he’ll be as bold as to say he’s getting the hang of this.

“Of course you are!” Is Izuku’s response, like he never expected any less of him. Good.

Along with encouragement straight from the heart, Izuku never giving praise he doesn’t think is due, Izuku dishes out suggestions and techniques as the pair of them spar, one on one, locked in a battle of minds and fists. Izuku’s observations start with weaker, fiddly bits of information, as if almost nervous to suggest anything major.

With Katsuki’s shout of “Come at me with everything you have!” that smirk on his face just so right, Izuku progresses in internal drive to demonstrate entire moves, with Izuku admitting once Katsuki sees some of these tactics in action, that some of his own moves are inspired by Katsuki himself.

Huh.

Izuku is a force to be reckoned with, alive with a stunning energy about him, but Katsuki’s no slacker either. And he’s a fast learner to boot. Katsuki puts in his all, the thrill of adrenaline coursing through his veins, heightening the power of each blow in this back and forth dance of blows. Now this is his element, his quirk, his extension of his body. This is where he belongs and it will take more than a villain’s quirk to take it away from him.

Katsuki detonates his palms once more and throws a fist back to counter and-

<A bitter rage swells, simmering beneath the surface, his blood boiling to the hundredth degree. It Ripples through him in leaps and bounds, a wild hound that can’t be tamed, ragged at the edges, fierce to its prey. Like a second skin, like it’s always been there, an underlying current that’s washed him into an ocean of scorching rage. Like an old friend.

But it encases something more, buried deep down in his core, closed off and held tight. The caged hound is wounded, fearful and guilty, and he pushes this down because he refuses to be weak. Refuses to be less than strong. He won't. But in this moment they begin to spill over the crumbling edges, and the lines blur to what once and what is.

And he needs to know. To lay things down clear.

The truth.

He’s shouting and the words are tumbling and “FIGHT ME!! WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?!”

And so, the first blows are thrown. They fight with fists and words and>

And he’s gasping for air, momentarily thrown by the dizzying feeling of whatever that was, the tumbling and loss of focus just enough time it’s enough to give Izuku the leverage he needs for his attack.

“Kacchan?” Izuku asks, breathy and panting as sweat crawls from his brow. Izuku’s concerned, those eyes glistening like sparkling beacons, calling out to him through whatever ocean he plunged through.

He takes a moment, no movement between the two except for the rise and fall of Katsuki’s chest, taking heavy breaths. He’s not sure how much of it is from the battle or the vision. Katsuki blinks it back, and shrugs it off, back on his feet in seconds like an ordinary day at the office.

“Yeah,” Katsuki assures, “I’m fine. C’mon, go again.”

He won’t let Izuku take him down so easily.

----------

They go again.

And again.

(He pushes the vision to the back of his mind. He can’t explain what he’s feeling, what it means.)

(But it sounds important.)

#Bread fic #Bnha #Mha #Bakudeku #Bkdk #Amnesia #my hero academia #Boku no hero Academia #To Forgive And Forget Fic #Bakugou Katsuki #Midoriya Izuku #Kirishima Eijiro

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thefirelordandtheambassador · 4 years ago

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close your eyes and i’ll close mine

Zutara Week 2020 Submission (“reunion”)

Rating: T for Teens

Length: 3,186 words @zutaraweek Cross-posted on AO3 under one work titled “all that i hoped would change within me stayed (god only knows which of them i'll become)” “Get off my shit, rabbit-squirrel-brains!” Toph hollers, and Katara whips around, away from the rapidly approaching horizon, away from the lure of the sea. She watches, non-plussed, as Toph dive-bombs a young soldier, who has tried to move some luggage to a more convenient spot on the boat. Ember Island, well, it doesn’t loom, but it approaches like a nervous servant--Katara will never get used to the servants that seem to appear like mist or ghosts, at the Earth Kingdom Palace, at General Iroh’s apartments in Ba Sing Se, at Toph’s parents’ house when she visited last year with her-- “for moral support and elbow-holding.”

“I’m sorry, miss! I just have to move things!” Katara bites at her lips, trying desperately to hide a snicker. Toph is wrestling him to the deck, clearly attempting to keep him away from her bag.

“I see you, mocking that poor boy,” jibes a soft, smoky voice to her side. She looks up--it’s Zuko.

“Not going play referee?” asks Sokka, following up behind him.

“Mmm, not today,” Katara muses, tossing her hair into the breeze. It is nice to be back on the ocean. She’s spent the last six months in a border town of the Si Wong Desert, negotiating with the sand-benders. Before that, she was in Ba Sing Se on official ambassadorial duties for the Southern Water Tribe for about a year, and then before that, she’d been providing aid for some of the rural interior Earth Kingdom towns for something like eighteen months. Most eighteen-year-olds she knows are either in school, or married with a kid on the way, but she’s single and doing the heavy diplomatic and charitable work of a woman twice her age.

“Oh, look, she’s going easy on him,” Zuko notes drily, as Toph shoves the poor kid into a door. “He’ll get off with just a concussion, instead of a broken arm like the last guy.”

The past few years have been good to Zuko--it’s been almost three years since she’s had a chance to visit. He’ll be twenty tomorrow, and he’s grown. Really grown. He’s easily over six feet tall, and his hair is so long now that what isn’t caught up in his topknot rolls over his shoulder. He has one of those formal shoulder pieces on that Katara desperately hopes will go out of style soon, but it doesn’t do much to the chest that has already grown broader and more muscular. And he was no lanky twig like Sokka during the war, either, she muses.

“Well, someone’s gotta get those boys in shape--she’s taken to teaching a little too well, in her old age,” Katara snarks back, smiling. Zuko smiles back, golden eyes softening. His face has thinned out too, cheekbones standing out elegantly, even under the scar. He looks real good.

“Well, at least you got out of being such a turbulent sixteen-year-old; can’t say I wasn’t beating people up at her age. So, uh, how are you and Aang, ah, doing these days?” There’s the awkward turtle-duck, out and about for a toddle around the pond.

Sokka barks a laugh, walks away, throws an arm around Toph.

She smiles ruefully, “You know, we’re taking a break. I think we both need it; we’re apart so often, you know? He’s flying here from the Western Air Temple and will meet us at the summer house. It’ll be good to see him again. It’s good to see all of you again, really. Ambassadorial life is pretty lonely.”

“Meanwhile, I feel like I can never get a moment alone these days. Always papers to sign, emissaries to greet, Fire Sages up my ass about everything. I’m glad you all could come to celebrate. I thought a little reunion would be nice. I’m just missing Uncle,” he says with a sigh. They turn, and lean against the railing.

“He misses you too--I stayed at his apartments in Ba Sing Se over the New Year. It was good to see a familiar face,” she says. The breeze whips around them, and Katara’s nose is overwhelmed with the smell of amber musk, something roast-y, and rich sandalwood. “Are...are you wearing cologne?!”

Zuko pinks.

“The Earth Kingdom ambassador got it for me for a birthday gift! She said it was indispensable for any young nobleman! Is it too much?” She softens. It is good to be back with friends--with him.

“No, no,” she says, and sticks her nose onto his sleeve, “I like it. It smells nice on you.” Underneath the cologne, she gets that warm man-smell. She misses that smell, from time to time, if she’s being honest with herself.

“Oh good. He said to go easy on it. Um, Katara?”

“Oh, sorry!” She’s lingered too long. But looking up into his eyes, they are still molten and soft. It’s her turn to pink, and she looks back to the sea. They are close to the docks. “I guess I’m just a little tired. I am so ready for this mini-vacation.”

“You deserve it. Uncle says you do the work of a woman twice your age.”

The beach house is just as she remembers it, but somehow, fuller, livelier. Zuko’s stocked it with paintings of the whole team, plants with bright summer blooms heavy with scent, curios from his travels. There’s only two servants, blessedly, a cook and a maid who greet them at the door.

“It looks nice in here! So bright and happy!” cheers Suki. “It was kinda sad when we stayed here last time.”

“Thanks. Uncle’s sent me enough tea and teapots to fill a whole bookshelf,” Zuko shrugs, “but I wanted it to be fun again, so Kiyi and Mom can come and enjoy themselves, you know? Get rid of the sad nostalgia, make room for new memories. Maybe we could have regular reunions here.”

“Heck yeah!” chimes Toph, hefting her bag. “I am so ready for some vacation time!” Things are dropped in rooms, and Katara is convinced to join the group at the beach, even though the things that sound the best right now are to sink into the fluffy white covers of the bed she’s been given and have a deep, sun-soaked nap, dreaming away the afternoon for the first time in years.

She pads out, yawning, in her swimsuit, and looks around, trying to remember where the towels were stored last time. She turns too quickly, and runs into something soft, clean, cottony-- a stack of towels?

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, Rina...” Katara stammers, but it’s not the maid. It’s Zuko, who is shirtless and ready for the beach. Her heart thumps a few times and her blood seems to rush a little faster in her veins, because his trunks sling low on his sharp hipbones, and thank Tui and La that she managed to that chest scar to fade to something more dashing. A trail of hair follows his bellybutton down into those trunks...and she’s just gonna stop that thought-canoe and turn it right back upriver.

“Oh, Rina’s packing us some rice balls for snacks, do you have any requests? I know you like pickled ocean kumquats...” He trails off too, sticking a hand behind his head sheepishly. His mane of hair is knotted messily on the back of his head.

“Any flavor is fine!” she squeaks. “Let’s go! I can’t wait for dip! It’s so lovely out today!”

“It is,” he agrees, and scoops up the towels, flinging them over his shoulder. His hand brushes hers lightly as they take the path down to the black sand beach.

Aang arrives just in time for dinner. Rina brings out a sumptuous feast of all their favorites: hippo-cow braised in soy sauce and ginger, rooster-pig spare ribs deep fried and dusted with lime zest and chilis ground to a fine powder, crispy garlic arctic whale-shrimp, a sweet and sour sprouted bean curd, and a miraculous leg of caribou that is roasted and covered in a pearly sauce that is delicately scented and made Sokka cry when it was set down in front of him.

“I tried to make sure we all got something we liked,” Zuko admits, seated comfortably at the head of the table. He’s placed Katara on his right, Toph on his left, and Katara doesn’t mind this. The maid has served what seems like a hundred side dishes, which keeps her plenty occupied, instead of having to make awkward eye contact with Aang. Katara picks up spicy fermented cucumber-melon, braised potatoes and peppers, sautéed pea shoots, and takes a little bit of all the main dishes. “And, my father left one gift: that quite amazing selection of wines and spirits.”

Katara and Suki have been enjoying the plum wine, and Sokka and Toph have turned drinking shots of soju into some kind of game, and are easily drinking Aang under the table already. She hasn’t enjoyed herself, been so relaxed and at ease, in a long time.

“Here, Katara, have you ever had these? They’re a specialty of Ember Island,” Zuko says softly. She turns to him, his chopsticks clutching some noodles like glass threads, mixed with tomato-carrots and green onions. She shakes her head no, and he offers her a bite, guiding the chopsticks to her mouth. They slip in, yummy, and she slurps the last few over her lips.

“Sorry, country manners,” she says, covering her face and blushing.

“No, no, it’s...it’s cute,” he says. “I don’t mind!” He thinks that’s cute? She decides to take it, and tries to shift the subject, to side-step Zuko turning into the awkward turtle-duck.

“What’s your favorite side dish? We’ve never gotten to eat such a nice meal together so close to each other!” In fact, the last time Katara was at a dinner with Zuko, it was a very formal affair, she was seated halfway down the table from him, between two lords and across from Aang, and it was a plated meal, with a different servant bringing her soup, her salad, her braised pork that was truthfully far too spicy, and she nearly cried when yet another servant brought her some pineapple-lime shaved ice to finish with.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, and his mouth bunches and pouts to one side, “This one.” He proffers long ribbons of carrot in sticky red sauce, sprinkled with sesame seeds. She slurps those off his chopsticks too.

“Ahh! So spicy! But good, really good!” She gulps some more plum wine, feeling warm all over. “Pick another you like.” She wants to know all his favorites tonight. Before dinner, he’d ditched his formal clothes, and has relaxed in a red silk shirt that leaves much of his chest open for her eyes to roam. Nice abs, she notes, for someone who claims to do paperwork all day long.

The wine is getting to her.

“Rina, don’t worry about us, please, head to bed. We’ll probably drink some more, talk, and definitely sleep in in the morning. Plenty of time for you and Lien to do dishes in the morning,” Zuko says to the maid, who is clearly yawning. She bows, murmurs a thank you, and heads off up the stairs. Katara loves how nice Zuko and Iroh are to their employees; the Earth King has several ministers who treat the servants like dirt. She’s brought it up to Kuei, but he only frowns and polishes his glasses.

“Alright! Now we can break out the good stuff!” Toph shouts, and punches the air. She is gone and back again in a flash.

“Good stuff? There’s so much good stuff here already!” Aang’s words come out a little soupy--he’s lost the soju drinking game. He takes a hearty spoonful of fruit tart. “This is so good, Zuko. I love fruit tarts!”

“I didn’t want to sailors to get ahold of this stuff; I confiscated it from one of my students. Ha!” Toph says, dropping back down on her cushion. She holds a long pipe in hand and pouch.

“So that’s why you were beating that poor guy up on the boat?” asks Sokka. Suki has migrated to mostly-in-Sokka’s-lap, but who is Katara to judge, because she is leaning full-body on Zuko--it’s certainly not the wine, she thinks, it’s the biceps for sure.

“Well, hell yeah, this stuff is wild!” crows Toph, dumping some clumps of dried green leaves on the table. She crumbles and stuffs, crumbles and stuff, and passes the pipe to Zuko. “Gimme a light, Master Sparky-pants? First puff is yours, host with the most!”

“What is it?” he asks, flicking two fingers and summoning a small flame. He lights the little leaves in the pipe bowl.

“Green dragon-weed!” Toph crows. “It’ll blow your mind!” Zuko tentatively puffs, coughs, and passes the pipe.

“That’s foul, Toph. Why?” Katara also passes, but Aang tries and Sokka tries, and Toph is clearly an expert, because she blows out perfect smoke rings.

Soon, they are a group of giggling kids again, lying on the floor, cackling at Sokka’s bad jokes as Suki regales stories of their stories, as she and Sokka work as prisoner escorts mostly these days. Aang and Toph keep passing that pipe back and forth, but Katara’s cup of plum wine never seems to empty, mostly because Zuko keeps giving her sips out of his--first a fiery ginger whiskey, next a herby, clear soju with lots of something citrusy squeezed in it, then a sweet melon liquor. He will nudge to offer, and every time, they make electric eye contact, and all the blood in her vein rushes down to the center of her hips.

“These are all really good,” she mumbles, feeling so relaxed and happy, warm against Zuko’s arm, full of food and drink, surrounded by friends.

“Good, I’m glad you’re having a good time,” he says lightly, nuzzling his nose to her ear. More of that, please, she thinks, his breath hot on her cheek, and she steals a look at the others. Sokka and Suki are halfway out the door to their room, Toph is half-asleep, and Aang lays on the floor, blowing smoke into creatures for Momo to chase after, mostly out of sight.

She turns, and steels herself. “Can I...?”

His eyebrow knits. “Whatever you like?” What a good host.

She cranes her neck a little, and sneaks a peck on his lips, firm and spicy. There’s a little jolt, like electricity, and he presses back, firm, maybe even a little desperate. He shifts angles, captures her more surely. She melts a little, but pulls back. Toph and Aang are still sprawled on the floor, blissfully unaware.

“Aang, I am just beat, aren’t you? Toph? I think we should all drink a glass of water and go to bed,” she says gently.

“Huh? Mmm, yeah, I am pooped!” Aang slurs, and tries to get up, loses his balance, slips. “Monkeyfeathers!”

Toph snores on. Zuko, who still has his bearings, swiftly helps Aang to his feet, and scoops Toph up in a cradle hold. Katara settles the completely toasted Avatar into bed, takes off his shoes and shirt, and forces a glass of water in him. She leaves another on the table, but he’s asleep before she slides the door shut.

“She is out cold!” Zuko says, sliding the door shut. The house is quiet, so quiet that Katara can hear her heart racing. He pads back over. The tie of his shirt has come undone over the course of the evening, and she decides to take yet another chance. She closes the gap between them in the hall, pressing her hand to his chest and reaching up for another kiss.

It’s almost like he knows, and his hands tangle in her hair before their lips meet again. She clutches at the sides of his shirt, thrilled to touch and feel and smell him. One of his hands drops from her hair, and his thumb traces deliciously down her neck, to cup her waist and pull her closer. She sighs as she relaxes into the touch of his lips, the tip of his tongue pushing experimentally. He breaks for a moment.

“C’mon, let’s...get more comfortable,” he rasps, and pulls her down the hall, sliding open the red paper door at the end of the hall. He flicks his hand, lighting many lamps softly, and the room glows a rich red. He pulls her to the bed, and she flops down. The bed cradles her, and she suddenly loses all desire to move.

“I want you to know that I want this, but I’m so tired, Zuko. Rain check?” she murmurs.

“I understand. Can I...can I help you get ready for bed?” he asks, almost shy. Her heart skips. She cranes her neck up, and presses her lips to his heatedly.

“Sure.”

He slips off the bed and shucks his silk shirt to a stool. Next, the gold sash and black trousers. She chuckles lightly, because the style of underwear Fire Nation men wear is so weird-looking, so tight-fitting and trim, but his is black and she’s not surprised by that.

He kneels, and pushes up the skirts of her summer dress. It’s light blue silk with a white surcoat so gossamer it might be made of cobwebs, a gift from the Earth King for her last birthday, and in this heat, she’s glad it’s sleeveless. His hot hands press into her thighs, and he leans in, takes a breath, trails kisses down her inner thighs, over her knees.

He tenderly unwraps the ties from her slippers--they lace up her legs with ribbons--and presses a kiss on her calf. Fingers trail down the back of her calves, over her heels as he tugs the slippers off, stashing them on the floor.

Shoes off, he unties the waistband of the surcoat, lays it on the stool. He takes issue with the buttons on the side of the dress, but gets them undone, and he tugs it over her head until it floats back to join the surcoat. He flips her over, gripping her hips, and pulls the tie of the petticoat, tugs that down too. Hot kisses feather up her spine, and she can’t help but let a noise that is half moan, half sigh.

“Feels so good, Zuko, but I am so ready for some sleep,” she drawls, eyes drooping.

Gently, he presses a heated kiss to her neck, and wow, Katara didn’t know she could sparkle internally. His hands trail to her waist and back up.

“Can I offer you a place to rest here?” he asks, a joke in his voice.

“Seems like just the right place to be,” she yawns. He pulls back the sheets, cool and crisp, and she settles in. He snuggles close to her, and she drifts off, hoping that every reunion can be like this.

#mine #zutara week 2020 #i love writing about food #sorry not sorry #i feel like every good couple 'takes a break' when necessary #so maybe canon-compliant?#reunion

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flatstarcarcosa · 5 years ago

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danger & dread (pt. 3)

summary: The most important thing in Van’s life is control, and having it. When their life starts falling apart, they and Slade both have to deal with the fact that emotional intimacy is a vastly different beast than psychical intimacy. Slade has to decide if he’s planning for a fling, or something else. Bill remains dubious of his intentions. word count: 5521, split into 3 parts warnings: abuse, violence, alcohol, smoking,

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

Van wakes up to the smell of eggs and hashbrowns. They jerk up in bed, blinking in the sunlight and expecting to see a metal table at the end of a metal cot. It was only four days, but their brain has already adjusted in some ways to the surroundings in jail. Realizing they're in a real bed takes a moment to sink in. This isn't my bed, they think. They frown, trying to piece together the day before. Between having multiple breakdowns and multiple shots of rum, it's not an easy task. Right...Slade found out they were in jail from their neighbor, and he paid the bail. He took them home, helped them pack their shit so they could find a hotel...and apparently, brought them to his place instead. “Fair 'nuff,” they mumble as they swing their legs over the side of the bed. “Saves me money.” They shuffle into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from their eye and yawning. Rufus is sitting attentively at Slade's feet, watching carefully for any dropped food. He looks over at Van, flaps his tail against the floor once, and turns his attention back to the stove. Slade turns to look at them, holding a frying pan full of scrambled eggs in one hand and a spatula in the other. “Disclaimer,” he says, scooping hot eggs and potatoes onto a couple plates, “I've never been much of a cook. This is about the extent of my abilities.” “If it's good enough for Waffle House it's fine,” Van says. They sit down at the table, accepting a plate and a fork and begin inhaling eggs as fast as they can. “You didn't eat in jail, did you?” Slade asks, sitting across from them while stating the obvious.

“Bro, they couldn't even cook the rice all the way, bro,” Van says. “I forgot what it was like to be this fucking hungry.” Slade says nothing in response. He lets Van eat in peace, and comes around the side of the table to dump the rest of his hash browns onto their plate before they have a chance to ask for them. He stacks his plate in the sink and slides an ash tray and a pack of cigarettes across the table. Van pushes their plate away and reaches for them, leaning back in the chair and blowing smoke out of their nostrils. “I wanted to ask you something,” he says, lighting his own cigarette. “Before she starts calling and gets you all upset again. He pauses, tapping ash and chewing on his tongue for a moment. “Well?” Van asks. Slade takes a moment to observe them. Their eyes are clear, and although they look pale and still exhausted, they're not as out of it as they were last night. Good a time as any. “Why don't you just move in with me?” he asks. “The only reason you moved back home with your mom is because without your job you couldn't afford to keep renting your place. It's not like you wanted to, you just didn't think you had anywhere else to go.” “Yeah,” Van says, “no shit. I knew this was going to be a shit idea, but I didn't have anywhere else to go.” “Well, that's what I'm saying,” Slade insists. “You do. I'm giving you one.” “This condo isn't exactly big enough for two people,” Van says. They're fishing for a distraction, he can feel it. He grins a little. “The whole 'Deathstroke' thing still hasn't sunk in for you, huh?” he asks. “I have houses all over the world, Van. We wouldn't have to stay here. You could go anywhere you wanted, as far away from her as you wanted. I know you've talked about Washington before, or at the least the pacific northwest in general.” Van fidgets, shifting their weight in the chair and playing with their cigarette against the side of the ash tray. They bite their lip as tears start welling up in their eyes. The barely-repaired dam lets loose again. “I-I don't...want to...bother anyone else,” they choke out, dropping the cigarette to press their hands to their face. Slade exhales a lungful of smoke and leaves the butt to smoke in the ash tray. He stands at Van's side, putting an arm around their shoulders and letting them decide how much contact they want. They lean into him, turning their face to bury it against his stomach. “You've never bothered me,” he says. “If you had I would've let those wannabe mercenaries gut you and toss you off the end of the pier like they wanted. Just because I heal quickly doesn't mean getting shot is fun, and if I'm not being paid I don't step in front of bullets for just anyone.” He rubs circles into their back, taking note of the tension in between their shoulder blades. “You haven't been yourself since you moved back in with her,” he continues. “You rarely leave the house, and when you do you're not present in the moment. You're constantly canceling plans or ignoring me outright in order to isolate yourself. You haven't picked up a camera or a paintbrush or even a stolen bank pen in months. I didn't want to say anything before, I assumed it was because of what happened over the summer, in which case, fair. “But now I know it's not, and that it's your mother. Am I wrong?” He's not, and he knows it. He just wants them to say it, out loud, in a setting where maybe they can convince themself at least a little bit that it is not in fact, them. “It's her,” Van says softly. “I came so close. I saved up money from that fucking job, I was being careful. I didn't want to go back, I didn't want to go back to feeling like a trapped fucking rat left to go insane in a cage. But I figured, if I couldn't do it myself, then what was the point?” They fall silent again and pull away to put their head on the table. “I'm so tired,” they say. “I'm...I'm tired to the bone, down to my fucking soul and I don't know what I'm going to do or who I can count on for anything and I'm just so- fucking- tired.” “Yeah,” Slade says. “I know how that goes.” He brushes some loose hair out of Van's face, letting his fingers brush against their cheek. The bruise is beginning to change color. “I don't think I'm going to be able to work again,” Van says. “I've been too sick for too long and while too young. I don't have enough of a consistent wok history. I only got the job in the condo office by chance.” “That's not an issue,” he says. Before Van gets a chance to speak again, he cuts them off. He already knows where they're going: they're going to list off every little thing their mother was screaming about being their fault and they're going to want Slade to to say it's not their fault. He doesn't have the time nor the patience for that. At least, not right now. “None of it is an issue,” he says firmly. “Do you want to at least think about it?” “I'll...think about it, yeah,” they say. Slade lets go, and gives them space. He threw in thinking about it at the last second, realizing that otherwise it would seem as if he was demanding it. Van's fragile enough at the moment without feeling like they owe him something for helping them last night. He meant what he said to Bill; he has no plans to just keep them around until he gets bored of them like a child with a new toy. He may not know what exactly his plans are, but at least it's nothing nefarious. For now.

Van keeps their distance the rest of the day. Slade insists he hangs onto their cell phone and takes the multiple irate calls from their mother. First she was screaming about not being able to get into the house. He assumes she figured some way in, as the next call was about there being a lock on Van's door. The third one was threatening to call the police on Van for “stealing” the Challenger. Slade had to explain to her that a person cannot steal an item that is legally theirs and he still isn't convinced she understood him. By the time the fourth call comes in, he pops the battery out of the back of the phone and tosses the whole thing in his silverware drawer. He's sitting on the balcony, enjoying the sound of the ocean below when Van opens the sliding glass door and steps out.

“Where...would we go?” they ask, leaning against the glass. “What?” he asks, craning his neck to look at them. “If I wanted to move in with you,” they say, “where would we go?” Slade turns his head back to the sea. “Well, if you want to stay by the beach, there's houses going up for sale all over the place.” “I'm tired of the beach.” Van says. “Got anything else?” he asks. “...I miss the mountains,” they say. “I have a place in Vermont you might like.” “I've never been to Vermont.” “Would you like to?” Silence. The ocean roars softly in the distance. ��Yeah,” they say, “I think I might.”

#van.fic #ship: wilson & wilson at large #arc: fun & sun #which btw i swear there is...actual fun in this arc somewhere lmfao #alcohol tw #abuse tw #smoking tw

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blueinkblot · 6 years ago

Text

Open-Hearted

@write-it-motherfuckers Okay! This is the draft I turned in for my writing class, and while I think it could be a lot better I didn’t want to keep you waiting too much longer.

I should have known things would go badly when my childhood “coven” reconvened over winter break.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” I said, pulling at Eliot’s hand. “Ceels even said she found a real grimoire by a real witch.”

“With the way things were,” Eliot said, digging her heels into the decaying rug in the O’Connor’s back room, “who even knows if she’s a real witch?”

“You could say the same about us,” Celia said, walking into the room with a decaying book in one hand that was at least eight inches thick. She carried a silver platter of lemon cookies in the other. “Just three twenty-something hipsters playing around with things they don’t understand.”

Really, we weren’t a coven. There were three of us: myself, with a main skill set involving little magicks like lighting lights or clearing dust; my friend Celia, whose magick focused on intuition and the mind; and our mutual friend Eliot, whose magick was physical (healing, speed, and reflexes). The three of us had parted ways after graduating high school and gone off to college.

“Hey, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting stronger,” Eliot said, flexing her left arm. “The guys in the shop are starting to actually seem impressed with how much I can lift by myself.”

“Yeah, well, don’t show off or anything,” Celia pouted. “Sit down and let’s get started.”

She let the grimoire fall onto the steamer trunk that sat in the middle of the small room, and a cloud of dust shot out from between the pages.

“Smells old,” Eliot said through a cough, flapping a hand in front of her face to clear the air.

“Clara,” I murmured, pointing a finger at the dust. As quickly as I could have snapped my fingers the dust was gone.

“Oooh, look at you, Rhi,” Celia said. “Is that new?”

“Improved,” I said, pointing a finger at her. “I can now clean my room… slightly faster than I used to be able to.”

Silence fell over the room, and Celia took a cookie off of the plate she was holding. I reached for the book, only for her to put the plate down onto the steamer trunk so that her arm was blocking me from touching the book.

“Rhiannon Grace Adler, have a cookie or two before we get into the occult,” she said in a faux-Southern drawl as she often did.

“Yes, mom,” I said, taking two and getting powdered sugar all over my black pants.

“Okay, now that we’ve all had a little sustenance we can get into the fun stuff,” Celia said, dusting her hands off and flinging crumbs to the floor before sitting down in the wicker chair behind her. She undid the two brass latches on the grimoire with careful fingers and opened to the first page.

“This being the collection of magyck - magick spelled M-A-G-Y-C-K, guys - gathered by one Prudence Goode in the year 1721.”

Eliot and I ooohed at this.

“Okay, find something good for us to try,” I said, watching Celia scrutinize the first page. She skimmed through a dozen pages and then paused, tapping her finger against the page.

“Here’s a good one, Teleportation of the Body and Mind.”

“Do me! Do me! Do me!” I said, bouncing in my seat.

Celia gave me a withering look. “No thanks, you’re my friend. And I have a boyfriend.”

I snorted at her and Eliot nearly fell off of the settee she was sitting on in laughter.

“Shut up, you know what I meant,” I pouted.

“Yes, I did,” she said with a warm smile. “Mistress Eliot, are you ready?”

“Yes.” Eliot wiggled on her seat and sat up straight.

“Mistress Rhiannon, are you ready?”

“If you insist,” I said, faux-annoyed.

“And I’m ready. Rhi, you wanna be the guinea pig?”

“Yup!” I jumped up from my seat and stood next to the trunk. “Shoot me off to Canada!”

“Canada’s too far,” Celia whined. “I’ll send you, like, next door. Freak the Neils out.”

She and Eliot joined hands, and they peered at the book on the side table.

“Guess it’s time to remember my Latin,” Eliot said. “On three?”

She counted herself and Celia off, and they read through the chant three times as the instructions, well, instructed.

“Feel anything?” Celia asked, opening one of her eyes and looking up at me.

“…I feel kind of tingly.”

“Keep going,” Eliot said, nodding towards the book.

They resumed the chant, and they were halfway through the second repetition before I was tossed in the air.

I was about ten feet in the air when I reappeared and had only a moment to panic before gravity decided that it was once again interested in me. I landed on my front, my breath knocked out of me, and groaned as I tried to take stock of myself. Fortunately, it seemed I had my arms and legs. Unfortunately, it seemed I didn’t know where I was.

The floor beneath my hands was cold and hard, and though I couldn’t see it I would have bet money that I had fallen onto a stone floor.

So the spell worked, I thought, but where am I?

“Who’s there?” A male voice called, and I felt a cool shiver run down my spine. The sound of footsteps drew nearer, and finally I saw the light of a lamp bobbing towards me. As the figures got closer, I could see a woman a few inches shorter than me holding the lantern and, beside her, a tall man draped in a long, dark cloak. His face looked pale in the yellow lamplight, but I was sure it was just my eyes playing tricks on me.

“It would seem we have a guest,” he said, heels clicking against the floor as they moved towards me. I scrambled to my feet before they reached me.

“I’m sorry for trespassing,” I said, holding up my hands. “I didn't mean to disturb you, I’ll just leave - ”

I reached for the door and pulled it open, only for a flash of lightning and peal of thunder to make me jump back in surprise.

“This is not suitable weather for traveling,” the man said. “Please, stay.”

“I couldn’t impose.”

“I insist,” the man said, inclining his head.

I finally nodded and shut the solid wooden door.

“How did you get here?” The man asked, looking down towards me.

“Magic,” I confessed. “Bad, accidental magic out of an old grimoire my friend found.”

“Magic?” His brow furrowed. “I haven’t seen magic in a long time.”

“How long?”

“It must have been… oh, 270 years?”

I felt the warmth drain from my face. “What?!”

He caught my expression and laughed. “I forgot to introduce myself. I am Count Dracula, and I welcome you to my home.”

I leapt away from him. “Dracula.” My chest felt tight and my mind was racing. “You’re a vampire.”

“Indeed.” He looked over, his expression cool but surprised. “How did you know that?”

For a moment I struggled to come up with an answer. “Where I come from, there are a lot of stories about you.”

He turned to me, holding out a hand. “Madame - ”

“Don’t get any closer.” The middle finger of the hand I was holding up between me and him lit on fire.

He sighed impatiently. “Mâdâlena, please show our guest to the lavender room near my chambers.”

The woman who’d been carrying the torch before returned and gestured for me to follow her. She had greying dark brown hair that was wound into a bun that was slowly falling apart, and she wiped her hands off on an apron.

“This way miss,” she said in a soft, even voice.

The room was quiet - tapestries hung from the walls that deadened the sound and there were heavy draperies that hung around the tall, four-postered bed.

“I’ll find a nightgown for you to wear, and when I return I’ll light a fire.”

“Thank you,” I called as she turned and left the room.

I sat down on the bed, surprised when it didn’t give like a mattress might but instead crackled as though I were sitting on Rice Krispies.

When Mâdâlena returned, she had not only what she’d promised but a strange, wooden device in the shape of a ’t’. As I watched, she beckoned for me to stand up, then used the device to pull at strings strung through the side of the bed. She moved to the fireplace and soon a fire was warming the room.

“I found this,” she said. “It may be a bit long, but hopefully it will fit you.”

I took the gown and marveled at the detailing around the neck. “Thank you, again,” I said, hating the way my voice shook.

She nodded once then pulled a brass pan from the end of the bed. “I will fill the bed warmer and then I will go,” she said. “Do not hesitate to call if you need anything more.”

I watched her scoop some of the glowing embers into the pan, then slide the pan under the sheets. “Simply remove it when the sheets become warm.”

The way she was instructing me about these unfamiliar tools and the formal tone of her voice caused tears to spring to my eyes.

“Thank you.”

She nodded one more time, then turned and left, this time for good.

“God I’m such an idiot,” I said, feeling my throat tie into a knot as I scrubbed at my eyes with the heel of my hand. “I’m never going to get home.”

Then it was just like the dam burst. The guilt over how Celia and Eliot must be feeling plus the hopelessness of being stuck in Transylvania in the year who-knows-when plus the gut-wrenching fear of being holed up in the domicile of the most famous vampire on the planet - vampires, whom I never would have guessed were real just this morning - who could suck me dry at any moment. Especially now that it was nighttime and I was starting to feel sleepy. Tears ran down my cheeks and I tried to keep the sobbing to the minimum - who knows what the master of the house could hear - but I could only do so much.

I changed into the nightgown and immediately felt myself break out in goosebumps. Despite the fire, there was still a draft coming from somewhere in the room. Eventually, as Mâdâlena suggested, I pulled the bed warmer out of the sheets and placed it near the fire. Then I pulled back the sheets, slid in, and tried to convince myself to fall asleep.

Apparently I did fall asleep, because at some point in the darkest point of the night I was startled out of a dream by the prickly feeling of my magic. I sat up, gasping and clutching the sheets like a lifeline.

There, outlined by the soft torchlight of the hall, was Dracula. I could see two faint red pinpricks in the dark that moved just slightly before he turned and left the room, the door shutting behind him.

In the morning I redressed in my modern clothes and found a note on my dresser asking me to return to the hall in which I’d landed. As often happened in unfamiliar places, I didn’t sleep well that night. My back ached, and I was still slightly grumpy from not having slept well.

In the hall there now was a long, glossy wooden table laid out with shining silver plates of food. I stopped in the entryway to the hall, and the count looked my way before standing.

“I apologize for spooking you last night,” the count said, not even blinking. “It’s… been so long since I last had guests.”

“This is so much food,” I murmured. “I can’t possibly even eat a fraction of it.”

I took spoonfuls of the plates of food that I recognized - potatoes, greens, and a dark meat I didn’t recognize - before pouring a gravy over the whole plate. My throat grew tight as I pulled the chair out and sat down.

He’s going to wait until you’re full and sleepy, and then he’s going to jump you.

I felt my stomach twist in anxiety.

I looked up from the food and felt myself begin to shake as I noticed the count’s eyes on my. I raised another bite to my mouth, and then I felt something inside me snap.

The fork clattered back to the plate and I felt my chest constrict as I let out a sob.

I buried my head in my hands as I felt warm tears streak down my cheeks. A hand touched my shoulder and I gasped, flinching away from the touch.

“Please,” I sobbed, “Please, I don’t want to die!”

It felt like the room was crumpling around me, and my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest.

I heard a soft “oh,” no more that an exhalation of breath, and then the sound of the count’s shoes against the floor.

Just breathe, I thought to myself. Five things I can see…

I peeked through my fingers as I tried to regain control of my breathing and noticed that the count stood ramrod-straight a few paces away.

Finally I could sit up and just try to breathe. I wiped the tears away and took a few more gulping breaths of air.

“I, um, apologize for panicking,” I said, unable to meet the count’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have assumed you were going to bite me.”

“It is a natural conclusion,” he answered, expression solemn. “Though I must admit, I was worried you would curse me if I tried anything.”

I couldn’t help the smile that grew on my face. “That’s kind of funny, but I don’t know that much magic. All I can do right now is - ”

I lifted a hand. Dust flew into the air as I vanished it, and the lights grew a little brighter.

“Little things.”

“If you wish to learn more,” the count said, “I believe I know a sorcerer who used to come by every so often.”

“What happened to him?”

“The townspeople. I’m afraid I am the only supernatural creature left here - the rest were driven out.”

“Where does your friend live?” I asked.

“Siberia, I believe.”

“Siberia?!”

“And quite isolated, too.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” I bit my lip. “If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to learn from him. Maybe he can help me get home.” The count looks crestfallen for just a moment, but then straightened up once more. “I will send him a letter this evening.”

“How’s it going to get to him in Siberia?”

He said nothing, only raising his arm. Down from the high, shadowed ceilings of the castle swooped a bird, and when it landed a glossy black raven stood on his arm.

“Meet Noapte.”

“Hey,” I breathed, reaching a hand out. Noapte cawed but didn’t snap at me as I petted his head. I met the count’s gaze. “You’re going to send a note by raven?”

“Yes.”

“And how long should it take for your friend to arrive?”

“I suppose…. About a month?”

I nearly choked. “A month?”

“He’ll have to travel in secret.” The count’s tone revealed that he was surprised that I was surprised.

“My goodness.”

“Come, I’ll show you the study.”

As in the hall the ceiling was higher than expected, but instead of the lingering chill the room seemed to be radiating warmth. Bookcases stretched towards the ceiling like trees, and titles embossed on some of the spines glittered in the low light like sunlight off of water.

The count moved further into the room, and I forgot my nerves in a moment of breathless awe. While he moved over towards the large desk sitting towards the back of the room, I hurried over to the shelves.

The first book I pulled out was in a beautiful, clean hand, and it took a moment of staring before I realized it was in Latin.

“The Scientia Rerum,” he said. “You know Latin?”

“It’s been a while,” I said, smiling down at the pages. “But I can pick things out here and there.”

As badly as I wanted to run my fingers over the illuminated letters and the brilliant illustrations, I knew I’d be crushed if I did anything to ruin the books.

“Concerning the - adjunctum? Oh, that’s properties - properties of all things relating to the Earth.” I looked up from the pages. “This is alchemy, then?”

“It certainly sounds like it,” the count said, head bowed in focus as he wrote with precise, deft strokes.

“Have you ever tried anything from any of your books?”

“Once or twice.” He finished a phrase with an exact tap on the page.

“It would be fascinating to try and see if any of the combinations the alchemists detail could actually work,” I said, running my fingers against the ragged edge of the page.

“And how would you do that?”

“Set up some equipment, run the reaction, and note the result.” I met his gaze and shrugged. “It’s not too different from what I’ve done in the laboratory.”

“You study?”

“Biochemistry.” I shrugged again. Did I usually shrug this much? “I, uh… it has to do with the human body. Figuring out its deepest secrets.”

“Try the red book on the fifth shelf there,” the count advised, pointing with the end of his quill.

I put the book back in its place and reached for the book he’d noted. Opening it - it too was in Latin - but there was a drawing of the full body with notes around it.

I flicked through some of the pages and then closed the book. “This is… amazing. Thank you.”

He’s pouring something from a small spoon onto the now rolled-up note. The count removed a ring and pressed it into the - oh, that was wax - before meeting my gaze.

“Is that a seal?”

“It is my family’s crest.”

I walked over to the desk and watched as he wiggled the ring out of the wax. There, in the red wax, was the image of a dragon curled around a sword.

I walked over to a chair in the room and sat down to read the book, tucking my legs underneath me. After a few pages of semi-understood Latin, the count stood up and called Noapte. He held out the note to the bird, who took it, then left the room.

When he returns he pauses just inside the doorway. “I never asked your name, and for that I apologize.”

I try to hold back an impending smile. “I’m Rhiannon - uhm, Adler,” I said, “but my friends call me Rhi.”

He inclined his head. “Adler… that is German, yes?”

“Yes. But I’m not from Germany, I’m from… elsewhere.”

The count gave me a curious look but didn’t press.

“In Romanian, that would be vulturul.”

“Really?” I watch him for a second. “Would you teach me some Romanian? I feel uneasy not knowing any on my own.”

He considered me for a second, then nodded.

A couple of weeks later I was headed out to the market with Mâdâlena to fetch a few things. While I wasn’t by any means proficient at Romanian, I could pick a few words out here and there.

“Try this.” Mâdâlena swung a heavy cloak around my shoulders, and then fastened the clasp at my throat.

I hummed as I felt myself grow warm. “Oh, that’s much better. Thank you.” I looked down at the clasp. “Dragons?”

“The master’s sigil.” She picked up the basket she had set down to help me. “Now come, we should get things done.”

I could hear the sounds of the marketplace not long after we left the castle. Mâdâlena carried on as was her routine, but I paused at the edge of the bridge over the chasm that divided the castle from the rest of the town and looked back at the castle. The count was looking out from one of the upper windows, and I just looked for a moment before turning and following Mâdâlena.

The first few stalls entailed me following Mâdâlena as she scrutinized the produce the townspeople were offering, speaking in fluid Romanian as she bartered and purchased. Then, finally, we came to a stall selling fabric.

I sort of spaced out when Mâdâlena started talking to the vendor, and wandered to the edge of the stall.

As she wrapped things up, I noticed a group of men looking my way and pointing at the clasp on the cloak.

“Mâdâlena,” I murmured, “what are those men saying?”

She didn’t look over at them but instead began to listen. “They’re talking about how you’re wearing the master’s sigil. And…” She listened for a moment longer. “We should head back to the castle. I do not like how they are speaking about you.”

She collected the fabric and handed it to me. We turned on our heels and walked back the way we came.

Once we reached the entry hall of the castle Mâdâlena put her hands on my shoulders. “They said something about ‘I thought we drove the last of the monsters from the village’ and then another man said something about raiding the castle.”

I covered my mouth with a hand. “Mâdâlena - ”

“It’s not something you should worry about. I will tell the master.”

“That’s not going to make me worry about it any less,” I muttered as she walked away.

Three days later Peytr, the count’s sorcerer acquaintance, arrived at the castle.

“I hear you’ve had some magic trouble,” he said.

“My friends teleported me a long way from home thanks to a mishap,” I answered.

“Now, I don’t know how much Vlad has told you - ”

“Vlad?”

“The count.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t know how much he’s told you, but I can’t help by reversing the spell, only by helping you trace out the remainders of the spell and try to reverse it. I can help you improve your magic in a similar way.”

“Please,” I said. “I haven’t been taught very much - apparently there were rumors that an ancestor of mine had magic, but it hasn’t manifested in a few generations. My mother wasn’t surprised that I had magic, though.”

Peytr inclined his head. “Good. Now, if you wouldn’t mind…?”

He held out both of his hands and I placed mine in them. He cocked his head to one side as though he was listening to a faint sound, and then he straightened up after a long moment.

“A simple transportation spell,” he pronounced, “though how you were sent this far from home, I’m not sure…”

“Can it be reversed?”

“Oh, most certainly. I say “simple”, but your friends’ magic is strong enough that returning home should be like following a well-worn path. We may, however, have to bolster your magic ability.”

That was the start of the growth of my magic skills. Peytr was of the opinion that, not only should I strengthen what magic I intrinsically had, but I should also develop my defensive and offensive magic.

And so we did. Somewhat like fencing, he started with exercises and drills, and then worked until we could wordlessly spar.

“Vlad,” Peytr said one day, “how would you feel about fighting Rhiannon?”

If a vampire could pale, he did just then. “Absolutely not,” he said. “I fear I would hurt her."

Peytr and I shared a look.

I flicked a finger towards the count. He jerked, frowning down at his left side as though someone had poked him. I did it again, and finally he looked up to see my poorly-hidden grin.

“Miss Adler,” he protested, but I sent a breeze his way.

“Have it your way,” he murmured, and sped towards me.

I raised my hands in front of me, willing the air to harden around me as a defense. I felt the shock against my magic as the count ran into it. He gave me a curious glance before trying something else. I pressed my hand out and blocked him once more before I felt Peytr’s magic sneaking towards me. I blocked it, and that was when Vlad knocked me over.

“What happened?”

“Peytr distracted me,” I said, sending a half-assed glare his way. He simply smirked back.

“I apologize for knocking you over,” he said, extending a hand. I took it and got back to my feet.

“Overall, I still think that was quite successful, Rhiannon, don’t you?”

“Oh, of course,” I said, pulling my gaze away from Vlad. “But I still feel like I can do more.”

And so that was how my days went. Magic training, a midday meal, and then more language lessons with the count.

One day, as I was making notes on the alchemy text Vlad had given me to read, he entered the room and began work of his own at the other end of the desk.

“Meu vulturul, would you pass me the folio next to you?”

Without thinking about it, I picked up the folio he was referring to and then processed what he’d said. “Sorry, what?”

“What?”

“What did you say?”

“Oh.” He averted his gaze. “I called you ‘my eagle.’”

“Like my last name, I remember now.” I extend the folio towards him.

“You don’t mind?”

“It’s kind of cute.” I looked up at him. “No, I don’t mind.”

After a moment he smiled and returned to his work.

A few weeks later, after a routine hunting trip, Vlad found me in the study.

The expression on his face was almost dour. “I have something I must tell you.”

I was startled into silence with his tone. “Is everything alright?” I asked, moving over to him and taking his hands.

He chuckled and broke into a grin. “Yes, vulturul meu.” He placed his hands on either side of my face and I marveled, as I always did, at how cold his hands were. “I love you.”

I froze stock-still, eyes shooting open.

Vlad watched with narrowed eyebrows, then dropped his gaze and his hands. He went to turn away and I realized what had happened.

“Wait,” I said before he could move away too quickly. He stopped halfway down the hall and turned back, his eyes hopeful.

“I love you too, I just… I never thought you’d say it.”

He returned to me in the blink of an eye, and I flinched back at the rush of air that followed. “I keep forgetting you can do that.”

Taking my face in his hands again, he pressed a soft kiss to my hairline. “Would you come help me get my armor on?”

“I’m surprised a vampire needs armor,” I said, grinning mischievously. “Lead the way.”

When Vlad opened the door to the armory room, I was surprised for only a moment that there were a collection of swords and various weapons hanging on the stone walls.

“Oh, look at your collection,” I said, turning slowly to look at everything.

“I think I’m going to take this one,” he said, pulling down a large, medieval-looking sword. Holding the sheath in one hand, he pulled the sword out by about six inches to reveal a sharp, shiny blade.

“Hold this.” He held it out and I braced myself as I held it by the belt, only to find that it was slightly lighter than I expected.

He slipped into the legs of the armor and then what would have been the top of a pair of pants.

“Now the part for which I requested your help,” he said, giving me a grin over his shoulder.

He held up the torso of the armor, and I held up a finger. I quickly strapped the sword around my own hips - for no other reason than I would probably never get to hold a sword like this ever again - and then took the armor piece from him. Once he’d slid into the top, he looked down and considered the sword.

“Sorry, I put it there so I could use both of my hands,” I explained, hands going to undo the buckle. Vlad took both of my hands and kissed my knuckles.

“It suits you,” he said. “I’ll teach you when I return.”

He strapped the sword on, then slid his hands into the gauntlets. I attached them to the rest of the armor, then picked up his helmet.

I followed him down to the main hall, and outside in the rain one of the stablehands held his mount’s reins in the air.

“A kiss for luck?” He asked, tucking the helmet under an arm.

“I’ll oblige,” I said, placing my hands on either side of his face and pulling him down so I could kiss him.

He gave me a starry-eyed look before sliding the helmet on and heading outside.

I watched until he was no more than a speck in the distance, then turned to head into the main hall for an evening meal.

Since Vlad’s departure an uneasy feeling had settled into my gut and refused to leave. I tried to carry on with normal procedure - working on developing my magic with Petyr and translating the alchemy books - but my attention was divided the whole time.

The unsettled feeling didn’t go away once I settled in to bed at the end of a week of Vlad being away and tried to focus on the latest book I was reading. I knew something was wrong - the feeling was tinged with the tingly sensation I got from my magic - but I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was wrong.

My suspicions were confirmed when the door to my chambers was kicked open. The door slammed into the wall nearest the doorway, and several men entered my chambers. One started speaking in Romanian, and thanks to Peytr’s instruction I cast a spell that allowed me to understand them, and them me.

“ - you will tell us where the devil is.”

“I’m sorry?”

The man who’d been speaking narrowed his eyes at me. “The count, woman! Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” I said, sliding from the bed and folding my arms around myself. “In fact, I’d wager he had set out to find you.”

The man grit his teeth. Behind him the other men adjusted their grip on their weapons, and I felt a chill creep up my spine.

The man shook his head. “It doesn’t matter - we can’t harm him anyways. But you… you we can hurt.”

My hand was up between him and me before I knew what was happening, and his sword stroke bounced off of the defensive spell I’d cast. He fell away, and I continued to block other strikes as the other men rushed forward.

My arms were beginning to shake as I was pushed towards the center of the room, and a flash of movement near the doorway caught my eye. My defenses lapsed for only a second as I glimpsed Vlad in the doorway, and hope bloomed in the pit of my stomach.

And then I went cold. I looked up to see the triumphant face of one of the attackers, and looked down to see the blade of his sword sticking through my gut. There was a sucking noise as he pulled it free, and I heard a shout before I was falling once again.

I awoke with a start to the sound of steady beeping. I reached over to turn off what I thought was my alarm clock, only for somebody to chuckle at my weak gestures. “I’m afraid you can’t turn the ECG machine off, dear.”

“Oh.” That explained why everything was so blindingly white - I was in the hospital.

“But, since you’re awake, you’ve got a couple of visitors.”

She opened the door and Celia and Eliot dashed to my bedside.

“I’ll give you all a moment,” the nurse said, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.

“Where did you go?” Eliot asked.

“Transylvania,” I told them, taking one of each of their hands. “And not just that, but you sent me back to the 1500s.”

“What?!” Celia asked.

“It wasn’t all bad. I got to meet Dracula.”

Both of their jaws dropped.

“And then I was stabbed in the stomach just before I got back here.”

“That’s what the nurse said,” Celia said. “They said you’re lucky that they were able to stitch up the wounds you got.”

“And my parents?”

Celia shook her head. “All of us were worried - you just vanished. And now you’re back - hell, I think your mom’s kicking herself that she can’t do magic.”

“I get it, I get the same way when I feel like I don’t have a handle on a situation,” I said. “But really, I’m okay.”

“Says the woman with a gaping stab wound in the middle of her gut,” Eliot snarked.

I shook my head. “I can’t just leave things like this.”

“You’re not seriously thinking of traveling after a major injury. Besides the fact that the place you want to go is halfway around the world.”

“You don’t get it,” I said. “I have to go back.”

“Maybe we don’t,” Eliot said, “but we can’t just stand by if you might hurt yourself.”

“I was the one who was sent back, and in case you’ve forgotten he’s a vampire.” I shifted in the bed, feeling extremely exposed in the hospital gown. “I should go - alone.”

“Rhi, you have no idea how bad we feel for doing that to you,” Celia said, her voice pleading. “You’re right - we risked losing you once, and now that you’re back we don’t want to risk that again.”

“I just don’t want to burden you with going to Romania with me - ”

“Burden? Our fuckup made you disappear for four months, then when you did return you were in a coma for another month or so,” Eliot said. “Please. Just for our satisfaction.”

“I was in a coma?” I felt a chill roll down my spine.

“You were unconscious when you came back,” Celia said, covering my hand with hers. “We got you to the hospital as fast as we could.”

“Okay, fine,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I see why you were so concerned.”

Celia and Eliot relayed the plan back to our parents, and somehow got them to agree to the harebrained scheme. I suspect it was because we were using completely mundane methods of getting there, instead of trying to blast ourselves to the middle of Europe.

I started the journey purely anxious, but as we got closer and closer I only got more excited. Then, when we were making our way into Transylvania, I felt my heart leap at the sight of more of the countryside.

The feeling of the cobbles under my feet as we crossed the bridge was comforting.

“Uh, Rhi?” Celia asked, peering over the edge of the bridge, “was this chasm this big when you were last here?”

I nodded. “C’mon, I can’t wait any longer,” I said, hurrying to the door. When Eliot and Celia reached me, the three of us heard a scream from inside the castle.

“Are we sure we want to be going in here?” Eliot asked, looking at me.

“I’ll go in,” I said. “You guys stay here, and I’ll come get you if it’s worth going in.”

The whimpers and screams lead me down an unlit hallway, and I finally heard the man cry out once more before there was a thumping noise.

“If you are here to kill me, you have only moments before I destroy you where you stand.”

“Lux.”

As Vlad stood and turned around, the lights brightened and I stood stock-still.

“Rhiannon.”

In the blink of an eye he was in front of me, holding me close.

“Hello,” I murmured into his chest.

“Meu vulturul, you survived.”

“Apparently, I did.”

He held me at arms’ length, his hands on my shoulders. “How?”

“I was sent back to modern day when I got stabbed, then I woke up in the hospital with the stab wound closed up.”

“And you returned.”

“I felt terrible about leaving you like that. I had to end the story.”

He chuckled, leaning his forehead against mine.

“Oh! And I brought friends.”

“Are these the friends who found the grimoire?”

“The very same.”

We walked to the front door together, ((arms linked around one another)). Eliot was shifting from foot to foot and Celia was pacing back and forth.

“Rhi! Thank goodness, we almost thought you were - ” Her gaze travelled upward as she looked up at Vlad, jaw agape. “Hello." “Vlad, this is Eliot and Celia. Ceels, Eliot - Vlad.”

Neither one of my friends spoke for a moment, then Celia extended her hand. “Nice to meet you finally,” she said, firmly shaking his hand.

“Celia’s the one who found the grimoire,” I said, meeting Vlad’s gaze and raising my eyebrows. "So all of this trouble is her fault.”

“Well - I, uh - ”

Vlad took her hand gently. “Thank you. Without that blunder I might not have met Rhiannon.”

Celia flushed.

“And then this is Eliot,” I said, gesturing to her with my free hand, “the one who got me to see past my bullshit and allow them to come with me.”

Vlad fixed me with a look. “You were going to try to make the journey by yourself?”

I rolled my eyes and huffed. “I wanted to.”

He turned his gaze to Eliot. “Then I thank you for curbing her stupidity.”

“Hey!”

“Shall I show you around?”

So he did, and when we left the castle I found myself thankful that this was how it all ended - my adventure completed, and the people I cared about most chattering away happily.

“Rhi,” Celia said, beckoning. “C’mon, we’re going for a walk.”

And so the four of us set off on a new adventure.

#my writing

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shadowluverworks · 6 years ago

Text

Unforeseen: Chapter 8

The bat's ears flew up at the sight of the hedgehog before her. He had suddenly paled and turned green, slamming a hand over his mouth at the loud grumble his stomach made. "Oh chaos, here, Shadow!" She quickly tried to guide him to the toilet. "Oh man!" The hero on the other side of her had done something similar, swiftly jumping over and pushing gently to get the other to move away from the sink and in the right direction.

But the hedgehog stood still, shaking his head as he clamped his eyes shut. Perhaps blocking the image would help settle his stomach. He locked his jaw, refusing to allow it open. Taking a couple deep breaths, he tried to swallow down what was threatening to come up. However his stomach had other ideas. The top half of his body lurched forward as his belly contracted, forcing its contents back up his esophagus. Crimson eyes flew open as the sink was suddenly much closer. He felt shame as his eyes started to water. Please don't, please don't!

Rouge was no longer trying to move him, she was forcing him. She saw his body heave forward, and immediately started to pull. I don't wanna clean up the sink later, It’ll make me sick too! Luckily, he started to shuffle along with her, Sonic in tow, "C'mon, Shads, it's ok." With one hand on each arm, and the other on the ebony back, the two moved him to the latrine a few steps to his right. Rubies eyed the water hesitantly. He felt his body start to shake once again, surely the other occupants felt it as well. No, no! I can't! He tried one last time to swallow and take control over his body's urges. The hand still tight around his muzzle, tears threatening to spill as he stared the toilet down.

The bat beside him saw his uneasiness. Though she was unsure what the problem was, she rubbed his back gently in comfort, "Hey, it's ok. Don't hold it back. You'll only feel worse if you don't let it out." Seeing what the other was doing, Sonic tried soothe the other as well, "Yea, you'll feel lots better once it's over. Ya jus' gotta let it come out." The other glanced at him while he spoke, his trembles calming slightly.

Another loud groan erupted from the black stomach, making his eyes widen once again as he could no longer hold back. Flinging himself forward, his jaw unhinged, and he retched into the toilet. The two held on to him to keep him steady as he swayed slightly. Rouge turned her head away, trying not to upset her own stomach. The hero didn't seem as affected, and massaged the black back, "That's it. Get it all out." The half-breed coughed and gasped as the flow slowed, though it seemed as soon as he had stopped he would begin again, unable to keep up or have a chance to breathe. He panted heavily, tears freely falling into the toilet and on the seat, ears held tight against his skull in shame. He remained positioned over the latrine, unsure he was finished.

The bat felt him weighing her down, trying to adjust her grip she looked to the blue hedgehog, "Sonic, get me a couple washcloths, will you?" Said hero held onto the other with one hand as he opened the cupboard, where he assumed they were, and grabbed a few, handing them to the bat. She was sitting on the edge of the tub now, and reached behind her to dampen the towels. Turning her attention back to Shadow, she patted the sweat away that had accumulated on his brow. Said hedgehog's quills drooped, too emotionally and physically exhausted to stop her. The bat gently wiped the tears away as well, "Done? Any more?" The other could only manage a slight shake of his head, quills moving gently as his panting slowed. There was nothing left to come up, he hadn't remembered taking that much in either.

"M-mm," he let out a small protest as she used the other towel to wipe his mouth and face as his hands reached for it slightly, closing an eye in annoyance. The two held his arms firmly in place as the bat continued, "Shh. Just take it easy." The blue mobian watched her, holding the creation still, "Let us take care of you." He let out a grunt as she removed the towel and he let his head hang once again, unable to get his mind to focus enough to give a retort. Rubies stared at the mess below, the sight prompting memories of the past to flood his head. Striped arms trembled once again at them, before he shot a hand out and pulled the lever on the side of the toilet, not wanting to look at it anymore. He'd had enough of these flashbacks for one day.

The creature's jerk had surprised the blue mobian and he lost his grip for a moment. Though he calmed as the water swirled below them, grasping on the other's chest instead, not missing the flinch at the touch. The bat gave the other a moment before standing and bringing the hedgehog up with her, "C'mon. Let's get you back to bed." He shuffled along with the two mobians as they led him out of the bathroom, giving one last glance out of the corner of his eye to the tests on the sink to make sure he'd seen them correctly. Black ears lowered slightly as the sight was unchanged.

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

Shadow sat in his bed once again. His self proclaimed caretakers had propped him up on a few pillows so he could sit up and tucked him under the blankets, leaving a garbage can next to him in case his nausea returned. A glass of water was also placed on the night stand to help rid the taste of bile in his mouth. The blue hedgehog sat on the end of the bed on the other side, twiddling his thumbs nervously. The pair waited for the bat to return. She had gone to reheat the food that had gotten cold while taking care of the half breed. Said hedgehog was quietly staring off into space. He hadn't said a word since they brought him back to the room. He felt numb, as if he was incapable of feeling at the moment, or as if what had just happened was all a dream. He silently hoped it was.

The quiet was making the other room's occupant extremely uncomfortable. He fidgeted this way and that, still feeling his heart racing. I gotta say somethin'. I can't stand seein' 'im look like that. "U-um...How are ya doin'?" The blank stare was immediately erased, and a glare replaced it as crimson eyes flicked to him. He hates me. I really did it this time. Blue ears folded as emeralds glanced away, "I'm...sorry." He's gotta be so scared. I know he'd never consider killin' it, which I'm glad. But still. Everything's changing for him again. The Ultimate Lifeform simply stared at him as he scratched behind a ear, "I know ya hate me. Ya have every right to. I really am sorry fer all this. But, jus' remember that I'll always be here for ya. I'll do whatever I can ta help in anyway I can." The glare softened ever so slightly. His words reached Shadow, though he didn't show it. Knowing that he wouldn't be going through this alone, even if he didn't have a choice, was appreciated. He was indeed mad at the other, but hate was a strong word to use. He couldn't deny the feeling of wanting to be held in the peach arms and told everything would be alright. But he refused to move an inch, afraid of how his body would betray him next.

Thankfully the bat had returned, now holding three plates. She gave one to the blue mobian at the end of the bed, who had attempted to put a smile back on his face, before walking around to the other side, "Plain chicken and rice, with a little chicken flavoring added. It's bland, but it's good for upset tummies." She had purposefully made the bland food so that Shadow could eat with them. She had assumed dull food would be easier for his angry stomach to digest. "Sonic, you can help yourself if you need more spice," she glanced at the male before sitting down on the chair next to the bed. Luckily, Sonic was not a picky eater, though he did like setting his taste buds on fire. He took her up on the offer and ran to the kitchen.

The female handed the spare bowl to her 'patient'. The black hedgehog eyed it before glaring up at her, "You really expect me to eat after what just happened?!" His voice was slightly hoarse from the bile and he talked quietly to try not to draw attention to it. She frowned, "I don't expect you to, but hope you at least try to. Getting some food in your stomach might help calm it down a bit. Plus, you're eating for two now, you need to be feeding more than just yourself." He stared for a moment longer before submitting and taking the plate, though he simply held it for the time being.

The blue hedgehog returned, his food now a red tint with the spices added. Rouge had quite the variety, so he tried out a few before deciding to do a mixture. He hopped back on the bed as he started to eat, the jolt making the bed's other occupant lift his own plate to avoid spilling. Shadow glared at the other who apologized quickly before going back to his food. He stared at the dish in his hands again, he still felt a bit queasy, and eating wasn't something he normally took part in. He would drink coffee, but that was only to keep him awake since he had been having issues with that lately, and he rather enjoyed the flavor. He could only name a handful of times that he had actually eaten something. Most of those instances occurred over 50 years ago, and weren't exactly pleasant. Though, perhaps getting something in his stomach would help ease his nerves a bit, or at least spare him from Rouge's wrath. He scooped up a small amount and nibbled hesitantly at it, unsure he wanted to fill his suddenly empty stomach so soon. The food was indeed bland, but the chicken flavoring helped it be at least a little desirable. He saw the agent was pleased with him at least attempting to eat the food she'd prepared, even if he had to pause in between bites.

Meanwhile, the hero had already finished his bowl and scraped it clean before letting out a little sigh, "My compliments to the chef! Thanks for the food, Rouge." She smirked a little, "I know it isn't chilidogs, but I'm glad you liked it. I'm not going to cook for you every night, though. I expect you to cook for us every now and then!" Sonic grinned, "Then I hope ya like chili and hot dogs, cuz I dunno how ta make much else!" She shook her head a little, "We'll have to work on that."

The black hedgehog's ears perked. They way the two talked sounded as if Sonic would be coming around often. He shot a questioning look to the female beside him. Rouge caught his weary glance, "Sonic is going to be staying with us." Of course. Just what I need. Shadow glared at the bed sheets below him, "I assume you will not allow me to leave either?" The bat's face had grown rather stiff, "You would be correct." The blue hedgehog felt rather awkward, "I'm just gonna...put my dish away..." He quickly left the room to give the two time to talk. It was almost humorous that the mighty Ultimate Life form was being held hostage by a bat, but she could be rather scary if given the chance, and Sonic didn't want to cross her.

Now alone, the two sat in silence for a minute. The half breed continuing to stare down the blankets, finally muttered quietly, "...why is he here?" The bat replied softly, "He's worried about you. Plus under the circumstances, I need his help. And on top of that, you are carrying his child." Shadow almost flinched at the last statement. That was going to take some getting used to. For the sake of his own well being, and his unborn child's, he could accept living with Rouge for the time being. However, adding Sonic in to the mix was pushing the limit. He raised his glare towards the other, "You trust him more than I?" The fork in her hand was placed down roughly on the plate, turquoise eyes locked with his own, "Shadow, I would trust you with my own life. Don't ever think that I don't trust you." She went back to her food once again, "But, I also believe you may not be thinking in your right mind. I know you would never harm your baby intentionally, but you may do something that puts it at risk. And since I can't stay home with you, I need Sonic to be here in case something happens." She gave a good argument...he supposed. Taking another nibble of his food, he tried to picture living with the faker for the next several months. No doubt it would be stressing on his current state, something he was supposed to avoid, correct? Of course he could be wrong, he really had no idea what and what not to do while growing another being inside oneself. He stared at the covers, "I still cannot comprehend how this could happen." "I can't understand why you slept with Sonic if you can't stand him. So I guess we're both at a loss," She gave a sly smile towards him, trying to lighten the mood. The male humphed, "Perhaps that is the real question." The bat let out a little chuckle.

They spy's plate was now empty, though her counterpart's was only half gone. Still, it was more than she had been expecting him to eat. As she reached to take his plate from him, after she was sure he was finished, he gave her a sincere look, "I do appreciate your willingness to assist me in this...predicament." She smiled, "I'm here for you. Plus, I'm going to be the best aunt on Mobius!" There was the makings of a smirk on his muzzle, followed with an eyebrow raising, "'Aunt'?" She took the plate from him, tilting her nose up and she strode to the door with a smile, "Well someone's gotta spoil the kid! As well as teach proper fashion sense, and bestow a love of precious jewels at a young age!" "Sounds more as if you are attempting to create a clone of yourself." The mobian made a pose in the doorway, "Well I am rather dashing to look at, so it'd be like looking in a mirror! Which would fine with me, as long as I get the jewels." Shadow let out a snort as the bat left the doorway to put the dishes away.

Alone at last. The hedgehog let out a sigh as he tried to relax himself, laying back slightly. Everything still felt so surreal. He didn't feel any different, besides the occasional cramps and nausea. He could still tap into his chaos powers and felt as though he could achieve super sonic speed with relative ease. Perhaps he would fatigue a bit easier due to his lower energy levels, but physically he felt normal. How could something like this go unnoticed? He was the Ultimate Lifeform! He should be able to detect subtle changes within his own body. The half-breed scowled at no one in particular as his frustration over the situation built. His mind felt fuzzy, as if he couldn't quite focus clearly. Fingers gently massaged his temples as a headache started to form. A child cannot simply exist without somewhere to grow. How on Mobius is there one growing inside of me?! I do not produce eggs either, how could a child even be conceived? Not only was the concept bothering him, he had absolutely no idea how to care for a child. What if he was doing everything wrong? What if he already brought harm to his own offspring without realizing it?

A black ear flicked as he heard the footsteps of the hero coming back into the room, Sonic having caught him cradling his head, "Hey, you ok? Your head buggin' ya?" Shadow frowned at the other, at first refusing to answer. The other male took his seat at the foot of the bed again, and made no signs of leaving any time soon, so the black hedgehog gave a reply while turning his head away, "I'm fine." Sonic's eyebrows furrowed, "Please don't shut me out, Shadow. I jus' wanna help." The antihero gave him a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye, but didn't say anything. Luckily the awkward tension between the two was interrupted by the bat returning with another plastic bag in hand, "Alright, we have a lot to learn and only eight months to learn it in, so we're all going to have to do some research!" She sat next to the black hedgehog on the bed, crossing her legs and opening the bag. Azure lifted a brow, "'Research'? Whaddaya mean?"

Rouge replied by pulling out three maternity books, all different, and handing one to the hero and the one next to her. The book she kept for herself was entitled, "Ina May's Guide to Childbirth." Asking the clerks as well as mothers that she found in the store while purchasing the pregnancy tests, she went through the isles and found the three most recommended books to read. She chose this one for herself to get an idea of what to expect from the antihero beside her as well as inform him in case he refused to read his own book. The book Rouge chose for Sonic was titled, "The Expectant Father." The hero needed to know what to expect on his end as well! And if the book could give pointers on what he could to do to assist, then all the better. Lastly, the book she chose for Shadow was called, "Belly Laughs." Supposedly it covered everything one needed to know about the experience in detail that most everyone could understand. It even covered those embarrassing topics no one wanted to discuss.

While Sonic looked rather pleased with the book he had gotten, Shadow appeared rather criticizing. He knew he needed to know as much as possible, but it was rather embarrassing to have a book going in to so much detail. Why did he need the one written by a first hand experience? The bat smiled, "We each have our own books to read so we can all learn as much as we can. We can bounce ideas off each other as well so we're all on the same page." Cobalt was already opening the book to start reading before the agent cut him off once more, "One more thing. We need to decide who the doctor is going to be."

Ebony's head turned rather quickly towards her. Doctor? That meant going to the hospital, getting more tests, more prodding and poking, more...needles. Attempting to keep himself calm, he cleared his throat quietly, "Is it really necessary to have one?" The other occupants stared at him as if he'd said something obvious. "Of course it is! You need to have regular check ups to make sure everything is going ok!" The bat understood his hesitation, but seriously, this wasn't something like catching a cold! Shadow was bringing another life into the world. He needed to be under the supervision of someone who knew what they were doing. The other hedgehog nodded slightly, "She's right. What if somethin' goes wrong? We need ta make sure both you an' the baby are healthy. Plus, I dunno how ta deliver a baby, an' I'm sure Rouge don't either." Said mobian shook her head slightly as their gaze remained on him. Shadow glanced away again. He didn't think there was much of a chance of them going along with it, but he wanted to try. Still, he wasn't going to be a willing patient.

A hand rested on a feminine cheek as it's owner looked towards the ceiling in thought, "But...there might be an alternative to an actual doctor." That caught both the hedgehogs' attention. The hero leaned forward slightly, "Whaddaya mean?" The bat closed her eyes, "I know you don't like the whole hospital experience, Shadow. Needles aren't exactly your favorite thing, and they most certainly would be a part of something like this, especially with you being half Black Arms. So maybe we can dodge the doctor altogether and go with something a bit more low key? Like a midwife?" Rubies looked up as he pondered the suggestion. It would probably be the best option in their position.

A gloved hand picked a blue ear as their owner rolled the word around in his head, "'Midwife'? What exactly is that?" Turquoise eyes opened and looked at the hero in front of them, "A midwife is someone who specializes in pregnancy and birth, except they don't necessarily work in a hospital. They can be self employed and act more like a supportive figure, offering advice when needed rather than someone who tells you what to do and doesn't take your personal feelings into account. Not that all doctors do that, but midwives seem to offer a bit more calm atmosphere. They don't do a lot of medicine either, so it would be more of a natural thing. Plus they can come to your own home so you never have to leave." Hearing the explanation only offered more comfort in the idea to the black hedgehog. They could stay at Rouge's house instead of having to go to a hospital every few weeks, and hopefully needles wouldn't be such a common occurrence.

Azure smiled, "Oh, is 'at what they do? Well we're in luck! Vanilla, Cream's mom, she's a midwife! I never really knew what a midwife was, or I'da suggested her earlier. But I bet she'd help us out in a heartbeat!" The female smiled as well. Even better, someone they knew! She looked to her teammate, "Well, Shadow? How does that sound?" Said mobian sighed softly and covered crimson irises, "...better than being an experiment for another random doctor." Rouge grinned, "Then it's settled!" "Great! I'll contact Vanilla right away!" The blue hedgehog beamed, already using his communicator to look her up. The agent waved a hand at him, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Maybe we should just wait a bit. Shadow needs some time to come to terms with everything. We can call her in the morning. Besides, this baby isn't coming anytime soon." Emerald eyes were hidden for a split second as he blinked, "O-oh, sure! No problem. It's kinda late anyway, huh?" The hero sweat dropped, looking outside as he scratched his temple with a finger. A nod from the woman, "We should let Shadow get some sleep. He needs to rest." The black hedgehog frowned. They talked as if he wasn't there. He didn't need a mother telling him when to go to sleep, when to wake up, when to eat, and so on. He's lived on his own for this long, surely he knew how to take care of himself.

Before he knew it, the two were grabbing their books and getting ready to leave. The other male smiled at him, "I'll see ya in the mornin', Shads." He left the room as the bat walked around the bed. She took the book out of the hedgehog's hands, laying it on the dresser next to him, muttering a "sit up, please" as she took some of the pillows out from behind him. Shadow was getting rather annoyed, "Rouge, I am not incapable of doing things myself. I'm with child, not paralyzed." The last sentence still felt strange coming out of his mouth, but he wanted to prove his point. His teammate tapped his shoulder to get him to lay down, covering him up with the blankets soon after, "I'm not trying to baby you. You don't feel yourself, I'm just taking care of you. And if you keep denying my help, it's going to be a long eight months for you." He let out an annoyed groan as he frowned and glared at the covers once again. The bat smiled again, "Just try to get some sleep. Your body needs it right now and you'll feel better if you do. I'll see you in the morning." With that, she walked out, turning the light off and closing the door.

For a while he simply stared at the ceiling in stubbornness. How dare she order the Ultimate Lifeform to sleep if he didn't want to? He attempted to keep the events of today away from his mind, and focused on the anger he felt building inside him, from what exactly, he didn't know. Though the harder he tried, the more his body's exhaustion made itself known to him. It had been a long day. Most of it was spent in either pain or annoyance. Though after he became sick in the bathroom, his stomach cramps had given him a break. He felt his eyelids lowering as he fought to keep them open. He didn't need to sleep, he got his energy from the chaos in the atmosphere. But it felt as if the energy was literally being sucked out of him, similar to when he exhausted himself with his inhibitor rings removed fighting the Final Hazard. Now that he knew his condition, he assumed the energy was being used to grow the other life inside him. Still, he didn't want the other house's occupants to realize his weakened state. Rouge would only treat him more like an infant, and Sonic would be sick with worry...Sonic... Black eyelids felt heavy, and he finally allowed them to close, convincing himself he'd just rest them for a moment. He wouldn't allow himself to fall asleep. Though as these thoughts ran through his head, he unwillingly drifted away from the land of the conscious.

-----

Rouge plopped a few blankets down on the couch. The blue hedgehog stood close by, "Thanks, Rouge." The bat put her hands on her hips, "Don't make me regret letting you stay here. Just take things nice and slow with Shadow. His mental state is going to be pretty fragile for the time being." Quills moved as he nodded, "Got it. I won't force myself on 'im an' jus' take things at his pace. Thanks fer trusting me, though. I know he means a lot ta ya." Her curls were slowly deflating after the long day, but they still bounced slightly as she gave a nod, "I have to work tomorrow, but I'll be around for a little while in the morning. We can call Vanilla and let her know what's up." Azure agreed. The bat gave a stretch and a yawn before turning towards her bedroom, giving a wave behind her, "G'night, hedgehog." "'Night, bat face." She shot a little glare over her shoulder as she walked into her room, closing it behind her. The hero giggled in return as he made his bed. Placing the pillow at one end, he flopped down and sighed, stretching and pulling off his socks. He didn't bother covering himself for the time being as he laid back. Peach arms crossed behind his head, thinking with his eyes closed. The couch may not have been the most comfy place to sleep compared to his own bed, but it was nice to finally not be alone all the time, and being with Shadow made it even better. His nerves were still on a rampage as well as his emotions, but overall, he was happy. Sure he didn't expect this to happen, but he wasn't going to complain about it either. It was his fault that this had happened, and he had to take responsibility for it. He just hoped Shadow would warm up to him with time.

#I'M SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT #LONGEST WAIT IN HISTORY #I'M TERRIBLE #my story #Unforeseen #Chapter 8 #sonadow #mpreg #Shadow Mpreg #Rouge #Sonic the hedgehog #Rouge the bat #Shadow the hedgehog

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kyanmaaaa · 6 years ago

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i told my bro abt this dream and hes just like why are your dreams so dark (so like, tw for this one)

but honestly i didnt really consider this dark it was oddly beautiful if scary. im going to fill in parts with what i think could have happened there but im also not going to include the details for what the room looked like in every scene besides whats neccassary, cause this was so vivid i could try to describe to you what each PERSON looked like and people usually dont even have faces in my dreams!

its still long so heres a read more

beginning of the dream im walking home at dusk and im coming from a direction i almost nvr walk, except for when its halloween. so it may have been halloween in my dream, the sunset is a beautiful BRIGHT orange and its on the side of my house rather than behind like it usually is but thats a minor detail.

cause around the house behind mine theres a very strange cloud formation, much lower than i usually see clouds and its not foggy but its just, theres clouds wrapped around the house except for the front and the wall just goes up and up and up to the top and slightly past the house. paired with the sunset i think thats really beautiful so i take some pics with my phone and go closer just to see how close i can get before the clouds disappear and then i’ll go home

i didnt get to go home, the clouds wrapped fully around the house and a strong, something, stopped me from leaving. also there was like an evil to/riel so she mighta been the one doing that

next part of the dream kinda jumps around so ill have to infer some parts but essentially the house changes from the building ive seen there for you know, my entire life, to a small dark wooden mansion. also muffet is there and guess what she ALSO sucks. and then theres this bitch blond haired human pony tail man and hes dumb and i dont like him. im not allowed to leave and im kinda enslaved i guess (my bro called me a prisoner with a job when i told him and it was stupid funny). muffets off on a job after i get settled in there and i dont know what happens to make me so submissive considering the next part of the dream focuses on another servant but whatever they did was REALLY REALLY BAD cause at every point after this im terrified of fucking up and ive pretty much given up on getting out.

this next part was more of a flashback sequance that happened later but for ease of reading im going to add it here instead. first other servant i meet is a beautiful large green shiny beetle man, seriously hes gorgeous and so well spoken and kind. when he was brought into the house he was introduced as just a regular human man, still as beautiful as ever tho, was hired to play piano for a party. as hes fiddling away with the keys though if you looked around you could see bright shiny green and gold strings just, laying flat against the wall, piano, his suit, etc. turns out those were his beetle wings but stretched out and distorted and at this point hes discovered cause to the untrained eye those look like decorations, but its how his kind disguises themselves. cause he can change his entire appearance except for his wings, so they have to try and hide their wings in the environment around them.

they didnt like him lying but it was calm at first. muffet invites him to a small welcoming dinner, just for a chat. they share a platter of food on one plate, partly meat, but most of whats facing him is just a lot of rice packed into a line. he slowly pecks away at that as he carries a polite conversation with muffet, but nvr touches the other side of the food. after hes abt halfway through it she asks “Why aren’t you trying the other food deary?” and he responds “I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to Miss.” and has a bite.

after whatevers in that food kicks in he keels over in pain and she makes it very clear how things go in this house. he listens, he does not act without being told to, and if he ever tries to pull a stunt like that again he’ll be dead. “Am I clear deary?”

since he was there before i was some times passed since that happened. hes currently being punished by mr asshole blond ponytail man and his punishment is all of his meals are very plain. just rice and unseasoned meat. the chef clearly put effort into each platter tho as theyve been shaped into increasingly elaborate shapes the longer the punishment lasts. im not quite sure why this is a punishment? maybe beetle man isnt getting all the nutrients he needs and thats harder for his kind, perhaps he has a taste for good food and this is just the most the ponytail dude can get away with as a punishment since muffets in charge of the house, or maybe its meant to bring up bad memories of when he first came here.

this next parts, really foggy

back to me and muffets talking to someone through a large portal in the room? plans are made abt making humans lose hope and wiping out humanity. the vegan next to me is very excited abt this and comments on it and im just like, bro, that would be super bad for the earth and also immoral? and shes like oh right. at some point i befriend a guy even tho we hated each other at first but he’s moved elsewhere after some time

time skip to muffet informing me that due to my most recent mistake my family is going to be killed. at this point im just sick of it i’ve been here for months im miserable im lonely, i miss my family im just kinda, unstable

really unstable

im shouting at her if shes going to off my family she has to kill me too cause i cant live knowing theyre dead because of me or live without them, just sobbing, kill me, please just kill me i cant stay here anymore she sends me to my room and i pass by my beetle friend but neither of us says anything, also passed by some buff monster but its irrelevant. i dont go to my room instead im just looking through hallway after hallway, opening a storage closet and just trying to find SOMETHING to work with because yeah im miserable, yeah this is probably going to backfire but you do NOT. FUCK. WITH MY FAMILY! so i have to leave. i dont care if this might kill me i have to get out of there with whatever the hell i can find. what i find is two deflated balloons with little plastic bits inside that when u press a button they light up and im like OKAY maybe i, maybe me and beetle man can use this to signal to each other! thats great i can do this i can. i think i may have been crying and laughing here after my exploring Im hiding behind a sofa in a room in the furthest corner of the house cradling my little weird balloon bundle, just trying to find space to think. im safe because u cant see me from the door and the blinds on the window are drawn already. it feels like i havent seen the outside in a while remember how i said i was really unstable? this felt completely real in the dream so maybe it was real due to dream logic, but it feels like desperation in hindsight. i clicked both of the balloon lights on and realized i could use it as a phone! i need to call mom i miss her so much. so i do and she goes honey where are you? and im just crying and saying i love you, i love you so much im okay mom, its okay, and shes like are you at school??? and i just turn into a mess. at this point i look through the sheer curtains on the window and notice my brother driving a really tall truck moving some construction supplies. it sucks that hes here too but im just so happy to see him even if i know i cant talk to him. maybe if they dont find out we’re related he’ll be okay and then i leave the mansion, and i run. nothing here is familiar. im somewhere in the woods. i try to run to the front and see all of the construction workers there making something, but besides all the people somehow the dirt is just, this sheer cliff up up and up in front of the place. so i run to the back and try to get through the barrier around the place. i think i do but its not exactly easy. i fought off a possessed wild boar, but it was the size you think a pig would be, so like a medium sized dog, it just tried to bite me and while it hurt i just hit it til it stayed down long enough for me to bolt after im some distance away, further into the forest on a wide path i meet a human whos instantly on guard to fight me. i spray paint in his eyes and then run on i meet a strange human on the same path and he smirks at me and puts paper in front of his eyes to stop my tactic. i go hey fuck it maybe the fumes will disorient him and spray and his magic stops the paint in mid air and im like dude that is SICK, before he flings it back at me

i dont know how but i beat him too but the next part of the dream im finally somewhere residential, houses along the water, its a warm but not too warm day, light breeze, so all in and beautiful. i feel like im seeing and breathing freely and clearly for the first time in, i dont even know how long. its bright and while i know i have to run im just going to keep running, im free for now.

i use my little balloon contraption and call up my mom again now that im somewhere im positive no one will hear me. i tell her im sorry but i cant go home, that this is likely goodbye, and i cant guarantee ill get out of this alive but it’s okay. i love you so much. and she has to leave too. i stress this. she has to leave, cut all ties, cut all things that could trace you and get out of there.

and then my alarm woke me up

its hard to explain why some sections of this dream were so scary, just the feeling of wrongness, isolation, powerlessness, and just some distant pain that i dont know what it was. it felt like the longer i was there the more my world was ending

#dream journal

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4dorks-1windmage-1shadow · 6 years ago

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"an empty car in an empty parking lot" and... weird request but Vaati/Vio?

Vio sees the car on his way home from work. It’s a nice car- too nice for the neighborhood- and it’s just sitting there, innocently, in the middle of the lot belonging to an abandoned bookstore. It draws his attention, his curiosity, like a moth to a flame.He stands there, staring at it, mentally warring with himself. If this is a trap, a ruse to get him jumped and mugged where nobody can see him nor care if they could, he’d be a damned fool to go investigate. What’s the saying- curiosity killed the cat? Even if satisfaction brought it back, you could never be too careful. There were all sorts of crazies in the world- he didn’t fancy getting kidnapped by any of them.Movement catches his eye- a silhouette looking at him through the glass of the bookstore door. It’s been chained and locked up since it was abandoned. Vio looks around warily, and when he looks back the silhouette is gone.Does he dare?…Against his better judgement, he does. Vio takes a cursory glance around the lot again, and when he’s sure no one is watching he quickly crosses the parking lot. He skirts around the car and then walks around the back of the store, not even bothering with the front door. He doesn’t fancy breaking a window to get in- he’s got a stable job and two cats at home to provide for, there’s no way he’s getting in trouble for breaking and entering. He finds the back door open.Not obviously broken into, just unlocked. Like somebody had a key…or picked the lock. It’s dark inside.He hears a crash, a loud exclamation. “Shit!” Somebody yelps, and Vio is hurrying inside before he can process it, concern furrowing his brow.He finds someone he hasn’t seen in years, extracting himself from a toppled pile of boxes. He takes the sight of him in- his hair has gotten longer, there are streaks of darker color in it now.“Vaati?” Vio breathes out his name before he can stop himself. Vaati looks up and their eyes lock. He’s no longer as baby-faced as he was back then- his cheekbones are sharp and his chin is angled and the hardness that was always in his eyes is gone now. He can’t tell what has replaced it.“Vio?” He asks, brushing dust off of his jeans and standing up. He’s taller now too, but still only comes up to Vio’s nose. He’s visibly healthier. No longer standing like a caged animal. They stand there, looking at each other.Vio thinks back to when he last saw him- it was middle school right? The details are fuzzy. He didn’t much pay attention to Vaati then- only when he came around to bother him or his friends, and he’d tell him off with some snarky quip that made him stomp off, fuming. Vaati did a lot of stomping and fuming in middle school.The day he remembers the most was the day Vaati ran away. He walked by this same bookstore on the way home to see Vaati run out of it.

He was crying.

He looked devastated.Vio chased him all the way to central park, curious, concerned despite himself. It was there that Vaati turned around to yell at him.“Why are you following me? Go away!” People were staring at them now. Vaati didn’t seem to notice.

“Why are you crying?” Vio asked him, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Are you okay?”Vaatilaughed.And laughed and laughed and laughed and then his laughter turned to sobbing and for the first time, arguably too late, Vio saw him. He saw how he stood, hunched like a cornered animal. He saw the bags under Vaati’s eyes, eyes hardened with some emotion he couldn’t place. He saw the way his clothes didn’t quite fit, how they hung off his frame. He saw the backpack, stuffed full of clothes and odd items.He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He was normally so verbose that even his teachers had trouble understanding him. Now, he had no words.Vaati looked at him, his hands visibly trembling.“I’m running away.” He said. “I can’t take it anymore. Do you have any idea-” He stopped himself short, shaking his head sharply. Vio struggled to find a reply, and Vaati took a step back.“You shouldn’t run away. What will your parents think?” He was grasping at straws. Vaati glared at him.“I don’t have parents. I never have.” Vio didn’t know what to say to that- what could he say to that? Vaati didn’t give him a chance to find out.“Will you come with me?” He asked. There was something hesitant in his gaze. Vio frowned.“I can’t go with you. I have school and friends and a family-”“Forget it.” Vaati snapped, interrupting him. “Forget I asked.”“Why?”Vaati locked eyes with him in that moment, and Vio saw something in him crumble.“I’m terrified.” His voice was small, smaller than Vio had ever heard it. Vio stepped towards him.Vaati turned and ran.The bookstore closed not long after. It’s owner had died. Vio walked by it every day, looking for a sign that Vaati had come back. He never did.Until now.“Are you going to keep standing there, staring at me?” Vaati asks, bringing Vio back to the present. He leans his weight on his left side, a hand on his hip. Vio swallows nervously.“What- what are you doing here?” He asks, wincing when it comes out more accusatory than he meant. Vaati narrows his eyes.“Heard the old man kicked the bucket. Came back to see if I could salvage the store, maybe re-open it.” Vaati says. Amusement dances in his eyes as he adds: “Is that all? No ‘Hi Vaati, good to see you’?”He can’t help but crack a grin at that, surprised though he is. “Hi Vaati,” he says. “Good to see you.”Vaati smiles, and there’s something wistful about it. Vio’s never seen him smile before, not this genuinely, and he thinks that he’d like to keep making Vaati smile like that.

“What about you? What are you doing here?” Vio shakes himself out of his sappy, sappy train of thought at the question.“I was on my way home from work when I saw the car parked in the lot. I, uh… thought I’d investigate. Is it yours?“It is.” Vaati nods.“It’s… nice.” Vio grimaces. He doesn’t know why he hesitated. Maybe it’s the veritable elephant in the room. “So…”“So?” He looks at Vio expectantly. “You can ask. It’s not a big deal.”Vio winces, wondering when he had become so easy to read. He looks out the boarded up window at the waning light outside.“Maybe not here?” He says, looking back at Vaati. “I’ll pay for dinner if you don’t mind driving.”Vaati looks at him for a long moment, and Vio almost thinks he’s going to say no. Then, he smiles, and it takes Vio’s breath away, and he shrugs.“Fair enough.”Vaati locks up the store- he did actually have a key, to Vio’s surprise- and then the two of them get in his car. An Elton John song (”I’m Still Standing”) plays on the radio as they drive down the street to a buffet Vio knows of in relative quiet. It’s not an awkward quiet, for which Vio is thankful.When they’ve paid, and piled their plates high with food (Vaati sticks mostly to vegetables, Vio notes), the questions pour out of him.“What happened?” He starts, and then doesn’t stop. “Where did you go? Why did you leave in the first place? Why’d you come back?”Vaati laughs, a short, almost nervous sound. “In order?”“Uh-” Vio’s cheeks redden. “You don’t have to unless you want to. I think I already asked one of those already.”If he did, Vaati doesn’t acknowledge it. He picks at some rice with his chopsticks and Vio watches him curiously.“I uh…I was in a bad place.” He begins, eyes downcast. “Ezlo never…hit me or anything, but he yelled. When I was too loud, when I was too quiet, whenever I brought home anything less than A’s from school. He kept telling me to do better when I was already doing my best.”He says all of this factually. Like it’s a story he’s telling about somebody else, not himself.“I would…forgo food for studying and sleep for studying until I got sick from it, and then he would yell at me for not taking care of myself. As soon as I got better he’d go right back to being disappointed in me all the time and pushing me as hard as he’d been before. I got fed up, so I ran.” Vaati locks eyes with Vio and Vio can’t look away. “I lived on and off the streets, found a job in Ordon eventually. Got therapy, took dance classes, had a couple of flings. Couple years later I got a notice on the front door of my apartment saying that the old man was dead and he’d left me an inheritance in his will.”

Vio tilts his head at him. “Why come back to a place that holds such bad memories for you?”Vaati picks up a dumpling, pops it in his mouth. Chews and swallows, and then he says: “Because I loved the bookstore. I missed it.” His eyes are misty, staring off into the distance. “Didn’t love the old man so much as I loved the place he called home.”They eat in companionable silence for a bit while Vio mulls over his words. When they get dessert, he works up the nerve to ask: “Do you have a place to stay?”Vaati shrugs. “I was gonna rent a hotel room until I got everything sorted.”“Don’t bother. You’re not allergic to cats are you?” Vio grins at him, and Vaati snorts.“Not allergic, just never liked them. Are you offering your place?” He glances up at Vio over his ice cream. He seems surprised, and maybe nervous. Dammit, Vio should be better at reading people than this.“If you want it.”Vaati tilts his head, seems to think about it.“I’d appreciate it.” He says finally, and Vio smiles.They leave, and just before they get into Vaati’s car Vaati takes hold of Vio’s wrist. His eyes have some unreadable emotion in them- gratitude maybe? Vio is about to ask what’s wrong when Vaati wordlessly pulls him into a hug.It’s…nice. He smells like lavender and lemons. He’s just tall enough to tuck his chin over Vio’s shoulder and his grip is firm. He’s also really warm.“Thanks.” Vaati murmurs into his ear.Vio smiles.

This went a lot of places. I’ve never written Vaati/Vio before haha, but I hope you like this anonPsst also if you like my writing or me or are feeling generous in general, perhaps consider donating to my ko-fi yeah?

#wow #this took a while #also it is well over the word count that a drabble is supposed to be whoops #tw: abuse #tw: emotional abuse #my writing #drabble #fanfiction #four swords #violet link #vaati #vaati/vio #vio/vaati #anonymous

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