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icollectyoursins · 3 years ago

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Jotaro Relationship Head Canons SFW

Because I’m a self indulgent little shit and just love to ignore all of the work I have to do, have some Jotaro head canons. I am but a humble simp, and love this man. So much.

Update as of writing this. Somehow, it got very angsty, so... yeah. Sad man vibes. Also rambly. I just kinda kept going.

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: None, just angst, but nothing too serious.

Word Count: 2,985

Jotaro’s type is... I mean, it depends, like most people. I don’t think he’s super picky over appearances or things like that, it’s more whether or not he gets along with you and how long he can put up with you. He’s polite (well, as polite as he can be) and courteous, but probably a little more apathetic when you’ve first met. Once you’ve been around for a while he’s more relaxed and almost a little more critical. Mostly because you’re his friend now and he expects more from his friends.

While I was writing this I sort of realized that he could be aromantic. Maybe it’s just my own aro tendencies coming through, but I thought it sort of lined up with his personality. Or at least from my experience with romantic attraction.

Eventually, though, he’ll admit he cares about you a little more than he cares about others. It comes through in little almost compliments. “You did good. Keep it up” or “good job, dealing with this” are common phrases that sound nice on the surface, but it almost feels like he’s trying to pressure you to do more, which is far from the truth.

If it’s not awkward compliments like that, it’s awkward gifts. Always something you had briefly mentioned wanting or stared at a minute longer than you usually do, wrapped in a paper that’s your favourite colour or pattern. Sometimes, though, it’s something you’ve never mentioned that he somehow guessed would be something you wanted.

At the same time, though, he’s oblivious or at least acts like he is. There may be times when he goes home after you said something exceptionally sweet to him or that just means so much and he’ll just take a moment sitting at his desk to mull over what you said.

With a grunt, Jotaro rolled back into the armchair with a cup of tea in one hand and today’s newspaper in the other, since he didn’t get to read it this morning. It’s late with the sun almost completely set, giving his room an orange hue. He tries reading the first column, something about a cat being saved from a sewer grate, but after about a minute, he catches himself drifting away, sort of staring blankly at the paper.

He blinks hard, taking a long sip from his coffee. He must be tired. Another attempt is made at reading, this time the comics. They’re not his favourite thing, but short enough that he can focus on them. Or so he thought.

He zones out again, face suddenly feeling very hot.

He was thinking about you. Or, rather what you said.

It was something so simple, so mundane.

You had been talking about family together, exchanging drama, if you will, and he had brought up how his father had left his mother when he was very young. It didn’t bother him, he had said, after all, it was years ago and if he was being honest, he didn’t really need a father. Then, you gave him this look. It wasn’t pity or something like that. You put your hand on his knee, staring deep into his eyes.

“Jotaro,” you said, voice soft and sweet. You struggled to say the next words, opening your mouth, sighing, then finally: “I’m not leaving you.”

“Why would you be leaving?” He said, confused, taking it literally. Or, he pretended to be confused. It had made his heart warm with affection.

What Jotaro hadn’t noticed at that moment was that his eyes seemed to gloss over with wet tears while talking about his father. He wasn’t over it, you understood that. How could he be? He was so young then, he probably didn’t understand what was happening or why and now that he’s a father himself, there had to be so much guilt about being the same way. It was only now that he was realizing how much you had an effect on him.

It didn’t make him sad, by any means but... loved. He’ll say thank you tomorrow with a gift or some flowers. He hadn’t planned on meeting you for the rest of the week because he was busy, but work could wait, right? Yeah. Tomorrow.

God, it would take so long for him to get you to move in together. He’s so used to living on his own that I think he’s a little self-conscious about it. He’s not a slob by any means, but certainly a bachelor. I mean, he lived (assumedly) on his own from probably around or earlier than DiU right up until Stone Free, so it’s been a while and he’s certainly comfortable with his mess of clothes lying on the floor in the corner, but you won’t be. He cleans up before people come over, obviously, but how many times did he actually invite someone in?

When you start staying around more, he starts cleaning more, which makes him a little frustrated both coming to terms with liking someone enough that he’s actively cleaning for them once a week and also discovering that he’s a lot more gross than he thought. You would not believe how stained the counter was from coffee or how gross the filter was on the coffee maker. He takes his coffee very seriously. You begin to notice how clean everything is, well, how consistently clean everything is and it even starts to smell nicer, more floral and fresh. He bought a lavender air freshener. “It’s supposed to be calming,” he’ll say with a hint of annoyance. It’s not a bad smell to him, better than vanilla air fresheners, but it does give him a headache when he first sprays his place. You seem to like it though, so he’s willing to put up with it.

I honestly believe this man can cook, but nervous when cooking for other people. His food when he was a bachelor was good enough for him and I’m sure Holly would have shown him a lot too, but it’s not the best food. He definitely steps up his game when you’re over and even more so when you move in. He’s better with dishes that have pasta or noodles because it’s easy, but he’s not too bad behind the grill either.

When you guys finally live together, he tries to keep the cooking even, with you cooking some days and him doing the rest, but I honestly feel like unless you are a hazard in the kitchen, you would do most of it.

Jotaro would be like that with most things around the house partly because he doesn’t want you to do all the work if you don’t want to but he enjoys having a little more time to himself to either do work or... yeah, it’s just work. There are a few things that he’ll never make you do because it’s either too hard or he’s built up a routine of doing that thing a certain way and he’s convinced no one else will do it right. Like his laundry. He won’t let anyone else clean his clothes. He tried once and nothing dried right, he swears that his jacket is still damp to this day. You can fold his stuff or hang it up, but he’s running the washing machine and dryer. Also picky about how his office is cleaned.

If you asked and gave a legitimate reason for not doing a certain chore, he’ll do it, but be prepared with an excuse as to why you can’t wash the dishes or fold the laundry. He’s especially resistant if he’s working whether that be gathering information for the Speedwagon Foundation or editing his latest Marine Biology book.

Actually, can we just talk about how much this man hates folding laundry? It’s so pointless to him. Why fold it and put it into neat little piles when you’re just gonna rummage through the drawer and mess everything up? Sure, it looks nice, I guess, but not for long. He was for sure a floordrobe kind of guy, especially in his early years. He knows which ones are clean, it’s fine, just leave it. Of course, he would get better the longer you’re at his place, but still. It’s not that he’s lazy, he’s just busy and putting clothes away takes way too fucking long. (which, honestly, agreed.)

Date nights with Jotaro are... rare. I mean, you live with him, why would he want to go out and pay for something when he could do the same thing at home? They’re nice, of course, but it’s more common for him to take you out to dinner while you guys are on vacation or in a location other than home, because he doesn’t feel like cooking and it’s more special when you’re supposed to go out. Eventually, it clicks in that you are supposed to make each other feel special and will surprise you with an expensive dinner or a short cruise. If you suggest the aquarium he’ll think you’re just saying that because he’s into aquatic wildlife, but honestly doesn’t put up much of a fight and will answer any questions you or anyone else has about the fish.

He does enjoy a good relaxing movie (or documentary) night at home, though. It’s so nice to finally be finished work, settle into your super comfy couch and just chill until he gets tired. Even better when you’re lying on top of him with your head just under his chin. There’s something so soothing about smelling your perfume, shampoo, conditioner, cologne, etc. To just smell you so close to him and feel your weight. Aaah. So nice.

The microwave beeps faintly from the kitchen signalling that popcorn was done. You trailed out soon after, tossing the bowl to mix around the butter. You smile sweetly at him, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on Jotaro’s lips before settling into his lap, nestling your head just under his while stretching out your legs. His arm instinctively moves from the back of the couch to drape over your back, rubbing circles into it with his thumb.

He sighs; relaxed, finally. He allows himself to kiss your forehead, closing his eyes for a moment, just basking in your comfort. When he opens his eyes, he pulls you closer to him, feeling your heart beat almost in time with his. It was moments like these that eased his panic of losing you. You were here in his arms, safe and sound and vice versa. He was safe in yours.

Yeah, he’s a little angsty. But, can you blame him? He’s getting better, though. With help, of course. With you being around so often (and being very adamant that you’re not going anywhere) he’s able to let go a little. He’s not perfect, by a long shot and progress is slow, but it’s the little things like these that makes you proud of how far he’s come.

PDA is common, but a little restricted. When you’re out together, Jotaro’ll always have his hand on your back or shoulder. Hand-holding isn’t really a thing for him, but he will make sure you know he’s there. He’ll kiss you in public, but it’s not nearly as intimate or special as when you’re at home. Still, it’s a sweet reminder that he loves you, seeing as words of affection aren’t really his thing.

I mean, he can express himself just fine, but he still gets a little nervous saying things like ‘I love you.’ It’s more along the lines of ‘I care about you.’ Or, well. “of course, I care about you. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” Which... thanks. I think.

Kissing him is so nice, so you’re not too mad about him doing that instead of words. When Jotaro kisses you it’s full of a mix of emotions. Mostly caring, but on his rough days, there’s something else there. It could be worry or whatever the emotional equivalent of never letting you go is. You can always tell that he wants it to last a little bit longer. There’s something in the sad look in his eyes when he or you has to pull away. Sometimes he’s overly gentle like he’ll break you somehow, especially if you’re not a stand user or fighting-inclined (whether physical or otherwise). It’s not patronizing, or at least he tries not to be patronizing, he just prefers you safe.

It started out simple enough. You and Jotaro were just sitting at the table, eating dinner when he got this... sinking sort of feeling. There was something in the silence between you that just sent his mind spiralling. Thoughts of you someday dying too soon for whatever reason or leaving him because he’s not there enough, stand users, car crashes, divorce. They all started to flood into his mind, fabricating that you would somehow be taken away from him.

“Jotaro? Are you okay?” Your voice rings through; a bright light breaking the storm. He’s been staring at his plate for a while now, his eyes are dry and itchy. He looks at you and tries to say something, but the words don’t come. Is he okay?

You stand up and walk over to him, cupping his face gently. You rub the dark circles under his eyes while kissing his forehead. Jotaro slowly wraps his arms around you, letting his face fall into your hands. You’re pulled into his lap after a few minutes, running your fingers through his hair next. Finally, he sighs, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you,” he mumbles and though you’re not quite sure why, you still say a quiet you’re welcome, silently soothing him through whatever happened.

If you couldn’t tell, he needs a lot of reassurance. Not so much words, but actions like the snippet above. I mean, he can be as strong as he wants but we all know he’s got some baggage and while he’s able to put it aside, for the most part, I think when you’re at home he’s just a little more vulnerable.

Now, onto happier things! If you like coffee or tea, he will always make you a cup in the morning. Jotaro is a very early riser except on the weekends, so he usually gets that done while reading or watching the news and when you come down, he’ll ask if you want breakfast then make it for you seeing as he’s more awake.

He loves coffee. So much. He might have a caffeine addiction, honestly. At all times of every day, you can see him with a black coffee in hand and a book or phone in the other. He will switch to decaf at some point, but you might have to switch it for him. He’s forgetful when he gets busy.

Sleeping in on the weekends is like heaven for him. The two nights (or more on holidays) that he gets a full nights rest, breakfast in bed and a warm soul to cuddle into. He’s usually big spoon with a hand just resting on your side, but please, for the love of god make him the little spoon once a week. Will never admit it or vocalize wanting it. He just grabs your hand and drapes it over him with a “good night” and then promptly passes out.

He’s a heavy sleeper but doesn’t sleep often. Once he’s out, there is nothing that could wake him up except the fire alarm or something like that. It just takes a while. Not because of trauma, but more just internal clock is delayed.

Not a bath guy, strictly showers ‘cause they’re quicker. Most of the time he’s in and out before you can invite him into yours. When you do he’s “reluctant” but showers with you are a favourite of his. He gets his hair washed for him (if he bends down), he can wash you. It’s great.

I don’t think he would want more kids. He’s getting older, busier and just doesn’t think he has the time to care for a baby, even with help. Plus, if they were anything like Joylne or god forbid him when he was younger, he might start greying sooner than he thought. Joylne is a great kid, but... she’s definitely got some of his defiance in him. One kid is fine.

He doesn’t really like pets either, hates when there’s fur on all the furniture. But, if you came home with a stray cat or two, he’s not gonna put up a fight if you say they’re not going to the pound. “Just as long as you take care of them yourself.”

You got him a betta fish once because Jotaro. Fish. Makes sense. He thought it was a little pointless at first. You can’t pet them or play fetch (not like he does those things anyway). All a fish does is sit there and look pretty. You were a little disappointed, but whatever, you’ll take care of it. Then he comes home one day with a 30-gallon tank, freshwater plants and fancy lighting to help them grow which he quietly sets up in the living room. He spent at least a half-hour deciding on where to put it.

A week later, after he’s pleased with how it looks and the tank has been cycled he puts in an order for more fish then lets your betta acclimate to the tank. “There, he’ll be happier in here. The idea of bettas not enjoying or panicking in larger tanks is a myth. He won’t be alone for long anyway. He also won’t kill everything in the tank.” Well, he hopes he won’t, each fish is different. Thankfully, the small school of tetras get along with your betta just fine. From then on, he’s in there once a week, cleaning everything, trimming the overgrowth. It is officially his tank.

#Jotaro is probably my biggest comfort character and the first one I really fell in love with out of jojo so this had to be done at some poin #jotaro kujo #kujo jotaro #jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro x reader #jotaro headcanons #sfw prompts

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alexaplaysgames · 4 years ago

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Can you do Felix and Mc getting into a fight

My angst brain need some

You got it bb <3 Idk if this is really that much of a fight, but I couldn't make the MC too mean to Felix. Also, I’m aware this paints baby in a bad light. I had to make them fight about something okay :’( I don’t think he’d do this in canon.

Title: A bit Bitter

Pairing: Felix Escellun x GN!MC (Last Legacy)

Words: 2564

Tags: @demon-paradise @themohawkhelmet @cactus-hoodie @aomiyeon @piningmaybeanartist @another-confused-gay @uselessbeanies @nomnomcupcakesworld @druwuuwu @frozen-daydream @kirakiratears @margitartist @crowtrinkets @fanfic-about-fictif Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed.

“Tell me the truth, Felix.”

His gray eyes dart upwards from his textbooks as I storm into the room. When he sees what I hold clutched in my hands, he swallows, the bob of his throat visible even from the doorway.

I continue in a voice that is simultaneously weak and as strong as I can manage. “Is this really how you feel?”

“W-why do you have that, love?”

I frown. His nervousness sends guilt shooting through me, but I stamp it out. I’ve bent over backwards for months in an attempt to make him comfortable, and did so gladly. But this? I can only withstand so much.

I set the notebook down on the edge of his desk with a heavy thud. Felix winces.

“The things you wrote in here, about me…” I shake my head, then look away. I can feel my eyes sting, and I bite my tongue to hold back from crying. “Felix-“

“That’s private! You don’t have the right to go snooping through my possessions.”

I sigh. Yeah, I’m nosy and read his journal, and normally I would be ashamed. I shouldn’t have done it, but… “I don’t think that’s important right now.”

“Of course it’s important!” Felix gasps, standing out of his desk chair to snatch up the journal. He meets my eyes with a fragile sort of vulnerability, then pulls the journal defensively to his chest. “I’m not privy to every thought you have. You can’t judge me for mine.”

“I would never think these things of you!” My voice raises until it edges on a shout, and I frantically rush to reign it in. “I would never.”

“That’s not-“ Felix whispers with a shake of his head. “That’s not fair.”

“No. What’s not fair is this.” I reach forward and pull the leather journal from his hands, flipping forward a few weathered pages until I find what I’m looking for.

“‘Not nearly comparable to Rime’s beauty, nor do they possess his talent with magic. They’re candlelight to his radiant sun. I’ve quelled whatever feeling has stirred in my chest and decided that I won’t settle for them. Not while my love is still hurting. And I do miss him so.”

Felix is biting at his lip as I lower the book once more, his eyes watery, wide circles. “That’s old,” he chokes out. “I swear. I don’t feel that way. I love you.”

He looks like he wants to touch me, so I step away. I shake my head. “But you did feel that way.”

“I- why does it matter? That’s private. How- how much else have you read to convince yourself my feelings for you are disingenuous? You were never meant to see any of it.” He’s wrapped arms around his thin frame, now, squeezing his eyes shut as if he wishes this all would simply go away.

“I’ve read enough.”

Felix’s eyes go wide, then dart to the journal in my hand. “Why?” I ask. “Worried there’s something worse left for me to uncover?”

“N-no.” He runs his hand over his face. “Why couldn’t you stay out of my things? That was personal! It was none of your business!” Felix hisses the last words, as close to angry as I’ve ever seen him with me. His eyes are filled with tears, but his expression if one of a rage I’ve never been in the receiving end of.

“Fuck you,” I spit out, watching him hiccup as if the words were a physical blow. “You’re a liar, Felix.” Then I simply can’t help myself but to add, “Maybe you do deserve to be alone.”

I know as soon as I say it that I’ve gone too far, and the look on his face- fuck. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the broken, hurt expression that flashes across his features out of my head. Yes, the words he’d written in that journal had stung, but I don’t feel any satisfaction from hurting him just as badly. If anything, it makes me feel worse.

All I feel is lost. My psyche weighs heavy with guilt, as well as hatred for myself for letting my patience slip. Before it can all come crumbling down on me, I turn on my heel and rush out the door, slamming it behind me with an echo that rings much to hollow to make me feel any better.

✦✧✦✧

I had frantically stuffed my few belongings into a bag and rushed to the nearest inn, flopping onto a rickety bed and crying myself to exhaustion. That had been two days ago, now, and I haven’t spoken to Felix since.

On the bright side, sending drunk texts is much more difficult to do when one doesn’t possess a cellphone.

Each night my dreams are filled with memories of his face, his smile. I can feel him in my arms, see the distinct colour of his blush each time I call him “baby” or “my sweet”. I wonder if I was over-dramatic in my reaction, but then remember the words in that journal. To think, the passage I had read aloud had only been one of many.

No. I was right to be upset.

I keep wondering if maybe the things he wrote in there were true. Yet, it’s so confusing- Felix has always had the upmost respect for me. And he’s not exactly great at hiding his emotions.

I’ve met with Anisa and Sage, both of whom seemed relatively stunned at the news. Anisa had offered exercise as a way to take my mind off it, and Sage had offered… another form of physical activity altogether, which didn’t really surprise me.

“A fight? Really? You two have always seemed like such a sappy married couple…”

I sigh. “Thanks, Sage. Really. It wasn’t even a fight, to be honest.”

“Married couples do fight, Sage.” Anisa pats my hand. “Felix is just dramatic. It will be fine! Whatever he did, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He just gets a little… jumbled up sometimes. But his intentions are pure. At least, I believe so. You can never tell with Felix.” She smiles. “Give him some time to mope and he’ll apologize.”

“If it helps,” Sage interjects, “he fought all the time with deer boy, and they were apparently a thing. I’m sure he’s used to it.”

I refrain from telling Sage that his oh-so-helpful comment is far from helpful; in fact, it highlights exactly what I’m worried about.

Tonight, thunder strikes outside in heavy, booming claps. The room I’ve rented is lowly lit by a single candle, but the flashes of lightning outside the window often light up the entire space. Rain pelts the roof and the wind howls mournfully, as if in empathy of my crushed spirit.

I’m just in the middle of pretending I’m in a sad music video when I hear an unsteady knock at the door. At first, I think it might be a tree branch outside, being as it’s so soft, but then I hear the sound again.

I fling the wool blankets over my head with a huff and shuffle towards the door, then unceremoniously fling it open.

I should have expected it would be my necromancer boyfriend looking like a drenched cat.

Felix is sopping wet, his hair plastered to his forehead and clothes so soaked I can see his tanned skin underneath. As soon as the door opens, his eyes go wide, and he immediately looks as if he’s attempting to say something, but he can’t seem to spit it out. His teeth are chattering so forcefully he can’t speak, and the wind has whipped the wet strands of hair into his mouth.

He is so stupid. I immediately can’t help but think that I love him. I am definitely morosexual.

I blink dazedly at him for a moment, before grabbing his elbows and hastily pulling him inside.

“I’m s-sorry,” he sobs as I grab a blanket off the bed and hastily wrap it around his shoulders. I can’t tell if he’s shaking from crying or the cold, can’t tell if the wetness on his face is from his tears or the rain. “I’m so sorry.”

“Felix, it’s fine. Come here, you’re going to get hypothermia.”

I grab a towel from the bathroom and begin using it to dry his hair. He shakes his head as he pushes it away, sending droplets of water flying. “No! Listen, please, I am sorry, I am. I wish to explain myself. You deserve that much, at least.”

I sigh, then stand back and nod. I sit down on the edge of the bed. The mattress groans, as do I. “Fine.”

Felix pauses as if he didn’t expect that answer.

Then he picks at the frayed strings of the blanket around him. He shivers as he tugs it tighter around his shoulders. He licks his lips. “I wasn’t in a good place when we met.”

I nod. It was obvious then, and it’s even more so now. “I know.”

“It wasn’t healthy. I know that it wasn’t, but-” he cuts off as the thunder outside rumbles, lightning illuminating the haunted look in his eyes. “I loved Rime. More than that, I obsessed over him.”

That much I had guessed, but the confirmation does still twist my stomach.

“I was still in love with him when we met. Desperately so. I clung to the very idea of him for years. Rime adored how I idolized him, he encouraged it-“ he looks out the window as if lost in thought, then sighs. “It wasn’t you. I would’ve compared anyone to him. I did.”

Felix sniffs, then delicately kneels at my feet. “I am so sorry. I promise I didn’t truly think those things, my dear. I just felt so guilty, every time I felt anything for you. I had made myself think that he was perfect, that I could enforce my love for him through some strange sort of self-discipline.” He cringes, as if he knows how awful that sounds. “It seemed reasonable. I owed him my life.”

Apparently having said what he needed, Felix goes quiet. His eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles underneath, as if he’s been crying instead of sleeping ever since I left him.

“You are so incredibly lovely,” he whispers, choking. “I could see it even then. I was scared of what it would do to me to admit it.”

I swallow. I’m honestly not sure whether to believe him, but the look in his eyes is so earnest. Felix is many things, but he’s not one to hide his feelings, nor is he a good actor. I know deep down that he’s not faking his love for me, despite how my heart convinced me otherwise.

“If- If you’re still angry with me, I understand,” Felix stammers, though the tears in his eyes make it seem like that isn’t true. “M-maybe I should leave-“

The rain pounds harder against the windows. The wind whistles through the surrounding cracks. I grab his wrist.

“Come here, my sweet.”

Felix’s eyes widen at my use of my pet name for him, a timid look of disbelief in his eyes as he takes my hand and allows me to pull him onto the bed. I lie down on my back and guide to lay against my chest.

“I forgive you.” I almost can’t believe the words myself, but I know that it’s the only option I could ever consider. I love him. It’s a simple as it is complex.

“You needn’t-“

“I do. It wasn’t right of you to say those things, but it was also unfair of me to get so angry with you over something you wrote a long time ago. I know your old relationship really took a toll on you. Besides, I said some awful things to you too, Felix,” I continue, reaching up to brush his bangs back from his forehead. He trembles, leaning slightly into my touch. “You don’t deserve to be alone. I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me, and I shouldn’t have. Okay?” I wait until he finally nods to continue. “And I’m sorry for going through your things. I betrayed your trust, and you were right to be upset.”

Felix goes a little slack-jawed before he finally breathes out, “O-of course I forgive you.”

“I’m glad, because I don’t think I could live without you.”

He stares at me for a moment longer before he lurches forward and kisses me, desperate and wanting, full to the brim with both apology and forgiveness. It tastes if the salt of his tears and the cold rainwater that runs over his cheeks. He’s shaking the whole time, and I tug him tighter to my chest. I can feel his heart racing through the fabric of our clothes.

“I love you, sweet.”

“I love you too,” Felix hiccups, “so much.”

We spend a bit longer like that, tangled up in the bedsheets with Felix soaking through both our clothes. Eventually, I pull back.

“Did you really wait until it was storming to show up and apologize?”

A sheepish laugh as he flushes. “I had t-thought it would be romantic. Like in my novels. I didn’t realize it was pouring quite so hard.”

His cheeks are a flaming red and he looks away like he expects me to be upset. I sigh to hide my fond smile. All I can do is kiss him again.

“I’ve brought you something,” Felix murmurs, his lips so close to mine that they brush, his eyelashes wet against my cheeks. He reaches back and takes the leather notebook, the stupid source of all our fighting, out of his coat pocket. It’s surprisingly dry.

I can’t help but want to smack that stupid book out of his hand. “Felix, why would you do that?”

He rolls his eyes, then gets up and stands off to the side of the bed. The room lights up green as his entire hand, the journal with it, are suddenly engulfed in flames, until nothing but ashes sift through his fingertips, drifting down to settle against the wooden floor.

“You’re my future.”

He’s so dramatic. I love him to pieces.

I grab his waist and all but tackle him back onto the bed, delighting in his surprised squeak.

“Stop!” Felix yelps as he falls back against the mattress, only to be assaulted by my cuddles, “I’m positively soaked; I’ll drench the sheets.”

I can’t really say that I care. We have a lot of making up to do; I’m not spending a second without him by my side for the rest of the night. Felix grumbles a final complaint and then sighs. He wraps his arms around me and presses his cheek into my chest, and I can’t help but think he feels the same.

“I didn’t enjoy that,” he mumbles, turning his face into me to hide his expression. “Being apart from you, it- hurt. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, baby.” I’m just realizing how much. His scent and the feel of his hair against my skin, his voice. He’s invaded my senses once more, and it feels like coming back to life.

He turns to look up at me. His cheeks are rosy and his hair mussed, droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes and temples. God, he’s so adorable- I don’t know how I could ever stand to be angry with him. “I don’t want to be at odds with you anymore. I love you too much.”

I boop his perfect nose. “Deal.”

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l4verq · 4 years ago

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fight back | b.b

bucky barnes x enhanced!reader

in which bucky won’t lay a hand on you no matter what :(

tags : a little brawl, fluff cause icanthelpmyself, mentions of blood, john walker (idk if we're supposed to like him now ??) bucky is a cat lady okk

fic : one shot

a/n : inspired by that scene in the final ep of tfatws when karli is screaming at sam to fight back lol😳

|| gif by @unearthlydust ||

one world, one people.

you repeat it in your head one more time, when he comes into view, vibranium gleaming onyx with loops of gold.

you know that he knows you’re here, back to the wall a few feet away, peeking at him.

he doesn’t know that you let him know.

doesn’t know that you laid out a trap and just like the foolish mouse, he walked right into the lion’s den.

although you’re not sure who the fool actually is, when you meet his eyes, knees almost buckling at the sight just cause of how long it’s been without them.

“y/n.” he breathes out, almost in disbelief.

it’s been fourteen months since he woke up to an empty bed and a handwritten goodbye letter folded in a clean white envelope, tucked under a pillow still marked by the soft indentation of your head.

fourteen months since you took off in the dead of night, pulling your- his hood over your head, the cold wind nipping at your skin, almost like it was punishing you.

maybe, it saw what you did.

oh, but fred definitely saw what you did, that damn cat always followed you two around even though it’s owner was the blonde next door. her name wasn’t even fred, bucky came up with it after the third time it snuck into the apartment.

he swore he hated it but always seemed to have a treat lying around in case it did come.

and it did, a lot. neglected by it’s owner, it chose to seek comfort in the couple next door, and sometimes a meal or two.

“sorry, no treat today bub.”

fred scowled - honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if an actual human was living in it - mewling as it came up to you for the usual chin rubs and cooes.

you sighed, caving into it’s antics, squatting to pet it.

cradling it’s head into your palm, she was purring, a very uncommon sight. fred doesn’t purr, she scratches and hisses at anything and everything that moves.

“you’re particularly nice today.” you commented, getting up. it mewled even louder this time but you turned on your heels and headed for the stairs.

you were already late.

your legs picked up pace quickly, easily crossing multiple blocks over in a few long strides owing to the blue serum coursing through your veins.

though your mind remained stationary, fixated on a single face, how it’d crumble at the sight of the letter, how he’d probably end up hating you.

“took you long enough.”

her auburn locks were tied into a loose braid that curved around her neck, the tip sat just below her collarbone, a piss poor job held together by a thin maroon colored band.

it was quintessentially her, the lack of utter patience to spend two minutes looping three knots of hair one over the other.

you jogged over to the other side of the black suv, noticing a stark white rectangle where a liscence plate should be.

“he’s knocked out cold,” you asked as soon as you grabbed the door handle open, “how?”

lazropthalein.

it came in the mail in a brown package, no return address. bucky wasn’t home, he had a scheduled therapy session down the block.

just a pinch is enough.

the text from the unknown number read.

it had no odour, a clean, white colour to it that blended in seamlessly with the flour.

“you baked without me?” bucky gasped, dramatically, hand covering his gaping mouth. his other hand carried two plastic bags, filled to the brim, a purple razor was poking out the top.

he even had to drop the poor bags on the floor, just to emphasize the utter shock he felt.

“i got bored.” you giggled, wiping the countertop with a wet cloth, remnants of flour on the sleek marble turning goopy under it.

“traitor.”

“it’s just cupcakes.”

“still a cake.”

you sighed, “you’re a five year old.”

he huffed, trudging towards the living room, shoulders hunched to really hone in on just how devastating this was for him.

“don’t i get a hug?” you held your arms out, making grabby hands, following him.

apparently, the devastation was to the point where he had to bring out the big guns, the sad baby blues.

the act lasted for another minute? at best. hours later, he was happily munching away.

“i know why it tastes so good.” he moaned, smacking his lips.

your smile faltered a little, did he kn- no, there’s no way he could have known. you burned that little plastic bag as soon as you dumped a pinch in.

“yea?”

he grinned, popping the last bit left in “it was made with your love.”

“how did it work?” your voice rose several octaves higher, amplified further by the cool, silent night.

drugs and sedatives don’t work on supersoldiers yet a certain blue eyed one was back home, unmoving even if you screamed right into his ears.

“dr wilfred, he invented it. the power broker wanted something to balance out our,” she flared her hands at both of you, “super-soldierness, so that we don’t have an upper hand when all’s said and done.”

would the either of you even be alive when all was said and done?

“look, i know you didn’t want to do this but james, he won’t understand. he’s not one o-..”

“yea, can we jus- let’s just get out of here.” you get in beside her, whipping the seatbelt over your torso.

the car was stuffy, felt like a choke around your neck that only seemed to tighten more and more.

“if we go now, there’s no coming back.” she glances at you, hand curled over the gearstick ready to position it in place.

she was giving you an out, one last chance. karli was a lot of things and having a heart inside that cold, bitchy exterior was one.

“i know.”

you sunk deeper into your seat, the hoodie had a faint smell of burnt toast and that cologne which was on sale, almost half off if you cut out the taxes.

it smelled like him, too much like him.

until it didn’t after a few days. but you still slept with it, just outright refusing to wash it despite karli’s snarky remarks about hygiene.

hygiene could go fuck herself, for all you know.

compared to the motels and basements you guys shifted around in, that hoodie was a doctor’s scrubs.

when the moon hung low on the black sky, you tried not to think about him too much. the silence didn’t help, you needed something to drown out your thoughts. that’s when the ‘socialising’ with the other flag smashers started. they were nice.

nice cause you were the leader’s little sister. but also a huge fucking liability because of a certain supersoldier hot on their heels in search of you, ruining every goddamn plan so their niceness was.. limited.

karli was a natural when it came to it, all of it. the talking, rallying of supporters - fuck, she just had a way with words. she could make you believe she hung up the stars in the sky.

probably how she convinced you that holding a room chock full of council members hostage right smack in the middle of nyc was a good idea.

the only idea, more precisely.

you guys had the upper hand, more than a handful supersoldiers at your disposal, capable of taking down the entire military force if you so pleased.

the only playing card they had was one supersoldier, who was better off distracted, kept off the field.

so who better to send to do the deed than the love of his life.

“fred had a baby. multiple babies, spawn of the devil if you ask me. always running around, thrashing the place up.” he takes small steps towards you, slow and calculated, as if a lion stalking around a prey.

“you shouldn’t be here.” you lie through your teeth, a tiny white compared to the ones that’ve rolled off your tongue before.

“i think the neighbours call me a cat lady now,” his eyes shift around and he leans in to whisper, “they haven’t even seen my knitting skills yet.”

“stop.” you think you said it or much rather whispered it, your voice was failing you. he’s getting close, too close for your liking so why aren’t you backing away from him?

“fred misses you, you know. she wonders where you went.” he smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

the hairs on your neck shoot up, a slight twitch of your brow. the way bucky’s ear perk up, you realise it’s not just you and him here anymore.

someone else has arrived.

“i’ve got it handled, john.” bucky turns around, plants him directly infront of you, blocking john’s view of you.

sure enough, it’s john limping in, a nasty gash across his chest.

your blood runs cold because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

john isn’t supposed to be here, he’s supposed to be fighting.. oh god. you notice the various splatters of blood on his cowl, on his boot, on his shield.

it’s too much blood from a guy who’s barely bleeding.

“really? i was thinking you should do more than just talk.” he spits on the ground and wipes his mouth.

you notice, the spit’s all blood too.

“i’m giving you a chance to walk away, right now.”

john snorts, leaning sideways to get a view of you, neck craned out.

“and leave this prize all to yourself?” he grins, “i’d be an idiot.”

“you have a death wish then.” you lift your chin a little higher, praying your quickening heartbeat doesn’t give away your calm exterior.

john whistles, grimacing as he straightens, “so, she does talk.”

you scowl, crossing your arms.

he’s in bad shape. he has no chance, not that he ever did even in his best shape. he knows that too yet he’s still here. that sends a chill up your spine.

“go, i got this.” bucky tips his head, glancing at you.

“i don’t need you to save me.” you hiss at him, which comes out a little harsher than you intended. an apology dies in your throat as he flinches just the slightest.

“trouble in paradise?” john’s barely finished saying it before he’s reached behind his back and swinging the vibranium

you hear it before you see it stopped mid air by a gloved hand. then you charge.

it’s all a hazy mix of blue and red until your fist connects with his jaw, sound of something breaking ringing in your ear.

something pulls your waist back, a grip far too strong to be just flesh.

“go, i’ll ta-..” bucky’s barely said anything before an upward cut from john connects to his neck, violent coughs ensuing.

you grip john’s arm before he’s even retracted it back, jump up his back, settling around his neck and twist until you hear a crack and a bloodcurling scream following suit.

he whips his head back right into your stomach, seizes that moment when the wind knocks out of you to pull you by your hair off him.

“i told you to go.” bucky growls, kicking john right in the shin that makes him kneel and you almost fall off but you keep your fingers tightly looped around john’s hair, pulling as hard you can.

but he’s relentless.

your head hits something hard and you realise you’re on the ground now, legs loosely around john’s shoulders, him also on the ground.

it’s like the both of you realise at the same time but you’re quicker. your legs tighten around his neck, against the spot where a thick neck muscle throbs. he claws desperately around, straining for oxygen

soon, his hands lull down, the dull thud on the ground confirming his unconsciousness.

“are you hurt?” bucky’s hovering over you, seemingly unfazed by john’s neck in a chokehold by your legs right now.

you reject his hand he extends and push yourself off the gravelly concrete on to your feet.

“this was a mistake.” you trail off, saying it more to your own self.

you weren’t the lion, you were the stupid fox who thought it was.

stupid enough to believe you were over bucky and that everything wouldn’t come rushing back as soon as you laid eyes on him.

he whips you around by your hand and before you know it, he’s already caught your other fist heading for his sternum. you barely feel the grip, it’s soft, just so incredibly soft and fits so right.

you hate it.

rage bubbles inside you, mostly at yourself. partly at him because he’s not screaming at you or slamming you against the wall or jus- anything.

you wrench your hand away, land a swing which he does nothing to block. his grip on your other hand loosens and he still does nothing when another hit to the jaw leaves him staggering,

instead, he looks at you softly as if resigning himself to your anger, to let it simmer off.

“fight back!” you scream, outstretched palms pushing him back.

he stumbles a few steps back, hands reaching out to yours resting on his chest, fingers intertwining yours tightly.

“stop.” it’s a soft plead, tears spiking the corners of his eyes.

“hit me!” you’re practically begging at this point, thrashing your arms around.

his hands grapple at your shoulders, bringing you to his chest, “it’s okay.”

he smells so sweet, just so sweet that you almost believe him.

“i drugged you and i left you and i-,” you inhale sharply, “i killed so many people, bucky.”

the last fourteen months had escalated quickly from doing what’s right to doing what’s needed, lines blurred between moral ethics and survival.

“it’s okay.” he repeats, hand patting your hair, gentle and soothing. your body betrays you, sinking into his touch, his warmth.

“you should hate me.” you whimper.

you wouldn’t blame him if he did. you doubt he could hate you more than you already did yourself.

he pulls back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “i couldn’t if i tried.”

god, why does he have to be so.. bucky?

frustated, you spit out, “this? this was a distraction to separate you and sam.”

you don’t say it but it’s understood, understood that you wouldn’t have met him if not for it.

the inner corners of his brows angle up slightly, a ghost of a smile on his lips, “i know.”

your breath hitches, if he knows then wh-

“then, why..?”

you finally look up at him, vision blurry because of the stupid tears pooling at your eyes.

his thumb wipes away a tear dribbling down your cheek, the coldness of the metal a clear contrast to the warm moisture, “you know why.”

a/n : this one’s been sitting pretty, collecting cobwebs in my drafts so thought i’d take it out lol, also haven’t been posting fics in a whileeee cause im dumb and i’ve been working on multiple things all at once lol yea this is me rambling and also i just wanna say that i. love. folklore. sm. that whole album has me crying and sad and just :((

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fic #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #fatws bucky #fatws #flag smashers #marvel #mcu

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thenovelartist · 4 years ago

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A Blanc Slate, Chapter 1

Marichat May 2021 has arrived and I am once again writing a story by the seat of my pants. XD I will post one chapter a day (hopefully daily?), and each chapter will have 3 prompts. Enjoy ;)

Next >

1. Rain

The clouds were thick and black, shrouding the city in darkness. This was normally when Chat Noir had the best time blending in.

But as he stood before her now, up in the high beams of the Eiffel Tower, his brilliant white suit stuck out like a sore thumb.

She remembered the first time he’d been akumatized and turned into Chat Blanc. His blue eyes had flipped between empty and full of pain. He’d been fighting the akuma the whole time, and it had physically pained her to see him like that.

However, that was the difference between then and now. His normal green eyes glowed behind that white mask. No; that was a lie. They held the same green color, but instead of the vibrant life they normally held, they were empty. Hollow. As if his soul had died.

“Chat Noir?”

Her voice sounded weak to her own ears, and had his kitty ears not twitched, she would have questioned whether he’d even heard her.

With inaudible footfalls, he slowly stepped towards her. Once he was close but still out of touch range, he extended his closed fist towards her.

Normally, that would be a ‘pound it’, but it hurt Ladybug more than she would have thought to know Chat was just wanting to give her something.

She extended her own hand out, and he dropped two things into her hand. Clink clank.

Even in the darkness that hung over Paris, she knew what those were right away. And her gut positively dropped to the bottom of the Eiffel Tower.

“Chat,” she started, words somehow failing her.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he stated, his voice firm but tired. She only could tell that because she’d known him so long.

Her hand around the two miraculouses, falling to her side as she took him in. “If… if I have the moth miraculous, then… how are you…?”

Her words died out, and Chat didn’t add to them, instead turning his head away while his ears flattened back on his head.

Biting her lip, Ladybug fought for anything to say. “Are you okay?”

She already knew the answer. But he still said it.

“No.”

“What can I do?”

“Not much,” he said, taking a step back. “And frankly… there’s nothing I want you to do, either.”

She felt cold begin to hit her face, but the oncoming rain was the least of her worries. Even the fact she held the two missing miraculouses was negligible compared to the weight of her heart breaking at the pain her partner was experiencing.

“Chat—”

“Please, Ladybug,” he growled, ears pinning flat as he shot her a snarl. But it didn’t seem to mesh with the tears that were already forming in his eyes. “I need you to stay out of this.”

“But I don’t want to just sit here and do nothing when you’re—”

“This isn’t your battle to fight!” he shouted, shocking her silent. “Hawkmoth was your battle to fight. Mayura was your battle to fight. But the miraculouses are back in your hands, meaning your fight is over.”

“It’s not over until they’re brought to justice, Chat,” she countered. “And I’m not going to let you just—”

“He was my father!”

Lightening ripped across the sky, followed by thunder rolling through Paris and shaking Ladybug’s entire world.

“It’s personal,” he spoke, his voice steady once again. “And not anything you will muddy your hands with. I won’t let you. You will tell the public that you retrieved the miraculouses and Paris is safe. I will handle the rest.”

“Do you honestly think I’m going to just let you handle it alone?”

“You think I’m not capable?”

“I never said that!”

“It’s better this way, Ladybug,” he said. “That way you won’t be lying to the press when you say you didn’t know Hawkmoth’s real name and therefore cannot release it to the public.”

She grit her teeth. She did hate lying, but in this instance, for Chat’s sake, she’d do it in a heartbeat.

And he should have known that.

“Then what about you?” she challenged.

“What about me?”

“You think I’m going to do this without you by my side?”

“Yes.”

The finality of those words struck her harder than an akuma blow.

His eyes flooded with an intensity rarely seen from him, and Ladybug found herself taking a step back to steady herself.

“Let me finish this,” Chat stated. “And once I do, I’m giving you my ring back.”

“NO!” The panic that suddenly bubbled up felt suffocating. “No. What makes you think you need to surrender it?”

The rain was coming down harder, but Ladybug hardly felt it. She barely acknowledged the fact they were both drenched by now. All that registered in her mind was Chat’s sad and broken expression.

“Sorry,” he whispered, barely above the rain. “But I can’t be your Chat anymore.”

He took a step backwards and away, putting more distance between them before giving her a pained smile. “And… I guess the other thing is I need time away from you.”

“Why?” she begged. She was sure tears were streaming down her face by this point, but her cheeks were so wet that she didn’t know what was her tears and what was rain. “What are you even talking about? I don’t—”

“I know you don’t,” he interrupted.

“Then tell me!” she screamed. “Aren’t we partners?”

He sighed, pained grin still on his face. “We were,” he said. “Until Hawkmoth was gone, right? I’m going to go clean up the mess. Think of it as… as my last gesture to you.”

Ladybug just stood confused. “What—”

“Good bye, Ladybug,” he said, taking out his staff. “We’ll meet again, at least once. I promise. After all—” He waved his hand, the one with his ring, in her direction. “I will be giving this back to you.”

And with a roar of thunder, he was gone.

2. Ghibli

As Ladybug made her way home in the rain, she so happened to catch sight of a figure sitting in the park across the street from her house. Part of her was tempted to stop and rush over to him, but the other half knew better. Considering what had just happened at the Eiffel Tower, she knew he would run from Ladybug.

But maybe…

Would he run from Marinette?

With the idea in her mind, she ran back home, detransformed the second she entered her room, quickly put away the two miraculouses he’d given her, and then snagged a raincoat and an umbrella before running back out of the house.

Checking both ways before crossing the street, Marinette splashed through any and all puddles without care as she ran towards Chat Noir… er, she supposed he was Chat Blanc now.

It didn’t matter to her. That was still her partner no matter what color his suit was. And at the moment, her partner was in pain, slumped over as he sat on the edge of the park’s fountain, his head hung low and ears drooping as rain poured over him.

When Marinette got closer, she noticed his ears twitch before he glanced up and looked towards her. His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing out, princess?”

Princess. That was her nickname. That was also a very good sign. It gave her hope he wouldn’t turn her away.

She flipped up the hood on her raincoat before extending the umbrella out so that it was covering him. “What are you doing out, Chat?”

“Nothing,” he curtly said. “Go home, Marinette. It’s cold out.”

“Exactly,” she countered. “So why are you out here getting soaked?”

He just shrugged. “I have my reasons.”

“Reasons you don’t want to tell me?”

“No.”

“Okay,” she said, wracking her brain for ideas on just how she could convince him to get him out of the rain. “Do your reasons allow you to come inside the bakery, then? Or are you out here punishing yourself for being a bad kitty?”

She tried to make it a joke, hoping it would put a smile back on his face if only for a second. But she instantly regretted her words the moment his ears fell again.

“Chat—”

“Please, just leave me alone.”

Her heart broke all over again. Something in the way his head was bowed just made her want to touch him, want to comfort him. Part of her knew it was risky to push her luck, but the other part, the part that cared deeply for her partner, just wanted to comfort him any way she could.

She patted his head, causing him to startle in a way that shocked her. His eyes were full of panic at her touch and his body was tense, as though he was ready to run.

“Sorry,” she said, tugging her hand away and taking a step back. Please don’t run. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He didn’t relax fully, but the tension in his body did ease a bit, and then he shifted away, out from under her umbrella. “It’s fine. Just leave me alone.” Then he looked up, his eyes locking on something behind her. “You should go back home.”

“Only if you come with me.”

“Marinette.”

“I’m not going to just leave you out here in the rain like some kicked cat!”

Lighting flashed in the sky, shortly followed by thunder, but Marinette hardly noticed. Her attention was fully focused on Chat, who was looking back up at her with some surprise.

Eventually, he sighed, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion. “I’ll escort you; that’s all. Understood.”

Better than nothing, and it still gave her a chance to convince him inside out of the rain. “Understood.”

He stood, but he ended up stumbling sideways two steps as though he was going to fall over.

“Chat?”

“I’m fine,” he said, spreading his feet wide to give him more balance. “It’s…” He forced a smile at her. “Just been a long day.”

Liar, she thought. It’s not just that.

He got close enough to put a hand on her shoulder with the intent of guiding her back towards her house, but Marinette just knew something was off. She dropped her umbrella in favor of holding Chat’s head with one hand while the other landed on his forehead.

In spite of the chilling rain, he was warm.

He stepped away, clearly agitated at the touch—that was the other thing; Chat loved touch, so why was he shying away from it now?—and shot her a glare. “Marinette,” he growled in warning.

“You’re running a fever, aren’t you?” she asked, watching as he swayed unsteadily on his feet.

“I’m fine!”

“You are not!”

“I am!” he shouted, voice firm and strong and threatening. She found herself taking a step back out of shock.

He seemed to notice that because half the fight in his eyes extinguished immediately. “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone. I never asked for help. I don’t want anyone else to end up in this mess. So, leave me the hell alone!”

But he didn’t move. And neither could she.

And when he took a step back, as to be the first one to retreat, he stumbled, landing on his knee.

She rushed to his side. “Sorry, Chat,” she said, grabbing his arm, both to keep a hold of him so he wouldn’t run as well as support him. “But I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

“You should.”

“I won’t.”

“I don’t need you.”

“But you want someone, right?”

“Not in my own mess.”

“But do you really want to fight it alone?”

The only sound that filled the space was the rain that continued to pour down.

And after what felt like an eternity, he eventually spoke. “No…” he admitted, voice quiet and weak. “No, I don’t, but it would hurt worse if someone was hurt because of me.”

She didn’t know how to counter that. All she knew was she needed to get him out of the rain as soon as she could. “Come on, Chat.” she coaxed. “At the very least, let me get you out of the rain.”

He still hadn’t moved from the ground, leaving it up to Marinette to pull him up. He had to lean on her substantially, and she hadn’t even realized he’d been this unsteady on his feet.

Had he been like this just an hour ago when he met her as Ladybug?

She dragged him back to her home, then slowly up the stairs before deciding the best place to dump him was in the bathroom so he could both get clean and warm himself up. She could only hope she didn’t leave her bathroom a disaster as she led him inside. Thankfully, it wasn’t too much a wreck. She sat him down on the edge of the tub, then patted his head. “I’ll go grab you a towel, okay? You just take your time to clean yourself up.”

“Marinette…” he weakly tried to argue.

“Don’t even try with me, kitty,” she warned. “Warm up. Use whatever you need to. I think I have clothes that will fit you that you can change into. I’ll go grab those. Don’t worry about it and don’t even try to argue with me.”

He looked up at her, and she swore she could see the internal debate happening behind those green eyes of his.

Eventually, he sighed. “You’re as stubborn as my lady.”

Marinette smiled, a genuine one. No matter what front he had tried to put up, he still considered her his lady. That gave her hope. “Thanks for the compliment.”

And with that, she walked out of the bathroom and shut the door. Once she did, she heard the water start up.

“Hey!” Chat called out. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, what do you need?”

There was a pause. “Is… is there any conceivable way I could bother you for some cheese?”

Ah, for his kwami. What did Chat always complain about? Smelling like camembert? She would have to go see if she had any, but she knew any cheese would do. “Sure thing.”

“Thank you.”

Anything for you, kitty. “No problem.”

With that, she started off to collect the needed items only to realize that walking up 2 flights of stair soaking wet was bound to leave dirty, wet footprints on the floor.

Well… guess she knew how Sophie felt now having to deal with Howl.

3. Dirt

Once all the dirt on the floor and stairs was cleaned up, she started collecting the things Chat needed. She did manage to find some camembert in the fridge, though it wasn’t much. Surely it would be enough to restore his kwami, though.

After that she grabbed a towel and change of clothes for him. Who knew what shape his clothes were in, and she wasn’t going to let him get back into dirty clothes after a nice bath if she could help it. Luckily, he and Adrien looked to be about similar sizes, and she had made an outfit for Adrien since his birthday was right around the corner. She knew he was the son of a fashion designer, but he’d also totally egged her on last month when she casually suggested making him an outfit one day. And so, she did.

Now that outfit would be worn by Chat Noir for the time being, but Adrien didn’t have to know that.

Once her arms were full of the aforementioned items, she knocked on the door to the bathroom. “Chat, I have the cheese you asked for, and a towel and change of clothes for you, too. I’m going to close my eyes and slide them in, okay. I won’t look, I swear.”

“Thank you, Marinette,” he said, voice sounding very tired.

With her eyes closed, she cracked the door open and felt around for the counter before sliding the items on top of it. Once she was sure they weren’t going to fall on the floor, she quickly backed out and shut the door again. “There you go. Feel free to ask for anything else, okay?”

“Hey, Marinette?”

“Yeah?”

He was silent for a moment, and she opened her mouth again to repeat herself when he spoke. “I… really appreciate this,” he said. “Sorry for… pushing you away, and I’m sorry if I hurt you. I’m… I’m really grateful… that you did this for me.”

Anything for you, you stupid cat. “You’re welcome, Chat Noir. It’s always an honor to help out the heroes of Paris when they need anything.”

He was silent yet again, but Marinette didn’t quite want to leave. “Feel free to take your time in there,” she said. “And when you come out, I’ll check your temperature again and give you something for your fever if I suspect you have one. Oh! And I know you’ll be careful anyway, but those clothes were actually made for a friend. I really don’t mind you borrowing them for the time being, but once you’re able to return them, I would like them back, please.”

“I’ll bring them back as soon as I can, princess, in the same condition you gave them to me in. I promise.”

“Thanks, Chat. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“You’ve done more than I deserve, Marinette,” he spoke, voice now solemn. “Thank you.”

You’re hurting, kitty, and I won’t feel like I’ve done enough until I know how to help you through it. “You’re very welcome, Chat.”

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #marichat #marichatmay2021 #Chat Blanc #hurt/comfort #angst #yeah we're beginning with pain #Will eventually get better ;)

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its-kall-the-clown · 4 years ago

Note

If you're still doing prompts, #13 for Silktea? I LOVED the last one and am starved for Silktea content! 💕🕷

God I love silk tea so much *sobs* This is part three of the saga and you can read PART ONE here and PART TWO here.

its like watching two himbos try to flirt and one of them is in major denial.

prompt list (please submit I have more bandwidth to do more writting)

Just Ask

Rating: PG

"Shoo! Go away! Stop following me!"

Huntsman hisses over his shoulder trying to hobble faster with his crutch. The tortie car continues to pad after him with her tail curled upwards and a soft string of mews on her lips. The orange and white cat was the most tolerable of Sandy's therapy cats, and she was the only one he would allow to sleep in the bed with him or sit on his lap when he was reading.

The spider demon was in the shipyard currently, making a break for the sewers so he could slink back to his queen.

His injuries were far from healed but he could walk mostly on his own now which meant it was time to go home. Even if he hadn't finished healing yet he was capable enough to be out back to work. That was the standard under the queen after all. If you could stand on your own it was back to work.

And so he left.

He waited for Sandy to leave to get groceries of course, he couldn't look at them in the eye and tell him it was time to go.

Partly because he knew Sandy would insist he had to stay.

And partly because he knew he would.

His side twinges painfully and suddenly his legs give out. He falls to his face and lets out a strangles yelp. His broken leg throbs from the impact and all he can do is curl inward and let out a string of curses. Concerned mewls circle him and he feels the cat rub up against his side.

"Buzz off fleabag." He growls but there is no heat to it. He pulls himself up enough that he can pull his body forward. He drags himself to the nearest shopping container and leans against it, his head is dizzy and his vision swims so he just lays there for a minute. He huffs, feeling sweat break out across his brow and something wet trails down his back. He opened his wounds again. Damn.

He hardly even left the boat and here he was a weak little gasping mess. What happened to him? He used to be able to power through injuries ten times worse than this. He remembers distinctively one time he had four broken ribs and still was standing tall before his queen waiting for more orders. He had become weak in his absence from her.

Sandy had made him weak.

He closes his four eyes picturing the smiling demon and his large hands that always handled him gently. Sandy always held him he was made of glass, and at first, he hated it, but it slowly grew on him. suddenly all he wanted was to be held and treated gently.

He can hear their baritone laugh in his head, it vibrates in his skull and his chest even when he's not here.

And he feels their lips against his eyelids.

That night when they shared a bed was the catalyst for him leaving. He realized how badly he wanted that companionship and knew he would never leave if he didn't go now.

He whimpers holding his side as he feels slick blood ooze between his fingers. He feels the cat bump against his side and he slits an eye open at them. They are sniffing him gently, probably can smell his blood, and are trying to figure out where he was injured.

"It's okay….I'm not a child." He reassures the cat reaching with his clean hand to scritch under their chin.

"I can handle this." He insists, probably trying to convince himself. Instead of curling in his lap like he expects the tortie ets out a loud mew and then turns and pads away. Leaving him to silk against a shipping container in his own misery and blood. He tries to not let it offend him.

Huntsman leans his head back and lets out a sigh. If he was just a little stronger he would be home by now. And if he was a lot stronger he would tell Sandy how he feels. The demon seemed to be interested, at least he was picking up signals. You don't just kiss the eyelids of someone you don't at least have some feeling for.

But at the same time doubt was seeded in his mind. What if he had imagined it all? what if that's just how Sandy was normally with everyone. Why would he waste time on someone like him when Sandy was so perfect and amazing and probably could woo anyone he wanted. He pictured someone else in Sandy's arms. A nameless demon with curvy hips and delicate horns who laughed like bells and appreciated everything Sandy did for them. He frowns something in his stomach curling like spoiled milk. It was easy to picture, too easy.

He tries to replace the nameless demon with himself. It's much harder to visualize, like looking at a watercolor painting. He didn't fit into Sandy's arms quite right and his laugh was more scratchy.

They didn't fit together. Like puzzle pieces from Two different sets, no matter how much you shoved or pushed you couldn't make them got together.

As much as he wanted to.

"Meeroww!" He opens his eyes to see the same tortie cat approaching, tail up and slightly curved. Why were they coming back? He opens his mouth to ask just that but his words are stolen by an extra presence.

Sandy.

Those sad blue eyes meet him and he can tell he's worried about the spider demon. He's wearing black sweatpants and a loose matching black shirt that just makes him unfairly handsome.

The little cat was a snitch and likely went to fetch him.

Wordlessly he clicks his jaw shut, and wordlessly he's picked up by the gentle giant.

"You reopened your wounds." They scold with a huff and Huntsman shrinks under it. He's never had Sandy treat him with disappointment before and he didn't like it. He fists his hands in Sandy's shirt as he's carried back to the ship.

"I'm sorry…"

"What were you trying to do?" Sandy asked with a sigh and Huntsman grips his shirt tighter.

"Trying to get away…" he admits honestly as they cross the threshold of the ship. He apparently didn't get very far if they were already back home.

He realizes too late he called it home inside his head.

This was home now. Sandy was home.

The demon was lowering him down onto the bed now, likely to tend to his wounds. He throws his arms around Sandy's neck in a panic. They grunt under the changed grip and now Sandy is bending over awkwardly, huntsman sitting on the edge of the bed with his arms around Sandy's neck.

"I need you to let go so I can tend your wounds." He explained his hands trailing to Huntsman's hip where it burns through his clothes and skin.

"No." He huffs burying his face into Sandy's chest. He inhales his comforting scent. A scent of Jasmine, beard oil, and clean laundry. It's intoxicating, he could drown himself in this scent for weeks and it still wouldn't be enough. He pulls away just enough to look Sandy in the eye.

God, he could get lost in those eyes, like endless tunnels he would wander forever in them. He studies their face in the low light of the bedroom, Sandy has a nick over his left brow, a scar from some last battle, his beard and mustache are well kept, brushed, and trimmed to perfection. Huntsman reaches up and cups theire face before he can even think. Sandy's eyes widen under the touch and the larger of the two is now cupping the hand pressed to his face.

Sandy is strong. Stronger than most and where it counts. He's endlessly kind and attentive, he's also mischievous, he had seen that side of him in passing with his time here.

He's precious like jade and like a greedy thief Huntsman wants it

"What do I need to do to have you?" He asked huskily and Sandy pulls the hand away from his face to kiss the wrist there.

"Just ask."

Huntsman could have this. He didn't deserve it but of he asked he could have what he wanted. He licks his lips trying to get the words to come out of his mouth.

"May I kiss you?" He asked, craning his head upward. Sandy's eyes crinkle with a hidden smile and he nods.

Huntsman presses upward, their lips connecting in a short chaste kiss.

It's only for a second, Huntsman is too nervous and shy to demand anything else. But God it felt like a lifetime. In just a few short seconds it feels like a complete rebirth. His whole body reacts, shuddering like he's been shocked and some pathetic noise grows in the back of his throat.

When he pulls away instead of that being the end, a hand curls around the back of his neck and tilts his head upward. He is putty in Sandy's grip and goes easily letting out another pathetic whimper. The second kiss is more.

More everything! More passion, more tender, more Sandy. He grips the front of Sandy's shirt tightly with his claws as he feels the lips move against his. He feels Sandy nip and his bottom lip and he lets out a surprised noise and he can feel the demon smirking into his lips from the elicit sound.

Too soon Sandy pulls away leaving Huntsman to shake like a leaf in his absence. The thumb on his hip continues to rub back and forth and the added hand to the back of his neck makes him positively weak.

"Will you let me tend to your wounds now?" Sandy's asked and Huntsman just blinks dumbly at him. Eventually, his brain catches up and he nods.

"I'll get the medkit. Stay here." He instructs, laying Huntsman down slowly.

Maybe it's the blood loss talking, but Sandy looks angelic above him. Ge's tempted to try and pull them down into another kiss but honestly, he really should let the demon tend to his reopened wounds.

Kissing him breathless could wait.

#Lego monkie kid #monkie kid #Sandy #Huntsman #Silktea shipping #*SLAMS TABLE* finally they kiss #god damn idiots took forever #this is my favorite ship and I will go down with it #writting prompt #prompt ask #sumbit more yall the varrels getting low LOL #ypu can evem go off list if you want

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smallerinfinities · 4 years ago

Text

mad woman: iii (nessian)

a/n: *taps mic* does this thing still work? OH hey! hello! yes, this fic is properly old now and probably everyone thought I abandoned it but joke is on everyone including myself lmao...turns out I love these two..and after acosf well I would 10/10 die for them. so here we go! a ride to be sure! people do be getting naked!

warnings: 4.8k of smut (like woah). language. guilt.

Nesta wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing.

It had seemed like a good idea. Everyone in certain social circles knew the truth about Hewn City. Knew the dance club for the front it was for the shadowy bowels beneath. Here, she had thought yesterday morning, here she could be on even ground with him.

Him.

Cassian's hand was still in hers as she led them both down the long hallway toward room 3B. His words before hadn’t completely hidden his reactions to her clothes, her face, her body. She smiled to herself remembering the slight widening of his eyes. He probably thought he hadn’t reacted, but she knew. All men are weak. Just put on a dress and show some thigh and she knew she’d get his attention. Even if it was probably all for show. Cassian was a fine actor.

She thought back to four days ago. Or was it five, she thought. They had started to bleed together after the bender she’d gone on after wishing Cassian death on the phone with Amren.

Feyre was in her apartment for the second time in a week. An unprecedented occurrence. If the judgment in her eyes was any indication, she had come to check on things. Baby sister coming to her rescue. How rich. She stood on the carpet again, with her perfect heeled sandals and her tidy camel trench coat. Thankfully, she’d left the hat at home this time. Her arms were crossed tight against her chest as she surveyed the room.

“I see you’ve already made yourself at home again,” she observed, picking up a half-empty bottle of gin, “I’ll send Alis this afternoon.”

“I don’t want anyone else in my fucking apartment, Feyre,” Nesta cringed at the lingering slur in her voice.

“So you can drown yourself in this shit alone?” She held up an empty bottle of vodka in her other hand. “Nesta, it’s only been a few days since I was here the last time. Can you even stand right now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Nesta sneered, settling back into the couch cushions. She couldn’t, but Feyre was a bitch for even asking, so she spat back, “At least I cope with my problems legally, High Lady.” In a fantasy world, smoke would have curled from her lips when she exhaled those last words.

Feyre stilled, breathing evenly. Nesta wasn’t sure if she was containing her rage or accepting the shame she had to be feeling.

“I see you gave Amren a call.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Nesta was surprised. Amren had seemed like one of Feyre’s inner circle, no matter how much money the High Lord and Lady may have given her.

“No, I told Amren that what you did with her number was your business,” she wrung her hands. She was….nervous. How odd. Feyre Archeron was a lot of things, but nervous was rarely one of them.

“Well,” Nesta exhaled, the anger fleeting like wind taken out of her sails, “yes, I called. Everything was very cryptic until someone showed up here who was not a therapist and started taking his clothes off. Honestly, what were you thinking, Feyre?!”

“I…” she hesitated, sinking down on the other end of the couch with Nesta, bracing her elbows on her knees, “I don’t know. I was desperate. I just want you to feel something again, Nes.” She hadn’t called her that since they were children. Nesta felt a little pang in her chest. I need another drink. “I know it’s...unconventional, but it really does help. Rhys and I...well, you know there’s a lot of stress involved in our lives.”

“So you fuck it out with strangers that you pay to keep silent??” Nesta asked incredulously.

“When you put it like that it sounds a lot seedier than it actually is, but,” she huffed, swallowing back some kind of emotion, “yes. There’s a lot of….relief, if you just give into it. Amren knows what she’s doing.”

“Are you and Rhys having problems?” It was the only explanation Nesta could understand for this. I mean it was one thing to hire a hooker if you weren’t getting any, but from the forced lunches and “sister dates” that Elain made the three of them go on, Feyre had always seemed to have a very active sex life.

“Oh, God, no,” Feyre visibly relaxed, caught off guard by even the implication. That made Nesta’s stomach relax. She hadn’t even realized she cared. “Rhys and I are fine, stronger even. There is power in giving up power, especially when you grapple with it on a daily basis. But this isn’t about me or Rhys.” Feyre leaned over and reached out to take Nesta’s hands, but stopped when Nesta visibly tensed at the mere idea of contact. “I’m really not lying when I say I think a little relief would help you.”

“Why do you insist I need help?” Nesta ground out through her teeth.

Feyre sighed and stood. There was something settling over her face, deep in her eyes. Sadness. “Suit yourself, sister.” She stood and, to Nesta’s surprise, took a swig from the half-empty gin bottle she’d pushed in Nesta’s face earlier. Her face screwed up in a grimace, “Jesus, how do you drink that shit?”

“I don’t even taste it anymore.” Nesta looked off, toward the window. Toward the empty corner where the wedding dress had hung for months. She’d taken it down that night after he had left.

That bone-deep sadness returned to Feyre’s eyes, “Alis will be here this afternoon.”

She left without another word.

Nesta sighed, catching Cassian’s attention, but she said nothing. She kept a steady flow of booze in her veins after Feyre left for three more days, sometimes just laying in bed for hours while the world spun. She saw Tomas, saw Elain, but most often she saw hazel eyes and bold, dark lines inked across a broad, tanned chest. Those were the torturous hours, when the desire would rise in her, when she would feel something just like Feyre said. Even if it made her soul burn. He was haunting her. He’d left her alone, angry and wet, for what? Because she refused to accept his “help”? Wasn’t this all just fucking anyway? What difference did it make how she responded?

The frustration had overwhelmed her until she finally realized that it didn’t matter how much she drank, he wouldn’t go away. She couldn’t chase him into a whiskey-soaked oblivion like she could the memories of her fiancé and her sister. He was real. He was still breathing. He was making her life a living hell.

He was going to pay for it.

So, she’d called Amren back. Had made him meet her here of all places. Had put on a dress and a pair of heels and more makeup than she’d been planning to wear at her own wedding. A costume. A mask. If he was going to “help” her, at least it wouldn’t seem like her that he was helping. She’d fuck him out of her life on her terms. Just once wouldn’t damn her to hell, right?

Nesta had never been to Hewn City before. Clubbing had never been her style. She was more of a library, bookworm kind of girl. But now that she was here, she kind of liked the secrecy of it all, the discretion everyone had whispered about. It made her feel like a character in one of her books, a different kind of escape than booze offered, with the rouge-tinted lights and shadowy, padded hallways. She could be anyone here. She would be anyone here. Anyone but herself.

“I think this is it,” Cassian’s deep rumble sounded behind her. They stopped in front of a painted black door, the marker flickering “3B” in the light of the candle sconce behind them. Nesta fit the key into the lock and turned it.

The room was cooler than the hall, but she wasn’t sure the temperature was what made her break out in gooseflesh. There was a massive four-poster bed in the center of the room covered in black satin sheets drawn back against a deep crimson comforter. Only a handful of hanging exposed bulbs lit the space, giving the boudoir decoration some industrial finishes. It was like a scene out of some vampire film noir. The light reflecting off heavy restraint cuffs at each corner of the bed only heightened the effect. A dark armoire loomed in the corner. Nesta was sure that if she opened it, she would find any number of instruments with which to tease and taunt Cassian with. This place was a sex dungeon and she had paid to be a mistress tonight.

Cassian’s mistress.

Nesta took a deep breath and settled into this new character, some confident woman who knew exactly what she wanted and knew exactly how to take it from a willing participant. She sauntered over to the foot of the bed and leaned back against it to look at him. He was so quiet tonight, looking around the room like she had, taking it all in.

“Cat got your tongue?” Nesta proded.

“No,” he hesitated, stuffing his hands into his front pockets like an embarrassed school boy rocking forward on his toes. It only lasted for a second before he hid it behind a smirk, “no, just a little….confused?”

“About what?” She crossed her feet at the ankle and let the deep slit on her dress fall open, revealing almost every inch of her long legs. His eyes widened momentarily before he cleared his throat. Was he….nervous?

“Well, uhh,” he was stammering now, the false bravado unable to keep up with the situation unfolding in front of him, “if I’m being honest, I’m not sure what to do.”

“You mean, Cassian, self-proclaimed sex therapist, doesn’t know what to do?” The teasing in her voice blushed his cheeks pink, “well, color me surprised. I thought it would have been clear by now.”

“It’s not that it’s...you’re…” he cocked his head, “different.” His eyes followed every inch of bare skin from her painted toe to the top of the slit an inch below her hip. “Something changed.”

Why does he make this so damn difficult?

“Yes, well,” she replied, biting her bottom lip for effect, “I decided that I want you to help me.” His head straightened.

“Do you?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, emphasizing the size of his biceps. His nervous energy cooled in seconds, giving way to something else, something that had been simmering beneath the ice.

“I do,” she slipped back a little farther onto her palms, tilting her head back. She was a predator, setting a pretty, needy trap for him. If he got off on a savior complex, she’d play the part until she got what she wanted. “I just want to feel normal again.” She smiled internally as she watched her words wash over him. Watched him take a few deep breaths, watched him move for the first time since they walked in the room.

He kept his body closed, his arms a barrier between the two of them, as he stalked forward. Nesta stopped breathing, feeling his gaze shift from confusion and questions to calculated assessment. He paused in front of her and bent down, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side of her slim waist. The space between them was thinner than the air atop the mountains in Illyria.

“I think…” he looked her in the eye, no blinking, no touching, just a wisp of mint from his mouth, “that’s a load of bullshit.”

A rush of fury, so white hot it blinded her, licked down her arm. She raised her open hand and ripped it through the air.

Only to be caught in an iron grip.

“Ah, ah, dear Nesta,” his lips curled up on one side, “I like a little pain with my pleasure, but not without my consent.”

All she could do was stare him down as she huffed, imagining the breath leaving her nostrils in puffs of hot smoke. A caged dragon in pretty clothes begging to get out. But hell would freeze over before she moved first. She could feel the tension between them, feel the electricity pulsing through him where his fist gripped her wrist. Maybe it was her pheromone-laced delusion but she thought he might want this as much as she did. He wanted her challenge, her adamant wall. He wanted to break her, remake her. Little did he know that you can’t break what’s already broken.

Just a character, just a role to play...

“Oh, come on, Cassian,” she tried to free her hand but he remained hard as stone around her wrist. He hadn’t pinned her legs though. She slid one bare leg up the inside seam of his jeans. The muscles flexed and contracted underneath the well-fit fabric, higher and higher, until she reached the apex. He hissed. A feline smile spread across her face when she felt it, felt him, hard and begging for her. “I think you want this a little more than you’re willing to admit, more than you’re allowed to admit.”

His nostrils flared, barely imperceptible, but even the smallest changes in him drew her notice. Why? It was a question she didn’t want to even ask herself, but it kept coming, night and day. Why did this night feel like the edge of a dangerous cliff? Why did his agreement to come tonight feel like more than just a business arrangement? Why did the tension between them feel like her only anchor to this life? She pressed harder into him, needing to move, to get this over with, to fuck him right out of her head.

“Nesta.” His voice brought her back from those questions that haunted her like the inked lines hidden underneath his t-shirt. So close now, so close to her fingers, her mouth. She looked up at him, aware of her knee still cradled between his legs.

“Cassian.” Her voice practically sang. The song of his own personal siren.

He was so still. If he hadn’t said her name she wouldn’t have been sure he was even breathing. He placed his hand between his groin and her knee and stepped backward. His pupils were wide, endless pools, black as tar and eating at the hazel surrounding them. He was drunk on the lust, drowning in it just like she was.

“Take off that dress before I rip it off.”

A bone-deep shiver ran from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes at the command, reaching back up to settle between her thighs. She flushed from the heat of his gaze on her skin as she stood, reaching behind her neck to loose the three pearl buttons between her pride and her desire. Fuck it. The dress pooled at her feet.

The corner of her lip tugged upward when she heard his breath catch. She wasn’t wearing anything under the dress. Lingerie had felt like too much and her regular cotton cheekies would have been too conspicuous beneath her close-fitting dress, so nothing had been the only choice. The right choice if Cassian’s jeans had anything to say about it, clearly growing tighter by the second.

Nesta backed herself onto the bed again, digging in with her heels to push herself toward the headboard as gracefully as she could while burning alive. And she was burning under his gaze. Every flick of his dilated pupils, from her bare legs, to her full breasts, to her smooth stomach, to her glistening cunt, she burned. When her head thudded against the carved cherry wood headboard, his eyes finally met hers. A low growl sounded in the back of his throat.

“See something you want, Cassian?” she asked, struggling to keep her tone innocent, indifferent.

“Depends, Nes.” She ignored the heat that pooled at the nickname, especially when he said, “what are you offering?”

She bit her lip at his words. And spread her knees open for him. Now, come and take it.

He went wholly still as pink creeped into his tan cheeks. He was fucking blushing at her cunt on display for him. A filthy thought entered her head and before she could shut it down, she reached between her legs and traced a finger over her slit. The low lights flickered in the reflection off the wetness laced there before her finger disappeared….

Right between Nesta’s wine-colored lips.

His eyes tracked that finger in and out of her mouth as she sucked and swirled her tongue around it, moaning at the taste of her arousal, the eroticism of the gesture. She released her finger with a pop and smiled wickedly at him.

“Want to taste?”

Cassian moved swift as a thunderclap, as if her words were paddles jumpstarting his heart into quick, heavy beats. He pulled off his shirt. Those thick, black lines of ink that haunted her dreams were on full display, curling around his biceps and across his broad shoulders. She wanted to trace them with her tongue, taste the salt on his skin. He didn’t bother with some cliché striptease. His fingers fumbled with his belt, fumbled with the top button and zipper of those tight jeans. He tripped out of them, splaying his hands across the rumpled comforter as he kicked his pants somewhere across the room, losing his shoes and socks at some point between.

She would have smirked at the clumsiness, questioned his self-proclaimed prowess as a sex therapist, if her throat hadn’t gone completely dry at the size of him. Even through his underwear there was no mistaking it—massive, just like every inch of the rest of his body. Of course, he had a cock to match.

He grinned, following her eyes, guessing her train of thought. The bed dipped as he crawled toward her, full prince of cats on display again. A man who knew what people saw when they looked at him and enjoyed that power, that raw sexual energy dripping from his every pore. With that glint in his eye, she was happy to play along—for now.

Every thread in the expensive duvet cover beneath her set a thousand sparks rocketing across her skin. His movements were measured, purposefully kept from touching her skin. He was so close she could feel the warmth radiating off of him with every inch forward, every inch toward where she wanted him. All of him. His fingers, his mouth, his cock. Nesta started to fidget with anticipation, ready for him to spread her open and take, take, take, but she wouldn’t beg. Wouldn’t reach or claw or whimper, no matter how much she wanted to.

Feyre might be paying, but she would own him before the end. Even if she had to sacrifice her soul to do it.

When his mouth finally made contact with her skin, a whisper of a kiss along the inside of her thigh, it was a struggle not to moan. Loud. She was strung tighter than a bowstring and he knew. Her traitor body was going to beg for him with or without words, so she opened her mouth instead.

“Gonna fuck me senseless, Cassian?”

His head jerked up from between her thighs, that feline smile turning her molten. “You know, Nesta. I think I’ll shut you up instead.”

Someone as big as he was shouldn’t have been able to move that fast. Shouldn’t have been able to cover her entire body with his and claim her mouth between one second and the next. His hands curled behind her neck to pull her firmly to him and devoured her. Their tongues clashed, dancing together, as she moaned into his mouth. Whether it was surprise or pleasure or both that pulled it from her, she wasn’t sure. The mint and adrenaline still laced his tongue, this time with a natural smokiness that she hadn’t noticed before. He licked at her, sucked at her lower lip. She nipped at him, teeth as much a weapon as her words, her hands. She dragged her nails down his naked back and drew a hiss from him, maybe some blood too if the tang of iron was any indication.

It only spurred him.

“You know these lips taste better when they’re not liquor-stained,” he panted. He studied her face, she knew it must be flushed from his kiss, and slowly ground his hips into hers, with the same bruising intensity he claimed her mouth, drenching himself in her through the thin fabric of his underwear. Those really need to disappear. Her fingers continued their violent path down his back to the waistband of his boxer briefs, the only barrier left between everything she wanted. Wanted, never needed. They danced around to the front of him and sought purchase.

Another moan, loud and throaty filled the space between them.

My God.

“Off, off, off, off,” she was chanting when he finally released her mouth to move down to her neck, surely to mark her like she’d marked his back. It was going to be tit for tat with him. “OFF,” she clawed at his hips. He raised up and smirked at her.

“You just have to ask, Nes.” His lips curled to the side, “maybe say please.”

She held his gaze. Please. It was a chant in her head but she couldn’t say it. He saw it there, the challenge, the struggle, but this was a battle of wills. And Cassian was a seasoned general.

He ducked his head and nosed at her jaw, along her throat, peppering her skin with close-mouthed kisses. “Just say the word,” he ground into her again, not nearly the friction she wanted. His hands found her peaked breasts and traced her nipples, slow circles at first, then quick pinches accented by his teeth at her throat. There was no pattern, no guessing, no preparation. Every nerve ending was a live wire, screaming for his touch.

Nesta Archeron was going to die here. The flames in her belly were going to consume her and she was going to die at a high-priced sex club. And maybe she should. It might be worth it. Rhysand would never live it down. She wouldn’t sacrifice her pride for an orgasm. But, as his hips did another slow roll against hers and he scraped at her neck with his teeth, her resolve imploded.

“Please,” she croaked. She felt his smile against her skin.

“What was that?”

“Please,” she said a little louder, still barely a whisper.

“That’s awfully quiet, Nesta,” he licked at her collarbone and made her eyes roll back into her head. “Makes me think you don’t really want it.”

“Please,” she repeated, her head thrashing, “please, PLEASE.”

“Okay, okay,” he pushed up to lean back on his heels above her. “No need to shout.” The tease in his voice forced an impatient growl from her. He cocked an eyebrow as he toyed with the elastic waistband on his underwear, slowly pulling it down below the defined V set low on his abdomen, revealing inch after inch of smooth, tanned skin, until finally they were gone and there was nothing left between them but sexual tension and a promise of release.

Her eyes raked down his muscled body, unable to keep her hand from reaching to touch the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, reaching lower. His fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“Uh, uh, princess,” her cheeks flamed as he lifted her hand to his lips and left a tender kiss on her palm, “it’s my turn.”

She blinked and his mouth was on her. His hair, tufted at the back of his head, bobbed between her legs as he lapped up the wetness that had been pooling since they started their games tonight. Since he first leaned against her door frame, if she was being honest with herself. His lips wrapped around her clit and when he moaned around her, she saw stars. Her toes curled. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair. Her knees bent to capture his head forever between her thighs but he caught them before she could crush him with the force of her pleasure.

It might have been hours, days. He held her spread open and licked and suckled and fucked her entrance with his tongue. Careful, slow strokes to stoke the fire ripping through her veins but not enough to send her to her peak. Her thighs began shaking; her fingers knotted into his hair and held his mouth against her. His name was a holy chant in this unholy place.

“Cassian,” she sobbed as a tear rolled down her temple and into her sweat-soaked hair.

He groaned and release ripped through her. Waves of pleasure locked her body in a silent scream, her head tilted back and her mouth wide open. He kept stroking her through it, his tongue undulating against her clit over and over as her body jerked involuntarily once, twice before relaxing completely, melting into a warm, soft puddle of flesh.

There were no words. No thoughts. Nothing inside her head except for the truth of it. No one has ever made her feel like that, forced that kind of pleasure from her. Her harsh breaths were the only sound in the room as Cassian traced patterns on her inner thigh. She blinked furiously, clearing her eyes of any emotions that might betray her. Looking down, she caught his eye and his answering smile made her forget her own name.

He was looking up at her, his cheeks pink from the heat and pressure between her thighs. His hair was a fucked out mess. He looked...content. As if her orgasm was all he wanted, like he could do it again and again and not care if she ever touched his cock even though she’d never wanted anything more in her life.

But...what if he doesn't want that?

She tensed suddenly. He was an escort after all. This wasn’t his choice. What if all of this is just an act? She knew she shouldn’t care. She was a paying customer and shouldn’t care what he wanted. What his desires were. She should just take her pleasure, satiate her own desire, and leave. That had been the plan when she came here. Hell, she had just been acting when this all started.

Until he gave her the best orgasm of her entire fucking life. Until he called her on her bullshit, got naked, and got on his knees for her. Until he made her gasp his name and fucking cry for the privilege.

This was wrong. She shouldn’t—couldn’t—

I don’t deserve this.

Her breath caught in her throat. I need to get out of here.

She sat up so quickly her head spun. Her fingers caught on the restraints attached to the headboard and she recoiled. What am I doing? Why did I think this was a good idea? Cassian jerked up from between her legs at the motion, the perfect window for her to rip her legs from his vicinity and swing them to the floor.

“Nesta, what’s wrong?”

She heard him, confused, still panting, but she couldn’t find the words to answer him. The panic was bitter, the taste in stark relief to Cassian’s tongue. Stop! Where is my fucking dress? Her head swiveled frantically. A slip of navy stuck out from under the armoire in the corner. She lurched forward, grabbing and pulling on the dress that barely covered her ass, left nothing to the imagination. What have I done?

“Nesta, what is happening?” Cassian was louder this time. Loud enough to draw her eyes. He was leaning on one elbow, wide-eyed and still painfully hard. At this angle, she could see the angry red marks across his shoulder, darkening with dried blood in some places. A damning souvenir for what she had done. A claiming.

She couldn’t ignore the voice in her head. A betrayal.

“Was—” he sat up and leaned on his knees, “was it not good?” Some unfamiliar emotion danced across his eyes as he waited. She stared and stared and stared. “Did I—“ he kept hesitating, “did I not make you feel good?”

It was the doubt, thick and traitorous, in his voice that made her silently turn around and walk out the door.

------ *runs away*

tags: @sleeping-and-books @greerlunna @sjmships @cupcakey00 @queenestarcheron @awesomelena555 @mysticalunicole @lordof-bloodshed @courtofjurdan

#acotar #acosf #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #sjm #sarah j maas #nessian #nessian fic #nessian au #acotar au #acotar smut #my writing

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captainchocolatesstuff · 4 years ago

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I'm sorry, but i really love your writing, and i was wondering if i could maybe request Kirishima, Eraserhead, Present Mic, Shigaraki and Hawks with a reader / so who is grieving because their pet died? Pretty personal i guess, it's fine if you don't want to. Just wanted to ask.

I honestly felt this personally, I lost my pittie recently and it was one of the reasons why i didn't update for a while, i hope this brings you comfort as it did me. I got rather teary eyed while writing this too but it helped.

Loss of a Pet/Companion

I wanna bet that you introduced your pet sometime around entering a relationship with Eijiro, he got to know the little fella and probably even got the “approval” of your companion

As much as we love our dear fourleged (or otherwise) friends, it’s unfortunate that they can’t stay with us forever, so when Eijiro finds you sad because of the loss of your friend he will be there for you if you want him there

He’s willing to give you the space you need if you need it, but if he knows you really need him he will be there to hold you and lend his shoulder for you to cry on, he is hurt too because he knows he’ll miss them, but not as hurt as you because you knew them longer than he did, still the lingering pain can sting

As much as he would like to get you a new companion he wants to be sure that you are in the right headspace, he’ll talk about it with you too, if you are ready to have another companion he will be with you every step of the way and will reassure you that you are NOT replacing your friend with another, you are in the process of healing and that is fine, he wants you to take your time he won’t rush you or talk about getting a pet anytime soon when you are hurting

As i said, he is there for you every step of the way, he’ll comfort you and be there for you in your time of need but he’ll respect any boundaries you have when it comes down to it, he knows that this kind of pain will stick with you for a while, you’ll go down memory lane as wave of emotions come and go, and you’ll have lingering phantom occurrences of your long gone friend but he’ll let you know that you don’t have to go through this alone

Shouta can understand, he has pet of his own and as much as he loves them he knows there will be a time when they eventually leave him behind, he doesn’t like to think about it too often but will be reminded of these thoughts, especially when it was you who relieved to him as to why you were in the state that he found you in

He stayed with you for as long as you needed him, as stoic as he can look it doesn’t mean that he’s emotionally unavailable, he is there for you and he is gentle when handling you whether he is using words or tenderly holding you as you cry on him

He is willing to take you out on a night stroll and miss a day at work if it means that your headspace will be stable, he understands the pain of loss especially if you lost someone special to you, your companion is someone who is special to you just as his are to him, he knows that the pain is lasting and will leave lingering aches once it all passes eventually but even then he’ll stay for as long as he can

He doesn’t see the point in bringing up the subject of getting a new pet, to him you’ll eventually come across that road once everything is cleared up and it will ultimately be your decision and on your terms, he can make those decisions for you but he will be there to support you and give you brief suggestions if you are still thinking about it

If you happen to come across his cat he wouldn’t mind them being around you if they are bringing you a sense of comfort, he doesn’t try hiding them either and is likely to only invite you to his home if he senses you need at least a little more comfort than what he can provide, he knows animals can be therapeutic on several occasions, but for the most part he wants you to be okay with it

Like Eijiro, I get the feeling that you’d likely introduce your friend to your rather loud boyfriend, but to take things a little further I want to say that he is right there with you the whole time when the news hit that your companion passed away, he knows this is likely to affect you more than him but still be can’t help but share that pain with you

I wanna say that he spend just as much time with your pet whenever he went to see you at your home, that was how he was able to get so attached your companion, he does his best to comfort you while you’re at your most vulnerable he sympathizes with you on this because while he doesn’t think about it too often he does know the following pain that comes along with loving something, someone, too much

On his radio show, he will put on a playlist dedicated to your companion ones that you listened to when they were still around, honestly this would be the most bittersweet thing he’s done for anyone, and if you listen o is radio I imagine that it will take you down memory lane, there is a lingering hurt but an eventual healing

Hizashi, similarly to Shouta, wouldn’t bring up the topic of getting another pet, at least for a while until he sees that you are back on your feet and that you had completely healed from losing your dear pet, he’s slow to bring the discussion into a conversation and when he gets the green light he’ll go out to find your new friend that you both will live on with

I see him as the type to spoil his pets and lovers, always giving unconditional love and smoothing you and your pets with hugs and kisses, he’s a good man that will stand with you through thick and thin when it comes to the hardships of losing your pet/companion, and I don’t think he’ll be leaving anytime soon

I want to think that Keigo eventually warmed up to your pet, since he wasn’t used to having animals around (due to his upbringing), and he found them really endearing as he got to know them through you, so when news gets to him about your pet passing away he is quick to go to your first

He does his best to comfort you, weather it’s staying by your side for hours or just laying on the bed doing nothing but talk he is attentive when it comes down to what you need in that moment, he knows your hurting and he is trying to put himself in your shoes, he knows that they were dear to you and that your hurting from the loss and once he understands he can see why you loved your pet so dearly when he reflects his time with them

He won’t make lightheaded comments, but he will listen to all the stories you have as you go down memory lane, he’ll add in his own stories once he feels that you are okay and comfortable talking about your pet

Keigo doesn’t see the need to bring up the topic of getting another pet, when you are ready you are ready, but a hidden part of him wants to surprise you with something he knows you’ll love and treasure, if he sees that you improved and moved on with a healthy and balanced mindset he will gift you a new friend that probably grew on him at some point during their adoption

While Keigo was uneasy in the beginning of getting along with your dear companion he does grow to appreciate the four-legged/winged/scaly/wet friend and grows an understanding of what it is like to have one so loved and cherished that when they leave they leave a lasting impact, and he learns it all through you and your dearest friend, it’s a lesson he learns to appreciate

He understands, he knows what it is like to lose a companion you could consider family (he just had the unfortunate time to develop his quirk), he also understands the pain behind that but he won’t go about comforting you so openly, at least not when the others are around

If he senses that you are in a stable headspace, he’ll bring you video games or place you on his lap if you just feel like watching, he’s more prone to showing comfort through action rather than words, though he will speak when it it most needed of him to do so, and if you don’t feel like speaking at all he won’t mind holding you close as you watch him play, an in a way it is it’s own form of comfort

He will listen to whatever story you have about your dear little friend, and he likely meet them several times to grow a reluctant affection for them, but he wouldn’t be as affected as you are since you had them for a longer time than he knew them, he’ll listen to all the memories you have of your pet and maybe ask a few questions here and there, he doesn’t mind listening to what stories and tales you have about them, from their funny little habits that made them unique from their species to how goofy they were when you were around

Honestly he just happens to bring in a stray or injured animal by the time you’ve healed and moved on, something in the back of his mind pestered him to not leave the animal behind so he just scooped them up and took them along, though he is rather quick to remember that you might not want an animal around for a while and openly tells you that he doesn’t mind putting them in an adoption center if you’re not open to taing in an animal, thankfully you are and he might of released a breath he didn’t know he was holding in (the man likely got a bit attached to the little thing, not that he’ll admit to that)

He understands the love and pain that comes with raising and caring for animals, he had unfortunate circumstances that lead to him becoming the man he is now, so while he would be rather reluctant to have another one around he can understand the tranquility that can come with it and he knows that it is the same for you, it can bring you a sense of peace and healing, he doesn’t show it often but he is rather content with raising an animal alongside you that both of you can love and care for

#bnha #bnha x reader #boku no hero headcanons #bnha headcanons #my hero acadamy #mha x reader #mha #eijiro kirishima #shouta aizawa #hizashi yamada #shigaraki tomura

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hermannsthumb · 4 years ago

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I know you don't usually write PRU stuff, but if you ever feel inclined, here's a ficlet idea! so: Newt is trying to fight off the Precursors by constantly reminding himself that He Is Human. but whenever newt thinks about what makes him Feel Human, the answer is always hermann. so newt starts conjuring up vivid mental images of hermann (doing mundane, hermann-y things) to ward off the Precursors. bonus point if, like, newt fondly remembering smth innocuous (like the scent of Hermann's chalk dust?) is enough to actually sever the alien mind control.

Anonymous asked: Maria!!! Would you ever write an angsty post uprising prompt? Or even a pre uprising? Anything with Newt fucking around with Kaiju and being sad i am HERE FOR 👏

in honor of the sequel’s 3 year anniversary, let’s try something a little different 👀 THIS ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME RE: LENGTH....I'll leave it up to interpretation whether or not the bonus is wholly fulfilled.... also on proofing this I realized it might need content warnings? so vague refs to disordered eating and alcohol drinking (ie, newt’s body is inhabited by aliens who forget how human stuff works)

-----------

Honestly, Newt’s life has been kind of a shitshow lately. He’s too, like, high strung. Too many responsibilities. Not enough hours in the day to get that shit done. He’s even higher strung than he was during the war, which is nuts, because certain doom was lurking around every corner. Maybe that’s why it’s not that nuts, though. The war was chaotic—and Newt’s fueled (or, used to be fueled?) by chaos. The kaiju were unpredictable. The kaiju didn’t run on a 9-5 schedule. The kaiju didn’t expect Newt to have three new jaeger prototypes on their desk by noon on a fucking Saturday, which is usually the day Newt spends two hours in his expensive bath tub and drinks a nice bottle of wine, and definitely not a day he wants to spend giving himself a stress migraine and shouting at underlings to make themselves useful. On top of that, his usual cafe got his coffee order wrong—when Newt had to run in to get it, himself, on a Saturday morning—and it only had half the espresso shots he really needs for the day. No wonder he’s going grey at forty. Fucking nightmare. Stable employment is exactly the kind of chaos that’s bad for Newt—give him the kaiju any day, thanks.

“Dr. Geiszler?”

Newt pushes his sunglasses up, and scowls at whichever one of his employees has dared to interrupt his catnap. The fluorescent overheads are brutal on his poor eyes right now. The lab needs more natural lighting. Maybe if he complains, they’ll knock out some walls in put in a few more windows. “Did you find any Aspirin?” he says.

Wordlessly, Newt’s assistant passes him a bottle. Newt pops the cap off and takes at least four. The coffee he washes it down with is cold. “How are the last simulations coming along?” he says, flicking his sunglasses back down. He seems to have so many migraines these days. It’s the contact lenses, he thinks—making the switch over from frames so late in the game. Screwing with his perceptions. Newt went thirty years with frames, after all. “We only have two hours before—”

“We’re almost done,” his assistant cuts in. “We’re working as fast as we can, Dr. Geiszler.”

“But are we gonna make the deadline?” Newt says.

She fidgets, and moves her clipboard to her other arm. “Well—we’ve had some—issues.”

Newt stands up with a long sigh. Double overtime, probably. Sunday lost to this shit too. That new bottle of wine waiting for him on his kitchen counter bought for nothing. “Gotta do everything myself, huh? Unbelievable.”

He follows his assistant over to the main lab down the hall, where his team of j-techs are hurrying around. Hardly anyone in proper lab attire—no labcoats—someone in sweatpants—Newt wasn’t the only one who had his Saturday ruined, probably. No one else is going grey, though. “What’s this shit?” he says, stopping in his tracks with one foot through the doorway. The high-tech holo-smartboards have been pushed aside, and instead, someone’s wheeled in a huge…chalkboard.

“Technical issues,” his assistant says. “The other floors are having the same problem—something in the new interface update that downloaded last night, we think. They’re all out of commission. Technology is working on it, but for now, we had to pull that out of deep storage.”

Two of his scientists are scrawling across the board quickly—one with white chalk, the other with pink. They’re debating something in hushed tones. Newt hasn’t seen a chalkboard in years. It doesn’t fit with Shao Industry’s whole chic, sleek, futuristic aesthetic. So—bulky. And messy. “Of course it would happen today of all days,” Newt sighs. The sight of it makes him feel odd, and he can’t seem to drag himself any further into the lab and any closer towards it.

His assistant says something. Newt doesn’t hear—he’s listening, instead, to the squeaking of chalk across the blackboard. So noisy and obnoxious. It reminds him of years and years ago, of working in a grimy little basement, of…

“—look it over. Dr. Geiszler?”

“Hm?” Newt says. It was like a layer of fog had begun to lift from his thoughts, but the interruption sends it rolling right back in.

“I said we’re ready for you to look it over. Only if you want too, of course,” she adds, nervously.

“Uh-huh,” Newt says.

Newt’s never had anyone fear him before, not like his employees seem to fear him—he’s not sure he likes it. His scientists shut up the second he looms over (well—under, Newt’s never loomed over anyone in his life) their shoulders to inspect their work so far. The squeaking stops. One of them lowers their piece of chalk. “Wait,” Newt says, too-loudly, surprising them and himself. They both look at him with the same nervousness as his assistant, like he’s about to start shouting or something. “Keep doing that.”

“Keep…?”

“Writing,” Newt says. “On the chalkboard.”

The scientist frowns at him. “Um, okay,” she says. “What am I supposed to write?”

“Anything,” Newt says. “Seriously. Anything.”

She hesitates.

“Anything,” Newt repeats.

She picks up the white chalk, and writes out her name, then doodles a few random pictures—a DNA helix, a flower, a cat face, a star. Newt shuts his eyes, and breathes in deeply. That smell. He snags the forgotten piece of pink chalk from the ledge. “Can I have this?” he says. He doesn’t wait for them to respond—though they both nod yes frantically, and bewilderedly—before writing out his own name on the board. Dr. Geiszler. It looks wrong, so he writes Newt beneath it. He shuts his eyes, and writes Newt again. Why does he feel like he’s done this sort of thing before? This thing is ancient—before his time at Shao—he wouldn’t have used it before they carted off to the basement. Newt, Newt, Newt Was Here,he writes, Newt +, and then he stops.

He opens his eyes. “Who’s Hermann?” his assistant says.

Newt + Hermann. Newt didn’t realize he wrote it. “Someone I knew,” he says, faintly. “Years ago. He was my—” He swallows. He feels strange. “My colleague?”

Strange. Dizzy. The Aspirin isn’t working. Definitely the contact lenses. He could afford laser eye surgery now, if he wanted, maybe he should look into it. He grips the ledge of the chalkboard, swaying, and grits his teeth; his two scientists back away from him slowly, no doubt worried he’s about to hurl all over their shoes. He might, to be honest. Newt + Hermann. Hermann was his colleague. Hermann was his— “Are you feeling okay, Dr. Geiszler?” his assistant asks. “You look…”

“Tell Shao I’m taking the rest of the day off,” Newt says.

“What?”

“You guys got this shit handled without me,” Newt says. He pockets the chalk. “I’m not—I’m not feeling myself. I think I need to go home and lie down. Seriously, you’ve got it under control—all these numbers look, uh, good, I trust you. If you guys don’t get it finished you can just tell Shao it’s my fault, okay?”

She gapes at him. “Uh,” she says. “Okay?”

Newt doesn’t go home. He goes to the nearest shop he can find instead, and makes a beeline for the art supplies aisle. Only a few boxes of chalk in stock. Four multicolored, two all-white, one yellow. He drops them all into his basket but the yellow, which he rips opens and immediately smells. Newt + Hermann. Hermann always smelled like chalk dust—he always had a fine layer of it on his clothing, patches of it on his blazer, his sweatervest, even on his undershirt. Newt used to tease him for that. He closes his eyes, and breathes in again. Funny—all those baths, all those bottles of wine, and this stupid little box of chalk is what’s finally making him feel calm for once. Quieting down his brain. He didn’t realize how loud it’d gotten in there. When Hermann would kiss Newt, he would sometimes stain Newt’s clothing with chalk, too, and Newt would pretend to be annoyed, but he never really was.

Someone is speaking to him. An employee. They’re staring at him, a cautious distance away, and Newt’s not sure what they’re saying.

His vision’s gone blurry—he didn’t realize he’d started crying, either. He wipes his eyes on the cuff of his blazer and sniffles. “Sorry,” he says. The box of yellow chalk is wet. “Um. Do you have any more of these in the back?”

He takes the bus home for the first time in years, one hand stuffed in his little brown shopping bag the whole time, wrapped around a box of chalk. When he gets back to his apartment (his big, lonely, apartment), he pulls out the only food in his fridge—some leftovers from a Shao Industries event three nights ago—and settles down on his big, lonely couch. He can’t stop thinking about Hermann. Five or so years, maybe more, not thinking about Hermann, and now suddenly—it’s like the floodgates have opened. He thinks about Hermann’s haircut. (Bad.) He thinks about Hermann’s smile. (Silly, and sweet.) He thinks about Hermann’s dumb accent, and the clack of Hermann’s cane on the floor, and Hermann’s chalk squeaking over his chalkboard, and how it felt when Hermann would wrap him in his arms and kiss him and whisper things to him. Hermann’s sweaters always smelled like mothballs and stale cigarette smoke. Terrible combination.

Newt’s stomach growls. He’s finished the small bit of leftovers without realizing, and is apparently still hungry. He would kill for some sushi takeout right now. Or pizza, God. Yeah, it’d be screwing with his new diet and fitness plan—he casts a guilty glance over at his brand new exercise bike, which is gathering dust in the corner by his TV—but he’s tired of doing stupid kale and juice cleanses or whatever, just to please—well. He’s only human.

He is?

He walks up the stairs to his bathroom, and stares at himself in the mirror. Stupid vest. Stupid tie. Neat hair, clean-shaven cheeks, contact lenses. Newt’s only human. “I’m human,” he tells his reflection. Is he human? He felt human standing by that old chalkboard back in the lab, and holding that box of yellow chalk in the aisle of that little shop. He felt human when he was remembering things. Because of—Newt blinks at himself. Because of whom?

“Hermann,” he says, and smiles at the way the name makes him feel. He should text him, maybe.

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

“I must say,” Hermann says, “I was quite surprised when I received your dinner invitation. You’ve done a rather fine job of ignoring my calls as of late. I’d thought— Ah, thank you,” he adds, as Newt holds the door open for him. He steps into Newt’s apartment and cranes his neck around, squinting curiously, and then shoves a bottle of red wine at Newt’s chest. Hermann is much more personable than Newt remembers—what little Newt remembers—and he wonders if it’s age or something else. “I’ve been holding onto this one for a while. It’s the one you gave me as a part of a gift for my thirty-seventh birthday—you remember? Oh, but isn’t it so terrifically, er, modern in here.”

“Is it?” Newt says. He’s never given much thought to his apartment before, but he stares around at it now in mild interest. It is very chic, isn’t it? Monochrome. Impersonal. Not something Newt would’ve picked for himself. “Yeah, I had some interior decorators come in and do it for me.”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “How…”

“Modern,” Newt offers. He puts the bottle of wine on his marble kitchen island. “Thanks for this, by the way, but I’ve actually been trying to cut back on the—” He bites back drinking. No need to alarm Hermann. “—Calories, so if it’s cool with you I’d rather not open it. I’m doing a, um, a new fitness program.”

“Ah,” Hermann says. “I suppose that explains that, then, doesn’t it?” He points at the dusty exercise bike. Newt watches his gaze move from that, to the barren leather couch, to the short staircase which leads to Newt’s shut bedroom door. Newt can practically see the gears working in his head. “Will—ah, what was their name, that little flight of fancy of yours—a dalliance, one might say—will they be, ah, joining the two of us?” He looks at Newt out of the corner of his eye. “Alice, was it?”

“Who?” Newt says, blankly.

Hermann breaks out in a broad grin, which he quickly tries, very badly, to turn into a sympathetic frown. He pats Newt’s arm. “There’s the spirit, then, Newton! All in the past, I presume? Hardly any use in dwelling on a broken heart. Then again—it’s not as if you were together long enough to warrant those sorts of dramatics, were you?” he says, cheerily. “What I mean is—certainly it wasn’t as if you had any sort of deep or emotional connection with—?—oh, I’ve forgotten the name again.”

“Uh,” Newt says. He’s not really sure who Hermann’s talking about, but just based on that fact alone, he would assume Hermann is right. “I guess not?”

“Precisely as I expected,” Hermann says, with a satisfied nod. “Rotten grounds for a relati—for a fling. You deserve far better, Newton.” Hermann touches Newt’s arm again, and this time, he doesn’t move his hand. It makes Newt’s skin prickle pleasantly. “You look well these days, though I admit it’s a bit of a shock to see you without your glasses,” Hermann continues, flicking his eyes up and down Newt twice. He lingers on Newt’s left hand, over the bare spot where—until this morning, when he suddenly realized how stupid it looked and yanked it off—he was wearing that Elvis ring. “Ending things must be treating you kindly. I don’t suppose I could dash to your loo?”

“Loo?” Newt says. “Oh, right. Yeah, it’s that door there, right off the living room.” He drops down onto the leather couch. “Knock yourself out. I’ll be right here.”

Hermann disappears into Newt’s bathroom, and comes back out three minutes later with combed hair, a straightened collar, and the vague smell of cologne. He’s tucking a small bottle into his top pocket. “I found a box of hair dye in your medicine cabinet,” he declares, smugly. “I knew there was no bloody way that was natural. Though I’m not surprised it fooled Alice.” He rests his cane against the glass coffee table and sits down next to Newt. Right next to Newt. The whole sofa to pick from, and he’d rather their thighs touch. Newt doesn’t mind—actually, the contact is strangely grounding, like Hermann’s hand on his arm had been earlier. He’s here, in his living room, with Hermann, his friend Hermann, his colleague Hermann, his—well, question mark—Hermann.

“Hermann, can I ask you something?” he says. “Something important?”

“By all means,” Hermann says, leaning in and fluttering his eyelashes. Even over the cologne, Newt can still make out that mothball-chalk-smoke smell.

“Do you take your coffee with sugar?” he says.

Hermann laughs. “Do I—what?”

Newt repeats the question. The smile slips off Hermann’s face, and he draws away, furrowing his eyebrows. “Well,” he says, “yes, usually, only I’m not sure what—”

“Sugar, and some milk,” Newt says. “It was the same with your tea. And you had a mug that you would use—you wouldn’t use any other. It was blue, and it said—” He exhales through his nose. “It said TU Berlin. That’s where you got your PhD.”

After Newt sent Hermann a text about dinner last night, he sat down with a pen and pad of paper and made a list of everything he could remember about Hermann. He started with what Hermann looks like, and who Hermann is, and then moved into the harder stuff like what Hermann likes and the sort of things Hermann used to do. He stayed up all night doing it, until his hand cramped and his head hurt even more than it had that morning, and then recited it over and over to himself in a whisper as he fell asleep. Hermann has brown eyes. Hermann likes blackberry jam on his toast. Hermann wears little glasses on a chain. Hermann uses a cane with a tiny little nick in the brass of the handle. The list is in his pocket now; it makes Newt feel calm, and even calmer when he reaches into his pocket and touches it. He exhales again, hard, and then inhales. “We were together,” he says. “When we closed the Breach, you told me you loved me.”

“I did,” Hermann says, quietly.

“I said it back,” Newt says.

Hermann nods.

Slowly, Newt reaches out and puts his hand over Hermann’s. Hermann makes a strange noise in the back of his throat—like a sigh, or maybe a groan. His pulse twitches erratically under Newt’s fingertips. “I bought chalk,” Newt says.

“You—” Hermann echoes, his voice choked. “You bought chalk?”

“It reminded me of you,” Newt says.

He’s not surprised when Hermann kisses him, but he is surprised at his knee-jerk reaction: to pull away, or push Hermann away, and to order him to get out of his apartment. He’s surprised, because those aren’t his thoughts. He doesn’t want Hermann to leave—he wants Hermann to stay longer, and kiss him more, and help him remember more. “Oh, Newton,” Hermann says. “Newton, Newton—” He moves his mouth to Newt’s neck, kissing, breathing, and whispering his name, and Newt shuts his eyes and forces himself to remember his list.

“Tell me things about you,” Newt begs. “I want to remember you.”

Hermann’s laughter, hesitant and confused, comes out in a puff of hot air against his skin. “Remember me?” he says. “I’m not sure— Are we not a bit—?”

“Hermann,” Newt says.

He grips the back of Hermann’s sweater, digging his nails in Hermann’s skin through the layers of fabric. Hermann must hear the urgency in his voice, because he shakes his head with another laugh, kisses Newt’s jaw, and says, “Well, alright. What am I even meant to tell you?”

“Your favorite color,” Newt says. Hermann kisses his chin. “Your favorite song. No, wait—” He nudges Hermann away from him, just enough so that Hermann can see him smile. “Tell me what you like about me.”

“Feeling rather egotistical tonight, aren’t we?” Hermann teases. He reaches out and brushes his fingers through the side of Newt’s hair. One of the spots Newt dyed—it was too grey. He catches Hermann’s hand by the wrist and pulls it away gently, but only to press himself up against Hermann’s chest instead. He can feel Hermann’s heartbeat. “I like—hm,” Hermann says. “I like your stubbornness. I like your passion. I like…”

His voice vibrates in his throat—Newt can feel that, too. He listens.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #if Alice was a real person her picture would be on Hermann's dartboard #it probably is anyway #Anonymous

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stilloutofmyvulcanmind · 4 years ago

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Fluff Alphabet - Harry Wells

Pairing: Harry Wells x Gender Neutral!Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: None

Summary: A fluffy A-Z with Harry Wells!

A/N: These are really fun to do, so if you’d like to see more, let me know! (Also, if you would want others, let me know who you’d like to see)

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Harry loves your smile and the way your face lights up around him. Knowing you’re so happy because of him makes him feel special.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

Harry already has Jesse, and since he’s on the older side now, he’s not particularly looking to have another baby. That being said, if you really want a child, he could be talked into it, and when you get the news you’re pregnant or have been approved for adoption he’s overjoyed.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Harry never admits in public that he likes to cuddle, but when you start dating, you quickly find out he does. He’s a big fan of spooning, the protective beast inside him soothed by having an arm wrapped securely around your waist.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Dates tend to be lowkey with Harry. He’s pretty private on both Earth-1 and 2, so usually it’s either dinner out at a quiet restaurant, or a shared meal at home the two of you cooked together.

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

“You are my heart.”

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

One night while you were visiting Earth-2, Harry came home late to find you asleep on the sofa. You had a blanket draped over your lap, and an open book barely clutched in your hands. He realized you’d tried to stay up for him, and that was when he knew. The love he hadn’t felt in years was back, and it left him a little breathless, and if he was to be honest, a little scared. Which is why he sat on his feelings for a while before saying anything.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Harry doesn’t tend to be that gentle. He’s not just rough around the edges. But sometimes he is. If you’re upset, or even worse, hurt, his hands will be gentle on you, careful not to inflict further pain, searching for ways to make it better. And, in the late hours of the night, or the early hours of the morning, when you’re laying in bed together, he’ll gently trace as much of you as he can, committing every inch to memory.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Harry isn’t really one to hold hands. PDA isn’t his thing, and he’d rather keep affection in private. But sometimes, when you’re on the sofa watching something together, he likes it when you slip a hand into his and snuggle a little closer. One time, during a Team movie night, he slid his hand over yours instead. You didn’t say anything, but the two of you shared a private smile, and no words were needed.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what to make of you at first. He met you along with the rest of the Team, and at the time his only thoughts were how could you help him save Jesse? As for you, you were with the rest of the Team and thought he was a sexy dick.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Not always, but sometimes. He knows you’d never cheat or do anything to hurt him, but occasionally he’ll see you with someone else, laughing, happy and at ease, he’ll feel the jealousy start to creep in. He tries to not let on though, since he knows the only reason he’s jealous is because a part of him still believes you deserve someone better than him.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

The first kiss was pretty much mutual. It was late, and after a long day, you stayed behind at the Labs to join Harry for a drink and unwind. A couple of drinks in, you were both pleasantly tipsy, and Harry was more relaxed than normal. One thing led to another then you were both leaning in to kiss. Neither of you could have imagined it being better. Harry’s kisses tend to be intense. He pours all the emotions he doesn’t know how to say into them. Sometimes, they’re more passionate, rougher, because his mind is swirling and he’s desperate for you. Other times, they’re slower, deeper, his hands on your face, keeping you close. Either way, they’re always intense.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

You say ‘I love you’ first, and when you do, you have to be prepared for him not to say it back immediately. Harry had never imagined finding love again, and he isn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, so it would take him some time to gather the courage to say it in return. When he does say it, it won’t be when you expect it. It’ll be during some quiet domestic moment when he sees you doing your thing, and gets hit with the realisation that he can’t keep his feelings hidden any longer.

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

One day you and Harry had volunteered to go out and get Big Belly Burger for the Team, but on the way back a sudden downpour caught you by surprise and forced you both to take shelter under a shop doorway. Both soaked already anyway, you had started laughing when he grumbled and pushed wet hair out of his face. Harry was taken aback by how beautiful you looked, and it was the first time he realized that he cared for you.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

It depends on whose Earth you’re on. Harry doesn’t have much on Earth-1 so he can’t spoil you, but he likes to make up for it when you visit Earth-2. He doesn’t go overboard, but if you spot something you like while out sight-seeing, he’ll get it for you.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Black. The association has likely less to do with you, and more to do with the few occasions he let you drape his black coat or jacket over your shoulders. Now whenever he looks at them, he’s reminded of you.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Harry keeps it simple. ‘Sweetheart’ or ‘Honey’ are usually his main goto’s, but when you’re alone he also calls you ‘atom’ because you make up his world. Just don’t tell anyone that.

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

Harry’s no musical savant, but he does love vinyl still. Collecting them is a guilty pleasure of his. Watching you dance to them is also a pleasure. Just less guilty.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Harry spends most of his days rainy or not in his lab anyway, so it doesn’t make much difference to him. However, he does secretly like it when you drag him out and make him cuddle with you on the sofa while you binge watch something.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Since Harry is Mr. Broody, he doesn’t do a thing to cheer himself up. He just lets it sit and dwells without telling anyone anything. You learn the signs though, and when you know he’s down, go to cuddle him, because that’s the one thing you know will cheer him up. As for you, he’s not very good at knowing how to cheer you up either. He wants to, he hates seeing you upset, but if it’s not a problem he can physically fix, he ends up being at a loss. Tell him what he can do though, and he’ll do it without question.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Science, obviously. He’ll readily go on about whatever he’s working on at length. When you’re comfortable together, he likes to talk about Jesse as a child too, and his life prior to the Particle Accelerator.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Honestly, not much. Harry’s pretty much always tightly wound, but you’ve found that a back massage or even just hugging him from behind, helps him to unwind.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

His intelligence is the main one. Jesse is the other.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

Harry did put a lot of thought into the proposal, and even consulted Iris, Caitlin and Jesse on it. Grand displays aren’t his thing, but if it’s your first time getting married, he wants to make it special. He ends up taking you to Earth-2’s Atlantis for a mini break and pulls out all the stops. You get the best hotel with the best view, and Harry makes sure you have the best time. In the night, you order room service, and sit out on a balcony, to watch the city from up high. It’s a beautiful sight, and as time goes on Harry starts to confess how much he loves you. It’s clear to see that he struggles to find the right words to articulate his feelings, but he does, and, when he’s done, gets down on one knee and pulls out a ring box.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Harry wouldn’t say he has a song in particular. But, on the first morning he stayed at your place, he caught you dancing to the radio in the kitchen, and now the song that was playing can often be heard in his lab too.

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Harry had no plans of ever getting remarried, but after being with you for some time, he realised he wanted to. He knows it’s an antiquated thought, but he wants to see a ring on your finger so everyone knows you’re his, and he’s yours.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Harry would want something low maintenance. A large aquarium would be nice. You could also talk him into getting a cat if you really wanted one, and if he took a liking to have said cat sleep on his lap while he worked, he’d never admit it.

#harry wells x reader #harry wells #harrison wells x reader #harrison wells #earth 2 harrison wells x reader

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code-otome-game · 3 years ago

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Completed otome games, my thoughts, along with my fav characters (last updated: August 22nd 2021)

1. Code Realize - August 2021

Saint-Germain instantly caught my eye, along with Lupin ofc. I was curious about Impey but my friend who lent me her collection of otome games said he was shit. Code Realize was my reintroduction to otome games, and plummeted me into otome hell once more. As soon as I saw Herlock Sholmes, I wanted him as a route, and loved his Future Blessings route.

Saint Germain was my absolute favourite, and his route hurt me in all the right ways. His VA was amazing at conveying the emotion behind certain scenes.

2. Café Enchanté - August 2021

After completing Code Realize, I felt a little lost and didn't know what game to play next. I figured after the pain of some of the stuff in Code Realize, I'd go for something I thought would be a little more fun and a little lighter. Cafe Enchante was next on my list. I was instantly drawn to Misyr and Il, with Il being my first route. I absolutely loved Il, and was traumatized from having my fav boy be the one who was hurt the most again. Although, Misyr is definitely a top contender for most hurt fav as well...

3. Piofiore - August 2021

I continued on with Piofiore right after Cafe Enchante, and instantly knew I was interested in Dante and Yang. I went with Dante first, and was absolutely enamored by him. I was absolutely heartbroken to find out that I didn't get his best ending at first, and contemplated not playing the game for a while. But I decided against it and carried on, using a guide this time. I didn't think anyone else would surpass him in my mind, but boy was I wrong. I quickly fell in love with Yang once I started his route, and his route was the first to make me feel butterflies again in years since I played my last otome game.

However, after playing through all the routes and getting to the finale, I absolutely fell in love with Henri, and I'm honestly shocked that Nicola has left such an impression on me considering I didn't think much of him right after his route. Now it's hard *not* to think about him. But overall, I love all the men pretty equally. I'm super excited for 1926.

4. Collar x Malice - August 2021

I was definitely curious about this one and was tempted to start it multiple times when choosing which game to play next, however I put it off because I didn't like the protagonist being a cop.

The characters are honestly all super loveable, and I think I love them all a bit more equally then I do the Piofiore guys. I was surprised Saeki wasn't a route, until while I was playing Kei or Shiraishi's route when my friend spoiled he was Adonis' leader.

I fell in love with all the characters quite gradually through their stories, with the exception of Shiraishi. I knew he'd be the one I was the most curious and interested in. I was so excited when I finally unlocked his route, and I absolutely loved every single bit of the early half of it. His comments and interactions were hilarious, he was adorable *and* hot.... and he loves cats. What the hell more could I want from a guy? He makes me want to introduce him to my own cats and also makes me want to do mundane and sweet things with him just because he's so sweet and I love him.

I was absolutely heartbroken at his "best" ending, and thinking about his tragic ending hurts my heart. I legitimately only want the best for this man- I only want him to be happy and healthy and not confined to some stupid prison or Adonis...

It also feels strange, but I think I love him best *before* he got a little soft with the protagonist? His quick retorts and harsh comments were hilarious and I loved that so much about him, so I was a bit sad when he grew a bit soft later on.

At the time of writing these past 4 entries, CxM is the latest game I've played, so Shiraishi's story is still super fresh in my mind. I was as obsessed with most of the other men mentioned above as I am with him right now. I'm sure the following entries will contain more love-ramblings like this as I complete more games and add them to the list.

5. Amnesia: Memories - August/September 2021

Toma! Toma! Toma!!!

My first experience with ✨ the cage ✨. I went with Ikki at first, got his normal ending (thaT SHIT WAS SO SAD WTF ;-;) and then went back with a walkthrough for his good ending. But... his route was kinda underwhelming tbh. I liked it as I played it, but looking back now... it really was quite underwhelming. So was Shin's route, who I played after Toma. I was interested in who the culprit was, and was shocked with the reveal tbh. Buuut after playing Toma's route... it was understandable. Although I really wish that Shin's route had more affection in it... it felt more like a mystery with a little bit of romance rather then an otome game.

I played Toma's route after Ikki's, and omfg... Toma was truly an unexpected fav. Hated his good ending tho, idfk why you would be ok with just returning to normal after all of that... but whatever. I would willingly go in that cage I s2g. I LOVED his eyes too! When he gets dark and super possessive, those eyes are just... UGH. Yes please. ❤

I skipped the entirety of Kent's route because I really just don't give a fuck about him. Hes absolutely not my type. I felt bad skipping it, but... in the end I don't really care.

Ukyo was also an unexpected fav- I wad super curious about his route and suspected that all of the "interesting" and bad stuff that I had heard about would happen during his route buuuut... nope. Nothing of the sort. He was so damn sweet, but I will say that uh... insane side of him is kinda hot too. 👀 but omg, the fact that he's a photographer AND so damn dedicated to you and sweet is just... ugh. My heart. Ukyo and Toma definitely became my favs for this game, and I think this is the first time where my first route didn't end up being one of my favourites.

I love how sharp Toma is as well! That he knows so much about you and can easily find out things and such... but also- I really like how dedicated and caring Ukyo is. He's so protective and adorable! I really did feel bad for him during his route. I haven't gotten his normal ending yet, but the title of it is so fucking sad and I don't know if I even wanna go for it.

"Do you know Ukyo?"

6. Bustafellows - September 2021

Honestly, when I started playing Bustafellows I didnt expect to like many characters, if any at all. None of them were particularly appealing to me, at least visually... however, as I played the game, I was drawn to Shu and Mozu, as I found Shu to be the most attractive one of the bunch, and Mozu was interesting to me as a coroner. However, the first character I ended up with was... Crow. I was honestly a little surprised, but didn't care too much. I didn't know who I wanted to go with first, and honestly, as the common route progressed... I found myself liking Crow more.

Crow was the one I liked the least out of everyone, at least visually at first. I really didn't like his hair lmao. But as I read the common route, he really grew on me, and I couldn't help but be sweet to him, so ofc I ended up with his route first... and god, I really love him. He's so stupid and adorable. Like seriously.

I went with whoever the game would give me after Crow, and it gave me Helvetica. With Crow, I really loved his character, but didn't care much for his story. It was the opposite for Helvetica. I enjoyed his story a ton, but not his character. I then carried on with Shu, who I loved entirely. Both his character and story was really really good, and his bad ending... phew. Damn dude.

Mozu came after, and I honestly have mixed feelings about his route. I feel like there really needed to be more romance between him and the MC, but the end of his route where he finds his sister is.... oof. I literally went "thats rough buddy" in my head lmao. I felt so bad for him.

I liked Limbo a lot more then I thought I would as well! He was super adorable and sweet, and the story was pretty good too, so I really enjoyed his route. But overall, I believe Shu and Crow are my favs this time around. I can't believe I didn't like Mozu as much as I thought I would! But I feel like I would have liked him a shitton more if there was more to his route then there was.... smh.

Nightshade - September 2021

I almost immediately jumped right into Nightshade, although with doubts of enjoying it in my mind, as I wasnt in the mood for a historical japan setting. However! I loved the characters, and the story! By the end of it, I was thoroughly angry with the antagonists for hurting my BOYS like that...

The first one I went for was Kuroyuki, who I LOVED. I felt a little bit confused throughout his route, but I still quite enjoyed it. A sweet yandere. Babey boy. I love him.

Next was Chojiro, and oooohhhhh boy.... yeah. That was a little rough. BUT I feel like the story was very well suited for him!!! After that I went with Goemon, who was SO SWEET. For a moment, the "plot twist" had me, but then I realized there was no way he was wasn't trying to trick his old clan/the council.

Hanzo was second last, and definitely an unexpected fav! I didnt find him very attractive at first, but seeing him more and more throughout the routes had him growing on me. And I LOVED him! But... I don't like Ieyasu's treatment towards the end of the route; ordering Hanzo to kill the MC after making us thoroughly believe he was a kind man in every other route.... sigh. But I'm happy that he was able to take just the MC's sash instead of her head. I do like that he also told Hanzo to "go get a wife and come back" hehe.

GOD that scene in the cave with Hanzo where youre both naked... YES. And his hair when its wet!!! Hes so adorable AND hot at the same time???? I love Hanzo. Tbh, I love all of them.

Gekka was the last one I did, but I wish I reversed Hanzo/Gekka's positions. Cause I really, *really* didnt like ending on such a sad ending.... dear god. I really thought I got the bad end or something for a hot minute there. Then Gekka comes in! Ahhhh, honestly I didn't like him much at all at first which is why I saved him for last, but his route.... FUCK man. His route was heart wrenching. And he's so damn sweet. I still don't understand how/why he doesn't try to kill the MC in the other routes after the "protection" "curse" is lifted but whatever. Still, the ending... dear god. And all of their graves being dug up... the box of everyone's hair... jesus christ that was morbid. Even that made me mad. I didnt care much for the blonde haired kid who died first, but everyone else after that had such a good part to the story...but I wonder why Kuroyuki lived in every route?

Either way, Nightshade was a lot better then I thought it would be! I loved it!!! I honestly might go back soon and replay Kuroyuki's route now that I know whats going on and I know the characters.... also wanna replay Hanzo's route! Babey ❤

#masterpost

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radiorenjun · 4 years ago

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Rain Rituals || Z.CL

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader

Genre: Comedy, fluff

Summary: Chenle's high school life was more than tedious to say the least. That is when he caught you screaming under the rain.

Warning: fluff. Comedy. Mentions of detention. Second hand embarrassment. Cliché

Wordcount: 2.8K (it's short)

A/n: please ignore my terrible editing skills and happy birthday Chenle!

Chenle was just a simple rich high school boy who, like any other student, just wants to get school and exams over with as soon as possible. He was bored of waking up everyday only for the same exact thing to happen over and over again.

Wake up. Eat. Go to school. Endure hell for 6 hours straight. Go home. Eat. Study. Sleep.

Repeat.

It was boring to say the least. Chenle wanted something to spice up his life, anything to make life more worth living. He wasn’t one to pay attention to whatever’s happening around him, he just wasn’t interested. But one faithful day, a chaotic social hazard of a Chemistry classmate of his decided to change that. Well, technically, the situation was unexpected and absolutely ludicrous for the young boy’s mind to comprehend.

It was a cold, raining evening. Chenle was just getting out of basketball practice, sweat trickling down his forehead as he slung his backpack over his shoulder. Chenle was just on his way to the parking lot, fumbling with the car keys in his hand, his uniform blazer draped over his head to prevent him from getting even more wet than he already is.

A loud scream pierced the quiet atmosphere, causing Chenle to flinch at the sudden sound. His head rapidly turned to see where the scream had come from before his eyes squinted at a blurry figure standing in the middle of the school garden.

‘What the fuck?’

Curiosity kills the cat, as they say.

Chenle went closer to the figure who let out another alarming scream, his brows furrowed in confusion as the figure became clearer and clearer with every step. The soles of his new Air Jordan’s making soft sounds as they made contact with the puddles that formed on the ground.

He leaned his head to the side when he was close enough to see the figure clearly. His eyes widened to see none other than you, the class clown of his grade. Also known as ‘That Girl Beside Me Who Wrote Three Pages Worth Of A Test Answer To Spite The Teacher’.

You were quite infamous for your extroverted demeanor. Making friends and cracking jokes left and right as if it was as simple as breathing air. Joking around and riling up teachers as if they were your closest friends.

To Chenle, you were quite peculiar.

But the sight before him was more than odd. You were standing soaking wet in the rain with your arms stretched out, your hair sticking to your forehead as you leaned your head up as if you were doing some kind of satanic ritual or religious sacrifice.

You let out another scream before groaning in frustration. “Jesus Christ!” you cursed out, kicking a puddle with your shoes as if it would do anything to make your frustrations go away.

Chenle just stood awkwardly not far behind you as he watched you throw a mini tantrum for whatever reason, his pupils dilating in concern with a frown on his lips. ‘This is just sad and embarrassing,’ he thought with a shake of his head.

The second hand embarrassment Chenle felt as he watched you push your wet hair back, letting the raindrops hit your face was almost as extravagant as the time when he watched his seniors attempt to flirt with one of his classmates.

A part of him wanted to just leave before someone (or you) catches him staring at you with a look of disappointment and sympathy. But another part of him was interested to see what you were whining on about in the middle of a heavy rain at 4:57 PM in the evening when you could be doing all this nonsense in the comforts of your own home like a normal person.

“God dammit!” you cursed once again. “Why the fuck am I single!?”

Chenle’s frown deepened when he heard those words exit your mouth. ‘Seriously?’ he thought with a click of his tongue, ‘she’s screaming out here like a lunatic all because she’s single?’

“Come on! Being single is a choice, right? I didn’t choose to be the only single one in all of my friend groups, so why the fuck am I single?” You rambled, letting out a loud groan afterwards. Chenle shook his head in disappointment, he wanted to walk away instead of looking at whatever you were doing. But yet again, he was far too entertained to even look away.

“Oh God.” you clasped your hands together, intertwining your fingers and shutting your eyes tighty. “ If you can hear me up there. If you can hear me screaming my lungs out like a lunatic. Please, oh please, give me a fucking boyfriend! I think I deserved that much for being good for all my life, right?” You paused at the last part, opening an eye as if to rethink your words before you shut them tight again. “Well for the most part of it, anyways!” you added.

Chenle couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, his arms crossing as he let out a soft laugh. ‘This is just getting really sad, I almost feel bad for her.’ he thought before looking down at his Apple Watch, eyes widened at what time it was. He turned to make a run to his car, pulling out his car keys to unlock it.

As Chenle dried himself off with the spare towel he usually keeps in the compartment box of his car, he made a mental note to himself to bring this up to you the next time he sees you. He’s sure that your reaction to him having blackmail is just going to be absolutely satisfying.

You were sitting in your desk, listening to your friend ramble about the things she did with her significant other after school the other day. A small sad smile forming on your lips as you try to listen to her conversation without feeling too sad about your pathetic, almost nonexistent, love life.

But yet again, it’s been a couple of days since you threw a tantrum at the school garden. Cursing at the sky and rain to give you a boyfriend. Only for the principal to come up to you to tell you to go home and get some rest, her expression filled with worry and concern. She probably thought you had your screws loose. And honestly, you couldn’t blame her.

You screamed till the boys at the basketball team had already gone home, your parents scolding you for being out so late in the rain. You spent two days in bed with a fever, worrying if anyone saw you acting like a delusional maniac for two hours straight. But you were relieved to see that it’s been a while since your little outburst and nobody had brought up the topic of you screaming and yelling in the middle of the rain.

Not even the janitors.

That is until you had your Chemistry class.

Your desk mate, who was none other than the infamous Chinese rich boy, Chenle came up to you with a grin spread across his face. You had never spoken to Chenle before, mostly because he was quite cute and you didn’t know what to say to someone so adorable and quiet.

You were just minding your own business, jotting down notes that your friend lent you because you couldn’t make it to school last class because of said fever. “Hey,” Chenle greeted, nodding at you as he placed his bag on his chair. You look up in surprise, eyes widening slightly at the fact that Chenle was actually talking to you and starting a conversation with you.

“Hi?” your throat was dry as your mind went blank, trying to use your extrovert powers to desperately try to come up with something to keep the conversation going. “What’s up?” you added, looking down at your notebook as you continued jotting down notes. Chenle sat on his chair, staring at you with a suspicious smirk spread across his lips.

“Can I ask you something?”

You hummed a small ‘yes’ under your breath, eyes scanning your notes.

“You have to answer it truthfully, though.”

You replied with another small hum, nodding slightly.

“Were you that girl screaming like a lunatic in the middle of the rain the other day?” he asked with a casual hum. His words made your hand stop writing, your eyes going wide as you felt your heart almost stop beating. ‘Shit. Oh god. Oh Dear God, no. You can’t do this to me,’ you thought with a nervous bite of your lip.

You attempted to shrug it off casually, keeping an emotionless expression as you continued writing on your notebook. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you responded, feeling your heartbeat nervously against your chest. Chenle’s smirk widened at the way you gulped nervously and avoided eye contact when he brought it up.

“You sure? I’m pretty sure I saw you kicking and stomping puddles the other day, cursing and what-not,” Chenle taunted, watching as your hand weakened their grip on your pen. You cleared your throat, “again, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? You sure you weren’t the girl who screamed ‘Dear God, give me a damn boyfriend already?!’ in the middle of the school garden like some kind of deranged maniac?”

“You saw that?!” you gasped, your head shooting up to glare at him with wide eyes. You then cupped your mouth when you realised you accidentally gave yourself away. Chenle let out a laugh, pointing a finger at your reaction. “Called it! So you were the girl doing a satanic ritual the other day!” he exclaimed, an amused smile playing at his lips.

You frowned, rolling your eyes as you looked back down at your paper. “Shut up, Zhong Chenle,” you grumbled with a small pout on your lips. “Come on, Y/n. What the hell happened to make you go all bat-shit crazy like that? I mean, not gonna lie it was quite amusing, you should definitely do it again,” he chuckled, leaning his chin against his hand, his elbow propped up on his desk.

You gave an exasperated sigh, looking up at him with a tired expression. “God I wished I took a video of it. Sadly, my phone ran out of battery at that time,” he added with an innocent smile. “You done? I get it, I publicly embarrassed myself. Is there anything you would like to add to that?” Your lips twitched in annoyance when Chenle took a moment to actually think of an answer.

“Give me a minute,” he hummed.

“That was a rhetorical question,” you frowned.

“I publicly embarrass myself on a daily basis, Chenle. What do you want from me?” you let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head at the boy. “Threatening to spread the information isn’t going to embarrass me that much. I’ve done worse things,” you added, finishing the last few words of your notes.

“No shit, you walked into the boys bathroom to hide from some guy.” Chenle exclaimed with a laugh. “Survival is a reasonable explanation. I still wanted to live, you know! I’ll have you know I only got two weeks of detention for it,” you closed your notebook with a huff, getting up from your seat.

“And was your little tantrum under the rain another part of your survival instincts?” Chenle provoked, causing you to clench your teeth. “I don’t think doing a religious sacrifice on a rainy school day can be called survival, Y/n. Especially whining about how single you are,” he snorted against his palm.

You flushed in embarrassment, turning your body away as you grabbed the notes you borrowed from your classmate. “Shut up. I should’ve performed a demonic ritual to wipe you off of the face of the earth instead,” you spat back, walking away from your shared desk to head on over to your classmate’s.

“It still won’t get you a boyfriend, though.” Was the last words Chenle said to you before you walked away.

It was safe to say you had to apologize to your friend for crumpling their notes.

“I still can’t believe screaming like a lunatic under the rain actually works,” you shuddered, sipping your hot cocoa with a traumatized expression. It’s been almost a year since then. You graduated high school, now you’re in your first year of college.

It was honestly a surprising journey but a couple months after your little tantrum, you manage to find yourself an actual boyfriend, who you now share a flat with. It’s all just ironic really, you screaming under the rain like a deranged psycho was supposed to be something to laugh at in the near future.

But now, the story became even more laughable when the world decided to drop your boyfriend right in front of you not too soon afterwards. Even though you didn’t get along very well at first, it was still pretty worth it, if you say so.

“You still can’t believe what, babe?” you heard your boyfriend call out from the kitchen, the sound of his spoon stirring inside one of your ceramic mugs hitting the air. You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you scrolled through your old picture file on your laptop. Pictures you and your friends took before you all graduated high school to capture your last moments with each other.

“Remember the day I screamed and cursed at the sky because I was tired of being single?” you laughed, remembering the moment as if it happened only yesterday. There was a small pause before a loud dolphin-like laugh pierced your ears. “Oh my god, that was so iconic!” he exclaimed, tapping the spoon against the edge of the mug.

“Right? God it was so embarrassing! I finally stopped when I realised the principal was going home. Damn, thank god I didn’t get detention,” you joked, opening a picture of you and your boyfriend laughing and smiling under the heavy rain. “I’m still pissed off that I didn’t record it, it could’ve pinpoint the day I decided to talk to you,” Chenle chuckled, coming out of the kitchen with a mug of his own.

“Shut up, I know for a fact you’re never going to let it go if you actually did record it,” you stuck your tongue out teasingly, scooting over to the edge of the couch to make room for him to sit. “Indeed, it could’ve gone viral, you know. I could post it on Tik Tok or Youtube with the caption ‘Girl Screams At How Single She Is Not Knowing That Her Future Boyfriend Is Standing Right Behind Her, Recording Her For Epic Black Mail!’” Chenle grinned, emphasizing his words with his hand.

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up, I hate you,” you huffed, pushing the laptop closer to the two of you so he could see. “What are you looking at by the way?” he asked, leaning over to see your screen clearly as he sipped his beverage. “Old photos from high school, you were way more annoying then,” you commented, giggling.

“I’m not annoying now?” he raised his brow at you, making you grin. “You still are, don’t worry. Just slightly less than back when we started dating,” you pinched his cheek gingerly causing him to chuckle. “That means I’m not doing my job as a good boyfriend,” he pouted, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Chenle, no.” You shook your head at him.

“Chenle, yes.” He nodded with a cheeky grin.

“I’m breaking up with you,” you deadpanned, turning away from him to continue scrolling. “Sure you would,” he said sarcastically, wrapping an arm around you lovingly. “You love me too much to even think about breaking up,” he said, grabbing your cheeks in both of his palms, turning your head to make you look at him. He pressed your cheeks together, making your lips pucker up for him to press a loving kiss against them.

“Remind me why I like you so much?” you mumbled against his lips before he pulled away. He hummed, thinking it over for a moment. “I’m just too damn amazing. Plus, a clown like yourself deserves someone to over-clown you,” he giggled. “I prefer the term ‘rival’ because over-clowning isn’t a thing but go off, I guess.” you let out a soft laugh, nuzzling your nose against his.

“Maybe you should do what I did and start screaming at the rain to make us rich,” you suggested.

“Y/n, no. You’re not funny.”

#NCT-WRITERS #neowritingsnet #neo-constellations #nct x reader #chenle x reader #zhong chenle scenarios #chenle scenarios #zhong chenle x reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream scenarios #nct u x reader #nct 127 x reader

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incoherentbabblings · 4 years ago

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Tim gets himself turned into a cat for a week and is forced to stay at Stephanie's until the spell wears off on its own. Honestly, it's not as traumatic as it sounds. For Tim.

“I refuse to take responsibility,” Damian said. He was holding a glossy short haired black cat with a long face and sharp features. It had big bat ears and lovely big blue eyes whose pupils dilated when Stephanie looked at it. Damian held it out for Stephanie to take, lower legs dangling from a slim body. Its tail whipped from side to side, irritated.

Apparently, it was Tim after one ill-informed altercation with that magician villain who the Teen Titans and the Flash fought occasionally.

Stephanie smiled tightly to the point where Damian thought she was in physical pain.

“Do you want to come in? Have a cup of cocoa maybe?”

“Not even slightly. I have a litter box and some compostable wood pellets for litter,”

Oh my God –

“and father insisted that someone within Gotham care for him until this passes whilst he is off planet. Zatanna says it will end on its own in a week and is less likely to end in permanent brain damage than trying to reverse it artificially. More brain damage than Drake already –”

“Yes, Damian, I get it.” Stephanie sighed, pouting as she inspected Tim, still patiently dangling in Damian’s outstretched arms. “Do you understand us Tim?”

The cat – Tim – yowled in a way which sounded partly like a Siamese cat and partly like an car engine struggling to start, but Damian shook his head.

“No. His brain has shrunk to the size of a peanut. Apparently, he will remember nothing, which is good, all things considered.”

Stephanie frowned, then leaned down directly into the cats eyeline.

“Would you rather stay with me over Damian?” she asked it, regardless. “I guess it makes sense, mom is visiting Florida for the week…” she mused out loud, feeling supremely stupid.

Tim yowled again, and his pupils impossibly grew bigger.

Groaning, Stephanie conceded. “Fine, but –” wasting no time, Damian practically tossed the cat into her arms. She caught Tim clumsily, and he meowed in distress, scrambling up to cling to her shoulders.

“Ow, ow, ow! Claws. Claws, Tim ow!”

She held him tight under his little bum, and as she watched Damian run back to the Alfred chauffeured car for the bits and pieces she would need. Stephanie turned, leaving the front door open, and went upstairs to her room. Tim clung to her tightly, little claws making an imprint in her skin. When she reached her bed she leaned forward, letting him turn on his own and land on his feet in the centre of the mattress. He plopped down, sitting perfectly straight with his tail still swishing, and watched her as she proceeded to help Damian move all the pieces of kit inside. She placed the litter tray in the bathroom, wondering briefly about those YouTube videos she’d seen of cats using the toilet could be applicable. She sighed as she sat the plastic tray down, wiggling little wood pellets a couple of inches deep. Tim had come over to join her in the door frame. He looked up at her, and she looked down at him.

“Tim, I’m going to be scooping up your poo and pee. You better give me a big boon when this all over.”

Tim mewled, and to Stephanie it sounded like a bargain had been struck. Damian handed her a plastic bag filled with cat food – whatever Pennyworth did not wish to eat he explained – then left her to it.

“Do not let him go outside.”

“Yes, Damian.”

His round cheeks puffed up, and the bridge of his nose turned red like it did when he was embarrassed.

“Thank you, Stephanie.”

Somewhat mollified, Stephanie said he was welcome and then Damian and Alfred were gone. Shutting the front door, she turned around to see Tim sitting on the stairs, watching her.

Stephanie jumped, unnerved.

“How much of your peanut sized brain is like… at human level smartness?” she asked.

Tim sat quietly for a moment, watching her with those unnatural icy blue eyes. His tail, disproportionately long, smacked against the floor with a heavy thump.

“None then. Well, still, let me know when you want feeding. Or bathroom breaks so I can clean it up before it stinks out the house. I have to work on college. So… go take a nap or something. You probably need one.”

Tim blinked, stepped down the stairs, went through to the living room, sat on her sofa, and rested his head down. Like the cat he was, he was soon asleep in the late afternoon sun.

Stephanie followed him curiously, peered over the back of the couch, admiring his glossy coat then shook her limbs loose.

Just another day in the life, she told herself.

Having her ex-boyfriend slash transmogrified cat living with her for a week. Sure. Cats were distant creatures, and so were her and Tim in recent years. They could get through this week, surely.

Oddly, having another creature in the house made her feel more lonely.

*****

Tim had enough self-awareness to realise he was in fact a cat, but also not enough self-awareness to realise that there were certain behaviours he should not indulge in.

Nobody believed him that he could understand what was being said, so he decided to just go with the flow for the next six days. Abdicate all responsibility. Be feral. Receive the occasional pat on the head. All in good fun. Bizarrely, he was enjoying the drama of it all.

The first issue came about at dinner. He had woken from his nap with a hunger that he had never in his eighteen years (did that make him around two years old in cat years?) of life felt before. It was as if he had not eaten in weeks he was starving he was voracious he –

Needed help in opening tin cans.

Dammit.

Honestly, Tim would have been feeling much more humiliated and more willing to jump out of a window to end it all if he was not so sure that he would instinctively land on his feet.

Just a week. And Stephanie would take care of him, loathe as he was to admit it. She would find it uncomfortable and painful with each interaction, so he would take great care in staying out of her way. Things were awkward enough between them without the knowledge that she was going to have to brush him and feed him and clean up his poops and hairballs (he loathed how easily the concept of grooming came to him). He didn’t need to inflict anymore grief on her than she had already reluctantly accepted.

None of this stopped him from being very hungry when he woke up. He needed food. Preferably ten minutes ago.

He leapt down with a solid thud from Stephanie’s sofa, shaking his head to clear any remaining nap time fuzziness, then plodded upstairs. To his own ears, it sounded very cheery.

She had left her bedroom door slightly ajar, and Tim slid in. She did not hear him enter on account of her having a giant pair of red headphones blasting music at far too loud a volume to be good for her hearing. Or rather, he assumed they were red. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that his vision had been altered. Shades of red and green blended together in assorted shades of yellow and brown, and even the blues of the world was washed out and pale. Everything had a slight blur to it, especially for objects further away. When he had first been held up to Stephanie, he realised that the blue of her eyes now seemed almost grey, and her skin was sickly. Of this change, Tim hated the most.

She was leaning over piles of notes, hands stained with highlighter and pen ink. Tim noted her expression and found he did not like it.

She looked very sad.

He meowed to try and get her attention, but with her music playing as loud as it was, she did not hear him. Drastic measures were needed. He would soon be dead from starvation before too long.

He slinked up to the side of her chair, noting the convenient space between her lap, chest and desk. He looked up at her, yowling one more time to try and give her warning, but she did not notice.

Tim blinked slowly. Her eyes were wet.

He leapt up onto her lap, fully expecting her to shriek, to lift and throw him across the room reflexively. However, she just gasped gently, surprise quickly fading, and laughed. Good. The wet look in her eyes vanished with genuine joy. She paused her music, clumsily taking off the headphones and setting them on the desk. She adjusted her lap so Tim could sit more steadily and rested her hands at the base of his back and tail, scratching absentmindedly. He chittered at her and she raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“What?” she whispered conspiratorially. Oh, she was enjoying this. Tim grumbled, body vibrating, then hopped up another level onto her desk. With a purposeful tap, he smacked her wrist.

“What is it you little goblin?”

Rude. Tim yowled, and paced back and forth. Stephanie huffed, reaching to pick him up and put him down. When she turned, she saw her alarm clock on her bedside table. It was six o’clock.

“The time?” Her eyes widened with realisation. “Oh? Dinner time?”

His loud, drawn out meow made her wince, but she nodded all the same. “Alright then sir, come on. Let’s see what we can do for you.”

He merrily leapt down from her arms, jogging away down the stairs to the kitchen. Jumping up on the counter, he pawed insistently at the food still in the plastic bags Damian had brought. Food. He needed food. He was wasting away; why couldn’t she see…

“Right, what did Damian gift us with… Oh. Biscuits huh?”

Tim froze. Cat food. He was going to have to eat cat food.

He was a cat. But not that much. He was finding it difficult enough to imagine going in that litter box in not too long. He quietly made a little meow, distressed.

Stephanie opened the bag, and the smell of dry crunchy biscuits filled the air. Tim visibly gagged, and Stephanie quickly resealed the container.

“Yeah, I agree there Timbo. I can’t give you the wet food either, that jelly is disgusting... but your stomach can’t handle human stuff. You’re a carnivore now bud.”

She hemmed and hawed, opening assorted cupboards, looking for something suitable. Tim meowed mournfully. He was going to starve unless he ate the biscuits, but he so did not want to eat the biscuits.

“Oh!” Stephanie chirped, pulling a tin down. She held it up to him for inspection. “Tuna in spring water. That’ll do, right? But how much…”

Tim paced frantically back and forth as she googled portion sizes. Starving, starving, he was skin and bones, no chance for recovery. It had been eight hours since he last ate, how did she expect him to –

She placed a shallow dish in front of him, half of the can placed sweetly in front of him. She then placed down a small glass bowl, filled with fresh water. Uncaring of his dignity, he began to eat voraciously.

Stephanie leaned on the counter, watching him do so.

“I’m sorry there’s no milk. I heard cats are actually lactose intolerant, so just water for you this week.”

Tim ignored her, so delighted with the taste of fresh tuna that the lack of milk was so far down his list of priorities. It was only when Stephanie, in an apparent act of madness, reached down and ran a hand from his temple all the way along his back to the tip of his tail did he look up. Somewhere in the back of his little kitty brain, he noted that his muscles had tensed up, rising to the pressure of her hand as it made its way down his spine to make the contact firmer. Her hand was warm. He looked up from his feast, confused.

She was still smiling, but it looked melancholy to Tim.

“I don’t think you can actually understand me,” she said quietly, half speaking to herself. “Which is pretty expected for us. I think it’s just the fact that you’re a vocal kitty who isn’t going to remember anything in six days’ time. Which is just as well. I can tell you all my secrets then?”

Tim wanted to protest her falsehoods but found the taste of tuna too distracting.

Stephanie continued, “I’m going to go on patrol now. There’s been a monster of a case I’m getting nowhere with. I’m having another go tonight. Don’t sleep on my bed when I’m away okay?”

Tim wanted very much to yowl, to let her know that he could understand, and to ask her why she was being so mopey. It seemed more than just a sadness over his situation. He wanted to explain that, honestly, he was fine with it. Well, not fine. But he had endured much worse. He knew it was temporary, he knew things would return to normal soon, and he was warm, looked after and almost looking forward to a week’s peace.

So what if he was a slightly goofy looking black cat who had the sudden urge to lick himself clean every few minutes? In the grand scheme of trauma he had undergone in his short life, shitting in a box was pretty low on the list.

He tried to tell her it was fine, only to drop tuna all over the counter. In a fumbled attempt to clean up after himself, he licked the surface clean. Stephanie groaned, then rose away from him.

“Enjoy the evening Tim. Don’t bother me when I get back. Don’t puke anywhere.”

Tim, in fact, did not puke that night. He did use the litter box however and hated it. He tried very hard to make as little mess as possible, ensuring all the litter stayed within the box. He was here because of Stephanie’s good nature; he was not about to blow it.

He did, at around 3am, however, experience what he had heard Selina refer to as ‘the zoomies’. It was a frantic pent-up energy that he did not know how to expel. The only way that came to mind was to dash across the house in a desperate attempt to tire himself out so he could return to sleep. So, he ran, up and down the stairs, leaping off the banisters and hopping over chairs and coffee tables. He did so, bored out of his mind, until he saw the lights of her vehicle pull up. He ran up the stairs in time for Batgirl to crawl through her window. He sat patiently in her doorway, waiting for the right moment to greet her, when he saw she collapsed to the floor with a distinctive and heartrending cry of pain. His little heart pounded painfully at the sound, but he did not move.

He watched as she cursed up a storm, correcting her position so she could take off her costume piece by piece. She did so wincing, crying out, and swearing with each painful movement. If she had someone to help her, she would have been able to get ready for bed in much less agony. Whatever she had dealt with this night, it had been rough.

She crawled around on the floor, apparently unable to walk now that the adrenaline had worn off. She remained in her shorts and sports bra, and without showering, crawled into bed. Tim watched as she reached into her bedside table, pulled out two painkillers, and like a baby, swallowed them with some water from a sports bottle that stood nearby.

He thought he heard her very quietly cry to herself, but that couldn’t be. Stephanie did not cry. His hearing had been different since the transformation last night, sounds and noises did not compute the way they used to. The sound she was making very quickly stopped though, and instead Tim heard her very determinedly whisper to herself,

“Always better in the morning.”

It wasn’t a philosophy he completely agreed with. Sometimes the morning just brought clarity of the previous day’s horror. But her odd breathing stopped, and soon it was replaced with the deep gentle snoring of someone sleeping. Finally, Tim moved. He wanted to curl up next to her. Stephanie was warm, and he had discovered recently that he liked warm places. He wanted her hand to stroke him again.

But no. She had said to stay off her bed for sleeping. She has asked him not to bother her. She certainly would not be happy to find him sleeping next to her. Tim tried to remind himself that he was only getting away with certain behaviours because of his size, and there were some boundaries that he should not cross. What if she woke up in the morning, only to find that the spell had worn off early, and there was a naked human Tim Drake in her bed?

Oh no. That would be very embarrassing.

Besides, he didn’t have that kind of relationship with her anymore. He didn’t have the right anymore to insert himself into her space. They had decided not to pursue it. Not good for her, she’d said.

Tim could no longer remember his own reason. He suspected it was moot after she had become Batgirl.

And yet… she’d been crying. Tim wanted to help her. How could that not be good? Surely if he could provide comfort, if he wanted to provide comfort, she would allow it?

He turned away, not liking the way it felt like turning away from someone calling for help and returned to the living room sofa. He curled into a ball, and slept until the morning, whereupon the hunger pains hit him once more.

And so, a routine began. Tim would yowl like he was dying outside Stephanie’s door, reluctant to intrude whilst she slept. Eventually, Stephanie would emerge, ready to feed him chicken or another half a tin of tuna. He was not so secretly delighted at the way her eyes lit up with humour when she saw him, spinning in circles unable to contain his excitement, though Tim would note locations of bruises that had not been there the night before. She was struggling, it seemed.

She would then go take a shower, clean out his litter tray with a pithy comment, then go to class, leaving Tim bored until she would return after four, ready to clean his litter tray once more, provide dinner, then spend a couple of hours doing homework before leaving again for patrol. She would return at first light, looking more defeated with each passing sunrise. She would be smiling come the morning, but – even with a brain the size of a monkey nut – Tim saw it was shallow.

It did not escape Tim’s notice that she was going out of her way to avoid him. He understood it. She did the same thing when he was human. He would call for her help from time to time with a case, which she gave without reservation, just as she had done now for kitty him, but rarely, if ever, did she call for his aid.

Her stubborn independent streak had not abated with time it seemed, even when it came at the price of her safety.

That and she just seemed sadder than usual. Or was this usual, and he was just never around and allowed to view it?

His tiny mind whirled and churned, and with no outlet, he stewed, glaring out the window at passer-by’s and their dogs.

Regardless, on the fifth night, after hearing her stilted heart-rending sobs and half-hearted and self-inflicted words of comfort, he decided to break the one boundary she had set.

He jumped up onto the bed, moving until he had clambered on her sternum, then folded down into a loaf position. Stephanie tensed, unsure what game he was playing, until she felt him begin to purr.

She laughed brokenly, more of a whimper than a genuine expression of joy and reached up to scratch behind his ears.

Tim purred louder, to her delight.

“I’m having a bit of a rough time,” she spoke quietly in the dark, as if reluctant to break the thick, dark blanket of warmth and comfort. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Tim gave a small ripple of a meow in response. She was not a burden.

“I can’t get a crack on this case,” she explained. “I make a dent, get hurt in a fight and am fine in the morning, but then so are they. I’ve hit a wall. But I have to do it alone. Bruce and Babs expect me to now… I have to…”

Her voice broke and she cut herself off. She smiled crookedly, painfully trying to dispel her sadness. Tim began to make biscuits. He didn’t understand why, but he thought the pressure would help. She was a little furnace beneath him, and he purred loudly, drowning out her shaky breathing.

Stephanie chuckled at the sensation of his little vibrating chest. She ran a hand down his back again, enjoying the smooth coat. Contradictorily once more her eyes became wet.

“Do you think, when you are back to normal, we could talk? There’s…there’s no-one else who would understand. Though I think I’d make Cass sad if I told her that. But I miss you. And I think it’s my fault.”

Tim shifted upwards, until his nose rested under her chin. He continued to purr loudly, nearly trilling with the force of it. Steph nuzzled in close and kissed his forehead and flicked his large ears.

“Silly boy. I hope you don’t remember this. You’d hate me for it.”

Tim meowed grouchily. How she could lie to herself like that…

They’d burned their bridge long ago. He knew this. And him being a cat for a week was not going to mend it. But it made his heart ache like nothing else to see her despondent. He silently promised himself that he would extend an olive branch before the end of next week. They couldn’t continue like this, tip toeing around each other with Tim occasionally stepping too close and making Steph flinch back away.

She wasn’t flinching away now though.

She picked him up so she could sleep better and set him on the pillow next to her. Turning on her side, she reached up and placed a soft, warm hand on his shoulders, rhythmically petting the fur there.

Her quiet sniffles died off, Tim’s purring acting as a lullaby, and she fell asleep before the sun rose.

Throughout the night he shifted closer, until he was practically resting on her head. He rested his chin on the crown of her head, her long golden hair acting like a silken pillow, and kept guard for the rest of the night.

*****

Stephanie awoke to her nose being licked. She opened her eyes blearily, and realised it was Tim cat. She blushed, remembering what had transpired last night. She told herself it was fine, opening up like that. It was only a cat. It was only Tim. Tim, who would be blissfully ignorant come the evening. Though that reminded her, she better lay out some clothes for him. Her mother was coming back at some point in the next forty-eight hours. The idea of her walking in on a naked Tim would cause a conniption.

She smooched Tim’s head, and he meowed cheerily at the wet smack, and continued to press up against her.

She had kept her distance at first, struggling to reconcile Tim with the little sleek gremlin cat meowing at her feet. It felt weird, so she – for a lack of a better term – ignored him. He would be so angry when he changed back, she wanted to avoid anything which he could extrapolate from the week as her being mocking or patronising.

Bruce’s anger she had learned to ignore, Tim’s she hadn’t figured out a knack for yet. It hurt, in a physical manner that she could not explain. Like he was kicking her in the gut again. She found herself actively taking steps now to avoid it. Avoid the concept of it.

But she was exhausted, physically, and emotionally. Years ago, when she would reach such a state, Tim would somehow figure it out and slink in through her window or take her on a quiet date. The two would hold on to each other, and let Stephanie catch her breath and perspective with a warm pillar of support behind her.

Despite Tim now being a cat, it seemed he still had this perception, and had sought her out to give comfort. Weird how animals could sense those sorts of things.

Fuck it, she thought. It was the last day, she was feeling miserable, and there was a perfectly cuddly vibrating fluff ball in her arms, who showed no signs of irritation and instead was offering comfort that she didn’t get much of in recent years. She was going to milk this for all it was worth. Maybe she could take some photos and videos later – humiliate or blackmail Tim later. All in good fun, of course. She never wanted to genuinely upset him.

She continued to give him sweet pecks on his head back and sides, which she thought he liked, as he meowed and headbutted her.

“Sweetie,” she praised, and she picked him up to cradle him properly. He flipped over, being held like a baby, as she continued to croon, “Last day as a kitty. Tomorrow you won’t remember a thing, and we won’t be able to talk like I am now… isn’t that sad? I think we should spoil you today. Lap of luxury and all that. It’ll keep my brain busy, if nothing else.”

He pawed at her chin, and she kissed his toe beans.

She spent an embarrassingly long amount of the day starfished on the floor, playing with Tim. He was a chatty little cat, more so than he ever was as a person. His meows sounded like a revving engine and were as long as he could hold his breath. He was graceful though, despite his lanky limbs and giant ears. He leapt from surface to surface and straight into her arms with seemingly no effort, and whenever she let him roll out of her embrace, he landed neatly on his feet every single time.

Stephanie couldn’t help it, but when she pulled out a little laser from her Batgirl belt, she recorded Tim’s feral delight, chasing a speck of red across the house. She laughed more than she had in a long while, partly because it had been so long since she had seen anything so unabashedly goofy as Tim as a cat, shaking his little bum, pupils dilated larger than dinner plates, in preparation to jump a red point of light.

It was delightful and made her wonder if she could convince Crystal to adopt a cat once she returned. Poor Tim, he’d have no clue what he’d endured come the morning, but at least in that moment, he seemed happy.

When it reached eight pm, Stephanie sighed, realising she had another night of patrol to face. Selfishly, she wanted to linger, to keep company with the cat, but she quickly shook that thought off. People needed her. She wanted her case over and done with.

“One last go,” she whispered. “I can do it tonight. I’m nearly there.”

Tim hopped up onto her lap and she was sliding on her gloves. She chuckled lightly and scratched under his chin. He purred, craning his neck to allow her better access.

“I’ll lay your human clothes out for you on my bed, okay? If it’s not fixed by the time I’m back… I’ll put you in your boxers and jeans and hopefully come morning…” She got up, hoisting Tim to rest on her shoulders, and tugged one of the plastic bags Damian had left for her. To her growing dismay, she realised there was only a pair of underpants. She looked sideways, Tim peering over her left shoulder. “Oh dear, Tim. Damian really is out to get you, huh?”

He chuffed, like he was grumbling to himself. She pecked him once more, and he meowed more firmly, hopping off her shoulders as she made her way to rummage through her wardrobe.

“I don’t want my mom to come back and find you in your undies in my room and me being AWOL. That would just be one step too much for her, I think. I still have some baggy sweatshirts…pants though… pants…”

She tossed clothes haphazardly, at one point burying Tim under a pile of bras and underpants that she shrieked at, loudly and joyously, when she realised what she had done. Eventually she found a pair of jeggings which she hoped would suffice. Tim looked almost suspicious. If he had eyebrows, they would have been raised.

“You have skinny legs,” Stephanie justified, feeling insane talking to the cat. “It’s fine. Just until the morning. I’ll drive you back and no-one will see your shame. Not even Damian. We’ll sneak. Promise.”

She carefully laid out the clothes, and shoved what she had carelessly tossed out her closet back in with equal zeal. Pecking Tim once more on the head, she moved the litter box into her bedroom and shut the door.

“I can’t have mom coming back to a half naked boy in my living room and a box of used kitty litter. You’ll have to stay in here. Hopefully, I’ll be back before she is. She said she’ll drive the whole way and not stop. So, maybe by seven in the morning? Fingers crossed.”

She opened up the windowsill, slinking her leg over. Tim hopped up on her desk, as if to follow her out.

“Uh-uh,” she warned, pressing on his wet nose firmly. “You have to wait here. Damian made me promise you’d stay inside. I can’t risk losing you.”

She caught herself speaking more desperately than she intended and shuddered. “You know what I mean. Naked boy CEO found running through the streets of Gotham is not the kind of attention the family needs right now. Be good, Tim. And thank you. You cheered me up so much today.”

One more kiss, then she was out the window, sliding it definitively shut. As she mounted the bike, Tim perched himself at the windowsill, watching her shoot off down the street.

When she was out of sight, he jumped down and paced endlessly, stressed and worried. She had been struggling so much with patrol, and he was unable to help her. Feeling utterly helpless, he jumped up onto her bed and settled on her main pillow. Curling up into a ball, he settled in to wait, praying that she would return home safely, and before Crystal arrived back.

He awoke, briefly, when he felt a soft pair of hands lifting him up. He chirped and chuffed, and it was Stephanie hushing him. She wrapped him up in his boxers and sat him next to her under the covers.

She was smiling, albeit a tired smile.

“I did it,” she whispered, scratching his ears. “Tim, I did it.”

Tim meowed a congratulatory chitter, and Stephanie smiled wider.

“Sleep now. I’ll explain more in the morning.”

In an act which utterly took Tim off guard, she pulled him closer, curling around him in a crescent moon shape. Under the covers in the dark, surrounded by her scent and soft breath, Tim began to purr once more.

*****

“Steph? Steph…”

Stephanie grumbled, then opened her eyes when cold fingertips pressed against her cheek. Looking at him with an expression Tim could not decipher (relief? Disappointment? Fright?) Stephanie inspected Tim up and down. He had put on his boxers and her sweatshirt but had yet to touch her trousers. Nevermind. He was kneeling on the floor next to her bed. According to her clock, it was just after six in the morning.

Right, Tim needed context.

“I suppose you are very confused right now… Being in my room in your undies… so let me explain—”

She yawned then, arms emerging from her duvet to stretch dramatically. Tim watched the muscles in her neck, then chuckled to himself.

“No, Steph. I remember.”

“Oop.” She froze, watching him anxiously, like an antelope faced with a lion. “Everything?”

“Everything.” He then snorted defiantly, “despite what Damian insisted, I was still me. Shockingly, he is not omnipotent.”

Chewing her tongue, Stephanie narrowed her eyes, not having it at all.

“Oh c’mon, you are lying out your butt.”

“Am not.”

“Are too! There’s no way you’d lower yourself to chasing my laser pen across my living room. Oh gosh, Tim, it must have been horrible…”

Tim shrugged, making a noncommittal noise.

“Maybe I wanted to catch that point of light, huh?” he teased. He then conceded, “Maybe I had a bit of trouble keeping cat me and human me straight in my head.”

“Yeah, that I believe.”

“But honestly, having a week where my biggest concern was whether I was getting tuna or chicken for my next meal was sort of refreshing.”

“I can find a way to turn you back if you like.”

“Hmm. Pass.”

Stephanie giggled, but cut off abruptly when Tim shuffled closer. She felt herself grow cross eyed as she watched him move in so intimately. Tim’s warm breath blew over her as he continued,

“Yeah well, having said that… You mentioned that I helped you. Cheered you up.”

Tim’s teasing look softened, and in that moment looked at Stephanie with such unabashed and unfiltered affection that she felt incredibly self-conscious. Tim was only in his boxers and her sweatshirt, and she was only in a baggy nightgown that she had tossed on when she had arrived home; the first time in weeks she had been uninjured enough to change her clothes.

“Maybe,” Tim continued, “I wanted to see you smile. You were so sad all this week… I needed to help you. Even if it was as dumb as chin scratches – as good as they felt – and chasing lasers. I… I heard you crying, Steph.”

Her arms came down from their stretch, and rested on his shoulders, fingers gently stroking back and forth.

“I’m okay,” she promised, like she was the one comforting him.

Tim’s eyebrows furrowed. “I could have helped you before now.”

There was no chiding in his tone, only pleading, but it made Stephanie feel guilty, nonetheless.

“I had to do it alone.”

“No, no you didn’t. You don’t have to be alone for anything.”

“You’re such a big softie.”

Tim laughed gently, “With you, sure.” Taking a deep breath, he moved even closer until he was practically leaning over her, tips of their noses touching. “Steph… I need to ask you something.”

Stephanie nodded, eyes growing damp. “Shoot,” she whispered, voice cracking and betraying the nonchalant words.

“Could we –”

Crystal opened Stephanie’s bedroom door, and the pair froze. Instinctively, Stephanie raised an arm with a shocked cry, slamming Tim in the face. He wheezed and shot up into standing, which only proved to give Crystal a good view of him in his underwear and daughter’s clothes. Looking somewhat dazed and yet unsurprised, she looked to Stephanie for whatever lie of an excuse her daughter could conjure up.

“Mommy!” Steph cried out. “I did not hear you get back. How was Florida?”

“I was being quiet since it was still early,” Crystal grumbled, unamused by Stephanie’s glib tone. “But then I heard talking.”

Crystal glared at Tim, who fidgeted, finding no dignity in any pose he maintained. Stephanie scrambled upwards so she was sitting, thankfully she had managed to put on pyjamas last night, and clambered for some excuse, any excuse.

“Tim was… It’s not… ”

Seeing her daughter fail to come up with some vaguely plausible non incriminating reasoning, Crystal turned to Tim, glaring holes through his head. He would crack in a way that Stephanie would not.

“Why are you here, Tim?” she demanded.

“I… I…” Tim began to shiver with nerves, face flushed red and eyes bright with panic.

“Where are your pants?”

Tim choked on air. “…I don’t have any. With me.”

“And no shirt either?”

Tim very much wished the ground would swallow him up.

“No.”

Stephanie groaned, throwing herself face down into her pillow. “Good job, Tim.”

“It’s the truth, Stephanie!”

Crystal’s fingers twitched on the door handle, and Stephanie could see one of her pressure headaches building, like a throbbing in her mother’s temple.

“You know what – just leave Tim. And we won’t discuss it again.”

Tim would take that and run. At least this time he wasn’t being chased out of a house with a shotgun like Ariana’s uncle had done.

“Sure. Sure. Can… Steph. Can I borrow your phone?”

“So someone can come pick you up?” Crystal snorted. “What? Don’t you have shoes either?”

Tim realised if Crystal had her way he would have been forced to run back to the manor. Death at this point really would have been preferable. Weakly, he just stated, “No, Mrs. Brown.”

Stephanie spoke at her mother and into her pillow, unable to look the embarrassing situation in the eye.

“Mom, please. The guy’s dignity has already been shot. Please don’t make him walk back to Wayne Manor in his tidey-wideys. I can give you a lift Tim, I said I would.”

“No, no,” Crystal insisted. “I’m sure you’ve done enough Stephanie.”

Stephanie shrieked, muffled but distressed. Dramatically, with exaggerated movements, she removed her phone form under her pillow and unlocked it without looking, then tossed it up the air. Tim scrambled to catch it, then dialled for the manor. Crystal stood aside, indicating it was time for Tim to leave the room. He looked back to Stephanie, still buried in her bed sheets. It was a look of desperation on his features that made Crystal feel almost guilty for separating the pair, but honestly, she did not trust her daughter, and she did not trust Tim, however soft spoken he may have been.

When Tim exited the room, Crystal shut the door with a definitive slam behind him. Turning back to Stephanie, she saw her daughter’s shoulders shaking with quiet crying. This only served to befuddle Crystal more, but before she could say or do anything else, a shallow container on the floor by her daughter’s desk caught her eye.

“Is that a litter tray?” she asked, confusion reaching fever pitch.

Stephanie raised her head to stare at her mother, eyes wet and pout overwhelmingly sad.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth.”

*****

“Alfred washed it. Got rid of all the cat hairs.”

Tim held up the blue sweater for Stephanie to take on her doorstep. She took it reverently and inhaled deep. Alfred always used an excess of fabric conditioner that made clothes smell lush. Tim, for his part, looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry you got drawn into all of that. I’m sorry I made you and your mom fall out.”

Stephanie said nothing, keeping Tim on the doorstep as she set down the sweatshirt. When she looked back to Tim, closing the front door behind her, she was struck by the thought that he seemed much younger than eighteen. He was scuffing his feet on the concrete, hands behind his back, like a bashful child.

“It was all because I was careless with Abra Kadabra and it bit me in the butt and Damian didn’t want to have to deal with me so he burdened you with it. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t a burden,” she replied quietly. “I liked it. The last day.”

“Oh,” Tim blushed, looking anywhere but in her eye. “Me too. For what it’s worth. Honestly, it was actually really nice. Relatively. In context. You know. In a not creepy way.”

“It must have been a bit weird. Like, don’t pretend it wasn’t. All that chicken and tuna you ate for one thing…”

Tim chuckled to himself, finding something very funny.

“Yeah my digestion has been wild the past week and... too much information. Sorry.”

Stephanie tried to catch his eye, but Tim kept his head stubbornly down. His feet must have been very interesting.

“You… you were going to ask me something, before my mom walked in,” she pushed.

He coughed, choking on nothing but his nerves.

“Was I?”

“Tim.” She reached out and took his hand. Tim flinched, then relaxed and finally gathered the courage to look her in the eye. She smiled, beautifully, always beautifully, and he squeezed her fingers.

“I’m sorry if it took me being turned into a cat to actually ask.”

“That’s okay. It happens for people like us. In a way I think it puts things into perspective. So, please ask.”

“You…”

He stared at her, admiring her, before finding words couldn’t do the job well enough. Instead, he leaned forward, meeting Stephanie who was also moving closer, and the two kissed on Stephanie’s front doorstep. She broke away with such a delighted laugh that Tim chuckled himself.

“Ask me,” she insisted.

Tim shook his head and kissed her again. Falling back against her front door, the two made out for a moment too long before Stephanie regained her senses. She pushed him back, laughing louder and more hysterically.

“Tim! No! You need to ask!”

Another kiss, this time accompanied by him picking her up and swinging her in a circle. Finally, Stephanie gave up and held him tight. Tim made a noise that she could only describe as a chirp of delight in response.

“You’re a little gremlin,” she muttered into his mouth. “Cat or otherwise.”

#dc #tim drake #stephanie brown #timsteph #my fic tag

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xiaomoxu · 4 years ago

Text

MLQC CN Victor (Li Zeyan) Exhibition Date Part 3 & 4

SPOILER ALERT!!

It's a date which has released on CN server. I'm doing translation for personal reason, so I'm sorry if there's some mistranslation. Kindly tell me if you found some :) feel free for read it~ ^^

Read previous part here

Part.3

MC: This exhibit is called "It's Sunny Today", it's the work I want to include in the show

MC: These are the diaries of a woman for ten years, and they write the bits and pieces of her life.

MC: As for Mr. A, who is often mentioned in these diaries, he is the one she likes.

Li Zeyan bowed his head silently, flipping through one of the books

Li Zeyan: From the perspective of her narrative language style, it looks very similar to yours.

MC: Do you know what is written on the last page of this diary?.. Happy wedding.

Mr. A, whom she likes, declined her confession several times. Later, Mr. A immigrated abroad and the two broke contact.

MC: What she got again was the news that Mr. A was about to get married, so the diary stopped on this page.

Li Zeyan stopped reading the diary, his expression was a little surprised.

Li Zeyan: So what is the purpose of her diary?

I stared at the yellowed cover of the diary and recalled the description in the guidebook.

MC: There is no purpose.

MC: She later said...this is her real life, and it is a very peaceful life.

MC: In the past ten years, she entered postgraduate studies, went to a listed company as a supervisor, and later became a manager and director...

MC: Never give up on yourself for a moment.

MC: Her major for postgraduate entrance examination is one of the most difficult majors in the country.

MC: But when she thought that this school was very close to the high school Mr. A had attended, she persevered.

MC: She felt that even if she walked around the school, she seemed to be closer to his life.

MC: For a long time, she lived alone and recorded by herself,

MC: There are no grand surprises and pains, only trivial life and emotions.

Although it is a sad story, but judging from the cute and interesting description in her diary, even if she feels regretful, she still lives well.

But I talked a lot about it, but Li Zeyan kept silent, so I walked up to him and gently pulled his cuff.

MC: I finished reading here, shall we go?

Li Zeyan: This is the exhibit you want to enter the show, don't you take some photos and go back?

MC: I have this plan, but I am afraid you may find it boring.

Upon receiving his inquiring eyes, I honestly said frankly.

MC: After all, President Li always has some important things in his head every day...

MC: It is understandable that you have no interest in this kind of little love.

Li Zeyan smiled casually.

Li Zeyan: If I'm not interested in this kind of little love, I will not accompany you here on weekends.

He glanced at the diary on display again, and his expression showed some emotion.

Li Zeyan: In fact, human emotions are interlinked, and I understand her.

I didn't expect Li Zeyan to give such an answer, but I was a little stunned.

MC: Don't you think she was wasted the time she spent writing in the diary?

Li Zeyan: Will not.

Li Zeyan cast his gaze on one of the pages in the diary.

Li Zeyan: She herself wrote: No moment of time is wasted for love.

I rarely hear this type of words from Li Zeyan, it even makes me feel strange.

In my impression, we seem to seldom talk directly about the theme of "love".

Maybe it is because he always loves words and opinions. Maybe it is because I have always had a big mind. We always have no chance to understand the meaning of the word seriously.

Will he feel the same when he sees these exhibits?

I looked down, and after a short hesitation, I looked at him again.

Li Zeyan: what you want to say?

MC: Thinking... about the question you just asked me.

I went forward two more steps, one by one at such a close distance, he didn't retreat for half a step, but leaned toward me slightly.

MC: I think Little love is very interesting.

MC: You met someone and felt some emotions.

MC: From then on, you are no longer what you were before, you have been changed. This is a trace.

MC: Such traces will remain in paintings and texts, in sculptures and photography... I can also feel this trace.

Li Zeyan lowered his head and cast his eyes, and there was light and shadow in the quiet pupils.

Li Zeyan: For example.

I clearly caught the smile raised by his lips, and thought seriously.

MC: For example... The format of my plan has changed.

MC: First line indentation, font size ten to five, and paragraph spacing 1.5 are the most pleasing formats for you!

Li Zeyan raised his eyebrows lightly.

Li Zeyan: Only in this way?

MC: And there is... I became picky eater.

MC: I never thought any food was bad.

MC: But Souvenir's special menu has made my taste worse, and now I almost feel like eating Michelin.

Li Zeyan didn't hold back his smile, shook his head helplessly, and took my hand.

Li Zeyan: follow me.

There is an exhibition board in the innermost part of the second floor exhibition hall, which describes the entire process of how the exhibition was initiated to how to grow.

Picture of the curator on top....

MC: The coffee shop owner just now!

Li Zeyan: Fortunately, you did the strategy in advance, but you didn't recognize him?

MC: I just said how familiar he is!

MC: Say so...

MC: The story about this exhibition is also his story.

The literary youth who secretly fell in love with a girl spent a lot of time because they did not know how to confess. When he finally plucked up the courage, the girl died of cancer.

These words are just a few words written on the whiteboard, and even some clichés.

But when I think that this is someone, the real life that is happening, I can't help feeling regret and sadness in my heart.

Li Zeyan: So the name of this exhibition is "Speak Out".

Li Zeyan: The existence of traces is the way in which feelings are spoken.

MC: Whether it's a mouse hidden in a painting, a miss written in a diary, or a stone sculpture with a face of love...

MC: Are talking about their thoughts.

MC: Together with this exhibition, it is also a voice from the coffee shop owner who wants to make up for his regrets.

All the clips are strung together in front of my eyes, making my heart feel the most real touch.

MC: Li Zeyan, although a bit old fashioned....

MC: But if I want to make the program "New Year's Emotions" the theme of "Speak Out"...

MC: Will you approve (or reject) my plan?

Li Zeyan glanced at me, eyebrows stretched.

Li Zeyan: Depends on the quality of the plan.

Part.4

When we finished viewing the exhibition and walked out of the gate of the exhibition hall, a cold wind mixed with drizzle came.

The sun was still shining when I went out, why did it suddenly rain

Li Zeyan: I asked Wei Qian to come and pick us up.

MC: Huh? There's no need..

I quickly took out the tickets for this exhibition from my bag.

MC: I remember that the souvenirs sent by this exhibition seem to be an umbrella exchange with a ticket to the small window.

Li Zeyan naturally took the tickets from me.

Li Zeyan: You are waiting for me here.

MC: Okay

While waiting, I couldn’t help but look back at the exhibition hall and saw the coffee shop owner is closing the door.

Accompanied by the closing music melody, he flipped the store's "OPEN" sign and hung it up as "CLOSE", then inserted a lock and put the key in his pocket.

This should be his ordinary day again.

But he noticed my gaze and couldn't help but glanced at me, then smiled and waved at me and walked deeper into the exhibition hall.

There are many people in this world who have not even been able to say the most important thing, but I am different.

While in a trance, Li Zeyan had already returned under an umbrella.

In the gloomy night, the street lamps were lit up, and he slowly walked towards me in the interlacing of light and shadow.

I saw the fine raindrops wet his hair, and the dim light mingled in his deep eyes.

The traces that have already existed, it should be said in a more direct way...

MC: Li Zeyan, have you heard the music coming out of the exhibition hall?

Li Zeyan didn't hear my overtones and explained it to me seriously.

Li Zeyan: This music is to remind visitors that the closing time is up.

I was a little helpless, and then whispered to him.

MC: Didn't you think of anything else? Don't you think this music is a bit familiar?

Li Zeyan was silent, frowning slightly, as if thinking seriously.

No longer giving Li Zeyan time to think, I ran to him in small steps and stretched out a hand to him with a smile on my back.

MC: This gentleman, can you dance with me while enjoying your face?

Li Zeyan's eyes dazzled slightly.

MC: When you first taught me to dance, you used this tune.

The world is silent, and I hear my heart beating with pounding expectations.

MC: This is the trace of me being changed by you.

The warm fingertips pressed against my palm. Before I recovered, Li Zeyan pulled me into his arms completely.

In the minor tune played on the violin, I followed Li Zeyan's footsteps, gently stepping on the melody, and jumping around in circles.

The night is sinking, but my eyes are full of light

The joy exploded in my heart, like bright fireworks soaring into the night sky, echoing the sky full of stars.

No words can describe such a feeling of satisfaction.

MC: What about you?

Li Zeyan: Me what?

MC: Do you have nothing to say to me? After watching the exhibition all afternoon, there is always some afterthought.

Li Zeyan stopped and held me tight. Some raindrops were blown by the diagonal wind, and he leaned over the umbrella to completely block the rain.

Li Zeyan: Dummy.

The raindrops pattered on the umbrella surface, accompanied by his low voice falling to my ears, as if all the noise was isolated, and only him in the world existed in front of me.

Li Zeyan: Let a greedy cat clamor for dessert after dinner, I baked pudding before going out.

Li Zeyan: Do you think this is a sign of change?

~END~

Thank you for reading, kindly let me now if there's any mistranslation ><

#mlqc spoilers #mlqc cn #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc date #mr love spoilers #mr love victor

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