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inkmonster21 · 6 months ago

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Sing for Me

4. This is Hollywood

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader / The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

She's a singer the nation adores. He's the actor everyone respects. What happens when these two get entangled in a heated affair? Passion, regret, rage, and even murder will commence. From before the bombs drop to the vast wasteland, these two souls live for one another.

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

Tagged: @fallout-girl219 @harmfulb1tch

It was the last day on set, and they were filming all the last-minute scenes, and touching up some stunts. That’s all that was on the schedule today. Which means I had nothing to do but sit and watch Cooper Howard be sexy.

The set bell rings and the buzz of people moving around begins again. I stand from my chair and slide next to Cooper as he reads over the very last rewrite. “Hi.” I smile at him.

Cooper nods and turns away, ignoring me completely. I felt a pain in my heart, “Cooper.” I move in front of him again, and he steps away. “What are you doing?” I ask in concern.

He lowers the script from his face, a glare in his eyes. “Trying to work, if you don’t mind.” I blink at him, he’s never once been so rude towards me. “I’m sorry?” “Go on. Be useful somewhere else.” I back away slowly from him, going back to my chair and sitting down. Embarrassment eating away at my core. Did I do something wrong?

Cooper continued to ignore me the rest of the day. He ditched lunch on set, wouldn’t speak to me at the crew meeting, and practically ran away when I tried to catch him when everyone was dismissed.

I catch him right when he is exiting his trailer. “Cooper. Hey, I’m sorry if I did anything to make you upset. I wish you would talk to me.” Cooper stares at me with dead eyes. “You want to talk?” I nod, “I would love to.” “Alright, let’s talk. This thing we have is over. We wrapped filming and I’m not too interested in keeping you leashed up anymore. So you’re free to do whatever the fuck it is you do.” He pushes past me.

I scoff, shock consumes me. “What? What the fuck?” “Wasn’t that hard to comprehend, honey.” His nicknames now have been laced with venom. “You said-“ “I said a lot of shit to get into your pants. Grow up, dollface. This is Hollywood. How else did you think you’d get to the top? Did you think I’d put my neck out for you for free? Get you cast in every film just out of the kindness of my heart? All you were was a good time.”

I stride up to him, slapping him across the face, “Fuck you, you mother fucker.” I spit in his face, tears flowing, a mixture of rage and despair seeping through. The crew now standing still as well watching the outburst. I back away from him quickly, running to my trailer and locking myself inside.

I knew it. I knew this was just a game. A time waster for him. How could I let myself fall so easily? I fall to the floor balling. I cradle myself as I choke on my sobs.

How long has it been since that happened? Weeks? Months? Who fucking knows at this point. It’s been long enough that the press tour is getting ready to begin and they’re requesting for my appearance.

“You have to go, you’re one of the leads,” Louis argues from the foot of my bed as I eat another scoop of ice cream. “No, I don’t.” I lick the spoon clean before grabbing the bottle of wine from my bedside table. Louis watches in disbelief as I turn the bottle up and down half. “Oh my god. You need some serious help.” I glare at him, my hair falling out of his bun as I shake my head at him. “You know what? If you’re going to be rude you can leave.”

“Oh, I’m going to be rude.” Louis flips the blanket off of me, revealing my two-day-old pajamas. He shakes his head, “this is a crime.”

He rips me from the bed and ushers me into the bathroom. “We’re going out tonight. I’m sick of seeing you cry over a 50-year-old man. You’re in your fucking prime and you’re in here drowning yourself in wine like a depressed benzo wife. Scrub your ass, brush your teeth, and put some makeup up because tonight we are getting you out of this mess. I’m calling Heather and her boyfriend.”

I groan as he pushes me into the large bathroom. “I don’t want to!” “Well, you’re going to. You can still get drunk but you’re doing it in style and with some friends.”

I cry once more in the shower, holding my cheeks in sorrow. He really has done a number on me. I lived for him every day for months, and now without him, I feel no real reason to try the basic social appearances. Louis has been doing my shopping, no doubt the store clerk thinks he's an alcoholic.

I stare at myself in the mirror and sigh. The dark circles around my eyes, my chapped lips that I would bite as I paced around thinking about him, my cheeks pale and dry; I was truly a mess.

With the makeup, the dark circles were covered, and a tight dress hugged me nicely. The ice cream and wine diet was effective. Louis shoves a handbag in my arms and pulls me out the door.

"There she is!" Heather cheers as she pulls me into her arms. "I haven't seen you in FOREVER! Big movie star now, too good to hang out with us?" I smile at her words. It was nice to be around my old friends for a change. "No, I'm ready to throw it all away. I am so tired, and the press tour hasn't even started yet."

Her boyfriend reaches out, "Well, it surely is a pleasure to meet you. I was beginning to doubt Heather, but here you are." "Nice to meet you." Louis returns from the bar with a tray of drinks. "Where is Johnny?"

I furrow my brow, "Johnny who?" Just that moment, a body takes the seat next to me. "Nice to see you again, (Y/n)." I laugh loudly as I tackle him in a hug. "Oh my god! How long has it been?" He smiles, "A long time. So long I heard you don't partake in the devil's lettuce anymore, or the snow, or the magic mushrooms. What happened to my party girl?" I shrug, "I got famous." He tilts his head, "And you have it backward. You're supposed to be getting us the good shit with all your high connections." I laugh falling into him, downing a shot as I do. It was true that I was quite some trouble in school. I just knew how to have a great time. It wasn’t my fault that I was the life of the party. Johnny was the plug who was able to get anything we desired. The two of us were close for the longest time. Never made it official though. I guess I have a pattern of relationships under wraps.

Shot after shot, my vision struggled to stay focused. Johnny dances with me in the middle of the room. His hands pressed into my waist as we swayed. "I remember when we were in high school, I thought you were full of it." He spins me around, at arm's distance with a charming smile. He spins me in, dipping down to whisper in my ear, "Now look at you, the biggest fucking star in America." I turn to look at him, the alcohol fooling my thoughts. "And look at you, still as handsome as a movie star." False, but what else could I say? It was easy with Johnny. We had the history to back up the emotions. Something stable, someone who wouldn’t memorize all my inner thoughts and feelings. Someone who wouldn’t then use said feeling to their benefit.

He runs a finger down my cheek, just like he would. I close my eyes, the simple touch reminding me of his skin. "Want to come out and smoke with me?"

It started with a joint, then Heather and her boyfriend came outside with the small baggie filled with powder, and with the entire mixture inhabiting my body, I felt warm. I felt strangely happy. I laugh as we leave the club, all five of us loudly making our way across the street. Camera flashes catch my attention. "Ah, fuck. Here they come." Louis huffs. "Just keep moving. Let’s get (y/n) in the car.”

The paparazzi race across the street, blocking traffic as they call for me, snapping pictures left and right. "Smile for us!" "Are you celebrating?" "Who are your friends?" "Is that your man, (Y/n)?" Johnny cups my lower back and takes my arm assisting me into the car. He leans in the cab with a smile. "Take care, (Y/n)." He leans in kissing my cheek and backing away, the cameras capturing it all. The door closes and Louis is sat next to me with a smirk. "What?" He shakes his head, "He's hot as fuck." I feel the warmth spread to my face, my lips curling in a smile. "Yeah, he is."

The tabloids ran a story on her outing with some friends. "America's Sweetheart Has a Night on the Town." I felt my knee shake as I began the read the article. She was seen at some middle class bar with some friends. None I had ever heard of or seen. Especially the one with his hand around her. Seen drinking, and dancing the night away, a dazzling smile on her face. I look at one of the photos in more detail. Her smile is wide and her eyes are blown to the size of saucers. I shake my head, "Come on now, you're better than that, honey." I run my thumb over the curve of her cheek. She looked good, just as beautiful as the last time I saw her. When I broke her heart. When I shattered everything I desired. Our souls that once fed each other were now starving in separate rooms, locked away from each other.

"She's so pretty," Janey says as she peeks over his shoulder. I couldn't hide my smile. "You think so?" Janey nods with a large grin. "Can we play her record, Daddy? Please? I want to dance." I smile wasting no time placing the record in the player. Her sweet voice ripples through the house. Janey holds my hands as we sway to the angelic sound. If I close my eyes I can see her on stage performing for the world, but more importantly for herself. She was a true artist. She bled music. Singing every chance she got no matter where it was. That notepad went everywhere with her and whenever the muse hit the pages would rapidly flip and she would jot down whatever was leading her to compose.

That notebook…

The one I keep tucked neatly between two geographic books in my study. I would pull it out and read her thoughts whenever an ache pierced through my body. The burning want of her presence. I missed her.

The love song was one of the last she attempted to construct within the pages. A song about me.

It was a hot day, and I couldn't think of a better way to spend it than sitting next to the pool. "This is the nicest house I've ever been to." Heather squeals as she throws her bag down by the row of chairs. Louis wipes sunscreen on his face. He turns to me with a smile, "So, is the Hottie coming?" I smirk at him. I sip my drink as I lay in the sun. "The Hottie is already here, and is walking down the steps right now." Johnny comes down the stairs clad in swim trunks, and tanned abs lining his stomach. Louis grabs my arm for support, "He stayed here?" I tip my sunglasses looking at my friend. "A girl can have fun. It’s not like we’re strangers." Heather winks at me from the float in the water, "She sure can! I swear you haven't been this fun since senior year!"

The phone in the pool house rings and I groan, "No, no work calls today." Louis stands refusing my request and picking up the phone. "Hello?" Louis quickly begins to scribble things on the pad of paper. I toss my head back knowing it's going to take up my time. "Never a peaceful moment, huh?" Johnny takes a seat next to me in the chair a beer in one hand, and a lit joint in the other. I quickly snatch the rolled devil's cigarette and inhale. "You don't even know the half of it."

"Oh, yes she can make it." I look at Johnny with a flat expression, "See what I mean?" Louis sits back down in his chair, reading the notepad. "So, Thursday, you're filming an ad for Vault Tech, and then we're all going to be attending the wrap party!" The lot of them cheer. "A real wrap party?" Heather gasps.

Johnny smiles, running his finger over my shoulder. "I get to see you in action. I sure am a lucky, man." I smile but internally shutter at the words remembering Cooper's same words. I inhale again, waving him from my mind. "You sure are a lucky man," I smirk at him as I pass the joint over.

The screen lights up revealing our host. "Oh. Hello there. Yep, it’s me, Cooper Howard, star of stage and screen. But I’m not here today to talk to you about my latest picture. No, today I’m here to show you a vast and wonderful place, not made by God Almighty but by the working man. A veritable Camelot of the nuclear age. Now, how ’bout we turn on some lights." The large lights hum as they illuminate the vault. "There, that’s better. Now, I’m speaking to you from deep inside the fully livable Model 96JQ1164." Cooper travels down the vault's path. "And what a beaut she is." He knocks against the metal wall. "And what a song she sings. Now, that right there is Vault 4’s three-foot-thick lead casing. Strong enough to keep out the Rads and the Reds." He sends a wink and a smile.

“Now would you look at that?” Cooper walks over to a lineup of robots resembling America’s favorite little songbird. Her eyes open and she smiles gently at Cooper. “Good afternoon, Mr. Howard. How can I be of assistance?” Cooper turns back to the camera with a smile on his face. “These bots will be a helping hand in your very own vault. Each community will have access to 6 individual bots that can move throughout the vault at your request.”

The real-life (Y/n) steps into the frame with her award-winning smile. “That’s right! These bots are equipped with knowledge spreading from a culinary chef to a registered nurse. She’ll be a helping hand to any resident. Helpful, smart, and beautiful. Wouldn’t you say, Cooper?” He smiles at (Y/n). “Stunning.” He breathes out.

(Y/n) walks ahead of Cooper. "Follow me." They both enter the elevator. The scene changes to view the so-called neighborhood. "Now, this corridor here is Sycamore Street, where you’ll wave howdy to any one of your 200 neighbors on your way home for an enchanted evening with your loved ones." Cooper stops beside (y/n). He places a hand on her shoulder. "Look, there's the Hawthornes." Both Cooper and (Y/n) wave before entering the family’s living space. "Now, this isn’t just your average all-American family. No, Lloyd and Cassandra here are both scientists, specializing in the effects of radiation on human DNA." Cassandra nods, "That’s right. And we’ll be living and working right here in Vault 4, leading a community governed entirely by scientists." (Y/n) smiles at the woman, "Wait a second, did you say “living down here”?" She leans into Cooper's side, a worried look on her face, "There hasn’t been a nuclear incident, has there?" Cooper rests an arm around her in comfort.

Lloyd shakes his head, "Uh, no, not yet. But, our family and a group of 80 volunteers will be conducting a five-year trial of Vault 4. To demonstrate to the world that, no matter what comes our way, America will be ready." Cooper shakes his head, a proud smile on his face. "Five years. Well, I may play a hero in the movies, but… you all are heroes in real life." (Y/n) smiles brightly from his side. "And now you can be a hero, too. By purchasing a residence in a Vault-Tec vault today." Cooper nods, "Because if the worst should happen tomorrow, the world is gonna need Americans just like you to build a better day after."

"And cut." The bell rings and I peel myself away from Cooper in disgust. I can feel my anger bubbling. Even working together he refused to look my way, always looking directly behind me. I need a fucking bump.

I scoff as I exit the vault room and into the hall where Barb stands with her colleagues, wearing a shit-eating grin. "Hi, (Y/n)." She waves her fingers delicately at me. I push forward a smile as I pass her, "Hi, Barb, so nice to see you." I walk across the hall into the separate vault where Johnny stands taking a tour. "Impressed?" He looks at me with a grin. "This is so cool. Tell me I get a family and friends discount?" I poke his chest lightly, "You give me that little tube you got in your shirt pocket, and you can get whatever you want." He smirks, quickly passing the small glass tube. I use the small spoon to place it at my nose before sharply inhaling. I pucker my lips, "Ohh." I shake my head lightly, the waves crashing. The numb wash of confidence and carelessness overtakes me. I giggle as I look at Johnny. He laughs with me, taking the tube from my hands. His gaze drills into my eyes, "You're so fucking high." I cover my mouth, unable to stop my giggles. "You think the camera could tell?" "I don't think so. You just seemed, extra happy." I wrap my arms around his neck, "How could I not be? I feel like a high schooler again.” He spins me, only for me to catch the tall figure in the door.

"Everything okay in here?" Cooper asks, an unreadable expression on his face. Johnny's hand remains on my waist; he nods, "All good, buddy." Cooper looks over Johnny, examining his every inch. With a grin on his face, Cooper extends a hand, “Cooper Howard.” Johnny shakes his hand, the two men bulking up towards each other, the beginnings of a dominance challenge. “Right, the cowboy. Johnny Bud.” Cooper raised a brow and hummed. “Can’t say I’m familiar. All the same, nice to meet you.” Cooper turns to bare onto my orbs, finally looking at me, into me. I don’t think he was fond of what he found. He nods his head. Not even a word was spoken to me. He exits the room with one final glance, a chuckle leaving his lips.

Fucking asshole.

That’s what she chooses to associate herself with. Some small town drug dealer from her hometown? I could see it in her eyes. She’s flying as high as a kite in the clouds. I can smell her on my suit. I bring the sleeve to my nose, taking a short inhale. It’s intoxicating. My restraints barely held together at the sight of her. I was begging god for just a second of time alone with her. Then I saw him trailing behind her, hand on her back as he looked at everything in amazement. Amateur. Why was he even here? Wasn’t this a closed set? Shows how professional Vault Tech really is. They’d let just anyone walk in here. I bet they don’t even have someone on her security. She could get hurt. I wouldn’t let that happen. Damned all I’d jump off a bridge for her and die happy with the memory of her kiss.

Barb looks in my direction, her eyes digging for some type of evidence of betrayal. She straightens my tie, “having a good time?” I shrug, “Nothing against these colleagues of yours, but what do you say we go home?” I need to get away from her as soon as possible. I can feel the desire building, and I as a man can only withstand so much.

“There is a wrap party.” I furrow my brows, “What, a… a wrap party? For this?” Unimpressed I roll my eyes. I didn’t want to spend another minute with these assholes. I sigh, “We go for a couple of hours, we shake a few hands-,” “It’s at our house.” I stare at her, behind her (y/n) walks across the hall, arm in arm with drug dealer John. Fury ignited, but I pushed it down. Surly she wasn’t going to come to the house. Barb would be livid. I would be rid of my temptation soon. I press a fake smile, “The things I’m willing to do for you.”

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #fallout #fallout imagine #the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard fallout #fallout ghoul #walton goggins #cooper howard fanfiction #the ghoul fanfic

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rughydrangea · 10 months ago

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After 81 glorious episodes, I have finished Jumong. I started it in July, pretty soon after it appeared on Viki (now please add more old long sageuks pretty please Viki!), and have been watching fairly steadily since then, mostly with my mum when we're in the same place (my dad at a certain point started watching with her but only managed to stay awake through episodes starting in the 60s, meaning he had no idea who half the characters were...). And I have some thoughts!

--I loved it! It didn't get me in the gut like a QSD or a SFD or even The Legend, but it really kept up my interest across 81 episodes, with a great mixture of action, intrigue, melodrama, and silliness (there was the intentional silliness like my man Mo Pal Mo, but also stuff like the oracle being struck by lightning when she tried to curse Jumong, which made me howl with laughter). I really wish we still got sagueks like this--long, deliberate, with no interest in being cool or youthful, give or take a backflip (though the fact that I now get to start Goryeo-Khitan War really does make me happy and excited).

--I started watching kdramas seriously in 2014. At that time, I was familiar with Song Il Gook--but only because I couldn't avoid endless gifs of him and his patriotically-named triplets. I vaguely understood that he had been a big-deal actor, but his main dramas were older and less accessible (and when he did Jang Yeong Shil in 2016 it wasn't available to stream legally anywhere), so I had never seen him in anything until this. And now... I would very much like for him to come back to dramas! He is honestly incredible here: so charismatic, so compelling to watch, SO handsome, and most importantly he really nails the incredibly long journey Jumong goes on, from callow loser to impetuous guy figuring it out to determined general to gravitas-laden king. Every step of the way I was with him, and though the show boasts a huge cast, he really was the reason for the season; the show isn't called Jumong for nothing. There are two episodes he isn't in when everyone thinks Jumong is dead, and it's like a punch to the viewer's gut as well, you just can't imagine this world without him in it! And did I mention that he's handsome?

--Speaking of handsome, shoutout to the 3-year time-jump around episode 50 when all of a sudden it seemed like all the men of the show had spent the weeks leading up to that growing out their hair and all their manes of glory were flowing in the breeze. Your efforts did not go unappreciated, gentlemen! (Also 2006 lace-front wigs are rough to watch in HD!)

--Speaking of compelling journeys, even though this was the Jumong show (literally!) Soseono also really went through it, and Han Hye Jin made every stage of her transformation from bold, overconfident young woman to burdened mother and queen believable and interesting. And these parallel journeys of the leads really do provide the emotional heart of the show: as they grow up and make difficult decisions and go down paths they never anticipated (particularly their marriages to different people), on the one hand they are fulfilling their dreams and destinies, but on the other they are basically guaranteeing that the beautiful time of their youth, when they were in love and saw a whole life together unfolding before them, could never be recaptured. Even when Soseono and Jumong finally marry, it is out of duty and obligation--not that there isn't a part of them that still loves the other, but that part has been entirely subordinated to the other projects that they dedicated their lives to. Soseono leaving does make sense (though Biryu's rebellion was so dumb that it made it impossible for me to have sympathy for him), but it was genuinely sad to see both her and Jumong realize that the thing they lost all those years ago could never be returned, not even by 15 years of marriage.

--And speaking of marriage... I feel really bad for Yesoya, a character who basically exists to abnegate herself and also give Jumong a baby. But I found their relationship weirdly fascinating (and though sageuks like Jumong have a reputation for being stodgy, I do want to highlight that both leads in this drama marry people they explicitly don't romantically love and almost immediately get pregnant. Sexuality exists in stodgy sageuks! (also Jumong got very frisky with those tavern girls after Haemosoo died)). By the end, when Yesoya comes back, Jumong looks at her with such warmth, it's as though feeling really really guilty ended up making him actually fall in love with her.

--Shout out to the casting director, Yuri really did look like he was Jumong's son.

--Imagine my surprise and delight that there is an honest-to-God gay couple in this 81-long episode sageuk from 2006 that is obvious, unambiguous, and deeply deeply sweet. Though my inability to makes heads or tails of Bae Soo Bin as an actor continues. I have seen him be very good (as he is here)! I have seen him be VERY bad. Where is the truth?????

I guess that's it for now. Come back to us, Song Il Gook!

#jumong #kdrama #my commentary #my year in review list is going to be late again because i spent all of my break watching jumong lol

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fandom-space-princess · 2 years ago

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In Dulci Jubilo

Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Gen Length: 7.1k Pairings: Michael/Adam Milligan Characters: Michael, Adam Milligan, Gabriel, Raphael, Lucifer, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Jack Kline Tags: other implied relationships (brief), dean/castiel, sam/gabriel, sam/lucifer, nobody is dead! everybody lives!, holiday fic, half character study half domestic vignette Summary:

It was a compliment, dear one. I wish only for my Brothers to see the mercy of you. For them to see our peace. ----- Invited to a holiday dinner, Adam and Michael explain to each of their siblings their choice to return to each other.

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For the Midam Holiday Exchange, a gift for @hectatess!

(Set in the same universe as "The Game of Us" and "None But Shining Hours," but you absolutely do not have to have read those to read this.)

Read below, or on AO3.

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Once, I would have led the chorus of Heaven in your name. Imagine it: every voice in the Host, raised in celebration of you! For the fact of your fit to me, exultation would have been your due; your refrain, a rallying cry. A battle hymn.

“So they’d have known me? You’d have... what? Introduced me?”

… after a fashion.

“Come on, bud. Spit it out.”

Understand: we were family, yes—of a kind—but second. A distant second. First, in all things, we were shared obligation. Our bonds were fealty; our cause, war. Armies are made to glory, true, but only in swords and generals. I’d have introduced you as—as what you were to be. And your name, in their ears—in my ears—would have sounded no sweeter than your body would have felt, in my hands, as a weapon.

Silence, for a time. Then:

“You gave that up, though. Dean was your sword or whatever. Not me. I’m just... me.”

Indeed.

A shrug.

“So do you still wanna...” Adam tugged at a loose thread on his cuff, thinking. “I mean, you’re the one who wants to do the family thing. What exactly do you want them to look at me and see?”

Beloved, if you are a blade, you are a broken one.

“Hey!”

The impression of a chuckle, a fleeting fizzle of nerves.

It was a compliment, dear one. I wish only for my Brothers to see the mercy of you. For them to see our peace.

“Because I’d make a crappy sword?”

That, too.

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[An hour before dinner, late in December:]

With the sunset, wet, fluffy snow had begun to fall on the city of Lawrence. They didn’t need to drive through it to reach the bunker. They did not, strictly speaking, need to drive anywhere—ever. But Michael enjoyed the nod to normalcy on Adam’s behalf; enjoyed the idea that he might still be able to be, at least this much, a human. That he might move between destinations on foot, or by car, feeling the passage of distance and of time. That holiday dinners with a family unit might be desirable, pleasant, or at least tolerable, in the multitudinous complicated ways of human relationships.

True, too: some things he enjoyed for himself. That the cold air and exertion from the walk might cast Adam’s cheeks in pink. That snowflakes might settle along his eyelashes, dust his hat and shoulders in downy white and remind Michael, for a moment, of down of other kinds.

“You’re getting more sentimental by the minute. I can tell. You’re doing that thing with your shoulders.”

I know.

The car they had abandoned half a mile back, edged up onto the roadside under scraggling trees already limned in frost. Doubled tracks led back the way they’d come; the snow crunched underfoot. No moon or starlight lit this part of the road, and past the outskirts of town the streetlights had petered out rapidly. Yet Adam was unbothered. For all that Michael tried to encourage him to keep hold of what little of his humanity remained, his eyesight was still far better than it had ever been in his first life. It wasn’t comparable to when Michael had actively possessed him, but—well. Some things would never entirely reset. The limits of human reflexes, human senses—even human mortality—were all less well-defined than they’d once been.

Michael, of course, could always see in the dark.

Around a curve in the road, and the bunker loomed up in front of them, upper stories vanishing into the swirling snow. No wind, and clouds in abundance; for winter in Kansas, the night was almost warm. Packing snow, Adam mused. Memories of snowmen, of snowball fights and sledding on pilfered lunchtrays down the big hill behind his middle school. He thought: if the night takes a turn and the mood needs salvaging, they could always come back outside for a while. Work on Michael’s first snowman, maybe. Remind each other how to laugh.

What are you smiling at?

Michael had stopped to wait near the bottom of the short flight of stairs leading to the bunker’s front door. Adam caught up the two steps he’d fallen behind. “Not much. Thinking about putting snow down Dean’s jacket later,” he replied. “And can you—y'know, out loud?” He gestured vaguely between them. “Just while we’re here.”

Not their usual preference, regardless of the distance between them or lack thereof, but in the company of others speaking aloud was... not easier, precisely, but markedly less of an invitation to prying questions.

Michael nodded. “Of course.”

Adam turned to face the door, considering it. A breath whuffed out of him, vapor ghosting away into the night. He pulled Michael’s hand into his. “We’re doing this?”

Another nod. “We are.”

His other hand found the doorknob, and without bothering to knock, they let themselves in.

----------[ Jack ]----------

Michael hadn’t had to inform Jack about how things lie between himself and Adam, once he had resettled in the world. Jack had already known.

It had been a secondary impetus for his resurrection, apparently. The primary one—that a universe-sans-archangels was destined for an imminent and messy collapse—notwithstanding, if the young godling had felt his predecessors fundamentally untrustworthy, the matter would have been settled before it began. And yet, inexplicably, Jack had trusted him. He had allowed him to return to life, had allowed him to come and go from Heaven as he desired; had extended to him a place in the rebuilding of it. In the boy’s position, Michael couldn’t say he’d have been as forgiving.

“Why?” he’d asked Jack, once, flying wing to shining wing.

They’d both tucked their physical forms away in a plane a few degrees to the left of the ethereal. Together they’d glided along the undergirding of an older corner of Heaven, inspecting it for structural damage, patching what they found as they went along with grace and will.

In angelic form, his nephew-god had no eyes. Which was to say that his eyes, like Michael’s own, were legion. Which was to say—that he saw everything, always, and understood what he saw. Often, he understood what he was seeing better than that which was being seen understood itself.

And with a child’s delight, he loved it all.

“When I told Adam about you, and about Chuck, and everything,” Jack had said, grinning to himself, running a wing along a strut, “he got so quiet. I didn’t know if I said it right. Cas said that I did, later, when I told him. But anyway... He sat for a minute, and then he asked me if I’d let you come back, too. He was so sure.”

Michael curled a wingtip up to cover a wide crack. Under the attention, the crack knit back together. Slowly, at first. Then Jack added his own wing, and the surface-that-wasn't above them smoothed out. Healed. Whole.

“I think it was the first time I ever saw a person that sure about anything that didn’t feel like it came with regret already built in.” Jack tumbled up at him, whirling, winking, playful. It caught Michael off-guard, at times, how alike Jack could be to a much, much younger Lucifer. Shine and certainty and sadness; authority, affection, willfulness. He reacted on reflex, skirling away, a momentary game of tag in a place-that-wasn't, with space enough to be alone forever, to run and never catch one another.

He let Jack catch him. He had always let Heylel win, too.

“And do you? Regret this?”

“No,” Jack laughed. In a nearby dimension, something young and green bloomed at the sound. “And he doesn’t either. I know.”

----------[ Sam ]----------

When Adam was finally forced to spell it out for Sam, it... had not gone great.

"I don’t get what’s confusing about this,” Adam ground out, into the strained silence on the other end of the phone. He took a deep breath through his nose. Deliberately measured his words. “Michael and I are a package deal. Again. Still. You feel weird about that, I—”

Sam’s voice was equal parts frustration and concern. “Adam, he—you know he went back to Chuck—”

“Yeah. Yep. That sucked for everybody. And he worked it out with Jack.”

“—he hurt us both, used you—”

“—I really don’t think you have any—”

“—he sold us out!”

“ Cope.” Adam’s temper got the better of him. “Look, thanks for calling. I don’t think I really do holidays anymore, but the invitation is appreciated or whatever. If you want to talk to me or Michael, you know how to contact us both.” As though aware of his place in the conversation, he felt Michael chime a question at the edge of his attention. He’d been busy in the kitchen, but Adam knew that if he didn’t lower his voice, Michael would join him on the couch, and the phone call would venture into new and exciting dimensions of annoyance.

From the other end of the line, there were the sounds of a scuffle, and muted grumbling. Someone dropped the phone.

“... hey, shortstack. That you?”

Ah. Great. “Nope. Bought this number on the black market.”

Gabriel’s grin was audible through the phone. “Giving Sammy a hard time? Never would have suspected it of you.”

“I’m not giving him the time of day. He’s the one who can’t deal.”

“Don’t know why he’s got so much sand in his shorts about you and Mikey. The big hypocrite.” Her voice was fond.

His stomach did something complicated that wouldn’t have been out of place at a gymnastics tournament. “He. I. Uh. He told you. About.”

“You know, I see what he sees in you. It’s your eloquence.” She laughed again. He hadn’t known her, before. He had only known her in this new incarnation; in the After that they were all navigating, now. But she seemed to be constantly laughing. He got the impression that she was making up for lost time. “Anywho. Big Bro did clue me in, in a manner of speaking. Family deals with family.” She paused. “That goes for you, too, by the by. We’ve been dutifully keeping your big news from Samshine here, obviously” — the scuffling sounds resumed, briefly; Adam got the distinct impression that Sam had just been sat on — “but you still get the joy of informing Deano, since Cassie isn’t squawking either. Nobody is.”

What sounded like muffled cursing, and the beep of keys being pressed. Gabriel’s voice came from far off: “Come to dinner, though! I wanna bug Mi—”

The line went dead.

----------[ Gabriel ]----------

In many respects, Gabriel had been the easiest place to start. If they were all to live this life anew, Michael wanted—more than most anything else—to do right by the three beings in the universe he had previously done so badly wrong. Among other things, that meant sharing this new part of himself with them. Gabriel had delivered messages, once. She had been charged with heralding momentous change, personal upheavals, the remaking of nations.

Was this so different? Surely, surely she would understand.

He found her on Earth. It wasn’t hard, once he went looking. What surprised him was where he found her: in a café on the outskirts of Lawrence, idly prodding the pile of foam atop a truly enormous latte with a wooden stir stick. He watched her for a handful of minutes from afar, as she alternately poked the touchscreen of a phone like the one Adam had, and shot furtive glances over the counter at the barista.

“You just gonna stand there all day and take in the ambience?” she called over to him, eventually. She turned her head to meet his gaze, with a grin that showed every one of her too-sharp teeth.

He took the chair opposite her. She clicked a drink into existence in front of him which bore a striking similarity to her own. Cautiously, he sniffed it. Caramelized sugars and the acrid tang of caffeine in abundance; the cloying, sweet-sour smell of steamed milk. Michael gave the drink a stern glare. It immediately and politely became a small paper cup of something that smelled of herbs and smoke, and which looked almost, but not quite, like coffee. Gabriel rolled her eyes, but let it be.

“So,” she started, chewing on the end of the stir stick. “How’s tricks?”

“You always choose your words so well, Sister.”

“Don’t I, though?”

“Mmm.” He found himself leaning across the table, not into her space exactly, but in a companionably human closeness. To his delight, he realized she was mirroring the posture. Whether this had been a conscious choice for her, it wasn’t for him, and a warm feeling spread through his limbs at the realization. This body was still new, made for him and him alone, and it had pleased him that his comfort with it grew by the day. “I am well, since you ask. I wanted to talk to you.”

“You know? Think I got that.” Her gaze wandered over his shoulder for a moment, then snapped back to his face. “Heard you’ve been keeping Jack and Cassie company as your new primary hobby. Fixing up the old digs. Which—just saying—a little manual labor looks good on you.”

She reached out to poke his shoulder with one long, white-tipped fingernail. Adam had told him that his own vessel didn’t register as obviously odd or inhuman in any way that he could discern—which made sense. Michael’s vessel was human, insofar as it went, although it housed no human soul; it had been crafted for him, in the days of the first humans, that he might walk the Earth among them. Gabriel’s vessel, though... she had resurrected, by choice, into an only partially human one. The glamor she wore to move through the world warded off alarm from all but the most psychically sensitive humans. But he had seen her without it, seen her eyes go from human hazel to serpent-slitted gold, seen her freckles morph to scales and her nails extend to dainty claws.

When he had asked why, she simply shrugged, and told him that she was trying something new.

He thought, perhaps, that they both were.

Michael raised a shoulder, a gesture he briefly wondered if he’d picked up from Adam. “I’ve been enjoying the work. That isn’t what I wanted to discuss, however. I wanted to let you know—”

“—that you’ve gone back to shacking up with your boytoy?”

His eyes widened. “Castiel told you.”

“Nah, Cassie didn’t have to. I just know you. What, you were going to get back to the world and not go straight back to the only person who’s helped you get your head on straight in millennia?”

“I think it’s a bit more—”

“It really isn’t,” she replied firmly. Her eyes strayed behind him again, for the length of a blink. “Look, I’m not judging you. What do you think I’m doing here?”

Michael sneaked a glance over his shoulder. “What has that man done to earn your attention?”

“The coffee guy? He just tells good stories.” She shook her hair out of her face, then raised her cup and drained it. “Sam’s taken a shine to him. They’re friends. The kid’s waiting on some big news about a couple scholarships. So I’ve been pulling a lever here, putting in a good word there. He’s gonna get a heck of a present under his tree this year.”

He studied her more closely, then. “You’ve been staying with Samuel Winchester.”

“What can I say? I like him. He’s decent company.” Gabriel laughed again, and finally stood. Her skirt trickled over her knees, swirled around her ankles, and her ash-white ringlets pooled over her shoulders, in constant motion even when she was still. She extended a hand, and he took it; she helped him stand. And unexpectedly pulled him into a hug.

There had been a time when he would not have known how to hug back. Now, he wrapped her in his arms. Felt her sturdiness and her strength, the surety of her presence.

“We both deserve this, Michael,” she said, chin on his shoulder. She squeezed him fiercely. “We can choose for ourselves what we want. Isn’t that great? Isn’t it fucking terrifying?”

“It is,” he said, and meant it.

----------[ Raphael ]----------

To tell Raphael anything, Michael first had to go and find them. He told himself that his nervousness about approaching them was only this: that they had, at Jack’s request, chosen to remain in the Empty. Not as dead and dreaming sleeper, no, but as steward and caretaker. Michael walked the sunless path leading to their domain, and listened to the skitter of gravel beneath his feet, the rustle of leaves and the murmur of the faraway sea. As this place was shaped by the will of its inhabitants, he was unsurprised that the environs surrounding Raphael’s home would have retained the character of the forest. Unbothered by anything resembling human civilization—in Michael’s experience, nature, or a facsimile of it, was where Raphael had seemed most at home.

Their front gate was tall, and wrought of bone in intricate curlicues. It opened soundlessly under the brush of his hand.

“Welcome back, Brother,” came a stone-dry voice, a climbing-vines and crumbling-walls voice.

Michael stepped forward, into a garden.

In truth, “garden” hardly did justice to the space. In the darkest heart of the land of the dead, Heaven’s healer had called forth life. The bower was enclosed not in walls, but fences, which extended mazelike in all directions. These—and many other surfaces—were overgrown with thick-creeping ivy, lush and lustrous. The maze was equally composed of stands of ancient trees: spreading willow and fragrant olive, cedar and pine and birch. He moved among the trunks and leaves until, at the shore of a central pond dotted in lilies, he found Raphael, seated on a low stone bench. His sibling scooted to one side, and Michael sat beside them.

“And I thought you’d seen enough of this place,” they began. Like Gabriel, they had chosen a form almost, but not quite, human; in Raphael’s case, a hamadryad. They extended one bare foot out to the edge of the pond, rippling the water there, and the skin along the arch darkened with the moisture like the bark of an oak in rain. Though their complexion was as deep brown as Michael’s own, it was a color undertoned with the suggestion of green—of sap, of spring. Where Michael had thick twisting curls, Raphael’s head was crowned by ivy. As he watched, it snaked over their shoulders, along their biceps, twining slowly but inexorably downward.

“I certainly have,” he returned. “I have not seen enough of you.”

“No?”

“No.”

They turned their eyes to him, then, black and bottomless and kind. “Well, you’re here, and so am I. What would you have of me?”

He took a deep breath. Breathing was unnecessary, especially here. He exhaled, then inhaled once more, regardless.

“I came to see how you were settling into your new duties,” he said, “and tell you of my own. And—tell you other things.”

“My duties go well enough. The dreamers sleep more soundly, with me near. I caretake what needs caretaking.” Raphael brought up a palm. In their hand they called a flower into being, spinning it out of silvery air: a dandelion, late in life, in full feather. They blew on it, and watched the seeds drift out across the water.

Then they smiled to themself, a little, chin turned down and eyes on the rippling water. “I like to watch the vines grow.”

He gently nudged them with his shoulder. “You deserve that. It does me good to see you here, like this.”

Raphael shook their head, still smiling. “And your own work? The dreams—the Heaven they show is more whole by the day.”

“It goes well. I find that repairing broken things suits me.”

When he did not continue, they glanced at him. “And yet you... have not resumed your post. Our nephew doesn’t ask you to his side.” It wasn’t a question.

He returned their glance sheepishly.

“Ah,” they said, after a moment.

There was a protracted silence.

At last, their face performed a complicated press of lips and scrunching of eyebrows. Michael watched them, apprehensive.

“Would you ever have considered coming back for me? To me?” they finally asked. Nothing in their voice suggested anger or sadness, but Michael thought there was something subtler there, or many somethings: resignation, compassion, perhaps mirth. He thought he understood what it meant for them, to feel free to ask such a question; was surprised to find himself proud, that they had come so far in their own healing.

“Honestly?”

“I don’t want anything else.”

“I... don’t know. Truly. As I was?” He shifted in his seat. “I doubt it.”

Raphael’s brow smoothed out. They watched Michael fidget for a moment, then laid their palm across the back of his hand. He stilled. “You’re here now,” they said. “And you’re there with him. You’ll keep being there, for him.”

Whatever tension had been between them evaporated. Michael leaned back on the heels of his hands, smiling to himself.

“I think being a little bit human suits you,” Raphael said.

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

[Half an hour before dinner:]

Once inside, the bunker proved to be far more prepared for festivity than its exterior had suggested. Strings of lights lined the walls and stairs, and the large map table Adam remembered had been pushed aside in favor of filling the common area with an assortment of more comfortable seating. Sam and Raphael sat on opposite ends of a sagging, overstuffed couch, Sam tapping his hands on his knees, Raphael cradling a glass of some deep burgundy liquid between their palms. They had evidently taken a page from Gabriel’s book: the subtle magic they wore reshaped their face and limbs into a more human aspect. When they saw Adam and Michael descending the stairs, they hid a small smile behind the rim of their glass.

Sam rose, stumbling a little as he did so, and moved toward them. “Adam,” he said. He extended a hand, glanced behind Adam at Michael, and faltered.

“Sam,” Adam nodded back, and waved him off. He wasn’t sure whether his half-brother looked disappointed, or relieved. He looked past Sam’s shoulder. “Hey, Raphael.”

Raphael raised their glass in a subtle greeting. “I'm glad you’ve come.” The words were for Michael, but they directed them at Adam, with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, you know. Michael insisted,” he replied, staring at Sam. To his credit, Sam immediately looked apologetic. Before the awkwardness of the moment could deepen, it was interrupted by a thump from behind them. Gabriel strode out of the library, arms laden with garlands, trailed by Jack and Castiel.

“Adam! Mikey!” she called, dropping the pile of ivy and mistletoe in a corner. “You made it!”

Michael stepped around Adam, and pulled Gabriel into a brief hug. When they separated, Castiel offered a warm smile and clasping handshake. Jack had seated himself on the floor, partially ensnared by strands of ivy, and Michael settled next to him and began the patient process of untangling him.

Beside him, Sam exhaled audibly.

“Adam, I,” he started. Stopped. Started again. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Adam looked at him from the corners of his eyes. “Are we good?”

Just then, Lucifer’s head and shoulders appeared around the edge of the kitchen door. The smell of cooking drifted out around him. He called for Raphael. Sam watched them step carefully around Jack and Michael on their way to the kitchen. Michael’s head turned to watch them leave, too, and he smiled up at Adam before returning his attention to Jack.

“Yeah,” Sam said quietly, looking not at Adam but at the pair on the floor. “We’re good.”

----------[ Lucifer ]----------

Michael saved the hardest for last. In multiple senses.

Simply finding Lucifer was something of an ordeal. Wherever he was supposed to be—and Michael was unsure of that, hadn’t communicated with him more than in passing since returning to life—it wasn’t anywhere obvious to him. Heaven was out; Raphael didn’t know; and when he had tried asking Gabriel, she had simply shaken her head and replied that it wasn’t her place to say. This implied that she did know, and that puzzled him, but he did not push her. Instead, he had returned to Jack.

If anyone could find the Lightbringer, it would be his child.

So it came that he found Lucifer in the very last place he would have supposed: the basement lounge of a seedy back-alley bar.

From up in the corner of the stage, a graying man plunked out a melody on an out-of-tune piano. With his back to the door, Michael almost missed Lucifer, at first. But when the song ended, his head picked up, and his eyes caught the stage light: retinal reflection that shone, not human red, but owlish bronze. He did not turn to acknowledge Michael, gaze fixed on the old musician’s bows, but under the bar he held a palm open in his direction, and subtly beckoned him over.

Michael slid into the chair next to him. The basement was humid, and both the bar top and plastic seat were unpleasantly tacky in the close heat. Lucifer waved a hand, and after a moment the bartender slid two identical drinks in their direction. Michael took one. It smelled sweet, a little smoky, and a twist of orange rind circled a bright red cherry under the oily liquid surface.

Lucifer sipped his, grimaced, and sipped it again.

“So. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wanted to catch up,” Michael said, lightly. “Though I admit that this did not head the list of places I expected to find you.”

“I wonder where you expected me to be?”

Michael shook his head. “Simply... not here.”

“Disappointed?” Lucifer pushed the ice determinedly around the bottom of his glass with the straw. He watched Michael as he did it. He seemed to be waiting for something, and Michael got the impression that it wasn’t him—whatever it was.

“No.”

“Well, I am.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“Killing time.”

“Until?”

“Until I decide I’m done,” Lucifer shrugged. At Michael’s raised eyebrow, he sighed. “Fine. I’m shirking my responsibilities, such as they are. They’ll keep. I wanted to sit for a moment and not be bothered. Satisfied?”

“I didn’t...” Michael sighed. Pinched the bridge of his nose. “ ‘Hello, Michael, it’s good to see you too. It pleases me to know that Earthly life is treating you well.’ There, I’ve gotten everything I wanted from our conversation. This has been approximately as pleasant as anticipated. Enjoy your idling.”

He made to stand, feeling irritated and, irrationally, impatient with himself for his irritation. But a hand landed on his forearm. Lucifer looked back at him from under quirked eyebrows, mouth set in a curious frown.

Rather than pull him back down to his seat, his brother pushed his unsatisfying drink away, and rose as well.

“Come on,” Lucifer said. “Let’s walk.”

They ascended a different flight of stairs than the one Michael had taken on entrance, and exited the bar out a creaking metal door that opened onto an alley. “Are we walking in any direction in particular?”

A nod. “Can’t shirk everything. Gotta check in.” He offered no elaboration, but Michael fell into step beside him anyway.

What exactly Lucifer needed to check in on, Michael could not begin to guess. But, apart from his curiosity, he was determined to see what he deemed relevant enough to show him. He slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he walked. Beside him, without looking, Lucifer did the same. It did not often occur to Michael to wonder what humans saw when they looked at him, but he thought about it now: two men emerging from the darkness between buildings, matched in height and build but otherwise, in many ways, as opposite as humans could be. Lucifer, starlight etched in mortal form, all but glowing under the streetlights, golden eyes and golden curls that haloed him as effectively as his own grace would have—and Michael, a shadow cut loose from the night, as earth-made as the first of the men he had been commanded to revere.

But here they were, side by side, identical in posture and bearing; no physical bodies could camouflage the way they carried themselves. Their heads unbowed and spines unbent. Adam had once told him that he walked as though his feet had never touched the ground.

Looking at his twin, he could see it.

Their way led them along side streets and byways. Across patches of crumbling city sidewalk; through an unused parking lot, dark and crusted near the edges with broken bits of concrete barriers; and, after several minutes of walking, around the back of a monolithic warehouse. A lightless dead-end alley and a brick wall greeted them. Nothing Michael could see that would deserve his Brother’s attention, or the practiced indifference with which he turned to face the brickwork.

The place was humming with power, though. Pitched below the background noise of the physical world—psychic potential.

Lucifer reached out a hand, carelessly, and sketched a sigil in the air before the wall. Light crept through the cracks in the grout. A moment more, and the glow coalesced into a portal, round, an armspan in diameter. Nothing but light came through, but as they stood watching, the light dimmed, then brightened, then dimmed again. This was, apparently, expected: while he gave no verbal reply, Lucifer nodded, with the impression of giving confirmation, or assent. Another ebb and flow of light, and then the portal receded as swiftly as it had appeared.

In the darkness that replaced it, Michael studied Lucifer, the close, hunched lines of his shoulders.

“Of all the tasks you could set yourself,” he began, watching Lucifer’s face carefully, “choosing involvement with Purgatory surprises me more than any other. What prompted such a thing?”

His Brother gave a noncommittal slump of one shoulder. “It’s what I’m doing right now.”

“For what purpose?”

“Just... can’t sit still, I guess.” They turned their backs on the brick wall, and exited the alley. Lucifer turned left out onto the sidewalk, and Michael followed. Walking without aim, now.

“Then why are you here on Earth at all?”

Lucifer sent a stone skittering far up the path ahead of him with the toe of his boot, and watched it roll to a stop. “Gabriel,” he said, by way of explanation. Another shrug. Then, more softly: “Sam.”

In profile, his expression was difficult for Michael to discern. “Gabriel implied she’d seen you. You’ve... also been staying with them?”

“Occasionally.” Passing under streetlights between pools of darkness, shadows crawled across his face like clouds. “Sometimes. Yes.”

He’d known his Brother long enough and well enough, at least, to know when he didn’t want to continue a line of conversation. Michael decided on another approach. “Why Purgatory, then, intermittently or otherwise?”

Lucifer scoffed. “Have you seen that place? If you think da— Chuck left Heaven a mess...”

“Why should that bother you?” He avoided mentioning the small slip in words, the sour look that had flickered across Lucifer’s face when he’d said it. “I would not have expected sympathy for the impure. Not from you. Forgive me, that isn’t intended as a slight. Merely an observation.”

The look Lucifer gave him was caught between narrow-eyed distaste and something more thoughtful. “Those creatures can’t help but be what they are. They aren’t like the demons.” The word came out sounding almost normal, with little of his usual scorn. He wouldn’t meet Michael’s eyes.

“Someone owes responsibility to the realm. Jack suggested I might have something of value to offer it.” At his son’s name, a flash of the pride Michael remembered so well passed over him. Then it was gone, his face smoothing. Lucifer glanced back at him. “Maybe I’m just eager to follow your lead. Jack says you’ve been busy. Helping out in Heaven?”

Michael returned his earlier shrug. With deliberate casualness, he said: “Sometimes, yes.”

“But you’re here now.”

“Yes. I’m on Earth now. I... live here. As strange as that is to say.”

Lucifer stared. “All the time?”

He took a steadying breath. “Well. With Adam.”

Abruptly, Lucifer threw back his head, startling Michael. A full-body laugh shook him from shoulders to heels. The sound echoed away up the empty street into a ghostly chorus, a reverberant cacophony. Then, to his amazement, Lucifer grasped a hand on his shoulder, hard but companionable. When the laughter passed, he stepped away, but rather than retreating entirely, Lucifer slid his arm around Michael’s shoulders. They set off down the street once again, this time knocking together in an astonishingly human closeness.

“Are you happy? You seem like you’re happy.” Lucifer asked. He ruffled his fingers through Michael’s hair.

For his trouble, Michael elbowed him in the ribs, and he fell back with a muttered oof and a grin.

“I am,” Michael answered.

There came a muted buzz. From his left jacket pocket, Lucifer extracted a phone, the glow of the screen reflected in his eyes. He gave it a slantways half-smile. “Do you ever have regrets? About... any of it?”

Michael watched the movement of his fingertips over the screen, and didn’t need to ask what he meant.

“I have many regrets,” he replied, hand closing over top of the phone—over top of Lucifer’s own. “Where I am now is not among them.”

Lucifer gave a small nod. He slid the phone back into his pocket.

“Is where you are now among your regrets?” Michael asked.

Another laugh, this one quieter. Lucifer looked away, then back at Michael; he grinned. Then he was gone, the stir of wings raising a breeze, the only mark of his sudden absence.

Michael smiled to himself, and then he, too, left the empty street behind.

----------[ Dean ]----------

Several days had passed, and Sam’s phone call had all but slipped his mind, when Dean appeared at Adam’s door. Considering that Adam (intentionally) had not told his half-brothers where he lived, this came as a surprise.

Two terse knocks and a muffled, “open up, kid, special delivery,” were all the warning he received before his living room abruptly contained two more bodies than usual. Michael had let them in. Adam shot a withering glare his way, but Michael ignored it. He was too preoccupied with Gabriel, who flopped down dramatically the moment she was through the doorway. Only once she was horizontal, legs kicked up over the back of the couch and heels knocking smudges into the wall, did she toe off her shoes and allow them to fall past her head and onto the floor.

“What are you, twelve?” Dean asked down at her with a smirk, as Michael collected her shoes and placed them neatly near the door.

Her hair fanned out behind her head, cascading off the edge of the cushions. Upside-down, she winked at him. “Why, you planning to put me in time out?

Dean snickered, and even Michael chuckled. Adam rolled his eyes at them. “Yeah, hey, hi and all, glad to see you, but uh... what? Why?”

Gabriel turned her gaze on him. “Why what, bucko?”

He gestured. “Why are you here? Did Dean... why is Dean here?”

Dean wrinkled his brow, in mock affront. “First: rude. Second: because Gabe wanted a lift.”

Adam stared down at her. “You can fly.”

“Yeah. But.” She wrinkled her nose. “That sounded like effort. Besides, Mikey invited me over, and Deanie boy needed to get out for some fresh air. Win-win.”

As Dean reached down to cuff her on the shoulder, Adam turned to Michael. “You invited her?”

“Well. Yes.” He moved into the kitchen and opened a cupboard, bringing out bowls and fussing with their arrangement on the countertop. "Gabriel asked if I—if we would contribute something to the upcoming holiday meal.”

He couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice. “So you’re going to... Michael, are you going to cook together ?”

From her place on the couch, Gabriel chirped, “Yep!”

Adam could think of no coherent reply. Before his brain could find its footing again, Dean was putting an arm across his shoulder and steering him toward the door. “Come on, kid, leave them to it. It’ll be fine.” He frowned. “It’ll probably be fine. Let’s go get a burger. Get out of the way for a while.”

And without getting another word in, he was shuffled out his own front door and unceremoniously bundled into the Impala.

-----

“Relax,” Dean said, nudging Adam into a crackly plastic diner booth and taking the seat opposite. “Gabriel cooks in the bunker all the time, and the place is still standing.”

“Not really what I was worried about,” Adam replied. Then, after a moment’s thought: “Well. Not the main thing.”

“Then what’s the big deal?”

A waiter drifted past, accepting their order and leaving full mugs of coffee in his wake. Over the edge of his mug, he examined Dean. His half-brother seemed at ease. Posture relaxed, expression open: in their (admittedly limited) experiences with one another, Adam couldn’t recall ever seeing him anything but tense.

“I thought you’d be weirder about this, I guess. Not that I care, but—Sam was weirder about it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “About Mike?”

Adam squirmed a little, digging his shoulders into the seat. “Yeah.” Then: “Who told you?”

“Nobody. He had to be somewhere. I worked out the rest.”

“You worked it out,” Adam replied, suspicious. “And you’re not going to rag me about it?”

“Believe this or don’t, but given the circumstances I am not only not surprised to find him at your place, I think I’m actually kinda relieved.”

“What? Why?”

“All the other possibilities were weirder,” Dean shrugged. “He isn’t with Jack and Cas full-time, and it’s not like he’s hanging out with Sam and Gabriel. He’s never around when Lucifer is. Still have no clue where Lucifer runs off to when he isn’t haunting our damn library, but my only other guess was to wherever Michael was holed up.” He frowned, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Whatever. Point is, he’s behaving himself when he’s with you. Right?”

Adam narrowed his eyes, and said, “He’s not a pet.”

“Yeah, sorry. Didn’t mean it like that.”

Their food arrived. Plates piled high with nearly-identical hamburgers and stacks of fries. Adam laid into his meal without hesitation, elbows on the table, but paused when he caught their reflection in the diner window out of the corner of his eye. Until that moment, he had never seen himself in either of his half-brothers. And yet. Across from him: Dean. Wolfing down a hamburger like he was forever one decent meal short of well-fed. Elbows on the table. And something else, too: a cautious contentment, written in the soft crinkling lines near his eyes and the slant of his shoulders.

Over the preceding months, Adam had watched Michael come to a similar ease in his newfound freedom. It let him move through the world differently than before. For the first time, Adam realized what that might look like not just on Michael, but on himself as well.

That he realized this through looking at Dean might have bothered him, once. Now, though, he felt only a sort of grudging fondness.

“So,” he grunted, around a mouthful of food. “Holiday dinner at your place, huh?”

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

[Now:]

“You might have to get Sam to do that one,” Jack said, peering doubtfully up at Gabriel.

“Call me short again, I dare you. I’ll just—there!” From the top of the ladder, she stretched up on tiptoe to the full extent of her reach, looping a garland over a light. Anyone with a more human sense of balance would certainly have fallen. Instead, she turned a gravity- and anatomy-defying pirouette, and sat down gracefully atop the last step.

Adam watched them past piles of dishes. Dinner had been excellent, and cleanup had been delayed in favor of pushing the table to one side of the room. No one (aside from Gabriel) had been especially eager to do anything in the wake of eating so much food. So Adam and Michael sat at one end of the longest couch, Raphael curled with a mug of steaming tea at the other end. Dean had dragged out a pair of old leather armchairs from somewhere deeper within the bunker, and he and Castiel occupied these.

Across from them, Sam had taken the smaller couch. He sat in silence, alternately glancing between Gabriel’s attempts to “add a little more color” to the bunker, and to the place where Michael held Adam’s hand in his own, idly tapping the back of Adam’s knuckles with the tips of his fingers. The little furrow between Sam’s brows was hard for Adam to parse, as was the slow way his right hand curled and uncurled into the edge of the couch cushions. He and Sam had spent more time together than he had with any other living soul. Under terrible circumstances, of course. But he sometimes wondered if they wouldn’t have understood each other better, had they known each other less well.

Lucifer sat cross-legged on the floor. He had started out sitting upright, but as Adam watched, he had been slowly but surely leaning himself more firmly against Sam. When, in the course of turning his head to watch his son and sibling tangle themselves in ivy once again, he set his chin on Sam’s knee, Sam’s attention turned to him.

Sam didn’t say anything. But he looked from Lucifer, to Michael, and back to Lucifer, and the frown between his eyebrows smoothed out, and his right hand uncurled from the couch and drifted up to scratch lightly at the nape of Lucifer’s neck.

“Oh the weather outside is frightful,” Gabriel half-hummed. At last finding satisfaction with the decorations, she descended the ladder. On the way down, she ruffled Jack’s hair. “So, what next, kiddo? Wanna get introduced to the joys of eggnog?”

Castiel asked, with a hint of amused indulgence, “As a holiday activity, I do not believe I have ever made a... what’s the term? ‘Snow angel?’”

As Jack’s face lit up at the idea, Michael leaned his head on Adam’s shoulder. He whispered in his ear: “I think you might find the opportunity you were seeking earlier, in relation to snow and your brothers.”

Adam understood immediately, and laughed. He turned his head and caught Michael’s mouth with his, a kiss and a grin all in one.

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

#spn #midam #michael spn #adam milligan #archangels spn #fanfic #gift fic

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thewritingtroll · 8 months ago

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idk if this is what OP was thinking, but it inspired this Of all that Geralt could have expected to find hidden in a decrepit manor in the middle of overgrown fields, he would not have guessed it to be his missing bard twirling across the vacant expanse of a grand ballroom. He paused, questioning his senses, before stepping onto the top step.

Immediately, Jaskier spun around with wide eyes. “Geralt! What are you doing here?”

Geralt didn’t have an answer ready for that, but apparently he didn’t need one, for Jaskier ducked his chin, nodded, and then squared his shoulders.

“You’re not welcome here,” Jaskier announced. “My lord bids you depart at once.”

“I should speak with him,” Geralt said.

Jaskier’s head tilted. “He doesn’t wish to talk to you.”

“I must speak with him,” Geralt said.

Jaskier snorted agreeably, gently cupped the air next to him, and mimed a heartfelt kiss.

“There are signs of a haunting,” Geralt said. He took the rest of the steps two at a time. Closer now, he could see Jaskier’s pale, nearly translucent skin, the clouded look in his eyes. “Jaskier. Where is the lord?”

“Never could see what was right in front of you,” Jaskier said, and he wrapped his arm around the empty space next to him. “I let you do it to me, but I won’t let you do that to Luszlo.”

“Fuck,” Geralt grunted. “Jaskier, come here.”

“I think not,” Jaskier squawked. “We’re through, Geralt. Exactly as you asked. I’ve put my traveling days behind me, and– Geralt!” His voice rose to a screech as Geralt unsheathed his silver sword. “Put that away now!” He took a half step forward. “I’m telling you, Geralt. You’re going too far. You can’t–”

Geralt’s medallion rattled against his chest.

“He’s happy here, Witcher. Leave.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier said, his voice cracking. “I’m finally fucking happy, and if there is an ounce of anything good between us, you’ll let me be happy.”

“He’s killing you, Jaskier,” Geralt said. “Have you looked in a mirror recently? You look like shit.” He dug his sword into the wooden floor and began carving Yrden at the base of the stairs.

“He loves me!” Jaskier screamed. “He loves me, Geralt! Exactly as I am.” He drew a breath and tilted his head again. His next words were sharper yet. “Geralt. Stop. Stop! You can’t! Please! Please just go!”

Geralt scratched the upper bar of Yrden. His medallion thrummed again, and wind shrieked through the broken windows.

“I said go!” Jaskier bellowed, and he stormed across the ballroom to shove at Geralt. “Let me have this!”

Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s wrist, swung him directly onto the sign, and cast Quen as he released. The wind fell silent. “I have to do this, Jaskier.”

Jaskier screamed curses as Geralt turned his back on him and waited for the next sign of the ghost. He couldn’t let himself be distracted by the panicking bard spitting venom as he tried to penetrate the barrier Geralt had cast to keep him contained.

“You can’t have him,” Geralt informed the specter.

“He’s mine!” Jaskier shouted, apparently suffering from the impression that Geralt had been addressing him. “You absolute bastard whoreson, you monstrous boil of a cabbagehead, listen to me. You listen to me! Geralt of Rivia, I swear on every god there ever was that if you move to hurt him–”

“He’s already dead, Jaskier.”

“Yes, a bit of an inconvenience, but we’re making it work.”

Geralt’s medallion rattled, and Geralt swung his sword in broad, smooth arcs around his body.

“No!” Jaskier screamed. “Geralt, I demand you stop at once!”

Geralt reset his footwork and turned to keep sight of where the specter might next attack.

“Geralt!” Jaskier sobbed. “Please. I love him!”

There was the flash of a shadow in Geralt’s peripheral, and he struck out with a long lunge. The specter’s body turned momentarily visible, eyes glowing with empty rage and hunger. Geralt swung again as the spirit disappeared from sight.

“No!” Jaskier screamed. His voice echoed and rose through the empty ballroom, but instead of trying to break through Quen, he’d collapsed onto the floor. He raked his fingers across the wood.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled in warning. His medallion hummed against his sternum, and he automatically swung for the specter even as its voice rang through the ballroom.

“Yes, my love. Let me in. Let me in.”

More fervent now, Jaskier clawed desperately at the Yrden sign. Geralt pivoted hard and ran back to his foolish bard.

“Yes–”

Geralt felt the Yrden sign fail and rushed to drop Quen as he swung directly in front of Jaskier, right where Jaskier was reaching out.

Luszlo flickered back into sight, staring blankly from where he was impaled on Geralt’s sword, then up to look at Jaskier, who stared back with a gasping mouth and horrified eyes.

“My love…”

Geralt pulled back his sword, and Luszlo disintegrated before them, scattering into dusty light and shadows. Jaskier stayed on the ground, one hand still outstretched, his breath loud and rasping in the otherwise silent room.

“Jas–”

“Don’t!” Jaskier barked. He crawled backwards from Geralt, one hand held up as though to ward Geralt away. “Don’t you dare. You’ve ruined everything. We are done. You…” His voice grew tremulous. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Geralt said.

After parting ways with Geralt and the mountains, Jaskier encounters a mysterious man whom he falls deeply in love with. Despite longing for his nomadic lifestyle, Jaskier finds himself entwined in the midst of a war, residing in the grand manor of his newfound paramour.

One fateful day, Geralt unexpectedly stumbles upon Jaskier dancing alone in a lavish ballroom.

It's revealed that Jaskier's lover is a ghost, striving to regain life by gradually possessing Jaskier's body.

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kaztrolls · 2 years ago

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Time to ramble about Raya and the Last Dragon because I need to get my thoughts out somewhere.

Tl;dr: Raya is attempting to be Avatar: The Last Airbender but fails in every respect. Just go watch that series instead.

Spoilers below for anyone who cares.

It's pretty bad. Starting from the technical aspects before going into the designs, art direction, characters and story.

The choreography, fight scenes, character animations all felt pretty lack luster. Nothing standoutish, just samey, play by the books, cookie cutter stuff. Nothing wowed, or awed, or had me wanting more. Serviceable but the fights themselves were just bland and uninteresting. The camera angles as well were very stock. Nothing particularly exciting.

As for the characters themselves. It's a mostly forgettable and bloated cast with nothing really interesting to say. They suffer most from the length of the movie and could have been a lot better had they room enough to breathe. Boun was my favourite out of all of them because the kid had the most going for him seeing as he was the longest standing side character out of the bunch.

The Baby (Noi) and the monkeys were forgettable and completely unnecessary. They just...bloated the whole story.

The barbarian dude was a diet coke version of the guys from Tangled's bar scene but so much worse. And the fact that Noi had parents was a bit of a disappointment. I kind of wish Raya had actual death in the story. Noi and the barbarian dude had some cute chemistry, a father daughter thing going on and would have been very wholesome and would have improved the whole story line had they come together.

Actually, if anything, it would have been a nice found-family story had each of the characters ACTUALLY LOST people to the Drunn. It would have made the story a lot better in so many ways.

Oh yeah, the antagonist? Had good shit going for them but they tried to pull a Zuko and it failed miserably. There just wasn't enough time to develop them in the story. Had this been a mini series instead of a movie, I think a lot of the issues would have been solved.

Sisu was obnoxious to a fault. The voice acting, the characterization, the cramming 'trust me' down the audience's throat every other line. I'm upset that they didn't stay dead.

The worst thing about the narrative, outside of the pacing, is the fact that there are no stakes. There is no loss. There's nothing profound to say at the end of the film because, guess what? No one dies. The damage is 100% reversible. There's no sense of people having to learn and grow and move on because there are no consequences for anything.

If I were to rewrite Raya and the Last Dragon, I would cut out all the side characters (except for Boun since he plays a pretty significant part in the story and is about the only side character who is interesting) and I'd rework Sisu.

But it'd be a lot about Sisu TEACHING Raya how to be the bigger person, to sit down and speak with the leaders of the other nations, to become a role model and leader that is working towards her father's dream of unification.

It'd have it so that Raya's antagonist was an unwitting pawn in her mother's political chess game who tries to rationalize her decision to believe her mother because she wants to ignore the guilt of doing something wrong. I want her to be that presence of ignorance in the film, chasing after Raya for the shards of the dragon gem at her mother's behest because she believes her mother knows best and her slowly come to realize that her mother is wrong. That her ideology of controlling the power of the solidified gem to assure their own safety is the wrong path to take. And to come to a turning point half way through when, say, Raya has united with one of the clans and they work together to drive out Fang's army. The culmination of failures causing an schism between her and her mother.

And I feel like I'm re-treading the same groundwork as Avatar at this point but, you can still have the antagonist kill (or seriously maim) Sisu. Because the antagonist fails to retrieve the dragon and dragon gem shards, and subsequently sends the world into chaos, her mother would reject her outright forcing the antagonist to work through her guilt.

Have her and Boun spend time together, Boun forgiving her and helping her to take the right path. Have her help the protagonist without asking for forgiveness but with acknowledging her wrongs and trying to do better. Have the protagonist embody the teachings of Sisu and work with the antagonist for the greater good. Let the antagonist kill her own mother who set her down this war path and take over as leader after she takes the dragon gem piece back and forges it anew with Raya (and possibly Boun).

It feels like itd be a more coherent narrative thoroughline because just...shoving a bunch of people onto a boat as 2D cutouts of their "nations" feels tasteless and boring (and let's face it, feels even more like a rip-off of Avatar the last airbender).

Also also also, I fucking hateeeee Sisu's design. It feels like it was created to be marketable plush toys for kids. It's uuuuugly.

#rambling #okay im done

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luna-writes-stuff · 3 years ago

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I would be honored if you could do an imagine for Fili crushing on someone who went on the journey with the Company. He thought she liked his brother, but after seeing him with Tauriel, Fili feels like he has a chance and offers everything to make her as happy as he thought she would be with Kili. Lovely fluff and some misunderstandings with everyone living because IF I CAN'T SEE CANON THEN IT DOESN'T EXIST

Mixed signals, Fili Durin (platonic Kili x reader)

what do you mean they don’t usually live???? Idk I always skip the last half hour of botfa. If I don’t see it, it doesn’t exist.

Ahahah I got taken away a bit so it’s a long request. Sorry….

Headcanons, female s/o

Tw: misunderstood feelings, mention of injury and blood, tiny sprinkle of angst, fluff, Kili being a lil shit, Fili being jealous, few mentions of Y/N I’m so sorry.

- This man is whipped for you. I posted a request similar to this one yesterday, and I feel like it says enough.

- The moment he sees you, he knows you’re his One. Yet, he can’t allow himself to show you. His brother wouldn’t shut up about it and besides that, after Erebor was to be reclaimed, he had to marry royalty in order to form an alliance.

- But Thorin wasn’t blind. He has seen the look in Dis’ eyes many times before. He had seen his sister find her One, so it came as nothing out of the ordinary when he witnessed his nephew do the same.

- And this is pre-dragonsickness. Back when Thorin was all “I hate everyone but I guess I have to keep up with these two idiots so I’ll tolerate them.”

- And he wanted to grant Fili the opportunity to be with his One. He had even told him to simply go for it.

- But Fili was a bit insecure. When you met him, you didn’t seem taken away in any way. It was almost as if it had only been him who was in love.

- And with that, you had grown remarkably close to his brother, Kili. You two joked around all the time. You sat together during the evenings, Kili would help you up on your horse/pony, he would take offer your watches and he even let you hold his bow and arrow. That is basically dwarven language for “I love you and I wish to court you” or “I love you and I’m so glad to have you in my family.”

- What Fili didn’t know is that Thorin told Kili about you being his One. But instead of teasing Fili about it, Kili had made it his duty to agitate his brother so much that he would have no choice but to confess to you before Kili would sneak you away.

- For your information: Kili had no intention of sneaking you away. He just wanted to make it look like it for Fili, and, lucky for him, you had just been going along with it subconsciously.

- But it did not agitate Fili. It made the poor lad confused and tired. You were showing so much affection and endearment to his brother that he felt like he could never compete. Even though Kili had never been attractive in dwarven standards, he knew his way around women. And seeing someone finally pay attention to him, made Fili happy for his brother.

- And Kili just kept up with the act. He was oblivious to what his brother was feeling. Thorin had quite specifically told Kili not to tell his brother, and for once, he didn’t. But when days turned into weeks, Kili made more advances. Not in any way uncomfortable for you, but they had been a step further.

- He would let you rest against him during night shifts, he would let his hand linger on your waist when he helped you get onto your horse/pony. This sneaky bastard even managed to toy with your hair.

- Fili grew absolutely devastated at these moments. He had distanced himself more and truly felt as if his One had been taken away and he would die alone.

- But then Mirkwood happened. It was obvious to Fili that his brother had taken a liking on Tauriel, the female elf that saved him earlier. You had been passed out of exhaustion in your cell, not paying attention to your surroundings anymore.

- And that was when Fili finally decided to speak.

- “What are you doing? I thought you liked Y/N and now you’re flirting with that elf? You can’t treat her like that!”

- And now Kili was confused.

- “I thought you liked Y/N?” He had questioned, not even knowing whether his uncle had been lying to him or not.

- “That doesn’t matter. What matters is, you can’t just run around-“ but Kili had already cut him off. “It does matter. Because Y/N isn’t my One. I’m not attracted to her!”

- And now Fili was dead silent. He had been contemplating on whether to act furious or taken aback. In reality, he had been a bit of both.

- “You don’t like Y/N?” Fili asked, nearly insulted.

- “I was only trying to agitate you. Uncle said she was your One but that you wouldn’t confess.” Kili admitted finally, knowing that keeping the act up any longer wouldn’t work.

- “So you tried to beat it out of me?” The only response the blonde got was a quiet hum.

- “You thought I would take away your chance of happiness?” Fili wondered aloud, his anger now showing more clearly. “Well, not if you put it like that-“ “How else am I supposed to put it?”

- With those words, the space grew quiet. One more question lingered on Fili’s mind, and he had to ask it.

- “Does she know you don’t like her?” A short pause was heard from Kili before he responded. “She does. When we grew closer she told me she wasn’t attracted to me and I told her she wasn’t my One.”

- A sigh of relief came Fili’s way, but his brother kept on talking. “She grew all confused by the concept of ‘Ones’. Had to give her a whole history lesson. She thinks it’s adorable. I’m sure she won’t reject you.” With those words, Fili’s ears pricked up.

- “How so?” “Because every time we are together, she won’t stop asking me about you.” Fili never thought someone could ever bring him more butterflies than when you smiled at him, but as Kili’s sentences reached him, his stomach felt all light again.

- “At first I thought it was because you were ignoring her, but I quickly figured out that wasn’t the case.” Kili shot a quick look his brother’s way, even though he had been in a cell on the other side of the hall. “She likes you, she really does. She’s not as good at hiding it as you are. If you ask her to court you, she won’t say no.”

- Fili had spent the entire night pondering over his brother’s words. Even as they escaped the dungeons and took the boat to Laketown, his anxiety bubbled up.

- But as soon as the orcs entered the city, reality sunk back in. They had been on the run while simultaneously claiming their homeland. There might be a chance neither of you would make it. And it terrified him.

- As you were busy holding off the orcs in Bard’s home, Fili had been right beside you covering your back. He knew asking you to court him would require more steps. Up until this moment you had only held a handful of conversations, but Fili was running out of patience.

- “When all this is over, I need you by my side.” He told you quickly, his voice heavy as he fenced off the attackers. You grew confused at your words, yet your actions did not falter one bit. And it only made Fili more attracted to you. How you maintained yourself on a battlefield, yet somehow managed to hold that perfect look. It could quite easily take his breath away.

- “But I am by your side.” You answered, not catching his meaning, thinking it had been too good to be true.

- “I mean by my side at Erebor. When we reclaim the mountain. Will you stay with me?” Upon your silence, Fili tried explaining his speech. “I know asking you to court me requires more steps but we might not have time for them anymore. I need you to stay with me. We can do all these steps afterwards, I promise.”

- You cast him a quick look before giving him a sincere nod. “I’ll stay with you.”

- And that is exactly what you did. Upon finally arriving at the mountain with the four dwarves, Fili finally got the time to braid your hair, even if Thorin told him to look for the Arkenstone. You had even managed to braid his hair too, even though you had no beads yet.

- Even as Thorin slowly grew insane, Fili had done what he promised; he remained by your side, defending you against his uncle and keeping you as safe as he could.

- During the battle of the five armies, you stayed with him and Kili. You traveled with the three of you, not once separating. Not even when Fili decided you should split up. Because of that, you managed to do quite a number on Azog before Thorin called out to him.

- Azog had gotten a good slash on your leg, nothing life threatening but enough to make you collapse on the spot. Fili had been so worried. He had promised to look out for you, but now you were bleeding out on the snow covered floor. Kili had already ran off for help, even though the possibility he would come back with one would be highly unlikely, as battle was still raging on.

- On top of Ravenhill everything had grown silent. Bodies of dead orcs were littered over the floor but all that mattered to Fili right now was you being safe. Eventually, Kili had ran back with Bilbo, Thorin and Gandalf by his side. They had successfully beaten Azog, finally putting an end to the bloodshed.

- As the mountain was being rebuilt, Oin had put you on bed rest to let your leg heal and Fili had been with you the entire time. Thorin hadn’t even tried to get him for royal duties. He knew he had been awful to you during his dragonsickness, and this was his way of apologizing to you. And you had been fine with it.

- When you had finally recovered, Kili took you to the forges to make beads for Fili. You wanted it to be a surprise for him, but you needed supervision. At first, Dis, Fili and Kili’s mother, had offered to help, but it had become her duty to distract the crown prince.

- A few burns and scratched had started to form on both your and Kili’s hands but it had been worth it. The beads were incredible.

- Fili was so happy when you gave them to him. He was so surprised by the amazing details and the thought and time your poured into them.

- He wears them the entire time. Now exceptions. Not even for bed or bath. None. They must always be in his hair.

- I WANNA WRITE MORE BUT IT’S ALREADY SO LONG BUT JUST ASSUME HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH AND WILL TREASURE YOU FOREVER AND LOVE YOU FOR EVERY LITTLE THING YOU DO

#Fili #Fili durin #tolkien #lord of the rings #the hobbit #the company #the company of thorin oakenshield #Fili x reader #Fili imagine

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merakiui · 4 years ago

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Half-Off Love

yandere!scaramouche x (gender neutral) reader art credit - kentasha1236 on twt cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, gold-digging, implied yandere!childe note - thank you so much for 600 followers! o(≧∇≦o) I’ll work hard!

It’s strange. There’s no other adjective to describe the situation you’ve found yourself in.

The ring slides itself onto your steady finger and it’s a miracle your discomfort doesn’t show. Your eyes struggle to meet his, but when they do you’re searching for a reason—for a meaning behind such a generous gift. You’ve witnessed this scene plenty of times before, having scoffed at the couples who decide to take their relationship to the next level. Whether it be in Mondstadt or Liyue, you’ve watched your fair share of angelic proposals. Although this is far from a proposal—at least, you hope it’s not a proposal. You’d feel powerless to decline if Scaramouche put you in such a position, and you’re almost certain he’s aware of this.

But the main thing—you now realize—that’s holding him back is your status and his relationship with you. It’s nothing special, just mere physical attraction rather than the emotional hindrances that come with real, heart-racing love. There’s nothing wholesome in the way you regard one another; it’s just sex.

“Do you like it? I made sure to find only the highest quality gemstone for you.”

And yet when he performs this caring charade, it doesn’t feel like loveless copulation.

Ew, you think, plastering a smile to your face. Since when was Scaramouche so concerned with materialistic signs of affection? He’s far from loving; he’s just pent-up, frustrated from his rigorous job as a Harbinger and so he decides to use you as a means of coping. He almost sounds like Childe with his ineffective flirting methods. You’ve received your fair share of spoils from him as well, and you’ve done everything you could to cull that relationship before it grew out of hand. But now you’re stuck with the lesser side of the coin: another troublesome Fatui Harbinger.

If you didn’t know any better, you might think to chase after Signora or Dottore next. Maybe you’ll aim for the Tsaritsa Herself if you’re especially daring. After all, your life has been nothing but deceit and faux pleasures; there’s little value to a liar’s life. If the Archons wish for your swift end, you’re positive it’ll be a result of your insatiable greed.

“It’s lovely. The color matches my eyes.”

It doesn’t, but you lie about it anyways. And he looks pleased to hear your approval.

“Then perhaps I should get you a bracelet as well? Or would you prefer something with a little more use, such as a pocket watch?”

Why don’t you just lock me up with a collar instead? you think bitterly, already keen on pawning the ring off once the initial luster fades. Since you’re so eager to buy these things for me in hopes that I’ll return. It’s annoying.

“This is more than enough. I don’t want you to spend a fortune on me.” There’s a sweet lilt in your voice as your hand cups his cheek, and he leans into your warm touch, starved of the affection like a stray mutt. ”I only need you per our agreement. You do remember what that is, right?”

He’d be caught dead bending to the desires of someone so insignificant, but he just can’t stay away. Not when your every word is intoxicating poison he’ll readily ingest.

“I’m aware." There’s a sigh in his tone as he pulls away, almost as if he wants to simply sit there and indulge in playful conversation. As if he actually wants to familiarize himself with the real you. But that emotion doesn’t last for long and an irritated expression crawls onto his handsome face as he silently recalls something.

You’re slipping your silks off with grace, curiously tracking his movements. “You look upset. Was it because of what I said?”

“Of course not. You could never upset me.”

Until you get bored of me.

When you cast your robes aside, reaching for Scaramouche’s elaborate outfit, you murmur, “Let me guess. It was that traveler again, wasn’t it? I’m not sure why you’re so hung up on them.” A whimper leaks into your voice and you fix him with a pout. “I’m sad you’d think of others when I’m right here. Aren’t I the only one you need?”

It’s ironic how quickly that line hooks him, dragging him up from the murkiest depths of love that has skewed into obsession. When you tried it out on Childe, he wasn’t so easily swayed. You find their differences to be invigorating. If the arrangement with Childe was still ongoing, you might’ve considered a threesome, if only to wring more glittering treasures out of the both of them. Mora and jewelry galore, it all goes towards your stockpiled savings. And it’s times like these when you’re lucky to have avoided economic business with the Fatui. Being free of Fatui debt has its perks, a bright miracle in your dark relationships. That’s one less tether to Scaramouche and one less reason to cling to him after you’ve had enough.

He smirks at your forced envy, easily pushing you backwards onto the plush mattress once he’s fully undressed. For a brief moment, he pictures your pliant body sprawled across an office desk while he pounds into you from behind, putting on a lewd show for his leering underlings. There’s something arousing about your secret relationship that has strange ideas formulating within his head. He entertains a simple scheme, one in which he’d shed light on your connection; however, the other side of him wants to keep your existence for himself, where no one will disturb the two of you in your pleasurable endeavors.

Perhaps you would truly belong to him if he were to expose you for the fraud you really are. Oh, the joy of trapping an unsuspecting rat in a corner, with no way out but into his open arms. You’ll hardly have any semblance of a choice, but he knows you’ll choose the option that guarantees another chance at life.

Scaramouche thinks about that as he revels in soft, tantalizing foreplay. He knows you aren’t as dedicated to this relationship as he is and he’s almost certain you’ve got others waiting for you in different parts of Teyvat. He’s just another plaything you’ve picked up for the fun of it. And in these moments where you surrender to his touch, your back arching with avaricious thoughts, you seem to forget about the power he truly wields. The thought that he could suffocate you in this very bed with his love alone should have you taking precautions to cover your vulnerability, but you only have your eyes set on one thing—not exactly minding the outcome so long as it’s monetarily favorable.

And if playing into your covetous hands ensures your weekly arrival, he’ll gladly empty his pockets of spare change.

You don’t like this new side of him. Lately he’s been treating this as if the two of you are lovers: slow, sensual thrusts accompanied with the sweetest of promises. You’ve never really minded the filth he’d moan in your ear and now you wish he’d resort to that instead. Loveless words spoken through the veil of lust—that’s what you want to hear.

He envelops you like a smothering fog, fitting himself snugly inside of your tight hole in an embrace that’s oh so familiar. You aren’t used to such gentle treatment and as he kisses along your collarbone you feel yourself going under, having fallen victim to a Harbinger who is normally so cold-hearted. Perhaps he’s more sensitive than you originally thought. Months ago, you wouldn’t have imagined your relationship would grow into something so uncertain, where emotionless love becomes packaged and bogged down with so much feeling.

His lips ghost over yours and there’s a slight pause in his actions. You turn your head to the side, denying his choking affection before it can drag you further into a spiraling abyss of regret. Annoyance swells in his hazy gaze, but he uses your new position to his advantage.

“It’s cute,” he says in a hushed voice, breath tickling your ear, “how you seem to rid yourself of my gifts as soon as they fall into your hands. I wonder where they’ve gone. Into the harbor? Traded off for food and shelter? Do tell me.”

When his grip on your hip tightens to a threatening degree, you resign yourself, opting to hold your tongue as his pace remains brutally slow. Rather than speaking out of line, you raise your hand to his face, and he clasps your wrist in a forceful hold.

The look in his eyes is far from loving—it’s that same obsessed expression Childe wore. And even if he still searches for you for reasons other than sex, you’re aware there’s no luck where Scaramouche is concerned. You can run from Childe because he’ll allow it—because he adores the chase—but Scaramouche hardly finds delight in a game of cat and mouse. You should’ve expected this. After all, he is just as conniving as the rest, always inventing new ways to track down and eradicate that peculiar traveler. Of course he would know about how you handle his presents when he isn’t looking because there’s no denying the stern gazes that would pierce through your backside whenever you went to the market.

"I’d never throw them out like that...” you mumble through another soft moan, hoping he’ll just pick up the pace and be done with you. “Your gifts are priceless.”

And yet the price for your own love is so hefty. If he weren’t Fatui, it might be enough to throw him into lifelong debt.

“Is that so? You seem to put a price on them whenever you visit the marketplace.” His fingers grip your chin, forcing you into an inescapable eye contact. “If you enjoy putting prices on items that you claim are priceless, you won’t mind if I collect a refund for your dishonesty.”

“A...refund?”

Your lustful thoughts evaporate once you realize his pace has become horribly slow, his dick stilling and creating an itch of barely noticeable ecstasy. You wiggle your hips to increase the friction, wanting to get yourself off before his words can sour the mood. Though it’s already spoiled when you recognize the carnal victory shining in his twisted smirk. Your unfortunate fate was sealed the moment you welcomed his company with foolish openness, and you’ve been indebted ever since he decided to spoil you with lavish foods and accessories.

For love that is far from cheap, interest must be paid and your very being makes for the perfect bargain.

It’s weird when he kisses you on your lips rather than on the parts of your body that are normally obscured with delicate cloth. And it’s even weirder when that metaphorical collar binds your throat in a vice. It’s more harrowing than any sort of debt you might’ve garnered and it’s just as inconvenient as his boyish adoration.

Scaramouche doesn’t have to purchase your flimsy, half-off love when it’s already prepackaged and ready for the taking.

“You heard me. A refund is hardly enough punishment for a lying brat, but it will have to suffice for now.”

For now.

Spurred on by his own insinuating threats, he seeks to bruise your very insides with thrusts that are filled with physical vexation rather than the emotional ministrations from before. And since you’re so accustomed to him, your greedy hole eagerly welcomes him.

#yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact fanfic #genshin impact scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin impact lemon #scaramouche lemon #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere genshin impact scaramouche #n/sfw #i'd like to write a part two #please enable me orz

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igotathingforvampires · 3 years ago

Text

Aro Volturi N.S.F.W Alphabet

CANON DIVERGENT.

Info on Reader: Reader is an Elemental Gift user like Benjamin

CW/TW: a SLIGHT MENTION of assault but NO DETAIL AT ALL (as a SA survivor I do not use this lightly but I do like representation and not having the survivor be that cliche broken doll we end abusers here thank you)

How you two met:

You…..oh you. You’re standing with the Cullens wondering how the FUCK you got here.

Why am I here? What’s with this tiny little kid who can touch me and tell me things. Awe but she’s cute.

You’re just a bored Vampire who knows Carlisle and is Esme’s BFF.

You’re a nomad, and a badass one, see your gift is the Elements like Benjamin, it’s why Amun has his eye on you and is freaked out.

You and Benji are buddies now. Benjamin specializes in Earth and Water. You specialize in Fire and Air.

So now, here you are watching a bunch of cloaked baddies stomping towards you. But Carlisle and you have spoken frequently, the Volturi aren’t bad.

However, they are cautious.

And caution bred by fear is something you know to be wary of.

So you keep yourself a bit behind Carly. Waiting and watching.

The leader— that must be Aro you think, flings his hood back and suddenly you feel your entire chest clench up and a yank within yourself towards him. “Oh what the fuck.” You growl. Glancing UP at the Old Gods you couldn’t help but snap at them “ARE YOU ALL KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?! HIM?!”

The platinum haired man barked angrily, “who dares?!”

Aro is too busy glancing at his brother Marcus who’s smiling. He nods at Aro and huffs a bit of a sigh.

The raven haired man turns ever so slowly, casting his red gaze over the crowd and it falls to Carlisle. “Carly.”

“Aro?”

“Who is that behind you.” Aro can feel his chest hurt like a chain is being pulled.

Carlisle looks confused and glances behind him where you are shaking your head face palming—looking embarrassed.

Edward and Bella are utterly confused, before Edward listens to Aro’s and your thoughts and gets a look of disgust, “REALLY.” He barks.

You feel the rage of a thousand suns consume you. “I CAN’T PICK IT YA KNOW AND HEY WHADDAYA MEAN REALLY —ASSHOLE DON’T TALK ABOUT MY MATE LIKE THAT!”

The entire field is utterly still as you’re heaving, standing on your tip toes in front of the bronze haired vampire pointing at Edwards cringing face, “but it’s—“ he starts, you let out a growl and sparks fly off you.

Edward shuts up.

“I will light your ass on fire.” You whisper hiss.

The Volturi are just tilting their heads like WTF.

Marcus is trying not to laugh, Caius has just become stunned glancing between his brother and the woman across the battlefield.

Aro is getting GIDDY.

“And who is the girl.” He asks.

You turn, your hips swinging with attitude and your arms crossing as you scoff. “Psh, get a load of this Mother fucker,” you whisper to yourself glaring across the expanse of space. “HEY. I have a name.”

------

-----

His First Impression:

Of course my mate swears like a sailor.

Is Aro’s first thought.

His next thought is that you’re awful adorable. Awe so lithe and cute and— Much too … hm, much too adorable to be mine I would think how In the —a violent wind kicks up and flames burst out from your body enveloping your form as you take a few steps forward.

Ah there it is.

“You wanna ask me my name— darling.” You smile wide at him.

“Of course,” his purr is laced with annoyance, but he’s far too intrigued. “Who might you be?”

“I’m y/n. No last name, my parents were assholes.” You shrug. “So, we doing this trial or we figuring the whole—“ you wave your hand between the gaping maw of land between you two, “bond thing.”

Aro pauses, a twitch on his lips, “after the proceedings cara mia.”

“Ooo… love me a man that speaks Italian—” You smirk, raising a brow and cock your head to the side.

Aro makes a stifled choked off growl as his eyes go black— thank God he lost the ability to blush as arousal slammed into him like a freight train.

You’re obviously annoyed, and have as Caius mutters ‘more balls than a Christmas tree’ and you are ready for this trial to be over.

Frankly so is Aro he wants to drag you back to Volterra and bring you to heel.

Not that he thinks that’s going to happen.

But he loves playing with fire. And you’re full of it.

He watches you glance at the Cullens and the half-breed. “Alright Nessie come on let’s show him what you can do kiddo.” You scoop the girl up and you and the Cullens walk over with Jake behind you.

-----

When does he know of his feelings?

When within reaching distance you set Renessme down and pat her head, “okay tiny Loch Ness, say hello.”

Bella is panicking, but she trusts you it seems, she better, you have no qualms frying— sans mate— every vampire here. They do their little song and dance. Aro tries to talk about the danger and you feel your temper boil over.

“Darling.” You croon taking a step forward with a sharp but soft smile.

You remind him of a lioness, purring softly but ready to tear into him with one movement.

He raises a brow; you are in 6 inch heels putting you nose to nose with him. “Yes carissima?” He breathes deep and nearly groans out loud, you smell so good, like spring and a heady feminine scent like perfume edged in lilacs and lavender.

“Could you pretty pretty pretty please just keep an eye on little Nessie— I hate to tell you but she’s quite important to me and I can assure you she fits in with humans better than the Cullens do.”

“And if I don’t.”

You let flames dance in your gaze. “I’ll roast everyone here except your brothers and their mates and make you start the fuck over without me.”

Aro’s done.

Cupid has struck him in his dead heart.

He’s never been more terrified or aroused or enraged at once at your dulcet threat purred from such sweet lips.

He wants to grip you by your hair to him, pick you up and haul you to somewhere private and teach you a lesson.

He wants to fight you. And it’s quite clear you’re ready to rumble, though he’s not sure you’d let him win. Or that it wouldn’t end up tangling in a bed somewhere on fire. That’s fine too.

A manic grin spreads across his face, eyes going pitch black as he snatches you up by the waist and hauls you closer loving the startled look in your eyes settling into something dark and wanting. “And if I agree?”

The brothers roll their eyes.

Go figure you’d be as bat shit as he is.

“I’ll leave with you right now.” You give him THAT look matching his almost mad grin.

A low purr echos from him making Bella clap her hands over Nessie’s ears. “Una ragazza così meravigliosa, credo che mi piaccia come funziona la tua mente.” Such a wonderful girl, I think I like how your mind works.

But your plans to drag your mate off end as Alice shows up with her witness right when he’s about to whisk you off for some obvious adult time.

Both of you sigh put out and exasperated.

Yes you just about ended an entire potential threat with batting pretty eyes and coaxing the leader of the Volturi into some fun.

But now that’s ruined because of the psychic. Alice is looking rather embarrassed as the proceedings go. Given that she probably saw how everything was about to go down.

Aro can sense you’re as annoyed as he is, that and you’re not leaving his side. And you don’t mind touching him but you’re not because oh yeah he needs to focus. But oh he can see your hand twitching towards his own.

He can easily turn his gift off and so he does and grips your hand, quickly jerking you to his side.

Electricity lights along your skin at the contact and both of you jolt a moment and glance sideways looking amused.

This was going to be fun.

——

How’d you end up with the Volturi?

Alice and her witnesses ease their concerns about Nessie. Aro placates the Volturi as you linger back behind him a bit. Everyone just poof! Vanishes.

“So ah, can we get my stuff first before you whisk me off around the world?” You ask sweetly.

Aro’s a bit startled, “you wish to leave already?”

You realize he would be willing to stay for a bit and let you acclimate.

“Nah where you go I fucking go, come on baby. Let’s get the fuck outta dodge.” You give him a teasing shove as you walk by making Carlisle’s coven silently shake in mirth at his surprised expression.

Carlisle murmurs, “Good luck Aro.”

“Fuck off Carly.” The King growls back before following you.

That’s all they wrote.

You were in. And you made yourself at home quite easily.

Jane and Alec adore you— you saw them and just SQUEEd. “OMG they’re so DEADLY but so CUTE!”

Jane wasn’t quite sure what to do with you picking her UP and hugging her nuzzling your nose to her cheek, “she’s just a tiny tot of doom I adore it! We’re going to burn the SHIT outta people.”

Alec just sat starry eyed as you ruffled his hair, “I know boys don’t like being picked up.”

Jane had become a koala on you. And you didn’t mind.

Well. You’re Mama now. Aro couldn’t be more pleased as you continue to help develop their skills trying things outside of the box.

See, that’s also a sort of talent you have— you can help people learn how to use their gifts because of how you think. Not a gift per say, but certainly useful.

Jane it turns out can utilize the fire element.

Alec can utilize air.

With you knowing both you’re easily able to teach Alec how to hone his targets and even allow his gift to POP UP near someone rather than from his hands.

Jane is capable of setting shit on fire now.

Aro isn’t sure if he’s proud or worried.

Bit of both. But you are STERN with their use of powers. And when Jane set Felix’s foot on fire she was forced to shine everyone’s shoes in the Volturi in the afternoon and write 200,000 times at HUMAN PACE. “We do not light family on fire.”

She never did it again.

The inner coven loves you. Caius and you are besties Marcus is like a big brother always doting on you. Athenadora and Sulpricia are of course still together as companions, and don’t worry about his ex wife— they were on the rocks she’s ecstatic someone else can keep him in line.

The coven instantly takes to you, in fact you’re now basically Mother to everyone. Scolding, teaching, comforting, you do it all. But you’re also a leader and a ruthless one at that.

A perfect fit Aro thinks.

——

How’d he deal with his emotions?

You are driving Aro FUCKING CRAZY.

Literally mad.

You know how to push his buttons and you are not one to do as told. So for him, he who has anyone bending to his will to see you just cock a brow at him and laugh “awe.”

He wants to choke you half to death.

You are a Queen. He tells himself. It’s to be expected that you’d challenge him.

Sulpricia finds it HILARIOUS and you two are besties. Fuck that’s all he needs. She is ever so encouraging of your independence.

He often finds himself in Sulpricia’s study pacing rampantly, “what am I going to do with her?”

“You know you like it.” Sully says lounging back on her couch. “If you didn’t you wouldn’t be so utterly ass over tea kettle.”

Aro is not good with his emotions when it comes to jealousy. And he is JEALOUS.

You’re perfect to him, utterly beautiful, you are the sun and he Icarus stupidly flying as high as he can towards you in hopes to reach the light.

You’re also inclined to let him touch you whenever you want to express things without using words— and you’ve learned to let him speak to you telepathically as well.

So often you just sit with your pinkies touching on a couch and have back and forth silently except for the occasional twitch on your lips at a humorous comment.

You’ve managed to make him huff a laugh occasionally.

But he is utterly posessive. He does not like it when men stare too long, admiring is one thing, but nothing escapes Aro.

So when a lower guard had been in trouble for an infraction and when you had disciplined him the utter disrespect for a concubine replacement was across Aro’s mind and…welll—

Guard died.

You had just looked startled and gave a ‘oh well’ kinda shrug before touching ARo’s hand. Feel better baby?

Yes you called him baby in private, so modern, and he would NEVER admit he loved it. Baby, darling, love, honey, the list went on and each one twisted his insides into ribbons of absolute adoration.

You had actually taken to the bond so well Marcus had informed him that it was practically cemented.

His only hang up was himself.

——

Who does he ask for help?

Didyme is no longer there— his dear sister, a deep sorrow as he was accidentally responsible for her death.

Marcus however is always there to be the voice of reason, and he sits Aro down and listens to his brother spill his guts. Aro is terrified, he is well aware he is THE monster that makes OTHER monsters keep in line.

But for you to look at him like that? He could never bear it. His heart would break.

Marcus sighs, “Aro come here.” He drags his brother to the training grounds.

Where Aro get’s to see his mate literally tear apart the entire guard with blades…. Did his eyes deceive him— were those made from vampire ash and fangs?!

You pause your onslaught, “oh hi darling!” You prance over and smile, “like them? My witch-smith friend made them for me! Fucking bastards kept coming for me after awhile and ya know I just hate the idea of wasting shit.”

Marcus glanced at Aro and gave him a I told you so.

“Everything okay?” You ask looking concerned. You are dragging him along as he partially willingly let’s you take him to his sister’s gardens. “What’s wrong?”

And so, he exhales and does the one thing he’s never done with his gift.

He touches your hand and shows you his own thoughts.

He expects your recoil. Expects you to shun him. Expects your hatred and braces himself for it.

You gasp and when he’s about to drag his hand away and you grip him tighter. “No don’t…let me…” and so you watch— thousands of years of memories over the course of a week or two. Asking silent questions as the images play, getting silent answers in return.

And so, in return, you show him your human life— a life that had been riddled with abusers, torment and lack of love, the iron in your spine that had solidified your creation when you had dragged yourself from an open alley way at dawn into the sewer system after being left to die being drained by a nomad after a brutal assault. You shared with him that it had taken a lot for you to even move after what had happened.

Esme had found you.

And so your friends made sure you were okay even if you didn’t follow their diet.

You both spend time going over your pasts, Aro gently asking questions and you doing the same to answer as best you could.

It was why Rosalie and you got along so well, there were some experiences one could only understand by going through it. And you both had learned how to cope with the trauma you had.

Aro is patient, both of you taking time to feel through each others wounds, taking time to rework into each others personal space.

Marcus is stunned to tell Aro that the bond is nigh unbreakable after this exchange.

The Kings magically -coughs- big brother Marcus loses his shit finding out and Caius leads the search party with Demetri— cough cough— find the nomad and he’s now in a box limb free 15 feet below the dungeon with a tube connecting him to the surface, his tongue removed and he only gets blood once a year. *Jane lit them on fire multiple times to practice her accuracy and aim*

You find out of course, and smile through the dry sobs as all three embrace you like a big protective group hug. For the first time in a very long time, it’s safe.

Truly safe.

——

What happens when he tells you?

Aro is a man of few words, and honestly not much is needed between you two with the ability to go back and forth with his gift.

So in the middle of a walk in Didyme’s gardens he merely grabs your hand gently and kisses the top of your fingers.

And you’re flooded with his emotions.

The warmth and tenderness and absolute adoration is almost enough to restart your dead heart as venom pools in your eyes. “Aro…”

He loves you, loves you more than his own life, would give anything for you to make you smile.

This isn’t the love that is complacent, to just sit idle and rust away, he wants to chase you for eternity, whatever it takes to keep you at his side.

And you flood him right back— lowering the barriers you had and after a moment he merely leans down and presses his forehead to your own, giving the two of you time to just bask in the warmth of affection that’s swirling back and forth akin to the waves of the tide under the moon and sun at twilight.

——

First Kiss?

The leaders of Volterra were in the throne room, the Queens having their own thrones behind their husbands but visible carved in different woods to represent their personalities with different intricate features much like the brother’s thrones holding different crowning points but all the same color.

Your own is the same color as Aro’s throne, but mingled with mahogany accents. Ruby red stones slotted at the top with a crescent moon and sun carving emboldened with gold spiked halo.

Caius' mate's throne is a pale color, affixed with branches and beautiful earth like tones, complimenting her grounded nature.

Marcus’ Witch Mate is merely embellished in a ash throne, deep red almost black gems and the symbol for the overall witch and vampire alliance above her throne.

With all three positions of Queen in Volterra taken up by a true mate, it is the most stable the Volturi have been in several millennia.

But that day in particular was rough, there were a few traitors that had been brought forward— and one of them had managed to get loose from Felix as Aro had been gaining information lunging for the King’s throat.

You moved so fast no one even saw you as you streaked forward like a ghost and lobbed the vampire’s head off holding a blade made of vampire teeth expertly with an animalistic snarl.

You had positioned yourself in front of Aro, crouched, blade poised and your eyes wide and wild, teeth flashing with a dangerous snarl.

Marcus’ witch had already shielded Aro but paused when she saw how enraged you were. Athena and Sulpricia had faltered, Caius looked utterly proud.

You spun round, dropping your blade— knowing Felix and the others had everything in hand as Aro had reached for you, the two of you locked in an embrace, his hands holding your face still as your own hands grasped his wrists. Foreheads pressed together—

The coven was used to this, a private conversation but you could feel the utter terror that had gone through him when he saw you out of the corner of his eye. If anything had happened to you—he was almost angry at you.

But he could easily sense the rage that had consumed you at the thought of someone hurting him. Despite knowing the guard and Jane would Never allow it, your instincts had taken over.

No one would ever take from you again.

And you had been frightened.

Behind that rage when he got past it was utter fear that he’d be gone and you’d be all alone again all the tender memories would be the last you’d have of him as you gave a dry sob before the venom dropped from your eyes— a true show of vampiric emotion that was a rarity.

“Carissima, no. I’ll not leave you that easily.” He murmured and not giving a flying fuck about anyone in the room kissed you full on the mouth gathering you up in a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered half broken against his mouth. “I’m sorry-“

“I know I know, shhh cara mia shhh,” gathering you up he merely flitted out of the room leaving the others to deal with the issue.

Tons of snuggles. He had bundled you up to him in his private rooms and merely kept your hands together enjoying the shared emotions knowing the other was close and safe.

Aro knew exactly how to calm you, he merely showed you all his favorite memories, of the coven, of his travels, the antics his brother’s got up to. He replayed the moment he first saw you.

That always made you laugh of course she swears like a sailor.

——

First Time?

It’s in an elevator.

Okay so here’s the thing. The Volturi have these massive events, and your official coronation happens at one of these.

Aro is so proud.

And so fucking jealous as you are danced across the floor with other vampires— who are oh so respectful and as they should be as Aro watches from the upper floor like an angel of death.

You look stunning, your smile lighting up the entire ballroom, friends from near and far are there— even then Cullens— God bless Carly he even had animal blood brought for him.

You’re dancing around with Nessie laughing and watching the girl child giggle like a fiend before handing her off to the Shifter Aro hated the smell but it was what it was.

Over the course of the evening he was getting awful tired of sharing you. And as the evening wound down to an end you both were just going to take the elevator back up to the private rooms as the Ballroom was on the top floor of Volterra.

The energy crackled in the small space and you both glanced at one another. It was like a short fuse had been lit on a stick of dynamite.

We’re so not doing this in an elevator are we?

You didn’t realize you had said it out loud even as you both gravitated towards one another and his hands tangled into your hair sending gold pins flying to the ground as his mouth found yours and you let out a deep moan as his tongue swiped your lips before you happily opened them.

“We’re going to be patient. Cara mia. ” He said sternly more to himself than you— then groaned when your teeth tugged gently on his bottom lip knowing it drove him crazy. “Sarai la mia morte. Sulla mia tomba scriveranno 'ha giocato con il fuoco ed è perito felicemente’” his voice became heated as his hands moved over your form, “non mi importa più, vieni da me mia fiamma, brucia con me.” You will be my death. On my grave they will write 'he played with fire and perished happily'. I don't care anymore, come to me my flame, burn with me.

His hands were gripping your backside and hauling you up, pressing himself firmly between your thighs before grinding against you. But when his teeth scraped your neck your brain shorted out—

“Oh for gods sake Aro just fuck me already—” your hands were scrabbling at his waist coat and shirt pleased how easily the buttons pinged off the walls of the elevator.

Your mate let out a pleased noise, one that was utterly inhuman when your hands tangled into his raven locks and knocked the golden V pin to the floor allowing the ocean and pomegranate scent of his to curtain you from the world as he bent his head down and kissed you as if it were the last thing he would get to do just then. Right before he smacked his hand against the emergency stop button jolting the ride to the private floor still.

If you thought his kisses were something to be swooning over— because he always knew what you needed.

Well his gift extends to much and he is in tune with it.

Your mind is his favorite place to be, and he brutally uses what he knows to his advantage as his fingers skim up your legs flinging your skirt over your thighs to teasingly grind himself against you till you’re almost clawing at him half feral.

“My pretty little mate—“ he croons at you, “you looked so beautiful cara mia,” kissing down your throat before biting marks into your flesh licking them before continuing on as his teeth jerk the fabric of your bodice and sleeves off not even bothering with his hands. “E tu sei tutto mio, cazzo.” And you’re all fucking mine.

You were busy molding your hands against his form, loving how it was just ratcheting up his half mad with desire motions, twitchy, greedy, desperate to touch, “What was it you joked about that one time?” He was referring to a memory with your best friends over drinks.

You gulped and shivered a bit. “I believe I said sometimes a girl just wants to ahem— get slammed to a wall and fucked stupid?”

He smirked as his hands tore fabric off you letting his fingers to glide along your skin, allowing your own to do the same and showing you know exactly what he liked through the bond of touch.

If you’d been human the air would have left your lungs as he pressed his body tight to your own, pinning you in place letting you feel what you did to him, the hard length of his cock pressed into your belly. “What do you say we take care of that, hm?”

You’re speaking in tongues before he even takes you fully, and roughly, there’s no slow tender love making and frankly you’re just glad for it.

His wild smile sliding into a predatory proud smirk when you’re just a mess; whining at him, begging, pleading, twitching against him and oh you’re just so pretty when at his mercy.

He literally has the tongue of the devil.

“Did I finally break you little one?” He croons despite his rough movements sending you into another shockwave of bliss as your nails make claw marks in the wall.

Fuck he had— you’ll do anything if he’ll just continue.

Your submission is like a drug, he’s mad on it, hands digging against you, making small fissures of cracks along your hips that make you groan gleeful as you push closer for more of his touches.

“That’s right bambi, give me everything.”

That’s all you hear before he’s fucking you into the wall of the elevator, sinking his teeth into your shoulder and neck just to relish in the pain and pleasure filled noises that escape from you as you beg for more, more, just please give more it’s all you want.

“My good bambi.” He growls as he begins it all over again, rumbling in your ear as your try to escape the onslaught of sensations— but happy you can’t as his grip has you immovable. “You’re not escaping me just yet.”

You’re both a mess, not that either of you care. Adjusting yourselves as best you can—

You’re lucky his private rooms are close and he simply carries you and flits you both into his rooms; you both end up continuing what was started.

——

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is a touch telepath, he knows exactly what you need.

But he also surprises you with what you didn’t even know you needed.

Snuggles, so many snuggles— Aro is not a tactile person— but with you?

Forget it.

He’s practically melting into your form and trying to fuse himself to you.

Massages, nuzzling your hair, biting.

Lots of biting— but not hard bites, love bites. Pressing his teeth to your skin to leave little imprints that he just can’t get over. You always poke fun at him for it.

Plus let’s face it.

Bite = Love.

He and Caius are on one mind with that.

He also took a note from Marcus and you both enjoy the heat of the baths together after a particularly long rough romp.

Which turns into a bath romp.

Because ahem *REASONS*

“I’m King I don’t need a reason to have you— now come here.” He’ll huff imperiously when you giggle at him as he drags you close into his embrace kissing you.

Okay he lies.

You looked too pretty in the bath.

Aro can’t help himself. That’s the reason.

——

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He is SHOOK when you tell him your favorite thing about him is his hands. You never feel misunderstood.

Even in the rare fights you simply huff and reach out to him, wiggling your fingers with a pleading glance; or if he won’t take your hand you’ll walk over sit in his lap and headbutt your forehead to his like an angry cat.

But usually Aro will take your hand and you both have a deep understanding of where you’re both coming from.

After a few moments it’s settled.

You kiss his hands, he knows you love how he plays you like a finely tuned instrument when alone.

Love when he delves his fingers into your hair and cradles you close even if you’re in the throne room— he’s the fucking king he can do what he likes damn it.

But Aro is startled by this— everyone hates touching him even though he can control his gift, they seem to think that— aside from his brothers and sister in laws— that he just loves to dive into people’s minds for funsies.

No it’s awful. Plain awful. He can barely stand his own mind why would he want to traverse someone else’s?

But that brings us to what he likes about you— he LOVES your head space. When he’s stressed it’s his favorite place to be because you have a vivid imagination, as a writer as well you show him stories you’ve thought of and worlds you’ve created with vivid detail. He finds it quite amusing to use watch your thoughts too on a daily, you like it simply because he’s close.

But aside from that it’s you.

Just You.

Just ALL of you.

He can’t pick don’t make the man pick, he would just keep you near him for eternity which you seem to have no issues with.

———

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically…I am a disgusting person…)

He is quite a posessive person.

Two Words:

Breeding Kink

You’re his and his alone, so the idea of ah— claiming you that way just sends him off into the ether.

The fact that you both have a breeding kink and literally can’t have kids is a GREAT thing because you’ve literally sat there a absolute mess after round five and thought out loud as he tenderly cleans you up, “shit thank god we can’t reproduce because I am 100% sure that’d have knocked my ass up—” which has had him shaking in mirth having to pause to control himself after a few moments.

Beg him for it.

Make that whining needy noise in the back of your throat at him for him to finally give you what you need.

He’ll just lose it, pin you by the throat and well— you’ve broken a few beds this way.

He has no shame.

Just glances at the bed, hits speed dial to the furniture store and orders a new one.

His only other favorite thing with C as he soon found out from O (you’ll see) was he adores when you swallow down everything he gives you. That’s got him rumbling in Italian about what a good girl you are and how much you please him.

———

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s a MASSIVE Pleasure Dom. And when I say Dom.

HE GOT DOM ENERGY.

With very mild Sadistic tendencies. (Thanks a lot Caius ya pervy fucker)

However he is also a very sincere soft streak when you’re a very good pet.

He picked up pet play from his sadistic brother hearing him call his amore Bunny. One day down the rabbit hole that is Google and he was hooked.

But he calls you Bambi. It’s an Italian term for baby-girl.

It also works because you become like a damn deer in the headlights when he pulls the Dominant voice on you.

It thrums with a low purr and has the capability to just make your brain go wait what?

HE’S A FUCKING SWITCH.

You had been pissed as shit at him. “I don’t know whether I want to strangle you or fuck you to death!” You paused because you had literally throat pinned him to the wall, the stone crumbling beneath him, feeling the muscles of his neck working as he swallowed nervously.

You were about to let go but saw his eyes had gone totally black and expectant and startled but excited.

He was just as fucking confused as you both calculated in a matter of seconds what had happened.

You were first to catch on. “Oh?….OH...….oooooohhhhhhh ….. you….you son of a….” You sputtered as he got a sly grin, “you can’t just look at me like— you are so ill behaved!!”

He wasn’t far behind and raised a black brow at you looking mischievous, “…..and what are you going to do about it mia regina?”

Next thing he knew he was face planted on his office floor with your boot pressed on his cheek making him groan low. “Gonna make you regret mouthing off to me is what I’m going to do my Aro.”

Edge him. Don’t let him touch you all day till he begs. He loves when you exert your authority especially on him? Oh forget it.

Queen Slay.

Literally you are his Queen and you are the only one who get’s to fucking tell him what to do.

And you ruthlessly do so when he’s in the mood. All you hear is “mia regina?” He’ll croon at you, as your hand comes up and drags him to you by his tie.

“would you like to be of service to me Aro?”

Magic words. He’s done, let him have you and he will literally just focus on your pleasure.

Worship Kink.

You had dropped to your knees at his desk and laid your head in his lap and he almost lost his god damn mind. You purred at him, “il mio maestro”.

Aro .exe has stopped fucking working.

———

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Thanks to the tactile telepathy as well as the fact that he and his brothers have slept their way through history, Aro is a very mixed lover.

When I say greedy as a lover, he wants your pleasure for himself. And will literally drive you to it till you’re sobbing for mercy.

He has none.

But he does take pity on you when he knows you’re truly at your limit with touch.

You weren’t inexperienced but his own experience blew yours out of the damn water. Can literally have you on the edge in mere minuets. And is SMUG about it.

Fucking smug bastard just watching you with that smirk on his face and a ‘well?’ Kinda expression.

You have to beg if you want it.

You have to plead, you have to let him hear you or he’ll just keep going and I quote ‘hmmm I can’t hear you cara mia, you’re being so quiet you know that makes me want to fuck you harder, come now, let me hear you— don’t make me have to drag it from you baby girl. You know I love to hear your sweet sounds.”

Could probably kill you if you weren’t already dead with what he can do with his hands.

His tongue is even better.

When asked which you preferred you had just panted desperately after a hard orgasm, “any. All. Both. God just…holy fuck.”

He cracked up over that. “My poor baby I broke her.”

————

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Loves having you in his lap.

Prefers to see your face and eyes, seems to need it.

But occasionally he just loves gripping your neck from behind and feeling you gasp against his grip as he slams into you roughly.

Adores anything that has you clinging onto him for dear life.

Likes being in a position to mark you. Favorite thing ever.

You had once tested his patience (willfully hoping for this outcome) a bit too much and he had pinned you completely immobile to the desk of his office and fucked you within an inch of your immortal life gagging you with his black tie.

“you just have to test me don’t you mia regina?” He had growled in your ear leaning over you, his hand crunching the ornate wood to splinters as you keened and whined for him to keep going. “Such a ill behaved thing you are, should just keep you here like this for when I please hm?”

He was not joking, you were kept there quite happily under his desk sitting at his feet your head on his lap waiting and absolutely willing.

He could feel your hands grip his thighs, “quit that I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work—“ his voice teetered off in a guttural growl as he looked down.

You were biting his shirt looking up at him already nudging yourself between his thighs your teeth digging into his trouser zipper and tugging down.

his hands were gripping your hair jerking you up to kiss him deep, a growl against your lips, “Fucking damn it— come here.”

When you can get him to swear which is rare— yeah…

He didn’t exactly sound angry.

But he sure fucked you like he was though.

“This is what you were after hm? You brat!” A harsh laugh as he pinned you down a bit harder, “fine then I should ensure you’re good….and….sated…shouldn’t I bambi?”

———

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Very sincere.

Teasing but only in a very sexual way.

Borders on humiliation but he respects you too much.

Very serious though when he focuses on you.

He’s focusing on all the sensations you’re sending him, letting you know what he’s feeling as well which just sets you into the damn ether.

———

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It’s ARO.

The man is vain.

The man is neat.

Clean and pristine.

He’d give a regal huff of annoyance, “I am not a heathen darling.”

———

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Ohhh you wouldn’t know it but he’s such a god damn romantic.

He is. And he MAKES time for you. The schedules are changed so you have time together more often— something that was never done before.

Operas, romantic walks out in Volterra at night.

Sightseeing.

Your favorite was your trip to Germany in the winter with a big cozy cottage and a big fire and lots of bedding to ahem— destroy.

Aro has penguin brain.

He brings you small gifts that made him think of you— you have a bracelet that has special charms he had custom made for you, a lochness monster for when you met, a castle obviously for Volterra, a doe, different tiny items that speckled through your life, each one means something— you hardly ever take it off.

You have a collection of very sparkly stones in many jars that he found on his missions.

They are actually gemstones— insert eye roll— they set off pretty prisms through your shared rooms.

“Aren’t you going to make jewelry of them?” Aro asks.

“No darling they are perfect just as they are.” You smile.

Aro actually has the literal voice of a damn angel.

He sings to you in Italian, soft dulcet sweet tones and dances you around your rooms teasing you relentlessly.

Aro writes beautiful poetry. He will at least write one every few months when inspiration comes to him.

You have your own private box at the opera house. As well as being allowed to fund artists across the world, you’ve found incredible talent on broadway and other venues.

Flowers. Aro ensures care for a private greenhouse for you on the roof, each flower has a meaning, and they all bloom year round given the proper temperatures on the greenhouse. “Why would I send you flowers when they die so easily.” He asks kissing your cheek as you smile over the new blooms. “This is everlasting, much more fitting.” He muses.

All his poetry is in a beautiful book Caius got you for your birthday.

———

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Why would he do that when he has you?

He is a patient man.

He can wait.

And he has pristine control over himself.

He is too old for pre-pubescent raging hormone crap.

But he will legit melt for you if you do it for him. Prefers it slow, enjoying your touch and loves to watch as you take instruction.

You’re such a good girl for him.

————

———

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Aro is a kinky bastard.

MASSIVE Pleasure Dom.

Worship Kink.

Edging.

Controlling Orgasms *you don’t get to come till he gives permission*

Collaring *your Volturi necklace is LITERALLY on a collar*

Overstimulation. *his gift allows him to know when you’re pushed to hard and when you can take a bit more. When you’re craving that over stimulus, he’ll give it happily. Knowing he can turn you into a babbling speaking in tongues, drooling, eyes rolling back mess just— just— GAH.*

Breeding Kink *Aro has a true breeding kink, ask him to fill you up beg him for it and he’s going to lose his mind.*

Gagging. *he loves to gag you, but also loves being choked by you or you grabbing onto his tie.

Wax Play *you’re a fire elemental user, bringing candles into play is just oh it’s nice. * Prefers to have it done TO him. Your air element gift also allows you to cool the wax quickly and give new sensations.

————

———

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Aro is private, he prefers somewhere comfortable to take his sweet time with you.

Rooms Private, hotel, somewhere he can just lavish you and enjoy everything you can give him.

He’d rather take the time to find a nice comfy setting.

But every blue moon— he’ll just look at you in that specific dress molding to your thighs.

He will drag you into an alley way and just rail the shit out of you keeping you quiet with a firm grip over your mouth as he hisses the dirtiest things in your ear.

You two once had a quick rendezvous in a changing room at a theatre. -shrug- it was empty oh well.

———

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

“Master?” You bat your eyes at him

His nostrils flare as he breathes in and just knows exactly what you want and you smell so fucking good.

The tone you use.

He knows. You want him. That’s it.

Unless it’s a trial— and DO NOT DO THIS BEFORE TRIAL.

And if you happen to when he takes your hand send him your fantasies after seeing him standing there all regal and watching his mouth form syllables so well and how much better it’ll be with his mouth— ahem— busy somewhere else.

He will be so mad at you.

He’s glaring at you behind a mask of calm and you can feel the fucking tremor in his limbs.

You just bat your eyes innocently at him and smile.

His face: you’re in SO MUCH trouble.

Brat energy??? During Trial?!??! Now is that the time to give brat energy!!???

Oh. Oh. oh you are so in trouble. When he gets done with ripping some poor idiots head off— okay not really they broke the rules— stalks over to you; grabs you by your oh so pretty collar, “come with me bambi.”

And just pulls you along to your rooms with you giggling the whole way and practically prancing behind him like a— well like a doe prancing into a lions den.

He’s tossed you over his shoulder once and just flitted out of the rooms into your private chambers, hurling you onto the bed before ripping into your clothing. “You best be ready for your punishment.”

“Oooohhhhhh absolutly master.”

“that’s my girl.”

The coven just rolls their eyes. Aro is less manic with you there and you surprisingly bring ease to the coven— so ya know what if that’s what does it whatever.

————

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Humiliation. No.

Impact play is one thing, but to intentionally hurt you no.

If he does impact play one hand is always touching you to ensure you’re okay.

————

———

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving? The man has a wicked tongue.

His oral game is LEGIT.

Will have you in a puddle of twitching ecstasy in mere moments of teasing because he knows where to touch and that’s not just his tongue but his hands.

Will kiss you all over before even getting to the ahem— final destination.

You’re either ready to combust or ready to strangle him when he finally just begins to devour you.

Eats pussy like a man starved but has all the time to enjoy.

Smug as Fuck.

Expect him to just watch you as you’re coming back down from the absolute height he threw you up to and glaring down at his smug grin as he waits before beginning all over again.

Will go all night if you’ve been ill behaved.

Your record is 20 before you BEGGED for a break.

He finally took pity and gave you a warm bubble bath and snuggles and praises.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like receiving, however it was more just a “hm, that’s nice—“

But with you.

Especially when you had decided to walk into his office, lay your head in his lap as you had sat yourself under his desk so he could work while he played with your hair (you have a comfy cushion there who was he to argue if that was the best way to be close and he could get work done??!!)

But his work was abruptly halted when you had nuzzled his cock through his trousers dragging your mouth wide as he became painfully hard in record time.

“what is it you think you’re doing bambi?” He purred looking oh so curious.

“Nothing.” You muffled around him as your teeth found his zipper and trouser buttons with a rather feral sound.

Upon finding out you had no gag reflex and having your nose buried in his pelvis as you moaned around him he was done for and he didn’t even care.

Work was forgotten.

Loves when you pleasure him, but of course has to be in control for the most part.

Buries his hands into your hair and loves throat fucking you, praising you the entire time. “What a good thing you don’t need to breathe dolcezza.”

You had hummed around him ecstatically.

The reward for this is always drool worthy.

Play with yourself as you do and let him see you do so keeping your clothing out of the way and you’ll have him break finally, that cool haughty composure cracking as his gaze goes just utterly uncontrollably wild, his hips moving a bit harder.

————

———

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

You both fuck rough.

But you both also love the slow and sensual moments too.

Especially if you have the time to just drown in one another.

It just depends on the situation.

Rough And Fast:

Slow and Sensual is how it usually starts off, he’s so attentive, so soft and cherishes you, that is till you growl at him for more and he has of course no other option but to give you what he wants.

You’re his queen after all what kind of mate would he be if he didn’t give in?

But has today been exceedingly trying for either of you?

Or is your mate quite amped up from a particularly rough trial?

You’ve been pestering him haven’t you? Hmmm.. yeah buckle up.

You’re in trouble and therefore need to relearn where your place is— it’s in your bed, beneath him losing your mind out of pleasure.

And he is all too happy to provide that lesson if you seem to forget.

You try to forget often. You damn brat.

Slow and Sensual

However sometimes he just wants to be gentle. And frankly so do you, you want to just bask in the bond you have and slowly explore all over again despite knowing you have memorized one another to heart by now.

Doesn’t matter, you still find things that surprise you, things that make you smile.

Places that when touched cause a jolt— well that’s new.

“I could spend my entire life mapping out your body carissima.”

“that’s an awful long time in bed.”

Aro would just smirk kissing down your sternum, “oh what a pity— I suppose my brothers shall have to cover for me hm?” Bite marks being pressed into your flesh, “I plan on leaving so many of these that I forget where they are so I can find them later.”

“Such an evil overlord.” But you’re giddy, he’s going to make your entire world tilt again with those slow careful hands of his and you’re going to enjoy every second of it.

———

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

You’d be surprised that such a patient man could be so damn impatient for you.

He’s not as impatient as Caius but not AS patient as Marcus.

So it’s a toss up when he’s twitchy during trials and catches a glimpse of you floating down the hallway in all your grandure and he mentally tosses a coin.

Nope he can’t take it that flash of leg just set him off.

“Excuse me I do belive I remembered something that needs my attention.”

The others just inwardly roll their eyes.

Next thing you know you’re gagged by his tie in his office pinned over the desk with his teeth buried in your neck and frankly you expected this you wore that damn skirt with the slit in it to tease him.

Seeing this just makes him let out a feral noise and a laugh at the end, “oh you planned that hm?” He nibbles the outer shell of your ear, “missed me did you?”

You can only nod as he continues, eyes rolling back as he knows exactly what you’re needing and it’s certainly not gentle right now.

“I have exactly fifteen minutes before my brothers come looking for me— think you can be a good girl and make me come?”

You smirk against the gag in your mouth before purring at him; and it’s off to the races.

He’s in trouble quite often for this— but who’s to argue with him.

He’s king he can do what he wants…. At times….

Okay most of the time.

Plus he’s always in a MUCH better mood.

I wonder Why.

————

———

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

While Aro does love to experiment your safety is his utmost importance.

But he’s a curious bastard and you are right behind him on that scale so sometimes your games become a bit risky.

Never life threatening but oh boy do you two get a grin and just glance at one another, “you know we haven’t done that yet.”

“No…. No we haven’t….”

And that’s how it usually starts.

The worst thing you two can realize is you both utter “I don’t know”.

Well now you have to know if either of you are able to ahem— arrive— under rather dire circumstances such as utilizing your gift (don’t worry your gift doesn’t hurt him he knows how to use fire too surprise surprise.).

You almost had a heart attack though and nearly killed him after.

He just cackled that manic laugh that had you joining in after hitting him several times.

———

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Need I say more than one word?

Vampire.

Aro takes his time most occasions, his slow, slow sweet time.

Now— you’d THINK that the rougher encounters would last a shorter period.

You’re wrong.

So wrong.

He lives for it you’re going to be so happy you’re a vampire and can’t really get sore except for when you both leave cracking handprints on one another.

————

———

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Sensory.

Crops, leather gloves, feathers, ben wa balls are huge and he likes that they are silent but give you that teasing sensation. Wax candle play is huge for both of you and you enjoy long luxurious heated baths and sauna sessions with one another.

Ooooo he loves it.

Leather gloves area huge thing for him but not for what you’d think— he likes to challenge himself.

Sure he can know what you’re feeling but he wants to be in tune with your physical responses as well and so occasionally he dons them just to test his knowledge.

Damn smug overlord is just as good and you hate it and now he’s smirking at you while popping his jaw with his hand on his elbow waiting for you to come back into your body.

“Shut up.” You rasp as your head spins.

“I didn’t say anything.” His raven hair slides across his face as he grins wider.

“Your SMUGNESS IS LOUD ARO.”

“Me?! Smug! Why I never…” -cue the dark chuckle before he starts it up all over again, “maybe once more to ensure you remember it’s not just the gifts edge hm?”

“Ohhhh I’m going to die.” But you reach for him biting his leather clad hands.

“No you won’t.” He hums happily, “I won’t let you. You’re not allowed to leave me bambi.”

————

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

HE IS SO DAMN UNFAIR.

But so are you.

He’s not as bad as Caius but he is close, and he only does it with LOOKS.

His eyes are utterly expressive, as is that mouth of his, so when he glances at you in just the right way you can feel it drop down in your gut and sizzle.

And he does it during trial. Oh but when you do it you’re in trouble. Psh.

He’ll tease you and brush your hand as he walks by just to know that you’re basically twitching from frustration at the end of the day and about to boil over as he leans down and licks your neck. “Bambi, awe, was I too mean to you? Hmm I should make it up to you shouldn’t I?”

He always makes it up to you.

The man has the best ways to use his mouth aside from running the coven and giving orders.

————

———

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Aro was quite clear studies, and private rooms were to be soundproofed.

He’s loud, swearing (which he normally does not do), praising mess of a man, it’s needed.

And you love it.

You can practically feel the vibration in his chest when he purrs at you, less growling, he’s not as violent unless you get him too worked up.

No no no, he loves making you melt, and knows exactly what to croon at you to make your mind go blank.

———

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’s more posessive than Marcus. And that bleeds into a protective nature.

A bit controlling, but he knows very well he can’t do that to you as he had to Sulprica. BUT it doesn’t stop him from trying as gods forbid anything happen to you.

Less Jealous than Caius.

But his ah— mood swings can cause for quite an interesting feat.

Since Marcus and Caius were always the brunt of the bashing and warfare, and he the brains behind the operation, many seem to think he has no bite marks on his body due to not being in the fray.

No.

The problem is Aro becomes too violent. Especially because of his talent when touching his victims it tends to become a frenzy. Once he had decimated an entire coven single handedly because the rage they had was swamping him.

His brothers had to pin him down and try to relay calm emotions— his sister Didyme thankfully had been the one to bring him back.

You yourself are now that calm place.

At one point, a guard had been careless enough to have thought about you in ah— that way— Aro was aware you were quite beautiful, your personality no nonsense and many of the guard and lower guard considered you a maternal figure almost otherwise a very good friend.

But this guard.

Ohhh he coveted. What was not his.

But what was worse, was that on the way to the throne room he had spoken to you rather crassly, you merely ignored him; he wasn’t even worth your time. But he had glanced you over as if you were a rather tasty morsel, the imaginings of you spread out beneath him had Aro’s hands cracking his wrists.

You saw the change slightly as you were behind him. His spine went poker straight. “You dare.” It was worse, the guard had actually tried to think of how to lure you away to him— you were a queen so surely infidelity was expected—

The rumble in his chest was a whole new sound you’d never even heard.

Both Marcus and Caius were sitting straight up and narrowing their gaze at Aro before Marcus flitted over and guided you to Aro’s throne placing you on it and standing protectively in front of you.

“Marcus?” you peered behind the eldest king and he hushed you gently.

The guard was torn apart in mere seconds.

It was utterly ruthless and with no mercy.

“People tend to forget Aro is only about a thousand years younger than I.” Marcus muttered.

You blinked. Aro was at least five thousand meaning that Marcus was Six, Caius being the youngest at three.

Aro speared the entire guard with a terrifyingly cold glare before flitting over to you, gripping your head back by your hair and sinking his teeth into your shoulder and neck with a low growl.

The sentiment was well understood as the entire guard backed the fuck away from the dais— he closed the wound before his head shot up and he snarled at the coven tucking you into his embrace your face buried into his robes. “She is mine.” It was a quiet, soft voice that spoke.

“Aro.” you muffled tugging his sleeve and looking up at him.

He showed you “what he had seen and tilted his head. Would you mind cara?”

You lit the bastard on fire with a scowl aimed at the body winding your arms about Aro’s waist and nuzzling into his solid form.

A soft kiss in your hair, his body relaxing. “That’s my bambi.”

———

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Aro although he is lithe and tall….he’s not exactly easy to handle.

9” decent width, knows how to use it.

Be forewarned, he knows what he’s doing.

Tactile Telepathy, good luck remember to keep your head on straight.

————

———

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s less of a wistful like of yearning.

And more a burning bonfire of desire always in the wing of his mind ready to take over the forefront.

One glance at you and he wants you— granted he thinks it might cool down over the centuries but when you look at him like that and bite your lip and grin.

Nah.

Nope. This isn’t going away. Not at all.

He of course has excellent control so he is able to push other desires to the back of his mind, but once finished you are certainly at the front of the line.

Super high.

You both are insane.

You can be sitting reading and next moment with one small brush you’re gone from the library and you’ve tackled him through the doors of your rooms and pinned him to the floor.

Insatiable.

Good luck!

————

———

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Aro LOVES resting with you.

He likes to just lay with his hands on your body and watching your thoughts, you’re his favorite mind to go through and he just adores it.

You both can spend hours like this if you were allowed—

He likes when you drag your fingers through his hair.

Makes him melt.

Kiss across his eyes and kiss his hands as he brushes your mouth with his fingers trying to learn you all over again.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.” He murmurs to you lazily. He has you nestled in his arms your head tucked under his jaw.

“That’s fucking fine by me.” You giggle.

He rolls his eyes and huffs a soft laugh kissing the top of your head. “Of course she swears like a sailor…”

#aro volturi

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gallifrey1sburning · 4 years ago

Note

Hi 👋 a prompt you can take or leave: Draco is very unsure whether he is being flirted with or this is an extension of their office rivalry that he doesn't understand (or the reverse!) Ty!

@skeptiquex and @ihavesomeideawhatimdoinghere, I read both of your prompts back to back, and they worked really well together, so I squished them into one. I hope you enjoy! Thank you both for sending me things, and thanks to @mxmaneater for the fast beta ❤️

—

The Tally

“One more for me!” Harry crowed, scratching a new tally mark next to his name on the chalkboard behind Draco’s head. “Better luck next time, Malfoy.” The board had a partner behind Harry’s desk, and the tallies recorded on one would reflect on the other, but Harry took great joy in invading Draco’s space and rubbing his victories in his face at every opportunity. Not that Draco was any better. It was part of the fun.

“Please, that one hardly counted,” Draco objected reflexively. “You only caught him because you tripped, for Merlin’s sake. Hardly an impressive arrest.”

Harry shrugged and grinned, perching on the edge of Draco’s desk. “An arrest is an arrest.”

“Whatever,” Draco grumped. He and Harry had been playing this game for over a year now, and the margin was always extremely close. Harry was just barely ahead, at the moment, but Draco would catch up to him soon. He and Parvati had a potions ring bust coming up that Harry and Weasley weren’t involved in. Once that was done, he’d have overtaken him, and the smug expression currently gracing his colleague’s face would disappear along with his lead.

“So, any big weekend plans?” Harry asked, ignoring Draco’s pout.

Draco dropped the expression when it failed to produce the desired reaction. “Nothing too exciting. Yourself?”

“I’ve got tickets for the Puddlemere game on Saturday, actually. Ron was supposed to come, but something came up, so I’m trying to find someone else who might want to go. It would be a shame for the ticket to go to waste.” Harry was biting his lip and looking hopeful, and for just a moment, Draco thought— but no. If he’d wanted to ask, he would have asked, he told himself firmly.

Taking care to keep his expression light, Draco pondered for a moment before saying. “I think McCutcheon is a Puddlemere fan. Maybe try him?”

“Oh, right.” Draco almost thought that Harry looked disappointed for a moment, but on second glance, his expression was clear and friendly. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll see if he’s free. Have a great weekend, Draco. Parvati.” He knocked his knuckles against the desktop twice before straightening and walking off, hands in pockets. Draco watched him go, sighing as he rounded the corner. It really was a pleasure watching him walk away.

He was brought back to reality by his partner smacking him in the back of the head with a stack of paperwork. “Ow! What the fuck, Patil?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed, looking even more exasperated with him than usual. “Every time he’s over here, you spend the rest of the day mooning, and he finally asks you out, and you say NO?!”

“I do not moon!” He did moon, and he knew it, but he wasn’t about to say so. He still had his pride. “And he didn’t ask me out, either.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“He didn’t! He just said he had an available ticket! He very clearly had an opening to invite me, if he wanted to, and he very clearly didn’t.” There had been a number of moments like this, in recent months, and Parvati kept insisting that Harry was flirting with Draco. For his part, Draco kept insisting that she mind her own business, because she obviously could not read Harry Potter at all if she thought he was interested in Draco.

“You are an absolute moron.” Parvati shook her head in disbelief, but let it drop.

—

They made the bust on Tuesday. Monday had been a rush of preparations and contingency planning and final logistics, and the stakeout had lasted all day, but in the end, it had been worth it—they’d brought in six players in one sweep and were confident that at least one of them would give up the rest in exchange for sentencing leniency. Draco had dropped into bed exhausted but elated.

He was still riding high when he sauntered into Harry and Weasley’s office on Wednesday. He leaned ostentatiously over Harry’s desk, stretching almost directly over his perpetually-tousled head to grab a piece of chalk and carefully add six perfectly straight tally marks to his own side of the board, giving him the lead by three.

“And that’s how you do it,” he gloated as he straightened, smirking smugly down at Harry. “Suck it, Potter.”

Across the office, he heard Weasley groan and mumble something that sounded suspiciously like ‘he wishes’ under his breath. Harry looked a bit pink, but still smirked right back up at Draco, so it was probably just the heat. “Played that one close to the chest, didn’t you? But don’t worry, I’ve got something in the pipeline. I’ll be back on top before you know it.”

In Draco’s peripheral vision, he saw Weasley bang his head against his desk. “I’m getting tea,” he announced, stalking out of the office. Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter, who shrugged.

Now that he was here, Draco didn’t quite want to leave yet, so he searched for something else to talk about. “How was the game?” he finally asked.

“Huh? Oh, the Quidditch game. Yeah, I didn’t end up going, actually.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck, not making eye contact. “Wasn’t really in the mood.”

Draco wrinkled his brow, not really sure what to make of that, but then Harry asked a question about the potions bust, and Draco forgot about it, instead focusing on a dramatic retelling of his glorious victory.

—

Harry’s next arrest came after a particularly brutal double homicide. It was all anyone was talking about when he arrived that morning, but, despite Draco’s expectations (and perhaps anticipation), Harry didn’t appear at his desk to brag about it. He was feeling a bit anxious by the time he finally saw him passing by his door in the late afternoon, and the feeling only grew when he did. Harry had bags under his eyes, and his usually confident posture was slumped. He didn’t look as though he had slept. He also didn’t look like he was going to stop.

“Hey,” Draco said, rising from his desk to catch him before he passed by completely. “Haven’t seen you today.” Are you okay?, he didn’t say, but he thought it was probably audible in his tone anyway.

“Oh. Hey, Draco.” Harry looked up at him, seeming a little lost. He looked hollow behind his eyes, and Draco could feel his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Yeah, I’ve been…” he trailed off and glanced past Draco, into his office, to where the chalkboard hung prominently on the back wall. He seemed to curl even further in on himself. “I don’t want to count this one, okay?” he said, finally. “It doesn’t really feel like a victory.”

“Yeah, of course,” Draco said immediately, and he suddenly felt completely helpless. “Can I—” he hesitated, and then put a tentative hand on Harry’s slumped shoulder. “Do you need anything?”

He was half sure that Harry would pull away from his touch, but he didn’t. If anything, he seemed almost to relax into it. “I’m okay,” he said, and it wasn’t convincing, but Draco didn’t want to push it. “Thanks, though.” He reached up and gripped Draco’s hand where it lay on his shoulder, so briefly that his hand was gone before Draco could even fully register it, and then stepped back, continuing on his way.

Draco stood and stared at the chalkboard for a while when he got back to his desk. Then, he picked up his eraser and carefully removed one tally from his own side.

—

Their next bust, they were on together. A small Neo-Death Eater group that the department had been keeping an eye on, but who hadn’t done much of anything until now, had suddenly decided to make a grand statement by threatening a large-scale attack on Diagon Alley if their (entirely insane) demands weren’t met. Needless to say, the Ministry was not interested in negotiation, and the whole Auror force had been called out en masse.

Somehow, Harry and Weasley had ended up working in tandem with Draco and Parvati, and now Harry and Draco were back to back in a dead-end alley, dueling a pair that seemed to be the last desperate stragglers, while Parvati watched the street, ready to block anyone who might try to interfere, and Weasley stood to the side, clutching his ribs and sweating but still managing to hold a fairly steady shield charm. There was an unconscious, Incarcerous-ed body on the ground near him; his Stunner’s aim had been true, but the assailant had gotten off one last hex before it hit. He wasn’t in imminent danger—Draco had been hit by the same spell before, and it was extremely painful but didn’t cause any lasting damage once reversed—and although that would be easy enough to do, they didn’t have a wand to spare at the moment.

Harry and Draco worked together like they’d been born to it, and if their respective partnerships hadn’t been working so well for so long, Draco might have considered it a waste that they weren’t paired together. Spells flew around them like fireworks, and they cast and dodged and shielded and attacked without speaking, without pause, until, suddenly, it was over.

“Ron!” Harry cried as soon as his wand dropped, but Parvati was already by his side, countering the spell, and Ron’s body relaxed almost immediately.

“I’m fine, mate. Great work.”

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief and then turned to Draco, chest still heaving with exertion. Draco couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face even as he tried to catch his breath. He could feel sweat tracking down his face, his neck, his back, and he was streaked with dirt and—he suspected—blood; but they had won, and no one had died, and he was almost high on the rush of it. “I’m not sure who those count for,” he said, half laughing. “It happened too fast. Did you catch who took them down?”

Harry was grinning now, too, the buzzing energy of their win almost visibly coursing through him. He beamed at Draco, and he looked so fucking beautiful, even though he was just as dirty and dishevled as Draco was, that Draco couldn’t help but glance, just for a second, at those lips that he’d surreptitiously observed for so long as they stretched wide with joy. When he snapped his eyes back up, however, it was clear that Harry had seen, because the smile had morphed into something that Draco couldn’t put a name to, and his eyes were searching Draco’s for something. And then—

“Fuck it,” he heard Harry say, and then there were hands on either side of his head and he was being—quite thoroughly—kissed, right there in the alley. He melted into it immediately, pulling Harry closer to himself almost instinctively. There was an iron tang of blood as their tongues met, and Draco wasn’t sure whose it was, but he didn’t particularly care. He didn’t care about much of anything, right now, besides Harry’s hands, and Harry’s lips, and the press of Harry’s chest and hips against his own, and whether Harry might want to reenact this moment later but somewhere with a bed and a lot less clothes.

“I TOLD YOU!” Parvati yelled triumphantly in the background.

“Fucking finally.” Ron sounded both amused and exasperated.

Draco ignored them in favor of sliding his hands into Harry’s birdsnest of hair, pulling lightly and making him groan into the kiss. He supposed this one counted as a win for both of them.

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#drarry #drarry fic #drarry fanfic #draco malfoy #harry potter #my writing

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house-of-no-regrets · 4 years ago

Text

No Regrets [in the wee hours]

Took a bit longer than expected, but I’ve finished the next little story! Hopefully I’ll be able to keep a decent pace on these. No overarching plot, just little stories in the same universe with the same characters. Warning for ~*murder*~ in this one!

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

I've been all-too-easy to wake up since I was a child; I'd often needed to go from dead asleep to functional, if groggy, as soon as I heard my father demanding action or attention. While I no longer need that reaction time, the old man long since locked up to rot, my brain is set in its ways and very convinced that I need to be able to bolt out of bed and fight God if a dust bunny moves too quickly in my vicinity.

Which is how I found myself waking up in the middle of the night, the sudden shift in the atmosphere bringing on consciousness with all the subtlety of a foghorn.

My room was silent, still, but I knew without opening my eyes that there was a spirit somewhere, and I didn't even give them a chance to speak before I pointed at the sign posted on my wall, barely shifting from my comfortable snuggle in my blanket and not even opening my eyes. Yes, this happens more often than I care to admit. No, I do not enjoy it. At all.

"Resurrection hours are noon to eight. I'm still alive and still need sleep to function."

There was silence, but the presence didn't leave, so I groaned and raised my head, finally opening my eyes to see the translucent, vaguely glowing, and unfortunately blurry spirit at the foot of my bed.

It did finally speak in a bewildered voice.

"Um, I'm being murdered."

Ah, fuck.

I grabbed my glasses from the bedside table and put them on. The spirit at the foot of my bed was tallish -- I've always been bad at estimating height, maybe half a foot shorter than Yvette? Five-nine... ish? -- and seemed to be in his twenties. There was a considerable dark stain on his chest and belly; likely blood, and the cause of his death. The newly-dead tend to show things like that, as they haven't had the time to get used to modifying their form.

I really hate it when brand new ones find me. I'm not sure how it started, but it seems like more and more often, now, the dead are drawn to No Regrets before they even realize they're dead, at least if they're the type to need my help. Wish I wasn't the one who had to break it to him. I'm not great with people.

"Sorry, bro, but I'm afraid they succeeded. Where was it? I'll get the police over there."

"Uhh... my house. I think. It's a little..."

I sighed. Right.

"You're probably a little out of it still... fresh dead usually are. C'mon, I'll take you around until things look familiar."

Climbing out of bed, I headed over to grab my hoodie from the back of the chair. I learned the hard way that sleeping is not a tits out sort of occasion when you're liable to get the dead dropping in at all hours of the night, so I sleep in pajama pants and a tank top. Little too chilly for tank tops outside, though. I shoved my phone in my hoodie and my feet into loafers, then started heading out of my room and down the hall.

"You remember your name?" I asked, trying to make conversation and learn what I could.

"Uh, Davis. Craig? Craig Davis."

"Well, Craig Davis, I'm sorry to hear about your passing. You're gonna need to possess me for this little adventure, by the way, but I'll walk you through it once we're outside."

"I- what?"

Considering how often I find myself lost in normal conversations, dealing with confused new spirits is especially difficult. Still shaking off my body's angry demands for More Sleep was not helping matters in the slightest, either.

"Possession. I'll explain it in just a minute." I rubbed an eye and yawned as I stopped in the foyer to pull a set of keys off one of the hooks on the wall.

Usually, I've got a driver. Not for vanity reasons, but after three or four near-misses caused by Sudden Spirits appearing in the car with me, I elected to hire someone to drive me into and around town as needed. But it was Fuck-This-Shit O'Clock in the morning, and Graves deserved their rest. The dead don't need to sleep, but they can if they so choose -- and it does, after all, conserve energy. The same goes for Yvette and Ashby; it was too early in the morning for most people to be out and searching for a necromancer to kill, so I wasn't gonna disturb them. I could handle a simple spirit chauffeur and 911 call on my own.

The keys were to the motor scooter; it was the better choice in this situation, allowing for more mobility and no passenger seat for any extra ghosts to drop into. That did, though, mean that Craig would need to ride shotgun in my body.

When I got out to the green scooter in the driveway, I paused and looked over at Craig.

"Hey, I know you're probably still a little out of it, so Possession 101." Script time. At least having this stuff memorized made it easier to do while dozy. "Our bodies need to take up the same space, so c'mere." I beckoned Craig over.

"So like… step into you?" He asked. Good, seemed like his head was clearing up some.

"Yeah, that's part 1."

He nodded and complied, crossing the space between us and settling in the same location, the two of us clipped into each other like bugged NPCs. It always felt so weird, those moments before a spirit actually possesses you. A sort of wobbly, in-and-out feeling like physics is trying to crush you and the spirit together, or, failing that, just kick your ass to the ground so you're not both in the same place at the same time.

"A'ight, now turn around and face the direction I’m facing, and overlay your hands onto mine as best you can." It was just a moment for him to obey, and I continued. "I'm not resisting, so you're gonna start feeling like you're being pulled in and pushed out at the same time. Space is trying to equalize. Let yourself be pulled in. It's gonna feel a bit like-"

The whirlpool effect kicked in before I could finish, the sudden snap and release of tension as Craig's spirit sank into my body. I wobbled a bit and grabbed the handlebar in front of me, then shivered at the sudden chill and dizziness. I'm pretty good at taking on passengers like this, but that didn't make it any more pleasant.

"You in there, buddy?" I asked out loud. Especially with new spirits, trying to think at each other was more trouble than it was worth. My lips moved to answer, though it wasn't my voice coming out.

"Uh- yeah. Yeah I'm here."

I grabbed the helmet hanging on the other handlebar and snapped it on, kicking the stand up and plopping heavily onto the seat.

"Great. Let's go."

"Wait, why am I not in control?" came Craig's confused voice. He felt almost frustrated, an undercurrent of emotion that wasn't mine despite being in my mind and body.

"Because this is my body, and I let you in willingly. Easier to keep control when you're letting someone in. Plus," I gave a little snort. "You just died, dude. I've been letting spirits possess me since middle school."

I felt his frustration turn to grumpiness, and then the pressure in my head, like a storm rolling in, that I knew from experience was him trying to take control. I froze and let out an irritated huff.

"You stop that. I'm not dealing with you doing some dumb shit with my body. Either chill out or get out."

"Oh- uh. Just wanted to see if I could…"

"Uh-huh. Anyhow, now that you're together enough to try joyriding, do you remember much about where you were before you were killed?"

I started up the scooter as emotions rolled through my mind, detached and distant, almost like the muffled dissociation I was used to mid-shutdown. Possessing spirits' emotions always felt weird like that, both mine and not mine, held at arm's length. Craig's was especially turbulent for a new death, but given that he had been murdered… I didn't fault him for being a little confused and angry. Even if it did put me a little on edge.

"Uh- South Pine Street, Dogwood Acres housing development."

"Baller. That's not far from here. Once we get close to your body, you should be able to feel where it is, so I'll have a house number for the police. Don't want to have them scream in all blue lights and loud sirens and have your killer go to ground before they know which house, y'know?"

The muffled flare of anger that I felt was definitely not my own. I took a deep breath, hoped that the killer had panicked and tried to clean up instead of get rid of the body first, and puttered off towards Dogwood.

The housing development was quiet, lines upon lines of identical suburban boxes lit by flickering street lights that cast the sidewalks and yards in harsh white light. The occasional house had the glow of yellow within, but most of them were dormant. Weaving my way through the maze of streets, each one absolutely indistinguishable from the one before and the one to come, I felt terribly exposed -- and alone despite the spirit currently hitching along in my body.

I turned onto South Pine and brought my scooter to a puttering stop, stabilizing it with both feet on the ground. I couldn't help but bounce my legs to replace the vibration of driving; the sudden lack of sensation would ratchet my anxiety up even if I wasn't currently letting a frustrated dead man hang out in my head to catch his murderer.

...I should be more than a little anxious, really, but half-asleep Tabby once again wrote a check that more-awake Tabby is having to cash, and more-awake Tabby is very used to having to deal with the consequences of her idiot decisions. It occurred to me that normal peoples' consequences didn't usually involve murder, but when you live with the dead, you're bound to meet a few killers.

Two houses down, I could feel- not a tug so much as a presence, an echo of Craig's spirit reacting to his body. It was the only one on the street with its lights on and its garage, while not lit, was open. There was a car in the garage, another in the driveway, and a pickup at the curb in front.

"258?" I asked Craig, though I knew the answer already. His anger flared and I felt the oncoming storm again. I snapped at him. "That's two strikes, Craig. I'm sorry for your death, but if you end up driving my body into a crime scene or, god forbid, getting me killed next, I will kick your ass to whatever afterlife you're headed for and stay there to keep kicking it for eternity."

Big words for a short fat lady, but this is, in fact, my body on the line right now. I probably wouldn't be able to follow through on any ass-kicking, but dammit, I would try.

Craig was silent, and I could feel him steaming, petulant like a child denied a toy but with the power of a grown man behind it. With my stomach tying itself in knots and my hands starting to tremble, I dialed 911, hoping it would help quell the rising panic.

"258 South Pine Street. I think there's been a murder. I don't know the state of the crime scene or if the perp is still there, but you might be able to catch them if you hurry. The victim is Craig Davis, white adult male, either shot or stabbed in the chest, likely multiple times-"

"Wait, is this Tabby? The necro girl?"

Oh god I hope that isn't what the operators call me regularly-- I know I'm a bit of a 911 cryptid, since the usual intruder calls are to the non-emergency line, but if I get known as the necro girl I might have to move to a different state.

"Yeah, uh, necromancer, yeah-" I couldn't help but stumble over my words, now, with my train of thought derailed by the interruption. "-uh, murder?"

"Right! I'll send someone."

I murmured a thanks and hung up before she could ask me to stay on the line. I already had to stay around for the cops so Craig could give a statement, and making small talk with the 911 operator was not in the spoons tonight.

I don't like cops much, but in my line of work, they're kind of a necessity. I need to stay on the police force's good side because I need them to remove attempted murderers from my property on the regular. ...and also because graverobbing is still technically illegal, even if I do have the body owner's permission to dig them up.

At least most of the locals who know of me and my employees are chill about it. It took a bit of effort to get to that point, but now at least people don't run screaming from the less-presentable of my employees…

The blue lights of the police showed up fairly quickly, followed almost immediately by the red flashing of EMS. I puttered up slowly and parked my scooter just out of range as the officers set to work surrounding the house, then hung my helmet on a handlebar and walked up the rest of the way to watch the impending train wreck. I could feel Craig's anger boiling higher and tried my best to ignore it; Craig himself seemed to have fallen silent and sullen after I called him out.

"Tabby!"

I was standing just off to the side of the ambulance when someone stepped up behind me and called my name, making me jump and cringe.

"Oh- oh dear, I'm sorry, Tabs. I thought I heard you were the one who called this in!"

I straightened up immediately, face burning. I recognized that voice, bright and smooth and kind and--

"J-Jenna!" My voice was barely a squeak as I turned to face her, looking up at the round, dark face of one of the EMTs. She was a good six feet tall, maybe more, towering above me even in her uniform flats, with a brilliant smile and full lips and gorgeous natural hair pulled through the back of her uniform cap, the streetlight illuminating her from behind like a halogen angel.

Jenna had shown up to one of my early calls for assistance at No Regrets, and then she kept turning up, not every time I was in a situation where I'd be around EMTs, but often.

Concern showed on her face as she leaned to look me over.

"Are you okay? Did you see it happen, or-"

I shook my head, buying time to sort out words by tapping my temple with a finger.

"N-no, I uh- the victim woke me up, he's in here, uh, in case the cops need somethin' from him."

"Oh… are you getting enough sleep, dear? You sound exhausted. Do you want to sit in the back of the truck?"

It took me a second or two to recover from the way she called me dear, my face burning bright red. I couldn't make eye contact even for the second or two I can usually manage so that people don't immediately think I'm being dishonest.

"I- uh- um- w-well, it's, uh, it is like 4am--" I stammered, trying desperately to find words. "I-I guess 'm sleepin' okay, uh, how're… you doing??"

I have never been a great orator and the list of why that is gets a bit longer with every um and stutter.

Jenna's face bloomed into a gorgeous, open grin.

"I'm on 12-hour overnights right now, so I'm basically at least 60 percent Red Bull at any given time. Everyone okay up there at the House? Last I heard y'all were digging up half the lawn.”

I nodded, unable to keep from grinning. At least this was a subject I could talk to her about without making an absolute ass of myself--

"Yeah! The new girl, Chris, she's gotten Daryl and Roy to help her get the vegetable garden going! It's plenty big enough to take care of all of us, and I worked out a deal with the soup kitchen so that they get any of our excess, once things are running smoothly, and I can use their account to buy from that bulk food program that's usually only open to chari- oop-!" I bit my tongue and cringed. Right. I'm pretty sure that's technically fraud and I just admitted to it in front of-

There was a commotion from the house that snapped me back to attention, and the cops were leading a man out in handcuffs. He looked pale and shaken, spattered in blood, and not quite… present, like he had just checked out of reality for his own good. That… was a familiar look. I furrowed my brow. He certainly didn't look like a maniacal killer-

"He caught me with his wife," I said. Well. Craig said. I jumped. Jenna jumped. I flushed and covered my mouth reflexively.

"N-no that was him! The victim!" I squeaked. Jenna laughed, a hearty belly laugh, and covered her own mouth, though she was doing a terrible job of hiding her grin.

"I figured! If he caught you with his wife, it would be an upgrade!"

At this point, you could probably fry an egg on my face. Hell, my glasses were starting to fog up-- I stammered for a few moments, trying desperately to find something to say, and it was Craig who saved me, if you could call it that. I was too caught up in my embarrassment and awkwardness to realize how much anger and frustration he was radiating.

"Motherfucker told me he'd have my job! Son of a bitch thinks he can get away with doing this to me, he's gonna fucking pay--"

The oncoming storm crashed over me before I could get a grip on it, and all of a sudden I was lumbering forward, snarling words that weren't my own, and dragging a gardening pickaxe out of my truck -- Craig's truck -- on my way to the man and the cops--

I let out a shriek, in my own voice, feeling the sound cutting my throat raw. I wrested control of my body back with a lurch, falling on my ass in the yard with the force of it while the silvery-blue form of Craig was ejected from my body, screaming obscenities.

I threw my hand forward, fighting for whatever thoughts and words I could find to fix this. I saw Craig right himself and move back towards me, and the first incantation -- if you could call it that -- that my brain grasped left my lips in a single desperate breath, with a dizzying rush of power--

"INTHENAMEOFTHEMOONIBANISHYOU--!!"

The force of the hurried exorcism rushed outward like a sonic boom, strong enough for even the mundanes around me to feel, and Craig's spirit let out a yowl of rage for a brief second before twisting around itself and collapsing in with a sickening crunch, crushing smaller and smaller until it was gone.

I winced -- not my best exorcism. At all.

As the flare of adrenaline dropped almost immediately and I came back to myself properly, I realized -- blurrily, as my glasses had gotten thrown off somewhere -- at least two officers had their weapons half-drawn at me, though they were looking over at where Craig's spirit had disappeared.

I collapsed the rest of the way onto the grass, shaking, and covered my face with my hands, trying with everything within me not to start crying. I should have realized he'd try something like that, why hadn't I been paying attention- I could have been attacked, I could have been arrested, I could have had to watch myself beat a man to death and I- fuck--

The sob that came out was squeaky and pained, and I pressed my hands harder against my face, like that would stop anything else from going wrong. I should have brought someone-- I shouldn't have let him possess me-- I should have been paying more attention--

Warm tears ran from the corners of my eyes, down my cheeks, to pool in my ears, making my already-trembling body shiver harder with the unpleasant sensation. I'd let myself get complacent, hadn't lost control of a possession like that in years, and- I'd almost- fuck--

"Honey, honey, sit up for me. Tabby? C'mon, let's get you up--"

Numbly, I let Jenna help me into a sitting position, where she wrapped a blanket around me and pressed an open bottle of water into my hands.

"Take slow sips. Are you okay? Just shaken?"

I nodded, some part of me grateful that I couldn't quite see her face properly without my glasses, because I didn't want to see what she thought about me after that. She sighed, though, and sounded relieved when she murmured "Good."

My whole body felt like jelly, trembling so hard I could feel the water in the bottle sloshing around, and I kept flashing from too hot to too cold to too hot again, and I couldn't even sort out my thoughts--

Jenna sat down beside me and rubbed my back. If I wasn't having a complete breakdown, I might have enjoyed it.

I don't know how long it took for me to calm down and clear my head, but the car with the other man had left, and the other EMTs had loaded Craig's body into the ambulance while Jenna sat next to me and made sure I was doing okay.

After a while, though, I blinked and shifted my torso, then opened the blanket more and cursed at the bloom of red on my hoodie.

I heard Jenna curse as well as she stood up, but I grabbed her pants leg.

"N-no, 'm okay," I mumbled, and instead of trying to speak more, I reached to pull my hoodie and tank up my stomach to show bruised, but completely unbroken skin, covered in blood, rivulets following my stretch marks and making it look even worse despite my being otherwise completely uninjured. "See, 'm okay." This was not the first time I've had a possession lead to the dead's cause of death showing on my own body. It wasn't even the bloodiest.

Jenna sat back down, and I could see her leaning in a bit.

"Well damn. Magic ghost stuff, huh?"

I nodded.

"Magic ghost stuff."

I could see the flash of white against dark skin as she grinned.

"So that exorcism… Artemis or Usagi?"

It took me a moment to parse her.question, but all of a sudden I was completely back to myself, just in time to absolutely die of embarrassment.

"L-listen, I- y-you can exorcise i-in anyone's name, i-it's the power and conviction that counts--!!"

"Usagi, then." I could hear the laughter in her voice, laughter that bubbled out moments later. I wanted to crawl in a hole in embarrassment, but- it didn't feel like condescending laughter. I knew what that felt like. She seemed just genuinely amused. "I grew up with Sailor Moon, too."

I couldn't stop the squeak that eaked out, and I covered my face again.

"G-god I hope word about this doesn't get out, people already think I-I'm weird enough, and to- to fall back on anime for magic i-in a pinch is just--"

"Cute," Jenna finished.

I squeaked.

Jenna moved away for a moment, and then she settled my glasses on my nose. I couldn't make eye contact, but I did glance over at her and sheepishly murmur my thanks.

"The officers still want a statement from you, since you made the call and tried to go after the perp, but I don't think they're looking at any charges, given…" Jenna trailed off and looked over at where Craig had disappeared. "...yeah."

I nodded, slowly, and then found myself yawning, the adrenaline drop setting in especially hard.

"...d'you think it can wait 'til tomorrow… 've kinda had a rough night."

"I think they'll be okay with that."

#house of no regrets #no regrets #tabby #jenna #writing #ethical necromancy #necromancer #paranormal #fantasy #magic #writeblr #story #useless lesbian tabby has A Night

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silentexplorer18 · 3 years ago

Text

Pen & Ink Soulmates: A Kakashi Hatake Fic

Summary: A partner, they said. Someone compatible with you, they said. Lies. Or the story in which you sneakily convince Kakashi that soulmates aren't all that bad.

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x Female Reader

Warnings: Soulmate AU, Writing on skin, Minor Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Abduction, Minor Injuries, Serious Injuries, Hospitals, Angst with a Happy Ending.

Word Count: 12,100+

Note: For clarity, this fic occurs over a relatively large chunk of time, but it might make more sense to pretend Kakashi joins the ANBU in later teenage years (though we could pretend two high-level Jonin could talk with such maturity at age 13 if we wanted to!). Basically, I didn’t stress a timeline too much, but I hope you still enjoy it as much as I do! :)

Read on AO3 ▪ Masterlist

Hi, soulmate!

Soulmate?

Are you getting my messages?

Let me know if you want to talk.

Can you see the moon where you are?

I found the prettiest flowers today at the market. I wish I could draw you a picture of them.

Do you like flowers? I have a hard time picking a favorite.

You’d been trying. The whole connecting with your soulmate thing was supposed to be exciting and invigorating, but so far it had only left you with the bitter taste of defeat.

A partner, they said. Someone compatible with you, they said.

Lies.

Apparently whoever was supposed to be on the other end of your soul connection didn’t care about the messages you sent. They weren’t as eager to speak with you as you were to speak with them. At least, that’s what you told yourself. The alternative was much, much worse; a fate you weren’t willing to consider.

You had a soulmate. They just weren’t ready to talk yet.

So, you threw yourself into training. Every swift movement and taunt muscle, every hit target and victorious sparring session, all the work left you feeling strong and powerful. When your soulmate met you, maybe they’d regret taking so long when they saw how hard you’d been working, how skilled you’d become.

Thankfully, you had a sparring partner that liked to keep you on your toes. Kakashi had been training with you for about as long as you could remember; he was your closest friend and greatest ally as you worked to become a talented shinobi. Of all the people in the village, he facilitated and supported your growth more than anyone. You could rely on him for almost anything (except for being on time).

But there was one problem.

Kakashi didn’t like talking about soulmates. You couldn’t blame him. Deep emotional connections wasn’t a topic he wanted to dwell on, not after everything that had happened throughout his still-young lifetime. So you kept the conversation civil, even as your heart desperately yearned to talk to someone about your sudden fear of being alone, your deep, unrestrained terror that there was no partner to your soul, no body to receive the messages you delicately penned on the skin under your wrapped arms.

But apparently there was.

You learned that roughly a year later, after many failed attempts and more destroyed pens than you cared to admit.

The amount of times you’d tried to contact your soulmate had dwindled, both due to the lack of response and the influx in your shinobi duties. Regardless, you still took the time to try every once in a while.

Usually, your messages were sweet or silly. A few times, you’d merely asked if anyone was receiving your carefully written words, begging to know there was someone out there for you.

But every sensible person reaches their breaking point. And evidently both you and your soulmate broke in very different ways on the same day.

Good evening, soulmate. I didn’t do much today, but I can give you a run-down if you’d like.

It was a game you’d started a few months into your attempts at contact. Pretending someone was there was much, much easier than thinking about any alternative. So you tried your best to leave messages despite how much it hurt.

Staring at your wrist, you considered the scribble of the letters, the handwriting you only tried to make semi-nice now. That was your soulmate’s fault; you were past the point of a perfect first impression. But what to write today? What could entertain your soulmate, maybe even draw them out? You weren’t sure.

When the first inky letter swirled across your skin, your heart leapt into your throat, and your pen dropped from your hand. Your thoughts of what to write were quickly forgotten. There was someone. There was someone! There was someone waiting for you!

You leaned forward, hand clamped around your wrist to keep it steady as the words appeared on your skin.

You’re putting us both in danger. Stop writing to me.

Well, that certainly wasn’t what you expected.

After all the waiting, after all the time, that’s what your soulmate was willing to give you? Your jaw clenched, hand releasing your wrist so you wouldn’t inadvertently snap it. What a jerk.

How dare your soulmate assume you were incapable! How dare your soulmate treat you like nothing more than a hindrance! How dare your soulmate act like you were some worthless flower that would be trampled over by a single breeze!

You clicked your pen, hand pressing just a skosh too hard into your skin as you carved a message back to whoever that jerk was.

I can take care of myself.

The reply came a few minutes later.

Good. I don’t want you in my life. Leave me alone.

Oh.

Years of waiting for a soulmate, and the one to finally show up didn’t want anything to do with you? Great, just great.

You closed your eyes, hands shaking as you drew your knees closer to your body. Alone. You were alone. No matter who was destined to be by your side, nobody would be there. The tears burned in your eyes, but you tried to keep from shedding them. You were a shinobi. You were strong. You were… alone.

No, no you weren’t. You still had Kakashi and Kurenai. You had Asuma when he bothered to chat with you. You weren’t totally alone. You had people in your life to keep you company. Hell, you were even supposed to meet Kakashi for breakfast tomorrow!

You went over your list of friends in your head, desperately trying to drown out the nagging voice in the back of your mind whispering that the person who mattered most would never want you.

Kakashi was late to breakfast the next morning. Even later than usual. You idly wondered if he’d been called on an emergency mission while trying to keep your thin soup down.

The events of the night before rested at the forefront of your mind, making your stomach queasy with the memory of the harsh words.

Your soulmate had washed them off your arm by morning, but the message had already been branded in your mind. There would be no forgetting.

When Kakashi finally deigned to arrive, he looked much worse than usual. It was hardly perceptible to the untrained eye, but you knew something was wrong after so many years of friendship with Kakashi. He was even quieter than he usually was, picking at the cold soup you’d ordered for him.

It had been spur of the moment to order for the both of you, a decision brought on by being too wrapped up in your own thoughts. However, Kakashi didn’t comment on your unusual gesture.

For once, something went your way.

After your relatively brief and quiet meal, you offered to walk with Kakashi to the Hokage Tower, desperately craving the fresh air. He accepted your offer with a half-hearted nod, and you fell into step alongside him, trying to keep up with his impossibly lanky figure.

“You’ve been going to the Hokage Tower a lot lately. Is everything alright?”

Hummed, the sound still gravely from failing to use his voice all morning. “They’re pushing me up to the ANBU.”

You froze. The ANBU? One of the most elite and dangerous positions that a Leaf shinobi could accept? Your best friend—the talent, the protector, the lost child inside willing to throw his life away for the sake of his home, for the people who had left without him—an ANBU?

Kakashi stopped a few paces in front of you, casting a distasteful look over his shoulder at your expression.

“I can handle it. Stop fussing.”

With quick steps, you joined his side again, clenching your fist in embarrassment. “I’m not fussing. I just wasn’t expecting it so soon.”

“We die young as shinobi,” he murmured, continuing his walk toward the tower in the distance. Suddenly, the structure appeared to be looming rather than protecting, and a chill crawled along your spine.

Of course shinobi died young. All bodies gave out eventually, and shinobi would fight until that occurred, regardless of whether or not it was to their detriment (it almost always was). But Kakashi was the most talented shinobi you’d ever encountered. He wouldn’t die young, you hoped. He had so much left to live for, even if he couldn’t see it through the haze of his own pain and guilt.

The remaining walk to the Hokage tower was silent. And afterwards, you took flowers to the memorial stone. You prayed for the dead. And just this once, you begged them to look out for the living, too.

The day Kakashi joined the ANBU, you knew. The matching tattoo colored your bicep in sweeping increments, a sharp red rattling your heart within your chest. The reality of your situation washed over you like the worst kind of genjutsu.

Your best friend was your soulmate. And he didn’t want you.

The realization left you shell shocked for a few days, unable to even speak or look at Kakashi. Even without the contact, your mind couldn’t escape from him. However, you eventually managed to safeguard your heart as best as you could. You wouldn’t tell him yet; something within you couldn’t handle that risk of rejection, especially when it would come from Kakashi. But you weren’t willing to throw away the lifetime of friendship the two of you shared. So you put on a smile and met Kakashi at his favorite restaurant, just like usual.

“You haven’t been here for a few days,” he noted as you sat down, watching you intently. “Everything alright?”

You shrugged, fingers trailing down the side of your glass. “Yeah, just wasn’t feeling up to anything.”

It was a partial lie, one Kakashi could easily prod into if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He let you be. And you relished in the way the conversation eventually grew normal between the two of you, right up until he rose from the table, leaving you to pay the bill.

Everything was normal. But you cried again that night anyway.

Life fell back into the usual pattern after that. There were times that you could almost pretend the weight on your shoulders wasn’t there. Kakashi was away on more missions with the ANBU, so you were able to bury your head in your training and missions and pretend nothing was wrong. At least, you could pretend until a pen caught your eye.

The words on your skin had been so brutal, and you hoped they were just because of the pain Kakashi had endured. You hoped it came from a place of love rather than hatred; perhaps Kakashi’s intention was protection rather than cold-hearted rejection.

At least, that’s what you thought until you found Kakashi sparring with Gai.

You tried your hardest not to invade their privacy, not to listen to words that weren’t meant for your ears, like the good friend you were, but Kakashi’s voice was too sharp, too defensive, to not draw your attention.

“—but it’s a waste of time, Gai. Soulmates are unnecessary. Especially for people like us.”

“You’re hiding from your future, Kakashi. Wasting all your youthful days that you could be spending with the one who will love you as much as life itself!”

Another failed attack. The clang of clashing kunai.

“A soulmate could only be a liability to me. You know what kind of missions I’m being sent on.”

“They’re your soulmate, Kakashi. Soulmates are built to work together. They fill the cracks like the best kind of glue!”

Kakashi scoffed. There was another clang, the gentle zip of shuriken on the breeze.

“I’d never love them anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“You’d say something so cruel—”

You turned away, unable to listen anymore. The pain pooled heavy in your gut. The message he’d written hadn’t been a reflexive, angry reaction. His beliefs were set in stone. He didn’t want you.

So, you held your chin up, resigned yourself to eternal loneliness, and pretended the whole soulmate dilemma didn’t exist.

If being Kakashi’s friend was the closest you could get, then you’d ignore the sting in your chest when you looked at him. You’d be his friend. Nothing more.

Your resolve lasted a few weeks.

There was whispering. There had always been whispering, but this day was much worse than usual. He’d been mocked, insulted, shamed. Openly. And aside from Gai, nobody had said a word otherwise. You couldn’t stand it, watching him mask the pain as much as he masked his own features. His feigned nonchalance couldn’t fool your perceptive eyes. You’d been watching too closely; you knew him too well.

Curled at your desk that night, you wrote a message on your wrist, scared of talking to him again but unable to leave him alone.

You’re a good person.

Hours passed before you received a response. It was curt, defensive, everything Kakashi carried to protect himself. You don’t know me.

But you did.

Although it was difficult to sleep, you tried your best not to toss and turn too much as you brooded over your feelings. Was it worth saying more? Was it worth risking the hurt, the rejection?

In the morning, you’d made your decision, especially after noticing his words had already been rinsed off your wrist.

Cleaning your own wrist, you wrote the message in your head a thousand times over, only hoping the words wouldn’t hurt you so much when they reached his skin.

You're a good person, Kakashi Hatake. I won't let you tell me otherwise.

Kakashi met you for lunch just like usual. You wouldn’t have found anything odd about the meeting, but he showed up on time. Apparently your message had rattled him enough to throw him completely off his rhythm.

Rather than comment on his early appearance, you just smiled as he sat down, choosing to dig into your meal. Kakashi followed suit, pulling out a book while he waited for his bowl.

Silence settled between you, and you let it. After all, you were trying to make the situation appear normal. The last thing you wanted was for him to figure out you were in on the secret that was bothering him. So, the two of you ate. You sipped your tea, glancing out at the people passing on the street until Kakashi finally broke the silence.

“My soulmate knows who I am,” he murmured, setting down his raman bowl.

You plastered on a smile, knowing you had to fake congratulations, had to fake knowing that he had, in fact, zero intentions of finding his soulmate.

“That’s so exciting, Kakashi! I’m glad you’ve finally found yours!”

He laughed dryly, scratching his neck. “It’s not quite like that.”

You tried to neutralize the way your expression dropped. Either Kakashi didn’t notice, nose stuck in his copy of Make Out Paradise, or he didn’t care. You bit your lip, brows furrowing before you could stop them. “How so?”

But you already knew the answer to that.

“I’m not talking to my soulmate,” he said curtly. “It’s not something that interests me.”

You shook your head, sighing softly. He’d never let anyone in, never let anyone close. Kakashi was too reserved for that, and you resigned yourself to the knowledge that he’d never care to change the fate he’d chosen for himself. For such a hopeless romantic, he had a terrible tendency to reject love.

“You’re so foolish, Kakashi,” you whispered, balancing the chopsticks on the rim of your bowl.

His eye snapped to your face. Though he appeared nonchalant, you could tell that he slightly bristled at your words. “You’re one to talk.”

“Mine won’t talk to me,” you pointed out sharply, eyes dropping to refold your napkin.

His expression softened minutely, but his tone stayed firm. “That isn’t what I meant. We’re shinobi, (Y/n). Love in our line of duty is fatal.”

Pursing your lips, you caught his eye again before dropping his stare. “Perhaps,” you murmured, knuckles straining in your lap. “But you can’t say it’s pleasant to live without love.”

He was silent for a moment as you both stared at anywhere but one another. Kakashi was ruminating under your words while you wallowed in the silent pain of listening to your soulmate openly deny your importance. It hurt, but you wouldn’t admit that, least of all not to his face.

Before he could speak again, Gai had clapped Kakashi on the shoulder, greeting him as warmly as ever.

You slipped out of the shop, enough money to cover both your meals pressed into the owner’s hand before either of the shinobi could realize you’d disappeared.

Although your conversation with Kakashi had stung deep within your chest, you appreciated the insights it gave you.

Kakashi Hatake was aware his soulmate knew his name. And he was terrified.

The fact that he’d brought it up at all was enough to tell you how jarring the event had been for him. That, and the way he responded at the mere notion of knowing his soulmate. He was like a cornered cat lashing his claws out in terror. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone, not his soulmate, not you. But in his desperation to protect himself, reinforce the walls he’d so meticulously crafted to fortify his aching heart, Kakashi Hatake was willing to scratch.

However, you weren’t willing to let it go that easily.

He was scared of having someone care for him. You were willing to start small in the hopes of changing that.

Along the curve of your inner wrist, you swirled the letters that would become the first of many.

Stay safe on your mission.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Today is supposed to be cold. Wear an extra mask.

He didn’t. Worse yet, he chose to do the opposite. Although it was hard to tell, you knew his mask and undershirt were the spring/summer fabrics rather than the fall/winter ones.

The bastard was spiting you. Well, spiting his soulmate. So, unwittingly spiting you.

It was still irksome.

As the two of you wandered around the village, helped the farmers, and even took a leisurely stroll around the village perimeter “just in case,” you relished in the way Kakashi moved. It was obvious he was cold, regretting his unnecessary fashion stance.

But you couldn’t stand to see him cold.

He looked close to dropping to the ground for a rapid succession of push-ups just to rekindle some warmth. As smug as you were about watching him suffer, you weren't willing to let him perform a Gai for a small semblance of relief.

Swiftly, you unlooped your scarf, draping it around his neck unceremoniously. It wasn’t much, but the fabric was warm, and it would certainly help a little.

If only you knew how happy the gesture made him.

As the two of you walked back to the heart of the village, Kakashi walked a little closer to you than normal. And, for some reason, you didn’t really mind.

When Kakashi didn’t show up to lunch the following week, you weren’t surprised. You’d only just returned from a mission, and word of Kakashi’s travels had already graced your ears. He was heading to the Village Hidden in the Sand. For what, you weren’t sure. Some missions were still classified even for you.

Despite knowing how skilled Kakashi was, you still worried about him traveling alone through the desert.

The click of your pen hurt a little less when you clicked it now. It helped to know who your soulmate was. It helped to feel like he cared about you still, even when he so clearly loathed his soulmate.

Remember to drink some water today.

A few hours later, you were surprised to see a response scribbled across your inner wrist.

Yes.

Just one word but finally a positive one.

Rest when you can.

Kakashi stared at the words delicately placed on his wrist. His mission had taken longer than expected, and he was beginning to think his soulmate knew that.

Whoever they were, they must have been a shinobi like him. A high-ranking one, too, for them to determine the length of time he was supposed to be away for.

He’d been receiving one message per day. At first, it irritated him to no end. But now, he didn’t hate it quite so much, even if he often didn’t bother to reply. The messages were always harmless. Sometimes they were funny. Sometimes they were giving him advice, a little reminder meant—he assumed—to help him through the day.

While the sender certainly had the best intentions when sending the note, the message still left him irked. He was alone for this mission, and the sleeplessness and general strains of traveling had started to take a toll on him.

Only a day’s journey left until he could return home and try to shake the sand out of every nook and cranny of his backpack. Only a day’s journey left until he could sleep in a bed. Only a day’s journey left until he could go to dinner with the others. Just. One. More. Day.

He could make it. He had to.

Kakashi had been injured again.

The news swept through the village like a wildfire, and you showed up with two Make Out novels and a bowl of raman, nearly being knocked over by Gai’s comically large bouquet in the process.

Kakashi accepted Gai’s flowers with moderate amounts of grumbling and a few lackluster attempts to get him to leave. Eventually, he did, and it was just the two of you.

You filled the vase at his bedside with water, delicately stuffing as many of the stems as you possibly could inside the glass.

Kakashi watched you move around him, cherishing the silence. At his bedside, you unclasped your bag, pulling out the blindingly colorful books and the container of Ichiraku raman. After making sure the utensils were settled and there was a napkin, you turned back to Kakashi, just missing the warm expression on his face.

“You should rest,” you encouraged gently, “and eat up.”

His eye squinted playfully. “You fuss too much.”

You smiled, smoothing a shuriken printed blanket over the starchy hospital ones. It was yours, but it still smelled faintly of dogs and Kakashi and spice. Hopefully it would stave off some of his nightmares, having something that smelled vaguely like home.

“I fuss just enough. Now, don’t stay up too late reading. Some rest will go a long way.”

“You fuss too—” He yelped as you pinched his toe through the blanket, slinging your bag back over your shoulder.

“You’re lucky you have me as a friend.”

Kakashi’s expression softened, mind racing toward how close he’d come to death yet again. “Yeah, I am.”

He relished in the way that simple statement delighted you, watching the way your expression lit up.

“Get some rest,” you encouraged again, turning to leave him in the bright, quiet room.

As per your request, he did.

Although he listened to your advice, it was only marginally. In true Kakashi fashion, he’d talked his way out of the hospital after a measly two days of treatment.

His body needed more time, but Kakashi was always one to push himself.

Since the Hokage stalled sending him on another mission, something he both hated and appreciated, he occupied the following days in his normal rhythm. He trained privately, visited the memorial stone, and wandered the village nose-deep in supposedly trashy romance.

You’d caught him wandering around a few times, and even saw him lightly competing in a challenge against Gai.

The sight made your blood boil even though you knew it was Kakashi being Kakashi.

He had no sense of self-preservation, which wasn’t particularly helpful when you—his soulmate—were watching from the sidelines.

Did he even care that he could leave you all alone? No, probably not, your mind taunted. Kakashi didn’t care about soulmates; you knew that.

If only you could convince your heart not to care.

That afternoon, you let the letters curl across your wrist as you watched him do another training exercise with Gai, looking faintly more fatigued than normal.

Give yourself time to recover.

If he found your message, he didn’t care to respond.

Kakashi would visit the memorial stone in the morning; you knew how his routine worked.

He felt it fitting to visit them as often as he could, an apology for living the life they all should have lived.

You couldn’t blame him. You visited the stone often, too.

But you couldn’t today, not while you were traveling to the Village Hidden in the Sand with a scroll. So, you asked for a favor, scribbling on your wrist: Pray for mine, too, please.

He was starting to grow accustomed to your messages. A small part of you wondered if he kept an eye out for them. But that was silly. You were thinking about Kakashi. He probably was just reading his book when the words appeared, his wrist already in his line of sight.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But it still didn’t dispel your excitement when the answer scribbled across your skin a few minutes later.

Sure.

He’d been taking on so many missions lately, wearing himself to the bone just to be a good shinobi. A part of you wondered if he was trying to avoid thinking about anything other than his shinobi world. That hunch didn’t stop you from worrying.

Soulmate or not, Kakashi’s actions would have worried you. He looked exhausted as he shuffled through his laundry. You’d brought him takeout from his favorite restaurant to hopefully get something other than rations in his stomach before he left on his next mission.

Who knew how long it would be before he drug himself in, requested another trip, and raced off to somewhere new. You would’ve thought he was avoiding you if it weren’t for the obvious delight in his eyes when you caught up with him outside Hokage Tower.

But there was a reason he was working himself to exhaustion. Possibly long-dead memories brought back to life that he couldn’t stand thinking about. You didn’t even want to know; you just wanted him to be okay.

A week later, you saw him walking through the village gates yet again. Back again. Planning to leave again. It was always the same, just relentlessly overkill at present. He was taking on too much, and one day he would slip up and regret it. You didn’t want that.

So you stayed behind the kiosk you’d been perusing, fingers untangling the wraps around your hand. It was a simple message, but you hoped it would help snap his mind out of whatever hole he’d buried it in.

Please don’t overwork yourself.

He didn’t respond. Not a word graced your hopeful skin.

But Kakashi caught you outside one of the stores in town and asked if you wanted to meet up for dinner that night. He would be around for a while, he said, but he was too tired to cook.

Despite trying to hold on to your resolve, a small part of you couldn’t help but hope he was staying because you asked him to. It was probably wishful thinking, but you were grateful for whatever force made him stay nonetheless.

I believe in you.

Kakashi scoffed at the message on his arm, printed in the spot where his glove met his sleeve.

He found it after a competition with Gai. Hardly anything worth fussing over, but his soulmate had still sent him encouraging words.

Had they been watching? Had they seen the fun (though he’d never admit it) that he and Gai had been having? Had they wanted to join in?

For a long time, he’d been able to avoid thinking about his soulmate altogether. Now, though, they’d found a way to weasel into his mind with the words swirling over his skin.

He wasn’t willing to consider whether or not he enjoyed it.

I worry when you’re reckless.

The message shouldn’t have stung Kakashi’s heart, but somehow it did. His soulmate was watching and worrying, hearing the stories about his travels. Whoever they were, they must have been a shinobi, too.

Were they okay with forsaking love in the name of war? Could they abandon emotions for the sake of duty? Maybe. His soulmate had never directly asked to be anything more than penpals, though even that notion was quite one-sided.

But the message on his wrist betrayed his soulmate’s strength. They worried about him. They listened for the stories and understood when something went wrong.

Kakashi couldn’t help but wonder if they were reckless, too.

If he never took the chance to know them, would he care if they threw their life away as often as he’d tried to? He wasn’t sure.

The next Make Out novel comes out today. I reserved you a copy at the Northern bookstore. It’s less crowded.

Kakashi didn’t understand why his soulmate was being so nice to him. Not after his harsh words at the beginning, not after his sparse replies and general lack of interest. But whoever they were, they were trying, and he had to admire that.

At first, he was surprised his soulmate was not only fine with him reading erotic novels in public but also encouraging it. But, then again, his soulmate was meant to be compatible with him, right?

There would be butting heads, of course. All soulmates lost the honeymoon stage eventually. But this seemed deeper, warmer. His favorite book in a quiet shop on his day off. It was kindness. And it felt both strange and wonderful.

He vaguely regretted not doing anything for his soulmate. Though, maybe they were okay with that. Maybe they enjoyed being alone, just like he did.

Maybe if he kept lying to himself, he’d continue to enjoy it.

But crouched in a tree a few hours later, he couldn’t shake the gratitude deep in his chest. The novel was amazing. And he wouldn’t have been able to get his hands on it if it weren’t for his soulmate’s generosity.

Two words.

Thank you.

Kakashi had arrived home from another long mission. Although unscathed, his clothes were a mess. Dirt and mud clung to his legs, dried blood was smattered across his upper body, and a few rogue twigs and leaves stuck to him in strange places. He needed a shower. Desperately.

But something within Kakashi was restless, and he chose to wander around the village absently.

Something must have happened for him to look so dazed and unattached, but you tried to avoid asking anything direct in public.

Instead, you hopped beside him, catching his arm with the tips of your fingertips. He hummed in response.

“You just got back, right, Kakashi?”

He hummed again. “Yep.”

“Have you bought groceries?”

“No... Why?”

“A bunch of us are going to dinner tonight. You should come. It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

He inspected you for a long moment, and you could tell what he was thinking. The laugh bubbled in your throat before you could help yourself. “It’s Iruka’s turn to take Gai home, don’t worry.”

He stared for a moment longer before nodding slowly. “Okay.” Another small, dazed nod. “I’ll come.”

You couldn’t hide your smile as you told him the establishment and the time. That alone made Kakashi’s mood improve, though he’d never admit that aloud.

An hour later, though, he was still wandering around the city absentmindedly. So you figured his soulmate could take matters into their own hands.

Blood in your hair? Isn’t that a bit macabre?

He replied an hour later.

No.

But the next time you saw him, he was dressed in a new uniform. Not a single pristinely white hair was out of place.

If it hadn’t been for Anko talking your ear off about her last mission, you almost could’ve imagined that you and Kakashi were on a date.

It was the closest you would get, a clean vest and all.

But when Asuma blew a puff of smoke and Kakashi glared disdainfully from across the table, any hopes of romance slipped through your fingers.

You were friends. Close friends.

And you refocused on Anko’s story in the hopes of forgetting the state of your friendship with Kakashi for the span of a few minutes.

Every little glance he sent your way certainly didn’t help.

Nor did the way he offered you the last bite of his cake as a thanks for paying for his meal yet again.

Damn, you were in deep.

Be safe on your mission.

His reply came a few minutes later.

Yep.

Although it wasn’t much, the gesture made you smile. It seemed almost like he was waiting for your message, like he’d been checking as he and his companions wandered down the road.

You told yourself it was wishful thinking, but the word scribbled on your wrist in his handwriting warmed your heart all the same.

You’d forgotten. The mission had been too complex, your mind too preoccupied. You’d forgotten to write to Kakashi.

A part of you distantly wondered if he cared, if he even thought about your messages.

He’d started to reply on occasion. It was never more than a quickly scrawled, single word response, but it was still better than the total isolation he’d given you before.

You couldn’t say it was great, or that the two of you talked as soulmates. But it was relatively amicable. And that was a much better foot to get off on than the first time he’d responded to the words you’d scribbled words across your arms.

Things were okay.

And although you had a few scrapes and scratches from your mission, that had gone okay, too.

When your team settled in a clearing for the night, tent built and fire glowing, you drifted off, too exhausted to think of sending a scrabbled love message to Kakashi.

But he hadn’t forgotten about you.

Although you assumed he wasn’t paying attention, Kakashi was one of the best ninja in the Village Hidden in the Leaves. He paid attention to everything, despite his usual nonchalance.

He noticed immediately that his soulmate hadn’t written to him.

After weeks of at least one little message per day.

And he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was terrified. Had something happened to you? Were you injured? Could it be worse?

The idea of soulmates may have left him feeling disgruntled, but your messages had burrowed a home in his heart.

He wasn’t ready to give you or your messages up yet.

So for the first time in a long time, he wrote a real message.

You’re late. Doing okay?

As you watched over the dying flames several hours later, an early morning guard for your teammates, you stared at his words, tracing a finger over the scraggly characters.

Late.

You knew he wasn’t talking about your mission because the four of you weren’t due back for another two days. He didn’t know your identity. That only left the messages…

Was he treating this as a check-in?

You rolled your eyes, chuckling. Leave it to Kakashi to care more than he let on.

Got lost on the path of life. You?

Kakashi stared at your message. He’d been perusing his favorite bookstore for spare copies of the Make Out series’ novels, sleeve suspiciously cuffed and waiting for a reply, when the words had swirled across his skin.

And he laughed. Warmly and purely. Because you’d stolen his line.

You knew him. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing if you would continue to make him laugh so openly.

Surprised with himself, he clicked his pen, words scribbling across his skin before he had the chance to doubt himself.

Glad you’re alive.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. An admission that he wasn’t as dismayed by the soulmate thing as he let on. And you arrived home from your mission absolutely beaming.

You were able to catch Kakashi for lunch before heading off on your next mission with Kurenai. The food was filling, and the conversation was nice. Funnily enough, he was supposed to leave for a mission with Gai the next day. No rest for the shinobi apparently.

Kakashi waved at you as you walked away, and you smiled to yourself. Even if you didn’t have your soulmate by your side, at least you still had some connection to Kakashi. Being by his side was worth the dull ache it left in your heart.

But you would be without it for the next few days. Although you and Kurenai were leaving for no more than two days, Kakashi and Gai would probably be gone most of the week. Part of you hated when Kakashi was away, but part of you enjoyed getting to write to him more often. When he was away, you could be a little less secretive as you scribbled down messages throughout your day in the village.

But, for the time being, you’d focus on the mission at hand.

It was a standard case of bandits in the woods. At least, that was what the scroll had described the mission as. However, as you and Kurenai crept through the dense forest, something felt off.

No matter how far the two of you traveled, the quiet whisper of wind in the leaves greeted you. Despite your speed and silence, you couldn’t sense any animals or hear anything suspicious. Bandits would have left campsites or trash or, hell, even footsteps. But nothing greeted your senses, not even traces of animals. These weren’t ordinary bandits.

Your suspicions were confirmed when eight people jumped from the brush, attacking with a swiftness you hadn’t anticipated. Their presences had been completely concealed.

Kurenai lept to your left, and you lept to the right, sending three shuriken through the air to hit the nearest attacker. While your attack worked slightly, you immediately had to jump again, barely catching Kurenai rushing off through the trees.

This was the failsafe plan; if you got caught, you’d separate far enough that you couldn’t catch one another in the crossfire of your attacks.

But you were outmatched. Whoever these “bandits” were, they were extremely skilled in capturing and securing enemies. One moment, you were wielding a fire jutsu. The next moment, your vision had gone dark.

Capture wasn’t the only thing the bandits appeared to be skilled in. Upon waking, you’d been tied to a chair with restraints stronger than you could break. The room was dark, probably somewhere underground, and you realized you had no idea how long you’d been unconscious. Was Kurenai okay? Had she been captured, too? What did these people want with you?

None of that mattered, not when the first blow had landed across your exposed side. Whatever these people wanted, you wouldn’t give it. So, you took a deep breath, clenched your teeth, and shut out the world. Your village was valuable to you. The people there mattered to you. And you’d follow your training to the letter, or you’d die trying.

Whether it had been hours or days of torture, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that everything hurt, and your vision was starting to go blurry. Despite that, you hadn’t relented. No matter what they threw at your body, no matter what manipulation they tried to play with your mind, you wouldn’t budge.

At the end, at least you’d make the Village Hidden in the Leaves proud.

But there was something that was missing, something you wanted to do before you died, even if it was just selfish, even if it was just a foolish whispering of your heart. You wanted to be buried somewhere your friends could visit. You wanted everyone to know about your end, to know what had happened, to never worry that you were out there somewhere.

You wanted Kakashi to find peace in your death, not guilt.

So there was a secret you had to spill.

You slid the pen from your pocket, clicking it open as you stared at your arm. Slowly, you undid the bandages, greeted once again by blank skin. Swirling the pen across your forearm, you wrote the rough coordinates of your capture on your arm. It wasn’t exact, but hopefully it would be good enough. Then, you wrote the words “urgent note” on your fingertips and wrist, hoping that would encourage him to look. Below the coordinates, you wrote: Abducted by enemies. Not relenting to torture. Getting weak. Send help if possible. Or someone to collect my body. Look at leg later. —(Y/n).

Carefully, you rewrapped your arm, moving to roll your pant leg up. Your hands were shaking, and it was hard to hold the pen, but you had to write to him.

They said the end is coming, and I'm starting to believe them. It hurts a lot. So I'm writing to you. I know you didn't want to deal with the whole soulmate thing, but I couldn't stay away. You were just too wonderful to not stand beside. I'm sorry I didn't leave you be, didn't respect your wishes. But I wanted to be a part of your life. I'm being selfish by writing to you now, but you're the one person I've always been selfish with, so I'm not going to stop at the very end. Please don’t be upset with yourself if I don’t make it.

Your eyes were watering now, vision slightly blurry. Had they drugged you, too? Or was it just the injuries?

I just want you to remember that you’re loved. That I love you. That you deserve to be loved. Please don’t forget that when I’m gone.

Whatever else you wanted to write would not be written. Quietly, the pen clattered out of your hand, and your head slumped forward.

Time was up.

Your vision was blurry when your eyes finally blinked open. You were cold, but the ache in your muscles was a reassurance that you were very much alive. Alive and in a hospital, it seemed.

There was a crinkle beside your bed, and you looked up to see Kakashi thumbing through his book.

What had… You blinked, trying to recall exactly what had happened.

There was a mission… you’d been on a mission with Kurenai… right. Then… and then... you were abducted. Yes, you could remember that now. And Kakashi… you remember thinking about Kakashi. Gosh, everything was so damn hazy. You shifted, wincing as you tried to sit up.

“Hey!” His voice was cheerful, and you blinked up at him in surprise at the warmness in his tone. “Good to see you waking up!”

How had he known you were at the hospital? Had Kurenai… Wait, no. No. Hazily, you could recall writing coordinates on your wrist. They weren’t precise, so someone must have looked for you. You couldn’t remember being found. Everything after the last interrogation was too hazy… too confusing. But Kakashi had known… maybe Kakashi had looked for you.

“You made it in time?”

He hummed, closing his book with a thump. “Pakkun found you. Once I knew what to look for, I could rely on his nose.”

You nodded groggily, reaching up to rub your eyes. The ink was still on your wrist, visible due to your unwrapped arms. You’d forgotten about—

“Kakashi, I’m so sorry about the message.” You turned to look at him, eyes wide and embarrassed. “If I knew everything would’ve been fine, then I wouldn’t have—”

His hand rose, and you stopped, heart hammering in your throat. This was it. This would be the rejection.

“I’m glad I had the opportunity to save you.”

Of course. Because he wouldn’t leave a comrade behind; that wasn’t like him.

But that wasn’t the message you were referring to.

If he wasn’t going to bring up the love message, then you wouldn’t, either. “I’m grateful,” you murmured, looking down to finally see the treatment your body had undergone. There were marks everywhere, which meant Kakashi was marked everywhere, too. Marks on the soulmate that didn’t want you…

“I appreciate you waiting,” you forced yourself to say. Maybe he’d get the message and leave you alone.

Instead, he met your awkward sidestep with bluntness. “I figured we should talk.”

Your head felt like it was spinning, and you had the slightest sensation that you were going to be in the hospital for quite a while. It would be embarrassing to be rejected here; it would be embarrassing to cry in front of the nurses.

“Not now,” you croaked, hand scrabbling to grab the invisible cup of water at the bedside. Water, sake, medicine, heck, even the flower water beside you. Anything to push the lump out of your throat. Anything to avoid thinking about Kakashi’s rejection.

You were eyeing up the vase next to you as Kakashi stood, long legs moving to fill a glass by the sink. He handed it to you, assuring your fingers were pressed around the cup before he moved away.

You sent him a grateful half-smile before you swallowed the water like a shot, desperate to drown yourself in something other than your own awkwardness.

“Feel better?”

No, you really didn’t. Your head was still spinning, stomach still queasy. Whether it was from your injuries or Kakashi’s pointed stare, you weren’t sure. “I don’t want to talk about it today. Everything—” you coughed, trying to release the tightness in your throat. “Everything hurts.”

He nodded, humming low in his throat. “I’ll go get a nurse, then.”

You nodded shakily, debating whether or not you could escape from the hospital before he came back. The ache in your side told you moving probably wasn’t the best idea.

“But before I do, I have one question.”

Your head snapped to where he stood by the door, wincing as you did so. “Yes?”

“How did you find out it was me?”

You stared at him for a minute, searching his impassive face. He was one of the best shinobi this village had ever seen, and he was still impossibly clueless sometimes. Slowly, you rolled up your sleeve, revealing a roll of gauze. It was blue, unlike the starchy white medical gauze on your sides. You could fiddle with it; the fabric belonged to you. With nimble fingers, you untied it, letting it pool below your elbow on the bed.

Kakashi stared openly at the ANBU tattoo, and you watched the pieces click into place. He hadn’t even considered what a tattoo would be like for his soulmate.

“I see,” he whispered, fingers unconsciously twitching toward his covered arm. After a moment, he shook himself from his thoughts, gaze again becoming impassive. “I’ll go get the nurses.”

“Kakashi?” you called, shocked as the words left your lips. You hadn’t meant to call out for him, not yet, anyway. But he was standing there staring like you’d held up a practice dummy, focus radiating from him in waves. You had to say something. “Thank you. For saving me… and waiting. And thank Pakkun, too?”

Kakashi’s expression softened. “I will. Now, get some rest. You look exhausted.”

Though, rest was the last thing you would come close to receiving as the doctors gave you a full evaluation. Poking, prodding, and asking questions took up most of the afternoon. Although you tried your best to focus and take in all the information you were given about your physical state, your mind continually strayed to Kakashi. Did he hate you now? Did he want you out of his life? Was he waiting for you or just waiting to ask about the whole soulmates thing? You wished you could quiet the questions swirling through your mind.

That evening, you found a message scribbled across the back of your hand. Although his handwriting was still messy, it was obvious he took his time. He wanted it to be legible.

Get well soon, (Y/n).

It was the first time your soulmate had written your name on his skin. He knew you now. There was no going back to the secretive messages and hidden assurances. Everything was out in the open; Kakashi knew exactly who you were. He knew everything.

That night, you wept.

You wept for the injuries that would bar you from upcoming missions. You wept for the bitter sense of death that had grazed your fingertips. You wept for the compassionate message on your hand. You wept for the fear of being alone again.

You wept for Kakashi and all that he meant to you.

Between the crying and the medical evaluations the day prior, you slept well past the time you’d typically rise. Consequently, it was well past the opening of visiting hours, too.

Kakashi arrived before you woke up and tucked himself into a corner with a book. However, he read very little. Instead, he watched the gradual rise and fall of your chest, comforted by the knowledge that you were still breathing.

When “urgent note” had appeared on his fingers, his heart had nearly stopped in his chest. When he read the message printed on his wrist, the sinking sensation had only grown. Fear consumed him more than it had ever consumed him before.

His head had spun with the realization that you were in danger, that you were his soulmate. Summoning his ninkin had happened in a blur. If he was being honest with himself, everything was a blur up until the moment he found you. That moment would live on in crystal clarity in his memory forever.

There are some moments in life too horrific to forget. Finding you unconscious on the floor of a dingy bunker, pen by your side, chest barely moving, would be one of those moments for Kakashi.

The only thing more reassuring than watching you breathe was watching your eyes blink open slowly and focus in on him. He could tell you were nervous about talking to him, and he knew why. The message still hastily scribbled on both of your thighs was more than an acknowledgement of the soulmate bond. It was an admission that you loved him, an admission that you believed in him, that you wanted to stay by his side.

It was also an admission that you believed he didn’t want to stay by your side.

He really needed to talk to you.

“Good morning,” he hummed, tucking his book back in his vest. Smiling, he moved to sit on the chair beside you, feeling it was appropriate now that you were awake. This close, he could smell the antiseptic on your skin, the overbearing flowery scent of the hospital lotion, and the faintest whiff of your shampoo still clinging to your hair despite the days it had been since your last shower.

“G’morning,” you mumbled, stretching lazily. Kakashi watched your movements, chuckling at the way you arched like a happy rabbit after a nap. It was cute and endearing, a movement Kakashi had gotten used to witnessing over the years.

Shifting the other direction, you winced, body instinctively jerking back into a ball. “Ow,” you grumbled, hand moving to put a little pressure on your side. With some effort, you managed to shift into a sitting position, still moving gingerly to somewhat satiate your aching limbs. “I thought I’d feel better today, but I guess not.”

Kakashi snorted dryly. “That’s a bit ambitious, don’t you think?”

You stopped rubbing your shoulder to stare at him. “What do you mean?”

What did he mean? Hadn’t the doctors told you? Surely they would have mentioned… Were you playing dumb or did you really not know? Kakashi stared at you for a moment, scrutinizing your confused expression, before his eyes dropped. He let out a breath, then another, trying to hide the pain blossoming in his chest.

He’d almost lost you.

“You were dying,” he said lowly, gaze fixated on his gloves. “By the time we got you back, we really thought you weren’t…” he shook his head, expression dark. “The medics thought you were already gone.”

It took a moment for you to respond. The doctors said your recovery was astronomical, that you’d been close to death, but the way Kakashi described it, so somber and broken, made the reality of the situation hit home.

You’d almost died. You’d almost lost everything you held dear.

You’d almost lost him.

Glancing back to Kakashi, you found him still lost deep within his thoughts. His expression was dark, fist clenched over his thigh, over what was intended to be your last message to him.

Carefully, you reached out and bushed a hand over his clenched fist. The action drew his attention back to you. “It wasn’t your fault,” you gently offered, stroking the back of his hand once more before pulling away. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that, but it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

He huffed, scooting backward in his chair. “I should have got to you sooner! Protected you! If I’d asked, you could have sent me updates. I could have prevented you from getting hurt—”

“Will you stop with the narcissism!” you chided, wincing as you swung your feet over the edge of the bed.

He met your gaze, lone eye blinking once in surprise.

“I took the mission. I accepted the consequences of it. I knew what an infiltration would be like. I knew the chances of getting ambushed. You didn’t endanger me, Kakashi. You weren’t even supposed to be on that mission.” Your voice faded, soft and overwhelmed. “But you saved me anyway.” You ran your thumb under your eyes, catching the tears before they had a chance to fall. “So claim that. Stop… I need you to stop only claiming your failures.”

He clenched his fist, unclenched it, and nodded once. For the first time in a long time, you couldn’t read Kakashi’s body language at all. What was he feeling?

Part of you wanted to reach out and comfort him, but you didn’t. He’d made space between you for a reason. And as upsetting as it was, you were willing to honor that.

After a few minutes of silence, you plucked one of the flowers from the vase beside your bed. “Did Kurenai bring me the flowers?” You smiled, brushing a finger against the petals. “She accidentally picked my favorites.”

When you looked back up, Kakashi was staring at you again, cheek barely pinking over the edge of his mask.

He could read erotic novels in public, but you made him blush.

“Actually, I brought them.”

Freezing, you stared at him in surprise. “You did? How did you—?”

He flushed again, eyes fixing on the flowers rather than your face. “You buy pots of those every spring, but they always die because you’re out on missions. And you take daisies to the memorial stone a few times a month. You leave iris for your parents, and you bring peonies and cookies for the ANBU guards when you have meetings with the Hokage. And on the second Sunday of every month you’re both in town, you hide 100 tulips around the village for Gai to find.” When his eyes snapped back to yours, your shocked expression made him grow self conscious, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ve, uh, been paying attention.”

“Why?”

He gestured to the room, pretending to misinterpret your question. “It’s so dull in here. I thought a little decorating wouldn’t hurt.”

You snorted at that, impossibly undignified but oh so delightful.

Of course Kakashi would stall now that he was here.

But… no. He was usually blunt when it came to bad news. So why was he stumbling through the conversation like he’d never spoken to you a day in his life?

Your face shot back to him at the realization, and he arched a brow under your scrutiny. Could he like you? Could you have a chance?

“Everything okay?” he asked gently, tone much more serious than before.

You’d worried him.

Before you could respond, Gai burst into the room with the second largest bouquet you’d ever seen in your life.

“(Y/n)! I heard Kakashi was with you, so I figured I’d bring you some flowers on my way to challenge Kakashi to a shuriken throwing challenge!” He set the flowers—which balanced precariously due to their immense size—on your bedside table, giving you a dazzling smile and a thumbs up.

Kakashi sighed, “Well, Gai, I was just here talking to her—”

What if you had been interpreting Kakashi’s expressions all wrong? What if he didn’t like you? What if this was all his way of trying to stay friends? Although you hoped for something else, the fear of rejection clawed at your throat like a Shadow Strangle Jutsu. This was your chance. The chance to get out of Kakashi’s rejection. Gai was the perfect opportunity.

“You should go!” You chirped, smiling at them both.

“I… what?”

“That’s the spirit, (Y/n)! It would be a shame for Kakashi to waste his precious youth not enhancing his physical prowess!” Gai dropped to his hands, beginning to do push-ups on the floor of your room.

Ignoring the incredulous look Kakashi sent your way, you wriggled your fingers at his bag. “What volume are you on? I need something to entertain me while you lavish in your youth.”

Kakashi scoffed at your statement before fishing the Make Out Violence novel from his pouch. He dangled it in front of your face. “Is this what you’re after?”

You grinned, snatching the book from his hands. “This just so happens to be the volume I’ve been waiting for.”

Kakashi blinked in surprise, feeling his face grow warm again. “You read Make Out Paradise?”

You smiled sheepishly under his gaze, fingers tracing over the edge of the cover. “Really, it’s all your fault. It was so boring waiting in line to reserve that new edition for you. I needed something to do.”

Because that gift from his soulmate, that gift had been from you.

“And now you’re moving on to book two?”

Embarrassed but pleased, you grinned up at him. “I may have figured out why you’re so hooked on them.”

Kakashi laughed. Just a short huff, but still. Could you get any more perfect?

He was about to respond again when Gai grabbed his shoulder, already taking his ear off as he dragged Kakashi out the door.

You settled in with your—Kakashi’s— book, pleased for the reprieve but missing him all the same.

Delving into Make Out Violence was both a blessing and a curse. You lost track of time as you devoured the pages, and the story was so riveting that you barely thought about Kakashi. Though, every time you took a break, love—that sickening concept you didn’t even want to consider in reality—was at the forefront of your mind. So you dove into the novel again with renewed fervor, completely unaware that Kakashi had hopped through the open window. That is, until a warm voice interrupted your reading.

“Having fun?”

In surprise, you snapped the book shut, embarrassment washing over your expression. “A bit. How was the competition with Gai?”

Kakashi shrugged, dragging the chair he’d occupied that morning so he could sit directly beside your bed. “It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary for Gai.”

“Thanks for the book,” you murmured, passing it back to him. “Maybe I can borrow another one of your copies again sometime.”

He took the novel, setting it down on the bed beside you, only to take your hand in his.

His hands were warm even through the gloves, and his fingertips traced over your skin delicately, as though afraid his touch would somehow hinder your healing.

“(Y/n), we need to talk.”

Despite only holding your hand, he could sense the way your entire body went rigid. “Kakashi, please—”

“(Y/n). I almost lost my soulmate this week.”

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the faint stinging in your eyes. He was right, you were being selfish. It wasn’t like you were the only one who had a terrible, terrifying week.

You just didn’t want to lose whatever you had with him.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you didn’t bother to mask the strain in your voice. He already knew how you felt about him. “We can be friends. Anything you want. I just… I don’t want to lose this. You. I don’t want to lose you. Even though I was being so selfish—”

“I read your message,” he said softly, gaze fixated on the bend of your wrist as your hand flexed in his own. “I’ve read it so many times,” he laughed, strained from holding onto unshed tears. “I’d get it branded on my body if I could. Parts of it, anyway.”

He shook his head, looking back to your face. He didn’t miss the shocked expression, nor did he miss the tears still frozen within your eyes. He shook his head again. “I can’t believe how lucky I’ve been, that it was you and you were here all along. And then you almost died and I…” He paused, gaze still tracing along the bend of your wrist.

“You..?” With bated breath, you watched his eyes, the pull of his lips through the mask, anything to give away what he was thinking.

“I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Not after how much you’ve grown to mean to me.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. Was he accepting you or rejecting you? Your breath shuddered over your lips, hand trying not to clench his too tightly. “What does that mean? For us?”

Kakashi leaned forward, pressing a masked kiss to your temple. “It means I want to take you for dinner when you get out of here. And—” he stood, letting go of your hand to walk toward the door. The sun was setting. Visiting hours were coming to a close. “Keep the book. I’d hate for you to be bored while I’m gone.”

With that, he vanished from your room, leaving you to wonder exactly what he wanted from you.

Tossing and turning that night, you couldn’t sleep, not with Kakashi’s words ricocheting through your mind. He cared about you, but he was putting distance between you. He was being aloof, just like the cautious jonin he was, but he was exposing vulnerable aspects of his soul to you.

Everything was so damn complicated, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep until you’d gotten an answer to the questions burning a hole in your tongue.

It took a few minutes to sit up, but clicking the pen against your wrist had become second nature to you after so many years. You just wanted to know what he was thinking.

Do you love me?

He scribbled a reply a few minutes later, and you wondered if maybe he was just as terrified as you were, if maybe he couldn’t sleep because he was thinking of you, too.

Not like you want me to, but I could. Someday soon.

The thought sent hope skittering through your chest, but you tamped it down. He hadn’t wanted you. He still probably didn’t want you. You were a liability. You were a danger to his way of life. You were—

Ink stained your hand, trickling down your arm, as you realized the pen had snapped under the strength of your palm.

Without a way to stand on your own, you stared at the drying ink, trying to think of anything other than the fear in your chest, the longing in your heart, the nervousness bubbling under the surface.

Kakashi was stuck to the wall beside your window a few minutes later, staring worriedly through the glass.

An ink stain. Of course, he’d worried something was wrong.

He’d been awake waiting for your reply.

He’d been awake because of you. For you. The thought made you dizzy.

Silently, he slipped through the window, crouching worriedly beside your bed. Whatever pretense of nonchalance he kept up during the day, he dropped it now, just for you. “Are you alright?”

You nodded once, stiffly, mind still racing with the situation. Your friendly banter from the morning disappeared, words dried up as your emotions increased tenfold.

A million thoughts rattled through your mind, but you finally settled on one. “You told Gai you couldn’t love me.”

He cocked his head, confusion furrowing his lone brow.

“You were… it was a training day. You were talking about soulmates. And you told Gai that you couldn’t love a soulmate, so it didn’t matter if you didn’t find them…”

Your eyes were watering, and you looked away until you felt the warmth of Kakashi’s fingers circling your own. His hand clung to yours with renewed fervor, though the interaction still held the same touch of softness that it always held when you were injured. Comfort. It has always been an attempt to comfort you, a silent word of compassion. But now that he knew you were his soulmate, would his gestures hold the same meaning?

His voice, coupled with a gentle tug on your hand, had you vanishing into his gaze yet again.

“Soulmates are supposed to be your other half, right?” he asked softly. “If you’re mine, then maybe the whole soulmate thing can work out.”

Even in the moonlight, you could see the blush peeking over the edge of his mask.

You’d stood beside him through thick and thin. You fussed. You took care of him. You let him take care of you. You bought books for him, and he watched your favorite movies with you. He took you out to your favorite restaurants, and you always paid for him. You trained with the strength of a hurricane, and you always kept him mentally and physically on his toes. But no matter what, you’d both been able to rely on one another. It wasn’t romantic love, not yet, but it was the closest thing Kakashi had ever experienced to romantic love. He was close to being in love with you, and the revelation of the soulmate bond had changed those feelings very little.

He’d always been on the precipice of falling in love with you. Now that he knew you and he were destined for one another, the proposition of falling didn’t seem all that terrible anymore.

“If it’s me, you think it’ll work?”

This time, he flushed fully, pinking to the edge of his hairline. “Yeah. You’re… you’re perfect for me.”

Then, it was your turn to grow bashful under his praise. Perfect. He thought this could work because you were perfect. Not perfect in general. Not perfect to him. But perfect for him, with all of your many imperfections.

He wasn’t in love with you. He wouldn’t say it yet. But he was falling, and that was impossible to ignore.

His words left you lost in another world. All this time, he was rejecting his soulmate for fear they wouldn’t truly be his other half. But you were his other half, and he could see that now. He could love you. He could see a future with you. He could—

Kakashi’s warm voice brought you back to the present, hand still gently squeezing your fingertips. “Did you hurt your hand?”

He cares.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, just a little ink.”

Kakashi stood, striding toward the other side of the room. He washed his hands under the sink before returning a moment later, damp rag in hand. This time, he sat on the edge of your bed, hand enveloping your own.

With slow, delicate movements, he swirled the rag across your skin, stealing the ink from your skin almost as effortlessly as he’d stolen your heart. If only you knew how easily you’d done the same.

“I was so scared you’d hate me when you found out,” you whispered. His hand tensed under your own, but he didn’t stop his ministrations. You continued, “Since I kept talking to you, both as your soulmate and myself, I was so worried you would feel betrayed.”

“I did,” he murmured quietly. “At first.” He flipped your hand, wiping away the stray trails of ink that had escaped from your palm. “When I got the message, I couldn’t believe that you’d… after all this time, it was you. And when we found you almost dead, I thought the world was punishing me again, just like everyone else…” Looking away, he began wiping the remaining ink spots off his hand, leaving your fingers to fiddle with the fabric on his knee. “But on the way back, all I could think about was the things I’d said to you. How could you trust me after I so blatantly pushed you away? How could you look me in the eye and put your faith in me when I hurt you so deeply? The fact that you’d tried to stay by my side after everything, the fact that you put your faith in me to keep you safe, after all the things I’d said to you… you never betrayed me. You’ve been by my side all this time, and I want to be by yours. Completely.”

You squeezed his knee, searching his face for any sign of illusion. “Is this real?” you whispered. “I want this to be real.”

Kakashi smiled, eyes crinkling as he took your hand. You looked dazed and happy as you stared at him; he’d never encountered anyone else so stunning.

Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward, brushing a masked kiss over your forehead, then your eyebrow, and finally your cheek. The pressure sent sparks across your skin, and you squeezed his hand a little bit tighter.

He hovered over your lips, breath ghosting across your skin through the durable material of his mask. You leaned forward, nudging his nose with your own. It was a silent message that you wanted his affection as much as he craved yours.

His breath puffed against your lips once again, and his voice, barely audible, filled the minuscule space between you. “Would you mind closing your eyes?”

Instantly, you complied, proving to him yet again how lucky he was to have met you. You put your faith in him time and time again, and he promised himself in that moment under the moonlight that he would do everything he could to be as compassionate a partner as you had been for him.

One of Kakashi’s hands released from yours, and you faintly heard the brush of fabric against skin. Your stomach fluttered as you felt his breath on your face again, warmer and closer than before.

And then his lips caught against yours, a gentle press against your tingling skin. His hand cupped your cheek, and you melted against him. The scratchy blankets and the faint hoot of owls faded into the background. Everything seemed to disappear except for you and Kakashi and the oh so delicate kiss between you. From the brush of his lips, so soft and tentative against your own, you sighed, leaning into him even more than before.

He groaned when the two of you pulled away. “I can’t believe I waited so long for that. Make Out Paradise really doesn’t do it justice.”

Make Out Paradise also hadn’t prepared him for the way his heart would race at the sound of your laughter.

“Are you sure?” you asked, reaching toward your bedside table. “Surely there’s a good passage in here somewhere.”

If it meant more time by your side, Kakashi was willing to spend an eternity searching the pages with you, stealing kisses for every paragraph you skimmed through.

In the morning, the nurses were alarmed and horrified to find Kakashi Hatake laying in your bed, one arm wrapped gently around your side, masked nose nuzzled into your neck. On the other side of you, his fingers brushed the cover of a well-worn Make Out Violence novel.

It was indecent, a break of protocol, and, most of all, a shameful mockery of their hospital security. But when you woke to find Kakashi’s nose tucking a little closer into your neck, a mumbled “good morning” slipping into your skin, neither of you could think of a more fitting way to wake up. For the two of you—soulmates, real soulmates—the scenario was somehow perfect.

He wasn’t one to care about looking indecent. You could certainly get behind that.

You welcomed sappy, romantic gestures. Kakashi was willing to privately oblige.

Yeah, you both thought, the soulmate thing could definitely work out.

Masterlist

A/N: Don't mind me casually fandom hopping again. This fic has taken ages to finish, but I'm so excited with the result! I have several more Kakashi fics currently underway, so I hope to get a few of them finished sometime soon! Have a nice day! :)

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