#it really feels like trying to hit my head in a padded room for eternity

[narrans]

My Borrowed Son | 35 | I'm Comin' Home

Chapter Thirty-Five | I’m Comin’ Home

Lyn waisted no time in snagging her phone out of her bag and propping it up on her desk for Parker to use. The teenage Borrower was pacing back and forth as he contemplated what he should say first. What should he tell her? Was she angry with him? Frustrated? Disappointed? All of the things he felt himself?

When Lyn propped up the phone and he saw the digital dial pad, he felt himself freezing up. Something about the glow of the phone made Parker feel more apprehensive than ever. Compared to all of his other decisions, this one gave him pause.

It wasn’t until he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder from the tip of Lyn’s finger that he felt a surge of courage in him. The encouraging look in her eyes helped support him. He tilted his head over and gave her finger a thoughtful headbutt as he reached out and pressed the numbers onto the screen.

“Do you want some privacy?” asked Lyn.

Parker thought about the whole situation and then shook his head.

“No, if that’s okay. If… If I need you…” He didn’t need to finish his sentence. Lyn seemed to understand Parker’s fears and, in a moment, would be there to help him.

Gosh, I really like this girl.

Parker leaned over and pressed the “Talk” button and put the phone on speaker. The dial tone made him jump and sounded like fateful tolling bells. Each ring, Parker anticipated his mom to pick up the line, but it didn’t.

The first call rang all the way through to voicemail, which alarmed Parker. His mom never missed a call, and she certainly wouldn’t be away from her phone if something important was going on.

His heart flipped nervously against his ribs as he redialed the number.

Same thing.

Each ring felt like an eternity, and the sound of the click before the voicemail made Parker feel sick to his stomach.

Where’s my mom? What’s going on? Is she okay?

~~~^*^*^~~~

Amanda stared at the ceiling of her room with a completely blank stare. Everything hurt, but not half as much as her heart. Every beat made her heart feel like it was tearing in half. Like a shred of paper being pulled apart, each thump of her heart tore the seam.

Her eyes were dry from hours of crying. A dull headache kept her conscious, but the sleepless nights kept her exhausted. She knew she hadn’t eaten for the past few days, but she didn’t feel hungry.

“Amanda? It’s alright. We’ll try a different path tomorrow.” Amanda could barely hear Kers’ voice over the sound of her thumping heart in her ears. He was standing on her bedside table, which only made her choke up. The way he stood and the way his shadow hit the wall reminded Amanda of Parker. It was the same bedside table Parker had lived on for many years before getting a room of his own.

“Amanda? You need to eat.” It was a good suggestion from the little Borrower man, but it was no use. If she ate anything, Amanda knew it would come back up within minutes. Instead of getting up and eating something that wouldn’t upset her stomach, she elected to continue laying in bed and watching the sun set lower and lower on the horizon. The shadows cast menacing faces across the room, reminding Amanda that her son was out there with those shadows.

“Amanda? Don’t give up. Parker is out there, and we’re going to find him,” said Kers. When Amanda didn’t respond once again, the Borrower decided it was time to get some rest. He would need to push himself to his limits the next day if Amanda was going to make any sort of recovery.

For the past couple days, Kers had swallowed his nerves and had stepped into the clutches of a human – something he was deathly afraid of – just to find a fellow Borrower. By all reasoning, he should be rejoicing that a Borrower managed to escape the clutches of his human captor, but that wasn’t the case at all. A mother was missing her one and only son. Size didn’t matter.

Family mattered.

The two of them had scoured the streets up one side and down the other to make sure Parker wasn’t on the sidewalks. Amanda had stayed out in the open while dropping Kers off by the base of trees and various holes to peer inside and investigate. From the highest branches to the lowest spaces, the two of them combed through the area inch by inch.

Alas, no Parker.

It was a final act of desperation for Amanda to actually drive her and Kers to the park where she found her son all those years ago. Amanda confessed that she told Parker that he was hiding under the bench of his childhood home, and something was telling her that Parker was going back to that space.

The two of them went out and explored the park and the route back, but the only thing they saw was a little girl riding on her bike. For a moment, Kers felt the hair raise on the back of his neck, but he dismissed it. He usually got those sensations when he was apprehensive of someone. It was an instinct that signaled when someone was dangerous.

Thankfully, the girl didn’t stay around for more than a few minutes and it let Kers slip out of Amanda’s pocket to go exploring nearby. There, Kers found a set of small footprints which he told Parker’s mom about immediately. He also told her about the little cross and the name “ZEKE” scratched into the base of the bench.

This peaked Amanda’s spirits and she tirelessly combed through the entire area in search of her son. The long shot proved unsuccessful sadly.

They had returned not too long ago, and Amanda had been practically unresponsive for the past hour as Kers sketched a search map and potential areas that Parker might have gravitated toward.

Now, after so long, Kers decided he just needed to leave Amanda to her own devices.

There was little to nothing else he could do now except to dedicate every waking moment he could to finding Parker.

So, there she was. Amanda was alone and staring at the ceiling. Everything she never wanted to happen came to pass, just like all those years ago when her husband left her. No matter what she did, it was the wrong decision.

Her mind continued to spiral as every decision and debate flashed in front of her eyes. Each time wrenched at her heart. She swallowed, her throat feeling like sandpaper, and closed her dry eyes. No consolation was there in the darkness for her. No comfort. Only buried grief.

Amanda nearly turned over to hide herself under the covers when she heard something on her bedside table. Heart jumping into her throat, she whipped around quickly toward the sound. She was both crushed and stunned when she saw a new face looking back at her.

It was the face of a woman, and she was a Borrower. She had pale, glacier blue eyes and dark brown hair that had been tied up into a kind of messy bun. She was wearing a very simple shirt and pants that cut off right below her knees, which Amanda only noticed because of the prosthetic leg the woman was wearing.

A yarn line attached to her hip and a hook in her hand, she looked at Amanda with eyes full of sympathy and cautious trust. The Borrower said nothing in the moment. She simply began winding up the line after attaching the hook onto a belt that hung on her hip. Once finished, she stepped up to the edge of the bedside table lamp and she sat down on the lip of the base.

“Hello, Amanda,” she said quietly. “My name is Mira, and… well… I just wanted to come down and tell you how sorry I am. All of us are worried about your boy, and we all want him to come home safe.” Amanda shivered and laid back down, this time facing the light and Mira. The darkness of the room closed in fast, leaving only the bedside lamp illuminating the space.

“All of you? You sure?” she said bitterly.

“Yes, of course,” Mira insisted. Amanda couldn’t meet this new Borrower’s gaze for long. There was something intense about it that she didn’t see when she looked at Kers. Her son’s words played in her head, which involuntarily forced Amanda’s chest to constrict.

“Parker said you all thought he’d been captured; that I’d taken him from his family.” Amanda knew her voice sounded defeated, and it made Mira squirm.

“I… I know,” sighed Mira. “And we know that wasn’t the case. Not now anyway. From someone… like us… well… we have to jump to conclusions like that to keep ourselves safe. When… my daughter came to Parker, she only had his best interest at heart. It was the wrong decision, and I’m sorry for that.”

Amanda glanced up and met Mira’s gaze. From one mom to another, Amanda could see the genuineness in her eyes. There was true remorse in her words. It didn’t change anything, but hearing it brought a drop of comfort in the bucket of tumultuous emotions swirling in Amanda’s heart.

“Thank you,” mumbled Amanda finally as two realizations clutched her tight. “But that won’t bring him home; and even if he does come home, he won’t want to be with me. He’ll want to stay with a family his own size.” Fresh tears stung Amanda’s eyes. She turned toward the pillow to hide her face. It was heart wrenching, but to Amanda it was all too true.

“Amanda. Amanda, no. That’s not what will happen. Listen to me.” Mira’s voice drifted through the air like a spring breeze. “Parker will make it home, and he’s your son. He knows this. He loves you, Amanda. I know it.”

The silence between them was tangible. Even though Amanda had tried reassuring herself of all of these things a million times over, hearing it come from someone else who knew the love of a mother somehow let the message sink in. Amanda pulled her face out of her pillow to look into Mira’s glacier blue eyes, this time able to meet her gaze for more than a few seconds.

The intense moment between the two of them unfortunately was shattered when Amanda’s phone suddenly began buzzing. It was so loud that it made Mira leap toward the edge of the table, hook in hand. The two of them glanced at the rectangular box as an unknown number came onto the line followed with the words, ��Unknown Caller.”

To Amanda, this felt like another scam caller. She’d gotten so many calls earlier from different numbers, and this one felt no different. She reached over and tapped the silence button.

“Sorry,” Amanda apologized. “I’ve been getting a lot of random calls today, as if I need something else to deal with.”

“It’s… okay,” breathed Mira. She was obviously trying to calm herself down. “I think all of us are a little on edge, Kers included. I don’t think he’s slept in a few days.” Amanda, hearing this, felt surprised. She glanced over at Mira whose hand was over her heart as she breathed deep, calming breaths.

“He hasn’t?” she asked. Mira shook her head.

“No. He’s been gridding out the entire neighborhood on the roof. He’s probably out in the yard right now if I’m being honest,” said Mira.

Again, the phone began to ring.

Same number.

Weird. They didn’t leave a message either. Probably wrong number. If it calls again, I’m telling them wrong number.

“He’s… a decent guy. I wish there were more guys like him out there,” stated Amanda as she watched the call click to voicemail. “I… well… thank you for coming down. I should tell him the same thing when I see him again.”

“And if we see or hear anything, I promise I’ll come down directly,” stated Mira. “You have my word.”

“I certainly hope you hear something,” sighed Amanda. “I just hope he’s safe an…”

Again, the same number came up on her phone. Amanda had enough. She carefully reached over and snagged her phone off of her bedside table which was a few inches away from Mira and swiped the talk button.

“Hey, I see you’ve called a few times. I think you have the wrong number. Please, don’t ca-.”

“Mom?”

Amanda’s heart stopped. Her entire body shuddered as she clutched her chest. Never before had she heard something so sweet in all her life.

“Parker?!”

On the other side of the line, Parker could’ve jumped to the roof he was so happy. He was terrified as he heard his mom’s voice trying to dismiss the call, but now that he heard her voice fresh tears sprung to his eyes. He hadn’t expected to get choked up, but now all of the words he had attempted to rehearse moments ago were completely blank.

“Parker? Are you there? Please…” He heard his mom choke on a sob, which only made his heart clench. He knew he was the cause of her pain, and he would’ve given anything to take it all back.

“Yeah…. Yes, mom, I’m here,” Parker swallowed, biting his lower lip. He felt himself rocking back and forth slightly as he wrapped his arms around himself.

“Are you safe? Where are you? Whose phone are calling from? Oh, Parker… I was so worried.” Amanda’s mind was racing. Was he in danger? Was he, as the other Borrowers said, “caught?” Had he managed to find a random phone and get it to work? How many seconds did she have before the call dropped because the battery ran out of juice?

“I know. I know. I’m… I’m safe. I… I found a friend,” sniffled Parker. “Mom… I’m… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, mom. I… I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought… I thought I had something I n-needed to do.” Each word barely cleared his constricting throat.

“Oh… oh Parker. I know. Shh… I know. It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m just so glad you’re safe,” said Amanda. Relief battled the feeling of compression in Amanda’s chest as she listened to her son’s voice. Mira, eyes wide and an immense smile on her face, was also jumping for joy as she listened to the one side of the call. Tears were glistening in the corners of her eyes as she watched Amanda’s reaction.

Before, the Borrower mother wouldn’t have guessed she’d ever witness this level of love and care from a human mother to a Borrower child – and yet it was happening right there in front of her.

“Where are you? You said you found a friend? Who is it?” Amanda couldn’t fire off her questions fast enough.

“It’s… It’s Lyn, from school. She’s here right now actually. Say hi, Lyn,” said Parker as he glanced back at his friend. Lyn’s eyes widened momentarily at being put on the spot, but she quickly regained her composure before leaning closer to the phone.

“Hello, Ms. Silverstein. This is Lyndsie Sullivan, one of Parker’s classmates. It’s nice to meet you, virtually at least,” Lyn said giving a slightly nervous chuckle as she attempted to lighten the mood.

“Lyndsie? Yes! Parker’s told me so much about you,” sighed Amanda as she breathed a sigh of relief. He was at least with someone who he trusted, which only partially relieved Amanda’s nerves.

“Oh? Really? Well, all good I hope. It’s been a pleasure getting to meet Parker in person. You have a wonderful son,” replied Lyn as she glanced down at Parker and winked at him. Parker’s heart jumped into his throat as his cheeks burned scarlet. The same uncomfortable warmth returned as he directed his attention back to Lyn’s phone.

“Ah… well… thank you. He’s certainly very special,” stated Amanda. “And I’m sure this has been… a bit of a shock with Parker being... well… a bit… different.”

“Mom, she knows… about Borrowers,” interrupted Parker. Amanda felt completely stunned as she heard Parker use the word. She was more astounded that someone else knew about the existence of these small beings.

“But… how?”

“It’s a long story, but let’s just say there’s a lot we can talk about if you want to know more,” replied Lyn. “But I think what matters more… Parker.” Lyn’s prompt was enough for Parker to know exactly where she was going. He could practically read it in her face.

“Yeah, I… well,” Parker took a breath and braced himself. “I… mom… can… can I come home?”

“Of course, Parker. Of course you can. You’re always welcome home,” Amanda’s response took barely a moment to reach the teenage Borrower boy. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“I… I was afraid that… after what I did… that you wouldn’t want me anymore. I… I hurt you, and I didn’t mean to,” muttered Parker. “I didn’t know if you’d forgive me after what I said and with me leaving, I….”

“Parker, you are always welcome home; and you are always wanted. Don’t let yourself think otherwise. I’ve always loved you. You’re my son. That will never change,” reassured Amanda. The tension in Parker’s shoulders released as he hid his face in his bandaged hand.

“I… Mom… I missed you,” Parker mumbled.

“Oh, Parker, I missed you too. I love you, sweetheart,” echoed Amanda.

“I love you, mom.”

Lyn watched Parker wiping the tears away from his eyes as his shoulders shivered and shook while the Borrower teen’s fears slowly melted away. She could only imagine that his mom was doing the same thing.

“Um… Lyndsie, I know this whole circumstance is… unique,” Amanda said after a minute of silence while she and Parker composed themselves. “But if you could forward your address to me, I would really appreciate it.”

Suddenly, a million other issues slammed themselves right into Lyn’s lap, and now she was in a predicament.

“Um… well… here’s the thing,” Lyn started. The nervousness that was slowly dissipating in Parker suddenly shot back up. He turned around to face Lyn as he noticed the hesitation in her tone. His stomach clenched as he feared the worst – that Lyn was suddenly having a change of heart.

Amanda, at the same moment, thought the same thing. Immediately, her hands started to tremble. She put Parker on speaker and began frantically searching on how to trace or track a call on her internet browser.

“Lyndsie? What is it?” asked Amanda. Parker knew his mom’s voice well enough to know when she was feeling nervous. She was obviously trying to keep calm, and Parker was starting to think he should do the same.

“I mean… it’s nothing serious, but we do live in a gated community. My parents don’t know Parker is here and I don’t plan on telling them because, obviously, no one is supposed to know about his size. If a strange woman shows up with the gate code and knocks on the door, it’s going to look suspicious to my parents unless we align our cover story.

“So, when I go down for dinner here in a bit, I’ll let them know that my classmate’s mom is going to stop by because we have a project we’re working on together and he needs some stuff that I have. They’ll probably invite you in and ask you some questions about the project, which will be our science project, and then I’ll come grab you and then we’ll be good to go. Sound like a plan?”

Amanda breathed a silent sigh of relief as she pressed her hand to her chest.

“Yes, that sounds good to me. Good thinking, Lyndsie,” breathed Amanda. Parker grinned and nodded.

“Always thinking ahead,” he sighed admirably.

“Great. Then give me ten minutes or so and then you can head on over. I’ll text my address. I don’t think we live that far away,” said Lyn. She reached over Parker and quickly punched in a series of numbers and letters that spelled her address as well as the gate code. “And, um… Ms. Silverstein… would it be okay if I came by tomorrow and visited Parker?”

There was a brief beat before Amanda replied, “I think that would be alright.”

Parker’s cheeks flushed pink. After everything, he was a bit worried he would be on complete lockdown. There was no doubt there would be consequences to his actions which he was more than willing to accept after everything he put his mom through, but at least he could finally start seeing one of his friends in person.

“Great. Then… I guess I’ll see you here soon. Drive safe,” said Lyn.

“Yes, I will see you very soon; and Parker, I love you.” Amanda choked a bit on the words.

“I’ll see you soon, mom. I love you too.” Parker stepped forward and pressed the little red icon, ending the call. Parker breathed a sigh of relief before glancing back at Lyn.

“Thank you, Lyn.”

She smiled and reached over to give Parker a nudge on his uninjured shoulder.

“Anytime,” she breathed. Then, with a wink, she added, “You’re lucky you’re so cute. If I didn’t like you, you’d be completely out of luck.”

Parker, caught off guard, was blushing harder than he’d ever done before in his life. Every hair was standing completely on end as he shivered, a pleasant rush racing up and down his spine.

“Y-you… like… what?” he stammered. Lyn grinned knowingly as she pushed herself up away from the desk.

“You heard me. I didn’t stutter.” Lyn shrugged one shoulder sassily as she eyed Parker before she walked toward her door. “Now, I’ve got to give my parents a heads-up and find something to hide you in.”

With that, Lyn left the room. Parker listened to her fading footsteps and muffled conversation, but that was far from the first thing on his mind. Her words alone put him on cloud nine. If they meant what he thought they did, then things were really starting to look up for him.

Though his trust with his mom would take time to rebuild and consequences were undoubtedly waiting for him, the horizon was looking brighter by the moment. He’d been given a second chance, and he was about to make the most of every moment.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Previous

Beginning

[waltwhitmansbeard]

'' your eternal optimism is super annoying. '' '' noted. now get out of bed, and enjoy the sunlight. ''

Ma'am, may I ask for some Vaxleth in these trying times, pls? your AU or non-AU of choice.

'' your eternal optimism is super annoying. '' ''noted. now get out of bed, and enjoy the sunlight. '' setting this in vamp machina!

Keyleth has never been prone to bad moods. Some days, weeks, months are harder than others, to be sure, but she has always been a generally content person. Her father used to joke that she was the only baby he knew born with a smile on her face, and she took that to heart. There's a lot of darkness and hardship in the world, so many things that go bump in the night, but it's a choice, she thinks, to wake up and greet each day with the best she has to give.

But today, she is not getting out of bed. She can see it, the sliver of brilliant golden light fighting between her bedroom curtains, but she is choosing to ignore it. She buries her face in her pillow and tells herself it is still night.

Beside her, the bed shifts. "You still asleep?" His voice is soft, a hoarse whisper, thick with the remnants of his own rest.

"Yes," she replies, muffled by the pillow, and he laughs.

"You're never in bed this late. What happened to my morning bird?"

She twists her head to glare grumpily at Vax, whose hair is spread out like raven's feathers across the other pillow. "I'm not getting up."

His bemusement slips into concern. "Are you feeling alright?" A hand, cold and firm, comes up to her forehead. "Are you sick? Do you have medicine in the bathroom, I can go get it—"

"I'm not sick." She wrenches herself around so she's now staring up at the ceiling. He feels so solid beside her, even though he gives off very little body heat. She wants to curl into him, bury her face into his chest like a rabbit retreating into its warren, but looking at him feels like too much. "I just...I don't want to go out today."

The bed shifts again, and his face appears in her periphery, peering down at her. "Will you tell me?" One of his hands plays with her fingers atop her stomach, curious yet patient.

And what is she supposed to say to him? I don't want to go out where you can't follow? I think about you inside, confined to the shadows, and I want to die? When the sun hits my skin it feels the exact opposite of how your hands feel on my face, and I don't know which feeling I love more? There's nothing productive to come of this conversation, no change to be effected when they are each what they are.

He senses her hesitation and lays back down, curving his body along her side. His forehead tips against her ear. "You cannot say anything to make me upset, you know. I always want to know what you're thinking, even if you're ashamed of it."

She swallows thickly. "I...it's lonely. Sometimes. Out there. Without you. And..." She blinks, and a single tear beats a path down her ear. "I just want to stay here with you."

He's quiet for a while, a long while, and Keyleth knows this is the thing he's most afraid of, shackling her to the shadows with him. But it's worse, really, because she doesn't want to give up the sun for him, she wants to bring him into its light. She yearns for long, bright days among the people of their city, endless summers of brilliant warmth. She wishes she were a creature of the night herself, a night owl, someone accustomed to living in the dark, but she just isn't. And he knows that.

So he gets up. She scrambles to sit up, confused as he pushes himself off of the bed and pads over to the window. He stands just to the side of it and yanks the curtain toward himself, and suddenly the room is filled with dazzling, clear morning light.

"Vax!" she yelps, aghast.

He points toward the window, just barely out of the burning edge of a sunbeam. "That. That is where you belong. Not trapped in here with me. You are going to go out and go to work and stop by the grocery store on the way home because you guys are out of eggs, and I will be here when you get back to help you cook dinner and listen to all of your stories about your annoying customers. You are going to have an amazing day, and you're going to be surrounded by people who love and appreciate you, and I'm not going to hear anything else on the topic."

She pulls her knees up to her chin and pouts. "Your eternal optimism is super annoying."

"Noted." He pulls the curtain back even further. "Now get out of bed and go enjoy the sunlight."

With a huff, she throws back the covers and slips out of bed, but then she stops and crosses her arms. "You gotta do a me a favor before I go."

"Anything."

She grins. "Close the damn curtains and come over here and kiss me."

And wonderful, attentive, generous boyfriend that he is, he obliges, and oh yes, the sun is warm, but not so warm as this.

[crguang]

good morning || ajak.

A/N: this is part of the found family series that i decided to add on to. the timeline might seem a bit confusing since i’m not really following it LOL but once everything is out it’ll be put in order in my masterlist! hope yall enjoy this fam as much as i do

next

“MOMMY! Up, up, up!”

That was how you woke up this morning: with Mateo already barging into your room, his tiny feet hitting the floorboards as he excitedly jumped up and down from his spot beside the bed. God, that kid had energy. When you only groaned in response, sensing Ajak shift beside you on the mattress, he added a weird, rhythmic clap of his hands to his singing in hopes of making you get up faster.

“Inside voice, Teo…” you weakly replied, brows pinching together as your eyes blinked open. A look to the nightstand let you know it was only half past 6AM.

Mateo had always been an early riser. No one was more excited to start the day than your son and he often proved it by waking you up at the crack of dawn for breakfast—which is the word he just added to the made-up morning song he came up with just for you.

“Breakfast, breakfast, breakfast!”

“Ajak, please get your son.”

You heard a small chuckle from her and felt her hand push the strands of hair that was in your face, then a soft kiss on your cheek. That made you smile. You never liked the waking up part of the mornings, but she always made them better.

“My son?” Ajak questioned in amusement, lifting the covers from her body while making sure you were still cozy under them.

“Yes. He’s yours before 7AM,” you fell back face first into the pillow, ignoring the one Ajak hit the back of your head with as you did. You had work at 9 and you wanted to get all the rest you could before then.

“Did you even brush your teeth, cariño?” That question was directed at Mateo, who stopped jumping and made a show of thinking about it, index finger on his chin, knowing he didn’t.

The Eternal raised an eyebrow and he pouted. She shooed Mateo to the bathroom, and he ran there, earning a fond shake of the head from her. Ajak found his good mood in the morning adorable even if he could be quite loud at times. When she heard the faucet, she finally got up and left the bedroom to walk into Mateo’s. The tiles of the bathroom were cold in the morning, so she picked up a pair of socks for the baby to put on. He finished brushing his teeth responsibly, jumping off the small stool he used, and sat on the toilet seat to let her put on the socks without complaining.

“Mama, you have to brush teeth,” Mateo said, pointing at the sink expectantly.

“Do I?” Ajak asked, mirth dancing in her eyes. The child only nodded. He stayed there on the toilet seat, swinging his legs the whole time and occasionally babbling something Ajak only pretended to understand until she was done.

After he insisted she show him her teeth like you always ask him to, he got up and ran to the kitchen. The padding of his feet against the floor never failed to make Ajak smile. Entering your life was the best thing she’s done in millennia. To be able to share a life with you and Mateo, to be able to call herself his mother, filled her with an incredible amount of tenderness. This was her home now, her family. Mateo was so full of love and curiosity and life. Everything excited him, whether it be a crunchy colored leaf or a light-up toy. It was admirable, really, and Ajak would do anything to protect that innocence. She never thought a three-year-old would end up stirring so many emotions within her.

“MAMAAAAA!”

And that three-year-old wanted breakfast. The Eternal entered the kitchen to him trying to climb into his highchair. He was also incredibly impatient.

Breakfast was uneventful. Ajak had to remind Mateo not to play with his food a couple of times or not to be too loud, knowing you were still dozing off. Then she took him to get a bath. He wanted to stay in it, liking the feeling of the warm water and playing with his toys. When Ajak told him it was time to get out he refused a few times, ignoring her to drown the plastic duck he had in his hands under the water.

“Cariño, the water will get cold.”

“No.”

“You need to get ready for daycare. You’ll see your friends, remember?”

“No.”

Ajak paused. Bribery it is. “Mateo, if you get out of the bath and get dressed, when I come pick you up later…” she lowered her voice as if letting him in on a secret and he turned to her curiously. “I’ll buy you chocolate.”

The boy seemed to ponder his options, watching the toy in the water for a few seconds before he let it go to clap his hands, babbling something about chocolate and candy. He waved his fists excitedly and Ajak couldn’t help but laugh.

“Did you say chocolate?” The sound of your voice behind her would’ve surprised her if she wasn’t an Eternal. She heard you yawn earlier and knew you would be getting up soon. She lifted the baby out of the bath, securing the big towel around him as she held him. “What do I need to do to get some?”

Ajak looked at you, at your tired eyes and matching pyjamas and bare face. You had just woken up and it was a sight she still couldn’t believe she was lucky enough to witness. When you raised your eyebrows at her silence, she simply glanced to your lips. “I have a few ideas.”

The corner of your mouth lifted in a small smirk, and you approached her, leaning forward to plant a sweet kiss on her lips. “Good morning,” you murmured. She smiled, shifting Mateo so she would be holding him with the other arm. You pressed a big kiss on his cheek, making a show of eating him by pulling it gently between your lips, until he screamed and pushed your face away with a giggle. “And good morning to you, too, mister.”

Mateo got dressed without complaining. He chose the clothes himself: overalls with a blue shirt that has a teddy bear on it. He insisted to wear the jacket Makkari gifted him on his birthday and Ajak thought it was too cute to refuse. Before leaving the house, he ran up to you in your bedroom, asking for a hug. You cooed, picking him up to squeeze him until he was laughing, momentarily wrapping his arms tightly around your neck.

“Have a good day at daycare, okay?” He nodded, babbling something you didn’t quite pick up on. The second you put him down he was running away. You heard Ajak ask if he was ready to go, then the door closing. Mornings like this one have became routine to you, one you didn’t wish to replace any time soon.

[atlabeth]

tis the damn season part 3 - rafe cameron

part 2 | masterlist | part 4

a/n: lol sorry this took a metric fuck ton of time to come out i went back to school and i lost all motivation to write</3 i love it here. just for reference i drafted this post up on december 22 2021 and then proceeded not to touch it until like, two days ago. so yeah. i dont know if anyone still wants this series because it's been so long but here's part 3 anyways. a christmas fic in april? it's more likely than you think

and YES the family dinner was supposed to be in this chapter but i dont feel like making absurdly long chapters for this series so with my track record, you guys will have to wait another 3 months for it # lmao

warning(s): ward being a lil bit of a drama queen, alcohol (but they are all 21 its okay)

wc: 4.7k

It was far too early in the morning when you woke up, the first rays of the sunrise just barely managing to filter through the window drapes. You yawned as you sat up in the bed, and you couldn’t help the small smile that emerged when you looked over and saw Rafe still asleep next to you. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep, without all the pressure that came with his life, and you had to stop yourself from reaching out a hand to play with his already messy hair. (You couldn't even think about him being shirtless under the covers.) It felt far too natural, and it was way too easy to imagine that this was real.

You pushed those thoughts away as quickly as they appeared and slid out of bed, trying your best to be quiet as you walked to the bathroom. (You still thought it was insane that he had a bathroom in his room.)

Your first day in the Cameron household was easier than you thought it would be, but you attributed that to the surprising lack of family togetherness — Rose spending almost all day on the mainland and Sarah hanging out with her friends that night saved you from a first night family dinner. You were eternally grateful, because now you had an extra day to mentally prepare to play the part of the girlfriend on stage.

After washing your face and fixing your hair from a night of sleep, you decided to make the daring venture outside in the name of caffeine. You padded your way from Rafe’s room to the kitchen, trying to make as little noise as possible seeing as the Camerons were all likely asleep. If it was your decision you wouldn’t be awake either, but your internal clock from waking up early for 8ams was still on, much to your annoyance.

Their coffee maker was right next to the sink and you got to work making it the way you did at home. But god, this kitchen was a lot bigger than anything you were used to, and for some reason these people didn’t keep the coffee next to the coffee maker. You found the coffee filters quicker than you found the actual coffee. In what world—

“Looks like we’ve got another early riser in the family.”

Your heart nearly bursted out of your chest at the unexpected voice as it interrupted your internal rant, and when you whirled around you were met with the sight of Ward Cameron. He chuckled and held up his hands when you let out an obvious sigh of relief.

“Sorry, sorry — I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

You offered a sheepish smile and shook your head. “You’re fine. I just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up right now.” You gestured at the opened cabinets behind you. “I was just trying to find some coffee. Can’t really start my day without it.”

“Did you check the pantry?” he asked, gesturing behind him with a pointed finger to a door that you certainly did not check.

You sighed and shook your head as you walked over and opened the door. You made a triumphant noise when you found a bag of coffee grounds and walked back over to the counter. “Thank you,” you said as you opened the bag, then began spooning grounds into the fresh coffee filter. “I’m not used to a place this big.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Ward said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Where are you from?”

“Raleigh,” you answered, and after you hit a few buttons you turned back to face him. “Right in the city, born and raised. I’ve lived in North Carolina all my life, but I’ve actually never come down here. I can’t wait to see more of it with Rafe.”

“It is a lovely place,” he agreed with a nod, then he crossed his arms. “I just can’t understand why Rafe’s never told us about you before. We only found out about you a couple days ago on the phone, but he said you’ve been dating since late freshman year.”

You nodded along to the story, filing the note away in your mind for future reference. Almost two years, since freshman year third quarter, moved in after you were dating. You guessed this was what Rafe meant when you agreed to improv this whole backstory. “You have me to blame for that. Um— after we got together, I asked him not to tell people up front, and that included his family. Just because I wanted to make sure that we were steady without the input of anyone else, you know? When he asked if I would come down for break with him to meet you all, it felt like it was the right time. I’m sorry that we kept it from you, but I don’t regret it.”

Something akin to surprise flashed in Ward’s eyes but it was gone just as quickly as he offered a slight smile. “I understand. But you have to know that I’m a man who values candor, and that’s why I’m just going to ask you upfront.” Your brows creased in question, but you didn’t have the chance to ask before Ward hit you with a bullet. “What are your intentions with my son?”

It was such a high school question that you had to hold back a laugh, especially after you realized he was serious. “I’m… I’m sorry?”

“Rafe’s a junior in college, just like you. He’s taking his hardest course load yet, as well as contributing to Cameron Development back home. He’s setting himself up for a bright future in the business, and he can’t afford to stumble right now.” You shifted unconsciously under his eyes, uncomfortable at the scrutiny. “He doesn’t need any distractions.”

You huffed a dry laugh, still in disbelief that he was trying to have this kind of talk with you on your second day here. “With all due respect, I’m not a distraction, and Rafe’s not a child. The whole time we’ve been dating, his performance has been nothing less than stellar. He’s made the dean’s list every year, and I’m sure once he gets his grades back from finals it’ll be the same thing. He can handle a relationship along with college.”

“I’m not questioning Rafe’s intelligence,” Ward said, a slight edge to his words. “I’m questioning your role in his life.”

Your grip tightened on the mug in an effort not to drop it, but you felt at this rate you might break the ceramic instead. “I’m sorry Mr. Cameron, but I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation for us to have. Enjoy the rest of your morning.”

You kept your gaze trained straight ahead as you walked past him, on a steady path to Rafe’s room to get away from a middle-aged man’s high school drama. You knew that this would happen eventually, but you thought you would get a little more time to prepare before he did his whole thing. Ward Cameron, just as Rafe told you, was a whole different kind of father.

Rafe was just waking up when you entered his room again, and you made a point of closing the door before leaning up against it with a huff. He frowned as he sat up, and amusement poked holes in your anger at the sight of him. Messy hair, that look in his eyes that says he was slightly out of it, and a morning voice that was near lethal when he speaks. “Why’re you up so early? Now I’m up too, at—” he squinted as he looked at the clock on his bedside table, “—6:47. On winter break.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding your smile as you sipped your coffee. “I can’t help it. You should be a heavier sleeper.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, and he let himself fall back down onto the mattress. “I can’t even go back to sleep because I’m in planning mode.”

You hummed into your cup, amused. “Really? Planning mode? What, are you gonna draw up a house in front of me?”

Rafe snorted. “No, it means that you’re gonna have to deal with everything I’ve been coming up with to save us from the onslaught that is my parents trying to get to know the girlfriend.”

“Ah,” you said with a nod. “Hit me with it.”

“I’m sorry to say that the grace period of your visit is over,” he said. “Any chance my parents get, they’re going to be drilling us — mostly you, really — about our relationship. But, I can get us out of a lot of the day stuff by going around the island, showing you new things and shit. And luckily for you, I already texted my friends last night, and they’re down to hang out today.”

You pursed your lips and nodded slowly. “About that. Your friends — sounds great. Love it. Your parents — not great. Your dad’s already tried to Big Bad Wolf his way into my head.”

Rafe immediately sat up and looked at you, his brows creased in concern. “He— okay, what does that mean?”

You chuckled. “He tried to intimidate me, Rafe. But it’s not like it worked — I mean, those tactics lose a lot of weight when we’re not even together.”

“Still,” he pushed, “it’s not okay for him to talk to you like that. Especially on our second day here— god, he really has no boundaries. He barely even knows you and he’s already trying to get in your head—”

“Rafe,” you interrupted, giving him a pointed look. “It’s okay. I’m just telling you because I think it’s kind of ridiculous how bad he is at being subtle. He really just comes out, guns blazing.” You lowered your voice to Ward’s timbre. “What are your intentions with my son? I don’t understand what happiness is.”

Rafe huffed a laugh but the concern didn't leave his gaze. “Are you sure that you’re okay?”

“Yes,” you reassured, “I’m perfectly fine. If anything, it’s prepared me for the inevitable family dinner tonight.”

Rafe groaned as he finally pulled himself out of bed, picking up the shirt he threw on the floor the night before and tugging it on. “God, don’t remind me or I’m gonna end up day drinking.”

“Don’t worry — I’ll keep you sober until at least noon,” you said with a smile. “Now what were you saying about those friends?”

-

It took a few more hours — mostly of Rafe waking himself up — before the two of you were ready to go. You spent the time talking through your relationship (you updated him on the additions to the backstory) and he told you some about his friends.

Topper and Kelce — you remembered some things about them from stories Rafe had told, but you didn’t really know anything, apart from some stupid things they did at parties when they were still in high school. Rafe was sure that they would like you, but it was going to come with a lot of teasing on their part. You could deal with that.

You were adding a few finishing touches to your appearance when Rafe called your name and you looked up from the bathroom mirror. “Put this on,” he said, and he threw something over to you that you just managed to catch.

“Why?” you frowned, holding it up in front of you to see that it was one of his favorite flannel hoodies. “I have my own jackets.”

“Come on, you’ve dated guys before, I’ve dated girls before. All girlfriends are hoodie thieves.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed, and you shook your head. “I’ve never been to a country club before, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t appropriate attire.”

He shrugged. “Your dress is perfect for it; you can just take it off when we get there. I just don’t want you to be cold on the way.”

You just smiled. “You’re really going all in on this, huh?”

“My livelihood’s at stake, babe,” Rafe said with mock austerity. “I’m gonna need you to put it on — this is serious business.”

You snorted and rolled your eyes, but you slipped it on over your outfit anyways. It was surprisingly comfortable, and it smelled faintly of Rafe’s cologne. “Is it within my roomie privileges to take your sweatshirts once we get back home?” you asked as you walked out of the bathroom. “Because this is maximum luxury.”

“After going through this with me, you can have whatever hoodies you want, free of charge,” he chuckled. Rafe glanced in the mirror as he ran a hand through his hair, doing his thing where he tried to make it messy enough to look natural but styled enough to be presentable. You caught yourself looking and immediately averted your eyes, instead adjusting the strings on the hoodie as you followed him out the door.

The house was surprisingly empty when everyone was off doing their own thing — in a place this big, it was almost unnerving. The distance from Rafe’s room to the kitchen was basically the size of your apartment, but where your home was always filled with warmth of your mother and the music of everyday activities, Tanneyhill was devastatingly cold.

Maybe that spark of sympathy was what led you to slip your hand into Rafe’s without thinking. Though he glanced at you in surprise at first, it melted into a smile as he squeezed your hand and led you outside. You were almost disappointed when you reached his truck and he let go, but you pushed that away as quickly as possible as you got in the passenger side.

Just friends.

“So,” Rafe started as he backed out of the driveway, “we’re meeting at the country club. Kelce and Top don’t know anything about you, only the stuff that’s popped up when I’ve told ‘em stories that you’ve ended up in. They’re… honestly pretty good at detecting bullshit, especially when it comes to me. So I hope your lying is up to par.”

“Please,” you scoffed, “I’ll have you know I played an amazing Eponine in Les Mis sophomore year — I know exactly how to act like I’m in love with a guy. And if you need me to fake getting shot, I can do that too.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Good to know that we have options, but I don’t think it’s gonna get that bad. Just be yourself and they’ll love you — I know it.” Rafe smiled and you responded in kind.

The drive to the country club was quicker than you thought it would be, but you felt oddly prepared as you walked inside with Rafe, once again holding hands. You stopped at the hostess’s stand, and a few seconds later a woman walked up holding a stack of menus.

“Welcome to Kildare Country Club,” she said with a smile. “What can I help you with today?”

“There should be a reservation under Cameron?” Rafe said, his eyes darting around as he looked for his friends. “Two people might be here already, um— Topper Thornton and Kelce Smith.”

She nodded and pointed to the outside seating area. “They’re over there; should be the third table from the left.”

“Thanks.” Rafe pulled a bill out of his pocket, and you saw the twenty on it as he put it on the stand. “Have a good day.”

Her eyes widened slightly and she nodded, and as you started to walk off you nudged Rafe with your elbow. “That’s a generous tip. Am I rubbing off on you?”

He shrugged with a small smile. “I’ve been trying to be better about it.”

“Cameron!”

Your attention was drawn to the voice, the source of it a tall blonde who screamed frat boy. From pictures you knew he was Topper, and the dark-skinned guy behind him was Kelce. They were both wearing polos and khaki shorts, and you had to hold back a laugh. If you looked up country club in the dictionary, there would probably be a picture of them there.

Rafe grinned as he went over to them, hugging both boys then launching into an elaborate handshake. This time, you couldn’t stifle your laughter.

“You’re a total nerd,” you joked, and that earned you both boys’ attention as huge grins took over.

“Holy shit,” Topper said. “Kelce, it’s the girl.”

“You finally did it,” Kelce laughed, hitting Rafe on his shoulder. “Congrats, man. Never thought you’d actually get the guts.”

You chuckled a little bit, giving Rafe a slightly odd look before nodding a greeting to both boys. They couldn’t get those ridiculous smiles off their face, and so you nudged Rafe to get him to explain. He was knocked out of his one-sided glaring contest as he looked at you, and you gestured with your head at the two of them. Thankfully, he understood it.

“Let’s just get to the table,” he said as he slid an arm around your waist, “before you two start acting like even bigger idiots.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Kelce held up his hands as the four of you started walking. “You just didn’t mention you’d be bringing your girl.”

“Or that she was the girl,” Topper added, and Rafe just shook his head as you all reached the table. You didn’t expect it when he pulled out your chair for you, and you tried to hide your amusement as you sat down. You were starting to really dig the benefits of this fake dating thing.

He took his own seat next to you and, after a small smile at you, looked at his friends. “Top, Kelce, by how annoying you’re already acting I assume you know, but this is Y/N, my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, it’s about time.” Topper turned to you and inclined his head. “He has not shut up around you since freshman year. I thought he was going to die before he actually asked you out.”

“Shut up, man.” Rafe tried to flick Topper’s arm across the table but he just raised his hands in defense, his self-satisfied smile remaining.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” you said, jumping in an attempt to save Rafe from some embarrassment. “I’ve heard a lot about you two; all good things.”

“And we have heard a lot about you,” Kelce said. “But you should probably go over some stuff again, so we can hear it without Rafe’s lovesick filter.”

Rafe groaned and put his head in his hands. “You guys are the worst.”

You laughed but decided to indulge them anyway. “Well, I’m Y/N, like you already know. I go to Chapel Hill with Rafe, and I’m a humanities major on a pre-med track. I’m uh— I’m from Raleigh, and I’ve never been to the Outer Banks before, but it’s pretty great so far.”

“Pre-med?” Topper raised his eyebrows and looked at Rafe. “Sounds like she’s too smart for you.”

“That’s because she is,” Rafe said. “She’s already starting to apply to med schools, and she got a 522 on her MCAT! She is a genius, Topper.”

You felt your cheeks flush and you shook your head. “Stop, Rafe. I’m not.”

“This is one time where you don’t have to be humble, babe.” Rafe took your hand and turned to his friends. “She almost got a full ride to Chapel Hill on merit scholarships, and she’s gonna be a kickass doctor once she graduates.”

You bit back your smile, but the heat continued to rise in your cheeks. It did feel pretty good to have someone brag about you, especially after everything you had gone through to get to where you were.

“You wanna be a doctor?” Kelce asked. You nodded, and he grinned. “Sick. One of my cousins is an RN; she graduated from Vanderbilt a couple years ago for med school.”

“Really?” Your eyes lit up as you leaned forward. “I’m applying there! I’m hoping for Johns Hopkins, but Vanderbilt’s been on my list for a while. I’ve also really been looking into Southern California.”

“Oh, god,” Topper muttered. “Rafe, this is gonna go on for a while. Wanna go get drinks?”

Rafe glanced at you and when you nodded, he nodded. “Uh, sure. Just try not to talk her ear off, Kelce.”

You perked up. “Oh, can you get me—”

“A Mai Tai?” Rafe finished, and you grinned. “Yeah.”

“You know me so well.”

“I try.” Rafe hesitated for a moment as he stood up, and then he leaned in and gave you a quick kiss on the cheek. You quickly covered your surprise up with a half smile, and he mouthed ‘sorry’ with a slightly harried expression as he walked off with Topper.

“Well, good luck with Johns Hopkins,” Kelce said. “If you’re anything like Rafe’s described, then I’m sure you’ll be able to get in.”

Your smile grew and you nodded. “Thanks, Kelce. I really hope so.” You paused for a second, trying to find the words for your question. “Um, what has he said about me? To you and Topper.”

“I don’t really know if it’s my business to tell you, but let me just say that he is really into you. But…” Kelce sighed and his expression sobered. “You should know that my boy’s had it bad for you, for a long time. You obviously mean a lot to him if he’s bringing you home for Christmas, because he has never done it with a girl before. I think you’re one of the only ones he’s introduced to his family too. So… just don’t mess with him. I can tell you’re a good person, so I don’t think you will, but…” he trailed off, the implication hanging in the air.

You didn’t know what to say to that. What could you say to that? Rafe has liked you since freshman year, or at the very least has had feelings for you at some point. But now you were acting as his fake date until New Year’s, and meeting his friends and family along the way. What did that mean for this whole thing?

You decided to ignore the whole thing, at least for now. You would deal with it later when you weren’t in front of an audience.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “of course. I would never hurt Rafe. I… I really care about him. I still can’t really believe that we’re together, honestly. It feels like a dream.”

Kelce smiled and you did too, but as it turned slightly coy you decided to ask the question that had been bugging you since it was brought up. “Did he really talk about me that much?”

He laughed. “Oh my god, constantly. Ever since this one party he went to freshman year, he wouldn’t stop talking about this girl that he met that, and I quote, rocked his world.”

You laughed as well, and when your fingers brushed your cheek you could feel all the heat that had gathered there. For the love of god, you needed to relax.

You just started taking your sweatshirt— Rafe’s sweatshirt, you reminded yourself— when he and Topper got back to the table, carrying a whole lot of drinks between them.

“One Mai Tai for the lady,” Rafe said, placing the glass in front of you, “and a fuck ton of shots for the rest of us.”

“Oh my god.” Your eyes widened slightly as Topper and Rafe placed down a combined ten shots, and you looked at your watch. “Guys, it’s 12:34; it is not late enough for shots. What’s even in there?”

Topper smiled. “Vodka. And this one,” he pushed the extra glass in your direction, “is for you. Think of it as your OBX rite of passage.”

You shook your head but the beginnings of a smile found its way onto your lips. “I can’t believe you’re all doing shots at noon, vodka at that.”

“Hey,” Kelce started as he picked up his own shot, “they do bottomless mimosas here every morning, which means they want you to get drunk before noon. We’re just subverting expectations by doing it thirty minutes after.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Fine. But only this, because I have a feeling I’m gonna end up driving home.”

“Don’t worry,” Rafe said as he clinked your shots together with a smile, “I’ll make sure you don’t get too drunk.”

“I’m pretty sure that doesn’t count if you drink more than me.” You threw back your shot and your entire face immediately scrunched up as you set the glass on the table, regret instantly hitting you. “I forgot how much I hated vodka,” you winced.

“You’re such a lightweight,” Rafe joked, looking completely unaffected just like Kelce and Topper.

“Oh, you love it,” you retorted.

“Yeah,” Rafe agreed with a smile, “I do.”

You only managed to hide one of your own by taking a sip of your drink, completely oblivious to the very knowing looks Topper and Kelce were giving each other as you and Rafe basically beamed at each other.

“You guys gotta get a room,” Kelce interrupted, and you choked on your drink. That was enough to break the temporary reverie.

All that shit Kelce told you was throwing you for a spin, but it obviously didn’t mean anything. It was freshman year — you’d changed a lot in two years, and there was no doubt Rafe had too. He didn’t like you anymore, at least not like that. You were sure of it.

Besides. What kind of idiot asked his former crush to fake date him?

-

You ended up spending a lot more time with Kelce and Topper than you thought you would, but then again — the conversation also flowed a lot easier than you thought it would. You talked more about yourself, Topper and Kelce told you stupid stories about Rafe when he was younger, and a hefty amount of teamwork between you and your fake boyfriend kept the relationship talk to a minimum.

It wasn’t until four hours later when Rafe got a text from Rose asking him to come home to help set things up for dinner that you had to say goodbye to the boys, and only after a whole lot of last minute teasing crammed in by Kelce and Topper.

With the keys to Rafe’s truck in one hand — after his fourth shot you decided to stop a quarter of the way through your own drink to officially take over DD status — and his own hand intertwined in the other, the two of you walked out to the parking lot. It was then that you finally burst, the questions that had been piling on top of each other toppling over almost the second you were far enough away from the country club.

“Oh my god, Rafe—”

“Don’t even say it,” he muttered, but you couldn’t bite back your laughter.

“You had a crush on me!” you exclaimed, giving him a playful shove. “That is so embarrassing!”

He laughed and glanced at you. “How is that embarrassing?

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “it just is. I mean, I didn’t know you constantly talked about me—”

Rafe shook his head again, and it was then that he seemed to realize you two were still holding hands, because he let go to run one through his hair. “They exaggerated. They just like to make fun of me, and now that they have a hot girl to do it in front of, they’re relentless.”

You grinned at him as you came to a stop in front of his truck, leaning against the side of the car in an attempt to mimic him. “You think I’m hot?”

Rafe groaned, but the smile and slight pink tint on his cheeks gave away his amusement. “Just get in the car.”

“Sure, sure,” you relented. You got in on the driver’s side and put on your seatbelt, waiting to start the car until he did the same. “But seriously — this was like, an all-in-one day. You babe’d me, bragged about me, and kissed me. I think we’re definitely ready for tonight.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I try.” But you backed out of the spot, you couldn’t help but glance at him with a mischievous smile. “Good to know I rocked your world though.”

He put his head in his hands with yet another groan. “I’m never letting you near my friends again.”

-

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[americxn]

Make Me Feel Again

⬩James helps the reader adjust to their new state as a ghost⬩ wordcount: 3.8k warnings: ice play, fingering, cunnilingus

The hard wood of the door was cold beneath the knuckles you rapped on its surface, the overly ornate neckline of the gown you wore prickling at your skin. Tipping back your head, you let out a prolonged exhale, forcing the tears that attempted to build in your eyes to dry. The air shifted as the door before you was pulled open, James’ face appearing before you. “Darling, you look ravishing.” He held out his hand expectantly and you gave him a tight smile, noting the slightly wary look on his own face.  “Come in. Take my hand.” He spoke softer than you had ever heard him speak before, his gentle tone almost coaxing those tears to form once more. Accepting the hand he offered you, James walked you into the room, his pace slow and considerate as he steered you for the large dining table in the centre of the space. “It will take some time for you to acclimate yourself to your new state.” He offered in attempted comfort. You hummed in response, if only to notify him that you had heard his words.   The chair that James pulled out for you was cold against the backs of your exposed legs as you sat, Miss Evers hurrying over to pour some deep red wine into the crystal goblet sitting before your empty plate. You couldn’t even muster the energy to thank her, opting for a gentle smile instead. She gave an understanding dip of her chin.

“How do you feel?” James asked sincerely, easing himself into a crouch before your chair. The hand he placed on your shoulder was cold. Hesitating, you pushed away the sarcastic answer you wanted to give him, instead sorting through your thoughts in order to find a somewhat coherent answer. “I don’t.” You finally answered with a shallow shrug. James peered up at you with a small frown. “It all just feels... empty. Cold, I guess.” You mumbled the last part, pulling your gaze from his and taking the glass of wine laid out before you, drinking deeply. “Ah, yes.” James pondered, pushing himself to his feet and pressing a casual kiss to your temple before meandering to his seat at the other side of the table. “You get accustomed to that feeling. And by the time you do, all of your other emotions will have returned. You will learn to feel again, granted not as passionately as before, but that isn’t necessarily a terrible thing, dearest.” You flicked your eyes up to his across the table, clearing your throat as you beheld the intensity in his dark gaze. The room fell into silence as James continued to survey you from across the space. You drank again, Miss Evers swooping in to furnish your empty plate with steaming food.  You thanked her, but had no intention of actually eating. Your stomach felt hollow but the thought of eating had a bundle of nausea unfurling in your gut. “You don’t have to eat.” James said quietly, understanding softening his usually hard features.  “Thank you.” You murmured. James began eating, his silence an offering of space for personal thought as you brooded from your spot on the other side of the table. “I never thought that I’d miss pain.” You eventually mused, reaching out to pull the closest candle holder to you. The heavy metal scraped against the table as you did so. James looked up once more, one of his eyebrows quirking up slightly as you held your hand over the flame, bringing the burning wick closer and closer to your skin. The pain didn’t register, causing your heart to sink. “Pain becomes...neutralised.” James tried. “What hurts will hurt, just to a much smaller extent.” Pulling your hand away from the candle, you sighed once more, pushing it back to its original place on the table. James shot Miss Evers a look as your shoulders curved inwards, your elbows coming to rest on the table before you, a perfect portrait of numb sorrow. Miss Evers moved quickly, taking away both yours and James’ plates before hurrying from the room. Your chin wobbled slightly as James stood, his face falling into deep thought as he pulled a cigarette out of his engraved silver case, pausing briefly to reach over and light it on one of the candles on the table before hurriedly sucking on it to ignite it fully. “Darling...” He drawled, the undertones of empathy hidden in the word causing you to look at him. You swiped at your cheek with the back of your hand as a single tear fell, brushing it away before it was given the chance to track down your face. Perching before you on the corner of the table, James offered you his cigarette, holding it to your lips. You accepted, taking a deep drag before leaning back into your chair. “I know that it means very little to you now. But eventually you’ll begin to forget what living emotions feel like. They’re replaced by easier ones in death, just give them time to develop.” You smiled tearily at him, appreciating his words and taking comfort in them. Your smile quickly faded. How long would that take? You had only been dead for a day, and the utter emptiness within your chest was suffocating. You felt as if you had been reduced to a hollow husk, a shell of your former self. The thought devoured any hope that James had just ignited within you at his words. “Help me feel again.” You blurted, desperate for any solution to the abysmal fate that you now had to endure. James puffed on his cigarette in thought. “And how am I to do that?” He ventured. “I don’t know, I just... I want your comfort.”  It was true, and the words seemed to settled in the space between the two of you. You and James had known each other for a long time and had often displayed your affection towards one another: stolen kisses in dimly lit corridors, his hand brushing against yours beneath the bar as Liz served the two of you drinks. You liked James, and his own affection for you was undeniable. Amidst all of this, now seemed like the perfect opportunity to become closer with James. What else was there really to do in this retched hotel for all of eternity? With another drag of his cigarette, James surveyed you with curiosity, his eyes narrowing slightly as he turned your confession over in his mind.  “You said that you felt cold?” He enquired, pushing off the table and walking slowly for the low counter he had pushed against the wall, its surface covered with large crystal decanters filled with various alcohols. “Yes.” You confirmed, watching him as he poured a glass of bourbon, pausing to drop some ice cubes in it before turning to you. “Feeling cold isn’t necessarily a terrible thing, dearest.” You huffed half-heartedly at his words, your eyes drifting to the surface of the dark wood table before you.  James’ pace was lingering as he slowly meandered back to where you sat, alternating between taking sips of his drink and pulling on his cigarette, his brow creased with the potency of his own thoughts.  “I’ll show you.” He went on, pausing by the table and reaching over to snub out the butt of his cigarette on the small ashtray that resided in the centre. You raised your chin, frowning slightly in question. “Come here.” He said, glancing to you before taking another drink. You stood slowly, confused, but did as he asked and walked to stand before him. “You want to feel?” He asked, taking a step closer to you, the scent of alcohol stark on his soft breath that settled over your face “Yes.” You breathed.  He smirked slowly, draining the last of his drink, the empty glass clutched in his pale grasp.  Leaning down, he caught your lips with his in a kiss so brief that were unsure that it actually happened. Your breath caught as he pulled away, stepping around your body so that you stood between him and the table, pressing his body against yours, the backs of your legs hitting the edge of the table as he herded you towards it. Your stomach fluttered, your pulse quickening. He seemed to sense the physical change of your body as his hand reached up, his head cocking slightly as he trailed his thumb from your collarbone up to the side of your neck, pressing the pad of his thumb into your pulse point and letting out a small sigh through his nose. You were frozen under his touch, trying to anticipate his next move as he leaned closer, placing his empty glass by your thigh before moving his hand from your neck to your chest, pushing slightly. You fulfilled his unspoken request, pushing yourself onto the edge of the table and parting your legs slightly, pleased when James followed your invitation by placing himself between your open thighs. “How -”  “Hush now. You want to feel don’t you?” He cut you off, his face once again coming so close to yours that you could taste his breath. You swallowed but nodded, James’ lips turning upwards slightly as he tracked the movement in your throat, pleased at your responsiveness. “Then let me tend to you.”  You fell silent, your eyes never straying from his as he reached around your body, his fingertips cold as they hooked into the low-cut back of your dress. The sound of the material tearing filled the room as James, with one swift, effortless tug, ripped your dress apart, the material falling open and pooling around your hips.  The front of the dress collapsed, It’s strapless bodice flopping forwards to reveal your bare chest to him. Your eyes were wide, but you couldn’t bring yourself to cover your modesty, not as James’ dark eyes turned positively feral at the sight of your tits that were already becoming heavy with lust under his scrutiny.  One of his hands moved from where it hovered at your back, up to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling into the bottom of your hair. Pulling back, James tugged his tight hold on your scalp, forcing you to follow his pull off the table. The rest of the ruined dress fell to the floor before James tugged again, harder this time. You reigned in your gasp of surprise at his sudden roughness, meeting his stare with confidence.  James smiled easily as he used his grip on your hair to seat you back onto the table before untangling his fingers from your hair and pushing you by the shoulders so that you lay flat on the table. You shuddered, all predictions of what James’ next move would be evading you. The ice in his empty crystalline glass clinked against each other as James picked it up from the table, leaning down over your body. The fabric of his clothes was soft against your exposed skin and you braced your hands on his shoulders as his face came into view above yours. The next kiss that he planted on your lips was soft, exploratory and idle. There was nothing that you could do but lay still under James, allowing him to brush his lips against yours over and over again, the pace with which he ever so slowly deepened the kiss intoxicating, lost in his curious inspection of your mouth. In truth, James truly was lost in the warmth of your lips as they pressed against his. It had been years since he had first fantasied about how you would feel, how you would taste, against his lips and he’d be damned if he let the opportunity to divulge in the reality go to waste. Eventually, when you arched up slightly into him, your naked chest pressing into his, James pried your lips open with his tongue, pushing into your awaiting warmth and taking his time in exploring you there, too. You kissed him back, feverish under the gently stroking ministrations of his tongue as is swept against yours again and again. When he pulled away, a low groan worked itself up from the back of your throat, much to James’ pleasure, whose cock stiffened ever so slightly at the sound you produced due to his touch. “James, please do something.” His cock shot up fully at that, his brain recording your words and storing the memory of your breathless tone in a dark pocket of his mind to replay whenever he pleased. “Patience, dearest, is something that you will need a lot of in the afterlife.” You huffed at his avoiding statement, allowing your back to fall fully onto the cold surface of the table once more. You lifted your head when the sound of the ice cubes in James’ glass once again rang through the room, watching as he reached in, plucking up a single half-melted piece of ice from the glass with his fingertips. James glanced at you, ensuring that were watching before placing the ice on the base of your throat. You gasped, the coldness of the ice numbing your skin almost instantly and seeping into you. Placing the glass back down, James leaned over you one more, pressing a wet, open mouthed kiss to your lower lip, then your chin and then another on the column of your throat. Trailing his lips down even further, his teeth closed on the ice and your pussy flooded with wetness when, using his mouth, James traced the ice to your collarbone, drawing a line of wetness along the length of it before slowly trailing it to your other collarbone. Your breathing became more and more laboured as James dragged the ice across your chest, painting your skin pleasantly numb. His hands found your hips as he pressed himself further in between your legs, undeniably aroused by your gasped reactions and gripping onto your flesh. Any coherent thought faded from your brain as James slowly moved up the slope of one of your tits, every nerve of your being zoning into the coldness of the ice as he pushed it up, up, to the peaked mound of your nipple. You bowed into his touch, refrained from allowing your fingers to settle into his carefully groomed hair as he circled the ice around your areola, taking care not to allow the cold wetness to touch the sensitive bud of your nipple. “God, James.” You whined, luxuriating in his bodily warmth that settled into your skin from his close proximity a top you, an invigorating contrast to the frigid touch of the ice. James let out a small groan of his own as he moved over to your other tit, pushing the ice in looping circles at the base of your breast and slowly moving them inwards, his circles getting tighter and tighter until you could feel the coldness radiating off the ice on your nipple. You hadn’t noticed when one of his hands lifted from your hip, too lost in the sensations your sensitive skin was pleasurably subjected to, the loss of his large hand not registering. It was only when he moved the sparse material of your panties to one side, placing another shard of ice directly on your clit, when you gasped in surprise. He held it there for several moments, allowing the ice to thoroughly cool the glistening bud before trailing it down to your opening. You groaned loudly when he pressed the ice against your entrance, inserting it into you and pushing it deep with a single finger. “Fuck.” You hissed, James withdrawing his finger and replacing the material of your panties back in their proper position, ensuring that the ice was held into you by the close fit of your underwear. You squirmed under him, your nails digging into his jacket-clad shoulders, much to James’ delight, who continued to swirl the ice cube caught between his teeth across your skin, goosebumps raising across every inch of your chest in lieu of his ministrations.  Pulling away, James looked at you, your eyes flicking down to meet his as he moved slowly up to your face. You shuddered when he lifted a hand to your chest, running his rough fingertip through the trails of wetness he had made. Your eyes flicked to his wet lips, the soft flesh glittering in the candle light as he lowered his mouth to yours, depositing the ice cube between your own lips. The coldness settled onto your tongue as you accepted his offering, pushing it up with your tongue to catch it between your own teeth. “Keep that there until it melts.” You groaned in response to his lowly spoken words, his touches on you so erotic that your pussy clenched around the ice in your cunt, which had started to burn pleasantly between your legs. Reaching down, his cool fingers hooked into the waist line of your panties, James’ eyes flicking to yours once more he pulled them down your legs in one smooth motion. The tip of your tongue nudged against the ice between your teeth, wishing that it was James’ mouth or cock you were tasting as the steadily melting water dripped slowly down the length of your tongue, settling in the back of your throat. The thought pulled a low rumble from deep within you. It was matched by James kneeling between your legs as he pulled apart your cool lips, surveying the mixture of ice water and your own juices that glimmered there. “Magnificent.” He breathed, the war, exhaled air making you whimper quietly as it settled onto your cold skin. He hummed lowly, reaching out his tongue and nudging at your clit. You tensed at the tiny touch, letting out a breathy sigh when he pulled away once more. “Please.” You moaned, the ice in your mouth muffling the word slightly. James chuckled. “Like I said, darling, patience is detrimental.” You groaned, wiggling your hips in the hopes of inviting him to touch you with his tongue again. “But look at how pretty your cunt is.” Your mind emptied at his crooned words, what was left of the ice cube slipping from your opening and falling to the floor as your pussy pulsated in response to the growled appraisal. “I wonder if its as delicious as I’ve dreamt it to be.” His words settled over you, causing even more wetness to leak from your slit. James purred at the sight, closing the inch of space between your cunt and his nose and finally drawing a long, slow sweep of his cold tongue up your centre.  “Yes.” You groaned, your back lifting of the table as his hand settled onto your lower abdomen, holding your hips still as he buried his face into you, unleashing himself with ravenous intent on your clit. You mewled with pleasure, the sudden barrage of his tongue on your clit sending strong jolts of satisfaction through the entirety of your body.  “Oh god.” You moaned, breathless as James continued to lap at your cunt, sucking and nipping at your clit. His fingertips nudged at your entrance and you attempted to push your hips up into them in encouragement, James’ chuckle at your efforts causing you to gasp and fall limp under him as it rumbled through your pussy. He pushed two fingers in, curling them instantly and expertly brushing the rough pads of his fingertips against the spot hidden within you that had your toes curling. The ice in your mouth continued to melt as a result of your heavy, warm pants, the water dripping down your throat as James continued to work you with his tongue and fingers, his tongue still cold on your pussy from the ice and his fingers warm in dizzying contrast. You moaned his name. James’ cock twitched in response, his name falling from your lips fuelling him to push another finger inside of you, thrusting them in and out of you at a steady pace whilst his tongue worked tirelessly on your clit, each stroke, circle and carefully calculated nudge of his tongue ripping away a layer of the ball of pleasure in your gut, the orgasm hidden at its centre his goal. The ice fell from your teeth, its body too small now to hold onto and settling into the pocket of your cheek where it quickly melted away into nothingness. “James. Yes, yes, yes. James.” A wave of heat rolled through you as your release neared, James’ fingers quickening their pace in your pussy as his tongue maintained its steady lapping at your wetness. “I’m - James...” He detached his tongue from you at the desperation of your words.  “Yes, darling?” He purred, slowing the pace of his fingers, waiting for you to say the words that he had waited years for you to say to him. “I’m gonna cum.” A feral grin spread across James’ wet lips, his fingers once again quickening their pace, curling and twisting within you. Lowering his lips back to your cunt, he listened as a string of continuous moans fell from your lips, knowing that you would come undone as soon as he began licking at you again. James savoured the feeling of his tongue running across your clit and he finished you off, your body bowing entirely off the table as your hands flew to his hair, gripping the dark strands as a wave of considerable pleasure slammed into you. His name was a drawn out moan on your lips as he licked you several more times, helping you through the orgasm that had your eyes rolling and your toes curling. Your thighs clenched deliciously around his head, James’ own moan of satisfaction vibrating through the electrified surface of your pussy. When your body collapsed back onto the table, the pupils of your eyes re-emerging with a gasp, James gripped onto your thighs, pulling his head from your heat and gazing upon your sated body, the scent of your arousal drifting up to meet him from between your thighs. You glanced down, the sight of his swollen lips coated with your cum causing a ball of fresh need to form in your lower abdomen. “Fuck me, James. Please.” You blurted, having recovered quickly from your previous orgasm and craving more of the glorious man before you. He laughed darkly, releasing his grip on your thighs and stepping back to survey your body splayed out before him, your cum running from your slit down to the exposed bud of your asshole.  His full erection strained from within the confines of his pants and you groaned at the sight of it, your mouth watering for the feeling of his cock in your mouth. “No, not yet, my dear. Can’t have you feeling too much all at once now can we? You’ll have to wait. We have all of eternity as our disposal, why rush?”  taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler (if you wanna be added or removed just let me know <3)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

hmmm can vampires get sick? maybe sick vampire chris thinking Jake is gonna pull out or file down his fangs? or just thinking Jake’s gonna hurt him?

CW: Sick whumpee, vampire whumpee, blood drinking, vague implications of past sadistic/creepy whumper, dehumanization, vague tooth/mouth whump (nothing direct, but aftermath)

Sort of a sequel to this piece, part of the Vampire Chris AU

"What hurts?" He keeps his voice low, and carefully doesn't hesitate before he lays a hand over the vampire's forehead. Of course it feels lukewarm, room temperature, but he still goes through the motions of feeling for a fever. It's muscle-memory, instinct, and he keeps forgetting Chris is dead.

He has been dead for a long time, if his occasional comments on what sounds like Prohibition are true.

"Bones," Chris whimpers, twisting where he lays in Jake's bed. There's a bright flush in his cheeks from the blood he'd drained from the two men who broke into the house. Those odd eyes glitter, overbright. "My... m'bones hurt, Jake."

His mouth opens, pulling air in over his tongue and down his throat in soft pants, and Jake is reminded that vampires don't sweat. Not the same way, anyway, although with enough blood they can, in thin sheens of pink-tinged liquid that are even more alarming than their tears.

His fangs are visible this way, razor-sharp canines that come down further than the rest of his teeth, a brighter white than all the others from being pulled and regrowing so many times.

Jake swallows against his nervousness, brushing hair away from the vampire's forehead. His slit pupils are dilated, taking up too much of the iris, and he tells himself that Chris is as scared as he is of the instincts that drive him, barely understands them.

Vampires aren't animals - but when they don't understand themselves, they act like it sometimes.

"Do you think maybe those guys were on something? Like, a drug maybe?" He pets through Chris's hair, fingercombing his hair, and watches Chris's eyes flutter closed.

It's hard not to feel more than a little reassured not having to look at them any longer. Which makes him feel guilty, considering this not-a-kid kid just beat up people for hurting him.

Killed them, his brain whispers. Killed them like he could kill you.

"May, maybe," Chris mumbles, and pants again.

His gums seem oddly dark, where normally they're pale, and Jake frowns. He wishes now he knew more about vampire physiology, that he'd paid more attention in class when they took the safety courses on how to avoid them.

There's not exactly a class on caring for one - not unless you can afford to purchase them outright.

"Well, when you were-... uh, before you found us... did you ever feel like this?"

Chris's eyes blink slowly back open and he nods. "Sometimes. My, my, my, my-... someone would, um, take something before, before the party, and I'd..." He groans and shudders. Jake can see the pain move through his body as he trembles nearly violently. "I'd feel like, like, like this after... for hours..."

"Okay. So... probably you just have to let this get worked out of your system, right? Or... is there a medicine?"

"No... just... just drink more." Chris looks up at him, eyes so wide and sad and scared and hurting, and grabs onto his wrist with one hand. Those cool fingers are never not a little startling, colder than the air around them, than the rest of his body.

Vampires have poor circulation, Jake knows, even when they're filled up on a fresh meal. He's seen Chris heal his own wounds before with his tongue, had him explain that they don't heal on their own with time if they're on hands or feet.

"Chris-"

"You, you, you, you-... can, um, you can take my teeth after. You can. I'll hold still. I'll, I'll be good." Chris's plea is barely a whisper.

His nails, which must have been a little too long when he was killed and turned, dig painfully into Jake's wrist in his desperation.

"I'll be so, so, so so so so good, Jake. So good for you, and then, you can, you you you can take my teeth-... Sir always liked it, it makes me me me cry, we we cry blood, Sir liked to take photos of it-"

"Sssshhhh. Hush, Chris." Jake's mind races. There are others in the house, but-... he can't ask them to give up blood to Chris. They've already taken over cleaning the blood up from the hardwood floor. Nat's already dealt with talking to the cops and the EMTs and the coroner before the bodies were taken away. They already handled hiding Chris in a false-backed closet while Jake was interviewed by police officers who looked interested and excited,, not disturbed.

It's not every day you see a vampire attack, after all.

Mostly they're under control, kept on leashes and muzzled like dangerous dogs, the property of rich celebrities looking for novelty in a world where they already have everything. The few ferals are killed pretty fast.

Or so everyone says.

Jake is starting to wonder if there are more vampires out there than he knows about.

The cops had even insisted on checking the attic, as if Chris was a bat they might find hanging upside down. That had been ridiculous, but it's not like Jake could say he knew better without being asked how he knew so much about them in the first place.

Oh, because we keep one like a stray fucking puppy. That wouldn't go over well.

He feels a little woozy from the adrenaline crash, and still aches from the bruised ribs where he was kicked around. His mouth aches from the duct tape they'd put over it, and he'd got a hell of a rash starting around his wrists. He's so exhausted he might collapse.

But... Chris really did show up right on time, and maybe saved his life.

Chris pulls Jake's wrist to his face, nuzzles into the inside of it against the pale blue veins that show through the thin skin. Jake shudders at the feeling, swallowing back a low-level disgust.

He wonders how old the teenager really is - he wonders that all the time.

"You c-can have my teeth, after," Chris whispers, lips moving against Jake's skin. "You can keep them. Sir used to, to, to keep them in a box and show m-me. Just, please, please help me feel better, Jake, please... It won't hurt."

Jake closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "If it'll help... fine. But I'm not taking your teeth. They're yours."

"Thank you," Chris breathes out. "That's, that's, that's okay. I can still fix it for you. Thank you, Jake." His fangs slip back into Jake's skin as easily as a heated knife through warm butter.

The venom hits his bloodstream before the pain hits his nerves, and Jake feels himself slump over, head falling onto Chris's shoulder as all his limbs go dead.

It almost feels good, as his ribs stop aching, and the bruises stop throbbing on his skin. He can see why rich people love it as a party drug. You could drift in this place of perfect no-pain for a long, long time.

He feels only the wet movement of Chris's tongue, the shift of his fangs, the soft pressure of the other teeth pushing down. Chris purrs softly, drinking his blood like a kitten lapping milk.

It goes on and on, and for one terrifying second Jake thinks he's not going to stop until he's dead.

"Ch-... Chris-"

Those fangs slip suddenly out of his skin, the wet cool tongue licks rough over his wounds - closing them instantly.

The venom slowly fades, the aches and pains settling back into his body. Jake groans, feeling weak and exhausted.

Chris has to push him up off his shoulder, with unnatural strength moving him to lay on his side on the bed. Jake can barely keep his eyes open.

Chris, leaning over him, could rip his throat out and he couldn't even raise a hand to try and defend himself right now. Jake sees the body of the first dead robber behind his eyelids, the expression of horror written in eternal rictus in his expression, the blood down his shirt and puddled beneath him on the floor. The other man, fighting until he stopped, slumping until Chris had drained him to death.

"I feel better," Chris whispers, kneading at Jake's shirt briefly. "I, I, I feel so much better. Go to, um, go to sleep, Jake. I'll fix it so you're safe."

Jake can't even begin to understand what that means before he's already slid into something more like unconsciousness than actual sleep. The world around him simply goes black, and the last thing he feels is Chris pulling a blanket up to his chin.

The last thing he hears is those soft padding footsteps leaving the room.

When he wakes, he finds two fangs, pristine white with bloodied roots, sitting in a washcloth next to where his head lays on the pillow. he finds a pair of small pliers on the bathroom sink, with droplets of red around them.

The sun is shining outside the window, a bird singing loud enough to drive a drillbit into his head, and Chris is curled up asleep in the dark at the back of a closet, mouth slightly open.

Jake stares down at the empty spots where his fangs should be, and wonders if he's grateful, or horrified.

-

@burtlederp @finder-of-rings @endless-whump @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband

[ncitygirls]

eternal - jaemin x f reader

fluff, smut, vampire!jaemin, 2.2k

he had yet to utter a word since his confession, and neither had you, though you had tried piecing together a worthy response. he simply watched you as you watched him, your eyes focusing on each delicate ridge in his skin, admiring his nonexistent pores; how the thin slithers of light that broke through the poorly drawn curtain, shone on a bend from the ends of his bangs down and around his chin. a kind reminder of what you swear you have always known, but regret to have never questioned.

“jaemin?”

“my love?”

“have you always been this beautiful?’

he had to admit he was taken back. those are the first words you have said in a long while. they are your first words since he told you three minutes and twenty-five seconds ago - he was counting, not actively, but over time his mind has created room for his thinking to expand, to surpass humanity’s understanding of thought, and most times he welcomes it. but not at times such as these - where he knows he told you three minutes and twenty-five seconds ago, and your first words are in awe of him.

“i told you i am undead.. and that is what troubles you?”

“your beauty is far from troubling,” you retort, eyes still inspecting his face. jaemin’s mind wanders back to when he once pitied humans. how they thought what they saw was really seeing. victims of an already limited life, the human eye is only able to pick up a fraction of their sublime reality. yet the way your eyes traverse each of his features, as if to commit them to memory, he surely found a compelling reason to admit their eyes were not so lacking. “was it the bite that made you so handsome?”

“i wasn’t bitten,” he corrects, as the pads of your thumbs sweep over his cold knuckles, your touch casting a reverence over the scene. he lets out a pretty laugh at your assumption, the soft crease between your brows forming as he destroys your fictional understanding of his kind. “humans have always had a skewed understanding of our lore.”

“so your mother and father were vampires?”

“no.” it has been some time since he has had to explain vampiric lore to a human, but his mind retains his memory of it all the same. “it is not dissimilar to what humans call possession? or a spell? it is a combination of the two.”

“did it hurt?”

jaemin cannot help but melt at the notes of concern lacing your tone. it is his turn to pass his thumb along your knuckles before flipping your hand over, letting his finger trace a swirl in your palm, offering a soft shake of his head. “it makes one feel queasy, a consequence of the change in dietary needs.”

your hand stiffens beneath his touch as your eyes drop to examine them. he fears he has spoken out of turn, pushed the astonishingly pleasant conversation down a dark hole. jaemin once believed humans to be predictable, but you continue to challenge that. “is that why my invites to have you for dinner always go unanswered?”

“i knew that wounded you, angel.”

“it did no such thing!” his chin drops, eyes boring into you in a successful attempt to lure the truth out of you. he immediately softens when you exhale, in defeat of his gaze or distaste at your transparency, he does not know. jaemin would soften all the same. “i will admit, i did make assumptions to make sense of your refusal.”

“did you think i preferred not to visit?” you had never noticed the flecks of red in the perimeter of his irises until now. they glowed slightly, as if enraged, though you know not with you. “there are rules we must follow when entering a new space, silly, unchangable rules.” his frown deepens when you nod, always understanding even when you shouldn’t. “i apologise if I hurt you, angel.”

“hush now, you need not apologise.” you’re proven right when his eyes return to the perfect colour you remember them for: a golden swirl moving within the rich cocoa, shining only as the light hits it. relief floods him when he rests his forehead on your own. he grips your hips firmly, swaying you both as you call for him.

“jaemin, what is it you do eat?”

“pretty girls named y/n.” oh how he wished you would have laughed then, instead of him opening his eyes to find your horror stricken face. “i swear to you that was a joke. that was in poor taste, i am so sorry.” you find his apology hard to believe as his body shakes, shaking your whole frame along with him.

“do not,” you hit his arm once, “mock,” and a second time though ineffective, “me!”

he saves himself quickly, retreating to safety by putting an unrealistic amount of distance between you two in an inexplicable amount of time. when he abandoned you, you nearly collapse forward with the force you were using to hit him before catching yourself.

“come here.”

“i drink blood.” you did not particularly dislike his attempt to stay on topic, just the topic itself. you try to appear enlightened but you have always found it difficult to repress your repulsion. “i know you have no interest in the macabre.”

“blood is meant to be inside you.”

“i think it tastes great.” he quickly arrives in front of you, your open books and abandoned letters fluttering all over the room as his speed garners its own winds. his thumbs journey over the veins on your wrists, slowly trailing up your forearms. he only speaks again when he hooks his thumbs under your jaw, tilting your head to allow his teeth to graze over the column of your neck. “it is reminiscent of fruit. some blood is like grapefruit and lemon. while some are akin to grape, strawberries.”

“oh,” you sigh, heart slowing as his lips drag along the base of your throat. he pulls back, gazing longingly at your wonderment as you feel his mood swing. bitterness seeps into his eyes in how his taste for blood ironically remains the only provision of some kind of memory of flavour, of normality. “do you enjoy it?”

“blood?”

“being a vampire.” no one has ever asked him such a thing. is there anything to enjoy about eternal life? about reliving his youth, being relocated, remade, renewed over and over and over, for an eternity.

as he gazes down at you, he remembers with all the bad must come some good.

“not always,” he smiles knowingly, thinking of his friends. the lives they built for themselves over a combined millennia. it almost makes him retract saying that. “i do regret some things. like allowing haechan to convince us to help real witches free the falsely accused during the witch trials. only to later discover he had a wager on being able to free more than their coven could.” he loved the way your eyes followed along, he loved knowing he could finally share his life in its entirety with you. “i have a thousand reasons why i should hate it, but I cannot bring myself to.”

“why?” he will find a way to forgive himself for giving you a reason to ask. he will ensure you needn’t ask again.

“because,” he whispers into your mouth, his lips slipping between your own, fingers clasped behind your neck. “if i had died in 1625, i would not have had the honour of making your acquaintance.”

“this is hardly an acquaintance,” you remind him, counting his years in your head as he pulls you flush against him utilising less than a speck of his strength. “careful grandsire,” it tumbles from your lips as he licks against your mouth. “i am not sure a man even three hundred years your junior could make it through what you are starting.”

“you needn’t worry about me,’ he sighs, his groin rolling against your own, his fingers clinging to your breakable frame. “though i must confess, my eating pretty girls named y/n was not said solely in jest.” his fingers toy with your knickers, ice cold digits moving freely along the waistband. “in fact, i fear my sanity depends on it. might you be of some aid?”

“who am i to deny a man nearing his fourth century?” he begs himself not to laugh, if only not to kill the mood but more so to avoid dignifying your mockery. his laughter morphs quickly into pants, your hand slotted wickedly between his own and his groin. “how might i be of assistance to you?”

“just as you are,” he whispers, his dulled teeth passing dangerously along the shell of your ear. as a man of his years, patience isn’t something which he is in short supply. but even then, one grows tired of waiting, for coitus, for love, for you. he is quick to remove your hand, finding his own pacing as he presses you against the wall, your heat pulsing beneath his cock, practically leaking. “i forgot how pliant humans are,” it is wicked how he watches you, his fingers rolling your hardened nub betwixt their pads. you shudder at the sight of him, his golden eyes darkening in the sunlit room, his tongue passing over his sharpened teeth. he smirks as you hiss, his fingers pinching your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. his tongue rolls in time with his hips, running his clothed cock along your clothed folds. he is quickly reminded of his strength as his palm collects dust as it meets the wall with a thud, steadying himself as you whine deliciously, his name bleeding from your raw lips. “yes, angel?”

“i need you,” you breathe, gazing up at him as his lips capture yours. your tongues move in tandem, wrapping around the other in a hypnotic frisk. he swallows your whimpers as he lures them out of you. he sucks your tongue into his mouth, hands moving to your rear before lifting you from the ground. he makes little work of you, rendering you a quarter of your size. your ankles lock around his waist as he casts your knickers aside, hissing as the pad of his finger meets your folds.

“might i have a taste now?” he pleads, eyes burning a fiery amber, pure adoration hidden beneath. “please, angel?”

“take all of me, jaemin.” he holds you still, a metre from the ground as he kneels, his hands firm around your thighs before he lowers you over his mouth. his flat tongue licks long stripes up your cunt, tongue flicking along your hooded clit in his descent. he likens you to a spring, his soul knelt before you, preparing an offering to your fountain. he is ready to collect all you offer him, your essence pouring out onto his tongue, soaking his lips, slick down his chin. his eyes fall to a close at the sight of your dazed form, your eyes screwed shut in prayer, his lips puckering around the hood of your clit, the tip of his tongue rolling against the nerve. “jaemin, right there, please.”

he hums in accordance, his tongue circling your clit as your thighs shake on either side of his head. he smirks as you still, his middle and ring finger entering your warm cavern, forcing your hips to roll against his digits. he curves them slowly, pressing against your pink walls, bulging up against your stomach. “you are so fragile,” he says, lips bitten as he watches your body succumb to his touch. he leans closer to you, steadying you on his shoulders to free his hand. he presses his palm to your abdomen, hypnotised by the feeling of his own fingers inside you. letting his thumb drift down, he pulls up the skin hiding your clit, allowing his lips to pucker against the nub before he offers a hard suck. his tongue joins the fold, drinking you in as you let out a sharp cry, the pressure inside and out joining forces to send you over the edge. “when you’re ready, love, come.”

he can feel your skin burning up, see the sheen of sweat coating your entire body. “jaemin,” you continue to chase your high, but cling to the moment. you feel like your convulsions might snap your body in two. that pleasure such as this cannot exist innately, that only he can bestow it on you. you are proven right as you grow more frantic, his fingers rub against the spot inside you that he found with great ease, as his lips suck on your clitoris. the final straw is his gaze, you feel it and fall victim to it. his irises a bright, angelic white, the rim speckled in gold. one cast of your eyes on your lover and you snap.

there is no doubting that as jaemin gazes up at you, he sees glory eternal. he sees life. he sees an angel.

“come angel.”

and you do. jaemin’s simple command breaks a dam, summoning a flood of pleasure you are unsure you will survive. hot iron passes through your veins, lighting you from the inside out. he continues without thought, his lips sucking the pleasure out of you, his fingers still pounding into your swollen pussy. only when your fingers find his hair, pulling him away with a sharp tug does he concede, lowering you into his lap.

“hi,” he says after some time, watching you pant against the wall. “are you still with me?” he jests, palms gliding up and down your aching thighs.

you hum, gazing up at the golden orbs that you decide you mustn’t live without. much like his life, and much like your love. eternal. “always.”

[bloody-roses00]

Jealousy

Stepbro!Shigaraki x Reader

Quirkless AU

Word Count: 2.1k

Warning - dark content below: NSFW, Noncon, Incest (stepcest), Masturbation, Panty Sniffing, Slut-Shaming, Breeding Kink, Jealousy, Yandere

Summary: While your parents are away, Stepbrother Shigaraki decides to teach you a much-needed lesson.

"And where exactly are you going?" Shigaraki questions, setting down his controller after pausing the game. Piercing red eyes looking you up and down, he glares, his lips curling into a snarl as he notices the skimpy outfit you have on.

He hates how short the skirt is, showing off your fleshy thighs, and he detests the way the sweetheart crop top hugs your breasts. But most of all, he despises the fact that you're not wearing it for him.

You look at him in surprise, eyes wide and lips apart as you stammered, "O-oh, Touya's taking me out on a date tonight."

Shigaraki scowled at the mention of your boyfriend. He despised everything about the arrogant bastard you called your boyfriend. Shigaraki knew he didn't like Touya the first time he laid eyes on him. Shigaraki couldn't stand him, hating the way Touya's arm wrapped around your waist with a cocky smirk that Shigaraki wanted to wipe right off his face. He wasn't good for you; Shigaraki was sure about that. But, you didn't see it that way, instead claiming your stepbrother was merely being overprotective. So naive you were, didn't you know guys like Touya only wanted one thing?

You seem to notice his scowl, furrowing your brows as you complained, "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" Shigaraki asks, quirking an eyebrow.

You point a finger in his face, "Don't make that face," crossing your arms, continuing, "I know you don't like Touya for whatever reason, but you don't know him like I do, so you have no right to judge him."

He rolls his eyes, scoffing, "Yeah, whatever. Just go on your stupid date." You click your tongue, turning to head out the door, slamming it behind you without so much as a goodbye. Shigaraki swears underneath his breath, returning his attention to his game, anything to get his mind off of you.

However, Shigaraki can't focus; and it's 45 minutes later after his sixth death in a row that he throws the controller aside, itching and clawing at his neck. He can't ignore the growing tent in his pants any longer, the strain of his hardening cock unbearable. With one thing on his mind, he stands, walking to your shared bathroom.

Fishing through the pile of clothes in the laundry hamper, Shigaraki smirking triumphantly as he pulls out a pair of your used panties. Flopping down onto his bed, he marvels at your used panties, loving the pink lace, so cute.

Bunching up your panties, he presses the dainty fabric against his nose. Drinking in your sweet scent, he pants, his long fingers fumbling for the fly of his jeans.

Freeing his aroused member, he releases a shaky breath as he palms himself. Slowly, he begins stroking his shaft up and down, precum already oozing from the swollen head. His imagination soon takes over, his perverted thoughts all around you, his adorable imouto-chan. Shigaraki wonders what you would do if you found him in such an obscene state, your lacy panties in one hand and his dick in the other. Would you turn a blind eye to it, pretending as if it never happened? Would you be disgusted by him, never being able to look him in the eye again? Or maybe you'd want to punish your perverted nii-san, straddling his face as you ride him, coming undone before his very eyes.

'Nii-san, it feels so good.' you moaned, panting heavily as his tongue explores your innermost crevices.

'Please, nii-san, I-I need more.' you begged, bucking your hips against his face, your eyes rolling back as the pleasure builds in your core.

'I love you, nii-san!' you cried as you reached your peak, fingers tangling his white locks as you rode out your orgasm, thighs quivering.

Shigaraki knows deep down it's wrong; that what he's doing is depraved. He shouldn't feel this way towards his little stepsister, but he can't help it. Rubbing your panties across his engorged cock, his hips stutter as he fucks your panties to the thought of you. It's not long before he finds his release, collapsing onto the bed, panting as he looks at your soiled panties, now coated with his sticky seed.

It's only a few minutes later that Shigaraki hears the open and close of the front door, followed by faint footsteps creeping past his door. Odd, usually when you came home from your little dates, you'd be giggling like an obnoxious schoolgirl.

Sitting up from his bed, he pads over to your room. He doesn't even think to knock, the door slightly ajar. His eyes widen when he barges in, catching you midway through undressing, in the process of tugging off your skirt, clad in only your white bra and matching panties. But that's not what catches his attention. No, it's the fresh, red marks that paint your skin, lining your collarbone down to your inner thighs. Knowing just who gave you those hickeys, his blood boils, quickly narrowing the distance between the two of you.

You notice his intruding presence all too late, covering yourself with your arms the best you can as you screamed, "Get out!" However, Shigaraki has no such plans. He advances towards you, quickly caging you against the wall, vermillion eyes sharp as he stares you down. You attack him, hitting him in the chest, as you yell, "What the hell, Shigaraki; I said get out!"

He ignores your pathetic attempt at self-defense, unbudging as he seizes your wrists, pinning your arms above you as you yelp in pain from his tight grip.

"You. little. slut." Shigaraki seethes, one hand leaving your wrists, painfully gripping your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye.

With tears pricking your eyes, you sniffle, begging, "You're hurting me. Please, just let me go."

Shigaraki cackles, a sick grin on his face as he rasps, "Let you go? You really think I'd let you go?" his eyes darkening, "No, bad girls like you need to be taught a lesson."

Before you can even protest, he's slamming his lips into yours, his tongue down your throat. It feels like an eternity has passed before he pulls away, allowing you to catch your breath, panting. The look of disgust is evident on your face as you wipe your lips, desperate to erase any trace of his lips on yours. Taking advantage of your distraction, Shigaraki grabs you by your hair, pulling you towards your bed, pushing you onto the mattress.

You attempt to bolt from him, but Shigaraki is all too quick to push you back onto the bed, pinning you underneath him. With teary eyes, you whimper, "P-Please, don't do this. This is wrong; you're my stepbrother."

Shigaraki smirks, "That just makes it hotter, imouto-chan."

With that, his lips are on yours once again, his hands groping your breasts, tweaking your nipples. His lips move down from your lips to your neck, nipping and sucking at the already tender flesh. You bite your lip to try and silence your moans, but Shigaraki notices, halting his assault on your neck, "Ah ah, I want to hear you moan for your nii-san."

With lust-filled eyes, Shigaraki pulls up your bra, licking his lips as he takes in the sight of your exposed breasts. You gasp as his wet tongue laps at one of your nipples, taking it into his mouth, twirling it around. He doesn't forget about your other breast, teasing it by rolling the hardened bud between his fingers. After a few moments, he switches his attention to your other breast, giving it the same treatment as he did the other.

His mouth leaves your breast with a pop, positioning his knee between your legs, spreading them wide. Ridding himself of his jeans, Shigaraki palms himself through the fabric of his boxers, watching you with half-lidded eyes. His free hand travels to your underwear, fingers tracing over your slit. Upon finding your panties damp with your juices, he smirks in satisfaction, "Looks like you're enjoying this as much as me."

Shaking your head, your face flushes with embarrassment. Shigaraki clicks his tongue, chiding you, "No one likes a liar, imouto-chan; besides, your body's saying just the opposite."

However, when Shigaraki begins to peel away your panties, you fight back against him, pushing against his chest. Eyes wide with fear, you plead to your stepbrother, "Please, nii-chan, I'm tired; can't we just cuddle?" He sees right through your lie, knowing that you're just trying to find a way out of this, to buy yourself some time.

Cupping your face, he brushes away a few tears that stray from your eyes, trying to comfort you, "Don't worry, imouto-chan, I'll make you feel good. Now just lay back and enjoy yourself."

With your head lying back on his pillow, you clench your fists, sniffling as he successfully peels off your panties. He makes a mental note to save them to add to his collection. Freeing his erect cock from the confines of his boxers, he feels you tense below him, your eyes widening at the view of the pale pink organ.

Rubbing his inflamed cock up and down, he lines himself up with your entrance, teasing your slit by rubbing the rounded tip against your folds. Slowly entering you, Shigaraki hisses at your tightness, your velvety walls contracting against him. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tightly grip onto the sheets below you as tears fall down your cheeks.

As he bottoms out inside you, Shigaraki groans, allowing you time to adjust. You were made for him, your walls fitting around him perfectly. Kissing your tears away, he begins gently rocking his hips. "Fuck." he murmurs, his eyes watching as his cock is swallowed up by your cunt, your stomach bulging with the imprint of his dick. Repositioning himself, he throws your legs over his shoulders, giving better access to your gummy hole. As he begins pounding into you, you can't contain yourself any longer, moaning as he thrusts into you.

"That's it, baby sis, let it all out for big brother." Shigaraki praises, his lips latching onto your sensitive breast. Wanting to excite more of those noises from you, his hand wanders to your clit, rubbing the nub with his thumb. He accomplishes just that as you are overcome with the pleasure flooding you, throwing your head back as you mewl.

You're a mess, creaming on your stepbrother's cock, eyes glazed over as you're being dicked down. You're his mess, Shigaraki muses; no one else can have you. But the love bites that cover your body tell him otherwise, and he just...he needs to know.

"Tell nii-san who owns this slutty pussy." Shigaraki grunts, his balls slapping against your ass as he picks up the pace. You shake your head back and forth, your lips pressed into a tight line as you refuse to answer him.

Stubborn little brat.

"Don't make me repeat myself," Shigaraki growls, his length nearly pulling out of you before slamming back in. This action causes you to squeal, Shigaraki doing it over and over again.

He hardly even hears it at first, your voice low and riddled with shame. "What was that?" He questions, Shigaraki showing your hole no mercy, pummeling into you with such brutality.

You have a conflicted look on your face, your lips wavering as you remain silent.

"Hmm, no answer, that's too bad; guess I'll just have to cum inside then." His statement gets an immediate reaction out of you, your hands pressed against his chest in protest.

"No! Not inside! Wait, I'll say it!" You urged, his threat working just as planned.

Shigaraki quirks an eyebrow, waiting for your response as he quickens his pace, the tip of his cock kissing the entrance to your womb.

You're nearing your end too, it seems, he can feel your walls beginning to suck him in.

"Nii-san does! Nii-san owns my pussy!" you wail, Shigaraki's hips stuttering as your walls clamp down on him, the two of you climaxing together.

He collapses on the bed beside you, watching as your chest rapidly rises and falls. On your face, a look of betrayal as you feel the warmth of his seed deep inside you.

Tears pool in your eyes, stammering as you tried not to break down, "Y-You came inside...but you promised-"

Shigaraki cuts you off with a short kiss to your lips, pulling away with a mischievous grin, "You said I own your pussy, didn't you? So that means I can do whatever I want with it. Right, imouto-chan?"

And what better way to show he owned you than to have you swollen with his child?

[sukiglycerin]

it takes two || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: pro-hero!katsuki bakugou x reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: fluff, teeny bit of angst

* words: 1,647

* warnings: brief fighting scene (implied), swearing (duh), a lil bit of insecure katsuki but ofc comfort after, reader is mentioned to be in the hero business field, KATSUKI WEARS SHOES IN THE HOUSE !!! can you believe the audacity-

* original request:  Hello dear :)) Can I request a Bakugou x reader fic where he gets hit by a clone quirk and the clone is like the complete opposite of him, personality-wise, and Bakugou frequently loses his temper because the clone keeps hitting on his s/o I am sorry for bothering you :(

* a/n: you? bother me? never. actually, i’m sorry this took so long to complete! i’m hoping i can restart a consistent posting schedule soon. happy early birthday bakugou! this is my gift :) i hope you all enjoy~ i love @toishi for proofreading this T^T

it’s a lazy day for you. all you’ve been doing is sleeping, waking up occasionally to eat, and indulging in six different rhythm games despite your lack of rhythm, it’s a good day, snuggled up under the mountains of fuzzy blankets and squished in between soft pillows on your bed, your favorite song quietly playing from your phone on your nightstand. natural light fills your otherwise unlit room, curtains pushed aside to let the sun shine in her full glory. time is idle in this sanctuary of yours for only today; whether a minute or an hour has passed is something out of your concern. 

there’s nothing different when bakugou comes home, the jingle of keys and click of the door telling you that it’s him. he’s oddly quiet, though, and for a second you’re almost wondering why he hasn’t yelled “i’m home, dumbass!” before said blond peeks his head into the room. 

“hey, love,” he flashes a rare smile. it’s kind, like the soft light of the sun you've become so acquainted with. “i’m home.”

“hey?” you sit up, propping the pillows behind you so you can comfortably lean against the headboard of your bed. “you feeling alright?”

you expect a gruff reply of “the fuck are you talking about?” and a scowl, but get the opposite. a pleasant expression graces katsuki's face, which makes him look more handsome than usual. his hair almost seems tame this way. he’s also uncharacteristically clean; his costume is usually dirt-treaded and at least a little battered whenever he returns from hero patrol. now, though? his outfit is pristine, as if pulled out from a laundromat and ironed professionally. there’s a ghost of a frown on your lips.

"i'm lovely, now that i can see you." the line is spoken like a sappy confession from the male lead of a k-drama; you'd laugh if it wasn't for your utter confusion about katsuki's sudden change in demeanor. his facial expression is twisted in such a gallant way that it arouses suspicion in you.

you’re opening your mouth to reply when there’s a startling crashing at the front door. katsuki’s face falls into downhearted dread, as if expecting the intrusion. his reaction surprises you more than the intrusion itself. the door slams shut in the distance, rattling the house. the sound of boots clomping against the hardwood floor frightens you as you thrust your warm sheets aside (alas, they could wait) and reach for your bat under the bed. katsuki only stares at you, transfixed, and you feel the slightest urge to clobber him with the weapon. why isn’t he ready to fight? you’re up and approaching the doorway of your bedroom when you stop in your tracks.

“hey, fucker!” a loud, abrasive voice yells from down the hallway. “i found ya!”

you recognize that timbre in an instant, then turn to look at katsuki, still standing at your bedside, with a questioning gaze. he’s wearing an expression you never thought you’d see your husband have - his eyes are wide, mouth agape like a deer in headlights.

despite this vote of inconfidence from him, you pad forward slowly, bat gripped tightly and slung over your shoulder. you plunge forward, passing the doorway and glancing left. a shadowy figure stands five feet from you, its stature menacing. you swing blindly, but you bat is only met with more air. the figure is a little bit further now - damnit, it had good reflexes.

“you could still use some work on that swing,” it lowly chuckles and confuses you. you squint, trying to make out who in the world this guy thinks he is to comment on your swing. you gasp, faltering your grip on the bat. 

“k-katsuki? what?”

“got hit with a stupid clone quirk on patrol,” this katsuki grumbles bitterly, stepping towards you. he’s dressed in his full hero costume, green grenadier bracers a tight fit in the narrow hallway. “i apprehended the guy but my clone won’t stop following me around. it’s stupidly fast, too, whenever i try to catch it.”

“....and,” you start, “how do i know that you’re not the clone?” you pretend to inspect him close, eyes slowly trailing from the tips of his spiky, golden hair to his black combat boots. (oh, man, you were going to yell at him about wearing shoes in the house later.)

“don’t start this inception bullshit with me now,” he groans. 

“what’s katsuki bakugou’s favorite food?” you question, though you have no doubt that this katsuki is the real one. 

“anything spicy,” he bemoans. “now, let me-”

“that was an easy one.” you shake your head. “what was the first idea katsuki bakugou had for a hero name idea instead of lord explosion murder?”

if you were in better light, you’re sure you would’ve seen his cheeks flush pink. 

“mighty boom,” he mumbles. 

“sorry, what was that?” you tease.

“mighty boom!” he half-shouts, flustered.

“oh, okay, so you’re the real katsuki,” you say. “how do we defeat the clone?’

“according to the quirk user, it should disappear after two or three hours. but it can’t really do much harm, as long as it’s not in the sight of the user himself,” he says. “now let me at ‘im. he’s making a fool of myself.” 

he attempts to shove himself forward, but you stop him before he can see through the door frame. you glance at the clone, who’s looking at you with round, ruby eyes. he looks like a puppy with that innocent expression, and for a split second, you think that you actually might miss the calm, charming air of this katsuki. turning back to the real katsuki, who pretends not to notice the shift in your eyes, you exhale. 

“have at it, but take it outside first, please. i can’t have you tracking in more dirt.” you look to the dirt-ridden footprints behind him on the wooden flooring, sighing.

but in a flash he’s past you - wow, you really weren’t blocking him at all before, were you? - outfit a blur of black, green, and orange as he seizes the clone, slings it over his shoulder like it's made of air, and vanishes past you and out the door. he seldom leaves a trace of dirt, this time, smooth maneuvering himself outside while the clone bids you one last pleading farewell.

you hear blasting, yelling, and yelps, the lattermost presumably the clone’s, barely muffled from your position inside. your first thought wonders what the neighbors will think. you glance one last time at the tracks of katsuki’s boots then turn back to your room. he’d have to mop up that mess later. 

ten minutes and an eternity later, katsuki returns inside. by the pause at the front door, you figure one of two things: katsuki’s either taking the time to take off his shoes and put them away properly or staring at the filth he left on the floor. you’re hoping it’s the former. his footsteps are light as he goes to fetch a mop and clean the mess.

finished, he shuffles into your shared room and briefly looks at your comfortable position on the bed.

“what?” you whine. “hero business is hard. i needed a day off.”

this earns a laugh from the man, who’s in the process of removing his gauntlets and stowing them away. he shrugs off the rest of his costume, opting for much more comfortable attire and dropping his mask on a dresser. 

“how was your day?” you ask when he snuggles next to you on the bed. he’s sweaty and smells deeply of caramel, but you’ll nag him to shower later. the wear shows in his eyes and movement, sluggish after a long day of work. 

“good,” he mumbles, nuzzling into your warmth. “except for that clone bastard.”

you hum, joking, “he was charming, though.”

when he looks up at you with a vulnerable look in his eyes, you regret it.

“did you… really like him that much?” his voice is hoarse, scarcely a whisper. he averts his eyes, fiddling with the hem of your shirt sleeve.

“of course not,” you reply tenderly, bringing your hand to caress his cheek. he still can’t look you in the eyes.

“you know you’ll always be number one in my heart, right? even if you’re not the number one hero, you’re the constant in my heart.” you touch your chest, right over your heart. 

“y-you sure?” his words crackle like dying embers, inconsistent and unstable, flakes of lit ash that weakly dissipate into the atmosphere. a waning fire is still warm, though; with a bit of oxygen it can be rejuvenated, relit, and burn bright once again. 

“am i one to be wrong?” you ask him, and he faintly shakes his head. “i fell in love with you not for your looks, katsuki… i don’t want a disney prince. i want you, not some fairytale guy.”

“i yell, and i’m brash-”

you cut him off, chuckling, “and that’s what i love about you. you don’t-” you make a vague gesture with your hands, then drop them, unsure how to articulate your thoughts. “you don’t care what people think. you’re unapologetically… you.”

“you sure?” katsuki tries again. “that- that guy, that thing- you sure you don’t prefer a guy that’ll buy you roses with a note on the tag that says ‘you are the most beautiful flower in my garden’ in fancy cursive script on it?”

“do people really do that?” you frown. “i mean, i hope no guy does that for me-” katsuki exhales a breath of relief. you look at him questioningly but don’t press the issue. 

“i love you, katsuki,” you finish, “and no shitty clone will ever change that. ever.”

while he showers, katsuki’s thankful that he burned the roses from some secret admirer he found in your shoe locker during your high school days. 

[kayssweetdreams]

Camp WonderDream: Temple Trouble Part 7

Meanwhile, in the Mess Hall Kitchen...

Saltbaker had finally found the recipe for Eternal Gelatin. He had been rifling through a lot of recipes that involves the Eternal Water, but THIS one could actually revive Chalice from the Astral Plane. He had all of the ingredients, and was about to get started, when he remembered Leo's glimpse into the future. "Hmm...Maybe I can make it later..." He said, hiding the recipe, and the bottle inside of a cabinet, and locking it. He went off to prepare food for the Campers lunch, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Leo's vison was going to happen MUCH sooner than he thought ...

Meanwhile, Back in the Forest...

"Leo!! Leo? Leo where are you?" The calls went unheaded to the boy as the Counselors, and a small group of kids were looking for him "C'mon Leo! We need to know what you saw!" Lili cried out, looking into a bush "And We're really worried about You!" Emma yelled out, looking behind a tree. NiGHTS hovered through the trees, until her head bumped against a leg dangling from a branch, and found Leo fast asleep on it. "I found him!" She yelled, waking the boy up and causing him to fall with a yell. Balan caught him before he hit the ground "Snoozing are we?" He asked playfully, setting Leo back down.

The blonde haired boy glared at him. "I was TRYING to relax my mind, now that I have the ability to see into the future now." He said, as he pouted. Emma placed a hand on Leo's shoulder "I'm sure it's not so bad Leo...Now you can see what happens next in the future!" She said, trying to be encouraging. "Yeah, until eventually people think I'm crazy." He shot back.

Cuphead gave a smile "Hey, maybe you can have people pay you to tell them their futures! I know I would do that if I could see the future!" He said, the thought of him swimming in a pool of money filled his daydreams. Balan raised an eyebrow "Yeah, but then again, using Magic is hard, especially for someone who hasn't experienced magic before. So I can imagine that Leo that having a hard time adjusting to his new ability." He said.

Leo glared at him, this was turning into a pity party for him. Sure he didn't know WHY he had to be the one to gain the future sight, but he knew that he wanted nothing to do with it. "I'm fine...Maybe it'll go away over time. Not everyone gets magic forever right?" He asked. Everyone either looked down, or away from him...which pretty much gave him his answer "It's not gonna go away is it?" He asked bluntly. Balan subtly nodded, causing a groan to erupt from Leo "GREAT! So now not only am I stuck with this random ability to see the future, but now it's never going to go away!!" He shouted, hitting his head against a tree.

Balan pat his shoulder "Don't think of it like That Leo, some good can come from it." He encouraged, but the boy didn't see it that way. "Yeah Sure. Like a lifetime in a padded room." He snarked. "No Leo, not like that. If you can SEE the future, you can also CHANGE it." Balan explained. Leo didn't understand what Balan meant, but the sounds of the triangle at the mess hall rang. "Well, Let's not sit out here with our tummies rumbling, let us go grab a bite to eat." The Counselor said cheerfully, snapping his fingers, and transporting the small group back to the camp's mess hall, but the thought of future vision still lingered in his mind

"Maybe I can see how I get rid of it..."

This is a story inspired by @julili 's VERY adorable camp pic! I hope you enjoy AND go check out her work!

[afictionalwhore]

Room for Two

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❀ AN: this is a gift for @lorlocks as a thank you for all her wonderful and beautiful art. Pls go check her out. She is amazing OTL

❀ TW: Shig being fluffy?

❀ WC: 2.6k

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It was in college that you met Shigaraki and the rest of the League. After a rough week of classes you wandered into the bar operated by the League. In your drunken state, you had confided your college girl woes to Kurogiri, who handed information about your quirk to Shigaraki. Later in the week, you found the leader of the League, along with Dabi, sitting on your worn couch. The two had planned to kidnap you, but after just a few minutes of talking, they were pleasantly surprised to find that you were more than willing to just go along with them.

Due to your quiet demeanor, you weren’t usually picked to go out on missions with the others, but your beloved leader deemed it dangerous enough to make use of your quirk. You didn’t have a dangerous quirk like Toga or Shig. It was the opposite. You could project a force field and protect those surrounding you from both physical attacks and objects and quirks like Aizawa and Shinsou’s. Your quirk, shield, was perfect for hero work. You were even recommended to UA in the sidekick program. But your social skills failed and you graduated without a job lined up and without friends.

This is how you ended up with Shig. You were scheduled to go on a small breakin mission the next morning with Shig as a test of your quirk before his planned attack on your alma mater. He wanted to make sure you could protect him in case anything went wrong.

You traveled far outside the usual vicinity of league activities so as not to arouse suspicion. Hours into your journey, as the sun began to set, your tire blew.

“Fucking dammit,” Shig said as he kicked the blown tire after you pointed out the screw lodged in it. Luckily, you had learned a few mechanics from your father. The man insisted you knew how to change a tire lest you fall helpless to a gang of villains on the side of the road. You shook your head, knowing his disapproval if he saw your current company now.

Shigaraki’s pacing and grumbling behind you made you more nervous than you’d have liked. You coughed while working, hoping to gain his attention. The lanky man continued his ways, wearing a hole in the dirt behind you. You coughed again, this time catching his attention.

“What’s the matter?” he scratched.

“Nothing, just. It’s getting late, and I think we should find a place for the night.”

“And? So?”

“Well, uh,” you stuttered. “There's a motel not far down the road. We passed it not long ago. Umm. Why don’t you get us a couple rooms for the night?”

The heavy padding of Shigaraki’s footsteps stopped behind you. You felt his staring on your back, and panicked for a moment. You tracked back through what you could have said to have upset him. Suggesting he walk alone back to a shady motel in the middle of nowhere could definitely have done it.

“You’re right,” you heard his rough, scratchy voice and felt yourself visibly relax.

“My, um,” you stumbled through your words, not expecting to get this far. “My wallet is in the console. You can get my card out and—”

“Tsch,” Shigaraki cut you off, “Are you stupid or something? Use your card with your name? They’ll trace back to you and expose us. It’s fine. I have cash.” A dry hand reached up to scratch at his neck.

There was the Shig you knew and loved. But he had a good point. You blushed as you bent back down to continue your work.

You relaxed as you heard Shigaraki’s footsteps recede. You were finally able to focus on the task at hand. You thought about your situation as you removed the hubcap. You had gone with Shigaraki and Dabi first to find meaning in your lonely life. The more time you spent with the league, you began to find your place in the world.

You never really had a place to fit in, and maybe that’s why you felt that you finally did fit in with the League of Villains. All of you, in some way, shape, or form, were outcasts of society and held a distaste for hero society. Even in the place you felt you fit best, you were still deemed an oddball. Shy and always blushing, you never really had much to say, opting to go along with what the others wanted.

It was safe to say that now you were in love with your boss. It was true that you initially went with the villainous pair back to the hideout because you wanted something more to your life, but you couldn’t deny your initial attraction to the pale, blue-haired man. He intrigued you, to say the least. But as you learned more about what exactly it was that made him tick, you found yourself falling for the man. You prayed your blush would go unnoticed every time his crimson eyes met yours.

Before you knew it, you had successfully replaced the flat tire with the spare. You made your way back toward the motel, slowly so as not to upset the spare you knew wouldn’t make it over forty. You slowly rolled the car into the decrepit parking lot, careful not to hit too many of the potholes littering the asphalt.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you heard the old receptionist say as you walked in through dusty glass doors. The jingle of a bell caused her to look up at you and away from Shigaraki. She glanced back towards the chatter of voices from the TV behind her, clearly more concerned about the soap opera in the background that she was missing due to her argument with your boss. “We only have the one room.”

Shigaraki turned to see you had made it, a hand pausing its scratching on the back of his neck. Behind you past the dirty glass doors sat your car in the lot. For a moment you thought you saw a flicker of relief in his bright red eyes. Your heart jumped at the thought of him thinking of you. You shoved the fluttering feeling back down and told yourself he was only relieved at your presence as a way to end his argument with the frumpy receptionist.

“Fine,” he sighed as he snatched the plastic key card from the woman. “We’ll take it. Save some money I guess.”

After stumbling awkwardly through the halls, you had finally found your room. It took three tries with the key card before you were actually in your room. It was everything you expected to be, judging from the looks of the exterior of the motel.

Yellowing, floral wallpaper that was as old as your grandparents decorated the room. The ceiling boasted a popcorn texture that you were sure contained enough asbestos to send the entirety of the League to the hospital. The carpet was a cream color, dingy with age and rough on your feet. There was a small ensuite, which you were thankful for, from which you could hear the gentle dripping off the shower. Against one wall was a TV that had to have been from the late 90s, high technology of its time now bought at a discount rate to furnish a sketchy motel. Perhaps the worst part of the setup was right across from the TV: a single bed in the middle of the room.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“Maybe there’s a pull-out? I’ve seen something like it on American TV,” you suggested, trying to alleviate the awkwardness that settled into the room.

“Don’t be stupid,” Shigaraki said. He walked towards the bed before flopping on top, shoes still on. The headboard was placed against a long wall, and the floral bedding looked as scratchy as your partner sounded. He dug through the bedside table, searching for a remote to the television.

You took your shoes off by the door before slipping your stockinged feet into the complementary slippers. They were once a soft yet vibrant pink, but now they boasted a dirty, pale gray with a hint of their former pink glory. You padded your way to the bed and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed as Shigaraki occupied the majority of the space on the bed. He looked bored, irritated even as he lazily searched the TV. After a few seconds, which felt like eternity to you, you stood and walked over to the bathroom.

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said, standing in front of the en suite while Shigaraki flipped through the few channels on the cable television. You stood for a moment, waiting to be acknowledged by the man.

“Well?” he said, eyes still glued to the faint blue glow of the screen. “Why are you just standing there? Go take a shower.”

“I just wanted to see if you wanted to go first or needed anything before I start,” you said, before turning to the bathroom and gently closing the door behind you.

You slipped on the rubber shower slippers, praying you wouldn’t get athlete’s foot or worse. On the near end of the bathroom, old towels rested on a shelf above the toilet. Across was the shower. After a moment of fiddling with the knobs, you managed to turn on the shower. The pressure was better than you had expected, and you thanked the heavens that you didn’t have to wait long for the hot spray. A hot shower was just what you needed to wash away your anxieties.

When you finished, you stepped out of the bathroom and slipped back into the sad pink slippers. Shigaraki was on the bed with a pizza.

“Figured you’d get hungry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and helping himself to another slice.

You sat back down on the bed, staying in the corner you previously occupied before your shower.

“Thank you,” you said. You were thankful for the dull orangey lighting that hid your blush from Shigaraki’s scrutinizing red gaze.

The two of you ate in silence, watching whatever American drama Shigaraki had found. After a few hours, your exhaustion had caught up with you. Your yawning hadn’t gone unnoticed by Shigaraki.

“We should go to sleep now.” Shigaraki swung his lanky body off the bed to go turn off the lights.

“I could sleep on the floor, if you want,” you offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Shigaraki huffed. He clambered back onto the bed and refused to look at you as he pulled the blankets over him. “Just stay on your side.”

“Okay,” you sighed. “Goodnight, Shigaraki.”

“Goodnight,” came the rough reply you weren’t expecting.

Despite your heart pounding in your chest, loud enough that you swore Shigaraki could hear it as well, you drifted off with a smile on your face.

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Shigaraki never had a normal sleeping schedule. He was used to waking up at odd hours in the early morning while everyone else was asleep.

With a slight groan, Shigaraki stretched and turned to look at the cheap alarm clock on the bedside table on the other side of you. Electric red numbers stared back at his crimson eyes, reading 2:31. He looked at your dozing frame beside him, curled into the corner of the single bed in order to give him space. Slowly, so as not to disturb you, he slipped out of the bed. He was thankful for the rough carpet and not cold hard flooring as he padded his way to the cramped bathroom.

“Shit,” he whispered as he flicked on the lights. The buzzing of the fan echoed throughout the motel room. Shigaraki glanced over to your sleeping form to make sure he hadn’t disrupted you. Everything always seems too loud at two in the morning. But since you were asleep and he was trying to be quiet, everything felt truly too loud: the soft hum of the fluorescent bathroom lights, the irritating fan, the flushing of the toilet, the padding of his feet back across the dirty carpet, and the creak of the bed as he crawled back in beside you.

Shigaraki lay awake for some time, studying patterns in the horrendous popcorn ceiling like a child looking for shapes in the clouds. You lay fast asleep beside him. As Shigaraki listened to your gentle sleeping, he thought about what you meant to him. You had a valuable quirk for sure, and he was thankful for Kurogiri tipping him off about you. The truth was that he already knew of you. His eyes had been locked on you since the moment you walked into the bar, and when you went with him so willingly that fateful day, he thought he would melt on the spot.

Of course, Shigaraki had an image to uphold. He would die before admitting he had feelings for you. When you mentioned getting a motel, he couldn’t believe his luck. When there was only one room left, he thought he had to be in a dream. His fumbling with the key card was from his nervousness about sharing a room with you. He felt like a teenage boy trying and failing to impress you. His heart nearly leapt out of his throat when he saw the single bed in the motel room. When you stepped out of the bathroom wringing your hair out in a towel, head cocked adorably to the side, he thought he really had died earlier and gone to heaven, despite his actions on earth.

Shigaraki was terrified that you wouldn’t return his feelings. He was repulsive in his eyes. Who would want him with his scratchy voice, too high for a man in his opinion? His shaggy pale hair, rampant with dandruff? And his dry, flaking skin, that every lotion on earth never seemed to help? Looks aside, Shigaraki couldn’t take you out on dates. He couldn’t give you what you deserved. He couldn’t even hold your hand without risking your life. Shigaraki groaned as he dropped his face in his hands. Dabi would surely laugh at him if he could see him now.

A slight shaking of the bed broke him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at you as you continued to shiver. Shigaraki felt his heart swell as he took in your sleeping form. You were too good for him, having curled yourself onto the far side of the bed to give him enough room. You pushed the blankets off of yourself to keep him comfortable and warm.

Before he realized what he was doing, Shigaraki scooted himself closer to you. He pulled the blanket across him to cover your shivering form. It wasn’t until he had seen you relax that he was able to fall back into a dreamless sleep.

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The sun peeking through the gap in the curtains woke you up. The clock in front of you said it was only just past 7 A.M.

You hummed and tried to turn on your back, hoping to stretch your limbs, but something solid kept you from moving. You slowly opened your eyes, as though what you were hoping for would disappear if you opened them too quickly. It seemed too good to be true.

Curled into your back was the very object of your affections. His face was burrowed into his hair, and an arm was wrapped carefully around your waist. Even in sleep, he was careful not to touch you with all five fingers, instead curling his hand into a fist and tucking it underneath your bodies.

Gingerly, you tried to shift to relax your tensed muscles without disturbing Shigaraki.

“Stay,” you heard who was undeniably the man you were trying not to wake whisper. He nuzzled deeper into your hair and pressed his arm tighter against you.

“Okay,” you breathed, and relaxed against Shigaraki, a soft smile crossing your face, and fell back into a sweet sleep.

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[forever-rogue]

List #1: either 152 or 246 for Frankie 😌

I ended up going with #246: “please don’t do this.” Enjoy!

Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader ; warnings: angst, mention of drug use, ptsd

Frankie Masterlist

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“Frankie?” you waved your hand in front of his face as he zoned out, staring blankly at the window behind you. You were in the middle of dinner at a nice restaurant and just as quickly as he tuned into your conversation, he had tuned out again. You let out a small sigh, “Francisco? Love?”

It took him a few moments to snap out of his little daze before came back to reality and gave you a confused expression. You reached for his hand, attempting to give him a gentle, reassuring touch, but he quickly moved his hand and flinched out of your touch, “sorry. It’s fine.”

“Francisco,” you whispered softly, trying not to take his rejection of your touch too personally, “what’s going on, my love? Where did you go?”

“Nothing - nowhere," he insisted sharply, grabbing his glass of wine and downing the rest without hesitation. Your face must have given you away because he quickly shook his head in apology, internally groaning at himself for snapping at you, “I’m sorry. Just tired.”

“Yeah?” you asked softly as he nodded, still refusing to make eye contact with you for longer than a few seconds. You turned back to your half finished meal, pushing around some of the food on your plate, trying to will down the tears that were burning the back of your eyes. You weren’t going to cry, no, no. no. Not now anyways. You plastered a small smile on your face as you turned to look at him, “okay. I love you.”

“Love you too,” it was a quiet, non-committal thing as he continued eating.

The rest of dinner was a stunted, silent affair as neither of you said another word. When the waiter came by to drop off the check, Frankie took it without a word and paid. As you left and walked back to his truck, you let yourself fall a few paces behind him, wondering what you had done, if anything, to cause the sudden divide. 

He drove you home with the only light crackling of the aging radio playing some classic rock music. The tension in the air was palpable and could easily be cut with the dullest of knives, but you refused to speak. If anything, you didn’t want him to lash out again or do anything to send him further away again. 

He pulled up to your building, letting the truck idle as you weren’t quite sure what to do. You’d half thought that you were going to go home with him this evening and spend the weekend at his, as you’d often taken to doing in the last few months, but as soon as he’d shut down, you had a feeling it wasn’t happening. 

Clearing your throat, you grabbed your purse and slowly opened the door, already feeling much colder and empty. This wasn’t how you’d pictured this night at all. 

“Good night Frankie,” you whispered softly, looking at him and wishing he’d just look back at you. He gave you a nod of his head, signaling he’d heard you before turning his head to give you a weak smile. It lasted for a mere fraction of a second before he was staring at the steering wheel, “text me when you get home?” 

“Sure,” he responded quietly as you got and closed the door, “good night.”

When you realized that was the best you were going to get from him, you stepped onto the sidewalk and gently closed the truck door. You wanted to turn around and beg him to stay or talk to you or something  - but you didn’t even turn around. You decided that this was better for another time...maybe he really did just need some space right now. 

He waited until you were safely inside the building before pulling away from the curb and heading off to his own house. You were on the verge of tears again but managed to hold them all back into your stepping into your apartment. As soon as you were in the quiet and empty space, you let the tears flow freely, giving up on doing anything else and dragging yourself to your bedroom. 

Frankie didn’t text you that night. Or the next day. Or the day after that.

By Monday, you were worried sick.

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It was dark by the time you left work; you'd texted and called Frankie, but had gotten no response. It was then that you'd made your decision and planned to stop by his place after work. 

When you pulled up to his house, a sigh of relief escaped your lips when you spied his truck in the driveway. You quickly parked and dashed towards his door. A frown worked its way onto your face as you noticed that there were no lights on. 

Fishing the key that he'd given you of your pocket, you unlocked the door and were met with only silence and darkness. A lump welled up in your throat as you walked inside, "Frankie?"

You walked in and looked around, finding that things were almost identical to how they were when you stopped by a few days ago. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

You hoped this didn't mean….no. He was clean - he had been for some time and you didn't think anything would cause him to turn back to his vices. He'd always been open and honest with you about his struggles with sobriety and how much it meant to be off of the stuff for good.

And in the almost year you'd been dating, you'd supported him and been there during at least a handful of hard nights. They were times when he'd call, quiet and broken, asking you to come over without explanation. You'd never pried, never pushed him, rather you'd just held him, supported him however he needed. He always said you were a rock in his life, his sunshine amidst the darkness of the world.

If that's what he was struggling with again, why would he have just told you? You'd never judge him or make him feel bad or anything. You loved him, unconditionally, and that meant supporting him through the tough times as well as the easy ones. Nothing was going to change that.

"Frankie?" you sighed quietly as you padded down the hall to his bedroom. The house was cold and felt empty, but you had a feeling he was there, "Francisco?"

You hesitated slightly before stepping into his bedroom, pushing the door open the rest of the way before entering. The room was shrouded in darkness, the last bits of light from the sunset creeping in through the window. The television was on, but muted, playing some reruns of old football games. 

Your eyes crossed the room and you finally spied him on the bed, laying on top of the blankets as he stared at the ceiling. He didn't move or blink or anything to acknowledge your presence. Your heart started to beat wildly as you walked over to him.

"Frankie? Love?" you sat down at the edge of the bed as you hesitated to reach over and touch him. He didn't flinch out of your touch this time, but he didn't reach out for your touch either. You gently brushed some of the curls off of his forehead, "hey, what's going on, my love?"

It was easy to see he hadn't changed out of his clothes from the ones he had been wearing on your date the other night. His face had more scruff on it than normal. Shit. You were almost positive he hadn't moved since.

After what seemed like a small eternity, he slowly turned to look at you, a hollow, empty expression in his eyes. He studied you for a moment, noting the worried look on your face before he softened slightly, "I never texted you."

"No," you let a nervous huff of laughter as you shook your head, "not on Friday, not over weekend, or today. I was so worried, honey."

"Its-I'm fine," he insisted meekly, "there's nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure?" you asked as you gestured vaguely, "you haven't changed or showered since Friday...have you eaten at all? Nothing looks touched. You dropped off the face of the planet, Frankie. Are you sure everything's alright? You can tell me anything, you know."

"I don't know why you think there's something going on," he sighed as he moved to sit up and leaned away from you, "I'm just tired and wanted a few days alone. I'm sorry if that bothers you and yes, I should have told you or something, but you don't need to worry so much. I'm not using if that's what you're thinking."

"You swear it?" you tried to keep your lip from trembling as he nodded, "if there's anything going on you, please just talk to me. Whatever it is. I don't care - I love you more than anything. I just...I want you to be okay."

"I know," he sighed as he rubbed his tired face, "I know. And I'm sorry for getting annoyed...its just...I dunno. But I'm okay. Sorry for being an asshole."

"As long as you're okay its forgiven," he reached over and gave your hand a squeeze, "go take a shower and eat, Frankie. I can stay….or go…"

"Stay," he whispered softly as you nodded before leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, "please stay."

»»————-　♡　————-««

And so you stayed. That night and many others.

It was several more months before anything of the sort happened again. But when it did...it hit hard. It was even worse than the last time.

He cut himself off from you and his friends and everyone else. This time you tried even harder, to try to get him to talk, to tell him that you were there for him no matter what, that you wanted to help however you could.

You even suggested it was time to see a therapist, a psychologist, a support group - something. If he wasn't willing to open up to you, maybe he could open to someone else. You just wanted him better, to have your Frankie, and not the Frankie that shut down periodically. You wanted the best for him.

But the more you tried, the more he pushed back. The more closed off he became. The more he argued with you. The more he insisted that nothing was wrong. 

But it never stopped you from loving him - it never stopped from trying to always be the best for him so he could be his best. No matter how hard it became. 

The good times were good. They were happy and fun, and it often seemed like he’d never had a bad day in his life. 

Frankie Morales, for all that he was, was a good, kind, loving man. He treated you like you were his queen, which you were. He did love you, unconditionally so. He was just plagued with so many demons and dark thoughts and memories. He tried, but he just...he couldn’t ever seem to tackle them, no matter how he or you tried. 

He knew it wasn’t fair to you, but gods, he did love you more than anything. He loved you more than life itself, even if he didn’t show it. 

But you? You were getting burnt out - you didn’t love him any less, you were...tired. 

That's why the next time he descended into his week long stupor, you knew it was going to be the last. You didn't want to come down to this, but there was only so much you could take before you broke.

It was a quiet night, and you'd come from work. You lived with Frankie now and had been nearing two years together. For the most part, it had been amazing, and since you'd moved in, he'd only had a handful of bad days. You should have known something was bound to come up.

When you got inside it was dark - the only light was from the living room television. Frankie was sitting on the couch, several empty cans of beer around him. You sighed when you realized nothing had been done today; it was his day off and his turn to do some chores and cooking.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Francisco?" you dropped your purse and went over to him, dropping to your knees as you reached for his face to get him to look at you. He had that same hollow look in his eyes like he always did when this happened, "please talk to me, my love. What's going on? Talk me through it."

"Its nothing," he insisted as he pulled your hands from his wrists, a frown tugging down the corners of his mouth, "just tired and don't want to deal with anything."

"Frankie," you said his name softly as you gave him a gentle expression, "baby, please talk to me. It's not good to shut me or anyone out. We just want to help. I love you so much, I just want the best for you. We all do."

"Then just back off!" you flinched back as he yelled; you'd never heard him snap like this before. A pit formed in the bottom of your stomach as you backed away, "just let me be! I don't need you pushing all the time!"

"Okay," you didn't bother to stop your tears as you stood up and walked to walk away.

Making your way to the bedroom, you pulled out an old suitcase from the closet and started throwing your things into it. It was a haphazard job but you didn't care; nothing mattered. The tears blurred your vision as you fumbled about, your heart breaking little by little.

It wasn't long before you were lugging it out and stopping in the living room. He barely turned to look at you.

"I'm leaving," you managed to choke out as his brow furrowed, "I-I-I can't do this anymore. I can't keep going through this again and again and again without you getting help o-or something. I love you so damn much, Frankie, I do. But this isn't fair to me either, and I want to help but maybe I don't know how, but you need to want it to. And right now, I don't know if you do. I've tried everything, so has Santi, and Benny...and I'm at my wits end. Maybe me being gone is what you need."

"What?" his eyes widened in shock as he realized what you were saying, "no, no, no - you can't...I love you."

"I know you do, Frankie," you promised him, "but right now you need to take care of and love yourself first. I need you to get better for you. I need you to be the best you, whatever that entails. But I think that doesn't involve me right now. Or maybe ever. And I have to take care of me too."

"Please don't do this," he got up and came over to you, his own eyes glossy, "please don't leave...stay. I-I-I'll get better, I swear it. Honey, I love you-"

"I know," you gave him a weak smile, "and I want you to get better. And no matter how much it hurts, because I love you, I need to go. You need to do this for you, Frankie. Not anyone else."

"Please...don't go."

"I'm sorry," you whispered, leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, "I have to. Please, Francisco, please understand how much I love you. But right now, I have to go. I'll call Santi, okay? I'll have him check on you."

"Honey…"

"This isn't goodbye, Frankie," you promised him softly, "so don't say it. I love you always, and maybe one day, our paths will cross again."

"Please...don't," his voice broke and cracked as reached for your hand. You pulled out of his touch as you headed for the door, "please stay."

"See you later, Frankie," you whispered softly, "just remember that I love you. Please do this for you. Please love yourself too."

"Honey…"

But you didn't turn around. You walked out the door and closed it behind you.

Despite how much you wanted to, you didn't look back. You just kept going.

Going, going, gone. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[marvelousstevetony]

Hi! Maybe this one, from thst sleeping prompt list if you’re feeling inspired?: laying on their lover’s chest, listening to their heartbeat, drawing circles on their chest. the stevetony vibes are strong 🥺💖 Ty!

Hi, friend! I truly love every single prompt on that list, but this one is just extra cute for Steve and Tony! I’ve been so busy these last few weeks, and I have a few prompts in my inbox that I should’ve been writing, but I saw this and couldn’t help myself. 

I hope you enjoy this short fic of Steve being miserable when Tony’s out of town, and then really, really happy when he comes back unexpectedly. I love these two so much, I really do💖💖

-----------

It’s not that Steve can’t sleep without Tony next to him. He’s perfectly capable of being by himself at night, of lying alone in their ridiculously large bed, closing his eyes and slip off into a peaceful unconsciousness. Perfectly capable.

The thing is, though, that Steve would rather just… not be alone. He can sleep without Tony, of course he can, but that doesn’t mean he wants to.

And now Tony has been gone for almost an entire week for some stupid conference that Steve highly doubts is necessary, and Steve has been pouting about it ever since his plane took off.

Steve gets it, okay? He knows Tony has work to do, because Tony loves his work and he wouldn’t be the same person without it. Steve would never discourage Tony from working, and Tony’s passion and ambition are some of his most attractive traits, Steve thinks.

But if work could just stay in New York, Steve would be very thankful.

Yes, because with work being in New York that would mean that Tony wouldn’t have to travel around the world all the time, which would subsequently mean that Steve wouldn’t have to crawl under the cold covers at night all by himself.

Which is exactly what is happening tonight.

Steve shivers as he pulls the blankets closer around him. Usually, he would curl up around Tony, basking in the warmth and affection Tony radiates, gliding his hand under the Tony’s t-shirt and letting it rest on his stomach as he kisses Tony’s shoulder.

Tony would chuckle and guide Steve’s head to rest on his chest, placing a peck in the dirty blonde locks and sighing contently before murmuring a quiet goodnight, sweetheart and closing his eyes.

God. Steve sighs into his pillow. What he wouldn’t do to have Tony next to him right now. He tosses and turns, hugs the pillow close to his chest as if it were a certain genius, but it’s too soft and too cold, and after a couple minutes of lying restlessly, Steve groans and hurl the pillow through the air like a projectile. It hit the floor with a soft thud and Steve frowns at it like he had hurt it.

Getting to his feet, he grips the pillow and smooths it over, sighing to himself once again. It’s not the pillow’s fault he can’t sleep. No, the problem is…

Okay, so maybe Steve has a small problem sleeping without Tony. But how can he not? He has gotten so used to having Tony beside him that anything else just feels wrong.

The feel of Tony, his scent, his breathing pattern, the way his fingers usually draw circles on Steve’s back, Steve misses all of it.

He had been alright the first few nights. The smell of Tony’s shampoo had still been lingering on his pillow, but it has faded since, and even Steve’s enhanced senses can’t pick up on the light peppermint notes. Just the thought of the scent sends a pang through Steve’s chest, and he has to swallow hard to choke back an involuntary sob. Maybe if he takes a shower and uses Tony shampoo he will feel a little better.

So that’s what he does.

He turns on the shower spray and adjusts the temperature before getting undressed. By the time he’s stepped in, the room has already gone misty and humid, and Steve can now just barely make out his blurry features in the mirror.

The water is scalding hot, just like Steve wants it in this instant. It prickles his skin and makes it tingle in an almost numbing way that shouldn’t feel as good as it does. After a few moments, he has gotten used to the burn and raises the temperature again, letting another wave of senselessness wash over him.

He pours the shampoo into his palm and starts massaging his scalp. He tries to do it how Tony does it, but it’s not the same. His fingers feel too big and he can’t apply the correct amount of pressure. At least he has the scent, and when he closes his eyes, he tries to imagine Tony being beside him, but all it does is leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He knows Tony isn’t there.

Despite the room being filled with steam from the shower, Steve still feels cold when he steps out onto the bathroom floor. The tiles feel icy under his feet, and he gives a quick shiver as he wraps a towel around his hips.

With his hand he clears the condensation from a small part of the mirror to look at himself. His hair is floppy and his cheeks are flushed from the shower which is how he usually looks after a shower. But then there’s this small crease between his eyebrows that has grown deeper as the week went on, and he runs the tip of his index finger over it to smooth it out. He hadn’t even really noticed how the tension had settled right there, not until now at least, and he forces his face to relax a little.

His eyes seem different, too. They look hollow in the same way Steve feels, like he hadn’t slept for days on end, which, to be completely honest, isn’t too far off. A little watery from exhaustion and with a purplish circle around them, making them look dull.

Okay, so maybe Steve really doesn’t do too well when Tony’s not there.

Sighing, Steve once again wishes that Tony could be there, in the Tower in New York with Steve, if not forever then just now. Just tonight when the time apart has become too much for Steve, when the loneliness starts nagging at him and keeping him from sleeping, when everything begins to feel so cold.

Steve shivers again, then quickly dries off and goes back into the bedroom to put his pajamas back on. His sits down onto the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He stay still like that for a little while. There are thoughts running through his head, so many thoughts, but they’re unclear and too fast for his mind to keep up with them, and it’s all just noise that becomes louder and louder until Steve wants to scream.

He almost does scream, but when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is just a pitiful sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a sob. He can feel the warmth prickling behind his eyes, and he presses the heels of his hands into both eyes to keep them shut until the tears will back down.

And then comes the sound of the door opening.

Steve’s head snaps up with such force it feels like a whiplash, but Steve doesn’t care, because there’s Tony. Tony is right there in front of him where he shouldn’t actually be right now. Well, no, he should be there, Steve thinks and ignores the voice that tells him that he’s selfish and greedy for wanting Tony to let go of everything in his hands to be there with Steve.

“T-Tony,” Steve croaks, voice almost a whisper.

Tony smiles and puts down his briefcase. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says and joins Steve on the bed.

“You’re back.” Steve is still working on believing that Tony really is there, so he reaches out to touch Tony’s cheek and feels his breath catch slightly when his cold fingers greet Tony’s warm skin.

Tony lays his hand on top of the one Steve has on his cheeks, then kisses the inside of his palm. “I’m back,” he confirms. “Everything went smoothly so they told us we could get off a couple days early.”

And now Steve really can’t help the tears that are threatening to fall from his eyes. He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to keep somewhat composed, but his body slumps against Tony’s and he looks at Tony with tired, blue eyes that are more telling of how Steve is feeling than any sentence could be.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” Tony murmurs. It’s not a question, it’s a statement, because Tony’s knows Steve.

Steve doesn’t try to deny it either, there is really no point in doing so. Instead he leans in to brush his lips over Tony’s, the touch light but electrifying. “Missed you,” he mumbles against Tony’s mouth.

“I missed you, too, darling. Get in bed, I’ll be back in two minutes, okay? Just going to change and then I’ll come to bed.”

Steve nods and gives the brunette another quick kiss before getting settled under the covers. The two minutes he’s waiting feel like an eternity, but then Tony steps out from the ensuite, wearing nothing but his pajama pants, and pads towards the bed, and Steve just feels grateful. So grateful.

Crawling under the covers, Tony scoots closer to Steve, pressing his body against him. Steve is quick to position his head on top of Tony bare chest, cheek resting right under his collarbone, and he sighs contently when Tony nuzzles his face into his freshly washed hair.

“You’ve been using my shampoo, have you?” Tony asks with a fond smile playing on his lips.

“I, uh… I couldn’t sleep so I just… I thought maybe it would help me feel like you were here,” Steve says, a little embarrassed.

“I’m here now.”

He is, Steve thinks as he lets his eyes slip shut. Right where he’s supposed to be.

As they lie there, Steve draws small circles on Tony’s chest, around the place the arc reactor once was. It had been there when they’d first started sleeping together, and Steve loved resting his hand on top of it, feeling the weak warmth it emitted against his palm. Now, though, he traces the scar with his fingers.

It used to make this soft whirring sound, too, that Steve listened to at night. A slight hum that assured Steve that Tony was there next to him, that everything was alright. Now there’s another sound that Steve loves even more, because it’s purely Tony, proof that’s he’s alive. Tony’s heartbeat might be Steve’s favorite sound, he realizes. It’s soft and reassuringly steady, a rhythm Steve could listen to all day.

That’s another thing Steve misses whenever Tony’s away. When he’s alone, it’s all so quiet. The silence becomes deafening, it becomes insufferable, the noises in Steve’s head filling every void. But with Tony, whether it’s the arc reactor whirring or his heart beating, Steve can focus on the calming sounds and let every inch of worry evaporate.

And now, with his head resting on Tony’s chest, listening to the slow thumping, Steve feels his body relax and his eyelids grow heavier with each passing second. It doesn’t take long before his breath evens out and the line between his brows has disappeared completely.

Casting one last glance down at the sleeping soldier, Tony smiles fondly and kisses Steve’s forehead before closing his own eyes and drifting off.

“Sweet dreams, my love.”

[kuroopaisen]

ripples. (kita shinsuke)

➵  you take up a part-time holiday job as a miko at the local temple. little do you know, you have the same face as the woman kita once loved. 

wc: 5.2k

warnings: f!reader, reincarnation!au, kitsune!au

a/n: remy my love, this one is for you! i love you so so much, and i hope this feeds your need for more inarizaki content. 

A storm pelted against the wooden roof, the sound melting with the tinkle of a woman’s laughter.

An August storm, late summer, heady and heavy.

Kita used to hate weather like this; it meant that everyone else stayed inside, that the swaying fields were out of reach, that tomorrow would be stained with mud. But recently, he’s been enjoying the storms. They meant that, if she was with him, she’d stay.

She sat across from him, her long dark hair pulled behind her shoulders as she bent over the chawan. The little black bowl had seen much use, but it stood strong. In her hand was a little whisk, kneading the matcha at the bottom of the chawan.

Dark splotches under dull eyes. A vacant expression. Rehearsed, mechanical actions. A kosode arranged a little more haphazardly than usual. Her entire form was damp from running through the beginnings of the storm on her way here.

But she had a warm smile for him. She always did.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Kita asked, straightforward as always. 

She sighed as she raised her head to look at him. She was trying to smile with her eyes, but the light wasn’t quite reaching them. “I am quite fine. Thank you for your concern.”

Kita’s features softened with concern. “You do not have to be so formal.”

“Ah, well,” she smiled, returning her attention once more to the whisk. “I hope you can forgive me.”

There is nothing to forgive, he thought. But he’s sure she’d laugh at him for saying something like that.

“How’s your family?” He asked, grasping for some topic of conversation.

She nodded slowly, eyes still on the bowl. “My younger sister is engaged to be married.”

“Is this something to celebrate?”

“I’m not sure,” she sighed, the slightest of trembles in her hand. “But father is pleased with the match.”

“Rich?”

“And powerful,” she scoffed, shaking her head. “Father expects that this gentleman will be very influential in the coming months.”

Kita knew things were changing, outside his little shrine. By how much, he wasn’t sure. The human world was beyond him, a realm of blood and darkness that he didn’t quite understand. A world that hurt her. Part of him hated it for that.

“Will he expect you to get married?” The question escaped him before he could think about it.

She caught his eye, smiling. “Not as far as I know.”

He breathed out slowly.

“I can stay with you, for now,” she murmured, reaching over and placing her hand over his.

Something was wrong. Something was off. She’s tired. She’s distant.

And he was afraid.

That fear grounded him for a moment in eternity.

✧ ✧ ✧

Kita was better at handling loneliness than most. But even he suffered under the weight of four hundred years. Especially when he’d known what it meant to love.

When she passed, he had taken the time to travel. He only moved during the night, dodging humanity when and where he could. But as the years rolled on, the night began to get blotted with lights – first by fire, later by bulbs.

So, he’d crawled back to his little shrine, hiding himself away in the nooks and crevices. This was his place, and it always would be. His duty was to remain here, as something of a guardian spirit. So he would do just that, even if it brought him little enjoyment.  

Sometimes, he let children catch a glimpse of him. Usually, he could mirror their joy, their wonder. But even that hadn’t been lifting his spirits as of late. He’s been reticent, perhaps even melancholic.

But he hung around the shrine anyway, letting the days ebb on into an endless eternity. It hounded him, that never-ending existence that stretched out before him. He’s wise enough to recognise the irony in a kitsune feeling existential, but he’s always felt more human than most.

Today, he made his way to the shrine, slipping through cracks under doors and the gap where wooden planks meet each other. It’s easy for him to move around in his spirit form, more a mist than a man.

He slipped into the central shrine, duty-bound as always, to accept whatever offerings had been laid forth.

He hadn’t expected what lay in wait for him.

A miko, dark hair drawn back in a ponytail and red hakama tied over a white kosode.

You were sweeping the floor, mind seemingly somewhere else. You were humming to yourself, and Kita couldn’t help but feel this was awfully familiar. Something about your shrine had the echo of what he’d seen long ago, one of the dances the miko at his shrine would perform.

The miko had made a return, apparently. In the last few decades, they’d become something of a cultural icon. A lot could change in four hundred years.

You turned around, and Kita finally caught a glimpse of your face.

He froze.

It was her face. The woman he’d loved, adored, mourned. The woman who had left such an impact on him, who had engraved herself so deeply into his very being that he still felt the ripples of his love for her all these centuries later. The woman he had spent so many stormy afternoons with, cooped up in each other’s warmth.

He was more keyed into the secrets of the universe than most, being a kitsune and all, but even he was dumbfounded.

Kita took a deep breath, settling into his fox form. You most likely wouldn’t trust some random man coming up to you and insisting that ‘yes, actually, I am the patron spirit of this place.’ But he was sure that his fox form would grant him some authority on the subject.

He padded to the centre of the room, sitting himself down on his haunches. He wasn’t really aware of it, but it was quite regal. His four tails swished around him with a slow rhythm, each one tipped with black. His pale grey fur gave off a brilliant shimmer in the sunlight that fell between the window slats, creating a real sense of grandeur as he sat there.

He stared at you for a long moment, blinking his large brown eyes.

You stared back, gormless.

Maybe he should say something—

You thrusted the broom forward, waving it in front of his snout. “Shoo!”

He jerked his head back, stunned.

Had you not noticed his tails? Did you think he was just some average fox, scuttering in from the cold? Would he have to show you his human form?

It’s worth a shot, he thought.

He transformed in a flash, body morphing into something adjacent to humanity, fur knitting itself together as an edo-style haori.

You watched him change with wide eyes, knuckles blanching as you gripped the hilt of the broom.

Kita gave you a little wave. “Hello.”

You screamed.

Kita flinched. Why were you screaming? Wouldn’t people come running?

He took a step towards you, hands outstretched. His first instinct was to comfort you, to let you know it was all okay – after all, you had her face. “It’s okay, I—”

You whacked his hand with the broom.

Kita faltered, staring at you with wide eyes.

You… hit him? A kitsune? With a broom?

You blinked at him.

He blinked at you.

He traced your face with his eyes, his mind swirling with images of her. A beauty as fresh as the petals that bloom in spring, as clear as a spring, as bright as the morning dew.

Her face. You had her face.

You made a solid jab at his chest. Kita stumbled back, eyes wide. What were they teaching mikos these days?

He didn’t get the chance to ask. You fled, dashing out of the room with a small billow of your hakama.

He stood in dumbfounded silence, unsure of how to process what had just happened. You were the spitting image of her. But, you weren’t her. If you were, you wouldn’t have screamed. She had never run from him, never screamed. She had always treated him with respect, with a sense of reverence that came with her role as a miko. You… well, you were quite the opposite.

But you had her face. Her voice. Eternity shuddered to a stop, blocked by her – or was it your – face. Each memory flashed through his mind with startling vibrancy, coupled with a swell of emotion he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Oh, he realised. I’ve made a terrible mistake.

✧ ✧ ✧

A dozen web articles and a trip to the library later, you’d come to the conclusion that you had most definitely done something quite heretical on sacred ground.

Presuming, of course, that the man you’d whacked in the shrine was, in fact, a kitsune.

Your immediate instinct had been to run far, far away from that place; maybe even skip the country for a week or two. But then you’d considered the consequences of that. Would you be cursed? Did kitsunes inflict curses? You certainly hadn’t treated him very well. You’d hit him, actually. You thought that, at the very least, deserved an apology.

So there you stood, in the middle of the shrine, wrapped bento box in hand.

You weren’t quite sure why you’d come back. Maybe to prove to yourself that it was real, and that you weren’t just seeing things. Maybe because it might’ve been a practical joke, and you wanted the closure. How someone could’ve pulled such an elaborate ruse, well… that was beyond you, for now.

But going from seeing… that, to trying to pretend that everything was normal? That didn’t feel possible.

You’d only taken up this position as a holiday job. The extra cash didn’t hurt, and you thought it was an interesting way to spend the winter…

“Hello.”

You flinched, turning around. How on earth—

No, you shouldn’t be so surprised that he’d managed to sneak up on you. Not when a real kitsune was standing right there. A kitsune that you’d hit with a broom.  

You bowed, almost at a perfect ninety-degree angle. “I am so sorry.”

The kitsune blinked at you for a moment, but you don’t see it. “It’s okay.” His voice was soft, perhaps even comforting.

You stood up and held the bento box out to him with stiff arms.

The kitsune raised his eyebrows at you.

“I, uh… I did some research, and…” You swallowed, hoping you weren’t about to make a fool of yourself. “Kitsune like inarizushi? Apparently?”

He stared at you for a very long moment. It was a little rude, truth be told.

You stared right back. Was this the right thing to do?

“Yes,” he cleared his throat, giving you a small bow. “Thank you.”

“It’s an apology,” you blurted out, your face feeling a lot hotter than you would’ve liked it to.

“What for?” The kitsune asked, tilting his head at you.

“For… for hitting you.” You could feel your cheeks growing hot. God, this was already a bit of a disaster.

“Oh,” he smiled softly at you, shaking his head. “It’s okay.”

“I wouldn’t have done it if I’d…” You took a deep breath, unable to meet his eyes. “If I’d known you were actually some kind of yokai.”

An amused glint sparked in his eyes. “You’re at a shrine. What did you think I was?”

“Well I…” You opened your mouth, braving a look at his face. “I don’t know.”

He was smiling now. And it made him quite beautiful. “You’re a miko.”

“Well, not really…” You bit your lip, glancing down at the bento box. Your arms were starting to ache, stiff as they were. “I didn’t really… believe in any of this before a couple of days ago. I just needed a part-time job over the uni holidays.”

He stared at you.

That was certainly different. She’d been deeply spiritual, seeing her role as intensely important. And yet you, the girl with her face, did not.

“I see,” he murmured, glancing at the floor. Uni holidays… was that university? Sometimes he struggled to keep up with the evolution of language. And that was to say nothing of the spattering of English words he heard people use. That was a whole other beast.

But that was of no matter. He looked back at you, a gentle smile on his face. “What do you study?”

You stared at him, silent.

He tilted his head at you. “Are you alright?”

“Well I—I guess I just didn’t think that, you know…”

You bit your lip.

He’s a kitsune. A yokai. Oh shit, did that mean Inari existed, too? Was this guy linked to Inari? What if he was Inari? Was that possible?

“Oh, the inarizushi,” he murmured, his eyes now on the bento box. You’re not sure why he suddenly decided to focus on that, almost as if to give you a reprieve in your little verbal breakdown, but you were more than delighted for this opportunity to change the conversation.

“Yes!” You sounded more enthusiastic than you would’ve liked, but hopefully this would smooth things over. But if anything, you needed appeasing more than he did.

You handed it over tentatively, deliberately trying to not let his fingers brush against yours. This was a whole new world for you, and you didn’t understand the consequences of such things. Better not tempt fate. 

The kitsune settled himself down on the floor, folding his legs beneath him.

You raised your hands to shoo him off, driven by instinct. You weren’t going to let him leave crumbs.

The kitsune blinked at you, brown eyes round and quizzical. “Is there a problem?”

You paused, hands raised in front of you. Well, it was his shrine…

“Sit with me, if you’d like,” he smiled softly, nodding at the floor next to him.

You let a moment pass, watching his face closely. He gazed at you, tilting his head to the side. He looked genuinely confused. Did he… want you to sit with him?

You sat yourself down on the floor with a sigh. You thought it best to adopt the seiza position, knees on the floor as you tucked your legs underneath you, folding your hands in your lap.

“Please, relax,” he nodded at you with a smile. He unwrapped the bento box, picking up the chopsticks with a certain kind of elegance.

He smiled down at the inarizushi in his lap. You had no idea that he was comparing them to the ones she used to make him. Hers were neater, more delicate. Yours had all the signs of inexperience; rice was spilling out of one of them, and the casing looked a little too thick. But, you’d put in the effort, and that was enough to touch his heart.

You were just observing him quietly, your mind wandering off in its own direction.

If you’d told your younger self that you would be talking to a real, breathing kitsune, you would’ve spun some romantic fantasy of what that kitsune would be like. Skin like lily petals, hair white as snow and soft as silk, elegantly pointed ears, a face with all the sharpness and grace of a fox. That’s what you would’ve expected.

It wasn’t that he was a disappointment. It was just that there was a gravity to him; and yet, a sense of ethereality that you’d never seen before.

“So,” he hummed, picking an inarizushi up between his chopsticks. “You didn’t think my kind existed.”

You blinked at him for a moment. “Honestly? No, I didn’t.”

“Why not?” He popped the inarizushi in his mouth, chewing at an unhurried pace.

You didn’t really have an answer for that. “I just… didn’t.” Frankly, you just hadn’t thought about it. Nothing more to it.

He gazed at you, tilting his head. There was rice stuck to the corner of his mouth. “And now?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think now?” He said, gesturing to himself.

“Well, you’re…” You looked him up and down once. “You’re certainly real.”

He smiled at that. “Anything else?”

Was he asking for your opinion? “I guess you’re… different. From what I might’ve expected.”

“And what is that?” There’s a playful lilt to his voice.

“I… I don’t really know,” you admitted, twiddling your thumbs.

The kitsune just smiled as he picked up another inarizushi. “These are good.”

“Thank you.” You give him a half-bow, relieved that your efforts paid off. At the very least, you hadn’t angered him. Although, you weren’t quite sure if you could imagine this man as anything other than composed.

“Could you make me more?” His voice was gentle, halfway between a command and a question.

“Uh… not… not right now…”

“I meant for tomorrow,” he said.

“Oh.”

Right.  

“Could you, please?” He leant forward, and you caught your breath.

There was such sincerity in his voice. Quite honestly, you still weren’t sure how to process everything that was happening. Kitsunes were real. One was sitting right in front of you. And he’d enjoyed the lunch you’d made him. So much so that he wanted you to make more.

Was it right to deny a spirit?

You took a deep breath, clenching your fists in your skirt. “Well, if I’m going to be bringing you lunch, then I may as well introduce myself.”

He smiled, tilting his head to the side. “Yes, that’s a good idea.”

You made your introduction quick, trying your best not to stutter through your own name.

But he smiled, repeating it back to you in a melodic cadence.

“What… what should I call you?” You asked.

A certain softness entered his eyes. “Call me Kita.”

✧ ✧ ✧

“Would you like some?” Kita held the bento box out to you, tilting his head to the side.

You were sat across from him on the ground, safely shrouded by a wall so that no-one else would see the two of you. He’d implored you to sit with your legs crossed this time, and you’d complied.

But, you certainly weren’t comfortable enough to intrude. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to take away from your—”

“Please,” he nudged the box towards you. “You seem hungry.”

You tilted your head at him, unsure of how to respond.

“You’ve been glancing at my lunch ever since I opened it.”

“Oh.” You lowered your head, suddenly embarrassed. “Right.”

“Are they not feeding you?” Kita frowned, looking around the room.

He’d shown up, without any warning, while you were preparing omamori. Trying to explain to your superiors why such a piercing shriek ripped from your throat that didn’t involve the sudden appearance of this strange kitsune friend of yours had perhaps been the most challenging part of your entire miko experience.

“No, it’s not that!” You waved your hand at him. “They treat me quite well.”

“But you’re hungry.”

“I just… forgot to eat lunch, that’s all.” It was the truth – you were hungry only because of your own mindlessness.

Kita held the chopsticks out to you, placing the bento box on your lap. You took the chopsticks from him tentatively, giving him a half-bow. “Thank you.”

You picked up an inarizushi with the chopsticks, popping it into your mouth. Even just the feeling of food in your mouth gave you a sense of relief. You nodded at him again, smiling.

He smiled right back, his hands folded in his lap.

“Hey,” you swallowed, your gaze flitting downwards. “Can I ask you some questions?”

“Of course,” he nodded.

“Thank you, Kita.” You gave him another small half-bow.

He blinked at you. He hadn’t expected hearing you say his name would make him feel so… odd. But, you’d said it just as she had, all those years ago, inflection and all.

“How are kitsunes born?” You asked, shovelling some rice into your mouth. It was the opposite of elegant, but Kita almost found it charming. Almost.

But, your question made him blush. “I… would prefer not to answer that.”

Your own cheeks burned in response. Maybe that was a bit too much. “Okay… how long have you been alive?”

“Do you remember how many tails I have?”

“Uh…” You frowned, trying to remember that very eventful day. “Four, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“So… four hundred years?” That’s what those many hours trawling the internet would indicate.

“And a half,” Kita smiled.

He’s just happy to be talking to someone. To be seen, heard, felt by someone. 

He’d been warned against reaching out to people by some other yokai, but Kita had been unable to quell that curiosity. There was much delight to be found amongst humans and their lives, and Kita had always enjoyed observing them. And they really were delightful to speak to, whenever he could. Besides, was it not his duty as a spirit to maintain good relations between the two worlds?

But ever since she had passed away, he’d been reticent. He’d gained more understanding of where that advice came from. Advice that perhaps, came out of a profound sense of loss. Something he now understood much too well. 

Maybe it’s foolish of him, sitting here and talking to you so frankly, simply because you looked just like her. Was this some kind of reincarnation? A coincidence? Maybe it was just a cruel trick of the universe – or an expression of its fundamentally uncreative and cyclical nature. 

“That’s… a while,” you nodded slowly.

“Some kitsune may say that I’m barely an adult,” he chuckled.

“Really?” You frowned.

“I’ve much more life to live if I want to be considered wise,” he said.

You gazed off for a moment, blinking slowly. Four hundred years sounded like an awful long time to you, but… well, you weren’t immortal. And this man sitting with you likely was. An uncomfortable feeling crawled its way through your chest, your mind circling with thoughts and questions you didn’t feel quite ready to grapple with.

The conversation needed to move on.

You frowned, tapping your lips with the tip of the chopsticks. “Okay, so.”

“Yes?”

“What’s been your favourite decade to live in?” 

He paused, doing some quick fact-checking in his mind. “The fifteen hundreds, I believe.”

“Why?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Kita murmured, looking away from you. How would he even begin to explain that? ‘I was in love with someone who looked and sounded exactly like you?’ He prized honesty, but perhaps that was too honest.

You blinked, biting your lip. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” 

“It’s okay.” He turned to give you a weak smile. 

A tenuous silence stretched between you, and he almost regretted being so terse. Almost. 

“Are other yokai real, too?” You asked, poking at the rice. 

“Some of them.”

“Only some?” You raised an eyebrow at him. 

“If you ever get yourself a cat, you better keep an eye on its tail.” 

You swallowed, unsure if he was joking or not. “Are… ghosts real?” 

“Perhaps it’s best if you don’t know the answer to that question.”

“Uh…” You turned the thought over in your mind for a second. “I’m not sure.” 

You turned your attention back to the inarizushi, popping a few more into your mouth and chewing away contentedly. After a few moments, you gestured to the bento box, your mouth full of food.

Kita nodded, holding his palm out. 

You placed the chopsticks in his hand, blushing as your fingers brushed against his.

“Tell me about yourself,” he hummed, setting the bento box in his own lap. 

You swallowed, your face growing hot. “There’s not really anything interesting to say.” 

“Why did you choose to be a miko?” 

“It’s just a part-time job,” you shrugged, playing with the fabric of your skirt.

“But you could have chosen from a whole range of jobs,” he persisted. “But you’re here. Why?”

You paused, turning the question over in your mind. “I don’t know… it seemed interesting?”

Kita nodded. “Why?”

“I… I guess I thought it would be a fun way to connect with the culture,” you shrugged. “Because it’s… very traditional.”

“Have you enjoyed yourself?”

“I have.” You could answer that question confidently, at least.

“That’s wonderful to hear,” he smiled softly.

“I should get back to work,” you sighed, rising to your feet.

“Be sure to take care of yourself,” he nodded, getting up himself. “Don’t overwork yourself.”

You cocked your head at him. “Huh?”

He shook his head. “Nevermind.”

Those were the words he’d say to her, all those years ago. Words that she never heeded as much as he wished she would.

But, he had to remind himself, time and time again.

You’re not her.

✧ ✧ ✧

“You’re very good at making those.” Kita sat on the floor next to you, watching as you arranged little omamori into the categories of a large wooden box.  

“What, these?” You held one towards him.

“Yeah,” he nodded, taking it from you gently. He turned it over, the sky blue silk soft beneath his touch. 

“Thank you,” you blushed

“I don’t recognise this colour,” he murmured. “What are they for?” He asked, deciding that he’d hold on to this little omamori. You’d made it yourself, after all.

“That one’s a love charm,” you nodded at his hand, smiling as you organised a set of gold silk rectangles. “Apparently they’re very popular during the New Year.” You pointed at another group of pink and blue charms in the box. “The one you’re holding is for single people, but these ones are for couples.” 

He swallowed, turning it over in his hand. A love charm. She had made him one, all those years ago. Albeit, she had given it to him with a lot more intention.

“Thank you,” he murmured, tucking it into the sleeve of his kimono.

You grinned at him, eyeing his sleeve. “Hoping it’ll help you out?”

“I—” His cheeks bloomed red as heat crawled up his neck. Perhaps he’d been thinking about love more often, these days. But he wasn’t quite ready to process all of that. Was he so obvious?

“I’m just teasing,” you giggled.

He fought back the urge to pout. He was glad, at least, that you felt comfortable enough to say something like that. But, it saved him at least a little bit of embarrassment.

You’d been visiting him for the past few weeks, bringing him inarizushi every shift you’re in for.

And it made him so, so happy. He’s being seen. Being noticed. And, he liked talking to you. Maybe more than he should. More than he wanted to.

“When was the last time you’ve been to town?” You wondered, looking at him.

Kita frowned. “Uh… a couple hundred years, maybe?”

You gaped at him. “What?”

“Well, I…” He stopped, tilting his head at you. He didn’t quite know what to say. Yes, it had been a very long while, but he’d only just found the strength to open himself up to the human world like he once had. He’d been an observer for the past few centuries, but it had been quite a long while since he’d engaged like that. And besides; ‘town’ must be very, very different.

You scratched the back of your head. “Do you want to?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you want to go to town?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m going to a festival this Friday,” you said, smiling at him. “It’s nearly New Year’s.”

Oh, right. New Year’s. 

Would you leave him, once the year turned over? 

He swallowed the thought back. No, he wouldn’t think about that. He didn’t want to. 

“Come with me on Friday,” you smiled, placing your hand on his shoulder.

Kita froze, feeling a certain kind of warmth in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. A type of warmth he hadn’t felt since her. A type of warmth that was at once exhilarating and terrifying. 

“It’ll be fun, I promise!” You beamed. If you’d noticed his reaction, you didn’t give him any indication.

“Okay,” he mumbled, suddenly much more interested in the omamori in his sleeve than before. 

“Yay!” You clapped your hands together, your face full of joy. “I’ll see you Friday!”

Kita swallowed roughly. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. But he didn’t want to say no to you. Not when you were smiling at him like that.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Are you alright?”

Kita blinked, looking at you. “Hm?”

“You look… uncomfortable,” you said, tilting your head at him. “I mean, I think that’s discomfort on your face.”

He swallowed, looking down at the ground. “It’s just… there’s a lot of people.”

The two of you were stood at the edge of the crowd, just out of the light of the lanterns. Kita knew that there was going to be a large throng of people, but he hadn’t expected it to be so busy.

“We don’t have to go if it’s too much,” you smiled, folding your hands behind your back.

“No,” he shook his head. “I want to try.”

You nodded, looking over the crowd. “We’ll go when you’re ready, okay?”

Kita gazed at you for a moment. He was glad that you shared her kindness. But, it was also very much your own; a sense of compassion that you’d cultivated yourself.

He took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. A myriad of scents flooded his nose – lanterns burning, tea brewing, fish cooking. It was almost overwhelming, the entire area laced with such dense, powerful sensations.

“I’m ready,” he murmured, opening his eyes.

“Wonderful,” you cheered, hopping into the lamp light.

“Try not to get lost,” you said to him, glancing at him over your shoulder. Your face was bathed with golden lights, your eyes glittering in a way that made his heart ache.

Kita nodded, gazing over the crowd. There were so, so many people; more than he’d seen for centuries.

There was life in front of him. Humans, chatting, laughing, glowing. Each of them was a ripple, a reinterpretation of someone who had come before. But they were also individuals; people with their own lives, dreams, hearts.  

Kita took your hand, an action taken partly on instinct, partly on desire. He didn’t want to lose you in this crowd, to watch you disappear into the mass of heads milling around the street and leave him alone. But he wanted to be close to you too. To feel your warmth. 

You turned and smiled at him, and his heart felt light. Lighter than it’d felt for centuries.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew why.

He felt seen. Understood. No longer a ghost flitting between the corridors of a shrine, full of aimless yearning.

You were smiling at him with her face, her eyes. But, you were not her. No, you were someone else entirely – someone just as wonderful.

The feeling of your hand in his. A sharp memory, yet something new. Something that felt like a possibility.

This little affection, this small gesture, anchored him to the present. Even if just for a second, you chased away eternity.

[moonyandsaturn]

this love

What if Sirius escaped from Azkaban sooner... you can also read this oneshot here

Remus could remember it clearly. It wasn’t all that long ago. A year or 2, maybe? It’s hard to keep track.

James and Lily died and Sirius went to Azkaban. Peter was dead too, but he could care less.

It had been darkening skies for what seemed like eternity. Not just for himself, Remus was sure of it, everyone could feel it. The war was just simmering down, but could that really be the end of it? Trust was a fickle thing. You can’t bet your life on it, or anyone else's. Truth was in the same boat. Lies were a swirl of black and white with no signals to guide you.

But the truth, the truest of truths, was that the feeling never dimmed. And it was as heartbreaking as it was fulfilling. Did he believe that Sirius killed them? No, but everyone else did. And Remus would be just as doomed to express that.

--

“Moony, look,” Sirius had nudged him slightly. The two were splayed on the grass, under the shade of a kindred oak tree. The Summer holidays were coming up and Spring was livid.

“Hm?” He bent his next up sleepily to see what it was. A little butterfly was perched upon Sirius’ knee where he sat. Remus smiled. “I think it likes you.”

It was his turn to smile now. Sirius hummed in agreement. “Did you know,” he started and Remus sat up next to him. “That butterflies represent hope?”

“No, where’d you get that?” He aimlessly picked at the grass in front of him as Sirius continued.

“A book?”

“A book?”

“Yes, I’m sure you know what that is, Moony.” He smirked.

“Ha, Ha,” he deadpanned. “What a load of useless knowledge you are.” Remus leaned to the side so that he was leaning on Sirius’ side with his shoulder to rest his own head on.

“Useless! I’ll have you know this might come in handy!”

“And when could that be?” He laughed.

“I don't know,” Sirius admitted. “Sometime.”

“Sometime?”

“Yeah.”

“You aren’t very convincing.” Remus teased.

“Sirius grinned. “You still love me though.”

He pressed a kiss on his cheek. “Yeah, but that didn’t take any convincing.”

“No hope either?”

He laughed. “Unless you’re talking about my mum then no, I don't think so, love.”

“Maybe some other time then.” Sirius leaned his head on top of his.

“If you say so,” Remus smiled. He looked back ahead and the butterfly was gone.

--

Remus tried to convince Dumbledore into letting him take care of Harry. It didn’t work, obviously. His condition wasn’t suitable for raising a child. He couldn’t disagree. But, Harry was now stuck with some of Lily’s muggle relatives. The Dursleys if he remembered right. Not that Remus had anything against muggles. His mum was one so how could he? But for Harry to grow up without knowing anything about James and Lily? Well, that was the problem. Dumbledore seemed not to care. Perhaps he had other things to do rather than taking care of the next generation of wizards.

He visited them once, the Dursleys. Petunia was a thin little woman with pouty lips. There weren’t many similarities to Lily in her, but Remus could recognize one: her eyes. They were the very same as Lilys, and the very same as Harry’s. She wouldn’t let him in to see Harry. He didn’t even see a peek into the house to look at any other people living there. Petunia claimed to know him from “The Pictures”.

It was well known that Lily loved to take photos. She had an old polaroid camera, the muggle kind. It would print out photos right as you’re taking them. James, Peter and Sirius were obviously very fascinated. She took it everywhere. It hung from a strap around her neck. Remus could recall a few of the photos she took.

There was one of all of them sleeping on the Common Room couch after falling asleep while trying to study. Another Lily charmed to move like the painting they had in the castle. It was one of James and Lily dancing. James had just proposed as Lily, of course, said yes. Remus, Sirius, and Peter were hidden by a nearby tree to watch the outcome. Lily loved dancing. It was quite honestly, the perfect moment. Remus never figured out where that photograph went.

He had the teary-eyed job of cleaning their home after the Potter’s death. But he could never figure out where the specific photo disappeared to.

--

“Wait, wait hold on!” Remus could see Lily grinning as she released herself from James’ embrace. They didn’t know him, Peter, and Sirius were standing behind three separate trees watching them. James finally got the courage to ask Lily to marry him. He bought the ring 3 months prior but was much too nervous. In these times, he wanted to make sure to keep time precious. Who knew how long they had left? So, he decided he wanted to spend however long they had left with Lily. And they were destined to be together anyway, it didn’t even feel rushed.

“What are you doing?” James let go and watched her. Lily took her camera from the strap around her neck and placed it on top of the dull brick wall to their right. It was this small alcove area near Hogwarts. James thought it to be sentimental to propose where they met so many years ago. Remus thought it was sweet.

She scrambled to get her wand out of her back pocket and casted a quick charm on the top of the camera. They couldn't hear the murmur that escaped her lips as she did it. She walked back toward James with a smile on her face.

“So, what was that?” He placed a quick kiss on her cheek.

“When I press the button to snap a photo on that,” she pointed to the camera. “It should come out like one of those live photos they have in Hogwarts. Even though it’s muggle made.”

James laughed. Like, really laughed.

“What?” She hit him lightly with her wand.

“I just proposed to you but It looks like I’m marrying you and you’re captured memories.” He smiled softly down at her.

Lily reached up and adjusted his glasses to sit right on his nose. “You certainly are.”

They started swinging in tune to an imaginary song together and the wind hummed the melody. James spun her around, under his arm before continuing the dance. Lily quickly reached her hand out to press record.

The two danced and held each other softly.

Remus turned his head when he heard a sigh. He looked to his right to see Sirius looking at him.

“I forgot the cloak, how do we get out of her without them seeing?” He whispered.

Remus shrugged. “Run for it?” He moved his head back to see Peter two trees away and he nodded in agreement.

Sirius made a look that said ‘if you say so’ and motioned for Remus to come over quickly.

“What if we just waited for them to leave? James is gonna freak when he sees us here after telling us not to follow him.” Peter said, closer to the two of them now.

“Um, I don't think waiting here with them slobbering over each other is going to be very fun for us.”

All three of them looked over at the couple. Who was now simply talking to each other.

“Ew, heteros,” Sirius grimaced. Remus laughed quietly.

“Okay,”Peter started. “Count of three we go east, toward the lake, and then, hope James doesn't catch us.”

Sounded like a good plan.

“Right then, One, two, and three!”

Sirius, being as forgetful as he is, might have mixed up easts and wests. Luckily there were more trees scattered to hide where he was. Unfortunately, there was not enough sound to cover Peter’s yells.

“YOUR OTHER EAST, PADS!” He yelled at him, hands cupping his lips.

“Peter, shut up! They’re gonna hear us.” Remus scolded.

“We already did!” Lily replied coolly and out of vision. Peter and himself poked their head out from behind the tree.

“OH FUCK, YOU SAID EAST NOT WEST DIDN’T YOU?” Another yell came from a few yards away.

Remus held in a muffled laugh but relaxed when he heard James and Lily.

They walked over.

“You know I literally saw you all follow me, right?” James said, leaning against the wall.

“Obviously not,” Remus replied.

“Oooo, group picture!” Lily grinned and turned around to prop up that stupid camera once again.

The last thing Remus could remember laughing at was when Sirius came running back saing, “GET MY GOOD SIDE!”

--

Remus got in bed late into the night. He stumbled around the nearly pitch-black room and crawled into the warmth of countless quilts and pillows. The dreams he silently screamed in the night were the most comforting that he’s felt in a while. It was still hard to sleep alone. Or with anyone else for that matter, but that didn’t happen often.

He once dreamt that these past few years had just been a sinking ship. Some people caught in a rainstorm. A curse planted by thieves. He woke up thinking that it had all been imaginary. That it was in his head. Remus could basically hear Sirius' voice in his ear. “Don't worry, Moony. It’ll turn out alright. We’ve swam together and we’ll sink together, right?” What a surprise it was when he was wrong.

Most people would be wishing for it to all be a joke. For everything to go back to normal. Remus was much too realistic to think that way. He had to keep in mind his condition. Maybe it was for the best. He knew he’d be the first to die if it were by natural causes. The moons weaken his body month by month. It’s a wonder he hadn’t passed already. And for someone to be bitten at such a young age? Unthinkable that they’d live past 30. He was to be 24 in March, time drew faster than he could keep up with.

He’s been able to stay in his and Sirius’ old muggle flat. Sirius paid it off before going to Azkaban and it was similar to staying there. Not that he wanted to. Every corner had some sort of sentiment tied to it. Yet Remus could never bear to take anything down. For the past 2 years the same photos have been getting dusty, the magnets on the fridge have been losing grip, the couch had some new found stains, and the coffee table had prints of mugs scattered like freckles.

It was the ground floor which was unfortunate. The upstairs neighbor didn’t enjoy being quiet. Plus, it felt more invading. All the people on the street could simply just look through the window or put their ear against the wall and hear whatever was going on. Not much, usually. Remus didn’t have a lot of people over. Just himself. He didn’t want to go back to any wizarding towns. No, that was too disgraceful.

There were always two responses when people saw him. It’s one or the other, neither being very pleasant to hear. The first was sympathy: “Oh, you were the one whose friends died. I’m so sorry, dear. Oh and one was sent to Azkaban for the murder of them! My, how horrible. I’m very sorry for your loss.” The second was worse: “So where were you when the Potter’s died? Did you not try to protect them? What about that other one, who gave up his inheritance for a sinful life? Oh, he’s gone to Azkaban. Hmm, I’m glad you were the one who got away…Somehow… ”

And so he gave up going out to places with people he knew. Loneliness was better than being ridiculed.

Sleep was a tedious project that crept up when unwanted and hid itself when needed. Remus pulled the covers tighter and over his ears.

A warm light flickered outside. A fire?

Muggles normally didn’t use candles or anything while walking down a street. That's what the sidewalk lamps were for.

The light burned and flickered.

He saw someone walking on the sidewalk. Young, he thought, maybe in use of a good washing, though.

Remus thought nothing of it.

When morning came a note could be found on his doorstep, not even in his mailbox. Which was weird because there was a code to get into the apartment building.

Harry’s alright, I hope you are too.

At the bottom of the torn letter was a familiar paw print of a love he once knew.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Headache Relief

Summary: Alistair Shepard’s got one hell of a headache and the medicine ain’t helping. Lucky for him, he’s got another relief option. Problem is he didn’t expect to see Garrus Vakarian involved with that. Fuck, maybe he should’ve taken a double dose after all...

---

There were times Alistair was glad to be human. This wasn’t one of them.

“Fuck…”

The expletive leaked from between his teeth as he stepped off the elevator and into his private quarters. Right then he was running on instinct, heading towards his desk and the drawer that held his only chance of functioning at a lumbering pace. At least he didn’t hit the wall as he slumped down to dig – that was a nice bonus.

The bottle of pills hidden under some paper was half full. He shook two out, swallowing them with a bit of the water he always kept on his desk for that reason. Then it was straight to his bed. The only thing he remembered to do was click off the light as he collapsed face down into his pillow.

Biotic headaches: L2s might have gotten them the worst, but everyone had to face them eventually. Consider it the cost of doing business.

Colors bloomed behind the man’s eyes as he waited and prayed for the medicine to take effect. Part of him knew his chances were slim – his headache had started on the shuttle, so he was clearly out of the full range of help. Still, even if it took the edge off, he could function in an hour or so. At that point it was all Alistair could hope for as he felt the pain pulse.

Yep… he had definitely overdone it with the biotics. Simple mission, his pale and freckled ass.

“You think Miranda would have reinforced that.” His words came out low as he muttered them into his pillow. No doubt the camera she had planted in his room would pick it up, and frankly he didn’t care. It was another point of data that was going to go on his report of things she had messed up bringing him back to life. Was it petty to have a list of complaints with the person who brought him back from the dead?

Probably, but who cared. She’d left him with a functioning uterus, she could deal with the fallout.

At least it gave him something to focus on as he lay there in the dark, begging for some relief from the little pills. Thanks to his medic training, he knew how long it would take for the medicine to absorb into his system. Experience was an even better teacher, however – his biotics would make it go even faster.

It was weird – they were the reason he was taking the medicine, but they were also the reason it worked faster to relieve the pain. Talk about a catch-22.

Alistair laid there for what felt like an eternity, pain still throbbing against his temples. The soft glow of his omni-tool told him enough time had passed that the pills should have worked. Much to his immense displeasure, he still felt the majority of the pain as he rolled over onto his side.

In times like this, there was only one other hope of relief.

Slowly, the biotic rose to a sitting position, head still pounding. He went for the small table beside his bed, digging through the contents. Eventually, he found what he was looking for, buried towards the back. It took a few seconds more, but he pulled it free into the darkness of his quarters.

“Well… at least I don’t have to clean the one in my toolbox for its intended use.” Alistair grumbled to himself as he flicked his vibrator on to make sure it had enough power. He quietly thanked the universe that it buzzed to life as he clumsily unbuckled his belt, then slid out of his pants and upper layer of boxers. At some point, his packer slipped and hit the ground, but he didn’t care. Right then, it was in the way of pulling down his inner layer of underwear.

He lay back on his pillow, naked from the waist down. Usually, he would pull his blanket over so the Illusive Man didn’t get a show, but right then his brain was overriding whatever sense of shame he had left in him. The bastard could get what he paid for as he flicked the power to a medium setting and then applied it. The vibration soon started to flood through his body as he closed his eyes and waited.

This was always the most boring part. Unlike most people, Alistair didn’t watch porn. He didn’t see anything wrong with it, mind you, he just had no interest. The one time he had tried, he had wound up trying to piece together how it had been edited during one of the more heated moments between the actors on screen. By the time he had realized he had been trying to masturbate, his vibrator had long since died and he was long beyond his occasional need to get off.

Such was the fate of one on the asexual spectrum, he supposed.

“Damn it, can’t this go any faster?”

Alistair grumbled as he flicked the setting a little higher than he normally preferred. Then he shifted positions, pressing it a little harder in the hopes that might do something. The sensation was definitely building in his stomach, but it wasn’t nearly to the point he needed.

He sighed, closing his eyes once more. This was probably the point people made something up if they had nothing to watch. He had certainly tried in the past, particularly in his teens. However, those flimsy fantasies never really held up, and more often than not faded to the blackness of the inside of his eyelids within a few seconds. Whether that was because it didn’t work or he was just really bad at constructing sexy scenarios, he didn’t know.

At least it would be able to distract him while he waited for the vibrator to do its thing…

“Come on, think. You’re surrounded by muscular men literally every day, you have to have something in there to work with.”  

Of course, those people were under him now. It made it a little hard to picture anyone like them… under him. Such was the downside of being a commanding officer: anyone on ship was off limits.

…

Well, technically he WAS still considered dead by the Alliance…

“I am only considering this because I need something to focus on other than the damn ceiling.”

Alistair sighed as he did his best to try and imagine someone based on the people around him. Like always, a body slowly materialized with plenty of muscle underneath him, fully erect and ready to go. It didn’t have a face – it never did, thank God – and something about the skin seemed rather plastic-like. More importantly… they were kind of a dead fish. Even as he imagined himself lowering onto the dick, there was no reaction.

It was because he was still a virgin, wasn’t it? He knew he should’ve paid more attention to that porn, but could you blame him? He just HAD to know what kind of camera they were using to film the climax scenes, it worked so well in low light…

“Damn it, Alistair, fucking focus on the fucking…”

But it was no good – the plastic body remained lukewarm, vaguely thrusting in time with the vibrator pressed against his oft ignored clit.  He was right back to where he had started, and his head still pounded. Sighing, Alistair shut off his vibrator and sat up. As soon as he did, his omni-tool began to beep.

54.

“Great. My head hurts, and I’m hypo.” He didn’t bother with fitting his packer back into his underwear. Instead, the Spectre grabbed his boxers and padded over to his emergency sugar supply. A small pile of pixie stick wrappers soon formed as he tried not to mope too much about his inability to fix his headache. At least the sugar made his lips stop feeling numb, but it wasn’t like he had to use them right then.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and dislodging the rubber band holding it back in the process. “Guess I’ll just try to sleep it off without the added headache relief.”

That was the great thing about being on the ace side of life – no lingering horniness thanks to his inept abilities.

With another sigh, Alistair made his way back to his bed. This time, he slid under the covers and closed his eyes. His head still pounded, but in the quiet of his quarters he found it a little easier to slip into sleep.

---

“Commander…”

“Vakarian, keep on. That’s an order.”

The body beneath him was hot, almost uncomfortably so. Without skin, the surface was hard and a little rocky where plates joined together. It was a little slick too, and not just because of the lube – carapaces were a fucking slip and slide in the bedroom if you weren’t ready for the angles. It was a little uncomfortable, but with positioning - and a little flexibility - things went where they needed to go.

The turian’s eyes were cloudy with blown pupils. He was breathing hard, grasping at the sheets. His erection had long since shown itself, now buried deep.  When he rubbed against it, the collision of their hips made him whimper.

“I can’t hold it much longer…”

He smirked and leaned closed to the strange neck ahead of him, lips barely ghosting against the hard skin. “Are you giving out on me, Vakarian?”

“N-no, sir…” He was panting, trying to rub. But there would be none of that. Alistair shifted his position to make sure he couldn’t find the relief. Beneath him, Garrus whimpered again, and his mandibles fluttered once more.

It was here that he took his time, carefully biting at the sensitive parts of the turian’s neck. The whimpering got so high pitched that the translator couldn’t work with it anymore, and his natural voice broke through. There was something primal about it, and even though he didn’t have full command of the words, it was enough to get him to smirk as he stopped biting and ran a carful finger between two plates.

“What was that?”

Garrus’ voice was breathy when the translator finally kicked in. “N-nothing, sir…”

His grip was iron on the sheets, and his entire body was trembling. There was the point of climax, and then there it was past it. Clearly, he was edging towards the latter. Alistair nodded as he shifted his position, lowering a bit more. Beneath him, Garrus whimpered again.

“You know what you have to say, Vakarian.”

The turian took a shaky breath, eyes so wide they reminded him of a cat. “Yes, Commander…”

Another shaky breath. “Permission to come aboard?”

It was at this point that Alistair shifted again, fully lowering himself against the turian’s sensitive member, nudging his head close to where he heard best. “Permission granted, Vakarian.”

With that, he rubbed the space between plates one last time, working a nail into right where it was the most sensitive. Beneath him, Garrus shuddered as he finally climaxed, his entire body shaking from the force. All the while, he held on, feeling the vibrations and pulse of the turian’s orgasm.

It was at this point he rolled off to protect himself from the withdrawal. The bad thing about turians was that their anatomy was all internal, regardless of gender. That meant Garrus needed to remove the condom before things got stuck and required an embarrassing visit to a doctor for removal.

“Sir… I…”

Alistair carefully removed the condom for the shaking turian, tossing it to the trash. “Can’t have you out of service, Vakarian.”

“Thank you…” Garrus’ voice was still shaky and going in and out of the translator, but his eyes were more focused. “And you, sir?”

This was the point the turian’s careful hand reached toward him, pausing. He knew better. But right then, Alistair allowed it with a nod. Cautious talons soon found his clit, already slick from a combination of the lube and his own heat.

Here it was faster. Garrus was a pro at getting him off with careful strokes that avoided the sharp side of his clipped talons. The heat was beginning to pool in Alistair’s stomach once more, but he fought back a grunt.

After all, it wouldn’t do to show that in front of his men.

---

Alistair’s eyes snapped open as he sat up. His head still ached, but it wasn’t really his focus then.  A familiar sensation of heat was growing in his stomach as his consciousness slowly filtered in. Without pause, he peeled off both the blanket and his boxers. Just like he thought, he was already wet and close to the point.

Barely breathing, he reached for his vibrator and flicked it on. Garrus’ strained voice and shaking hands were still in his mind as he leaned back and let it work. Just the thought of the turian so close to orgasm and unable to do anything about it caused him to shiver, and it was at that point that it kicked into high gear.

After a few seconds, he climaxed with a shudder and a quiet squeak of a moan. Sweating a little, he turned off the vibrations and just lay there in bed, staring up at the covered ceiling. Someone – probably his sister – had stuck glow in the dark stickers to the dark fabric stretched across the skylight. It looked like Orion’s Belt to him, not that he had ever seen it in person.

…

Yeah, he was definitely trying to avoid this.

“Man, fuck me…”

He sighed. On the bright side, the orgasm had done its job – combined with the medicine, it was easier to think now, and his pounding headache had reduced itself to a dull throb that he could work with. However, now he had a new headache as he sat up to head to the shower.

Garrus’ face was still in his head as he stripped and let the hot water hit his back. Just imagining it made his hand want to wander down from its spot pressed against the wall towards his clit. But he resisted the urge as he shook his head, water flying thanks to his wet hair.

“I can’t believe I went there with him. What the hell am I thinking?”

Alistair rested his forehead against the wall, groaning. This wasn’t the first time he’d had thoughts like this, though it was the first with someone he knew. As much as he hated to admit it, something about that kind of control excited him.

Which, given he was a fucking commanding officer, was a nightmare. It wasn’t like he got off to ordering people around, though; that was business, and he took no pleasure in it. These thoughts just popped up in his private life, in the rare internet searches he did in incognito and made sure his omni-tool was blocking everything out.

“And with Garrus… fuck.”

That was probably the worst part of all as he watched the water circle the drain. Things were better with the turian since they had met up on Omega, but there was being civil and… that. Honestly, it felt awful to him as he played it over again in his mind, closing his eyes tightly.

Awful… but also awfully hot.

His free hand brushed against his thigh, fingers finding his clit. As the water poured down, he rubbed slowly, playing the memory over in his brain. His mind kept focusing on the look on Garrus’ face, on his breathy voice breaking translation. Just imagining him whimpering on the edge of climax with nowhere to go made the heat pool in his stomach. Did the real turian look and sound like that when he was so close to the edge?

“Damn it, Vakarian…”

It came out under his breath in an octave he normally couldn’t hit unless he strained at the bottom of his range. Yet at the moment, it was almost effortless as he replayed the turian underneath him, writhing and unable to do anything about it.

Well, nothing except beg anyway.

Of course, there was a downside to jacking off in the shower. Given the fact he was just standing there, the motion activated lights stopped activating, and he was suddenly in the dark. The quick loss of light was enough to snap him out of the dream and take too quick a step back.

And then on his ass he went.

“Fuck!”

Alistair’s vision swam as he winced, reaching up to turn the water off as his ass throbbed from the force of 140 pounds falling onto it. Nothing felt broken, but there was definitely going to be a bruise once he dried off. Lucky for him, nobody was looking there anyway.

“Shepard, I detected a fall. Are you experiencing hypoglycemic shock?”

EDI’s electronic voice made the whole thing worse as he finally stood, soaking wet and feeling rather stupid. He grabbed for a towel and dried off, wincing as he reached his backside. That one was going to be spectacular.

“I don’t have my omni-tool on, EDI. I’ll let you know in a second.”

A few moments later, with a happy CGM, Alistair sat gingerly at his desk. Now he had two dull throbs to keep him company, along with the reminder of just what the fuck he had been doing a few moments prior. His cheeks colored as he rubbed the towel over his wet hair, trying to block it out.

“Shepard?”

Right, EDI…

“It’s fine, EDI. I just was in there too long and I slipped.” He paused, looking out from under the towel towards the blur orb. “Er, thank you for checking on me.”

What could he say, apart from jacking off to the submissive version of his crewmate, he was a polite man.

The orb clicked off, leaving him to his brooding. Alistair groaned a little as he felt the bruise throb once more. Maybe it was the universe punishing him. Didn’t matter, still fucking hurt as he finished drying off.

“I’m probably going to have to avoid Garrus for a little bit.” He frowned. “Can’t have that happen again. It’d be too awkward…”

But then his eye went to his schedule. His stomach dropped at the sight. Thanks to his headache, he had totally forgotten that he was supposed to check the turian’s new implants to make sure everything was ok. As a matter of fact, he had an hour at best.

He could go to Chakwas for that, right? Right?

“I’m so fucked.”

The human rested his soggy forehead on the deck, mentally willing wherever his dream had come from back to whatever hell it had generated. Lucky for him, he was good at repressing things. With any luck, he wouldn’t even think about it by the time the turian got there for the implant check.

After, though? Well… he was pretty sure he was fucked. Next time he was just going to take a double dose of pain pills. After all, with that new stomach and liver he was pretty sure his body could take that kind of beating. It would be better than the other kind, to say the least.