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inb4belphienaps · 4 years ago

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crying over spilt milk

warnings: none word count: 2285

“Truth be told, I’ve been having these dreams. Dreams almost of another life, a past life perhaps. One that I’d lived and seen and breathed through at some distant point in time.”

I read over my words, holding the letter in my hands.

“They are, by far, the most intricate and detailed dreams I’ve ever had. Usually, I don’t remember them. But these…these feel too real, too specific, too thought out to be anything except something akin to memories of a bygone era.”

I recall a few of them with some difficulty. That was always how dreams worked, like trying to grab mist with your bare hands and having nothing tangible left as evidence.

“Shall I confess?

They have now become a source of entertainment for me, having increasingly rooted themselves in my mind, to the extent that I find myself looking forward to (for lack of better phrasing) the ‘next installment’.

It’s bizarre, I’ll admit. How eager I am to get to sleep as soon as the clock shifts from afternoon to evening, when the hour hand turns to six and I wonder if I’ll see him again…”

as you slowly float back up to the surface, the first sound that hits you is the singing of birds. their bright and cheerful chirps filter in with a hint of irony. though they're pleasant, quietened by the curtains hanging over the windows, it means that it's still rather early.

there's a chill in the air and you turn over under your duvet, tucking your feet in further towards your knees, eager to keep the warmth on your skin. and yet, you open your eyes, not needing to blink any sleep from them. oddly enough, you're more awake than you'd thought. whatever dream you'd been having is far from your mind as you bask in the scattered sunlight dancing on your walls.

such serenity ignites a type of mild excitement in you. and with that in mind, you will yourself to get out of bed.

you draw back the curtains and glance outside, looking out at the landscape, where the sun is shyly peeking over the hill. dawn is only just breaking and as you open a window, a gust of wind greets you, sending a rush of floral scents your way.

you can place notes of rose and lavender, and maybe honeysuckle too. the scenery is beautiful, and you lean against the ledge to admire it. clear skies and waves of green, dotted here and there with reds and pinks and yellows. there's a calmness to the color and vibrancy. something you hadn't stopped to feel in a long time.

it stays in the background. while you pour yourself some tea and sit down for breakfast, and when you turn on the radio to the crooning of some ballad you can't quite place. and even as you set about doing the laundry, humming every now and then to a tune only you seem to know.

the basket you use is one you've weaved yourself (in an attempt to be impassioned by a new hobby). it's small and sturdy and it does the job. you wonder whether it'll last you, hoping that if it breaks, it'll at least do you the favor of waiting until it's empty.

though it doesn't take long, you're startled to see the sun in the sky as you step onto the gravel path, basket in hand. it seems to stare down at you and wink as clouds roll overhead, creating capering shadows on the field as you start hanging the wet quilts one by one.

a couple of bees follow you around as you go about your business. and when you stand still to breathe in the smell of freshly washed linen and admire the warm glow cast on those sheets by the light, a butterfly flutters past.

it brings with it the distant ring of a bicycle bell. you look to the east where a man in uniform comes riding up the hill and the smile on your face could bring shame to the flowers lying near your feet.

"good morning", he says, slowing and stopping a foot or two away from you. he tilts his cap and you note the way in which his fringe barely covers his right eye.

"good morning", you reply. "it must be exhausting having to make that trip every day."

he laughs. it's sweet.

"i don't really mind."

in his hand he carries a metal basket and neatly arranged inside are six glass bottles full of milk.

"how many would you like today?", he asks, and you have the urge to tell him you'll take everything he has to offer. but of course, you don't say this aloud.

"just the one, please."

as he picks up one of the bottles to give to you, you swallow your spit and gesture towards your house. the shadows continue to dance above it, making it seem fluid despite its usual rigidity.

"can i get you something to drink? a coffee, perhaps?"

he appears taken aback, eyes widening a fraction before he smiles, and you feel your heart leap into your throat.

"i'd like that very much. a coffee sounds great."

you momentarily freeze, having expected him to refuse your offer. and then you're taking the bottle of milk and your basket back inside as he follows after you. you turn back to him as he enters and the sheets you'd hung flail slightly behind him, almost like a set of wings.

"cream and sugar?"

"um, no. but could i trouble you for some ice?"

an iced americano, you think. placing your basket on the floor and leaving your bottle on the kitchen counter, you busy yourself with preparing his beverage.

"my name is belphegor, by the way. i think you should at least know who it is that's been delivering you your milk."

you pause, having taken a mug out of the cupboard, and meet his gaze. his tone sounds a little indignant. were you simply being sensitive?

"it's a pleasure to officially meet you, belphegor."

the both of you exchange a shared laugh (the sudden bit of formality is embarrassing). he's the first to look away, breaking the eye contact that has goosebumps erupt on your skin. hm, perhaps you were overthinking things. only, the problem is that you're not sure you have any ice in the fridge.

"were you listening to music?"

"yes- oh", you say, confused at the static that greets you. "the program must've finished."

he glances at the radio and then at you. in your bid to locate the instant coffee you have, you don't notice.

through a strange coincidence, you find it sitting pretty on the top-most shelf of the pantry. you frown, wondering if you'd placed it there by mistake.

belphegor is about to open his mouth to speak again when he sees you reach upwards, fingers brushing across the jar mere centimeters out of your grasp. you're on your toes, leaning forward, barely balancing as you try your hardest to take it.

the man remains silent, watching you with a detached type of curiosity.

darn shelves, you think, as you stretch as far as you're physically able. still, the glass slips from between your fingers and you resort to stepping on a sack of flour. right as you grab it, the corner of the sack slides out from underneath your foot and you gasp, knowing all too well how this was going to end.

but there's a hand on your shoulder and a solid chest against your back, and a pleasant voice in your ear that suggests otherwise.

"so much trouble for a coffee."

his breath tickles the nape of your neck and you twist around to thank him, unprepared for the amused expression painting his face. from here, you can see every freckle, every eyelash, and every stray hair left untamed by his cap.

"you okay?", he asks, too close and quiet. too intimate that you forget yourself for a second.

"i'm...i'm fine."

those furrowed brows of his make you think twice and you place a hand to his chest, marveling in its warmth. you can feel his heart beat. it's steady, unfazed by whatever silly accident had happened just now.

"thanks", you mutter, swiftly removing yourself from his arms (firm and inviting). "i'll uhh...i'll make your iced americano, shall i?"

he doesn't say anything as you take a spoon and measure out the ground powder. and the silence lingers as you bring a pot of water to the boil. your thoughts, however, are that much louder, that much more pronounced. you were never one to invite strangers into your home. why was he such an exception?

"you can stop staring."

belphegor chuckles and you hate the fact that you can't ignore it. his laughter, it twinkles, and it has you looking at him all over again.

"i was keeping an eye out for you. in case you decide to make a habit of falling while i'm here."

you scoff, opening the fridge door to remove the ice tray. six cubes blink up at you and you ease three out, popping them into his mug in rapid succession. it's a tad violent and some of the coffee sloshes out onto the counter.

"thank you for your concern. but it's really not necessary."

he walks towards you, and you remain fixed on his bowtie, hoping to avoid being trapped by his alluring purple irises.

"if you say so."

and he takes a sip. and you find a cloth to wipe the spilt coffee with.

"it tastes good", he says. "maybe i should ask you to make me one every morning."

"tough luck", you reply, glancing at him as you clean. "i'm afraid this is the last of my hospitality."

besides, you didn't have it in you to continue acting an utter fool around him. something about his self-assuredness serves as the antithesis to your nervous energy, fueling it further to the point that you're doubtful about whether he'll return tomorrow.

"is that any way to talk to your knight in shining armor?"

oh. nevermind. that question makes you want to slap the handsome smirk off his face.

you give one last swipe of the counter, as if to stand your ground, and straighten up. yet it only leads to disaster.

the lonesome bottle of milk that you'd put atop it, comes crashing down onto the tiles, spraying its contents along every surface and scattering glass shards in its wake. the knot in your stomach tightens and you refuse to acknowledge the man who hasn't budged an inch.

he clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

"what am i going to do with you?"

as you stoop down to gather the glass, he mirrors you.

"i can-"

"it'll be faster with the two of us."

apparently, it's your turn to watch him. you slow your movements as you focus on his hands, how meticulously they pick up each broken shard and how conflicted you feel about him doing as such. in your daze, the edge of a particularly sharp fragment digs into your thumb and you flinch.

"fuck-"

he reacts before you do, tossing the glass he's holding into the bin and taking your hand in his to help you remove the fragment.

"this might sting", he mutters. that was the last thing on your mind. did this man have no sense of personal space?

the fragment is tossed out with the rest of what used to be the bottle and you're about to reluctantly thank him for a second time until he's bringing your thumb up to his mouth.

"wh- what are you doing?"

he suckles gently on the cut, putting a stop to the bleeding, and you're rendered speechless. when he speaks, all you can think about is his lips.

"can't you be more careful?"

"not with you here, no", you say, finally admitting to the reality that was beginning to suffocate you. you can't pay attention to anything other than him.

"figured it out, have you?"

"figured what out...?", you ask, leaning in as his voice drops to a whisper.

"you have a crush on me."

you stare, perplexed, and you tear your eyes away from his mouth to look at him. there's a secret lingering in his facade. of words unspoken and confessions kept hidden. what does he know?

"prove it", you mumble, perfectly aware of how ridiculous a demand that was.

except he obliges, closing the gap between the both of you and meeting your lips with his own. they're soft and as you snake your hands around his neck, his cap comes loose, falling to join the mess on the floor.

neither of you care to address it and he pulls you back up, hugging you to his front and wrapping his arms around you. it's intoxicating. bitterness lingers on his tongue and there's the faint taste of cigarettes. but you're kissing him like someone starved. or perhaps someone parched.

sparks fly beneath your eyelids and rouge caresses your cheeks. (or was it the ghost of his palm against them?)

there's a need, an intensity to the way he grips you and the way clenches his jaw when you tug at his hair. you match him blow for blow, digging your nails into his shoulder and moaning softly into the kiss.

when you part and rest your forehead against his, you're not the only one who's out of breath.

"belphie", you whisper and the look on his face is a mystery in itself – surprise and longing, haphazardly hidden behind a mask of indifference.

"thank god i brought another five bottles with me, huh?"

#yeah move along it's another belphie piece shut up #obey me au #obey me writing #obey me fluff #obey me belphegor #obey me! belphegor #belphegor x reader #belphegor x gn reader #my writing 🐇

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allen-desu · 4 years ago

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Intrigue: A Canute and Thorfinn Character Study

Canute had learned to do one thing above all else- discern men. It was simple. Either he should be wary of a man or not, and of those he was wary of, who should he make face with.

But then there was Thorfinn..

Very mild Thornute | Vulgar Language | Canon Compliant (Volume 3 specifically) | Spoiler Free

Brushing off my Tumblr to post this somewhere, best read on mobile.

Canute often found himself studying Thorfinn. In fact he was now, stealing glances of him while riding in a wagon through Wales. His nerves were getting the best of him and not wanting to think of signing a treaty without his father present, Canute instead tried to place Thorfinn to keep his mind occupied. The Prince found him to be a most intriguing character, and one that often eluded any solid characterization. It was egregiously annoying; for you see, growing up in the bloodbath of regal politics, Canute had learned to do one thing above all else- discern men. It was simple. Either he should be wary of a man or not, and of those he was wary of, who should he make face with. Granted, Canute had Ragnar, and therefore he never had to put this skill to a real test for his vassal always fought on his behalf, keeping the young Prince’s best interests in mind. Nevertheless, his cautious observation skills were more often than not proven correct as the time revealed untrustworthy men to Canute.

But then there was Thorfinn. There are always exceptions to any and every rule, but even that logic still couldn’t stick Thorfinn under a neat label inside the Prince’s mind. The boy was not like the men he traveled with. Yes, he did the dirty killing, but he did it in a way that oozed indifference. Thorfinn killed swiftly and acted as if each man was a simple stepping stone to the fight being over, for the killing to be over. While the others he traveled with had a sick enjoyment for the act. Thorfinn did not socialize with the Askeladd’s band. He did not share in their spoils, including that of food and drink. Instead the blond hunted his own food, collected his own water. Only rarely did he ever get what he needed from what was plundered. Those rare instances were either when it was offered to him while marching, or on late and loud evenings, while the rest of Askeladd’s band made themselves merry, Thorfinn would slip some goods from tables abandoned for the night.

So, no, Canute would not label him as part of the band. This conclusion was frustrating, for if Thorfinn was not one of Askeladd’s men, why was he one of Askeladd’s most trusted pawns? Perhaps part of the answer was in the word “pawn” itself, but Askeladd was a cautious man as well. So much so that Canute knew it would bode well for him to try and keep tabs on what the man was thinking. So what was his reasoning to keep Thorfinn- who literally wanted him dead for some unknown reason to the Prince- under his thumb. The young blond was skilled and dangerous to have around. How did Askeladd tame-

Ah.. perhaps that was it.

Thorfinn was like something wild, pacing in its cage and waiting for its chance to do something about its keeper and free itself from its confines. Tamed to compliance, but would still happily bite the hand. Something akin to a wolf perhaps.

Canute looked up from his thoughts over to Thorfinn who was leaning on the opposite side of the wagon, his gaze far off and his eyes hard. Feeling that the Prince was looking at him Thorfinn shot daggers at Canute . Seeing the dirty teen do this with the image of a wolf in his mind nearly tempted Canute to chuckle and he swiftly hid his face from the other in case the temptation won him over. He could hear Thorfinn scoff and that was the end of the whole exchange. A lone wolf in an unfamiliar pack. The young Prince was satisfied with the description for the young warrior.

Canute was no longer satisfied. Thorfinn was his guard and, surprisingly, was taking the job seriously. He seemed not to care, was quick with sharp words at either Canute, Ragnar or Father Willibald. But on more than one occasion, the Prince would catch a small glimpse of Thorfinn nearby, seemingly disinterested, but close enough to come to aid or rescue. Any time he was not lurking and couldn’t be seen or found, a few hours or less after the fact, the shorter blond could be seen emerging from the tree line, a rabbit or more hanging over his shoulder.

In fact, this had just happened and Ragnar had convinced Thorfinn to add the rabbit to the meal he and the Prince were making.

“Highness!” Ragnar had announced upon entry. “We have beans, cabbage and a hare!” As he listed the items, Thorfinn had walked in behind him and closed the door to the cold. Canute was surprised to see him, tensed and annoyed, looking very out of place in the little home they had… procured.

“ A hare?” The Prince asked, ignoring how his own bout of tension was threatening to rise in his shoulders.

“Thorfinn caught it.” Obviously. “We’ll put it in the soup.”

“Well done.” As if Thorfinn needed or wanted praise for a deed he probably found to be child’s play. “Bleed it and skin it so we can wash the meat.” Truth be told, Canute wasn’t expecting for Thorfinn to just comply without some remark, and he surely wasn’t expecting Ragnar to take the rabbit from Thorfinn to do the task instead. It was jarring seeing his caretaker grab the rabbit from him, as if he had just seen Ragnar take a kill from a wild animal. At least that’s what flashed through his mind when the moment started. However, as it happened in real time, Thorfinn let his catch be taken and he was left to simply stand, awkward and unsure.

Canute, stirring the broth in progress mindlessly as he watched on, couldn’t help but consider Thorfinn for a long moment. This boy in front of him was no lone and wild wolf. The moment his gaze was felt, however, the creature came back and Thorfinn found a spot off to the side against the wall that he could sit at and brood.

Once the soup was done and the table was set, Canute and Ragnar somehow coaxed Thorfinn to join them at the table. The tension in the boy’s shoulders was palpable and Canute couldn’t help but take notice of it, trying to further categorize it. When Thorfinn actually acknowledged the meal in front of him, however, his demeanor changed. It was quick, merely a fraction of a second, but the Prince saw it- tried to burn the image into his brain to try and decipher later.

Ragnar’s compliments of the meal they prepared took Canute’s attention and he took this as an opportunity. Agreeing with Ragnar, “The rabbit made it work.” He looked to Thorfinn, “I’m tired of salted meat. You have my thanks.” There was no answer from the shorter blond, he just continued to look at their spread on the table and look lost. Almost as if he didn’t think it was real. The thought threatened to furrow the Prince’s brow. It made him realize yet again, Thorfinn was not amicable with the men he traveled with. When was the last time anyone showed this young man any kindness? When was the last time Thorfinn had the simple pleasure to share a meal with someone at all?

“What’s wrong?” Canute spoke, aiming to pull Thorfinn out of his stupor. “Eat up, you caught the rabbit.”

It seemed to do the trick, for Thorfinn picked up his bowl and spoon and tentatively took a bite. The look on his face, before it was hidden behind matted bangs, was one Canute would very much like to see again. Anger and/or indifference seemed to have a constant monopoly on Thorfinn’s features, but that one, quick moment of.. surprise? Or maybe he was just pleased with the taste of his meal. Either way, the emotion fit his face better, let the ridges between his brows smooth out for a second. Genuine, that was the word. Thorfinn seemed more genuine in that one instant than he did the entirety of the time that Canute had known him thus far.

“Pretty good isn’t it?” Ragnar mused, though the Prince couldn’t quite tell if he had also caught the glimpse of surprise from Thorfinn, or if he was just rearing up to dote and brag on Canute’s cooking talents. “Catch us a deer next, and we’ll really have a meal!”

“...” Not a real reply, but the young guard had acknowledged Ragnar. Thorfinn continued to eat, and almost absentmindedly, “I thought you noble types had everything cooked for you.” It wasn’t a question, a simple statement of thought, but Canute thought he would answer it anyways.

“I enjoy doing it.” The Prince began, “I don’t normally get the chance. Only Ragnar knows that I can cook.” A pause and Canute laid his spoon down in his bowl for a moment. “Do not tell anyone of this.” Thorfinns reply was instant and disinterested.

“Why not?” Followed by, “Who cares?”

Not sure what persuaded him to do so, but Canute began to tell Thorfinn of his father’s, the King, displeasure in the fact that he liked to cook- that it was a frivolous and useless skill to have. Though the shorter blond’s face was as neutral as ever, he did slow in his eating to listen, that alone made Canute feel as he wasn’t wasting his breath, that it was worth having someone other than Ragnar know of how intensely inadequate his father found him to be. Ragnar seemed to be confused at his tellings though. He was obviously not expecting his Highness to share. Giving his Highness an odd look he decided to try and lighten the Prince’s mood, though Canute wasn’t in need of it.

The two of them held their own conversation from there on out, speaking about different dishes Canute could prepare, or what Ragnar could teach him about new dishes he had yet to prepare. The mood in their little borrowed house was light. It was familial in its own way. The young Prince would glance over to Thorfinn every once in a while and was pleased to see that the ever present knot of tension in his shoulders was slowly becoming unraveled. The guard ate and listened.

Something in Thorfinn snapped and Canute shuddered because of it.

What happened in the next instant was too fast for Canute to follow in real time. Thorfinn had gotten up, more like sprung up, and was immediately at the door one of his signature knives pointed at someone’s throat. Had the man had worse reflexes, he would have impaled himself on Thorfinn’s steel. Ragnar was next in the initiative, questioning both Thorfinn and the man on what was going on.

“Agh- I’m on your side Thorfinn!” So it was one of Askeladd’s men. “I’m just bringing a message…” Despite this, it still took a long moment for Thorfinn to remove his knife from the man’s throat. Ragnar took the lead from there and was questioning the newcomer on Canute’s behalf, but Canute himself was still trained on his short bodyguard.

Thorfinn was still tense, still alert and ready to strike, but his initial instinct was slowly recoiling back into its original state. It was interesting to watch the slow movement of his shoulders and back muscles through threadbare clothing. However, Canute’s gaze was felt and Thorfinn shot him a look that could kill. Oddly enough the look from the dirtied blond softened a little, as if he was reminded that Canute was still there and his presence wasn’t something he should be afraid of. The thought struck the Prince as oddly satisfying. He wasn’t able to really dive further into that train of thought, however, for the man brought news of the English advancing on the hideout they had procured. Canute’s shock couldn’t beat out Ragnar’s rage. Heated words about Askeladd and his poor decisions were spoken, and then, just as suddenly as they had come, the man was gone, Ragnar following after him.

The little house was now too still and too quiet until it was broken by Thorfinn huffing through his nose.

“Can’t even manage to close the damn door on their way out.” He muttered, moving to do just that so the winter’s day wouldn’t try and suck any more of the hard earned heat out of the house. With the door closed Thorfinn relocated to his new post beside the door, leaning against the wall. The Prince watched him do this and suddenly Thorfinn was glaring at him again. “Have I fucking done something?” The shorter teen hissed.

“What?” Such an elegant reply, good job Canute. Not that Thorfinn gave two shits about that kind of thing.

“You’ve been staring. Like a lot.” Thorfinn turned to fully face Canute, leaning only one shoulder on the wall. “Still mad, Princess?” A smirk. Of course that’s what he would call him, but Canute realized he was talking about their squabble in the wagons the other day. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who your father is or who’s womb you crawled out of.”

“Still have the vulgar audacity to speak to me like that, but no.” Thorfinn raised a brow at him. “It was more of a shock than anything else. I don’t particularly mind that you speak so blatantly.” No matter how sharp the words, unfortunately. It seemed that the shorter blond did not have a reply for that and instead just refocused his attention to the fire instead. Canute also took this moment to recollect his thoughts. He knew Ragnar was angry, he warned Askeladd about the very problem at hand. Askeladd had paid him no mind at all. Still, the Prince was worried. Ragnar had left in the heat of the moment to a battlefield only to argue with the man leading the defensive charge. Not to mention, his soup would be cold by the time he came back. What a waste.

Perhaps the moments before Ragnar’s return wouldn’t entirely be a waste, though. Not if Canute played his cards right. He wanted to understand Thorfinn. Never before had he met someone that has proven themselves to be so complicated, especially since at first Canute thought him to be a simple brute among other simple brutes. Why was Thorfinn here, why was he in, but yet not considered, part of Askeladd’s band? What happened to him? The short blond hates the man, yet follows him around the country and overseas. He even follows some insane orders with the promise of some kind of reward.

Thorfinn let out an aggravated noise and was suddenly leaning over Canute, hands flat on the table with a bang.

“You’re doing it again. Quit.” The shorter teen growled. Canute blinked owlishly at him. What? Oh, had he been staring again? Nevertheless he continued to study Thorfinn, which was quickly making his guard’s blood boil. Then Canute stood forcing the other teen to stand back a bit and look up at him. He knew that Thorfinn was shorter than him, but it was still amusing to actually see it. Thorfinn carried himself to be larger, more intimidating. Said young guard was now glaring up at Canute through his dirtied bangs. “What?” He hissed.

“You confuse me, Thorfinn.” The Prince replied. Thorfinn also had a fair amount of confusion mixed in with his usual anger, and that fact pleased Canute a bit- at least the feeling was mutual. “I’ve just been trying to figure you out.”

“Well stop.”

“No, I shan’t” Canute replied swiftly. Thorfinn was prone to argue, but nothing came out. The Prince could take a guess as to what he was thinking. That the person in front of him was the same as the shy and bumbling Prince that was showcased and dragged around all of England these past few weeks? Yes and no. There was nothing political in this task, Canute had nothing to fear if he took a misstep. No repercussions. This was a purely selfish motive in which he had no problems pursuing as long as it was kept private. “Also it’s not that I can not, it’s that I will not”

“You…” Thorfinn struggled. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“To you, perhaps not.” This reply really made Thorfinn angry, Canute could see it in the way his whole body tensed, gearing up to fight. Part of him wanted to see if his guard would actually hit him. However, before either of them could think through what they wanted to do next, for some odd reason, Canute had moved and held Thorfinn’s face in his hands. Both teens were now wide eyed and tense. Why did he do that? When did he do that? Just now? A moment ago?

Canute was the first to settle down from the shock of his own actions, and instead of pulling away like he thought he would, the Prince settled into the position. He let his hands feel the warmth of Thorfinn’s jaw and slid down to where his thumbs were still on the other blond’s face, but the rest of his fingers curled delicately around his neck. He knew his hands must have been cold, he was prone to be, but the proof lies in the fact that Thorfinn’s skin puckered into bumps right before he shuddered just slightly.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Thorfinn asked, his voice surprisingly tame. He was definitely still angry and on edge, but thus far it seemed as if Canute was not in danger of being bitten by the wolf that accompanied Thorfinn’s anger.

“Indulging, just let me for a moment.” Canute replied softly, as if trying not to spook Thorfinn away.

“...the hell does that even mean?” The guard muttered in reply. Canute laughed lightly, amused.

“Don’t think on it too hard,Thorfinn.” No reply to that, but the dirtied teen in his hands didn’t pull away either. Good, that was good.

Now that Canute had somehow managed to get them into this situation, he took as much time as he damn well pleased to study the other boy. Not that he was naive enough to believe that staring at Thorfinn would somehow unlock his secrets, but he did think it would help. Thorfinn was a recluse. No one ever got too close to him and he would never let them, so the fact that Canute was quite literally in his personal space seemed like a major victory.

Thorfinn had hard light brown eyes, but if the fire flickered right they were more like unearthed amber or sweet honey. They were nothing like the Prince’s own eyes, a sky blue. The sky may be vast, but Thorfinn’s eyes were deep. What was that saying? The eyes were a window into the soul? Canute could readily believe that looking into Thorfinn’s.

Next Canute took note that, under all the dirt, Thorfinn was tired. He had coloration and lines on his skin that a boy of their age shouldn’t have. Did he ever sleep through the night? His guard was always up late and always up early, always seen at odd hours thinking about something far away... or a time long gone, perhaps? Beyond what dirt and sleepless bruising lay on his skin, was what lacked beneath it. Thorfinn was a genuine threat on the battlefield, how could someone so strong have such gaunt in his cheeks? He knew Thorfinn fended for himself, but from what he has seen, he does a rather good job at it. Granted, he doesn’t eat square meals. Canute thinks that just earlier was the first time he’s seen Thorfinn eat anything green, or not meat related. Still, a soldier's diet of salted meat and wine wouldn’t result in malnutrition. Was malnutrition why he was short? Just… Just how long had Thorfinn been taking care of himself? The men didn’t bat an eye at Thorfinn’s presence. In fact, while marching and the men told old stories, Thorfinn was in a good many of them. Years? Had it been years since Thorfinn had a meal like the one he had today?

“I don’t need your fucking pity.” Thorfinn’s voice startled the Prince. Was he making a face of some kind?

“I didn’t mean..”

“Save your breath, I don’t care.”

Canute thought it was best to not reply, so instead he wiped some dirt off of Thorfinn’s face with one of his thumbs. With a fresh bath, a sturdy brush, and some new clothes, Thorfinn could be considered handsome.

He wondered what Thorfinn was thinking. Was he actually trying to decipher Canute in turn or was he just waiting for the Prince to be done? Canute also wondered, truly, when was the last time Thorfinn was shown kindness? Affection? Perhaps he wasn’t a lone wolf at all, but something lost instead. When one finds themselves abandoned in one way or another, in an unfamiliar place, one must adapt. Did Thorfinn just adapt to killing? Fights because he has to? It was frustrating going through all these thoughts himself, but Canute knew for a fact that Thorfinn would not simply answer any questions that he asked.

Perhaps… Perhaps Canute could be the one to show him kindness? Maybe he could properly tame the wolf that was Thorfinn’s anger, and find the lost person it was protecting. Thorfinn was so hard to get close to though, even today he had been reluctant to simply share his rabbit and then a meal. So what could the Prince do? He thought of this and that, feeling Thorfinn’s pulse through the fingers on his neck. Absentmindedly he rubbed his thumbs in time with it, studying him. Again Thorfinn couldn’t suppress a shiver and again Canute was moving without thinking at all.

He had pressed their lips together. Why? Not even God above would know. Thorfinn’s lips were chapped, still and shocked against the Prince’s own, but he was warm. Unfairly warm and it seeped into Canute. He could stay this way for a long while if he was completely honest with himself, but one kiss was enough. A gesture of both kindness and affection that Thorfinn could seek out from him if he chose to do so if he ever needed to feel wanted. So Canute pulled away, but instead of the awkward moment he was expecting, strong hands pulled him back in at the hips. Thorfinn had leaned back up and continued the kiss.

The taller blond was not expecting this, but then again he was also not expecting to have kissed Thorfinn in the first place either. His pale hands slipped from Thorfinn’s face and neck and instead slid so Canute could rest his arms on his guard’s shoulders. The hands on his hips were most likely bruising him with how tight they held him, but that was part of what he liked about this moment. Thorfinn was holding him and kissing him like this was something he desperately needed. Canute returned its ferocity and leaned in, making Thorfinn crane his neck at an odd angle, and then ran his tongue over the shorter’s lips. Again this was something neither of them were expecting, not experienced enough to really know what they were doing at all to be honest.

However, surprisingly enough, Thorfinn had again let it happen, letting Canute test the waters. So he did. Canute pushed his tongue into the other blond’s mouth. He felt Thorfinn’s tongue with his own, the roof of his mouth and back of his teeth. It was oddly exhilarating, even more so when Thorfinn mimicked Canute and did the same to him.

As Thorfinn kissed him Canute moved them, pivoting them so Thorfinn was between him and the table. The shorter blond grunted when it happened and turned his head out of the kiss to look at their new position, to which the taller blond took as a chance to place kisses to Thorfinn’s jaw and neck.

“Don’t think that I’m just going to bend over like some paid whore.” Thorfinn muttered, his voice was a little deeper, thicker, Canute couldn’t help but like it, but also couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from him.

“I wasn’t really planning on it.” He mused, resting his head in the crook of Thorfinn’s neck. Canute watched as Thorfinn reached for his low ponytail and played with the strands tentatively. It almost seemed as if he had been wanting to do so for a while but never had gotten the chance to do so until now. Canute kept that nice little thought in mind as he placed more kisses up Thorfinn’s neck, trailing back up to his mouth.

The two of them kissed some more, each exploring at their own paces. Canute also let his hands wander; Thorfinn was all muscle and bone and very thin. The prince knew that one day, if Thorfinn’s disinterest in his own health didn’t kill him first, that he would be properly strong, with healthy muscle, and a fuller face. At least that’s what he hoped for. Thorfinn did not explore the way Canute did, but his grip remained tight and would squeeze him whenever Canute did something he liked. At some point their hands inched a little higher.

The heat between them slowly, so very slowly, faded and they were back where they started, Canute cupping his face. After a few moments that stopped too.

“Did this ever happen?” Thorfinn asked, voice quiet. Canute blinked at him, it wouldn’t bode well for him if Thorfinn ever told anyone of their little venture, but he was honestly surprised that the other cared at all. But more than that, Canute was surprised to see that the anger that was seemingly permanent on Thorfinn’s features was gone. In its place was something the Prince could not identify, but he would burn the image in his brain. Hard eyes were gone, in its place was only honey and a fair amount of color in his cheeks.

Canute decided he would be the one to give Thorfinn the kindness he deserved. Even if it was just in small doses, seemingly meaningless gestures.

“No.” He replied, leaning down to press a kiss to Thorfinn’s cheek. “But it could happen again if you want.”

The shorter blond huffed and made a gesture for Canute to move. He did and Thorfinn moved towards the door. Canute had expected him to leave, but instead he had taken his previous makeshift post at the door. “Whatever, your Highness”

The Prince took his place back at the table, smiling to himself. That response certainly wasn’t a no. He had more thinking to do.

#vinland saga #thorfinn #canute #prince canute #thornute #character study #vinland saga fanfiction #anime #manga

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shaynawrites23 · 4 years ago

Text

Dorothea

Pairing: Remus Lupin x reader

Word count: 1360

Warnings: angst.... sorry!

A/N: This is my first fic for a collab with @ghosts-of-hogwarts! We’re each writing fics to the songs of Taylor Swift’s album Evermore. You can find the masterlist here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remus strolled along over the cobblestone path, the spring breeze playing with his soft brown locks as it blew past. He was on his way to his parents’ house for a family dinner; one for which they had gone to great lengths to make sure he’d be present.

The clock chimed five. He was late, but that didn’t matter much; he was the only child and they lived in the same small town. They would wait for him.

He checked his phone. His parents had invited his girlfriend as well, a lovely young girl by the name of (y/n). Part of him hoped for a message, a confirmation to let him know she was coming, but the home screen empty of notifications told him all he needed to know.

Hey Dorothea

Do you ever stop and think about me?

When we were younger

Down in the park

Honey, making a lark of the misery

You got shiny friends since you left town

A tiny screen’s the only place I see you now

And I got nothing but well wishes for you

Of course she wasn’t coming. Why would she? (y/n) left town long ago; moved away to the big city, and he hadn’t seen her since. Not in person, at least.

His mother ushered him inside. As always, he glanced around their house to see if anything had changed. It looked mostly the same, but a new tablecloth hung over the back of a chair, a vase of bright yellow daffodils stood proudly in the middle of the table, and a new painting adorned the living room wall of the cozy dwelling. But what really caught his eye was the framed photograph on the mantle. The photo of him and (y/n).

He bent down to take a closer look, and in his memories he could instantly identify the moment when it was taken. They were both younger, standing in front of Hogwarts for what would be the last time together. Both still wore their uniforms, but not in the strictly enforced style of the school. Remus’ tie hung loosely around his neck, and the top two buttons of her shirt were unbuttoned. (y/n) held her wand in one hand and her cloak in the other, laughing as Remus slung his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. That was after graduation day. It was the last time they saw each other.

With difficulty, he tore himself away from the picture, sauntering into the kitchen instead. The savory smell of his mother’s cooking filled the house, but here one almost felt immersed in it. Glancing at her quickly, Remus took a spoonful of whatever type of soup was simmering on the stove while his mother’s back was turned. The clank of his spoon against the pot betrayed him, though, and she shooed him out again with a wooden spoon, grinning. Just like when he was younger.

Ooh, this place is the same as it ever was

Ooh, but you don’t like it that way

His phone pinged and he fished it out of his pocket, grinning hopefully. Maybe it was (y/n). Maybe she wanted to explain why she didn’t come. Maybe she still wanted to. All these thoughts clamoured for attention in his mind, but only received it for a fraction of a second.

It only took him a second to unlock his phone, and his face fell as he felt the familiar tightening of his heart. The notification was indeed from her, but it wasn’t a message. It was an Instagram notification.

(y/n) just added to their story

He put his phone face-down on the couch. She was out. With a guy. On the day his mother, her boyfriend’s mother. invited her over for dinner.

Remus shook his head, running a hand through his hair. No, being in a relationship meant trusting your partner. She could go out if she liked. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean she loved him any less… right?

It’s never too late

To come back to my side

The stars in your eyes

Shined brighter in Tupelo

And if you’re ever tired of being known

For who you know

You know, you’ll always know me

Dorothea

However, come to think of it… it wasn’t the first time. (y/n) seemed to spend more time with her friends than with him. That was to be expected, since they lived in different cities, but there was no denying that the distance between them had grown in more ways than one.

He sighed, producing a photograph from his pocket. Her face gazed back at him and a small, fond smile graced his features as he brushed a thumb over her printed cheek. He would have followed her to the ends of the earth. Merlin, he would even have given his life for her. And the scary part was that, despite their weakening bond, he still would. He’d do it in a heartbeat.

Ooh, you’re a queen

Selling dreams

Selling makeup and magazines

Ooh, from you I’d buy anything

What changed? His feelings for her hadn’t, that much was certain. If anything, they had grown stronger. But something in their relationship was different, was changing, and he was determined to put his finger on it. If this continued, it would ruin him.

Him. Was it him? Was he driving them apart? Did she finally decide he wasn’t enough, after years of trying to convince him of the opposite? Had she grown sick of his love, grown to view it as nothing but a pesky parasite? Had she moved on and… and was it time he did too?

Hey Dorothea

Do you ever stop and think about me?

When it was calmer

Skipping the prom

Just to piss off your mom

And her pageant schemes

And damn, Dorothea

They all wanna be ya

But are you still the same soul

I met under the bleachers?

Well

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew what he had to do… even though he’d likely just be breaking his own heart in the process. It was time to cut ties; no matter how much it hurt, staying ‘together’ would only hurt him more.

Ooh, I guess I’ll never know

Ooh, and you’ll go on with the show

So Remus began writing her an ultimatum of sorts. He wrote of his love for her, and of how he loved her enough to let her go if she so wished. He wrote of how he would always cherish their memories together, of how he would miss her, and that she would always be able to rely upon him, to come back to him. In the end, his message was long enough to be written out as a letter.

Pressing send, he stuffed his phone back in his pocket and went to join his parents.

But it’s never too late

To come back to my side

The stars in your eyes

Shined brighter in Tupelo

And if you’re ever tired of being known

For who you know

You know, you’ll always know me

That evening, Remus pushed all thoughts of (y/n) out of his mind. He talked and laughed with his parents, and when his mother urged him to spend the night, he didn’t protest as he usually did.

Not once did he think of her until late that night, before he went to bed.

Dorothea

After completing his nighttime routine, he sat down on his childhood bed and produced his phone. Now that he was completely alone with his thoughts, (y/n) was the only thing on his mind.

new text message from (y/n)

He sucked in a breath. Was he ready to read it? Was he ready to find out whether their relationship would change? Was he ready to know what feelings she still had for him, if any?

Letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in, he tapped on the notification.

Ooh

Ooh-woo-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh

Ooh

Ooh-woo-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh

I agree. Goodbye, Remus.

And Remus cried, for all he had lost in that moment.

Dorothea

#remus lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus lupin oneshot #remus oneshot #remus lupin angst #remus angst #remus lupin x reader angst #remus x reader angst

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jamestrmtx · 4 years ago

Text

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Sixteen | Dummy! (Part 2 of 3)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

When you're done freshening up, dinner's already underway. The scent of vegetables and broth hits your nose, and the cold temperature left behind by the storm brings forth an additional hint as to what the monster's cooking up for dinner. You try to stay soundless as you sneak off to the kitchen and stand behind him, looking over his shoulder when you make it there.

"I can tell you're here, pal," Sans says, chuckling.

He turns to you with a spoon held out in his hand. There's a sample of soup on it, waiting to be tested. The scent reminds you of having missed lunch break due to the stormy weather, with the hours it lasted bringing forth your boss's decision to call the rest of your shift off. You were supposed to be at your last meeting by now, but the rain and wind had proven to be superior, canceling all plans. Less work meant less pay, though you try to refrain yourself from worrying too much about that right now. "Taste it." He offers it out to you, still waiting. You, on the other hand, take a while to do anything, overthinking the situation as you then debate on whether to grab the spoon or taste it right off his hand. The first option had the risk of you brushing hands with the monster and spilling the soup in the process, yet tasting it right off his hand was almost unthinkable to do.

Another thought pops into your mind, and that's whether it was fine to trust the skeleton by tasting the food and giving him the benefit of the doubt about it not being tampered with. Though you knew him for a few months now, it's still impossible not to acknowledge a possibility like that one. If a man you'd known for so many years had ended up leaving you, only to make a scene like yesterday's when trying to get back with you, who's to say a stranger with customs far different from yours wouldn't do something similar -- or worse?

You remind yourself of your main and original task: confronting him and the rest of the monsters over the choices they made back at the Underground, regardless of how charming and kind they were being with you currently. Sans was no less of an exception. This wasn't only for Frisk's safety and their overall state of well-being, but for your reputation as their parent -- and for your peace of mind, too.

You figure you've taken too long based on how the skeleton backs the spoon away.

His grin widens, and he then sips the contents off the spoon, leaving it empty. "I promise it ain't poisoned." He gives his back to you as he goes to wash the spoon, offering it to you after it's been cleaned. "You can taste it now." Sans moves aside, creating space for you to step forward and scoop a bit of the soup still bubbling in the pot.

Just as you're about to eat it though, he says, "I'm not the best cook around, so go ahead and lemme know if it tastes funny."

A smile forms on your face when you hear that, captivated by the idea of him having no clue how to begin cooking, and even more considering he was at your home instead of his. If it was often difficult for beginners to cook in the familiarity of their own home, you can't imagine how it must feel doing that at another person's place. For a moment, you wish you could've seen him in the process of cooking, an opportunity you'd lost while you went off to shower and change.

When you taste it, what's missing drops into your thoughts; years of having cooked at home reveal the capability of identifying that quickly. You consider the suggestion and confirm what the soup's lacking when you clean up the spoon and take a second sample off the pot. "It's good," you say, setting it aside. "Just needs a bit of salt and more time to stew. The rest is fine."

"Thanks," he replies, hands going back to his pockets. "Paps wants to improve his cooking, so I figured I've gotta better mine some more before I teach 'im anything."

Again, your mind finds itself in a conflict. While it's charmed by the thoughtfulness of that comment, it's also clouded by the morose reminder of why you'd asked him to stay for dinner in the first place. To distract yourself, you add the missing ingredient to the soup and walk with Sans to the couch while it finishes boiling.

It feels strange to sit so far apart from each other, but he doesn't close off the distance, nor do you.

You prop a leg over the other and rest a hand over your knee, bouncing the one on the floor when you lack anything more to say. Your thoughts scramble around as you try to find a way to make the situation less awkward. When you glance back at him, you see it's something he also seems to want to end; your gaze meets with his when you both decide to look at each other's side -- synchronizing.

He shifts closer and you do the same, continuing until your hands touch.

Almost immediately, you pull back, yet your gaze remains locked with his, eyes drifting down to his teeth. Even as he gets nearer, you stay put, lost in your thoughts and the risky scenario unfolding. Your brain and heart scream at you to stop; your body -- conversely -- refuses to move out of its current spot and rebels by inching closer to him, until you're near enough to catch the scent of the only soap brand you often bought for showering: soft-scented, cheap, and antibacterial. It's strange to catch that aroma from someone other than yourself. Frisk preferred using a different kind, making the situation much more intimate than you would like it to feel.

You grab his hand again as he leans into you, only stopping himself when your back presses against the armrest. Then, he pulls his hand back and uses both to hold your shoulders and corner you right into place. Height difference makes it so that his legs stay knelt on the couch while yours hang off it, these tucked aside as you focus on the matter at hand. He brings himself closer as he tries to level out your heights, grip on you staying. The sound of your heart and of the soup simmering by the kitchen are the only two other things to keep your mind occupied from what's happening; anticipation makes your breaths waver.

As if the situation couldn't get tense enough, the door of the living room opens and in barge two people, leaving you in an iced state.

Rather than Frisk and Toriel, it's Frisk and Jerry who stand at the frame, one casting a look of betrayal at the monster while the other scrutinizes the scene. You try standing up, yet the monster's hands hold you back, body held up over yours -- still cornered. His face reveals nothing but conflict, an expression similar to your state of mind regarding how freely to act with him.

Jerry leaves without a word and shuts the door too slow for it to even click. Frisk does the rest of the job for him by locking it, checking it again, and saying nothing themselves as they look at you in the eye and sign, "Can we talk later, ren?"

Still in a tough position, you nod once, lacking strength or words to say anything out loud.

Sans doesn't move even as Frisk disappears into the hallway.

You see his irises falter when you look at him; his gaze isn't fully there. A few drops of sweat are present on his forehead, and you can feel his hands grow colder with each second. "...Are you okay, Sans?" you ask, voice faint. "I, um... I think the soup should be ready now."

You hope that's enough to snap him out of it, only to have that contradicted when his hold on you stays. "I'm sorry, (Y/N)," he mutters, huffing, "I failed you."

Sans moves back while you sit up straight; silence returns. He stands up and goes to turn off the stove, all done within more time than you would expect as he chooses to stay there a few more minutes, staring aimlessly at the kitchen's wares. You rest your hands on your knees, and you wait to see what he does next. There's not much you can do now that you were caught in a moment like that one, and there's no time to beat yourself up over it, either. All you can do's admit your blame where it best seemed fit, and that was in letting your inner voice act before you. You'd given it your strongest efforts to wait until your first year of college to date Jerry, only to then wait until you had a stabler job by your second semester to actually do anything more serious with him, and later waited six more years alone, watching as Frisk grew up in your care for most of the time, only to let your wants show through now of all times.

Excuse through excuse -- be it valid or not -- you'd restricted yourself at every moment you saw possible.

All that, and yet it still felt as if you hadn't done enough.

You wanted to be stronger.

"Frisk told me 'bout your situation," Sans says, distracting you from your thoughts. "Not whatever happened with Jerry, but the way you see monsters, and well… me, in general." He turns away from the kitchen and sits back down on the couch, looking directly at you, though for wholly different reasons than earlier ago. His hand stays over yours, more comforting than sultry. Were you to know him for any longer, you would've assumed he's holding his soul on his sleeve, yet you remind yourself he's still a stranger. "Maybe this's my habits showin' up, but if I were to judge you based on what they told me, I'd say you're labeling yourself as the bad guy." His fingers intersect with yours, squeezing your palm. "Of all the things I've gotten to learn about you, this's one of the least you should be blamin' yourself for. If anything, you're not exactly the only one responsible for all that's been happenin' right now."

Your breaths grow tighter the longer you keep listening to him. Your heart's racing again, yet it's not the same as before. The monster lets your hand go, continuing with, "I can't tell you just how different we are from each other, and how much I wish I had a fraction the amount of willpower you and your kid have." He sighs; a hint of a smile shows despite the furrow in his gaze. "You've got some things right about me, and one of 'em's havin' chosen to act too late. Being unable to be there for those I care about, more specifically." His nose cavity flares as he lets out a stifled laugh, remorse showing in spite of his best efforts not to let that happen. "I hate who I used to be, and even now, I still feel like I could've done more. I wanna try harder, but I don't have a clue on where to start with that."

Sans tries to stand up, yet fails to. He heaves out a breath as he closes his eye sockets and surrenders himself back on the couch; he rests his elbow over the armrest and lets his chin rest on his hand. After that, he looks back to your side, an apologetic gaze showing as his grin widens and his crease deepens, the way his monster anatomy worked allowing him to further display similar movements to that of a human narrowing their gaze. "Keep taking credit where it's due, (Y/N). And when you've got somethin' you want to improve, try your best to overcome it." He pauses, and the crease in his gaze lessens as he casts a fonder look at you. "Not that you ain't tryin' already. But you're still takin' up too much of the blame, and not realizing when you can be free. It doesn't have to be with me -- or anybody else, for that matter -- but try to live life a lil' more. Don't just dwell on the past and restrain yourself from stuff you want to achieve for yourself. You should live for you, just as you're tryna live for others."

He closes his eye sockets and brings a hand to his face, rubbing his forehead until he lets out a hushed sigh. Then, he opens them and straightens up on his seat, hands resting on his lap. There's a brief pause, broken when he breathes in again, saying, "...So a skeleton and a single parent walk into a bar," he takes another stop, continuing with, "One bares their skin to the bartender, earnest down to the bone," his breath hitches, yet he composes himself quickly, "the other sits back, looks into the past, and then wonders why he's feelin' so lonely."

He huffs and ends it all with a chuckle and an attempt at covering his face away from your sight. You stop him with the brush of a hand, taking his cheekbone when he turns to you. His body's shaking and a few tears escape his sockets, these he tries to wipe with his free hand, only for you to hold him back by doing that yourself. Caught in the moment, you kiss one of them away, the expectance of a salty taste proven wrong as you receive a hint of sweetness instead -- reflecting the memory of your day with him at the pâtisserie. His shoulders shake as he chokes back a sob, breaking down. His hands grab your back, bringing you in for a hug as he seeks more comfort. In that embrace, you can feel how his rib cage rises and falls at quick intervals, slowing down when you hug him back and wait until he breaks it apart.

The wait's as long as you expect it for someone in his state; the weight of his breaths diminish as he calms down and lets you go.

"Sorry about that," he comments, chuckling. "Wasn't really myself for a moment there, huh?"

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@disastrous-l0vebug

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@timelock97

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#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

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scandeniall · 4 years ago

Text

falling in love | atsumu m.

pairing: atsumu x reader

warnings: few curse words. Yk the usual; aged up/post time skip

alternatively; what its like falling and being in love with atsumu

thank u all for the thoughts on the sakusa version. figured i’d give another boy a try and am considering making this a series

Falling in love with Atsumu feels like being on a roller coaster. There are so many ups and downs but you never want to get off. Falling in love with him requires time but once you do its the most amazing thing in the world.

Its meeting at Onigiri Miya after he’s had a long and rough day at practice and you two order the same meal. The order is called off and in a haze of exhaustion he thinks its his grabbing the bag almost immediately bumping into you and dropping the bag. Hes so so tired and so so hungry that he nearly tears up before mumbling a series of expletives, not even processing any of the spew of apologies you shoot at him. Even worse when he finds out it wasn’t even his order he dropped, because so much for a free meal. He’s in shock when you decline him buying you a new one because he “looks ready to drop dead at any moment.” He barely processes the way Osamu comes out both annoyed at the mess and amused at his frozen twin before telling you a replacement was on the house and forcing Atsumu to go nap in the back for a little because driving home.

Its how after that night, he’d started seeing you more and more at the shop, very brief conversations here and there leading up to him asking for your number since “ya seem to come here as much as me.” At some point he found out that its because its your roommate’s favorite spot and picking up dinner is on your way home (not that you've ever mentioned that you’d gotten to enjoy the view of both the cook and his brother.)

Its the friendship you develop with his twin and fit right in with their friends. In some whirlwind of conversation you expressed concern for him (as a stranger) to where his brother said it wasn’t unusual for him to come in, half dead, eat and sleep off some of his exhaustion before heading home. It wasn’t all the time, but often enough. However, accidentally stealing someone else's food was a new one for him. You jokingly called Atsumu sleeping beauty, which was the start of it. The two of you frequently teamed up against the twin, to tease at him and no matter how much Atsumu claimed to hate it and he wishes you two despised each other, he cant hide the smile that tugs at him.

Its the moments like the one when you met where you end up picking him from practice, catching a ride to the gym because he's so so tired and wants nothing more than to stuff his face and sleep for days. Just months into your friendship he’s trusting you with his car, because you seem that dependable. The praises of you being a good friend as his hand lingers against yours after passing the keys over to you. The way he looks slumped against the cars window has something stirring inside of you. You take a picture for blackmail later and to reinforce how much better he is when hes not talking.

Its how he sits on your couch eating all your snacks while he shit talks all the guys that appear on your tinder. Calls some of them jobless losers, and its the frist time he admits that he thinks you're hot. “Yer too hot for that guy”, while swiping left on all of them (even the ones you would’ve gone right for.) The way you retort confirming that he thinks you’re hot has him speechless and stuttering, insisting that he didnt mean it like that, yet can’t explain how he meant it.

The times you bicker and he suddenly becomes the worst friend you have. The time you two had stopped talking for like a month, mad over something you’d forgotten a week later. Yet, all you knew is that you were supposed to be mad. He could “go to hell” and you were “so fucking annoying.” Over the course of your friendship he’d made it a habit of taking things from you; your favorite mug because he still had a drink in it when it was time for him to go. Your fuzzy socks that he’d claimed during a movie night, because your apartment was way too cold. The spare reusable bottle because he forgot his and was already on his way to the gym. You’d resorted to trying to slowly get your stuff through Osamu, but by week 3 he’d grown tired of it. He promised you both a free meal if you came and helped him close up one night, before forcing you two to talk it out. Within five minutes the two of you are laughing.

Your first date had been one by accident of some sorts. You’d been walking around a shopping center at night and he’d caught view of a new ice cream shop. It was his cheat weekend and he suggested stopping. His treat. Some time in between you going home he’d teased that it felt like a date. You both were hit with a oh shit kind of moment because it was true. Throughout the night your hands had brushed several times, and you’d both even let the other use your spoon to taste your different ice cream flavors.

Atsumu’s feelings came relatively easy. He thought you were kind, funny, interesting, and of course attractive. You had a way of leaving him speechless with your quick and witty comeback, and it was refreshing. It’d been something he hadn’t seen much since his high school days with Aran. However he’d denied the feelings for the longest, swearing to himself that he’d never have a crush on you. You were just one of the bros, but better.But, after that first date its like the feelings just flooded out. It’d ended with you hinting that you’d be interested in going on another one, “perhaps a real one this time,” and he just nodded.

There weren’t many dates before the two of you dived into your relationship. Afterall, you’d been friends for over a year and if he’d thought you were annoying he wouldve “been gotten rid of you.” His first act of the two of you becoming a couple, was a cute picture for his new wallpaper. It’d been a hassle to get because with every picture, one of you had a problem. The first time his roots were peaking through too much and he fussed at you for not telling him he needed a touch up. Then the one he liked you were blinking, and hed insisted you looked good anyways (or that he did). He’d recounted a time where he didn’t care about making memories, but it was different now. They made him who he was, and wanted to keep the memories of your growth.

Its the nights before games that he spends with you doing self care (an act he used to pretend like he only did because you wanted to, before just begrudgingly admitting that he liked it too.) You’d gone to look for a specific face mask, before he admitted that he stole it and forgot to bring it back (when really he used it all up and was just waiting for you to buy another one so he could take that one too). When you rolled your eyes at him, he’d just brush it off a promise of returning it before opening his arms for you to return to your cuddle position. You were supposed to be watching a movie, but he’d pulled up old games of his future opponents and kept showing you interesting plays. One hand holding the phone, the other unconsciously rubbing circles onto your back. He asks if you’re paying attention to him and you admit that you aren’t at all and he sighs in over dramatic disappointment before locking the phone and focusing on you.

Its the argument that almost led to your breakup that happened due to a miscommunication. You’d been out with friends, Atsumu already trying and failing to coax you into staying the night with him instead. All it had taken was a picture taken completely out of context for him to feel hurt. He really really liked you (borderline was ready to admit loving you)!and thought you’d at least felt a fraction of the same emotion towards him. That night he hadn’t thought through anything before sending the picture (snapped on who knows who’s phone) to you with a simple ‘I see how it is’. What made it even worse is that you hadn’t seen the picture right away.

It’s how your heart dropped later that night when you were finally ready to head back to his, and your heart ached at how you called him several times only to be sent straight to voicemail. Your attempt at reaching his twin was lucky as he hadn’t even told him about what he thought had happened yet. Another strike of luck when Osamu believed you and ensured that this was a case of his brother acting first and thinking later.

The makeup had been one both of relief and realization that the two of you needed to talk. It’s when you found out that he was in love with you and that he really did love hard. Just like with volleyball, he wasn’t sure what kind of dumb shit he’d be getting into if you weren’t there. Having to sit through the conversation was uncomfortable for him as he was often the one doing the scolding to others. However the difference was that you admitted that you could’ve handled it better as well (something he doesn’t do when he’s complaining about others).

Its the nights where he hits you up at 2am already outside begging you to just take a late night drive with you. He knows you can’t tell him no so he’s offering a smirk pushing the door open as you sleepily make your way in. His eyes soften at how cute you look (he’s definitely known to slip up and talk in a baby voice like this and yes you’ve blackmailed that ass when he annoys you). You tell him that you look like shit at the moment and he agrees before backtracking and still saying you look good.

You end up at some late night drive through arguing about fries because “ya didn’t even wanna come out in the first place” and you both don’t need them. You could just share. The workers in the drive through literally have to tell y’all to hurry up to where he just glared at the faceless menu. You have to end up shouting over him the order that he still ends up complaining about. Even though you end up with the two different orders he eats all yours and every time you try and swat his hand away he exclaims that he bought them.

Those nights you wake up pretty easily because he lowers the windows and turns up his throwbacks playlist pretty loud and sings terribly and just looks so happy. Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney comes on and he loves grabbing your hand at it while singing along. Those moments are a different kind of joy from when he’s playing volleyball. He’s not focused on a win or his team and how to celebrate. He’s living in the moment, happy and carefree and with his favorite person.

a/n: um yeah cant lie I do like the sakusa version better but here we go. another middle of the night ramble.

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu imagine #hq imagines #atsumu x reader #atsumu imagines #hq imagine #haikyuu imagines

125 notes · View notes

shadow--writer · 4 years ago

Text

Bittersweetness

Julian x mc (no pronouns used!) -- set in universe -- after upright endish

Word count: 4.5k

TW: none!

Tags: hurt comfort, fluff, angst, loneliness, Julian works too much, a little spicy at the end but nothing nsfw

~~~~

Some days it was hard for me to fall asleep. Some days it was even harder to wake up. Julian was always out or working, leaving me with the small ache in my chest as I thought about him.

He was working when I fell asleep at night and was gone when I woke in the morning.

Some days I’d wait up for him, reading and practicing spells. He’d come through the door, smelling sweet like mint and cinnamon and bitter like medicine. His hair would be a ruffled mess, eyes tired and sagging. Purple bags made permanent residence under his eyes and his lashes would brush his cheeks lazily as he blinked.

Tonight I pretended to be asleep when he came in. Just to see what he’d do.

His voice was thick with exhaustion as he watched me pretending to sleep. “Ah asleep again,” he whispered, peeling off his gloves and boots. Off came the shirt and pants and then his sleepwear.

He never wore anything much during the summer. Just some low hanging pants a friend made for him. Venezuela was always sticky and too hot during the summer months making wearing anything else a chore.

The bed sighed under his weight as he sat down, running a hand through his hair. There was a small chuckle from him, it rumbled from his chest and sent a spike of warmth threading through my stomach.

“Hey there sweetheart,” he said, scooting closer to me. He brushed my hair out of my face. I struggled to keep the peaceful look on. He planted a gentle kiss against my forehead, combing my hair away from my face and across my pillow. “I love you, you know. Even if I can’t be around as much...work is picking up now that the clinic is being talked about. More and more housecalls and people getting sick.”

There was a sigh as he settled into bed, arms wrapping around me. His legs tangled into mine, his nose buried into the back of my neck. His breath was warm against my skin. I let out a small sigh myself, sinking into his touch.

“I promise I’ll take a day off soon. I just need some time...to get back into things,” he murmured, lips ghosting my neck. “Thank you darling. Thank you.” A whisper. A breath.

And he was out.

I let out a small gasp of breath, feeling warm tears slide down my cheeks.

I missed him.

I missed him so much it hurt.

He was gone when I woke up. The only sign he was really there was the small cooling dent in the bed and the feeling of breath on my neck.

I got to my feet, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. It smelled like him. Like leather, cinnamon and coffee. Something bitter lay under all of it. Something bitter coated my tongue and heart.

As I moved to the kitchen I noticed that the apartment smelled nice. Like honey and coffee beans.

I shuffled into the kitchen, tears springing to my eyes when I saw he made coffee and breakfast. The source of the good smell. By my plate of pancakes was a little note. His handwriting was messy as ever but over time I learned to read it.

Hello my love,

Sorry I had to go so early. I swear I’ll be home earlier tonight. Things are getting very busy and I might need to hire new help soon. Which is both exciting and scary I’ll admit.

I hope you like this peace offering of mine. Pasha taught me how to make these. It was a lot of trial and error.

I love you more than the sun in the sky darling dear of mine. One of these days I’ll prove it to you.

See you tonight.

Yours,

Ilya

I held the note to my face, tears stinging my eyes. Weeks. It had been weeks since we really talked. Talked without one of us sleeping or pretending to sleep.

I kissed the note softly, bringing it down to hug while I sat down.

The coffee was sweeter today. He knew how I liked it. The pancakes were perfect if a bit toasty. I smiled a little. He wouldn’t stop until they were absolutely perfect. Even if I was happy with how they were now.

My smile faded at the edges as I looked out the window at the rising sun. The day was already warm and sticky. It always was like this in the summer. Couldn’t catch a break.

I knew Julian was right next door. Easy enough distance to go.

But he was probably busy. He always was.

I finished my breakfast, getting up to wash the dishes and think for a moment. Spotting the rest of the dirty dishes in the sink I knew I had a few good hours of washing with my thoughts.

As I scrapped off the plates I thought about what I could do. I could try making him lunch and bringing it over.

My heart fluttered at the thought.

Yes. That’s what I’d do. Make him something too.

I quickly finished up the dishes in the sink. Forks and spoons went into their drawers and I set a few pans on a towel to air dry.

Tucking the dish I held into a towel I set to work.

I knew he liked warmer lunches and soups. Even in the summer. But there was something said about eating something that left a trail of warmth as you ate it.

I was no Mazelinka but I knew he’d appreciate the sentiment.

I got to work on a sweet potato mushroom soup. We had extra potatoes that I didn’t know what to do with. So what better way to use them than for lunch?

I peeled and mashed the potatoes, slicing up the mushrooms with care and a small hum. I grabbed a clean pot, setting it to simmer over the stove. In went the potatoes then spices. It made the house smell like butter, cumin and sweet potatoes. While I waited for that, I sliced up some plain bread with sharp cheddar.

I made lemonade and tucked it into a cooling glass. I had extra, maybe I’ll freeze it and make lemon popsicles to share later today.

I quickly made my own lunch, standing back to admire my hard work. Breathing in I coughed a little. The air was stifling already and it wasn’t even noon yet.

But soon his lunch was ready. I packed it into a paper bag, hoping he’d be there so I could give it to him myself. I quickly got dressed and tugged my shoes on. It was a quick trip next door, then I’d go to the market to get things for dinner.

He...he probably wasn’t going to be back in time for dinner anyways.

I bit my cheek as I pushed my way inside the clinic. Inside was the same as always. Large bookshelves filled with different books ranging from research to adventure novels. Kids lay on the ground with little toys and colouring books as they waited for their checkups.

The secretary brightened when he saw me walk in. “Ah! Dr. Devorak is in his office around back, you made it just in time he just finished up with his last patient before housecalls!”

I blinked, and then smiled. “O-Oh thank you! I brought lunch for him.”

The secretary’s eyes sparkled with mischief as they took in my barely thrown together appearance. “I’ll keep people away for as long as I can,” he said with a wink making me blush.

“No need we won’t be doing much! I’m just bringing him lunch.” Another smile. “Just lunch.”

“Whatever you say. He’s back in his office, last door down the hall.”

Face red and heart racing I whisper another thank you and move down the clinic quickly. There voices from some of the other doors, but I ignored them, knocking gently on the door labeled ‘Devorak’.

“Ah yes? Come in! I was just heading out to lunch!” Julian’s voice.

My heart skipped a beat at it. We were both awake this time.

I pushed the door open a bit more with a smile. “Hey darling,” I said. His eyes went wide, and he broke out in a grin.

“Sweetheart! Y-You came to see me!” I closed the door with a small click, making his eyes jump to the sound. His cheeks warmed but he still smiled. “Mmm and what’s that smell?”

“Lunch. I made you something. And of course I came to see you, you silly duck. The shop is closed today for restocking. Asra was going to drop by later to help out so I’m free.”

“And you made me something to eat?” His eyes welled up. “Darling you didn’t have to do that!”

“I did. And I won’t be taking no for an answer.”

“At least eat with me!”

My eyes widened a fraction. I did bring my own lunch, I was going to see if Portia wanted to eat with me and then go around the market.

But now that this opportunity appeared…

“Are you sure? Don’t you have work to do?”

His face was ashen pale. He really needed sunlight. “No no I’m on my lunch break now! Besides, I’d like to spend this time with you. I haven’t seen you in weeks!”

I bit my cheek from snarking at him. It wasn’t his fault, but it still hurt.

Even so, I smiled softly. “Yeah. I’d love that.”

He grinned, patting the chair next to him. I sat down, handing him the paper bag. “Mmmm sweet potato soup?”

“I warn you I’m no Mazelinka-”

“Darling, you made this, making it even more special to me.”

I turned away with a smile, my cheeks warming. “It’s nothing special.”

“It is for me. And it smells so good, darling you are a wonder.”

I giggled. “Well you already made breakfast for me so I thought I’d return the favour.”

He kissed my cheek, digging in.

I ate as well, slowly to savour these stolen moments with him. We talked about this and that. The leech dealer and her wife. About the different kids that would come in. How excited he was to get his day off and spend it with me.

“Where would we go?” I asked at that question.

He stopped talking, his hands dropping what they were doing. “Huh?”

I tucked my legs up into the chair under me, scooting closer to him. His eye twinkled. “Where would we go?”

“Well...I was thinking we could go for a boat ride in the fixing up flooded district.” He was leaning in closer to me.

“And then?”

“After rocking the boat with some fun activities…” I let myself smile. I had an idea what activities he’d do in that poor little boat with me. “We’d go for a walk up in the meadows right outside town. Into the fields and by that great big willow tree by the stream.”

“And?”

“We’d have a picnic! We’d fool around in the wheat, maybe play hide and seek.” I giggled. That sounded lovely. “And once it gets dark I’ll take you down the stream and up this little rock formation I found. There we’ll stargaze together before you fall asleep and I have to carry you home.”

“And when I wake up at home all cozy in our bed…?”

He kissed my forehead, then moved to kiss my cheeks. “I’ll hold you. Cuddle and talk together. Run my hands through your hair, press your body against mine. Never let you go. We’ll fall asleep like that together and in the morning wake like that together.”

“Then I’ll get up first and make breakfast.”

“I’ll come down tired and grumpy that you left me.”

“I’ll kiss you as an apology and give you your coffee and we’ll talk some more.”

He kissed my nose, my browbones. “After breakfast we’ll call on some friends and go out together and maybe stay the night with them.”

“Going to the Rowdy Raven for a pint first.”

“Of course.”

I laughed, throwing my mouth open and my head back. He grinned at the sound, kissing my chin and the skin just below. “I love you,” he murmured.

I let out a small hum, brushing my hands up his arms. He shivered at the small caress. I opened my mouth to respond. “I-”

“DOCTOR!” The secretary burst in. He caught my eye, and winced with apology seeing where we were positioned. I didn’t feel embarrassed.

Just...sad.

“Ah! What’s wrong?” Julian snapped back, getting to his feet. I watched it all unfold, hurt snapping through my bones.

“House call. Broken leg. Fell off a horse. Bone is sticking out. Mother is frantic with worry. Kid is fifteen.”

Julian winced, quickly packing his bag. “Tell her to wait a moment and I will be right there.”

He turned to look at me. I must’ve not been hiding my hurt very well because he frowned. “I’m so sorry darling I’ll make it up to you-”

I waved him off, forcing a smile. “No no! I can’t ask you to pull away from a kid in need. Go on and help him. I’ll be here.”

His eye swam with worry and concern. “I’m still sorry, my love. I’ll be home tonight. Early. I promise.” He kissed my forehead, and hurried out the door.

I knew that was a lie. Things always got bad after dark. The night got sticky and warm. Heat strokes, bar fights, sneaking out. He wouldn’t be back until late.

I looked down at my lap, at the empty dishes on his desk. At the mess of paper and messy handwriting. My picture was at one end of the desk, another frame of us together next to it. Our friends all smiling at the ocean.

I curled my knees to my chin, looking at the door he left from.

“I love you,” I whispered to nothing but air.

Dinner went cold two hours ago. I put away the leftovers an hour after waiting. I fell asleep soon after that, angry and bitter at the world for taking him from me like this.

I missed him so much that it was clear on my face.

I startled awake at three in the morning from a dream. A good dream or bad dream I didn’t know. I just knew I trembled alone in the dark, my skin clammy with the summer heat and my own sweat.

My cheeks were stiff with the salt of unshed tears as I got to my feet. I pulled socks on over my toes, trying to keep as quiet as possible when I snuck down into the kitchen to get some water.

Julian was fast asleep on his side of the bed, legs sprawled out like a starfish. He looked peaceful and I didn’t want to disturb that.

It was a nightmare I decided. I had a bad dream. My stomach was tied in knots and my hands still trembled as I got water from the sink. My tongue was coated in something bitter and I just felt...empty.

The bad dream aches would go away soon, only to be replaced with the almost homesick feeling.

I loved him. Don’t get me wrong I loved him so much.

But I didn’t know how much longer I could keep going without hearing his voice in the morning, eating with him just...being with him.

I stood by the counter, swaying my hips a little as I drank water. The water washed away the stale taste in my mouth but did nothing to help the bitter feeling. My hands slowly stopped shaking and my body stopped aching as I moved.

“What’re you doing up so early?” I stopped what I was doing, turning to see Julian running a hand through his hair. His pants hung very low on his hips, his feet bare. The moonlight seemed to make him glow. His eyes softened as he looked at me. “Bad dreams?”

Wordlessly I nodded.

He crossed the distance between us, wrapping me up in a hug. “I know I’m late to comfort you. I know I haven’t been the best in these last few days. These last few weeks,” he whispered to my hair.

I didn’t say a word, not wanting to interrupt this moment. I just closed my eyes, breathing him in. We swayed a little, rocking from foot to foot.

Then he pulled away from the hug, letting my hands slide down his arms into his waiting palms. He held my hands gently, slowly drawing me into a slow dance.

Letting one hand go he spun me. The movement was slow, his other hand brushed my hip. A whisper of a question.

When I stopped spinning I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. Almost immediately his arms went around my waist, his face buried in my neck and mine in his.

His hands shifted my nightshirt up, his fingers cold as ice against my sticky warm skin. I let out a small gasp, making him smile.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I leaned into the touch. His fingers danced up and down my sides, running down my ribs and resting on my hip bone. I pressed a soft kiss into his neck making him let out a small gasping breath.

“I want you,” he whispered.

“I want you,” I responded.

“I’ve wanted you for so long. Here. In my arms. With me. Alone,” he said, kissing the side of my neck and my jaw. “Soft touches and kisses. Just you and me. I want...I want to touch you.”

“Touch me then,” I breathed, my voice seeming to come out in a gasp.

He smiled, kissing my cheek. “As you wish.”

His hands moved from my sides to my face. Down my shoulders and arms. His fingers were so cold, but they felt nice against my clammy skin. His brows were pinched in worry, love and guilt shining in that eye he always kept covered.

“It must’ve been one hell of a nightmare,” he said, brushing at my cheeks with his thumbs.

I nuzzled into the touch making his breath hitch. “It must’ve been but I don’t remember it now.”

He brushed a kiss at the spots he touched. I wanted to huff in annoyance. I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to spin me out of control until all I could see and touch and taste and feel was him.

We danced around the kitchen in slow swaying movements. He was humming a slow bittersweet tune. One that made me feel as he did.

He was guilty. He hated leaving me alone. Leaving me missing him as he missed me.

He pulled out of my touch, bringing my hands down to his face. He planted small kisses on my palms and fingertips. Then following the trail he lay with his fingers he kissed up my left arm. My skin tingled with goosebumps at the touch of his lips.

He pressed soft kisses on the inside of my wrists, tongue flicking over the veins and skin. He was gentle with me. Oh so heartbreakingly gentle.

He moved up my arm. To my forearm and then my elbow. His lips were a ghost over my skin, making me arch my head back as he moved.

Farther up my arm now, kissing my biceps and the soft skin right before my underarms. Then he planted kisses on my shoulders, nipping at the skin there. The muscle where my shoulder met my neck. When he bit down softly I let out a gasp, my hands tightening against his arms.

He smiled, tongue flicking over the spot as he resumed kissing up my neck. When he reached my face he planted one final kiss on my jaw and left me craving his warmth once again.

Holding his hands I swung our arms up and down a bit as I planned my move. He was here with me. I had him all to myself in these quiet moments in the morning. The moon was our only witness, the only light to see him by.

He was strong, my Julian. Broad shoulders and strong arms. Broad chest leading into a small waist that I could wrap my arms around so easily. A face with strong lips always with a smile on them. Grey eyes. Grey eyes filled with so much adoration for me it hurt. Messy auburn hair falling around his face in soft waves.

I haven’t gotten to look at him, truly look at him in a while.

I repeated what he did to me moments prior. I kissed his hands. His large calloused hands that had seen so much blood. Helped so many. Let go of more. His breathing hitched as I kissed each of his fingertips.

I kissed his wrists, biting softly at the skin there, just kneading it between my teeth for a heartbeat. His heart thudded softly. Soft feathery kisses up his forearm and against his elbow. Up his biceps, pausing at each scar to give it it’s own kiss.

“Oh darling,” he breathed.

I said nothing, just kissed his shoulders. “You have very cold hands,” he whispered as I ran my hands up his chest.

I kissed the skin of shoulder meeting neck, raising my eyes to meet his. “I should say the same about you.”

He chuckled, the sound cutting out as I took the skin between my teeth. “Oh,” he said, his voice turning into a soft moan that warmed my stomach.

I let it go too soon, and I knew it was too soon when he let out a small huff. Hiding my smile with more kisses I moved on.

Up his neck, biting softly and kissing as I went. He squirmed a bit, hands moving down to my waist. Fingers drummed along my hips, drumming to the tune of his choked hum.

I came to the spot I knew he liked biting best. The muscle behind his ear, meeting his jaw. I kissed it softly, before biting down.

The noise he made sent sparks through my veins. A breathy mix between a sigh, moan and groan.

He made it again when I flicked my tongue over the spot I bit.

“Careful now darling,” he breathed, chest heaving against my fingers. His heart thudded so quickly against my touch. “I might just need to have you noooooooo-” he let out another moan, cutting himself off as I bit down on the spot again.

“Hush now my love,” I whispered, moving on to kiss where his jaw met his ear. He let out another hum of pleasure.

“Mmm I love you,” he whispered.

I planted a kiss on his jaw, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. The bridge of his nose. I had to stand on my toes to kiss his forehead, him bending down to the touch.

“I love you too,” I whispered as I kissed his temple.

“Mmm kiss me,” he murmured.

I let out a small giggle. “I am kissing you.”

His eyes snapped up to meet mine. “No I want a real kiss.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Please.”

The pleading tone of his voice made me pause. I grinned, making him wilt a little bit, the two of us still swaying and shifting our weight from foot to foot.

“Say it again.”

“Please.”

I held his face in my hands. “One more time?”

“Only if you say it back.”

I giggled. “Please?”

He didn’t respond, just kissed me. I didn’t care that he didn’t say it again. I didn’t care that I felt sticky and warm.

I just cared that he was here with me.

I moved my hands from his face, wrapping my arms around his neck again. He leaned into me, making me hold onto him for balance as he pressed me against the counter.

His lips were needy. Begging mine. Pleading with me. They whispered things we left unsaid. They whispered apologizes and littles pleas.

I only hoped mine held the answers.

“Darling,” he said, lips brushing against mine with the word.

I slowly opened my eyes, he was so close. So close. So heartbreakingly close. Illuminated by moonlight he seemed like some ethereal being.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

I blinked. “Julian...you don’t have anything to be sorry for. You got caught up in work that’s f-fine.” My voice caught on fine. It cracked.

He knew it wasn’t fine.

“You stuttered,” he said, nuzzling my face. “That means you’re lying. It’s not fine. I know it’s not fine.”

“But-”

“Let me finish. I got caught up because everyone is getting hurt all the time. There aren’t many doctors or help in my clinic. I really do need to hire.” I let out a breathy laugh. “I’ll set that up tomorrow. I swear it.”

“You haven’t come through with your promises as of late.”

He kissed my cheek. “I know and I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. For not...trying.”

“Darling you of all people have nothing to be sorry for!” He sounded offended.

I offered him a small smile. “But I do. I didn’t try. This is a two way street. If I want something I need to give something in return. I love you Julian, and I’m sorry for not trying. Not trying to see you. Not trying to see if you can take a break.”

“Sweetheart. Love of mine. My darling. Dearest. You understand how important work is to me, and that’s why you stayed away.”

I looked away. “I do. But I still care about your wellbeing and I should have said something.”

There was a small rumble from him. A chuckle. “We both should have to be honest.”

I laughed. “Yeah, we should’ve.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

He took his face out of my cheek, kissing me softly. “For loving me. The mess that I am.”

I didn’t argue with it. He was a mess.

And so was I.

“Thank you for loving me. All my broken pieces,” I said, pulling him closer. “And for helping me find my pieces still missing.”

He kissed me again. And again.

“Broken is not the same as unfixable my dear. And you are wonderful and perfect no matter how many pieces seem to be broken or missing.”

I sealed my mouth over his, breaking away after a few moments of just enjoying how he tasted. Smelled.

Felt.

“Well Dr. Devorak. I’m here now. With you.”

His eyes lit up with mischief and something more. “Alone…” he said.

I kissed his cheek. “So what are you going to do about it?”

He picked me up, making me let out a small squeal. I wrapped my legs around his waist, clinging to him like ivy. His arms fell back around my waist, squeezing my butt making me laugh.

With another sweet kiss to my lips he whispered, “I guess we’ll have to see.”

The door to our bedroom clicked as it closed.

104 notes · View notes

denkineptune · 4 years ago

Text

mha boys + baking (hc)

♡ some baking headcanons i whipped up real quick, just because this idea popped into my head and i could not rest until i finished this lol

♡ fic details: 1.1k words, headcanons, not x-reader, edited (probably not very well, some small print but not anything important

characters: kaminari, kirishima, bakugou

kaminari, 1/10:

↠ cannot bake for the life of him. he’s the kind of person to swear up and down that he could go on a baking show, but in reality? has definitely committed some kind of food-related war crime

↠ he’s slightly dumb, it’s endearing but also not a good trait in the kitchen. since baking has a lot to do with fractions, he says that exact measurements are “stupid” and can be eyeballed. the worst mistake he’s made because of this was definitely when he used a tablespoon to measure out a 1/4 teaspoon of baking soda. he ended up putting about half a tablespoon of the stuff in the batter, and bakugou’s birthday cupcakes tasted like soap

↠ he also thinks every ingredient is interchangeable if it looks similar; he’ll replace sugar with salt if he doesn’t have enough, so maybe steer clear of his brownies, you’ll likely get sodium poisoning. he replaces vanilla with molasses, which just- no,,,

↠ denki also tends to over- or under- cook things which results in either very burnt, inedible baked goods or hot goop in your mouth. both ways, quite gross

↠ he won’t wait for the oven to preheat, he’s not patient like that. he’s definitely used his quirk to try to heat a pie tin and bake it in a split second. it doesn’t go well, obviously. it explodes in his face and makes everyone quite upset, because they’re forced to clean the ceiling. the ceiling.

↠ don’t let him around ovens, period. he’s left things in for too long multiple times. his logic is “i’ll know when it’s done, i can smell it,” so he doesn’t set a timer. then he gets distracted by his phone, and forgets to take the pan out, resulting in an oven fire. todoroki has to put it out because denki’s unable to use a fire extinguisher

↠ kaminari doesn’t even grease pans, his monstrous baked “goods” are left burnt in their pans, since nobody can manage to get it out. just throw the whole thing away, at that point

↠ “ah, fuck!” is a regular thing to hear if he’s left in the kitchen alone, so for the love of god, do not leave him unattended. he’s like a baby, you need to have someone watching him at all times or he’ll burn something or himself

↠ that being said, he’s been taught to soothe his sugar cravings by microwaving pre-made mug cakes that the others stick in the fridge. this prevents heights alliance from being destroyed every time pikachu wants dessert

kirishima, 7.5/10:

↠ he does his absolute best and he’s quite decent! i’d say he’s around the average, he’s not a pro, but he doesn’t suck

↠ his favorite things to make are definitely cupcakes, they’re easiest to distribute and share with people. they’re quite simple to mass produce, and you can personalize each depending on who they’re going to. it all really comes down to how easy they are to make and give out

↠ he uses cute-ass cupcake liners, he and mina go to daiso and get really pretty ones

↠ using borrowed icing bags (courtesy of sato, ty angel), he ices the cupcakes with different color frosting depending on the favorite color of whoever will eat it. on april fool’s day, he made a cupcake (no pranks, that’s unmanly) that was half vanilla and half red velvet with the same color scheme of icing, which he then gave to todoroki. it was very cute, and shouto liked it a lot :)

↠ eijirou can sometimes make common blunders; a bit too much flour, forgetting the salt, spilling some vanilla, things like that

↠ he does this cute thing where, if he’s baking cookies for someone else, he’ll fake spilling chocolate chips into the batter as an excuse to put more in than the recipe calls for

“oh nooooooooo the chocolate chip bag fell in, there’s too many in the batter... welp too bad, what’s next-”

↠ it’s very sweet hehe literally

↠ kiri doesn’t bake all that often, there’s a lot more immediate things that he needs to tend to (ie. homework, friends, training), but sometimes, in his spare time, he’ll get in the mood where he decides that he might as well bake

↠ he doesn’t keep his treats to himself, pretty much ever. making brownies? better share them with everyone else, they could use it after this hard week. one person can’t possibly eat this many cookies, who else is around that i can give them to? basically, if it’s able to be shared, he’ll share it

↠ HE LETS PEOPLE LICK THE BATTER SPOON !!!! usually, the person who eats it is mina, uraraka, hagakure, or kaminari, but that’s only because they’re the ones who stay around the kitchen until kiri is done with the spoon

↠ he attracts a crowd of students near the kitchen that want either the spoon or final product. overall, he’s just a ray of sunshine

bakugou, 9/10:

↠ let’s get this straight, he rarely bakes. as in, pretty much never. he can count the amount of times he’s baked on one hand, and they were all only for some kind of celebration. he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, so he feels no need to make desserts

↠ but on the off chance he does make something, it is so. fucking. good.

↠ he’s already MasterChef Junior while cooking, and though baking isn’t that similar, he knows how to maneuver around the kitchen, and isn’t an idiot

↠ katsuki is familiar with the ingredients he’s using, therefore he knows what pairs well. he’s smart, so he figures out, logically, how to put everything together. he’s also not, as he so eloquently puts it, “a fucking moron”, and he follows the recipe to a t (unless he thinks something is stupid, at which point he’ll yell at the cookbook and come up with a substitute for said dumb thing)

↠ everything is done just right, and by the end, everyone is practically in heaven when eating the food

↠ he doesn’t share. ever.

↠ you would have to steal to get any food, and you would have to do it well. if he catches you stealing, he’ll have your head. he also doesn’t let people lick the spoon, as it is “gross and unsanitary”, but he secretly does it. c’mon, he’s the baker.

↠ as i said before, he only bakes for special occasions, like his dad’s birthday. his dad is very soft and peaceful, unlike his son. he loves handmade gifts because they’re thoughtful, and mitsuki suggests that katsuki bake for him. he protests, but ultimately can’t refuse his mom

↠ bakugou does something i like to call “angry baking”, where he does everything very aggressively

↠ the stirring is done very violently and batter splashes everywhere; when he grates lemons and limes for a key lime pie, he looks like a murderer. his eyes are g l o w i n g. but it’s good he doesn’t have a knife, like when he’s cooking. that would make it all the more intimidating.

↠ at least the food is good, even if the process is slightly... alarming....

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓅𝓉𝓊𝓃𝑒☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima x reader #kaminari denki x reader #denki kaminari x reader #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #denkineptune fic #eijiro kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader

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mariecuttlefish · 4 years ago

Text

Getting Lost Together [2k words, OCxOC Fluff]

Another writing commission, this time for @hotsugarbyglassanimals and featuring their OCs, Grii and Tenta!

External links: [Google Docs], [AO3]

Warnings: None. Appropriate for all ages.

Description: Grii and Tenta visit Splatsville for the first time together.

-----

The desert was quickly becoming one of Tenta's least favorite places.

It wasn't that the visuals were lackluster - the Splatlands were a place that looked beautiful in pamphlets and stunning in person. Tenta had spent most of the train ride since crossing into the desert staring absentmindedly out the window, watching the sea of orange sands and towering rock formations roll by, admiring the unique flora that skirted the tracks. It was a whole new world compared to the lush, tropical mountains she was accustomed to seeing around Inkopolis. No, the Splatlands were undeniably gorgeous.

The problem was all the darn heat that came along with them.

Tenta blinked slowly and rubbed her eyes. They weren't far from their destination and so she was trying to avoid dozing off, but even in the air-conditioned passenger car the heat was exhausting. Much of the past hour had seen her with her head buried in her arms, drained of the energy to do anything but watch the scenery.

What was the time, anyway? Reluctantly she lifted her head to glance up at the clock hanging on the wall. It had been a while now; shouldn't Grii have--

No sooner had that thought entered Tenta's mind than she heard the telltale sound of one of the car doors sliding open. Peering over the booth across the table she saw her girlfriend stepping into the car, making her way back over to the table Tenta was sat at. "I'm back, dear," Grii said with a smile as she slid into the booth beside Tenta and placed a paper bowl of pale pink ice cream on the table before her. "The dining car had red bean after all."

"Mmh," Tenta hummed cheerfully, "that is good news." As soon as Grii was settled in the seat Tenta scooted up to lean against her, making herself comfortable while she dug into the refreshing dessert. She felt Grii shift a bit in surprise, but before long the inkling's arm was draped around her, holding her in a snug embrace. "Thank you for getting this for me, my love."

"N-no problem, dear." It wasn't hard to notice the bashfulness in Grii's voice. Tenta giggled to herself between bites of ice cream; even after as long as they'd been together, it was still adorably easy to fluster her girlfriend. Were she less exhausted, Tenta thought, she would probably push the affection just to enjoy the reactions. For now, though, she just wanted to relax and enjoy her snack.

"So... how long until we get to Splatsville?" Grii continued after a moment, idly rubbing Tenta's shoulder while the octoling rested against her.

Tenta purred and nudged in closer to Grii, lazily nodding toward the window. "I was able to see the edge of the city come into view a moment ago. We will probably arrive in just a few moments."

Grii nodded. "Will you be able to stay awake that long?" she teased. Tenta simply poked her tongue out, and the two giggled before Grii continued. "Why's Marin performing out here anyway? It's a long way from Inkopolis."

"Ah, as I understand it, there is a music boom in Splatsville right now. Because so many inkfolk have moved here recently, many performers see it as an opportunity to build a reputation more easily than in other cities." Tenta stretched out in her half of the booth, the cold and sweet ice cream slowly helping her wake up. "Marin told me it is the best place to find an audience right now."

"Mm, makes sense," Grii replied, nodding slowly. The buildings of the city were starting to come into fuller view now; just barely visible in the middle of it all Tenta could see the famed tower where the city's primary ink sport league was based, a sleek structure illuminated with light displays in a variety of colors. It was almost a bizarre sight to see, a gleaming wall of steel and concrete rising out of the ground after so long with barely any signs of life save for distant ruins, but it was an impressive one nonetheless.

"Marin also mentioned that this city is a much different atmosphere from Inkopolis." Her ice cream depleted, Tenta gestured idly with her spoon. "They said it is very... crowded."

"More crowded than Inkopolis?"

"Much more crowded. There are only half as many people living there as in Inkopolis, but the city itself is a fraction of the size. They told me it feels almost like living back in Octo Valley at times, with how dense the buildings can be."

Grii tutted in acknowledgement. "You might have to lead me around if that's the case," she said with a grin. Tenta smiled back and shifted to rest her hand in Grii's. As she did, the quiet of the passenger car was interrupted by a quiet static crackle as a voice filtered in through the train's intercom.

"Attention, passengers, this is your conductor. We'll be entering the Splatsville city limits shortly, so it'll only be a few more minutes before we reach Central Station."

"Oh, there we go," Grii noted. "I guess that's our cue." She scooted away from Tenta gently - much to Tenta's dismay - and reached over to gather the suitcases resting on the opposite booth as the conductor continued.

"Please ensure all your belongings are accounted for, and please remain seated until the train comes to a complete stop. Oh, and for those of you visiting Splatsville for the first time from other cities: don't worry, you'll get used to it!"

A few sparse chuckles rose from passengers seated in other booths as they all similarly began to prepare their luggage. Tenta let herself smile along while she helped Grii get their things together, glancing out the window once more to see the desert suddenly give way to crowded streets and blocky apartment buildings. Welcome to Splatsville.

* * * * *

What Grii had taken as an exaggerative in-joke between octolings turned out to be more accurate than she'd anticipated. The city's primary train terminal being jam-packed came as no surprise; it was usually the same in Inkopolis, and this building was much smaller than the biggest Inkopolis stations, likely built without any expectation that it would ever see an influx of traffic as major as the present one. It wasn't until the couple had successfully left the station, though, that Grii understood just how crowded it was outside as well.

The streets of Splatsville were much narrower than those of Inkopolis, accented by street performers and groups of loitering pedestrians wherever there was enough space to set up without getting in people's way. Dense, blocky buildings towered overhead, broken up only by narrow alleyways that all seemed to open into tucked-away plazas and side paths that were just as busy as the main roads. Grii knew that the buildings here couldn't be any taller on average than the ones back in Inkopolis -- she even stopped at one point just to count the floors on a few and confirmed they were shorter than some of the office buildings near the city center back home -- but their architecture made them far more imposing from ground level. What little space was alotted to the roads was encroached upon by overhangs, evidently seeking to get as much floorspace out of the land as possible; wherever there weren't people crowding the streets there were instead storefronts, many of them small affairs built into the bottom floors of apartment complexes; higher up, the monotony of the buildings' facades were broken up by air conditioners and balconies and unlit neon signs, all arranged in a jumble of shapes and lights that made Grii's head hurt to look at for too long. It was clear to see why so many knew this place as the City of Chaos.

"You doing alright?" Grii asked, leaning up against an empty patch of wall. They had stopped to rest in a reasonably quiet alleyway, sitting in the shade while Tenta fanned herself with a travel brochure.

"I think I will be fine," Tenta replied, looking up from her spot on the ground with a lazy half-tilt of her head. "All of the people around does not help how hot it is."

Grii smiled and crouched down to sit level with her girlfriend. "Here," she said, pulling a bottle from her travel backpack, "have some water." Tenta accepted the bottle, taking a long and slow drink before screwing the cap back on and handing it back. Grii returned it to her backpack before stretching, standing up again, and offering a hand to the octoling. "Ready to keep going now?"

"Mm, I believe so." Tenta took Grii's hand and slowly rose to her feet, using her spare hand to brush the grime from her clothes as she did so. "Thank you, Grii-ni," she said sweetly, lifting Grii's hand to gently kiss the back of it.

Grii felt herself sink into her jacket a bit, the familiar heat of embarrassment tingling in her cheeks. True to Tenta, the moment she'd regathered her energy she was right back to taking any opportunity to fluster her girlfriend. Grii would have thought that by now she'd be immune to Tenta's love of endearing petnames and surprise shows of affection, and yet…

Tenta giggled to herself at the sight of Grii's sudden freeze. "You are so adorable, my dear," she said, shifting her grip on Grii's hand to lace their fingers together. "Shall we continue? The hotel should not be far." She batted her eyes as she asked this, and Grii felt the blush on her face grow hotter. She was absolutely doing that on purpose.

Grii decided to respond by teasing in kind, giving Tenta's hand a gentle squeeze as the two stepped back out onto the sidewalk. "Lead the way, Teeba."

Tenta's eyes widened and she stifled a snicker; when she noticed Grii watching her reaction she quickly turned her head, putting on an air of indignance as best she could. "You know I do not like that name," she pouted, not particularly trying to be convincing.

Grii smiled. "I know you love it, dear." She rubbed her thumb over the back of Tenta's hand slowly, leaning in to press her forehead to the side of Tenta's own. Tenta let out an affectionate hummm, purring quietly through the brief and tender display.

The rest of their walk was mostly quiet, the both of them content to relax and take in the sights as they navigated to the hotel they'd booked a few blocks from the train station. The city's unique architecture, intimidating as it was at first, grew quickly on Grii as they made their way through the city center. It was an interesting break from what she had become accustomed to in Inkopolis, after all, and more than that it meant there was an ample amount of shade draped over the street to help ensure her girlfriend didn't melt in the heat (a comment which earned even more pouting from Tenta, though she couldn't pretend to deny that it was true).

"You know," Tenta piped up at one point, breaking a lengthy silence, "there is another way this city is a lot like Octo Valley. There are a lot of other octolings about."

The thought hadn't occurred to Grii previously, but she realized after a moment of thought that it was true; while Inkopolis had seen a substantial increase in its octoling population in recent times, in Splatsville they seemed to be almost even with inklings, coexisting in a way that would have seemed impossible just a few years prior. "You're right," she agreed.

"It is nice to see." Tenta leaned and rested her head on Grii's shoulder, the long tentacle over her face swaying relaxedly. "I remember when we feared that I would be in danger if anyone discovered me living in Inkopolis. I am glad that inklings and octarians seem to be getting along again."

Grii hummed, leaning her head gently against the octoling's. "Me too."

The afternoon was fading into evening now, and the sky overhead had begun its slow transition from the clear, open blue of the Splatlands to a dusky grey. As the first streetlights began to click on along the shadier roads and store owners started to switch on their outdoor lights, Grii and Tenta rounded a corner to finally see the hotel waiting just ahead of them. It was an unexpectedly elegant building, designed with more detail and grandeur than many of the apartment complexes and businesses surrounding it; probably to help appeal to tourists, Grii rationed. As they neared the building's entrance Tenta leaned away from their passive embrace, stretching and loosing a slow yawn.

"I am so tired," she murmured. "Now that I know the hotel is near, I just want to get inside and curl up for a nap…"

"I'm feeling worn out too," Grii agreed. She looked to Tenta with a smile as the octoling rolled her shoulders and adjusted the straps of her backpack. "We can always save sightseeing for before Marin's concert tomorrow. Once we get to our room, you wanna just order food and spend the night cuddling?"

Tenta smiled back at her, planting a quick kiss on the inkling's cheek. "That sounds like the perfect start to a vacation to me."

#splatoon #takoika #tidal writing #outside ocs #i've been in a bit of an inspiration funk the past month but this was very fun once i got going on it #thank you for the commission!

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myherowritings · 6 years ago

Text

Into Your Arms

Overview: You’re prone to tripping and Todoroki is prone to being there to catch you. Or, in which you’re a bit of a klutz and, for a reason he can’t explain, Todoroki wants to make sure you never get hurt.

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2,670

Warning(s): None! Just fluff overload.

Author’s Note: This is for all my fellow clumsy folks. (Join the club!) :P Hope you enjoy!

Over the course of the school year, Todoroki had progressively grown accustomed to your clumsiness.

The first time he noticed you was on the first day of class during Aizawa’s Quirk Apprehension Test. Like most of your other classmates, you flew through the series of physical tests with graceful ease, demonstrating impressive control over your quirk. During your battle against Jiro and Kaminari, Todoroki begrudgingly had to admit your tactful skills were something to take note of as well.

Which is why it was only natural for him to wonder how someone so talented on the field could trip over a flat surface the moment they entered a room.

He considered it a skill in and of itself.

Within the first few weeks of class, Todoroki developed a sort of sixth sense whenever he was around you.

He noticed the way you put all your focus on the person you were talking to even while walking in crowded area, never realizing you were less than an inch away from crashing the side of your hip onto the corner of a desk. (Todoroki found himself moving the desk out of your path seconds before you could hit it, despite the fact that he had to make his way from the opposite side the room in superhuman speeds. You never seemed to notice. The rest of the class did.)

He also observed the way your eyes widened a fraction and your arms flailed out as you felt yourself about to trip. (In those moments, it took all of his willpower not to use his quirk to freeze you in place before you could fall. The one time he did, Tokoyami thought Todoroki almost hurt you and proceeded to threaten Shouto in your honor.)

One day, you and Todoroki arrived at U.A. around the same time--both uncharacteristically later than the rest of your classmates--and proceeded to walk to homeroom together.

“Morning, Todoroki-kun!”

“Good morning.”

“You’re running late today, too, huh?” you asked, matching his step as the two of you paced down the hallway. “Busy morning?”

Todoroki thought of the argument with his father that went on for longer than usual. “You could say that.”

You nodded. “At least we’ll still be earlier than Aizawa-sensei.”

The conversation carried on as you moved to the topic of breakfast foods--you talked so fervently about the arbitrary topic even Todoroki found it hard not to share your interest.

By the time the two of you walked into class, you were still in a heated debate about natto (he thought it was something every breakfast should consist of and you decided he must’ve been deprived of some good tamagoyaki) when Todoroki felt you beginning to walk wayward into Aoyama’s desk.

He didn’t want you to bump into it, but kicking the desk backwards with Aoyama seated on it didn’t seem like an action he’d think you’d approve of.

So instead, he maneuvered you aside-- One hand resting on your hip, pulling you towards him and away from the desk, and the other gently on your shoulder, steering your path straight. Todoroki made sure to not let himself linger, but it was too late. The rest of the class noticed and all conversation stopped to stare at you two.

“Careful,” he said, his face skillfully passive.

You blinked in stunned silence. “T-Thanks! I guess I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.”

“It’s okay.”

He wanted to say something else, but he didn’t have the words.

Instead, you both headed to your respective seats as Todoroki tried to ignore Kirishima’s so-called whispering as he walked down the row.

“Pst, Todoroki! You and Y/L/N, huh?”

And while he was able to ignore Kirishima’s antics, Todoroki wasn’t able to ignore the small, yet embarrassed, smile that made its way to your face.

He couldn’t help but smile back.

- - - - -

After the events of these past few months with villains at every turn of the page, you were happy that an exam has been the only thing keeping you and your classmates up at night lately.

It was a late Sunday night and you were at Midoriya’s dormitory with a group of friends, studying for your mathematics exam the next day. Tsuyu and Iida brought a handful of snacks to share with the group, but even they weren’t enough to keep your brain from going off topic every few minutes.

“So, we use the Law of Sines when we know two angles and one side of a triangle, or when it’s SSA?” you said as you tapped your pencil against your notebook, staring down at your notes.

“Precisely,” replied Iida with a nod.

He’d been patiently helping you with the same concept for the past twenty minutes, but you just now began to understand it.

“And SSS and SAS is for Cosine Rule?”

“Correct again!” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and beamed. “Great, now that everyone understands those rules, shall we move forward to trigonometric identities?”

This earned a groan from you and Uraraka.

“Wait,” you cried as you rose from the floor. “My brain isn't awake enough for this-- I’m going to make myself a cup of coffee first. Does anyone else want one?”

“I’m good, thank you!” said Midoriya.

“Coffee? It’s almost midnight,” Iida exclaimed, a bewildered look on his face.

“But we’re only halfway done with the material! I need to stay awake.”

You returned his stern look with one of your own. He sighed. “Fine. I suppose we could use a study break while you get your dose of caffeine.”

Smiling, you sent him a thumbs up before heading to the door. As you reached the handle, you paused.

“Todoroki-chan, do you want coffee? Or maybe tea?” you asked, looking down as he sat cross-legged on the mat.

He glanced up, with a tilt of his head. “Thank you, but I’m okay. Would you like me to accompany you, though?”

You laughed but shook your head. “It’s only one floor down; I should be fine.”

“The last time you said that, you had to go to Recovery Girl for a rolled ankle.”

“I’ll be careful this time!” you promised, letting the door shut behind you before he could get out another word.

It was sweet of Todoroki to be worried for you, but you were perfectly capable of making coffee by yourself--no matter how accident prone you may be.

After waiting for the coffee to brew (all the while thinking of how convenient making udon and miso would be if you had Bakugou or Todoroki’s quirk), you grabbed your mug from the communal kitchen space and poured. When you dumped the contents out of the coffeemaker, you placed your mug at the edge of the counter and grabbed the cream and sugar.

You needed at least one and a half spoonfuls of sugar in order for your coffee to be palatable.

But while you were humming to yourself, things took a quick turn for the worst.

As you were reaching for the creamer behind your coffee, you felt your elbow brush against the handle of your mug. You held your breath. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. With eyes wide, you attempted to catch it before it hit the ground.

The good news, you caught it before the mug shattered.

The bad news, all its steaming hot contents poured onto the hand you caught it with.

“Shit!” you yelped, dropping the mug in shock as you cradled your right hand against your chest.

Swearing under your breath, you ran over to the sink and held your pink-tinged hand under cold water to soothe the burn. You wanted to stay under the faucet forever, but you knew your friends were waiting for you to continue studying.

Sighing, you cleaned up your mess and quickly headed up to Midoriya’s room, coffee-less and with a discomforting burning sensation in your right hand.

When you entered the room, Tsuyu was the first to remark, followed by Todoroki.

“Did you forget your coffee?”

“What happened to your hand?”

You blinked. How did he notice so quickly?

“I didn’t forget my coffee, no,” you told Tsuyu with a nervous chuckle. “I finished making it, actually. But then it fell off the counter and I burned myself trying to catch it.”

Tsuyu’s eyes widened but you quickly amended your statement, shaking your head as sat back down next to Todoroki.

“I’m fine, though!” you said, holding out your pinky in her direction. “It’s just a little burn; it’ll probably be gone by tomorrow.”

Satisfied with, but still skeptical of, your answer, Tsuyu nodded and proceeded to ask Uraraka how to do a certain question.

“Can I see it?”

You jumped. His voice was so quiet you barely heard him.

Turning to Todoroki, you offered him your hand with your reddened palm face down. “It hardly hurts, I swear. You don’t need to--”

He enveloped your right hand between the two of his and brought it to his close to his chest.

You flushed. The conversation in the room stopped. Todoroki kept his gaze on you.

“Wh-What are you--!?” You broke off with a startled breath when you felt a soothing chill followed by a comforting heat. “Oh.”

The careful balance of hot and cold on your slightly burned hand felt so relaxing your eyes fluttered shut, hardly registering the looks of bewilderment from Midoriya, Iida, Tsuyu, Aoyama, and Uraraka. Minutes passed and Todoroki still held you hand, only releasing after a long, cool exhale.

You swallowed.

“Does your hand feel better?” he asked.

Nodding fervently, you tried not to think about how you wished he hadn’t let go. “Much.”

“I’m glad.” Without warning, Todoroki stood up from beside you and you felt the absence of his warmth. “Now, wait here.”

As he left Midoriya’s room, you glanced at the others with the same confused look on your faces.

“What was that about?” Izuku wondered with a scratch of his head.

“I don’t know, but it sure was adorable!” said Uraraka, squishing her face between her palms.

Iida stared at the door then back down at his textbook. “But where did Todoroki-kun go? Hopefully he doesn’t take too long; we still have a whole chapter to cover.”

Aoyama sighed, resting his arms behind his neck as he leaned against Midoriya’s bed frame. “Don’t be oblivious, mes amis. He’s getting Mademoiselle Y/L/N her beverage, of course.”

Before you could deny that outrageous claim, Todoroki walked into the room with a mug in hand.

You gaped. Aoyama sent you a smug wink.

Todoroki sat back down beside you before offering the drink. With your non-burned hand, you graciously held the mug. It was lukewarm to the touch and aromatic to the smell.

“For me?”

He nodded. “Two pumps of cream and one and a half teaspoons of sugar, right?”

You blinked. He knew how you took your coffee? “Right.”

“I wasn’t sure if you drank dark or light roast,” said Todoroki, looking down at the wooden floor. “My apologies. But I made sure to cool it down to about 120 degrees so it can’t scald you.”

You heard the pounding of your heart from your ears as your stomach filled with butterflies. What was this feeling? You shook your head.

“Thank you, Todoroki-chan,” you said, touched. “It’s perfect.”

“But you haven’t even tried it--”

Uraraka flicked Iida on the back of the head before he could continue.

“Hey! I mean-- You’re right. It is perfect.”

Laughing at your friends antics, you turned to Todoroki with a smile. He had a content look on his face as he witnessed their interaction before glancing at you. You took a sip of the drink and peered at him from the top of the rim. The contrast of the sweet and the bitter, earthy taste filled your tastebuds, causing you to sigh.

“Tastes better than the ones I make for myself!” you pouted, wondering how he was able to make a perfect cup when he never drank coffee himself. “You’re just the perfect guy, aren’t you?”

A flush made its way to Todoroki’s ears, but you paid it no mind, instead grabbing your pencil with your right hand.

“Ouch,” you hissed, retracting your pencil and glaring down at the angry pale marks on your still reddened palm. Maybe you should get an ice pack and some painkillers.

“Y/N? Are you hurt?” said Todoroki, a frown clouding his face.

You shook your head. “Just my hand from earlier.”

“Is it still hurting?” He gently took your right hand in his left, worried lines between his eyebrows. “Here-- Let me help.”

Before you could say anything, he laced his icy fingers between yours and sent a mild chill to his palm, instantly soothing the pestering burn from the earlier scald. This time, even after a few moments had passed, Todoroki didn’t let go.

Instead, he kept your hand in his for the remainder of the night, the occasional brush of his thumb sending shivers up your spine--and not from the cold.

Needless to say, neither of you could focus much on studying.

- - - - -

Tonight was the night of the school dance and, much to no one’s surprise, you were running late.

When you arrived, the dance was in full swing, with all the classes mingling together to celebrate the end of a school year. But in a sea of obscurity, a certain duochromatic student caught your eye from across the room.

As if Todoroki could sense your presence, his gaze found yours in an instant, raising a hand in greeting with a subtle smile.

Wow.

That was all you could think as you walked over to him, eyes never leaving his face.

He looked stunning.

So stunning, in fact, that you hardly noticed anything else. Including a wayward balloon that made its way to the side of the dance floor you were walking along.

You also didn’t notice that your heel caught on said balloon until it was too late.

With a small yelp, you felt yourself slip backward as the rubber rolled off your shoe, arms flying out in an attempt to grasp at the table next to you only to miss by a fraction of an inch.

Shit.

Closing your eyes shut, you braced yourself into a position that would soften the impact of the fall that never came. Instead, all you heard was a soft woosh of rustling clothes and an intake of breath as two muscular arms wrapped around you.

A beat passed.

You opened your eyes.

“Careful.” His voice was deep next to your ear.

“Shoucchan,” you said, a little out of breath. “Hi.”

You heard the amusement in his voice. “Hi.”

Todoroki helped you upright onto your feet, but kept his hands lingering on either sides of your waist. Spinning around to face him, you touched his cheek with a smile.

“How do you always do that?”

He raised a brow.

“How do you manage to cross the room and stop me from falling in such a short amount of time?” you wondered with a hint of awe. “Do you have another quirk no one knows about?”

Todoroki exhaled a laugh as he tugged on a strand of your hair. “Baka. No. I just learned to be on high alert when I’m with you. Especially when you’re in heels.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, but couldn’t deny anything.

“Maybe that’ll be part of your tagline in a few years,” you teased. “Pro Hero Shouto: Saving the world from villains, and saving his girlfriend from her own clumsiness.”

Todoroki froze slightly before relaxing, the corners of his lips tilting upward. “Girlfriend.” You quirked a brow at him but he shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that.”

“Good. Because I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of being that.”

Pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead, Todoroki hummed. “Good. Then you have nothing to worry about.

#AHH I SPENT LIKE ALL DAY WRITING THIS AND I TRIED EDITING BUT MY BRAIN IS LIKE BLEH RN #so if you see any mistakes/something doesn't make sense please nicely let me know!#todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shouto #shouto x reader #todoroki shoto #todoroki shoto x reader #x reader #reader insert #bnha #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios

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justthehiddleswrites · 4 years ago

Text

The Reluctants | Chapter 7 | The Reluctant Lover

Pairing: Adam (OLLA) x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Summary: Charlie can’t believe her luck when she lands an apartment all to herself in Quincy, Massachusetts in a decaying triple decker. But life gets more complicated when someone moves into the basement. Specifically her landlord, Adam, who also happens to be a vampire. As life collapses around Charlie, these two forge an uneasy and unlikely relationship. But is their relationship as doomed as the building they live in?

Chapter: Adam and Charlie unpack some of their baggage and attempt to move forward.

Warnings: Violence, Smut, Frottage, Dry Humping, Teasing, Coming In Pants, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex. Couch Sex. Kidnapping. Stalking. Non-Graphic Violence, Character Death

“Adam!” Charlie and Ava exclaimed, though for entirely different reasons.

Ava jumped up and hugged Adam. His muscle twitched under Ava’s touch. Charlie sat still, confused and a little frightened.

“How long has it been, Adam? Five years?”

“Not fucking long enough. Get the fuck out of my house. You are not welcome.”

Ava glanced back at Charlie. “But your lovely girlfriend invited me in.” Ava gave a brief smile.

Adam looked away and Charlie’s hands fidgeted in her lap. Ava sensed she hit a nerve and pushed.

“Adam, aren’t you going to formally introduce me to her?”

“No. She’s…”

“Charlie.” she jumped to her feet and extended her hand. Ava shook it with her gloved hand. She turned Charlie’s hand over and inspected the healing wounds on her wrists.

“Double dipping, Adam? Naughty.” Ava scrunched up her nose.

“And you are?” Charlie yanked her hand back and shifted to Adam’s side. He laced his fingers with hers and squeezed hard.

Ava pouted. “You haven’t told her about me? I’m Ava. His sister-in-law.”

Charlie’s heart dropped like a stone into her stomach and all the way down to her shoes. She let go of Adam’s hand.

“What?” she croaked out. Adam reached out for her, but she jerked her hand away.

“I’m Eve’s sister.” Ava continued on, either oblivious or indifferent to the damage she caused with each word. “The two of them were so in love for centuries. How many weddings was it? Four?”

“Five.” Adam responded quietly. Charlie took another step away as hot tears stung her eyes.

“Excuse me.” Charlie bolted from the room, slamming and locking her bedroom door.

Adam narrowed eyes at Ava. “Not even five fucking minutes.”

“How was I supposed to know you didn’t tell you about her? It must be serious if you are sucking and fucking.”

“Don’t call it that!” Adam raised his voice. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Is that any way to treat family?” Ava batted her eyes. Adam grabbed her elbow and walked Ava to the door. “You need me!”

“I don’t need you. I don’t need anybody!”

Adam flung the door open and with all his force threw Ava out onto the porch. She stumbled down the stairs.

“Fucking asshole!” she screamed.

“Stay the fuck away from me. If you come here again, Eve’s memory won’t save you from my wrath.”

Adam slammed the door shut and stared down Charlie’s bedroom door. He contemplated letting it sit until tomorrow. That was the easiest option, but not the right one.

“Charlie?” He rapped his knuckles against the door.

She didn’t respond, but Adam could hear her breathing on the other side of the door. There was a soft sob.

“I can explain all of it, Charlie. But I need you to open the door, darling.”

Nothing. Adam’s head hit the door with a thud. “Please.”

“Go away.” Charlie sobbed.

“No.”

“I’m not opening the door.”

“Then I’m sleeping on the floor. I’m not leaving until you talk to me. Until I can explain.” He slumped to the floor, leaning against the door. “I need you, Charlie.”

“You don’t need anyone, Adam.” Charlie turned away and crawled into bed, sobbing.

Ava dusted off her short dress and cursed at the hole in her tights.

“Shit!”

“Do you know him?” a voice called out from the shadows.

“Who’s out there?” Ava tensed up.

Jason stepped out from the shadows, a cast on one arm. “Someone with a bone to pick with the man that lives in that house. Do you know him?”

Ava smiled. An ally in town would be helpful. She needed a place to stay. “I do. Can we go somewhere? Maybe your place?” Jason’s eyes lit up. “I’m so hungry.”

“I parked my car around the corner.” He offered his good arm to Ava. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Ava.” She rubbed Jason’s arm. “My name’s Ava.”

“Ava. I’m Jason.”

Charlie slept like shit and woke up grateful she had the day off. Her head pounded from crying the night before. A fraction of the pain in her heart. She should know. She cursed her stupidity for falling once again for an unavailable man. Still wearing the clothes from last night, she opened the door and tripped over Adam sleeping at the threshold.

“Ah!” she screamed as she tumbled to the floor, hitting her knees hard.

“Shit.” Adam groaned as he unfurled from the fetal position he had curled into once it became clear Charlie wasn’t coming out. As he pulled his eyes open, he spied Charlie crumpled on the floor. “Charlie!” He reached for her, but she recoiled.

“I’m fine! What’s a little more pain at this point?” She rushed to her feet, smoothing out her wrinkled t-shirt.

Charlie walked to the kitchen, ignoring Adam’s footsteps behind her. Opening a cabinet, she grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen and a coffee mug. Adam leaned against the sink, arms crossed, watching Charlie’s coffee ritual. Two scoops of grounds carefully measured. Water not from the tap but a bottle.

“Are we not going to talk about yesterday?” Adam picked lint from the hallway carpet off his rumpled shirt.

Charlie’s spoon clattered to the counter. She flattened her palms against the counter, composed herself, and flashed Adam a fake smile.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” She moved to grab a bowl of Sugar Smacks. Adam shuttered at the sight of the processed cereal.

“If there is nothing to talk about, then why are looking at me like we are going to go kill Batman?” Charlie cocked her head to the side. “Your fake fucking smile, Charlie! Are we talking about this or not?!” His voice raised and reverberated against the peeling wallpaper of the tiny kitchen. His tone sharp and cruel.

“Not! We are not talking about it!” Charlie screamed back, her headache pushing against her forehead. She promised herself not to cry in front of him.

“That’s not acceptable!”

“Then why did you give me the option?! Then why did you…” her voice trailed off, and she spun back around as the tears dropped to her cheeks. She grabbed her coffee, not bothering to doctor it up with creamer and sugar like usual. “Go home, Adam.” She stomped off back towards her room.

Adam’s long legs helped him cut her off before she reached the hallway. “I am home. This is my house. Finish your sentence. Why did I…” There were a million ways Adam could imagine that sentence ending, all of them bad.

Charlie shuffled her feet, deciding whether to break away from the conversation, return to the kitchen, maybe barricade herself in the bathroom or tell Adam the truth.

“Why did you say all those things to me if you didn’t mean them? Why did you have to sleep with me if you were never going to love me?” she struggled to spit out the words.

“I… I…” Adam sputtered. None of those answers did he expect. Again, nothing about Charlie was what he expected. Nothing had gone to plan since he met her.

“Please.” She held a hand up. “I don’t need excuses. I’m used to rejection and disappointment. It is just a lot easier to swallow when the person doesn’t make me feel like they gave a damn first.”

Adam stepped forward. She held her arms out. “Please stop! I have had quite enough torture for 24 hours and you comforting me about finding about your wife, who have been married to for centuries, is more than I can handle. Go downstairs. I’ll see you in a few days to feed.”

He made one more step. Charlie’s fists clenched at her sides. “Go before I call the police to report harassment!”

Adam stopped in his tracks. Charlie’s eyes sparked with hurt and anger. He wanted to push the issue, wanted to tell her about Eve. About Ava. About the pain inside his heart. But no good came from him ending up in a jail cell.

He nodded. “I’ll see you, darling.”

She glared at the term of endearment and continued to do so until he left via the interior stairs. Adam overheard the lock click on Charlie’s door to the interior basement stairs and his heart ached like being crushed in a vice. He hurried downstairs and locked himself in the spare bedroom.

“Eve.” he called out to no one. “I’ve fucked up and I need your help.” If he could cry, he would.

Adam respected Charlie’s request and kept his distance. He spent an inordinate amount of time talking to Eve. About Charlie. Never in all his days did he imagine himself talking to his dead undead wife about his current… Not girlfriend, not lover. His Charlie. There was no other word to describe her. And she was his. Or at least she was.

“Eve, baby.” he called out to the wind for the third night in a row. “What was it you said to me before? About life?”

He plucked the strings of the instrument on his lap. All the music he played felt hollow. He can hear Eve prattling on about surviving, nature, kindness, and dancing in his head. When Adam lost Eve, he closed his heart to all those things except surviving. And he was doing a piss-poor job at that.

“You would like her. She is brilliant but kind. She doesn’t give me an inch and gives as good as she gets. And yet, so fragile, my dear. Fragile like a bomb. And her family. It seems they are the root of all this nonsense. I could kill them, Eve, for they have done to her.”

He sighed and slumped before falling back onto the bed. “I can’t lose her. I can’t. Not like I lost you.” He squeezed his eyes shut and covered them with his hands. Adam lay motionless, deep in thought.

Charlie eased down the stairs, the letter folded neatly into thirds gripped in her hand. No sweaters, no skirts. Just a ratty sweatshirt and her favorite pair of jeans. She knocked on the door. When Adam didn’t answer, she tried the doorknob and pushed it open to step inside.

To the untrained eye, the apartment would look the same as always. But Charlie could see the telltale signs of clutter. Instruments on the sofa. Notes on the floor.

Adam wasn’t in the living room or the bedroom. Charlie ambled down the hallway and past the tiny bathroom to the spare bedroom. The door was wide open. Adam laid sprawled on the bed, eyes closed. Picture frames leaned against the walls three and four deep. They filled every corner with boxes of flotsam and jetsam. Discarded on the bed was some strange stringed instrument Charlie had never seen before.

“Adam.” her voice is soft but clear.

He popped to standing and rushed to hug her. Her hands hung loose at her side.

“You came.” He buried himself into her neck, inhaling her scent. That impossible scent of Charlie, toeing the line of too masculine and too cloying.

“I can’t have you starving. A deal is still a deal. Before we get started, here.” She shoved the letter at him.

Adam unfolded the paper and read the top line. “Notice of Intent to Terminate Lease. What is this?”

Charlie gulped. “You just said. I’m terminating my lease. Now the original lease terms asked for 30 days, so that is what I put here. That should give you plenty of time to find a new supply of—”

“No.” Adam crumpled the paper into a tight paper and threw it into a corner. “I don’t accept.”

“Well, the terms of the lease explicitly state—”

“STOP IT CHARLIE!” Adam yelled loud enough for Charlie to blink and take a step back. “You are not packing up and leaving until I explain.” he regained some of that cool exterior he had worked decades to cultivate. “Go sit on the sofa. Please.”

Charlie didn’t move. “If after what I have to say you still want to leave, I won’t stop you or bother you ever again. Now please go sit.”

She nodded and turned back down the hallway. Adam shut the door behind him and followed her to the living room. Charlie picked up the instruments with care and returned them to their designated hooks, one after another. Adam didn’t even have to correct her once. She sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, hands folded in her lap. Like that day when she first found out the truth about him.

He sat on the opposite side, uncertain what to do with his hands.

“I should have told you about Eve.”

“Yes. You should have.”

“Sounds like something she would say.” he chuckled before clearing his throat.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Right. We were together for a long time, Charlie. She was my other half in every way. But then she got sick. Blood poisoning.”

Charlie scooted closer to take his hand. Adam gave it a small squeeze.

“After that, it was easier to shut everything out. Lightning doesn’t strike twice. And I am not that lucky. But you are…” He searched for the words. “… unexpected.”

“Is that a nice way of saying…” Adam cut her off.

“It is my turn to speak. And I will not have you denigrating yourself in front of me.”

Charlie shut her mouth and motioned to have Adam continue.

“Thank you. I never planned on any of this. I am ill equipped for relationships.”

“That makes two of us.” Charlie muttered and Adam snapped his head and furrowed his brows. “I was agreeing with you!” she pleaded.

“The bottom line is…” he turned to face her, grabbing her other hand. “… I may have been married for centuries but you are here now and Eve is gone. And if you are willing to give me another chance, I will do better. But in this moment, right here and now, I need you, Charlie. And I don’t need anyone.”

Charlie chewed her lower lip and bounced her foot against the floor. She glanced around the room, buying time. Her eyes settled on Adam’s record player. She stood and walked towards it. A stack of records off to the side. Charlie shuffled through them, selecting one and putting it on.

“Dance with me, Adam.” Charlie called as the strains of O.V. Wright’s Let’s Straighten It Out came on.

Adam grabbed Charlie’s outstretched arm and pulled her tight to his chest. His long arms enveloped her as they swayed to the music. She buried her head into his chest and breathed in deep. He smelled of Adam, sandalwood and cologne.

“I’m not letting go.” Adam commented as he kissed the top of her head.

“Please don’t.” she replied, muffled by his shirt. Tears stained the silk material as they fell from her eyes. “I’m ruining your shirt.” She pulled back, wiping her cheek.

“It’s been through worse.”

He tilted his head down and pulled Charlie’s chin up and kissed her with parted lips. His hands splayed across her back as his tongue slipped into Charlie’s mouth and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her fingers slipped through Adam’s black locks and she explored his mouth as he explored hers.

When they parted, the song ended, but they continued to sway to an invisible rhythm.

“Where do we go from here?” Charlie questioned, not moving her head to look at Adam.

“I believe tradition dictates after a fight, a couple takes part in make-up sex.”

Charlie giggled against his chest. “Nothing we have ever done has been traditional.”

Adam’s hands tugged and pulled at her sweatshirt. “True but we definitely do sex.”

“That we do.” Adam kissed her again, walking the two of them back to the couch. As Charlie fell to the couch, the wood frame of the antique sofa cracked, but neither Adam nor Charlie paid it any mind.

“I am hungry, darling.” Adam growled into Charlie’s ear as he pawed as her chest underneath the sweatshirt.

Charlie arched her back to meet his hands. She pulled the sweatshirt off and tossed it to the floor. Her hands tugged at his shirt, exposing the taut muscles underneath. They rose to their knees. The couch creaked again. Adam kissed up and down Charlie’s torso with sloppy mouth kisses. He gripped her waist and Charlie reached behind and unhooked her bra.

“Your tits are magnificent.” Adam moaned, taking one of Charlie’s nipples in his mouth. He sucked hard.

“Fuck, Adam!” Her head fell back as her hands pulled him closer. His fangs nipped at the tender flesh. He hungered in all aspects.

“I need you, darling. Now.” Adam grabbed her thighs and flopped her onto her back.

Creak. “Did you hear that?” Charlie asked, while she fumbled with the infernal button fly on his dark jeans. “Why in the hell are there so many buttons?”

Adam yanked her jeans, not budging them for a moment. “I insist you must only walk around naked from now on in this house.” He was in such a hurry that when Charlie stroked his shaft, he ripped the button clean off.

“Those were my favorite jeans.”

“Too much talking.” Adam growled, shimmying her pants to her ankles. He lifted each leg, pulling the jeans off and depositing them on the floor. He pushed his own pants down past his ass, his cock popping free.

“I am afraid I won’t be gentle this time, my love.” Adam pushed her legs open and up, pining them back.

Charlie grabbed his shoulders, pulling him against her. He pushed into her and groaned.

“Fuck!” they both exclaimed as Adam bottomed out.

Adam’s hips twisted while he rutted against Charlie. Her nails dug into his back, leaving red crescents. Adam tore at the upholstery, fisting it on either side of Charlie’s shoulders. The couch creaked and whined as Adam thrusted into Charlie at a ruthless pace.

“Darling…” Adam moaned as his balls tightened. His fangs painful.

“I’m cumming!” Charlie bucked against his hips. Her pussy fluttered and clenched around Adam’s cock.

“Yes!” Adam thrusted twice more as his fangs sunk into Charlie’s neck.

“AHHH!” Charlie’s vision turned white while Adam fed and came inside her. Her pussy milked his cock. Adam remained latched to her neck. A meal had never tasted so good.

In complete exhaustion, Adam collapsed against Charlie. A trickle of blood came down Charlie’s neck to pool between her breasts. With a delicate touch, Adam licked up the trail of red before kissing Charlie’s neck just below the already healing wound.

“Oh!” Charlie shuddered at the overstimulation.

“We should fight more often.” Adam commented, continuing to nip at Charlie’s neck, collarbone, and breasts, leaving marks.

“Adam!” Charlie punched his shoulder.

At that moment, the sofa collapsed underneath them, sending a cloud of dust surrounding them. Charlie held onto Adam as they crashed down, screaming. Adam covered as much of Charlie’s body as he could, in case there was shrapnel from the collapse.

As the dust settled, Adam stared into Charlie’s wide eyes. The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Darling, I believe we have fucked the shit out of this couch.”

Charlie burst into laughter.

#adam #adam fanfiction #adam fanfic #adam angst #adam fluff #adam smut #adam imagine #only lovers left alive #only lovers left alive fanfiction #adam x ofc #the reluctants

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cutieodonoghue · 4 years ago

Photo

dark gray (2/?)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

///

Two

The second time she wakes in an unfamiliar bed, it hurts a hell of a lot more than it had the first time, which seems like it wouldn't be the case, but it is.

The room is dark with the exception of the warm orange glow of the fire and instead of the screaming child, she hears only the fire crackling timidly. Emma sighs as she tosses her head to the side.

She supposes that she should be grateful that someone was able to help her, that she isn't forced to deal with a broken leg and scarring in her forehead or the residual chills from nearly drowning in a freezing sea in the middle of a storm.

But her rescuer is no Prince Charming. Far from it, actually. The guy is almost as cold as the ocean and he's freakishly dark and terrifying.

Taking a deep breath, Emma pushes herself up into sitting position to examine her knee. He'd set it and the bruising is still there, but the bandage he'd wrapped around it to keep it in place covers most of the damage she'd seen for a few fractions of a second here or there.

Emma whips the blankets off of her and gets out of the bed, her feet slipping as they hit the hardwood floors.

She looks down at the outfit she's been dressed in, musing over how large and baggy they are, and after a glance around the room, she discovers her wet clothes still drying over the fire.

Emma forces herself to go to the fire so she can inspect the articles hanging above the heat.

Crinkling her nose, she decides to keep the sagging clothes on instead, wrapping her arms over her chest protectively. She's a little perturbed that he'd re-dressed her, that he'd seen her bare. Chills run down her spine at the mere idea.

With determination in her step, Emma opens the door, and walks out in time to hear shattering glass and a hiss, followed by, "Bloody hell!"

She walks cautiously, glancing around the room.

It's quaint. Very small, but livable, if you lived alone.

There's a tiny television sitting on a wooden stand across from the sofa. One wall is built with bookshelves installed inside and is full of literature. The fire is beside the television and there is also a lamp that provides low light to the sofa atop of a side table. The floor is covered in a foreign looking rug, one that might have been made by native culture, and she bites her lip as she considers where exactly the boat had thrown her off to.

They'd been on their way home to Maine, back from a trip to England, and the storm had been a mysterious surprise in the middle of nowhere. The ship may have gone down, she isn't sure. All she knows is that she was thrust off and found something to hold onto before she fell unconscious.

On the sofa, she discovers a pile of strategically placed pillows and blankets surrounding a lump that upon closer examination is a child. She frowns at the sight of him.

While he is asleep, he doesn't look very comfortable.

Emma glances over to the open doorway to where she supposes the kitchen must be, for that is where her Savior is cursing himself out in low tones.

The child stirs in his sleep and fusses, pulling at her heartstrings so that she leans in and lifts him to her chest, shushing him softly with a finger to his cheek.

Emma smiles a little, because growing up she'd always wanted a little baby brother or sister to play with, but her parents weren't able to conceive and they didn't want to adopt again, thinking she was more than enough for them.

Emma isn't sure where this little guy came from. She doesn't think there was a baby on the ship, but then again, she'd been kind of absorbed in worry about what she'd say to Neal come her return to Storybrooke.

She hears the clatter of boots on the floor at an ever-loudening pace and glances up from the child when they stop. He is standing at the door frame with a beer bottle in his hand, a tired look on his face that shifts slightly into confusion at the sight of her.

Emma opens her mouth for a moment considering what she should say before he speaks, gesturing to her with the hand holding the bottle, "You shouldn't be up on that leg."

Emma sighs and sinks down onto the couch with a sigh. "Better?"

His jaw clenches and he doesn't look happy with her, staying in the door frame for a moment longer before stepping into the room.

"Here. Milk for the child."

She stares at him with narrowed eyes before yanking the beer bottle from him. "I'm not here to be a nursemaid for some kid that you don't want to take care of. I don't know where he came from just as much as you."

The man gives her a thin smile as he lifts his eyebrows. "Well, I don't see his parents anywhere near here, so you'll do."

Emma gapes at him for a moment. "Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I'm naturally maternal."

"And just because I've brought you into my home, that doesn't mean I'm friendly."

She glares at him and he at her. He pinches up a fake smile and drops it as he storms out of the room again.

Emma rolls her eyes as she fiddles with the beer bottle in her hand, furious that she's even here. She'll have to leave first thing in the morning, get on a boat back to America and figure out whether or not her parents made it back yet.

She struggles to feed the child for a moment, because the hole doesn't work with feeding a baby, but she adapts, pressing her thumb over the hole just enough that he can access the fluid easily. She listens to him as he eats and watches for signs of his being finished, and when he is, she sets the bottle down on the floor and pulls him up to burp him.

The boots come charging back into the room and she shoots her eyes up to meet the dark blues that are the man's.

"I'll be out of your hair in the morning," she tells him.

He stares at her silently for a few long moments and shakes his head.

"Next ship to come through here isn't for four weeks." Emma furrows her brow, about to ask one of the hundred questions on the tip of her tongue, but he interrupts, "Small island in the middle of nowhere, love. I'm afraid we're stuck with each other until Smee comes with supplies."

She wants to scream, because, well, he is the worst person she's ever met, and apparently he has very little respect for her outside of the fact that he wants to help her not die.

Her eyes go wide at his statement and she watches him as he crosses the room to put a bowl of something on the side table under the sickly orange glow of the lamp. The spoon in the bowl clatters upon being set down and she glares when he steps back to look at her.

"I feel some ground rules will be important," he tells her, eyeing her warily.

Emma scoffs. "Ground rules, really? How old do you think I am?"

He gives her that tight, mocking smile again and crouches down in front of her in the most demeaning way.

The baby gurgles out puke onto her and she doesn't care, because it's his shirt and she'll just change in a few minutes. Or maybe she'll wear it and smell up his living room for a while.

She lowers the child into her arms as he speaks.

"Rule number one. You will care for the child for as long as we're stuck together."

She gapes at him for a second and shakes her head. "Woah there, buddy. I told you I don't do kids."

He lifts his eyebrows as if challenging her and she copies him, but he doesn't break.

Emma sighs heavily. She’s forced into a corner here. If he won’t do it, or can’t, then who will?

"Fine. If you're not going to take care of him." She looks down at the bundle in her arms. "I don't think we should call him kid or whatever, though. He needs a name. That's my stipulation if you're going to make me take care of him."

She watches the man as he pulls his teeth over his lower lip for a thoughtful moment.

"Okay. What do you suggest?"

Emma wants to make him name the kid, but she realizes as she opens her mouth to complain that he would probably pick something ridiculous and she would end up naming it anyway. She looks back down at the baby and examines him.

"Henry." She looks back at him. "He looks like one at least."

The man nods. "Alright, Henry it is."

"You need to tell me your name, too." He stares at her with his lips pressed into a thin line. "I told you mine. He has one." Emma narrows her eyes. "Give me yours so I know which name to avoid for the rest of my life."

He chuckles darkly at her.

"Killian Jones," he says. "A pleasure." She rolls her eyes at the tone of his voice. "Rule number two: I have my set of tasks and chores and I will not be interrupted for any reason."

Emma sighs. "Fine by me."

Killian glances down at the floor. "You will sleep here, with Henry. There will be no complaining or whining of any sort, and you will stay here at all times. No venturing out onto the island on your own. Especially with that leg."

He gestures to her with his left hand… er, hook- how absurd is it that she’d managed to find one of the only people in the world with a hook for a hand?- and she sighs again.

"Okay, fine. Anything else you want to enforce, Captain Hook?"

He stares at her, gritting his teeth, and he gives his head a shake. "Keep out of my way and I think we'll be just fine for these four weeks."

She watches him, hand and hook, stand again, and she thinks for a moment that she's won something in the way he's moving out of the room with a vicious sort of walk.

It might be easier to loathe him if he weren't so ruggedly handsome.

She sighs as she looks down at Henry, giving him a tiny smile when he babbles a little bit. He does have a cute face and she kind of likes him, regardless of what she might have thought otherwise before.

Emma doesn't know what to do with Henry, so she just leaves him in his pile of pillows while she tries to figure out what the bowl and spoon Killian had set down for her are.

It's stew, she thinks, stirring the spoon around and taking a sniff of it. She decides that she's too hungry to protest his attempt at potentially poisoning her and inhales her food, listening to him slam things around in the kitchen.

She gets that he has a deal, because everyone always has a deal.

Hell, she has a deal. She doesn't like anyone getting close to her because if they do, she's afraid she'll hurt them, or they'll hurt her, and she cannot let that happen.

After she finishes the stew that tastes more like the can that it came from than anything else, she sets the bowl down on the table and winces as she pulls herself up to go change clothes.

She discovers clothes in the dresser of his room and throws the first thing she can find over her head, disregarding the dirtied shirt on top of the dresser for him to deal with. She takes the blanket and carries it with her to the sofa, where she turns the light off and somehow gets into a comfortable position with Henry at her feet.

She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath, listening as Killian sits down at what must be a table in the kitchen, the chair making a loud screeching against the floor. He sighs and she hears a click, probably a beer, before the definite sound of him taking a sip.

Obnoxious man.

How she'll ever last four weeks with him is a mystery she isn't sure she's going to be able to live long enough to find out.

Killian sighs heavily as he pushes open the door to his lighthouse. It's on, the sweeping light blasting it's beams across the water and cutting through the foggy night, but he's not here to tend to the light that cuts through the darkness.

There is a wooden desk and chair that he sits at with a beer in hand. Perched atop the desk is his radio: his one and only method of communication with the outside world. Thoughtfully, Killian bites on his lower lip as he stares at it.

His supplies are running lower than usual and even with his emergency stashes of food and water, he's not sure he'll be able to keep them all alive for four weeks. Three human beings on one island, in one tiny house, had never been the plan.

Killian likes to think he knows right from wrong and that's why he's staring at his radio now. Within a few minutes, he could have Mister Smee well on his way toward him with blankets, food, and a plan for them to return to whence they came.

Determined, he grabs the radio and flips the on switch, listening as the radio garbles and hisses. If he does this, they'll both be home in no time, leaving him here all alone with his thoughts once more.

It's all he's ever needed, right?

For whatever reason, his chest tightens as he summons the courage to radio out. He can feel his heart begin to race, a throbbing swelling up in his ears while he waits for a reply.

Nothing. Silence.

If they don't leave now, he's stuck with them. He's stuck with taking care of them. Of allowing himself to feel something other than the emptiness he's clung to for these past few years.

Killian sits back in his chair. He takes his fingers through his hair and stares at the device. A wave of desperation washes over him, suddenly feeling as if he's being forced to do something he very much doesn't want to do.

He needs them gone. He can't keep them here.

So he calls again.

And he calls again.

And again.

Absolutely nothing.

In an instant, he is filled with rage. Furious, he grabs the radio from his desk and throws across the room, shattering it completely into pieces on the floor of his lighthouse.

Just as quickly as he'd lashed out, he realizes his fault with tears burning behind his eyes. Killian closes his eyes tight, willing himself to find his calm even if he feels like he's teetering over the edge of an emotional breakdown.

He tugs open the lower drawer of his desk for the rum. He needs something just a little bit stronger if he's going to make it through the night.

#cs ff #cs au #my writing #dark gray #captain swan #hi it's getting late but I needed to post this today!#love you guys!!

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