#the torn pages are failed attempts to get her hair right

[papabigtoes]

No way

[tamat3v]

req: hey mate sorry to like probably ruin your reputation here but can i request pseudo-incest dabi with like overstimulation and sadomasochism?

❥• this was from my other acc, this req has been sitting and rotting for m o n t h s, i added my own twists and tweaks here and there [nah like actually a lot💔💔 the main kinks in highlight are still overstim and sadomasochism(ish for this one) so it’s not too bad] so i hope it is enjoyed. coming up with a title for this was living hell so i’ll figure it out later 🚶🏾

w/c: none, cus i’m trying straight up on tumblr, so help me god but it’s a pretty decent reading length i suppose

Touya hated you- despised you for the very fact you walked the earth in his lifetime. You were the most cherished one, the sun of your parents and he was the other one, who’s name was apparently so unspeakable because he was the disappointment. He hated you, did everything in his power to show his mom and your dad that you were no good. He knew what you were, he heard all of those girls and boys screaming as you basically pounded them into your mattress every other night. Only he knew how you toyed with and threw away each and every single one of them after you had your fun and gotten your dick wet enough for the week.

Touya curses the ground you walk on. He abhors you so, then why is it that this time he’s slumped against his bed? Hearing the girl cry and you pant with his pants feeling too tight? Why, god tell him why he walked into the room, acting like it was a mistake. Why he screamed at the girl to get lost and it was a sight to behold, how she scrambled for her clothes and flew out the door like a hurricane.

You were seeing red at this point. You’d finally convinced her to get into your bed and that god forsaken raven head had to step in a mess up. You were livid, shirt crumpled slightly and raised up as you flung the other onto the bed, hand wrapped around his throat dangerously with ill intentions which pinned him flat to the bed and all he could do was struggle. “Touya, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Touya couldn’t tell you the answer but how he wondered the same thing. No normal person would like being brutally tossed to the bed, being choked heavy with all rage- which was absolutely deserved. The crown of the pile of issues was that his hard on was furious in his pants, straining against the fabric. This is wrong, all so wrong. You were brothers for goodness’ sake, you could literally kill him for goodness’ sake yet he liked the hurt and he wanted you even more. He tried to speak out but his words died long before in his throat all he could let out was a weak, failing sound- so pathetic. You were so sour at the pitiful face he was making but it soon turned into a bitter smile on your face. As much as you wanted to thrash him for butting in and stepping far out of line, you would just rock his shit differently.

Because little did he know that you knew what he did. Unlike your parents, you heard him beating his pathetic, weeping cock and mewling at the dead of night to his own step-brother. You had seen his book, pages filled with the most obscene and perverse desires and fantasies he had and you knew from that day on he was far worse than you would ever be. Something about that cruel upper hand you had over him just made your stomach twist and all the right ways, who were you to not use this golden opportunity that fate had dealt you?

“You know, Dabi, I’ve read that book of yours.” He immediately sprung to life, eyes popping out their sockets. “_____, I can explain, it’s really not what you think it is-“ There it was. You dropped one harsh and heavy handed slap on his cheek with no hesitation and he was silent, effective immediately. “I don’t remember asking you to talk, Touya-kun. I read each and ever single one of those pages. You’re so sick, you know that?” you spat, tone seething and acidic. “‘Bet you liked that slap, didn’t you? Being pressed up underneath me like this? I know who you are, Touya: a perverted whore.”

Oh how he was shaking under you, legs turning inwards with his thighs pressed so cutely together to quell the sweltering heat in his pants. He was dripping, tip pumping up those sinful tears non stop ‘till it was so sticky. Touya’s brain had switched off, eyes unfocused on you but a sharp slap to his thigh, right next to the throbbing hardness brought him back whimpering. You finally released his throat, purpled bruise marks adorning his skin as he choked in air, just for it to be knocked out of his chest when you flipped him onto his back.

“From now on until I decide I’m done with you, you have no say. Shut up and take it like the slut you are. I will not listen to you but I don’t think it’s need anyway. I know you’ll enjoy every single second of it like the freak you are.” You weren’t asking, simply stating. You ripped down his stupid, tacky pants and slid in, no warning needed. Touya was undone with that, tears stinging hard, his lower half even harder but he liked the pain- so much that he came immediately, crying out already and you were incredulous at the realization.

You slapped his ass harshly. He didn’t deserve your mercy, not that he wanted it anyways. His dark hair was disheveled as you began hammering into him relentlessly. He cried from the overstimulation- it hurt so good. His body was absolutely shredded and you were far from finished with him- so far from it. His mind was not computing the stimulation, he was numb but felt everything at the same time. Was this an out of body experience because this didn’t feel real at all. He was bordering consciousness when you squeezed another high from his spent body already.

What time was it now? Touya was lost in a different plane when you finally pulled out, daylight peaking through shut blinds and he was limp. He was beyond useless and he- he felt you push in once more and shredded attempt at a scream erupted from his torn up vocal box. “Oh? So you are still awake. You better be, you will take what I give you, Touya.”And you were so pleased with your work, yhe points in which you had hit on his body were bruising, heat still so close to the surface of his skin and it was perfect for you.

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

The Last Cigarette (Spencer Reid x Reader) Smut

Summary: Mr Scratch was an unsub with undoubtedly the greatest impact on the team. Even in death, he pushes Spencer beyond the preconception of his limits. 

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins​‘ server! This Unsub!Spencer!AU is for the outstanding @cardigayn​ <3 I hope you like it! 

Content warning: Character death, abuse of power, physical assault, murder, Unsub!Spencer, mentions of rape and attempted murder, mentions of knife wounds, unhealthy coping mechanisms

Smut content warning: AFAB!Reader, they/them pronouns, facesitting, hair pulling, overstimulation, light choking, riding, biting, praise kink, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a hint of breeding

Gif credit: @imagining-in-the-margins​ // Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

No one on the team spoke about what Luke did to Scratch – or rather, what he didn’t do. The BAU were far beyond tired of that man’s torments. His impact upon each member was the greatest of any unsub they had ever encountered and now it was finally time to close the book on his crimes. That included turning their gaze away from the abuse of power that Luke had taken by letting Scratch fall from that building. Not the first time the team had banded together to mask a member’s tracks.

Spencer glanced up from his paperwork. Everyone else in the bullpen was focused on their tasks, as if nothing had happened. Even Emily was at her desk and typing away at her desktop when she had been an inch away from death not two weeks ago.

Spencer’s pen tapped against the desk twice before it was placed down adjacent to his pencil pot. He remembered the details of their cover-up. That wasn’t what paused his paperwork.

His mind was straying to another timeline, in accordance to the multi-verse theory. Luke had made a choice in this universe to not pull Scratch up. In another universe, he decided to save the unsub. What happened next?

After experiencing prison first hand, Spencer could somewhat pinpoint how long Scratch would have lasted in a place like Millburn. The respect for serial killers on the inside, especially those who had tormented law enforcement, would keep him alive.

There was the chance that there was another universe where Scratch would have gotten off scot free. And another timeline where Scratch, without a gun, overpowered Luke or Matt, taking either or both of them down. Kristy had no husband. Jake, David, Chloe, and Lily had no father. Roxy had no owner.

Maybe it was better that Luke didn’t help Scratch off that ledge, that Matt had just stayed back.

Spencer could not decide what he would have done in that situation, and he didn’t have to. But that didn’t mean another version of him didn’t. To be jealous of a version of himself that did not exist in his world was a bad idea. It was out of his hands and in his head – the roof, the unsub, the choice.

 --->--->--->--->--->

“Anyone want a coffee?”

A series of murmurs rose from the team, all negative, and Luke tucked his chair back under his desk before he walked off to the SAPD break room. Spencer watched his reflection in the conference room’s window. There was an itch in his brain that spread through a nerve to his knee – bouncing it just beneath the table.

Suddenly that nerve propelled him to follow Luke. Spencer’s feet weaved him in between officers until he found his teammate switching on the station’s coffee pot.

“Change your mind?” Luke raised an unsuspicious eyebrow.

“Yes,” Spencer lied, and he collected a mug to wash up. Suds flooded in the sink, rolling out the mug and around the plughole. Spencer fixated on them, a menial hope that he could focus on something else rather than the temptation of asking Luke for details.

He had to be closer of being clean of this whole thing than he thought. Scratch was dead, the case was closed. A few more years, this would be a memory that haunted him every few weeks instead of every day.

Dilaudid was craved by a tiny section of his brain, but he knew that it would not help him at all. He needed something else to help ease the cravings. If only he had inherited his mother’s affinity for cigarettes.

“Can I ask you something?”

Luke shrugged in return, “Sure.” He had opened his palm by his side but did not reach out to Spencer’s clean mug. Spencer appreciated that. A glance at the bullpen, visible through the open door, told him that no one else had followed them. It wasn’t too late. He could come up with a question about the case, about Roxy, about anything.

“What did he look like before he fell?”

Luke’s expression sobered and soured. He too checked the proximity of the police officers outside their bubble. Clearing his throat twice, he poured the coffee into his mug and spun the handle once it was down to fit Spencer’s need.

His voice was low as he said, “He looked desperate.”

Spencer nodded while he poured into his own cup. Perhaps more caffeine would aid him, for he had scratched the itch and it had spread elsewhere. Stirring in some sugar, he took a burning sip before it had dissolved and cringed at the granules in his mouth.

It was when he’d finally swallowed them, instead of spitting out like he wanted to, that Spencer gave into the itch: “Did he say anything to you?”

“He asked me to help him.” Luke blew on his coffee before taking a sip. Even then, he still struggled to swallow it. “He begged.”

“That can’t have been easy. Thanks for telling me.”

But Luke didn’t seem like he concurred. In fact, he looked as though he wanted to make right the claim and say that letting Scratch die was the easiest decision in the world.

Spencer blinked. Luke was gone, already back in the conference room. Perhaps he’d imagined something like that. His attention shifted to Scratch’s face, morphing it until it was a stereotypical expression of fear. Spencer had heard too much of that man’s voice, but it was good for one thing: recreating the words Luke had told him.

“Help me. Please!”

Matt was back with Emily.

And suddenly so was Luke. Spencer had gone it alone after Scratch. It was just the two of them on the roof, and soon it would be one.

Scratch’s clothes were whipped up by the wind, his begging too. It was almost as though he reached up for Spencer. One last cry for help. Then he fell, silent and ragdoll-esque.

Just before the body hit the ground, Scratch was clinging to the building’s side again. When he fell this time, he screamed hysterically. It echoed across the roof until Spencer couldn’t discern it from the wind. A swell of relief spread through his body. He took a sip from his coffee.

“Reid?” Just as he had done a minute prior, Luke was lingering in the doorway. “We should get back to the conference room.”

“Right,” Spencer dropped the teaspoon onto the side. It clattered about the side, then went quiet, then hit the floor. Spencer didn’t turn to see where it landed.

 --->--->--->--->--->

What an absolute smarty pants who could just about learn to use Teams by himself. Spencer leant to the right in his office chair as his partner Y/N showed him the ropes of his new application. How lucky he was to still have them after all they had been through – together and apart.

“And… ta-dah!” Y/N made jazz hands at the monitor.

“Thank you. You’re so good to me,” Spencer straightened up, smiling at the screen, “Can I get you a reward?”

Y/N seemed to ponder on this offer, an act Spencer had seen many times and never grew tired of. Then Y/N tapped their cheek twice and bent forward. With butterflies in his stomach, Spencer tilted his chin up and pressed a lingering kiss there. There was a bashful smile across their face when they drew away. Even after all this time, Spencer was proud he could still affect them so.  

The door to his office shut behind them and Spencer looked over his desktop’s background. His students’ homework was hovering in the background, already being printed off. The printer stuttering out each page had long since been tuned out

He glanced away from it to his left and saw Y/N again. Their arms were wrapped around themselves, their body close and facing Spencer with a clear expression drawing bravery upon them. Spencer’s head then turned to see if Scratch was still dangling by the tips of his fingers. He was.

“What do I do?” Spencer asked, his voice almost torn away by the wind he couldn’t feel against his cheek.

Y/N hardly spared Scratch a glance. They had never seen him before, and they made this one time they did as short as possible. Their hand moved Spencer’s head so that Scratch was in his blind spot. They held his face and looked on him sweetly, even in the darkness around them.

They gave Spencer their answer: “Leave him.”

Scratch’s body trembled as his head rigidly shook, “Please!”

But Y/N took Spencer’s hand in their free one and they held it even as Scratch’s grip failed him. Only then did they look at the unsub and watch unflinchingly together as their tormenter fell to his death. A second later, the pair heard the body hit the ground. Spencer began to move towards the ledge, Y/N tugging him back towards the door of the roof.

“I have to see,” Spencer insisted, “I have to know he’s really gone.”

There was no pity, just empathy, as Y/N nodded their head, “Ok.” Their hands tensed together while they approached the roof’s end.

There he was, his body broken, his head smashed against the dirt. Lifeless. Gone.

Then Scratch was falling again, the last seconds of existence, and Y/N was hiding their face in Spencer’s shoulder. He was holding them tight, so that if they changed their mind about watching, they wouldn’t be able to. But he was watching everything in slow motion.

Every fraction of change in Scratch’s terror was drawn out until it was a pantomime of itself.

“Are you ok?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

Closing his eyes, Spencer kissed Y/N’s head. He basked in his comfort before he opened his eyes again and drew a deep breath from the comfort of his desk chair. Then he collected the printed essays of his students, grabbing a pen to prepare for marking.

  --->--->--->--->--->

 This time Hotch was there, Jack’s face hidden in his father’s chest. Derek too, holding little Hank with all the tenderness a father could.

Spencer waved his hand towards the door, “Get them out of here. I don’t want them to see this.” He waited dutifully for them to leave, both of them sending a nod Spencer’s way.

Once the door bounced against its frame to close, he stood at the edge. He couldn’t feel the cold rushing past him, coaxing him to fall with Scratch, but he could picture hearing it. Almost deafening him to Scratch’s pleas, he turned those words up loud so that he could hear the moment the words stopped, the moment that Spencer pulled out his Smith & Wesson and shot Scratch in the head. His grip faltered instantly and his lifeless body tumbled down.

“No.”

Spencer screwed his eyes shut before looking back at the geographic profile.

“No what?”

He started. He didn’t realise that Tara was still in the room with him.

His words tumbled out quickly, “Just testing a theory, but it’s not right, it doesn’t fit.”

Nodding, Tara made her way beside him and observed the evidence collected so far, “We’ll get there. Just keep that brain going.”

Spencer planned to do just that. This daydream wasn’t as satisfying, like Nicorette mists or chewing gum. Just shooting him in the head? That was more than mercy for Scratch. No, he’d have to come up with something else to use. For the daydream of course.

He was glad that Tara was treating him normally. Not like JJ, who had checked in on him for Dilaudid before take-off. She was hovering around him like a gnat and it was starting to piss him off. Where was this energy when he was actually contemplating the drug’s pros and cons? He was determined to keep it together for the team to function and solve this case, but JJ in his peripherals was making it hard to focus. On work. Not the daydreaming. He loved her to bits, but he just wished she’d leave him to his own devices unless it concerned the case. That was the priority now.

The broken fingers of the victims sat like warped roots of a tree on the board, each knuckle shattered with a hammer. This unsub – a man in his 20s, not 30s – had such an odd post-mortem signature. Like when Ronald Weems did on the prostitutes. The ones Nathan Harris was obsessed with, wrote about, then killed himself before he could re-enact such a crime.

But it was fine. This was different. Spencer wasn’t writing these down. He didn’t need to. That, and he wasn’t about to recreate his daydreams.

“Excuse me.”

“Off for a smoke?” Luke joked half-heartedly.

Shortly after shaking off that effort at a joke, Spencer’s hand froze against the metal pole of the wheelchair access to the police station. His lungs took a deep breath of the cool Christmas air, a worthless hit. He hoped that Derek and Hotch were being the fathers they always wanted to be - that Gideon could have been.

--->--->--->--->--->

Adrenaline was what enabled him to haul Scratch up. Still, Spencer strained with his weight. He was gasping with the unsub when they were both allowed back onto the roof, Scratch’s knees digging into the floor for security and his hands still clasping the edge of the building - from the other side now.

Spencer watched, blood roaring in his ears with each panting breath. He took one deeper and let out a yell as he kicked his foot up into Scratch’s nose. Scratch rolled onto his back with a ragged rasp, blood spouting from his nose to stain everything it made contact with, and his head lolled off the edge of the building. Spencer’s chest burned with unsatisfaction so he kicked again. This time, his foot came down on Scratch’s groin. Ineffective in stopping him from standing, this was personal deliverance of pain.

He was out of breath but completely fine. He had the energy to drag Scratch back with one hand at his ankle, so now his head was beneath a solid enough surface to stomp on three times. Each one sent Scratch’s eyes rolling back further into his head.

Spencer began to use his hands. Getting close into Scratch’s space, he lay punch after punch, no pain on his hands, no. He put it all into Mr Scratch for every second he stole from him and his team until finally he stood up.

Scratch barely had enough energy to cough behind the blood pooling in his mouth. But Spencer could make out the one word he was wheezing in his agony.

“Spencer.”

Then, and only then, did Spencer draw his gun once more and shoot Mr Scratch in the neck.

The jet jolted as its wheels touched the runway. Spencer leant back in his chair, dragged as the jet slowed to a stop. He grunted, his head still catching up to that sudden jolt.

“I want you all to just go home, alright?” Prentiss was already stood at the end of the plane’s gangway, “Get some rest.”

The rest of the trip home was a blur for Spencer; it was committed to his memory but not with any intrigue. Only when he dropped his keys in the front door’s bowl did he start paying attention to his surroundings again. Y/N was powerwalking over to him, instinctively reaching out long before they made it to him.

“Hey baby!” They greeted, and Spencer enfolded them into a tight embrace, “You must be knackered.”

They swayed a little on the spot as Spencer answered, “I was.”

“Was?”

“Not after seeing you.”

His chin brushed over Y/N’s shoulder before he kissed that spot, smiling against the cloth of their shirt. His support rocked as Y/N giggled. Their grip on him tightened for a moment before they ran a hand over his tummy, the little “pouch” as they had affectionately named it. A thought ran past his eyes: that it wouldn’t hurt to start working out if he was going to do more than just shoot Scratch.

“Cheeky,” Y/N touched one of his curls as they pulled away, “Come on, let’s go to bed. Not like that.” They tapped his nose at the raise of his eyebrows.”

“I missed you,” Spencer said, not immediately after that, but when they were both in bed together, “I always do.”

“Me too.”

Y/N was unable to look Spencer in the eye. Spencer loved that they were so overwhelmed with love that they had to seek refuge elsewhere. They were just like him in that sense.

--->--->--->--->---> 

  Gun drawn, Spencer took deliberate steps stalking through the darkened apartment complex. The entire area was due for demolishing the following morning, so there were plenty hiding spaces for this unsub to jump out of. Every deep breath stilled his hands as he moved swiftly around each corner. Matt mumbled something in his earpiece about going down to the poolside.

He made his way to the third floor and followed the glowing green signs towards the fire escape.

Martin Harvey had just turned around to see Spencer. He instantly dropped the pipe he was wielding and thrust his hands into the air.

“Ok, ok, ok, you got me. Don’t shoot.”

His legs crumbled and he fell to his knees. A coward, just like the profile had said. This was too easy. No, it wasn’t actually. Interviewing those parents and friends of the victims, gritting teeth while working through red tape set up by the small town talk and the prejudices constructed long before this case occurred, none of that and none of what came prior was easy.

“Get up there.”

Harvey frowned, his eyes unsteady between Spencer’s face and Spencer’s gun, “What?”

Spencer tilted the barrel of his gun to the fire escape stairs for a second, immediately returning it onto Harvey, “You heard me.”

Shaking, Harvey took the steps as they came. His hands were still on his head. His boots made hollow clanks against the rusting metal, echoing Spencer’s lighter taps, until they came into contact with the concrete of the roof. The wind felt more brutal today. It was colder than Spencer imagined. The February chills shouldn’t dissuade him much though.

The second Harvey made a move to spin around, Spencer smacked his head with the butt of his gun. Harvey tripped forwards but remained upright. So Spencer holstered his weapon, grabbed Harvey’s shoulder, and punched across his nose. Both men let out a cry. Spencer flexed his fingers to subside the pain, but it continued to shoot up and down his bones. Another attempt, he grappled with the scruff of Harvey’s shirt then shoved him off his balance to the ground. The unsub wobbled and cried out as he fell backwards. Spencer kicked again, not as strong as the last time, but he felt the surge of power in him. Adrenaline, real and flooding his every movement. This was beyond what his fantasies had ever brought him, and he was living for it. He didn’t have to hold back anymore.

“Why are you doing this?” Harvey sobbed, trying to hide in his hands. Pathetic. The man who had raped and attempted murder on five different women couldn’t take it when a man stood up to him.

He hit Harvey once more but drew back from the opportunity for a third. Instead, he rolled the body over the edge with just enough tact to allow Harvey to make a grab for the edge.

Once more, Harvey begged for Spencer to stop.

Spencer looked down on this low life, this scum that dared to interfere with innocent lives for fun. The heel of his shoe came down hard on Harvey’s hand. He howled in pain. Spencer stomped down again; this time there was a series of collective crunches. Harvey let go with that hand, but the other was still clinging dearly to the roof.

As he stared into those panicked eyes, Spencer squatted down beside Harvey’s hands. Broken fingers flailed nearby, Harvey not strong enough to pull himself up and reach for Spencer. His thumb slid off the edge, and the pinkie finger too.

The begging faded into the background. The fear in his face, it had to be at least somewhat the same as Scratch’s. The proximity to danger was beyond comfort.

People he lost:

Derek.

Hotch.

Emily, nearly.

People he loved:

Tara.

Matt.

Penelope.

Luke.

JJ.

Him.

Mom.

Y/N.

Spencer brought down the butt off his gun onto the last three fingers holding on. His eyelids forced him to watch as Harvey fell fast to the ground, a crunch of bones reaching his ears when the ground met with him

A delicious shiver ran up Spencer’s spine. He shook his shoulders and breathed it out. There was not the extreme of happy. Felt in his heart was content in the gentle breeze, in the dull pain.

“Prentiss. He’s dead. I’m on the roof.”

“We’re on our way, Reid.”

--->--->--->--->---> 

  Paramedics had pressed the sterilised cotton against his cuts while his eyes were on the bag that was wheeled away towards the other ambulance. Spencer’s thousand-yard stare ended shortly after that; Emily walked into his view and touched his shoulder. Her embrace was welcomed greatly, as was the nap he took on the flight back.

His bag was not as heavy as he remembered it being as he drew up to his apartment. Once his keys were out the door, he dropped everything and was on his way to the bedroom for an early night when he bumped into Y/N – who was all bundled in their pyjamas.

“You’re back! In time for Valentine’s Day!” Y/N’s smile was quick to disappear, “What happened?”

“I found the unsub. He fought back, resisted. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh Spencer.” They hovered an inch over his face before they settled their hands on him.

A quick kiss on his lips, then they took him into the kitchen and set about making a tea for him. But Spencer didn’t really need, or want, one. He slipped up behind them, mumbling into their ear, “I’m meant to be the one taking care of you today.”

“We take care of each other, Spencer, you know that.” Y/N patted his arms that were now around their waist. Spencer kissed the spot below their ear, smirking into\ them as he felt the stutter in their movements. His lips found the side of their neck and kissed again.

“We do,” He agreed.

“You know, I won’t be able to take care of you if you keep doing that.”

“Oh, you will,” Spencer nuzzled his cheek against them, “Just not by making me tea.” To make extra sure his point was getting across, Spencer moved them around and kissed them with two fingers lightly pinching their chin.

“Your hand-”

“Doesn’t hurt. And I have two.”

Already Spencer was unbuttoning Y/N’s shirt, his thin fingers parting it open to place his cool touch against their bare skin. It shuddered beneath him, sending waves to help him map the rest of their body again in his mind. A tingle sat in between his shoulder blades as Y/N tugged at the curls in the nape of his neck.

How they got into bed doesn’t really matter. It was when Spencer’s hands pressed into the mattress that he winced away from Y/N’s lips.

“You are hurting,” They pushed to sit up.

“I’m fine.”

“You need to rest.”

“What I need is for you to sit on my face and not stand up until I say so.”

Spencer heard Y/N’s teeth knock together as they closed their once-agape mouth. “Can you help me with that?”

Y/N nodded, dumbstruck at Spencer’s words and the thumb he was dragging across their bottom lip in an attempt to distract from his injuries.

“Y/N, I’m ok. Really. It’s just a little sting. Let me love you.”

“I’m not stopping you. I’m just worried.”

Throb of each cut on his hand as his fingers fanned across their skin Grasping tight on their thighs

He only had to let go for a moment while Y/N stripped clean of their clothes Seeking refuge, he felt completely content with those thick thighs wrapped around his head. Not a single time did his mind stray to Scratch or any other unsub now that Y/N was safe from them. Calm seeped over him, fuelling his biting and lavishing his tongue upon their inner thighs

His pace enjoyed such a leisurely stroll around their cunt, the tip of his tongue gliding through each of their folds. Eyes still closed, he had the image of it soaking wet with his spit and their juices. He licked his lips once before he pursed them around the clit. His hands, now stiff and sore from stroking their hips, reached up to touch their chest. He fondled at their sensitive nipples with delight at Y/N fisting at his hair. All this, and he licked at Y/N’s clit like it was an ice lolly on a summer’s day.

When Y/N came first, they let out short bursts of breath coupled with their moans. The second time, they had to hold onto the bedframe as their body slumped forward and their clit rubbed up against Spencer’s nose. On the third, they fell off his chin, rolled to their side of the bed. Giggles fell from their satisfied smile as they curled up. Smearing the back of his hand across his mouth, Spencer pushed onto his side so he could reach them for another kiss. Y/N could barely respond and they were still laughing as Spencer pulled them into his lap. His fingers looked so pretty around their neck; he kept them there until silence filled the room again. When they reached that moment, he squeezed lightly and let out a gentle “hmm” at Y/N’s moan.

“You good, darling?” He whispered.

“Just what the doctor ordered.”

Though their lips were together, they parted in pants and smiles.

“You got one more for me?”

“Of course,” Y/N clumsily patted a hand down his cheek, “You haven’t even had one yet.”

“I don’t need one.”

“You must be the only guy to say that and mean it.”

Swallowing the statistic on how many men had said they wanted to orgasm during sex, Spencer watched Y/N struggle to sit on his cock. Their legs were shaking uncontrollably; they didn’t settle, not even in his firm hold.

His hands dragged them down onto him and over their moans he whispered, “Doesn’t mean I don’t want one.”

“I wanna give you what you want.”

As Y/N  rocked into him, Spencer shared the last of their tangy taste that lingered on his tongue. Then he found peace in resting his chin on their shoulder, rising and falling as they did.

“You wanna cum for me?”

Their words hit his ears, “Please, help me.”

A spike of pleasure ripped through his body. In an instant, Spencer flipped them over and drove his hips hard into them. His teeth sunk into the skin of their shoulder before releasing his load into them. His entire being trembled into Y/N, their ankles locked in his lower back lazily as he milked every last drop of exhilaration he could from them.

His cock stayed inside them, keeping his cum safe inside. Y/N barely lifted their head but luckily for them, Spencer’s shoulder was within their reach. They bit him in the same spot he had bitten them, not releasing him until their marks matched.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” They mumbled against him.

Spencer tipped himself back an inch or two, “I’m happy you’re safe too.” He didn’t mind the ache on his skin any more than the others. It was a nice collection he had gathered today.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Spencer.”

--->--->--->--->--->  

 This was it, the last cigarette. He didn’t have to worry about Scratch anymore after this.

A low whistle lead Spencer to pull at his collar sheepishly, and Tara leant against his desk. At first, he ignored her, signing off the last of his paperwork. His mandatory session with the team’s therapist set fresh on his lungs without a single symptom of guilt.

“Well, well, well,” Tara teased, indicating to her neck with two fingers tapping, “Something about a life or death situation that gets you in the mood?”

“Actually, research into the terror management theory has shown that people respond to mortality reminders by bolstering their own cultural view, derogating opposing views, and shoring up their self-esteem. By this account, the effect of death on libido will depend on the meaning that sex has for a person.”

“And what does it mean for you?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“You don’t have to,” Tara grinned, “I would hazard a guess that Y/N’s looking the same.”

Spencer shook his head playfully, “We said we wouldn’t profile each other.”

The ribbing came to a close as Penelope brushed past and announced to the bullpen, “We have a new case, in the conference room.”

Spencer dropped his finished case file into Emily’s empty office on the way to the conference room, his hand only complaining an itch at the motions of holding a pen and a form. It didn’t end as he flicked over the file’s papers while Penelope went over the details of their latest case – gruesome photos of open knife wounds the television screens.

The shrinking juxtaposition between body discoveries indicated a devolving unsub with a disintegrating cooling off period. Basically, it was an unsub not worthy of his daydreams or of his injuries.

Except that’s not what it was at all. This was an unsub to be arrested and face punishment, before more people could be hurt. Spencer didn’t need a cooling off period because he wasn’t going to do that again. He could recall his played-out fantasy in complete and utter detail, never forgetting a thing he saw.

And anyway, this unsub was definitely an impotent and disorganised man lashing out. Couldn’t hold a candle to Scratch. So why waste his time on that? Why would he have another cigarette when he didn’t need one right now?

--->--->--->--->

AN: I do not condone the actions displayed in this fic. I find unsub!AUs of the show interesting developments and the intended recipient of this fic is aware of that. I will not write a part two for this, because I do not have the motivation or idea besides Spencer getting caught and subsequently arrested.

Thank you for reading!

[the-broken-truth]

Howdy! I was wondering if I could request some Yandere stuff from Resident Evil 8? I was thinking the reader is a 👩(female) 👻(Reincarnated), 🏠(Local) who was really close to Alcina before their death. Now back to life she wishes to leave the village and travel the world without Alcina becoming aware of just how similar the reader is to that person. But she gets caught attempted to flee in the end. If not thank you anyways!!

Broken Truth (Looks at the username and eyes widen): Isn't this strange? I was looking at your page when you sent me this ask and followed me. Thank you for both. Now, I shall make an answer worthy of a fellow yandere writer's eyes! Let the words weave together!!!

Broken Truth: Since - as it is told - When a soul reincarnates, they lose their memories of past lives but they tend to look or act the same. I think I can make this work. Also - The Reader Shall me named Antanasia due to the fact the name means 'One Who Will Be Reborn.'

SUBTITLE: Soulful Lavender Eyes

[In The Realm of Dreams]

"Floarea mea de lavandă?" The voice of the taller figure of the 2 sitting on a bench waiting to sunset called out as she turned her shrowd face towards the smaller figure to her right.

"Da, contesa mea?" The smaller figure questioned.

"I know you have said it before but I must know... shall we always be together?" The 'Countess' asked.

"Of course, My Love - not even time shall keep us apart." The smaller figure answered - causing what looked to be a smile on the taller figure's face. The two of them leaned in closer - as if for a kiss - but the light of the sun began to flare and consumed them both in its light, dissolving the dream into nothingness.

[In The Home of Antanasia Frost - Bedroom]

The eyelids that protected the lavender eyes opened - allowing the keeper these unusual color of eyes to gaze upon the ceiling of her bedroom. Closing those eyes again, she groaned as she face-palmed herself and lifted her upper body to sit upright in her bed - letting her head hang in her hands as they wiped the sweat from her face.

'That dream again... That's the 5th time this month. This damn village is driving me crazy; I can't wait to get the hell out of this deathtrap.' The young woman echoed in her mind.

This young was Antanasia Frost - a 35-year-old resident of the village who's dreamt of leaving the cursed village since the moment she lost her mother; who - against her father's wisdom - told her not to go out during the night but she failed to listen and lost her life when she was torn apart by a pack of lycans.

Antanasia's Father - Thomas Frost - worked as one of the village's best apothecaries; when your village is converted with death at every turn, a visit to them at least kept you alive along, giving you a chance to live. When her father died, Anatanasia took over the business and she's been working as hard as she can to save every last Lei so that she could leave this accursed place, and maybe the damn dreams will stop.

Little did she know - She was not the only one having a hard time sleeping.

[Castle Dimitrescu - The Catacombs]

The sound of water dripping through the creaks of the old stone that was illuminated by the light of the 3 candles perched upon the candlestick that rested in the hand of the golden-eyed woman that made her way through the stone tunnel. She walked until she reached a door but this door wasn't like all the others in his hall that were decaying away or already fallen apart into a pile of black wood - this door was fresh & made of fresh black wood with the golden Crest of Castle Dimitrescu right in the center of the door. The woman ran her free hand along the golden crest before she reached into her nightgown pocket and withdrew a small silver key that held her insignia as well. She inserted the key into the hole and turned, listening for the click, and pushed the door open, her long black hair - that would normally be in a black bun - was slight blown back as a cold gust of wind came from the newly opened room as she stepped inside.

The room was around a stone cell - the light of the moon that enter from the caged hole in the ceiling shined upon the crystals that were placed on burners around the room & in the center - was a large glass casket. The golden-eyed woman walked to the casket - her eyes beginning to water as she looked at the frozen figure that rested in the glass box, dressed in a lovely lavender silk gown, her skin ghostly white and her once silky brown hair was losing its pigment. The woman placed her hand on the glass box before speaking in a hushed voice.

"My Love... Forgive me for not coming to visit you for a while - the work with Mother Miranda has been rather time-consuming. She says that she is close to figuring out a way to return her beloved daughter from the grave...maybe she can do the same for you, my love. I've been dreaming a lot about you - about our time together. Could that mean...you shall return to me, My Beloved Flower?" She questioned the eternally silent woman in the glass box before her.

[The Next Week - Monday - The Awaited Day]

Map - ✔

Warm Clothing - ✔

All the chests packed onto the cart - ✔

2 Horses, well-fed - ✔

Horse food for 2 weeks - ✔

Small chests of Lei - ✔

Frost Herbal & Elixir Book - ✔

Lily's Locket - ✔

The Frost Family Photo Album - ✔

"That's everything." The lavender-eyed woman smiled as she checked off the last item on her list. She was finally ready to leave this place and never look back. She just closed the deal to sell her father's shop & her home for a hefty fee, it was the last little bit she needed to get everything she needed to the trip to the nearest major sit in Romania & buy a small home or a room at the inn.

Antanasia smiled at the cart of stuff before she walked over to her horse and stroked their manes - both of them snorting in glee.

"Don't worry, guys - packing took a lot longer than I thought but we still have some daylight to get to a safe place to get to before the sun goes down all the way." Antanasia looked at the setting sun with a smile, "We're gonna be free, guys. Now, let's get a move on; we've been here long enough." The girl said as she closed her eyes with a smile and began to board the carriage's driver seat when the horses began to freak out. Antanasia looked around with wide eyes to see what could have scared her horse when she saw 3 clouds of flies that seemed to be coming from 3 different directions - the bugs stood before her and gathered...into 3 bodies.

The Bodies of the Castle Dimitrescu's Heirs - The 3 Daughters.

"What do we have here, sister?" The eldest one - Bela - asked as she tilted her head like a cat.

"I don't know - it looks like a sheep is trying to leave the herd and we can't let that happen." said the middle child - Cassandra.

"Wait." The youngest - Daniela - said as she looked into the eyes of the woman before her & her sisters, 'Doesn't she look...familiar?" Daniela asked.

"What are you going on about, Dani?" Bela asked, confused at her sister's words.

"It's...I feel like I know her - something about her eyes making the back of my brain itch." Dani said without taking her eyes off the woman.

"You have a brain? When did you find it?" Cassandra chuckled - Bela was about to tell her off but something unexpected happened.

"Cassandra Dimitrescu - what have I don't you about disrespecting my dandelion?!" barked out Antanasia's mouth - causing her to slap her hand over her mouth when she realized what she said and the daughters - mainly Dani - got wide-eyed at those words.

"Dandelion? That's what... That's what Mama used to call me." Dani began to tear up, "I knew I recognized you... It's really you - you're back, Mama!!!" Dani yelled out with a smile but the woman before her shook her head.

"No, you have me mistaken for someone else! I am no mother of yours!" Antanasia barked out again as she backed away, bumping in her cart but it was for not when the daughters looked at each other, nodding and charged her.

[A few minutes later - Castle Dimitrescu - Alcina's Study]

"Mother, we have something for - something that you lost a long time ago," Bela said as she walked over to her mother sitting in her chair while her sisters held the struggling woman in their drip. The Lady of the Castle rose to her feet and turned to look at her daughters holding an unknown woman.

"What is the meaning of this, daughters?" Alcina asked.

"Mother, we have reason to believe that..." Bela began but Dani - in her excitement - her off.

"IT'S MAMA, MOTHER! SHE'S COME BACK BUT SHE WAS GOING TO LEAVE THE VILLAGE BUT WE CAUGHT HER BEFORE SHE DID!" Dani yelled out.

"LET GO OF ME! I'M NOT YOUR MAMA! I'M NOTHING TO YOU!" The woman yelled out.

'That Fury...'

It was indeed familiar.

"What makes you think she is my lost love when my beloved sleeps for eternity in a frozen glass box?" Alcina asked as she walked over to the struggling - looking down at her but couldn't see her eyes as they were closed in the struggling.

"Mother, she called Dani 'Dandelion' when Cassandra made fun of her." That name made Alcina's eyes widen and she looked at the woman before grabbing her face to keep it still but the woman still had her eyes closed.

"Open your eyes." Alcina demanded.

"Let me go!" Demanded the woman.

"OPEN YOUR DAMN EYES BEFORE I SLICE YOUR THROAT!" Alcina roared and her demand was met.

Gold Met Lavender.

Amber Met Amythest.

And the Dragon of Dimitrescu smiled again.

"MY BELOVED ANTANASIA, YOU HAVE RETURNED TO ME!" Alcina yelled as wrapped her arms around the woman and held her close, lifting her off the ground.

"Hey, let me down! How the hell do you know my name?" The lavender-eyed woman asked with a glare.

"My dear, are you well? Surely you remember your own wife?" Alcina questioned.

"I don't have a wife and even if I did, it damn sure wouldn't be you!" Antanasia yelled as she struggled - Alcina was stunned at her words but didn't let go.

"My love, what is the matter with you? Why are you like this?" Alcina asked.

"I'm not your love! I'm not their Mama! I just wanna get back to my cart and leave!" The woman yelled.

"Cart? What cart?" Alcina asked.

"As Dani said, Mother - she had packed a cart that was being pulled by two horses and was going to leave the village, she was going to leave us." Bela explained. Alcina looked wide-eyed as she returned her gaze to the glaring woman.

"Antanasia, my heart - does our daughter speak the truth? Were you really going to leave us?" Alcina asked.

'FOR THE LAST TIME - I'M NOTHING TO YOU, EITHER OF YOU! I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU KNOW MY NAME OR WHO YOU'RE CONFUSING ME WITH BUT I'M NOT HER AND I DON'T WANNA BE HER! I JUST WANNA LEAVE THIS HELLISH PLACE AND LIVE MY LIFE!" The lavender-eyed woman yelled and began panting to catch her breath.

"You are not going anywhere." Alcina's voice came out as a growl.

"What?!" Lavender eyes widened again at anger bleeding in gold.

"Do you know how long I have been waiting for you to come back to us? To make our family whole again? To light these dark halls with your love and life? Too long. Far too long. I lost you once - now your soul returns to me in this new form but I'm glad you retained your lavender eyes; the eyes I fell in love with." Alcina purred.

"I'm not the woman you fell in love with!" She pleaded.

"No, you're not, but give it time & you will be again. It doesn't matter how long I have to wait - your soul has returned to us and I shall rekindle that love. As you said before I lost you - Not even time can keep us apart." Alcina smiled a dangerous grin.

[End]

[mioneslovefanfiction]

I’m here:

Hermione x reader

Prompts:

“You’re safe here, I got you.”

“I know for a fact that you’re not “fine”

“Would it be all right if I borrowed your sweater? It smells like you.”

“You’re comfy.”

“Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Description: Hermione is stressed out from studying for OWLs. Y/n tries to give he a break and pulls her away from her work, and comforts her during a freak out. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warnings: Food (no eating tho), Anxiety attack-please do not read if content is triggering

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

It was in the way she talked. Slightly higher than normal, and a little airily.

It was in the way she avoided eye contact, and when she gave into it, it was like her eyes were out of focus.

The way she clenched her jaw while reading in front of the fire one night. Normally, she enjoyed everything she was reading, and her features were usually content as she immersed herself happily into any topic. Instead, she was stony-faced, eyebrows drawn together with a frown as she huffed through the book.

Something was up with Hermione Granger.

It was normal for you and your girlfriend to study on the floor in front of the common room fire together. What wasn’t normal was how you were doing it independently. Normally you read together, or quizzed each other, or simply talked about the subject you were studying for. Today, however, the common room was full of cold unusual silence, as Hermione turned page after page, long into the night. The light from the fire danced angrily across her scowl, and you gulped, trying to focus on your work. You didn’t push the topic when Hermione was a bit distant those couple days. It wasn’t normal for her to be that work obsessed, but you let it be, thinking she just needed to get it over with.

But, after a few days of Hermione and her studying being inseparable, you came up from quidditch practice and Hermione wasn’t waiting for you, like normal. Your worry kicked in when she wasn’t waiting in the common room either.

Something was wrong in the air immediately as you stepped into your shared dorm. There was an anxious tension, and the room was uncharacteristically cold. Hermione sat, back to you at the desk in front of the window. Her leg jiggled, and her jaw was moving as she chewed the inside of her cheek. Her non-writing hand twirled a curl around her finger, rapidly.

“Love?” You asked, hesitantly. She jumped several inches into the air before turning to you, your attempt not to startle her, failing. You only saw a glimpse before she turned back around, away from you. “Yes?” She asked, attention wavering no further from her work.

“Are you okay? I was wondering why you didn’t meet me in our normal spot.” “I’m fine.” Her answer was monotone and short, leading you to know that even if she thought it was, it was not true. “Sooo, what are you doing?” You asked, trying to inject yourself into her studying. “Professor Bins.” She was being vague and indirect, her body language showing she was beyond on edge. “Oh, are you working on the essay?” You tried not to be hurt at her negligence. She simply hummed a yes to you. “Alright well, I’m gonna reread the textbook in the common room in front of the fire. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.” She didn’t answer when you waited for her to. Sighing in defeat, you planted a hurried kiss on her cheek before grabbing your sweater and leaving.

If Hermione had been focusing on you, she would’ve noticed how your text book remained in your bag, on the floor. She’d wonder why you retrieved your sweater to sit by a fire, and lastly she’d wonder how you were doing. Instead, she sighed at the sound of the door closing behind you, and scribbled, somehow faster. You didn’t mind, however, knowing this wasn’t about you, and that she needed you.

___________

You sat in the common room waiting, for ten minutes. When she didn’t show up, plan B began, because you knew something was off. You gathered some things you had kept with Ginny and headed off to the East end of the castle, determined.

You returned to your dorm twenty minutes later. There was the same jumpy tension hanging in your normally warm, inviting room. This time, you walked up to your working girlfriend and rested your hands on her shoulders, standing behind her chair. “Can I steal you for an hour, love?” You asked, planting a kiss on the top of her head, and starting to massage her shoulders. Her eyes closed at their own accord, and her head slowly leaned back onto your chest. She sighed, “I- I can’t, baby. I have to-“ Hermione’s excuse was cut off by your lips tugging on hers. She hummed and you smiled. Disconnecting, your eyes met. “Please?” You begged, your eyebrows drawn together. She couldn’t help but smile and roll her eyes at your pleading. “I-… fine, but not a whole hour.” You beamed at her answer before grabbing her hand and tugging her up, and out your door.

You dashed, laughing through the corridors. Your eyes gleamed, your face was elated, making Hermione blush and beam in spite of herself. Eventually, you dragged her to the base of the astronomy tower, and she realized what you had been doing while she worked. She shook her head and laughed as you started, “After you, my love.” You grinned smugly, gesturing up the stairs in front of you. Rolling her eyes and smiling, she began the journey to the top of the tower, you following close behind, eager for her to see what you did.

You climbed higher and higher in a comfortable silence, just enjoying uninterrupted time together for once.

Finally, you realized you must have reached the top, as Hermione froze in front of you. You caught up, behind her to see she was standing in the doorway, looking around, amazed. You chuckled to yourself, pleased. You reached to her side and grasped her hand again, intertwining your fingers, which fell together like they were made to fit in each other. She slowly stepped forward a few paces, allowing you to step into the room next to her. Now side-by-side, you watched her absorb the room.

Fairy lights hung in spirals from the beams separating the glass panes on the ceiling. A comforter lay in the middle of the room, complete with a few cushy pillows. There was a wicker picnic basket on the floor behind the blanket, and next to it sat an unlit candle.

Hermione’s eyes danced eagerly over each detail, the orbs bursting with wonder and astonishment. She turned to you, incredulously, “Wha- is this what you were doing?” You nodded, blushing before looking down at your feet with a soft smile. You gently tugged her hand in the direction of the blanket, and you two started walking over to it. Sitting down, she shook her head, speechless. “You made this for me?” She finally managed, eyes full of adoration as she rested her hand appreciatively on your knee, her thumb rubbing back and forth. “Of course! You deserve all this, and so much more, ‘Mione.” Hermione blushed, finally looking deep into your eyes with a small smile. You leaned in and rested you lips against hers. Hermione was a dangerous substance, so powerful and addicting. You would have worried about falling, if your mind wasn’t assured of her silken lips catching you, just like the thousand times they had before. You separated and brought a hand to her velvety cheek, rubbing your thumb back and forth a few times, before tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

____________

You broke the comfortable silence, “So, you’ve been kind of distant this week. A little off from your normal self. I’m worried. Are you ok?” Hermione disconnected your eyes quickly, “I’m-“ You cut her off, knowing what she’d say, “I know for a fact that you’re not ‘fine’.” Hermione scowled uncharacteristically at the ground, when she gasped suddenly and jumped up. “My essay! It’s been too long, I need to go!” She made to leave, but you grabbed her hand before she could. “Let me go, I haveto leave! I need to study.” Her voice came out harsh, making you falter momentarily. She saw the hurt in your eyes and started to panic.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly and she started to sweat. “I- oh no. I have to go. I hurt you. I’m gonna fail. I didn’t mean to- I need to study. I hurt you.” She muttered, hyperventilating. “Hey, love, look at me. Hey, it’s okay, you’re fine.”

Her hands rose to run through her hair, flustered. Her eyes were wide, and darted between your figure and the door as she was torn. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m gonna fail the class.” You guided her to sit down with you and held both her hands in yours. You moved them to rest on your chest and started breathing deeply, “It’s alright, we’re fine. Breathe, ‘Mione, breathe. I’m here with you, I’m not leaving. Breathe just like me. Hey, look at me.” You voice was comforting, and Hermione finally met your eyes and started to match her breathing with yours.

When her panting had gone down you pulled her against your chest and laid down against one of the pillows behind you two. “You’re safe here, I got you.” Hermione’s head lay over your heart to ground her further. “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.” Your hand ran through her curls, soothingly as you whispered to her, “Everything’s okay. We’re together. You’re gonna kill the OWLS. You’re the smartest in the class. You can study with me, we’re in this together, as a team, aren’t we? I’m not going anywhere.” Eventually your affirmations died down, and a refreshing quiet washed over you both. The May breeze coming in from all directions of the open tower kept you guys comfortable. The sounds of the leaves settling in for bed and the gentle, distant lapping of the black lake reached your ears.

Hermione took in a deep breath and let it out in a content sigh. “I am so sorry, love.” She sounded guilty. “What on earth for?” You asked. “You we’re just trying to distract me and take care of me, and I just unraveled on you, out of nowhere. Not to mention I’ve been ignoring you for almost a week. You’re my girlfriend, and I just neglected you.” You sighed, “Mione, your head has been everywhere this week, and it’s fine. You’re always on top of everything, it just caught up to you. Don’t worry about me, I understand, okay? I know it wasn’t about me, it’s alright.” Hermione grunted, “I know, I just feel bad.” “Well don’t. We’re here together now, aren’t we? Let’s just focus on this moment.” Hermione smiled gratefully at that, snuggling further into your chest. “You’re comfy,” she giggled, making you laugh.

You kissed the top of her head delicately, “I love you.” She shifted to look up at you, eyes shimmering in the fairy lights and stars that sprinkled the inky sky laying above you. A grin spread on her face, making her happy eyes twinkle. “I love you too,” she answered. She leaned forward and you kissed her passionately, letting all your reassurance pour into it. She gave you a shy smile after pulling a part, “Would it be all right if I borrowed your sweater? It smells like you.” You laughed before reaching over and handing her your sweater. You shook your head as she squealed happily, cradling the clothing. Hermione pulled the jumper over her head eagerly. Her head popped out of the top suddenly, her smile a beam, curls a mess, and eyes gleaming ecstatically.

Her hands were balled inside the sleeves as she gripped your face to kiss you. Her lips were warm, cushy, and gentle. The material of the sweater on each of your cheeks was so soft, but scratchy at the same time. Your foreheads rested together after separating, and you stared lovingly, deep into each other’s eyes. You took her hands in yours, and said seriously, “Never change. Please always be the girl I love so deeply.” She lifted a pinky and said, “I promise.” You latched your pinky with her’s and placed a delicate kiss on her freckle sprinkled nose. She scrunched it in pleasure and placed a peck to your lips in return.

You reached over for the matches you had sat by the candle earlier, lighting it. Removing the glasses from the basket, you poured each

of you a glass of sparkling cider. You took out two plates topped with baked sandwiches and fruit salad. The melons were cut in to stars, making Hermione smile at all the thought you put into this. You lastly retrieved cannolis for dessert.

________________

You lied back down after eating, gently pulling Hermione with you. She burrowed her head under your chin, nestling in. Your girlfriend raised a balled hand under your sweater’s sleeve up to her face. Her eyes fluttered closed as she inhaled deeply, smiling contently as your cherry blossom scent reached her button nose. You both giggled, and you ran your fingers through her mane. You spent another hour curled together under the twinkling stars, talking, or sometimes simply laying in soothing quiet. You enjoyed being alone together, content with the world continuing around you.

The candlelight danced cheerily across Hermione’s perfectly chiseled, yet distinct features. The stress of school was no match for the pair of you. It was you two against the world because you had each other. You never wanted to be apart from the amazing girl on top of you. Her entire being was utterly flawless, and you were entirely devoted to every particle in it, with every bit of you. You couldn’t choose not to adore her even if you tried. You were whipped, wrapped entirely around the little pinky you had latched not half an hour ago. You were deeply, madly, hopelessly in love with her.

A/n: my family and i learned that my great grandmother’s tumor is growing again and it can’t be removed because of the location. Sooo I’m taking a very last minute 12 hour road trip to see her while she’s still doing pretty well.There’s no wifi (I write my stories in the notes app before copy and pasting them to upload them so I don’t need wifi to write) and every now and then I’ll need a distraction, so I’d love any requests sent, along with any prayers.

-mioneslove<3

[blush-and-books]

i’m sorry, but i fell in love tonight

short fic based off of this gifset by @juliesmolinas and the song is there somewhere by halsey. in fact it is mandatory that you listen to the song/read the lyrics/both before/during reading this. yes i said mandatory.

angst with a sappy ending, julie goes through a lifetime of emotions in less than 3k, was originally gonna write when i was in a more emotionally raw state but writing this made me emotionally raw so... enjoy <3

warnings: swearing

Julie made the promise at some point -- she just doesn’t know exactly when.

It may have been when he appeared at her school, all shy smiles and soft glances, professing that she made him a better writer. Or, more definitively, it could have been when she forlornly pulled him into her arms a moment before she was positive that she was to lose him forever. 

All that she knew was her time with Luke was fleeting. So she swore that her butterfly-wing crush was not allowed to fill her chest or dizzy her thoughts; that his lyrics would mean nothing more next to hers than words on a page and his touches would bring her little to no comfort.

Luke Patterson could not complete her. 

The universe wouldn’t allow it -- and neither would Julie Molina. 

But -- either Luke was blissfully unaware of their impending doom or he genuinely didn’t care -- he forced himself through every barrier she attempted to erect. And it was driving her nearly insane, because she made a promise to protect herself. 

Maybe she wasn’t strong enough to do it. Or maybe the universe, despite refusing to give Julie Luke in his entirety, did not want her to be protected. 

It was all in the little things-

When she stayed up with him in the garage, playing him all of the songs he’s missed in 25 years, and he danced around on the slippery floor in his socks and grinned at her with wide green eyes. The neon emerald in the dim light was reminiscent of driving on the highway and passing sign after sign leading to the exits she could have taken, but couldn’t bring herself to.

How New Years Eve arrived and the Molina family gathered in the driveway to light sparklers; Luke’s hand brushing hers as he passed off one of the two in his hands. 

In his head lulling onto her shoulder while she was trying to finish some homework with his help on the torn couch and his lips moving against her bare skin  as he mumbled that she needed to take a break before driving herself insane; followed by her braiding her hair to get it out of her face.

She already had driven herself insane -- but not over her homework. 

(His mouth on her shoulder was the answer to a prayer she never dared to murmur aloud.)

Luke never failed to be present when he was needed. If she was sick or stressed or depressed, he knew when to fuse to her side and when to offer some space. Through careful observation rather than conversation, he knew which of her many sweatshirts were reserved for illness or emotional support. 

In most of those situations, she needed him, too. Her fingernails would curl into his biceps through a cramp or wave of tears and he would wrap her in his embrace and swarm her with warm words that dried her eyes.

She hated it.

When they wrote music, it felt as though they were already reading each other's minds before either of them had spoken a word about their plans. Their journals contained inky black waterfalls spilled from an intimacy that Julie did not want to dissect. 

Again, she hated it. She loved it more than anything and hated that she loved it all -- because it could never be real. 

She would always play second fiddle to death. 

Julie made the promise to herself to not let Luke complete her because, while she had him for now, the night of the Orpheum was a reminder that the universe would not hesitate to snap it’s fingers and eliminate him from existence. 

The universe, being the confusing, stubborn bitch it is, just didn’t get the memo on that promise. 

Because Luke filled every crack and restored every gap in her being, and he shouldn’t.

The hopeless, pining romantic in her that constantly argued with her realist side said they were meant to meet. Even if it was brief and heartbreaking and had the power to hurt her in a way she didn’t understand, it had to happen. If it wasn’t supposed to happen, then how and why did he cross space and time only to fall at her feet?

(Soulmates, a taunting voice whispered. Soulmates.)

((The voice was locked in a closet as punishment.))

She didn’t want to entertain the word. It had too much of a forlorn, wistfully romantic sound to it that Julie didn’t need to associate with Luke when she spent most moments with him at this point convincing herself that she wasn’t in love.

Until tonight.

It is past midnight, which is when anyone’s mental state starts to alter. Things that would be labelled as bad ideas in the daylight could very possibly become fair game when shrouded in a darkness that made everything private. The two of them, Luke and Julie, Julie and Luke, are nestled together on the piano bench as her fingers tiredly press each cut of ivory in a working melody.

“I have an idea,” Luke says, gently shifting his left hand to cover hers on the keys. “Why don’t we press pause on this song for a minute?”

Then, she finally looks up at him. Her eyes probably have crescents like the dark side of the moon crossing her skin, and her hair is all over the place, but he’s staring at her in one of the rare ways that she hates.

She hates it because the look convinces her that she completes him.

This time, however, there’s a hope. A hope, and a hesitance, and she’s simultaneously extremely nervous and beyond curious as to what his plans are. 

“Did- Didn’t you want to finish this tonight?” 

Regret strikes across his face, but he recovers. The softness is back. “Yeah, I just think we need a change of pace.” Right hand on the back of his neck: A telltale sign of a confession of some kind. She’s seen it more times than is healthy. “There was another song I wanted to show you, actually.”

“Oh.” She blinks, he waits. “Yeah, uh, I mean, yeah. Show me. What do you have so far?” He clears his throat as he thrums through the pages to find his target. “The whole thing.”

Julie doesn’t have time to react -- although she’s already in a panic -- before the leather-bound book is being awkwardly shoved into her hands, and the first thing she sees at the top is Luke’s nearly illegible scribble of Dark Room (song for Julie).

“Luke-”

“Just read it.” His voice is significantly raspier than it was a minute ago. “Please.”

She can’t. If he feels the same way and the confession is undeniably in front of her, then what is she supposed to do? Would she rather break Luke’s heart now to save them both down the line, or delay the misery a little longer?

It’s not that she doesn’t want it -- she does. But she doesn’t know if she’s emotionally equipped for any of the options that are offered to her. The destination of any path she chooses leads to a world of heartache.

So, she does the only thing she can think in the moment: She reads the song.

Instantly, the lyrics are blurred from the tears in her eyes because she sees the words “love” and “together” and her greatest fears and grandest wishes are coming true. The sonnet proclaims that she’s his light that illuminated his once-dark forever, and that he was hers when they didn’t even know each other, and that he will be hers wherever he ends up next.

He just wanted her to know that he would have waited another lifetime in the blank, limitless limbo he was in for 25 years if he knew she would be there when he was set free.

And, in the moment, Julie allows herself to acknowledge that her promise is broken.

She’s fallen in love. 

And, apparently, he has too.

(Maybe they can claim just one night. The universe owes them that much, doesn’t it?)

“Julie?” God, he sounds so worried. A shaking finger trails up her jaw to catch falling tears, and his contact makes her gasp. He pulls away and shoves his hands together to fidget in his lap. “Julie, are you- Fuck, I’m sorry, I just fucked this up, didn’t I? I fucked it all up. Fuck, I-”

When she chances a look up at him for the first time in the couple of minutes that she’s been staring, hopelessly, at the song in her lap -- he’s got his face covered by his hands pressing roughly into his eyes, and he’s turned to face the piano instead of her.

He takes a deep breath, and it sounds… 

Stuffy. 

Three more tears leak from Julie’s eyes. More build up every minute as her right hand runs along his shoulder, “Luke…”

“No, Julie, please just drop it.”

“Luke.”

“I clearly misread a lot of stuff, and I’m tired, so maybe you can just go to bed and forget-”

Her hand wraps tightly around his upper arm like it’s done so many times when she has been in distress. “Luke.”

There’s a crack in her voice from sheer desperation. She needs him to look at her, so that she can wipe his tears and smile through the sobs and tell him he didn’t misread a single thing. She would wait a lifetime for him to come out of the dark room, she loves him too, and she’s going to forget all about it. 

And ask him to do the same.

At least the scratch of his name catches his attention long enough, because he angles back towards her, and swallows thickly before meeting her eyes. Salty teardrops linger against his eyelids and eyelashes; the red rimming illuminating the oceanic green to look like a gemstone. Her grip relaxes.

“Yeah, Julie?”

She attempts a smile. “The song is beautiful, Luke. I love it.”

I love you.

“That’s it? It’s beautiful, and you love it, but you don’t… I’m not in your dreambox, huh?”

He clearly hasn’t dug through it in awhile. He’s everywhere. Discarded guitar picks and notes he’s left in her school journals and plenty, plenty of songs.

It’s funny, because she told him her dreambox was for things that didn’t make her sad. Luke was a double-edged sword -- making her happy every day in a new way, and making her cry into her pillow at night.

How does she explain this? There’s a whirlwind of responses running through her brain and she can barely coherently comprehend any of them. 

“No,” she finds herself sighing as she raises her hand to his cheek, followed by her other hand so that he can’t try and turn away. “No, Luke, no… You’re wrong.”

“What do you mean ‘I’m wrong?’”

Her bottom lip starts to shake. “You think I don’t love you back.”  Both of them feel their breath catch at her use of the word out loud. It feels like a secret that shouldn’t be repeated. “And you’re wrong.”

“... I’m wrong.”

“Of course you’re wrong! You really think I don’t love you back?”

“Why are you crying if you love me?”

“Because we can’t do this!”

He scoffs, and Julie’s heart is racing in her chest as he pushes himself off of the piano bench and her hands fall from his face. What has she done?

“That’s bull, Julie.” His fingertips tug at his hair. “You don’t need to make a big dramatic show to convince me it’s wrong just to let me down easy. You aren’t going to talk me out of this.” Dead-on, he stops pacing back and forth, and looks her in the eye. “I love you.”

Listening to him say it, the way his mouth moves and his voice ticks with conviction at each syllable, is what makes her break. 

“And I love you too.” 

He reels back. He probably wasn’t expecting her voice to raise from their odd, in-between whisper and normal volume.

“But don’t you get it? Luke, we aren't in some magical place where we can meet each other in the middle. A place like that doesn’t exist. You’re dead, and I’m alive, and any future here ends with both of us losing each other.” 

“Julie-”

“You said you would wait another lifetime, right?” Using his own lyrics against him. She watches his hands twitch before nodding; the movements of his head barely visible. “Then wait. Another lifetime, another two -- the fucking universe clearly didn’t want us to have this one, so we’re stuck waiting for the next one.”

Even through his clear and fighting need to argue, to talk with her about this, he stiffly nods his head. It’s obvious that she has thought way too much about this from the way she’s barely choking out each word before crumbling into tears before his eyes -- but then again, he’s thought about it too. 

Callused hands are running along her neck to tilt her face up out of the blue. She was too busy crying to notice that he had crossed the distance between them to stand right in front of her and assure that she was meeting his eyes.

“Luke-”

“No, Julie, it’s my turn. Please.”

She won’t argue with him. So, with a tender swipe of his thumbs under her eyes, he proceeds.

“Look, I get it. You think I don’t get it? I fucking hate being dead, for so many reasons, Julie. But if I never died, I never would have met you.” Her lips part, and maybe he thinks she’s going to protest because he smoothly lifts a finger in front of her lips that barely makes contact. 

(Julie almost presses her lips into it.)

“And you’re right. I wish there was somewhere that we could meet in the middle, but we don’t have that. I wish so many things, Julie. But none of them involve a life where I don’t have you.”

She whimpers, because listening to the man that normally chains his emotions in a cage bare his soul to her at nearly one in the morning is a seriously more out-of-body experience than she expected. She knew, deep down, that she loved him. But she never allowed herself to feel the all-encompassing warmth that she feels now.

“But hey, Julie, look at me,” he coaxes her with a tone that drips with affection. The pads of his fingers are nearly kneading into the back of her neck. “Like you said: The universe didn’t want to give us this lifetime. They couldn’t let us have all the fun, right?” Both of them let out a watery chuckle. “But they still brought me to you, didn’t they? They let me know you in this lifetime, even if we couldn’t have forever. I said I would be yours wherever I am. So even if this,” he gestures to his ghostly form, “isn’t forever, even if we don’t have this lifetime… You know I’ll love you forever, right?”

It was a monologue straight from one of her dreams that left her waking up with a manic smile and tears running down her face. 

Unable to form any other response besides an unaware nod, Julie waits for him to continue.

“And maybe, the universe will give us the next lifetime, or a whole new universe, or… Just somewhere where we can get forever.” 

Abruptly, his hands slide from her neck and grasp her hands like he needs to hold on firmly enough to believe that she’s still real in front of him. Julie is still speechless and teary, and in the most sentimental gesture, Luke kisses the back of both of her hands. 

“We’ll get forever, Julie.” His warm breath puffs against her skin. “I promise you.”

And, well, if he promises forever in the next life -- then why can’t she take what she can get in this one?

--

tags: @bluefirewrites @willexx @unsaid-emily @lydias--stiles @moreflowersthanweeds @pink-flame 

[janetbrown711]

“I can’t do this on my own.” Yakko

The royal family had been on the edge of their seats in anxiety ever since the day Angelina I locked Wakko up in the tower. 

Well- that wasn’t entirely correct. Dot seemed blissfully unaware of the tension surrounding her, and Wakko was trying his best to just enjoy the fact he didn’t have to stay in that tower any longer than he already had anymore. His and Dot’s spirits were admirable, but the rest of the family simply couldn’t share the same feelings. 

Lena had been practically pacing 24/7 ever since her conversation with her mother, of which she refused to give the kids details about, but from how easily her worry spread to their father, and the massive bruise on her face she tried so very very hard to cover with makeup, it was safe to say it went very poorly. She was constantly checking up them, making sure to keep a special eye out for Wakko, of whom Yakko was pretty sure she never let out of her sight anymore. 

William had been nervous too. He was off at the training stations at night far more often than he used to, practicing his sword fighting. This effort failed him, however, when he sprained his arm from overworking it. Without his main source of stress relief, it became very clear something was eating him alive, and Yakko wished his parents trusted him enough to tell so he could help. He was the eldest brother, after all, he was supposed to help watch over his sibs too. 

 Yakko was anxious because of his parent’s anxieties, the fact they wouldn’t tell him what was going on, and a mysterious letter he had caught a glimpse of at his last lesson. 

He had arrived early to his grandmother’s study, and she must’ve been writing to someone right before he came because she left a letter to dry there. Yakko only caught a glimpse, but he recalled it saying:

“...they are the priority. However, if the younger were to be lost in the chaos, I wouldn’t mind in the slightest-” and his grandmother snatched it from his hands before he could read further. 

Yakko wished he hadn’t started reading it from the middle, because he simply couldn’t make sense of it. It sounded ominous, but not wanting to stress out his parents any more than they clearly were, he kept it to himself, figuring he was smart enough that he’d decode it eventually. 

He was pretty sure his parents could tell how tense he was, because they kept patting and rubbing his back and assuring him things would be fine, but the bruise on his mother’s face refused to let him believe that. 

“Alright you two, it’s well past bedtime now, clean up the toys,” Lena chuckled softly as Dot and Wakko pouted in the playroom. 

“C’mon, you heard her you two,” Yakko rolled his eyes and assisted his younger siblings in cleaning up. Slowly but surely the warner siblings successfully cleaned up and put everything back in it’s place, before tiredly dragging themselves to their bedroom. 

Wakko went straight to his and Yakko’s room, and Yakko was pretty sure he was out cold once he hit his bed. 

Yakko however, lingered by Dot’s bedroom, cracking open the door just a little so he could listen in on the conversation the two were having. 

“Mommy, are you okay?” Dot asked. 

“Of course, dear, whatever would make you think that,” his mother said as she tucked in his little sister. Dot reached up, and her hand hovered over her bruise. 

“I’m fine, Dottie, it’s okay. You don’t need to worry about me, you need to get to bed,” Lena booped her nose. 

“I want a lullaby,” Dot said, sitting upright in the bed. 

“Ah ah, what do we say?” Lena scolded lightly. 

“May I have a lullaby... please?” Dot said. Lena nodded. 

“Let’s see now...” His mother thought to herself, tapping a finger on her chin.

“When I look into your eyes,” She began, slowly tucking Dot back in again. “It’s like watching the night sky.”

“Or a beautiful sunrise. There’s so much they hold,” She sang softly, and for a moment, Yakko thought she saw him, but she didn’t stop singing. 

“And just like the old stars,” she continued. “I see that you’ve come far, to be where you are. 

“How old is your soul?” she sang that line softer, and Yakko felt a chill go down his spine. 

“Well, I won’t give up, on us. Even if the skies get rough. I’m giving you all my love. I’m still looking up,” Lena put a soft hand on Dot’s cheek, and she smiled.

“And even you’re needing your space, to do some navigating, I’ll be here patiently waiting, to see what you’ll find,” Dot was practically asleep at that point, but neither Yakko nor his mother moved from where they were. 

“Cause even the star, they burn. Some even fall to the earth. You’ve got a lot to learn. God knows you’re worth it.” She then kissed Dot on the forehead, slowly standing up.  

“No, I won’t give up,” Lena said, more than sang. She paused a moment. 

“Goodnight, Dot. I love you very much,” She said, pausing for a response, but Dot was fast asleep, as was the plan. Lena smiled softly before taking her candle and heading toward the door. Yakko panicked and started to run back to his room. 

“Yakko, I know you were listening,” Lena said as she closed the door to Dot’s room. 

“Sorry- I’ll go to bed now,” He apologized and continued on his way. 

“Stop right there mister,” Lena ordered, and Yakko stopped dead in his tracks. his mother approached him slowly. 

“You’ve been so anxious as of late, Yakko. I’m worried about you,” she put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Well- so have you,” Yakko shrugged. 

“Yakko, you’re so much younger than you realize... you’re twelve, for crying out loud. Our burdens should not be your burdens as well,” she stroked his cheek. 

“But I wanna help,” he frowned. 

“You help out in many meaningful ways, Yakko, but worrying yourself to death isn’t going to do any of us any good,” Lena said. “We need you to take care of yourself, alright?” 

Yakko thought long and hard about that. 

“But I want to help,” he said. Lena sighed softly. 

“I know honey... but for now, the best way to help is to take care of yourself. Try to get some sleep, alright?” She gave him a weak smile. Yakko bit his lip. 

“I can try,” was all he promised, which was good enough for the tired princess. Lena gave Yakko a soft kiss on the head. 

“Goodnight honey,” She said. 

“Goodnight, mom,” He replied, and before he knew it, she was gone. 

Yakko frowned at his bedroom door. He knew for a fact he was likely to be unable to sleep, so instead, he headed to the family study, which was quite a bit away from him and his sibs room, or any of the bedrooms really, but he didn’t mind the walk. Once there, he pulled out one of his favorite books, lit a few of the candles, and got to reading. 

However, as his eyes scanned the pages, the words from the letter rang in his mind over and over again. 

The younger of who? A priority of what? Why wouldn’t she mind? What ‘chaos’? There were simply too many questions in his head. 

Perhaps he should have shared them with his mom... that might’ve helped. 

Then again, it could also just make her more nervous, which was the last thing he wanted. 

He made the right decision, of that he was sure. 

Yakko wasn’t sure how long he was reading or attempting to do so, but somehow he had managed to fall asleep against the table. However, a loud crash, sent him straight up, as his mind scrambled to wake up with his body. 

What was that? Where did it come from? 

Another crashing noise. 

It came from the opposite direction of him and his sibs rooms, which meant-

His parent’s room. 

Yakko heard shouting, swearing, and fighting of all sorts. He ran to the door to open it, but realized that might not be the best of ideas. To both his panic and relief, the voices seemed to continue going away from his and his sibs rooms, but that meant they were going for his parents. 

Once the voices got far enough away, Yakko didn’t hesitate to swing the door open and run. He had to find his mom and dad- he had to make sure they were okay. 

It wasn’t hard to follow the mob, as they left a path of destruction behind. Shattered glass, torn down curtains, mud, and other filth on the carpets. Yakko tried not to dwell, as he instead took a short cut to his parent’s room. 

Yakko dashed around corners, around furniture, and under a few tables when he thought he might be caught. 

However, he was moving so fast, he could hardly stop himself when he dashed around a corner and one of the men saw him, and grabbed him before Yakko could even think to turn around. 

“You the little princey we’re lookin’ for?” He laughed, spitting in his face. 

“Let me go!” Yakko demanded, but the man didn’t. Instead, he kicked him down, and dragged him down to the end of the hall where he saw-

“Mom!” Yakko gasped. 

He honestly hadn’t thought much time had passed, but his mother looked like 50 brutal years had passed on her. Her hair and fur were disheveled, her nightgown was torn. She had more bruises on her face and a gash in her shoulder that was bleeding. Her wrists were tied in rope. . Her face grew mortified when she saw him. 

“Let him go! It’s me you want, not him,” Lena pleaded, not looking at Yakko.

“H-huh?” Yakko sniffled. 

“Not so fast, your highness,” one said in a mocking tone. “We were told one of ‘em could be collected as a bonus.” 

“Please. I’ll do anything- just let him go,” she pleaded. 

“No, mom! I wanna stay with you!” Yakko began to cry. 

“No Yakko, your siblings need you,” Lena looked at him. 

“I need you,” Yakko pleaded.

“Yakko? Aren’t we supposed to be lookin’ for a Wakko?” One man said. Yakko’s eyes widened. 

The younger. Priority. Chaos. 

They were going to come for Wakko. 

“We were told to leave the crown prince alone, and get the middle one,” The tallest one smacked the one holding Yakko over the head. The man holding Yakko let him go, and he ran to his mother. 

“Other way, stupid,” One of the men snarled at him. 

“Mom, I-i’m not leaving you,” Yakko said. 

“You have to. You have to protect Wakko,” Lena put her forehead against his and whispered. 

“I-i can’t...” He cried. 

“Scram or we’ll make you regret it!” The tallest shouted at him. Yakko gave his mother one last look, before running back with all his might, before he felt something hit him against the back of his head, hard and everything went black. 

.o0o.

When Yakko finally opened his eyes again, it was morning. He was surrounded by shattered glass, mud, the smell of torches and firewood, and a throbbing headache in the back of his head. 

His parents. 

Where were they???

Yakko shot up, ignoring the increase in the throb, and immediately began his search, checking every room he went by.

No, not their bedroom... not the bathroom... not the parlor... not the painting room, not the dining hall, not the kitchen, not the lounge room, not the playroom, not the nursery, not the family study, not this bedroom, not the next, not the next, not the-

“Yakko?” Wakko groggily rubbed his eyes. 

“Wakko, you’re okay,” Yakko sighed a breath of relief to find out his brother was still in his bed. 

“What’s matter?” he asked, sitting up. 

Yakko didn’t have it in him to tell him, so he just turned and left. 

“Hey-! Wait! I wanna help!” Wakko protested his leave, and followed him. Yakko still didn’t say anything, checking Dot’s room quietly. 

She was still there too. 

“What’s the matter Yakko? I wanna help,” Wakko said just a tad too loudly, and Dot was awoken. 

“Yakko?” She asked, rubbing her eyes too. Yakko still couldn’t get himself to speak, so he continued his search. Wakko shrugged at his little sister, and Dot decided to join her brother in following Yakko. 

Yakko didn’t care that they were following, or that they were confused or worried by his silence. He didn’t care they were asking question after question about the state of the castle, and why so many things were destroyed. He needed to find them. His parents had to be okay. They had to be. 

Not in his room, not in Dot’s room, not in the laundry room, not in the tailoring room, not in the dressmaker room, not in the storage room, not in the supply room, not in this bedroom, not-

Angelina I’s private study. 

Maybe she’d have some answers. 

Yakko didn’t even knock before bursting in. 

The queen was already wearing all black, her face covered by a thick veil, though it hardly mattered because she wasn’t facing them anyway, staring out into the window instead. 

“Where are they?!” Yakko demanded. 

“They’re long gone, Yakko,” she didn’t even turn to look at him. 

“Y-y... you’re lying!” He couldn’t accept that. Not now. 

“Believe what you will, but you won’t find them here,” She said coldly, clutching her handkerchief tightly. 

“C’mon, let’s go,” Yakko commanded his younger siblings as he went out of the room. 

“Yakko, who are you talking about? Who are we looking for?” Wakko wasn’t understanding the situation. 

Yakko still couldn’t answer. 

not in the meeting room, not in the food storage, not in the tower, not in the ballroom, not in the dance lesson room, not in the theater room, not in the foyer-

Wait. 

Yakko saw something shining on the floor. Quickly he bolted down the stairs as fast as he could before he realized-

It was his mother’s crown. It would never just be lying on the ground like this. They had to be close. Yakko looked around desperately. 

They had to be here. 

“Mommy’s crown...” Dot frowned and went to it, but Yakko held his arm out, not daring to disturb it. 

“Yakko, why is mum’s crown here? Where is she?” Wakko asked him. 

“Yeah, where’s mommy and daddy? I’m scared...” Dot looked up at him.

“they have to be here,” Yakko whispered to himself. 

“I can’t do this alone.”

He looked around the room, but his eyes were becoming clouded by tears rapidly filling his eyes. He called out for his parents again, but only a painful echo replied. A sharp wave of pain and numbness washed over him. 

Yakko collapsed onto his knees and sobbed. 

His parents were gone. 

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

[pieces-by-me]

You have me

Words: 2459

Summary: Hvitserk went through the same thing once. But can he help her get through it too?

Warnings: Mentions of death, drug abuse, angst. (English is not my first language)

Prompt: angst = comforting the character after the death of someone dear to them.

-So this is my little thing for @maggiescarborough​ 400 follower writing challenge. I wanted to post this sooner but I just got stuck. I hope you still enjoy reading this and that you like it. Also this is my first time writing for Hvitserk. 400 is such a big step and I’m sure you already grew but still I’m really proud of you! I hope you have the best of days 🌼

Hvitserk frowned as he entered the house. Empty again, like all the other times he visited the small hut at the outskirts of Kattegat. It looked like someone broke in and ransacked the whole place. Tables lay on their side, legs broken off. Clothes torn apart on the ground. Books, books the inhabitant loved dearly on any normal day, lay spread across the room. Pages kinked and ripped. No one was there and the hearth in the back looked like it wasn't used all day.

“Oh Y/N”

Y/N was not at her home but Hvitserk knew exactly where to look for her. There where three possible places. A little clearing in the woods filled with small yellow flowers, the offshore piece of land that was hidden from the people of Kattegat or, and he hoped she was not there again, the hut between the stables and the eel fisher. The same hut he himself used to visit in need of his next fix. A dingy and hideous place for such a person as her.

He went to the forest and beach first without any luck of finding the girl he searched for all day. How can she be there again? He only brought her home late at night and it was barely noon on this day. The dark blond haired men went with his fingers through his hair as he stood in front of the door he himself stood so many times. Deep breaths in and out to calm his nerves. Without knocking he went inside and was met with the disgusting smell of vomit, shit and death. Any man would say it was not a pleasant blend of smells.

Lost eyes found his. But none of them were with a shade of light he used to see in his favorite pair. Anywhere he looked he saw old men and younger once. Lying on the floor, snoring away or cowering in the corner. Trying to escape the ghosts. For just the smallest of seconds he thought he saw a burnt figure standing in the back stretching their arm out towards him.

“Snap out of it!”

The inner call to himself brought him back on his search. But after checking almost everywhere he gave up and went back to the entrance. Where could she be? Why wasn't she here?

Then the sound of a woman vomiting on the floor in the west corner, hidden under old fishnets and rotten blankets, made him stop. Sadly the sound was all too familiar to him.

Hvitserk made his way over to the ball of fabric the women hid under. The body shaking and heaving after throwing every little bit of food and water up. Drenching the floor in sick and tears.

Taking in a deep breath Hvitserk bend down to lift up the tattered bundle of cloth.

When he revealed the women he was met with the disoriented eyes from his childhood friend, Y/N. Unfocused, dull and broken. Thats all he could see in her stare.

“Y/N? Come on I'm taking you home.”

With only one word she broke his heart again.

“Mikkel?”

No he wasn't Mikkel. He couldn't be. Everyone in Kattegat knew about the little man that died unfairly and far too soon. Mikkel was Y/N's little brother. The one that made everyone smile. The one that always had a plan or idea to brighten up your day. The one that was good.

12 years and he was just ripped away. The saddest part was that nobody knows how he died.

One day he was found in the woods. Drenched in blood and cold to the touch. Some said he died because of the cold and then animals showed up, others said he was ripped apart by wolfs and then some, the once that were cruel, swore he was murdered and left there to rot.

Who would murder a 12 year old child that never did anything evil?

All these unanswered questions plagued Y/N's mind. Hvitserk could see that day after day. He could relate to that far too well. He also seeked out the bliss of not knowing and swimming in mushroom dreams and mead. But he got out. He had his little brother to help him. To get him out of this pit. And he would be damned if he let you stay in it. She may not have her little brother anymore but she had him.

“Y/N it's me, Hvitserk. Come up we have to get you back. You're freezing and you need something to eat.”

A rare clarity settled in her eyes at his voice. And with that clarity came anger.

“How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone!” It was supposed to be a scream but her voice sounded horse and bitter. Not enough use made it brittle and not enough water made it harsh. She spoke in stuttering sentences. Broken just like her.

“And I told you every time that you will not get rid off me.”

With that he grabbed her arms, pulled her up and swung her over his shoulder. Maybe a little harsh to just take her, but he did this often enough to know that talking to her wouldn't work.

Her failed attempt at punching his back felt like jumps from a flea and her demands to be put down didn't make it out of her mouth. Because after only five minutes of walking like that she threw up again. Lucky for Hvitserk's pants nothing more then water came out.

When he made it back to her little hut he brought her right to her bed. Or more to her pelt covered floor. Y/N was just laying there. Not saying anything and not looking at him. But she was also not trowing up anymore so that was good. Hvitserk used the time that was spend quiet with cleaning her hut and trying to fix her table as best as he could. But after two hours she still said nothing. She wouldn't even look at him. He knew that she was not happy with him, but he was not happy with her either. Though he wouldn't tell her that. He knew she needed time and help. And he would be here and help her. Help her get on her feet again.

“Why are you still here?”

Her voice sounded through the hut but it sounded fake. Not like her own.

“You didn't eat the whole day so I'm staying until you have something else in your stomach then mushrooms and alcohol.”

“I'm not hungry”

“We both know you're lying so just stop it already.” Nothing was said after that for another while.

The sun was close to setting and Hvitserk was getting worried. Y/N didn't move or say anything while he cleaned her room and made some mediocre soup. This couldn't go on any longer. He thought that after a while she would accept his help and get better, but no matter what he did she shut him out even more. Maybe it was not enough. His help. Or maybe it was the wrong way. Waiting for her to come to him.

As he looked at the women who was so dear to him he had enough. He wanted her back. As selfish as that sounded. He wanted to hear her laugh again. See her smile. Having her arms around him. He wanted to stumble upon her on the market and ask her how her day went. Not having to search for her and find her with the other addicts in a dingy hut. He wanted to find out what happened to Mikkel so that he could bring her a little closure. Something that would bring her mind to ease, so she wouldn't have to imagine the worst scenarios about her brother. He just wanted her.

Hvitserk went over to her lying body and saw that she trembled again. Not out of cold, or hunger but out of craving for something else. Small noises came out of her mouth. What is he supposed to do? All his attempts at getting her back on her feet were fruitless. Putting his hand on her shoulder her trembling and sniffles stopped.

“Leave me alone Hvitserk.” She wanted to sound strong. To make him hear how much she didn't want him there, even if it would be a lie, she wanted him gone. But her voice was frail and came out not louder then a mouse's squeak. His eyes grew hard at that. That was enough. He would not sit there longer and look her withering away.

“Stand up.”

Nothing. She didn't move even a little bit.

“I said stand up!” His voice raised to a level far from loving. With a tight grip on her shoulder he turned her around. Glassy and confused eyes met his. She didn't think he would make her stand up. Normally he would leave and hope she would sleep and get better. But not this time.

“UP!” Screaming may not have been the best way but it brought her to her feet. Raising with her shoulders still in his hands he stabilized her, she was far to malnourished and weak to stand on her own. Y/N stood in his arms for the first times in weeks but the look in her eyes showed that she would rather be anywhere else. Anger replaced confusion and her voice found new strength.

“What the hell is your problem? I said to leave me alone! Why can't you just do that?”

“You gave me no choice! Everyday I search for you! Everyday I find you in that hut that slowly kills you! And everyday you send me away, just to get back there! Not this time. I will stay near you and won't let you leave until all these foul things leave your body and your need for them stops.”

“I don't want you here!” Her screaming broke his heart. 'She does. She's just not herself right now'

Hvitserk had to belief that, otherwise he would tear up. And he couldn't. He had to be strong for her.

“You only want me to leave to get back to your mushrooms. But I'm not letting you go. I won't lose you”

“You don't understand. I need them.” Tears were falling from her eyes. Not a care in the world how she looked. She lost the care a long time ago.

“You don't. You just need-”

“YES I do!! I can't bare it. I don't want to! I won't!” Her hands grasped at his shoulder now. Trembling and shaking like leaves on trees. And just like leaves her body was slowly being pulled to the ground. But she held on to him and he held her. “Please....just leave” Her voice was small again. Tired and cracking.

“You have to.” His voice mirrored hers. Quiet and small. He didn't want to scream anymore. He felt her closer then ever. Not just her body but she was there. Her old self showed itself. Just a glimmer. But that was all he needed.

“You have to or otherwise this will never get better. You will loose yourself in this.” For the first time in too long she looked into his eyes. Hearing his words.

“You'll have to feel this. Pain and grief. And everything that comes with it. Fear, anger, panic and all the other ghosts. Otherwise you will never feel love or joy again. You will get through this. And I can help you, if you let me”

Trembling lips, flowing tears and choked gasped where his answer for a while. But he held her eyes with his. He was here and wouldn't go anywhere.

“Mikkel died. He is dead.” She never spoke it aloud. Those words never left her lips and now that they did she broke. Her body falling and sobs escaping her lips. Screaming at the pain that made itself notable after weeks of being extinguished and pushed away. Her brother was gone.

“I don't want to feel this!”

Hvitserk caught her falling figure before she hit the ground. Taking her in his arms. Holding her tight as to squeeze all her parts back together. He caressed her back, hoping it would bring her comfort.

“This is normal. You will survive this. Everyone does. You will come out of this. You are not alone even if you think that right now. I'm here. I will not leave you. You will survive this.”

His words and strokes were met with screams of agony. Clawing at his back as if it was the only thing keeping her together. Grounding her in a way that only he could do in this moment.

Sobbing into his neck. Tears also falling from Hvitserk's eyes but he didn't care. He held her as long as she needed. Slowly after what felt like hours her body slowly shut down. Exhaustion weighing her down. Soft whimpers only left her mouth now but her arms stayed strong holding onto him.

“I'm here. You have me. And you will get through this.”

And she would. With time she would. She nodded her head. Never being more grateful that he didn't leave her. He helped her. The only one she couldn't push away. She wanted to thank him. Crying to him that she wound't know where she would be if it wasn't for him. But she was so tired now. She would tell him. But now she needed sleep.

Hvitserk felt how her body slowly slacked against his form. Pulling her completely into his arms and of the floor he laid her back on her furs. Brushing fallen strands of hair out of her face she looked up at him. Her eyes looked like her own again. Not fully glowing but a sparkle of hope nested itself into the far corners of them. Holding on to his hand she squeezed as much as she could. Her voice still quivered but he heard the honesty in her words.

“Thank you.”

Sending her a smile he only nodded his head. Her eyes closing fast and she was pulled under by sleep. Still clutching his hand.

He sat there beside her for a while just looking at her features. She didn't look pained for the first time. And his small smile grew. After a while he stood up. Reheated the soup on the hearth and waited for her to wake up. She would have to get back her strength.

Y/N would get through this and he would help her every step of the way.

[orsuliya]

This part (4 of who knows how many) of my Awu/Xiao Qi married headcanons resembles nothing more that a dying whale full of confused feelings. Which is exactly what I would swiftly turn to left alone with this drama without @madeleineengland’s continuous friendship and support. What I actually want to say is: Happy Birthday, my dear! I am thankful to have met you. I hope you like this instalment, even if I couldn’t quite manage to fit in a kneeling Song Huaien. Sorry!

There are some things that no woman can choose for herself. Some things simply happen – or not – as they please with no regard to wishful thinking or social status. A princess or a gravedigger’s daughter, a young maiden or a stately matron, none can simply will themselves pregnant, no matter how many prayers have left their lips and how many offerings have graced the altars, set there by gentle hands yearning to hold a living, breathing child instead of a bowl of rice or a stick of precious incense.

And yet, no matter how many times she whispers this truth to herself in the middle of the night, Xiao Qi’s broad hand resting on her lower belly in a sincere attempt to soothe the twinges of pain that come every single month without fail, there are still moments when Awu cannot help feeling as if she’s failing in the worst of ways. Not failing her husband, for until the day she dies she will never forget the truth shining in his eyes, still fever-bright from Wang Qian’s vile mixture despite the self-inflicted blood loss. And not even the twelve generations of Wang Empresses. After all, hadn’t she courted their disapproval already by choosing to walk through life hand in hand with her husband instead of living torn in half until her very last breath? No, the person whom she fails is always herself.

And in her mind she fails a lot. There is a bitter taste on her tongue as she pushes Xiao Qi’s wise, warm hand off her abdomen and rises from their shared bed to stand at the window, throwing open the shutters and trying to breathe, even as the feeling of warm blood pooling between her thighs makes her remember her first and worst failure, committed right in the middle of the palace courtyard. There were pamphlets, she knows, vicious, cruel rumours of how she bled her baby out from sheer disgust of having been bred by a man born nobody knows of whom and where. Only after every wagging tongue had already been silenced with a cloak of red silk set around her shoulders, did she realize that half the court must have been tittering excitedly over the prospect of seeing the proud Wang daughter set aside and brought as low as she had once sat high. And they hadn’t been kind about it, going as far as to comment that her swift appearance at the scene of the coup must have been motivated by her eagerness to be rid of her spouse as the balance of power finally shifted. Fools, what blind, base-minded fools all those high-born courtiers – many of them her distant kin – have turned out to be!

Princess Shangyang wouldn’t have felt such dark, all-consuming anger. Princess Shangyang, as Awu has learned in all her years as Princess Yuzhang, had been something of a fool, a bird kept in a gilded cage, encouraged to sing and chirp happily regardless of how the bars of that cage withered her wings. It was only later that this caged songbird discovered that she was no songbird at all, but a bird of prey. And like a bird of prey Awu wishes she had known of every single salacious rumour – but only so that she could tear their originators to shreds for using her poor never-born first child for their own vicious purposes, for making a spectacle out of her – their – pain.

In her anger she barely notices how her fingers have curled tightly over the windowsill… at least until big, calloused hands descend onto hers and she finds herself cradled in Xiao Qi’s loose, yet strangely grounding embrace. For a moment she wishes to slip away, to escape and simply be angry, no matter how futile it may be after so many years… And had he tried to lead her back to bed, had he spoken a single word, she might have done just that, but there is only silence between them. Only slightly unreal, moonlight-washed silence and Awu feels the flames of her anger sputter and go out, leaving only bitter, choking ash of regret.

Yet there is one kernel of failure she can exorcise right here and now for both of their sakes, even if it can never be made right in this life. If I have children of my blood, she says, allowing herself to let go of the magical ‘when’ this one time, seeing them entered into the Xiao family book would bring me greater honour and joy than if they were feted as princes and princesses of the first rank. And maybe after a moment she feels the need to explain further, to say that she would have been honoured to act as a filial daughter-in-law to his parents, no matter their birth and status, but before she can get out a word, he manages to catch her off-guard. Not with a kiss to the side of her neck, that much she has come to expect always, but rather with his quiet, sleepily tender reply: Before we get to filling any pages, we need to have a book in the first place. Help me with that in the morning? And what can she do in response to that except hum in agreement and lean backwards?

____________________________________

Some things simply happen – or not – as they please. Which does not mean one should not help them along in any way that comes to mind. Or several minds, as it happens in this case.

Doctor Shen, however wise and famous, is far from the only – or even the best – available authority on the matters of female body, partially due to not being of female persuasion himself. Unlike, for example, his assistant and niece Shen Yunxin, an aspiring female doctor in her own right. Once that accomplished, if rather young lady managed to make herself heard, she swiftly rose in Xiao Qi’s regard, and would have done so for her gumption alone, even if her medical skills hadn’t been excellent in the first place. Shen Yunxin, skipping the dancing-around that most of her male colleagues invariably tended to degrade to in the presence of any person of power, rather daringly announced that perhaps instead of concentrating solely on curing Awu’s infertility – and thank you, the acupuncture treatments she herself administers every week are going just as planned – they should perhaps focus on the picture as a whole. That is, after all, what a doctor should look at first, right? Especially as there is no material proof of Xiao Qi’s high fertility. The ‘or is there now?’ part remained unspoken; even though Shen Yunxin came to like her primary patient a lot and had her own reasons to distrust men and their promises, she – this time and always – held to the standards of professional behaviour.

Awu, for her part, really enjoys seeing Xiao Qi drinking bitter herbal concoctions of his own. Even if she might not be all that convinced by Shen Yunxin’s words, it surely cannot hurt anything. And why should she be the only one to suffer under a tyrannical medical regime? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. And if in truth Xiao Qi doesn’t mind the taste at all, who would blame him for exaggerating a little for his wife’s amusement? Certainly not his wife, who has seen through his play-acting at once and swiftly decided that there is something to this mouth-to-mouth method of feeding particularly vile medicines to recalcitrant patients.

And yet Shen Yunxin isn’t the only fount of knowledge to be found in Ningshuo and, truth be told, has shown much interest in the secrets of folk medicine herself, especially as practiced by Alima’s kinswomen. Although some of those women, in particular Alima’s crone of a grandmother, have proven astonishingly… direct and rather shameless with their advice, to the tune of making a fully-fledged practitioner and an old married woman such as Awu, both of them hardly prone to prudishness, blush like girls not yet through their hair-pinning ceremonies. Or perhaps the advice was actually fine and tamer that one might expect. The enthusiastic appreciation that Alima’s kinswomen seem to hold for Xiao Qi, however, could probably fluster anybody, much less the man’s wife!

____________________________________

It is not entirely out of the realm of possibility that Awu decided to follow the kindly-meant advice of Alima’s grandmother. After all, the woman had successfully given birth to nine babies and gotten eight of them to adulthood, which would make anybody pay attention. Perhaps there is something to be said for the value of hard-won experience? And perhaps it was Shen Yunxin’s acupuncture skills that helped in the end, or even her insistence to look at the greater picture first. Or Doctor Shen’s bitter tinctures, or Xiao Qi’s unwavering, ah, helpfulness. Or possibly the fact that Awu finally decided that what will be will be and threw herself with doubled energy into the whirlpool of domestic concerns… which are truly never-ending, if one counts an entire province as one’s home.

Whatever the cause, Awu eventually achieved her goal… And yet she was among the last ones to actually suspect anything, the first being Xiao Qi and A-Yue, who had informed Doctor Shen and Shen Yunxin respectively, after having noticed some rather peculiar changes. A lady’s maid knows her mistress better than her own husband, although in this case, with the husband being an exceptionally affectionate one, that might not ring quite so true. Incidentally, the symptom that both of them had noticed was Awu’s sudden heightened sense of smell combined with a rather noticeably expressed aversion to her previously favourite perfume, which, you must admit, is a rather worrying sign.

As it turns out, both the uncle and niece had a good idea of Awu’s state, going by her last bleeding being more of a spotting than anything else – and you may bet Shen Yunxin monitors that closely – and yet they remained unable to fully ascertain their suspicions without any clear accompanying signs, nor were they willing to give any early hope, which may later be dashed. In fact, Doctor Shen would have preferred to avoid any agitation whatsoever for at least a week or two more, having had difficult experiences with this patient in particular, but one look at Prince Yuzhang’s face had him rethink that plan. Had Hu Guanglie been there – or alive in the first place – he would have immediately recognized that expression as Xiao Qi getting ready for battle, which he is quite sure he can win… but not entirely sure, with his doubt rising with every hour of there being no news of enemy movements. But even an amateur would be immediately wary of this sudden tension, for all that it might be hidden under an impressive facade of pretended calm. And Doctor Shen, after thirty years of practicing medicine among the upper echelons of Cheng nobility and staying alive – which is no mean feat – has learned to be quite sensitive to his powerful employers’ moods. As a survival tactic, if nothing else.

Another important skill, which Doctor Shen hasn’t yet imparted onto his niece, is judging when and where a doctor’s presence might be wanted... and when and where it is most certainly not needed. Pulling Shen Yunxin from the room by her sleeve might seem like a rather abrupt reaction, but it was by no means unjustified. Some things are simply not meant to be seen by outsiders. Prince and Princess Yuzhang facing each other and simply looking into each other’s eyes in perfect, tremulously joyful silence before the Princess lets out a hiccuping laugh and hides her suspiciously shining eyes against her husband’s collarbone is certainly one of those.

____________________________________

Xiao Qi’s first emotion after hearing the news is joy, then absolute panic – as far as that man ever panics, that is – and then steely determination most usually reserved for military planning. Having heard one word too many about miscarriage being a real possibility this early on makes him frantic and this in turn means that something really, really foolish is about to happen. Something like riding for the capital with only ten thousand troops. Something like going into Hulan alone. Something like dealing ungodly amounts of damage and letting his hair fly loose. Hu Guanglie would call this state a silence before mass decapitation. Were he there and alive, that is. Thankfully Hu Yao is both alive and there (deal with it, people!) and manages to redirect this thrumming energy into something actually constructive, which is probably the only thing that saves Awu and Xiao Qi from having an epic row over a series of very unreasonable ideas. Like, for example, shutting Awu in her rooms in the middle of Ningshuo Fortress and standing guard over her until the baby is born.

Meanwhile, Awu’s behaviour couldn’t be more different from that exhibited by her very own husband. Now that her years of continuous disappointment are over, she refuses to even consider that something might go wrong. At least not during waking hours, when she’s surrounded by a steady throng of people and children; and there is no way she would ever agree to being imprisoned in her rooms, although she agrees to retiring at the first sign of true fatigue and actually keeps her word, which causes her to share more than one nap in the middle of the day with little Song Guanglie. Which, in turn, makes for a pretty mellow Princess, especially right after she rises.

Which is exactly why this is the exact moment the brilliant tactician Hu Yao chooses to inform Awu that her fool of a husband (even if she doesn’t use exactly those words, she means exactly that) has evaporated with a troop of six into direction unknown, which may or may not be Hu Yao’s fault. Awu confirms that yes, Xiao Qi came in as she slept, woke her up briefly and said something about going on a short trip, promising to return as swiftly as possible. The look on Hu Yao’s face is rather telling and a tiny bit guilty.

That little overnight trip? Hu Yao is reasonably certain it is a hunt for something big and impressive. A local variety of wolf? A big feline of unfriendly persuasion? Probably not Hulan raiders, such as they are those days; she is rather insistent on that last point and for a good reason. That reason being that Xiao Qi had been making things strangely tense in the training yards, which are Hu Yao’s rightful domain, and so she decided to get rid of him by asking about preparations for the birth, no matter that the happy event may be six months away yet, and describing in great detail the extent of the prospective father’s involvement in those.

And seeing as it’s paramount – for future good fortune and the safety of both the mother and the baby – that no products of the birth are allowed to touch the ground, hence the need to provide a layer of ash, rushes or perhaps a cow’s skin as is the case in the wealthier families of Hu Yao’s acquitance, and taking into account that Xiao Qi has never done things by halves, his plan is rather obvious. Awu doesn’t know whether to feel strangely amused, immensely flattered and touched… or perhaps increasingly annoyed by losing her bedmate for such paltry a cause. For the moment she chooses option one, if only because amusement helps her forget about any apprehension the word ‘hunt’ might be causing her for rather obvious reasons. She will hold her judgement on options two and three until she sees the result of Xiao Qi’s bout of paternal madness.

The hero of the hour returns four days later, impossibly smug and with a bloody enormous salted pelt of a great brown mountain bear. Which he will then proceed to cure himself, because why wouldn’t he. Awu doesn’t have the words for what she’s feeling. Exasperation? Fond exasperation? A sudden onset of unexpected horniness? And I mean really unexpected, because bears smell and she’s still not over her olfactory oversensitivity. But mainly a burst of love and womanly pride. Sure, her man might be a fool, but he’s her fool and… I mean, it is a really big bear. Very, very impressive, if one was prone to being impressed by such things. Which Awu usually doesn’t find herself to be… Oh, who is she even trying to fool?

____________________________________

Xiao Qi has made something of a study of his wife’s body, which she had always been cognizant of to a certain degree. So it’s rather hard to say that it comes as a surprise that he’s able to tell when she begins to show even before she herself does – and she shows very early due to her general slimness. All the other things, however, are somewhat more out of the left field.

Like how he starts to send Awu’s maids out every time he catches one of them with a comb even before she confesses that somehow her scalp became really, really sensitive and in a rather peculiar way. Which he has apparently noticed and decided to take shameless advantage off, especially as the pleasure is mutual; Awu’s hair has become somehow both thicker and softer, a true delight to touch for a person as tactile as Xiao Qi.

Or how he suddenly stops going after Awu’s earlobes to her sincere confusion and irritation. She liked it, dammit, and what Awu wants, Awu gets, so the next time his mouth appears anywhere in the vicinity of her neck, Xiao Qi finds himself rather brusquely pointed at the desired target. The problem is, upon his acquiescence Awu finds it not as pleasurable as all that and really rather painful, her ears apparently having become rather sensitive practically overnight. By which point she has no other choice but to demand how had he guessed before she realized this about herself. His answer turns out to be rather disarming: You haven’t worn a single pair of dangly earrings for half a month.

The worst thing is, he is absolutely right. Every single time, which at the beginning causes no little exasperation, especially when Awu’s body starts rapidly changing and sometimes she feel like she hardly knows what she even looks like anymore. Is that pale, drawn face in the mirror actually hers? Why are her eyebrows suddenly so pale and whispy? And has she always had dark patches on the underside of her breasts? As time passes, all those other changes start looking less and less dire, having taken second fiddle to the most important thing of them all: a growing, living child nestled between her hipbones, which have lost all pretense of sharpness during those last few months. And so she starts asking questions. Not to fish for compliments – she truly cannot complain of a shortage of those – but out of true curiosity. What have you noticed that I haven’t? Show me.

And he does show her, claiming and re-claiming every inch of her skin as it changes and there is not a single moment in which she does not feel beautiful, or wanted, or loved, even when she’s absolutely miserable and sick, and bloated. Although she calls him a liar the one time he truly earns it by announcing her stitches on the newest piece in the increasingly elaborate layette to be the height of perfection despite them being crooked and all over the place due to her suddenly clumsy fingers. But just as he is her guide to her own body, she is his and there is little that she finds herself unable to complain of.

It’s their journey, their child, perhaps their only chance at this miracle and she absolutely refuses to hide, especially as her time comes near. Refuses to hide both literally and metaphorically, spending hours upon hours of increasingly warm, stuffy summer evenings laying naked on top of the covers and drawing nonsensical labyrinths upon her own skin with the tips of her fingers, every line closely followed by eager eyes, calloused hands or gentle lips; every single tap or movement from within met with genuine fascination and something not quite unlike worship.

____________________________________

There has hardly been a military campaign that involved more meticulous planning than the birth of this one tiny child, Ningshuo’s first princeling. Taught by Wanru’s premature experience with childbirth, both Awu and Xiao Qi remain rather wary of any fixed dates. The child will come when it will come, rather like the enemy, announces Xiao Qi, stopping the rather spirited discussion between the womenfolk about the necessity of early preparation and earning himself a fiery glare from Awu for using such inappropriate comparisons. By which I mean there is little to be done aside from observing the terrain and getting ready for an ambush, which may or may not come at any time, he explains, trying to mollify Awu and enclose her into his self-imposed bubble of confidence, usually reserved for use upon soldiers on the verge of panic, which is exactly what this discussion of premature birth has brought into their home.

And you know what, it actually helps, if only a little. Enough to take Awu’s mind off the possible complications and redirect her nervous energy into consulting with the astronomy charts and then choosing an appropriately situated side room, setting up curtains around the bed to serve as a birthing tent and getting that blasted bearskin out of storage. Which process they will ultimately go through four times, as the star charts – and thus best orientations – keep changing every month. And which neither of them will begrudge, as every single time they move the birthing tent Awu grows just a tiny bit more confident in the success of the upcoming labour and also more attuned to her own needs. At the very last milestone – during which she is comically enormous, but no less able to give out commands – she is an absolute nightmare, having everyone running around to and fro as well as throwing an absolute fit over the birthing rope, which she has agreed to previously.

Doctor Shen, being a great believer in getting his clients through labour alive and having a long-standing grudge against the usual way of birthing practiced in the Imperial Palace – which means supine, surrounded by a crowd of panicking women and with the doctor hardly able to see the patient in order to preserve their chastity – instills a certain regime, which is perfectly in accord with the traditional ways dictated by medical practitioners of old. By which he means peace, no more that two calm attendants at one time and letting gravity do part of the work; the last thing meaning that a length of rope or cloth should be suspended from the ceiling or perhaps stretched between two pillars at at appropriate height, so that the mother can support herself while kneeling or squatting.

In Awu’s case the arrangement changes from a hanging horse bridle – which while a show of status and a portent of good fortune proved to be not that comfortable after all – to a length of silk, to a rope stretched between two pillars. Which apparently doesn’t suit Awu any longer, not providing her with a steady enough support. While A-Yue and Alima keep tying and retying the rope to Awu’s continuous disapproval and even irritation, Xiao Qi doesn’t get involved. Yes, partially because in contrast to everybody else he doesn’t find his heavily pregnant wife a nightmare to deal with. Adorable, more like, the man is that hopeless. And partially because as long as Awu acts out on her irritation, she’s not getting apprehensive or despondent. So let her rage to her heart’s content. Now, the moment she goes silent and perhaps a little bit bashful over her previous outburst, he decides it’s high time for an intervention. Any intervention, even an absurd one. Which means that he disappears for a moment and brings back his spear, which he then secures in place of the rope to the growing disconcernment of everybody present. Awu finds it steady enough for her needs and it’s not like anything else matters.

Seeing as she goes into labour the very next day and finds herself properly appreciative of this improvised solution, Xiao Qi can’t find it in himself to really mind the rapidly growing slew of jokes and ditties starting to make rounds, although he makes a point of trouncing the most intrepid joker rather soundly. Or perhaps five of those, not that he’s in the right mindset to actually keep count once the entrance to the birthing room is barred to him. Before it is, there is still time to tell Awu– not for the last time, this isn’t going to be the last time! - of her bravery, of how only now does he start to truly appreciate what it means to send a loved one into battle and of how they’re going to carry this moment through their whole lives. You’re Princess Yuzhang, you will come back with a victory, hale and whole. You will always come back, he whispers into her hair, not sure who is he actually trying to convince as he hold his entire world in his arms, desperately trying to hide his fear. And failing miserably, which Awu cannot help but notice… once she gets through the current set of contractions. Don’t you dare to be a coward now, my Prince Yuzhang, she scolds, resting her sweaty forehead against his chin. Don’t you bloody dare. I have asked for this and I don’t take upon myself what I cannot carry. And now get out and let me fight my war. You know what I’m capable of.

And by all gods, he knows. And this steely determination in her voice scares him as little has ever scared him before. This time, unlike every other time when she’s risked her life this bravely, there will be nothing he can do to help her, no miraculous rescue, no last-minute shot, no hand ready to break her fall. Has he been too greedy, he ponders, only by a miracle avoiding skewering Tang Jing straight through the gut and then actually earning a light graze from Hu Yao’s blade. Useless, she pronounces, confiscating their weapons and hurrying both men off the training field. Absolutely useless. Go and do whatever it is that men actually busy themselves with while women do all the work.

It turns out that what men actually do in highly stressful situations is sharpen their swords as well as any other blade they may encounter. They are joined in this endeavour by Xiaohe, who will later be unilaterally – and wholly unfairly – blamed for each and every single skewed edge. Of which there will be quite a few. But then, what does an imperfect sword or ten actually matter, when after long hours of absolute hell, during which Xiao Qi has imagined at least five different worst scenarios ending in a pool of blood – just like that terrible day – and prayed to all the gods he has ever heard of, A-Yue finally comes, her wide smile speaking for itself.

[octania]

Midnight shadow (Dabi x Reader 18+)

(Dabi x Reader / 18+/ SMUT)

This is the third chapter of the  Midnight stalker. (Chapter 2 - Midnight  hunter)

Word count: 4.7k

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, masturbation, violence, threats,stalking.

Short description: When you decide to look for your stalker Dabi, you don't even know what dark secrets will emerge along the way and what claws are eagerly waiting to grab you out of the darkness.

__________________________________________________________

He had heard of love, but never knew what it was. He only knew the word, and he didn't say it either. That word was one of the greatest delusions of the human race, the most disgusting lie. And he could confirm that. He saw with his own eyes. He remembered how love falls like a tower of cards over any threat that arises before it. He watched her weak hands and senseless attempts to keep him safe, he listened to her empty promises to protect him, but if she had succeeded, he would not be where he is now, he would not have this conversation with himself, nor would he wear these disgusting scars as evidence of her failure and failed promise.

He returned to the only thing he knew, the only path he had walked unencumbered, a path that was not paved with a thousand questions and insecurities. He went back to what he knew brought a good, comfortable, desirable feeling. Something that suited him, something he didn't have to think about. Pleasure, to be more specific, sexual pleasure. To satisfy his body, alone, without too many complications. He lay down on his bed with a pair of pillows and a thin blanket on it, taking his cell phone out of his back pocket. He was too tired to think, he wanted pleasure to start flowing through his body as soon as possible, and he wanted empty thoughts. He typed the name of the porn site into a search window and started browsing the various videos that were offered to him. He wasn't even aware that everything he'd been looking for, and the superficial way he'd done it, was now dead and replaced by specific desires.

Instead of fake breasts and other pronounced attributes that had a clear purpose on this page, his eye searched for a certain hair color. Your hair color. Your facial features, the shape of your lips, and even your eyes. The body structure had to match yours, otherwise it didn't satisfy. He scrolled the screen longer than a few minutes, not even realizing how long it has been. Every  tasteless  make up on the face of porn actresses aroused disgust in him. Their greedy gaze, stripped of everything but the pure animal need for sex, was by no means what he longed for now. The look you gave him after you saved him and told him your name. He stopped the search, staring blankly at his cell phone. He touched the left corner of the screen where the miniature magnifying glass icon was located and typed the letters of your name, pressing Search. Although he subconsciously knew how stupid this move was, he gazed at the couple of videos at the top. The women who smiled back at him now were anything but you. His patience was getting thinner, he could feel his shoulders tense, his jaw tighten and a feeling forming in his chest that  he had tried to escape from with this very act. He had to give himself break, get rid of at least some of the frustration.Since his attempt to find similarities between porn actresses and you fell into the water, the latest addition to the information he gathered about you could have been used in another place. Before opening a new icon on his smartphone, he grabbed the edges of his white T-shirt, taking it off himself with one lazy pull of his hands. It was stuffy in his room, he hadn't raised the blinds in days, and given the high summer temperatures and his own body heat, glistening drops of sweat had already formed in the corner of his forehead beneath his thick black hair. He retrieved a crumpled box of cigarettes from the nightstand, tapping the box on the edge of the bed. A cigarette filter popped out of a torn hole in the box. He brought the spongy filter to his lips, biting the light surface. He pulled a cigarette out of the box as he opened the multicolored icon on his cell phone screen with his thumb.

The social network called Instagram opened, asking for login information. He smiled at the thought of having a profile on such networks. One of the most wanted villains collects likes with half-naked selfies. Fortunately, he didn't need a personal account. He remembered the fake profile Twice and Toga had made when they drank a little too much alcohol one night, having fun leaving naughty comments on the All Might fan page. He couldn’t imagine a stupider thing anyone could do. But luckily, he was present when they created the account. He typed in a username and paused. It took him a few seconds to remember the passwords they had used. He knew it was related to the insults they used. A small smile escaped his lips when he finally typed in a simple password that couldn’t have been simpler. AllMightSucks. The profile full of red notifications which were from angry fans ’responses to their humiliating words about Number one hero puzzled Dabi because he couldn’t believe the account was still not blocked due to so many reports. He ignored the countless angry messages that glowed the same intense red and headed for the search space. His eyes narrowed as he typed in your name and squeezed the search. He didn’t know your last name, and a lot of people generally don’t have their real first name on their profile. This seemed more and more futile. Hundreds of profiles have opened under your name. He passed them quickly, pausing a few times when the picture was so blurry that he wasn't sure what was hiding on it, but each time he would be disappointed, closing the profile and continuing his search.

 In the process of searching, another detail managed to discourage him. Many of the profiles were private, so even though he might find you with some crazy luck, it will be in vain again. Preoccupied with the search, he forgot that he was still holding a cigarette between his teeth. He moved his free hand to the top of the cigarette. The blue flame rose gently across the surface of the skin of his index finger. He inhaled the sweet poison into his lungs. Two icy eyes flashed behind a curtain of smoke spreading across the room. His lips curled into a sinister smile as he watched the small profile picture. Your profile.

Your name was the same ... along with your last name.He could feel the excitement when he now learned your whole name. This could not have been simpler, how this had not occurred to him before? He opened a profile, which was public. How many mistakes can you make because of so much innocence. Your profile consisted of hand-full of pictures, almost all posted in the last two years, except for one that was about seven years old. Your young face that was still at the mercy of puberty, smiled with a pink braces. You managed to make him laugh. You managed to make Dabi laugh, and you weren't even aware of it. However, one picture quickly caught his attention and did not lure the same kind of smile to his face. The photo you posted because of the endless persuasion of your friends, spontaneous in nature but really challenging, was a photo of you in a thin bathing suit as you stepped out of the water. The smiling face on which the drops of water followed your neck and continued to your big breasts, over your belly all the way to the lower part of your tight bikini, gave Dabi more than the desired scene. This is what people call the Jackpot, he thought mockingly. He licked the tip of the cigarette filter as he moved his free hand toward his belt. With a few moves of his fingers, he unbuttoned the buckle and headed for the zipper of his jeans. He lowered his jeans, while grabbing the top of the boxers, clearing the way for his already hardened dick. He grabbed  it at the base, giving it a few lazy strokes, returning his attention to your picture. He could see himself catching those drops of water with his tongue, following all the lines of your body, from your jaw, to the neck where he would leave a few light hickeys. He inhaled the smoke, holding the cigarette now only with his teeth as he let the smoke out of his mouth. The grip around his lenght became fiercer, as he started pumping it faster. He could taste your salty skin from the sea, how smooth it was and how his tongue would sink into your soft breasts as he burned every bit of fabric on them, clearing the way to your  nipples. How you would bend and moan as your senses raged at his sucking of those sensitive parts. He wouldn't stop no matter how much you said you couldn't take it anymore, he'd just bite your nipple again lightly, forcing you to scream his name. When he was briefly fed up with those sighs and the constant mention of his name, he would move on along the path of your body. Until now you sighed with pleasure, now you would cry out because of his teasing. The thought of kissing the inside of your thigh, stroking the surface of your panties just enough for you to feel the slight vibrations on your delicate folds , and as he rudely touches your clit just for a moment and pulls his fingers back, he made his rhythm quicken. Veins popped out on the light skin of his throbbing dick, making it look even thicker. The tip was releasing a few drops of cum, as the skin was tense, looking like it will let out the full amount of his sperm soon. In his fantasy, he came to the point of pushing your panties aside, imprinting a couple of kisses on the border of your thighs and pussy. It was glistering from all the juices flowing out of you, calling him to slide right in, but he decided to torture you a bit more. You tried to push his head closer to the wet entrance in hope that his lips would finally do the job, but he was far from wanting to make it any easier for you. He kissed you all around but not in the most precious places. His tongue left a trace of the saliva a millimeter from your swollen clit, while you were crying out from frustration. You shivered under his touch, trying to lift your hips to place your needy cunt on his lips yourself, but he was having none of that. He slapped your smooth backside with his rough palm, making it even hotter with his fire before it touched your skin. You screamed from pain and pleasure mixed in the same time, while he continued to tease you without mercy. The idea of ​​you begging him to do this lewd things to you, gave him exactly what he needed, a feeling of dominance, being in charge, the things that in real life were shaken by you. But he had no time to think about that now, his mind was blank as the electric feeling of raw pleasure was flowing through his body. He was jerking himself almost violently when the last scene of him finally burying his tongue inside your cunt appeared in his head.He eat up your sticky juices like his favorite desert, pushing the tip of his tongue as deep as he could, tasting as much of your innerwalls as he could. He can feel the pressure of them squeezing his soft muscle as you were about to reach your climax. The strokes on his tense dick were now more shallow, faster, as the grip was so fierce his hand started hurting. But he ignored it with ease, as he could feel the sperm piling up. He exhaled the smoke of an already burned cigarette as ash fell on his bare chest, and his head twisted with pleasure as his sperm began to squirt from his tip.

 The feeling of a cold wall on the back of his head was good, as he pulled the cigarette filter out of his mouth, extinguishing it in a glass of whiskey without even looking at it. After a few moments he opened his eyes, looking back at your profile he had just abused. He scrolled to the last picture that you posted. A simple picture of you and your couple of female friends over a cup coffee. He looked down to see the date in the picture. Five months ago. Just a few days before he first saw you and interfered with your life. Since then, it’s as if everything stopped, not a word from you on social media.

"I don't need to find you." he growled contentedly.

You walked down a foggy street at the crack of dawn. Blurry colors flickered among the gray clouds that lazily dragged across the sky. The light of the street lamps was still on, but what this neighborhood contained , it was better to remain hidden in the darkness. It's been three long months since your last saw  Dabi. Your lips quivered when you heard his name in your own thoughts. You still couldn’t get used to the feelings he was awakening in you. Fear, insecurity, exposure, paranoia .... interest. The last was the only one moving in the direction it shouldn’t have. The first time you felt interest for your pursuer was right the day after he chased you through the woods without mercy. Because of his refusal to defend himself from the hero and to escape without you telling him your name, it forced you to think deeply. You were sure you were going to die that night, but you did not, you were saved. Lies. If Dabi wanted to finish you, he would have done so, but he didn't. In fact, he showed he wasn’t a monster when he refused to rip the last of your clothes off your upper body without your consent. Something about him was very wrong. All the news, articles, any information you found about him on the internet since that day gave the same, petty and incomplete reports. Only where and when he participated in which crime, no background, not even a last name. Infact, it was like he just appeared out of the thin air. All members of The League of Villains had at least some information exposed to the public regarding their private lives. Every normal person would like to forget traumatic events like the ones you experienced as soon as possible, but you did the exact opposite. And in full consciousness even though you didn’t understand why you wanted to uncover the things you started looking for about him. Luckily for you, you knew exactly where to start.

 Research instinct ran in your family. Your mother was an archaeologist, the finest one for uncovering long forgotten things, and her sister, your aunt, was a journalist, better at finding fresh news and unrevealing things that tired to stay secret. So, combing your mother’s passion and set of skills you inherited with the excess to forbidden information that your aunt had, you thought of a plan that could help you find the answers you needed.You were cunning, even more than you were aware of. When you got to your aunt’s office, you were playing well-thought-out cards. After she hugged and kissed you, and asked you a thousand questions about how you are and how you are progressing, you explained how you came with a desire to get involved in her kind of work. The reason for your desire on the one hand was to broaden your horizons for your future, and the other reason you knew would be crucial in her consent was that you wanted to occupy yourself with work to think as little as possible about the atrocities that befell you. She couldn't refuse your request. Before you even know it, you got a card with your name and the “College Student” label on it, which allowed you to move freely around all the rooms of their business space. After your aunt gave you a couple of easy tasks like cute pet reports, you completed them ahead of time, so you could spend the rest of your time in the archives they had. You would sneak up to a room full of dusty shelves filled with published articles that stood there for years, but those weren't your target documents, no, you were looking for what seemed to deviate from the average information that could have been obtained over Internet. Unauthorized articles, unpublished articles, these were the markings on the boxes that immediately caught your attention. You took out a heavy cardboard box and carried it to a table in the corner of the room. You turned on a lamp that cast a dim light on an old wooden table and clung to the documents. The first day did not bring any results, nor did the second. Endless half-written articles, sometimes just notes or suggestions for articles that have never seen the light of day for known or unknown reasons. You thought you might have made a mistake in the approach you chose, until you noticed out of the corner of your eye there was a hero who was present the night you were attacked. Number two hero, Endeavor. An expression of slight disgust crossed your face. He was no hero, he was a savage. You thought as you pulled out a paper with his name on it. You lazily read a few lines of text, almost putting it down before you got to the middle of the notes. Thank God you didn't stop reading. This is odd.

The tragedy hit the Todoroki family, after the eldest son died in a horrific accident.

That was one of the notes. You stared at the sentence for a few moments. The eldest son?

A grieving father, mother, sister and two brothers from the family. 

Two brothers, so there were three of them? You had to admit, this was news you hadn't heard of before. You pulled out your cell phone, typing in Todoroki's name. A picture of the famous family appeared on the screen and to your surprise, there were really three young men and one little girl in the picture. For a moment you felt ashamed that you didn't know about something like this, preparing to close your cell phone, but something caught your attention.

“Quirk more powerful then my own, the time will show who will be the strongest.”  Endeavor’s statement made you open the article to the end. You read an article that conveyed his praise of how his descendant would take first place as a hero, showing the world who is the strongest. A couple of lines later, quirk that belonged to the oldest son was briefly described by the father, not revealing much, just that the quirk is connected to fire. After that, the article went on to describe the Endeavor’s quirk, and on the end of the article, two doe like eyes stared back at you from the paper. You stared into two electrically blue eyes that belonged to a little red-haired boy named Touya, the eldest son. Frightened, he looked into the lens. Although this picture was almost twenty years old and the boy in it was five years old, something about him was familiar to you. You opened a new search window and entered his name. Touya Todoroki. A handfull of articles that were only mentioning his name and had no real story on him popped out. None of them contained the information about how he died, only that it was an accident. You fool, you told yourself, going back to the papers in front. You flipped through a few more pieces of paper with notes until your eyes stopped at the sentence that made every drop of blood escape from your face. You turned pale in a second, as you stared at the two short notes before you.

 Died by his own quirk. Burned alive with his own fire.

The thought of that frightened boy being devoured by his own flames brought tears to your eyes. You pursed your lips looking at Endeavor's cold face. This was covered up for a reason.

He will be a new number one hero, there is no stopping until he gets there.

The sentence found in the text before. He must have pushed him beyond the limits the poor boy could bear. Anger piled up in your chest as you squeezed your cell phone. The fact that this article didn’t come out is just confirmation that they wanted to shove it under the rug, not to find out how cruel a man called number two hero really is. You wanted to do something, you wanted to take a photo of this and if nothing else, post it on social media where knowledge would spread like a virus, but you knew it would cost your aunt her job, reputation, and in the end Endeavor with his influence would probably do everything to turn this in his favor again. Sudden moves were not smart. You buried your face between your palms, massaging your eyelids with your fingers.

So much pain in this world. It went through your head as you squinted through your fingers at Tounya’s photo, all the way to the end of the notes. You almost jumped out of your chair when you read the barely visible words at the very bottom of the paper.

Quirk: Blue flames.

The blue flame, the boy's quirk that surpassed Endeavor’s in strength was the blue flame.

An expression full of ... pain. It echoed in your head as you stared back at the boy with the icy blue eyes. Now it was clear to you why he was familiar ... the same expression of pain in those blue eyes was worn by Dabi the moment he was losing the last of his oxygen underwater. The same kind of unspoken suffering.

 Omg ... is this you? .. A hurricane of thoughts raced through your head. The scars he was wearing ... burnt skin ... everything was falling in its place. Is it possible that the poor boy managed to survive? That he managed to defeat the death of self-ignation? If so, why does it say he's dead? Why didn't they go and treat his wounds? Did they want to get rid of him? Is Endeavor such a monster that he rejected him after the boy failed? Or ... is the boy the one that wanted to escape? He wanted to save himself from the real hell he was going through. How awful must a man be for fear of him to transcend death itself? Your hands were shaking from all the things that came to your mind. You tried to calm down your rapid breathing, try to settle the dust in your mind. It must be true, it felt like the truth and nothing less. But you had no evidence, nothing but a theory that might have made sense, and the feeling of certainty in your guts unfortunately does not count. The only way you'll find out is to ask the only person who can give you an answer ... Dabi himself. And if you ignore all the alarms that are now whistling in your body that this is a bad and dangerous idea, the fact is that even if you manage to find him, if you stay alive for the third time when you face him, asking a question like this, and if it is true, can make him feel cornered. And when a wild animal is cornered, it attacks instinctively.I have to do this.You decided, not thinking about anything but one thing. But..how do I find him? 

The answer came faster than expected. You had to admit, you were a talented researcher. This whole situation would have been even fun if it hadn’t been so dark, and after you found out the recent things, even tragic. Given that you were a victim of a notorious villain twice in a row, and the first time they thought they should withdraw too much surveillance and security, the matter escalated and resulted in horrible things, this time they did not intend to repeat the mistake. Since you refused an escort that would be with you 24/7, the only compromise they agreed to was that you be moved to a new apartment intended for witness protection, and that a police officer and one hero patrol in front of that building every night. , plus you have to report to your assigned detective every week to see if there is any possible threat. Yes, you had your very own nanny detective. However, this time that nuisance was the only door that led you to your goal. After a brief formal conversation with the detective that resulted in nothing more than usual, you rocked in your chair, leaning forward.

"Are you alright !?" - he took the bait like a fish on the hook, jumping from a chair and getting down on his knees to prevent you from falling.

"Y..Yes. I am so sorry, I feel dizzy that is all. Can I please ask for a glass of water? ”

"Sure, I will get it right away." - the kind detective left his office with the intention of bringing you water, not even knowing it was a hoax. It was so simple and superficial that you couldn’t understand how he fell for it, but then you remembered that you were the victim of this story in his head and that’s why there’s no doubt turned on you.You were by the drawer of his desk in a second, opening it. Various yellow folders full of files peeking out ,crowded into the cramped space. Slowly but hurriedly, you began to run your fingers over the marked names. It didn't take you long to find what you were looking for. The League of Villains.

It was clearly printed on the folder. You took it out, flipping vigorously through the contents. Profiles ... crimes ...attempts ...You smiled when you found the thing you wanted.Possible base locations.A list that did not contain more than fifteen names that were written here after someone’s tip or some previous suspicion. You took out your cell phone, taking a picture of the list and putting the paper back in the folder.

This was the seventh destination listed on paper. Although there was no exact address, logically, but only lists of neighborhoods where the headquarters could be, it did not prevent you in your intention. You went through the last six quarters in detail, this one will be no different, even if it didn't give results either. You aimed at the darkest possible corners, the most remote spaces hidden from view. Instead of fear, excitement prevailed. Even if something small goes wrong, you are not helpless, at least you thought so, you have your quirk. You walked a couple of streets where there was nothing suspicious, until you walked down a street where a familiar voice came to your ear. You looked back, but there was no one, just scattered wet cardboard boxes and a large trash can. You looked again, realizing that to the left of the container, a meter from it, there was a small window in the building. The voices came from the inside. You approached carefully, eavesdropping as best you could. You couldn't understand them, they were too quiet, but you'd swear you heard that voice somewhere before. Unfortunately, you didn’t get to find out who it was before something cold and sharp got under your neck.

"It's not a very nice thing to spy on others." A woman's voice giggled happily in your ear as she held the blade under your neck.

[221castiel]

Schooled

Destiel Teen AU // read on Ao3 here!

“I would like for you all to read chapter three over the weekend,” the teacher, Rowena calls as she hands out the marked assignments. “And do read over the notes I've left on your essays-” 

Dean looks up as she pauses next to him, her gaze staying locked on his own as she places his essay face down onto his desk. Her expression sat somewhere between annoyed and concerned, with her lips pressed in a tight line but eyes wide.

Frankly Dean wasn’t sure which he would prefer. 

“Are you able to talk after class Dear?” She asks softly, Dean only managing to give a small nod of his head before she walks off again. “And have a good weekend everyone,” Rowena calls just as the bell rings.

As the rest of the class begins getting up, collecting their bags, and sorting through papers Dean doesn't move his gaze instead resting on the paper. Slowly he flips the page over, his heart seeming to stop as his eyes land on the 8.5/20 written in the top corner; a circle had been drawn around it as if the bright red wasn’t enough to get his attention. The text that covered the page had been marked with corrections, pointing out various grammar mistakes, and other errors. 

Fuck. 

That’s all Dean can think as Rowena walks back to his side and crouches next to his desk.

“Dean,” she begins softly, her tone gentle, too gentle. Why couldn't she just yell at him, it'd be easier. It wouldn’t bring the weight to his stomach, or the burning to the tip of his nose. “I asked you to write a five paragraph essay on how war affects humanity using the texts we’ve been reading over the past month.” She pauses, “you gave me a paragraph.” 

He clenches his jaw, forcing a small nod, “you chose three texts, each of those should have had their own paragraph where you explained why you chose them. We talked about this together, do you remember?” 

Another nod of his head. His lips part, a shaken breath filling his lungs, then exiting, staying that way until he’s sure he won’t cry. “I didn’t have enough time,” Dean whispers 

“I gave you an extra week to finish this.” 

Finally he looks up away from his essay and to his teacher's wide eyed gaze. “I think you need to begin focusing more in class and less on your friends.” 

Dean doesn’t reply, he doesn’t think he can. 

“There’s only so much I can help you with. You need to start trying yourself.”

“I am trying.”

“Have you been meeting with your tutor? writing the notes? Reading the practise I give you?” He looks back to his essay, the paper shaking slightly in his hands. “Dean, I know you struggle with english but unless you put the effort in it isn’t going to be easier.” Rowena pauses. “You aren’t even showing up half the time.”

Why would he? 

So he could feel stupid?

So he could sit numb in his spot pretending to understand the blur of words in front of him. Be asked questions he didn’t know the words to, and get yelled at for interrupting again. Every ticking second burning against his skin, the boredom dragging on, mixed with the drowning feeling of not understanding. 

Why the fuck would he come. 

“Dean-”

“I need to go.”

“Can we please finish talking, we need to find a solution.”

Dean doesn't listen, instead grabbing his backpack from the floor, throwing it over his shoulder as he stomps out of the classroom. He makes his way through the school and to the parking lot, pulling open the driver door of Baby and practically falling in. 

Fuckin’ english. 

He throws his backpack to the back seats before crumbling his essay into a tight ball and throwing it onto the ground of the passenger seat. “Fuck!” He screams burying his face into his hands, palms of his hands bruising into his skin causing a dull pain across his face. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

The thought continues to spiral as he sits with his hands covering his face, staying that way until the passenger door is pulled open.

Immediately his hands jolt away, head darting up to meet Cas as the other gets in. “My apologies,” Cas says, pulling the passenger door closed. He turns his head just in time for Dean to plaster a grin across his face, one that Cas returns with a small smile. “Meg had needed help with cleaning up her art project.” 

“It’s all good,” Dean hums. He keeps the smile across his face as with shaking hands he pulls out the car keys and starts the engine. He glances over his shoulders, eyes meeting Cas’s for a moment before he turns back to the road, and begins driving out of the mostly empty parking lot. 

From his right he can hear Cas shifting through his binder, papers flipping slowly, then the soft scratching of a pencil. It’s the only sound that fills the car, Dean’s own mind spinning too much to talk, stomach heavy at the very thought of his essay.

With his left hand still around the wheel Dean reaches his right out, eyes darting to the side just long enough to allow him to lace his finger through Cas’s. The other’s hand’s warm in his own, soft, though not giving the comfort he’d wanted. 

Dean clears his throat his. “Did ya get your chem test back?” 

A small hum comes from his right. “It went well, I got ninety seven percent.”

“Well?” Dean asks, forcing his voice to sound lighter, more teasing then pained. Not wanting the other know the way his heart tugs at the disappointment Cas has for anything less than perfect. “Angel that’s fuckin’ awesome.”

“It would have been better but the teacher had decided the indicator would have become a redy orange, not red.”

Dean clenches his jaw, trying hard to avoid the annoyance that was clear in Cas’s voice. Cas didn’t take ninety sevens, he didn’t nineties, and definitely didn’t take forty twos. He didn’t take less than perfect.

Dean’s less than perfect. 

The small sound of pencil against paper continues as Cas works on whatever homework he has. The small scratching barely audible over his hammering heart, mixed with his spinning thoughts. 

His essay.

Cas.

The math test he has on monday.

Cas.

The science test he’d had the day before.

Cas.

Work

Cas.

Failing. 

Cas. 

Cas. 

“I think we should break up,” Dean suddenly says, the words coming without a second thought. 

“Pardon?”

Before he can stop himself Dean glances to his right, getting a glimpse of Cas’s wide eyed expression, lips pressed in a tight line. His dark hair ruffled and adorable. “I think we should break up,” Dean forces himself to repeat, looking back to the road that spreads out in front of them. 

A sharp inhale comes from his right, causing Dean’s grip around the steering wheel to only tighten, his other hand pulling away from Cas’s and going back to his side. “You think we should break up?” Cas finally says, sounding ust as breathless as Dean feels. “Why?”

Dean’s lips part. Why? Because Dean’s stupid, becasue he takes the easiest math class their school offered and still barely manges to get a high C, because he’s stupid. Because he can barely understand the words he reads. Because he’s stupid. 

Because Cas’s absolutely brilliant, and athletic and perfect.

And because Dean’ss stupid.

“Because,” Dean finally whispers, taking a slow breath. Despite that the air barely fills his lungs, when did it become so hard to breathe? 

“Because- you know,” Dean glances at the other, the words stuck in his throat as his gaze darts across Cas’s face then down his body, before looking back to the road.

He takes the turn out of town and in the direction of Cas’s house, his heart hammering in his chest, grip tight around the steering wheel. “You wear button ups,” Dean finally says, “and I wear t-shirts.”

From the corner of his eye Dean can see Cas’s hurt expression drop, his head tilting to the side as a crease forms between his eyebrows. “You’re breaking up with me because we wear different shirts?”

Dean hesitates before nodding.

“Dean,” Cas says, “are you alright?” 

“Yah.”

“Dean-”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t se-”

“I said i’m fuckin fine,” Dean snaps no longer carring to keep his voice steady, he just needs to scream, to cry, for Cas to leave “I just don’t think things a fuckin workin’ anymore! Don’t you get it, I-” Before he can continue his angered rant, a low groan comes from Baby's engines as the car begins slowing down. 

Shit.

Dean steers the car to the side of the road, jaw clenched as Baby comes to a stop. His foot is pressed to the gas, teeth grinding as that doesn't work, the keys are then twisted off and on, twice without any success. The whole time Cas’s stare burns against the side of Dean’s head only making the fire in his chest hotter.

“Fuck,” Dean screams, slaming his fists against the steering wheel.

“Should I call a mechanic?” Cas suggests softly. 

Dean gives a harsh shake of his head and pushes his door open. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, “I can fix it.”

Much to Dean’s relief Cas doesn’t follow him out of the car and let’s him walk to the impalas hood alone. They were only a few miles out of town yet it was quiet, the only sign of life being a distant house that stood a few yards away, and even that, with its lights flicked off, seemed empty. The sky above a dull grey leaving a chill in the air. 

He can still feel the spiral of emotion coursing through him as he opens the hood and begins working on the engine. A feeling Dean no longer would call anger, he didn’t so much as burn from the inside out, but felt as if he was being torn apart, dull pain piercing every inch of him. Stabbing at his heart and tearing the air from his lungs as his thoughts continue to spiral. 

He doesn’t make an attempt to wipe his eyes as his vision becomes blurry -he doesn’t think it would do any good- and instead keeps his head down. Even as the passenger door opened and closed, and crunching of Cas’s shoes followed. 

“Dean,”Cas whispers, stopping at Dean’s side. Dean clenches his jaw, gaze staying down, he doesn’t think he can look up without crying, he can barely breathe without crying, each breath coming out more shaken, more forced than the last. 

“Dean,” Cas repeats, though Dean doesn’t look up. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d gotten your essay back?”

“Does it matter?” Dean mumbles. He tightens his grip around a piece of the engine, the metal causing a dull pain across the palm of his hand. It doesn’t help, and Dean has to let go to wipe away forming tears. “Not like it’s anything to fuckin celebrate over.”

Cas steps closer and takes Dean’s hand in his own causing Dean to look up, his eyes meeting Cas’s. “You’re still able to tell me,” Cas insists.

“Why?” Dean laughs bitterly, “so you can fuckin’ laugh at me?’.

“Why would I laugh?” A bubble of emotion burns in Dean’s chest as Cas’s gaze darts over his face. He wants to cry, so bad. His failed essay. Driving Sam to soccer practise. The new book they were beginning. His two jobs. His science test on monday. It was all spiralling, crumbling no matter how much he tried to keep it together. 

“Because I’m fuckin’ stupid,” Dean snaps, voice shaking as he speaks, “I’m stupid Cas, I can’t even get a fuckin fifty precent on an essay.”

“I’m- i’m-” Dean gasps, the first tear falls and he doesn’t have the energy to stop the next, a third soon following until his whole body’s shaking with each sob. The pain stabbing through him, burning with each gasped breath. “Cas.”

Cas let’s go of Dean’s hand and instead pulls him into a tight hug, his warmth bringing no comfort as the tears continue to roll down Dean’s face no matter how much he wishes they'd stop. “Cas,” Dean sobs, the pounding of his heart almost louder than his own voice, “I’m try- i’m- I’m trying. I swear.”

He tries to speak more but the words won’t come as sobs rake his throat, tears and snot staining his face. He can barely feel Cas’s arms around him, his own grip around Cas tight as if he was the only thing keeping Dean standing, and maybe he was. 

“I’m trying,” Dean whispers once he has no tears left to cry. “I really am.”

“this is why you wanted us to break up?” Dean doesn’t reply, he doesn’t need to, Cas already knows the answer and the way Cas’s arms tighten around him only further confirms that. “Dean you are absolutely brilliant” Cas says, “one essay doesn’t change that.”

“You know it’s more than one.”

Dean takes a slow breath, an action that seems more forced than it should have. His throat is raw and his eyes feel itchy and dry, yet the pain persists, just as consuming and raw as before. He doesn’t even want to cry anymore, he doesn’t want to scream or throw something, he just wants the pain to end. 

“I am also aware that most mechanics require schooling to know at least half of what you do,” Cas whispers as Dean rests his chin against Cas’s shoulder. Squeezing his eyes shut he takes another forced breath, his hand clenching the fabric of Cas’s trench coat. “Or that no one is as charismatic as you, or kind, or selfless.”

“None of that,” Dean whispers, his voice raw and throat burning as he speaks, “means jack shit.” 

Cas pulls away, letting their eyes meet. Cas’s eyes are wide, the concern in them clear rimmed with the faintest shade of pink that twists Dean's stomach, under Cas’s intense gaze breathing’s hard, standing’s hard, being alive’s hard.

“Dean,” Cas says, he raises a hand and rests it gently against the side of Dean’s jaw, the touch barely ghosting his skin. “You are raising your brother,” he hates himself, “you’re working two jobs,” he hates Cas’s gentle tone, “you can’t blame yourself for your struggles with school,” he hates himself.

He hates himself. 

He hates himself. 

Dean steps away, avoiding Cas’s gaze as he slams the impalas hood shut, “can we just get goin’” Dean says, walking back to the driver’s door. He can feel Cas’s gaze following him, though Dean refuses to meet it, he doesn’t think he could keep breathing if he did. “I’ve gotta get to work.”

Cas doesn’t make an argument much to Dean’s relief and instead takes his seat on the passenger's side without another word. Letting the silence hang, Dean starts the car. He keeps his hands on the wheel, even when all he wants is to reach out for Cas, the pain teetering on the edge of unmanageable. He keeps his eyes on the road even when he gets a glimpse of Cas leaning to the back seat, and he keeps his mouth shut when Cas sits properly in his seat, a book now in hand. 

“Your class started reading this yesterday, correct?”

Dean glances to his side, eyeing the book Cas held out for him to see. Frankenstein, he’d barely made it past the first paragraph before giving up. The story, being written in the 1800’s, was long with a blur of unnessaccary descriptions and words Dean could barely pronounce, never mind understand. Even if he could read it, he doubt it was interesting enough to keep his attention. 

“Yah,” Dean replies looking back to the road. 

The sound of flipping pages comes, then Cas clearing his throat. “To Mrs. Saville, England. St. Petersburgh, December eleventh,” Cas begins, voice steady filling the car as he reads the first line. “You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings.”

Dean doesn’t stop Cas as the other continues reading through the first chapter, only pausing after each paragraph to explain what was happening or add his own opinions. Once or twice Dean manages to choke out a few words, thoughts -analysis as Rowena would call them- about the story that has a smile tugging at Cas’s lips. They continue that way until Dean pulls up to Cas’s house, his hand finally letting go of the steering wheel to put the car in park. 

He looks to his right, unable to stop a smile as he watches Cas finish reading, the sunlight that fell through the window warming his tanned skin. Beautiful. Add that to the list of Cas’s perfections. Kind. Thoughtful How did Dean get so lucky?

“I am required not only to raise the spirits of others, but sometimes to sustain my own, when theirs are failing,” Cas finishes reading as he folds the corner of the page then slowly closes the book. He doesn’t look up, his expression sat in a way that causes Dean’s stomach to drop. He doesn’t think he can handle another conversation, he’s tired from crying, and the pain had only just become manageable. 

Despite what Dean wants, Cas begins talking. “Dean you are brilliant, and I’m aware that me saying that doesn’t make you believe it,” Cas pauses and takes a slow breath. “But please don’t let that determine your worth, or at least determine whether you are good enough for me or not. You are more than good enough.”

“Cas-”

“Dean, I am capable of making my own decisions and I choose you and I would choose you everyday of my life,” Cas says. “If you can’t realize your own brilliance at least let me.”

Dean opens his mouth, trying to find some argument, some sarcastic comment that would lighten the mood, but nothing comes and instead he’s left to stare, Cas’s eyes locked on his own. Emotion bubbling through his chest. A warmth that makes him want to cry all over again. He can feel the electricity like fire through his veins and for once he welcomes the spiral of emotion.

“Thank you,” Dean manages to whisper, though that doesn’t even begin to cover everything he wants to say, how much he loves the other. How he can barely breathe. How he feels as if he’s melting under Cas’s gentle look. “I love you.”

A smile spreads across Cas’s face and he slowly leans in allowing Dean to meet him halfway for a soft kiss and when they pull away, lips barely grazing, Cas replies; “I love you too.”

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

Astor just sighed to himself as he walked down the castle’s long hallways.

The windows on this level of the castle spanned from the floor to ceiling, with natural sunlight dripping in through the gold trim. His eyes squinted at the light, and he let his hair fall closer to his face. I should get a hood one of these days.

His footsteps were mostly quiet and unnoticable, which unfortunately for him, led to a less than ideal collision with someone as he turned the corner.

“SON OF A—”

The man ran straight into Astor, his papers scattering across the floor. He shook a fist at the prophet, angrily—he was some old soul with blond hair with bits of grey, and a weathered round face with a set of furious blue eyes. 

“Watch where you’re going, you clod!” Ligero yelled. “I have half a mind to report you for interfering with sensitive documents!”

Astor leaned down, picking up the papers—seemingly just full of various recorded tax benefits—and rolled his eyes, mumbling. “Yes...and we wouldn’t want you to stress yourself working on only half a brain…”

“What was that?”

“Mm...nothing…”

“You youths...I hate mumbling…” 

Astor fitted the papers into a neat stack before handing them back to Ligero, which he snatched up, flipping through them carefully. The prophet gave a shallow, shallow bow. 

“My deepest apologies...Lord Ligero.”  

Ligero suddenly stopped reading, raising an eyebrow and looking him up and down for a moment. “Do I...know you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “If the stars had aligned correctly, this would be our first and last meeting.”

The Lord wagged a finger at him as his eyes lit up. “Ahhh...you’re that crazy star seer. The one aways snuggled up in the queen’s shadow…”

“Gh…...I’m not—”

“Yeah…” Ligero rubbed his chin. “You’re that sickly twig that’s been whining about our deaths and such...always making a fuss since Elane died.” He chuckled to himself, while Astor scowled.

“Her Majesty’s...passing, puts the future of Hyrule on a path of certain doom. I believe I’ve made my predictions of past clear, that the princess will not awaken her power in—”

 “Ayap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap…” Ligero opened and closed his hand like a mouth in mockery. “Listen boy, you won’t win any favours by spewing your miserable thoughts at every meeting.”

“Maybe I don’t desire your favour.”

“Well then who are you looking to please? Cause I’m afraid it’s a little late to cuck His Majesty any further.”

“Excuse me?” Astor took a step forward, but the Lord stood his ground with a smile, cocking his head to the side. 

“I mean, that’s the only reason some nobody like you is here in the first place, isn’t it? Royal connections? Lovely pity on a scrawny useless orph—”

“I’m here to do my job.”

“Aw, don’t live in denial, boy. I have an eye for this sort of thing. And I’m always partial to helping a lad in need…”

Astor was already turning to move past Ligero, but suddenly stopped. He smirked to himself in amusement. “Is that so…?”

“Oh sure. My own son I’ve raised to be the peak of perfection. Striking young man, dashing blond—like me—and skilled. Rising up the knight’s ranks faster than an octo balloon! That’s all me, all my parenting right th—”

“And which son is that?”

“My oldest, my…...one, son.” He glared at him with a frown. 

“Hmm…” Astor could barely hold back from snickering. “And what do you think of this oldest son then?”

“Oh, too much of his mother’s child, if you ask me. But much better than I in some regards, though of course, not all of them. Ohoho…”

“Yes…” Astor smiled to himself. “You’re a funny man, Ligero Hartell…”

Ligero finally stopped laughing to himself. “But you see, perfection like that isn’t born. It’s made and nurtured, you have to coax it out of them.” He poked Astor’s chest, and he flinched away in disgust. “Quit your mumbling, your babbling, your little grief stricken dreams, it’s all useless. No one cares for it.”

The Lord went to pat his head, like a puppy, but Astor dodged out of the movement with a verbal “nope” as he whipped behind him. Ligero just shrugged. “If you can’t churn yourself to be a better man, then you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. You want to be something more? Something of actual merit? Taken more seriously than some child that was dragged up these polished steps out of a late woman’s mercy?” He flicked his wrist, adjusting the cuff of his pristine white sleeve. “Stop chasing the dead. Don’t be blinded by replaceable things like compassion and the sort. Find a wealthy friend or something, get rich, get power.” 

Ligero turned to continue walking down the hall. “Besides, even if it is like you say—then all the more to ride the sayings of, ‘You only live once.’”

Astor glowered, watching Ligero walk away. He scoffed, and started to turn back towards his own destination, before the Lord called out once more—  

“And cut your hair or something! You’re no Rito, quit with the braids. It’ll get all greasy and frizzy...Trust me, I knew someone with hair like that, once.”

Astor’s expression softened just a bit—nearly undetectable—before immediately being replaced with a darker scowl.

He kept walking, his deep purple robes dancing just a finger-widths above the stone polished steps. He opened and closed his hand to himself, miming Ligero’s speaking.

“Always partial to helping a lad in need...gods, seems childhood memory has still captured him to perfection.” Astor came up on the wooden door, and walked inside. 

The ceiling was a stone dome, littered with old parchment maps, and Sheikah charts, along with chalk that outlined ancient constellations and designs. There was an old chalkboard—stolen, from the Sheikah department—with further sketches and notes, torn out pages from old journals and texts pinned to the board and walls. Even the window was covered by hanging gyrospheres and astrolabes, twirling in infinite suspension. Since they blocked the window’s hinges, they were probably the reason why the room smelled so musty.

Astor closed the door, and flopped down on an old velvet bench, staring at the ceiling in silence.

“BOO!”

“GAAaaAAAh!” Astor shot up, whipping his head at the dangerous intruder, only to find a giggling, blonde girl.

She was doing her best to muffle her laughter by holding her hands to her mouth. “Gotchu again, Mr. Astor!” 

He sighed. “What are you doing here?”

The princess shuffled towards his desk, hands already bored and ready to play with the nearest pointy object. “You took so long to get heeeeree….why was that old guy even talking to you?”

He fixed his hair behind his ears, not really paying attention. “Oh? You heard all that, then?”

“Yeaaah, the halls are—” she cupped her hands over her mouth, “—ECHOEY, Echoey, echoey...echoey….” Her voice grew fainter at each repetition. 

“Stop shouting in my study. You’ll attract the rats…”

“I like rats!” She ran back up to Astor, sitting on the other end of the bench. “They’re like dogs! But small!”

“They’re rodents. Think more possums and mice.”

“Like that old guy, right?” She played with a loose thread on her dress. “Last week you called him a gross...virgin? Vermin… Velvet…? I forgot the word—”

Astor suddenly scooped the young Zelda up under her arms, holding her out in front of him like she was a disease. “Don’t tell anyone I said that, alright? That’s our secret.”

“Put me doooooooown!!”

“No. Get out. I’m working.”

The princess struggled in his grip so much that by the time he reached the door with her, she was nearly upside down. He opened the door and she craned her neck up, pleading at him with an upside down frown.

“Pleeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase let me stay??? Dad never bothers to look for me here….and your room is so cool! Even mom hung out here a lot…” Astor physically flinched, and Zelda took that as an opportunity to let loose some puppy eyes. “Pweaaaaaaase????”

Astor was so ready, so ready to shake her off his arm and let her possibly break a bone tumbling down the steps. “Oh! It was an accident, Your Majesty. She was so busy talking and talking and bouncing off the walls she forgot how stairs worked! I tried to stop her but she used her superglue prank again! Oh what a shame!” It would have been so easy…

Instead, the prophet just sighed, turned around, and let her topple onto the room’s floor. She yelled a “Yay!” before scuttling towards the windowsill, adorned with sparkly objects. Astor made his way to his desk, muttering.

“You can stay for five minutes. But don’t touch anything.”

Zelda immediately started touching and spinning the gyrospheres around in her hand.

The princess pranced and sat and played and pondered around the room—five minutes, ten, fifteen, and twenty. Finally she hobbled up to Astor, her arms full of shiny orbs and trinkets. She peered at his desk.

“So whatcha working on?” Zelda asked, looking at the weird sketches. “You seeing the future and stuff?”

“Something like that,” he replied stiffly. Silence resumed in the room.

Zelda set down her arm full of collectables, before standing on her toes to catch a better glimpse. “So what’s gonna happen? What’s gonna happen in the future?”

The prophet rolled his eyes, still trying to focus on his work. “Oh, you know. Death, doom, destruction. You’ll fail to awaken your powers, everyone perishes...the usual sort.”

Zelda crossed her arms and sat on the ground with a huff. “You don’t know that.”

“I do know that.”

“Oh yeah? Well if you can see the future, then WHAT am I gonna do next? Betcha can’t tell!”

“You’re going to attempt a backflip.”

“I’m going to do a b—” Zelda had jumped up, her arms already in the air, before she let them drop and sputtered angrily. “H-Hey! How’d you know that?!”

“Because that’s what you always do to try and disprove me.” He nodded towards the broken chair beside the door, along with a broken shelf, and a broken footstool.

“Hmph!”

“But that’s not how telling the future works anyways.”

“Oh yeah, well how am I supposed to know if you never TELL ME!” She suddenly scrambled into Astor’s lap, trying to steal his papers. 

“H-Hey! Get off you insolent—”

“Tell me what your jooooooob issssss you never doooooooooo anything despite having the coolest room…” Zelda palmed her face on his papers, refusing to move.” 

Astor was just about pulling his hair out, before taking a deep breath. “If I tell you, will you get off me?”

“Maaaybe.”

“Ugh. You’re insufferable…” Astor leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. 

“Well it’s like this. Every choice and possibility exists. Every universe and timeline with every outcome and conclusion you could imagine exists in the grand unknown. There’s a universe where you’re a boy, there’s a universe where you don’t exist, there’s a universe where you’re quiet and don’t bother me all the time—”

“Is there one where my mom’s alive?” Zelda leaned her head back and looked up at him.

He was silent for a moment, pondering his words. “...Yes. There is.” 

He finally raised an arm, gesturing to the decorated ceiling. “See now, predicting the future is all a matter of trying to identify exactly what kind of universe you’re in. You look to the stars—gifts from the spirits, who roam as a constant in all timelines. You look to dreams, and magic, and visions...your surroundings, the people...there’s a pattern and predictability that I can use to identify what universe we’re in, and how the future will play out.”

“So you think we’re in the one where the Calamity wins?” Zelda raised an eyebrow.

“From what I’ve seen, I’m almost certain. Yes.”

“That sucks.”

“It does...suck.”

Zelda jumped up and went back to playing with the gold and silver trinkets. “Why don’t we just go to a universe where we don’t lose?”

Astor turned back to his work. “Because that’s not possible.”

“Really? You sure?”

Astor stopped, pondering for just a moment, before shrugging and continuing to work. 

“Probably anyways. I imagine millions of people have tried before, millenia ago. And from the looks of things, nothing’s worked.”

Zelda fiddled with an Ancient Core. 

[clownattack]

Castor - character bio

I’ve been struggling with getting a bio out for Cas for waaaaay too long now, but i feel pretty ok with how it looks currently - i'm going to repost it on my art blog with some drawings of Cas and Hjalle in the future (hopefully). If you want to skip most of the nonsense and just get a feel for her personality, the section under the bio paragraphs is FULL OF POINTS.

links to drawn refs here and here

Longpost under the cut

✦ Early life in Hjalle:

Being born into the noble family Aran, Castor’s early life consisted mostly of being pampered by the attendants and strict education. Cas was a rowdy kid, and with time, lack of affection and validation from her family served to amplify the trait - she went from occasionally disobedient to full-on antagonistic towards her parents, and the nobility as a whole. She began to sneak out; spending her time outside of the Fort, spying on the guards and trying to bribe knights into taking her on as a page.

When Cas turned nine a sibling came into the picture, and she made it her duty to assure Aster’s upbringing would be better than hers. She poured everything she had into Aster, but soon developed a brash and overbearing streak, unyielding in her focus to teach the meek little sister to stand her ground. Aster became torn between Cas and the parents, who in all fairness, treated her much better than their firstborn. This would remain the case until Castor’s dragon-induced injuries.

In her late teens, Cas was seldom seen in the fort - to everyone's great relief. Her mood was always sour, she gave up on her studies and only seemed to care about Aster and joining the hunting parties. Her parents reached their limit when Castor announced she would not become one of the renowned judges of House Aran - this led to an explosive argument, which concluded with Castor storming out. For the following two years, she lived and worked with rangers tasked with protecting and providing for the town.

It was in those years that Cas acquired her battle prowess and scars, the most prominent being a gift from an especially large and angry dragon. A single swipe of its tail tore Castor’s chest and forearm open, forcing the hunting party to rush her to the fort in (what the hunters expected to be) a futile attempt to get her family to provide medical help for their dying kin. The reception was cold indeed, and if it weren’t for Aster’s hysterics and outrage over her family’s indifference, Cas would have not survived the grievous wounds. The upside to this event was a new high tale to impress people with, and strengthening the bond between two sisters. The downside - Castor was now under her parent’s thumb. They made her accept the position of inquisitor; to make up for the hassle she caused them. Taking up the mantle turned Castor’s world upside down - not only would she have to work in close proximity to her father, but her dreams of being knighted were shattered, as inquisitorial duties stand in stark opposition to virtues of knighthood. As Inquisitor she was tasked with investigating and interrogating for the court - the latter, as Aran tradition had it, was extraordinarily bloody.

 ✦ Vesuvia:

Almost as soon as she arrived, the city sparked something in Cas. This was unexpected to say the least; she was certain the years of gruesome work as inquisitor numbed her to simple joys of life. The sights and sounds of Vesuvia however, made her eager to explore and see how everything ticked - and the more she saw the more she wished to remain in the city. After attending the Masquerade and becoming acquainted with Asra, Cas was prepared to do anything to stay - even if it meant sucking up to the Buffoon count and begging for a job. Lucio proved to be anything but opposed - he’d heard of the “bloody good shows” (pun intended) Castor was infamous for, and was eager to take her off her parents hands. This led to working parallel to the count and his court, but also enabled Cas to dabble in magic under Asra’s tutelage.

This slight betterment of Cas’ situation would not last long however, as The Red Plague took complete hold of the city mere months after she took up her residence in Vesuvia. After perishing, and being brought back by Asra, she very slowly regains certain memories and traits - her sister, love of astronomy, sword skills. She sneaks out, snoops, and is a handful overall; but Asra is happy to see Castor’s “new” self free of bitterness and pain.

After this point, the “game events” take place. I like to imagine Castor braving an amalgam of Nadia and Portia routes, with a fistful (or multiple) of courtier drama. Castor is tasked with an investigation, slowly  but surely unravelling how deep the corruption runs in Vesuvia, and how much of it can be attributed to the courtiers. The conclusion of her story focuses on first facing off against the court, then the Justice Arcana.

  ✦ Physical appearance

Light olive skin, she picks up a slight tan in Vesuvia.

Dark gray eyes, striking marbling on the iris.

Long girl - 176 cm tall, loves being the “tall friend” (and manhandling people close to her). Being taller than her is taken as an indirect challenge.

She has a rectangular body type, could be described as a “runner’s body”.

Prominent scarring across right forearm and torso, missing right breast.

Tastefully disheveled. Her hair has a constantly windswept quality, and the gray streaks seem to be especially unruly.

Inherited the “Aran silver” (early graying), she tries to ignore it. “The more you hide it, the more it shows”.

Secretly really bothered by the many similarities to her father. Avoids looking at herself too much, and whenever she does it feels like he’s looking back at her, judging.

Only ever smoothes herself over before important court meetings and social events. She doesn't know how makeup works, so before any party she asks Asra to sort her out. Cas looking prim is both a treat and a source of friendly jabs.

✦ Character traits

Power walking by default. This can be somewhat intimidating, and she won’t stop if someone is in her way - just put them to the side and continue.

Puts up a really convincing pretence of formality and refinement.

In actuality she finds this facade tiresome, and just wants to talk fast about battle/hunting feats or astronomy. Maybe show off her pyromancy.

Loves socializing, it recharges her batteries.

Dilligent worker.

Tends to overwork herself and neglect her relationships.

Often scatter minded and wanting to do too many things at one time.

Doesn’t appreciate people instigating physical contact or getting up in her face. She needs to prepare herself for it, or be the initiator.

Stubborn as a mule. Never knows when to stop pressing people.

Extremely callous at times.

Annoyingly overbearing

Most of this springs from a place of fear - things had a habit of getting worse whenever her family imposed decisions onto her. In her mind, if she’s the one holding the reins, everything will be better. And if something does fail - she will be the only one to blame.

Starting arguments comes much too easily to her, but she’s just as quick to introspect, and seek out the person she argued with to apologize and approach the issue in an appropriate manner.

Forgives easily

Eternally scoffing at astrology. She knows shes being bigoted, but at this point its almost like an inside joke between her and Asra. “Astrology? It's baby stuff. PSEUDOSCIENCE!” (she cries as she worries over her afternoon tarot reading and preparing pretty horoscopes for the Shop...)

A huge hypocrite at times. “Do as I say, not as I do” could easily be her motto.

Both the upright and reversed Knight of Swords card sums her character up perfectly.

✦ Occupation & Residency

Vesuvia:

Beginning of her story follows the game canon almost to a T - Cas lives with Asra in the Shop, and works there. It bores her to death, and she plays tricks on every customer just to entertain herself.

After being officially hired by Nadia as the Palace Magician, Castor moves out of the shop and purchases a modest house in Goldgrave, much below the value of what Nadia offered her, and what she could afford. It’s convenient and that’s what matters to Cas. She continues supplying the shop diligently, and takes over whenever Asra runs off.

Nadia insisted on Castor having an office in the palace. It grew on her with time, and after The Devil is dealt with it becomes her little “hub”.

Hjalle:

Cas lived with her family in the castle site until 17 years old.

After denying her parents their plans for her future as a judge, she hunkered down in a hunting lodge outside of the town, and spent almost two years living that way - she still thinks of these two years as the most joyous time in her life.

The only thing she ever used her family’s wealth for was commissioning the construction of an extravagant observatory. Reminiscent of a gothic fortress, the stark exterior is contrasted with insides filled with artwork and art-nouveau ornaments. The central chamber is a vast library with a powerful telescope in its apse - it is a sight that could take the breath of the most haughty of nobles.

There’s a tiny living space below the main chamber, furnished sparingly, but with a lovely fireplace (in Hjalle, its a necessity). It’s where Cas stays after becoming the inquisitor/whenever she visits after the in-game events.

✦ Trivia

Cas is 23 years old when she first arrives to Vesuvia - 28 at the time of The Devil’s downfall.

She freed Merlin from a merchant’s cage in the Red Market, during one of her outings in the three year interlude after her death - Asra fumes after they find out she snuck out to the market - yet is amazed that Cas found a familiar.

Cas regained her first memories via touching objects linked to her past life - a letter from Aster, articles of clothing, a sword...

This self re-discovering takes a turn for the worse when Cas finally finds a large, ornate knife - the one she inherited after becoming inquisitor. The memories it resurfaces are a staggering blow to Castor, completely derailing the beliefs she had about her own person. She thought of herself as a paragon, and remembering the torture she inflicted upon others, the lives taken in the name of “justice” made her relapse into bitterness and disenchantment. She deals with those feelings as her investigation into the courtiers progresses.

Predominantly uses pyromancy, other types of magic are strictly used for her work at the palace, and rather sparingly.

Could be best described as a battlemage - enjoys being in melee range and assaulting her quarry with both sword and fire; the latter being used more as a way to distract or stagger the enemy than actually harm. There's no fun in just burning them up!

Doesn’t cook for herself, although she has a natural knack for it - will only cook for guests and short people.

Her dislike of Lucio clashes with gratitude for employing her when she first arrived to Vesuvia - he was the knife which cut Cas off from her parents, and it’s something she could never forget.

Demiromatic/sexual.

She was offered to be knighted by Nadia after defeating The Devil. Cas declined - It’s much more than a title to her, and accepting seemed like mockery (considering her past as inquisitor).

Short fuse, she learns to better control herself while working in the palace. But if someone really pushes her the nearby candles miiiight get a bit out of control. Or she’ll just throttle them.

Hates her full name - Castor is such a mouthful. Sounds stuck up too...

[myforeverforlife]

caught in your orbit.

Byun Baekhyun, a name synonymous with success. His fame skyrocketed during his early days as an actor and model, and it seemed like his new venture into fashion design was taking him even higher. You’ve worked with Baekhyun for years, accompanying him to shoots and using his face as a canvas for your makeup. You’re no stranger to Baekhyun’s flirtatious advances, but as much as you’d like to give in, something holds you back...

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Word Count: 3,952

Masterlist

It was easy to be swept up in the modeling industry, where each face seemed even more beautiful than the last. But you've always been intensely career-driven, and you were determined not to let anything distract you from your work. 

However, it was hard when former model/actor turned creative director for fashion brand Privé was sitting in your makeup chair. It never failed to amaze you how Byun Baekhyun easily drew people into his orbit, everyone attracted to the shine and brilliance that he emanated. 

And you were one of them — a moth drawn to a luminous flame.

Baekhyun's soft locks fell over his forehead, styled messily in a way to suggest a carefree look. "How long has it been since we worked together? I haven't seen you in forever." He opened his eyes, staring up at you with a fond smile. 

“We saw each other at the TirTir shoot two days ago, Baekhyun. Now, stop talking. You’re going to ruin my work,” you chastised him as you hurried to salvage the crooked smudge of shadow drawn along his lashes. You were in the midst of giving him the illusion of thicker eyelashes without the harshness of regular eyeliner. In fact, for this shoot, you were forgoing it altogether.  

Dutiful as ever, Baekhyun shut his mouth, although you could see the corners of his lips twitching as he struggled to remain still. The two of you had built up a playful friendship over the years, a light game of cat-and-mouse going back and forth. For every joke, every mischievous nudge in your direction, you were easily able to match him with one of your own. Of course, Baekhyun had been a canvas for other makeup artists to work on, but none of them came close to you. He admired your work so much, that he had asked you to work exclusively for him, a constant part of his team. You often spent long, exhausting hours following him around to events and schedules, but you took pride in your work, and you genuinely enjoyed being around Baekhyun.

Maybe a bit too much. 

As you finished smudging the eyeshadow at the base of his lashes, you took a step back. Today’s shoot called for a natural, laid-back kind of look. Baekhyun was honored to be chosen as the model for the front cover of Lined magazine, along with a 5-page story on his career. The emphasis of this spread was to highlight Baekhyun's achievements — all while managing to stay humble and innovative. As a result, the creative team had selected outfits with muted colors like beige and rich navy blue, all to highlight the star of the month's issue.

You had done your best to complement these outfit choices, choosing to keep eye makeup to a minimum with only eyeshadow along the top lashline. The rest of Baekhyun’s face had been kept minimal as well. Since his skin was already maddeningly clear, you had chosen to skip his regular cushion foundation and used only concealer for any touch-ups. His cheeks were dusted with a faint flush of a pale peachy color, and you had put a bit of highlighter atop the blush. The highlighter wasn’t the shimmery type that you usually used. Instead, you opted for a cream highlighter that gave Baekhyun’s face a soft glow, seeming to hint at a natural radiance that came from within. A delicate tinted balm was the only thing to coat his lips, and you had scattered faint freckles over his cheekbones as a finishing touch. 

Baekhyun opened his eyes as you turned to look at his face in the mirror. He grinned as your eyes traced over his features, studying your work and looking for anything else that needed to be done. "Like what you see?" he asked, a soft purr. 

"Maybe peach is the wrong color," you mused, ignoring his obvious attempt at flirting.

Baekhyun rolled his eyes, letting out a soft laugh. "Even when you're looking at me, you're not really looking at me." 

"I am," you countered. Deft fingers pulled out another blush palette, searching through assorted colors before selecting a slightly orange-brown shade. "It's my job to stare at you for hours on end, Baekhyun." 

"You know what I mean." He stared up at your face as you colored his cheeks subtly with the new color. "Not as part of your work, but just me. Just Baekhyun." He licked his lips nervously, eyes darting away and back before speaking again.  "I want you to look at me the way that I look at you," he added quietly. 

You paused, brush held up in the air before you sighed. "You're my boss. And as if that wasn't enough, you're Byun Baekhyun. South Korea's beloved jewel, one of the most recognizable faces." Placing the makeup brush down, you snapped the blush palette closed with a tiny click. 

"So you've never thought of me in that way?"

"What way?"

Baekhyun groaned. "Don't play dumb, Y/N. You know what I mean." 

As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. It would take a fool to ignore how all of Baekhyun's actions, his sweet words directed towards you were unlike any that he gave to everyone else. For you, he saved only the most charming of smiles, the most melodious sounds of his lilting laughter. You had entertained the thought a few times — the thought of dating the genius model and fashion trendsetter, Byun Baekhyun. But every time, you pushed those thoughts away. Even if you did feel the same way, there was no way that it would work out. 

"Baekhyun." You glanced at the clock, eyes widening as you realized that he needed to be out in the studio in the next few minutes. "I can't."

"Why?"

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Because I work for you. I'm just another staff member, another person supporting you from behind the scenes. I'm not like you, Baekhyun. You... you're dazzling, and easy to be around, and I love coming to work because you bring so much energy, but it would never work out. It's safer in the long run to just keep work and dating separate."

Baekhyun watched, wide-eyed during your impassioned rant. "Why can't you have both? Why does this have to end with us getting hurt?"

You opened your mouth to speak just as the door opened, Baekhyun's manager popping his head in. "You need to be out there, now," he emphasized. 

Baekhyun glanced between you and his manager, torn between duty and what he wanted to do. A weak smile found its way onto your face. "Go. I'll be out there in a bit." 

He hesitated, concern hiding in the depths of his eyes before he remembered where he was, and what he needed to do. With a parting nod, Baekhyun tore himself away, his shoes tapping softly against the floor as he headed out to where the rest of the crew was set up. 

Left alone in the small room, you turned to stare at your reflection in the mirror. You had worked hard to get to where you were, doing makeup for one of the biggest celebrities in South Korea. But you had seen and heard enough of the world of fame to realize that you wanted as little to do with it as possible. 

Baekhyun, on the other hand, thrived in it. He was shy around new people, but his genuine friendliness and ease of character won everyone over in all circles. It was terrifying to think of being thrust into that same world when you were so used to just being one of the many working behind the scenes. Plus, if your relationship fell through, nothing would ever be the same at work again. It hurt to even imagine the loss of Baekhyun's smiles as he talked to you, his boisterous laughter filling up the room. What would you do if that was all gone? You were scared of falling even deeper for him, but you were even more scared about losing what you already had. 

You frowned at your reflection, frustrated with the person you saw in there. It would be so much easier if you weren't attracted to him. But, another voice reasoned, your life wouldn't be nearly as bright without him in it. 

It was a fine line that you held, always teetering on the edge of professionalism and something more. But Baekhyun made you curious to cross that line, to see what lay ahead in the future even if it scared you. 

Running a hand through your hair, you gathered up your materials, ready to join the rest of the staff for Baekhyun's photoshoot. 

He was a star at the center of everything, and you had no choice but to fall into his orbit.

Thankfully, your schedule was clear the next day. But that didn't mean that Baekhyun hadn't tried to contact you, sending a few texts that remained unread. You had bolted out of the photoshoot as soon as you could, unwilling to pick up where you left off, especially in front of many other watchful eyes. 

The day after threw you right back into the lion's den.

This was the biggest project that Baekhyun had taken on so far, a new launch by Privé titled "Delight". The pieces were unlike anything else that the brand had created, straying from the comfy-casual look that the "Be Humble" line had. It was as if this line was crafted with the sole purpose to torture you, plans for Privé to launch more mature, sleek clothing. 

That also meant that Baekhyun would be modeling these pieces beforehand, pictures of outfit combinations running through your mind as you stepped into work. 

Baekhyun was already sitting in a chair, the hairstylist working her magic on him as she parted his hair to the side and set it in place. Much to your distress, he wore a dark, velvet jacket with nothing underneath. A delicate gold necklace rested on his chest, a few rings adorning his fingers. Baekhyun glanced up as he heard you approach, his face lighting up. "Good morning."

"Good morning," you replied, only sparing him a polite smile before leaving to consult with the rest of the staff. You could feel him staring, following along as you moved around. 

Soon enough, the hairstylist was done with her part, and all that was left was to get his makeup done. To your surprise, Baekhyun made no mention of your conversation. He waited patiently, going along with every request that you made for him to lift his chin, close his eyes, and so on. Even stranger was the silence in the room, only interrupted by the music playing from Baekhyun's phone and the bustling of people coming in and out. It was only when you let Baekhyun know you were done, did he finally speak up. 

He studied his face in the mirror, fingers running lightly over the rosy blush that you had used on his cheeks. His eyes shifted to yours, radiating warmth. "It's beautiful, thank you."

"Of course it's beautiful, it's your face." Baekhyun's expression fell, and he spun around in his chair to meet you face-to-face. "You can't say these sweet things and then push me away all the time," he pouted. 

"I'm sorry," you apologized quickly, an immediate response.

Shaking his head, Baekhyun stood up. "I don't want you to apologize, I want you to explain why you keep running. What scares you so much?"

"Baekhyun, please. Not here." You glanced over at the open door, a staff member walking past as they called out to someone else. "Let's talk about this later."

"Promise? You're not going to hide from me like last time?" 

The idea was tempting, but you also knew that you owed it to both you and Baekhyun to finally get this out and into the open. No matter how much it hurt. Nodding, you reached up to brush off a stray eyelash on his cheek. "I promise."

Baekhyun's tense shoulders loosened up, his hand chasing after yours and closing over it in a comforting warmth. "Okay," he breathed out. "Later, then."

Watching Baekhyun as he stood in front of the camera was mesmerizing, always drawing you in as if you were seeing him for the first time. Even as he lay on the floor, a hand over his exposed chest as he stared into the camera, you couldn't bear to look away. The camera lights flashed as he brought his fingers lazily up his chest, stopping at his lips. He smirked as he glanced back up to the camera, eyes hooded in the look that you recognized all too well. 

"My fatal look, able to win over people of all ages," he had explained to you once as you touched up his makeup. 

He wasn't wrong. A few of the staff oohed and aahed in appreciation, just as starstruck by his beauty. You went over next to the monitors, watching as the shots of Baekhyun flooded the screen — his eyes seeming to look directly into your own. 

The next series of shots had Baekhyun leaning against a wall, fingers tracing over the rim of a glass as he stared off into the distance. He truly was a genius model, shifting positions so that his chin rested in his hand, to letting the shadows cover part of his face as he leaned a certain way. Every time the photographer paused long enough for you to touch up Baekhyun's makeup, a wide grin appeared on the model's face. 

"You're going to smudge your lipstick if you keep touching your lips like that," you chastised gently as you leaned forward to fix it.

Baekhyun immediately clasped his hands together behind his back. "Yes, ma'am."

That brought a giggle out of you, much to Baekhyun's delight. 

The rest of the shoot followed in a similar fashion, Baekhyun taking your breath away as he posed in various outfits, and then making you burst into laughter as he joked around with you and the rest of the staff. It was a familiar routine, something you had experienced many times, but it still didn't lose its charm. Yet at the same time, it only fed your growing worries. What if you did try to make this work between you and Baekhyun, but it ended horribly? You'd be so uncomfortable around him, it would be unbearable. You were comfortable in this space where Baekhyun was both attainable, and yet out of reach. At least here, you could adore him without fear of losing him. 

You sighed as Baekhyun posed in his last outfit for the day, a cream-colored top with some purple pants — not a fashion choice you personally would've made. And yet, he still managed to pull it off effortlessly. He sat on the floor, knees bent as he leaned his elbows against the top. His lips were a shiny, glossy pink, only emphasizing the natural pout to his lips. Once, he accidentally licked his lips, face contorting into a look of shock and disgust at the bitter taste. You laughed as you helped him, giving him a napkin to wipe his mouth with before reapplying his lip gloss.

Finally, after many hours and multiple outfit changes, he was done! Everyone cheered as it was announced that the shoot was over, Baekhyun going around and thanking everyone for their work and commitment. You headed back to the dressing room first, nervous for what you knew was yet to come.

Baekhyun followed along shortly after, darting into the empty room as you were in the midst of cleaning up. "Hey," he murmured.  You sank down in a chair, shoulders slumping as you tried to calm the racing in your chest. "Baekhyun, I like you. You know I do. But it's not that easy, especially because it's you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Groaning, you bit down on your bottom lip as you tried to figure out how to phrase your thoughts. "You're a star, Baekhyun. I'm not. We only see each other during work, and that's it. What if we're just too different? What if this doesn't work out?" You raised a finger as Baekhyun opened his mouth to speak. "And don't say that we won't, because you don't know that."

"But why are you so convinced that it will?" He came closer, eyes blazing as he stared down at you. "There's nothing that I've seen that convinces me this'll end in a breakup. You care about me, and I care about you. That's the only thing that matters." 

"It's not that easy, Baekhyun. I," here you paused, nervous about what you were about to say. "I love getting to be a part of your day, to see you light up and be in your element. I can't imagine not coming into work and seeing you there. I can't imagine a life without you. But I'm so scared that things will end badly, and that all of this will be taken away — that it'll just be too awkward for us and that we'll lose what we have now." You felt the stinging of tears in your eyes, hands coming up to wipe at them roughly as you stood and looked around for some spare tissues.

Baekhyun came over, wiping away the few tears that had managed to escape. "But what if there's something better ahead?" he asked softly. "We won't know unless we try." His lips curved into a sad smile as you stood there, eyes still closed and unwilling to look at him. "Y/N. Look at me, please."

Who were you to refuse him? 

Slowly, you opened your eyes, heart tightening as you saw how Baekhyun stared at you so lovingly, so tenderly. 

"I like you. I've never been more sure of anything in my life. And I care about you enough to say that I want to try this. I'm not that naive to believe that everything will be smooth from here on out, but I still want to try because at least I'll be with you. Not as your boss, or Byun Baekhyun... just yours. Your Baekhyun." One of his hands moved to caress your cheek, and you took pleasure in the way that your face fit perfectly in his hold. "We can go as slowly as you want, just... don't run away before anything's even started. Be brave with me, Y/N."

It was easier said than done, but coming from Baekhyun, you found the walls surrounding your heart start to weaken and crumble down. He was right in his own way — how would you know for sure unless you took that leap of faith? Besides, you would have Baekhyun by your side, strong, supportive Baekhyun who never let you down.

"Okay," you agreed, letting out a breathy laugh as Baekhyun's eyes grew wide with surprise. "I mean it. I'll be brave with you, Baekhyun." You reached up to poke the tiny mole resting beside his upper lip, one of the features that you liked best on him. "You're mine now," you said, relishing in the fact that you were the only one in the world who could say those words.

"And you're mine." Baekhyun leaned in to kiss the top of your forehead, completely forgetting about his lip gloss until he pulled away and saw the smear of pink covering your skin. "Oh no," he gasped, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. 

You looked in the mirror, bursting into giggles when you saw the mess on your face. Immediately, you retaliated by swiping the lipgloss from Baekhyun's face, drawing a faint line that nearly reached his cheek. While you had been expecting to laugh at how ridiculous he looked, you were shocked to find that he still managed to look good. Too good...

"What?" Baekhyun glanced in the mirror, staring at the smudged lipgloss caressing his bottom lip. "Oh," he breathed out, turning back to you. A slow, teasing smile grew on his face as he reached up with one hand. You watched, unable to look away as he rubbed the back of his hand against his lips, only dragging the shimmering gloss further across his face. 

With a quick intake of breath, you forced out a shaky laugh. "You make me want to kiss you when you do things like that," you blurted out, barely realizing what you had said after the words left your mouth.

Baekhyun blinked in surprise, a lopsided smile pulling at his lips. "Then do it." 

You didn't need any more prompting, almost knocking into him as you leaned up to kiss him. It might not have been the best kiss ever because of the tacky, sticky lip gloss, but the fact that it was Baekhyun you were kissing more than made up for it.

Baekhyun melted against you, hands pulling you close and tightening in the hem of your shirt. He gasped as you nipped softly at his bottom lip, no longer caring about getting lip gloss all over you. 

A loud thud from out in the open studio startled both of you apart, you and Baekhyun having completely forgotten where you were. 

Baekhyun quickly looked over his shoulder, sighing in relief when he saw no one there. He turned back to you with a bashful smile, his already rosy cheeks taking on an even pinker shade. He placed his hands on his cheeks, laughing at how warm his face was.  "As pretty as you made me look today, I need to get out of this makeup. My skin's dying here." 

You had cleansing water and cotton rounds on hand after every shoot, already used to Baekhyun's discomfort of staying in makeup for too long. He drenched another cotton round in the liquid as you began erasing the makeup on his face. 

"I know it's been a long day, but do you want to grab dinner together?" He looked up at you from underneath his lashes, biting down on his lip as he waited for your answer. 

"I'd like that," you replied, carefully wiping away the rest of his lipgloss. "Just as long as we're not out too late. We have another busy day tomorrow." 

"I'm the boss, I can push back the starting time," Baekhyun joked, chuckling when you rolled your eyes. 

"Don't be silly," you reprimanded, although there was no trace of malice in your voice. How could anyone be mad with him? 

"You're the center of my universe, Y/N. I'd push the shoot back years if it meant I'd get more free time with you." Baekhyun smirked proudly as you felt the tips of your ears growing warm at his unexpected sweetness. 

"Stop," you whined, pressing your forehead to his chest. You could feel his suppressed laughter rumbling in his chest, an infectious sensation. 

"Alright," Baekhyun gave in, lifting your face back up so he could look at you. "Let me get out of these, and then we'll be out of here." He dove in for a quick kiss before rushing out of the room, his voice echoing down the hall as he called out to his manager. 

You were caught up in his orbit, and yet he had called you the center of his universe. It was strange to think of how much space you took up in his heart, and he in yours. It was still nerve-racking to jump into something new, to be brave in the face of an unknown future. But Baekhyun was by your side, calming you down and working with you to sort out your fears before they held you back. Just Baekhyun, not mega-celebrity Byun Baekhyun.

Yours.

A/N: this is basically just me self-indulging in looking at delight scans and gushing about how good baekhyun looks. I had this sort of model/make-up artist draft sitting around for about a year, and this finished fic is COMPLETELY different from how that started out. 

for reference: the first shoot is from baekhyun’s lined magazine cover shoot, and the second is from his teasers for delight (specifically the sticky and sweet ones)

[iamdunn]

FoxFire Re-ignited Day 1 Fushimi Inari Shrine

Tomoe Meets Nekotsune

A Kamisama Kiss Fan-Fic

Written by

AJ Dunn

Tomoe mused himself as he relaxed in the palanquin Onikiri & Kotetsu prepared specially for this human convention. One of the few times he could present himself in his fox demon form without scaring the sensitive humans. He smirked as he sipped sake from his eternal cup. He never would have considered such festivals had that wretched human girl not tamed the fire within him dragging him to such horrendous things. Nanami was gone now and Tomoe was free to be feral once again. 

Humans scampering about in costumes depicting the ancient demons and spirits now thought to be a mere myth if only they knew that many among them were in fact real demons, oh how they would scream. The thought boiled in his veins. Many came by his palanquin for photo ops and he managed to ruin every picture with a ball of foxfire, unbeknownst to them of course. 

“Master Tomoe, you should walk around.” Onikiri prodded him. He waved an annoyed at her as if to swat the will of the wisp away from him. 

“Master you are missing all of the fun.” Kotetsu chirped. 

“It hasn’t been fun since she was robbed from me.” Tomoe snapped. “Nanami would have enjoyed this, but I will spend the rest of eternity alone now.” He sipped his sake feeling less satiated by it as time drew on. He stood up as another group of fans came to get selfies with the less than obliged fox demon. He leaped with grace from the palanquin over the heads of the group forming in front of him. 

“I suppose I shall amuse myself with their feeble attempts to copy my likeness,” Tomoe said as he strode into the thicket of humans in yokai costumes. This cosplay convention had begun as a feeble attempt to draw American tourists to Japan. Kyoto was the perfect setting for this as the Sojobo on Mount Kurama would have approved. Kurama himself dawned his “Fallen Angel” ensemble to perform for the masses, while he loved all of the attention he got from the girls, he never forgave Tomoe for failing to protect Nanami. The stupid mortal girl was a danger to herself from the beginning he wouldn’t have to be held responsible for her weakness. The crowd was thick with variations of the demon costumes from Tengu, to Inugami, but what haunted Tomoe most was the many interpretations of Kitsune, the fox demon. The nine-tailed fox spirit had been popular for many years but has constantly changed into this meek cowardly loyal dog. He scoffed. If they want a mutt then they should dress as the inugami instead. Sea Dragons, are they serious. The thought. 

“What a purrfect foxfire kimono you have on.” Tomoe heard the voice swirl behind him as he spun to see dared speak to him let alone touch his garment. “Mmmm It looks paw sitively amazing on you… it’s a shame.” Tomoe drew back unable to speak. The audacity of this wannabe prancing about with nine fake white tails adored to her back, her red and orange flamed kimono, and metallic claws. However, what irked him more was the feline ears adorning the short spiky white hair and the feline half mask covering her mouth. Though the craftsmanship and the realistic fangs impressed him, what sort of demon costume was this?”

“How dare you address me.” Tomeo lept back as the girl reached a clawed hand toward his face. 

“It is such a shame. That kimono would look so much better on my bedroom floor.” She spun away from him and slipped through the crowd before he could respond. Heat welled up in him as her words fell upon him weighted with such inclination.  Had her words invoked such a temper in his skin, having not felt the embrace of a woman since dear Nanami fell victim to that hateful creature.

His feet moved forward propelled by some unknown force to follow this creature who had enticed him so. Finding her wasn’t hard as the flaming Kimono was the most unique garment in the entire hall. Her feline presence drove his sensibilities into flames he had to know more. He reached a hand out laying it on her shoulder. Her head turned ever so slight gazing upon the clawed hand. Her eyes shifted up to meet his without fully turning to face him.

“Yours is the most inaccurate of all the costumes here.” He said harshly. “You look more like a feline than a fox demon.” 

“But of course I do,” She smirked at him. “I didn’t come here to be a copy CAT,” her smirked became a grin as she turned to face him. She threw her right arm into the air before offering a bow before him. “I am Nekotsune. The Flaming Feline Cat Spirit, at your service.” Her gleeful tone threw him back again as he watched her elaborate introduction. He smirked at her as her eyes met his again. Suddenly, as if looking into a mirror he saw it. There was something behind her mask, something her eyes spoke that belied the joy in her voice. His heart throttled in his chest as she gazed into her hazel green eyes. Despair that mimicked his own. How can she smile with her eyes while carrying a pain that made tears well up in his eyes? 

Suddenly loud rock music began to play and Tomoe recognized the hateful voice as Kurama began to sing. The girl reached up to her ears in pain her head cowering below her shoulders as she turned and ran through the crowd. Tomoe tried to catch up to her, but she was gone. He felt an emptiness he hadn’t felt since the day Nanami had been murdered. Torn from her as if a piece of his own soul had been sheared from his very being. Tomoe forced his way through the crowd until he was left standing alone in the darkest parts of the hall. He looked back and forth unsure as to where she had gone. He heard the click of a door closing on its own. He turned to his right and followed the sound. 

“Master Tomoe, Master Tomoe?” Onikiri and Kotetsu flew through the sky nearly crashing into him. 

“Out of my way,” Tomoe yelled as he ran past them. He ran through the double doors into an empty hallway. There was no sign of her. 

“Master Tomoe.” Kotetsu finally caught up with him again. He was carrying a piece of paper. “She dropped this.” 

“Who did?” Tomoe collected himself and stole himself back to his palanquin as if nothing had happened. His heart fluttering as his mind washed over her face again in his mind. 

“The woman you were talking to,” Onikiri said handing him the paper.

“YOU WERE SPYING ON ME?” Tomoe fumed as foxfire welled up around him as he sat in his palanquin. He was about to stand up before Onikiri dropped the paper. He starred at it as it lay on the floor of the palanquin. It appeared to be a map of Fushimi Inara Taisha, the Shinto Shrine. There was a handwritten note in the top right corner. DAY 1. It was dated for tomorrow. He snubbed his nose into the air then took another sip of his sake before tossing a ball of foxfire at the note. Onikiro snatched it before the fire caught it, stuffing it into her shirt so Tomoe wouldn’t know it had been rescued. 

Despite the pain in her legs and feet, AJ rose from the bed and hobbled to the bathroom to wash up. She had only been in Japan for two nights now, the first day she pretty much slept off the fatigue that came with traveling from her home in Oregon to Tokyo Japan then taking the jet train to Kyoto. An itinerary that took her 7 years to instigate. Her condition worsened day by day and she knew that if she didn’t fulfill her own death wish, she’d never rest easy in the afterlife. Seeing the shrines of Kyoto had been her dream, her mount Everest of goals knowing that she had been losing her ability to walk since she was 9. Charcot Marie Tooth disease wasn’t a forgiving neuromuscular condition, and it wasn’t alone. Her body, 40 years old, is now plagued with numerous conditions that robbed her of her ability to even breathe without choking, walking without stumbling, even laughing. Her muscles weakened day by down, now the migraines were a plague she couldn’t shake even with prescriptions medications. Last night’s adventure to the cosplay convention was a tempting distraction from her itinerary. Being able to dress up in yokai cosplay was fascinating and she didn’t want to offend the people of Japan by misrepresenting their folklores, so she invented something entirely her own. She would be documenting her anonymously for her online support group. She hadn’t expected to meet such an attractive fox demon fan. Everything about him attracted her. His eyes, his blue foxfire kimono, even his voice. He was the most authentic-looking creature she had ever seen. He even haunted her dreams. 

She slapped her face as her mind wandered again to the statement she had made about his kimono looking better on her bedroom floor. She wasn’t quite herself when she was behind the mask, or maybe that was more her than she had ever been. It was freeing to be able to talk so openly. She had never been able to talk to a stranger with such disregard for embarrassment or rejection. She finished bathing then pulled on her AFO’s. The hard plastic braces supported her feet and ankles but heated her calves. She had to wear knee-high socks underneath to prevent rashes and irritations. They were the most uncomfortable piece to her ensemble. She slipped on her kimono and tied the OBI, which wasn’t as easy anymore as it had been when she first made it. Then once her hair was spiked to perfection she clipped her feline ears into place then pulled the half-mask over her mouth. She inspected herself in the mirror. Luckily her Kimono was long enough to hide the braces on her legs, she didn’t want anyone to notice. Unsure of how she would be received. Since she was a teenager anyone who found out about her condition either treated her like a contagion to be avoided or as a liability to be denied participation. 

She opened her notebook to the second page. DAY 2 was written in the upper corner. Shock fell on her as she realized her DAY 1 map was gone. She flipped to the first page, it had the full map of Kyoto shrines on it outlining the shrines in order from the Fushimi Shrine to the Kifune shrine. Each day she would visit and explore a new shrine, indulge in the cultural festivities, all the while video blogging it. Today she was meant to tour the Fushimi shrine but the map of it was gone. No matter, she would buy one at the visitor booth when she got there. 

She had barely entered the shrine when she began to feel chills rising up in her spine. Chills like last night when he came up behind her. His scent was sweet and alluring like honey cakes & sake. She shuddered, forcing away the image of his eyes peering into her, the thoughts of him haunting and distracted her from her mission. She turned on her camera, a tiny thing mounted invisibly on the bell collar she wore around her neck. 

The thousand Torii gates led up the mountain. This tour would take all day, for her. 2-3 hours just to hike up and back at a regular pace, for someone without restrictions, however, she planned to lunch at one of the many restaurants there. Kitsune Udon was her choice for lunch and maybe some tea. 

The wind blew as she began the hike. She had been studying the map as she held it tight with both hands. This was never a good idea and she soon realized as the toe of her shoe caught something heaving her forward face first into… nothing. Did she stop falling buy why? It took her a minute to realize that there was an arm around her waist coming from someone standing directly behind her. She was pulled back so suddenly, her back landing firmly against a tall pillar, a person. Glancing over her shoulder she could see the man who held her. His short dark hair was tousled as if windblown. His face was stern with a bit of stubble. His eyes looked familiar to her, as did the smell of sake, but nothing else about him seemed familiar. 

“Watch where you are going.” He said firmly before releasing her. She nearly stumbled forward at the sudden separation from him. She felt cold and distant in his departure as he walked past her entering the trail leading up the mountain. She stuffed the map into her notebook then tucked it into her belt and began walking up the trail. His pace was quite a bit faster than hers and she soon lost sight of him. It didn’t take her long before the fatigue in her legs began to burn through her whole body. She forced a few more steps before she simply couldn’t take another. She found a bench slightly off the trail and sat down. Looking out over the path she had just come. She lasted longer than she expected. The burning in her legs became a tingling sensation as if the burning was stripping the sensation from her legs leaving them numb from the hips down. She groaned as the feeling slowly began to return to her legs. 

“You’re not even halfway there, are you giving up so soon?” a voice came gruffly from behind her. “How weak.” Anger fumed up in her as she could hear the unspoken words, the words her mother would have said if she were still alive. ‘You can’t do it so give up now.”

“MMM, rushing such an adventure would be Catastrophic.” She quipped, she loved her cat puns. She heard him scoff behind her but he didn’t leave. 

“Why are you here?” He stepped closer to the bench staying behind her. “Dressed like that.” 

“Do you find it offensive?” She asked smirking under her mask. 

“What? NO.” He nearly shouted. “It’s just, unusual for someone especially a foreigner to be dressed like that.” 

“How do you know I am a foreigner, is my Japanese not purrfect?” she stood up. She turned but he was gone. She made her way back to the path and continued the climb. It wasn’t long before the fatigue came back to her legs. She could smell the savory scents filling the air, she must be getting closer to the restaurants. She could almost taste the Udon. She found the line quite long and stood there. As desperate as her legs pleaded for her to sit she didn’t want to lose her place in line and willed herself to stand her ground. Her knees began to wobble and lip as she fought hard to remain standing. The burning was now giving way to the familiar sensation of tingles and soon numbness would take over. She sighed, she knew it was too late, she wouldn’t be able to move her legs to walk to a bench. Her knees were gone now as she felt her body slip to the ground. She threw her hands out in front of her trying to catch herself but she stopped. Once again, an arm and a familiar scent surrounded her. 

“Pathetic.” the voice once again from behind her. This time as he pulled her against his body he held her firmly as the feeling began to return to her legs. It was only a few minutes, but it felt like a lifetime as her heart pounded heavily in her chest. ‘Had she forgotten to take her heart medication again?’ Soon she could feel her legs again and attempted to step forward letting him know she was okay. 

“Thank you.” She whispered

“Shut up.” his voice was quiet with a feigned harshness. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him looking away. “Keep moving your holding up the line.” She giggled then stepped forward. 

“Kitsune Udon and Oolong tea please.” She asked once she reached the head of the line. She lifted the side of her kimono slightly to reach the thigh pocket of her leggings. She thought it was the safest place to put her wallet. 

“Make that two.” the voice from behind her came as a hand reached over her shoulder to offer the money to the cashier. They handed him a plastic paddle with a number on it. She looked up in surprise but before she could object, his arm was around her shoulders pulling her to the closest empty table. He sat in front of her but didn’t look at her. 

“Why are you doing this?” He asked without looking at her.

“Doing what?”

“Stop.”

“Stop talking your voice is annoying.” he gruffed tossing a glance at her without turning his head towards her. 

“If it’s so annoying, why do you keep asking me dumb questions?”

“They’re not dumb questions, your just dumb.” he shot her an angry look his hand flat on the table. “It’s clear you can barely stand let alone walk and here you are hiking a trail.” She laughed at him. His angry expression softened. 

“I’m doing it for a fundraiser.” She smiled. The waiter brought out a tray with two large bowls, two teacups, and a kettle of tea, they set the bowls and cups down then poured tea into each cup. His face relaxed as he sat back. His face appeared disinterested but his eyes remained on her. He couldn’t stop looking at her, watching her, wondering what would possess a person to put their bodies through so much pain and agony. 

“What fundraiser?” he folded his arms over his chest as she poured sugar into her teacup. “Aren’t you going to take off that ridiculous mask?” She reached up to her ears and released the mask lowering it to her lap then she began to sip the broth of her Udon. His heart thudded for a moment as he stared at her lips. Her face was unmasked by makeup. Her cherry pink lips were bare of any lipstick or gloss but something remarkable, something… he shook it out of his head. 

“Each day, I will visit one of the many shrines of Kyoto, documenting my adventure.” She tapped the bell on her collar. “And each day I post the said video on my vlog, and my viewers pledge money to the CMTA Research Center.” Anger filled up his demeanor and he hunched forward his hands back on the table.

“You’re filming me? NOW?” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll edit out all of these encounters with you, as I block out the faces of the strangers that I pass.” She said slurping up the noodles with a fork. He watched her hands and she fumbled with the fork. It was clear she wouldn’t be able to use chopsticks as her hands could barely hold the fork. He settled back into his seat shifting his face to look away from her. He reached out to his cup to sip from it not moving on his bowl of Udon. 

“What is CMTA.” He asked quietly?”

“I thought you wanted me to stop talking because my voice is annoying?” She watched him fume again.

“Just answer the question.” he huffed then began to spoon Udon broth into his mouth.

���Charcot Marie Tooth Association, it’s an organization devoted to helping people with CMT strive for a better life and a hope for a cure.” She said before eating more of her Udon. He glanced up at her not impressed with her short answer. 

“What is CMT?” 

“A condition of the peripheral nervous system and results in the deterioration of the nerve and muscle tissue throughout the body.” 

“Is that why you are so weak?” his blunt question was met with a laugh. 

“You could say it was the first stone on my grave.” she laughed again.

“So, you’re dying?” He felt a sharp pang in his chest, she laughed again. 

“We all are.” 

“Speak for yourself,” he announced. 

“Right, because your a fox demon?” she teased. 

“Yes, Wait, what makes you think that?” He said sharply. She pointed to her hair.

“You still have a bit of white from last night just there.” He hadn’t realized the color of his hair had begun changing back. It was too late to fix it, now if had she’d notice and realize he actually was a demon. “What’s your name?”

“Shut up and eat.” he picked up his chopsticks and began slurping up the noodles.  “Do you intend to keep going?”

“All the way to the end.” She said then returned to her food. 

[each-uisge-enthusiast]

sum tired writing for y’all

——————

suga would be lying if he said he wasn’t tired. he hadn’t slept properly since exam season rolled around.

the amount of extra studying he was forcing into his schedule, combined with practice and trying to control the first and second years, seemed to have simply sucked his will to work.

“seemed to” was the wrong terminology. it definitely had. he’d been staring at the same page of this stupid math book for an hour. he’d reread the first line about twenty times, and so far hadn’t managed to get half way down said page without realising, his brain had been elsewhere, and having to start from the top again.

so yeah, he was pretty tired. suga was pretty damn worn out.

honestly, if he hadn’t seen that it was daichi’s name glowing out from his phone screen, he wouldn’t have picked it up. but, it was daichi, and suga was more than aware that if he didn’t pick up, daichi would be hammering down his door within the hour.

he took a split second to compose his voice. if he sounded as dead as he felt he’d be yelled at for not sleeping enough.

“hi daichi!” the chirpy tone to his voice didn’t sound forced in his mind.

“hey suga,” daichi said, in such a way that suga knew daichi knew he was sleep deprived.

suga’s eyes moved toward the alarm clock that was glowing beside his bed, the bright green numbers burned his eyes.

23:45, which was an entire hour later than he’d thought.

“what are you even doing up at this hour daichi?” suga asked, leaning forward on the table, carefully propping his head up on one hand, the other hand holding the phone to his ear.

daichi laughed, rather stupidly, before responding. “you know, i actually rung you to ask that same question.”

suga’s tired brain wasn’t quite sure it fully understood what daichi had said. “how did you even know i’m awake? what, do you have cameras in my room?”

“what, no-”

“oh my god! you’ve been stalking me! daichi how could you?”

“no! it’s nothing like that!” even through the phone, daichi sounded flustered. “and keep it down, you’ll wake your parents up.”

suga rolled his eyes. “yeah yeah, but, seriously, how did you know i was still up?”

“went on a stress jog.”

“at quarter to midnight?”

“shut up, like you haven’t rung me at this hour whining about tv shows.”

suga huffed. “okay, fair, but may i ask if there was a purpose for this call, other than insulting me?”

“yeah, i’m still outside your house, i figured if neither of us are sleeping we might as well do something.”

“oh? what on earth might you be suggesting daichi?” suga purred, adding a teasingly lilt to his voice.

“get your brain out of the gutter, suga,” daichi snapped, suga only snickered in reply. “i was just thinking, i don’t know, we could go see if that twenty four hour ice cream shop is open.”

“repeat that sentence to yourself a couple times,” suga said, flicking his eyes back to the alarm clock, before letting out a light sigh. “i’ll be down in a minute, just let me get a jacket.”

he didn’t let daichi get a response in before he hung up, shoving his phone into his pocket as he stood up.

he paused to glance in a mirror. he looked like a lunatic. there were seriously heavy shadows under his eyes, and his hair looked like a bird nest. eh, he was pretty sure he was rocking the look.

despite that, he did pause to try shove his hair into place. he told himself it was because he didn’t want to walk around in public like that, even though he knew it was far from the truth.

he snatched up a pale yellow jacket off his bed, as well as an equally pale grey scarf, tugging them both on before slipping out of his room and down to the front door.

“daichi!” he hissed into the cold air, white clouds forming in the air when he spoke.

“wow you really haven’t been sleeping huh?”

suga pulled a face as he turned to look at his friend. “you aren’t any better,” he said, a hand snapping out to hit daichi in the side. daichi shifted to dodge, successfully.

that was a lie. daichi looked, well, suga’s drowsy mind couldn’t really pull the right words. handsome? pretty? somewhere in between?

he was hardly dressed to the nines, but as usual he looked drop dead gorgeous in that stupid all black jogging outfit. suga would have been jealous, had he not enjoyed looking at daichi as much as he did.

daichi rolled his eyes at the comment, letting out a vaguely unamused huff. “i’m sure,” he drawled, before grabbing suga’s hand and dragging him forward. “come on, then, i’m craving cream anmitsu.”

“i don’t understand how you like the chestnuts so much,” suga mutter in reply, his tone hardly matching the bouncing steps he was taking as he followed after daichi.

daichi rolled his eyes rather dramatically. “says the one who always steals them.”

suga huffed, and his free hand swung out to smack daichi’s ribs, this time daichi failed to dodge, and let out a grunt as suga made solid contact.

“i’m not apologising,” daichi snickered. “hitting me is not going to help.”

“blah whatever. i stand by the fact that chestnuts are gross.”

“yet you eat more of them than i do.”

a puff of white air was all daichi got in response.

the bantering continued most the way to the store, though at some point their positions had shifted, suga’s arms ended up wrapped around daichi’s waist, and daichi’s arm was slung over the silver haired boy’s shoulders.

the girl sitting behind the counter gave them a grin as the bell rung. suga thought it looked a little more genuine than most customer service smiles, and he wondered if they were the first customers she’d had.

“hey boys!” suga decided they were definitely her first customers. her tone was too chirpy.

“it’s a bit late for ice cream is it not? you’re the first not-drunk customers i’ve had since i took up night shifts,” she continued.

the poor kid can’t have spoken to anyone for awhile, because the minute daichi responded, and gave their orders, she was off. didn’t shut up. not that suga minded all that much, she was friendly, mainly groaning about trying to keep up with sleep while she worked night shifts and spent six hours at school. then about how she didn’t have much choice because she had to get money somehow.

suga, who was very much used to his teammates ramblings, ended up droning her out while he sat at a tiny table, daichi seemed torn between doing the same or entertaining her, suga was pretty sure she was just using them as an excuse to talk. he honestly doubted she’d care much if they didn’t listen.

quite honestly, suga was rather distracted watching daichi’s expressions. the way his lips twisted into a smile every time he tried to not laugh at the employee’s struggles, the roll of his eyes as he got caught up in her stories. she seemed to notice suga’s eyes, a quiet quirk of her eyebrow snitched on her for watching him just a little too closely.

“anyway, i just haven’t spoken to anyone outside of classes in, like, two weeks.”

suga snickered as he heard daichi’s terrible attempt at stifling a sigh of relief.

“so thanks for not telling me to shut up! enjoy your ice cream boys! and uh, might i recommend getting home soon? it‘s a friday,” she paused to look at a clock, “a saturday morning. there’s gonna be drunk idiots running around and believe me, they aren’t fun to deal with, particularly when, well,” she flicked a hand towards the pair. something in the movement made suga wonder if she played volleyball.

daichi turned to say something to her, but she’d already disappeared out back. suga took advantage of his distraction and snatched a chestnut out of his bowl.

“hey!”

“you know, she has a point about drunk idiots,” suga mused, glancing out to the dark streets.

“think we’ll run into coach ukai and takeda?”

“hah! they’ll both be in ukai’s house getting wild by now!”

daichi made a face of disgust and threw a scarf at suga’s face. suga simply laughed.

by the time they’d finished their ice cream, and opted to just try and sprint full pace back to daichi’s (which was closest, suga sent a text through to his parents, as he had already decided he was not going to try reach home in the dark), the subject had somehow switched to what school ice cream girl had gone to.

“she had a shiratorizawa look.”

“isn’t it a boarding school? she wouldn’t be able to work a night shift if that was the case. she looks like an oikawa fangirl, seijoh.”

“she was pretty cheery, johzenji?”

“nah she looks like she’d hate the colour yellow.”

“how?” daichi tilted his head, squinting his eyes.

“the shadows under her eyes were too purple for her to be the kind of person who would willingly be near that uniform,” suga shrugged. “seijoh.”

daichi, seemingly unable to argue that, hugged and nodded. “okay you win. for now, we can probably just ask her next time.”

“next time?” suga smirked at daichi. “my my, is Mr. Responsible Team Captain really suggesting he’s going to take me on a second irresponsible midnight date?”

as he spoke, he tilted his head down, staring up at daichi with a jokingly flirtatious face, hoping it would smother the pure joy his heart felt, or at least stop it from shining through on his face.

daichi made a strangled noise, his hands moving to hide his face. suga could see the red colour burning the tips of his ears, even with the miserable lack of lighting.

“don’t say it like that,” he mumbled, sounding less like an intimidating captain and more like an embarrassingly lovestruck teen, which had suga giggling.

“you really are easily flustered daichi,” suga murmured, leaning gently into the other’s shoulder. “it’s cute, really.”

the rest of the night lapsed into a peaceful sort of quiet, the sort that one could only ever really feel with someone they were entirely open and comfortable with. the rare kind that regularly reassured suga that he and daichi would be beside each other forever.