#they would hang out at break times underneath a tree on the school field and Max carved their initials on it before they started dating | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoonhrt · 4 years ago

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EMBRASSE-MOI

: pairing — student! jay x tutor! reader

: genre — fluff, crack

: song recc. — L’amour by Miel De Montagne

: a/n — this lowkey sucks but I've been wanting to get work out so I'm sorry if this isn't the best :(( also I'm still learning french so if some of it is wrong pls lmk so i can fix it!!

Jay was your school’s resident bad boy. blond hair, all-black outfits, cuts class and yells at kids that look his way. you know? the usual. You on the other hand were the complete opposite. straight-A student. A quiet kid who didn’t dare look the ways of Jay Park and his Clique™. So imagine the shock that was felt when the boy you avoided at all costs, walks up to you in the middle of the cafeteria asking for French lessons.

“You want me to do what?” He rolls his eyes, tired of this conversation already.

“Can you not hear? I’m failing French and I need to pass or else my parents won’t let me move to France.” He speaks as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And you’re asking me why?” He rolls his eyes again for what felt like the 100th time. You’re just confused about how he even knows of your existence.

“Listen, all I know that you’re in my French class and that you pay attention, I’ll even pay you I just need to get my mark up.” You perk up to the sound of money. You don’t really need but it’s still nice to have some. Doing this will get you good Karma right?

“Fine. Meet me at the library every Monday and Wednesday after class, got it?” Jay stares at you with annoyance. He really does not want to be wasting his senior year on stupid lessons but, here we are. He reluctantly agrees and watches you walk away, struggling to hold your books in your arms. He turns around and lets out a deep sigh, wondering if the hot chicks and fancy baguettes in France are really worth this

Minutes turned into hours as you waited for Jay to show up. You waited patiently for hours just for this kid to not show up. Annoyed, you start to pack up your books. You don’t know why you’d think someone like Jay would actually show up to a voluntary tutor session. You were just about to make your way out of the library when you see someone running towards you almost like the flash. As the figure got closer to your still body, you realize it was Jay. Now, bent over in front of you gasping for air with his tongue out like a dog. You stared at his limped-over figure with confusion and slight disgust.

“s-s-sorry i was… late, i f-forgot about… this.” he manages to speak out with the little air he has in him. He stands up and evens out his breath.

“what makes you think i’m gonna tutor you now? you wasted my time Park, i have a life too you know.” you snap at him. He stares at you for a brief second before letting out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back and slapping his leg. He sees your serious expression, your eyes glaring at him like an eagle and awkwardly stops laughing.

“Look, i’m paying you and this is only gonna last for a little while. i just need to pass, that’s it.” His eyes shine with a hopeful gleam, a look that is extremely rare to see from Jay Park. He looked a little cute. You dramatically sigh and start walking into the library, Jay following behind you.

You settle at the table you sat at prior, re-opening your book bag to pull out your notes. He just watches you do that, not making an effort to even bring out a pencil.

“Okay, so how much french do you even know?”

He stares into space, a little hesitant to continue. “Um, i can ask if i can go to the bathroom?” You stare at him with disbelief. You’ve been in this class with him for months and that’s all he knows.

“THAT’S IT?”

“Oh and i can say good morning!” you let out a loud groan that catches the attention of others around, causing them to loudly shush at you. Feeling annoyed again, you contemplate if the money was really worth it. You sigh out and start looking for your notes from the beginning of the semester. This was gonna take a LONG time.

“... and that’s how you conjugate verbs in the past tense, aka passé composé!” You finish off the session with joy. Jay on the other hand has gone completely blank, not remembering a single word you just told him. He stares down at his notes, then at you, then back down at his notes. You can see the struggle on his face and he hasn’t said a word yet.

“I’m never gonna pass french. This is it. I can kiss France goodbye.” he claims with despair. This already too hard for him and he barely has learned anything. He sets his head on the table and mumbles to himself about how he will never be happy if he doesn’t live his youthful 20’s in France. You sat across from him irritated with his discouraging behaviour and a little sad that you weren’t able to teach him well. Until you come up with a plan that might help him improve much quicker.

“What if… we hang out this weekend? We can do something and we’ll only speak in French! Of course I’ll help you and all that. But like, maybe? Only if you want to of course you probably don’t wanna spend your weekend with me i dont know you know its just a plan.” you ramble on and on without stopping and Jay simply just watches you. He smirks a little before nodding.

“How about you put your number in my phone and then I’ll text you when I’m free hm?” he slides his phone across the table towards you and eyes you typing it in. He catches a glimpse of your rose-coloured cheeks and smirks a little more.

“Okay, uh there’s my number! Just um, text me you know, when you’re free!” you manage to stutter out. Jay just nods at you and again, watches you walk away. This time a slight smile across his face.

A sudden notification pulls you away from your thoughts. An unknown number that you had a feeling belonged to a particular boy you didn’t think would actually text you.

042-002-1130: bonjour

042-002-1130: was that even right

042-002-1130: anyways I’m free on saturday if you wanna hang ig

042-002-1130: samedi is saturday right

042-002-1130: it is wow im such a genius

You let out a snort at his cocky behaviour and reply back, letting him know that you were free yourself and to meet you at the school grounds at 2 pm.

Saturday shows up as you wait outside the school gates, a picnic basket in hand. An all-black car with dark tinted windows zooms up to you. The window is pulled down and alas, the handsome boy sits in the driver’s seat, ushering you to get into the car with his hand.

“Woah a picnic basket? Listen y/n you’re cool and all but this isn’t a date,” he speaks and notices you roll your eyes. A smug smile tugging his lips.

“No you asshole, I have a plan with this.”

“Tell me,” Jay begins to drive away from the school. The destination is unknown to you but extremely familiar to the boy next to you.

“In here there is a bunch of food, in order for you to eat, you’re gonna have to say the name of the food in french.” He turns his head to see you looking back at him, a sweet smile places on your face. Jay has always known of you. You sat in the back of the classroom, handed in all your work on time and never skipped a class. You had very few friends and always seemed to be lost in a dream world when you weren’t working. Jay had never been able to speak to you personally as you always avoided him but know he has the chance to actually talk to you, and he doesn’t wanna mess it up.

The car stopped at the edge of a giant grassy field. The greenery going miles ahead. Trees surrounding the two of you. Jay like a gentleman runs out of the car to open the door for you. You blush at his actions, thanking him silently by smiling at him.

He directs you to a small spot under a tree. You lay out a blanket for you to sit on while Jay leans up against the tree. You tell him to sit down next to you as you bring out all the little snacks to share with him. He thinks that he could get used to this.

“D’accord, commençons! Qu'est-ce que ç'est?” (okay, lets start! What is this?)

You pick up a grape. He thinks for a little bit before answering. “Un raisin.” (a grape) You clap with glee and hand him over the grape. A silence falls between you both, unaware of how to keep going. He picks up a strawberry and brings it to your face. “Tu aime les fraises?” (do you like strawberries?) You eye him for a second, for someone who said he only knows how to ask how to go the bathroom in french, he knows quite a bit. You nod a little, opening your mouth and letting him feed you the sweet fruit. Your face matches the colour of the strawberry and he giggles. You pull out a sandwich and ask him to describe what’s in it.

“Dans le sandwich, il y a du jambon, du beurre, et de la tomate.” (in the sandwich there is some ham, some butter, and some tomato.) He speaks confidently.

“Trés bien Jay! Tu es bon en parler francias!” (very good Jay! You are really good at speaking French!)

“Merci, mon Cheri.” (Thank you, my dear.) you blush even more before and shy away from Jay’s gaze. Jay being the very bold guy that he is, placing his hand underneath your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. You both just stare at each other as the sun sets behind you. Was Jay always this beautiful? His eyes scan over your face seeking for any discomfort, none is to be found. So he makes the move and starts to lean in. You already have your eyes closed and lips puckered out, ready to embrace a feeling you’ve never felt before.

His breath fans over your lips and just before he kisses you he asks “je peux t’embrasser? (can I kiss you?) you eagerly nod and whisper out “embrasse-moi.” (kiss me.) Jay finally places his lips on yours and everything feels right. Your hands find their way to the back of his neck to deepen the kiss. You stay in this position with him for a little while before you pull back for air. Both his hands cradle your face, his thumb rubbing across the apples of your cheeks.

“I still have a lot to learn y’know?” Jay breaks the silence. You laugh out loud, falling into his lap.

“Same time next week then yeah?” He lets out a ‘hmm’ and watches you rest your head against his thigh, playing with the ends of your hair. ‘Maybe France could wait a little’ he thought.

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marauderundercover · 3 years ago

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Taking Chances Ch. 28: Summer Changes (School)

AO3

A week after the Disney movie marathon, Marinette was finally back on patrol. No thanks to her dad though. If it was up to him, she’d probably never patrol again. Luckily for her, (unluckily for him) her brothers were adamant on her coming back to the field. Which led to her current problem. Hanging upside down from a gargoyle near Wayne Enterprises.

“Ukht, what have you done?” Damian asks, and though she can’t see his face, she can tell by his voice that he’s exasperated. Join the club, she thinks, at least you’re not upside down.

“Why do you automatically think I did something?” She asks, trying desperately to turn around so that she can talk to him. It was really awkward talking to someone when you couldn’t see them but you knew they were near you.

“Because you are the one hanging upside down,” Damian says flatly. She huffs.

“It’s not like I want to be, Robin. It just kind of happened,” She says.

“And how exactly did it happen? I have never seen your yoyo betray you like that before. Not even in the videos when you were still very new.” Damian says, and she swears he’s smirking. He’s definitely laughing at her on the inside, and as much as she wants to be frustrated, she can’t. It wasn’t easy amusing her little brother (unless you were an animal) so she wasn’t about to ruin it.

“Hood made a bet relating to this exact gargoyle and I’d never been this way before and I just, I don’t know. Somehow I misjudged where my yoyo was going and next thing I know, I’m tied up and Hood is gone.” She says, sighing.

“Where did he go?” Damian asks.

“Over here so I could record the dumbass trying to untie herself.” Jason says with a snort, she manages to turn just enough so she can see him and stick her tongue out at him. He chuckles. “You’re the one who somehow tied herself up with a magic string, I’m just getting the proof so I can show Wonder Woman.” He says and Marinette’s jaw drops.

“You wouldn’t dare!” She screams, struggling against her yoyo, finally able to get the string to loosen slightly.

“Oh, I’d dare.” Jason says and Marinette just knows he has a huge smirk underneath his stupid helmet.

“But Wonder Woman is the coolest person ever and she can’t see me like this!” Marinette complains, trying not to grin when she feels the string start to move the way she needs it to. She ignores Jason’s next remark, instead focusing on the string and- yes! She free falls for a moment, laughing at her brothers’ panic before she swoops up and jerks Jason’s phone away from him.

“You little shit!” He calls after her, starting to chase her.

“You’ll get it back once I delete the videos!” She calls back, laughing as she continues swinging through Gotham, a warm feeling in her chest as she looks over the city that has quickly become her second home.

---

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” A voice screams, making Marinette jump out of bed with a yelp. She clutches her hand over her heart, glaring at her oldest brother.

“Are you trying to make sure I don’t make it past my fifteenth birthday?” She asks with a huff. Dick just grins.

“Happy birthday kiddo! I can’t believe you’re already fifteen!” He exclaims, picking her up in a giant hug. She wants to complain, ask him to let her down, but it’s nice, so instead she returns the hug the best she can. Until she glances out the window.

“Richard Grayson.” She says in a tone she usually reserves for enemies. She feels him stiffen, the hug turning into more of a restraint than a cuddle.

“Yes?” He says.

“Did you honestly wake me up, before the sun, because it’s my birthday?” She asks.

“Yes?” He says, his voice cracking slightly. She purses her lips and lets out a long sigh.

“Dad has a no killing rule.” She says, and suddenly she’s back on the ground.

“Oh would you look at the time, Mar’i needs another bedtime story loveyousomuchgottagobye.” Dick rushes out, practically sprinting out of her room. She just smiles and shakes her head. She’d learned intimidation tactics from Jason and Damian, who both claimed her size made her an easy target against bad guys. They were right, of course, so she was fine with a few extra lessons. Seems they were working. Deciding to call her Maman and Papa since she’s already awake, she frowns as it goes straight to voicemail. It would be nearly eleven in Paris, so the bakery shouldn’t be too busy. She quickly checks the Akuma Alert App to make sure she hadn’t missed anything while she slept. Nothing. So why weren’t they answering? She had assumed they would be waiting for her call since it was the first birthday she’d spent without them. Sighing, she lays back down on her bed, closing her eyes and trying to fall back asleep.

As she lays there, she frowns as a realization hits her. This was the anniversary of her birth mother’s death. Her mood instantly sours and her stomach churns. It was the first year that she could do something about it, the first year she could visit her grave. Quickly making a decision, Marinette throws on a pair of black leggings and an oversized black hoodie. Hopefully no one would spot her.

“Kaalki.” Marinette calls out quietly, not wanting to wake Tikki (who had somehow slept through Dick’s intrusion).

“Oooo, Guardian, are we sneaking out?” They ask, an amused smile on their face. Marinette frowns.

“Yes, but it’s for a good reason.” She says, and Kaalki snorts.

“Whatever the reason, I’m happy to be of assistance.” They reassure her. Marinette smiles and calls the transformation, opening a portal in the cemetery where her birth mother is buried. Her Maman had taken her once, right after telling her she was adopted. It was extremely hard to avoid being akumatized that day, and Marinette steels herself before dropping Kaalki’s transformation. Today would probably be even harder. Pulling the hood over her head to try and hide her identity, she glances around the cemetery, unsurprised to see the small place empty. Despite its small size, it was well taken care of, with beautiful trees adding shade and creating a melancholy feeling. Taking a deep breath, she walks over to the tombstone in the far corner, underneath the Willow tree. Bridgette Le. Died July 9th. Marinette barely notices the tears that start to form as she sits down, tucking her knees into her chest.

“Hi Mama. I-I’m sorry I haven’t really been by to see you much. Did you know I’ve been spending the summer with Dad? Sometimes, I wonder if you would’ve been okay with that. None of us really know why you left, why you didn’t tell him. I’m not blaming you, I just wonder if you would’ve been okay with me knowing him.” She talks, though she knows she’ll never hear a response. And she tries to pretend that fact doesn’t hurt her. “I have brothers. Four of them. They’re all great in their own ways, but they all also make me want to rip my hair out. Three of them are older, Damian’s younger than me. He kinda acts like a big brother at times though. And I have a big sister, Cass. She doesn’t say much, but she’s awesome. She’s in Hong Kong right now, so most of our conversations have been video calls. I have a niece, too.” Marinette stops, wiping furiously at her eyes. She didn't want to cry. At all. But knowing her birth mother would never be able to be part of her life, would never know any of these people like she did- it was hard.

“Guardian, please breathe.” Kaalki says, floating up to sit in front of Marinette’s face. Marinette blinks at the Kwami before listening to them. If they were worried, then Marinette was more lost in her head than she originally thought.

“And today’s my birthday. I was excited at first, and then I remembered the other thing that this day was. Remembered that it’s also the day you-” Marinette pauses, and grits her teeth. “I am so sorry, Mama. I am so sorry that I caused your death.” She chokes out, dropping her head onto her knees, trying to suppress the sobs threatening to break out of her chest.

“We need to go. Marinette, we need to go.” Kaalki urges, patting her cheek urgently. Marinette calls the transformation and falls through a portal, closing it quickly to keep the butterfly that was surely after her from following. She definitely didn’t need to test how far the victim had to be to be akumatized. The second she lands, she lets the transformation drop and the sobs break out.

“Shit Pixie.” Jason curses, and suddenly she’s wrapped in a warm hug, sobs tearing through her as she continues to apologize.

---

Jason Todd had been through a lot of weird shit. Waking up in a pool of green water after being fucking murdered by the Joker, was weird. Emotional baby sister falling through a portal into the room and sobbing? Also weird. But also heartbreaking. He grabs onto her and just holds her, desperately trying to give her some type of comfort.

“Shhhh, it’s okay Pix. I got you.” He mumbles, holding her close. Damian rushes in, sword drawn, face scrunched up when he sees them. Jason shakes his head, this wasn’t something that they could fix with a sword. He wasn’t exactly sure why his baby sister was crying so hard, but he had caught a couple of muffled apologies, so whatever it was, he didn’t think it was something that he (or Damian) could kill. Or, rather, maim, since she was against murdering people that were against her for some reason.

“Has anyone seen Mars, she’s not in her room-” Replacement starts, freezing as he walks into the room.

“Excellent situational awareness, Drake.” Damian mutters, glaring at him. Jason shoots both of them a glare, now was not the time to be fighting. Especially since the kid’s other parents were on their way to celebrate her birthday. If they showed up and she was sobbing, they’d take her home and never let them see her again. And Jason was NOT going to let that happen.

“Anyone know if M’s decided to not kill me yet?” Dick asks, walking into the room with a huge grin that falls the second he sees what’s happening. Jason resists the urge to roll his eyes. Apparently none of his brothers could read a fucking room. Instead of staying at the edge of the room like Damian and Tim, Dick walks over.

“Hey kiddo, it’s okay. We’re here.” He says softly. The kid pulls away from him, though he can tell it’s a little reluctantly, before launching herself at Dick, her sobs starting to die down. Jason lets out a short huff, running his fingers through his hair as he tries to think of what could have set her off. There were no akuma alarms, but she fell out of a portal. Which means she was out of the manor when she got upset. He watches as Dick pats her hair gently and whispers to her. God, he’s such a dad. Then again, he’s been mother henning him and their other brothers for years, so it’s not really a surprise.

“I’m sorry guys.” Marinette says suddenly, her voice small as she stays hidden in Dick’s arms.

“No need to apologize, Pixie Pop.” Jason reassures her. She finally pulls away from Dick and Jason’s heart, honest to god breaks at the broken look on her face.

“She died in childbirth, you know.” She whispers, and suddenly it makes sense. Why she was sitting there sobbing on her birthday, why she’d fallen out of a portal.

“That is not your fault.” Damian says firmly, walking over and standing face to face with Marinette, something Jason knew annoyed the girl. Damian was two years younger, but a little taller than her. She didn’t seem to mind now, though.

“But it was. If I hadn’t been born-” She starts and Jason frowns at the thought.

“The world would be a much shittier place.” He says with finality, not leaving room for her to argue. “Pix, you’re amazing, and the world would really suck without you. Never be sorry you were born.” Jason says firmly, stumbling slightly when she launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“Thank you Jay.” She mumbles, and he can tell she’s crying again, but this time it’s not sobs, so he thinks it’s fine.

“Come on, let’s all watch a movie.” Repla- Tim suggests and Jason raises an eyebrow at the idea, briefly wondering what kind of movie he’d pick. They all pile on the giant sectional that Bruce had bought specifically for impromptu movie nights as Tim sticks the DVD in. Jason just snorts as the title card for “The Addams Family” comes on, settling back in the couch, ready to watch one of the greatest movies ever.

---

“Thank you again for flying us out here for her birthday.” Sabine says, smiling at him. Bruce returns the smile and nods.

“Of course, thank you for letting her spend the summer here. I know she’s appreciated the break from her classmates.” He says, his smile quickly fading at the confused look on both Sabine and Tom’s faces.

“What do you mean?” Tom asks.

“Marinette hasn’t told you?” Bruce asks, suddenly regretting bringing it up. Why hadn’t she said anything? They were her parents too. Sure, she’d made it clear they couldn’t know about Ladybug, but her class wasn’t a hero problem. They were a civilian problem.

“We knew that she wasn’t hanging out with them as often, and that she didn’t talk about her class as much as she used to. We just assumed that she was busy.” Sabine says, her face a mixture of sadness and anger.

“My apologies, I assumed she’d talked to you.” Bruce says, feeling as if he had crossed a line. Would they be mad at him, for her telling him something she hadn’t told them?

“She’s always looking out for others first,” Tom finally sighs, a tired smile on his face. “She probably thought she was saving us from being akumatized.” Bruce’ jaw clenches. Had Marinette really suffered in silence to avoid being forced to fight her parents?

“We can continue this conversation later, right now we should focus on her birthday.” Sabine says, placing a hand on Tom’s arm. He nods and Bruce makes a note to talk to the two about the possibility of her switching schools.

“She’s probably in her room.” Bruce says, leading the two towards the stairs.

“Actually, Master Bruce, the children are all in the informal sitting room. I believe they snuck down to have a movie night after Master Dick woke Miss Marinette to wish her a happy birthday.” Alfred says, Bruce watches his face and knows that’s not all, but doesn’t press. It had to be something that he couldn’t talk about in front of the Dupain Cheng’s.

“Of course they did. Thank you, Alfred. Alfred, this is Sabine Cheng and Tom Dupain, Marinette’s parents. Tom, Sabine, this is Alfred Pennyworth. He’s the man who raised me.” Bruce says, smiling at him. The three exchange pleasantries and soon Bruce is leading the two to the sitting room. He pushes the door open gently, careful not to let it slam. He spots a sword on the floor near Damian and quickly grabs it, moving it away. If he was woken up suddenly, he would still panic and attempt to fight his way out.

“She looks so peaceful.” Sabine whispers, and Bruce smiles, a genuine smile, he didn’t have to fake a smile when most of his children were together and safe and happy. Or, quiet, at least. It was rare.

“I’ve found them like this several times.” Bruce admits, pulling out his phone to show the two all of the pictures he’d taken of the kids piled together sleeping. Sabine and Tom smile widely at the pictures and Bruce quickly sends them their favorites.

“B, I swear to god, I can sense you in here. Let us sleep.” Jason mumbles grumpily.

“Sorry Jason, Marinette’s parents are here so it’s time to get up.” Bruce says, amused at the way his son’s hair was attempting to defy gravity. Jason looked around sleepily, waved lazily at Sabine and Tom, and then collapsed back on the couch. Bruce sighs. “Would the two of you like to have a cup of coffee while we give them a few more minutes to sleep?” He offers.

“That would be lovely.” Sabine says, and Bruce leads the two to the kitchen, hoping Tim (who had sat straight up after Jason flopped down) would take the hint and wake up the others.

---

Marinette sighs happily as everyone sits down at the table for dinner. The day had been amazing, despite the rough start. And her Dad had even flown her Maman and Papa out to spend the day with her. They couldn’t stay for long, they had the bakery to run after all, but it was still nice to see them. Marinette glances at the end of the table where a place was set, but no one sat.

“What’s with the extra plate?” Jason asks, turning to Alfred who was sitting in the chair next to it instead of his regular seat.

“It is for Miss Le.” He says, and she can almost feel everyone freeze. Her throat tightens, but she still smiles at him with watery eyes.

“Thank you, Alfred.” She says quietly. He nods.

“You are quite welcome, Miss.” He says. She clears her throat and looks back at her Maman, noticing that her smile was also a little sad. It had been all day, but Marinette was certain it wasn’t anything to worry about. Bridgette had been close with her Maman, surely she was just mourning her today, openly for the first time in a long time.

---

Marinette groans at whoever is trying to wake her up.

“Five more minutes.” She mutters, burrowing deeper under the covers. It was summer break, why wouldn’t anyone let her sleep?

“Come on sweetheart, your Papa and I want to talk to you and Bruce.” Her Maman says, and she immediately sits up. Was she in trouble? Had her Maman figured out the whole Batman thing? Had she figured out the Ladybug thing?

“Uh, okay.” She says, sliding out of bed and stepping into slippers. She wasn’t sure how serious the conversation was, but since her Maman didn’t stop her from walking out of the room in her pajamas, she relaxed slightly. It couldn’t be that serious, right? She follows her Maman into her Dad’s study, glancing wearily at the clock in the corner. Her Maman was often too observant. Hopefully she didn’t notice anything odd about the clock. They all sit in silence for an entire minute until Marinette can’t handle it anymore.

“Am I in trouble?” She asks hesitantly, looking between her parents’ faces.

“Of course not, we just- We noticed how different you are.” Her Maman says and Marientte frowns, furrowing her eyebrows. Different? She was different?

“How?” She asks.

“You’re happier than I’ve seen you in months honey. Your smile reaches your eyes, you talk freely, you seem peaceful.” Her Maman says softly, and Marinette blinks in surprise. Had she really been so easy to read in Paris? Had her parents really been able to tell? She’d wanted to hide it from them, not let them see how everything was piling on her, crushing her. She didn’t want to worry them.

“What do you- how-” She stumbles over her words, trying to figure out where she messed up.

“We didn’t know why until we talked to Bruce.” Her Papa says and she turns to glare at her Dad, feeling a little betrayed. He holds up his hands in surrender.

“Marinette, you didn’t tell me not to tell them about your class.” He reminds her, and she huffs.

“Guess we can cross mind reader off the list of things you can do.” She mumbles, making her Papa snort.

“It wasn’t just that though. We’d seen how restrained you had become, how you never went out with friends and you stopped talking about them.” Her Maman says softly. Marinette grits her teeth, hugging herself to try and hold herself together.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” She says, her voice barely audible. That wasn’t the main reason though. She didn’t want to fight her parents, and if they knew everything going on with Lila, they’d definitely be akumatized. She couldn’t fight them. Not if she could help it.

“What would you say about transferring schools?” Her Maman asks suddenly, and Marinette jerks her head up, looking at her with wide eyes. Transfer schools? It would be great, amazing, fantastic, but- but her classmates would still come to the bakery. Still give her the same odd looks they’d been giving her since they found out that she’s a Wayne.

“What school?” She asks, because yes, that makes a difference. Chloe had transferred schools not long ago, and Marinette did not want to trade Lila for Chloe. She’d rather not deal with either of them, if she was being honest.

“Gotham Academy.” Her Maman says, and Marinette feels lucky that she wasn’t drinking anything, because she would have definitely done a spit take. Gotham Academy? As in, live in Gotham year round? What-

“Are you giving me up?” She asks, suddenly hurt. Her Maman’s eyes widen and her Papa pulls her into a giant hug.

“Of course not honey.” He says, rubbing her back gently and squeezing her lightly.

“We asked Bruce if he thought Gotham Academy would be a good school for you. He offered to let you fly home some weekends, and any of the breaks you want. Or to fly us out here if you have time off school. You don’t have to say yes, and you don’t have to make a decision right now.” Her Maman reassures her as her Papa lets her go. Marinette turns to look at her Dad, his face unreadable.

“Would you really be okay with that?” She asks, and he nods.

“We all just want you to be happy, Marinette. Wherever that may be. And we’re all willing to work together to do that.” He says and she smiles, letting out a soft sigh.

“I- I’d need to think about it a little more,” She says, running through the idea in her head. It seemed perfect, besides the whole ‘bouncing back to Paris for attacks’ thing. But she’d been doing it all summer, it had been fine so far. And maybe, maybe, Hawkmoth would even be defeated by the end of summer. No matter what, things were changing and Marinette was trying her best to keep up.

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @laurcad123 @waiting247 @jayjayspixiepop @mizzy-pop @jjmjjktth @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82 @lady-bee-fechin @corporeal-terrestrial

#maribat #maribat fanfiction #maribat fic #mbdbwm2021 #maribat bio dad! bruce wayne month 2021 #maribat bio dad bruce #maribat bio dad au #maribat bruce wayne #maribat jason todd #maribat dick grayson #maribat damian wayne #maribat tim drake #platonic dickinette #platonic jasonette #platonic daminette #platonic timari #maribat marinette dupain cheng #day twenty eight school

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hetalia-has-a-secretary · 3 years ago

Note

kids au? or better human au? I do not know, but the allies and the axis are reunited with their first love s / o. To which they never managed to confess what they felt and S / o is better than they remembered. Some headcanons of the school time in the past and of the reunion of both.

This is a Hallmark AU (Hallmark is an American channel that has the most romantic, but cheesiest and slightly annoying romance movies. I'm talking like, that one miscommunication that messes up the almost official relationship, despite both the man and woman finally getting along after they tried to dislike each other even though it was painfully obvious they liked each other). But yeah, this would be a Human AU lol.

Allies an Axis reconnect with S/O!

Allies:

America:

His heart and body stopped dead on the college campus.

Standing in front of him was S/O. Someone he hasn't seen in years.

They had moved away the day he was going to admit his feelings to them.

He remembers the times they ran across the road they lived in, and played underneath a tree in the field.

He remembered the one time they cut open their knee, and he had to carry them back home. Even though they could still walk, he wanted to be their hero.

Time skip back to the present, they were back!

He ran to them full speed, and hugged them, telling them how much they missed them, and how much he loved them.

"Alfred? Alfie!?"

He sputtered as he realized what he had admitted too, and hearing the childhood nickname brought blush to his face.

His S/O smiled and pulled him in, repeating his vows of affection.

England:

He scoffed at the group of people who were being a bit too rowdy in the town library.

He eventually had enough and was about to ask them to tone it down when he caught sight of a familiar face.

His S/O was standing in a group of their friends. Their happy aura making them twice as lovely as they were the day the had to go back to their hometown. Supposedly to help an old friend.

It seemed that even back then they spent most of their time reading the worst rated books to each other.

Joining all the little craft fairs the librarians held at the establishment. He still has the bracelet S/O made him.

He had to swallow the lump in his throat. Eyes eventually locking.

S/O had excused themselves from their group, and immediately ran to him, hesitating to hug him.

Arthur stopped them from doing so, and for some reason did the most cheesiest thing. He kissed the knuckles to their hand. No turning back now.

He complimented them, saying they looked just as beautiful they day he wanted to admit his feelings to them.

He was lucky they felt the same.

France:

He spent his whole college career trying to make it into the modeling industry.

He had books and books of clothing designs to submit, but all had failed. And he was left working as a barista in some shady coffee shop.

He sighed as he heard the bell ding, a new customer who would probably complain about the mucky drinks.

But as he turned he was immediately taken back to the day his S/O first moved to town.

They lived across the street from him, and his S/O had turned around seeing him standing on the sidewalk, getting the mail.

They had both shyly waved to each other, and for a few days Francis left them small gifts, too shy to talk to them face to face, and never able to tell them his feelings.

But now, they're standing in front of him.

They hadn't recognized them, but he was so lost in thought the only thing he could manage was to wave at them

That waved must have rang a bell Because his S/O went "Wait- Are you the kid from across the street? The one who left me like, a pink paper airplane on my porch?"

His face went 50 shades of red as he started spitting out excuses and apologies.

After taking his order, he noticed they left their receipt behind. And a cell number.

China:

Balance. Focus. Deep breathing.

All things Yào had for his martial arts training in the park. He was working on his Tai chi when some stranger's dog had ran under his legs, knocking him over.

All he could hear was someone apologizing, finally getting control of their dog.

He shot up to yell at the stranger but something stopped him.

The stranger looked painfully familiar, so once introductions were made, it dawned on him.

It was S/O. The two of them use to hide away from the other kids in grade school. He was the only asian in their class so he got picked on by everyone but S/O.

They had found an abandoned shack in the woods and they cleaned it up, making it their own. A base to go to when they were troubled.

Yào cracked a smile at them, and teased them about how he use to have a crush on them, a way to see how they felt.

He couldn't stop the blush that came with S/O admitting to crushing back at him.

Russia:

He had met his S/O in his second year of College. It was unexpected.

They had came into the school year almost half way through so they seemed extremely lost.

Knowing how akward and hard it was to be in that situation he built up the courage to try and talk to them.

"E-excuse me. Do you need the- to be- shown round school?"

His broken english wasn't as bad as it once was, but his nerves caught up to him. Even hearing S/O laugh made his heart flutter.

He was surprised when it wasn't at him, and when they said yes- his stomach was doing backflips.

That was then, this is now. He had to go back to Russia, and they had said their goodbyes, thinking they'd never see each other again.

But after a year or so he decided to move back to America. Back to the town that gave him so much.

He'd be lying if he wasn't hoping to meet his S/O and maybe, just maybe, admit to what he felt.

He already knew S/O wanted to work at a certain place in town, so when he got the chance he went straight there.

To his sadness though, they weren't there. Nor did they ever work there.

Passing by the campus he was surprised at what he saw.

They were still in college?

Turns out a few class credits from high school didn't take, so they were slowly working on earning them back.

But the reunion was a welcomed one. Both had run into each other's arms at the sight. Ivan immediately showing confidence and asking if they were dating anyone.

"No, why?"

"Well, now you can be dating! Me, da?"

The smile his S/O was all he needed for a yes.

Axis:

Germany:

His college days were long behind him, including his dating days.

They were on his mind often, and even though he never told S/O how he felt, in his heart the time they spent together was all he needed to satisfy him.

That was until one day someone called his construction company to help get a roof fixed.

There was something about their voice that sent an odd, familiar sensation down his spine.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he went to the site himself.

The person who opened the door was S/O

The same person who helped him bring Feli to the nurse's office when he was "accidentally" pushed down some stairs.

They helped Luddy calm his anger and nerves over the days Feli had to recover from a fractured ankle and a broken finger.

Now he stood at the door, just as pleasantly stunned as S/O.

They hit it off like they weren't apart the last 5 years.

Japan:

His heart sank the day his parents were rejected the ability to go to America.

The day they were supposed to fly in, was the day someone in an office lost track of some documents. Preventing them from even getting a green light to even go.

Even with the sad news, it wasn't going to stop him. He made all the calls he could, and decided to take a break after two hours.

Walking through town he soon spotted someone working outside at a cafe.

It was an old friend of his. It was S/O.

He wasn't planning on eating just yet, but he had to know for sure if it was them.

Years ago they had ran into him, more literally than metaphorically, and since then they would hang out when they could.

One specific memory was during high school, and they decided to play tennis. He couldn't help but laugh as his S/O got the ball stuck in the fencing more than once.

Sitting down, he waited for someone to take his orders.

To his surprise his waiter was S/O, who recognized him off the bat.

Deciding to take their break early, they got them and Kiku their desired food, and chatted.

Before going back in the clock, Kiku had asked them when they could talk next.

His S/O gave a day and address, and said "So it's a date then?"

Kiku could do nothing but blush and nod, maybe a bit more agressively than he wanted too.

Italy:

Deep breaths. One step at a time, he tells himself. The very first day of middle school.

He was always a really shy kid, especially at school.

He can be a bit loud at times but he's really a gentle soul with a heart of gold

Sometimes, even in your own country, that can get you looked down upon. Sometimes it just takes someone from the outside to remember there's more on the horizon.

He first met his S/O (a transfer student for the next couple years) the first day school started. He was already too nervous, but his S/O saw the amount of alone time he has, minus his brother being near by, and decided to try and make friends.

The conversation went okay, the language barrier being a slight set back, but the more they hung out, the easier both of their languages became. By the time his S/O left, they were pretty fluent and Bilingual.

It's been almost years since then, but he spotted his S/I, ironically, the first day of College.

They were unmistakable from their signature laugh, and Feli had gained a lot of courage talking to people since he met them.

Tapping them on their shoulder, an odd wave of giddiness filled him. What he once thought was happiness from having a friend, he now recognizes as love.

It took him a few weeks, but he eventually asked them out, and the beating in his chest filled his ears as they said yes.

Thank you so much to the Anon who spotted the fact Italy was forgotten! Thank you~!

#hetalia american #hetalia england #hetalia france #hetalia china #hetalia russia #hetalia germany #hetalia japan #hetalia Italy #human au #hetalia #hws #aph #hetalia world stars

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abyssal-memories-and-dreams · 4 years ago

Note

Thanks for writing the first fanfic on leona x shy mc reader. If you don't mind but can do do with the fem shy mc with silver pls.

Hi, Luv! Thank you once again for the amazing request! I hope that this is to your fancy, it certainly took a while for me to finish!

Without further ado...

Silver x Shy! Fem! Reader! Under the Willow Tree

There was one place that you often visited during your free time at Night Raven College. A place that would calm you among all the Overblots and other dorm quarrels. A place that would allow you to avoid all the chaos in your newfound life as a magicless student, free from all the recklessness of the A-Deuce duo accompanied by your furry familiar, Grim. You would often visit this place after school as a way to avoid the loud crowds and bask in the sunny afternoons. It reached beyond Coach Vargas’ fields and towards the edge of NRC’s borders. It was a bit of a walk, but you didn’t mind. After all, the view was worth the journey.

You happened to take in that view as you took a stroll to that place. Despite walking for what felt like hours, you enjoyed the gentle spring breeze brushing up against your face. The way that the sunlight peered through the cracks of the trees’ leaves and brightened up the foliage gave you a calming sensation, welcoming you further into the forest. It was just a little bit longer, you remembered, until you reached it. That special place.

How you were able to find it was not just your doing. You see, you had a friend introduce you to this place one afternoon - which was quite a surprise given that you were certain you wouldn’t have even one friend. Even more so, in contrast to Ace and Deuce, your friend was more mature and much more responsible for his own actions. He was also quite stronger than your other friends, which made you wonder why he even talked to you at all. Maybe it was the pursuit of a destressing environment, maybe it was just an appreciation for nature. Whatever it was, you somehow were able to bond after school in the library.

That was where you met your dear friend, Silver.

Yet, for some reason, the title of “dear friend” didn’t sit right with you when referring to him. You tried thinking of him as a “close ally” or a “cherished companion,” but neither did those terms sit right with you either. A little bit distraught at the notion that you couldn’t find something to call the silver-haired boy, but that didn’t really matter that much. After all, today you were just about to meet up with him at your special place.

It took a few more minutes before you finally found it - a wide patch of land where the sun gently kissed every blade of grass beyond the edges of the small, green landscape. Right in front of it was a pond where you would often see frogs and fish wander about and the occasional doe would step on the land for a sip of water. What was the most special about this place was right next to the pond, where a single great willow tree shaded the ground underneath. It was the perfect place for you to relax, lying your head against the tree bark as the shadows made it possible for you to read a book for hours on end.

That was exactly what you were planning to do.

You rested your head against the bark, grabbing one of your textbooks from your book bag as you got comfortable. You made sure you were close enough to the pond to watch the fish swim aimlessly, though soon your mind centered on nothing but the book as you awaited Silver. After all, this was one of the only places you would hang out together. Even when you first met him, he was always busy with something. Whether it would be his studies, his duties as a knight-in-training, or any errand he had to do that day, you rarely got the chance to spend that much time together. But that's ok - you were hoping that he would show up anytime now.

Just two classmates hanging out - as friends - under a willow together. He’s sure to come eventually, you thought. Any minute now.

...

The sun was wavering against the horizon as the day drew closer to evening and night. You had finished reading the chapter you needed for your history class long ago, so you picked up another textbook and started to read that. Then another. Eventually, you ran out of books to read and put your attention on the fish in the pond. One, then two, then a red and an orange and a blue - all kinds of colors and shapes and sizes that mindlessly wandered the limited space. Your heart sinks more and more with each passing minute. It must’ve been hours since you’ve been here, so where was he? Did he forget? No, that couldn’t be - he’s usually very serious on timely manners. Did he doze off somewhere? Even so, he usually doesn’t sleep for that long. Then it hit you - a question that you dared yourself you wouldn’t think of, for it pained your heart ever so.

Did he not want to see you?

Was he getting bored of you ever since you first met, opting to leave you by yourself in the middle of a forest with no way of contacting you? Or were you so desperate for the fact that you found someone else to bond with that you couldn’t tell that he was being disingenuous with you?

Was this some way of mocking you?

Tormenting you?

Did he pity you?

Where was he?

Where was your friend? Your ally? Your companion? Your anything?

“Hey,” a soft voice came from ahead as your mind went elsewhere for a moment before jolting back to your reality. You looked in front of you just as a similar silver-haired boy walked in front of where you sat. Despite the skies turning darker as time drew on, you couldn’t mistake him.

Silver.

Your friend.

“Hello,” you muttered back. You tried sounding as friendly as you could, but couldn’t help but feel as though there was a bit of annoyance in your voice. You hoped you didn’t notice.

“I apologize for making you wait so long,” Silver said. “I was caught up in an incident and had to help calm things down.” Despite feeling a bit down about the fact that it was nearing nighttime, you had to understand where he was coming from.

“Was it another Overblot?” You asked.

“No, just Sebek.” You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought. “I had to separate him from another student who mocked Malleus’ name.”

“Was he trying to fight him?”

“Maybe, if I didn’t stop him. I had to promise that we would train to get his mind off the ordeal.”

There was a silence between you two that must’ve lasted a while. Despite now acknowledging the situation, your heart still weighed heavy on you. You couldn’t even look at him without unintentionally staring him in the face. You wondered what was going on inside his head right now, why you weren’t looking at him as you realized your heart was starting to race against your chest. You knew he wasn’t trying to hurt you, so what was this feeling just now?

“Hey, do you mind if I sit there?” He asked, pointing to the seat next to you. “Unless you were planning to go - I know it’s kind of dark out-”

“No, it’s fine,” you blurted out, incidentally scaring yourself. Why did you even say that?

You watched as Silver stared back at you for a brief moment before nodding in compliance, taking his place by your side against the willow. You smelled the smallest hint of sweat behind all the layers of his uniform, wondering how long it had been since he last trained. Your heart continued to beat more frequently as you realized how close you were to him. Wanting to avoid eye contact, you turned your attention back to the pond, realizing now that you were having a more difficult time seeing the fish.

“Do you like this place?” Silver asked, breaking the silence as you turned back to face him.

“Yes,” you simply said. “It’s wonderful.”

“I’m glad,” he responded. “This is one of my favorite places on campus.”

“I can tell,” you agreed. “It’s become mine, too.”

Another pause. You start to wonder if he could sense your heart beating at this point.

“That’s good to hear. I’m glad someone can enjoy it like I do.” You nodded, but kept feeling a sense of dread in your gut. Unknowingly letting the thoughts from before plague your mind, you began to dissociate for a moment as questions plagued your mind again. Is he being genuine, or is this pity?

“Silver… why did you introduce me to this place?” Silver turned to face you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Well, I thought it was easy to understand - I thought that you would like it.”

“And if I didn’t?” Wait, what were you doing? Why ask these questions out loud?

“Well, if you didn’t, you didn’t - I don’t control what you like.”

“But would you think lowly of me for not sharing the same interest?” Silver turned to face you, bewildered.

“Why do you ask that? Of course not,” he responded. “Do you think of me that way?”

You turn back to face him, only to realize that your heartbeat banged in your eardrums the minute you stared into his eyes. “N-no, that wasn’t what wasn’t what I was thinking at all,” you stuttered. “I was just… wondering…” You tried finding the words, and you were so close, but your mind was blocking you for telling them a first.

“About what?” He asked. You sighed, finally breaking through your hazy mind to say what you wanted to say.

“Well, you’re trying to become a knight for one of this world’s most powerful wizards of this time. You probably have everything going for you - a good education, support from friends and family, everything. And me… well, I have nothing. No family, no magic… I’m an outsider. Probably what this world considers the bottom of the barrel here-”

“Wait-”

“And I understand that, it makes sense! I’m not meant to be here. I don’t know how I got here. I’m just hoping that Headmaster Crowley can find a way to get me back home so I can be where I belong,” you took a breath. “It’s just… I’m not special here. I don’t have any crazy powers or an insane upcoming to justify me being here. I’m just me. And I don’t get why someone like you - someone so special - would try and talk to me…”

Another pause filled the atmosphere as you both sat there, avoiding his gaze as he tried to find a response to that. Your heartbeat bumped so hard it might as well burst out of your chest this second. Why did you say that? He probably thinks of you as some weirdo now- wait, did he just laugh? You turn to face him again, and as you suspected, he started to laugh. Did something happen a few seconds ago?

“I-I’m sorry, was something I said funny?” You asked, wondering if you should be offended by this or not.

“No, not like that. I’m just surprised,” he said. “Why would you think I cared about something like that? Do you take me as someone so shallow?” Your cheeks blushed a dusty pink.

“Wait, no, I’m sor-”

“Don’t be,” he interrupted. “I should be the one apologizing. First, I nearly miss out on our company together, then I don’t realize you harbor these feelings of self-doubt.”

“Hey, it’s not like it’s something out of your control.” You responded.

“But I made you feel that way, did I not? And I don’t want someone I care for to feel like that.”

You paused for a moment before comprehending his words. “You care for me?”

He tilted his head in confusion. “Is that not obvious? I ask if we could spend time together on multiple occasions-”

“Silver,” you interrupted, now facing another dilemma. “What do you think of me?”

He paused for a moment to stare at you, his cheeks now turning a dusty pink. What was this boy thinking?

“It’s kind of funny… that’s the reason I wanted to meet you here today,” he said. Your furrowed your eyes, wondering.

“Go on…”

“Ever since I met you that one time in the library, I admired how much you wanted to learn despite your environment. I thought you were smart, and I wanted to believe you were kind. But you always kept to yourself most of the time, and I didn’t know how to approach you. I even went to ask my old man about it, which led me to the realization that I should introduce you to this place.”

You slowly nodded, taking in his words. “So we started hanging out here instead…”

“Correct. At first, I thought I wanted to do it just for platonic purposes, but… I soon realize myself growing fonder of you.”

Your heart felt like it couldn’t take much more than it already was. Was this what you thought it was? “Silver…”

He laid his hand on top of yours. “(Y/N),” he said. “What I’m trying to ask is this. Would you like to continue this relationship further?”

Your eyes widen. “You don’t mean…” He nodded. “But what about your duties? What’s the rest of the dorm gonna think?”

“I don’t think they would mind that much. I just don’t wanna pressure you into this relationship,” He looked to the side, poorly hiding his blush away. But for that alone, you couldn’t help but smile, bringing your free hand to his cheek as you intertwined your fingers in his, causing him to look back surprised by your actions.

“Silver, there is nothing more I would want now than to stand by you. Of course I’ll accept your offer.”

Silver’s eyes lit up in joy, a smile appearing on his face as well as he looks relieved by your answer. “You have no idea how happy you made me just now, (Y/N)...”

“I could say the same to you,” you responded. He chuckled, his forehead now closer to yours as he gripped your hand a little bit tighter. His eyes started to dart back and forth for a moment, his blush growing darker. “Hey,” he said. “Do you mind if we…?” He couldn’t finish his question, but his body language said it all. Despite your face flaring up as well, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Of course.”

Silver smiled once more as you timidly brought your face closer to his, your free hand now resting on his shoulder. Under the gaze of the moonlight that peeked through the cracks of the willow’s leaves and branches, only a few could’ve seen what was going on. The way that you kissed in almost complete darkness brought a sense of security for both of you, and now knowing that you two felt the same way, you understand that this moment might not certainly be the last. After all, you finally found a title to call the boy.

Yes, your dearest love, Silver - that sounds amazing for him.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #disney #twst silver #silver #silver x reader #twisted wonderland silver

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nyxdelanuit · 5 years ago

Text

Joy is Yellow (Kaminari x Reader)

Hey guys! This is for the BNHarem collab. The theme this time was Flowers c:

Here’s the link to the rest of the collab! Please look here to find more of your favorite BNHA characters written by some awesome writers!

It wasn’t often that Kaminari was disappointed with becoming a hero, but watching you wander around the farmer’s market in the mid-morning sun, he regretted not being able to do this everyday. You walked arm-in-arm with his friends, unaware of his pining. He wanted to tell you, so badly he wanted to tell you… but if there was one thing Kaminari had learned about himself since graduating UA, it was that as soon as he caught feelings, the words stopped coming out of his mouth right. He couldn’t risk messing everything up. Not with you.

Sero hung off of one arm, Mina on the other. Your bag hung precariously off of your shoulder, threatening to tear Mina’s arm from you as it fell. Yet you didn’t mind, you simply forged forward, smile wide on your face. Kaminari let you pull his friends forward, hanging back to hear your laugh filter through the crowds. His eyes watched your back as you ran around, looking through local honeys, fresh vegetables, and the occasional booth of art and hair pins. The crowd grew larger as the morning went on, obscuring you from his vision when you ducked into tents and booths, but he still took in the crisp air with joy in his heart. Kaminari thought he might finally understand what people meant when they mentioned ‘simple pleasures.’

He had to resist the urge to sprint to your side as your squeal pierced the calm air. The sight of you, unharmed, calmed him somewhat but didn’t ease his pounding heart. Face flushed, eyes wide in joy, and utterly angelic as you took in the wide selection of flowers in front of you.

“Mina, look!” You held a slip of paper out to her, hands trembling in excitement. “I never knew flowers had meanings. Look, this one has almost a whole page!” You were threatening to turn Kaminari’s insides to mush, watching you flitter from flower to flower like a hummingbird, barely stopping to skim over the slip of paper in front of each flower. Kaminari may not be able to get the right words out of his mouth, but maybe….

Daffodils: Inspiration. You inspire me to push myself every day. I want to be someone worthy of your beauty- inside and out.

The note sat nestled inside a modest bouquet of buttery yellow daffodils, still dewy from the chill morning. Your fingers ran over the note, trying to recall the handwriting. It was at least someone who knew where you lived- in a gated apartment for recently graduated students of UA- and someone who knew of your new obsession with the language of flowers. With gentle hands, you scooped up the flowers from your stoop, placing them in a vase you had purchased at the market the day before. It was true what they said, flowers really brightened up a room. Or maybe that was the feeling that sat airily in your chest.

You usually ran into one or two former classmates while wandering around your apartment complex, but Kaminari was becoming a more regular face. It wasn’t unwelcome, you enjoyed every moment spent with the ditsy blonde. You did wonder if he played up his dumb blonde shtick for laughs, but he was always genuine with you. As you wandered through the gates after your shift, it was no surprise that he was the first person you saw.

“Hey! Have you eaten yet?” He called out, a grin plastered on his face. You couldn’t help but think he’d been waiting for you, as self-absorbed as that made you feel. He was still staring at you, the grin faltering before you realized you hadn’t answered.

“Oh, not yet. I was hoping to get out of these gross clothes first.” He nodded sagely before breaking out in another grin.

“Let me pick up some food for us while you change then. And no saying no! I want to have a picnic, and no one else will have one with me!” Kaminari tried his best to give you the most pathetic puppy eyes that he could muster, a smile breaking through as you giggled at his antics.

“Fine, ‘Minari. I’ll meet you out here in twenty?” You were surprised he hadn’t concussed himself with how hard he nodded before sprinting off with a wave. Surely he must have whiplash at least?

If it wasn’t Kaminari Denki, the class flirt, you would almost think the picnic laid out before you was… romantic. He had surely put a lot of energy into it, making sure that the blanket had shade, but wasn’t hidden under the tree, a wonderful view of the late afternoon sky, and most of all, quiet. Not many people ventured to this part of the complex, preferring to stick to the well-worn paths and their own spaces. Your favorite guilty-pleasure dinner was laid out like it was homemade, a bottle of sparkling juice on ice nearby. Kaminari must have been serious about wanting a picnic.

The picnic flew by in a flurry of laughs, leaving you both red-faced and out of breath. He had tried, really, to keep himself serious. There were many questions about how your life was like now that you were outside of school, if you liked your job, and any problems you had been facing. He tried so hard. And then he misjudged the toss of a snack, hitting himself in the eye instead of dropping it into his mouth like he intended. You appreciated his efforts, but you appreciated the unadulterated Kaminari more.

You weren’t sure how it devolved into a pseudo food fight, the two of you desperately trying to win points by throwing food into each other’s mouths. It was funny, and, sweet, and utterly juvenile. After spending so much time trying to grow up quickly to match the world you were thrust into, it was such a welcome reprieve.

He insisted on walking you to your door that night.

“No self-respecting hero would let someone walk home alone. Especially if home is only a few doors down from mine.” The grin on his face as he left you at your door felt a little more genuine that night.

Marigolds: Affection, making a connection. To let you know you’re on my mind. Seriously, you’re on my mind, always.

The marigolds on your doorstep weren’t quite as fresh as the daffodils you had received a few days before, but they still held their pungent smell. You were never a big fan of the smell, but you couldn’t help smiling as you remembered the meme fights Sero and Kaminari used to get into in high school.

“They’re marigolds!” Sero shouted at the top of his lungs.

“My god, I think she’s right, they are marigolds!” Kaminari yelled, overly scandalized.

“I may not know my flowers, but I know a b-” They started together, stopping only when an irate Aizawa turned the corner.

The memory alone would have been enough for you to place them among your daffodils, still standing strong with the flower food you had found squirreled away in your cupboards. The sentiment scrawled on the note only made you want to keep them more. Hopefully the daffodils would cut the scent somewhat.

You hadn’t seen Kaminari since the picnic, besides glimpses here and there as one of you left for work. He had looked so tired lately. You knew that he had Sero, Kirishima, and Bakugou looking out for him, but even then, they were busy too. You were less so, by choice. It was too much to jump into right away, and you were always one to adjust to the waters before you dove. It was time to repay him for the picnic.

The knock at the door surprised Kaminari, he was already setting his alarm to run down to the flower shop before you woke up. Then he could get another bunch of flowers, leave them on your doorstep before you left for work, and get a nap in before his shift. He had tried to ignore the dark circles spreading underneath his eyes and the yawns that plagued him. You were worth a little inconvenience.

So when he saw you on the other side of the door, he thought his heart might stop. There you stood in all your glory, looking like you were plucked straight from some painting he ignored during his middle school museum field trips. He knew better now, if he could find your beauty in the paintings, he would stare for hours.

You cleared your throat, pulling him from his drowsy daydreaming. “Can I come in ‘Minari? You’ve been looking a little beat up lately, so I made you some dinner.” He felt awful as he watched you shuffle the carefully stacked containers of food in your arms. Quickly, he went to grab some of them from you, easing your load and motioning you into his house.

How could you do that? Just a few minutes and a simple dinner, something even he could have made, and he suddenly felt like he could run a few laps. No more yawns, they had been long replaced by full body laughs as he watched you utterly fail at the most recent fighting game he had bought. He couldn’t be bothered to play with you, the food in front of him was too tempting. Kaminari couldn’t remember the last time he had made himself food. You must have been an angel sent just for him.

Sunflowers: Joy, optimism, positive energy. Tell me your secrets, please. How do you light up every room you enter? You chase away all the tiredness in my body. It’s like you’re an energy drink for my soul.

You wondered how you were going to fit such large stems into your vase. It seems like your mysterious suitor had thought of that too, buying only a few smaller flowers. It was starting to look like a proper arrangement, although you wondered why it was all yellow. Surely there were flowers in other colors to convey what he wanted? No matter, the sunflowers in front of you definitely cut through the empty space, filling up your room with enough color to rival the sun.

There was a big assignment that a few of the people in your apartment had been appointed to. Kaminari was included, and you barely caught sight of him anymore. Sero had also been called, but you saw him sneaking into Mina’s apartment with the morning’s light. At least you were assured that one of your friends were being properly cared for.

You couldn’t help yourself, you started leaving containers of food at his door, little notes, and a few healthy drinks to combat the sugary energy drinks he preferred. Your dishes were always returned clean by the next day, and it made you feel like you were doing something more than sitting on your ass working part-time while he was out there giving his all. The night that signaled the end of the assignment, you found your dishes outside per usual, with a note.

Thanks Sunshine.

-Denki

The beating of your heart could be heard in your ears. You were so flustered you didn’t notice how the note matched the others you left on the counter.

Pansy: Loving.

This note confused you. Just a single word as explanation and a bundle of gentle yellow pansies with bleeding black centers. Still, you placed the gentle stems in the vase. You were sure to place them where they wouldn’t be crushed by the more boisterous flowers. The petals were so delicate beneath your fingers, you were afraid they’d wilt at the slightest touch.

You’d be sad after these flowers wilted. It was such a fun experience to open your door every morning and search for flowers on your stoop. Even if they weren’t there every day, it only made the days you found them more exciting. You hadn’t really stopped to consider who had been leaving such sweet presents, but you knew who you hoped it was. Maybe you were just reading too much into it, with all the yellows consuming your thoughts.

You knew that Kaminari had the day off, time to recover from the grueling days of work behind him. Even so, you couldn’t resist making more food than you needed. You missed him, even though it had only been a handful of days. With swift steps and an even swifter knock, you were finally in front of him.

He looked awful, there was no nice way of putting it. His hair was unruly in an unintentional way, dark circles and even darker bruises littering his body. But he seemed to light up at your presence. It was a sight to see as the fatigue lifted from his face, his body less weighed down by his slouching shoulders.

Kaminari ate beside you on the couch, a scene that was becoming familiar to you. It was comfortable here, just the endless chatter of the television to end the silence of the growing night. You stayed long after food was finished and the dishes were washed- Kaminari insisted it was the least he could do. Even longer after, when Kaminari’s head fell heavily to your shoulder. Whatever energy you gave him must have reached his limit. It took some time to maneuver him to his bed, all dead weight, but you slid him under his sheets eventually. With a brush to his hair- simply to get it out of his eyes, you tried to convince yourself- you left as quiet as you came.

There was no flower when you opened your door that morning. It was a little disappointing, they seemed to have come after particularly nice nights with Kaminari before. You let yourself get caught up in your head with every thing you had done since the last bouquet, chewing on your lip as scenarios ran through your thoughts.

A knock came at the door before you were able to chew your lip raw. A quick glance to a mirror and a quick straightening of your clothes made you presentable. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous to answer the door. It was just a neighbor, probably one that has seen you in states much worse than when you first woke up…

It was a pleasant surprise to see Kaminari standing before you. He fussed with something in his grasp before he realized you opened the door. He thrust his fist toward you, a single daisy in his clutch. The poor stem had almost been worried through, leaning at an awkward angle. You accepted it with cautious hands, supporting the tired flower.

“So, Denki, what does this one mean?” You smiled at him coyly, enjoying the way he could barely meet your eyes.

“T-true…” His voice was barely a squeak escaping his throat. You took mercy on him, grasping his hand with your free one. Kaminari’s eyes finally flew to yours, questioning.

“Breathe, ‘Minari.” You smiled, coaching him through a breath, and then two. His eyes were clearer when they met yours again. He let a grin sneak onto his face, bringing him a bit more confidence.

“Daisies mean t-true love… and soulmates.”

After many shared smiles and messy kisses, you led him into your apartment, his hand still clutched in yours.

And many years after, you would still get compliments on your bright yellow daisy pendant, encased in resin and lasting as long as his love for you.

#kaminari x reader #denki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #nyx writes #bnharem collab #kaminari denki x reader

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e-milieeee · 4 years ago

Text

four ways to say i love you

Summary: It’s the little things—such as waking up at five in the morning to cook for him or lending her a coat when she’s cold—that mean the world.

Because Marinette loves her partner very, very much, and she’s so lucky that he feels the same.

Notes: I was initially going to do one side of the lovesquare, but all sides are equal and therefore have all four sides in this oneshot :) Post reveal, established relationship. A commissioned piece for @mlbforblm—there’s plenty of talented artists and writers who still have slots, so make sure to commission!

Or read on AO3

Adrien is brushing his teeth when Ladybug comes crashing through his window.

He’s a little later than usual today, still decked in his Ladybug pajamas that he’s so unashamedly proud of. He has tied his bangs back with an elastic band, and it sits like a little tree on top of his head, water still dripping from his face.

“And here I was, thinking you’d be ready to eat breakfast,” she tsks playfully.

He grins back. “Sorry, M’lady. Plagg turned my alarm off.”

His smile is, as usual, contagious and in a way that can’t help but to smile back. Ladybug returns to his room and takes out the box from her bag, where she’d painstakingly prepared breakfast for him at the expense of a shattered bowl and spilled jug of milk. It’s still warm to the touch, thankfully, and her slightly rough landing in his room hadn’t messed it up too much.

Adrien joins her a couple minutes later. He has taken the hair tie out, but his bangs fall softly over his eyes like it does when he’s Chat Noir, and Ladybug wants to run her hands over it so to feel just how soft it is. She refrains herself, though, as they both settle cross-legged on the ground where she has laid their breakfast out.

His mouth drops open. “Wow,” Adrien marvels. “When you said you were going to make a feast, I thought you’d fry an egg or two and slap it between some bread and that would’ve been it. This is… can you describe food as gorgeous? Because this is gorgeous.”

“Just because that’s the only thing you can cook doesn’t mean it’s all I’m capable of,” she sniffs, but underneath, Ladybug preens at the compliment.

It’d taken a lot of effort, and Ladybug had collected the ingredients the day before and planned every single detail before going to bed. Then, at five in the morning, she dragged herself out of bed looking and feeling like a zombie just to prepare it.

There are four egg rolls drizzled with homemade sauce, then sprinkled with dried seaweed and sesame. Next to that are neat cuts of green onion cake, made from absolute scratch (she burned herself in the process of deep-frying them). Inside the longest container are fried fish, the ones her mother had prepared the night before. Finally, the leftover mooncakes from the Lunar Festival are in the little box, tied with a red bow. Marinette had spent careful care on that one.

“Miso soup,” Ladybug tells him as she hands him the thermos. “Uh… I think I added too much paste and it’s too salty, so you might not want to drink that one. And…” She opens the last box, where a variety of fresh-cut fruit awaits. “For health reasons, there are fruits. Oh! Also a cheese platter for Plagg, but he’s still asleep, so he can have it later.”

Adrien is positively beaming when she unpacks everything. “You’re the absolute best,” he gushes.

“Couldn’t have you starving on your diet, right?” The nonchalant act can only go so far when she’s grinning so wide. “I’m just hoping it tastes as good as it looks.”

“It’ll taste good just because you made it.” He throws her an exaggerated wink, then immediately reaches for his chopsticks to dig in.

Ladybug watches him take a bite out of green onion cake. He chews, swallows, eyes lighting up. “This is amazing, and I promise I’m not just saying that because my diet’s forced me to eat boiled chicken breasts with no seasoning of the past week.”

She giggles. “Just let me know when you want me to bring you breakfast.”

He places a hand on his chest. “I can’t believe Ladybug’s my personal delivery girl. Do you offer lunch services as well?”

“Only for you, kitty.”

His grin is worth getting up for at 5am.

***

Marinette is freezing at lunch break, but they’ve agreed to eat outside, so she sucks it up. At least the lunch she’d packed for her and Adrien is warm.

It’s late autumn now, and the last couple of leaves cling to otherwise bare trees. She regrets the outfit she picked—cute, but not practical. Especially not in this weather. Looking at Alya bundled up in a hoodie and combat boots, Marinette really regrets the dress.

The noodles in the thermoses are slightly soggy, but the flavour is still there. They chat for a while—about upcoming tests, about projects and the end-of-the-year field trip that is still months away, and everything is lovely. Lovely, but cold.

Halfway through, her noodles emptied, Adrien notices her shivering. “Are you cold?” he asks, eyes growing wide in concern.

Alya halts her conversation with Nino as well. “Wait, Adrien’s right, you’re wearing a dress. I’m chilly and I have a sweater on.”

Marinette, who has refrained from speaking for the past couple of minutes in fear of her teeth chattering too loudly, manages to shake her head.

She gets a scrutinizing look-over by Adrien before he makes his verdict. “This isn’t going to do,” he declares firmly. Then, with one fluid movement, he shrugs his own sweater off and drapes it over her shoulders.

“Oh, he’s smooth,” Alya remarks with a wicked grin.

Smooth, indeed. The jacket is wonderfully warm, and, with a content sigh, Marinette slides her arms through the sleeves. There’s also the faint smell of his cologne and it’s so very him that she can’t help the smile that crosses her face.

He opens an arm in a beckoning gesture and Marinette happily settles into his embrace.

***

Because of his father’s strict rules, it’s much easier for Adrien to come by as Chat Noir after school, which he does almost everyday. Sometimes it’s between his schedules, sometimes it’s after, late into the night when both his father and Nathalie believe he’s asleep. Marinette always listens for the thump on the skylight, an indication that he’s there. The trap door is always left unlocked for him, so she only needs to wait as he climbs down the ladder.

It’s nearing nine when he comes this time. She sits at her desk finishing up the rest of the notes when the door creaks open and Chat Noir climbs down.

“Evening,” he greets. “What—ooh, you brought croissants for me.”

He zeroes in immediately on the food that Marinette had, admittedly, prepared for him. Between Adrien’s schedule and that godawful diet his father insisted putting him on and his time sprinting across rooftops and fighting akumas, it’s a miracle that he hasn’t fainted from lack of nutrition. Marinette has made it her personal goal to make sure he’s properly fed, and she ensures there’s a snack waiting for him every time he drops by.

Half a minute later, he’s munching enthusiastically on the food and Marinette can no longer focus on the rest of her notes. She sorts them out—there’s at least four pages that she’d copied in her neatest handwriting—and then hands them to Chat.

“Here,” she tells him. “You missed both physics and mathematics today because of the photoshoot, so I copied the notes from class and re-organized them. I also added a review section from last class so it’s easier to figure out just where we are since the two lessons are connected. And…” She shuffles through her desk once more, producing the textbook. “It’s on page one hundred and twenty seven to one hundred and twenty nine, if my notes don’t make sense. You can study here, if you’d like. My parents won’t be coming back up anyway, so we should be left alone for now.”

The last time her mother had walked in on her and Chat doing homework together, she’d been understanding. Understanding, but skeptical. It had been awfully hard to explain why Paris’ superhero was lounging in her room like he lived there—and much harder more awkward to explain that Adrien was one hundred supportive of her friendship with Chat after her father had become defensive that he had ulterior motives.

Chat takes the papers from her. “You’re absolutely unbelievable,” he tells her, eyes shining in a way only his can. “Seriously, Marinette, have I ever told you?”

She pretends to count on her fingers. “Let’s see… only about six times today. Why? He shakes his head, a grin pulling at the corner of his lips. In one fluid movement, he leans down to pluck the textbook from her hands and plants a quick kiss against her cheek in the process. “What would I do without you?”

“Go hungry, probably? Start lagging behind in all of your classes?” Marinette tsks at him. “God, you’re right. What would you do without me?”

Chat’s laugh is wonderful and full and happy. “Then aren’t I lucky to have you.”

***

The akuma strikes at midnight.

Marinette, about to change into her pajamas after just sending off Chat Noir, curses to herself. She’s tired and not in the mood to transform, but when Chat comes crashing back down from the skylight urgently, she knows she has no choice.

“Akuma!” he informs her, as if the tremors outside could be caused by anything else. “It’s close to here. We should be able to take this one quickly.”

“Why is Hawkmoth even awake?” Marinette grumbles, but transforms nonetheless. Chat waits patiently on the side, though he’s drawn taut, prepared to scramble into action the moment she’s ready. Then they’re climbing out of the skylight, into the light, where the akuma has begun its rampage. The once-quiet night is ripped apart with panic and terror.

The akuma is relatively easy to deal with: a little girl, apparently inspired by Frozen, is decked in full Elsa, wielding similar powers. She covers the streets in ice, a snowstorm whirling around her, as spirals of icy sculptures rise and fall.

Both she and Chat have icicles hanging off them by the time Ladybug purifies the akuma. Even after she releases the Miraculous Ladybug, the cold from the girl’s powers haven’t seeped out of her bones. Judging from Chat’s chattering teeth, he feels the same.

Despite her watch reading 12:32 and the next day hailing as a school day , they stop by at a 24-hour-cafe for hot chocolate. A couple minutes later, seated on the rooftops warming their chilled hands, they’re huddled against each other and staring out at the gleaming cityscape.

“Another successful take-down, m’lady?”

Ladybug laughs as he raises his cup for a toast, and she obliges and bumps her own against him. Hot chocolate sloshes over the lid, splashing onto her suit. She flicks it off. “What a team we make, huh? Now, if only Hawkmoth would get the memo and stop creating his akumas so late. Why is he even up now? Say, do you think he has a life outside of being Hawkmoth?”

“He probably wants to catch us off guard in the middle of the night. Remember that one time we got woken up at three because there was an akuma attack? Plagg wanted to tape my mouth shut so I couldn’t transform.”

Ladybug groans. “I did really bad on a test the next day because I got three and a half hours of sleep—I fell asleep halfway through the test! It’s— ugh. He’s so annoying.”

“There’s one good thing about midnight akumas, though,” Chat points out.

She takes a sip from the hot chocolate, which, during their conversation, has cooled down to just below scalding. “A good thing?” Ladybug echoes. “Name one good thing, chaton.”

He nudges her shoulder. “You, m’lady. It’s nice just being alone like this without anyone else, right?”

Then, like he’s said nothing out of the ordinary, Chat goes back to drinking his hot chocolate with infuriating nonchalance.

Ladybug finds herself smiling. “You know,” she tells Chat Noir. “You’re ridiculously good at this. Where do you even get the inspiration to say these things?”

“You.”

“You are completely overdoing it.”

“You love me, admit that.”

“No.”

“So you would get up at five in the morning to make breakfast for just anyone, Bugaboo?”

Ladybug relents. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Chat Noir’s laugh rings crystal clear throughout the night, loud against the crisp air. Ladybug wants to trap that laugh and hold it close to herself. She can’t help but treasure it, after all: it’s a sound that chases away worries, soothes fears, and she thinks she's so, so lucky to hear it everyday.

“I love you,” he tells her when his laughter dies down. “Don’t forget that, m’lady.”

Ladybug leans her head on her shoulder. “I love you too,” she replies quietly. “You better not forget it, either.”

Notes: Here’s my fics masterlist!

#miraculous ladybug #ladybug #chat noir #adrien agreste #marinette #marichat #ladrien #ladynoir #adrinette #fluff #post reveal #established relationship #mlbforblm #my writing #mlb fic

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mischiefandi · 4 years ago

Text

A Shitty Love Song (Part 2) - Stiles Stilinski

Altered State Of Mind

A/N: hi guys!! im super happy im posting part 2 of this series :)) I really hope you like it and once again, huge thank u to @duskholland for all your help <33

Summary: Y/N is a 17 year old girl who struggles in an epic battle against herself. Whether it is amor’s icy grasp or life’s unexpected course that forces her to finally open up, only one thing is certain. The truth cannot be long hidden.

Warnings: panic attack, mentions of underage drinking, swearing

Word Count: 5,2K

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Reader (Y/N)

Series Masterlist

(picture is not mine -> credits to @ elevantarts on unsplash)

A blaring sound resonated in Y/N’s ears and she groaned, her fingers curling around the blanket she lay beneath. A throbbing sensation in her head forced her to pry her eyes open, sunlight seeping through the gaps in her eyelids.

Reaching up to rub her eyes, Y/N tried to sit up, the throbs against her forehead staggeringly more painful. When her eyes finally accustomed themselves to the light, Y/N glanced around, looking for the source of the insufferable noise. The blaring seemed to come from far away and nearby at the same time; Y/N was simply too tired to make any sense.

“Oh my god, my head,” she moaned, falling back against the soft pillow with a grunt.

“Would someone please shut that off,” a voice mumbled from underneath a heap of pillows and messed up sheets.

“Y/N, it’s your phone,” another voice groaned.

Passing a shaking hand over her face, Y/N forced herself to fully open her eyes and focused on the sound of the alarm, still shrieking in sync with her god awful headache. Reaching over her head, she grabbed her phone and put it on silent, thanking the universe for the sudden alleviating silence.

“Well last night was-“

“-crazy.”

Y/N shot a glance at Lydia’s bed where the strawberry blonde was propped up against her pillows, wiping off the smudged mascara beneath her big green eyes.

“I can’t even focus right now. What happened last night?” she asked, rubbing her forehead.

“You don’t remember?”

“I mean, bits and pieces, why?”

Allison and Lydia exchanged a look.

“Uh, Y/N you went wild yesterday.”

“I did?” asked Y/N, worry seeping through her oily pores.

“We had to get a cab home cause neither one of us was fit to drive, and…you definitely threw up in the cab.”

Y/N groaned, a hand flying up to her forehead. “That explains the taste in my mouth.” She thought to herself.

“Yea, you got pretty drunk. Thank god, Stiles and Scott were there or you’d have passed out right on the dancefloor.”

“Wait, they were there?”

Allison sent Y/N a confused look, biting her lip.

“Well yeah, they got there about thirty minutes after we did. Did you not hang out with them at all?” she asked.

A sudden flash of colour appeared in Y/N’s head, the feeling of skin against skin, lips hungrily claiming each other, the smell of sweat and leather. She gasped, a hand reaching up to cover her mouth. Jumping up to her feet in a burst, ignoring the violent throb in her head, she rushed over to the mirror and turned her neck towards the right, her eyes widening at her sorry reflection.

“Are those-“

“Hickeys?” exclaimed Allison, leaping off of her mattress and onto the floor.

“Oh my god…”

“No way! Who are those from?” inquired Lydia, shock painted across her face.

“I’m not sure…” answered Y/N, her voice but a quiet murmur, her eyes still fixated on the deep purple marks scattered across her neckline.

In the back of her head, amber eyes bored into hers, and she couldn’t help but notice the dark pit forming in her stomach.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Y/N stepped out of her bath, all of the dried up paint and sweat cleansed from her body. Stepping up to her bathroom mirror, she wiped the hot steam off the glass, the purple stains on her neck still very visible. She sighed, her fingers lightly tracing the mark by her collarbone, her mind elsewhere. She was at a loss.

Had it been him? Had it been Stiles? Maybe she had him confused with someone else, maybe she really had shared this moment with Jeremy. Maybe.

Y/N’s frown deepened. All that was left from that moment on the dancefloor was these purple love bites and blurriness. So much blurriness. Hundreds of questions and voices overlapped in Y/N’s head.

“What does this mean? Was it really him? What’s next?” She shook her head anxiously, quietly tapping against the steam covered sink.

Grabbing her phone with shaking fingers, Y/N typed in a message and sent it to the person she had had stuck in her brain all day long.

Y/N: did u ever show up at the rave?

Y/N: cause my drunk ass can’t remember a thing :/

Minutes seemed to last longer than hours as she waited by her phone. She sat impatiently on her bed, furiously tearing off the tips of her fingernails, occasionally drawing out a tiny spot of blood accompanied by a soft hiss. Finally, the buzzing sound of her phone snapped her back to reality and she unlocked it in a flash.

Stiles: yea I stopped by

Y/N stared down at her phone screen, puzzled.

Y/N: did you have fun?

A few minutes passed before his short answer came.

Stiles: yea it was alright

Stiles: I was just glad to get out of the rain

Y/N: the rain?

Stiles: yea it was raining when Scott and I got there

Y/N’s fingers trembled as she started typing in a new message, her hands abruptly pausing when her phone buzzed again.

(Y/N: did we hang out at all last night?)

Stiles: my dad’s asking me to help him out with dinner

Stiles: gotta go

Deleting her previous and thankfully unsent text, Y/N quickly typed in something else, her heart almost leaping out of her chest.

Y/N: oh okay, np

Y/N’s wet hair cascaded down her shoulder as she removed the towel from her head, letting her body gently plop down onto her bed.

Had she truly imagined it all? Something was off, but somehow, she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. The girl braided her damp hair and slipped under her toasty covers. Exhaustion soon took over her body and pushed her into a deep slumber, her dreamless sleep a tranquil break from her precipitating thoughts.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Amor loves to have one’s undivided attention. It slips through the thinnest of cracks and likes to hide behind your thoughts, carefully creeping around your mind, giggling at your confusion. Without even knowing it, you consume amor, you breathe it in, you bathe in it.

Amor is sneaky. Which is precisely how Y/N went about her day, ate, showered, studied, breathed without ever discerning her bewitchment.

Monday’s sunrays broke over the horizon, the song of gleeful robins piercing through the cool morning air. Lazily, Y/N slipped her clothes on and decided to walk to school, enjoying the crisp breeze. Autumn trees coasted along the route as she slowly carried herself to school, her tired eyes carefully observing the orange and brown leaves twirl down in timeless waltzes onto the cold concrete ground.

When she finally got to school, Y/N walked over to her locker, unlocking the padlock with her designated combination. As she placed the contents of her bag on top of the metal shelves and retrieved her chem notes, Y/N readjusted the wine-red turtleneck she had meticulously picked out from her wardrobe the day before.

“Uncomfortable but necessary.” She thought to herself as she turned around.

Her heart suddenly leapt into her chest, her eyes landing on Stiles’ dark blue flannel shirt. Taking a step forward, she was about to call out his name, when his eyes met hers. Time paused yet again, Stiles’ furtive gaze avoiding hers, his amber irises quickly looking down at his feet as he resumed his conversation with Scott.

A brief glimpse of the undeniable tension between the pair, a sight covered by amor’s thick layer of fog.

A wave of hurt washed over Y/N’s entire body, but she bit her lip and hurried off to class, choosing to ignore the feeling rather than dwell on it.

Class seemed to last even longer than usual, the constant tick-tick-tick of the clock rocking Y/N into a state of pure passiveness. The words spoken by her teacher floated around her head, seeping out through her ears almost as rapidly as they had penetrated her mind.

When the lunch bell rang, Y/N couldn’t help but exhale softly, releasing some of the tension stacked atop her weary shoulders since earlier that day. No matter how much she tried to focus on her notes, a chaotic whirlwind slowly formed inside of her, preventing her from following the teacher’s train of thought.

Her fingers furiously tapping against her thigh, Y/N stood up hurriedly and grabbed her bag, sliding its handles onto her shoulder. Pushing her way through the crowd of students, she walked out of the building and onto the school field, making her way towards the walnut tree.

“Hey, Y/N!” shouted Allison, waving her over with her gentle hands.

Y/N rushed over and plopped down by the brunette, breathing in the cool air.

“Where are the others?” she asked, noticing how empty the table was.

“Why are you so impatient? The bell only just rang,” Allison said, her light laughter filling the atmosphere surrounding them.

Y/N watched as the group slowly reunited, Scott and Kira walking over nonchalantly, arms linked together, followed by Isaac, unmistakingly blushing at the sight of Allison. Finally, Lydia joined the table and sat across from Y/N, her beautiful hair wrapped into a low bun.

“I am so hungry,” said Scott as he hurriedly took out his sandwich, eagerly taking a large bite out of it with a moan.

“I thought I was gonna pass out in calculus. I am so tired!” exclaimed Allison, burying her face in her delicate hands.

“Yeah, I still haven’t recovered from Friday,” agreed Lydia.

Y/N’s mind flashed right back to the sweaty dance floor, bursts of colour flooding her memory, and she bit down on her lip, shutting her eyes.

“Y/N, you okay?” asked Isaac. The group looked over at her, puzzled faces staring at her own.

“Yeah, everything’s fine!” she replied, her fingers dramatically twisting around the fabric of her coat.

“So, uh, where’s Stiles?” she asked, quickly but not subtly changing the subject.

Scott’s head slightly tilted to the right, a confused expression on his face.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Didn’t tell me what?”

Scott nonchalantly pointed at a table a few feet away from the walnut tree where the gang was seated, Y/N’s eyes following his lead. Her puzzled gaze landed on the dark blue flannel shirt from that morning, wrapped around a boy sitting across from a tall brown-haired girl, their heads buried in books, but their eyes fixated on each other.

“There’s this new girl, Malia Tate. He offered to help her with her math,” explained Scott, unaware of the pit deepening in Y/N’s gut.

As Y/N observed the pair sitting far away from the group’s table, the pumping muscle lodged between her lungs tightened with affliction, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

The voices surrounding her melted into each other, the sound of her friends’ chatter fading into the background as she kept on staring, the ache in her abdomen persisting.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Several interminable weeks had passed since this particular lunch break. November was slowly coming to an end, along with Y/N’s withering patience. The air had become cooler, and not just the one blowing through the leafless trees.

Stiles and Y/N’s friendship had started to abate, its previous progression suddenly coming to a strange halt, much to Y/N’s dismay. Her phone occasionally buzzed, the screen revealing only a brief answer on his part, or a funny picture or joke every once in a while. However, the long phone calls and texts until 2 am had seemingly come to an end.

Y/N couldn’t exactly pinpoint how it made her feel, but it didn’t feel good, that much was clear. Stiles hadn’t disappeared from the face of the earth, but his texts were spread much further apart, and when he was around, at lunch or in class, he wasn’t truly there, always focused on something else.

She couldn’t help but feel as though there was a void in her day, a gap only replenishable by the mole-speckled boy. She tried to distract herself from the looming feeling of loneliness by hanging out with Allison and Lydia, their light hearted conversations usually effective. Only, her attempts fell short as soon as she was alone again. It had come to a point where Y/N would count the hours between each message, trying to come up with reasons why he wouldn’t just text her back sooner. None of this helped of course.

Constantly thinking about the source of your pain can only do one thing: vivify it.

One rainy Tuesday, Y/N sat down at a table in the school cafeteria, dropping her lunch tray onto the cool surface with a soft thud. Squeezing in between Lydia and Allison, across from Scott and Isaac, she reached for her apple and bit into it with a satisfying crunch as the chatter surrounding her slowly increased.

The girls chatted as the boys focused on Scott’s phone, their eyes glued to the screen.

Y/N raised an eyebrow at them and leaned forward, snapping her fingers just a few inches away from their faces. Scott’s head snapped upwards and Isaac startled, the pair releasing a breath as she chuckled.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” she asked.

Isaac handed her the phone before grabbing his turkey sandwich.

“Our English teacher showed us this website with a bunch of riddles and we’re trying to figure some of them out,” Scott replied, pointing at the screen as Y/N slowly scrolled down.

“You guys are studying riddles?” Allison gasped. “Why do we always get stuck with the boring English teacher?”

“The more you take, the more you leave behind.” Y/N read one of the riddles aloud.

“Footsteps,” replied Lydia with ease, nibbling on her carrot sticks.

“Okay genius, what about this. What is easy to get into but harder to get out of?” Allison asked, peering over Y/N’s shoulder.

Lydia paused, reflecting quietly as the group observed her furrowed brow with amusement.

“Can I give it a go?” asked Isaac, hand raised.

“Go ahead.”

“Trouble?”

“That’s it!” replied Allison.

“Of course you’d get that one right,” Y/N joked, shaking her head.

“Oh okay, try this one. Who has married hundreds but still stays single?”

Suddenly, Stiles’ voice resonated in Y/N’s ears as he sat down next to Scott, his lips curled into a grin.

“A priest,” he said, accompanied by a soft click of his tongue.

“Correct,” replied Y/N, pointedly staring down at her apple.

“Speaking of weddings…when’s yours Stiles? We’re all invited right? And is it an open bar or have you not yet discussed your opti-“

“That’s funny, Isaac, that’s very funny,” answered Stiles. “Yeah, I’ll make sure your invitation gets lost in the mail.”

“Seriously though...Malia?” asked Scott, a sly smile drawn on his lips, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards.

Stiles blushed a little, avoiding everyone’s gazes as he watched his fingers repeatedly tap against the table, his lips pursing together.

“Malia, the girl from your math class?” inquired Lydia.

“Yep, and they’ve been talking…a lot…” Scott teased, his voice higher than usual. Stiles shot him a glare and shook his head in disbelief.

“You can’t keep a thing to yourself can you?” he laughed.

“Wait, so are you guys…?” Allison asked, her chin resting in the palm of her hand.

Y/N shot a glance at Stiles, her heart picking up its pace as she waited for a response.

Was something going on between them? Were they just friends? Was Malia the reason why Stiles and her weren’t talking as much?

“We’re talking. She’s fun. It’s fun. Talking, is- fun,” Stiles said, fumbling his words in embarrassment, his cheeks flooding with red.

“Wow, you’re smitten aren’t you?”

“Okay! Guys, let’s give him a break from the interrogation. He looks like he’s about to explode,” exclaimed Y/N, desperately trying to change the subject, for both their sakes.

Stiles sent her a grateful look and chuckled, the group moving onto another topic, enjoying their lunch together before classes started anew.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Later, after the busy day had winded down and the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, Y/N lay on her bed, the tiny fairy lights hanging on her wall catching her eye as she quietly hummed along to Peach Pit. As the leader singer gave way to the guitarist’s blissful riff, her phone buzzed, and her quiet bubble burst.

She sighed as she reached for it, her fingers connecting with the cool screen. Her tired eyes adjusting to the sudden blue light, she focused on the screen, her lips curling into a soft smile as she read the words she had just received.

Stiles: what comes in hard but comes out soft?

Stiles: tip: you can blow it

Y/N: you’re disgusting

Stiles: excuse me

Stiles: I don’t know what you’re talking about

Y/N: what is it?

Stiles: it’s gum

Y/N shook her head, rolling her eyes at the pervy connotation.

Y/N: ha ha ha

Stiles: it’s not my fault you have a dirty mind

Y/N: yea yea, I was completely innocent before meeting you guys

Stiles: please

Stiles: there’s nothing innocent about you

She stopped, rereading the words carefully, her memories from the Halloween rave flooding back. Those god awful colours just couldn’t stop dancing in the back of her mind.

Hesitantly, she typed in her answer.

Y/N: so what’s up?

She patiently waited, her hands still holding onto her phone, the soft music in the background rocking her peacefully.

Stiles: well

Stiles: I’ve been talking to Malia a lot

Y/N: how’s it going with her?

Stiles: actually we’re hanging out tomorrow

Stiles: in the woods

Y/N felt a pang of hurt in her abdomen but she swiftly ignored it.

Y/N: wow

Y/N: is this a date?

Time stopped for a few seconds before his painful answer showed up on the screen.

Stiles: I think so yea

Y/N: damn

Y/N: so you really like her huh?

Stiles: yea she’s great

Stiles: she’s kind of dominant too?

Stiles: very assertive

Stiles: it’s

Stiles: interesting

Y/N: you like that?

Stiles: it’s definitely not something I’m used to

Stiles: but yea it’s nice

Stiles: I haven’t really talked to anyone about this besides Scott so don’t tell anyone please

Y/N: ofc not

Stiles: thanks

Stiles: quick question

Stiles: might sound weird so don’t judge me

Y/N: go ahead lmao

Stiles: what do you do before you kiss a girl

Stiles: do you ask for permission or do you just do it?

Y/N’s heart momentarily stopped beating and she gulped, her eyes fixated on the surprisingly hurtful words. Her mind completely blank, she paused the music from her computer and passed a hand through her hair, trying to think of an answer. Finally, she drew a deep breath and replied, her hands steady as stone.

Y/N: there’s no answer to that haha

Y/N: you have to do what feels natural

Stiles: yea, you’re probably right

Stiles: just don’t want to mess it up

Y/N: you won’t

Stiles: thanks

Y/N: tell me how it goes!

Stiles: will do

Stiles: and thanks again

Y/N: npp

Y/N shut her phone off and plugged her charger in, placing it on her bedside table. Turning off all of the lights, and drawing her bedroom curtains to a close, she settled beneath her comforter, spreading her limbs with a wide stretch. As she shifted onto her side, placing her hands underneath her cool pillow, she let her eyes roam around her bedroom, thoughts churning in her head.

He had feelings for this girl. Stiles actually liked Malia. And not only was he going on a date with her, but he had talked to Y/N about it. Had she really just imagined it was Stiles on that dance floor? Had she really just mistaken the person kissing her, sliding his lips up and down her neck as she held onto him? And if so, if all of this was purely just her mind playing tricks on her, what did that mean? Did she want it to have been Stiles?

Amor was lingering around her head but she couldn’t see it. All of these questions bustling in her mind soon blended into silence as she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

The next day flew by in a blur of classes and scribbles on sheets of paper, a bland and monotone school day. Only one event stood out.

Stiles: well it’s official

Stiles: Stiles Stilinski is a bachelor no more

She congratulated him and heard all of the details surrounding Stiles’ date with Malia. The brunette had laughed at his jokes, she’d held his hand, they’d walked down the stream in the woods, talking endlessly, and then he had leaned in and kissed her.

And she had kissed him back.

What the group had originally thought to be a fling had turned into something more, it had become a real serious relationship.

More absent than ever, Stiles spent most of his time with his new girlfriend, enjoying the feeling of her lips against his own when they kissed each other and the complicity between them. Everyone could tell he was beyond excited about the thrilling sensations that came with young love, though no one other than Y/N knew just how much.

Every day, her phone buzzed, the notifications reminding her that her friend loved making Malia laugh, or that Malia liked the same band he did. Reminding her that he was happy.

And Y/N was unbelievably happy for him as well. She tried to focus on the positives, mainly the fact that the pair had started talking again. Things had gone back to normal, their inside jokes rekindled and their conversations more frequent. But still, something just didn’t sit right.

Y/N pushed this feeling away, diving into new hobbies and hanging out with her friends. As a child, she had always loved drawing and painting. As a matter of fact, she had even followed lessons in an atelier not far from her house, in her hometown. She’d always loved painting but as she had grown older, her extra time had become much slimmer and with life getting in the way, she had had to let it go.

Then one fateful December afternoon, Lydia forced the girls to paint with her in the art room at school. Much to Y/N’s surprise, the tranquility she had felt as a child while holding a brush came back unbelievably naturally.

It was like the brush had never left the palm of her hand. So she started painting again.

When she wasn’t studying or spending time with the pack, creating timeless memories with them, she was hidden away in her room by the window, her fingers curling around her paintbrush, her hair wrapped into a loose bun.

The simple act of turning thin stripes of colour into shapes and scenes was so beautifully appeasing to her. With every flick of her hand, with every twist and turn of blues and yellows onto the white canvas, she felt herself come alive again. Every worry, every disappointment, and every doubt poured out of her hands and blended into the mythical paradises she painted.

Sometimes we live without something, and we don’t realize just how much we miss it until we let it back in. She had missed this terribly.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

As the early mornings became darker and darker with every passing day, Y/N spent hours watching the sky and the leafless trees, observing time and its slow and tantalizing movement. She memorized the scenes before her as she got dressed for school, her eyes lingering on the dark blue sky outside and the yellow halos of light emitted from the streetlamps.

Sometimes simple things like the way your eye catches the light can be astoundingly beautiful. Y/N paid attention to details in order to paint them later. Every trace, every shadow, every speck of light was equally important.

One morning, finally ready for school, Y/N walked out of her home, adjusting the red beanie on her head, her bag swung over her shoulder. The frosty morning air greeted her and she thanked herself for having decided to wear her dark grey wool sweater. Turning on the ignition (and the heat) of her dad’s car, Y/N left the driveway, and made her way to the high school, the sun slowly but surely peaking above the horizon.

Y/N’s fingers furiously tapped against the steering wheel of the car, the school coming into eyeshot. Classes were becoming more and more exhausting with winter exams right around the corner. The air was tense inside the school, students talking about their exam schedules and fears about their upcoming performances.

Y/N was nervous too. She was a good student, but quite often, she would get lost in her thoughts, ignoring her teachers rant about equations and The Scarlet Letter. She studied and she handed in her essays on time, however doubt clouded her mind, and maybe her hard work wouldn’t be enough.

These thoughts played on a loop in her head as Y/N attended her first two classes, time ticking by slowly.

When Y/N entered her classroom for the third period, students shoved past her, quickly exiting the room and heading on to their next lesson. She slumped into her seat, her bag landing on the surface of her desk with a thud. As she waited for her history professor to get to class, her eyes scanned the room.

She watched her fellow classmates enter the room, chatting loudly, groups forming around students seated on their desks or lingering by the windows. She glanced to her right and noticed Stiles, always recognizable due to his colourful flannels, seated a few desks away from her, close to the blackboard.

“Stiles!” she called out his name, puzzled. He didn’t have history class with her. Her eyes lingered on his arched back and she repeated herself. “Stiles?”

His back still turned to her flinched at the sound of her voice and she frowned before standing up and walking over to him. As she inched closer, she glanced down at his fingers, curled around the edge of his desk, the tips white from the pressure of his grip. His knee burst up and down at a furious pace as she placed her hand on his shoulder, the color draining from her face when her gaze fell upon Stiles’ contorted expression.

“Stiles, what’s going on? Are you okay?” she asked with a whisper as she bent down next to him.

He emitted a small whine, his breathing suddenly more audible.

“Sti, talk to me,” she murmured, rubbing his back slowly.

His breathing became more unsteady with every movement of her hand and he gasped, making Y/N’s heart leap in her chest. The room had started to quiet down, and she turned, quickly realizing the scene was starting to draw a lot of attention. Putting her arm around her friend, she stood up and dragged him out of his chair, his legs staggering as he followed her out of the room.

As soon as the pair had gotten out of the classroom and into the hallway, Stiles’ breathing tripled in velocity, his breaths short and intense. Y/N held onto him, treading as quickly as possible through the hall, trying desperately to get to the boy’s locker room, where they’d be alone.

Pushing past the crowd of bustling students, Y/N’s eyes lit up as they approached the blue door she had been looking for. The pair burst into the dim locker room, Stiles rushing over to the back of the room, his legs giving in under the weight of his shaking body. His breathing was erratic and fat tears rolled down his cheeks as he punched the floor, the pain in his knuckles incomparable to the burning sensation in his gut. Y/N ran over to him, her knees hitting the floor with a painful thud, but she didn’t care, instead focusing on Stiles’ pale and tormented face.

“Breathe. Come on, breathe with me,” she said, an undeniable hint of worry in her voice she had difficulty hiding.

“I-I…can’t,” he gasped, a choked sob escaping his throat.

Y/N grabbed his quaking hands and held them in her sweaty palms, her eyes fixated on his.

“Sti, look at me. Look at me,” she insisted and he squinted at her through the thick tears spilling over the barrier of his eyelids. Soothingly caressing his shaking hands, her eyes piercing through his, she spoke, her voice a gentle anchor grounding him into reality.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be fine. I’m here. You’re okay,” she repeated, her voice slightly trembling.

She had never seen him like this. He was a shaking mess, his face wet and twisted in pain, his breathing still highly unsteady.

Stiles held onto her hands with difficulty, his chest heaving as he struggled not to give in to the never-ending waves of panic washing over his quaking body.

Y/N inhaled and exhaled slowly, her eyes never leaving his. Her exaggerated breaths were soon followed by his own weak attempts at controlling his lungs, groans of pain slipping through his gritted teeth.

“Here do this. Press your finger against one of your nostrils and inhale for 5 seconds with the other. You can do this,” she said, acting out her words as carefully as possible.

Stiles struggled to follow her lead but slowly, he pushed the tip of his shaking finger into his skin, blocking the path for oxygen through his left nostril.

“Okay, good. Inhale. 1…2…3…” she counted, and he inhaled with her, his breath occasionally bursting through his mouth.

“Keep going, come on. 4…5…Hold it in!” she cried, her eyes welling up at the sight of Stiles’ pained expression, his chest obviously about to burst.

“Okay, breathe out, with me. 1…2…3…4…5…” Y/N murmured, her gentle fingers caressing his hand. The boy exhaled with her and shook his head, almost as if he couldn’t believe the method was starting to work.

“You’re doing great. Switch nostrils now. There you go. 1…2…3…”

The pair breathed in and out in sync, Y/N’s hands still holding Stiles’. After a few minutes, each breath of his was accompanied by a slightly deeper one, Y/N’s shoulders loosening with relief as a wave of calm washed over her.

As the chaos in the room started to subside, she felt Stiles’ fingers tighten in her palm, his sweaty skin pressed against hers. She looked into his red-rimmed eyes and gave it a reassuring squeeze, her unoccupied hand reaching up to wipe the tears off of his weary face as her body shifted upwards.

Before she could touch his skin, Stiles caught her hand and pulled her into an embrace, his lips quivering tremendously as he broke down, warm tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Don’t leave, please. I need you. I need you,” he repeated like a mantra, his entire body going limp in Y/N’s arms, strangled sobs escaping from his sore throat. The girl closed her eyes as the felt Stiles’ heart thunder furiously against her chest, small tears threatening to spill over her eyelids.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered in his ear, tightening her embrace.

“I need you. I need you.”

A/N: hope u liked this part!! please reblog if u did :) feedback is also always appreciated <3

if you would like to be added to this series’ taglist, please send me an ask :)

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#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfiction #Stiles Stilinski fanfic #Stiles Stilinski series #Stiles Stilinski x reader #Stiles Stilinski x reader insert #teen wolf #tw #Dylan o'brien #v writes #a shitty love song #series #angst #fluff #warnings #viewer discretion is advised #panic attack trigger warning #panic attack #trigger warning

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chaoswillfallrpg · 4 years ago

Photo

RODOLPHUS LESTRANGE is TWENTY-NINE YEARS OLD and a DEFENCE BARRISTER in THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT at THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC. He looks remarkably like JACK FALAHEE and considers himself NEUTRAL. He is currently TAKEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

tw: death, murder

Raised to have a strict worldview due to the fanatic attitudes of his parents, Rodolphus Lestrange has never had reason to question the nature of his reality. Rodolphus and his family resided in the beauty of Lestrange Manor in Nottinghamshire, Rodolphus’ childhood family home stood secluded on the outskirts of Nottingham. A gothic chateaux that took inspiration from their family home of the same name near Paris, it was surrounded by fields and trees, far away from muggles and cloaked in magic in the event any came for a walk in the forest. Brought up away from the Muggle world they detested, with only his mother and father for company until his younger RABASTAN was born, Rodolphus was absorbed in the thinking of his parents with very little reason to doubt anything outside of their word. MARIE LESTRANGE loved her children more than she loved herself and showered both Rodolphus and his younger brother in affection. Whilst most Pure-Blood families they associated with had nannies and school masters to aid in the raising of their children, Marie disagreed with handing her children over to someone else and insisted on doing everything herself with only the aid of a single house-elf Posy for help. She taught her children to read and write and ensured they were fluent in French by the time they went off to school and well versed in many authors that had been pre-approved by Marie for them to read.

Rodolphus and his younger brother were raised given almost everything they could ever ask for with a childhood spent taking afternoon tea in the garden and discussing the future she wanted her boys to have. His mother upheld tradition and longed for her children to make respectable Pure-Blood marriages to people who loved them. The relationship his mother and father shared captured the attention of a young Rodolphus, who longed to have a relationship like the one his parents shared and provide for them and the rest of his family. Though the Lestrange family were wealthy, their ancestors had wasted a lot of the Lestrange family fortune throwing balls and having custom couture outfits made to line the walls of their wardrobes. The building of the British Lestrange Manor cost their family a great deal and began the long tradition of the Lestrange family working in government and slowly rebuilt the fortune the rest of the wizarding world had no idea they had slowly lost, beginning with Radolphus Lestrange of who he was named. His father THIEBUAT LESTRANGE worked directly for The Minister as her Senior Undersecretary, a job which he believed was beneath him especially in a traitorous administration and had aspirations of climbing higher. His plan would be to groom Rodolphus to work in government and have him infiltrate The Department of Magical Law Enforcement to keep an eye on the goings on there and report back to him.

Before Rodolphus was sent off to Hogwarts he was given one particular request from his parents and that was to grow close to influential families within the wizarding world, particularly the Pure-Blood families who his father remarked he might need in the future. BELLATRIX BLACK was of particular interest to his parents, with a father who worked in Wizgamot and wealth and beauty that would make a good wife. Rodolphus went to school in the knowledge she’d be someone he’d need to at the very least befriend but was disappointed with the person he found. Bellatrix was incredibly loud and opinionated with a fondness for torturing other children and an inability to follow even the most simplest set of rules as did her friends CASTOR WILKES and EVAN ROSIER. An intelligent young man, Rodolphus had a high opinion of himself which was solidified by the praising of teachers and almost flawless grades which made hanging around Bellatrix and her posse even more difficult for him. He tried to keep them sweet by sitting with them at parties and occasionally handing in a page of homework for them but mostly preferred to seek the company of his roommates LUCIUS MALFOY, ARISTAEUS GREENGRASS who he found far less tiresome despite Lucius’ over inflated ego and Eirik’s constant mood swings. Though he narrowly missed out on being a Prefect due to PROFESSOR SLUGHORN’s clear favoritism of Lucius, Rodolphus did graduate a celebrated member of the Slytherin Quidditch team and Slug Club which greatly pleased both his parents.

Upon graduating from Hogwarts, Rodolphus was quickly swept up into a job at the Ministry and began training under Bellatrix’s father CYGNUS BLACK. Rodolphus wasn’t quite sure if it was his legal knowledge, spotless record from Hogwarts or a polite word from Bellatrix or his father that had made Cygnus agree to be his mentor, but either way he was glad to have such a respected name in the wizarding world teaching him how to practise law. Training to become a barrister was certainly grueling and required Rodolphus to sacrifice the majority of his personal life in order to be taken seriously by Cygnus. When he wasn’t at the office, he spent the majority of his time at the Black family home helping Cygnus prep for his cases and eating dinner with his family who had come to slowly replace Rodolphus’ own due to the amount of time he spent with them. Bellatrix thankfully was hardly ever home, supposedly travelling or working on personal projects her father hoped would be beneficial to their family Rodolphus had chalked up to meaning a polite term for finding some direction beyond sneering at mudbloods and barking at her sisters. The Black family seriously lacked direction from Rodolphus’ point of view, NARCISSA seemed harmless but if you looked at her often enough you’d see the way she looked at men with eyes like a snake, burrowing into the souls of helpless men.

Rodolphus had been suspicious for some time that Narcissa's trained gaze had been on his younger brother, considering he’d notice him acting strangely lately and spending a lot of time at the Black home, which he disliked. Bellatrix was Bellatrix. Then there was ANDROMEDA, the middle daughter who was quiet and studious. She cared not for parties and rolled her eyes at the idea of finding a husband often along with a rude quip that made Rodolphus chuckle to himself. The two exchanged the odd piece of polite conversation, though Rodolphus only fully began speaking to her when he took over her father’s job when he became a judge. Andromeda had graduated from an accomplished witch with a longing to learn and better the world she’d been raised in which he found both admirable and misguided considering she came from wealth and privilege as he did. Nevertheless he agreed to train her using the same methods her father had used on him. The life they had chosen was a lonely one and whilst Andromeda did have friends and a personal life he noticed she spent the majority of her evenings in his apartment in High Gate attempting to find something useful which would help them win their cases and slowly became more than just his mentee. He began to learn things about her that he found interesting, her relationship with her sisters and her theories on blood purity he hadn’t really considered before.

Rodolphus still thought being a Pure-Blood made you better than others, but he did consider those he knew of the same blood as them who were not fit to wipe their shoes. As Andromeda nears the end of her training, Rodolphus has come to regard her as a close friend of his and a much needed warmth in his life he’d been missing in the pursuit of greatness. Though their caseload is often petty crimes such as underage wizards using magic, there have been a few more interesting cases recently that have kept both him and Andromeda busy as Aurors attempt to find the culprit of those kidnapping and killing multiple people across London. Most recently the pair have been defending SILAS CRUMP, an unregistered werewolf frightened he’d be framed for the killing of his daughter. Supposedly found by a witch and wizard he can’t recall the names of, Silas was put under the Imperius Curse and given a false memory both he and Andromeda can’t seem to break through. Curious, the pair have been trying to find other cases of other magical creatures with similar stories, until the case took a turn. The Minister’s son BOOKER BAGNOLD was found dead in the Ministry’s fountain on Halloween with one named attached to the killing. Silas Crump. Confident there is more lurking underneath the case, Rodolphus won’t rest until he has won his case but with his client missing, people closest to him keeping secrets and dark forces at play has no idea what else he may be uncovering in the process.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Pure-Blood

Pronouns → He/Him

Identification → Cis Male

Sexuality → Up To Player

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Slytherin)

Societies → N/A

Family → Thiebaut Lestrange (father), Marie Lestrange (mother), Rabastan Lestrange (brother), Ilar Travers (uncle), Vivienne Travers (aunt), Isolde Travers (cousin), Evora Travers (cousin)

Connections → Aristaeus Greengrass (best friend), Andromeda Black (close friend/mentee/potential love interest), Lucius Malfoy (close friend), Decius Flint (friend), Bellatrix Black (friend), Castor Wilkes (friend), Isolde Travers (friend), Cygnus Black (ex-mentor), Silas Crump (client), Regulus Black (assistant)

Future Information → Eventual Member of The Death Eaters, Husband of Bellatrix Black

RODOLPHUS LESTRANGE IS A LEVEL 7 WIZARD.

#rodolphus lestrange #jack falahee #connor walsh #how to get away with murder #htgawam #harry potter rp #wizard #neutral #magical law enforcement #wizgamot #magic #lestrange #taken #taken wizard #taken neutral #tw: death #tw: murder

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katehuntington · 4 years ago

Text

Title: In Bad Waters - part five Word count: ±4250 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part five summary: Sam tries to find out more about Zoë’s past, but when he meets up with his brother again, he never thought he would have to reveal his own. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

Paragould, Arkansas June 16th, 2005 - Five months ago

A shrill whistle reverberates over the training fields. Children stop in their tracks and run back to the teacher, bursting with energy. “Alright! Good job, everyone! Red team wins!” A woman, probably around her thirties, smiles as she is surrounded by her class. Like they always do after practice, they sit down on the grass in a circle, looking up at their teacher, waiting for her to give the cue to head off to the dressing rooms. The sun shines brightly and stands high in the blue sky, shining down on them. Birds chirp, hopping from branch to branch in the trees surrounding the fields, while the American flag flutters from the frontage of a school building.

“Looking forward to summer break?” the teacher asks, laughing when her question is answered with loud enthusiastic cheer. “Aren’t you even going to miss me?” she pouts. “We’ll miss you, Mrs. Dawlson,” one of the little boys speaks up. More kids agree with him, causing their supervisor to smile, humbled. “I’m sure you will do fine at Oak Grove, Roy. You’re all going to middle school! Fifth graders already, my boys and girls are all grown up.” She observes her class, pride in her kind eyes. “I tell you what. Next Friday we are going to play lots of fun games, alright?” The faces of the children light up and they happily beam at each other, already excited for next practice. Their teacher lets them off the hook. “Be safe, off you go!”

All get up and bolt for the dressing rooms, challenging each other to get there first. Some squeal and laugh as they play tag along the way. All but one. The joy disappears from Mrs. Dawlson’s face as she watches one of the girls, who slowly strolls back to school. Despite the warm weather, she’s wearing a long sleeved shirt and blue sweatpants. Mrs. Dawlson sighs, clearly caring too much about her children to let this slip. “Laura?” The little girl looks over her shoulder, her expression blank. She carries her long, chestnut hair in two braids, her bangs cover her eyes. “Could you come here for a second?” Mrs. Dawlson asks, gently.

Laura drags her feet with her head hanging down, like a dog who has done something wrong and is now called back to get punished. The teacher sits down on her heels to level with the little girl, making sure not to talk down to her. But Laura doesn’t look her in the eye and keeps staring at her feet. “How are you doing, Laura?” she wonders, her voice friendly and calm. “I’m fine, Mrs. Dawlson,” she replies, politely. The coach hesitates for a moment, figuring out the best way to approach her pupil. “Well, alright. But if there is anything you want to talk about, let me know, okay?”

The young girl looks up and Mrs. Dawlson startles at what she sees. She can detect a dark bruise through her bangs, right above her left eyebrow. With her fingers, she carefully sweeps away Laura’s hair and reveals the injury underneath. Scared, the student backs out and turns her head away. Quickly, but without hurting her, Mrs. Dawlson grabs Laura’s wrist and pulls up her sleeve. What she sees then, would make everyone’s stomach turn; her entire arm is bruised. “How did you get these?” Laura’s teacher questions, a bit firmer than before. “I fell,” she lies. “Tell the truth, Laura. Who did this to you? It’s alright,” Mrs. Dawlson tries to convince her. “No one! Please don’t tell anyone!” The little ten year old begs as she pulls herself loose. “It’s safe with me. I promise,” her teacher assures. “No, I - I can’t,” Laura stammers.

By now she’s crying. Big tears stream down her porcelain cheeks. It seems like she is going to cave in, but suddenly she turns around and makes a run for it. Mrs. Dawlson lets her go and straightens her back. With a sigh, the teacher places her hands on her waist and watches the girl leave the field. Disapproving, she shakes her head and closes her eyes, swallowing thickly. “Poor girl…” she whispers to herself.

Paragould, Arkansas November 26th, 2005 - Present day

It’s still early morning when Sam pulls over at 2310 West Kings highway and enters the parking lot of the Ramada Inn. He left Zoë still asleep; apparently she really needed her rest. Last night, he wondered what was going on in her head and what she’s been through, as he went over the database she developed during her years of hunting. He could tell from the file properties that she didn’t just accidentally stumble on a ghost and got curious. He doesn't know the entire story behind her possession, but something happened. Something bad.

The first file was added over four years ago, containing information on a Diligo Vesco. ‘Diligo’ can be translated to ‘love’ in Latin, ‘Vesco’ meaning ‘eater’ in that same ancient language. A demon who served directly under the devil himself in the early years, one of Lucifer’s creations, if you believe the lore. Not your ‘casual’ black eyed rat from hell, like the ones Dad dealt with every so often. No, this one was much worse.

The name fits, because that’s exactly what it does; it literally feeds on love, by possessing someone and slaughtering the host’s loved ones. The demon doesn’t just kill them, though. A Diligo Vesco is one of the most vicious and sadistic of its kind. It’s been reported to take its sweet time torturing the victims, before actually killing them. Sam found case reports in Zoë’s database that described the gory details. Limbs severed, organs ripped from bodies, missing parts of the brain. Arson, waterboarding, skinning, mutilation. Ways of torture he had never seen before. One of them was called Blood Eagle, where the demon would cut open its victim’s back, break all the ribs and twist them upwards, giving the poor soul ‘wings’.

Since the beginning of time, these creatures are responsible for unexplainable and brutal murders within families and close circles. The Ade family murders in 1874, where the children were cut up and set on fire. The Green Family massacre in 1994, in which the mother of three slaughtered her children with an axe. These smart monsters play the game well, framing the vessel for the blood that the demon sheds.

The Diligo Vesco is only able to show its true face when the host is physically close to someone he or she loves. Until that time it holds on like a leech. An exorcism would be the only way to spare the life of the possessed, but this is where it gets tricky; the demon can only be exorcised when it manifests. By the time a hunter picks up its scent, it is usually too late. Most of the time the damage is done and the thing is long gone. When it does come to driving out the demon, the host nor the exorcist rarely survive. Killing these demons is close to impossible without harming the person it's controlling. Yet this is what his father and Dean must have accomplished, since Zoë is still walking amongst them.

Curiously, Sam had compared Zoë’s online database with his father’s journal, but the case happened to take place in a period of time from which a couple of pages of the book are missing. Zoë does not elaborate on the details of her own case either, but whatever happened, it triggered her to become one of the best hunters in the country. The list of creatures that she slayed after her possession is impressive. Zoë ended more supernatural spawn from Hell in the past four years than some hunters manage to kill in a lifetime.

Still pondering over this newfound information, Sam gets out of his brother’s car. On his way over to Paragould, he and Dean talked about this new Sullivan girl. The youngest Winchester couldn't help but to be curious about her motives, her past. Dean doesn’t get why Sam even gives a damn. He said it’s none of their business and if Zoë doesn’t wanna share, why dig further and risk getting your eyes scratched out?

While rummaging in his pocket, he enters the motel lobby and makes a left turn to the main corridor. The red carpet underneath his feet is stained and the wallpaper has come off at the corners, a sheer contrast to the Hampton Inn, where Zoë is staying. Here, the coffee machine in the hall spits out the most horrendous brew, they need a flashlight in the bathroom because the light is broken and the air conditioning sounds like a generator, but doesn’t actually do jack shit. But then again, he has a feeling that not even a freezer could have cooled down the rabbits inside of room 106.

Just as he takes out his room key, he sees that he won’t need them; Dean is already at the door with the blonde he picked up the night before.

“Call me,” she tells him, as she saves her number in his phone. “I sure will,” Dean smirks. They kiss once more. Both can barely keep their eyes off each other as the young lady parades away in last night’s clothes with a flustered grin on her face.

Sam passes her in the hallway and looks over his shoulder. He can see where Dean’s coming from; she’s beautiful. Dean has spotted the look upon his brother’s face, though. “Forget it, tiger. She’s mine.” “Had a good night?” Sam chuckles, hoping he will skip the details. Dean yawns and saunters back into the room. “Did I have a good night? I barely got a chance to sleep.” “Okay, already more than I wanted to know,” Sam cuts off, before Dean spills the goods.

He follows his older sibling into the room, finding one bed untouched and the other a complete mess. An empty bottle of Sauvignon lays on the ground, while a dirty glass still stands on the cabinet next to a half a bottle of Jack Daniels. The window is wide open, the heavy curtains wave in the wind slightly, but despite the fresh air, the room still smells like sex. Seems like they had one hell of a party.

“Let’s get going,” Sam announces. Dean looks aside at his little brother, frowning. Since when is Sam the one who gives the orders? “Already?” he replies, bummed, clearly hoping for a rendezvous. “Yeah, I found our stuff,” Sam informs. “Ah, so you found Sullivan,” Dean chuckless, raising his eyebrows.

Sam huffs and rolls his eyes, but his older brother doesn’t pay attention to it, tipping over an empty bag which once contained potato crisps. Apparently he’s hungry. “Yeah. It didn’t take me long to find her. Her bike was parked outside a hotel. She’s working a case,” Sam explains, acting casual, but Dean can’t help himself. “If it didn’t take you long to find our shit, then where were you all night?” Reluctantly, Sam sighs before he answers. No way in hell his brother is going to respond maturely to what he is about to say. “I spent the night at her place.” Dean laughs out loud, throwing his head back. “I knew it! You cheeky bastard!” “Nothing happened, Dean,” Sam states with a tone. “Oh, come on. Not even a little smooch?” he teases, but Sam denies. “A look then? You know, one of those cheesy Notebook moments.” But again, Dean’s brother shakes his head, although he can’t resist to comment on that. “You saw The Notebook?” “Well... no. So I’ve heard,” the oldest corrects uncomfortably, quick to turn the conversation back around. “But let me get this straight; absolutely nothing happened?” “That’s what I said,” Sam confirms.

After opening a pizza box that - to Dean’s disappointment - is empty, he stops searching for food. Then he turns to Sam, who is clearly annoyed with the interrogation. “Are your eyes fucked up?” Dean wonders in disbelief. “Honestly, I'm a little disappointed. I thought I taught you better than that. How can you spend the night with a woman like that without making a move?” “That’s it. I’ve had it.” Sam squares his shoulders and stares at Dean, furiously. His brother pissed him off, but Dean can hide his victorious grin. For weeks he has tried to push Sam over the edge, to trigger him to let it out. To yell, cry, take a swing at him if that was what his little brother needed to do to feel better. Anything to get him out of the dark hole in which he’s currently hiding up.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might feel terribly guilty if I would just head off with some girl for a one night stand like you always do?!” the youngest of the siblings exclaims. “I have no idea, Sam. You never talk to me about it, so how the fuck am I supposed to know how you feel?” Dean bounces back.

“And you think it’s strange that I don't talk about what happened?! My girlfriend was murdered, Dean! I was going to ask her to marry me, for fuck’s sake!” He pauses, growing even more furious. “I had everything planned out! Law school, Jess, everything!” By now Sam paces from one side of the room to the other, restless and upset.

“You were gonna marry her, really? Sam, with your background the chances of the American dream coming true was close to zero. You should’ve known that,” his brother reminds him. “I was just trying to move on, I was trying to be happy! And you know what? I actually was!” Sam halts in front of Dean and raises his voice even more. “I loved her, Dean! I still do and I can’t get her out of my fucking mind! She died because of me!” Dean looks at his younger sibling, sympathetically. “Don’t do that to yourself, man. It’s not your fault she’s dead.” “It is. I didn’t warn her about the danger out there!I lied to her--”

Sam intends to ramble on, but Dean intervenes. “- What makes you think that telling her the truth would have made a difference? Whatever killed Jessica, wasn’t just some ghost, Sam. Hey, listen to me.” The older brother grabs Sam’s shoulder and forces him to look down into his eyes. “That same thing killed Mom, and probably a whole bunch of other people. It’s powerful, and if Dad has trouble stopping it, no offence, but you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“I’m not talking about stopping him at that moment, Dean!” Sam pulls himself loose and turns away. An unpleasant silence fills the room as Dean waits for a follow up, but his brother doesn’t continue. “What then, Sam? Talk to me,” he pleads.

Again that silence. The younger Winchester doesn’t move and stares at the wall with his hands placed on his waist. He swallows apprehensively, his jaw tensed. Then Sam sighs and turns around for Dean to see his eyes glister. “I could have prevented it,” Sam claims, his voice soft and broken now. Dean observes him, thinking through his next question first before he shoots. He has a feeling there’s more to this than just guilt. “How?” Sam bites his lip and averts his gaze. Then, after a month of silence, Sam finally opens up to his brother. “I dreamed of Jessica’s death, days before it happened.”

Complete silence. While the air grows even thicker with tension, Dean stares at his brother, his eyes confused and stunned. Taken aback, he opens his mouth in order to respond, but can’t find the words he’s looking for. “Y-you mean, as in… a vision or something?” he returns disbelieving, chuckling nervously. Sam scoffs as he moves away, ready to leave this conversation already; he knew Dean would respond like this. “Never mind.” But Dean doesn’t let it go. “You’re telling me that you actually saw Jess die, like she did, in a dream?” His younger brother halts, turns back slightly and eventually nods his head. “I didn't think anything of it at first. I figured it was just a bad dream. Until…”

He doesn't need to finish his sentence. Dean says nothing, instead he just stares at Sam. Several thoughts rage through his head. What the hell is going on with him? What the hell could this mean? Why the fuck didn’t he tell me this before? The sheer thought that something might be terribly wrong with his little brother, has his stomach in knots. This isn’t ordinary. In fact, this is as far from ordinary as a human can get. He is stunned and overwhelmed by the idea, but his own brother might actually be something a hunter would keep a close eye on.

Sam swallows thickly, feeling exposed and embarrassed. “You’re looking at me as if you’re about to empty a bottle of holy water over my head.” For a moment Dean glares at the flask on the table. “Dude, you’re seriously considering?!” Sam shouts, frustrated. “You wanna tell me that this is normal, Sam?!” Dean counters, raising his voice. Sam shakes his head and turns around, already regretting that he brought it up. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” the older brother questions. “I don’t know,” Sam mutters, staring at the ground. “You don’t know? You’re psychic, right?” Dean scoffs.

The youngest of the Winchester boys grinds his teeth, but doesn’t say a word. The tension between the two of them is heavy and familiar; it feels the same as when they had the argument before Sam took off for college.

“Anything else I should know, Sam?” Dean pressures, clearly worked up over this. “I don’t know, maybe you can stop bullets or run super fast.” Dean steps to the other side of the room with his arms folded in front of his chest, making fun of the situation because he has no idea how else to deal with it. Sam eyes him, following his movements. “Funny,” he snaps. “Mature, too.” “It would explain a lot of things. The ‘S’ stands for ‘Sam’ and there’s your love for tights,” Dean provokes. “Stop it,” Sam hisses, but Dean isn’t done. “Can you fly? ‘Cause that would be fucking awesome.” “Dean!” Sam warns mad. “What?! Either I joke about it or I lose my fucking cool! Take your pick,” Dean returns. “One way or the other, it doesn’t help!” the youngest exclaims. “You see? This is exactly why I didn’t tell you, Dean! I knew you would give me this kind of shit!” “What did you expect? You kept this from me for over a month!” Dean brings to mind, hurt seeping past the words. “I don’t have to tell you everything I go through. I don’t owe you that,” Sam makes clear, venom in his tone. “And that’s where you’re wrong,” Dean turns to him, pointing his finger as he approaches his brother. “I am your fucking brother, Sam! So yes, you do owe me that!”

Dean stares straight into Sam’s eyes, his head tilted slightly backwards to look at his younger yet taller brother. Sam can see his words struck a nerve. “We used to tell each other everything. What happened to that?” Dean wonders. “It left, along with me.”

Sam breaks eye contact and walks past him. As Sam bumps his shoulder against his, Dean shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw. “I know you’re pretty damn good at it, but don’t you walk away from me,” he threatens, not brave enough to turn around to watch Sam leave. “Why wouldn’t I?” Sam tests, not impressed by Dean’s stern words. “Because this is not something you can walk away from! When will that finally come to you? When you’re in, you’re in. There’s no way back when you know about the things in the shadows, especially not when you have fucking visions about it!” Now Dean does turn to face Sam, who scoffs at the message. “So what then, huh?! You’re planning to hunt until you’re in a wheelchair?” “No, I’m planning to hunt until I finish the job Dad left for us to do and along the way, I will kill as many sons of bitches as I possibly can. Saving people, hunting things, the family business.” He pauses, staring at his brother with fiery eyes. “I intend to prevent people from going through the same shit we’ve had to endure, and if I don’t succeed, I’ll die trying.”

This time, Sam doesn’t have a counter ready. No stubborn remark, no smart answer, just silence. He’s not sure what to say to that. He has to admit, he respects Dean for his morals, his honor. It gets him thinking, too. About his own future, his own life. Because deep down he knows Dean is right. He can run from the supernatural all he wants, but it will continue to follow him, always and everywhere.

“Why should we be the one to sacrifice everything?” Sam questions, less hostile than before. “I don’t know,” Dean sighs. “It’s just the way it is. So we either feel sorry for ourselves, or we suck it up.”

Sam nods, admitting, but not at all okay with the inevitable. He can never have the life he wishes for. There will always be more to hunt, more to kill; this is a never ending story. And even if he does turn his back on the business for good, will he be able to forget about Jessica’s death? Can he move on without scanning every street, expecting something out of the ordinary around every corner? Right now, actually getting his law degree seems impossible, but then again, maybe he was being naïve when he went to Stanford in the first place.

“Shall we go?” Sam suggests. Dean looks up at the defeated man. The peace has returned, but brought a sense of devastation along as well. Accepting his fate is hard on Sam, he understands that. So Dean decides they had enough arguments for one morning and lets it go. He got Sam to talk to him; one step at a time. “Can’t we stay one more night?” Dean tries, carefully. Sam frowns, but then understands his reason for hesitation. “Denise”, he chuckles. “Or Demi? I’m not sure. Her name started with a ‘D’.” Dean’s typical grin appears on his face again, his eyes still soft, though.

“Listen, man. I’m not pushing you to hook up with some chick just to mess you up, okay? At some point it’s gonna be time to move on, and I just figured a girl might help with that,” Dean lets him know, somewhat apologetic. Sam eyes at his brother for a little while with an expression saying something in the line of ‘yeah right’. After a moment of who-gives-up-glaring-first, Dean caves. “Alright, I wanted to piss you off so that you would get it out of your system,” he admits.

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches upward; he knew it. He’s not mad at Dean for playing that card, though. His older brother means well and he actually feels a little better now that he told him what is going on. “Seriously, man. Talk to me when something’s up,” Dean underlines. Sam responds with a nod of the head, then he gathers his stuff, apparently intending to leave. “Ah, come on. One night,” Dean begs. “There’s something ripping out hearts down in Texas, described by locals as ‘possibly coyotes’,” Sam offers. Dean rubs his unshaven chin and thinks it over. “Awesome werewolf hunt or awesome sex? Tough one,” he ponders. Sam can’t help but smile and waits for the final call. “Alright, let’s hunt some wolf,” Dean gives in. “Do you need to change in a phone booth before we go?” Sam gives him a death-stare once again, but his brother keeps a straight face. “No?” he checks, teasing.

Dean can’t wipe the comical smirk off his face and so Sam shoves his brother towards the door, triggering him to let out a laugh. Before he follows, the younger Winchester feels his pockets for his phone and freezes. Unpleasantly surprised he looks around. “Lost something?” Dean wonders. “I think I left my Blackberry at Zo’s,” Sam realizes. “Naturally,” Dean chuckles, failing to believe he didn’t leave it there on purpose. “Would you quit it already?!” Sam returns, feisty. “Okay, I’ll stop,” Dean promises. “We need to score some food anyway, I’m hungry.” “There’s a In-N-Out a block from Zoë’s hotel,” Sam mentions. Dean’s eyes light up, imagining the food in front of him already. “A Double-Double it is.”

Sam grins as Dean picks up a small duffel containing only the few things they carry around at the moment. He follows Sam outside, who locks the door behind them. A quick bite before they leave another town and move on to the next. They never stay long, but the last two stops have been extremely short. Dean likes Denise, or whatever her name is, yet he has never been the guy who sticks around long enough to get serious with a girl. To be honest, a wolf hunt already sounds more fun than doing the girl he already did last night. After that shapeshifter drama, and now this newfound information about Sammy, he’s up for something equally exciting and distracting. Dean is sure of it; Texas, here they come.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter six here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural series #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean angst #Sam angst #Supernatural OFC series #Dean Winchester x OFC #Sam Winchester x OFC #stss #Kate Huntington

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cheezritsu · 5 years ago

Text

Drowning Lessons

May in Hyogo is always gorgeous, perfect. Years later, May is less gorgeous than it is isolating. Osamu tries to fix that.

Miya Osamu x Reader

This is from the second chapter of my fic on AO3 Loving is Easy is you want to reader more. (TW: mentions of drowning)

Uneventful is peaceful, you tell yourself, as the days stretch into weeks and everything is routine. You wake up, go to school, wait for the twins outside the gym, go home; rinse, repeat for the next few weeks until it all comes grinding to a halt.

Back to back holidays provide an impromptu long weekend. Cool breezes break into drier heat in Hyogo as May comes with full force. Outside kids are running around while you attempt to drown out their screams from the discomfort of your home.

It wasn’t always like this, you think as curl into the couch to find a comfortable position. May in Hyogo is always gorgeous, perfect. The trees are at their peak foliage and picnics underneath them were frequent. This was back in the good old days of being seven and having no intrusive thoughts to corrupt the majesty of breaks.

You used to spend this time outside, with the twins of all people. Your mother, a teacher with responsibilities even during this time, would drop you off at the Miya household. Despite their mother being an intelligent, kind woman who was Wonder Woman in both your child and now teenaged eyes, there was only so much she could handle having twin boys and then dealing with you.

And so to the pool it was, where lifeguards were as equally responsible for you as she was. It wasn’t too long ago that you’d stopped going, and it hadn’t been for lack of ability. You just stopped feeling comfortable going.

It had happened in an instant, like all bad things. One moment you were happily swimming out to the deeper end, waiting for the twins to apply sunscreen. They always slapped it on with vigor and probably a healthy amount of brotherly malice, because it sounded like it stung. You were gliding on your back now, staring up at the mirrored perfect blue of the sky, and you just...sunk.

Next thing you know, you’re underwater telling yourself to just exhale, just let it all go. Take a deep breath of chlorine and piss water and just sink even further. Your jaw tightened subconsciously, afraid you might actually do it. Or maybe you were simply willing.

The twins came to your rescue. They hadn’t known that—and at the time neither did you—but you think about Osamu’s outstretched hand and his eyes, unblinking under the water. He was patient, and you took his hand, breaking the surface and whatever strange thoughts you had in your head.

Years later, May is less gorgeous than it is isolating. Your mother and father are at work and everyone you know is too far and cares too little to see you. The closest friends are the Miya twins, but they are at volleyball practice.

You think about this a lot. You’re thinking about this and everything else as you’re laying down in your house, dissociated and mindnumbingly bored when you hear the doorbell. Banging follows, along with someone saying “Are you really going to ignore the one person trying to hang out with you?”

Immediately you shuffle towards the door, unable to actually smile at the antics. You’re certain it’s Osamu—while he has a reputation for being more polite, it’s really just that he keeps his mouth shut. Once it’s open, it’s pretty much a mixed bag.

Plus, you know his voice. Atsumu always has this mischievous lilt that makes girls swoon while Osamu’s voice is deeper and more serious and also makes girls swoon.

You roll your eyes at the thought. You most definitely don’t want to swoon right now, especially as the banging continues.

The door swings open to reveal the grey haired twin, looking quite pissed off at making him wait. It’s been several weeks of them insisting to keep the color, and the metallic glimmer has faded for both of them. Osamu’s is still nicer, having faded into an almost dirty silver.

You're so lost in thinking about his hair that you don’t realize he’s just been standing in the doorway for about a minute. He gives your appearance a once over and his expression goes neutral once again.

“You look like shit.”

You could be inside, daydreaming a much nicer conversation with him instead of having this one. You consider slamming the door closed, but instead you sigh. “Don’t you have literally anyone else to be an asshole to?”

“Practice is over and Atsumu’s on a date with his person of the week so, no.”

You want to laugh, because it’s funny to see Osamu inadvertently say he misses his brother. But there’s something squeezing your heart that only produces a scoff. Osamu raises a brow, but instead of commenting on it he says “Are you letting me in?”

“Maybe I won’t,” you say, trying to keep a teasing air. You’re actually half serious about making him go home.

He hums, then produces something from his jacket pocket. It’s a set of keys, marked with the number 4. “I had an idea.”

Now you’re intrigued. You step aside and let him enter, but he doesn’t go far. He sits on the step just behind the entryway, and you move to do the same.

“You remember how we used to go to the municipal pool during break?”

You scrunch your eyebrows, looking at him with a strange expression. How on earth could he have been thinking of the same memory? What kind of soulmate shit was that?

“Yeah,” you say slowly, calculating what you’re going to say next. You’re still at a loss for words. “Why?”

“Well I know you hate crowds,”

“That was one time,”

“And I also know you hate public pools so,” he swings the keys around in his finger. “I got the keys to the school’s practice pool.”

You looked at the tiny silver keys around his finger, then back to his face. He was donning the smile that meant he was up to no good, one generally reserved for Atsumu. He was serious though, you could tell.

“How did you even come by those? Were they just laying around?”

“I have my ways,” he replies cryptically. “This is a timed offer, so I’ll need an answer now.”

“Now?” You screech, feeling pressured. This had to be some prank—why would Osamu come all the way to your house by himself to break into Inarizaki’s pool?

“Why didn’t you text me and ask earlier?”

“I’d have to come all the way here and get you anyways.”

“I can get to school by myself.”

“Sure you can.”

“Osamu,” you say seriously, hands on your hips and looking him dead in the eye. All teasing went out the window and he sighed, standing up.

“You can say no.” And you hear a palpable disappointment in those words that makes your gut twist. It’s hard to deny him when he’s presented you with such a brilliant plan; one worthy of a teen romance, you dare to think.

He’s looking out for you. Maybe he’s bored and wants to do something hairbrained and reckless, like the good old days.

But the Miya twins aren’t nostalgic, not in the way you are. Growing up with them, you were aware of their severe allergies to sentimentality. They never thought with retrospect or hindsight, preferring to barrel into a moment headfirst with each other. They never took the time to consider emotions, unless it affected them.

You were different. You were exhaustingly romantic and analytical, to the point where Atsumu and Osamu had no choice but to bully you back into reality. You thought—thought you knew for a fact—their feelings for you weren’t as strong as your own for them.

You started changing. Getting more and more distant and lost in daydreams. Maybe they did notice, and maybe this was like Osamu’s hand pulling you out of the water all those years ago, during a May just like this.

“I’ll go.”

It hadn’t occurred to you while you were getting ready, nor on the train ride to school that what you were doing might be a punishable offense.

Osamu has seemingly lost his tongue, because he’s not speaking to you as you make the trek to Inarizaki. There’s a smattering of clubs still on school grounds, such as the track and field team who runs in circles around the outdoor track. The boys are in nothing but tiny race shorts and you snort seeing such big boys in bright red.

“I never realized their shorts were so short,” you laugh, and then look at your companion. “Is that how you guys’ uniforms look?”

He spares a glance over you, then snorts. “I’d quit if they were.”

“I donno, I think I’d actually go to a game if they looked like that.”

He doesn’t say anything after that. The harsh afternoon heat makes you sweat almost everywhere, and when you see the gym marked 4, you’re glad for the reprieve.

“Wait,” you say, peeking through the doors on your tiptoes. “Is it empty?”

“Why would I bring you here during practice? So you could stare at more legs?”

“Ha ha,” you reply. “No.”

“Since when did you get so horny?”

“I am not!”

“Sure,” he punctuates with the click of the lock. The door swings open to a moist and comfortable coolness. “After you.”

You smile at him in kind. It’s dark and damp with the lights off, and the surrounding floor has been mopped dry. Your eyes dart to the corners of the room, sweeping for cameras, but you find none.

“Are you sure this is okay?”

There’s a loud noise as the skylight coverings retract. Sunlight floods in and bounces off the water, making those translucent waves appear on the walls. It’s your own pristine oasis.

You turn to smile at Osamu when he reappears, but then you blanch.

He’s in swim trunks, obviously, as this is a pool and he asked you to come here. Yet somehow you didn’t expect all of this; he has toned legs from years of conditioning, and oh shit, oh fuck he’s dropping his bag to grip the edge of his shirt.

“What are you doing?” You blurt in a panic, certain your heartbeat is echoing off the walls because it’s pounding in your skull.

He looks at you with nothing more than confusion. “I’m getting in the water?”

“You’re just going to,” you swallow, begging yourself to say the words because they’re just words, this shouldn’t be that hard. “You’re just going to do that out here?”

“You mean take my shirt off.”

And there’s the taunting curve to his lips you knew was coming. He’s not even reserved as he lifts the garment over his head and stuffs it into his bag.

You immediately avert your eyes and he gives a full laugh. “You were just staring at dudes legs a second ago.”

“I was joking.”

He hums, walking the length of the pool. They hold competitions here, so the pool is Olympic sized, whatever that means. All you know is that it’s significantly deeper than the municipal pool, going to about 9 feet. It’s much taller than you, or Osamu. The thought of having water completely cover you like that sends a fear running down your spine. You’d drown in an instant.

You stare at the unforgiving water, thinking about that day. Bright sunshine, kids screaming, and then suddenly a whoosh and then perfect blue. Nothing would have happened then; there was a lifeguard on duty, and the Miya’s mom was first aid certified. People were everywhere, people much taller than five feet. The twins would have pulled you up. Everything would have been fine.

But here—you could die here, and no one but Osamu would know a thing.

“Hey.” His voice is clear and very, very close. You let out an involuntary gasp and clutch your chest when he materializes beside you. His brows are pinched downward. You feel infinitesimal in his grey gaze.

“Sorry, I was just,” thinking about drowning. “Thinking.”

“About what?” He asks it like he knows something you don’t. Which is impossible, because you’re the only person who knows about this. This sinking, drowning feel that sucks you in even though you’re on dry land.

But when you look at him, really look at him, you can see something akin to suffering in the furrow of his brow.

His hands rest on the top of your shoulders, and for once you’re not wanting to pull away from the touch. His hands are firm, but not squeezing. Just right.

The thought has you spinning, but then you actually are; your world turns and you’re falling headfirst into the water.

The splash stings on impact, but the warm water is inviting. After righting yourself, it becomes warm and comfortable. When you open your eyes there’s the flourish of bubbles right next to you as Osamu plunges in.

His hair floats in a grey halo around his head as he swims toward you, but you’re backing up just as fast. You’re good at swimming; you’ve been better than him after all those years. You swim towards the shallow end and plant your feet on the ground, breaking the surface for air.

Your sopping wet clothes are stuck to your exposed skin, and it feels disgusting peeling it off. Osamu laughs as you try to stick your hands back into your shirt.

“Stop laughing, asshole!” You say, splashing him with water as he gets closer. He still eases through chest-high water as you try to back up, but you inevitably meet a wall.

“Let me help you,” he smirks, his hand meeting the billowing fabric of your top. “It’s the least I can do.”

There’s nowhere to escape him but down. You plunge your head underwater to alleviate the raw embarrassment of it all. You can’t hear his laughter underwater either.

When you resurface he’s still waiting for you. You fling your ruined shorts over the wall and wince at the absolutely disgusting noise it makes on impact with the floor. There’s a lewd joke to be made in there, but you can’t even breathe with Osamu lifting the hem of your shirt over your head. His fingertips brush against wet skin and it feels horrible, mostly because you want to lean into it and have his fingers on your skin for the rest of your life.

He doesn’t notice that you’re staring at him with doe eyes, shrinking even further back against the wall. He smiles genially, brushing a strand of wet hair from your forehead. Your heart feels like it’s going to collapse at how tender this six foot volleyball meathead is being.

“I’ll put these outside, maybe they’ll dry.” You nod minutely and watch in awe as he pulls himself out of the pool with his upper arm strength alone. You hear his footsteps pad away and you sigh, submerging yourself yet again.

It’s all so foreign—Osamu’s tenderness, this plan, everything is so uncertain. You can’t understand why he’s doing all this, why he’s toying with your heart so callously. It’s quite cruel, you think, sitting on the floor of the pool with your arms crossed. Criminal, really.

You stay under the water for quite some time. You do miss swimming; you’d never been good at laps or competitions, but the sensation of gliding through water, being surrounded by warmth and surrendering control; it felt good. You wished you hadn’t turned this hobby into something so dreadful.

You broke the surface again and you saw Osamu sitting at the edge with his legs in the water. His eyes drifted over you, watching as you swam smoothly under the surface up to his side.

The way you looked up at him, your head cradled by your crossed forearms, face glistening with water; god you were angelic. Sweet and kind and ethereal with a far off expression, like you weren’t made for this world. Like you were borrowed from the heavens.

“This was fun,” you said suddenly, and your voice echoed in the empty room.

“You say that like we’re not still here.”

“Considering the state of my clothes we’ll probably be here awhile.” He looks only slightly guilty about it. “Are they ever going to dry?”

He thinks of how much he had to wring them out. Even in this heat it would take more than an hour. “It depends. Do you want to leave already?”

“Why do you sound like you have something else planned?”

“I don’t. Take all the time you want.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Something’s definitely on his mind. He keeps looking towards the bleachers like there’s something written on them.

“Osamu?” He hums, finally tearing his eyes away from middle distance. “Why’d you bring me here?”

And then they’re gone again. He’s not looking at anything; he’s in his own head. Thinking, overthinking, running it by himself before he opens his mouth. You know the process very well.

“I told you—“

“Tell me the truth.”

He’s stunned by your bluntness. Serves him right.

It wears off pretty quickly, fading into a type of smile you’ve never seen on him. It’s bashful and unsure, and he’s trying to hide it from you, but you swim to his other side.

He scratches the back of his head. “You’re somthin’ else, ya know that?”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m gettin to it,” he huffs, but it’s more like a steadying breath. “I knew you’d be sitting at home, alone, and I know you hate coming to practices because you feel like Kita will hate you.”

“He does hate me.”

“He doesn’t even know you, and if he did, he wouldn’t care.” This is Osamu’s usual deadpan voice, but it’s paired with a look you don’t recognize. He continues.

“Either way, I know you hate public pools cause you hate people looking at you. So I thought about a substitute and this came to mind.”

“What, breaking into school?”

“We have keys, (name).”

“Why are we alone then?”

It’s not as if he didn’t realize that. He must have, because when you brought it up something flared on his cheeks. His eyes are downcast and he’s sucking in a breath, that much is evident from how his bare chest puffs out and wow you really didn’t notice how water dripped off his chest before.

You tear your eyes away when he starts speaking. “Because I have something to tell you.”

“You had to tell me here?”

“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.”

“Oh my god,” you start, feigning a look of horror. “Are you going to kill me?”

The withering look on his face makes you laugh so hard your stomach almost cramps. You miss how the look softens into fondness, because he schools the expression once you’re looking at him again.

“If I was going to kill you it’d be done.”

“You’d give me a quick death? That’s sweet.”

He rolls his eyes, giving an exasperated laugh. “You’re unbelievable. That’s not,” another breath, shakier this time. “That’s not why I planned this.”

So this was a plan. Clearly it couldn’t be last minute if he obtained keys, but this had been on his mind for a while. How long had he wanted to do this? And what exactly—

“I know you hate it when things are different,” he starts, quickly, breathlessly, like he’ll lose his nerve. “And I didn’t want to make things worse but, well. I like you. A lot.”

The arm holding you above water slips, and you fall back into water with all the grace of a beached whale. The sting of water reminds you that this, Osamu confessing, is real.

And you just about drowned in front of him.

You clambour back up only to have him reach out for you. You look up and see him giving you a half smile, and you take his hand. You sit next to him, your feet making ripples against the water as you idly move them back and forth.

“I didn’t think I was that bad,” he rubs the back of his neck, keeping his eyes on the water.

“It’s not you! I’m just,” you can’t think of the word. Something is taking root in your chest that makes it hard to breathe, but in a pleasant way. “I really did not expect that.”

He hums. Then he turns to face you. His hair is flat against his face and he has an endearing little smile that is so nervous it melts your heart. He looks like the little boy you took your hand in the pool in May.

“You don’t have to say anything right now, I know it might be a lot.”

You don’t know how to respond. Your brain is racing to keep up, and every time you think you have the answer, the nerve to do so dies, and your head is just screaming, and—

And so you don’t think. You don’t use your head and you follow your body as you place a quick peck on his cheek.

He stiffens when you look at him. You take a breath. “I’m glad you considered my feelings, but you’re an idiot,” you laugh, mostly to push the next set of words from your lips. “‘Cause I like you too.”

The dopiest, most ecstatic grin you’ve ever seen curves into his face. He bites down on his lip to keep it from spreading any further, but the damage is done; you’re laughing at him. And when he tumbles head first into the water like you’ve knocked him out, you laugh even harder.

As it turns out, exhaling underwater is actually a very fun thing to do when you’re laughing at the boy who brings you so much happiness, you could drown in it.

There are several drawbacks to this adventure:

Your clothes did not dry in time; not by a long shot.

You had to mop up all the water in the gym and make it look like you were never there.

You had to board the train and go into a convenience store with your crazy, semi dried hair, garnering more attention than you were comfortable with.

You were willing to look past all this for a number of reasons:

Sitting outside in the simmering heat with slushees in hand was exactly like the American teen comedies,

Osamu had the foresight to bring extra clothes, and,

When he walked you home in golden hour light and cooling temperature, he slung his Inarizaki Volleyball jacket over your shoulders. Did it smell slightly of sweat? Yes. But it was warm and it drowned you and you felt surrounded by safety when he zipped it over your chin.

The two of you stood outside your door, unwilling to part. He still had a lazy smile glued to his face, one that could definitely rival his brothers in terms of attractiveness.

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“You’ll want your jacket back.”

“I’ll steal Atsumu’s.”

You feel bad letting him walk all the way home without one, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You’re still wearing his ill fitting shorts and shirt. You never realized how much bigger he was than you. It felt reassuring, somehow, to still be sizes smaller than a trim athlete like him.

“You sure you’ll make it home okay?” You ask again.

“Aw, worrying about me already, are we?”

You scoff, finally turning the key to open your door. Osamu stays on the step outside your house, watching you as if he lacks object permanence. The sun behind him makes him glow ethereally, and none of this has any business being so heart clenchingly romantic because it's your friend, who is now something more.

“I had fun today,” you finally say, hands behind your back self consciously. “That was really nice.”

“Yeah, I had fun too.”

The silence is tense with things left unsaid, but you’ll spare your heart the embarrassment. “I’ll see you later, Osamu.”

He flashes you a smile and a small wave, but he doesn’t move. “Bye, (name.)”

You tear away from the moment first, walking in and closing the door with finality. You slump against it, and then shout “Is anyone home?”

When nothing but silence greets you, you scream, jumping up and down with all the pent up excitement you’d been holding. You hugged Osamu’s jacket closer, relishing in what could possibly be the best moment of your entire life.

Osamu, having heard your scream on the other side of the door, couldn’t agree more.

#miya osamu #osamu miya #miya twins #hq!! osamu #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #miya twins x reader #inarizaki #haikyuu!!#hq!!#reader x hq!! osamu #reader x haikyuu #reader x osamu miya #reader x miya osamu #haikyuu!! fanfic #hq!! fanic #writing #mine

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thylalock · 5 years ago

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Title: Blaac By: thylalock Characters: Tom Blake, Joseph Blake, William Schofield Pairing: William Schofield/Tom Blake Summary: There is an old story in the Blake family—that they are descended from tree nymphs. Tom doesn’t believe it, of course. That is, until he speaks to one. Tags: fantasy AU, nymph AU, dryad AU?, reincarnation AU, I’ve written Scho as an angel in Celestial now it’s time for Blake!, magical realism AU A/N: yes I’m still a weakling for AUs

“Tree. Later, he learns to distinguish this tree from all the others. He learns its particular name. He plays under the tree. He dances around it. Stands beneath its branches, for shade or shelter. He kisses under it, he sleeps under it. He weds under it. He marches past it on his way to war, and limps back past it on his journey home. A king is said to have hidden in this tree. A spirit may dwell within its bark. Its distinctive leaves are carved onto the tombs and monuments of his landlords. Its wood might have built the galleons that saved his ancestors from invasion! And all this, the general and the specific, the national and the personal, all this, he knows, and feels, and summons, somehow, however faintly, with the utterance of a single sound.”

— Professor Joseph Wright. Tolkien, 2019.

It was a quiet and peaceful evening in the countryside.

The summer sun, not setting in yet, was still a golden orb of ethereal light hanging nicely on the west end of the clear sky, casting a warm glow over the lush pasture and the orchard next to it, quite the scenery provided for the back porch of the Blake’s. A young boy was sitting on the steps, bouncing a younger boy still that was sitting on his knees.

“D’you know we came from tree nymphs, Tom?” the older boy asked, earning a smile and a hearty laugh from the younger one.

“Whatsa nyph, Joe?” the younger boy, Tom, asked. His teeth hadn’t quite settled yet, and he couldn’t say the word properly.

“It’s a tree spirit. Nice kids that play around in the trees,” Joe said.

At this, Tom’s eyes sparkled as he turned around to face Joe. “There’s kids playing in the trees?”

In less than a second, Tom leapt off of Joe’s lap and began running towards the orchard, giggling uncontrollably as he did so. Joe followed suit quickly after, not wanting Tom to hurt himself as he sprinted faster than what was safe for him.

A feminine call was heard from inside the house, sounding concerned. “Where are you going? You’ve just had your bath!”

Tom was already a long way ahead of Joe as he heard the latter calling back to their mother. “Won’t be a moment, Mum!”

Tom loved running around through the pasture and climbing the trees in their orchard, but this time was different. Joe just said there were other children hanging around the trees and he was excited to meet them. He never saw anyone there, had he missed something? He’d be thrilled to play with them.

A few paces next to the cherry orchard led directly to the woods and Tom already lost himself among the trees, calling for the nymphs that he wanted to play with. He could barely hear Joe calling after him from the other side of the orchard, “Tom! Where are you?”

And then—

His right foot caught on a protruded root and little Tom lost his footing. He let out a small ‘oof!’ as he landed on his knees, skin scraping the earth. Joe must’ve heard it, because he appeared from behind one of the trees in the woods before sprinting towards Tom, worry in his eyes.

His knees hurt and the breaking skin began to throb in rhythm with his racing heartbeat, Tom was on the verge of tears.

“Oh, no, are you hurt?” Joe asked, already on his knees as he hugged his little brother, brushing off dirt from his hair and his shirt. But then—

Tom was caught off-guard, an expression of confusion written all over his chubby face. Upon running a hand through his knees, he found no scratch. No cut, no throbbing, nothing, they were alright—

“But I fell,” Tom said in a small voice.

He looked up to see Joe smiling. “Maybe it’s the nymph!”

Tom gave no more thought of it as he followed his brother back home, eager for dinner. Both of the boys were unaware of a heavenly figure standing just a few stones’ throw away, her scraped knees slowly healing.

Tom grew up to be a very playful boy.

He was vibrant, energetic, and bright. He was boyish in every sense of the word. He came home dirty every evening with leaves on his ruffled hair and dirt on his pants. He got embarrassed and turned the deepest shade of red when his mother hugged him in public. When he smiled, a sweet smile with a hint of mischief underneath and with just the loveliest hint of rosy tint on his cheeks, he lit the whole house up. When he ran through the fields, he was almost as fast as their dog. He was quick to get angry, but he was also quick to forgive.

But despite his boyish personality, there was something about the quiet nature that seemed to call to him.

He might never admit it, but there was a reason why he loved rolling through the beds of grass down the hill, why he could climb trees quicker than his friends and reached the impossibly high branches, why he loved lying on a pile of dry leaves in autumn.

Why he and Joe were not an ounce tired as they took the whole day picking up the cherries from the orchard in the middle of May for the first time, even though they were only small boys, while Emmeline Blake, a grown woman of two sons, looked like she was ready to collapse to bed.

The woods, the trees, the grasses that danced softly to the evening summer breeze. There was something in it that seemed to be calling him, whispered through his fingertips as he ran his fingers through the rough bark of the highest branch of the oak tree in the woods, far from anywhere his friends dared to climb, vibrating through his bones, whispering through his veins, something—

Something that calmed him down when Joe accidentally broke his wooden sword and he ran to the woods to cry, sheltered and hid him when he ran as fast as he could from the seething pharmacist because he had to steal a vial of medicine for Joe who was sick at home, wiped his tears when they decided to put their old dog down because she was in too much pain—

When there was news that Mr. Blake would not be coming home from the African War, something cradled Tom’s head as he sat against a tree, hidden in the woods, his legs curled up to his chest to ward off the biting chilly November air.

His dreams began that very night.

It was something that always evaporated the moment he woke up, not even a figment of it clung to his memory like his regular dreams, but sometimes something would trigger a strange and unknown feeling in his gut, and Tom would know it was a piece of his dream. But no matter how hard he tried, he could never call it back.

Sometimes he would catch a young couple kissing under a tree, or his teacher would read to them the story of the great warlock Merlin who was trapped inside a tree by a sorceress, or he would play pirates with his friends, imagining they were sailing the seas with the mightiest galleons, and an echo of name was heard in the back of his mind, a sound was forming at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t remember it—

“Joe?”

A creak was heard in the dark room. Joe shifted from where he was lying on his bed next to Tom’s in their small and humble shared bedroom. “Hmm?”

“Do you ever—”

Several moments passed. Tom raked his brain for the right word, he didn’t quite know what to ask, but then upon the lulling sound of Joe’s slowing and steadying breath, he drifted off to sleep as well.

A man was standing on his back towards Tom.

He looked smart with his uniform. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties, and with his strong jawline and broad shoulders, he was quite dashing and handsome, if only not for the melancholy on his face. He looked as though he was trying to sport a brave face, but Tom could see the underlying hint of sadness on his mouth and fear in his eyes.

He was kissing a young woman before he kneeled down to kiss her swelling pregnant belly and a boy next to her. She looked disturbingly familiar to Tom that his breath was knocked clear out of his lungs. She was, she was—

When he blinked, the man was already walking through him.

Tom tried to scream, but not only did he fail, he was also faced with a different scene as he blinked again.

The same man was walking towards him now, but his steps were heavy and uneager. He looked as though some ten years had been cut from his lifespan. He still had his strong jawline and his broad shoulders, and he was still handsome, but his eyes were empty and he looked as though he could hear things that were not audible to other people.

And then—a boy, a boy came into his vision, running to hug the man, and then a woman, with a baby on her arms—

Tom woke up with a start, his nightshirt drenched in sweat, too panicked to notice that, in his dream, he was one of the cherry trees in their orchard.

The dreams slowly began to recede as he reached his early teenage years.

Following Joe, he got a job of helping around with Mr. Evans with his horses after he finished his minimal school. It took every scrap of his energy to deal with the equines and the moment he touched his bed, he drifted off to dreamless sleep almost instantly.

Joe told him not to be such a girl the first few weeks he kept complaining, which prompted the younger Blake to shoot back about his job in the bakery, earning him a playful punch.

He worked in barns and stables and fields now, and if the trees were still calling to him as he took the shortcut through the woods on his way home every evening, he was either too tired to pay attention or he had lost the ability altogether.

He slowly left that piece of childhood behind, until—

It was in the middle of the summer festivity in the village, one they always had every year. Leading a life in a small village in the countryside, one was bound to know every other soul in the neighbourhood, and Edith Falkner—Tom hadn’t exactly thought of her in that way, but that particular night, it might just be one too many glasses of cider that he had, or the way that her red hair looked as though it was burning with the roaring bonfire behind her, or the way she smelled like the apples, sweeter than anything he could resist—

It was quite embarrassing, and both of them were quite sloppy that night, but it was his first kiss.

They came to their senses quick enough, and it was an amiable conversation, but Tom and Edith decided it was something that they would never speak of again.

Life returned to its usual rhythm.

Tom grew up into a handsome young man, quite the talk of the neighbours. Sure he was still a talkative boy, but the girls seemed to pay more attention to his charming wit. He hadn’t quite grown out of his chubby and rosy cheeks, but he took after his father and Joe quick enough in terms of his broad shoulder and strong jawline.

Of course, being who he was, Tom was aware of this, but although he had kissed quite a few girls, he had never broken any hearts and he had never touched any of them. He had done nothing but respect them.

Besides, after his first kiss with Edith, something didn’t feel quite right—as though he was afraid that the next girl he would kiss, the next girl that he thought he was really connecting with, was just him being too intoxicated and not thinking straight.

Until he sat down against one of the cherry trees that particular evening.

It was a quiet and cloudy evening, aside from the slowly dimming sunlight, there was no telling that the sun was reaching the end of the horizon. It had been quite an uneventful day. Mr. Evans successfully sold one of his horses for quite a rewarding price and he had finished his work rather early. It was truly one of the rare days when he got to enjoy a few moments of stretching his legs in relaxation, surrounded by trees, just like how he remembered it when he was a boy, not drowning in too much strenuous work for a change.

Only, this time, he got some company.

A slightly older boy with a rather lean posture was sitting next to him, listening to him talking excitedly about Myrtle.

Henry Cooper was the son of the vet that he and Mr. Evans liked to go whenever one of the horses was not well. Sometimes he would visit him with his mother when Myrtle was ill as well, and Henry would go into his father’s office and told him that Tom was his friend and the kind old man would free them of any charge. Sometimes, when Tom was not feeling well, Henry knew all the right advice to give.

He was telling him about how Myrtle liked to do all silly things when Henry laughed, one of the most beautiful sounds that Tom had ever heard, and it registered to him.

It was like putting a missing piece of puzzle, the last piece falling easily into place without any second thought.

When Tom kissed him, it rained cherry blossoms.

Not that he would remember it in the morning, but that night, Tom had another one of his dreams, but this time, it was different. It was more powerful, more magical, more ancient.

Someone was standing under a cherry tree. Tom was inclined to say it was a young woman, but she was clearly more than that. She was not any ordinary maiden. Something about her, something about her told him she was not quite human—her beauty was both ethereal and frightening, her presence commanded respect and fear, her poised elegance was striking and intimidating.

But then, the way the air hummed melodiously around her, the way the trees bent as though to gather her in an embrace, and then, as a man slowly walked down the lined trees that Tom realized was decorated like an aisle for a wedding, and then, the way she took him in her hands ever so gently—

A warm feeling bloomed in his chest, in his stomach, on his toes and his fingertips—as though all the beautiful things under the sky bloomed into existence and he could smile until his face ripped. And all of a sudden, she was not terrifying anymore. She was still frightening in her heavenly beauty and respectable presence, but she was no more an other-worldly being of fearsome predilection, an ancient daughter of the Earth spewed out of myths of inspire awe and strike fear. Instead, she was a lovable bride.

He pieced it together—they were in love.

And then, something formed on the tip of his tongue. Her name—he knew her, he didn’t know how, but he knew he was supposed to know her—and her name, her name was—

Tom didn’t remember any of it in the morning, and he didn’t know that it would be the last time he would have the chance to glimpse into the lives of his far ancestors.

They announced it the next day. England was at war with Germany.

Everything that used to revolve around Tom’s life dwindled in a matter of days—Joe signed up, Henry was called for his expertise, and they took all of Mr. Evans’ horses.

So it was only natural that Tom, being who he is, went early to the city hall early the following day.

Besides, he wouldn’t be complaining after he heard how they were going to pay these soldiers—with more than what Mr. Evans could, with glory, with a more meaningful life than just mucking out stables and horse dung, and with a chance to go on parade and charm a few girls.

They said the boys had to be at least nineteen to be taken in, but no one had to know he was still sixteen years old, was there?

It was quite sneaky to avoid Mr. Evans on his way to the city hall, so he took his favorite shortcut—through the small path in the woods. He knew the woods and the grasses and all the individual trees like the back of his hand, before—

He took a turn to where he knew there was a gentle slope to descend, but he could’ve sworn he had passed that part of the woods—

He wasn’t—he mustn’t be thinking straight, which was to be expected, he thought, he was filled with excitement for the prospect of joining the forces—

Wincing, he landed on his backside as he slipped on the perfectly solid ground, which would’ve embarrassed him to no end if it wasn’t for the fact that he was barely thinking of anything other than reaching the city hall as soon as he could to sign up—he would be with Joe the entire time and they got to watch each other’s backs in the Front, it really was the best idea—

But then Tom decided something undoubtedly weird was taking place, because he could’ve sworn he had crossed that stream just a few minutes earlier—

And he had passed that crossroad, and he had passed that slope, and he had crossed that bridge—

It was a deeply unsettling feeling. He had never been lost in this particular woods in his entire life. He knew all trees and all the rocks and all the broken twigs, all the nooks to curl and all best trees to bear fruits, all the corners where the rabbits lived and all the bird nests sitting on the highest branches—but for the first time in his life, all of it felt foreign and unknown to his touch—

He hissed as his right foot caught on a protruded root that he knew wasn’t supposed to be there. When he tried to stand up, he swore at the pain shooting from his foot to the top of his head. He broke his right ankle.

He hadn’t felt it for years, the last time he had felt it was when he was no older than an eight years old boy, but nonetheless he knew the feeling—the trees were trying to tell him something. So he stood up and turned back to face the trees, and hissed under his breath, “What the fuck do you want?”

A gust of wind, that which seemed to flow in rhythm with his own heavy, angry breathing.

When he turned to the other side, the edge of the wood was there, with the houses in sight.

Tom tried to hide his limp.

But even as he pulled a brave face, large drops of sweat forming on his temples as he held the pain, lying through his teeth about the year of his birth, the officer managed to find out that he was too young.

When he exited the hall, not bothering to hide his limp anymore, a familiar voice called, prompting him to turn around.

Henry stood by the door.

They didn’t say a word. It was the last time either of them would see each other.

Life was quiet for the next two years.

The village was quiet, the town was quiet, Tom’s days with his new job went on quietly, the summer festival was quiet.

His mother was quiet, and though Tom still wanted to join the fight, he never brought it up again. Instead, he would let his mother hold his hand when they had a quiet time, and even would hug her in return longer than usual, even though he used to be embarrassed about it.

The window on their kitchen faced the cherry orchard at the back of the house, and Tom was helping his mother with the dishes when the question jumped out of his mouth.

“How did you meet Dad?”

This earned a hearty laugh from his mother. “Did you meet someone?”

Tom let out a small chuckle, although there was a nice hint of blush creeping up his cheeks. It was good Joe was not there to see it because he would never let him past it. “No, I’m—I’m—I’m just curious.”

Emmeline Blake smiled and stayed silent for a moment, as though she was gathering all the sweet memories in her heart, before she replied, “he gave me flowers.”

Something about the statement called out to him, as though he knew it to be true, deep in his bones, as though a lot of pieces in his life just aligned themselves to make sense.

But his mother didn’t seem to register what her words had done to him, because she continued casually, “violets. Reminds me of your grandmother every time I see it. I don’t know how he found out. Your Dad always said it’s the Blake charms, but I think he'd just been watching.”

Tom knew the train was coming before the chugging sound was even heard.

Something about the blow of the wind and the dancing of the grasses.

When the train came to a stop and Joe climbed down the platform, his mother practically jumped at the young man before gathering him in a hug, but Tom noticed something else.

Something about the way that nothing changed with his broad shoulders or his strong jawline, but that he looked like some ten years had been cut off from his lifespan, and like he could hear things that other people couldn’t hear.

If it happened with winds and dancing blades of grasses with Joe, it happened with flowers with Tom.

There was a bill passed about getting all the men that were fit to fight to join the Front, and May 1916 saw him finally saying his farewell to his mother on the train station even though he was still eighteen.

To untrained eyes, nothing would seem out of place with the gust of wind trailing behind the slowly accelerating train, carrying the fragrance and flowers of late spring. But to Emmeline Blake, as she slowly realized it, she knew.

It was her boy.

If he thought taking care of Mr. Evans' horses was tiring then, life was even more exhausting at training.

They put them through a lot of marching, crawling in the mud, running, climbing walls, handling rifles, and carrying bags full of rocks jogging for laps the entire length of a running track, but for a young country boy, even by military standards Tom rose to his specialty quickly enough.

In just a few months, he was already specialized in navigation.

But of course this record didn’t escape the attention of his superiors without raising suspicions.

The first time he completed his navigation mission in his training, locating four chests of grenades in a forest with nothing but a compass and a knife, and finishing half a day earlier than their fastest record, he was rewarded with ten laps of jogging with a sack full of rocks as a punishment.

“But, sir—”

“Is that you talking back to me I see?”

“No, sir, but I—”

His sergeant let out a deafening bellow to tell him to get running, and Tom nearly jumped out of his skin.

But no matter how hard the next tasks they threw at him, how treacherous the next forest would be, and how well-hidden his next salvage would be, he kept finishing his missions earlier than their fastest record, by days. This baffled his superiors because they figured he couldn’t have cheated and kept getting information about his missions every single time.

The night they were sending him with the rest of the new boys to the Front, his sergeant came to him, a genuinely curious expression written all over his face.

“How did you do it?”

Tom knew what he meant without the older man having to explain himself. “I don’t know sir, I just know my way around trees, I suppose.”

Tom was sent as reinforcement for the 8th battalion at the end of the year.

It was in the middle of winter, and no amount of training could prepare him for the actual sight of the Front, of the sounds, of the smell, of the feeling of death wafting from the earth that walled the very trench itself, of the biting cold and lifelessness of No Man’s Land that stretched on the far side of the horizon, far from his first station as a new recruit—

He thought about the glory that he would get once the Great War was over, and pulled on a brave face.

Like everything that life threw at him, he adjusted to his daily routines quickly enough—even made a few friends within the first day.

Sure he was aware that his talkative nature earned him a few frowns from some of the men, and a few warnings from his new superior, but it wasn’t like he could turn it off like a tap of water. But his personality was hard not to like amidst the ever-present gloom of the Front, and he was great company to be with when they were bored out of their minds in the back line. Within the first month in the trenches, he already knew the names of almost all the men in his company, some of their wives, and a lot of funny stories from the next regiment that some of the lads passed on to him.

And he liked his company too. Some of them were funny and had even more hilarious stories about their superiors in store, some of them looked grumpy and battle-worn but they had all the right advices about life in the trenches, some of the were quiet but they know all the right words to say to even the darkest jokes and they didn’t mind helping out a lot with the boring digging, some of them were even loud and not unlike himself.

One of them was Lance Corporal William Schofield.

At first, Schofield was no different than the majority of the men in the trench.

Quiet and reserved, with a sad and longing look stealing its way on his face when he thought no one was looking, or it might just be his resting face. He made minimal response to his chattering when they were huddled around the fire and complained when Tom kept talking in the afternoon, he did his work diligently and went about his business without saying a lot of words.

But he also liked to share his food with him, tucked in one of the inner pockets on his uniform neatly with a handkerchief. When it stormed, he was the first to scoot over to give some room in his hideout for Tom to take shelter. And no matter how frequently his stupid self forgot to duck a little lower when they were sent to fix the wires, Schofield never failed to remember to gently pull him to duck by the shouder.

They were huddled around the fire that evening, and he was just telling the men around him about Myrtle when Schofield laughed, a melodious and rich sound that Tom could spend forever listening to.

In that exact moment, a breeze of wind blew, carrying the unmistakable smell of cherries, which baffled Tom a lot because they were still in the middle of winter and no one else seemed to notice.

That night, he slept across Schofield, far from the Front line.

The next morning, no one paid any attention to it, but Tom could’ve sworn they didn’t fall asleep on a bed of moss the previous night.

He didn’t mean to do it on purpose, of course, but sometimes, when he knew Schofield thought he was asleep, he would catch a sad expression playing on the older man’s face.

In the afternoons, when all the men around them were trying to steal winks of naps. In the evenings, with the dimming sunlight casting a warm glow on his face. Early in the mornings, when no one was awake yet and the early spring sky was still a lovely shade of faint blue.

Sometimes, Tom thought of asking what the long face was about, an attempt to cheer him up, but every single time he was about to do it, his tongue failed him. For all his cheery personality and his bubbly disposition, he couldn’t find the words to do it, couldn’t gather the courage—it wasn’t right, it wasn’t life back at the countryside where the hardest thing to happen was failing crops or a sick herd of cattles—he couldn’t poke around people’s lives like that—

Tom didn’t do it often, but he reserved to just look at him from afar, hoping that he wouldn’t turn around and catch him staring and stumbling over his own words in a poor attempt to make an excuse.

And, every time, the wind would blow gently so that the grass next Schofield’s person would caress him. When he played with the tiny yellow flowers, there was a gentle tingling on Tom’s fingers—

As though they were holding hands.

And then Tom would allow a small smile on his lips.

One time, they were advancing a couple of miles east, their next station. They didn’t have any vehicles to bring them, so they walked on foot. They were crossing a few hundred yards of forest when it happened, just like every spring back at home.

It rained cherry blossoms like it was snowing.

A few men complained as a few petals found their way to their faces, swatting them off like flies, but Schofield, who was walking just a few paces behind Tom, looked at the raining flowers with a gentle expression, as though it reminded him of everything that was soft and beautiful and bright in the world.

He looked up, admiring them as though every single one of them were falling stars, and Tom let out a soft chuckle.

It was well into the spring when he heard of Joe again.

“You have a brother, a Lieutenant, in the 2nd Devons?”

His eyes widened.

When they exited the dugout, he was ready to climb the parapet to cross No Man’s Land himself. Not even Schofield could slow him down.

He couldn’t decide which one was more terrifying—being trapped underground with the earth roof collapsing above him, or the sound from underneath the rubble, buried in the white dirt, screams that slowly receded into faint shouts—

God, god—

It was different than being shelled outside. With no sunlight and no sky and no bloody anything but chalk and rocks and dead dirt all around him, Tom was suffocated—he couldn’t—he couldn’t think—he was good at surviving outdoors, bloody good if he could say so himself, as long as he could see the sun and smell the faraway scent of life and sense the dormant seeds of the grasses, but underground—

“SCHO!”

God—

He pushed himself, through the white dust swirling around him, scattering the light from his torch into blinding beams, his hands digging the fallen rocks like a feral canine, swimming through the earth, sweeping it away—he had to, he had to—

“Scho? Scho!”

He kept on calling his name, despair rooting in his voice as his calls became more and more guttural, his fingers working their way through the rocks, until—

There was no mistaking the tip of Schofield's helmet, and then his forehead, and then—god, oh god, his face was caked in white chalk dust, with his mouth open—

“Scho! Wake up! Wake up!”

When he pulled Schofield by his webbing, he finally coughed. Heaving, gasping, rasping, all the horrible and painful but the most relieving sounds Tom had yet to hear.

Were it not for Schofield’s hand, holding him tight by the shoulder, his own fear seeping into his own person, he wouldn’t have managed to navigate their way out.

He only slowed down at Schofield’s remark.

“No, you didn’t—you never know. That’s your problem!”

Tom looked at him for a long time, trying to come up with an explanation, only to fail miserably.

“Alright then, go back. Nothing’s stopping you,” Tom recoiled, hurt. “You can go all the way bloody home if you want—”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

Bloody dust stinging him on the eyes—

”I didn’t know what I was picking you for,” Tom said. He was trying to explain that he didn’t know picking Scho with him would result in them barely escaping being buried alive in the German trench, but there it went again—”I thought they were going to send us back up the line, or for food, or something.”—all his words and all his wit, slipping away from him, leaving him stumbling over words that betrayed how he was actually sorry that he didn’t know, because, if anything, he was lashing back at him—”I thought it was going to be something easy, alright? I never thought it would be this—”

And then he went silent. He didn’t want to sound sad, so he could only manage it in a small voice. “So, do you want to go back?”

They looked at each other for a moment.

“Just fire the fucking flare.”

Naturally, Tom didn’t know how else he could make it up to Schofield beside talking.

He had never been good at other approaches.

So he started talking.

“Jesus.”

Tom felt it before he saw it—death.

Not just the feel of ordinary death, of trees getting cut down to be made into furniture or fields catching fire after getting struck by lightning, of fruits rotting or fallen logs decaying or any other ordinary deaths that were part of the cycle of life.

“They chopped them all down.”

There was something evil in the fact that the cherry trees were in flowers when they were chopped down. It almost felt like murder.

He couldn’t help it. He came forward and touched it.

They weren’t supposed to go yet before they bore their fruits later in the season, so he prayed for them. They would still come back in more trees than before, he had learned since he was a boy that nature was unstoppable that way, but he still prayed for them. When he said their name, it was to pay respect for their family, a sign that he recognized their clan, a prayer to wish that they would come back next year to continue their bloodline—

“Lamberts.”

—but then he felt Schofield’s eyes on his neck, so he caught himself.

“They might be Dukes. Hard to tell when they aren’t in fruit.”

He asked Schofield to tell his mother that he wasn’t scared, but of course he was scared. It hurt when he took a breath in and everything was getting colder and colder and it scared the living daylight out of him to contemplate the possibility of Schofield not—

“Talk to me,” he begged. It hurt, his abdomen hurt like a thousand knives and the only thing keeping him from crying was the fact that his lungs hurt so much, but he had to—he had to make sure. He searched for Schofield’s eyes, he had to be sure. “Tell me you know the way.”

“I know the way.”

His breath was becoming more erratic.

“I’m going to head south-east until I hit Ecoust.”

He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes as he held the pain. He needed to hear it, he needed to hear it—

“I’ll pass through the town, and out to the east, all the way to Croisilles Wood.”

“It’ll be dark by then,” Tom’s reply was barely more than a rasping sound as he shivered, cold.

Everything was so unimaginably cold, but there was warmth when Schofield said, “that won’t bother me.”

Schofield was saying something, but he couldn’t make anything out of it, it was getting fainter, and fainter, and fainter—

And fainter.

“Come with me, Corporal. That’s an order.”

He wanted to touch Scho, tell him it was alright, probably joked to him that he got his bearings right this time, considering the man was clueless about navigation and couldn’t even tell in which part of France they actually were. But it was different when he was already dead.

The grass—he wanted to extend his fingers through the blades of grass, hold his hands through the tiny yellow flowers, but it was feeble—so feeble.

And then he realized it. It was true.

He was of tree nymph blood.

And that was when he saw her.

The maiden. Striking and majestic and courtly, her silver hair flowing to the ground and dancing in the wind as though in water, her beauty staggering and ethereal, her presence breath-taking and magnificent, but also—

Warm.

With her smile gentle and welcoming, and her steps followed by the flowers shooting out of the earth, and her eyes the most tender shade of hazelnut.

There was a queenly air around her, as though she was ancient and was older than the human race itself, but her touch—Tom was already on his knees when he laid his eyes on her regal appearance, all his breath knocked clear out of his lungs even after he died, but her touch—her touch was so impossibly human—

And then he remembered.

The maiden under the tree, and his groom, the young man walking down the lined trees, and her name—her name—

His head spun impossibly fast—all the memories, all the dreams he couldn’t recall, all the history of his ancestors, bleeding into his dreams in his sleep, all the kings and all the knights, all the poets and all the bards, all sorcerers inside the tree and all the ships that fought the Romans, all of it caught up to him—

“We are named after you,” Tom breathed.

She was the tree nymph, who married a mortal.

Her name was something that his human mind couldn’t wrap itself around and a sound his human tongue couldn’t pronounce. It was like the sound of the rustling leaves and the whisper of the forest in the middle of night. His own family name was probably the closest thing a man could get to her real name. But escaping his human body, Tom understood it now.

She smiled and gathered him an embrace.

“My name is Blaac.”

From behind Blaac, a man was walking towards him. Tom would’ve been too young to remember his face when he was alive, but somehow, escaping his mortal body, he knew. He recognized him.

They could almost be the same age.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he lost his voice as he collapsed into his embrace.

“Dad!”

Time flowed differently when one was dead.

One was separated from the mortal world, yet sometimes one could sneak a look beyond the fog. Most of the time it didn’t make sense.

But something kept on calling back at Tom. Something was filling in his lungs and he couldn’t breathe, as though he was drowning.

Someone—

He knew it before he saw it. Schofield.

It hurt to look beyond the fog. It wasn’t supposed to happen, the veil between the living and the dead was not supposed to be ruptured, but Schofield—

He was drowning.

His name jumped out of his mouth before he knew it.

“Schofield!”

Tom gasped as Schofield emerged from under the surface, gasping for air. He could feel Schofield’s strength waning—

“Schofield! Scho!”

—his mind numbing, his breath shallowing—the heat of his body slowly being replaced by the biting cold of the water—

Tom could feel his own breath slowing, so he could only manage a whisper of a name that never escaped his lips outside of his dreams. “William—”

And then he looked up.

A breeze.

And with it, a rain of cherry blossoms.

When he saw Schofield bring up his hand to scoop some of the fallen blossoms from the water, Tom could feel his hand on his fingertips.

“Is that you?”

Tom spun on his heel to turn around, the veil closing itself behind him. Blaac was looking at him with a gentle expression. He didn’t need her to explain what she was asking about.

Tom blinked, gathering his thoughts before he said, “yes—yes, I think so.”

Blaac was silent for a moment. “Not a lot of Blakes can do that beyond their death.”

Tom didn’t know what to make of it. Like all the strange occurrences in his life, he didn’t quite know how to do it, it just sort of happened.

No word was exchanged between them for a long time and Tom thought it was merely a warning not to rupture the veil again, but then Blaac’s next words shook him.

“You must’ve loved him very much.”

Tom froze.

He hadn’t—he hadn’t exactly—

He couldn’t move, the idea had rooted him on his feet. Loved him? He couldn’t have loved him—sure Schofield occupied his mind more often that could be considered friendly and there was a surge of ache in his gut when he thought about him, about his sad face and how Tom was too much of a coward to comfort him, about his melodious laugh or about the tiniest chuckles that he liked to let out that was the gentlest sound in nature and were one of the things Tom treasured most in the world, about the fact that he was ready to go through falling rocks just to get Schofield out of the collapsing trench alive—

“Thomas.”

Tom looked up, his lips sealed.

“Do you love him?”

And it was when the walls broke.

“Yes. God, yes, I love him.”

And so Blaac walked towards him.

When she put her fingers on his forehead, everything turned blindingly bright.

Tom Blake was munching on his breakfast as he sat on a bench.

London was a very busy city, but at least in the middle of the city park, he could get a bit of fresh air and a break from his stressful schedule for a change. His first class was not to start for another hour.

It was a nice morning in the middle of the spring.

A gentle breeze of wind caressed his cheeks and a single, solitary petal of cherry blossom sneaked its way to fall on his lap. Above his head, it looked like it was snowing—blossoms everywhere.

He chuckled, as though remembering something from an old life.

His eyes landed on another young man, sitting on the bench opposite him. Tom had never seen him before in his life, but for some reason, he felt like he knew him.

He smiled.

Fin

A/N: OH MY GOD I FINISHED THIS YAAAYY! If you’re here, thank you so much for bearing with me through that thousand words of angst, I mean, man do I love writing those!

So a little sidenote: I don’t have any background in Old English whatsoever, so really it’s not actually my place to say that Blake really came from Blaac (Old English) n. pale hair, or pale skin. My only backup is the internet, so I’m sorry if I get some of the things wrong.

And yes, of course, I can’t help with the reincarnation, I’m weak for that trope, especially in this fandom!

I’m sorry if I didn’t nail Blake’s personality right, I did my best but I think I must’ve missed some things. ALSO sorry if the idea is a bit strange, I don’t know why this idea came to me, I suppose it's because of the "and then in May, we have to pick them, me and Joe. Takes the whole day." time of the year, but I had to write it.

Constructive criticism is always welcomed! Now, be right back, I can’t run away from Celestial forever lol!

#1917edit #blakefield #blaac #1917 fanfic #my writings #tom blake #I FINISHED IT YAY #absolutely not gonna finish it were it not for the support of my friends you know who you are THANK YOU i love you to bits #*#thomas blake #1917 #dean-charles chapman

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pinkmedusa6 · 5 years ago

Text

Burning Bridges

Pairing: Richie Tozier & Eddie Kaspbrak

Read on AO3

An excerpt from this work:

“Go back to sleep Rich. I’ll be back, I promise.” Eddie stumbles backwards and slips out the window. Soon the room settles into a lull like Eddie was never there to begin with.

The clock reads 3:35 am. Richie stays in his bed debating if he should get up and chase after Eddie but his consciousness makes the decision for him as he begins to fade into his dreams once again. Sleep overtakes him, thoughts of Eddie still swaying at the edge of his mind. Richie decides to talk to him in the morning. He will realize later that this was the worst decision of his life.Eddie

Kaspbrak was never seen in Derry again.

Summary: Richie is living the lonely life of a C-list comedian in LA until he suddenly is contacted by Mike Hanlon. 15 years after his disappearance Mike believes to have received a phone call from Eddie. The remaining Loser's return to Derry in search of answers and their missing friend.

It had been a normal day for Richie Tozier. But that’s how all tragedy’s started, with normal days.

All seven members of the Losers Club sat along the bank of the quarry. The haze of a summer heat settling along the exposed edges of their skin. Beverly was skipping rocks along the water, trying to beat her record of 6 skips. Ben watched her like she was competing in an Olympic sport, the flick of her wrist catching his gaze. Bill, Mike, and Stan sat not far off, discussing amongst themselves.

Richie had taken to climbing up a nearby tree and hanging off one of the branches by the crook of his knees. While Eddie stood underneath him rattling off the possible injuries he could get by falling.

Richie was desperately trying to keep his glasses from sliding off his face as Eddie glared at him. “I’m not going to help you if you fall and bust your head open.”

“Aw would you still love me if I got brain damage Eds?” Richie grinned swinging carelessly back and forth.

“Don’t call me Eds. And you already have brain damage asshole.” Eddie huffed, crossing his arms across his chest.

“And you still love me! How sweet,” He threw Eddie a wink. Richie thought he saw a hint of red creep around Eddie’s cheeks but wasn’t sure if that was just his own blood rushing to his head.

“That’s why we’re your friend, can’t let the poor kid with brain damage play by himself.” Stan called over, not even bothering to turn towards Richie.

“You wound me Staniel.” There was a grunt as Richie heaved himself up and began his decent down the tree. About a foot away from the ground he lost his grip and fell landing on his back with a small thud. He barked out laughter as Eddie ran to his side to make sure his skull hadn’t broken like an egg shell.

“B-by the way, what electives did everyone ch-chose for the semester?” Bill said fully ignoring the commotion taking place beside him.

A chorus of answers rang around the group, from Bev shouting home economics to Ben quietly mentioning a poetry class. Stan said photography and Richie remarked that his teacher would get tired of every picture being a bird. Eddie sat quietly in his spot beside Richie.

“What about you Eddie?” Mike smiled over at Eddie. He had also stayed silent during the discussion, there wasn’t much to say about electives when you were home schooled.

Eddie fidgeted from where he was sitting on the ground. “Ok I’ll tell you guys but you have to promise not to mention it around my mom she’ll flip.” There was a collective nod, “I uh decided to go for track and field.”

“That’s fantastic Eddie!” Bev said.

“You’ll do g-g-gr-ugh.” Bill closed his eyes in frustration before starting again. “You’ll do awesome, you have always been the fastest of us anyway.” Bill smiled along with the rest of the group. He was right, Eddie had always been the fastest of the Losers club even when he thought his asthma was real.

“Fast on the track and in the sack that’s what they say right?” Richie laughed as he was shoved by Eddie but he didn’t miss the distinct dimpled smile.

After finding out his mother had been lying to him for years about his asthma, as well as several other illnesses, Eddie had abandoned most of his placebos. Only when his mother was watching did he seem to keep up his act, not yet wanting to confront her. Richie felt a certain kind of pride bloom in his chest. The kind that had always been there but seemed to grow with each act Eddie did. Sonia was controlling and every step that Eddie took seemed to defy the tight grip she had on him. They were coming closer to the end of their high school days and Richie was excited for the future. A future he hoped contained a great deal of Eddie.

Richie knew the way he felt about Eddie differed greatly from his feelings towards the other loser’s. He didn’t stay up late at night thinking about the curve of Beverly’s legs nor did he leave lingering touches along Stan’s arms, those were exclusive to Eddie. Calling it love would make it too real. He called it a crush because crushes were soft fleeting things. Crushes were easy to get over you could skip from one to the next. Love was a hard rock that sat at the bottom of your stomach. Yet Richie could barely contain the tightening of his chest with the way each freckle stretched over Eddie’s cheeks as he smiled. Just a crush Richie reminded himself.

The losers club continued their carefree summer day at the clubhouse, reveling in one another’s company. Richie felt at peace among his friends, he wondered if this is how all his friendships would be or if this was something special.

By the time four o’clock had rolled around it had become Richie’s favorite kind of day, one where after spending time with all the losers Richie was able to squeeze in an hour or two of alone time with Eddie. After departing from the clubhouse the duo arrived at Richie’s home, eventually landing on his bed to read comics and bicker over trivial topics.

It was Eddie who brought up the subject of college, “Are you still planning on going to UCLA?” The question threw Richie off guard, especially since they just finished a heated argument over who was the better superhero, Captain America or Iron Man. But now Eddie sat on the floor of Richie’s room, his back against the bed and staring at the posters on the wall. His eyes seemed like they were searching for an answer in the Rush poster hung up haphazardly above Richie’s desk, a fruitless effort.

“Well yeah, its step one in my plan on becoming a famous comedian,” Richie turned to Eddie from where he sat on his bed. His eyes were still trained on the poster but Richie caught a glimpse of some unnamed emotion flash across them. “You should come with. UCLA has like a million majors to choose from.” Richie tried to say it as casually as possible and not like he would trade his left arm just to have Eddie in the same state as him. This was not the first time he had brought it up but he still felt the same nervousness tug at his stomach, like it was an encoded proposal.

“Like my mom would ever agree to me moving across the country with Richie Tozier.” Eddie finally returned Richie’s gaze, a somber smile on his face.

“You’re right. You’re mom would get too jealous.” Eddie groaned “Do you think I could get Mrs.K to come with me to UCLA? I’m not sure she could survive till winter break without me.” Eddie took the comic book in his lap and rolled it up before smacking Richie on the head with it. Richie laughed, a shit-eating grin spread wide across his face. Eddie wavered in his scowling, eventually laughing along with Richie. Soon both boys settled back down into a comfortable silence as they read their comic books.

As the evening sun slipped into his room it basked Eddie in an otherworldly glow, Richie wanted to burn the image into his brain. He wanted to record Eddie as he was now and replay the scene over in his head until that’s all he could see. He was almost grateful when Eddie said he needed to leave, the tips of his fingers burned with the urge to touch. But Richie smiled and pushed those feelings away, a practice he had grown accustomed to.

Richie walked Eddie to his porch, leaning on the railing as Eddie began to walk down the steps. “When will I see you again Eddie my love?”

“Jesus can you just say my name normally for once?”

“For you? No way in hell Spaghetti man.” Richie was grinning, a common occurrence when he was with Eddie. And Eddie would huff and roll his eyes at Richie’s antics but there was always a smile that followed and Richie would always chase it.

“Well Bill wants us all to meet up at his house tomorrow, his aunt sent him a board game and it can play up to ten people so now we won’t have to fight over who goes first.” Eddie said, hopping off the last step of the porch and turning to face Richie.

“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow when I show you my awe-inspiring board game skills.” Richie wore a cocky smile, it always gave him a special rush knowing exactly what buttons to push to rile Eddie up.

“Oh shut up you couldn’t even beat me at Clue.” Eddie crossed his arms, face already formed into a pout.

“Hey that’s not fair, you know I suck at those murder mystery games!”

“Well it’s a mystery why I’m still friends with you” Eddie smirked as Richie let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest as if Eddie had shot him on the spot.

As he turned to leave down the driveway Richie shouted “see you tomorrow!” Eddie turned around briefly to wave at Richie before scurrying off towards his own house and out of Richie’s sight.

After dinner Richie went to bed peacefully, happy with how the day went. That was before he was awoken at 3:21 am.

Richie was a heavy sleeper, he had always been since a young child. That night he did not hear a window creaking open or shoes shuffling on carpet, he wasn’t awake until a gentle hand began to stroke his hair. Even then Richie was still dancing between sleep and consciousness. He shifted, opening his eyes just barely only to close them again then repeating the process a few more times before comprehending that for a hand to touch his head it needed to be attached to a person that was presumably in his room. His eyes opened fully to see a dark figure standing over him.

Shock would have set quickly into his veins if not for the hand still combing its way through his hair, daring him to sleep once again. He made a sound that was a mix between a grunt and a slurred “what”. The hand retracted as Richie grabbed his glasses off his night stand. While the figure was less blurry they were still just as dark and only after his eyes adjusted did Richie catch the face of the intruder. The sliver of moonlight peaking from behind the clouds illuminating just enough for recognition to kick in.

“Eddie?” Richie questioned, head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.

Eddie jerked back slightly, his face still mostly shadows. Richie was having a hard time making the connections his brain needed to make. “Richie” Eddie said finally and if Richie were more lucid maybe he would have caught the distinct wetness Eddie’s voice carried. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Richie rubbed his eyes, “What are you doing here man?” He went to turn on his lamp but Eddie grabbed his wrist.

“No don’t.” Richie was taken aback “Sorry its just…“ There was hesitation in his voice and Richie started to wonder if this was a dream, it felt too weird to be reality. “I needed to see you.” There is another pause as Eddie let go of Richie’s wrist before kneeling down beside the bed. Richie felt the warmth of a hand on his cheek. “Richie I need you to listen carefully. I’m going to be gone for…“ he breathed in sharply “I- I’m not sure how long. But I promise you I will be back ok?”

“Eddie you’re not making any sense” Richie’s voice dripped with confusion as his gut started to tug at itself. This wasn’t the Eddie that Richie knew, this wasn’t the spitfire that always spoke his mind and was trustworthy to a fault. No this Eddie sounded uncertain and scared.

“I know, I’m sorry” Richie thinks he hears a sniffle, “I can’t….just remember I’ll be back Richie, please remember that.” Eddie leans forward and rests his head on Richie’s shoulder as he begins to shake.

Richie wraps his arms around Eddie, softly running his hand down his back. They stay like that for a moment and Richie starts to wonder again if this is an elaborate dream.

Eddie pulls back, “Richie I-“ he says it like something important is dancing on the tip of his tongue ready to dive, but he just shakes his head “I have to go” he slips away before Richie can protest. “Go back to sleep Rich. I’ll be back, I promise.” Eddie stumbles backwards and slips out the window. Soon the room settles into a lull like Eddie was never there to begin with.

Eddie Kaspbrak was never seen in Derry again.

Thank you for reading! If you are interested please check out my AO3 as I probably won’t post anymore chapters on Tumblr. Feel free to leave comments and constructive criticism!

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it #it chapter 2 #fanfic #my art #it movie #losers club #bill denbrough #beverly marsh #stan uris #mike hanlon #ben hanscom #writing

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royallyjoon · 5 years ago

Text

red light magic

i don’t want to set the world on fire...

i just want to start

a flame in your heart.

as someone who’s always been on the outside looking in, the social aspect of college felt almost as daunting as the academic aspect. you meet seven certain men that revolutionize your life and its meaning. what would start out as a completely innocent friendship would develop, move crude and black, into something so sinister.

—

A medical career hadn’t been your first choice.

Ever since you were little, reading and writing were in your blood. Books were your escape from teasing classmates, and there was nothing more enjoyable to you than coming home and powering through one YA novel after another.

You loved reading so much so that it, along with summer school and class assignments, pushed you to start writing short stories yourself.

When high school came along, you were fairly well known for your love of books and your writing/poetry.

You knew all too well how much dedication and time it takes for an author to be successful. Your parents never failed to remind you, either.

Your mother pushed you to recognize the fact that a career in the medical field would not only allow you to give back to society but pay your bills as well.

You could improve your writing on the side and not have to worry about living in a cardboard box after graduation.

Ultimately, when the time came to choose a college, it was this conversation that made the decision for you.

Karu University, your home for the next four years, was known for its myriad of majors as well the diversity in its subjects.

You lived in a standard dorm room with relatively nice roommates. Your student loans weren’t too cumbersome and your mom bought you all the school supplies you’d needed.

Your first day of classes began with a Psychology course; one the rest of the people in your major wouldn’t be taking until next semester. Due to a scheduling error, you would take Psych this semester and the other class the next.

You arrived rather early, by about half an hour, and sat in the middle of the lecture hall. With one earphone in, you took out a notebook and pencil. Then you fooled around on your phone.

People slowly started filing in. The two seats on either side of you were empty, but only one held your bag.

Just as the class was about to start, a young man ran in. His eyes quickly scoured the room for a seat. You saw him turn his head towards you and moved your bag to between your legs in preparation.

On your left, another man sat next to you. He smiled, one you quickly returned before taking your headphones off and putting them in your bag. You put your phone on silent.

As you stuffed your phone in your pocket, the guy from earlier plopped down on your right. You smiled at him as well, and he grinned.

The professor started his lecture. Halfway through, there was a small tap on your shoulder. You stopped writing notes and turned to the one on your right.

“Hey, sorry to bother, but do you have a pen I could borrow?” He whispered.

“I think so...” you muttered. You dug through your bag and handed him a Sharpie pen.

“Thank you!” He smiled again and scrambled to write the class information the professor was sharing.

“First things first: Sigmund Freud was wrong about a lot of things, but contributed greatly with his psychoanalytic theory of personality.”

“Really?” The voice on your left quietly snorted. “I thought his theory on the Oedipus complex was right and true.”

You giggled and glanced at the man next to you. He smiled and shook his head.

Throughout the lecture, you wrote little notes and laughed at his comments. He seemed to know so much about Psychology already; it made you wonder why he was there.

At the end of class, the man on your left finally introduced himself.

“Hi, I’m Namjoon.” He stuck his hand out.

“Nice to meet you, I’m (Y/N).” you smiled back and shook his hand.

Those dimples are adorable.

“You’re a freshman, right?” You nodded. “Ah, cool! I’m a junior; I just took the class because I had the elective time.”

“Really? I was thinking you seemed pretty learned about Psychology; now I know why.” You said.

He blushed. “I’ve gotta go to my next class, but I look forward to talking to you more.” Namjoon picked up his bag and walked away with a wave.

Meanwhile, the one on your right tapped your shoulder. You turned to face him.

“Thank you so much for the pen! I’m Hoseok.” He grinned and handed it back to you

“Ah, it was nothing. I’m (Y/N), nice to meet you.” You stuffed it in your bag and smiled back. For some reason, his happiness felt infectious.

Maybe it was the first day jitters.

“You too! I’ve gotta run, but see you next class!” He jumped up with his bag and waved goodbye as well.

You waved and sat a while before collecting your books to go explore the campus. At the very least, you had two new friends. The thought made you smile.

The campus was pretty empty, although it was still early in the morning so students were probably sleeping or in class.

The walks between campus were absolutely scenic, as Karu covered so much ground for its different schools. There was a pond to study by, and you intended to sit there after getting your way of the land.

When you reached the pond, you sat underneath an old willow tree that hung over it and pulled out your book. You only started reading for about half an hour, however, before someone’s shadow stole your attention.

You looked up to notice a tall, pale man in front of you. He looked much too old to be a freshman, older then Namjoon even. You guessed he was a senior.

“Listen, I’m pretty sure you’re new here so I’ll just tell you. Tradition states that the willow is a senior hangout only, and I’d really like to sit down. I’ve had a long morning.” The voice quietly lectured you.

“I don’t have a class for the next forty-five minutes...can we compromise?” You scooted so that your back was to the sunny part of the tree.

He looked at you for some time, but eventually, his exhaustion prompted him to sit.

“Wake me when you leave.” was all he said before he lay his head on his bag and knocked out.

You continued to read and slowly got accustomed to the sound of his breathing and the water in the pond moving.

With fifteen minutes left to go, you started packing your things. You didn’t want to be late for your class.

You stood, patted at your pants and legs, and shook the senior awake.

“My class starts soon, so I’m going to go now. I hope you have a good day.” You smiled at him as he quietly grumbled before taking off.

Your official classes finished for the week, and any breaks you had were spent traveling the campus in search of relaxing studying/reading spots. However, you could not head back to your dorm yet.

Every year at the end of the first week of school, Karu held several activities over the weekend for incoming freshman to get to know each other.

Forming unbreakable bonds, getting into relationships--because these are the plusses to college, were they not?

You headed towards the Roleste Center, where the majority of activities would be held.

The sophomores, who spent the past year planning these events, stood excitedly at the doors. They welcomed students by handing them a name tag and a little necklace with a plastic square to slip it into.

You hefted your bag over your shoulder and took a Sharpie, necklace, and name tag with a smile. Once prepared, you headed into the room.

Your heart was pounding. You hated and loved these events with a passion; it was difficult for you to start talking to people but once you did, you opened up a lot more.

Let’s make some friends, you thought and delved into the crowd.

The rest of your day was spent awkwardly trying to get to know people. You chatted with a few, but the second the leaders gave you all free time, they ditched you for others they’d met earlier. You were at a loss with who to hang out with.

Groups formed quickly as students left the building in waves. You didn’t want to walk outside, clinging to friend groups hoping they’d call out to you so that you could join the conversation.

They never did.

And it was too bold for you to just walk up and join the conversation as if you’d been there all along, wasn’t it?

You pulled out your headphones, plugged in, and sighed.

I came here to make friends; yeah right.

You felt a presence near you and looked up. A boy now stood in front of you, his hand outstretched.

“Hi! I’m Jungkook.”

You smiled and shook his hand. “I’m (Y/N), it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.” His grin reminded you of a bunny. “So, what are you majoring in?”

“Nursing.” You replied. “What about you?”

“Nice...I’m majoring in arts in game design.”

“Wow! You must be really talented!” You gushed.

You chatted with Jungkook for the rest of the break, and the rest of the evening. He switched seats to sit next to you, and your heart warmed in excitement. Finally, you’d found a friend in your year.

When the activities were over and the sophomores bid everyone goodnight, you stood up to go but hesitated when Jungkook didn’t.

“Hey, are you coming?” You asked softly.

“Ah, no. I”m staying behind to help the sophomores clean up. I know a couple of them and we live together, so it’s easier.” Jungkook replied.

“Oh...well, do they need any more help?” You asked. You didn’t want the night to end so soon...

Jungkook smiled. “Sure! I’ll ask just in case, but I know they’d appreciate the help.” He jumped up and ran to the back.

You sat down and watched as the other freshman left boisterously for their dorms, planning meetups and exchanging social media.

You felt a bit disappointed that you’d only made one friend, and here you were clinging to him like a newborn.

Jungkook came racing back. “They said you can help; come on, let’s get started.”

You put your bag on the floor next to him and started folding chairs and tearing down decorations. The sophomores goofed around as they cleaned and you gazed upon their closeness, wondering if you would ever belong to a group like that.

You all finished cleaning about an hour before curfew. You knew your dorm was closing at midnight, so as much as you didn’t want to say goodbye to Jungkook, you had to put an end to this night.

After collecting your bag, you walked over to the raven, who was speaking to two sophomores. The taller male had bright red hair and grinned a boxy grin when Jungkook said something to the smaller male. His pink hair somehow fit his personality.

Their conversation slowed as you approached, and you took the opportunity to cut in in fear of interrupting them.

“Hey, Jungkook!”

He turned and smiled. “(Y/N), there you are! I wanted to introduce you to these two; they helped plan the whole event.”

“Hello, I’m Taehyung! This is my best friend Jimin.” The redhead gestured to the pinkette.

“Ah, hello! Thank you for working so hard to plan the event, the games were really fun.” You said.

“Thank you for saying that (Y/N), that’s so sweet.” Jimin smiled and all you wanted to do was pinch his cheeks, but you held back.

“So, what did you want to tell me?” Jungkook asked.

“Oh, I wanted to say it was really nice meeting you today. I was so worried I wouldn’t have anyone to talk to, but you swooped in and I had a great time talking. I hope we stay good friends in the future. But I’ve got to back to my dorm before the close the doors. I really hope to see you around campus more.”

Jungkook’s face brightened at your words but fell when he heard you were leaving. “You have to go? Here, why don’t we exchange numbers so we can keep in touch?”

“Sure!” You handed your phone to him and took his in turn, putting your name with a couple silly emojis.

Once the exchange was over, you promised to stay in touch and bid your goodbyes to Jimin, Jungkook, and Taehyung. However nice it was to meet them, you had a long day and all you wanted to do was shower and go to sleep.

Taehyung opened the apartment door with a shout. “Kookie met a girl!”

“He what?” The sophomore was rewarded with a shout from the kitchen.

Jungkook shoved his way in and slapped Taehyunh on the shoulder. “Hyung, it’s not that serious!”

Jimin strolled in and closed the door behind them. “I mean, she was beautiful. And our Jungkookie already got her number.”

“Oh-ho!” A loud shout from upstairs. “I knew we were raising him right!”

“I raised him if anything; the lot of you sat back and watched me.” The man entered the living room, apron on and spoon in hand. “What’s her name?”

“(Y/N).” Jungkook blushed a little thinking about their evening.

“He’s got it bad.” tsked the college graduate.

“Jin hyung, I’m hungry,” whined Jimin.

“Then get your lazy brothers to come downstairs so we can eat.” He said as he walked back into the kitchen.

The youngest ones raced upstairs and ran to the respective rooms. Jungkook pulled Namjoon from his room, Taehyung got Hoseok from his studio, and Jimin dragged Yoongi out of bed.

Once the seven were seated and eating, Jin asked them what they thought about starting the new semester.

“I think it will go well.” Namjoon mused. “I met this nice girl in my Psychology lecture--she actually laughed along with my jokes.”

“And she lent me a pen!” Hoseok said. “She’s super nice. I don’t think she would have even asked for it back.”

“I met a girl under the willow tree,” Yoongi muttered. “She’s the only other person I know that isn’t afraid to sit under the tree. I told her it’s a senior privilege to sit there, but we just ended up sharing the space.”

Jin shook his head. “I’m amazed you all actually found someone to talk to for once. What did she look like?”

“She had (s/c) skin and (e/c) eyes; she was wearing a yellow hoodie and jeans,” Namjoon said.

“That’s what the girl I met was wearing,” Yoongi said, pausing his meal.

“That’s what (Y/N) was wearing,” Jungkook added.

The dinner table remained silent for several minutes.

“What a coincidence?” Jin tried.

“I don’t think so,” Jimin said. “Must be fate. It’s too weird.”

“We’ll see what happens in the future.” Hoseok shrugged. “You never know, we may never see her outside of classes again.”

Little did they know, the universe was up to something grand.

#yandere bts x reader #yandere bts #jeon jungkook #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #college!au

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soranihimawari · 4 years ago

Text

Hi Scores & Taiyaki

Welcome back to part 3 of the Kuroo x 1st person fic. This will be the last installment for now unless I decide to use Social Dummy again to continue the character’s relationship. But first things first, thanks for reading this and major shoutouts to @vbcshenaningansnwritings for reblogging my stories & @kaidasen for encouraging me to post these drabbles/drafts/fics. ::hugs to you::

Taglist: still open

The weeklong camp had come to an end before it had begun. I had a lot of fun hanging out with the girls during the end of camp barbecue. There were a few instances where I had to chase after Bokuto to remind him to not steal so much food from the different grills, but he just laughed it off before running away with a plate full of food for Akaashi. Kuroo on the other hand, was busy keeping track of his protoges, Kenma and Tsukishima (another tall middle blocker from Karasuno) by also doing the same thing. There was a moment before the visiting teams started to pack their belongings where Kenma tugged on my sleeve to pull me aside causing my conversation with the female managers to be cut short. (We had already traded contact info during the many nights we stayed up exchanging stories of their teams antics, so we all decided to text each other later).

“Everything ok Kenma?” I asked when we stopped walking. There was a safe distance between the side of the building where we stood and the other members of the teams.

“Kuroo seems to really like you,” he said in a low tone. I nodded as I kicked the invisible pile of dust on the concrete floor. His console was tucked away in his track jacket pocket, but he continued to play a different game on his phone.

“I have a feeling that I already know,” I replied with a smirk.

“Good. Because I couldn’t get him to shut up about you after you helped Lev out the other day.”

A chortle escaped my lips, “I see. Well, if that’s all you wanted to tell me, then I guess we could head back. C’mon, Karasuno is about to leave now too. Let’s say bye to Shoyo & Tsukki.”

It seemed as though everyone had begun saying their farewells by the time we returned.

***

Summer vacation quickly ended for me as soon as it had begun. Classes were starting again the following day, so naturally by the time I had arrived back home, I greeted my parents before calling my close friend, Riza.

“Kenma confirmed to me that Kuroo does like me and we may or may not have spent more time alone after lights out,” I explained collapsing on my mattress.

“Oh ho ho,” Riza chuckled on her end of the line. “So, the tom cat finally came around to liking you? That’s terrific. All of his fans are going to be heart broken when you guys go out on your date next Saturday.”

“I know. I am not looking forward to receiving those glares from his exes though.”

“Meh, you’ll be fine. They were the ones who let him go with the exception of Angela though. Those two always fought, but I am glad you two never really fought. Well, maybe except in trig when you both arrived at different limit answers, haha.”

“Of course you’d remember how well he took being wrong, Riz.”

“Mmhm. I gotta back my friend up whenever he assumes he is the smartest in the room. Anyways, I’m gonna go prepare for bed. See you in class tomorrow.”

“Okidokie. Meet at the convenience store at seven?”

“I’ll be there. Later Kat.”

***

The days seemed to have blurred together, but with both Kuroo and I heavily invested in our separate clubs outside of school hours, we barely had any time to discuss finalizing our plans for our arcade date. On Friday night before our date, I received a call from him. He seemed a bit stressed out, more so than usual, but that was to be expected since the team had a qualifying match scheduled in a few days time.

“Coach is making us have an extra practice on Wednesday and that’s when this chem lab is due. There’s also this make up test I have to do for history and I’m falling behind in trig since I can’t really find the time for homework. Kat, I don’t know what to do.”

I was seated at my desk in front of my computer screen in the middle of typing an essay for English class. It was a three to five page paper discussing the themes of Westernized fairy tales which I stopped writing because clearly, Kuroo needed someone to snap him back into focus.

“Take a deep breath first,” I heard him inhale and upon his exhale, I continued. “Good. Now, listen to me carefully Tetsuro: meet me in the library after class on Monday. Bring all your materials for the classes you fell behind on. I’ll make copy of my notes and bring a pen to correct your mistakes on the trig quizzes since you got an 80% last time.”

“Our second date is a study date, huh?”

I chuckled. “It can be. Let’s survive the first one, yeah? The forecast called for rain tomorrow afternoon, so hopefully we won’t get caught in it on the way back.”

***

I arrived first to the arcade around 17:50. I was dressed in the best casual attire I could think of: navy wide leg pants, a white dress shirt paired underneath with a lemon yellow camisole. My shoes were black rain boots and my hair was left down. Kuroo came a few minutes later dressed in an all black street ensemble attire that made me think I was a bit out of his league (more so than before).

“You did not have to come here looking like an idol star,” I teased when he reached out to hold my hand.

“And you didn’t have to either,” he said with a smile. “Let’s go inside to play Street Fighter II again, yeah?” I nodded.

A few hours passed us by as we kept reloading the game cards playing different arcade games ranging from fighting games, TETRIS, and music games (like JuBEAT FESTO). Kuroo’s cat like smile made me more competitive when he failed the last song of JuBeat.

“Move aside, lemme see if I can beat your score sir,” I mused. I swiped my card and selected my first song and the speed. The tiles began to glow with the first few notes coming from the machine. There were a lot of encouraging words coming through the screen: “Combo!” “Perfect” “100 note streak!”

“By the time my round ended, the title card illuminated with a new hi-score slot waiting for my initials to be put in.

“If I wanted to date Kenma, I would have just taken him here,” Kuroo muttered under his breath. “Well, you win. I bow down to you, Kat-chan. Queen of JuBEAT FESTO.”

“You don’t have to, but maybe we should go? It’s almost 20:30 and I don’t want to stay out too late. Let’s go grab a bite to eat, yeah?”

There were a few food cart vendors located down the street from the arcade. Their carts were lined up against the entrance way of an old park where there once was a sunflower field. Years of urbanization caused the flowers to no longer be planted, but in their stead, a field of peonies were grown. I took a seat on one of the benches facing the flowers. A warm smile graced my lips as I leaned down to pluck one off the field.

“Such a pretty flower for a pretty date,” Kuroo’s voice made me yelp in surprise. He cackled as he extended one of the taiyaki he bought toward me. “Here, I got you a taiyaki.” I took one of the fish shaped pastries an thanked him. We raised our fishes to each other and began to munch on them; we sat there for about half an hour making the time pass by playing a question game with each other.

“Your turn,” I reminded Kuroo with a nudge of my elbow. “Ask me anything you like.”

“Alright,” Kuroo replied. “Hmm...I got it! Kat, how many dates do we have to go on before I ask you to be my girlfriend?”

I leaned forward and folded my arms over my thighs, a hum drawn out into the air. I made direct eye contact with the peonies, the one I plucked remained on the bench. He had a puzzled emotion worn on his face.

“As many as it takes for me to believe you actually like me. Kuroo,” I swallowed thickly. “You’re someone who would break up with a girl over the fact that they bore you or that they didn’t understand your commitment to your team as captain. It’s going to take some time for me to believe your emotions toward me are genuine. Sure, we had fun at training camp, but I need you think this through. Are you sure you want to be with me?”

At this point, Kuroo stood up and immediately crouched down in front of me. The summer breeze made his hair dance in the wind along with the blooms behind him.

“I’m sure,” he replied. A hand of his combed a few pieces of my hair behind my ear; he grabbed the plucked peony blossom and placed it behind my exposed ear. “See? You do look more glamorous with it in your hair. C’mon, I suppose it’s time for me to walk you home.”

He pulled me up off the bench and placed a light kiss atop the crown of my head.

We arrived at the fork in the sidewalk where we would have originally had split up before, but instead Kuroo escorted me to the front courtyard of my apartment complex building. He held my hand the entire walk over, telling me more stories of his childhood with Kenma up until the time Kenma turned twelve and they climbed a tree to rescue a kitten.

“And that’s how Kenma had his first pet,” Kuroo said, a triumphant smile over his face.

“So it seems,” I replied, a shortened giggle fell out of my mouth. He raised my hand to his lips, thanking me for a wonderful outing. His thumb traced over my knuckles lightly. I removed the flower from behind my ear before offering it to him. He pushed it back toward me before he tilted my chin up to meet his gaze.

“Keep it, sweetheart,” his voice told me. He leaned down again and kissed me, slowly to quiet my irrational fears of not being wanted by him. One kiss was all it took for both of us to come to terms with our outlook on each other. My eyes fluttered open, my hand still wrapped around the peony’s stem. He kissed my cheek when I wasn’t looking directly at him.

“Go on upstairs. I’ll leave after you go,” he told me in an hazy tone. He squeezed my hand gently.

“Thank you for today,” I began as I turned around to open the door of the lobby. “See ya at school next week.”

***

About a month and half after our first date, Kuroo and I found ourselves curled up on the couch in his living room with a Ghibli film playing in the background. His arm was resting comfortably against my waist, drawing small circles on my skin. I turned my eyes away from the tv to look up at him before I decided I was done watching the film. I committed the minute details of his face to memory.

He cocked his head to the side with a curious brow lifted toward me right up until the moment I initiated a kiss. Kuroo did not object to this sign of affection pouring from me. His hand moved away from my waist to my back, then I felt his arms loop behind me to pull me over his lap. I found myself wrapping my legs around his waist as my hands made their way on to the fabric of his shirt prior to me holding on to it for balance as he began to work on deepening our kiss. I found myself smiling into every kiss he gave me, stealing every ounce of air he had inside his lungs. He rested his head against the crook of my neck, his breathing uneven.

“Three years of wondering what it would feel like to have you alone like this,” his voice reverberated gently against my skin causing a blush to dance across my face. Slowly, I felt his lips imprint open mouthed kisses up the side of my neck. He was gentle with me at first, much like the first person to kiss me like this. My breath was caught in my throat and it seemed he didn’t care as a whimper escaped my lips in anticipation not knowing where his lips were headed to next. Damn this boy, my inner thoughts cursed at him.

Each kiss gained momentum the closer his lips grazed against my own. In the past couple of dates that we had had, I mentioned off hand to Kuroo that if he were to kiss my neck, even playfully, I’d crumble beneath his touch. Smooth ass mother fucker, I thought.

“Shh...” I hushed him within a few seconds when I felt his one of his hands disappear under the back of my shirt and the other stabilized the back of my neck. I’d like to think he counted how many layers of clothing there was between us, but his coarse hands roamed my body curious to know how soft my skin was.

He pushed me forward, causing me to crash on to his demanding lips again; his hands were wrapped around my waist and mine laced lightly around the back of his neck, giving me more support to push myself into him more. His mouth was compressed against mine, yet this kiss remained as light as we had intended it to be. We sat like this for a few moments before our lips began to move rhythmically over the other, the pace being set by him.

I exhaled through my nose, not wanting to let go of him. There was an overwhelming feeling of mutual relief toward each other finally seeing what we could be. Relief raced out of hearts for a moment only to be replaced with this sense of combined eccentric panic, and lust. More, I thought. I need more of this kind of physical affection.

Kuroo’s hand on the small of my back travelled higher in an attempt to pull my shirt over my head, to which I shook my head in agreement.

“It’s too hot,” I said, lifting the fabric over my head and tossing it to the side. Kuroo’s eyed my exposed top half through running his hands up my sides. My chest rose and fell with every touch his grazed my skin.

“I concur,” he said. I shrugged before I leaned down, hands pressing his shoulders back on to the back of the couch. From there, I began my barrage of open mouthed kisses down his neck, leaving bite marks behind his ear. Hearing him hiss an exasperated sigh when he pulled me toward him causing me to stop.

My hair hung over my shoulders as Kuroo tilted his head up again to press his forehead against mine. He and I exchanged a few words making sure the other was doing ok; most of our replies were done in a hummed tone of the “yes,” variety.

Our heart rates needed to return to a normal pace prior to us continuing where we had left off. Kuroo’s playful shine in his eyes and smirk told me everything I wanted to know. I caressed his cheek when I pulled away, the inside of my palm warm from his flushed face.

“Kat,” he breathed my name so effortlessly it caused me to stop stroking the side of his face.

“Hmm?” my vocal chords vibrates at the sound of my name. “What is it?”

Suddenly, I took note of how Kuroo’s eyes were trying to refocus themselves on my face; pupils dilated meaning he felt the rush of serotonin enter his system. He shifted his weight underneath me and whispered something along the lines of “you’re staying over tonight,” in my ear to which I nodded. I didn’t have time to wait since I felt him stand up with his hands under my thighs.

“W-woah!” I said, stifling a laugh when I moved my arms around his neck for balance. “Where are you taking me?” As if I didn’t already know the answer. I arched my eyebrow up at him with a teasing expression.

“My room,” Kuroo answered, his eyes crinkled with a smile. “To continue where we left off kitten.”

#haikyu!! fiction #kuroo x 1st person pov #part 3 of 3 #another miniseries is done!

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