#waking up to his name in news headlines was really the last thing i needed right now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hollybell51 · 2 years ago

Text

I promise

Masterpost

Corinthian x gn!Reader

The Sandman (2022 Netflix series)

Word count: 4814

Summary: having been alone in the Waking World since your departure from the Dreaming, you’re glad to see a familiar and sorely missed face. So is the Corinthian.

Content: no use of (Y/N), use of pet names (“sweetheart”), canon-typical horror elements and referenced violence, referenced murder/gore/violence (it’s the Corinthian guys), drinking (as in drinking a grand total of two alcoholic drinks each), reader is a nightmare, weirdly deep ruminations on the nature of love, pseudo-love confessions (you’ll see). Smut (because I feel like this needs its own category of tags): smut with feelings, oral sex, making out, hickeys, slight possessiveness, slightly pervy Corinthian I guess (???), slightly dom-y reader, slightly dom-y Corinthian, they kinda swap around, maybe I should have just said “switch”, but I mean slightly when I say slightly so I don’t really even think it’s worth labelling, penetrative sex

Notes: I am so attracted to this man it’s actually kind of depressing. Thank you Neil Gaiman and Boyd Holbrook. Also I was quite torn writing this because obviously he's a gay man in the comics which is a huge part of him and very deliberate decision (I really recommend checking out this post) but also the pansexual element of the show, so I've done this as a gender neutral reader so I guess you can take it where you want... anyways, enjoy!

Also I literally could not decide which of the many gorgeous GIFs of this man to put because holy shit he is just so hot in literally everything he does but I like his little "hmf" kinda smile near the end in this one so it's what you get <3

Your phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with a notification from the news network.

“Anything good?” the bartender queried as you idly opened it, skimming the headline. You smiled. The Corinthian strikes again, police warn local citizens to exercise caution.

“Must be something,” he continued, seeing your smile.

“No,” you replied.

“So what’s got you smiling?”

“Nothing, really.”

The bartender shrugged, deftly wiping a glass and sliding it into place behind him. You idly spun the plain band of metal that circled your little finger – your promise finger – as you continued scanning the article, looking for anything that might be a clue to you. Apparently the body wasn’t found too far from where you were now, but that wasn’t helpful. He could move fast, and he did. The whole thing was riddled with the usual useless vagaries, police stating that they were working hard and that everyone should just be careful when going out at night. Everything they always said, none of it any more helpful than any other time.

It had been too long since you’d last seen the Corinthian, somewhere around half a century. You’d stopped keeping track of the years when it got to thirty. You hadn’t realised at the time that you wouldn’t be seeing him again, you’d laughed off his talk of the two of you leaving the Dreaming for the Waking World as nothing more than that; talk of grand plans as you lay wrapped in each other's arms, bodies pleasantly exhausted from the night’s activities. He’d held you close, kissed you very gently, then said nothing more on the matter. It wasn’t until you went to look for him later that it sunk in. He’d been serious, and he’d left.

Then, of course, there had been the whole debacle with the ruler of your home simply vanishing one day. You’d thought of the Corinthian, wondered what he was doing. You’d tried to look for him in people’s dreams, but you were a small nightmare and didn’t possess the power he did. And with Lord Morpheus gone, the Dreaming had begun to crumble as people succumbed to what the humans were calling “the sleepy sickness”.

There came a time around the twenty year mark of your king’s absence that you’d caved as many dreams had and slipped quietly into the realm of humanity, sliding through them like a snake through long grass. They fascinated you, and after a while you’d started to see the appeal of living among them. You didn’t exactly see their best side – you were a nightmare, after all, and like attracts like – but nonetheless you gulped every drop of their lives you could get.

You’d become aware of the Corinthian’s little hobby purely by chance, the random drop of a hat – or newspaper, since it was a dirty and battered tabloid blowing across the street in front of you just around a decade ago that had set the ball rolling. His name stood out to you like it was glowing, the description of the crime tactfully vague yet somehow more horrifying because of it cementing in your mind that it was him, that it was your Corinthian. You’d followed it like a hound follows a deer ever since, scouring every discussion, every article, every word printed on it with a comb so fine it was surprising anything at all could even get through. Yet something must have, because here you were, still searching.

“Can I get you something?” the bartender was asking someone, not you. You could feel them slide into the seat beside you, despite the bar being almost empty. Whatever, you wouldn’t be here much longer anyway.

“Whiskey, on the rocks.”

You froze. What were the chances, now, after all this time? You’d always imagined you would be the one to find him, had played out the scenario in your head to no end. You’d find a clue, follow it, everything would fall into place and there he’d be, sitting in a dark corner of a bar or pub, watching people around him through those dark glasses he always wore. You’d slip into the seat beside him just as he was now doing to you. He’d be shocked to see you, he’d give some wonderful explanation as to why he hadn’t come looking for you, then he’d laugh that beautiful laugh of his and shoot you that special admiring grin he reserved just for you. Maybe you’d be coy, maybe you’d give in and slip right back into his arms as if he’d never left.

“Reading something interesting, sweetheart?”

A smile tugged persistently at the corners of your mouth, your stomach flipping at the familiar accent, the beloved pet name. No, it looked like coy was off the table. “Something that reminds me of someone who’s been gone way too long.”

“Cut ‘em some slack,” the Corinthian said, humming appreciatively at the whiskey, “they’ve been busy.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, finally looking up, “they certainly have.”

He looked the same as the last time you’d seen him, exactly as you’d imagined he would. Dark glasses obscuring his eyes, pale coat, neat swathe of blonde hair cast in gold by the yellow lighting of the bar. And he was smiling at you as he took another sip of his drink, a wide grin that made your heart soar. Shit, you’d missed him more than you’d realised.

“Do you–” you started, just he said “what do you say–”

“Sorry.” You stopped, gesturing for him to continue.

“Should we get out of here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

He nodded, downing the last of his drink and paying the bartender. He glanced from the money to you, then back to the Corinthian. As the realisation dawned, you quickly started to tell him that he didn’t have to pay for you, that you could buy your own long since empty drink, fumbling in your pockets for the money you knew was there but seemed to be eluding you almost deliberately.

“My treat, sweetheart,” the nightmare said, watching you idly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You don’t have to–”

He held up a hand, stopping you mid sentence. “Consider it an apology. For being gone way too long.”

You sighed, giving in. “Alright.”

He nodded, pleased with himself, and offered you his arm. Casting a hasty farewell to the bartender – smiling at what must have looked like a dream couple – you slipped your hand into the crook of the Corinthian’s elbow and allowed him to lead you out onto the dark street. He may have been a nightmare, but nobody could say he wasn’t a gentleman.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“I’m taking you home with me.” Then, at your laugh; “something funny about that?”

You shook your head, still smiling. “The real human experience, huh? Picking someone up from a bar and taking them home.”

“Not just anyone,” he corrected. “Someone real special and real pretty.”

“You do this a lot?” You tried to keep the question light, but something of your thoughts must have come through in your voice.

“Jealous?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged, fighting the heat you could feel creeping up your neck. “No, just curious.”

“Well let me tell you this,” he said softly, bending down close enough that his whiskey scented breath brushed your cheek, “no one can even come close to you.”

“And no one can come close to you,” you replied, ignoring the bolt of warmth the words sent through you. Yep, you’d missed him way more than you realised.

“Do you do this a lot?” he asked, his ever present grin dancing around his mouth.

You shrugged, your hand drifting to his own, much larger one. “The novelty tends to wear off a bit.”

“Oh,” he laughed, “that sounded like a yes to me.”

“Has all your time in the noise of the Waking World clogged up your ears, Corinthian?”

“Maybe, but it’s cleared my head.” The mirth had fled from his features, his brows drawing together seriously. “I didn’t realise how much I’d miss you when I left.”

“Why didn’t you come and find me?”

“I tried. For about the first twenty years or so. I even went back to the Dreaming, but I guess you left before I got there.”

You sighed, bringing your hand up to pull his arm across your shoulders. “I didn’t realise you were serious when you asked me to leave with you. If I knew, I would have come with you.”

“You’re here now,” he shrugged. His fingers stroked yours, hesitating momentarily as he felt the cold metal on your littlest one.

“Yeah. You were right,” you added. “It’s nice to have more than just people’s minds to explore. I like seeing the real things that dreams only echo.”

He hummed in agreement, drawing you closer to his side. He smelled the same as he had when he’d left, dark and woody and if you had to describe it in a word, like something expensive. He smelled like home. If you were uncreated right then and there, you thought, you’d go happily.

“This is me,” he said after a few blocks traversed in comfortable silence. The building wasn’t new, but it wasn’t old either. It wasn’t exactly large, but it wasn’t small. It was just an apartment building in the city, nothing about it really stood out. Except that the Corinthian was opening the door and holding it for you, inviting you inside. And you were going inside, following him into the elevator as you imagined countless humans had done before you. The thought might have disturbed you if it had been anyone but him, but you trusted the nightmare with your very soul and knew that he trusted you in the same way. He would never hurt you, and you would never hurt him.

The elevator dinged, you followed him down the corridor. He opened the door, you followed him inside. He took your coat, the strange intimacy of the gesture sending shivers down your spine as you watched him hang it beside his own, letting your eyes linger on the perfect way his muscles moved under his skin, the smoothness and preciseness of each movement. Even if you didn’t know it was true, you’d have believed anyone who told you he was hand sculpted by a God. More than a God, in fact; an Endless.

“Take a seat. Can I get you another drink?” he asked as he moved to the kitchen, his fingers trailing lightly over the bench top.

“Sure,” you said, settling yourself on a stool. “Surprise me.”

He shot you another grin, deftly pouring a glass of wine as red as blood and sliding it across to you. You didn’t catch the label, but something about it made you think it was probably the fancy kind. The Corinthian loved fancy things, and he loved giving them to you. You remembered the Dreaming, how no matter where you went you were sure to find beautiful little gifts left for you in his wake. What you wouldn’t give to relive that time, when it had been you and him and nothing between you but space, which could easily be crossed.

He came around to your side of the bench, leaning against it with his own glass in hand. He watched you take a sip, satisfaction tugging at the corner of his mouth as you made a faint sound of pleasure. Yeah, you’d been right, this was the good stuff. He’d always liked seeing you receive things he gave you, another thing that didn’t seem to have changed.

“So,” he said after a few minutes’ silence in which you drank sip for sip, savouring the richly layered flavours and aromas.

“So,” you echoed. He was close enough that you could see every detail of him, and every detail of yourself reflected in those dark glasses, like two pools of black on his face. Even if you couldn't see his eyes – or mouths, you supposed – you could feel the intensity of his gaze, sending shivers down you spine. Then he leaned down, brushing your lips with his so lightly and quickly that you weren’t even sure he’d actually done it. Your heart was pounding out of your chest, blood rushing in your ears as he drew closer still, and this time you were sure. He kissed you with all the warmth and care that he always had, his lips silken as they’d always been against yours. The soft “clink” of his glass being set gently on the table barely registered with you as his hands slid up your thighs, over your hips, around your waist.

You pulled away softly, taking a moment to catch your breath and place your own drink far enough back on the counter that you weren’t at risk of knocking it over. The Corinthian watched you, a faint furrow marring his brow.

“Come here,” you said softly, holding out your hands to him. He pushed himself off the bench, standing directly before you in all his towering glory. You’d almost forgotten just how tall he was, but you were starkly reminded now. He let you place your hands on his face, sighing at the contact as you smiled. Just as he pressed his cheek into your palm, your fingers skirted deftly to his glasses. You hesitated, then at his near imperceptible nod, drew them away. You folded them neatly, slowly, setting them on the bench beside the two half drunk wine glasses. Then you turned back to him, smiling.

His face had been the second you ever saw, and as such, it would never be anything other than beautiful in your mind. He’d been there when Morpheus had breathed life into you, he’d been there in the beginning when you were learning how to live and he would be there at the end when you were finished, you were sure of it. Truth be told, you’d never really understood why he kept his glasses on even when it was just the two of you. When pressured, he simply shrugged and said “habit” in that nonchalant tone of his, but you saw the way he nearly cringed away from you the first time you’d removed the dark lenses. He was apprehensive even now, the idea that something in his very being could elicit such visceral reactions from humans – even you, nightmare as you were – deeply ingrained into his psyche. It wasn’t fair, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t resent Morpheus just a little. He hadn’t given either of you a choice in what you were, but at least you didn’t have to hide a part of yourself that was so significant as your eyes. They were the windows to the soul, after all.

“Beautiful,” you whispered, stretching up to place a kiss on each of his little mouths, then returning once more to his real mouth. He was smiling too, you could feel it. The whole thing was slow and warm and soft as your hands ran over his jaw, his cheeks, his neck, finally fixing in his soft hair. He was pulling you towards him, so hard you were almost entirely standing on the floor now, your butt just touching the stool you’d been sitting on.

“Come on,” he murmured between kisses, taking your hand. “I got somewhere better than the kitchen.”

You allowed him to lead you through a narrow doorway, down a short corridor and into a modest bedroom. You’d barely set foot through the door before he was on you again, hungrier and more insistent this time. You gave as good as you got, pushing him back across the carpeted floor until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he sat down with a soft “oof”, pulling you with him. You settled into place as if you’d never left, straddling his hips with your hands tangled in the front of his shirt.

You attacked his neck with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, fighting not to moan yourself at the sounds he was making. The muscles of his throat flexed and twitched under your ministrations, a growing hardness forming where your hips met his. You ground softly against him, humming at the heat it conjured.

“Shit darlin’,” he groaned as you sucked at a spot right over his jugular. “You’re so, hm, good.”

“Hm?” you drew back, observing the scattering of dark marks you’d left on his skin before reattaching your lips to his own. He was yours, all yours. You pulled his hair lightly, stifling his moan with your mouth. He knew exactly what his words were doing to you.

“Take this off,” he whispered, tugging at your shirt.

“You do it,” you replied.

He drew back, stilling your hands. “Stand up,” he told you. “Stand up and take your clothes off.”

You paused for a moment, then smiled and did as he asked. “This is new,” you said as you shed layer after layer of your garments until you were bare and they were in a pile on the floor, watching his face carefully.

He shrugged. “I like watching humans do it, figured it’d be a million times better with you.”

“And?”

“I was right,” he grinned. Many people, you knew, would have felt self conscious in your position. Hell, you’d felt it when taking off your clothes in front of humans you took to your bed a few times, despite the fact that it wasn’t supposed to be in your nature. You were a nightmare, a creature beyond them, and you had been crafted by an Endless just as the Corinthian had. But it had been there. Now, however, you felt a warm glow spread through you as his toothy gaze scanned your body, drinking it in like he was a man dying of thirst. You felt seen with him, for who you were.

You returned his grin, leaning forward to place your hands on his thighs. His fingers cupped your jaw, gently enough that you were still able to sink to your knees at the edge of the bed and begin undoing his belt buckle. You’d felt how hard he was sitting on his lap, and right now you wanted nothing more than the warm weight of his cock in your mouth.

“Can I?” you asked softly, your face inches from his crotch.

He didn’t answer, his gaze fixed on your hand. Or more specifically, the band of metal around your finger. “Still got it,” he whispered, almost in awe.

“Yeah,” you said, “of course I do.” The ring had been one of his many gifts, but it was perhaps your most treasured. He’d slipped it onto your finger back in the Dreaming as you lay against his chest, covering your hand with kisses. When you’d asked what it was he’d told you it was promise, though you’d never found out what the promise was for.

Now, he shook his head in wonder and smiled. You could’ve just sat and looked at that smile forever.

“So…?” you prompted instead, your hands still resting lightly on his crotch.

“Go ahead,” he told you. His fingers tangled gently in your hair as you took his dick in your hands, licking the tip ever so gently. “Stop teasing, sweetheart,” he said breathily.

“Magic word?” you murmured, your breath ghosting over his hot skin.

“Please,” he grunted. You smiled, licking your lips before sinking down on him, hollowing your cheeks and sucking.

“Alright?” you asked as he gasped, his fingers tightening in your hair.

The Corinthian nodded. “Don’t stop.”

You nodded too, going down on him again. You were mindful of your teeth, instead using mostly your tongue and your hands where your mouth wouldn’t fit. He was familiar, this was familiar, but you would hate to choke on him because you were too enthusiastic about sucking him off. But you needn’t have worried, it was like listening to a song from when you were younger, the Corinthian’s heavy breathing and hand in your hair guiding you in the familiar movements. You could never forget this, no matter how much time had passed.

You let a moan escape you, which in turn made his hips jolt. You hummed again, and his hold on your hair tightened.

“That’s it sweetheart,” he whispered. “You look so good.”

That really made you moan, an embarrassingly desperate sound to accompany the embarrassingly desperate way your thighs rubbed together in search of any friction. He was driving you insane, and you were completely helpless.

You didn’t stop your increasingly messy sucking and licking, completely enraptured by the little breaths and gasps your attention was conjuring from the nightmare, revelling in his hand in your hair and the occasional curses or words of praise he let slip. You probably could have stayed there forever, listening to him forever, feeling his hot weight in your mouth forever, if he hadn’t brought his hand to your face and gently eased you off him. He surveyed your face carefully, running his thumb across your reddened and swollen lips.

“Hm?” you asked, parting your lips to allow his fingers into your mouth. You sucked lightly, keeping eye contact the whole time.

“Come up here,” he told you, patting his lap.

“If I get to take your clothes off,” you replied. “It’s hardly fair that I’m here naked and you look like you just walked in.” That was a gross exaggeration, between the hickeys on his neck and his dishevelled hair he certainly did not look like he'd just walked in.

“Just walked in, huh?” he raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at his rock hard dick shining with your spit.

“Maybe not just,” you yielded. “Either way, it’s not fair.”

“Cause you’ve always been so big on fair.” It came out as mocking, but there was softness in his face as he said it. Yes, you were big on fairness, something he knew very well. How many of your rants about what was fair had he endured? How many had he cut short with kisses, and how many more had he simply nodded along with until you were finished before producing some trinket or other that would distract you until the next slight of justice occurred?

Either way, he didn’t resist as you pulled his shirt over his head, and offered assistance when you eased his pants and underpants off his legs. Only when he was naked before you did you resume your earlier place straddling his hips. You ran your hands over his smooth, warm chest, down his arms, back up again and then down once more over the subtle planes of his stomach. His body reacted to your touch instinctively, goosebumps forming in the wake of your hands, his breath hitching in his throat.

Your insides clenched as he spat into his hand, adding to the wetness already coating his dick. He glanced at you, a silent “are you ready?”, then at your breathed “yes” and lifted hips, slid into you. It was like a missing piece had fallen into place. You’d had others in his absence, but what you’d said to him earlier had been true; they’d all paled compared to him. He fit inside you perfectly, a blissful stretch and familiar, beloved burn as your bodies adjusted to each other after too long apart.

He whispered your name like a prayer, lightly kissing your neck before settling in the hollow where it met your shoulder. “You feel too good,” he whispered. “I can’t believe I forgot how good you feel.”

“Me too,” you sighed, then rocked your hips over his. His fingers dug into your flesh as you moved, guiding you and bracing himself all at once. He continued to deliver the same wet, open-mouthed kisses to your neck and collar bone as you’d given him earlier, leaving a trail of dark marks behind. Shit, how you’d missed those. Nothing could even come close to how he did this with you. Just as he was yours, you were his. All his and nobody else’s.

You reached between the two of you, touching yourself as the Corinthian’s dick slid seamlessly in and out of you, every movement an explosion of pure bliss. His teeth grazed your skin and you pressed your lips together, frantically stifling the moan that threatened to burst from you.

“Don’t try to be quiet,” he said. “I wanna hear you.”

“Ok,” you panted, breaking off in another moan. The sound seemed to spur him to go harder, faster, the warmth of his mouth on your neck combined with his hands on your hips and his cock in you almost too much to bear.

The sensation built in your stomach, gradually more and more until you felt a single tear leak from your eye. The Cotinthian was holding you so close to him he may as well have been trying to absorb your body into his, his sweat and spit mixing where his face was pressed into your shoulder as he frantically delivered more hickeys to your skin. You would be covered in them come morning. He whispered your name, every syllable like a prayer as it fell from his lips. He twitched inside you, and you shivered involuntarily.

“Yes,” you hissed, reaching down once more to touch yourself. He spilled with a curse inside you, his head falling back and his eyes closed. Fuck, he was gorgeous, and you’d brought him undone.

Your own climax flooded through you, all your muscles tensing together at once, a shuddering, desperate cry of his name torn from your throat. You rode him through your combined pleasure, until your legs were no longer shaking and his breathing had evened out.

Yet still, neither of you moved.

The Corinthian rested his forehead against your chest, his arms circling your waist. You held him, his hair tickling your face and neck where it brushed against you. He gently kissed over the dark marks he’d left on your skin, soothing and warm, and you let your lips rest against the silk of his hair. Even with sweat beeding his skin and the whole room smelling of sex, he still smelled good, like home. You couldn't get enough.

Eventually, he pulled out of you, lifting your boneless body onto the bed beside him. You whined at the loss of contact, but he simply smiled and assured you that he was just getting you a towel, that he’d be back in a minute. He kept his word, returning and gently wiping over your skin before sliding onto the mattress beside you.

You wriggled sideways, laying your head on his chest where you could feel his heart beating under your cheek. This was the part where most humans fell asleep, but you didn’t. You were a nightmare, and nightmares didn’t sleep.

The Corinthian’s arm snaked around you, his fingers lacing with your own. This, you thought, is what love must be like. You’d given the matter a lot of thought since you’d arrived in the Waking World and had come to the conclusion that Lord Morpheus probably hadn’t made you to love. You were to scare humans, force them to confront their fears and darker selves, not to love. Maybe dreams could, but you didn’t think it was something for nightmares.

Still, you’d devoured all the resources on the subject that you could. Humans didn’t seem to know what it was either, and had very different opinions on the matter. You wanted to love the Corinthian, and some would say that in itself was the real thing. Others would say that you loved him because you’d missed him so much, others still would say that you couldn’t love him because love was what made them human and you certainly were not human. Maybe it was love, maybe it wasn’t. But anyone who saw the two of you now, twined together so tightly you were nothing more than a mess of limbs would have thought it was.

“If we can…” you started, licking your lips, unsure of yourself. “If we can love, I love you.”

He was quiet for a moment, then he drew your hand to his lips and kissed it softly, running his fingers over the ring. “And I love you. I promise.”

“I don’t want you to leave again,” you whispered.

“I won’t.” The Corinthian leaned over, flipping you onto your back and pressing your still linked hands into the mattress. “I promise,” he said, kissing you softly. “I promise I won’t ever leave you again.”

“Alright,” you replied. You kissed him, softly and sweetly, basking in the warmth of his body pressing down on you and pleasant heaviness of your own. If he ever asked you to go somewhere with him, you told yourself silently, you would. You’d never let him go again.

HOW HOT IS HE AND WHY IS HE THIS HOT it's genuinely unfair

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earlgreydream · 4 years ago

Text

lover of mine.

| winter soldier!bucky barnes x reader | angst | fluff |

lover of mine.

/When I take a look at my life/And all of my crimes/You're the only thing that I think I got right//I watched the world fall from your eyes/All my regrets/And things you can't forget/Light them all up/Kiss them goodbye/

“You loved him once. You can love him again.”

“I never stopped loving him. That’s what you don’t understand.”

The fellow Avengers had watched the world fall from your eyes, the joy draining from you with every headline that involved Bucky. Not only had he changed, but you had too. You became completely enthralled with your missions, pouring every waking second into the Avengers. Because if you thought about anything else, you would break.

Steve begged you to take breaks, begged you to take time off. You insisted you were fine, never wanting to be left alone with your thoughts. You didn’t want to think about the newsreels of Bucky-- the winter soldier-- wielding machine guns.

You couldn’t bear to see the love of your life slaughtering people.

“I’m not picking up Parker from school... He’s in high school, he doesn’t need me to pick him up! He can take the subway! Or use his webs!” You snapped at Stark, who stared at you impatiently.

“You need to rest. This is how you’re filling your afternoon.” Stark was insistent, and you shook your head, grabbing the keys to a Tesla.

“Steve?”

“Go, Y/N.”

You sighed and went down to the garage, driving uptown to get the teenager from school. You parked outside of the high school, leaning against the hood of your car while you waited.

You never got used to the modernity. You were like Steve and Bucky. You’d been alive in the 40s, and frozen like they were. Luckily, you’d fallen to S.H.I.E.L.D. instead of Hydra. You’d managed to stay safe with Steve, and become an Avenger, not suffering Bucky’s fate.

Before the war, you and Bucky had been married. The memories in your mind of dancing in the kitchen, jazz bars, drive-ins, and reading the Hobbit when it came out, were all raw. Before he was deployed, there was a wedding.

You’d been surrounded by flowers and your friends, celebrating the love of your life. Steve was the best man. You’d left the ceremony with Bucky in his yellow vintage car, going to the coast for your honeymoon.

You remembered the beach house, and running in the sand with your young husband. It was perfect back then, before Hydra got their hands on him. He was loving and gentle, the kind of man who danced with you in the kitchen and brought you flowers.

You remembered when he’d gone off to war. You wore his dog tags, and hung a flag in your window. You’d kissed him goodbye, tears blinding you as you tried to focus on the silver eyes that were full of adoration and love. You remembered when Steve came back, and Bucky didn’t.

There were so many memories of crying in Steve’s arms, and falling asleep with him beside you. Even when you’d moved to Stark Tower with him, even after becoming an avenger decades later, you still slept beside him. He’d listened to you sob for Bucky a million times; Steve had witnessed a lifetime of your heartbreak.

You remembered waking up from being frozen, and finding out who James Buchanan Barnes had become.

“Y/N?!” Parker’s cheerful voice snapped you out of your thoughts as he came bounding down the stairs of the high school.

“Hey kiddo. Stark sent me to get you.” You stood up off the car and hugged him. He waved goodbye to his friends and got in the passenger seat. He immediately started chattering, and you welcomed it, appreciating the distraction from the deafening silence. That was why you were fond of Parker, he was easy to be around, and he was always happy to fill the silence.

“Let’s go to Starbucks!” He announced as the two of you drove back to the tower.

“Are you joking?”

“No! It’s on me.”

“It’s on Stark,” you smirked, and Parker broke out into a wide grin.

You and Peter walked into Stark Tower a half hour later, chattering and laughing. Parker was the only one of the Avengers who cheered you up, and he never made you feel bad for not wanting to talk about Bucky. He was bubbly and warm, and always made you laugh. You were giggling at a story from his school as you went upstairs to the penthouse, unaware of what you were walking1 into.

You nearly crashed into him, stopping dead in your tracks.

“Y/N!” The voice was so familiar, and yet, you thought you’d never hear it again.

You were suffocating. The air was ripped from your lungs, and you couldn’t breathe. It felt like the earth was swaying underneath you, everything shattered.

Steve ran to you as you passed out, and Parker caught you with a shout before you hit the floor. He knelt on the marble, your head in his lap, and Steve shouted for Banner, who came running to follow you to his medical lab.

“Stevie, what’s wrong with her?!” Bucky demanded, and everyone looked at him.

“It’s the shock of seeing you.” Steve admitted, and Bucky looked like he was going to break.

“I’m better now, I’m no longer the...” he couldn’t even say it, his eyes anxious and frightened.

Bucky had spent months trying to free himself of Hydra’s psychological bonds. He was free now, motivated by the thought of coming home to you. Bucky had waited years. Now, he was home, and the second he said your name and laid eyes on him, you’d panicked and blacked out.

Steve attempted to comfort him, and even Parker, the boy he didn’t know. They tried to explain to Bucky that you were just in shock, but his heart broke.

“I took care of her, Buck. She still loves you, she always has. Just give her some time. Seeing you like that...”

“I know,” Bucky breathed.

Everyone left Bucky alone with you, giving you privacy. He sat beside the bed where you were asleep, Banner assuring everyone that you were fine, you had only fainted.

He watched you. Bucky hadn’t watched you sleep like this since the 1940s.

He was suddenly back, leaning in the doorway, the soft light pouring behind him as he drank a cup of coffee, taking in the sight of his sweet wife sleeping before he went to work. You’d glow in the golden light of the morning, your face peaceful and serene. It was so intimate back then.

Bucky sat up as you stirred, familiar eyes slowly opening. You didn’t know where you were at first, your mind running through events. You’d picked Parker up from school, stopped for a snack, and came back to the tower. And seen your husband.

You sat up suddenly, and he put his arms out, one made of vibranium. His eyes were soft, full of love, not the empty steel you’d seen on the news. Your name fell from his lips, desperate and anxious.

You jerked away at first, startled by the reality of what was happening. You were frightened, alone in the room with your husband. You scrambled back against the headboard, trying to put distance between you and his outstretched hands.

You were about to scream when you realized he looked just as frightened as you. You slowly sank back against the headboard, slowing your breathing as you stared at him.

“James?”

“It’s me, doll. I’m home.”

You didn’t know how long the silence lasted, but it felt like hours. The two of you stared at each other, and when you finally decided he wasn’t going to hurt you, you gingerly moved toward him.

“I’m free from them. It’s just me, it’s not the winter soldier anymore,” Bucky’s voice was soft, and you blinked back tears.

“It can’t be you. You were gone.” Your voice trembled as you spoke.

“I’m back now. I came back for you. I’m never going to hurt you, or anyone else again.”

“James-”

“I’m not a killer anymore.”

The plea broke your heart, the shattered boy begging you to believe him, begging you to take him back. Tears slid down his cheeks, terrified of your reaction.

“James, I love you.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

Bucky felt like he’d waited a million years to say it, and the words spread through you, filling your empty soul.

You wanted to fall into his arms, to hold him close and feel him again. You wanted all of it to happen instantly, but that’s not how it was. You needed time, time to adjust, and time to trust him again before you returned to your husband fully.

You reached out to touch his arm, and he noticed the wedding ring wasn’t around your finger. His eyes flitted up to yours, and you pulled the chain from around your neck that hid beneath your shirt. It held his dog tags, and your wedding ring. Relief flooded Bucky, and you offered a the slightest hint of a smile.

“What happened?” You asked, cautiously running your fingers along the vibranium.

“I lost my arm when I fell from the train. Steve told you?”

“A bit... you fell, he didn’t know what happened after.”

“Can I touch you?” Bucky spoke gently, understanding your hesitation and being patient.

You nodded, and his hand slowly lifted to your face, fingers brushing over the curves of your skin. You laid your hand over his, kissing the inside of his wrist. He cried softly, a smile crossing his face as he felt you, promising it wasn’t a dream.

“Bucky, we need you for a meeting.” Stark leaned into the bedroom, hours later.

“Stark, now?”

“I’m sorry. Y/N will be here when you get back.”

“I’ll wait for you.” You promised, and he nodded, the words falling heavy between you.

Bucky followed Stark out, and you sat on the bed, processing the day. Bucky had quietly explained the Hydra brainwashing, about how he was held captive in his own mind. You believed him, but it would always be hard to shake those memories of him on the news.

“Hey, we didn’t mean to just drop this on you.” Steve came inside, sitting down on the mattress.

“You couldn’t have kept from me that my husband was suddenly free and home. Is he really, though? It is him? He won’t kill me in my sleep?” You asked, and Steve gave you a sad smile.

“It is. He’s traumatized, he won’t be the same as before the war. But it’s not the winter soldier, it’s Bucky.”

You knew it was true. You knew the man before you, his heart and his soul, and you were going to grow to know his mind again.

You were curled up in bed, Steve beside you on the other side of the large mattress.

“Stevie? Y/N?” you heard a soft voice from the doorway, and you sat up in the dark. You had trouble sleeping, and you were awake when he came in during the middle of the night.

“Bucky?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Come here,” you whispered, moving over in bed, closer to Steve, who was waking from the disturbance. You didn’t fear Bucky, especially not when he looked so frightened and upset.

You lifted the blanket, and Bucky got in on the other side of the bed. You pulled him to you, silently wrapping your arms around him. You felt Steve against your back, leaning over to place his hand on Bucky’s arm, smoothing over the skin slowly to comfort him.

“You’re okay now, it’s over, my love,” you whispered, settling between the warm bodies.

Your head rested on Bucky’s chest, and you realized how long you’d spent waiting for it. You felt his lips press a kiss to the top of your head, and Steve bury his face into the back of your neck, needing to be close.

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butnotbeacuseweregay · 3 years ago

Text

Extra! Extra! Part 1/??

Being a newise is fun and all but y/n longs for a life of adventer, and thats axactly what they get when they catch the eye of a certain jet boy

Part 2! Part 3! Part 4!

Being a newsie wasn't all bad, I mean sure summer stinks and winters freezing but that's what you get when you work outdoors. One thing that wasn't fun was waking up, sure you can say that with any job but being a newsie comes with no sleep, like at all. You are either woken up by the jets and sharks fighting, or even your fellow newsies. So when you finally get to sleep, the morning bell is sure to ruin that for you

“Hey that's my cigar”

“You'll steal another”

Great Race and Albert are fighting again, he should know by now Race is VERY protective of his cigars.

I put on my cap and make my way down the stairs to the next floor of scaffolding.

“Hey looks its bath time at the zoo”

Specs says clearly taking a jab at my messy appearance.

“I thought that i'd surprise my mother”

I say playing along with the joke

“If you can find her”

Ouch.

“Who asked you?!”

All the newsies are quick to defend me, they know what happened to my old folks, both disappeared, I don't know how, if they are dead or alive, or if they just got sick of me, yeah…that's most likely what happened.

“Papes ain’t movin’ like they used to.I need a new sellin’ spot.Got any ideas?”

Albert asks me. I'm one of the best there is at selling papes, I just lie, it's as simple as that, and i've never had a problem , for they prime age of 10 iv been making up headlines and pickpocketing strangers to feed myself, i always dreamed id get somewhere else, like Santa Fe, that's apparently i have family there, that would be nice, to be surrounded by people who loves you no matter what, no matter your mistakes

“From Bottle ally to the Harbor these easy picking garented”

I advise him

“Try any banker bum or barber”

“They almost all know how to read!”

Flinch adds.

“Newsies of New York!”

I hear cheering and shouting, iv always been their leader of sorts, i mean i have been doing this the longest.

“Let's sell some papes!

And I'm the best

Later that day (still y/ns pov)

"Extra! Extra!.. ughh terrifying from burning inferno you heard it right here

Thank you sir"

I take of my hat to my my gratitude, I suppose tha wasn't a lie, I was grateful, but I'm sure I'll get a mouthfuls tommorow when he finds our there was no terrifying inferno, it just the trolly strike entering there 3rd week. Also the worst business has been ever since the trolly strike started. At first it was grate. I was earning enough to feed myself probably and have enough to by extra papes in the morning but know people just want to know if they can get the tram or not, they don't care why.

"Exuse me?"

I spin my body round to be greeted by a boy, can't be much older than me, he's wearing a white tank top with long cuffed jeans, he had a pretty face, but I have learned to never judge a book by its cover, especially in New York.

"You don't have any more papers for today?"

Seriously? I just had to lie and lie all day to sell papes and now, when I'm all out of papes someone acully wants one, just my luck.

"No sorry just sold my last one"

I begin to walk away when the boy suddenly picked up

"Riff"

"Your that Jet boy?"

I reply surprised,Iv heard people talk about him, say away from Riff the protreicans say, he's noithing but trouble, however the Jets speak of him likes he's he's God, always know what to do Riff they say, never makes the wrong call. However I I expect him to look.. like this.

"Y'know when someone gives you your name your supposed to reply with yours"

"Really"

He hums, as if waiting for my response in hell I'm going to give my name to a random jet boy I have never met, well haven't known for more than a minute.

"My friends call me Boots"

"Ah so I'm ya friend now"

"No jet boy, take the message and piss of"

He raises his arms in defence a wakes of, not however befor yelling back at me.

"I'll be expecting tommorows paper!"

"If you play for it it's yours jet boy!"

With that he walked of, I cant gelp bur get butterflies, he wad sweet, no ,no he wanst he's Riff, he's no good for me.

That was probably the worst lie iv told myself

A/N

Sorry this is so short next update will be linger though but I might take a while to come out sorry 🙁

#newsies #riff x reader #riff imagine #newsies imagine #Extra! Extra!#mike faist x reader

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therealvinelle · 3 years ago

Note

I've always wondered this, but what do you think the Cullen's political viewpoints would be, given their individual backgrounds? if vampires don't change after they turn, then surely they would all be extremely racist (especially Jasper). would this not come up at some point? they aren't like the Volturi because the Volturi are too old to care, but the Cullens are young enough that they have been brought up with opinions on stuff like sexism, racism, homophobia and the like.

Oh fuck.

You get an early answer because otherwise I'll just chicken out and delete this one, pretend I never saw it.

UMMM.

Since I'm guessing you meant American political viewpoints, we need a disclaimer. I am not American, and not too knowledgeable about your politics. Not just in the sense that I don't follow the day-to-day drama, but as I am not an American citizen there are several things I don't know, can't know because I've never lived in your country and therefore can't know what the effects of living in a country ruled by American policies is like. What I do know is based off of the news in the foreign section, social media (by which I mean tumblr posts), and Trevor Noah's Daily Show.

I am an outsider looking in.

Which is really rather appropriate, since the Cullens are too.

The Cullens go to high school and college, Carlisle works, they pay taxes, they own real estate, and submerge themselves in American culture. Esme, Edward, Rosalie, Emmett, and Bella are young enough that this is in many ways their world, and apart from timeouts they've more or less spent their entire lives, human and vampire, integrated into American society.

Not fully integrated, mind you, they do what they need to to fit in and get to school or, in Carlisle’s case, to work. They go no further. No extra-curriculars for the kids, no book clubs for Esme, no game nights for Carlisle. They walk parallel to humans, not among us.

In addition to this they're obscenely rich, which puts them another thousand miles from the experiences of your average American. They won't deal with the health system, which means healthcare is a non-issue, they're not going to need welfare or other social programs, unemployment is another non-issue. Name your issue, and the Cullens don't have personal stake in it. Even the climate crisis won't be a problem for them the way it will for us.

What I'm trying to say is, American political issues are a concept to them, not a lived reality. Just like they are for me. So hey, you made a great choice of blog to ask.

I'll also add here that you say the Volturi are too old to care, and I agree- from an ancient's point of view, racism is a matter of "which ethnicity are we hating today?", and it all looks rather arbitrary after a while. Same with every other issue - after a while it all just blends together into "what are the humans fighting over today? Which Christian denomination is the correct one? Huh. Good for them, I guess."

I can't put it any better than this post did, really. The Volturi are real people, humans are nerds and tumblr having Loki discourse. Aro thinks it's delightful and knows entirely too much about Watergate (and let's be real, Loki discourse as well), but the point I wanted to get at is that politics really don't matter to vampires.

And I don't think they matter to the Cullens either.

So, moving on to the next point while regretting I didn't put headlines in this post, I'll just state that I don't think vampires' minds are frozen. Their brains are unable to develop further, and they can never forget anything, but... well, this isn't the post for that, but in order for this to be true of vampires they would barely be sentient. They would not be able to process new impressions, to learn new things, nor to have an independent thought process. Yes, we see vampires in-universe (namely, Edward, who romanticizes himself and vampires) believe they're frozen and can never change, but there is no indication that this is a widespread belief, or even true. Quite the contrary - Carlisle went from a preacher's son who wanted to burn all the demons to living in Demon Capital for decades and then becoming a doctor and making a whole family of demons. Clearly, the guy has had a change in attitude over the years. Jasper, in his years as a newborn army general, slowly grew disenchanted with his life and developed depression. James initially meant to kill Victoria and hunted her across the earth, then became fascinated and changed his mind about it.

Had these people been incapable of change, Carlisle would still be hating demons, Jasper would be in Maria's army, and James would still be hunting Victoria.

It goes to follow, then, that they are able to adapt to new things.

The question is, would they?

Here I finally answer your question.

So, we have these people who don't really have any kind of stake in politics, who keep up to date all the same (or are forcibly kept up to date because high school) and are generally opinionated people.

Where do they then fall, politically?

(And this is where you might want to stop reading, anon, because I'm about to eviscerate these people.)

Alice votes for whoever's gonna win. She also makes a fortune off of betting each election. Trump's 1 to 10 victory in 2016 was a great day to be Alice. MAGA!

The actual policies involved are completely irrelevant, she does this because it's fun. Election means she gets to throw parties. Color coded parties for the Republican and Democratic primaries, and US-themed parties for Election Night! (Foreigner moment right here: I at first wrote "Election wake" before realizing that's not what y'all murricans call it.)

Alice loves politics. Doesn't know the issues, but she sure loves politics.

Bella votes Democrat. She actually knows about the issues, and cares about them. This girl is a Democrat through and through.

Carlisle doesn't vote. I can't imagine it feels right. Outside of faked papers he's not a US citizen, this is meddling in human affairs that he knows don't concern him.

More, this guy has never lived in a democracy.

In life, Carlisle lived under an absolute monarchy that, upon civil war, became an absolute theocracy. From there he learned that vampires live under a total dictatorship.

For the first 150 years of his life, democracy was that funky thing the Athenians did in history books thousands of years ago, no more relevant to him than the Ancient Egyptian monarchy is to me. Then the Americans, and later other European countries started doing this.

Good for them.

There's this mistake often made by those who view history from a... for lack of a better term, a solipsistic standpoint. A belief that the present day is the culmination of all of history. “My society is the best society, the most reasonable society; all the others had it backwards. Thank god we’re living in this enlightened age!”

The faith in our current system of government is one such belief. We (pardon me if this doesn’t apply to everybody reading this post) have grown up in democracies, being told this is the ultimate form of rule, and perhaps that is true - but remember the kings who have told their subjects they had were divine and the best possible ruler based on that. Remember also that most modern democracies haven’t actually been democracies for very long at all, America is the longest standing at some 230 years (not long at all in the grand scope of things) and they have a fracturing two-party system to show for it.

Every society, ever, has been told they’re the greatest, and their system of government the most just. Democracy is only the latest hit.

This is relevant to Carlisle because he’s immortal and decidedly not modern. Democracy has not been installed in him the way it was the rest of the Cullens, Jasper included. To him- well, it’s just not his world. He has no stakes in our human politics, and as he is older than every current democracy and has seen quite a few of them fall, he’s not going to internalize the democratic form of rule the way a modern human has.

I think the concept of voting is foreign to him.

It requires a level of participation in human society that he’s simply not at. He does the bare minimum to appear human so he do the work he loves, but nothing more, and I find that telling.

As it is I think he'd be iffy about his family doing it. He won’t stop them, but in voting they’re... well it’s kind of cheating. They’re not really citizens, none of this will affect them, and by voting they’re drowning out the votes of real human voters. He does not approve.

Edward votes Democrat. He's... well he’s the kind of guy who will oil a girl’s bedroom window so he can more easily watch her sleep without being discovered, justifying it to himself as being okay because if she were to tell him to get lost he’d stop immediately. Same guy is so sure that he’d leave and never return again if she wanted him to, except this is the man who returned to Forks to hang around his singer, knowing there was a significant chance he might kill her. To say nothing of his Madonna/Whore complex, or of the fact that he tried to pimp out his wife twice, and was willing to forcibly abort her child.

This guy is very much in love with chivalry, with being an enlightened and feminist man who supports and respects women, while not understanding the entire point of feminism, which is female liberation.

He votes Democrat because he’s such an enlightened feminist who cares about women’s rights.

Emmett doesn’t care to vote, but if he has to he votes Republican. The guy is from the 1930′s, and has major would-be-the-uncle-who-cracks-racist-jokes-if-he-was-older vibes.

Esme doesn’t vote, that would require getting out of the house.

More, I just... can’t see it. I can’t see her being one to read up on politics and The Issues, period, but if she has to then I doubt she’d be able to decide.

Jasper doesn’t vote. Alice can have her fun, he does not care.

There’s also the whole can of worms regarding the last time he went to bat for American politics.

I imagine he stays out of this.

Renesmée doesn't vote. She has no stock in the human affairs. Who would she vote for, on what grounds? When Bella tries to pull her to the urns, she points out that she's three years old.

Rosalie, guys, I’m sorry, but that girl is definitely gonna vote Republican. Perhaps not right now as it’s become the Trump party of insanity, but the Mitt Romney type of Republicans? Oh yes.

And for the record, yes I imagine she does vote. To step back from politics would be another way she was relinquishing her humanity, and that’s not allowed to happen. So, yes, she goes to the urns, less for the sake of the politics involved and more because like this, she’s still a part of society in some way.

Now, onto why I think she’s Republican, I think it’s both fiscal and social.

This girl was the daughter of a banker who somehow profited off of the Depression, and who then became part of a family with no material needs that would soon become billionaires thanks to Alice. Poverty to Rosalie is a non-issue, as it is I imagine she views it as a much lesser issue than what she’s had to deal with. The humans can pull themselves up by their bootstraps, Rosalie’s infertility is forever.

Rosalie’s empathy is strongest when she’s able to project onto others, and she won’t be able to project onto the less fortunate at all.

Then there’s the fact that the Republican party is all about traditional family values, and pro-life.

Rosalie, a woman from the 1930′s who idolizes her human life and who‘d love nothing more than to get to live out this fantasy, is down for that. And as of Breaking Dawn she’s vocally pro-life, so there’s that.

This all being said I don’t think Rosalie cares to sit down and fully understand these politics she’s voting for, the possible impact they’ll have- that’s not important. What’s important is what voting does for her.

TL;DR: I bet anon regrets asking.

#long post #twilight #twilight vampires #twilight meta #twilight renaissance #politics #history #twilight history #carlisle cullen #alice cullen #bella swan #renesmée cullen #jasper hale #rosalie hale #emmett cullen

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lady-literature · 4 years ago

Text

Accidental Crime Boss Marinette

Okay so,, I have this AU in my head, right? (not surprised) and I’m lacking any real direction for it (still not surprised) but it basically goes like this:

Marinette moves to Gotham.

She’s drawn there for whatever reason and the kwami are saying something about balance and being a Guardian and her sacred duty and something but Marinette isn’t really listening. She’s too busy trying to find a shop front where she can open a bakery without having to worry about getting mugged every time she steps outside.

Chloé comes with her, obviously, because they’re friends and Chloé has a business degree she puts to good use actually running Mari’s bakery and online boutique while Mari gets to bake and fuck around basically. Adrien, Luka and Kagami are not there, but that’s mostly because they travel too much to settle down and keeping an empty apartment in Gotham is just asking for trouble.

Kagami is a world-renowned fencer and Luka travels the world for his music company. Not touring, but soaking up cultures and ways of life so he can make soundtracks to movies and tv shows. Providing the background and life to a film is more his style than touring the world ala his father, Jagged Stone.

Adrien is having the time of his life being Kagami’s trophy husband. He has no pressing responsibilities he doesn’t take on for himself and he gets to fuck with the world’s elite with little to no consequences. He spends most of his days donating far too much money to charities and orphanages and then causing minor scandals that land him on the cover of magazines.

He has much the same kind of ‘dumbass with a heart of gold’ persona to the media as Bruce Wayne does, only without the playboy bits.

(There is a wall in the back of the bakery, where Chloé and Mari carefully cut out and frame every headline and ridiculous picture Adrien has. He is very much delighted when he learns about his ‘wall of fame’.)

Anyway, Marinette finds herself with a bakery not overly far from crime alley, much to Chloé’s chagrin.

(“What do you mean it ‘just felt right’?! I swear to kwami, DC, you’re going to get us robbed and sold into slavery.”)

They do not get sold into salvery.

In fact, despite their less than stellar choice of locale, they do pretty well for themselves. The only problems they have (according to Chloé) is the army of children Marinette accidentally attracted.

When asked, Marinette tells everyone that it was an accident. Meanwhile, Chloé, standing behind her, will shake her head and insist there was literally never any other option for them the moment that first kid came in looking to nab some cash and a few pastries.

Mari lives by the phrases, ‘kindness breeds more kindness’ and ‘do unto others’ and all that other nice person shit. Chloé just lets Mari pseudo-adopt her strays and makes sure that they don’t steal anything too important in the time it takes her to gain their loyalty.

The kwami stay staunchly out of any arguments involving the kids (and eventually the homeless all along their street and every working girl in a five-block radius). They do so with a special brand of amusement that never means good things for either of them. (After all, the last time the kwami looked that amused, they moved to Gotham.)

The first kid is named Serrure, as Marinette comes to learn over the next month after he returns again and again, getting closer and closer like a feral cat. Other kids come during that time, all of them too small and too thin and too guarded for Mari's tastes. She wants to wrap them all up and tuck them into bed but she can’t. She has to be patient, has to be gentle. These kids are just as likely to bite her hand as they are to accept help.

Serrure becomes an almost permanent fixture at the bakery after that first month. Mari’s not quite sure what she did to get through to him, but she did, she supposes. He can’t be much older than eleven and looks nine, but after getting settled, she and Chloé discover this little slip of a boy is just as mischievous as Trixx and has all the dramatics of their favorite black cat.

The kwami, when talking about him, only refer to Serrure as Loki, even after Marinette scolds them for it. She eventually gives up trying to correct them, it’s not like Serrure talks to them anyway(yet)((that she knows of)).

There’s an apartment above the bakery, which is where Chloé and Mari and all her strays that grow to trust her enough live. It’s three bedrooms, and at first, Mari just buys as many bunk beds as she can fit into the spare room and calls it a day. The kids feel safe in her home, which isn’t too surprising. Everyone thinks the bakery feels safe, feels like home or comfort or whatever else eases their minds.

And Marinette should hopes so. She certainly put enough time and effort and magic and energy into the wards around this place for that to happen. To protect her and the children and all her strays that no one else will help.

But, she eventually amasses too many kids to fit into the one room. Chloé throws a fit about having to share with Mari again—“I had enough of that in university thank you very much”—but she relinquishes easily enough.

Mari buys more bunk beds, and Serrure has taken to sneaking into her room to curl up in her bed anyway, and sometimes the smaller kids who have nightmares will come in and pile on as well.

(There are only a few that Chloé will allow to do the same with her. It is considered a high honor and breeds a playful kind of jealousy that Chloé finds amusing. Mari scolds her for pitting the kids against each other.)

That only lasts them another two months.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Chloé tells her one day before the kids wake up. Mari is at the stove, cooking and baking for a small army while Chloé balances the books. “There’s not enough room for us all, DC, and the only reason someone hasn’t come barrelling down on us about the abundance of children is by the grace of your absurd amount of luck.”

“Well I can’t just kick them out, Queenie! What do you want from me?”

“Either we need to buy more real estate in this city—which I’d rather not do—or you open up the grimoire and start building pocket dimensions. I know you can. I’ve read the chapter.”

Marinette looks at her. “That is such a bad idea.”

They do the idea.

And then Mari adds about a thousand more wards to the bakery, carved into the wood and counter and anything that’s a permanent fixture. Doorways become particularly ward heavy, what with them being the entrances and exits to the hidden realms and children’s’ rooms.

The apartment above the bakery isn’t quite infinite but it gets pretty damn close some days.

This also means, of course, that all the kids definitely know about magic now. Some of them—Serrure—have known about it for a while she knows, but it’s different now. The kwami followed her around most of the time and she doesn’t keep them trapped in the Miracle Box like Fu did, but now that the kids know, they don’t bother staying hidden.

The children, at least, love them and the kwami adore them with all the ferocity a god can give. After Chloé gets over her ‘ew children’ phase, she throws herself into their education (on top of actually running the businesses Mari keeps, mind you). She has the help of the kwami, who act as personal tutors to the children, and it’s not long before the kids start to joke about her being the Principal.

(Some tried to call her Warden, but that joke didn’t last long.)

Marinette has also been telling the kids bedtime stories ever since this started. Old stories of the Guardian and Chosens who fought back the darkness, she shares all she knows of the Orders history with these kids and it’s not until Wayzz points it out to her does she realize what she’s doing.

“Ladybugs are known for renewal. It is no surprise that you are rebuilding what was lost.”

Rebuilding the Order using children was certainly not her intention but, well. She supposes there’s no place safer for her kids than what is shaping up to be the new Miracle Temple. It’s the only haven where they can learn to harness their Gifts and powers, it’s the only place where they can be surrounded by others like them without being thrust into superhero-dom.

Context: about a month into this whole circus, Marinette had realized there was a significant—almost all of them really—amount of metas and Gifted in her little hoard of strays. Which is… odd. Especially with how few metas there are in Gotham.

She had asked the kwami about it, and they have that amused look again. “You are their guardian.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re their guardian. True, you are the Guardian of us, of the ancient ways, but you are a guardian at your soul too. You protect what is yours, and they are yours whether you realise it or not. The children can sense that, so they flock to you.”

And, huh. She supposes that makes sense but that’s also really kind of strange and weird and she doesn't want to think about that anymore actually.

So things are… fine, Marinette supposes. The bakery is doing well, and she has about two dozen-plus helpers running around underfoot to help tend to the customers or run to the store or help in the back with the baking. And every kid of hers has new clothes, their street things thrown out for being too ragged and replaced with something fresh made by Marinette’s own hands.

She embroiders little fairy wings into the clothes normally, because that’s what her cloaked wards look like most times and the kids like it and its technically the logo for the bakery and there’s a million reasons she does it.

It is, perhaps, her first mistake.

(“It was certainly not your first,” Chloé will snark one dayin the future.)

Because now Marinette has an army of magical children learning to wield their powers and not fear them and they’re all wearing what can be considered her insignia and uh oh, it looks a lot like Mari is some sort of up and coming mob boss who uses kids and prostitutes and the homeless as runners. People on the street start calling her the Pixie, start referring to Chloé—her second in all things just as Chat had been her equal—as Wasp, as Yellowjacket, as the Unseelie.

(They cannot seem to pick a name for her, but Pixie is all but engraved in stone. Mari is not sure who coined it, and she doesn't think she wants to know.)

The first time the whole situation is brought to her attention, she punches the idiot who dared even imply such a thing so hard she knocks him out.

Because look. The kids are hers right? And she watches out for the people near her, makes sure the working girls are treated as well as they can be and offers the homeless extra food and a dry place to wait out the storm. She offers her hand and gives them all a place to rest, to eat, to exist without expectations or consequences.

She does that because she’s kind, because it hurts her to see people in need, to see them suffer, not because she’s hoping to gain something from it.

The fact that most of them repay her in gossip or information or bend her ear about the newest goings on in the corrupt elite or filthy underworld is strange, yes, but it’s nice to know what’s going on in the city, she supposes. And one time, Kathy, who works on the corner of Brookes and Gilmore, warned her of a drug raid that saved her an unnecessary trip to the police station so it’s not like it doesn't have it’s uses.

But mostly, Mari doesn't really think about all the information that’s unintentionally or otherwise passed onto her. She remembers it all, because it’s rude not to listen when people talk to her, but nothing comes of normally.

Not until Serrure—now twelve and well versed in the magic of illusions and glamors and knows almost as much about this city as her or the Bats—bursts into the bakery one day and grabs Mari away from the front counter right in the middle of a customer ordering. She should, perhaps, be a little angry at that but Tony, one of the older boys and just shy of sixteen, steps into her place almost immediately, so.

And then Serrure speaks and everything is pushed aside in favour of the next words to fall from his lips.

“Someone took Sophie,” he says and she nearly sees red.

After Serrure, Sophie has been here the longest. She is the youngest of them all, only seven, but oh so clever and kind and while she looks nothing like her, everyone calls her Mini-Mari. If Serrure is her beloved first son, Sophie is her treasured daughter.

She’s out the door in the next moment, storming her way to their base. She has Sophie and a handful of extra kids back by sunset, a little frightened, but no worse for wear. She doesn’t make a big deal out of it, besides making sure that the idiots who dared cross her never do so again, but word gets out.

Soon, her kids and teens and adults begin giving her more than just information, they begin giving her problems. Ones she’s meant to fix because she’s Pixie. She’s safety, she’s protection, she’s the one the people start to turn to for help.

And enter stage left, one Jason Todd who’s all snark and charm and smiles wrapped up in a nice leather bow and tall enough that Mari likely could climb him like a tree. If that was something she wanted, she guesses.

(She wants. She just won’t admit.)

He becomes a regular at the bakery and befriends most of her kids.

Mari’s wary when he first takes an interest in them. They’ve been hurt and a lot of them are still adjusting to being safe and it doesn't matter that this man is hot enough to burn, if he steps even a toe out of line with her kids she’ll make him wish he was never even born.

But, she stops worrying eventually. The kwami like him well enough, but seem to think something’s odd about him—but its Gotham, who isn’t strange?—and both Serrure and Sophie take to him like ducks to water and they’re both good judges of character.

There’s a certain intuition they both have that reminds Marinette just a bit too much about herself and pure magic. Not for the first time does she wonder if they got such strong magic from their parents or if it cropped up in them randomly, fostered by fortune and chance and the magic that’s so deeply seeped into the bones of her bakery it’ll be here long after she’s gone.

And, okay, so she was a little right to be wary because Jason was mostly there to investigate her. Far too many people respect her and are loyal to her and she has a veritable orphanage in her pocket and also Harley and Ivy like her and it just- it doesn’t look good right?

But Jason’s a good detective and it doesn't take him long at all to see that Mari is just as sweet and kind and loving as she appears to be. Not long after that, Red Hood declares Pixie and all of hers, under his protection. She, of course, is more than capable of taking care of her and hers, and the underworld knows this, has seen it, but he does it anyway.

The news, of course, gets back to Mari and she is… confused. Why would the Red Hood do something like that? She’s heard talk of him being sweet on kids, but to claim her? They’ve never even met.

Bonus points for Jason being there when she’s told about it. He kind of raises his eyebrow at her because, huh, that was fast, and then spends the next few minutes talking up the Red Hood to her much to her utter bafflement.

He actually keeps doing that too, talking up the Red Hood. Mari thinks he has a crush on the man for the longest time because of it. Until he reveals he is Red Hood, then she just wants to punch his stupidly handsome face for being such an idiot.

Shit happens from there and things go down and the two spend a couple of months dancing around each other and intentionally and unintentionally ruling the criminal underworld and at one point Marinette definitely punches Bruce and Batman in the face—separately, much to Jason’s unending joy—and she also definitely adopts Duke/Signal as well because that poor boy needs to know he’s not alone.

And it’s just them being domestic and badass and lowkey raising an army of children and falling in love while the kwami and the kids and Chloé are all in the background just yelling at them to get together already!

Which, they do. Eventually. After all the secrets come out and Jason knows about the magic and Order and meets Mari’s other friends, ie Kagami, Luka and Adrien who are all intimidating for wildly different reasons. And Mari finds out that Jason died and came back (which earns him the nickname firebird btw) and that he was a Robin once upon a time but is now Red Hood and oh my kwami it all makes sense now.

Jason confesses like three times via classic Victorian romance novel quotes because he’s a fucking literature nerd but it’s not until he basically spells it out for Mari does she really understand. it’s all very sweet and heartwarming and then the pair duck into one of the empty pocket dimensions they have lying around and aren’t seen for three days.

(No one really goes to look for them tbh)

Chloé definitely teases them about early honeymoons and things but besides the two being even more ridiculously lovey-dovey than usual, life goes back to normal. Or as normal as it gets for them.

And they all live happily ever after the end.

#maribat #jasonette #my typewriter #batfam #crime boss mari #miraculous ladybug #dc #mlb x dc #i was possessed by the need to write this all down #i have so many random ass moments from this au #just scenes taht barely fit together #zero coherency #let me know if yall want that ig #?

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wherethingscomebackx · 4 years ago

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Top 25 Larry Fics of 2020

h 2020 was HELLISH. So thank you to all the writers, and I mean ALL of them, who kept us occupied as the world continues to burn.

You may be familiar with these lists:

Top 25 Larry fics of 2016

Top 25 Larry fics of 2017

Top 25 Larry fics of 2018

Top 25 Larry fics of 2019

We’re going on our 5th year!! As always, I read a lot of fic and the majority of it is Larry. I like making lists and I like Larry so I thought I’d do some minimal research of the top 25 larry fics published/completed in 2020 in order of least to most kudos (with links). All of these fics are top notch so you should all check them out!

25.) a trail of honey through it all by @yvesaintlourent (27k)

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

24.) even the best laid plans by @falsegoodnight (25k)

“Anyways,” Louis stresses, narrowing his eyes, “just let me say it and then rate how terrible of an idea it is on a scale from one to ten.”

“Alright,” Zayn agrees, sitting up expectantly.

“I want to ask Harry Styles to take my virginity,” Louis blurts, holding his hands out for emphasis.

The way Zayn’s eyes bulge is almost comical. “Negative infinity,” he says, voice choked. “Negative infinity times negative infinity.”

“Technically, a negative times a negative is -”

“Really negative infinity,” Zayn corrects himself, shaking his head wildly. “Louis, what the fuck?”

Or, Louis wants to have sex with someone and decides Harry is the perfect alpha for the job.

23.) A Distant Hazy Light by @greenfeelings (76k)

Life’s pretty ordinary for Harry. He lives with his best friend, got into university just like he’s planned, and manages to support himself just fine for an unbonded omega. If he sustains that lifestyle by getting paid to help alphas through their rut every now and then, that’s nothing to be hung up on. Until he’s hired by an alpha that turns everything upside down.

Or, Harry’s working on taking Louis’ walls down, until he builds his own up.

22.) Ghost Note Symphony by whoknows (96k)

Louis is on tour when he first hears about it. It’s all over the news – Harry Styles Attacked By Fan runs in headlines for days. It’s not even just the gossip rags, either. Actual journalists are covering the story. It would have been impossible to avoid hearing about it. Technically, Oli is the one who tells Louis about it, but it’s not exactly being covered up. Harry doesn’t answer Louis’ text asking if he’s alright, but that’s not really surprising. They haven’t spoken for months, and it’s been a lot longer than that since they’ve had a real conversation. The sting of the text going unanswered is still there, less painful than it might have been a few years ago.

It’s not that it’s easy to forget about, exactly. Louis has a whole life outside of One Direction now, though. So Louis goes on with his life, figuring that if Harry was seriously hurt he would have heard about it by now. He might currently be in the same country as Harry, but being on opposite sides of it puts enough distance between them that putting it in the back of his mind is easy. There’s nothing Louis could do, even if he thought Harry might want him to.

That’s why everything that happens next comes as a complete shock to him.

21.) Until by @allwaswell16 (38k)

Rural Eagle County, Colorado wasn’t the type of place to find a famous musician or actor. At least not until songwriter Louis Tomlinson showed up with pop star Niall Horan to visit his uncle’s horse ranch, and they just happened to find themselves next door to a reclusive former movie star.

20.) Strangers in Love by sweetums (42k)

Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

Prompt 51: An amnesia fic where louis and harry were enemies to lovers but after an accident, louis only remembers those memories that him and harry hated each other. now harry has to fix it. I think something like this less dark and less angsty compared to other amnesia fics and it could be funny

19.) A Long Way From The Playground by Pink_Sunsets (170k)

One Direction is broken up. They broke up five years ago. That should be the end of the story, right?

Harry is finished with One Direction. He now has a new life, one with two kids and a successful solo career. And he’s happy.

But a call one night from management flips Harry’s whole new life upside down, and he’s forced to face the life he had left behind.

As well as a certain blue eyed man who had left him behind.

18.) my love’s not simple (it’s fragile) by @falsegoodnight (27k)

“Can I take you out tomorrow?” he asks. “My shift ends at 7 but we can go for dinner at 8.”

Louis is silent for a few seconds and then, “Like… on a date?”

Harry swallows thickly. He hasn’t done this in years, hasn’t ever wanted to. “Yeah.”

He’s worried he’s misread things but then Louis raises his head to kiss Harry’s cheek. “Yeah,” he says easily. “Sure.”

Tension leaves his body swiftly. “Are you sure?” asks Harry. “I know we’re both so busy but I can’t not try with you, Lou.”

“Neither can I,” says Louis. “I think we can figure it out. I care about you a lot Harry. We’ve known each other for a week, but I already like you so much.”

Or Harry's new job is threatened by his impending rut. Desperate for a solution, he allows Niall to introduce him to Louis, an omega whose heat begins the same day. They click.

17.) Cocaine for Breakfast by @harryeatsburger (309k)

“It’s an easy job.” He continues, as if Louis wants to listen. “Like I said, a few trips. Parties, students, nothing dramatic.”

Louis gazes over to Harry. He’s looking thoughtful now, eyes on the green like he’s talking more to himself than Louis.

“Clubbing, drinks. Whatever, the business is just a side thing.”

That’s not how Louis remembers it to be, “You lying?” He honestly can’t tell.

Harry shakes his head slowly, meeting Louis' eyes.

“No,” He answers almost toneless. Harry clears his throat, “I won’t put you in any dangerous situation.” His voice is sincere, Louis can tell he means it, his jade green eyes glinting with truth.

or, - Louis Tomlinson is a drug addict, sent away from his beloved party-scene to recover. There, he discovers that small towns have just as much access to drugs as London did, plus something even better that he just can't get enough of. That something is a boy with green eyes and bouncy curls named Harry Styles. -

16.) Tastes like Strawberries by @sadaveniren (4k)

I’m stressed. I’m nesting and demand cuddles. Come over

Harry frowned and double checked who the text was from. Yup, it still said Louis - Grad, which meant it was from Louis from his grad school.

aka Louis texts Harry by mistake. It works out

15.) the way the storm blows by @rbbsbb (21k)

Louis doesn’t have a habit of thinking about Harry’s dick.

That would be weird, seeing as they’re best mates, and they share a flat, and they’ve spent holidays at each other’s family homes. Their friendship hasn’t ever risen to a point where Louis should want to see his mate’s dick, and he’s happy to keep it that way.

Except, all that Louis can think about is exactly that. The size of it. The shape. The amount of people it’s been in.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, or the fact that Louis’ just recently walked in to an eyeful of Harry taking turns on some slags that he’s never seen before, but. Louis’ mind can’t stop obsessing over the idea.

14.) bruise you like a peach by @falsegoodnight (40k)

There’s two reasons Harry despises Econ.

The first is that it’s boring as fuck. The second reason is a bit more personal, a bit more focused in a way. As in it’s focused on one specific thing, or in his case, person.

His name is Louis Tomlinson.

13.) Watching The World Fall by whoknows (11k)

This segment has been going on long enough that Louis knows what’s coming before James starts in on it, trying to sell him on something he knows that Louis wouldn’t normally be buying. But there’s four cameras surrounding him, and an audience watching him expectantly, so if Louis wants to continue convincing people that he’s doing just fine, he’s going to have to go along with it.

“We have a whole host of single men backstage waiting to meet you, Louis,” James tells him. “We want to help you find love tonight, on Late Late Live Tinder. Is this okay? Do you want to play?”

It actually kind of makes sense that his first date after the break-up is going to be just as public as said break-up. Something like coming full circle.

“Alright, James,” Louis agrees, hopping down off his stool.

“Okay, come down to the stage,” James says. Louis can’t even tell whether the excitement in his voice is genuine or not. “Right now, come on down!”

12.) Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds by @2tiedships2 (38k)

Broadway shows were one of the few things that could keep Louis’ attention for a full two hours without needing to move about. But not tonight.

The alpha next to him was both infuriating him and practically turning him on at the same time. He needed to leave. The alpha, that is. Louis was staying.

Or the one where Louis is a nonverbal omega who has accepted the fact that he will never find an alpha that will treat him as an equal. On the other hand, he’s never met anyone like Harry.

11.) The Wrath of the Emerald Eyes by @purpledandeli0n (85k)

His chin is grabbed harshly, facing the two deep green eyes that have been getting on his nerves for the past ten minutes. The smirk on the man's face does not vanish. The grip of his hand on Louis' chin does not soften, his thumb at the side of his lower lip.

His smile widens as he answers Louis' question, ''My name is Styles, but you will call me Captain."

•

Pirate AU

10.) Canyon Moon by @eeveelou (40k)

For as long as Louis has remembered, he has been promised to be mated to Harry, his best friend and the future pack alpha. But Louis’s heart belonged to the forest and to the hunt more than he could ever imagine it belonging to Harry.

Then Harry’s father dies in a violent accident, and Louis’s future alpha disappears on the wind.

An A/B/O Lion King AU

9.) We Both Got Nothing to Hide by lovelarry10 (43k)

“Talk to me, Lou.”

“I can’t,” Louis mumbled, knowing he genuinely couldn’t say it. He couldn’t admit to what he was doing. “Don’t ask me to say it, because I can’t.”

“Then… I’ll try and guess. You’ve… got some stuff of Harry’s. Something of his to make it smell like him?”

Louis just nodded, eyes fixated on the floor. This was humiliating, but he knew Zayn wouldn’t stop until he found out what was going on.

“Okay. Like… a blanket, or a comforter or something?”

“Kind of…”

Omega Louis has a secret nest. Alpha Harry keeps losing his clothes.

8.) sleeping on our problems by @falsegoodnight (67k)

I’m in love with you, Louis thinks. He feels empty, weighed down by his sadness and the loss of Harry inside him just moments ago before his knot finally went down.

There’s moments where he’s sure Harry feels the same. Like now, when he’s gazing down at Louis with so much adoration and tenderness. It’s like they’re both on the cusp of something more, but neither of them ever say a word.

His confession is on the tip of his tongue ready to slide out like honey, and yet he remains silent. They both do, looking at each other and recognizing the reluctance mirrored in each other’s eyes. It’s then that Louis realizes they’re both scared.

Or Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

7.) like it’s a game by @soldouthaz (32k)

there is little harry hates more than truth or dare.

and louis.

6.) before we knew by @falsegoodnight (39k)

“C’mon Lou,” says Zayn after a moment, He sounds even more exasperated than before. Louis sort of has a knack for exasperating people, especially people like Zayn who aren’t usually bothered by his brattiness. “Can’t you give this guy a chance? Harry Styles? Aren’t you curious about him at all?”

Despite his best efforts, Louis still flinches at the name. He really shouldn’t be so affected after all these years. He’s seen the name printed down the curve of his waist in obnoxiously and uncommonly large loopy letters every single day since his sixteenth birthday eight years ago. He’s very familiar with the name Harry Styles.

It sounds pretentious and Louis hates it.

He hates everything about his supposed soulmate.

He hates his large handwriting that stands out like a claim on his skin whenever he’s walking around shirtless. He hates his pretentious name. And now he hates his supposed curls and green eyes and dimples.

Or Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed into his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

5.) Mine Would Be You by @crinkle-eyed-boo (114k)

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

4.) You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) by @harryrainbows (95k)

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

Or: Harry and Louis are forced to fake-date after an old video from when they were dating emerges.

3.) The Space Between by @lads-laddylads (39k)

Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why.

Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

2.) Nothing But You On My Mind by @absoloutenonsense (83k)

Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.

1.) Collision by @tequiladimples (224k)

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

(Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who’s got a thing for humans, Zayn, a human with supernaturally good looks, and Niall, the cupid who just wants his job to be easier.)

#larry #larry stylinson #larry fic rec #harry styles #louis tomlinson #fic rec #one direction #1d #one direction fic rec #larry fan fiction #updated because I'm an idiot and added a zarry fic

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izzyfandoms · 3 years ago

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A Sleep So Sweet - Chapter One

(This is not the first chapter. There is a prologue, linked in the A Sleep So Sweet masterpost)

When Emile discovered he was the soulmate of the prince of a magical species known as Beings, he did not know how to react. Beings were terrifying, powerful creatures, who often did not care for humanity, and, in their first meeting, his soulmate, the sleep prince, seemed to be no different.

Will Emile fall in love with his soulmate, or are they simply not meant to be?

SHIPS: Remile, Date (Janus x Nate)

WARNINGS: N/A

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @aj-draws @phantomofthesanderssides @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread @mrbubbajones @pun-master-logan @gayturtlez @k1ngtok1 @yourneighborhooddisaster @alexxander-the-gay @full-of-roman-angst-trash @selfcarejanus

A SLEEP SO SWEET TAGLIST: @spellingwillbethedeathofme

Masterpost

A Sleep So Sweet Masterpost

Emile stared at the soulmark on his wrist, not daring to take his eyes off of it just in case it somehow disappeared. When it had appeared in the middle of the night – waking him up from his sleep – he had been shocked, of course, but he had also been tired, half-convinced it was only a dream.

But now he was completely awake, and the tiny crescent moon and stars were still there, like a small silver tattoo, but just a little bit shinier.

It didn’t even feel real, like he was still just dreaming. He ran his thumb over his wrist, like he was trying to smudge paint, but the soulmark didn’t even budge.

It finally hit him. This was real.

Oh, wow, he had a soulmate.

He had a soulmate!

Emile raised his hand to his mouth, finally letting out a delighted giggle.

“Oh my gosh,” he said to himself. “I have a soulmate!”

Wow. He needed to tell his dads.

He finally took his eyes off of his soulmark, looking around for his phone. He picked it up, turning it on and immediately opening the group chat he had with his two fathers: Nate and Janus Picani. They weren’t soulmates – soulmates were a rare thing, after all – but they were still deeply in love, and Emile had always hoped he’d get a love like that someday.

Now that he knew he had a soulmate, maybe that love wouldn’t be so far away.

Emile couldn’t help but let out another delighted laugh, almost bouncing up and down on the spot.

He began to type out a message to his dads.

Emile

Guess what!!!!

He then waited, his eyes flicking between his phone and his soulmark, checking that it hadn’t somehow disappeared in the last few seconds, which it had not, before he got a response from one of his dads: Nate.

Dad

What?

Emile

I got a soulmark!!!!

Nate immediately started typing again.

Dad

Woah really?

Emile

Yes!!!

Dad

Hold on lemme grab your other dad

Emile waited, practically vibrating with excitement. He lowered his phone, taking another look at the soulmark on his wrist. It was shiny, almost reflecting the light, and he could not help but smile just taking a look at it.

It almost didn’t feel real, like he was having a very pleasant dream, but when he reached over and pinched a bit of skin below the soulmark, he definitely felt it. It was real.

He smiled.

Father

Congratulations!

Dad

Can we see the soulmark?

Emile opened the camera on his phone, taking a quick picture of his soulmark and sending it to his parents immediately.

He then waited for their responses, seeing that both of them had started typing. Then, they both stopped typing at about the same time, and Emile blinked at his phone.

Why had they stopped typing?

He waited, but they did not start typing again.

He blinked, confused, and began to type out another message.

Emile

Hello?

Then Janus started typing again.

Father

Have you seen the news?

Emile

What news?

Dad

The news about the being prince

Emile stared at his phone, wondering what on earth this had to do with his soulmark.

Beings were powerful creatures – abstract things come to life, like fear or memory – and the Being royalty were especially so. Humanity was lucky that Beings were rare and tended to avoid them, as they were dangerous and often did not care much for them.

They were rarely in the news – often ignored by humanity, as if ignoring them meant that their danger was lesser.

Emile

What news?

He waited, staring at his phone, before he received a link from Janus. He clicked on it, and saw that it was a news article, titled: Being prince has a soulmate?

Emile stared at the headline for a few seconds.

How was that relevant to his own soulmark?

A pit began to form inside of Emile’s stomach, but he pushed down the immediate uncomfortable feelings.

No. This was just a coincidence. So many people had soulmates, though they rarely had Beings for soulmates.

This was just a coincidence.

He scrolled through the article, skimming over the information.

The Being prince – a magical being: sleep come to life – had found a soulmark on his body. This meant that he had a human soulmate, and he wanted to find them. He had made the announcement public, in the hopes that he would find his soulmate as quickly as possible.

Emile scrolled all the way to the bottom, and his heart stopped when he saw the image at the end of the article.

It was a single image of an eye – pitch black and surrounded by silver skin, with black hair peeking out from the top of the picture – and right in the centre of it was the now-familiar crescent moon and three stars.

Emile gasped, and his phone slipped out of his hand, clattering to the floor.

He almost wanted to swear, but he bit his tongue before he could.

This couldn’t be real. Now he was certain that he must have been dreaming. This... this was impossible.

His soulmate wasn’t a Being. They couldn’t be.

Immediately, there was a pang of guilt inside of Emile.

Beings might have been powerful, terrifying creatures, but who was Emile to judge them? Sure, some of them hurt people, but most of them never did, as far as Emile knew. Who was he to decide that all of them must be cruel and evil and dangerous?

If the universe had decided that a Being was his soulmate, then that Being, at the very least, had to be a good person.

Well, perhaps person was the wrong word, but they had to be good. The universe wouldn’t have paired him up with someone bad. They were meant to be!

Okay. Emile’s soulmate was a Being – a prince of Beings – and that was... not bad. Maybe it was even good! Maybe his soulmate was wonderful – the soulmate of his dreams! Maybe they would be perfect together.

No, not maybe, definitely. His soulmate was his soulmate. They had to be perfect.

Emile nodded to himself. Okay. This wasn’t bad. This was good! He didn’t need to continue his quest for true love: it was being given to him, right in the palm of his hand.

He took a deep breath, and then bent down and picked his phone back up.

He checked his group chat with his dads.

Dad

Thats your soulmark right?

Father

Are you alright?

Emile wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Was he alright?

He was excited about having a soulmate. He was terrified that his soulmate would be terrifying and cruel. He was guilty that that was the assumption he’d made about his soulmate. He was just conflicted.

He thought about it for a moment, but before he could respond, his phone lit up with an incoming call from Janus. He blinked, before he answered the call and lifted it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Did you read the article?” came Janus’s voice from through the phone.

Emile paused. “Yes.”

There was another pause, before he heard his other dad’s voice through the phone.

“Is that your soulmark?”

“I think so.”

“Okay,” Nate said, his voice calm despite what was going on. “How do you feel about that?”

“I... don’t know.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” Nate said.

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Janus said seriously. “You don’t even have to meet him if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Emile said. “But...”

“But?” Nate prompted.

“I don’t know. I mean- I mean he’s my soulmate, right? I know Beings are... scary. But... he’s my soulmate.”

“He’s a Being,” Janus said.

Nate sighed. “Jan.”

Emile frowned. “I mean, I know, but... he’s my soulmate. He can’t... he won’t be bad.” He took a deep breath. “I mean, how much do we really know about Beings? I know the stories, but they can’t all be bad! My soulmate... he could be good.”

“He is your soulmate,” Nate said. “And you’re the kindest person I know. I doubt you’d be saddled with a shitty soulmate.”

“Still, if he is bad, we need to keep him as far away from you as possible,” Janus said.

"I appreciate it, but I’m an adult now, dads,” Emile said. “I can take care of myself.”

Janus hummed like he wasn’t sure whether or not he believed him. Nate let out a laugh, and Emile heard a sound that sounded like he was clapping Janus on the shoulder.

“He’s right, babe. He’s an adult. We can’t protect him anymore,” he said. Emile could practically hear the amused smile on his face. “Just make sure to introduce your soulmate to us once you meet him. I just can’t promise that Jan won’t go all overprotective father on him.”

He laughed, and Emile laughed, too.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said.

In his mind, he imagined what it would be like to introduce his soulmate to his fathers. Hopefully it would go well. Hopefully his soulmate would get along well with his parents.

Would his soulmate be polite and serious? Or would he be funny and entertaining? Would they get along well? Emile certainly hoped so.

But maybe he was getting a little ahead of himself. First, he actually had to meet his soulmate.

Emile paused. How was he even going to do that?

“Gosh, how am I even going to meet him?” Emile said aloud.

Nate hummed in thought.

“I don’t know. Get yourself in the news?”

Emile’s nose wrinkled. “I would rather not.”

“Uh...” Nate said. “I have no idea then. But I know you’ll figure it out!”

Emile smiled. “Thanks, dad.”

“I need to get to work,” Janus said. “Let us know how finding your soulmate goes.”

“I will.”

“Love you!” Nate said.

“I also love you,” Janus said

Emile smiled again. “I love you both, too. Bye!”

“Bye!”

“Goodbye.”

Then, they hung up, and Emile was alone again.

His gaze was immediately drawn back to his soulmark. His eyes traced the curving shape of the crescent moon, and the three small stars that were underneath it.

The sleep prince was somewhere out there with that exact same soulmark just on his eye instead of his wrist. Emile wondered what he was thinking about in that exact moment. Was he thinking about Emile, like how Emile was thinking about him?

Emile could not help but smile at the thought.

Gosh, he couldn’t wait to meet his soulmate.

But first, he had to find out how to.

***

Emile had been on his computer for ages, searching for a way to find his soulmate, but the internet was mostly unhelpful.

There was a ton of research done on Beings, but it was difficult to tell what was reliable and what was useless. Beings were such a wide variety of creatures – some appeared out of thin air, some were once other things – research about one was unlike research about another. And most of the research was about what they were and how they worked, not about how to find them.

Emile sighed, reaching up and massaging the bridge of his nose. This was impossible: it was starting to seem like the only way to find his soulmate was to go through the same methods his soulmate had used to get the information public. And he really, really didn’t want it to come to that.

He was lucky that it was his day off today, so he had plenty of time to research.

Emile clicked on a new article, one labelled ‘Whispering Beings’, that he wasn’t too hopeful would actually be helpful. But he was still going to look, just in case.

His eyes skimmed the first few lines. Whispering Beings were a type of Being that could hear every whisper ever spoken. In fact, they existed in whispers; sometimes they didn’t even have a physical form, they switched between a human-like body to a whisper taken form at a whim. They could be summoned through whispers and used to send messages. Their physical forms looked cloud-like, not entirely physical and they were often benevolent towards humans.

Wait.

Emile suddenly straightened up, his eyes going back a few lines.

They could be summoned through whispers and used to send messages.

There. That was it.

That was how he was going to find his soulmate!

Emile let out a laugh. Finally, he was going to be able to find his soulmate!

Okay. Okay. Now, he just needed to figure out how to summon a Whispering Being.

His eyes returned to the article.

Whispering Beings could be summoned through whispers. Apparently, you could whisper something into the night sky, and – very occasionally – they would hear you. They would appear in front of you, and they would take your message and bring it to whoever you requested.

But they were rare. Your message needed to be interesting to them, or they would simply ignore you.

Well, Emile thought that his message was interesting enough. He was the soulmate of one of the princes of beings, surely that would catch the attention of anyone.

Okay. He could do that.

All he had to do was wait for it to become night, and then he would whisper into the sky. He would get his message to his soulmate; he was sure of that.

***

Emile had been waiting impatiently all day for night to come, and when it finally did, he was practically vibrating with anticipation. He couldn’t sit still, tapping his foot against the floor and his hand against his leg.

Was now the right time to do it? The sun had set, the sky was black, but what if he needed to wait until midnight? The article had been unclear, and every other source he had found had been, too.

What if it needed to be at a specific time? Midnight or 1am or 2am, something like that? Emile had no idea. He didn’t want to do it wrong.

After a moment of thought, he stood up. Okay, he might as well try now. If it didn’t work, he could always try again later. He could try as many times as it took for it to work. He would try all night if he had to.

He walked over to his window, opening it and feeling the cool night air wash over him.

The sky was black, speckled with stars, and the moon was full. Maybe that meant something. Maybe the full moon was something special and would mean that the Whispering Beings were more likely to hear him. Emile had no idea. He was really out of his depth here.

He was a simple therapist! He watched cartoons and documentaries for fun. He knew nothing about magic, and yet the universe had dropped a magical soulmate into his hands.

This was his life now.

Emile took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. He could do this.

Then, he opened his eyes. Okay, he could do this.

All he had to do was figure out what exactly to say. His brow creased in thought. What did he even say in this situation? What was the right thing to say to summon a Whispering Being? The article hadn’t exactly given instructions on how to summon one.

Well, apparently Whispering Beings heard every whisper, so maybe all he had to do was say who he was and they’d listen.

Okay. He’d give that a try.

He took another deep breath, before he began to whisper.

“My name is Emile Picani, and I’m the soulmate of the sleep prince,” he whispered into the wind. “I want to find him. Can you help me?”

He then waited. He waited and waited and waited, but nothing happened.

Okay. That was okay. He could just try again.

“My name is Emile Picani, and I’m the soulmate of the sleep prince,” he whispered again. “I want to find him. Can you help me?”

“I heard you the first time,” came a voice from behind him. It sounded like a whisper, but was somehow also loud and clear.

Emile jumped, spinning around so quickly that his glasses fell from his face.

Standing there, in the middle of his living room, was a blurry figure, that Emile couldn’t quite make out the details of him without his glasses. All he could tell was that it was white and vaguely human-shaped.

He bent down quickly, picking up his glasses and sliding them back onto his face. He stood up, and saw that the human-shaped figure was almost as blurry as they had been before he had put his glasses back on. They looked like someone had taken a cloud and pressed a man-shaped cookie cutter into them, but the clouds had seeped through the edges a little bit. They didn’t even have eyes or a mouth, despite the fact that words had come from somewhere.

“H- hello,” Emile blurted out, just a little bit terrified of the obviously-inhuman Being.

“Hello,” said the Whispering Being.

“What... what’s your name?”

The Whispering Being just stared at him for a few seconds.

“Beings don’t have names.”

“Oh. Right.”

There were a few seconds of silence.

“So, you're the prince’s soulmate?” The Whispering Being said.

Emile straightened up. “I... think so. The soulmarks match, so... yes.”

The Whispering Being tilted their head.

“Would you like me to bring a message to him?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright.” The Whispering Being nodded. “I shall. What would you like me to say?”

Emile... hadn’t really thought about that. In his excitement to send a message to his soulmate – and his daydreams about what would happen when they first met – he hadn’t thought about exactly what he wanted to say.

“Um...” Emile said, fidgeting with his hands. “Tell him... tell him about me and tell me that I want to meet him.”

The Whispering Being watched him for a few moments, before they nodded.

“Alright. I shall do that. Is there anything else you need?”

Emile thought about it for a moment, before he shook his head.

“Thank you,” he said.

The Whispering Being nodded again. Then, they began to lose their form, becoming more cloud-like and less human-shaped, until the fog that was their body began to fade. They became translucent and then transparent and soon they were gone, and Emile was alone.

He stared at the spot they had been for a few seconds, before he let out a deep breath.

Okay. This Being was going to bring the message to his soulmate. Then, his soulmate would come and they would meet.

Emile could not help but smile just a little bit at the thought. Oh, gosh, he was going to meet his soulmate soon! He didn’t know exactly when, but if his soulmate had been so quick to put the soulmark in the news, then surely he wanted to meet Emile as much as Emile wanted to meet him.

They were going to meet each other for the first time soon.

Emile let out a little laugh, and practically bounced up and down on the spot, doing an excited little wiggle. He clapped his hands together.

Oh, Emile was so, so excited.

He wondered what exactly would happen next. Would the prince send the Whispering Being back to Emile, with information about a meeting place? Yes, that made the most sense.

But when exactly would the Whispering Being return? Emile had no idea. Maybe they would return again tonight; maybe they were busy and wouldn’t return for another few days. There was no way to know.

Perhaps he should have asked.

Emile shook his head. Well, there was no point in thinking about that now.

A cool wind came through the open window, and a shiver ran down Emile’s spine. He turned around, reaching out and shutting the window.

Then, when he turned back around, he yelped and leapt backwards when he saw that there was a new figure standing in the centre of his living room.

He was tall and thin – quite a bit taller than Emile, though that wasn’t difficult – with silver skin, black hair and solid black eyes. In the centre of his left eye was the now-familiar symbol: a silver crescent moon with three stars underneath it.

Emile gasped.

“You’re-”

The Being smiled, crossing his arms.

“I am,” he said. “Hello.”

92 notes · View notes

hehebread · 3 years ago

Text

[BKDK] Izuku keeps mentioning a Kacchan to reporters and they think that's his gf

this was a request on twt that i had way too much fun writing. warning for suggestive language!

“And is there…. a special person….or a group of people you would like to thank on air today? Anyone who inspired you? Anyone you would attribute your success to? An image of victory per say?”

Izuku’s eyes glimmer as the bright lights of the studio reflect on his irises. “Oh!” He jumps in his seat, his perfectly- coiffed curls bouncing as he nods frantically to the show’s host. “Yes! Yes!” Leaning forward with his hands on his leg, the camera zooms in on his face where the blush is painting his cheeks. “I wouldn’t be the hero I am today if it wasn’t for Kacchan!”

And it’s as if an earthquake alert dropped on the talk show. The host grows this devious grin on his face as he turns to the camera team and says, “Well, well, well, behind every great man is a woman after all.”

Izuku isn’t quite sure why the host is bringing his mother into this since the interview is reaching its end and he has already discussed her influence in detail very early on, but he doesn’t get a chance to ponder.

The host, Yamaguchi-san, leans into Izuku’s space with renowned interest and an interesting glint in his eyes. Izuku feels himself sweating in his oversized maroon-striped suit.

“So, Midoriya-san, Hero Deku, Rising Symbol of Equity and Hope, can you tell us more about … Kacchan?” His voice goes higher at the last syllable, almost sing songs, and Izuku is not sure if he should be worried or not, but he won’t pass an opportunity to gush about Kacchan!

“Ah, Kacchan is very … confident, hardworking, strong, and smart. Kacchan is a hero who knows how to lead a team and perform under pressure, an inspiration to both myself and our entire graduating class, and a”—Izuku can feel the heat rise in his face as he tries to hide in his colour— “a shining star who was closer to me than All Might!”

The host makes a loud ‘AWWW’ noise at the same time as the small audience in the studio. “My, my! Sounds like Kacchan is very important to Hero Deku! Don’t be shy! Tell us more! Is there a physical description to go with your precious person?”

“Ahm!” Izuku fiddles with his fingers as he avoids the gazes on him. There a long beat of silence before he manages to say, “Muscles….Blonde…..Sharp eyes….” With a vague gesture to his middle section, he mumbles, barely audible, “Big, ugh…..” Heart.

“OOOOOOOOOH!” The host goes wild and so does the audience. “So are we talking Hiromi Oshima type big or maybe Rio Natsume, or aaaah Aki Hoshino even ….?”

Izuku feels his ears ring in humiliation as he tries to process what they’re talking about. Something Kacchan has in common with all these beautiful women is his big successful career so Izuku nods. “Yes!” Then, a thought occurs and he rises in his chair. “Even bigger!”

After all, Kacchan’s net worth is higher than these ladies.

“BIGGER?”

“The biggest!”

“Oh my god!” The host is losing his mind now! “And is it … natural? Or did Kacchan get a little help from professionals?”

“No, no, no! Kacchan was a natural ever since we were in school together!” Izuku’s eyes shine with a fire to defend his childhood best friend, no longer trying to hide in his big suit. “No one helped Kacchan get this big!”

“That’s … amazing!” The host shakes his head in both awe and disbelief. “Now we want to see Kacchan in action! When the hero works around the city, defeating villains, does the size get in the way?”

Does Kacchan’s fame get in the way of his work? “Sometimes,” Izuku muses, “But Kacchan never lets the restless and perky nuisances stop him, y’know. With a little shake from his hands, and a few colourful words of wisdoms, nothing gets in the way!” Izuku laughs as he remembers Kacchan’s way of dismissing fans and reporters alike.

“Wow!”

“Of course, there are times where Kacchan’s big firm moulds become springy and hard to control, but I have yet to see an instance where that has been a major issue. ”

Kacchan is still having some adjustment problems with his new hero costume, particularly his grenade mould, but that’s as far as distractions go.

“Does Kacchan not use support?”

“Uhm, only when it’s a dire situation! Sometimes I’m even allowed to provide assistance!”

“You must be very lucky…”

“I am! It feels … exciting and … very special! Kacchan doesn’t trust just anyone, y’know! I can never quite get used to the trust we built together. We are one unit working together.”

“Do you use your hands…. Or something else?”

“Oh, hands! Yes! But anything works really! Whatever Kacchan is comfortable with and needs at the time. Black Whip, combo moves, an iron grip...”

The host furrow his brows and seems to be considering Izuku’s answer before he opens his mouth again. “Uhm, never mind.” He then turns to the camera, smile back on. “Our time is almost running out! Thank you, hero Deku for your time! We look forward to seeing you again in the big screen!”

The next day, Izuku wakes up to the headline: Hero Deku And His Mysterious Busty New Girlfriend: The Beautiful and Spunky Kacchan!

He’s doomed

He sees Kacchan early the next day.

Having spent the morning talking to tabloids and the host show agents about the misunderstanding and whether or not it was possible to take down the episode at least, Izuku slumps his head on his desk in defeat.

Oh, this is very bad.

He starts thumping his forehead on the wood in sync with the bleeps noises in the phone, already planning his funeral in his head.

Okay, so it seems the suspense around this girlfriend is raking up his popularity, but god, at what cost.

“Nerd, we need to talk.”

Izuku’s soul near flies to the roof at the sound of the door to his office slamming close. Fuckfuckfuck.

Kacchan stands before him with his hand on his hip, teeth snarled and looking ready to tear his flesh open. Oh, this is going to be fun!

After flashing a haughty glare at the glass door to scare away the nosy friends hanging about, Kacchan continues, “About the interview.”

Of course! Yes! His final hour is approaching. “Haahahaha, what about it?” Izuku feels his undershirt cling to his torso, sweat collecting on his face. He directs a shaky hand to a nearby chair. “Feel free to take a seat, Kacchan! You want me to get you anything? Water, tissues, uhm, a knife, a body sized bag, or uhhh, a shovel? I think I have some spare sheets of paper if you’d like to give me a chance to—“

“So…” Kacchan starts.

“PLEASE TELL MY MUM I LOVE HER!”

“…this Kacchan, huh?” Having completely ignored every single word Izuku just said, Kacchan crosses his arms and scowls. “Is she strong? How come I never heard about her before? Since when did you start dating this gravure idol and pro hero, huh?”

“Wha—?”

“So, you just go around giving everyone pretty nicknames now?” Kacchan snorts and his expression darkens before he slams his hands on Izuku’s desk. He looks at Izuku from under his chin, and Izuku swear he can see flames behind his eyes. He growls, “What’s her actual name?”

An alarm bell rings in Izuku’s ears and he stutters, “Ka— Ka— Kat— Katsuko! Bakugan Katsuko…….”

Kacchan’s expression doesn’t change and Izuku feels his heart leap to his throat. God, Kacchan is gonna call his bluff at any minute now. He’s going to reject him then he’s going to break his heart and his bones.

“What’s she like?”

Kacchan shifts forward slightly and Izuku is just know noticing the ample cleavage in clear view. Right there. In front of Izuku’s face. “Uhm. Ah, she’s very, ugh, im- pec— impeccable!! And strong! Muscl— mature!! Breasty too – I mean, pretty! PRETTY!” Izuku bites his tongue then swallows thickly. “Beautiful, actually!” Lifting his gaze to meet Kacchan, he whispers, “Gorgeous. Just the most amazing person in my life.”

Kacchan is staring intently with his sharp red eyes, and Izuku feels his chest swell with confidence he never had before. “Kacchan is my inspiration, and I just … love … Kacchan so much. I wish I had the courage to tell him— um, her that.”

“Are you two serious?” Kacchan asks, impassive but there is silent rage hiding behind his words.

Something flashes quickly through Kacchan’s eyes before he narrows them. It takes Izuku a second to recognise that it’s /hurt/ and then he realise what he has just done.

“No, no, no!” Izuku backtracks immediately. “I don’t even know her that well! In fact, she kinda smells and definitely has sweating problem.” Izuku needs to do damage control and come clean NOW. “You know what? I will call her and break up with her right now. Ha ha ha.”

What the hell is he saying? Who is he going to call?

Kacchan stands up while Izuku fumbles with his phone. “Don’t be a dick,” he says, before he heads to the door.

Izuku jumps from his chair and is ready to chase after him when Kacchan stops him. “How big?”

“Huh?”

“You said Bakugan was big.”

Ah, yes, he did. Tragically.

“Um, y’know just…” Izuku motions with his hands like he’s moulding two doughballs, palms up and fingers wiggling because he’s lost control of his life once he accepted his funeral date, but that’s not even happening anymore so what is he doing really.

He then makes am hourglass shape in the air and belatedly realises that he’s just outlining Kacchan’s shape in front of him. Izuku retreats his hands and puts them behind his back in shame.

Kacchan is looking at him funny. Like he’s trying to figure something out.

“Does she shoot aerial bomb or something? Is that a combat-style quirk?”

Izuku blinks.

Kacchan just sneers and turns around.

“Whatever. I’m doing a photoshoot this afternoon. The Sekushī clothing line is dropping a new summer set and they asked me to model.”

“Se- Sekushi?? You mean, like—” Izuku feels his face go impossibly red. “You’re saying that, you’re going to wear, like…..” his voice goes down to a whisper when he says “…..a b-b-b-b-b-bikini?”

“Swimwear,” Kacchan turns to say over his shoulder, “Among other things.”

The sexy smirk he sends Izuku’s way is doing very, very weird things to Izuku’s body and imagination, things too inappropriate to describe in a work setting.

Kacchan leaves but not without offering the most dangerous challenge to Izuku’s mental wellbeing. “Feel free to drop in.”

Oh, he absolutely will.

“Bring Bakugon.”

Oh, he absolutely will not.

Actually….

Maybe, he will.

Kacchan is going to ruin Izuku

#dekubaku #dkbk #bakudeku #bkdk #bnha #mha #boku no hero fic #boku no hero academia #my hero fanfic #my hero academia #izuku midoriya #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #prompt fill #icewrites

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sugiwa · 3 years ago

Text

small dreams

It took one 27 second long video for Keigo to fall in love

The video looped through every news cycle, and each reaction varied from outright derision to almost mythical awe emerging. On YouTube, it was viral in fifty-three different countries and Starburst—a name derived from a candy company that the pro-hero was fond of—jokingly tweeted that she was more famous than All-Might.

And she might have been thanks to the reporter that not only caught her decking the father of a girl she just saved but also recorded the subsequent twenty-seven seconds it took for three police officers to pull her off him and pull her away. The peace sign Y/N threw up as the police led her into a car probably didn’t help, nor did the live stream of her twenty-four hours in a holding cell while they investigated her claim of the man’s abuse and finally released her.

Though there were news outlets that tried to pin Starburst down as a hero on the edge of villainy, her public reputation hadn’t taken any damage. It was hard, after all, to claim that she did the wrong thing when they heard the girl’s testimony and pulled her medical records. But, Starburst—or L/N Y/N—still faced punishment from the Hero Public Safety Commission despite all this.

Attacking an unarmed civilian was apparently a big no-no—even if he was an abusive asshole. She was spared having her license revoked until she retested the simple principle that she had refrained from using her quirk. Her sentence was lessened to a month-long suspension with a strict patrol schedule in some city near Tokyo.

Y/N could work with it. She could put up with the Commission’s inane chatter for the sake of her job, but she drew the line at issuing an apology. It took three hours to wiggle her way out of a press conference to address the event. By the time her meeting with the Commission and sentencing was done, Y/N retweeted the initial video with the caption: Totally worth it.

Keigo was slightly in love with Starburst. Maybe it was the way she strolled into the Hero Public Safety Commission building fresh out of handcuffs and bluntly told them that she wasn’t apologizing and would rather become a vigilante than listen to ten more minutes of them debating the future of her career.

Or maybe it was the video which he’d seen a hundred times over, where she looked like a hero. The kind he’d always dreamed of as a kid, the kind who swooped in and beat the bad guy and then offered you stickers and candy and told you everything would be alright because it was exactly what she’d done for that little girl.

Either way, L/N Y/N was a hero who deserved a little rest, which was why he was currently tailing her patrol route and taking care of the problems before she could move. Her quirk was right out of a comic book too. The golden energy that left her capable of issuing an instant KO.

“Will you leave me alone?” she snapped, finally turning around to glare at him. She had a warm face, not made for anger which was probably why the glare fell away a moment later, replaced by a smile. “I appreciate the help, but I’m not offering any fanservice in exchange.”

“Who said I was a fan?” His wings flapped, feathers flying back toward him.

“You regularly stalk girls mid-air? That sort of thing does not fly with me.” Y/N laughed, nose scrunching at her own joke. “Get it…cause we both fly….”

He smiled innocently, “Thought of that all on your own?”

Y/N groaned, twisting her earring, “Just because I didn’t go to a fancy-ass hero school like Wet Jeanist and Flameo Hotman doesn’t mean I’m dumb.”

Slight insulted by the nickname she gave his favorite hero, he asked, “Flameo Hotman? You mean Endeavor-san?”

“Ohhh, that’s a man-crush voice.” Her eyes tightened with mischief, “I’m gonna have to dip since I got a hot date with my credit card. See you later, Chicken Little.”

He watched her go in slight awe because Y/N really was as crazy as the stories said. Starburst was a hero that had a bit of a cult following. She wasn’t high enough in the rankings to be wildly popular the way he was—up until she went viral, that was. A graduate of Ketsubutsu who went on to attend college before actually becoming a hero, she was on a watch list with the Hero Public Safety Commission.

Apparently, non-conformity was an issue…who knew.

A rain of confetti fell over Keigo’s head, brightly colored and all covered in specks of glitter. He inhaled deeply, turning to see Starburst’s grinning face as she eagerly clapped. Endeavor, like always whenever he was forced to be in Starburst’s proximity, turned around and stalked down the hall. Her confetti burned in his wake. Y/N’s voice followed him, offering an empty congratulations to the hero.

“How’s my precious senpai doing?” she asked, turning her attention to him.

“You really know how to annoy him, huh?” asked Keigo staring at the empty hall. If you gave Y/N too much attention, she ran with it. “What’s the deal?”

Y/N shrugged, rolling her shoulders confidently, “Some people are not equipped to handle true talent.”

“Yeah, right,” snorted Keigo.

“I may or may not have drunkenly confessed that I had no idea who he was to a bunch of reporters during last week.” Y/N made a rude gesture with her hand. “I mean, if you’re not Number One, then do you really matter?”

“Harsh,” he ruffled his wings, freeing the last of her glitter confetti and letting it rain on the ground. “You all good with the Commission now?”

“All thanks to you! I owe you one, you know that?”

“Nah,” Keigo waved her off, resisting the urge to laugh as she made her bright eyes as wide as possible. “It was pretty brave of you. Plus, I think anyone would have done the same thing.”

Three months out of trouble, Y/N once again made headlines for ‘accidentally’ dropping a child trafficker off a building. She caught him before he hit the ground, but apparently, the authorities deemed the emotional damage a little extreme.

“They probably would have been a bit smarter about it, though.”

“Well, don’t worry, no one expects you to be the brains.”

Y/N pouted. “True.”

Keigo laughed. “What are you doing here anyway? You’re not in the top ten.”

“Is bullying the new rage these days?” Her pout grew, arms crossing over her chest, “Everyone’s got something snippy to say to me. Where’s Rumi when I need her?”

“Gonna hide behind her?”

“Fuck yeah.” Y/N nodded emphatically as she reached into her pocket for a pack of gum. She offered him a piece. “Let’s see how your chicken wings stand against her legs.”

Keigo looked at the gum and then her. The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them, “Wanna get something to eat?”

Her smile looked like the sun, “Thought you’d never ask.”

“So, what’s the deal with you and Dragonbreath?” asked Y/N, sprawling across his couch. It was the third time this week she was here. He should tell her to leave, but the words die in his throat in his mouth every time he tried.

There’s too much risk. Dabi’s listening in on everything he does these days, and he doesn’t want her anywhere near them. Not when he’s aware of what they’re planning. Not when he knows how Y/N would react.

She was rough and improper in everything she does, but there’s no one brighter or better when it came to genuine goodness.

Keigo dodged the question with his own. “Endeavor again?”

“Ran into him last week and got yelled at for ten minutes for getting in his way. The guy was in my path, and I’m the one getting yelled at? Next time, I’m drop-kicking him off his skyscraper.” She kicked her leg in the air, reminding him that she was scarcely dressed.

Was this what having a girlfriend like? Constantly jumping between fondness and horniness? He wasn’t complaining.

He heard this threat a million times. “Still mad about the fact that he has one?”

“I’m a simple country girl. I’d be happy with a peach orchard and some chickens.”

“Come here,” he crooked his finger at her. Y/N got up instantly, crossing the room toward the balcony where he stood. Her hands wrapped around his waist, slipping under his shirt, across his skin, over his chest. Too much and too little at the same time.

“You’ll get cold out here,” she murmured. He could sink in the warmth she offered.

“It’s nice seeing the world so still.”

A noise left her throat, wet and worried, “Hawks, whatever it is, whatever they’re making you do, I’ll be here. I promise.”

People joked about Y/N being dumb—he did it too often to count, but she saw more than most people did when it mattered.

“Why’d you become a hero?”

“Saved a cute boy once, and he gave me a kiss,” she said. He’d heard that story before. She offered it in every interview, never expanding on what boy or how she saved him. It was also a glaring lie.

He didn’t push her. He lied about too many things to count.

Keigo took her face between his hands—the urge to kiss that tiny speck by her eyes thrummed through him. It would take a thousand-thousand years for him to forget her face. Y/N turned, her lips skimming his palm, cold and warm at once.

He loved her because she was Y/N. Because in her, he could love himself and not grow cold from it. Because the numbness he’d always known leaked out in place of affection. He loved her boundlessly—above, below, and across—unhindered, without ill will, without enmity.

It was with her that he was Takami Keigo and not the current Number Two.

His hand cupped her neck, fingers tangling in the curls of her hair. Her lips opened under his. A trail of fire burst across his lips, and for a moment, he only knew the sweetness of her mouth. He drank her in, each breath, each hushed sound leaving her throat.

He would do what they asked and make the choices no one else could.

It was worth the world he dreamed of.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks x y/n #tamaki Keigo x y/n #bnha x reader #mha x reader #takami keigo #bnha #mha #hawks #mha hawks

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dolokhoded · 4 years ago

Text

Know Your Background Newsie

pt. 1

according to newsies live

Racetrack Higgins

Usually referred to as just Race

Played by

Ben Tyler Cook

How do I tell him apart?

He has a cigar, an unusually high pitched voice and he likes to stick his nose in other people's business and he's the jokester of the newsies, also the fan favorite and probably has rabies??

Notable moments in the show

- The woild is yer erster scene

- Wakes up the newsies before Carrying the Banner

- Starts King of New York

Albert DaSilva

Also frequently called Al, Albie, Albo and literally any other version of Albert you can think of in fanworks

Played By

Sky Flaherty

How do I tell him apart?

Well for one he's ginger, he always has his cap on backwards and wears no sleeves, he's also really pretty, he has a stick at some point in King of New York?

Notable moments in the show

- Proceeds to bully Weisel at the line for papers after Carrying the Banner

- Gets attacked by Race during the 'yer erster' scene before King of New York

- Steals Race's cigar at the beginning of Carrying the Banner

Elmer Kasprzak

Played by

Anthony Zas

How do I tell him apart

He's slightly shorter than the rest of the guys, has fluffy black hair, very smiley. The boys seem to like to pick on him ("now that's a headline even elmer could sell" , "ya nitwit that ain't news no more")

Notable moments in the show

- "Elmer, when are we going to see you inside the church?" "I don't know, sister, but it's bound to rain sooner or later."

- Says the "How 'bout a crooked politician?" Line

Specs

Played by

Jordan Samuels

How do I tell him apart?

,,,, First of all he has glasses. Tall,,, very tall, like Albert he has no sleeves, he's got a pair of funky suspenders tho. Backflips around the stage a lot.

Notable moments in the show

- Katherine mentions he showed her up to the rooftop

- Got Crutchie's letter from the refuge

- "Hey, look, it's bath time at the zoo"

- Does some wack ass fast taps during the KoNY dance break

Josephino Jorgelino De La Guerra

pFfft that name scared you, didn't it, don't worry, they call him Jojo.

Played by

Joshua Burrage

How do I tell him apart?

Very tall man, also makes the most ridiculous faces. Pause Newsies at any time and you get a cursed Jojo image.

Notable moments in the show

- "I'll be sleeping on the streets" "You already sleep on the streets" "In a worse neighborhood"

Romeo

Played by

Nico DeJesus

How do I tell him apart?

,,,,Okay. Romeo's socks,,,,,,, it's a thing in the newsies fandom. I may or may not have started it. They're knee length and have bright red and blue stripes. They're so loud and for what. Oh, he's also, like, two feet tall, by far the shortest newsie, he's a petite king. Also isn't wearing a flannel shirt, as opposed to most newsies, his shirt is striped white and blue

Notable moments in the show

- "Me thinks the lady needs to be handled by a,,,,,,, real man ;)" "You thinks wrong, Romeo."

- Gets hit in the head by a cop, it's heartbreaking

- Actually the first Newsie to interact with Katherine!! Boy came in with his "Hello, hello, beautiful" line before Jack interrupted

Buttons

His last name is often seen as Davenport but I don't know if that's canon

Played by

Chaz Wolcott

How do I tell him apart?

Hmmm also fairly tall, the boys use him as a visual example during the "it takes an orphan with a stutter, who's also blind and mute and dead" part. Has a rlly sharp jawline.

Notable moments in the show

- "I won't be last in line for the tub tonight!"

- Has a broom solo in the KoNY dance break!!

#the rest tomorrow ;)#it's two am and i need sleep but have the first half anyways #newsies #newsies live #newsies musical #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #elmer kasprzak #romeo newsies #specs newsies #Jojo de la Guerra #buttons newsies #buttons Davenport #jace's newsies wiki

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cherrynojutsu · 3 years ago

Text

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 7/?: Catalysts

Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often, despite the frustrating paradox that is the male endocrine system’s apparent determination to make him do so. He finds it feels… empty, after. Like there’s supposed to be something more, but instead there’s just whatever is situated above his head to stare at while his breathing levels out, an interminable abyss of silence and stars, or tree foliage, or apartment ceiling. Impulses and feelings of a sexual nature are probably normal for anyone his age, but in the past, satiating desires like this has made him feel guilty, given the context.

When he's not plagued by nightmares rife with gore and blood and bodies, or the occasional aching memory, his subconscious takes the opportunity to bombard him with dreams of a suggestive nature, having deduced somehow that it’s the most effective method to get him to… tend to things.

This variety of dream customarily involves pale pink hair, multifaceted eyes, and soft fingertips, branded into the part of his brain that controls his most base instincts with a hot iron.

He notes begrudgingly as he gazes at plain plaster above him, brows furrowed, that ostensibly, it works well enough, if the intricate mess of thoughts and feelings in his head and on his abdomen are anything to go by.

Sasuke would never admit it to anyone, but Sakura has headlined exclusively in nearly every sexually-charged dream he's ever had, and resultingly the majority of his sentient thoughts while indulging outside of dreaming, too. When they were Genin, it was innocent enough; he had reasoned that, being the main girl his age he associated with, it made sense his inadvertent dreams, beyond the scope of his control, involved her. He'd shaken it off in those early days as the by-product of the developing hormonal cocktail that is the pubescent masculine mind, and ignored the part of himself that kind of had a crush on her even then. Or definitively more than a crush, after the Chunin Exams and the hospital and jealousy.

He had tried convincing himself of the same thing at fourteen, once he'd left the village and had attempted to sever all bonds. It didn’t work, though; by that point he knew better, knew what the feeling he was trying to squash actually was.

Which meant it didn’t work at fifteen, either.

Nor sixteen, and definitely not seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen.

All of that has been wholly indecent on its own in the past, causing him to feel shameful every time it happens, and even more ashamed if it’s a rare day where he’s weak enough to act on it, a day where he wakes up mere seconds from an edge rather than minutes.

But this morning, he woke up on the tail end of all of that with the addition of freckles , of all things to fixate on, and he just knows he's never going to forget about them now, that they’re branded into his grey matter in perpetuity. Freckles just above the interior of a shoulder, eight of them, a small scattering he had been pressing his lips to, listening to a softly whispered Sasuke-kun, reaching around her with his only arm, so he could make her say his name like that again.

It is far from the first time he’s touched himself to the thought of Sakura, but it is the first time he’s indulged since they’ve been… together.

Except this time felt… different.

Less like an unrealistic reverie he should try to abstain from and more like an eventuality. Less guilt, too, or rather, almost none, because he’s in a relationship with her now, and he’s pretty sure he’s supposed to have feelings like this regarding her. Not that he is anywhere near ready to do anything about them, because he absolutely is not; he’s not certain he even comprehends that level of vulnerability, to touch another person and allow yourself to be touched by them, though he badly wants to, someday.

No, Sasuke doesn’t indulge in baser needs often… but he did this morning, when he woke up teetering just on the precipice, fantasizing about tiny tan flecks seen and unseen, and he’s trying to work through how he feels about it, this guilt surrounding the fact of not feeling guilty like he ordinarily does, as well as the lingering curiosity he’s struggling to force down regarding how many other freckles Sakura has.

Even moreso, he yearns for soft words that he has often thought may be sentimental to the point of being utterly quixotic. It's why he doesn’t typically submit to this kind of inclination in the first place; it’s meaningless on one’s own, he secretly thinks, though he has nothing to compare it to. No sense of connection or true lasting fulfillment like he imagines there must be, for people to talk about it the way they do; just pleasure that's there for a blinding scattered second and gone the next, with nothing tenderhearted or meaningful in the moments following as his vision refocuses and he picks up the pieces.

He stares at his ceiling, an aporia of longing and complicated compulsions ricocheting in the hallways of his head, or perhaps from his skull to the roof and back again, an absurd push and pull that leaves him with more questions than answers.

Has she ever thought about him the way he thinks about her?

What would it sound like, Sasuke-kun, when she’s like that?

Is it okay to feel like this, now? To think about her in this regard?

Sasuke is accustomed to not sleeping well - it comes with the territory of his lived experience, an unfortunate fact of life he’s somewhat learned to deal with - but during the mission to Sand, he'd slept fairly restfully, though in short increments of five or six hours. That's apparently the tipping point of how long he gets to go without being sojourned by some variety of vision in the night.

He eventually makes his way to the shower, using torrid water and soap to double cleanse what’s left of his mess. That's a big contributor to his consternation, too; it's so embarrassingly messy that it’s impossible to imagine ever doing anything like it with her . He flips the dial to cold after he’s bathed for the better portion of five minutes, because serpens caput is still burned into his retinas, and he’s hoping against hope to freeze it out of himself like he has tried to do with shame in the past.

It doesn’t work; it just induces shivering, algidity overwhelming the senses but doing nothing to distract the mind.

He shoves his face into his book after, desperate for the distraction a proverbial fiction featuring an old fisherman can provide and thinking once again that he needs to acquire a lamp. Anything to get the thought of pressing his lips to her freckles out of his head, because he’s pretty sure if he keeps thinking about it, he’ll have to take care of things for the second time today, and then he really won’t know how to feel.

So when a banging erupts on his apartment door shortly following eight, followed by a shout of, “TEME! I'm here, let’s go!”, all he can think is finally, because he knows it will at least get his mind off of this strange lack of guilt and a curiosity he’s not ready to unpack yet. The book helped, but he thinks he needs the challenge a fight against Naruto can provide to truly leave behind this level of prurience. He doesn’t know how he’s going to look her in the eye when they meet at three as they planned, otherwise.

Sasuke shoves on his sandals and grabs his chokuto before opening the door. “So you finally showed. Thought you'd sleep all morning.”

Naruto’s eyes narrow, indignant and already launching into a retort. Good. Maybe he’ll get some iota of order knocked back into him, enough to put compelling constellations away for the time being.

XXX

Sasuke feels monumentally better by noon. It’s another draw, an absolute whirlwind of swinging limbs that made it impossible to focus on anything else. He didn’t take joy in it necessarily, and he suspects Naruto bruised his ulna bone to the extent it almost cracked, but it helps, the diversion of pain; the tinge he feels when he moves it is a welcome hindrance. They’d stuck mainly to taijutsu and clashing weaponry, so physically, he’s pretty exhausted.

They’re resting in the dirt, making a valiant attempt at rehydrating. It’s moderately hot for this time of year, barely on the cusp of mid April, but it’s seeming like the Konoha heat will be returning with the same vengeance it always does. A small trickle of sweat sinks its way down his back.

Sasuke feels nearly normal again. Or normal to the extent he generally feels, anyways. He gets the urge to do something good - to tip the scale, so to speak.

"...The cutting board works. Thank you." It’s not what he’s most thankful for right now, but it’s a nice thing to say as substitution.

His friend grins at him. "Welcome! It was all me, by the way. Hinata-chan didn't even help me pick it out!" Naruto scratches his head, downing more water. He’s moving rather slowly, as if he is sore, too; Sasuke thinks perhaps he came close to beating him this round.

They stare upwards for a while, soaking in the sun as clouds roll lazily by. Birds fly overhead, finches and song sparrows twittering their selections, collecting materials to build more nests for this new season. It’s another effective distraction, one that fills him with a sense of nostalgia, replacing his earlier sense of compunction regarding the mystifying concept of physical love and the whims that accompany it.

Naruto speaks up after a bit. "Ne, teme, wanna go to the market with me? Hinata-chan asked me to get some groceries and some stuff for the backyard."

Sasuke glances at his teammate and contemplates. It can't hurt. He did want to pick up potatoes to make actual curry with, and he could get some other things, too. He'll still have time to shower before he meets Sakura at the hospital.

"...Sure."

Naruto takes longer to rise than he does, shuffling carefully as if he is in pain, but once he’s standing, he seems fine enough, stupid grin slapped on his face at Sasuke’s agreement to go with. They set off in the general direction of his building so he can drop off his weapon first. He gets dirty looks sometimes, walking around, though it’s not nearly as bad as when he first returned and it doesn’t bother him on the same level that it used to. When he’s with Naruto or Sakura, he gets less of them, but he can't imagine a sword strapped to his back in the market will do much to help his reputation.

Naruto doesn't allow the easy silence to last. "Y'know, teme, it's really good to have you back in the village. It feels like everything's finally coming together. We'll have to do some fun stuff this summer. And also in the fall!” Gears are turning behind cerulean eyes, and he adds, ”...Hmm, and the winter, too!"

"...Yeah." He stares at the mountain, thinking about what cherry blossom trees look like in summer and fall and winter. It will be nice to see the one across the street change colors throughout the seasons. Or the one on the hill, where they're going later today. He has seen their like numbering in the thousands, scattered everywhere on his journey - he’s highly cognizant of them, for obvious reasons - but he hasn’t been granted the privilege of watching the same one through the whole of a year’s growth cycle in a long time.

"Sakura-chan seems really cheery lately, too. Can't imagine why." The second sentence is said flippantly, without any real conviction, as if Naruto knows exactly why.

Sasuke glances at his teammate, neck warming and heart skipping a little at the mention of her. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing that Sakura is happy from secondhand sources; it makes him feel like he’s doing something right for once. Maybe not all his impulses are complicated in nature enough to require dissection, as he was accustomed to doing when he was away; spending time with her is one, and he's been indulging it often.

He briefly entertains the idea of outright telling Naruto that they're together, then, but the dobe is moving on before he comes up with the words. "Well, anyways. Wanna spar Monday morning, if neither of us get a mission by then?”

That’s… specific. Maybe he doesn’t need to say anything to him, after all; he’s sure it’s no coincidence that Naruto is asking about the exact time period Sakura is busy training with Ino, probably as aware of her schedule as Kakashi is. Their old sensei might have told him, he supposes, or maybe Sakura said something; Sasuke wonders when he last saw her.

“...Sure. If you think you can handle it.”

The response he gets is a slug on the left shoulder, but it’s not overly hard. Sasuke narrows his eyes in response more out of habit than any real malice. He sees as Naruto’s hand retreats and slips out of a fist that words are written on his palm. He didn’t notice it throughout the morning due to their hands constantly being locked around weapons or thrown in punches, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes; it's likely a grocery list.

Naruto leans against the brick downstairs while Sasuke drops off his sword, and then they head to the main market area as the dobe chatters. It’s fairly busy, it being a Saturday, but it’s not intolerably so; most people are busy eating around now.

Sasuke is completely unsurprised when Naruto beelines straight for the noodles; naturally he would be out of them. He takes the opportunity to procure a blend of wild rice. Thus far he only has white and brown in his own pantry, and he’s been trying to eat it often. He's always liked rice, but it’s high in calories, too, an easy way to try putting on weight. Another variety to choose from would be beneficial.

He trails after his friend to the baking supplies next, where Naruto examines containers of flour and sugar. Sasuke concludes Hinata must bake, because he’s confident any cookie prepared by the dobe could not possibly be edible. While his teammate is occupied, Sasuke turns the corner and procures a half dozen eggs, a large bag of potatoes, and two different varieties of tomatoes. The extra five pounds of weight held in the crook of his arm doesn’t do wonders for his bruised bone situation, but it’s not wholly unbearable; he’s fairly used to dealing with pain.

“Hinata-chan said to go to the gardening stall on the north end,” Naruto says once they’ve paid and exited the building, so they begin a course in that general direction. “She said they have the best perennial bulbs; that means they come back every year!”

Sasuke twitches, surprised he can even pronounce the word perennial if he’s lived this long without knowing what one is.

“Anyways, she wants to plant some, uh…” His voice trails off, and he peeks at his hand, where Sasuke now sees the names of flowers written in feminine writing that has to be Hinata’s.

Of course. Like he could spell the words, let alone read his own sloppy handwriting.

“Iris, phlox, and uh… echo-na-na-chee-ah.”

“Echinachea,” Sasuke corrects dully, giving him a withering look.

“Sure! That! She wants to plant those in the backyard, kind of line the house with them, since the front is looking pretty nice now. She said to get bulbs; they root better. They might bloom this year, but if not, they’ll for sure come in next year!”

“...And she entrusted you with this?” Sasuke asks, raising an eyebrow.

Naruto just laughs, utterly unphased. “Duh, that’s what the list is for, teme. Hinata-chan is super smart like that. Putting it on my hand makes sure I don’t lose it!”

They meander to the northern edge of the market, past the congregation of other stalls selling seeds and garden starters. It's getting towards the end of planting season for Fire Country, but there is still plenty to choose from here, allegorical gates of green swinging open in salutation. They pass some tomato plant starters, already starting to climb their cages, but Sasuke decides against it; his hand is full presently, and the bone still kind of hurts, and none of them are red heirloom tomatoes anyways, being smaller variations like plum or cherry or grape. He likes all tomatoes, honestly, but if he was going to grow one, he’d just want the one of a favorite to worry about. Repotting a starter would also require a planter, which he doesn’t have; another thing to carry.

The stall Naruto leads them to is probably the nicest one there, judiciously laid out and everything labeled neatly with precise calligraphy. The few tables the vendor has are overflowing with perennial starters, but Naruto goes to the three vertical displays of seeds and bulbs, so tall they are at eye level with both of them. They’re filled to the brim with diminutive packages, printed with large pictures of the flowers they contain the beginnings of, along with genus names and common names in smaller text. The blond examines them, surveying his hand, then the display, then back to his hand again in scrutiny.

Sasuke watches, resisting the urge to sigh and waiting for the inevitable.

“Hmm… I guess this would be a lot easier if I knew what any of these looked like. Gonna have to read them all.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes and steps forward to point to the section of iris bulbs to start with. He gives him a minute to work out which colors to pick, observing the throng of people entering and exiting around them, young and old and in-between.

Phlox are next; he directs his teammate to the appropriate section, where there are quite a few options of hues. Naruto examines them as if he is making a grand decision transformative in nature, mumbling to himself.

“Hmm… She likes blue and purple. Maybe I should…”

His own gaze wanders as he tunes Naruto out, taking in pictures of begonias and caladium on plastic shiny in the sunlight, before his vision locks on the far display.

He wanders over to it as if his body is moving of its own accord.

There are several varieties of lilies, he learns as he scans the packaging, oriental, trumpet, and what is apparently called nerine. White nerine lilies had been the variety his mother grew, lining their yard with curved porcelain petals, clusters emanating from many single stems.

He sets his groceries at his feet to free up his hand, picking up one of the packages to read the instructions on the back. His arm aches as he does so, but he couldn’t care less.

Nerine lily bulbs require good drainage. If there are still puddles in the prospective planting area 5-6 hours after rain, locate another site, or amend the soil with organic material to raise levels 2-3 inches. Nerine lilies also require soil that is somewhat gritty, though it also must be organically rich. Adding compost may increase nutrient content.

In spring, choose a location in full sun. If you are in a hotter region, site them where they will receive morning sun and afternoon shade, and plant the bulbs with an inch of the slender top above the soil surface. The top of the bulb is the area that looks like the stem of an onion. Install bulbs 8 to 11 inches apart for a massed look.

Nerine bulbs develop foliage that gather sun rays and strengthen the plants during the spring and summer months. Flower stalks develop in the fall. Provide water when the plants are actively growing, and very little when they are dormant.

You may cut the final flower stems to display decoratively. This will not hurt the plants and the cuts last long periods of time indoors. After they finish blooming for the year, cut off any remaining flower stalks. Your plants will rest for the winter months before sending up new growth in the springtime. Over time, nerine lilies will form clumps. They like to be crowded, so don’t feel pressed to divide them unless flower production begins to decrease. Clumps can then be dug, split apart, and moved to other parts of the garden, or shared with friends.

When Sasuke looks up, deep in thought, he notices Naruto searching for what he assumes is echinacea, flitting stiffly at random between the first two displays and scratching his head. Wordlessly with the package of lily bulbs still in hand, Sasuke points to the bottom right corner of the first, where several color selections are.

“Thanks, teme!” Naruto plows back to the specified stand and stoops down comically slowly, though Sasuke barely sees, gaze drawn pensively back to the packet he was examining.

The memorial stone has decent drainage, aside from the occasional hard rain like last weekend; that will become less common as the weather warms, and one or two monsoons a summer never drowned his mother’s lilies. Shade in the afternoon could be an issue, though. There’s a large oak tree on the west side that might cast some protection over it, but he only ever visits under the cover of night, so he’s unsure. He would have to examine the trajectory in person to gauge.

He considers the market bag the groceries were handed to him in earlier, studying it closely.

Carefully, he puts the package back where he found it, though his eyes linger on it. He’s no gardener, not like Sakura is, and besides, his arm hurts.

XXX

He’s leaning up against one of the blue columns outside of the hospital when Sakura emerges at three, sprightly as ever. She’s holding the two journals and the medical text from their first trip to the library; she said yesterday that she needed to return them, but there shouldn’t be any new ones she needs to check out just yet. He hadn’t stayed terribly long after they’d finished the tenmusu because he needed to shower and write his mission report, but they’d made plans to swing by the library and journey back up the hillside to read together again. There was also mention of possibly picking up food afterwards, to take to her place. Hazel Wood must be in her tote, hooked around her shoulder.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets cheerfully. “Whew. It’s getting warm out already.”

“...It is,” Sasuke comments before he extends his hand for her texts, his own already held there, a silent offer to carry them for her.

She blushes as she passes them to him, sliding them into his hand. His eyes drift to the freckle on her cheek, and he wipes his mind blank by sheer willpower alone as they head east. The books aren’t as heavy as the groceries had been earlier, so it doesn’t hurt as much, but he's wondering at this point if the bone might actually have a small crack. He thinks he should ask her to look at it; maybe later, at her apartment.

“My balcony days may be numbered by now, at least until the fall comes,” Sakura observes as they meander.

He contemplates. “...Do you sit out there often?” It is so utterly befitting of her that he thinks he can picture it, her reading out there, surrounded by plants. He wonders if she ever admires the night sky. Their team had stargazed sometimes, on missions that first year as Genin.

Green eyes settle on him from his right. “I like to, when it’s nice out. A lot of times in the summer it gets too hot, though there is an occasional night when it’s cool enough. Fall is really the best for it. You can see the changing leaves from above. Even if it's a chillier day, it’s pleasant with some tea and a blanket in the evening."

He debates for a long moment, but decides against bringing up stout squirrels or chestnut-flavored everything or Naruto slipping on a leaf.

“...It sounds nice,” he comments simply instead, wondering if he’ll be invited to sit with her on her balcony, once fall arrives. They would have to sit kind of close; the space doesn’t seem very big from below, and it's cluttered with greenery.

Sakura smiles up at him, a look that says she agrees with his assessment.

Then, she offers softly, "You can sit out there sometime with me, if you'd like."

His neck warms; all he can do is nod and avert his gaze elsewhere, an abundance of something tender and sweet flaring to life in his belly.

Returning the books barely takes two minutes; they’re wandering towards the outskirts of the mountain in short order. Sakura sprawls in the same spot she did last time, so he takes up the same position, too, leaning up against the trunk of the tree, stable and strong.

And then his eyes catch on another freckle she has, this one near her elbow, and all he can think about is the slightly textured consistency of his ceiling, and whether the impulse to press his lips to her skin without guilt was an okay thing to feel.

She reads and he more contemplates than reads for about an hour, sprawled beneath the scant amount of shade provided by this tree that has lost its petals, trading them in for florets of a greener variety. It’s pleasant, once he can drown his inner disarray of thoughts. He eventually gets through a sliver of his book, though turning the pages is a little cumbersome, tinged lightly with pain. Perhaps he shouldn’t wait until later to ask her to examine his arm.

Sakura finishes her own book, though she keeps the pressed petal between its pages; she must have gotten through more of it while he was on the way to and from Suna. She just reclines there, after, looking up at the sky with her arms at her sides, near exactly the relaxed pose she used to lie in when they were younger.

Sasuke finishes the passage he’s on, and marks his place with the petal she’d plucked from his hair last week, before pointedly setting the text aside and following her eyes to the azure. Fluffy clouds are floating by as the sun inches closer to the west horizon, pushed steadily by the breeze.

“How is Ichika’s recommendation?” She questions.

“...Interesting.” He genuinely is enjoying reading it, despite his aberration.

Her head angles towards him, lying against a gnarled root at a slightly different angle. Her expression is curious, like she’s encouraging him to elaborate.

“Simple, but heavy with metaphors.” He considers for a second, then adds, “You might like it. Poetic.”

Full lips twist upwards. “Maybe I’ll read it next. Her recommendations are usually pretty apt; she gets a good read on people.”

“...How was yours?”

“Hmm.” She pauses, as if thinking it over. “A girl and her mother who get caught up in some bad luck. They inherit an estate - that’s where the title comes from - and supernatural things start happening. It’s kind of a story within a story situation; the grandmother they inherited the house from was an author, so they start going back and reading her writing for clues.”

“...A mystery.” It seems like she’ll read any genre. Mysteries would probably entertain her; she’s always liked to solve things.

She laughs, music to his ears. “Yeah, I suppose it is. It was pretty good. Well written; better than the last one.”

There is a pause.

“...Maybe I’ll read it next,” he echoes, her same words from earlier.

Green sparkles at him, amused before she shifts back towards the firmament.

“...Sounds like a book club.”

It is the most Sakura joke. He huffs a ghost of a laugh as more gauzy clouds drift idly by. It is peaceful, sitting here underneath the same sky as her, observing in easy silence through branches with fresh emerald buds.

And then Sasuke flexes his forearm, shifting slightly, and it still hurts. He considers; she probably won’t mind.

"...I think Naruto cracked my arm bone," he finally confides.

She turns to him, expression fluctuating immediately into one of disquiet, pink brows knotting closer in concern. He blinks and she's standing already, walking over and sitting cross-legged in the nearest open space, an indent in gnarled roots that she navigated through and found a place in as if it were nothing.

Wordlessly, Sasuke holds it out for her to inspect once she’s seated, and she gently rests her fingertips on his forearm.

"It’s from this morning?” Sakura asks, looking concerned in a way that makes his heart thump a little. Or maybe it’s from her hands encircling his skin.

He nods; she must have deduced that they trained earlier. She prods gently before threading green chakra beneath his skin towards the bone, probing for a break.

She frowns. "Oblique fracture in the ulna, though it's very slight and non-displaced.” Her gaze flicks up to him, and all at once, it’s the exam room again, him hyper aware of how close she is to him even though this is clinician Sakura. “I’ll fix it; you really shouldn't have been carrying anything on it."

It takes him a moment to realize she’s referring to him carrying her books earlier, because he’s thinking about the groceries from the market, which were definitively heavier. Her proximity and the aroma of tart berry and the freckle on her cheekbone are all incredibly distracting. Especially the freckle. He peers at her fingers, glowing verdant, and notices one on the inner portion of her right wrist, too.

"...Sorry." He says finally, flicking his eyes back up to her nervously after a long minute is spent mending marrow back together. She inclines her head back down to his arm, apparently accepting his apology for not mentioning it sooner. It's an odd sensation; he can feel the crack fusing from the inside out, ataractic chakra seeping into the diaphysis to fortify.

He feels like he should clarify, so he adds as she works, eyes fixed on her face which has settled in concentration, “I thought it was just bruised at first.” She nods as if that makes sense, working on it for another minute or so without glancing up.

He hopes she's not mad at him. Sasuke shifts his gaze downwards, something in him sinking.

“Flex it, then bend, please,” she requests, not moving her digits; she must need to feel the arm move to determine if it’s healed. He does as she asks and it’s notedly improved, no lingering pain.

“It’s better. Thank you.” He looks upwards just as she does, hoping the jade will still be soft on charcoal.

It is, startlingly so, and she’s flushing all of a sudden, dropping her hands from his arm and rising to her feet a step away, as if she, too, just realized how close they were. It's different here, daylight and not part of their routine like her entryway is becoming.

“You’re welcome,” she says somewhat hastily, complexion darkening. He’s not sure he’s much better; his neck is warm, and he remembers very specifically where each of her fingers had just been on his skin, like the ten points of contact are singed into his epidermis, and likely his grey matter, too.

As he tries to force his pulse to even out, Sakura adds, softly, “You could have just come in with him.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “...What?”

Sakura blinks, countenance appearing as if she is sorting through a problem in her head. Pink dissolves back to her normal coloring.

“Naruto came in with a slipped back rib, earlier today. I assumed it was from sparring with you.” She rolls her eyes, then. “He went and got groceries before coming in; he had them with him. Luckily nothing chilled; he had to wait for a bit.”

"...He didn't say anything about his rib." Now the slow rising and crouching is making more sense.

She sighs, closing her eyes for a second as if something has become clear, but she only replies, "Ah. Of course."

"...Wouldn’t shut up?"

"...Yeah." She turns away slightly, cheeks stained anew for some reason; it makes him curious what their third teammate babbled to her about. "He said as I was kicking him out that he was going to plant flower bulbs with Hinata this afternoon. He showed me the ones he picked. It’s good timing; the perfect time of year to plant some. Pretty soon it'll be too warm."

He lets those words drizzle slowly into his being, a little gentler than a summer monsoon.

"...Our next Hokage can't pronounce echinacea," he eventually tells her.

She chuckles with mirth, a sweet sound he finds relieving; she must have gathered he was present for that endeavor, now, and she can't be too mad at him if he can still make her laugh. Sasuke inwardly hopes she doesn’t gather that he also got groceries; he doesn’t think she’d be very impressed. It was kind of stupid to do that with a questionable arm, in retrospect.

"No," Sakura acknowledges finally, appearing highly entertained. "And he didn’t know what a perennial was until this morning, yet he’s planting an army of them. Probably without reading the directions."

They look over the village together for a lengthy moment in which he considers text printed on the back of a white package.

Then she says his name, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. "Sasuke-kun.”

He angles to her, and sweet jade is on him again, ebbing seafoam cresting as the late afternoon sunlight hits her.

"Thank you for telling me about your arm. In the future, please come to the hospital, if I'm working. You can wait in my office, if you’d prefer. I don't mind; use the window.” Her expression changes to troubled, and suddenly she is no longer the clinician version of Sakura; everything is tinged with something more, something that burns him in its intensity. “You shouldn’t just… suffer in silence, if something hurts. Even if you think it’s nothing. Please tell me."

Oh. She’s not mad, just worried. Heat grazes his ears, and he swallows, staring down at his forearm.

He wants to be close to her. He really does.

"Okay,” he agrees, and means it, carefully meeting green.

They head down the hill together to seek dinner before the rush hits, deciding to go to the yakitori stand she mentioned when he first returned. She chatters about how Naruto wants to have a bonfire in his backyard, once summer’s here and everything is planted.

“...He’s excited about his yard,” Sasuke comments after they’ve ordered, leaning against the wall of the exterior waiting for their takeout. He requested his without the sauce, since Sakura said it’s on the sweeter side for yakitori.

Sakura grins, and she’s really pretty, shadows of a nearby tree dappling her skin, cheeks still red because he paid. It’s only fair; she’s been feeding him. “Yeah, he is. I’d like to see their flowers and garden in the back, eventually. I’m sure once they’ve got it how they want it, they’ll have all kinds of get-togethers back there. Last year we carved pumpkins at their place, instead of at Ino’s and Sai’s; there’s less mess to clean up if it’s outside. He said today that you should come this year.”

“...What?”

She blinks as if remembering something, then smiles sheepishly. “So I never mentioned this, because it happened after I…” She flushes, and she looks away for a second. “...After I sent a letter for the month already, but Sai learned about this artistic thing they do in the Land of Woods, a couple years ago.” Her gaze shifts back to his. “They hollow out pumpkins and carve designs into them, in late October. Warding off evil spirits as they go into the cooler season or something; they put them on their doorsteps with candles in them so the carvings light up the night. It’s odd, but I think it’s become a tradition now. It’s fun, once you get the hang of it. We roast the seeds with salt and Hinata bakes pumpkin bread.”

That sounds entirely odd and completely characteristic of Sai; he supposes there is the artistic angle to consider. Sasuke passed through the Land of Woods three separate times, but never in the fall. “What kind of designs?”

She smiles as if she’s trying not to laugh; his expression must be that of one who is exceedingly perplexed. He supposes it’s not an expression he wears often. “Well, they’re supposed to be scary, I think, but we don’t really do well at making them that way. They’re more funny or decorative. Sai makes pretty good ones, I guess, mean faces with sharp teeth.”

“...What do you carve?”

Her eyes twinkle. “I tried a leaf, the first year, and a crescent moon the second. Sai and I teamed up to carve one for Kakashi-sensei, too, last year; a scarecrow with a cat.”

A crescent moon is not at all what he would have guessed she’d gravitate towards; he thinks immediately of the Six Paths Yin Seal that once adorned a hand he no longer has. Then he comprehends the final part of that sentence.

“...A cat?”

“Oh. Yeah, he got a cat.”

“...His summons are dogs.”

She giggles. “Yeah, Naruto and I thought it was weird at first, too, but he does kind of seem like he’d be more of a cat person overall, the more we thought about it.” Sakura shrugs. “He’s in the village most of the time now, being Hokage, so I guess he thought he could be around enough to take care of one? They’re more low-maintenance than a dog would be. I usually get tasked with feeding it and changing its litter, when he travels to watch the Chunin and Jonin Exams.”

Momentarily, he wonders if Sakura knows what’s under Kakashi’s mask; their old sensei allowing her into his space in his absence may have given her opportunities for some form of low-key reconnaissance on the matter.

Then his brain seizes on another notion, one that’s far more amusing, because she said she teamed up with Sai, and that can only mean one thing.

“...What does Naruto carve?”

Sakura’s grin widens as if she perceives exactly what thought he’s just had. She probably does; she knows him well. “He’s terrible at it. His never look like anything; just orange mush. He loves it, though, and Hinata puts it on their front step anyway.”

He snorts. Figures.

A bell dings, so they peer back in, and sure enough, their food is ready. Sakura steps forward to collect it, thanking the worker, but as she turns, she pauses.

Sasuke follows her gaze, and sees none other than their third teammate in the street, walking their direction and waving emphatically. He’s wearing a different pair of pants, knees absolutely covered in dirt and grass stains.

“Oi, teme! Sakura-chan!”

Sakura glances up to him before swiveling towards the road, their food in hand; Sasuke trails close behind, pushing apart the hanging banners of the stand as he steps beyond the threshold of the restaurant.

“Naruto,” Sakura greets when they’re out in the open.

“...Dobe.”

“Looks like you’ve planted everything,” Sakura says more than asks, gesturing to his pants as evidence.

“Hehe, yep, all of ‘em! It was work, but it will be worth it, later in the year.” Naruto scratches his head, grinning. Sasuke lets those words sink in, too, drenching dead roots.

“And now you’re getting Hinata yakitori as a treat?” Sakura pushes, seeming incredibly amused.

“Well…” Naruto looks away bashfully, grinning ear to ear. “Yeah. Gotta repay her somehow. She has good ideas. I just follow her lead.” He looks back to them, then. “Did you tell teme about all our awesome plans?”

Sasuke’s focus falls to Sakura, who is flushed, biting her lip in a smile.

“I may have started to.”

“Well, good, because our yard is going to be totally the best, and if he thinks he’s getting out of it...” the dobe points at him accusingly, “Then I’ll kick his ass!”

Sasuke scoffs. “As if you could.”

Sakura shakes her head, pink locks fluttering with the motion. “Always with the physicalities... Anyways, I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.”

An uncommonly stretched pause passes where blue eyes zero in on the food container Sakura is holding, before they travel up to the two of them.

The grin shifts to something remarkably tender.

“...Yeah. I’m sure it will be.” He says it with the utmost confidence, like he is as certain about it as he is about the sun rising tomorrow, and Sasuke gets the sense that he is no longer referring to gardening.

The moment passes, and then Naruto is punching them each on the shoulder respectively and sidestepping away towards the yakitori stand. “Anyways, gotta go, so I’ll catch ya later! I’m guessing you have plans of your own.”

Sasuke blinks as their teammate disappears into the restaurant, ears burning a little. When his vision travels down to his right, Sakura is blushing a dark red. She meets his gaze, smiling sheepishly.

They turn to go to her building. The entire way there, Sasuke considers everything in the beginnings of a green that seems endless, nurtured by people from all walks of life. He has been noticing it this whole time, since his return, but now he's thinking about how dull it would be without it, whether it’s dirt roads or lifeless grey granite. This is not the wilds, where seeds sprout unabated. Here, one must put in the work to grow things, find suitable locations and till the soil.

When they reach Sakura’s apartment, his eye lingers on her plants as he follows her inside. She sets the takeout on the table by her window. A shadow of a leaf from the jasmine above them is cast hazily out of focus on her left cheek.

“Would you like any sauce with yours? I could make some teriyaki sauce quick, or I have lemons I’ll be cutting up anyway for mine.”

“...Lemon?” Citrus complements chicken, he knows, but he understands that to mean she’s planning on putting it on hers, over top of the yakitori sauce.

Her lips curve upwards. “I like it on other things, too. It’s good on yakitori.”

So Sakura slices a lemon and it sits on the center of the table between them as they eat. She drizzles her yakitori with three of them, and he takes the other three. The chicken is pretty good, tart with the citrus and seared alongside green onions. It’s still warm, as it wasn’t a long walk to her place at all, a convenient sort of sustenance.

“...What else do you like lemon on?”

She chews thoughtfully, swallowing before answering. “Hmm, a lot of things. Fish, even ones that are usually served with lime. Pork. I like it on vegetables, too. Salads, pasta, rice. Most desserts that include lemon I like, as well.” She pauses again, and adds, “Lemonade, if it’s homemade.”

No wonder they’re always in her fridge. “...And tea.”

His heart flips at the way she smiles at him.

“...And tea,” she agrees.

They watch the streets fill and empty from her window, finishing the meal in a companionable reticence, smelling faintly of citrus rind and shadowed by greenery from above.

He helps her prepare decaffeinated sencha after, trying not to stare at the freckle on her cheek. He’s pondering this morning further, the notions of impetus and yearning, and also the way she says his name, but this time uttered softly under a cherry blossom tree with an invitation into her office, if something hurts.

Sakura cares about him. A lot. Sasuke knows this, has known for years, but it’s the actions of her affection, the way she expresses it purely and simply as if it’s a true north cascading through her veins, that has inched its way into his bone marrow, engraved on the latibule he carved inwardly to avoid dry swallowing life’s more bitter medicines.

As she stirs sugar and honey into her own cup, she asks, “Care for a chess rematch?”

He doesn’t even have to think about it; he nods his assent. It’s time to test something.

They arrange the board together at her table. The first round, Sasuke cautiously plans every move, surveying alternating squares and attempting to predict what strategy Sakura will employ. In some instances, he mirrors her, moving a rook a turn after she does, shifting a pawn out of imminent danger, and so on. It’s a very involved way to play, requiring attentive calculation of each move.

It’s a prolonged match that he eventually loses with a final sweeping motion of her remaining bishop, but it’s fairly close.

“...Again?”

She grins and wordlessly starts setting up the pieces she has captured, so he begins to set up hers. It’s an interesting task, a message of opposites, her setting up his dark figures and him setting up her light ones.

The second round, he simply follows his instincts, negating planning ahead farther than a couple of turns. If he gets an impulse to shift a pawn one way, he does. If his gut tells him to move the knight into her territory or to retreat a rook, he goes with it.

It drags on for the better part of an hour, and ends in a stalemate.

The smile she gives him is breathtaking, a broad and warmhearted validation.

“You’re good,” she comments, jade eyes dancing with joy. He gets the impression that it is not often she gets forced into a draw. He wonders who else she plays with. It can't be Naruto, but maybe Sai or Ino also play.

“...So are you.” He is somewhat reassured now. His impulses used to be ruinous, stemming from anger and anxiety and loss, but perhaps his journey helped in that regard. He just needs to make sure they're rooted in the right things, whether it be logic or affection, and then the major task becomes to feel rather than to overthink.

When he kisses her good night in her entryway, another movie watched and plans for tomorrow later, he doesn’t reach for the freckle the first time, though his hand twitches with the longing to. It’s treasured, this tender pressing of lips that feels like dipping a toe into still water. It is imbued with both of her hands resting on his shoulders again, ten fingertips that have him in her grip more than she could possibly fathom.

He studies her eyes when he pulls away, staring down into soft depths of viridescence. He will drown in them someday, he thinks, slowly but surely working up the courage to wade into the deep end.

The second time he kisses her, he lets himself graze her cheek to truly appreciate the difference, allowing acknowledgment of the impulse, compelled forward rather than backward as if bound by some metaphorical form of northern star situated on the rise of her cheekbone.

Sakura leans into his touch once more as she did yesterday, but this time, she brings up her own hand and delicately lets her fingertips rest atop the outside of his, as if she encourages the caress, thumb brushing against his knuckle as his lips gently brush hers. Her other hand stays resting on his clavicle, a tender embrace, osculant in a way he has hoped for countless times, inclusive of this morning.

It is exactly what he needed, a catalyst of encouragement comprised of a heat that is gentle, coaxing, but still brands him all the same.

Maybe it's okay to want to skim her freckles and more, to allow the affinities he has to breathe. They’re together now; it stands to reason they'll one day venture into territory more uncharted, if he can concede to that kind of vulnerability. Not that he’s anywhere near ready for that - he’s not - but his instincts don’t appear to be all disastrously calamitous. Touching her cheek is something she clearly welcomes.

Sasuke gave in to darker tendencies once. Perhaps it's okay to give in to lighter ones; nothing grows in the absence of light, after all. He brushes a thumb across the high point of her cheekbone once more with her hand encompassing his before they part, embracing a new habit prior to whispering good night.

The way she smiles up at him, skin aflush and glimmering eyes, is everything.

XXX

He inspects the stone and the soil surrounding it for a long while, heavy-heartedly trying to ignore the encyclopedia of names in favor of envisioning what it would look like with lilies surrounding it. Less lugubrious, probably. The trajectory of the tree’s shadow would touch the stone in the evening, he sees, now that he’s here in person. He only ever haunts this place after nightfall when there's less chance of someone happening upon him. He wishes it was more secluded for that reason; maybe healing happens in the sunshine, and that’s why he still struggles with coming here after so many years, creature of the night that he is.

Evenings with Sakura feel like healing, though, and they linger after hours consistently. Maybe next time he’ll visit his dead kin at twilight, a brittle sort of compromise.

He'll see if the impulse still grips him tomorrow, and then decide. He knows his mother would like them. Itachi would, too, although it never feels like he's here, not the same way that it feels like the rest of them are, the air weighted with an accursed brand of perfume pouring outward in all directions.

White lilies may be able to touch the light in his stead for the time being. Even if they don’t grow, he at least will know he tried, and there is always next year. By then, he may have the capability of asking Sakura if she would help him; she’s clearly a capable gardener, and there should be less sediment, if he puts in the work.

By the time he leaves for his apartment, a thin layer has loosened.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #i said chapter 7 by the end of august and we cut it kind of close but we made it B)

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