#I TRIED TO IMITATE SHOOTING STARS IN HIS EYES | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

themysteriousauthor18 · 25 days

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Human Radioapple, New Orleans Lousiana, 1990’s. Summer. Fair scene.

The rented space is what Alastor expects it to be for a traveling fairground. It's a large flat dirt space. A fence is going around the perimeter of what he assumes is the cut off point of their space. There’s a multitude of shacks setup. Ventures trying to call passing patrons like sirens, both to peer at whatever game they are trying to scam them on. ‘Try your luck, come on, knock the duck down and win a prize.’ One calls. ‘Shoot a basket and you can pick whatever prize you like.’ Another shouts. Alastor nose wrinkles. He hates the shameless way these people make their money off of scamming people. He understands why, everyone has to make a living somehow. But he still hates it.

The three of them are walking through an alley of game tents when Charlie lights up and points at one of the tents. Ah, and so it begins. “Daddy look!” She points, hopping in place. Alastor and Lucifer both look at the tent she’s pointing at. It's one of those sorts of games where you have to fire a rubber bullet at a target and knock it down. But what Charlie is pointing at - or he thinks she’s pointing at? - Is a big fluffy duck prize hanging on the hook.

She turns to her father who is already looking nervously at the game. Ah, he probably knows just as well it's an unlikely win. “Can I try!” Charlie asks her dad, eyes shimmering like stars. She’s jumping in place, her dress and hair bouncing with her.

Lucifer glances at the tent, “okay okay.” He assures her, “let's give it a try.” He takes her hand before she can run off. Because she certainly looks like she’s going to. And there are crowds upon crowds walking past them. Charlie practically drags Lucifer to the tent. Lucifer picks her up halfway through putting her on his shoulders. And weaves his way through the masses of people moving by like a river flowing. Alastor watches, observing how some of those passerbys look at Lucifer and his daughter. How they point and whisper. Some shake their heads, some stare a bit too long. ‘How far he’s fallen.’ He barely catches one passerby before moving on their way.

Alastor quickly joins them, moving between the people himself. It's unpleasant being so close to all these people. Another reason he no longer enjoys going to fairs. Lucifer is already sliding a pill to the stall owner. A gentleman who looks like he’s in his 40’s. He’s scrawny and his facial hair is rough and unkept. He has a ballcap on and his white tank top has sweat stains under his arms. Ew. He takes the money and slides Lucifer exactly 4 rubber bullets.

Alastor watches Lucifer. Charlie is sitting on the metal stool brimming with excitement. Lucifer is bent down and he’s helping her load the rubber bullets into the front of the toy gun. It's meant to be a rifle but it's obviously plastic. A fake imitation of wood. He briefly wonders if the tent owner has ever held a real rifle. He certainly has. Lucifer is whispering something to Charlie, placing the plastic rifle in her hands and positioning it right. He points at the target and continues talking.

She lines up the shot, it's not going to hit. Alastor can already tell. It's too high. But he doesn’t say anything. Charlie fires and sure enough the rubber bullet smacks off the shelf and falls pathetically onto the ground below. She frowns, but to her credit she doesn’t cry. She tries again. Too low. She misses. Too high again. Miss. Too far to the left. Miss.

She’s out of bullets.

Now Charlie deflates a little. Lucifer isn’t surprised, but he frowns with Charlie. He places a hand on her shoulder and offers his daughter a smile. “Hey it's okay, wanna try another game?” It's a soft nudge Alastor recognizes. Lucifer’s subtle way of telling his daughter that they aren’t likely to win this game.

Alastor expects Charlie to scream and cry, to throw a tantrum as most kids would. But she doesn’t much to his surprise. He wonders if it has anything to do with Lucifer possibly parenting her to be more polite, even in defeat. Still the seven year old pouts. But she nods, Alastor doesn’t miss the way her large blue eyes linger on that duck. His own gaze flickers to the tent keeper who doesn’t seem remorseful in the slightest. In fact, he’s lighting up a cigar. How cliche.

Lucifer picks Charlie off the stool and puts her back on his shoulders. They start to walk off before Alastor’s lips twitch up. He walks towards the tent, “hang on Lucifer.” Lucifer pauses, he turns to Alastor who he finds placing his own bill on the counter. The tent keeper looks up at him with bored interest. Lucifer on the other hand raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I’d like a try at this silly little game.”

The tent keeper shrugs, he takes the money and like before gives the 4 rubber bullets. Alastor's smile creeps up his face ever so slightly and it’s wicket. Just wicked enough for the shopkeeper to shutter.

“I didn’t think you like these kinds of things?” Lucifer asks, walking back and standing - a safe distance - from Alastor so he can hold the fake gun.

“I’m not.” Is all he says, and he decides it's more than enough for Lucifer to understand. If he doesn’t he’s simply dense. Alastor picks up the plastic rifle, its light. Very light. Of course because it is plastic. He doubts there’s much else in it aside from the release mechanism and the rest is just for show. He holds it in his hand for a moment, sizing it up. His own rifle is far heavier than this. It feels like a coke bottle in his hands. Alastor hums, placing the rubber bullet in the front. He doesn’t push it too far in. But once it's in he rests the end of the rifle on his shoulder opposed to how Charlie did it earlier. Just holding it haphazardly.

Lucifer observes the gesture, there’s curiosity in his eyes that Alastor doesn’t see. Since he’s staring down the target. He’s closed one eye, and he’s lining up the end of the rifle. The tent keeper watches him, and frowns. Alastor pauses, contemplates the target then aims the rifle up. He pulls the trigger and fires. It's a clean shot and it hits the top of the target and knocks it down. A loud ping rings out. The bullets are only hard rubber and they aren’t strong enough to push the plates down from the middle. Hitting the middle will disperse the impact and make it less powerful.

Charlie cheers and Alastor's smile grows on his own accord. The tent owner sighs and gets up, asking what Alastor wants. He obviously chooses the duck, “you're not gonna shoot the other ones?”

Alastor sets the rifle down. “No need, I have what I want.” He says, taking the large fluffy duck. It's almost bigger than Charlie. He walks over not trying to hide the self satisfied look on his face as he holds out the duck for her. “Here you are dear.”

She grins and snatches it up with eagerness. Lucifer chuckled, “Charlie.”

She stops squeezing the duck long enough to look at Alastor and says, “thank you All a stairs!”

She’s getting a little closer to saying his name right. He’ll take it. “You're welcome dear.” He looks down at Lucifer, whose hair has been messed up by Charlie moving around on his shoulders. The messy appearance isn’t a bad look on him. “Where to next?”

Lucifer huffs, they start walking. To where? He’s not sure, just walking. Charlie is looking around and pointing at various things. Wanting to try this and that, Lucifer tells her they’d try them later. They make their way to the bathrooms when Charlie states she has to use it. Thankfully there’s already a public restroom and no need for porta potties. Yuck. Charlie insists she doesn’t need Lucifer to go in with her and she’s plenty old enough. Alastor personally thinks seven is still too young to be in a public bathroom alone when there are such sickos in the world. But Lucifer trusts her.

So they wait for her, standing under a tree, both thankful for the shade. “You hunt?” Lucifer asks out of the blue.

Alastor glances at him, Lucifer is staring at the bathrooms. “I do.” He affirms, “what gave it away?”

“You handled that toy rifle like you knew what you were doing.” Lucifer says back, “thank you by the way. I know a lot of these games aren’t really winnable.” He pauses, crossing his arms. Something on Lucifer's face sours. “But, I hope you didn’t just do that to up your credit with me.”

Alastor side-eyes him. “I already told you, it's not like that.”

Lucifer hums, he doesn't look like he believes him. That’s fine. It’ll take time, he knows that.

“I didn’t wanna see Charlie upset.” He admits, when Lucifer looks at him he doesn’t look away. He feels those blue eyes staring through him. Inspecting him like a human lie detector.

“Is that so?” Lucifer replies, dryly.

Alastor feels a chill crawl up his spine, but he doesn’t look away. “Yes. And I honestly hated the idea of that scammer getting away with that too.” He shrugs.

Lucifer looks away. He stares at the stalls again but his gaze is far away. He can see the gears turning from here, but he doesn’t quite know what he’s thinking.

“By the way. If you know the games are scams, why waste money on them?”

“Because it's fun.” Lucifer says like it’s obvious. “Plus Charlie likes it.” Ah, yes, everything is for Charlie always. He can respect that. He does. But he wonders if Lucifer enjoys it too.

“I’m surprised you know these games are usually scams.”

“Mm. I went to a fair once when I was little. Super little, like Charlie’s age, maybe a year younger.” He shrugs. “I begged my mom and she took me. But I lost a lot of the games and she told me that's how ‘commonors make their money. They have to scam people to make a living.’” Alastor frowns. Lucifer’s expression seems to sour at the quote too. “So I just went on the rides mainly, still some of the games were fun.”

Alastor hums. “Some of us work hard to live.” Is all he says.

Lucifer doesn’t say anything to it. Not wishing to ruin the mood. Instead he asks, “So what do you hunt exactly? And how long have you been hunting?”

Alastor chuckles, “what is this? An interview?”

Lucifer looks at him, “hey you said if I had any questions to ask you, you wouldn’t mind answering them.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Lucifer nods, Alastor hums. Point taken. Lucifer looks back at the stalls, waiting for his daughter. “Well I hunt deer, - the adults mind you - sometimes I’ll hunt rabbits or other small rodents. But it's usually deer.”

“Do you actually eat it?” He knows Lucifer is just curious but he almost laughs at how he sounds almost disgusted by the thought.

“Yes, I don’t like to waste.” Alastor simply states. “One of my first jobs was a butcher so I learned how to take apart a deer, skin it, gut it and prepare it to be eaten.”

“I thought you worked as a radio host for several years?”

“I took on an afterschool job once I was in highschool.” Alastor explained. He didn’t want to explain further, hoping Lucifer would get it. He must have because Lucifer doesn’t push anymore on that subject.

“As for your other question, I started hunting a little after 15.” After his father left. How else was he to let out so much anger?

“So what does it taste like?” Alastor quizzically looks at him. “Deer.” Lucifer elaborates.

“Divined.” Lucifer blinks at him, surprised. Alastor chuckles in the face, “it tastes like…” he pauses, thinking. Actually it’s been awhile since he’s gone hunting. He should go again soon. “It's like, a rich earthy flavor.”

Lucifer blinks at him, “and what's that supposed to taste like?”

Alastor shakes his head. “Pick up some dirt and you tell me.” He points at the ground. He gets a glare in return for his comment. Lucifer has half a mind to shove Alastor into the dirt. He doesn’t but damn does he want to. “I’m honestly surprised you never had it. Considering your background.”

Lucifer shrugs, “maybe I did and I just don't remember it. But I know I didn’t like a lot of what I had to eat growing up.”

Alastor hums, “well perhaps I will go hunting and cook you some venison.”

“Maybe.” Lucifer mumbles, in thought.

Charlie comes out soon after.

#radioapple #charlie #lucifer hazbin hotel #Alastor #humanAlastor #HumanLucifer #HumanCharlie #radioapple human #fanfiction #writing #reading #hazbin hotel #lucifer

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lostcybertronian · 2 years

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Not sure if you've watched Kollok, if so "mind if I join you" with reader x god of night

Off not same promt with daekstache pls!

I... I know this is a late post. Usually I post earlier in the day. But I was really excited to post this.

Tags: @darkstache-iplier @cookieface678 @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @darkiplurrr @darksaceofshadows @moonysmayhem @xpouii @projectwkm @sororia04s @purple-anxiety-blog @rabbitsartcorner @tried-my-best @chromacryptid @skatle-skootle-demon-noodle

Prompt: “Mind if I join you?”

Nudging aside the heavy curtain, you slipped into the temple with hardly more than the whisper of fabric. You ensured the curtain fell back into place to snuff out any light that might intrude from the adjoining side chamber before proceeding into what you’d come to think of as your sanctuary.

Every wall glimmered black marble, and a ceiling embedded with golden stars arched high above you, nearly as distant and certainly as beautiful as the night sky itself. The only sources of light came from tiny sconces along the walls, candlelight a poor facsimile of starlight.

Your footsteps did not echo across the marble floor, your breaths did not resound. The night was a vacuum; it was silent. And so was the temple hall.

At the far end of the magnificent hall was a magnificent statue. A man, standing atop a plinth. Nestled in the man’s stone curls was a thin crown of gold and in one outstretched hand he held a shooting star. Over his right eye was a pure ruby spiral.

You approached the statue. Knelt at the altar at its feet. Bowed your head and clasped your hands and began praying to your most beloved God of Night.

“Mind if I join you?” A heavy hand fell upon your shoulder, startling you from your divine reverie. You looked up to see the shadowy shape of a man dressed all in black. His wild black curls hung over his eyes, but you could feel the intensity of his stare.

“Why, of course,” you stammered, keeping your voice low, nearly inaudible. “All are welcome in the Temple of Night.”

The man said nothing else. He merely knelt at your side, bowing his head and clasping his hands in a clumsy imitation of you. It was clear he had little experience in the manner of devotion. Still, he kept quiet beside you as you returned to your supplication.

After some time he asked, “Do you do this often?”

You glanced at him, slightly irritated that he continued to interrupt what was supposed to be silent prayer. He was staring at you again, and this time you could just barely glimpse his eyes. They caught the candlelight, gleaming like the polished marble beneath you. They were black. Deep black.

“I come every night,” you said.

The man smiled a small smile. Then he leaned over, closing the distance between you and reaching out with one hand to cup your face. He kissed you. His mouth was warm, his hand was cold. When he withdrew, he was no longer smiling. There was a red spiral around his right eye.

“You are a beloved servant of Night,” he said. Then, “I am pleased with your devotion.”

Now it was your turn to stare, transfixed. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out.

He traced your cheek with one thumb. “Go forth and be blessed.”

All the air fled your lungs as he kissed you again, briefly. It felt like you’d been deprived of oxygen when he once again pulled away.

“Night-” you start, but there was no one there, only empty space.

#god of night x reader #god of night #y/n #kollok #markiplier egos #writersofmark #fanfiction #ego shipping #lostandwandering #my writing #lost writing tag #writing prompts #fluff #first kiss fic #asks #lovely anon

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winter-cheshire-writings · 2 months

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Echoes and Experiments: Chapter 10

Mieko was incredibly busy for weeks. So busy, in fact, that she hadn't seen Albedo the entire time. Between working on her merchandise, leaving for repairs, and doing side jobs for people she knew, there was no downtime at all. She missed him and wasn't sleeping well, the exhaustion starting to show outwardly. “I really can't think without him around…” She sighed as she headed back to Mondstadt from Springvale. However, along the path, she ran into the Traveler. They gave her some troubling news about a possible Imposter Albedo, and though she hid her worry in front of the Traveler, her heart dropped. She was terrified about the possibility of her Albedo not being there when she came back. As soon as the Traveler and Paimon were gone, she went straight to Dragonspine, not even bothering to get her warmer clothes from home. Only one thing was on her mind.

“Albedo… Albedo, please be okay…” She said as she hurried up to his camp, not minding the unusually biting cold. She was too scared for his safety. It didn't feel right. Upon arriving on the path up to camp, she paused. There stood someone who looked exactly like Albedo, but he didn't feel right. Something was off. She stared at him as he walked closer, and she felt her anxiety shoot up. Why?

“Something wrong?” He asked. He sounded just like Albedo, but… what was missing? She looked over every inch of him, trying to figure out what was missing. “Mieko?” No nickname. Something was definitely wrong. Albedo rarely called her by her first name anymore. He came right up to her, placing a hand in front of her. “Why don't you come to the lab? It's cold out.” He said. She couldn't even reply. What was it that was making her anxious? Then she realized it. Where was his mark? He didn't have a star mark on his neck. She took a few steps back, reaching for her weapon, shaking her head.

“You aren't Albedo…” She whispered, immediately slashing at the Imposter, the imitation of her beloved parrying her attack. They got into a fight, Mieko doing her darnedest to fight him off. Mieko fought hard, but the cold was getting to her. She cursed at herself, but she had to find out where her Albedo was. Her weapon was flung from her hand and she gasped as she was pinned to a rock, feeling his gloved hand on her thigh. Even his touch was different, it was rougher and more aggressive compared to Albedo.

“You would be so much better off with me.” He smiled at her. Mieko kicking him off of her and fought for a bit, barely able to land a hit because she was getting so cold. She fell down and she felt the Imposter on top of her. She tried hard to move, but he had her pinned. He began feeling her up, Mieko shutting her eyes and pleading internally for someone to help her. “It's the same, isn't it?” he asked. “It's still his face.” she didn't dignify him with an answer, the imposter's hand sliding up her center to her shirt buttons. “Maybe it'll be better if I leave you for him to find…” he chuckled. Mieko sighed softly, knowing that meant Albedo was still alive. She closed her eyes, hoping this wouldn't take too long. She suddenly felt the weight move off of her rapidly and opened her eyes to see Albedo, her Albedo, kneeling over her. He was bruised and clearly had been through a fight, his clothes had tears in them too.

“Albedo…?” Tears welled up in her eyes as she fought to sit up, shaking but relieved that he had found her.

“Shhh… Mie… It’ll be ok. I’m so, so sorry, Mie… My darling… I’m here.” he soothes, petting her head and kissing her forehead.

“Don't be sorry…” She sat up fully. Albedo glared at his Imposter, handing Mieko her fallen weapon.

“Here. Before he gets back up.” Mieko nodded and managed to stand, the Imposter surprised that she had done so, now not hesitating to leave since he was outnumbered. Albedo moved to give chase, but Mieko stopped him.

“No, it's too dangerous.” She told him. She went with him back to his camp and once there, she nearly collapsed. She was extremely cold to the touch as well. Albedo picked her up, setting her down on his cot. He wrapped his blankets around her and quickly worked on restarting the small fire, building it a bit larger than usual to try and warm her up. “As soon as I'm warm. We're going back to Mondstadt. Inform Jean and the others.” She said softly. “And get you medical attention.” She reached up and cupped his cheek, gently stroking with her thumb.

“Mie…” He nods. “I’ll be ok, the more important thing is getting you warm.” he replies, standing and going to sit on his cot next to her, pulling her into his lap and holding her close, wincing as he aggravates some of his wounds.

“I missed you…” She whispered.

“I missed you too… I’ve not been sleeping without you next to me.”

“Ah, you too?” She asked. “Goodness… we're something, aren't we?” She chuckled. “I love you.” She nuzzled him. “He seemed like he was trying to get me to come to him willingly, the way he was acting…” she said. “Like he was trying to take me from you.”

“It's very likely… I'll explain once we're back home. I need to make sure he won't come back for you.” Albedo said, kissing her forehead.

Once back in the city, Mieko was at home with Albedo, having told Jean and Lisa what happened. Albedo reassured them that he likely wouldn't come down from Dragonspine. But just in case, they promised to be on alert. Mieko sighed as they relaxed in her room, having made sure Albedo was patched up before holding him. “Are you alright? Do you need to eat?” He finally asked, Mieko shaking her head. “Mieko, are you sure? I'm certain you didn't eat, since you went out on that urgent repair. It's already late.”

“I'm fine, Albedo. Please. Don't make me let go right now. Just for a minute, please.” She said, clearly still shaken from what his doppelganger, his predecessor had nearly done to her. He sat in silence with her, his chest feeling tight again. She was clearly frightened, as well as she hid it from Jean and Lisa.

“Ok. Did… Did him touching you like that ruin it for us?” he asks, nuzzling her.

“Ah, no, it didn't… I just… I need to do something for a while that is safe for me, mentally… I need to calm my frayed nerves.” She added, nuzzling him back. “I'm sorry… You must be pent up…” she added. “I am too, but please give me a little while… I promise. I'll make it up to you.” She added. Albedo sat patiently with her, starting to relax as she did. Eventually, he kissed her slowly, Mieko melting against him.

“Is that alright?”

“You don't need to feel bad, you know.” She nuzzled him. “Just you being here with me like this is doing plenty… if you'd like, you can take a bath and rest. I still want to repair the damage to your clothes.” She added.

“You can do that later… I… Right now, I just want to hold you.” He replied, relaxing as she curled up with him. “Mie… My Mie…”

“I'm sorry… I know this must be incredibly taxing for you, to be dealing with me like this…” She said to Albedo later that week. She'd been so shaky since the incident, and any time she and Albedo were separated, she'd look him over when he returned to make sure it was him. She'd woken up crying at least twice, and she had been keeping the shop closed, following Albedo around and keeping close when she could. So long as she could see him, she was fine.

“Why are you apologizing? You were nearly…” Albedo stopped himself, balling his hand into a fist. “I'm the one who should be sorry, Mie. I should have warned you when I told you about my age, and the mark.” he said softly. Mieko stood up and walked over to him, hugging him close to her.

“It wasn't your fault.” She told him.

“You could've died, Mie…” he muttered, playing with her hair to comfort her.

“That was my own fault. I should have gone to get my coat but… Traveler's words… I felt so worried about you, that I just… I just lost all thought…” she tightened her grip on him, taking a deep breath. “Albedo.” she looked up at him. “I would go anywhere with you, do anything for you. What's more, I can't handle the thought of losing you”

“Mie… You shouldn't…” he felt terrible, but knowing she felt that way about him was difficult too. She'd just been put in such danger, and yet still she could say that.

“I'm sorry, but it's far too late for that.” she replied, shaking her head. “Albedo.” she let go of him and took his hand, lifting it to her mouth and kissing the back of it. “Albedo, you have my heart… My soul. I know, to you, this is just an experiment… But, at this point, I'd give up anything and everything to be at your side.” Albedo stared at her.

“Why…? Why devote yourself so fully to me?” he asked, confused. Why did she want him so much? His feelings for her began to bubble up as she spoke.

“I wish I could explain, so you could have the data.” she smiled, tears forming in her eyes. Albedo lifted his other hand to her face, wiping away the tears gently. “I can't though… I have no words to explain, not right now.”

“Then instead of you giving me an explanation… Shall I show you? How that makes me feel?”

“Oh…? If you'd like… What would that entail?” Albedo paused, glancing away before looking at her again.

“It would entail… My being a bit rougher. While we are intimate. But I dont want to scare you.”

“Oh, is that all?” she chuckled dryly. “By all means, then. Show me whatever you like, Albedo.” she smiled, Albedo nodding slowly. “If it's you, Albedo… I'll do anything.”

“Are you sure? You said his touch was rougher than mine.”

“But I know your hands… I know your presence.” She smiled at him. “If it's too much, I'll let you know… But I'm pent up too, Albedo. So, please?”

“I… Yes, my Mie… My darling.”

—

“I didn't expect you to bite me.” Mieko chuckled, Albedo's cheeks red as he sat at the edge of the bed.

“I'm very sorry, Mie… I don't know what came over me.”

“It's fine. I told you, it wasn't painful. Just unexpected.” She rolled on her side, sitting up and draping the blanket over his shoulders, nuzzling against him. “You also left lots and lots of marks. It's a good thing I usually cover up anyway.” She added.

“Still, I'm sorry. After the failed experiment… After what my Brother almost did to you-”

“Shh, Albedo, its okay.” She kissed his cheek and jaw, resting her chin on his shoulder as he relaxed. “There, see? No need to be tense or stressed about it.”

“I left bruises too.” he mumbled, clearly beating himself up about leaving marks on her skin.

“Albedo. It's fine.” She insisted, kissing his ear, causing him to shiver. “Ooh, what a nice response.” She teased, smiling. A small noise of surprise left Albedo as he felt her hands moving under the blanket.

“You… Want to do it again?”

“Only if you want to. I'm alright either way.” She smiled. “But I wouldn't mind… You showing me more of how much you want me… I think I need the reassurance.”

“Oh. Then by all means, please. Let's continue.”

“Oh goodness, how eager.” She chuckled, letting him lay her back down, accepting his kisses before staring up at him. “Have I mentioned before, Albedo, that I love you?”

“I… I believe you have, Mie.” he replied, cheeks red.

“Do you like hearing those words from me?”

“I do, rather ardently.”

“Then, I'll continue using them. Over and over… as much as you want.” She smiled.

“Shall I do the same?”

“If you want to… I don't know if you feel love the same way I do, but… If you wouldn't mind. Just… Every now and again?”

“Do you like hearing it?” Albedo asked.

“I don't know, Albedo. I haven't heard you say it yet.”

“Oh. I suppose not… Then.” He cleared his throat, leaning over to kiss her again, smiling as he felt her hands around his shoulders and her hands tangling in his hair. He pulled back just enough to nuzzle her. “I love you, Mieko…” At that moment, Mieko knew she was in too deep. Just Albedo saying that simple phrase set her heart aflame. She pulled him down on top of her, squeezing him tight. “Shall I… Take that as a “yes?”, Mie?”

“Yeah.” She replied, smiling at him. “Please, again?”

“I love you, Mie.”

“Thank you, Albedo.”

(Taking a break every 10 chapters so I can write the next 10 all together~

I'll be back later~ In the mean time, you might get other content from me, we'll see)

#winter-cheshire-writings #albedo x oc #genshin albedo #genshin impact #genshin impact albedo #genshin oc x canon #oc x canon #mieko - oc #echoes and experiments

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preciousfawn02 · 11 months

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Short snippet of 'Last Words of a Shooting Star' (640 words), I'm probably gonna work on my oneshot drafts for the rest of this month because I'm really busy with my sister's musical😀

Jackson fit Ellie like a hand-me-down.

Ellie didn't talk to anyone but Joel for the first month they were there. When someone would ask her something, she'd frown and tug at Joel's sleeve.

Ellie didn't smile at people. She just stared, her eyebrows furrowed. She'd move away if anyone came near her, eyeing them in case they tried anything. They never did.

Ellie woke up every night screaming. She was always exhausted because she couldn't sleep for more than a couple hours every night. She dreamt of David, of the fireflies, and sometimes of nothing. But even the nothing made her cry for Joel as she wept.

Ellie hated Jackson.

***

“Breakfast is ready, Ellie!” It was Tommy. She didn’t know why he kept coming over. It irritated her. He sounded too much like Joel, and he kept tricking her when he called out. Because it wasn’t Joel, it was Tommy.

She lay silent in her room, hoping if she didn’t answer he would assume she was still asleep. Of course he wouldn’t. This was Tommy.

“Ellie?” He called out, knocking on the door as he opened it. It was pretty stupid of him to knock whilst opening a door, surely that defeats the whole purpose of knocking. She refused to speak, pressing her lips together as he walked over.

“I made you pancakes, Ellie.” He said, crouching down to her size by the bed. She wished she could just punch him to make him go away, but Joel would be angry. She could deal with Tommy for a little bit, for Joel.

“I was sleeping.” She mumbled, pretending to wake up and yawn. Clearly, she was destined for stardom as Tommy smiled, ruffling her hair.

“Get yourself all together, those pancakes ain’t gonna eat themselves.” He told her, before finally leaving her alone. Thank fuck. Tommy was quite stupid in that he never got the hint that Ellie didn’t want to be around him. He just creeped her out.

He was a wax model of Joel. When Tommy spoke, he had a stronger southern accent than Joel. He was shorter than Joel by a good few inches. His hair was longer and darker than Joel’s, too. He looked like a cheap imitation of her favourite person.

She knew if she didn't hurry up, Tommy would just be back more incessant than before. She slipped her socks on, pulling her shirt on over her vest. Even though Tommy knew she was immune, she still hated him seeing the bite mark. It made her feel bare.

The smell of pancakes had wafted through the entire house. It made her feel nauseous. Joel was always weird about her new lack of appetite, despite them both knowing fine well what caused it. It was just typical of her to lose all desire to eat when they actually had access to unlimited food.

Ellie tiptoed down the stairs. She enjoyed sneaking up on Tommy, even more so when she would scare him by yelling. It was one of the few times she was able to fuck with Tommy without being told off. She had tried other ways to make his day slightly worse, but they had always been met with a stern telling-off from Joel.

“Ellie, your pancakes are on the table.” Tommy called out. Damnit, he had noticed her. It must have been the creaky step; it was always catching her out. She slowly walked into the room, keeping her head down. Tommy beamed at her, his own plate positioned across from hers. There was only two plates on the table, and no Joel in sight.

"Where's Joel?" Ellie asked Tommy, her voice harsh and cold. She didn't give too much thought to how she talked to Tommy. She could berate him and shower him in curses for all she cared. But Joel cared, so she watched her tongue.

#tlou #fanfic #this fic is my baby #its so miserable i love it

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lpham2525 · 2 years

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Strawberry Moon (Shirou Ogami x OC)

DEDICATION: This post is for idkatpsworld, per a request to write about Shirou with a moon deity S/O. Hope you enjoy!

“Do you normally recover your strength while perched on the edge of rooftops?” Shirou’s voice rumbled.

Tsukuyomi didn’t turn around. “I’m just…enjoying the view,” the deity said.

“Still, I want you farther away from the edge. Much farther away,” Shirou snarled.

Tsukuyomi glanced at Shirou playfully. “How far away?”

The next moment, Tsukuyomi yelped as they were lifted into the air, the stars blurring into a dizzy array over their head. Then they looked up to see an even more breathtaking sight—Shirou in wolf form, leaping effortlessly through the air. With Tsukuyomi in his arms.

Moments later, the two of them contacted solid ground again, Shirou landing so gracefully that there was barely a jolt as he bent to absorb the impact, the tails of his trench coat snapping as they slapped the air.

"This far away," Shirou growled. However, Tsukuyomi wasn't listening. Now that the deity was looking at him, they found that they couldn’t tear their eyes away. He truly was a magnificent creature.

“Hmmm?” Shirou glanced down at the trembling creature in his arms. Tsukuyomi’s face was flushed in the moonlight, the color creeping up their cheeks contrasting vividly with their skin tone. However, it was the look in their eyes that captivated him. The look so closely mirrored that of Melissa and Jem when they looked at each other. Could it be conveying the same emotion?

Shirou shook himself from that train of thought. He placed the deity on the ground to let them regain their bearings.

The breach in contact broke Tsukuyomi from the spell. The deity didn’t dare look at Shirou again, but said over their shoulder, “Falling wouldn’t have killed me.”

Shirou’s eyes hardened. “All the same, I don’t want you to risk it.”

He sighed, reverting to his human form. “Michiru knows that I’m immortal, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to save me. On multiple occasions.”

Tsukuyomi grinned. “That’s what happens when you care about someone.”

Shirou gave the moon deity a pointed look.

“Oh."

The wolf god lifted the little finger of one hand, pointing it in Tsukuyomi's face. “Promise me you’ll stay away from danger.”

The deity stared. “Is there something wrong with your hand?”

“Michiru told me that humans call it a pinky promise. Here, hold out your hand like this.”

Tsukuyomi imitated Shirou’s gesture. Then Shirou intertwined their pinkies. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Good. Now repeat after me.” Shirou cleared his throat and sang: “Pinky promise, if I lie, I will drink 1,000 needles, and cut my pinky.”

“What?! I’m not singing that.”

“You must. It’s part of the promise.”

“I think Michiru was lying to you about that part.”

“I didn’t learn that last part from Michiru," Shirou stated matter-of-factly. "Besides, if you break your promise, cutting off your pinky will be the least of your concerns," he asserted, a ghost of a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

"I won't do it," Tsukuyomi glowered. They tried wresting their hand back, but the wolf god held tightly, his smile only widening as he watched his companion struggle.

Finally, shoulders sagging, the moon deity gave in. “Fine! Fine.”

Exhaling their frustration, they sang the song and hung their head. “There. Are you happy now?”

Shirou nodded, but didn't let go. Instead, he used their interlaced pinkies to pull the deity forward. When they were only inches apart, Shirou closed his eyes and tilted his head forward, his hair brushing quietly against Tsukuyomi. "Thank you."

I'm the one who is grateful, Tsukuyomi thought, bowing their head.

Overhead, a shooting star streaked across a strawberry moon, illuminating a hushed intimacy that even the most earnest of wishes could never hope to attain.

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seasonofthewicth · 3 years

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nobody does it like you do - act 3

Here is act 3!!! Thank you so much for all of your enthusiasm so far! Hope you enjoy :)

8.6k - masterlist - ao3

Aelin has never really thought of herself as someone with a lot of friends. She’s always had Elide, Aedion and Lysandra, but they almost fall into a separate category. Like what they’ve been through surpasses friendship, and she thinks at this point Elide and Lysandra are as much her family as Aedion.

Throughout her years in the industry she hasn’t made many friends, Chaol and Dorian are probably the only two, but she's learned how things work. It didn't take her long to realise that all the girls she met at auditions, and bonded with over all of the things they had in common, would have stabbed her right in the back at the earliest opportunity.

It's cutthroat, but she can't say she's never succumbed to the temptations.

She’d be lying if she said she’d never pretended she was there to audition for another character just to get the other actress to spill her analysis of the character. She can’t say it was unintentional when she’d leave the audition room and then pretend to take a phone call where she’d discuss how pleased the casting director had been with her take and had promised to call, watching the faces fall of the other hopefuls she waltzed past.

She can’t say she’d never do it again.

That said, she feels like she has a good thing going with Fenrys, Manon and Rowan. They've hung out a couple of times and she likes them admittedly more than she thought she would at first. The dynamic is fast and snappy, funny and sarcastic, and she can feel herself getting back into the old motions.

Aelin knows they’re friends now, and it feels really fucking good, but she has one concern. She’s not entirely sure that what she feels for Rowan can be described as friendship and she’s kicking herself for letting it happen. The physical attraction she can excuse, he looks how he looks and she’s defenseless against that, but the rest? The rest is where she’s really let herself go.

He’s opened up to them a lot more now, and they spend a lot more time together than they did at the start. Just last week she had thrown herself into her seat at the end of a long day of shooting and plunked her feet in his lap. She had expected him to throw them off and growl something at her, but he had simply rested his left hand on her ankle and continued to scroll through his phone with his right.

It had felt far too easy to settle into his touch, and far too enjoyable to have the heat of his skin against her own.

Even so, there’s a level of detachment to his interaction with them. He falls somewhere between bemused dad and despairing lecturer tasked with herding a group of unruly children through a life or death venture. He curses actors all day long but he’s just as dramatic. There are moments when she catches him beginning to smile at a comment from Fenrys or the bickering she and Manon do before he halts himself and seems to rein it back in.

She wants to see him grin.

It’s kind of weird to think back to the first week of shooting and how unsure she felt around them, how insecure she was of her own ability compared to theirs, but by now she’s pretty sure she’s past the worst of that and she doesn’t want to waste any more time doubting herself, at least in comparison to them. It helps when Rowan makes little comments like nice job, Aelin or when she catches the nod he does after she nails a scene, especially when he tries to hide it.

She posted a picture on Instagram of the four of them from set last week, her and Manon crouched at the front wrapped up again in the massive coats they give them on set, their faces almost completely covered by the puffed up collars, and Rowan and Fenrys stood behind them, their arms crossed across their chests and faces twisted into overly dramatic imitations of anger. It had taken some pleading and possible bribery from Fenrys to get Rowan to agree to the pose, but they had succeeded in the end.

She had captioned it so we stole their coats… and tagged each of them, watching as the likes came flooding in. Only seconds later the comments had begun to run a bit wild.

This is going to be so good I can already tell.

fenrys looks so hot fuck me up

ARMS!ARMS!ARMS!ARMS!

Are they dating?

She stopped reading the comments pretty quickly after that.

They’re about a third of the way into shooting, and Aelin knows what she’s accomplished so far is some of her best work. It hasn’t been easy, but she’s put hours and hours of her time into understanding her character and she feels like she truly knows Feyre, and almost sees some of herself in her. There are differences of course, Aelin isn’t quite as naive as Feyre or as forgiving, but they’ve both been dealt a shitty hand, and Aelin likes to think she’s working just as hard as Feyre to pick herself back up.

She finishes the take, and slaps her usual high-five against Fenrys’ palm and sends her regular nod over to Rowan. Good? Her nod asks. Good, his own gesture returns. She tucks her smile away as she begins to wander over to where he’s stood chatting with a producer.

She’s built a habit of going over to him once they finish shooting, she wants to seek him out constantly, and she feels drawn to him in a way that she’s beginning to lose the fight against. She’s about halfway towards him when she spots a tall head of brown hair making its way towards her.

She barely has time to process before there are a pair of strong arms around her waist and she’s being lifted up and swung around, her feet dangling inches above the ground.

“Hello, superstar.” His voice is deep in her ear and she can feel the vibrations where she buries her face into his neck.

“Gods! I thought you weren’t coming for another two weeks.”

She gasps as he places her back down on the ground and she can finally smile up at Chaol. Taking in the chestnut-brown of his hair and the faint creases beginning at the corners of his rich brown eyes. Gods, she’s missed him.

She’s known he’d be visiting the set at some point. The Crescent City is his baby, a script he’s been working on for years, and she knows he couldn’t stomach leaving it all to Rowan without any supervision.

He had first mentioned it to her a few years ago, but back then it was nothing more than an idea. Aelin knew he had been chipping away at it in the background for a while and it wasn’t a surprise when he first sent it to her. It’s different now though, now that there’s a budget and a set and actual progress made in getting it on screen.

It feels like a big deal to her; she can’t imagine how Chaol feels.

She had never dreamed though, through all of their midnight conversations about it and their half-dreaming out loud discussions, that she would be the one to star in it.

Chaol just grins at her, a twinkle in his eyes that she knows means he’s happy, and says “thought I’d surprise you.”

“It’s definitely a surprise.” She leans up to wrap her arms around his neck for a second time. She squeezes him tight and breathes him in, his smell is comforting and it makes her feel young again. “How long are you here for?”

He gives her waist a short squeeze, reminding her that his hands are still resting there with hers still up on his shoulders. It’s not the closest she’s ever been to him, and it doesn’t cross her mind for her touching him so freely to be an issue.

“A couple of days.” He smiles down at her again. “Lunch?”

“Of course, let me change first?” She asks, releasing his shoulders and turning to walk back to her trailer. He holds a hand out, as if to say lead the way.

She sets off as he follows, and she can feel the lightness of the wide smile across her face. It’s a kind of comfort now that Chaol is here, he’s taken care of her for so many years and his presence grounds her in a way she hasn’t really found with many other people.

Rowan still stands with the producer behind where some of the team are tinkering with the filming equipment. His brow is drawn into a frown and the producer standing with him has begun to look profoundly uncomfortable.

The take was good, she knows that, and when he runs a jagged hand over his face a jolt of concern strikes her. He looks anguished, or frustrated, and she wonders how he’s soured so quickly after the silent exchange they shared mere moments ago.

His gaze snaps to hers and it’s a powerful thing. His stare weighs heavily into her, so much so she wants to look away and her steps falter. The stumble is barely perceptible, but she sees it and thinks maybe he does too. There’s something thorny in the pull of his brows and the twist of his mouth and she wants to go over, ease his troubles, but that’s not her place. And Chaol is inches behind her following her lead.

Rowan’s eyes flick to Chaol and his mouth twists further. And not to get ahead of herself yet again, but surely not, right? His gaze switches back to rest on her, only for a second longer before he mouths something short and sharp to the producer and disappears.

Aelin shakes it off. She might think they’re friends, but as has become her mantra, he’s her boss. What she needs is something gentle and simple and uncomplicated. In the real world, everything she wants from Rowan is decidedly complicated.

Sitting opposite Chaol is a place she’s been many times before. More often than not, Dorian would have taken up the mantle at Chaol’s side, the pair of them closer than brothers. They have the kind of relationship she thinks truly cannot exist for people other than the two of them.

The level of understanding they share, the lengths they would go to for each other, it’s unparalleled and she longs to find a bond like that one day.

When she was younger being sat in a position like this, opposite Chaol, so close they could whisper to converse, would have been a dream. She had a bit of an infatuation with him when she first met him; he was a few years older than her, charming, handsome and calming. He had been her entrance to the world she lives in now and he had kept her safe and taken care of her.

She had thought he was everything she wanted.

She had realised pretty quickly, after going in for an ill advised kiss that he had swerved, that that would never be an option for them. He had let her down kindly and gently, which she appreciates now, even if it felt like a blow at the time.

He hadn’t let her pull back from him though, he had kept her close until she eventually got over the embarrassment and was able to look at him without blushing. It’s not something she dwells on now, she was young and naive and she could have done a lot worse than Chaol.

He was who she had gone to when she had met Sam. She had waxed poetic to him about the boy with the curly brown hair and the shy smile. She smiles lightly to herself at the thought of him, what he would make of where she’s at now.

He’d kiss her cheek with his arms around her waist, boasting how his girl, his baby, was a star in the making. She swallows the thought, struck by both the image and the lingering pain it brings, but also by the knowledge that she’s gone a couple of days without thinking of him.

She hasn’t thought of the boy with the brown eyes in a few days, hasn’t woken up screaming in even more. She breathes past the panic that threatens in her throat, both at the idea that she hasn’t thought of Sam for a while and the reasons there could be for that.

“How is the love of my life?” She focuses back on Chaol and watches him try very hard not to choke on his mouthful of his drink.

He had picked the cafe, even though she’s been in Rifthold for a while it is still far more his space than hers, and he knows the hidden gems like this that she isn’t privy to yet. It’s rustic and cosy, the brick walls have colourful bunting draped between them and none of the chairs inside match. She’ll have to come back if the food is good, the atmosphere inside is relaxed and busy enough that she can feel completely anonymous. She doesn’t want to leave, maybe next time she can bring a book.

“My beautiful wife is well,” he manages once he swallows, and she smirks at how he knows exactly what she’s asking. “Almost past the second trimester now, and still refusing to slow down.”

That sounds exactly like Yrene. She says as much and Chaol nods wearing the expression of a man who, if he didn’t love his wife so much, would be tired of chasing after her.

Yrene is a whirlwind of energy and efficiency and it’s why she’s one of Aelin’s favourite people. She’s full of exciting tales and inspiration, that is, when she can get Yrene to slow for a second enough to catch up. She probably doesn’t need her high paced job as a doctor in Rifthold General Hospital, like, Chaol’s scripts are successful, he’s won a number of awards that sit in a special cabinet in their house, but that’s just how Yrene is.

Caring and kind and so, so smart. If Aelin didn’t do what she does, she’d love to be like Yrene.

“Second trimester?” She cries. “He’s almost here!”

Chaol is again at risk of choking. “Aelin, please. I still have a few months left to get ready.”

He looks almost panicked and she scoffs. “Chaol, please.” She mocks his tone perfectly and ignores the eye roll he gives her. “You were born ready. You’ve basically raised me for the past few years and look how well I’m doing.”

He laughs, and she smiles, it’s exactly the reaction she wanted.

“I’m not sure that’s the glowing compliment you think it is,” He says dryly and she just pokes her tongue out at him.

“Chaol,” she begins, seriously this time. “You are already the best dad I know, you’ll be fine. And if not, the baby has Yrene, so he’ll definitely be fine.”

He doesn’t bite on any of it, just looks bashfully to the table cloth and nods. She can’t resist one last comment.

“And even then, he’ll have me and Dorian.”

“Gods, Aelin. The thought will send me to an early grave.”

She tilts her head to the side and sketches a flip of her hair over her shoulder. The combination of her and Dorian and a baby probably would give Chaol a heart attack but she’ll embody her role as the cool aunt, and Dorian can more than handle the cool uncle.

“Do you not want your child to be cool?” She knows he’s barely finding her funny at this point but she’s missed him and she loves winding him up.

He’s saved from having to respond by the arrival of their food. She stares longingly at his burger and greasy side of fries and forces herself to take a mouthful of her wilted salad.

After a few bites she notices his expression, something pinched around the corners of his mouth, and she knows there's something he wants to say.

To say that Chaol is less invested in her sobriety than Aedion and Lysandra would be a lie, but he doesn’t question it as openly as they do, so she doubts what he wants to say is anything to do with that. She’s ordered an orange juice to spice it up, and he has a tap water that he ordered without question so she thinks he mustn’t be concerned.

“What?” She says slowly, whatever it is she wants to know, and the pain of waiting for him to spit it out was almost too much.

He shakes his head and pops another fry into his mouth. She can’t resist stealing one and a swipe of ketchup off his plate.

He begins carefully, after using his napkin to dab at the corner of his mouth. “How is it going? You read the script pretty early on, do you think…”

He trails off, and seems to pause while he considers his words, but she doesn’t need him to finish.

“Chaol, I think it’s going really well,” she says and it’s sincere. “And it’s not just because I’m in it.”

It’s far easier to crack jokes and reassure others than it is to be the one being reassured.

He shoots her an unimpressed look, but she knows her words have done their job. Even through her faults she knows he trusts her judgement.

“I feel like you asked that in a way that meant you thought it wasn’t going well.”

She’s fishing a little, but Chaol is a gossip at heart, even worse than Dorian despite how he’d deny it.

He sees right through her, but relents as he takes another bite of his burger. She stabs another bundle of lettuce, dipping it in a pool of dressing resting in the bottom of her bowl as he swallows and speaks.

“I didn’t think it would go badly, but Fenrys Moonbeam has a bit of a reputation, and I just hope he’s taking it seriously. I put a lot of work into it.” He pauses and Aelin just waits. It doesn’t seem like he’s quite done. “Rowan Whitethorn too. But I think his reputation is a bit different.”

It puts her in a bit of a weird position with a sharp taste in her mouth, wanting to defend her new friends to one of her oldest, but Chaol has to understand that how he sees them isn’t right.

“I don’t think either of them is quite how you think.” She says it gently because she doesn’t want to risk irritating Chaol with this. “Fenrys works really hard, you know. He’s putting a lot of work into understanding Rhys, Rowan too. He puts a lot of thought into what he does, he’s really smart.”

He’s watching her silently, his eyes shining with a question she doesn’t want to answer.

“You’ve written an incredible story Chaol, we all want to do it justice.”

The quirk of his eyebrow is somewhat impressed as he takes her in, but maybe there’s something more in there. Something that catches the difference between the way she talks about Fenrys compared to the way she talks about Rowan.

“I’m glad,” is all he says.

“It’s going well,” she says and truly believes it. “I’ve said it before, but it really is a work of art, Chaol.”

She pauses, her next words thick in her throat. “Thank you… for writing it, I mean. It means a lot to me, and I am honoured to play this part.”

He nods thankfully, and she knows he appreciates the compliment but his response is typical Chaol. Quiet and understated but shining with sincerity.

There’s a moment before the corner of his mouth pulls upwards and she knows he’s just about to turn the game around and tease her now.

“A part of me wishes I hadn’t written so many intimate scenes between them, the thought of you and Fenrys Moonbeam…” He trails off.

She tugs her lips inwards between her teeth, pleading with the blush on her neck not to rise. They haven’t got to those scenes yet, and she’s been avoiding the idea of them. She doesn’t want to think about what she’ll have to do with Fenrys in a couple of weeks.

Fenrys isn’t the problem though, she knows he’ll be professional and respectful. The problem is that Rowan will be there, watching them, watching her, and the idea plays with her in a dangerous way. Everything about Rowan feels dangerous to her, and gods if that isn’t half the draw.

“I know we joked before, but you do know you’re not my father? You’re worse than Aedion,” she laughs.

Chaol just shakes his head, “I’m allowed to look out for you.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, but you’re only, what? Five years older than me?”

“Six. And Rowan Whitethorn is older than me.” The way he says it is noticeable, like he has a point to make.

“He is?”

So she didn’t know that, but it worries her how it doesn’t change things even a little bit. It doesn’t change how attractive he is, or the fact that she should be going nowhere near the idea of the two of them. She needs to call Elide, or her actual therapist.

“Yes, I think he was in the year above me at the Royal.”

She really doesn’t know all that much about him, hadn’t even known he went to the stage school in Adarlan.

What she knows is the fleeting moments she sees of him behind the camera, the expressions he makes when he’s impressed and when he’s not. She knows things like his coffee order, his hatred for the little pastries the catering department provide and how he doesn’t seem to drink alcohol. She knows about Lyria, but it’s from the internet, not him.

She doesn’t know him.

“Oh,” is all she manages.

Chaol eats another fry, watching her the whole time, and she wants him to look away. She has nothing to feel guilty about; they haven’t done anything. She has one, probably inadvisable, crush on her boss that she’ll speak to Elide about and get over. Then the movie will be done and she won’t ever have to see him again.

The dropping sensation in her stomach at the thought is less than desirable.

Chaol stays for a few days. He hangs around on set and sits in her chair while she films. It’s a pleasant kind of relief, tinged with an element of nostalgia, to have him around. He makes her feel like a kid again, and she feels herself looking towards him for approval when she desperately avoids how she wants to do the same to Rowan.

He relents on the second day, after having met Fenrys and Rowan properly, and admits to her that he thinks his baby is probably in good hands. She just says “I told you so,” because she’s a child and annoying Chaol is fun.

She’s sitting in Manon’s chair next to him, and they’re talking about Aedion. He and Chaol have a friendship she likes to pretend doesn’t stem from a mutual concern for her. Chaol is saying something about how he doesn’t envy Aedion’s schedule, but she’s barely listening.

Aelin’s watching where Rowan stands a few feet away. He’s wearing a soft-looking black sweatshirt and jeans, and she can’t help but imagine how it would feel to slip the sweatshirt on herself. How it would still be warm from his body, how the sleeves would trail way past her fingertips, how the smell of him would surround her.

He’s directing Manon, gesturing jaggedly with his hands and she’s nodding along. The shades of their hair almost match, Aelin notices absently, but she prefers the silver shine to Rowan’s compared to the clean-white of Manon’s. Rowan makes a gesture with his right hand and his fingers flex in a rhythmic movement, the elegant lengths of his fingers flowing freely in motion.

She wants to take that hand and put it on herself, she wants to run it down her side and between her thighs. She wants to take his fingers into her mouth and suck.

And like, what the fuck Aelin?

Texting Rowan is, objectively, a bad idea. Not that it’s a bad idea to text a colleague and ask to hang out, it’s just that that isn’t exactly what she wants to get from texting him. So yes; it’s a bad idea, and Aelin knows this, but she’s been thinking of doing it for a couple of days and the desire to do so hasn’t faded. She’s thought about it for long enough that she’s rationalised it, it’s not rash.

Aelin wants to know Rowan.

She taps away at her screen, hi rowan… No. That's not right. Aelin deletes it.

Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to… Nope. Not right either. She bites her lip while she backspaces the string of letters.

She wants to seem casual, so if he’s not into it it’s not awkward. Aelin’s a feminist, but she still doesn’t want to outright ask him out until she’s tested the waters a little more, got a bit of a better read on him and whether he could be into it or not.

She thinks he is, at least a little bit. She knows his eyes linger on her sometimes, sometimes her face, sometimes her arse. She likes it, but whether all he feels is attraction, or whether he feels the same as her is a mystery.

She still hasn’t spoken to Elide about it, but there’s a devil on her shoulder whispering that she’s probably past the point of no return already.

i’m sick of takeout, she types. want to go and grab a bite somewhere???

Aelin taps send before she can overthink it. She can always invite Fenrys to come along too if Rowan doesn’t seem keen on doing something just the two of us.

It’s not long before her phone buzzes with a response. You’re sick of takeout, so you want to go and eat out?

She chews the inside of her cheek, his response doesn’t really give her much. And while it’s not a rejection, it’s not a yes. Maybe her text was stupid, gods, why didn’t she think-

Her phone buzzes again. How about I cook something instead?

Much better. She smiles as she writes her response.

i don’t really want food poisoning :/// my boss might be a bit pissed if i can’t work

The bubble with the three dots pops up immediately, and her thumbs hover over the screen as she waits.

Ha. Ha. He sends, and she can’t fight the little laugh that escapes her as she imagines him rolling his eyes at her. His next text comes through pretty quickly. I’m on board with going out if you want, just thought something more private could be better.

And shit. There are a number of ways she could interpret that. Aelin’s trying not to read into things, things like Rowan saying he wants to go somewhere private with her, he could just be talking about paparazzi. Damn, he probably is just talking about paparazzi.

oh yeah sounds good actually but pls don’t poison me

He just sends a straight faced emoji.

Aelin leans back into her couch as he sends another follow up text.

Do you want to come here?

She could, but he hosted last time. And while she liked the atmosphere at Rowan’s house, she can’t deny that she likes the idea of him here. She likes the idea of seeing Rowan making his way around her kitchen, likes the idea of Rowan sitting opposite her at the end of this couch.

or you could come here????

She bites the corner of her nail as she stares at her screen, waiting for his response to come through.

Sure. I’ll swing by the store to grab some ingredients. How many people am I cooking for?

Aelin pauses, her thumbs hovering above the keyboard.

was thinking 2 but i can invite others if you want

She thinks that’s pretty clear, but it also puts the ball in his court. She’s the most nervous she’s been so far as she waits for his reply, and the three dots pop up before disappearing again. They pop up again, before finally his message comes through.

Don’t. His text reads. I’ll pick up enough for two.

His response is pretty clear too, and she smiles as she sends three thumbs up emojis.

Her apartment isn’t dirty, or even messy, but once she’s locked her phone she’s up and full of nervous energy. It’s probably presumptuous to make sure her bed is made, but she does it anyway. She leaves the leggings and oversized sweater she wears on, it’s casual, she’s chilled out. Or she can at least pretend to be.

She’s doing her last round of the apartment, keeping her eyes peeled for any stray socks or underwear that she could have left anywhere. A blush threatens her cheeks at the thought of Rowan and her underwear, but she forces it down when there’s a sharp knock at the door.

She swings the door open and there he is.

He looks good, as always, but today it’s highlighted by the deep green military-style jacket he has thrown on over his plain white t-shirt. The tan of his skin always looks good against bright white, and the green of his jacket draws out the depths of his green eyes.

“Hey,” she breathes as their eyes meet.

He smiles, a slightly crooked thing, and he just looks even more attractive. “Hey.”

He’s carrying a brown paper bag pressed against his side in his left hand, and she reaches out to take it from him as she steps aside to let him in. He steps in, but resists her grab for the bag, instead wrapping his right arm around her waist to pull her into a brief hug. “Thanks for having me.”

His words take her back to the first time she visited his house. The time with Fenrys and Manon and the football game. The visit with her and Rowan in his kitchen.

She’s nowhere near as stiff with him as she was then and she lets herself relax into the hug.

“I only let you in on the promise of food,” she says into his chest and feels more than hears his reluctant snort of laughter.

Every time they touch she’s struck by how much she likes it. How much she wants more. But then he pulls back, twisting to push her door shut.

“I feel like I should let you know now before we go any further that I can’t cook.”

Rowan only raises a brow.

“Seriously, when I was in college I set off the fire alarm in my residence at least three times.”

“Three times?” His eyes widen in playful disbelief. “What were you making?”

“Well,” she laughs. “The first time I was trying to make Lysandra a birthday cake but then I got distracted and left it in the oven for three hours. The fire department got called but it was not that big of a deal, there wasn’t a fire.”

There’s laughter dancing in his clear green eyes as she regales her tale of youth. She practically beams at the knowledge that she has put it there.

“But our kitchen did smell like smoke for the rest of the year.”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re bad at cooking.” Rowan tilts his head down at her and she realises they’re still standing in her entryway. “That sounds like you don’t pay attention.”

Aelin shrugs at his teasing. “The third time was the worst. I was trying to do that thing where you put vodka in pasta sauce.”

“Gods,” Rowan’s laughing now and she loves the low rumble of the sounds. It pricks the hairs on her arm as the sound washes over her skin.

“There were some flames,” she confesses and he winces.

She didn’t have a completely normal college experience, she was acting part time in very minor roles during her time there but she managed to make some memories in her short time there. After Sam she dropped out and the memories always leave a bittersweet taste in her mouth.

Talking about this with Rowan and laughing at her silly little anecdotes is one of the first times it hasn’t hurt.

“Sucks to be an actor,” he says mockingly with a nod into her apartment as she finally leads him into the kitchen. The apartment she’s staying in is fine, more than fine, it’s actually a really great apartment and she tries to fake a frown through her smile.

Aelin shrugs. “We can’t all be big, household-name directors, living in glamorous mansions, too famous to go out to eat.”

She shoots him an amused look, and Rowan just smirks, tilting his head to the side in a way that exposes the length of his throat.

So maybe this was a fucking dangerous idea.

Inviting Rowan to her apartment had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he’s here, now he’s in her space, looking all… damn him, he looks so fucking good she feels flushed.

She used to think brunettes were her type, Chaol and Sam were both brunette, with tanned skin and brown eyes. Recently though, as much as she wants to resist it, her type has pretty much become Rowan.

Rowan with his silver hair, and green eyes. His low voice with it’s lilting accent from across the sea. His skin is tanned too, but she knows it comes from spending hours outside rather than genetics.

She hasn’t thought seriously about another man since they started filming, or more likely since the moment they met in the hallway.

And if she allows herself to admit it, probably a lot earlier than that.

She shakes herself as he watches her.

Rowan smirks at her as he places the bag on the counter. “We’ll have to try not to set this kitchen on fire.”

She’s perched atop her counter, with one knee crossed over the other, as she watches Rowan unpack the items from the bag. He’s shucked off the jacket by now, and the t-shirt he wears gives her uninterrupted access to the image of his toned arms and the tattoo that swirls down his left side.

She realises a moment too late that he’s asked her a question.

“What?”

She can tell Rowan knows why she didn’t respond, she just hopes it’s not too much for him. From the smirk he wears she thinks maybe not.

“I’m trying to teach you a valuable skill, it may help to pay attention.” She flips him off and revels in the dark flash of a smile he offers. “I asked if you have a frying pan.”

Aelin pulls a face, she hasn’t done a lot of cooking here past the basics like pasta and soup. Her microwave has been a trusty companion.

“I don’t know.” She waves a hand to the cupboards that line the side of the room. “Have a look in there.”

He gives her a look that tells her he’s deciding whether or not he likes her giving him orders, but then he turns to rummage through her cupboards before returning triumphant and waving the silver frying pan in her face.

“So, what are you making for me?” she asks as he finds a chopping board and unloads the hoard of vegetables he brought with himself.

“Veggie burgers,” he states simply, and she knows she pulls a face because he laughs. “Before you complain, they’re good for you. And they’re tasty.”

She still wrinkles her nose at him, unconvinced.

He cocks his head as he pauses his rhythmic chopping of the leafy green vegetable he has on the board. She’s trying desperately hard to make eye contact and not just stare at the motion of his hands, and his arms, and the ink swirling down his skin.

“Didn’t I promise not to poison you? Do you not trust me to take care of you?” Aelin doesn’t think she’s reading into things to hear the flirty tone to his voice.

“I’ll let you know after I’ve tried the burger.”

Rowan shakes his head at her, the ghost of a smile floating across his face as he resumes his chopping. “Ye of little faith.”

Aelin just shrugs, making a show of being sceptical by turning her nose.

“You could always help,” Rowan comments. “Or do you regularly invite guests around expecting them to make you a meal?”

“Tell me what to do, chef.” Aelin holds her hands out, ready for instruction. “I am yours to instruct.”

Rowan nods and reaches back into the bag and pulls out a can, he turns to find a bowl and a fork and places them in front of her. She’s impressed that in under half an hour he knows his way around her kitchen far better than she does.

“Mash these,” he says.

Her disgust isn’t pretend this time and her lip curls. “Mash these beans?”

Rowan nods.

“Mash them?”

“Yes, you do know what that means don’t you?”

Aelin hits him with the fork on the bicep and he laughs again, the sound smooth and rich in her stomach. “Shut up. You’re not convincing me this is going to taste good.”

Even so, she opens the can and is about to tip them into the bowl when Rowan grabs her hand. His fingers are warm and solid where they wrap around her own, and she snaps her eyes to his face at the contact.

“Rinse them first. You warned me and yet I still overestimated your ability in the kitchen.”

He’s smiling slightly, exposing the whites of his teeth, and he’s so close to her face. They’re almost level where she sits on the counter and Aelin swallows. His eyes are bright as he looks at her and she feels her smile grow involuntarily. Something flickers across his face before he clears his throat and steps back letting go of her hand. She misses his touch immediately after it’s gone.

Aelin slides off the bench and turns towards the sink to compose herself, she rinses the beans under the tap and Rowan stays silent while she does.

She turns back and tips them into the bowl and begins to mash as Rowan grates a carrot. Aelin really didn’t know her flat even came with these things.

“This is actually fucking disgusting.”

She’s managed to turn the bean mixture into a grey-ish mush. There’s no way this can taste good, she’s going to struggle even putting it in her mouth without retching.

Rowan snorts. “It’s good for you.”

Aelin wrinkles her nose again, but keeps going. It speaks volumes that she’s willing to trust Rowan on this.

It feels weirdly domestic to be here with him in her kitchen, and they move with an easy kind of synchrony. He adds his chopped vegetables to the bowl and she mixes them together as he readies the pan.

“Up for getting your hands dirty?” Rowan asks her once he’s done, and hell if Aelin doesn’t read far too much into that. The answer is yes.

“Always.” Sue her if she makes sure to look up at him through her lashes, and to bend forwards towards him as she rests her forearms on the kitchen counter.

“Grab a handful of the mixture,” He points to the contents of the bowl. “And shape it into a round patty.”

Aelin goes to put her hand tentatively into the bowl, it’s now a grey-ish mush with flecks of orange and green and she’s dreading it getting under her nails.

“Wait,” Rowan says, and he reaches out to roll the sleeves of her sweater up. It’s such a sweet gesture that it kind of takes her by surprise. The gentleness with which he holds her wrist as he rolls the fabric is nice, and she finds herself watching his face as he does it.

His brows pull together, in an expression she assumes is concentration, as he makes the careful motions. He looks good, she notes, not for the first time.

His thumbs and index fingers move down to squeeze the junction where her wrists meet her hands as he finishes and says, “there you go.”

“Thanks,” she breathes.

Aelin turns back to the bowl, attempting to somehow calm her heart. Rowan really needs to stop touching her if she wants to get over whatever this is. But now that he’s here, and he’s looking at her the way he is, and specifying that he wants to spend time with her, just the two of them…

It’s the first time she allows herself to consider that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t something that’s only dangerous. She finally allows herself to consider the idea that this could be fun, this could be something she could really enjoy. And here, in her apartment just the two of them, he doesn’t have to be her boss. He’s just Rowan and she’s just Aelin.

She really likes that thought.

Rowan clicks the pan on, and the sound startles her out of her head. Aelin hesitates before finally plunging her fingers into the mush and gods, she has some faith in Rowan if she’s going to even consider eating this.

It’s gross, but she manages to shape it into two round patties, and she places them into the pan when Rowan instructs.

Aelin washes her hands as Rowan pays attention to the burgers, and she retakes her seat on the counter after sorting out their plates and condiments. She might not be a great cook, but she can be a good host.

She watches him flip them a couple of times, taking the opportunity to ogle without risk of being caught staring. He has strong arms, and the tattoo snaking down his left makes her mouth water with every flex of his muscles. He has wide hands with long, almost elegant fingers that she wants to link through her own. Aelin is reminded, as he lifts the pan, of the thought she had the other day when he was directing Manon.

It wasn’t the first time she had considered Rowan in a sexual way, but it was the most direct, and she’s not complaining, but sometimes it makes it a little difficult to concentrate in his presence.

Finally, he switches the heat off and turns to place the patties in their buns. Aelin has to admit they look a little better now that they’re cooked, but she’s still not convinced.

He presents her with the plate, wearing a bashful little smile, and she’s taken by how adorable she finds it. He’s actually nervous to hear what she thinks.

She slathers it in ketchup, hoping to make it somewhat palatable and lifts it to her lips, about to take a bite when he speaks.

“We’re eating here?”

Aelin pauses, putting the burger back on her plate. “Where else would we eat?”

Rowan shrugs, still holding his own plate. He doesn’t put any ketchup on his and she’s trying not to be disgusted. She taps the bench next to herself, and Rowan seems to deliberate for a moment before finally hopping up at her side. He towers over her again now that they’re on an even playing field and she likes it. She likes how much bigger he is than her, and likes it even more how she still feels safe with him.

“Okay, now go,” he says, still apprehensive of her reaction, and Aelin makes a big deal of taking a deep breath before her first bite.

She chews it all silently before swallowing, working to keep her expression neutral, and Rowan doesn’t look away from her face the whole time. She purses her lips afterwards, and waits for him to speak.

“So?”

“It’s not terrible,” she admits with a small smile creeping up the sides of her mouth.

Rowan quickly takes his own bite, and she watches the way his fingers dwarf the same bun that fills her hands. He hums his own pleasure.

“Not terrible,” he repeats. “Admit it, it’s good.”

She flips a strand of hair over her shoulder before she takes another bite. She was sceptical -- more than -- when it was still a mush, but she has to admit it’s tasty, and very Rowan. She doesn’t know for sure he’s a health nut, but based on the parts of his body that she’s seen and his distaste for all things sweet, she can guess.

“Maybe,” is all she says before taking another bite. He watches her with a smug smile, one she desperately wants to get rid of. It isn’t helpful that the way she wants to do so is by kissing him.

“Oh!” She jumps down from the counter, throwing her plate to the side, suddenly reminded. “You know what I have that would go perfectly with this?”

She grabs two glasses out of the cupboard and sets them down on the bench in between where she’s been sitting and Rowan. Aelin turns to the fridge before pulling out the small bottle.

Rowan groans, and she tucks the sound to the back of her mind. “Aelin,” he starts. “I don’t want any of that.”

“Come on,” she cries. “A milkshake is an essential with a burger and this is the best I have to offer. If I’d thought ahead I could have at least found a bottle of wine to go with the dinner you cooked for me.”

She’s not entirely sure why she said it, especially when she’s pretty sure she’s deduced that he doesn’t drink, and the reason for it, but it feels like an automatic apology that just slips off her tongue whenever she’s in a setting where alcohol could be a presumption.

Rowan’s expression locks down at her comment and she immediately regrets it.

“Um-” she starts but Rowan clears his throat.

“It’s okay,” he says slowly, avoiding her gaze, “I don’t drink.”

“Oh,” Aelin all but whispers, and it surprises her when Rowan lets out a dark huff of laughter. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m guessing you know why.”

His voice has a somewhat bitter edge to it that she hates.

“I wasn’t-”

She stops when he finally looks up at her and she sees his expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says again quickly and he only shakes his head and pats the counter at his side.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

There’s something in his eyes that makes her retake her seat at his side and pick her burger back up, taking a bite as he takes a breath.

“It’s not something that usually falls into casual dinner conversation.”

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

It’s something she isn’t sure she realised the importance of at first. The offer of whether to share or not. She fights a desperate war inside of herself every time conversations head down a lane like this. The desire to scream her story from the rooftops squaring off against the desperation to remain closed up where no one will ever know what bubbles just below the surface.

Usually privacy wins. Usually she swallows those words down and stays quiet, keeping this reel of pain and loss and tragedy buried deep within, but here with Rowan, tucked away in the kitchen of her temporary home, the words don’t feel so daunting.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s often something that makes other people feel uncomfortable. They pity the guy with the dead fiancée”—Aelin blinks past the way his voice wavers—“but they don’t want to actually hear about it. I’ll spare you the gorey details but after that I couldn’t bring a drink to my lips again. I’ve never so much as considered it — never wanted to.”

There’s an ache beginning in her chest, and she puts her burger back down on her plate. Rowan hasn’t touched his since his first few bites. She desperately wants to comfort him, wants to place a hand on his shoulder and take the pain away any way she can, but she knows from experience that it can’t be done.

This kind of pain, this grief, is something that can’t be taken away. She lives with her grief and her guilt after Sam every day of her life, and she thinks she will forever. No matter how many therapy sessions she goes to, no matter how many days and weeks and months pass, Sam will always be a part of her. Scrawled across her heart in his messy penmanship.

“I understand,” she says quietly. “More than you’d think.”

This is the moment where she could probably finish, where she could twist the conversation back to Rowan and pat his shoulder sympathetically, or where she could tug it to somewhere new and safe.

But she doesn’t often get opportunities like this, in the dim light and the quiet of her flat where the only other sound is the noise coming from the hood above her cooker. She doesn’t often get to talk about this with someone who truly understands.

All of her friends tried in the months after Sam, and gods bless them they still do, but none of them were as close to Sam as she was. They were upset for Aelin and her loss, not at the loss of Sam. And Rowan, who sits next to her staring at the floor, she thinks he could understand.

His gaze lifts from the floor to meet hers as she begins to speak.

“His name was Sam,” she says and Rowan nods.

“I know.”

Aelin feels her breath leave her chest in a whoosh.

“I saw some of the headlines at the time, Aelin I’m so sorry.”

Her jaw works as she tries to find the words, any words, to respond to that. But she’s shaken. She didn’t think anyone knew, or even noticed, outside of her immediate circle. But then she thinks back to the dinner they shared, the way his gaze had burned into her when the conversation had turned to her break. He knows — he has known — and he gets it.

She shakes her head, composing herself enough to speak. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His lips twist as she repeats his words back to him.

She doesn’t mean to say, “I knew about Lyria too,” but Rowan just nods, breaking their gaze to stare down at where their hands lie beside each other with an expression she can’t read.

Aelin knows she shouldn’t, for any number of reasons, but she reaches out to twine their fingers together atop the marble of her countertop. His fingers are rough and calloused between her own but the thumb he rubs against the back of her hand is gentle and reassuring.

He doesn’t speak, but there isn’t anything Aelin feels the need to say. It’s a kindred kind of silence, one borne of more pain than either of them could bear to speak aloud, and there’s an awful feeling of comfort in it. She knows he’s thinking of Lyria the way she’s thinking of Sam. But there is a part of her mind, a part that’s like a rising sun creeping above the horizon to break the shadow of night, that’s thinking of Rowan too.

Eventually she picks her burger back up again, it’s cold now but she can reluctantly admit it doesn’t taste horrendous. Their fingers stay linked as they each eat single-handedly, building themselves back up to sharing short stories and playful quips.

She’s glad she invited him, her boss or not.

#rowaelin #throne of glass #rowaelin fic #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowaelin au #ndilyd #nobody does it like you do

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wonder-womans-ex · 3 years

Text

Make a Promise

“Sirius,” Remus says, rolling onto his side to face the man beside him, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Shoot.” Sirius’s eyes stay focused on the ceiling above, but he smiles warmly.

“Do you—well, you probably don’t remember, but when we lived together, before, in the flat with the piss-yellow walls and the floors that squeaked and the stove that never worked, I had a shoebox. Under the bed. And I never let you look in it.”

Sirius is quiet for a moment, then, “I remember.”

There were three things is the box. And I didn’t want you to see any of them, all for different reasons.”

“Why do I have the feeling you’re about to tell me what they were?” He’s teasing, but his eyes go soft when Remus replies, “Because you know me better than anyone.”

“The first thing,” continues Remus, “The one that took up the most space, was my registry papers. Documents of where I spent every full moon, what classification of werewolf I am, whether I’ve attacked anyone—that sort of thing.

“Then there was a photo from first year. The one Peter took of James, you, and me after our first detention.” Sirius clenches his jaw, and Remus knows he’s thinking of their old friend. “For years, I thought I’d lost it, but then I was cleaning out the attic after my mum died, and there it was. And I kept it. Because in that photo, you’re looking at me like you looked at me after fifth year; like you look at me now. It just... amazes me, I guess, because we were eleven and we’d barely known each other a month, and already there was something there. I used to take it out, sometimes, when you were gone, and remind myself that what we had was real. It was... it was the only photo of you I didn’t burn.”

The silence envelopes them, heavy and painful, until Remus swipes a hand over his eyes. “Oh, fuck, I’m crying.”

“‘S’okay,” Sirius says, “so am I.”

“You know I love you, right? More than anything?”

“I know. I love you, too. Always and forever.”

Somewhere along the way, their fingers have twined together. Sirius, after giving Remus’s hand a reassuring squeeze, asks, “And the third thing?”

“The third thing in the box?”

“Yeah.”

“A box.”

“A box. Inside a box.”

“That’s right.”

“How exciting.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Shut up. What matters is what was inside the box.”

“What was inside the box inside the box?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I try.”

“Do you want to know what was inside the box or don’t you?”

“Please, do tell.” The grin on Sirius’s face still does embarrassing things to Remus’s heart, even after all these years. “How about I show you, instead?” he says.

Sirius nods.

As he leans over to grab his wand from the bedside table, Remus takes a breath. No going back now. He performs a wandless summoning charm, looking anywhere but at Sirius.

“So.” He snatches the box out of the air as it flies towards him. “I bought this our last Hogsmeade weekend of seventh year. And I meant to give it to you right after graduation, and then again when we bought the flat, and again when I found out James was planning on proposing to Lily, but things kept coming up and I kept putting it off, and eventually it was too late. So I’m giving it to you now.”

He stops. His lower lip is trembling. “Hold out your hands and close your eyes.”

Slowly, Remus presses the box into Sirius’s outstretched hands. “You can open your eyes now.”

Sirius does, eyelids fluttering, and his eyes fix onto what he’s now holding. He inhales so sharply it’s almost a gasp. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Probably.” Remus waits to see if Sirius is going to say something else. He doesn’t, so Remus goes on.

“Padfoot,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “you have known me since before I really knew myself. You taught me I matter; I deserve to be loved. You were the first person to find out what I was—what I am—and think no differently because of it. I have tried time and time again to find where I belong, and I never find that the answer is anywhere but with you.

“You are my world, Sirius Black, and it it because of you that I have the confidence to say I am yours. So I ask you, in the house of your awful parents who are probably rolling over in their graves right now... will you marry me?”

Sirius nods, the tears in his eyes spilling over. “Yes. Abso-fucking-lutely yes.”

And now they’re both crying, and they’re kissing each other on the cheek, the forehead, the mouth. Neither of them has ever been happier.

Finally, Remus pulls back, prying Sirius’s fingers back from around the box, “Aren’t you going to look inside?”

For reasons he can’t quite explain, Sirius hold his breath a he opens the lid, deep red velvet contrasting starkly against thin, pale fingers. A smile spreads across his face.

The ring inside glints gold; the four tiny rubies set in the band catch the early morning light. “It’s beautiful,” breathes Sirius, grin lopsided where his lip is between his teeth. “Can you...?”

It takes Remus a moment to realize what his boyfriend—fiancee, he corrects himself with a surge of joy—means. “Yeah,” he manages, taking Sirius’s left hand in both of his own and sliding the ring carefully onto the fourth finger. They stay there, palm to palm, for a long time, trading sweet nothings and gentle, chaste kisses.

“I’ve been imagining how you’d look wearing that ring for nearly seventeen years,” Remus is saying when there’s a sharp knock on the door.

“Breakfast!” Both men look up when Molly’s shout rings down the hallway, neither speaking until she’s moved on to the next door.

“Our first meal as engaged wizards,” Remus says, pulling Sirius to his feet. “C’mon.”

They wait, giggling and smiling at each other, until they’re sure everyone else has gone down, and then they race to to stars, still holding hands. They slide down the banisters, too; it’s like they’re sixteen all over again.

At the first landing, Remus stops to push Sirius against the wall. “We’re getting married,” he murmurs into the kiss, and he feels Sirius smile against his lips.

At the second landing, Sirius brings Remus’s hand to his face, pressing his mouth to each knuckle.

They don’t stop on the third landing, but they do on the stair after it. Sirius almost falls over as he turns, one foot catching himself on the step below.

“Can I take your last name?” His eyes are shining.

Remus says, solemnly, “It would be my honour,” and they laugh again.

The dining room does not go quiet when they enter. They make no grand enterance. Everyone else continues with their noise and clutter until Harry looks up from his game of chess; he nudges Ron, sitting opposite him, and both boys wave.

Sirius glances sideways, catching Remus’s eyes. He raises an eyebrow.

Harry grins when Sirius sits down next to him. “Morning,” he yawns. “Ron’s checked my queen.”

“Good for him.”

Ron opens his mouth to say something, but Sirius never finds out what. With a flick of her wand, Molly has set out the silverware—it’s stainless steel, technically, so it doesn’t hurt Remus—and the plates, steaming with porridge.

“Go on, eat,” she urges loudly, pouring out a cup of tea. “Don’t let it get cold.”

There’s a flurry of movement as everyone claims their place at the table. Remus ends up between Arthur Weasley and Sirius; he has to keep his elbows tucked in so as not to knock over anyone’s morning coffee. Across from him, Tonks is putting her metamorphagus skills to use, her Dumbledore imitation in particular sending Ginny into fits of laughter.

He nearly burns his tongue on the first bite of porridge. Through the pain in his taste buds, he notices it’s quite good, and makes a mental note to compliment Mrs. Weasley on the recipe. Anyone who can make oats and water taste good, he reasons, is worthy of whatever praise falls their way.

To his right, Sirius takes a thoughtful sip of his tea. They catch each other’s eyes and smile.

Glancing around, Sirius sees that everyone is once more engrossed in conversation. Fred Weasley in particular is gesticulating wildly with his spoon, and Sirius has to duck to avoid a flying bit of porridge. Absentmindedly, he twists the ring on his finger around, rubbing his thumb over the four jewels.

His chair almost topples over when he leans back in it, grabbing an antique crystal goblet from the shelf behind him. He takes the sugar tongs from the table, too, and then he stands up.

Even with the ding ding ding of silver on crystal, it takes almost ten seconds for just one person—aside from Remus, of course—to look up. Hermione holds his gaze for a moment before leaning over and whispering something in Ginny’s ear. By the time he’s got everyone’s attention, he’s begun to contemplate sitting back down again.

But, finally, there’s silence, and all twelve pairs of eyes in the room (minus his own, obviously) are on him.

Sirius clears his throat. He resists the urge to climb on top of his chair, because a broken neck would not be a good start to his engagement.

“Good morning!” he announces. “I, uh, I have news. Good news.”

Dear lord, he used to be a lot better at this. From somewhere down the table, there’s a mutter of, “Well, get on with it, then.”

Skipping the rest of the preamble, he allows his face to split into a smile. “We’re getting married.”

There is none of the happy amazement he expected. He receives no applause. What he does receive are slow blinks and confusion written on every face except his own and Remus’s. It’s Molly who eventually says something, and what she says is, “Congratulations! If you don’t mind me asking... who’s the lucky lady?”

Now it’s Sirius’s turn to be confused. “You mean... you didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Bloody hell.” He isn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry. “I thought we made it obvious enough.”

“Well, clearly you didn’t!”

“How much do we need to broadcast it for you to see what’s right in front of you? How often should we hold hands at mealtimes? During Order meetings? Do you want us to take down the silencing charms on the bedroom, too, so you can hear everything we say, everything we—mmph.”

Sirius is cut off when Remus stands up, grabs the back of his head, and smashes their lips together. Between all those times back at Hogwarts, and now this, it seems it truly has become a trend—Remus shutting him up by sticking his tongue in Sirius’s mouth, that is.

They break apart far too soon for Remus’s liking, but they do have an audience, after all. He can imagine without looking the expression on Molly’s face, and his imagination is proved correct when he turns away, sliding his fingers down Sirius’s arm to clasp their hands together. “That should answer your question,” he says before anyone has the chance to pick their jaw up off the floor.

It’s been silent for a while—or, at least, it feels that way; the grandfather clock by the opposite wall shows only thirty seconds have passed—when Sirius realizes they’re still standing. “Excuse us,” he says, and pulls Remus out of the room.

Out in the hallway, they stare at each other for a few moments before bursting out in laughter. “Oh my god, Remus,” Sirius wheezes. “Oh my god. That was fucking incredible.”

Remus covers his eyes with one hand. “It was spur of the moment, okay? Bloody hell, that was—”

“Unbelievably attractive? Absolutely iconic?”

“So embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing for you, maybe. But that right there? That’s why I love you.”

“What, not my dazzling personality?”

Sirius grins, leaning in. “Well, yeah, that too. And your gorgeous golden eyes, and your genius mind, and you smile that always makes me melt inside, and—”

“Okay!” yelps Remus, because he knows Sirius too well. “I get the idea!” His gaze is soft, though, and when Sirius reaches up to cup his cheek in one palm, he leans into the touch.

Eventually, someone—Tonks, or Harry, or one of the Weasleys—will come to find them, demanding explanation. But for now?

It’s just them.

And despite everything—despite who they’ve lost and what they’ve been through—they have each other.

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY REMU #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #remus x sirius #*dude from the princess bride voice* mawwidge #grimmauld place #slight accidental molly weasley bashing #I didn't mean it I swear #cw food mention #cw implied spicy stuff #ig #proofread like once and only barely #so sorry in advance for the typos #again: it's Remus's birthday #good for him

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babyybitchhhwrites · 4 years

Text

Hisoka x Reader 18+

Title: An Unexpected Surprise

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 4445

Warnings: barebacking, cowgirl position, hot tub sex

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24581845

♥♥♥♥

Finding Hisoka waiting for you in your room was not a particularly surprising turn of events. The man had a history of simply letting himself in whenever the mood to do so struck his fancy and, despite not having a keycard to grant him access, you’d never been able to find any evidence to suggest forced entry. His enigmatic response every time you’d asked how he did it had been “It’s magic”. Nothing more. Nothing less. It was infuriating and unnerving in equal measure but you’d since become grudgingly accustomed to these impromptu visits. It seemed to be part and parcel where any acquaintance with him was concerned.

Finding Hisoka naked and waiting for you in the hot tub your room was outfitted with, however, was unexpected. The candles and the scattered rose petals floating in the water with him were especially concerning and you froze in the doorway, trying to process what you were seeing. Nude man. Cheesy romantic setting. The smell of wisteria and jasmine wafting from the burning wicks that were strategically placed on every available surface. If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he was looking to genuinely woo you this evening but you were much too familiar with his twisted inclinations to fall for that trick.

“What are you doing?” You asked suspiciously.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He simpered and submerged one sharp nailed hand under the water before lifting it back up so that the resulting splash echoed off the walls. An errant petal cascaded down into the water again and another plastered itself to the elegant curve of his wrist, looking for all the world like a splotch of blood against pale white skin. The handful of candles floating in the tub shifted against the ripples and slowly drifted in opposite directions as he brought his gaze up to pin you with a pointed leer. “I’ve been waiting for you, love. For some time now, actually. I think I might be starting to prune.”

“Pity.” You murmured, thoroughly distracted. “That doesn’t answer my question though. What’s with all of … this?”

Cocking his head to one side when you gestured vaguely at the bathroom, Hisoka allowed his smile to widen. “Don’t you like it? I was under the impression that most women enjoyed this sort of thing.”

“I don’t.” You shot back, sounding unnecessarily petulant to your own ears.

“Well, I do. Now get in.”

Lifting a brow at the command in his tone, you stood your ground. Hisoka didn’t seem daunted by the look of challenge you were pinning him with though and he merely continued to stare you down with a level of patience that spoke volumes. He was willing to wait as long as it took and he would not be leaving until he got what he wanted. Typical.

You finally gave in with a deeply bothered sigh and reached for the hem of your shirt. “Fine. But I expect an explanation once I’m in there.”

“You know I’m not in the habit of leaving you disappointed.” Hisoka purred as he watched you jerkily disrobe, annoyance with his antics evident in every quick motion.

Saying he was unperturbed by the prickly display would have been an understatement and, realizing that you weren’t going to get anywhere by acting like this, you dropped the pretense altogether. Your shoulders relaxed and you reached back to unclasp your bra, shrugging the straps down the length of your arms. Hisoka’s pointedly dangerous attention zeroing in on your exposed chest made your skin crawl in a way that was as exciting as it was disconcerting. You tried not to pay him any mind though, ignoring the goosebumps that erupted across your body when you slipped your fingers into the waistband of your panties so you could slide them off.

Your nipples tightened and peaked for your audience of one as you straightened back up upon stepping out of them. Being naked in front of this particular man was always an experience, if not because he was quite possibly the most deadly individual taking up residence in Heaven’s Arena then because you never knew what to expect from him. He was capable of any number of atrocities, as violent as he was unpredictable, and here you were, nude as the day you were born. It always left you feeling indescribably vulnerable and defenseless but, in this case at least, he was just as naked as you were.

Somehow, you found that marginally comforting and you stepped over to the hot tub without bothering to try and cover yourself. Such bashful behavior would only serve to amuse Hisoka and give him a reason to tease and bully you, which wasn’t something you usually invited. He’d have his fun with you either way before this night was through so there really wasn’t any reason to give him more ammunition to work with.

“I’m starting to think I should talk to the staff about upping security on my room.” You said, casually offhand as you climbed over the ledge of the tub.

“That won’t stop me, I’m afraid. You’re welcome to give it a try though.”

Shooting him a quick look, you stepped down into the water and couldn’t seem to resist issuing a quiet sound of pleasure when the warmth immediately started seeping into your muscles. It felt much too good for you to cling to your displeasure with his invasive escapades and total lack of respect for personal boundaries. The tantalizingly sweet, relaxing aroma drifting throughout the steamy room also helped and your last remaining reservations were gone before you even realized it.

Humming contentedly when you lowered yourself down to sit, you watched the candles rock around you from the resulting slosh of your added mass to the water. You probably should’ve known better than to trust Hisoka with so many fire hazards in a single space but, so far at least, he hadn’t done anything outwardly distressing enough to warrant panic on your part. Besides breaking and entering his way into your room, that is.

You glanced across the expanse of the tub to find him watching you, a knowing smirk curling his damnably kissable mouth, and you huffed. “Spill it.”

“Whatever could you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. What’s with this lovey dovey atmosphere? It doesn’t suit you.”

He had the nerve to look shocked by that assertion. “How rude! And here I am trying to do something thoughtful for you.”

You pinned him with a wry smile. “I don’t buy that, Hisoka.”

“Good. Because it was bullshit.”

You laughed before you could catch it. That seemed to please him and, drawing a slow breath that made his broad chest puff out, Hisoka gradually leaned forward so that the candles scattered again with the redistribution of his weight in the tub. He was lythe and sleek in the flickering light, all sinewy muscle and unfairly attractive. An entirely different animal with his vibrant red hair down, the signature star and teardrop you were accustomed to seeing absent for once. Your throat cinched as you watched him close the distance between you two but didn’t try to escape; allowing him to brace his hands against the ledge so that your head was bracketed between his arms and you were effectively caged in. Trapped.

“This,” He intoned in a sly, lilting voice. “Is all for me, love. You’re just the lucky girl I’ve decided to share this special night with, that’s all. Don’t you feel honored?”

“What’s the occasion?” You asked thinly, idly wondering if now was a good time to start panicking.

Supple lips parting on a breathy chuckle, Hisoka dipped his face down to brush a fleeting kiss across your mouth. You didn’t make a move to return the gesture, letting him deliver increasingly more demanding pecks to your face before eventually pulling back with a soft, reverberating groan.

“It’s my birthday.”

Your brows shot up in stark surprise, jerking your attention around to look into his face. “Your birthday?” He nodded, once, and you valiantly tried to wrap your head around that information. “You mean to tell me someone actually gave birth to you and you didn’t just … appear one day?”

“What a mean thing to say.” He admonishingly chided, but the glint of amusement reflecting in those ocher eyes suggested that he found such an accusation funny rather than offensive. Rolling his shoulders back in an enticingly slow shrug that made the muscles in his chest flex, Hisoka nudged even closer and you tensed when you found yourself pinned against the side of the tub. “Isn’t there anything else you can think of that might be more appropriate for this situation?”

You thought about that for a moment, trying to pretend like you didn’t notice the spark of pooling heat in your gut. “You’re a Gemini …” You said at last. “I’m not surprised. Actually, that explains a lot.”

Hisoka promptly threw his head back and laughed up at the ceiling. You chanced a tentative smile, finding his good humor tonight a bit suspicious, but then he abruptly shoved himself up against you so hard that water splashed out over the side of the tub and slapped against the tile floor. Mouth opening in shock, you shuddered as he forced his way between your legs until his pelvis was slotted tightly against yours. The unmistakable weight of his cock, already straining hard, settled on your stomach and your hands flew up to blindly sink nails into his biceps.

“Hisoka - !”

“I was expecting to hear ‘happy birthday’, at the very least.” He cooed, peering down at you from just a scant few inches away. “Where are your manners, darling? Hmm?”

Leaning close, he teasingly brushed the tip of his nose along your cheek in a blithe imitation of affectionate nuzzling. You tipped your face up at him and brought your legs around his narrow waist in silent encouragement. It was impossible to deny the dizzying heights of arousal this incredibly dangerous man inspired within you but all he did was laugh, the puff of hot air on your skin making you tremble.

“What a curious little thing you are. One moment you’re acting like you could care less and the next you’re so eager for me to have my way with you.” He paused to nip at your earlobe and the sharp sensation of teeth sinking into delicate flesh caused you to gasp. Mouth curling in a devious smirk, Hisoka pressed his lips against the outer shell of your ear so that his voice was the only thing you could make out over the sound of your own pounding heartbeat. “Do you really expect things to go your way just because you’re willing to submit to me? Is that it?”

You tried to speak but nothing came out. All you could focus on was the hard length resting threateningly against your lower belly, the palpable memories of his cock carving out a space within you inspiring white hot pangs of desire throughout your core. There was a veritable laundry list detailing exactly why engaging with him like this wasn’t a good idea but you still found yourself arching into his touch when Hisoka brushed the rough pad of his thumb over your puckered nipple. You couldn’t escape his gravitational pull even if you’d tried.

“Well?” He prodded, letting the sharp point of a single nail just barely scrape the peak of your breast.

Sucking in a haggard gulp of air, you clung to him even more fervently. “If you want to hear it so bad, I’ll say it.” You managed to croak out.

Hisoka noised a thoughtful hum and drew back, surprising you yet again when he slipped out of your hold in favor of retreating back to his end of the hot tub. “I think I’d rather have you show me.”

You stared in rapt disbelief as he reclined against the side, bracing his elbows along the ledge so that just the tips of those sinfully long fingers dipped into the water. It took a prolonged moment for your cloudy mind to catch up with what was happening but, at last, you grumbled something unkind under your breath before moving after him, much more mindful of the bobbing candles than he’d been.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“I’ve may have heard that once or twice before.” He said with a flippant shrug.

Pursing your lips, you climbed up to straddle his lap. Hisoka offered you a smile that could only be described as condescending, making you scowl even as you reached under the softly rolling surface of the water to find his cock. You gave it a tight squeeze, reveling in the silky skin under your fingers, and his chest hitched at the sensation.

You let out a slow breath through your nose while you pumped him, resigned to your fate. He probably would’ve been content to take the lead as he always did if you’d just told him what he wanted to hear, but it was clear now that he wouldn’t lift a finger to assist until he’d deemed your transgression paid in full. Such bratty behavior was par the course for him though, so not at all surprising, and you angled his cock so you could rub the glans against your clit in tauntingly slow passes.

“Did you want anything else for your birthday?” You ventured quietly.

“No. Just you.”

You cocked a brow at that but the cryptic grin Hisoka fixed you with seemed to imply that was all the explanation you were going to get. As much as you knew better than to unquestioningly trust the things that came out of his mouth, there really wasn’t much you could do to argue the point and you grudgingly left it at that.

Using your fingertips to guide the hard length of him to your entrance, you started to sink down. The bulbous head dipped into the flesh of your labia, forcing the meaty lips to spread for him, and you sucked in a faltering breath to steady yourself. The lack of meaningful prep added onto the resistance of the water made penetration a slow going process but you basked in the searing burn. He breached your body one torturous fraction at a time, the pressure just this side of painful, until the glans finally popped through the first barrier. You stilled above him, giving your body a chance to adjust before bearing down on him again with an unbidden moan that seemed to claw its way up your throat.

Hisoka responded with his own rumbling noise of pleasure and you choked on a disgruntled squawk when he lifted his hips to force himself another inch or so inside. You swayed above him, reaching out with both hands to grab onto his shoulders when the tension in your loins doubled and threatened to bowl you over. The stretch was exquisite, blurring the line of pleasure and discomfort so thoroughly that you weren’t sure which side you were on anymore. It hardly seemed to matter though and, biting your lip in concentration, you pushed down until he was sheathed within you halfway to the base.

You had to stop and regroup then, taking several long blinks to clear the starbursts from your eyes. Hisoka shifted underneath you, making your pussy ache and flutter around him, but he didn’t try to force you to take the rest of his cock just yet. Instead, he nonchalantly brought one of his hands around to idly tweak your nipple and you gasped. Brows furrowing, you tucked your chin down to watch him pinch the sensitive nub between thumb and forefinger before giving it a playful tug. White hot static raced down your spine, making your cunt ooze more sticky slick, and you eagerly arched against him with a low sound of wanting.

“Are you making those pretty noises just for me, love?”

Groaning deep in the back of your throat, you haltingly pivoted your hips - up, down, up and down - to loosen your passage and coat him in more arousal. When you started to lower yourself again just a brief moment later, the penetration came easier and Hisoka’s cock slipped against your inner walls until you were fully seated on his lap. You tossed your head back, sighing in pleasure, and he took that opportunity to approvingly squeeze your breast in a tight grip.

“Look at you.” He breathed. “So lovely when you’re enjoying yourself on my cock like this.”

“Hisoka …” You whimpered and rocked against him, the gentle slosh of the water echoing in your ears.

“Tell me how it feels. Tell me just how much you love being stretched and filled up.”

Screwing your eyes shut, you leaned into the sturdy muscle mass underneath you and linked your arms around his neck. “I love it … you always feel so good when you’re inside me. I can feel every bump and vein. Every time you even twitch it drives me wild. It’s like your cock was made specifically to fit me.”

Hisoka chuckled and nuzzled into your hair. “Maybe it was.”

You rolled your eyes at that, safely out of his line of sight with your chin docked over his shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind your lack of response though and when you pushed up so that he drug against your clinging cunt until just the head remained wedged inside your body, he issued a pleased groan. You sunk down again in shuddering slow motion, acutely aware of every inch of him that entered you. It was thick and heavy, pushing up on that dense cluster of nerves just right to make your breath come a little harder. A little faster. Nails sinking into his skin, you started bouncing on his cock at a subdued pace while trying to be mindful of the water level but it quickly became apparent that this wasn’t going to be enough to satisfy you.

It was hard and fast that you needed to get off and you knew the same applied to him. The two of you had gone through the motions with each other enough times in the past to recognize what would make the cut and what wouldn’t. This slow, gentle tempo was decidedly not it and you hissed in frustration as you started bouncing with more enthusiasm. Just as you’d expected, the water churned around your heaving body and it didn’t take long at all for you to catch the sound of it splashing over the edge to hit the floor below. The thought of getting billed for any incurring cleanup costs flitted through your mind, and you were sure it wouldn’t be cheap in a place like Heaven’s Arena, but then Hisoka was working a hickey into the side of your neck and you promptly forgot all about it.

“Oooh … shit …!”

Slyly humming his agreement, he threaded fingers through your hair and pulled it aside, nails catching your scalp in the process. You hissed at the lingering pain and obediently tilted your head, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat to him. Hisoka’s mouth immediately descended upon the pounding pulse point laid bare to him, sucking and nipping at the spot until it was minutely throbbing in time with your heartbeat. Another juvenile hickey for you to hide in the coming days, you were sure, but it was hard to be annoyed with him for that when his cock felt like it was tickling your cervix on every downward thrust. The sheer force at which you were driving down onto him seemed to punch the oxygen right out of your lungs, making you suck in one ragged gulp of air after another. You tried to pace yourself over the next few minutes but it quickly became too much and you finally had no choice but to slow to a stop and try to find your bearings again.

Having him sitting hot and heavy inside you was too much to ignore though and you weakly ground down on him with twitching hips. Hisoka’s response was to moan right into your ear in an undulating, rising pitch that went straight to your cunt. It fluttered and clamped down around him, a warning tremor rippling through your body, and you wheezed.

It still wasn’t enough.

“Hisoka …” You mewled, pressing your face into his shoulder. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

He issued a thoughtful sound and pressed a deceptively chaste kiss to the mark he’d worked into your neck. “How unfortunate. Though I might be persuaded to help if you say the magic words ...”

Knowing it wasn’t ‘please’ he wanted to hear, you scoffed. He could be such a spoiled brat sometimes. “Fine. Happy birthday. I hope you enjoy many more.”

The way he laughed made his cock twitch inside your pussy and you jerked, starting to pant more vigorously. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Although it didn’t exactly sound convincing coming out of your mouth, I suppose I’m willing to accept it.”

You were about to tell him to shove it when Hisoka abruptly brought both arms around your back and pinned you flush to the front of him. It made your breasts squish against the firm expanse of his chest, the electrifying jolt of friction to your nipples sending fresh waves of pleasure shooting down your back. Sucking in a faltering inhale, you allowed your head to loll to the side where it was pressed up on his shoulder and you clutched at him all the more fervently, bracing for what would come next.

Even when you were expecting it, Hisoka managed to catch you off guard when he flexed up off the bottom of the tub and drove into you with enough force to have you shrieking in delight. Your whole body shook against his and you instinctively tried to push away with your knees, attempting to escape the blinding pressure he was exerting on your pulsing cunt. His hold on you was as good as iron though and you couldn’t find a reprieve, helplessly ragdolling in his arms as he started up a brutal pace that had water violently sloshing out over the sides of the tub. You probably would have been horrified by how much of the floor was soaked if you’d had the wherewithal to care about that sort of thing while you were getting your brains mercilessly fucked out but you were too far gone to give it more than a passing thought.

“Hii - Hiso - ka!”

The thin chuckle that filtered over you was enough to make you claw at his shoulders, his back. Any part of him you could reach. You barely had enough time to draw a single, ragged breath before he was slamming back home and knocking you senseless again, your guts quaking under the intensity of his thrusts. The pressure inside you swelled almost nauseatingly fast, indescribably better than your own attempt at getting off which seemed pitiful in comparison to this. Hisoka was a force to be reckoned with in and out of the ring, and the strength in his slim build was never more apparent than when he was pounding into your cunt hard enough to make it throb.

Uncontrollably shaking, you blindly dropped your hands from his scratched up back in favor of holding on to the edge of the tub in a white knuckled grip. You tried to use it as leverage to push your body upward and lessen the intensity of his hips driving into you, but it was useless. Hisoka merely tightened his arms around your back and forcibly yanked you down to meet the punishing thrusts tit for tat. You wailed, unable to do anything except sit there and take it while the rapidly mounting tension in your loins continued to build higher and higher, leaving you swaying dazedly in his grasp.

“Ooh! God!”

“Is this what you needed, darling? A nice hard fuck to get you off? Hm?”

Hisoka, unsurprisingly, didn’t have the grace to sound so much as a little out of breath and you wanted to hate him for that even as you threw your head back, eyes rolling in your skull. The reverberating clap of skin on skin was practically deafening and the sticky wet squelch of your pussy sloppily sucking him in deep on every jolting thrust only added to the lewd cacophony filling the space of the bathroom. It was overwhelming in the best possible way, indescribably more satisfying than anything else you’d experienced before, and you twisted in his arms like something wild. Something possessed.

“I can feel that pretty little pussy of yours squeezing me like a vice grip.” Hisoka groaned, sultry and unbearably heavy. “Are you about to cum for me?”

You sucked in a sharp breath, held it, and the coil snapped. Every inch of your body rattled as if you’d been electrocuted, the full brunt of orgasm slamming into you like a sack of bricks. You went ramrod stiff against him and screamed out your pleasure as he fucked you right through it, the pace of his thrusts not faltering for so much as a second. Hisoka enthusiastically moaned underneath you each time your palpitating cunt squeezed down around him, sounding like some wanton whore, but you were no better yourself. The two of you made quite the pair.

Your throat was raw and scratchy by the time you finally started to come down some moments later one convulsing tremor at a time. It was only when you began whimpering in high strung, oversensitized distress that he slowed down, though he didn’t stop altogether. Hisoka’s cock was sliding easily in and out of your thrumming cunt now and you could feel what a churning mess he’d made of you with every taunting push of his hips, the goopy consistency making embarrassingly loud sucking noises. Seething, you put shaking hands on his chest and pushed back to look at him imploringly.

“Hisokaaa …” You mewled, breath hitching when he brushed against the dense cluster of pulsating nerves from a different angle in this position.

“Don’t tell me you’re ready to tap out already.” He purred and hungrily licked his lips. “That was only round one and it is my birthday, you know. That means you have to keep going until I’m satisfied.”

You issued a frazzled groan into the statically charged air, deciding once and for all that this man was going to be the death of you. The fleeting thought that you’d die happy, at least, didn’t serve as much of a comfort.

#hisoka morow #hisoka x reader #hunter x hunter #self insert bullshit #my wriitng #hisoka

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rainbowbutterfrosting · 3 years

Text

The Revived - Chapter 22: Preparations

This is chapter 22 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @dramaticsnakes and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur

Word count: 3,093

Cw: pain, brief loneliness, implied derealization

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Wilbur was somewhat thankful that the early morning interaction had been disheveled enough, for Wilbur not to have been asked to leave. It was kind of funny really, that even though Wilbur had been caught trespassing where he shouldn’t, the young boy had been far too distracted to kick him out. Far too confused and awkward. It seemed to be a general trend whenever Ranboo was talking to him.

Though perhaps Wilbur couldn’t act as if he was above that awkwardness, as he hadn’t even gotten around to asking exactly what kind of party it was. He assumed however, for natural reasons, that if it was a party for a toddler, presents for said toddler would be involved. Regardless, Wilbur didn’t think giving a present to a child would be looked down upon in any case. If anything, it might repair what he previously damaged. Even if it was an infinitesimal amount, it could still help.

“Oh oh oh! What should we get him?” Ghostbur asked excitedly, “What does he like? Red, gold, nether things, books…” He chuckled as he jokingly added, “Us! We could wrap ourselves in a present.”

Wilbur chuckled despite himself. “We could,” he said with a smile, feeling a bit of exhaustion dragging at him, but finding it easier and easier to ignore. “Let’s see if there’s anything we can use in these chests.”

Wilbur rummaged through them for a while, only managing to find four gold ingots that could perhaps interest the child. He briskly crafted them into a pair of gold boots that he figured would suit Michael’s size. He narrated the action to Ghostbur as he did it.

“They’re like rubber boots!” Ghostbur had commented excitedly.

“Mhm.”

“Oh, I have an idea!”

“Shoot,” a smile lingered in his voice as he grabbed a dark gray satchel nearby. It was light-weight and durable. Perfect for a gift or two. He carefully put the golden boots inside it as Ghostbur rambled on cheerfully.

“So, hear me out. I’ve got the best idea ever in the whole universe. We should make him a card! He can hold and look at it, and you can be nice in it too!”

Wilbur walked downstairs, grabbing some sugar cane from the farm as he quickly pressed it into paper. A quill sat nearby as he picked it up. “Alright, so a simple message…” Wilbur’s voice trailed off.

“Okay, how about, ‘Oh, Michael, you are the most amazing person to exist and I hope you continue existing forever.’”

Wilbur looked into the air as if he was on The Office. “Or we could go with something more general.”

“I gotcha! We can do ‘You are the most amazing person to exist and you are so cool that I hope you continue existing forever.’”

“First of all, I thought I said more general, not less.”

“I did make it more general! I removed Michael’s name from it.”

Wilbur facepalmed gently so it wouldn’t hurt Ghostbur. “I meant for it to be less… emotional? I don’t think that’s the right word, but I want the card to be neutral.”

Ghostbur hummed in agreement. “Okay. We can say ‘I feel neutral about your existence, but I do agree that you chose to exist at this current time, and by the way, you are also very cool.’”

Wilbur sighed, “I’ll take over the writing.” He narrated the words on the paper, “Dear Michael, The world will be at your feet someday! But for now, it's just these gold boots.” A smile slipped on his face at the words replaying in his mind in company with Ghostbur’s noises of approval.

“Oh can we do a drawing at the bottom? Michael likes drawings.”

Wilbur nodded, “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Ghostbur excitedly squealed, “Can we- oh my, I have so many good ideas.”

Wilbur chuckled, pleased to hear the ghost being his typical self again. “I can start with drawing Michael?”

Ghostbur clapped, “Yeah! And- and holding hands with him?”

“Sure, just give me one second.” He might have been a leader of a nation and a general for many soldiers, but Wilbur certainly was not an artist. He tried genuinely drawing a face, only for him to scratch it out and get a new paper out and transfer his original message onto it. Instead, he imitated Michael’s drawing style- stick figures.

He drew playful lines across the bottom of the paper. He eventually formed a small stick person with little pig ears, a big smile, and black boots. He would have colored them, but he didn’t want to risk Michael eating the paper as he did just days ago.

Next to Michael, he drew a slightly bigger person. Curly hair at the top and a rough trenchcoat around the body. He hesitantly finished the picture with a small smile on his own face. It felt a bit silly to draw like that. To be making a card for a child after everything, drawing handholding and smiles. Yet Ghostbur’s excitement was strangely infectious. It was sort of relieving in a sense, even if Wilbur wasn’t the type to fall for such bright positivity.

“Alright, the drawings are finished.”

He was about to fold the paper into his pocket when Ghostbur called out, “Wait, did you put any stars on there?”

“No?”

“What kind of drawing is it if there’s no stars?!”

Wilbur sighed quietly as he quickly scribbled some stars in the corners. “Alright, I’m putting it away now-”

“Wait! Did you sign it?”

Wilbur furrowed his brow, “I’m giving it to him. He knows it’s from me.”

Ghostbur pleaded, “But cards always look better if they’re signed. Just a quick, ‘Love, Wilbur and Ghostbur’ makes the card a thousand times better! No- a billion!”

Wilbur sighed as he remained frozen in place before the words settled in. His mind easily processed the ridiculous request, but not the fact that Ghostbur wanted to be signed on the card too. Wilbur should have probably assumed it, but the idea didn’t fully settle with him. “Alright.” The words were quiet as he quickly wrote down, ‘Sincerely, Uncle Wilbur’.

"Is there anything else I need to add?"

"Hmm, I don't think so."

Wilbur gently placed the card in the satchel as he quickly ran up to see the clock once more, but he slightly frowned to see the hour hand still lingering between the four and five. He brushed it off though. He could easily occupy himself anyway. His eyes glazed over the books on the table before he internally groaned at the thought of hitting the books once again.

He walked over to the table, placing the satchel onto it, before grabbing one of the books before Ghostbur spoke, "Oh, we're reading again?" His voice sounded slightly dismayed.

Wilbur shook his head, "Nah, I'm just putting away some books." Ghostbur made a pleased sound as Wilbur quietly pushed the leather-bound book back into its spot.

He sighed quietly at the odd silence of the room. He focused on the ticking of the clock. It

was a nice sound to focus on. It was a constant reminder he was still alive. Even if he wasn't

the happiest in his position, he was alive.

An alive man that was going to attend a toddler's party with a homemade card that had poorly drawn stickmen inside.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, as he finished putting some of the books away. Most of them held no useful information anyhow, and perhaps leaving them out would appear suspicious, should Tubbo return.

He wondered for a brief moment if Ranboo intended on telling Tubbo about Wilbur’s presence in the bunker. He imagined Tubbo insisting on having a talk as soon as Wilbur arrived. Prime, Wilbur despised talks. He just hoped the awkwardness of the interaction, and Ranboo’s apparent secrecy, was enough for Ranboo to leave it out.

Wilbur walked downstairs, finding that his leg had almost healed during his days in the bunker. He was going to harvest some watermelon, simply to pass the time. As he was about to do so, his eyes fell upon something dusty, peeking out of a chest he hadn’t bothered looking much at before. He knew what it was. He closed his eyes momentarily, to get a hold of his thoughts, before walking to the chest, and taking out a dusty mirror.

He rubbed the shiny end of it with his sleeve. The mirror was still vaguely cloudy, but it still showed him nonetheless. Well- not exactly him, but rather his body. The man who stared back was nearly unrecognizable with gray bruises scattered along his face that easily complemented the bags under his eyes.

Complement was a rather strong word as all of his features seemed off-putting to him. His greasy hair hung close to his pale-ish skin. He squished his face with one of his hands, truly making sure that his reflection was his own. Of course, the mirror version moved along with him, but he strangely wished it didn’t.

His mind drifted back to his encounter with Ranboo. Had they really intended on inviting Wilbur to the party in the first place? Or had that been done out of pity?

The only good thing about his reflection was that he couldn’t see the burns along his chin anymore. He touched it gently, finding the skin to be a little softer than before.

He automatically put the mirror down as he headed towards the shower that laid in the bunker. He stopped two steps away as Ghostbur chimed in, “What time is it over there?”

“Oh… I don’t know.” He was pulled out of his thoughts quite easily as he stayed frozen in place.

Confusion laced Ghostbur’s voice, “You can’t check?”

Wilbur shut his eyes tightly for a moment before taking a sharp breath, “I could, but I have to ask you something.”

Wilbur despised the cheeriness in Ghostbur’s response. “Ask away!”

Images of Wilbur’s face flashed through his own mind as he hesitantly asked, “Alright, Ghostie, there’s not an easy way to bring this up.” Ghostbur hummed in acknowledgement, not wanting to interrupt Wilbur. Despite Wilbur not wanting to continue on, he forced the words out of him, “So- do you know what a shower is?”

“Yeah! It’s one of those plants on the ground with pretty petals.”

A dry chuckle left Wilbur, “No, that’s a flower.”

“Oh. Is it what Tubbo uses in baking?”

Wilbur sighed this time, “No, that’s wheat flour.” As Ghostbur was about to give another guess, Wilbur cut him off, “I’ll just tell you.”

Ghostbur sounded slightly dismayed at his refused answers, “Alright.”

“Alright. Alright,” the words were quiet in his mind as he forced himself back on track. “A shower is something people do to get clean. They use soap and… water to do this.”

“Aww, I was about to guess that too.”

“Right.” It was now or never. “I think I need to take a shower.”

“Okay!”

Wilbur furrowed his brow, “You’re… okay with me taking a shower? You know it’s going to require water, right?”

Ghostbur’s breath hitched at the realization. “Ah. I thought you meant soap or water.”

Wilbur exhaled, the tension flowing through his body. “Yeah.”

“So why do you need to take one? I know people in general do it, but you can explain to him that water hurts me.”

Wilbur shook his head, “He can’t know about you.”

Child-like curiosity filled Ghostbur’s voice, but it was slightly dimmer than what it should have been, “Why?”

Wilbur pursed his lips. It was too risky to describe in words. With how little trust Tubbo had in Wilbur, it would most likely foil their plans of Ghostbur’s escape. The suspicion and worry in Tubbo’s eyes wouldn’t temporarily go away at a joke. There wouldn’t be a moment alone with his thoughts as everyone whispered about the mind of his. They wouldn’t say anything bad either, just harsh truths that hurt more than he’d like to imagine. The truths he thought he could escape by finishing his unfinished symphony.

Wilbur’s failed nation transitioned to a mind that couldn’t go a day without the desperate need to talk to someone again. The need for someone to reassure him he was alive and he wasn’t imagining something in the train station again. He was quite imaginative in there. He made fantasy worlds with so many new people, but at the end of the day, he imagined Tommy by his side laughing or cooking breakfast with Tubbo again.

On the rougher days, he would imagine Fundy there. Sometimes he talked about his problems to him, only to cry harder when he remembered his son wasn’t actually there. Or he would imagine Niki running a hand through his hair, telling him all the things he needed. He’d been without that real warm touch for thirteen years that holding himself made a shaky sob leave. It had been pathetic of him to imagine such things, but the silence got to you after a few years, after he had spent a long time growing bitter. No one could see him anyway, so maybe it hadn’t counted at all, as he thought about those potential blissful moments.

The moments he never got. Perhaps he was still at the train station after all, the slight buzz of the lights being the only noise he could hear. No one laughed with him when he came back. The most he got was a dry chuckle that he happened to witness. There was no one to hold or listen to him. Not a single person smiled at his return. He was alone in the train station he thought he escaped days ago.

Tears blurred his vision as he wrapped his arms around himself. He pushed his body against a wall as he slid down it. The gray wall that accompanied the gray floors and flickering fluorescent lights. The tunnel that didn’t stop seemed to stop his mind. It blocked him in every direction that led to happiness before his murmuring thoughts entered.

It took a moment to realize it wasn’t his thoughts, but rather an echoy version of them. “Wilbur? Is everything okay?”

Wilbur swallowed back a cry. “Yeah,” his voice shook for a moment as he tried to breathe normally. “Sorry I spaced out for a second.” There wasn’t a train station. He wasn’t back there. He was in the bunker. “What were you saying?”

Ghostbur quietly answered, “Nothing. Oh- earlier you said you wanted to take a shower?”

The words brought Wilbur back to a more tangible reality. “Right…” he said with a nod, pushing himself up from the ground, his posture wavering slightly. He swallowed something in his throat. “Are you… Are you okay with that?” he quickly added, “I’ll make it as brisk as I can I promise! It’ll mostly be to wash my hair, and to look and smell just a little more presentable.”

Ghostbur had very little reason to trust him. Wilbur was incredibly aware of that at this point, his promises losing all meaning at his forgetfulness, or plain dishonesty. “Of course. Just- Just don’t take too long please.”

“I won’t,” Wilbur said. “I promise,” he repeated, trying to add as much weight to the words as he could. Engrave them, so his mind wouldn’t drift away from it. To keep his mind from drifting away in general.

Gently he put his clothes aside, placing the familiar old trenchcoat and blouse in a little pile. He had associated the outfit with himself for so long, that looking at it apart from him, was almost surreal. Slowly, he walked into the shower. He put the temperature to be as cold as he could, unsure if there would even be hot water in a bunker like this. It would serve as a good reminder that he should make this quick. “I am going to turn it on now. It’ll… It’ll probably reach my entire body.”

“Okay…” Ghostbur said. Wilbur caught himself missing the excitement from when they were making the card together. Frivolous.

He placed his hand on the shower knob and turned it, careful not to let his hand too much under the water. It proved to be a rather needless endeavor though, as his face and body were immediately drenched in cold water. He immediately shivered from the feeling as he felt his movements become jittery and robotic. He heard hurried breaths from his mind, and whimpers of pain, though it was surprisingly silent this time around.

Wilbur let his hand through his hair, massaging his scalp. He grasped some soap next to the shower, and mixed some into his hair and on his body, quickly using the water to wash it off. His heart was beating fast, as he rushed to turn the knob once more, some soap still lingering on a few strands of hair. He bolted to the other side of the room, to dry all the remaining water off with a towel, almost as if the uncomfortably cold water was burning him too. The second he could no longer find a drop he let out a few breaths. “There we go. Done.”

Ghostbur took a moment before he replied, his own breathing calming down as well. “Okay… Okay, that’s good! T-thank you.”

Wilbur cringed slightly at the gratitude, not entirely certain what he was being thanked for. “Of course,” he said quietly, his breathing quite obvious and echo-y in the empty room. He suddenly realized that he missed the ticking of the clock. He shook his head, and put on his clothes again, unsure if the warmth they brought was comfort or something that settled heavier in his chest. He didn’t have time to dwell on it.

He walked out of the room, grabbing the satchel with Michael’s present in it. He glanced at the clock once more, finding that it was only around 5:30am. He stood in the middle of the bunker for a good minute, closing his eyes tightly, and holding on to the sound of the clock. When he opened his eyes once more, they settled on the potions he brewed over the past few days. There weren’t many, but they comforted him nonetheless. He absent-mindedly packed three strength potions into the satchel, perhaps planning on giving some to Tubbo and Ranboo as a gift.

Then, with determined steps he started walking towards the exit. It felt as if a weight was slightly lifted as he walked out the bunker, though he had grown so used to the weight that he wasn’t sure if that was comforting to him or not. Once he found himself in Pogtopia, he decided to focus on the ground beneath his feet, rather than the buttons lining the walls.

When the sun reached Wilbur’s face, the rays seemed to make his vision less blurry in a sense. The darkness that was so welcoming before, and still called to him, was shoved away in favor of the sunrise.

He remembered right then, when he had declared the first sunrise he saw when he returned, his sunrise. A reminder of life, and opportunity. He stared at the bright sky for a little while. Gently, he placed the satchel on the ground, the glass bottles quietly clinging against each other, and sat down in the grass next to it. He breathed the air into his lungs, as his shoulders untensed. He watched the sunrise intently, as he waited for the party to approach.

#wilbur soot #wilbur angst #revivedbur #revivebur angst #ghostbur #ghostbur angst #dream smp #dsmp #dream smp fic

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aslitheryprinx · 3 years

Note

For your Shooting Stars AU, have you given descriptions of the alien species on the ship? maybe the main crew members if there are too many. Also! I know humans are the smallest (soon to be known) intelligent species but can you give an average height chart of the other species on the ship (plus human for reference)?

:O you're right, I haven't given descriptions yet! I definitely have them though :D

Some of them are actually the same kind of alien, so I'll do them in groups. The name of the alien species aren't set yet, but it's what I'm calling them for now.

Faunians: Tubbo, Dream, Puffy.

- these are aliens that look sort of like a cross between goat and sheep hybrids. They're actually one of the few sentient mammal type species. They have a wooly fur instead of hair, and have goat like legs with hooves, like a Faun would. Their hands are also hooflike, although they have four separate fingers and are able to grab things. They all have horns, goat type noses, and square pupils. Their teeth are also different, basically being a mouth entirely full of molars. (Puffy and Dream are actually related. Though Tubbo is the same species as them, he's not related.)

Phantoms: Wilbur

- more of an insect type alien, with most of their torso having an exoskeleton. Their limbs are slightly translucent, and they have a wispy hair like substance on their head that functions like antennae. They're nocturnal, and have sharp, needlelike teeth. Their eyes are completely black, and they don't have ears, they hear by sensing vibrations with their antenna/hair. They have a tail for balance that has flaps on the end that look like the wings of a minecraft phantom. Their hands and feet are tipped with sharp claws.

Shifters: Quackity, Slimecicle

- shifters are exactly what they sound like. They're sort of a globular mess of very unstable cells in their regular form. They can change their shape to imitate pretty much any life form, although they can't mimic size or any more specialized characteristics like better night vision or speed. Just the basic form. Quackity tends to hang out in a form that's a cross between faunian and phantom. (ironically, he looks the closest to human of the bunch.) Slime tries, but he's usually very goopy, and only his face is consistently solid.

Creepers: Sam

- creepers are plant based aliens. Sam has a mouth, but he actually photosynthesizes to eat. If creepers get too agitated, they produce a flammable gas from their bodies. This causes occasional explosions. Creepers have six limbs, two pairs to walk on, and one pair as arms. Their bodies are mostly a mottled mossy green.

Totems: Foolish

- totems were once a sea dwelling species, and they are still fully capable of living in the water, although they aren't as built for swimming as they used to be. Their bodies are very solid and dense, with only their heads having water dwelling characteristics. Their heads aside from their faces are shark like, but their faces look like totems. They still have sharp teeth, similar to a sharks, but less jagged more curving. They have two pairs of eyes, one on the side of their head on the shark part and one on the front of their faces. They have tails that look very aquatic, but aren't enough to make them super fast swimmers. They can breathe underwater, but aren't very good swimmers.

And an extra one:

Demons: Badboyhalo

- Bad isn't technically part of the crew, but he might come up later in the story, so I'll add him. Demons are the largest aliens, the tallest up to nearly 160 feet. Their entire bodies are coated in a fine black fur, and they have three pairs of eyes, each for something different. (one for movement, one for color and detail, one for heat vision.) They have two pairs of arms, a double tail, and horns.

Now onto heights!

I'll basically just be going from tallest to shortest lol.

Aliens

---------

Bad: 152 ft

Foolish: 143 ft

Sam: 140 ft

Wilbur: 132 ft

Dream: 121 ft

Tubbo: 118 ft

Puffy: 113 ft

Quackity/Slime: ??? Their heights fluctuate depending on what form they're taking. They're usually around the same height range, it just depends on how much of their mass is being used where. Quackity tends to hang around Tubbo's height, and Slime fluctuates anywhere from Foolish to Puffy's height.

Humans

-----------

Ranboo: 6'6

Techno: 6'2

Tommy: 6'0

Phil: 5'11

For comparisons, if Wilbur were human sized, Ranboo would be about 4 inches to him and Phil would be a little over 3.

So far, the smallest recognized sentient life are fox hybrid type creatures that I just now thought of and don't have a name for yet. (Fundy, essentially.)

Their size ranges from about 70-85 feet. Fundy would be about 80 ft, which in comparison to Wilbur again, is about 3'8".

So humans are the smallest by a long shot. The fox aliens were considered unusually small for sentient life already. It doesn't even cross Wilbur or Tubbo's minds at first that the humans could be sentient.

#mcyt g/t #mcyt giant/tiny #shooting stars au #aslitheryanswers #dsmp giant/tiny #dsmp g/t #dream smp g/t #mcyt gt

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villainsandvictimsalliance · 3 years

Note

You know that thing with the edgy bad boy who has a cigarette sticking out of his mouth, only it's been censored into a lollipop because geez Japan has entirely different opinions on children's TV to the West?

What if it was a beansprout. Like. You think Mister Edgyman is smoking but no, it's a literal beansprout because he's been bullied into eating healthily but that doesn't mean he can't be dark and edgy while he runs to his nearest objective wHAT DO YOU MEAN IT LOOKS CUTE? WHAT POKEMON? I KNOW IT HAS A LEAF ON IT BUT THAT DOESN'T MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A PANDA-

Or, alternatively, there was no bullying and they're just Like That. Munch munch. Wait, is that a whole bag sticking out of your pocket-

THIS SCREAMS FARMER DABI EVERYWHERE. SO HEAR ME OUT:

Bored Dabi pouting with his beansprout while resting his back on a tree, the leaves casting tiny shadows and points of light on his body. Him wearing a dark overall and a straw hat.

He peacefully rides on a horse in the late afternoon until someone tries to steal from him and no no, what the fuck those bitches think they're doing.

He swears like his life depends on it.

He doesn't suffer from movement sickness when his riding his horse by some weird miracle. Apparently he only gets sick if it's man-made and big enough to be a mortal trap made of metal.

He shoots fire from his finger guns but his aim is shitty, so what he does is try to mark the idiots. And then he calls his friends.

If stupid thieves are not troubling him, he likes to take naps beside the river, talk with his cows and chickens and go visit the man on the center of the town that repairs electronics.

Dabi is good at repairing normal stuff but he's at total lost when it comes to TVs, radios, fridges and that stuff. So Jin Bubaigawara is almost every week on his house repairing old stuff.

JIN LIKES TO IMITATE DABI AND HIS BEANSPROUT BUT DABI GETS ANGRY AKDHBDKD.

Jin also thinks the new boy in town, the Shigaraki Tomura kid that's from the city, is totally in love with that ridiculous beansprout.

Dabi calls it bullshit.

Jin says Dabi is almost blind anyway, so what would he know.

And that's how Jin leaves on his pick-up truck laughing while Dabi goes to talk with his cows.

There's this girl that lives down the road, Toga Himiko, that helps him with the vegetables and fruits. They go to sell those together on the market every Sunday. An old pal of both, a man called Giran, gave them those houses to live in and the money to start their farms, in exchange of a feed every month.

Toga lives with a man that's around Jin's age, Sako Atsuhiro. He likes to parent both Toga and Dabi and they let him because he's more of a peaceful uncle, doing the legal parts of their lives and leaving them to the rural work.

There's the lady that manages the tractor around, called miss Magne, and the local man who runs errands but wants to go to college on the city, Iguchi Shuichi aka Spinner.

And of course there's Shigaraki, that Dabi knows because the boy has delicate skin and it's always taking meds for his allergies. Dabi knows from his weeks of observing him from afar that Shigaraki is the stubborn type. He graduated from college and came to the fields to prove his father or whatever that he could live on his own.

Nah... It's not working.

So you can see Dabi smirking with the beansprout on his lips every time he gets close and rises his eyebrows to offer his help.

Shigaraki tells him to have some manners and eat the beansprout already. Dabi does so and then takes another from his pocket. Shigaraki gets annoyed and they start bickering and bantering like a married couple.

Oh boy but whenever Shigaraki tries to imitate Dabi with his beansprout, the ends up blushing a little. Dabi once caught Shigaraki doing that and felt like he was falling of his horse. Two blushing messes across the festival trying to avoid each other.

Some time after Dabi is watching the stars late at night with Tomura on the barn. He's feeling brave, so he takes one beansprout from his pocket and puts it on Tomura's hand. His hearth is beating from the touch of fingers with fingers and then Tomura, without even looking at him, takes the beansprout to his lips.

Dabi feels like Toga looks when she dreams out loud of secret balls and dancing in golden fields to the rhythm of flutes and violins.

One day, some dudes were picking a fight with Jin. Apparently they were the assholes who wanted to buy the town and build a city complex over there.

They were taller and bulkier, but Dabi did his best to fight them with Jin. One of the guys punched him in the face enough to almost broke down his teeth. He blacked out and woke up on a car. He searched for a beansprout but only found blood. He fainted again.

Later, on the hospital, he was told Tomura and Iguchi were the ones who found them in time to watch Dabi hit the ground, the bloody beansprout beside him.

Apparently Tomura told Iguchi to take Dabi and Jin to the hospital and he stayed behind. No one knows what Tomura did, but the guys disappeared from the town. Tomura got a broken leg and arm, but people rumored he walked down the main road with a sadistic expression afterwards.

Dabi got out the next day. Tomura went to pick him. He got Dabi's hat and the beansprout on his lips, smirking. When Dabi got close enough, he gave him the hat.

But it was Dabi who reach for the beansprout on Tomura's lip, took it and put it on his own lips, fixing his hat over his eyes because the sun was too shiny.

“To this day I don't know which movie you watch that gave you that ridiculous idea”

Dabi slept all the way back home and when he arrived, he invited Tomura in to help him with the meds and all of that.

Dabi cooked, Tomura fixed his fridge.

“It was not a movie.”

“Uh.”

What a situation. He had never watched Tomura sweating so much. His black shirt sticks to his chest and stomach and his jeans were dusty, faded, full of grease. Somehow, the past month Tomura has gotten bigger, with more muscle, his hair growing in length and going cotton white.

“It was not a movie. I have a delicate stomach, this helps me with it.”

Tomura, having finished the fridge, closes the door to find Dabi looking at him with a beer on his hand, blue eyes big and crystal, black hair sticking to his forehead. It's hot and humid on that house, and Dabi's shirt, cut short and transparent, doesn't help. Neither does the jeans he's wearing, but Tomura finds easy to breath and focus when he thinks about the bandages all over that body.

“That's a stupid reason.”

That's the only thing he can say. They laugh, Tomura drinks from his own beer, Dabi guides him to the bathroom for them to clean the cuts and replace the bandages.

It's silent between them, but the world outside comes alive with the sounds of bugs and animals and the wind over the trees and the grass.

At some point, Dabi falls asleep while Tomura is still working, so he needs to carry him to his bed.

And somehow, because Tomura is also tired and Dabi looks soft and his mind screams him to lay down, they end up cuddling 'til the early morning.

And if this was a fanfic, I would title it “The Secret of the Beansprout ”

The end.

...

OKAY SORRY FOR FALLING FOR THE SHIGADABI AGENDA BUT I GOT CARRIED WAY. BYE.

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splendidly-secret-sick-fics · 3 years

Note

Ooo! What about Kuroo feeling really unwell during training camp while training with Bokuto, Akaashi, Tsukki, Hinata and Lev? He's probably felt bad for a while, but just suffered through. So when everything becomes too much, a panicking Hinata runs to get Kenma... and you can decide the rest.

Only if you're comfortable with writing it though! Have a nice day!

Leaders Don’t Cry: a Kuroo sickfic

Pairing: sick Kuroo, caretakers Kenma, Tsukki, Bokuto, Akaashi, kinda Hinata & Lev

Word Count: 4,266

Warnings: vomit, swearing, slight emetophobia, and sad Kuroo :(

———————————————————

Thanks for the request friend :) I’ve only ever written Kuroo & Kenma as side characters, so this was kinda fun!!

I’m not super super happy with the overall product, but that’s alright. I do feel like maybe it’s not super cohesive? Idk. Let me know!! I look forward to improving my characterization of Kuroo and Kenma.

———————————————————-

Kuroo was a Leader. He was someone that others looked up to. Someone you could depend on.

Leaders were extroverts though, and Kuroo had to admit he did his best Recharging alone in his room or the quiet company of the Kenma. That’s an Introvert Thing, apparently. Even when he was young, too many people or too much social interaction drained him. Another Introvert Thing.

When he met Kenma and started playing volleyball, it seemed he naturally outgrew his Introvert Model, shedding his shy, intimidated outer-self. It was easily replaced with the Extrovert Model.

Now, Kuroo liked being surrounded by his team and his friends and he liked meeting new people. That’s an Extrovert Thing. So Kuroo was an Extrovert.

(“That makes you an Introverted Extrovert, Kuro,” Kenma told him one day. Kuroo didn’t understand how that could possibly be a thing.)

As an Extrovert, it was only natural that he became the captain of his volleyball team his third year. It was only natural that he was the Bridge between Karasuno and the Tokyo powerhouse schools.

(Kenma claimed, when the two of them were alone at least, that it was really his friendship with Chibi-Chan and their coaches that did that. Kuroo refused to concede this point.)

As the Leader and Bridge, it was again only natural that not only his team, but also other teams’ players were drawn to his wisdom and sparkling personality.

(“You forced yourself on them,” Kenma sighed.)

And that’s how he, Kuroo Tetsuro, Certified Extroverted Leader, came to be in Gym Three, long after their main practice ended with two of Karasuno’s first years, Bokuto, Akaashi, and Lev.

And that’s also how he ended up in the Worst Possible Situation.

It went down like this.

They were at another training camp with the Fukurodani Group and Regular Guests, Karasuno High. It was a short one, thrown together quickly because of the long weekend.

After much convincing (read: coercion) from him and Bokuto, Tsukishima Kei agreed to join them again for blocking practice. They pushed because Kuroo couldn’t stand to watch this kid’s talent waste away and Bokuto was personally offended that Tsukki still didn’t seem to enjoy volleyball.

It should have come as no surprise that Karasuno’s Hinata Shoyo joined in again, determined to redeem himself from his previous loss at the last camp.

And then because Haiba Lev decided that Chibi-chan and him were rivals, he joined in too.

(Akaashi claimed he had no choice but to join. It was either endless practice or endless Dejected Bokuto. Kuroo thinks he’s just masochistic.)

Their first night was awesome. He saw a fire ignited in Tsukki and got to smash Bokuto’s spikes back in his face. Plus, his ego was boosted because the three first years were all wowed by his skill.

Tonight, however, was not great. If he was honest with himself, things were bad from the second he woke up, and promptly wanted to curl back into his futon.

His head hurt and his body ached. The sounds of his team waking up and getting ready for the day set his nerves on edge the second he heard them. He felt overcrowded and overstimulated and he wasn’t even out of bed yet.

It had all the signs of a Recharge Alone Day, but it was the last full day of a training camp in which he was supposed to be a Leader. So, he pushed that all aside and got up to go lead.

As the day progressed, Kuroo gave more and more thought to Kenma’s “Introverted Extrovert” theory. He still loved his team and wanted to be around them. He did want to participate in the games and hang out with the other teams.

He also so so very badly wanted to sit in the dark for the next several hours.

Kuroo’s headache only grew more insistent as the day went on, likely due to the sounds of squeaking shoes, bouncing volleyballs, and the too warm summer heat. He got increasingly more fidgety and nervous all day and it made him uncomfortable in his own skin. That, added to the already ever-present soreness of his limbs only served to make him more miserable.

But he was the Captain, so he shoved those feelings down, ignored his headache, and tried to act as normal as possible. For the most part, his plan worked and no one bothered him about what might be wrong. Kenma was the only one that eyed him suspiciously every time his Extrovert facade slipped a little. At the end of the regular practice, his best friend approached him slowly.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet as usual.

“Kenma! What’s up, dude?” Kuroo forced, trying to maintain his usual Extrovert Mode.

“Cut the crap, Kuro,” Kenma sighed, blunt and exhausted as usual.

“Kenma, what are you—“

“Are you sick?”

The question caught Kuroo off guard. Was he sick? He thought it was just an Introvert Day that he had to push through. Maybe Kenma had a point though? It wasn’t like he normally felt this drained during a training camp. That usually came after the camp ended.

“No,” he eventually replied and waved his hand, “nah. Just tired. I think practicing with the guys at night took more of my energy than usual.” That must be it. He didn’t usually have to put out that much energy after practice. Lev, Hinata, and Bokuto were all True Extroverts, after all. Unlike Kuroo, who just molded himself into one. It made sense.

Kenma studied him with wide eyes before relenting and saying “Don’t push yourself, Kuro.”

“I won’t, don’t worry. I am a little tired though so maybe I’ll forgo evening prac—“

“Kuroo-san!” Hinata ran up to them, “are we practicing again today?? I want you to show me that cool wha-BAM block again!!” He jumped up and slammed his hands down, most likely trying to imitate exactly what he was trying to convey. All the loud explanation did was call attention back to his headache.

“Shoyo, Kuro was actually just saying that he was—“

“On my way to look for you Chib-chan!” Kuroo interrupted. Kenma narrowed his eyes at him, but Kuroo couldn’t deny the little red headed twerp.

“Let’s go grab something to eat and then we’ll round up the others.”

Hinata looked at him with those stupid starry eyes and nodded before running off to pester Tsukishima. Kuroo deflated some.

“Kuro. It’s okay to take breaks. I know you think that this is what you should be doing as Captain, but it’s alright to say no sometimes,” Kenma said.

“I know, Kenma,” Kuroo smiled gently, ignoring the uneasy feeling in his gut, “Thank you for looking out, but I’m fine! It’s only one more day. Tomorrow afternoon once everyone’s gone, I’ll just hang out in my room. You can come over if you want and play that new game I bought.”

Kenma studied him again before letting out a long-suffering exhale.

“Sure. Sounds good.”

After they ate, the six of them met up in Gym Three for another three on three. On the outside, things were going well. On the inside, Kuroo’s head was quickly descending into chaos.

He pretended that Bokuto, Lev and Hinata weren’t too loud. He pretended that he had enough energy to show them the same move seven times. He pretended he was enjoying this.

All the while, his headache slowly transitioned into a migraine, his limbs got heavier, and his dinner swirled in his stomach nauseatingly. It took maximum effort to stay awake, let alone play a three on three with three of the most energetic people he’d ever met before.

It all came to a head when his feet slammed down after blocking one of Bokuto’s cross shots. The power behind those normally made him stumble upon landing, but this time it sent a sharp pain shooting through his head and stars dance in his vision. He couldn’t regain his footing, and he stumbled onto his ass.

“Kuroo-san?” Akaashi asked when he didn’t get back up. He couldn’t get back up. The stars were still there and he couldn’t really find his feet.

“Y-yeah?” he stuttered.

“Hey, hey, hey, Kuroo, you alright my man?” Bokuto’s voice boomed and he winced before he could stop himself.

“Kuroo-san? What’s wrong?” Akaashi was kneeling beside him now. He could tell by the proximity of his voice.

“Just a a little...dizzy,” he forced a laugh, trying to play it off. He squeezed his eyes shut and brought a hand up to squeeze at his temples. What the hell was happening?

“Kuroo-san! Do you want some water?” Hinata’s voice rang and clanged in his head. He groaned.

“Kuroo-san, don’t die!!” Lev’s voice pounded. He grimaced.

“Would you idiots keep it down?” Tsukishima, beautiful, quiet Tsukishima commanded.

“Hey, Stupid we’re just trying to help!” Hinata screeched.

“And clearly he’s got a headache, you massive dolt. Keep your volume down,” Tsukki snapped back. Kuroo would thank him if the room would stop spinning.

Suddenly, a hand was on his forehead.

“You’ve got a fever,” Akaashi stated.

Oh. Well, Kenma was right after all. He was sick. The confirmation snapped something into place and all of his emotions, his control, whooshed out of him in one fell swoop. All the symptoms he ignored all day came to the very front of his mind and all he could think about was how miserable he felt.

“Oh,” he choked around the abrupt knot in his throat. He blinked his eyes open and turned to look at Akaashi. The setter was serious as ever, but there was a small frown on his lips and tiny furrow to his brows.

“Bokuto-san, can you bring me your warm up jacket?”

Bokuto nodded and quickly, but thankfully quietly, brought their jackets over and Akaashi draped it around Kuroo’s shoulders.

“Kuroo-san, do you want to lie down?” he soothed.

“Akaashi, I don’t feel good,” he muttered. There was a burning in his eyes and a quiver to his lips that he really wished would go away.

“I know. We’ll get you to your room, but first, I need you to get yourself together some.”

“I don’t...I don’t feel good,” he said, an all too evident shake in his voice. This is not what Leaders do. But he felt so terrible, there was nothing he could do to prevent this sudden onslaught of emotions. Before he knew it, warm tears rolled down his flushed cheeks.

“Kuroo-san!” Hinata screeched. Tsukishima smacked him upside the head. He glared and rubbed the back of his head.

“Kuroo-san,” he tried again, quieter this time, “don’t cry, please. It’s okay!”

Kuroo couldn’t help it. He appreciated Hinata’s attempts at comfort, but he was so drained and he was so sick and he couldn’t help it.

“Kuroo, what can we do to help, man?” Bokuto asked gently, much to his and Akaashi’s (flustered and very evident) surprise. He sat down by Kuroo and rubbed a hand soothingly up and down his back. It helped for a second, but then it just made his skin crawl and his stomach turn.

“I I don’t...I don’t know,” he whimpered pitifully, “I don’t feel good.” He exhaled and dropped his chin to his chest. The downward spiral of both his physical and mental condition brought him further and further into his own self-incurred misery. He needed someone else to be the leader. Anyone.

“Ahhhh, Kuroo-san.” Hinata flailed.

“What about Kenma?” Lev whisper-yelled. Hinata’s spine straightened sharply.

“Good idea, Lev! I know where he is. I’ll go get him!” Hinata proclaimed and ran out.

“Kuroo, what doesn’t feel good?” Bokuto asked.

Kuroo inhaled shakily.

“Head.. my head hurts. And I’m sore and uh and my st-stomach,” he responded through panting breaths.

“There’s a stomach bug that just hit a couple of the player’s on Shinzen’s team,” Tsukishima supplied helpfully.

“Sounds like you might’ve picked that up, Kuroo-san.” Akaashi clicked his tongue.

This was news to him. It must’ve just happened because usually the captains kept each other up to date on those kinds of things as soon as they could. If that was true, that would explain why it came on so quickly. He was fine yesterday. Even just a few hours ago, he was nothing but a little groggy. Now it felt like he got hit by a bus.

If it was a stomach bug, that meant….

“No, no,” he panicked, “no I don’t want that.” He wrapped his hands around his swirling stomach.

“Kuroo, calm down. It’s alright. You’re gonna make it worse,” Bokuto said. Kuroo shook his aching head.

“No I hate throwing up, Bo,” he whimpered and dropped his head to look at his shaking hands.

“Oh…” Akaashi breathed, “do you feel like you might?”

“I don’t know,” he said again. Because he didn’t want to. He absolutely did not want to puke. Not in front of these first years. That might ruin all of his credibility as an upperclassmen, let alone the Captain of a powerhouse school.

Geez, what a pitiful and pathetic display he was putting on. He was supposed to be someone these kids looked up to, and now they were helping him.

“Here,” Tsukishima said, handing Akaashi and Bokuto a bucket from the supply room. Kuroo eyed it distastefully.

“It’s just in case, Kuroo-san!” Lev tried. But the more Kuroo got worked up in spite of himself, the more he realized that wasn’t true. His current emotional state wreaked havoc on his head, which in turn twisted his gut.

Several minutes passed and Kuroo took the time to collect himself so that he could get it together enough to go to his room. At least there he could be miserable and pathetic alone.

While he was able to get himself to stop crying, the come down from the sudden rush of emotions only made his other symptoms that much more prevalent.

Kuroo groaned miserably, “where’s Kenma?”

“Hinata-kun has gone to get him. He’ll be back soon hopefully.”

“Akaashi, I don’t feel good,” he whined and curled tighter in on himself.

“I know,” Akaashi said.

“Feels… bad…” he swallowed thickly.

“Kuroo…” Tsukishima warned. He shook his head.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbled. Something heaved in his stomach and he pulled his shoulders up to his ears and brought the back of his hand to his mouth.

“Y’guys should go,” he said around the pool of saliva in his mouth and the heaviness of his jaw. Who he was talking to at this point, he wasn’t sure. He just knew that being around him right now was only asking to catch this. He also knew he was about to puke and he really wanted to try and maintain some of his dignity.

“Too late for that, numbskull. We’ve been around you for days. If we’re gonna catch it, we’re gonna catch it. Might as well make sure you don’t die,” Tsukishima said. Kuroo, behind his mounting nausea and hazy brain, was touched by his salty kouhai’s attempt at comfort.

“I think he meant he doesn’t want you to see him spew, Tsukkidude,” Bokuto murmured. His hand was still on Kuroo’s back and while it was more comforting than bothersome now, it also served to swirl things around in his stomach and brain. He nodded lethargically.

“Kuroo-san, if you could, uh— please, just, um...wait...for Kenma-san, I think it would make you feel, uh, better. To have him here, that is. Instead of...uh...me,” Akaashi stammered. Kuroo heard the nervousness in his voice and felt bad. There wasn’t much he could do to stave off the inevitable though.

“You squeamish, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto asked.

“Uhhhh,” Akaashi hesitated, high pitched, “maybe a little.”

“Bo,” Kuroo panted, punctuated by a sick hiccup.

“I gotcha, buddy. Bucket’s right here,” Bokuto reassured and placed the bucket in his lap. “You can leave guys, I got this.” He said to the other three.

“Yeah...I’m gonna take you up on that,” Lev said uneasily. “Sorry Kuroo-san.” He bowed and then sprinted out of the gym. Tsukishima looked more hesitant, but ultimately bowed and left as well.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto said right as Kuroo spit into the bucket. The sounds of their conversation faded in and out with the rest of Kuroo’s surroundings. All he could fully register was the lump of something nasty moving up his chest. All he could see was the blinding red color of the bucket.

A few airy burps that grated his throat passed through his parted lips. He whimpered.

“It’s alright, Kuroo,” Bokuto’s voice filtered through the haze. He gagged.

It hurt. It hurt so badly. Each heave, gag and hiccup that plagued him for the next several moments.

Where was Kenma?

Kuroo coughed, hiccupped, and a small stream of vomit trailed out of his mouth. It wasn’t enough. It still hurt. He wheezed.

“Hey, Kuroo-san, try to take deep breaths,” Akaashi’s shaky voice commanded.

“Can’t,” he gasped, coughing up more bile.

Fuck he wanted this to be over.

Cough, gasp, puke. The painful, horrific cycle repeated for several tense minutes. It didn’t relieve any of his discomfort.

Bokuto patted his back and tried to offer comforting words. Akaashi wouldn’t look at Kuroo, but he was there, another steady presence to offer some grounding to Kuroo.

“Kuroo- san! I found Kenma!” Hinata’s voice cut through his misery. “He was in the shower. I’m sorry it took so long!”

“Kuro,” Kenma said, voice calm, blunt, comforting. He took Akaashi’s place at his side, his Snorlax slippers and ratty sweatpants taking up Kuroo’s peripheral.

“I don’ feel good,” Kuroo told him around the bile coating his mouth. Kenma put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“I gathered that,” he said with amusement, “it’s okay. Just relax.”

Kuroo shook his head. Relaxing meant letting this happen. He did not want it to happen.

“Tetsu, don’t be an ass,” Kenma sighed, exasperated.

“Kenma,” he whimpered. The hand on his shoulder squeezed again.

“How long has he been like this?” Kenma directed at someone else in the room.

“About 15 minutes,” Akaashi’s shaky voice answered.

“Shit, Tetsuro, why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Kenma asked. Kuroo shook his head slowly.

“Didn’ re’lize,” he slurred. His stomach cramped and his inhaled sharply through his teeth and gripped tightly at his shirt. As soon as the cramp passed, he gagged, his body jolting forward.

“Uh, I’m gonna—I’m gonna go,” Hinata stuttered out and then Kuroo heard his tiny feet run from the gym.

“Can you two go get Nobuyuki and Yaku from the Nekoma quarters? I’m sure Lev is looking for them, but he’s an idiot,” Kenma demanded of Akaashi and Bokuto, the inflection behind his voice commanding and unwavering. It comforted Kuroo in ways he didn’t understand.

Despite how it appeared to onlookers, Kenma was alway the one taking care of Kuroo. More than Kuroo took care of him, anyway. The setter always knew exactly what Kuroo needed before he even said anything. He was passive most of the time, content to let things be, but stubborn and steadfast when he needed to be. Which was something that Kuroo was grateful for, too prone to letting his emotions take over. Kenma was a sturdy support for Kuroo when he was at his weakest.

“They’re gone, Testsu. Relax and let it happen. It’s just you and me,” Kenma told him. He put his forehead on the top of Kuroo’s matted, sweaty hair. The parts of Kenma’s hair that touched Kuroo were wet and cold. It felt nice.

The uncharacteristic gentle action from Kenma made something in Kuroo’s chest twinge and he whimpered, fresh tears dropping into the bucket.

Kuroo could be himself with Kenma. He didn’t need to be the Captain or a Leader or an Extrovert or even an Introverted Extrovert. He could just be Kuroo.

“Just us, Tetsu,” Kenma said and pulled his head back.

Kuroo inhaled slowly, deeply and exhaled, trying to relax his shoulders and back. It didn’t take much more for his stomach to finally find relief.

A gurgling hiccup brought up a small stream of bile and he coughed. Another hiccup brought a little more. Then finally, he belched, wet and heady, and heaved, a much stronger torrent of disgusting vomit moving up his chest and out of his mouth.

“There ya go,” Kenma sighed. He moved Kuroo’s unruly hair, made more disgusting by the sheen of sweat covering his forehead, back and away from his face. Kuroo lurched forward with a gag, bringing up more of his dinner.

“Holy shit, Kuro, that’s some fever. I’m sorry you’ve felt so bad all day,” Kenma whispered. Kuroo shook his head, spitting out the nasty taste in his mouth, trying to find his breath before the next round.

He didn’t get much of a chance before he heaved again.

“God,” he slurred between wretches.

“It’s alright. Calm down,” Kenma instructed.

He puked twice more before his stomach settled for the time being.

“Kenma...please…” he whispered, gesturing for him to move the bucket away.

“Here,” Kenma handed him a water, “drink this first. Rinse out your mouth.” Kuroo did as he was told and spit into the bucket. Kenma took it away after that and Kuroo thanked him quietly. He inhaled, bringing his head up and looking at Kenma for the first time since the setter got there.

Kenma’s eyebrows were furrowed ever so slightly, a subtle pout on his lips. He brushed Kuroo’s bangs back again.

“Thanks, Kenma,” he smiled weakly. Kenma clicked his tongue.

“You’re an idiot,” he sighed. It lacked any of its usual blunt edge.

“Kuroo!!” Kai called out, running into the gym. They were both wearing medical masks, a couple more in their hands.

“Hey,” he said sheepishly, a hand on the back of his neck.

“I knew something was wrong. You really are such a dumbass,” Yaku said, a hand on his hip and an eyebrow raised. He was as blunt as usual.

“Thanks, Yaku. You’re as gentle as ever.”

“Yeah, well. Can’t help it when you decide to push yourself to this point,” he said, turning his face away. “Idiot,” he added as an afterthought. Kuroo couldn’t see his cheeks behind his mask, but his ears were red.

“You alright Kenma? Here,” Kai asked and handed Kenma a mask. Kenma shook his head.

“Too late for that,” he sighed.

“Yeah, but several of Shinzen and Fukurodani’s players have gone down with the same thing as our fearless leader here. We’re trying to contain it so it doesn’t spread more,” Kai explained.

“Yeah. Exactly. You wear one too, Kuroo,” Yaku insisted. Kuroo didn’t like the idea of having his mouth covered, but he also didn’t like the idea of spreading this wretched fate to others.

Kenma and Kuroo took the masks and then Yaku pulled some meds out of the bag on his shoulder and handed them to him. Kuroo’s lip curled, but Kenma pinched his elbow and he relented. They hit his stomach with a hollow thud.

Kai held a hand out to help Kuroo up. As soon as he stood, his knees buckled and black spots danced in his vision. Kai quickly caught him around his waist and threw Kuroo’s arm around his shoulder.

“Try not to pass out until we get back to the quarantine room. It’d make things difficult,” Yaku said. Kuroo would’ve rolled his eyes if he had the energy.

Together, they made it back to the classrooms (repurposed as sleeping quarters for the camp). There was a room for people who already puked and one for anyone experiencing symptoms. Kuroo was shocked to find Akaashi there, leaning over a trash can, Bokuto rubbing his back, as well as several Shinzen players, a couple Ubugawa players, and the setter from Karasuno.

Hinata was there as well, sitting beside Kageyama with his arms crossed and a disgruntled look on his face.

Yaku set up a new futon for Kuroo and Kai helped him settle into it. He immediately curled up on his side, exhaling in relief.

They asked if he needed anything, promised to bring him a change of clothes, and left. Kenma saw them out but then came back and plopped himself down beside Kuroo.

“You can go, Kenma,” he said, looking up at him with one eye open. Kenma shrugged.

“I wouldn’t leave you,” he said plainly. Like it wasn’t embarrassing at all. Kuroo smiled to himself.

“What’s with Chibi-Chan?” He asked in lieu of a response. Kenma snickered.

“His team sent him here when Kageyama came down with the bug. Apparently their “secret relationship” isn’t so secret.”

Kuroo chuckled. That was probably why Akaashi and Bokuto were both here as well.

“You know,” Kenma said.

“Hmm,” Kuroo replied sleepily.

“No one thinks you’re less of a Leader just because you’re sick. It happens to everyone. Doesn’t mean you’re not still someone other people look up to,” Kenma said quietly, matter-of-fact.

“Mmm.. you’re right,” he muttered back. He was. Kuroo knew that. He appreciated the reminder though.

“Go to sleep, Tetsu,” Kenma said and stretched his legs out beside Kuroo. He ran his fingers through Kuroo’s hair. Sleep called to him and his eyes slowly closed.

He woke up several times before the next morning, because of other people puking, because he needed to puke and once when Kenma puked, swearing Kuroo out for getting him sick.

He apologized profusely and pulled Kenma’s hair back with the hair tie he kept on his wrist.

Kuroo was a Leader. Someone other people liked and looked up to.

Sometimes Leaders needed someone to lean on too, he supposed. Thank goodness he had Kenma.

#haikyuu sickfic #my fics #sick kuroo #caretaker kenma #caretaker Akaashi #caretaker Bokuto #caretaker Tsukishima #caretaker Hinata #caretaker Lev #kinda sorta #they tried okay?#tw vomit #haikyuu #kuroo tetsurō #kenma kozume #emeto warning #emeto #fever

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onewithnomightypowers · 3 years

Text

clandestine (chapter 2)

PAIRING: Tom Holland x fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Y/N is an up and coming actress, married to a once hotshot actor, Harrison (Haz). What happens when her co-star, Tom, makes her realise that she is stuck in a loveless marriage. A marriage starts crumbling and a new romance stars brewing.

chapter 2: portrait of a dinner

A/N: the characters in no way portray how these ppl are in real life. i do not encourage cheating. i hope you guys like this chapter!! i would love to know how you guys feel about the story. feedback is always appreciated.

warnings: drinking, smoking, cursing

word count: 1.6k

important: the whole chapter is a flashback, character thoughts are in bold italics

masterlist series masterlist chapter 1 chapter 3

“I rent a place on Cornelia street”, Tom said casually in the car. They were sitting in the backseat of a black town car, going for their shoot. Y/N had suggested that they travel together, in an attempt to get to know each other better. She said, “It would help with the on screen chemistry”, the whole production team agreed. But that did not become a norm for them, mostly because of their different call times.

Both of them had hectic filming schedules and only saw each other when they had scenes together. Sometimes they would bump into each other at the craft service, but otherwise, they were on their own.

During the last few weeks of filming, Tom had started getting her coffee. He had noticed how she took her coffee during the shooting. Black with one sugar.

“There you go”, Tom handed her the coffee. “Thanks Tom.” He gave her a smile. She was walking towards the door, and Tom started following her behind.

“I’m going to hair and makeup, do you wanna tag along?” she asked him.

“Sure, I have a 15 minute break anyway”

“Have you seen Hot Rod? I watched it last night” she didn’t know why she asked that silly question. She found it embarrassing.

“That Andy Samberg movie, right?” Tom nodded, “Yeah I watched it a long time ago, it’s a classic”

“I totally watched it for Bill Hader” She found herself easing up to him.

“Valid reason. Loved him on SNL. Do you know Stefon? from SNL?” She reached for the door handle, a gush of cold air was felt by both of them.

“Don’t even get me started on Stefon. I used to watch Stefon compilations on YouTube all the time. It became a problem” she chuckled, remembering how Haz used to get pissed off whenever she’d talk in a ‘Stefon’ tone.

Oh, I love it when she chuckles like that. I wish I could kiss her. NO. She is fucking married, Tom.

“Yes yes yes, New York’s hottest club is…” Tom tried to imitate Bill Hader as Stefon. He looked around a bit and pointed towards the paparazzi, who were trying to take pictures of anything worth money. “New York’s hottest club is paparazzi” he continued.

“If paparazzi is the hottest club, then I’m fine staying at home” Y/N was laughing so hard that she couldn’t breathe. She clutched Tom’s arm to avoid falling down while trying to contain her laughter. She hadn’t had a good laugh with Haz in a long time.

Tom found himself at Y/N’s doorsteps with cheap wine he bought from the convenience store last minute. Y/N had invited Tom and his partner for dinner during the last week of shooting.

“Oh, I’m not seeing anyone actually, but my lonely heart and I will be there”, Tom replied to Y/N’s invitation.

He rang the bell and waited for someone to open the door. Tom was met by Haz’ charming smile, as he opened the door. Tom could see right through his fake smile. Clueless to Y/N and Haz’ fight prior, he entered the two story building.

“Why did you invite him without asking me?” Haz screamed, slamming the plates on the table.

“I didn’t think you’d be home tonight, you never are” Y/N replied in the same tone as Haz

“So you were going to have dinner with him, alone?”

“Yes” she said in a crude way.

“Are you fucking him?” Just as Haz asked her, the doorbell rang.

It would be better fucking him than fucking you. At least he’ll be home.

Y/N entered the kitchen leaving Haz to open the door. “You must be Tom” said Haz, in his most likeable voice.

“Yeah and you must be Haz. I got this for you guys”, Tom handed him the wine bottle.

He’s a bloody hotshot and brought us cheap wine.

“Hey Tom, I’m so glad you could make it”, Y/N said, taking Tom in for a hug. She could feel Haz burning a hole behind her head with his gaze.

She pulled out of the hug, “do you want red or white wine?”

“Red”, Harrison and Tom said in unison. Y/N let out a little chuckle and went into the kitchen. Tom started noticing the little things in their house, like how there were film and Polaroid cameras scattered everywhere. There was a vinyl shelf right above an old golden gramophone, adjacent to their brown leather couch.

He noticed a collage of pictures and recognised some of the photos from the time they were taken on set. There was one with him and Y/N. He felt a sense of pride knowing that their picture hung on Y/N’s wall and the possibility of her looking at it every day.

“So, what do you wanna hear?” Harrison was standing next to their vinyl collection. “Since Y/N lives here, we have everything Taylor Swift, I don’t suppose you’re into that pop shit, are you?”

“Actually I do like pop but more like alt-pop”

Harrison wasn’t surprised. He seemed like a ‘Beach House’ kinda guy anyway, to him.

“So you like alt-pop?” Y/N walked towards the boys with two glasses of red wine in her hands. “Have you heard of ‘peter cat recording co.’?” she asked Tom

“Yes I have! Oh, I thought nobody knew about them. I’m glad I found you”, Tom was filled with giddy excitement.

“PCRC it is, then”, Haz said in an annoyed tone. He grabbed the vinyl of ‘portrait of a time’, their first album, and placed it on the gramophone.

“Babe, where is your glass?” Haz asked Y/N.

“Oh I, shit I left it in the kitchen”

“No worries I’ll get it”, Haz kissed her cheek and left the living room.

Even though Y/N knew it was fake niceties, she still craved it. It felt nice, behaving like a normal couple instead of fighting over every damn thing, and him storming out of the house almost every night. Sometimes she felt that Harrison was a hypocrite. He would accuse her of cheating with every guy in her life, but wouldn’t be home nine out of ten times.

They were now seated on their wooden dining table, with dried flowers in the middle. Haz and Y/N were sitting opposite to Tom. There was Chinese takeout in their fancy china.

“Sorry about the take out, neither of us are good at cooking and we didn’t want you getting sick”, Y/N tried to justify the absence of a home cooked meal.

“It’s fine as long as I’m getting fed”, Tom chuckled.

“No actually all this food is only for Y/N and me”, Haz said, trying to sound serious.

That was a bad joke, all of them thought.

There was an awkward silence. Haz cleared his throat, “So Y/N, are you seeing someone?”

“Haz, you can’t just ask someone that!”

“It’s okay Y/N. No Haz, I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.” Tom said, blushing at the personal question.

“So you are single”, Haz said looking at Y/N, in an attempt to imply that she might be having an affair with him.

Trying to hide her annoyance, Y/N started serving the food. The rest of the dinner was normal. They talked about the movie and Haz did not spontaneously combust. In Y/N’s mind, it was near to a success. When Tom started to leave, Y/N offered to drop him to his apartment building, but he settled on walking him one block.

Y/N grabbed her jacket as they left the house. She pulled out a box of cigarettes from her pocket and offered Tom.

“Oh, I don’t smoke”

Y/N scuffed with a cigarette between her teeth.

“What kind of an English man are you?” she said, lighting her cigarette.

“Well you know it’s a common misconception, we don’t all smoke”

“That’s good to know”, she took a long drag.

“Also you might not like the wine I brought you. I realised pretty late that I should be getting you something because I was visiting your house for the first time, so I bought the best wine I could find in that convenience store”, he pointed towards the store a few metres away from them.

“Its fine, it’ll remind me of my youth”, they both laughed.

“I guess this is one block, you should go back home now”, Tom said while trying hail a cab by waving his right hand frantically, at the edge of the curb. He looked ridiculous.

“You clearly have never done this before” she laughed at him, turning Tom’s face red.

She stepped off the curb, to be seen clearly by the oncoming traffic, put out her arm and a cab was there in seconds.

“So I guess I’ll see you around” he said while pulling Y/N into a hug.

His touch made her hyper aware and same could be said for Tom. Y/N started to pull out but stopped half way. It felt like they were both looking inside each other’s soul through their eyes.

“Ay, lovebirds, you comin or not”, the cab driver screamed making them break away. He got in and Y/N closed the door for him. That’s when her phone pinged.

Haz: where are you, I’m going out.

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