#I hate the feeling of walking on tiles barefoot
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cream tiles, collection
#tiles#bathroom#phobia#I hate the feeling of walking on tiles barefoot#bone crushing#skull crushing#cracked#hardware store core#I need a man
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The Perfect Life || CL16 {2}
Summary: Charles finally gets to see the person his brother was proud to call his best friend, and in doing so realises he has some amendments to make.
Warnings: angst, swearing, sarcasm
WC: 2.4k
One || Two || Three
It was foolish to think the Leclerc’s would just leave you alone. It wasn’t so much of a surprise that Arthur stopped your door from closing but you did frown when his brother followed him inside your humble abode.
It was dim inside, with only shafts of starlight coming in from the missing tiles above. You walked blindly through the sparse furniture to the fuse box and pulled the lever down, flooding the room with flickering fluorescent light. “Not quite up to your standard?” you challenged Charles with a daring arch of your brow.
Arthur detoured to the small alcove that was once the factory staff room kitchen and grabbed two beers from the fridge that whined loudly to maintain its temperature. You immediately pressed your bottle to your cheek and moaned as the cold seeped into the bruised skin. Letting the makeshift ice pack do its job, you dropped onto the couch, avoiding the wayward springs that jutted out and tried to snag your clothes, and watched Charles walk around the cavernous room.
“This place is a dump,” he stated. He inspected the bed that consisted of a mattress thrown over pallets that had been abandoned inside the factory before eying up the punching bag that hung from the open rafters.
“If you’re only staying to insult me, just go.” The exhaustion in your voice came from deep inside your soul and even Charles paused at the sound.
You hated how he turned his inspection on to you instead. His eyes followed the length of your legs and you tucked your knees up under the hoodie, but then he finally noticed you had been barefoot the entire night.
“Pack your shit, let’s go.”
You closed your eyes and tipped your head onto Arthur’s shoulder. “I liked him more when he ignored me.”
“I’m not going to tell you again,” Charles growled as he swiped your beer bottle from your face.
“Charles, have you ever been beaten unconscious?”
“No.”
“Unless you want to find out how it feels, give me my fucking beer back.” You didn’t even open your eyes to see if the threat was taken seriously but then the cold touch of the bottle in your palm was an answer enough. “Thank you.”
“You can’t stay here,” he said calmly. “Pack your things, or I can buy whatever you need in Monaco.”
“I am not marrying you.” The beer was cheap and left a bitter aftertaste but you used it to smother the hot anger that was quickly starting to bubble in your gut. “Twenty minutes ago you would have let me risk being mugged while I walked home and probably asked for popcorn too while you watched.”
The old recliner you found at a secondhand store squeaked under Charles’ weight as he took a seat and said, “I don’t like popcorn.” You cracked an eye open to see amusement gracing on his face. “I also picked you up, didn’t I?”
“Wow, pick a girl up once and expect her to marry you.”
Arthur snorted a laugh. “I offered first.”
“Maybe you two can fight it out for my hand.” Sarcasm dripped from your lips as you tipped your head to Charles. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you land on your ass again.”
“It was a cheap shot.”
“Are you gonna let him disrespect you like that?” you asked as you nudged your friend.
“I’m not hitting him again,” Arthur grumbled. “It really hurt.”
“Oh, so not out of concern for me, thanks little brother.”
“She did warn you to shut up but you had to keep running your mouth.” Arthur looked at his brother’s lip but it wasn’t all that swollen thankfully. “Please don’t tell ma.”
“I can do your makeup,” you offered to Charles with a smirk. “I’m actually pretty good at covering up bruises now.”
Charles' eyes turned down and he shook his head as he felt guilty for how he had treated you over the years.
“I don’t want your fucking pity,” you snapped. “Stop looking like someone kicked your puppy.”
An awkward silence grew until you growled in the back of your throat and rose from the couch. “Tur, can you lock up when you leave?”
“Where are you going?”
You made your way to the ‘bedroom’ and pulled on a pair of riding leathers, not bothering with the jacket since you were comfortable and warm in the hoodie. “Home. I have to get ready for a charity brunch in Marseille.”
Charles watched curiously as you unlocked a thick padlock to what he thought was just a storage locker. Those green eyes widened when you swung your leg over the seat of the sleek Honda motorbike and grabbed your helmet that hung on the handlebars.
“You let her ride that?”
Arthur shrugged and finished his beer. “One: I’m not her keeper. Two: she has a licence. And three: you’re an idiot if you think anyone has a say in what she does.”
“You’re her friend, you should stop her from getting herself killed.”
“I am right here,” you reminded him. “I love the vote of confidence you have in me, by the way, really endearing.”
Whatever he was about to say was silenced when you clicked the remote for the roller door, kicked the bike stand back and turned the ignition on. The roar of the engine was deafening in the space and you slapped the shade down on your helmet before shooting out of your sanctuary.
“We have a lot to talk about,” Charles warned his brother.
Arthur nodded as he got up and dropped his empty bottle into the recycling bin. “Yeah, I figured that. Let me just lock up real quick then we can go.”
Charles watched as Arthur walked around the room like it was a routine chore he was used to doing. He hit the button on the wall to close the roller door before checking the windows were locked. He turned the phone charger off beside her bed and slipped the cash he had in his wallet under her pillow.
“She won’t accept it otherwise,” he said over her shoulder. “She doesn’t want charity, Cha. Your plan isn’t going to work unless you change your approach.”
“What do you mean?”
“Offering to buy her things. She won’t take it. Everything here was earned the hard way, independently.”
Arthur could see Charles was absorbing the information and already a plan was forming in his mind.
—
“You look beautiful.”
The stem of the champagne flute in your fingers was nearly snapped when Charles startled you and you turned to find him in a tailored suit, the jacket left unbuttoned. “What are you doing here?”
“There aren’t that many charity events in Marseille today. I thought I would make an appearance, it’s good for the image.”
“What a humble philanthropist you are,” you said with a roll of your eyes while he scanned your face for any sign of the bruising from the night before. “Told you I was good.”
“You could be a professional.”
A waiter passed by and you swapped your empty flute for a full one while Charles grabbed one of his own. Already you could see the inquisitive looks cast in your direction and knew they would only grow the longer Charles spoke to you. Not wanting to be the focus of the gossip mill you took a step away from him, ready to make your escape.
“I have a proposal.”
“Christ, not this again.” You stepped toe to toe with him so as not to be overheard when you hissed. “I’m not marrying you.”
“Not that kind of proposal,” he chuckled. “Arthur tells me you are quite good at fighting.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, wondering where he was going with it, but nodded confidently. “I am.”
“I have a team of security, but they struggle with the female fans when they get a bit too aggressive.”
“You think having a woman throw them down is more…polite?”
He winced and shook his head but it wasn’t very convincing. “I hope it doesn’t come to that but the guys aren’t very comfortable with the idea.”
“You do realise my father is never going to let me leave Nice to work for you, right? That would not fit the image of his social standing.”
“I know. Now before you shut it down completely, just hear me out.” He paused and you immediately knew you were going to regret even listening to him. “You work for me, secretly, but we tell your father we are engaged.”
“No, no, absolutely not,” you hissed. “Argh, you said this wasn’t a proposal.”
“It’s not, well, it’s a fake one so there’s no suspicion why you are always with me. No one will know you work for me, but I’ll pay you well. You can have new bank accounts in your name that your father can’t access. When you have saved up enough money to live on your own then we can break off the engagement and you will have your freedom.”
“I-”
“Don’t give me an answer now, just think about it, okay?”
You turned on your heel and left the stately rooftop garden. The sun was suddenly too warm and the laughter of conversation seemed to mock you personally as you passed by. It would only be a matter of minutes before your father’s assistant came looking for you but you would take every second of freedom that could.
You got exactly 97 seconds before the bathroom door swung open and Veronica sighed. “You don’t have a scheduled bathroom break until 11.”
“Too much bubbly,” you lied as you tossed the damp hand towel into the basket. It hadn’t even helped to cool your burning neck so you mentally pulled yourself back together and followed the wretched human back out to the event.
Veronica clasped her personalised diary full of notes behind her back as she nodded her head to a portly man ahead. “Mr Henri Cartier, two sons, wife - Charisse, $3 billion profit.”
You plastered a smile back on your face and approached with all the confidence that your father had trained you to fake. “Mr Cartier, how lovely to see you again. How is Charisse? It is a shame she can’t be here today.”
You zoned out as he started to recall how his wife had flown to London in their Lear as their sons had an important polo match. Cambridge versus Oxford, naturally. It obviously wasn’t important enough since he would rather be shaking hands with this lot instead of watching the game. “…the King himself will be there.”
“Ah, but this is France, we have no King,” you teased. “We take care of our own people. Now, a little birdy told me your business had a remarkable turnover this quarter. I hope to see a reflection of that in your donation.”
The Forbes billionaire laughed haughtily. “Of course, my dear. What else would I do with all the excess?”
You opened your mouth to list off all the other purchases he would rather spend his money on but a slick voice eased into the conversation.
“How many superyachts can one man own?” your father asked. “I’ll tell you, Henri, it’s the same thing I say when my wife makes her famous cannoli - there’s always room for one more.”
The two men laughed way harder than the joke called for, but the real joke was the fact that your mother had never stepped foot in a kitchen.
“It’s a wonder your charity survives with that advice,” you said as you took a step back and let them pick out the shortcomings of their children, and your entire generation, together. You pretended that you didn’t hear them and let the passive blank face fall into place until a hand took yours and pulled you away.
Veronica’s hand lifted to alert your father to your absence but you took the rescue that Charles offered and trailed behind him, losing sight of the assistant in the crowd.
“Well that was uncomfortable to watch,” he murmured in your ear. It concerned Charles at how quickly you had fallen into the charismatic charade he was accustomed to as he watched. He had hated how comfortable you were at these events, and how you charmed everyone you spoke to. He never realised it was all an act, and that the real person behind the whimsical smile was an intelligent, and abused, woman. “I don’t think I have heard so many variations for the word ‘useless’,” he continued.
Charles was right, your father had used them all in his complaints about you. Henri’s response about his children was equally cold, ‘but at least you only have the one weed in your garden.’
“I’m convinced he reads the thesaurus to find new insults for me.”
“That’s so messed up.” This time he didn’t aim the words at you and you weren’t sure how you felt about that. It was easier to think of him as the asshole you had come to know for the last decade.
“Welcome to my life.”
Charles slowed his pace for you down the stairs but you were used to moving deftly in high heels and raced ahead, tugging his hand to hurry up. A smile grew on his face until you reached the last step that exited the venue and breathed in the salty breeze blowing in from the sea across the street.
“My offer still stands,” he said as the valet quickly brought his car around and he took a step off the curb. “You’re not scared, are you?”
Charles smirked as your eyes narrowed and you took a step closer. “Why are you suddenly so interested in helping me?”
The valet opened the passenger door for you and Charles faced you from over the roof of the black sports car. “Get in and find out.”
Your eyes traced the white and red stripe that ran along the car before looking back at the entrance. The choices weren’t overly appetising but you sighed and ducked down into the low seat, tucking the tail of the gown in before the valet closed the door.
“Don’t make me regret this, Leclerc.”
Part Three.
#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc x you#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#formula one imagine#formula 1 fanfic
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Gentle
Word count: 752
Pairings: Azriel x fem!reader
Warnings: insecure reader, slightly suggestive but only for a second, Petnames (my love)
Summary: You have always been insecure about yourself, Azriel does his best to cheer you up
No matter what you did, you could never get yourself to be happy when looking into a mirror. You’ve been working out and watching what you eat but it never seemed like enough. There was always something about your body that you hated, whether it was your arms or legs, stomach or hips, it didn’t matter, everything seemed to be wrong.
But that didn’t stop Azriel from worshiping your body. He loved every inch of you, he always has. You don’t understand it but regardless, it still makes you feel good. He’s loved you since the day he met you, he even waited a decade for you to accept the mating bond. It wasn’t that you were unhappy at who your mate was, it was more in the sense that you didn’t see yourself worthy of him. When he realized why you Jade t accepted the bond he made sure to reassure you everyday until you were ready.
You were currently sitting on the end of Azriels bed, a mirror attached to the wall Infront of you, the longer you looked at yourself the more imperfections you found. He was in his office tending to his duties, he had left before you woke as usual, you were not a morning person at all.
A shadow snakes itself around your leg, swirling up and wrapping around your hips, gently rubbing circles into your skin. You signed in content. He must have felt your unease through the bond. Another shadow wrapped itself around your shoulders, he wants you, it whispered in your ear. You felt the tug of the mating bond, causing you to stand up immediately.
You walked barefoot to his office, the tiles beneath your feet were cold. The blanket you brought with you was dragging on the floor. Once you rounded the top of the stairs to the 3rd floor, and knocked gently at the door. It opened immediately.
Azriel was writing on a piece of paper, busy as always. “Come here my love,” he folded the piece of paper and placed it in an envelope, moving to the next letter he was required to read. You let out a small sigh and padded over to him. He leaned back as you reached him and patted his thigh for you to sit. You moved under his arms and wrapped yours around his shoulders, biting your head into his neck. He always smelt so wonderful. His hand came to rest on your back, caressing it gently.
“Are you alright?” Azriel asked calmly. His shadows had already told him about the thoughts you were having. “We could go for a fly if you’d like.”
“You’re working, I don’t want to disrupt you,” your mumbled into his neck. You jaunt wanted to stay in his arms, even if his full attention wasn’t on you. You were content with staying like this.
“You know I’ll stop working whenever you wish me to, I can finish later if you want to go and do something, like perhaps going to but you new clothes, I think that little shop with all the lace would be a great place to start,” His placed a kiss on your head, you could feel the smiling he was wearing.
You let out a small giggle, his playful attitude bringing a smile to your lips. You leaned back, your legs on either side of him. “I’m sure the shop owners wouldn’t appreciate another visit from us so soon, given what we did in it last time,”
A beautiful smirk formed on his mouth. His hands moving to your hips. “I paid them for the time we spent in there, and I also cleaned up, no thanks to you,” he pinched your hip making you Yelp.
“You’re an ass, you know that?” You kissed the tip of his nose, resting your forehead against his. Azriel stared straight into your eyes, dropping his shields so you could feel all of the love and adoration he felt for you. “I love you.”
“As I love you,” He kissed you gently, his hands moving up to the sides of your face, “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” He asked, breaking the kiss.
You rolled your eyes, “Yeah about every day I believe, I’m sure you tired of it by now,” you cared you hands there his silly hair, massaging his scalp.
“Oh you're mistaken, my love, I’ll never get tired of saying that. After all, who would get tired of admitting the truth,”
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Can I pour some angst for you? I'll pour you some angst!
Adam develops serious hygiene problems following the bathroom trap. Unable to get into a bathtub without feeling like vomiting.
Adam unable to close a bathroom door (if he can get into one at all).
The feeling of water on his clothes when it rains reminds him of the feeling of wet clothes when he woke up fully dressed in the bathtub. The mere sensation of his shirt slightly dampened by the rain makes him want to scratch his arms until they bleed.
Adam doesn't trust anyone anymore.
Adam with a panic fear of the dark.
Adam can't stand the feeling of walking barefoot on tiled floors.
Adam waking up every night screaming, reliving the last time he saw Lawrence.
Adam.
OHHHH MY GOD OHMYGOD ANON YOU ENDUCED A THOUGHT SPIRAL
my heart is broken but also:
adam not being able to trust ANYONE AT ALL including Scott but ESPECIALLY LAWRENCE.
Like,, they get in contact again and Lawrence is like "I want to make sure you're okay and try to help you recover from the trauma we both endured" and so Adam like,, adam tries to let him but every single time Lawrence reminds Adam to shower or brush his teeth or do something to take care of himself adam is like "okay yeah but he left me. why would he care when he could just decide to go again?" and he knows he shouldn't hold it against lawrence for escaping but he was trapped and soaked for DAYS and NOBODY CAME BACK UNTIL SOMEONE DID AND THAT SOMEONE WASN'T LAWRENCE
and also also also (you've sent me off into a ramble I will not be judged for crappy grammar) adam having literal PANIC ATTACKS whenever he tries to shower or even so much as go into a bathroom because of how bad it trips him up, having flashbacks and episodes whenever the power goes out. Loving the rain but only while his windows are closed and his clothes are dry and hating the fact that the trap made him hate something he cherished.
lawrence reminding him to shower but Adam knowing he wouldn't be able to handle it but wanting not,, you know, to stink, so he goes out and buys like--lemon scented make up wipes and just uses those and gets anxiety and PTSD enduced jitters because he loathes his skin being damp regardless of whether or not he's damp with clothes on.
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Oh yeah from before I asked if you still hate shoes because I was looking into getting started barefooting, and needed some advice lol
... Ah, that makes sense.
So like, I haven't done it really all that much to be honest, but I have done it outdoors, around college, and even once in a dollar store. How did I do that?
Well, I guess there's a quadrant, split between private and public on one half, and indoor and outdoor as the other way to divide.
First thing for it is indoor private. Just get used to walking barefoot around your house, feeling the textures and all... carpet, hardwood floor, tile... it can be pretty interesting, and I think generally a lot of people are at this stage anyway.
Next is outdoor private. That's, like, walking around the yard, on your driveway. I've got a gravel driveway that helps with toughening up my feet, though admittedly the gravel is fine enough that I got used to it quickly. These surfaces may be kinda dirty compared to indoors, but experienced barefooters often have dirty soles from the environment anyway.
In between this you might get used to, say, going barefoot to someone else's home or something, but I dunno. It edges between private and public, to be honest.
Next is outdoor public. I haven't had many opportunities to fully do it, but this is, like, parks and such, or along the road. Definitely also dirty, but not nearly as much. You can also count walks in a forest or in a trail as this. Most people fall into this category at the beach, however, since sandy shoes can be a sensory nightMAAAAARE.
Finally is indoor public, which is probably due to cause the most problems. These are also where your feet have the potential to get the dirtiest tho. If you wanna start, probably start by just walking into a place and getting an order to go. Then you can graduate to, like, a small store late at night.
Note that It's up to the establishment to determine whether barefoot customers are okay, so often going "incognito" may be recommended if you're just beginning. While there are soleless shoes like Barebottoms, often carrying flip flops or something can help. Food courts and restaurants are the most likely places to tell you to put on shoes due to health and safety regulations, so just be aware of that.
Okay yeah this might have been long, but yeah.
A note that yes, this is probably the recommended way to go barefoot. Some of my friends aren't yet in the public stages (including my girlfriend), but another skipped straight to outdoor public barefooting.
Doing it this way can also get your soles hard enough to handle other surfaces... while they may get rough at first, doing it enough will make it more of a pad than a callus. I don't want to post any pictures here tho since this isn't really the blog for that.
Finally, textures I'd recommend: grass is really good, unless you're too ticklish (my one friend can't do barefoot on grass because of that). Mud is also pretty amazing to me, and wood is really good as well. Concrete is also good, though it might be hard to walk on if your feet are too soft for it.
Also, just... Don't post pictures willy nilly, especially if you're under 18. I've had my experience with creeps in barefoot circles.
So... yeah, this is a "brief" guide to barefooting... I hope you do enjoy it on your trip, and make sure to play it safe!
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↳- making up ；...-༉‧₊˚✧
(( steve harrington x wife! reader ))
lowercase is intentional...
you missed him.
you missed his smile. you wished you hadn't lashed out at him in the morning, he was just being concerned for you, he was being caring. the subject was just too touchy and you flamed up, you shouldn't have been so sensitive...
you hoped he knew that you were sorry.
he didn't even say anything, his eyes just got really sad, and he walked away. quiet as a ghost.
and now everywhere you looked you saw him.
you tried calling around but it seemed like nobody knew where he was. you had a feeling like he wouldn't want to speak to you even if you did manage to find him, his hurt face etched permanently into your mind.
this is why you hated words; once they were said they could never be unsaid, never be unheard, never be taken back.
when you heard the clicking sound of the front door unlocking you rushed downstairs barefoot, not caring about how cold the tiles felt underneath the soles of your feet.
"(y/n) i'm home-"
you wrapped your arms around him, trapping him in a tight embrace; never wanting to let go, never wanting to stop inhaling his familiar scent of iced vanilla lattes and woods during winter.
"i'm sorry." you said, your face still pressed against against his chest. he runs a hand through your hair.
"that's funny," he says with a sheepish smile, showing you the bouquet of roses that were in his other hand, "i was actually planning on saying the same thing."
you laugh. oh steve. you lash out at him and he's the one to buy you flowers and apologize.
he hands you the bouquet of roses and scoops you up bridal style.
"steve what are you doing?" you ask.
"carrying you up the stairs of course, you're barefoot right?" he asks.
and being the princely boy that he is, he carries you like a rescued princess and places you on top of your bed.
"only one thing missing now...be right back!" steve hollers before running back downstairs, "don't go anywhere!"
"don't worry," you holler back with a laugh, "i won't."
as you're swinging your feet, waiting for him to return, you can hear the clanging sounds of bowls and spoons. you smile. he was just too good for you sometimes.
he came back upstairs with two bowls of ice cream sundaes; one was vanilla with brownie chunks inside, drizzled with hot fudge sauce and chocolate chips, and the other one was vanilla filled with cookie bits and lots of chocolate drizzle. both of them had metal spoons stabbed into the scoops.
you knew immediately that the one with chocolate chips was for you. steve couldn't stand chocolate chips. "but chocolate is meant to be consumed in large unhealthy proportions!" he'd playfully argue with you.
accepting the bowl with bow your hands, you scooted over to make space for him to sit with you on the bed.
he did, plopping down next to you with his own bowl still in his hands. "so...now that i've manipulated you with ice cream..."
"you want me to talk about what you asked me about this morning." you said, clutching your bowl a little tighter.
"please don't get angry at me again-"
"no it's fine." you say with a smile, "i think i'm finally ready to talk..."
#stranger things#steve harrington#harrington#steve#stranger things steve#stranger things steve harrington#x reader#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#oneshot#one shot#stranger things oneshot#fluff#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington minor angst#making up#steve harrington ff#stranger things ff#aesthetic
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These walls of my house
I hear how the wind howls through this abandoned house. Its joints creak as the wind whistles past. The nail which holds it together are rusted and the framework within the walls is corroded. The wallpaper has since been torn at, either from history or malicious entities. The lino floors hide rotted planks. I look at it, with broken glass, cobwebs and dust, and I know that this is what will become of my house.
I know my house is still new, the pipes do not carry brackish water and the electricity is live. The lemon tree is still fruitful and flowers continue to bloom each spring. But I can see the beginnings of it eroding away. A dead plant in its garden, a mouse hole in the wall, off food. I can see the beginnings of it turning into something broken before its time.
I cannot stop it. No matter how many layers of fresh paint I put on it, no matter how many technicians I hire to fix it, no matter how much love I put into it, the abandon house is inevitably. At first I tried, at first I thought I could make it last as long as everyone else’s. It couldn’t be permanent. But I already felt the cracks in the tiles as I walked barefooted before I knew they were there.
I do not know how to live in it anymore. I feel like a growing human, from child to adult, in an unaccommodating doll house. The world outside its walls looks in through my clean windows. The world outside does not care about the fate of my house. I sit alone within its walls and watch the same beautiful sunrise and sunset. The same rain and cold people seem to hate. I watch the world outside unchanging and wish that I knew why.
#poetry#original writing#hEDS#chronic illness#i am doing a-okay about this#hypermobile ehlers danlos#hypermobility#original poetry#HSD#hypermobile spectrum disorder
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Tea and Books Asks
@sonata-ix tagged me on this, so, of course, I have to do this!
1. What period of history do you enjoy learning about?
(My sibling is going to be so made about my answer, oh God) Sincerely, I never really cared much about history periods? I liked to learn about their culture, mythology and such, especially the aztecs, mayas and incas. The only lessons I paid attention because I was creating stories with the aspects of their culture.
2. Who is your favourite fictional character and why?
A hard one, let me think... I don’t know really, to be honest. Mirabel and Luiza Madrigal because I can’t help but seeing myself in both of them. Merida too, to be fair.
Mirabel is the youngest one, but she is there for every single one of her family, she listens to them, she is the one who notices the family is broken and wants to make it better and I can relate to that.
Luzia because she is the one who does everything the others don’t want to do, she is the strongest, she is their rock, she is the one that will catch them if they fall and I also can relate to that.
Merida is because 1. She doesn’t want to marry and I can relate to that. 2. Despite everything, she loved her family and she loved her mother, she didn’t want to harm anyone of her family, She wanted to be free, she wanted to be herself, but she still wanted to have her family’s support and I don’t think that’s bad. Merida is who I want to be.
3. What do you order at a café?
Cake, I love cake. Strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, I love them all, just don’t give me the lemon one. Hate that thing.
4. Libraries, botanical gardens or art galleries?
Libraries and art galleries because if I went to the botanical gardens I would be sneezing so much and so hard I would knock myself out. Tragic, I know.
5. Do you have a favourite film soundtrack?
I do! Like Kai, I like Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron soundtrack, but the brazilian version because Paulo Ricardo fucking rocked on that movie (The scene where they are trying to tame him and Não Toque Em Mim starts to play altered my brain chemistry forever) and the Brother Bear soundtrack as well, but the brazilian version as well (Espíritos Ancestrais is simply amazing and the one where Kenai tells everything to Koda always make me cry)
6. What does your dream home look like?
Cozy, honestly, big enough for my two dogs and my cat and my mom and my sister to live with me. Cold but soft tiles on the ground because I like to walk barefoot around the house, a library for my sister, a garden for my mother and somewhere quiet where I could read and write in peace. Somewhere that felt like home.
7. What makes you feel better on gloomy days?
Curl up on my bed under my favourite blanket, put my earphones on and listen to music until I’m feeling better. If I get some sleep, that’s a bonus, if not, that’s alright too.
8. What are your top three films? Books?
Films: 1. Encanto
2. Whispers of the Heart
3. Kiki’s Delivery Service
Books: 1. Women who run with wolves
2. The Cat Who Saved Books
3. Anything by Caitlin Doughty
9. Are you an organized person?
I am, yes, but like chaotically organized
10. Do you have a favourite classic novel?
Yes, Pride and Prejudice, just like my mother.
11. What character archetype or trope is your favourite?
Caretaker. I love the caretaker character when they are, well, taking care of others, makes me feel complete.
12. Do you prefer baking or cooking?
Cooking! Though I would like to try my hand on baking some time.
13. Which season do you feel more at home in?
Summer! Because I can go to the beach and see my friends and my wrists don't hurt because of the wind
14. What is your opinion on poetry?
I like it. There is something about displaying so much emotion in so little words (most of the time) that always gets me. The hidden meanings, the hidden feelings, it's always so interesting to see and try to comprehend.
15. Do you speak formally when texting and emailing?
Depends on the level of intimacy I have with the person, but most of the times yes, I do.
16. How do you organize your music playlists?
Genre, artists, mood, artist's nationality, soundtrack or not, instrumental or not, based on characters or not. I have a lot of playlists, if you couldn't tell.
17. Who is your favourite author?
Rick Riordan, Clarissa Pinkola Estes and Caitlin Doughty.
18. Chai or hot chocolate?
Since I never had chai, I will hot chocolate because my sibling made it to me sometimes and I like it, even though it was a bit too sweet for me lol
19.Do you prefer forests, sea shores or meadows?
Forestes and sea shores. I like to feel surrounded and see powerful things working. When I go to forests I feel at peace, I see all those tall trees, hear all those sounds and I feel peaceful. Same thing with sea shores, I look at the sea and something inside me relax, something inside me takes a deep breath and say 'I'm home' . Unfortunately, I do not feel like that with meadows, for some reason they give me anxiety, a part of me thinks it will be attacked while standing there.
20. If your were to cultivate a fruit orchard, what would you grow?
A lot of things! I love fruits! I would grow apples, oranges, pineapples, watermelon, grapes, acerola, cajú and a lot of other ones! Me favourite fruit is pineapple (even though I'm slightly allergic to it lol)
Oh, boy, this got long. I'm sorry 😂. I will be taking @mathomhouse-e @aquilathefighter @firemandeanbuck @the-cloudy-dreamer and all of the Dreamling nation children I can't tag right now. Love all of you 😘😘!
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Dear Boy, Never Cure Me
They say the first symptoms of a crush is thinking. Thinking all the time. I won’t admit it, but it would be an injustice not to say it so. It’s him. Him. I think about him like the world’s next virus.
He’ll pop up in my mind in the best times. On the way to school, sometimes on the way back. It wouldn’t be complete if I couldn’t see him in the worst times. I’ve had the worst cases of daydreaming in the shower. My sister hates that it takes me so long to recover from him in the morning. Even when we’re both trying to be the smart people in class, he’s a constant in the equation to my brain.
The worst part is wondering how long the butterflies last. Is it withdrawal when I look for him in the cracks of sidewalks? Am I falling out of love if his voice stops being my voice of reason? Or am I finally falling out of my insanity? Is it madness when I say he’s source of my wild competitiveness? Is it such a bad thing to be this down bad? If there’s a cure for all of this I’m not looking for it. Being cured is hard when it’s someone like him giving me this fever. The kind of fever I catch from getting a glimpse of his eyes. As dark as mine, and almost emptier.
But when he smiles… My god, when he laughs!
It brings his entire being to life. The short breaths he takes in between, right before losing to his own shrewd sense of humor. He’s shameless when he’s like that. He’ll point out my hunched back and the breathless soundless whistle that comes out of my mouth when I laugh too much. Too proud to even notice his own flaws when he’s as happy as I am.
The shocked face he makes before bursting into fits of giggles. His hands go flying to his own mouth, depriving me the bottom half of his face. I cannot believe how much I want that hand to be mine. Feeling the softness of his lips, stopping him from saying the next stupid thing that we cry laughing about. That’s it, isn’t it? He has this… him-ness that loves infecting me over and over again.
Every word comes out of him dripping with sarcasm. Yet it’s all so genuine at the same time. The brief share of stolen looks and knowing eye contact, it kills me! We mock whisper secrets across conversations from opposite sides of the room. It’s a love language, and it’s a second language I’ve never been so fluent in.
I’ve never enjoyed being sick in my life, but he makes it worth it.
He’ll swing by my classroom and my temperature reaches new records. He walks with me and my legs start cramping. My eyes are suddenly useless whenever we bump each other. Immediately my body loses its balance and my mouth’s no longer as clever as I thought it was. He says to jump, and I jump higher than I ever have. Dancing right off a monument I’ve dedicated to him.
I’ll probably never move on. Never, I tell you. I don’t wish to recover from whatever happens to us when we’re together. I’d drag him with me to wherever I need him to be. Wherever feels right.
As long as its with him, I would run through long white halls. Barefoot as the cold tiles bite on my toes. Rows and rows of doors open while I scream through a tunnel work of halls. The only important sound I need is him laughing right behind me. No amount of needles could unnerve me the way his silence would hit me.
I fly past everyone else catching up to us. Their white lab coats clinging to shapes that were skinny and large. My legs carry me off away from puzzled looks stuck on faces wearing white gowns.
It’s him. Him, again.
I sprint through carts full of funny liquids in small bottles. Right behind it, and behind the nurse lying on the floor, was him. My diagnosis. My boy. It’s him. It’s always him.
#writing#teen writer#creative writing#amatuer writer#aspiring writer#aspiring author#writing community#writeblr#writers on tumblr#writing exercises#short story#love story#open to criticism#writers and poets
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A little later and the two younger brothers returned with Daffy back to their lone home in the forest depths, presumably where the older two resided. A somewhat anxious looking Lukhege greeted Daffy with a half-hearted nod, while Leonard sat with his back turned, it seemed he was tending to the fire. Awkwardly sneaking (or at least, attempting to sneak) his way next to Daffy in the close confines of the wooden cabin, the feel of something made of cloth and leather hide gently pushed itself on Daffy's hand. Lukhege kept his gaze averted, acting nonchalant as he simply stood next to her and tapped the present against her hands till she got the gist— Boots, not at all unlike those that the siblings wore.
Luke muttered quietly so that only she could hear. "All this winter you've been wandering barefoot through the woods. I doubt it really is any concern to you, but... It bothers me, that you could so clearly get frostbite."
"It was a team effort!" Piped Laum. Lukhege looked a bit irritated at the remark, but simply went to try and speak again, until...
"Lukhege. You know that as it is that is hardly appropriate footwear for such a young lady..." Leonard tutted in faint disapproval. Perhaps the last straw; Lukhege was quick to take offense to the remark however well-intentioned it may have been.
"So you would rather let her freeze in the snow all for the remainder of spring!? Some caretaker you are, smelly lout...!"
"......" Leonard merely sighed and just rubbed the back of his neck, continuing to stare at the fire with his back turned. He didn't say a single word as Lukhege stormed off with reddened cheeks, either from rage or embarrassment. Riversal seemed a bit zoned out. Laum wrung his hands together in worry.
"They always fight like this..." Laum murmured under his breath.
"He's so sensitive..." Riversal finally tutted, placing his hands on his hips.
A drawn out moment of silence passed, and Laum finally broke the silence— Albeit awkwardly. "Well... Miss Daffy, w-we all tried our best, so we really do hope they are at least comfortable for you..." He stuttered sheepishly, just barely managing to look her in the eye. "Um... Brother isn't fond of his birthday like you are... I wouldn't recommend speaking to him of it. Especially not as he is now..."
"What does he matter anyways? He ought to be sorry, spoiling everyone's good mood like that—" Riversal paused as Leonard stood, casting a respectful nod towards Daffy and silently walking past them out of the house. Laum looked about ready to cry, but Riversal merely slapped a hand on his back with one still on his hip. "... Well, we all get to play together anyways! Happy birthday, Daffodilly~!"
When entering the home she beamed at seeing Lukhege as she had readied her own present for him but when he slowly edged to her side and showed her the boots she was surprised. She never expected Lukhege to give her things - not that she doesn't want them- she always just assumes he preferred a more practical approach by doing something for her. She appreciates that about him. But seeing the boots and hearing his reasoning it screamed an act of love from him, and when she was about to comment on it with full unabashed joy- Leonard reprimanded him and Lukhege reacted poorly. Then it snowballed into Luke marching away on his own birthday as Daffy sat there holding the act of love he pushed himself to do.
Daffy hates shoes, she never liked how that constrained her feet and after so much time only feel the pristine tile of the library she's always so fascinated by the different feels of the ground. Of mud, grass, water, just pure unfiltered earth under her feet. But for Lukhege-
Daffy's face was determined as she shoves her feet into the boots without nary a hesitation as she chases after her. Before realizing she forgot her gift and running back for a brief moment reaching under the chair to pull out the box she's been hiding for a few days. She runs off, calling 'I'll be back' to the rest, following after him in her worst enemy.
"Luke!" She calls out for him as she rushed to their shared room. Before seeing him balled in in upsetness in his bed as she opens the door and closes it behind her and locks it. Just for now, they needed the solitude. As she walks over and shows off the boots that are now on her feet. They were weird feeling but she was willing to deal with it for him!
"Look! They fit perfectly! And they make my feet all warm! They can't be cold now!" She wanted to make him happy.
"and besides! Here!" She holds out a small box, simple in it's design. And within is a carved Daffodil charm made of minerals that were painted over with such attention and love. A charm that matches the very own in her hair, that had a loop for a chain or rope or in any way that he would be willing to wear it. She smiles so earnestly at him.
"Like this, we are always together... And...and I really wanted to show you how much you mean to me...Happy Birthday."
#[teach me all you know[ask]#[my strength in all forms[lukhege]#these FUCKERS#daffy loves him so so much#and for what?#to hurt me like this?#leonard will get a stern finger wag later
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worth my time
pairing: noritoshi kamo + fem!oc
genre: porn (is fingering enough to call it porn??) without plot ish???
tags//warning: established relationship // slight smut???, fingering, emotional drained reader, reader dated character but then forced into arranged marriage and doubt the whole rs
note: unedited, lowercase intended, just me and my nori brainrot dont mind the plotholes and everythingn, its not accurate according to the manga/anime like i just wanna feed myself and i haven't write in ages pls sent some ideas so i can get my lazy brain going, english isnt my first language im sorry if i murder it
directory: read the first part | second part | third part | bonus
“how long have you known?”
noritoshi shrugged, bringing the cup of tea to his lips. the way he took time to answer her question drove her mad. “noritoshi, how long?” her voice strained.
“would it make any difference if i’d known today or 10 years ago?”
her eyes shot wide opened, “10 fucking years?”
a small smile appeared on his lips as he lowered the cup, “hypothetically.” she grabbed one of the pillows from the pile on the bed and threw it to his face, embedded with what little left of her jujutsu power. they have been going on for hours and she was clearly too stubborn to let it go. it was clearly weak; he dodged it with a flick of his wrist switching the pillow’s trajectory. “you’re a fucking asshole,” she gritted through her teeth, falling on bed as wave of anger and sadness crashed through.
“you think i wanted an arranged marriage? you think i like having every aspect of my life set since i was a child and scrutinized? i’m a bastard sitting on a throne. unlike you gojou clan, i had it much worst.”
she pulled her hair, fighting the tears that was already streaming down, “it’s not a competition. we are in the same school, i sat next to you for years and you’re telling me you have no idea that i’m your future wife, bullshit!” her eyes flickered as she threw the next close thing within her power’s vicinity; a vase. something hit the vase midway, breaking it into ashes and she watched as a drop of blood stained the floor. he broke it with his power.
“you can throw every single thing in this room, y/n, but it doesn’t stop the fact that we are already married.”
it was that one sentence that completely broke her. falling on her knees, she let a cry out, clutching on her chest as she cried to her heart’s content. this can’t be happening to me, no, no, no, her mind echoed as she forced herself to surrender to the fact that they are married. it’s not something easy to undo. it pained him to see her like this, but his wife needs to understand that he could do nothing about it. she cried for what seems to be like hours, the sleeves of her yukata wet from the tears and sweat. she fell on the floor to her knees, resting her body against the bed before finally looking up to meet her husband’s eyes. he could see defeat in her tired eyes.
“we dated each other,” she sniffled, “was that real or was it just you scouting for your future wife?” her words sound like venom to him
“i know you won’t believe me, but it was real. i would still marry you even if the marriage isn’t arranged.” noritoshi stood up, his barefoot echoed on the floor as he walked to his weakened wife. her body was hot, he suspected the skipping (refusing to eat) meals, raging and throwing tantrums after another had put her body in so much stress. he reached for the sash, trying to undo her yukata and she freaked out. grabbing his wrist, she shook her head, “what are you doing?” she asked shakily.
“would you listen to me for once? you need a cold shower, you’re burning up, it would help.” she stopped fighting. his tone was a mixed of annoyance and tired. dating him made her realized that noritoshi has a high level of patience; but not right now. letting go of his wrist, she slipped the yukata off her shoulder herself, whined about how she disliked cold shower below her breath. he wore a small smile as he hoisted the naked girl up. it’s a small victory on noritoshi the husband, he’ll savor it for now.
the girl kneeled on the floor of the shower as noritoshi slowly ran the shower head slowly up her body. her arms wrapped tightly against her chest; she cursed every time the cold water reached new part of her body. ignoring the fact that his yukata was getting wetter, he kneeled behind her and let her rest her back against his chest. with the shower gel, his body froze every time she whined at his touch. something about the way she whined under his touches made him weak. he wants to kiss her stupid face so badly. “it’s cold,” she mumbled, her eyes closed as he ran his palm against her stomach.
he pressed a kiss on the side of her face, “better?” he asked as his hand travelled lower. her eyes widened. he continued his kisses, down her jawline and her neck, bruising every spot as his fingers traced a lazy circle on her clit. she moaned out a throaty yes. he continued to whisper sweet nothings into her ears, promises of how he would take care of her, how he’s going to be a perfect husband, how she would be a perfect wife, how they’ll live happily together. she nodded her head in delirium, the pleasure of his fingers had her grinding her back on his crotch and emptying her thoughts. she could barely think straight. “tell me you’re mine,” he commanded, slipping a finger inside, “i can take care of you, baby,” her eyes rolled back, his words were not helping, it was just pure gasoline thrown into a burning fire.
“nori, i want to cum,” she muttered, clutching desperate on the now two fingers.
she felt his warm breath on the crook where her shoulder meet her neck, his fangs brushing threateningly against the sensitive skin. “open your mouth,” he urged, she whined at the lost feeling of his lips on her neck. she felt something dripping between her lips, his thumb brushing the lower lip. it painted her lips red. it tasted metallic, almost like a blood. it was his. he watched in satisfaction as his blood marking appeared on her right eye. he can control her blood, heightened her senses, throwing her body’s sensitivity off the wall, driving her off the edge with every spot of her body he touches; it sends pleasure twice as much. it wasn’t long until her velvety wall spasmed around his fingers. her body jolted forward; her shaky hands pressed against the wet tile preventing her from falling face first as orgasm washes out. she could barely make any noises, her throat was so dry, she felt like it might bleed.
she won’t deny that the orgasm eased her pain, but she would deny if he dared brought it up; he would not get the pleasure of knowing she enjoyed that.
his palm brushed against her thigh, causing her to look up. he raised his eyebrows in question which she brushed it off with a nod. she grabbed his hand and steadied herself up.
“i’m okay,” she voiced out.
he undressed, continued their shower from square one. they’ve done this before; sharing shower after mission washing blood off each other but this time, it feels different. she sighed at the pleasure, letting her hands rest against his toned chest. we are married, the sentence echoed in her mind as he massaged the shampoo on her head. never ever she thought that this is how she’ll be married. it’s not like she dreamed of a huge wedding. he did throw a small gathering, respecting her boundaries and her anxiety but everything just moved so fast. her parents are dead, her only remaining family is satoru, a distant cousin who finds it a no issue for her to marry her boyfriend. it is not an issue for her to marry noritoshi kamo, she loves him so much, but not like this.
she wished she had more choices in this.
he hummed a song, a habit of his that he caught from his mother, a lullaby his mother always sings. she wanted to hate him so much, for befriending her, making her fall in love with him and then forced her into a marriage. but when she opened her eyes and stared up into his, to see such loving look in his eyes, it weakened her. her heart is a wreck. “why do you do this to me?” she whimpered, slamming her fist into his chest. he refused to answer.
she was tired of his silence.
he turned the shower off, opening the glass door letting waft of cold air out. he left to fetch her towel and she stalked toward the nearby mirror. “how long until the thing wears off?” she asked when she caught a glimpse of herself. she reached to touch the blood marking on her eyes. he wrapped the towel around her body, hugging her from behind and through the foggy mirror, he brushed his thumb on her cheek, whispered something she couldn’t catch as the mark subsided.
“this doesn’t change the fact that i’m mad at you.”
he laughed it off, “i didn’t say it does. you always feel better post orgasm, you know how i know it?” he kissed her temple, eyes burned into hers, “because i dated you.”
her teeth gritted in annoyance.
“you think if i dated you to scout my future wife, i wouldn’t waste my time learning how your body responds to me, the way you yearn for me,” a kiss fell on her neck, “learn how well you control your shikigami and goes through lengths to teach you how to use my bow,” another kiss went up her jaw, “teach you my own blood techniques because god, why jujutsu needs to be such an exclusive thing,” arms went around her waist, “worried sick every single time utahime send you off for a mission, taking care of your wounds, being there to catch your reckless ass,” his breath lingered on her ears, “completely falling in love with you wholeheartedly for 3 years. i’d abandoned my father’s choice. you are arranged to be my wife, on my own accord. i choose you. you weren’t my father’s choice, but even in million years, even if sukuna’s vessel reincarnated again and again, even if the world split open and sent you miles away, even if i’m not the head of kamo clan,” his hand grabbed her chin, hard and forced her to meet his eyes, his words send shivers down her spine, “i would still choose you.”
she’s completely putty in his hand. she let out a soft whine as his body abandoned her, his warmth gone and came the cold biting her bare skin. her eyes followed the back of the man as he stalked to the wardrobe leaving the girl alone to ponder on his words.
“now, wouldn’t it just be a waste of my time, my wife?”
#okay im done loool#noritoshi kamo#kamo noritoshi#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#noritoshi kamo x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#idk what tag more lol#noritoshi smut#noritoshi x reader#jjk smut#writing: fics
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A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first ever fic! It's really just an idea I've had for months, and then wrote, and then couldn't figure out which hockey boy it fit, until some mutuals were kind enough to help. I settled on our boy Barzy! It's inspired by Taylor Swift's "Gold Rush", and I really wanted to do my best in reflecting the beautiful imagery this story creates for me. I hope I did it justice. It's a little terrifying putting my writing out there, but I hope people enjoy it!
Word count: 3.4k
Warnings: Two curse words, it's really just internal conflict within the reader
Summary: You're celebrating your dad's 50th birthday with some friends and family at a dinner party. You happen to land your eyes on a beautiful stranger, who you can't seem to get out of your head. You spend the rest of the night wondering, should you go up to him?
Or do you let him walk out the door?
___________
They say when you first lay eyes on your soulmate, time stands completely still. As you gaze into their eyes, it feels as though you’ve known them for multiple lifetimes. It feels like home. Is that even remotely true?
You start to take a sip of your drink and turn your head slightly to take in your surroundings. Your eyes dance around the room, until they stumble upon another pair of wondering eyes. Your eyes lock, and you’re instantly sucked into the mysterious yet intriguing twinkling grey-blue color that compliments his navy blue suit. Suddenly, your breath hitches in your throat, every part of your body stiffens, except for your lips that part slightly and eyes that widen. The drink is long forgotten, you’re even struggling to keep it from practically falling out of your hands and onto the wooden floor. The party is now just a blur, the noise? What noise? The world is muffled, as if someone stuck your head into a hundred pillows. Images stream through your mind like an endless movie reel wrapped in shimmery gold. Endless laughter on a first date over coffee. Him rubbing the back of your hand as you take a stroll through the park. Holiday mornings, exchanging gifts. Would he participate in the tradition of opening small gifts first, or would he want the biggest gift right off the bat? Ice skating and him catching you as you stumble on a pesky track in the ice. Him tossing you into the pool while you’re trying to put up a fight in a losing battle. A sweet and quiet proposal where he promises his forever love. A kiss at the altar in front of all your friends and family. Chasing after rambunctious little kids trying to get them to nap. All these gold dripping images of a pure love plow through your brain. Your heart is the unmovable object. They are the unstoppable force.
You and him only shared a look for what was probably half a second, but the thick air that seemed to only be affecting you made time feel like it stood completely still.
You burst back into reality with the help of a slight head shake. “Woah,” you quietly whisper. You blink a few times and finally get around to taking a sip of your drink to quench your parched throat. Did you just see a whole future...with a stranger?
“Hey, are you okay?” Stella asks. Her hand gently touches your arm as she cocks her head to the side. Her brows are furrowed in what can only be described as pure confusion. Did you really space out that badly as she was talking? What were you guys even talking about?
“Oh,” you say as you gently shake your head, “yeah.” You chuckle, “yeah, I’m just fine.” You wait a beat then say, “Hey, I’m going to use the bathroom really quickly, okay?”
“Sure thing,” she nods. “Do you need me to come with?”
“I’m totally fine, I promise,” you reassure with every bone in your body while giving her your drink. You really just needed to be alone to calm your racing mind that has now turned a complete stranger into a romantic interest with the power of a golden montage.
You make your way over to the exit of the dining hall and push the creaky open with your shoulder, and the amount of force you had to use honestly hurt. Your heels click down the tiled hallway of the golf club to find the bathroom door. The rectangular bathroom mirror framed in an intricate gold design holds your reflection. You slightly tilt your head as you take a look at your face. It’s like someone took the color of a clown nose and colored in your face with it. Jeez. You shake your head and sigh. This isn’t good, and deep down, you know that. You hate when you’re like this, all flustered over someone who just happened to lock eyes with you. His eyes. They were gleaming and just all around beautiful. What were you thinking again?
Oh, right.
Well, it’s pretty obvious he has this power over you, and you don’t like that. Now is your face going to become red everytime you see him? You check your phone. There’s still two hours left, plenty of time to possibly see him again. You can’t tell if that’s necessarily a good or bad thing.
You pace around the bathroom trying to reason with your begging heart. He was pretty good looking, which means that so many people naturally want him. Who was he even talking to, anyways? You gasp and stop in your tracks, blood running cold. “He was talking to a girl,” you mumble. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t sound completely and utterly crushed. In the heat of the moment, you completely failed to realize the blonde standing next to him. You lean over the counter, the cold marble feeling on your arms making your arms break out in goosebumps. You take one last stern look in the mirror at your face. “See, this is why we can’t allow ourselves to fall that hard,” you whisper angrily, “everyone wants him, and I just...I don’t like a gold rush like that.” You shake your head again and take one last deep breath to shake out any other thoughts. You can see yourself standing barefooted at the bottom of a hole looking astounded at how tall the walls have grown, and how distant the light looks. It feels like you soared lightheartedly into the sky, just to fall and crush every bone in your body.
You roll your eyes to yourself while slightly cursing yourself out. Pushing the bathroom door open, you step out into the hallway and make a beeline back for the dining hall. Your purse starts spastically vibrating, so you hastily fish your phone out to put an end to the obnoxious noise. Scanning the text, you read that your mom is asking where you went, as the cake for your dad’s birthday is going to be cut soon. You sigh as you text, “I’m hurrying back now.”
That’s all you see before you feel a slight brush tickle your bare shoulder. Your eyes don’t dare move from your phone screen. You reason that it’s not someone you know, as they would have said something to you. Your hands shake as you put your phone back in your purse.
“Oh, sorry,” the voice trails off as he continues to walk down the hallway after he brushed up against you.
“It’s okay,” you whisper, without turning around, which is admittedly ridiculous.
As soon as you can judge his footsteps are far away enough, you make a quick glance behind to see if it really was him. And judging by the navy blue suit, it was.
Suddenly, the golden montage flows through your mind once more, showing an image of yourself wearing an old shirt of his, maybe one from when he was in high school for whatever sport he played, if he played one. Your feet feel the coolness of the wooden floor of the supposed home. The home both of you share? It’s so tangible, so real that you almost reach out to touch it. It’s right there...
Your head jerks yourself out of the vision once more, or rather the fact that you’re now faced with a white wall in front of you. You sigh a long frustrated sigh. I can’t believe I really walked by the entrance, how embarrassing, you think as you turn on your heels to backtrack. Why does this stranger have you so wrapped around his finger? No one else has been able to even come close to doing that. You feel your face with your hand, and it’s burning. I’ll go in there looking like a tomato, it’s fine.
You do your best to quite literally shake off those thoughts as you push open the dining room hall door. “There you are!” your mom says. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come on, we’re going to sing happy birthday to Dad.”
“Can’t wait,” you beam. After all, your dad only turns 50 once, and this night is about him, afterall. You follow your mom to a table with a white tablecloth resting on it.
Stella pops out from behind your dad to approach you and whispers, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
You resist the urge to gently shove her in front of everyone. “Yes,” you pleadingly insist, “now stop asking me in front of Mom and Dad, they’ll think something is wrong.”
She side eyes you with an attitude. “Fine.”
“They’re my girls,” your dad says with a smile.
You and Stella laugh while leaning into him for a quick hug. “Hey dad,” you both say in unison.
The room completely dies down, people could hear a pin drop. “Ready?” your mom asks the guests. The room takes a collective deep breath.
And so the melody of Happy Birthday rings joyously through the hall, you can see the mystery stranger out of the corner of your eye. Heat radiates off your skin, it’s almost like you can feel his eyes boring into you. It takes all the willpower you can muster, but you resist the temptation to look over at him all throughout the song.
When the song is over, the room breaks out into obnoxiously loud clapping. You, Stella, and your parents share loving looks and warm smiles.
Eventually, everyone proceeds to return to normal chatter at the one rectangular table of two that they’re sitting at, and so do you, Stella and your parents.
You pull out your seat next to your sister near the middle of the middle of the table and sit, fixing your dress.
“Ahem,” Stella says in an ill attempt to cover her suspiciousness with a clearing throat noise. Queue whatever accusatory question she’s got.
“Let me just set something straight,” she starts.
“Go for it,” you say as you reach for some water.
“It’s definitely that guy a few seats down, isn’t it?” She smirks. She’s got you trapped in her little web, and she knows it.
You may or may not have fought back choking on your water or pulling a ridiculous spit take on the nice white table cloth.
You lean in and harshly whisper, “Well you didn’t have to say it that loudly.” You glance over at the mystery stranger and see his hand wrapped around his glass as he goes to drink it. He has a thick silver ring on his pointer finger?
“Hello?” Stella shifts her head to selfishly cut off your view of him.
“Okay,” you sigh in defeat, “yes it’s him. Happy?”
“Very,” she says, very satisfied because she finally pried it out of you and got you to admit it. Someone else has you wrapped around their finger. She didn’t even have to know all the details of the montages to know. She could tell by the way your eyes glossed over and how your lips would slightly part like you were in a hazy daydream.
And you were.
“Who is he anyway? And why don’t we know him?” You ask.
“I don’t know, honestly. A little strange, isn’t it? Why don’t you ask mom who he is?” She suggests, but her cheshire smile suggests that she will somehow find out, with or without your mom’s help.
“But mom’s going to absolutely harass me until I say something to him. Just you on my tail is enough,” you say with an eyebrow raised as to say ‘don’t test me.’ And Stella knows you’re right.
“Alright, fine,” she concedes, “But why don’t you, I don’t know, talk to him?”
“I did,” you nonchalantly float.
Her eyes widen and her mouth forms an “O” from disbelief. Did you really not talk to people that much?
“Really?” she practically squeals.
“Yeah, he brushed by me and said, ‘Sorry’ so I said, ‘It’s okay.’” Okay, now you get why your friends and family get mad at you for refusing to talk to people. But cracking this joke was one you could not pass up.
Her face scrunches up and she exhibits the biggest eye roll you have ever seen. She opens her mouth to start saying something, probably to scold at you, but you open your mouth to cut her off first.
“Alright no, I haven’t. And do you know why?” As you’re about to get your thought out, you’re interrupted by a fit of laughter down the stretch of the table. Your eyes scan but freeze on the stranger, whose nose is adorably scrunched up as he laughs with multiple, yes multiple, people about goodness knows what. And there’s that other blonde that you still don’t know, laughing with him. You tear your stare away and focus back on your sister.
“Look, that right there. That’s why,” you say, anger burning through your chest.
Stella raises an eyebrow in her own judgemental manner. “He talks to people? You know people do that right?”
Now it’s your turn to return the favor of a judgemental eye roll. “No, Stella, I mean just look at him and the people he’s surrounded by. It’s so obvious that everyone wants him. Just look at that girl with him. I’m not the only one who wants to love him.”
Silence ensues between you two. She picks up her phone and shoots a quick text. After a moment she says, “Well, I think if you just talked to him, you’d be pleasantly surprised with what could happen. I have to help mom with distributing gift bags. You stay here,” she instructs.
You can only assume you’re not being called to help because Stella graciously told your mom that you’re potentially working up the courage to talk to someone that’s not one of your three friends or your family. How generous of her.
A few friends of your dad stop by your seat to say goodbye before they head out. The noise slightly dies down enough to scarcely hear some other conversations. You hear nothing out of the ordinary, just a girl talking about getting into her dream school to some guy. Your ears slightly move as you pick up on a voice that sounds like the one in the hallway earlier.
“Yeah dude, but did you see the fake out on the goalie on the second goal? That had to have been the best part.”
Out of instinct you open your mouth to interject, but quickly shut it and put it under lock and key. You blink in disbelief. Hockey? Did this man just speak on hockey?
You circle the rim of the coffee cup and stare at the brown liquid. In a different universe…
In a different universe you would have actually kept your mouth open, and maybe even squeezed some words out, too.
“Actually, that seamless stretch pass down the neutral zone from the defenseman after a pretty difficult forecheck set up the play pretty well. I’d give him a lot of credit, too.”
He’d probably look a little shocked, as do most guys when you interject your two-sense about hockey. But maybe he’d break out into a small smile and offer a rebuttal. Yeah, that sounds nice. Maybe one day…
Maybe one day you’ll be sitting next to him on the couch, watching a game while cuddling and brushing the hair out of his face. Oh who are you kidding, you’ll be up and screaming at the TV. It’s your staple.
A noise of someone dropping something behind you slightly startles you and pulls you out of your once again golden daydream. You finally stop mindlessly circling the rim of your coffee cup to take a sip, but only to find it’s now ice cold.
This is why you hate looking through a pair of rose colored glasses. It distracts you from enjoying things. You glance over at your dad who’s still talking to one of his good friends that lingered after festivities. You’re supposed to be celebrating him right now, but instead you’re literally stuck in this cursedly pure golden daydream that is almost too good to break.
You can see him. He’s still there, at the end of the table, chatting away with some dude. The blonde left at some point, though.
“Well, I gotta head out, man, good to see you. My sister needs help with packing her stuff for college tomorrow, so we’ve got a busy day coming up.”
Could that girl have been his sister?
“Congratulations to her on getting into her dream school by the way,” the guy says. “I talked to her when she was here earlier, and she seemed super excited.”
A wave of cool relief washes over your body, remembering the conversation about college you picked up on earlier. It was his sister.
“Yeah she is, she worked really hard, and it also involved a whole lot of crying,” he chuckles.
Ain’t that right, you think to yourself.
The table shakes as he pushes out of his chair. Your eyes remain glued to your coffee cup no matter how much you want them to move. You just can’t gather the courage to say something, and you’re cursing yourself for it. You don’t want to sit here and dream about him anymore. You want to actually let these things happen, for once. You want to just unleash all these swirling and sickeningly sweet emotions from your body and drown him in it. You want so badly to leap up and say something, anything. Step on those voices taunting you and mocking you saying that it could never happen, it could never be so it will never be. He’s so inviting that you can’t resist any longer. You go to reach out to him, but the door shuts before you know it.
And just as fleeting as he came,
He’s gone.
Fuck. It feels as though a brick is sitting on your chest, suffocating you. You really let your worries control you, and this time it feels as though you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. You just can’t believe you let it happen when your mind was begging you to talk to him. You always do-
“Shit,” you mumble. In your frustration, you knocked over the remnants of the coffee onto the not-so-white-anymore table cloth. Tears prickle up in your eyes, your throat closes, and your nose begins to sting. You quickly swallow these emotions down your throat and begin to use a napkin to soak up the excess coffee. Drinks have really not been your friend tonight.
For the first time, you notice as you clean that it’s just you left in the room, besides a few people cleaning up on the other end. You’re not sure where your family has gone, but you haven’t received any texts prompting you to leave yet. It’s so silent that you can hear some muffled chatter down the hall.
Suddenly, you hear the same creak of the door open with an “oof” that doesn’t quite sound like your dad. Your blood runs cold and you freeze mid press into the tablecloth. You glance up without turning around to see a lone jacket hanging on a chair suspiciously close to the chair he previously sat in. Your eyes widen and dart around the room, but you dare not move, waiting to see what he does. Even after cursing yourself out for ten minutes while cleaning up spilled coffee, you still haven’t learned to make the first move. His presence feels like a forcefield, you can feel it heavily pressing into your back.
But he isn’t moving to grab the jacket, no.
A pointer finger with a silver ring taps your shoulder.
“Hey,” the clarity of his voice rings in your ears like a bell. Your heart is racing so fast that it feels like it’s going to burst out of your rib cage and run its own 10k. You slowly crank your head around to meet his eyes for the first time-- face to face.
And you must say, his face is really pretty when you actually talk to him face to face. Maybe you should do this more often. You take in his golden features, and struggle to hide a small smirk creeping up on your face. His messy hair falls perfectly into place on his head, and his kind face makes you feel as though a mess of metallic gold swirls are playfully swirling and dashing around you both. You’ve found him in this lifetime.
“I’m Mat, can I help you clean up before I grab my jacket?”
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Terraqua Week Day 5 (Mischief)
Summary: Aqua doesn’t have a crush on Terra. She doesn’t. Okay, she does. Or, Terra accidentally walks in on her in the shower. || Word Count: 3,476
Read on AO3
A/N: @terraquaweek I should mention a tiny little warning that there is a reference to nudity in this fic! It’s not described, so it’s totally T-rated but in case that is something you wanted to know. :) This is the shortest fic in the bunch, something cute and fun. The shower scene was a deleted scene in my Terraquanort fic, but I found that it just didn’t fit with the mood at all haha
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
nah.
Accidents don’t often happen to Aqua.
Ha.
Aqua swings her Keyblade upward. The force juggles golden rings assigned for training, usually tied to a pole for a bounce back. The Master mentioned some interesting techniques the other day in class: style changes, or the ability to enhance your power after a string of emotional attacks deep in the heat of battle, when you’re forced to rely on your heart to pull you out of a tough situation. Terra is sure to be developing new tricks, too.
There’s two months left until the Mark of Mastery. Letting the rings loose is a handicap Aqua places on herself: they’re heavy, resisting her magic to bounce in the air. This way, they should mimic what it’d feel like to fight a powerful enemy. She practices her pirouettes, and her waves of magic attempt to buoy them in the air in a violent tornado, but her spell flounders, a small push by a child in a playground. She adds a waltz step, a flip to give it a good kick, but it’s not enough. The rings crash back onto the grass.
Aqua grunts and goes for the kill—but she twists her ankle at the crevice of a rock, landing on her knee.
“Stars,” she curses, wincing. Her knee is scraped, a hole ripped through her stocking, and her ankle aches. Stars. She casts Heal on her knee to soothe the sting and the gentlest summon of Ice to counter the swelling in her ankle. She tries to stand on it but can’t, so she casts more rounds of Heal and Ice spells until her leg can at least bear her weight.
Aqua limps to the castle through the back entrance, where the communal showers are. Showerheads, each with its own white curtain, are built on one side and sinks on the other in a wide open space. It’s part of a long hallway that connects to one of the gyms and a storage room down a corner. The floor is lilac concrete tile and drains, where it gives way to marble when you enter the castle proper.
There was a time when the castle housed enough students to justify the size of this room, but Aqua is grateful she has direct access instead of having to drag this stupid ankle up a tower to her bedroom.
She shrugs off her sweaty, dirt-ridden clothes and shoes, and throws them in one corner, picking a shower that already houses soap, careful to put all her weight on one foot. The curtain draws around her in a u-shape and she turns the hot water knob, the pipes whistling as the water gushes through.
It gently scalds her at first but Aqua sighs when she gets used to it, rolling her shoulders and lifting her elbow over her head to stretch. The heat is good for the muscles. She presses her fingers near her neck, where it’s tight, and massages, then bends down to cast more Heal and Ice spells onto her ankle. Grime and sand flow down her skin, losing saturation as it curls down the drain under her feet. The soap stings when it runs over her scrape.
She can’t keep making mistakes.
Maybe the waltz step was too much and over-complicated things.
Aqua turns the knob off after rinsing her body and listens to the water drip onto the floor. The repetitive sound is hypnotic. She’ll journal her progress when she gets to her room and make comparisons with entries from the last few weeks.
Hopefully, she’s improving at an acceptable speed despite the injury.
Aqua tests her ankle. She can’t flex it. Stars.
What is she missing when it comes to her technique? Does she need better endurance with her pirouettes? Does she have the time to do it right before the Mark of Mastery?
When she realizes that she needs a towel to dry off—and there’s no towel in sight—she realizes that she’s been standing there wasting the time away. The shower is the greatest and the worst place to think.
Aqua figures she could grab a towel from the storage room nearby without anyone noticing.
She opens the curtain.
Terra is standing right there, eyes as round as oranges with a heavy bag of fertilizer in his arms. He drops it. Aqua shuts the curtain with a screech.
“I’m sorry!” she hears him yell. Through the bottom of the curtain, she sees him scalping for excess that spilled over. Whatever hits the floor is mixing into the water, making mud. He’s barefoot.
“Terra, what the stars—?” she hisses, covering herself despite the curtain (a single piece of thin fabric).
“I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were in here!”
“How is that possible?”
“Why are you standing here doing nothing?”
“Just—Terra—” She groans loudly.
There is a pause as he walks backwards. “I-I didn’t see anything.”
“Get out of here.”
His footsteps slap across the floor, a subtle splash and the smack against the tile. Aqua peeks through the curtain when it’s quiet. She’s alone with a sequence of mud heading into the castle. Aqua grabs her clothes, slipping the bare minimum on despite its filth, and treks down the hall, purposefully taking opposite directions from his trail.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Their designated table in the library is always littered with books, damaged ones exchanged for the unread when the assignment deems it. There’s an extra stack for Ven since he’s a couple of years behind.
Aqua (carefully) enters the library (ignoring the throbbing—it will heal quickly, she tells herself). She’s cleanly dressed and re-bathed, and takes a seat at the desk while Terra and Ven babble about the nonsense of a textbook they both hate.
Terra gives her a quick, panicked glance before turning away from her and staring hard at the book in front of him.
Ven notices. “Aqua, are you hurt?”
“I’m fine, just a sprain,” she says, suddenly clenched in the throat. What happened in the shower was nothing. No big deal. Sometimes best friends see things. So why is she, too, bordering on panic? Heat builds in her cheeks, so much that it hurts. Aqua tilts her head at an angle so her hair covers her face.
“What’s with you two?” Ven asks and Aqua flinches.
“Nothing, Ven,” Terra says too sternly. He bites his lip and stands too quickly. “A Heal spell isn’t enough for a sprain, what were you thinking?” he asks her without looking at her. He clears his throat loud enough to make Ven recoil, trying his best to hide how shaky his voice has become. “Excuse me,” Terra says before shuffling his feet like he’s holding his pee and disappearing.
When it’s quiet, Ven leans forward to get into Aqua’s personal space. “Okay, I know something’s up. What’s going on?” He squints. “Why is your face all red?”
“N-no reason.” Aqua opens a book. If she digs her entire face into it, it will look like she’s hiding on purpose. She lowers her chin (casually) to pretend she’s reading.
“You’re a liar.”
Aqua slams the book back down. “I do not lie, Ven.”
“Sure, you’re the definition of perfect. But you’re lying to me now.”
Aqua doesn’t know what to do. Her record is spotless. She’s a good student and a good person. She’s only ever told small, harmless white lies, about being tired when she doesn’t feel like it, or saying she isn’t hungry when she is so they don’t catch her sneaking in a brownie. But not this.
“I’m not,” she says in the most unconvincing way.
“Fine, I’ll bug Terra about it—”
“There was,” Aqua says, her voice uneven (damn the stars), “an accident.”
Ven raises a skeptical brow. “And? How bad could that be?”
Aqua huffs and crosses her arms. It’s just Ven. Her other best friend, no judgment here. “Terra surprised me.”
Ven rolls his eyes.
“In the communal shower.”
He points and laughs at her, dropping his head in a fit and slamming a fist onto the surface of the table. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard,” he says in between gasps. “Oh, he must be suffering right now.”
Terra returns, more relaxed, carrying a wooden bowl and bandages. Still, he avoids looking Aqua in the eye.
“So…” Ven says with an obnoxious knowing to his voice and Aqua regrets everything. “Did you enjoy the view?”
Terra stares at her first, his brown skin pale. He glares at Ven with the ferocity of homicide.
Ven bursts into another shake of laughter. “Stars, don’t tell me. You’re blushing so hard.”
At that, Aqua looks away. The thought is embarrassing and a… relief? At the same time?
Terra doesn’t honor Ven with a reply. He trembles, forming a claw with his hand. When he waves it, the bookshelves shake. Several books zoom out and flap, hovering over Ven and hitting him on the head like crows on the attack.
“Wait, stop, how are you doing this?” Ven shields his head with his arms, but Terra is bent on murder. Ven summons his Keyblade and cuts straight through the spine of a book. “Okay, okay, I get it!” The books glide close, ready to torpedo if necessary. Terra refuses to say anything. Ven steps away from the table, on guard. Then he smirks. He sticks his tongue out and bolts out the door. “Maybe that means you guys will finally kiss!” he yells down the hall.
Kiss.
A word as loud as a volcano erupting.
Terra lets go of his magic and all the books drop to the floor, yet the crash is still quieter than Kiss, quieter than how hard her heart is drumming in her chest.
Without a word, Terra picks up the bowl with both of his hands and mumbles a short-lived Fire spell. It’s obvious that she’s to remove her sock and give her ankle to him. That’s the point, a turmeric and olive oil mix, gently heated to reduce inflammation. He doesn’t need to ask.
Aqua lifts her leg to remove her stocking.
Terra flinches and dramatically averts his eyes.
“It’s just a sock, Terra.”
Terra motions to look at her as a response, but stops himself. “You shouldn’t be walking on it,” he bites.
“Call me stubborn.”
“You’re stubborn.”
She fights the impulse to slap him on the back of the head. “Here.” She offers her naked leg to him.
Terra still won’t look at her, but digs two of his fingers into the mix and holds her calf with his other hand. He almost draws back from her skin. Stars, he is blushing. She is too, she can feel it, a boil in both of her cheeks, a flame building in her stomach. His fingers are warm and strong, a caress on her skin. She likes this. She has all the capability to do this herself but she doesn’t want to.
Shit.
Aqua crosses one arm over and brings her hand to her chest—her way of looking dignified as Terra rubs the solution over her ankle. She has been appreciating how broad his shoulders have gotten, how sharp his jawline is, how tall he’s grown. All things that most people would notice, surely. He’s beautiful, he’s always been.
He opens his mouth to say something.
Aqua panics. “If you dare make a comment—”
“You’ll kick me?” Terra lifts her leg higher out of spite and nearly pulls her off the chair. He takes the bandage and starts to wrap.
Aqua stammers. How are they going to get through this?
“It was an accident, Terra.”
He freezes as though he can’t decide if he should finish the job or drop her leg. After a pause, he pitches his voice into a high octave to mimic her (badly). “Oh please, Terra, they’re just breasts. Nothing major.”
“You said—” she squeaks and covers her mouth. She shouldn’t be so naive. The heat in her cheeks bake.
That’s fine. Best friends know lots of intimate things, especially with how long Terra and Aqua have been together. Some of her guts, though, are about to choke her esophagus. She hopes that doesn’t mean she wanted him to see anything. That she’d want him to enjoy it.
Shit.
Terra trembles in nervous laughter, soft and quiet, staring holes into her ankle as he knots the bandage. He’s blinking too much. “You’ll need to compress cold rice on it every now and then,” he says, suddenly serious. “And rest,” he stresses like it’s a curse word.
“Terra?”
He hesitates. “Yeah?”
Footsteps approach them from behind, too graceful to be Ven’s. Terra scrambles to pick up the books, choosing the sliced one first to slip into the bookshelf so the Master doesn’t notice. Aqua straightens herself out and slips on her shoe.
“Would someone mind explaining to me the mess in the communal showers?” the Master asks as he enters, before eyeing the mess in the library. He braces his hips with his fists. “What on earth are two concoting here?”
Her cheeks burn harder.
“Not much, sir,” Terra says, gathering a tall stack of books under his chin. “Pranking Ven. The usual.”
The tone of his voice is too suspicious and the Master knows them too well.
“Aqua,” the Master says, “you sustained an injury.”
All she can come up with is, “Not in the prank, sir.”
“So the mud—?”
“In the shower,” Terra says quickly, without thinking. Overcompensating for the awkwardness. He bites his lip. “I mean, she slipped when she was showering.”
“He only knows because I told him,” Aqua says and she wants to slap herself. Of course that’s how Terra would find out in any normal story. Spelling it out makes it seem like he witnessed it himself. Terra glares her a new one.
Eraqus reads her with skepticism. He folds his hands behind his back and clears his throat. “Terra, you remember the discussion we’ve had some years ago regarding certain curiosities—”
“Yes, Master.” Terra inhales sharply and coughs.
The Master smiles. He looks pleased with himself. “You may continue to clear this up. And if you would please, keep the mischief at a minimum. It would be a great distraction from your work.”
Terra grits his teeth and Aqua lowers her eyes. “Yes, Master,” they both say slowly, like they’re about to step on hot coal.
When the Master leaves, Terra drops books onto the table. He’s finally looking at her, his eyes such a striking depth. It suddenly melts her away. Why so sudden though? He’s always had dark eyes.
Oh. She’s taken him for granted. Now she sees.
“What was that?” he whispers.
Aqua scoffs. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
He shakes his head. “I never want to have that kind of conversation with the Master ever again.”
“At least let me help you,” Aqua says, nodding over to the last gathering of books on the floor.
“I’m not letting you stand on that foot.” He bends over to do the work himself.
“Then I’ll help you clean out the mud.”
Terra puts away the last handful of books, and chuckles to himself. “How do you want to get there? Crutches?”
“No, thank you.”
“Well, I either carry you in my arms or I fling you over my shoulder.”
Aqua needs to find a spell to hide the blushing. It aches. “What an obnoxious suggestion.”
“Then I’ll leave you here in the library.”
“No.”
Terra snorts. “Okay.” He hooks an arm under her knees and lifts the rest of her body like she’s a hollow ragdoll. So close to him, Aqua can feel the grooves of his muscle, his chest durable and broad. She wonders if he enjoys holding her this close, too.
“I am really sorry,” he says as he takes her back towards the showers, passing by the open entrance to that gym, padded for wrestling. It’s not one they use often, since most of their training happens towards the front entrance. “I was on my way to take care of the squash. It was a dumb accident.”
“It’s okay,” Aqua says. She’s resting her head on his shoulder, staring at the way his neck moves when he speaks. Here, they don’t have to look at each other. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Yeah.” He sounds almost disappointed, if not relieved. “Glad we sorted that out, right?”
“Definitely.” She wraps her arms around his neck tighter.
“What were you doing?”
“Pushing myself too hard.” Aqua scoffs.
“Typical Aqua.”
At the way he says that—mock-cocky, snivelish, playful—she blushes. He hasn’t changed since they were little, but it’s a side to him that only she and Ven sees.
There’s a lot to him that he only shows her.
They reach the storage room where the mop and towels would be stored, but he doesn’t enter. “We really need to install a door here,” he says. They reach the communal showers, and he bypasses them too. Terra finally settles her down on the terrace outside.
“Stay here, I’ll be back.”
“No, wait, I’m helping you—”
“Not with that foot, you’re nuts.”
“You can’t stop me from crawling back inside.”
“Then I’ll drag you back out.” He smirks, almost like he’s his old self but not quite. His old self isn’t this adamant. It makes her think that there’s something he isn’t saying, that maybe she’s misreading him, stuck between doing his duty to help her and needing time away from her. That he’s hiding it all behind a joke, and she has to let him go.
“Okay.” She crosses her arms.
“Rest isn’t terrible for you,” he says as he walks away.
Aqua stares at dry dirt. Down this path are the flower and vegetable gardens, contained by a fence. Beyond is the trail that leads right to the spot where she started this ridiculous ordeal. If only she didn’t trip. She’s been training for years. She’s too skilled to be having accidents, too far in her studies to think this hard about her feelings for Terra.
Too far in her studies and too mature to keep denying that she wants him to look at her. She does.
She gets tapped on the head.
“Wait here,” Terra says, heading towards the gardens, barely giving her a glance.
Aqua anchors her elbows onto her thighs and drops her chin into her hands. A sudden thought invades her mind: he’ll come back from whatever chore he has to finish here, take her to her room, and now that everything is said and done, they’ll pretend like none of this has happened.
And that is that. A weird day finished, a blip in history.
Terra comes back into view faster than she anticipated, holding a bouquet of orange and blue flowers in his hand.
Aqua uses the wall to pull herself up, keeping most of her weight on the good foot. “What’s this?”
Terra opens his mouth to speak, and leaves it there. He licks his lips and offers the flowers. “Um…” He scoffs. “I’m bad at this.”
They smell nice. Roses and bluestars. They must be his way to apologize. “They’re beautiful.”
“Um…” He clears his throat, rubbing something raw at the back of his neck. “Would you like to, uh…” He glances at the ground beneath him, summoning the courage to look at her and speak clearly, overusing his hands to demonstrate. “There’s actually a really pretty cave nearby, full of crystals and minerals. It’s spectacular, and I’ve always wanted to take you to see it.” He blushes, swallowing. “Um, when you feel better, would you like to come see it with me? Spend the night, I mean?” He blushes harder, scoffing. “It’s a nice hike and it’s a great camping spot.”
Aqua squeezes the stems of the flowers and her heart hammers too hard to find her voice. “That sounds…” She exhales. “Nice.” She almost asks for permission—from who, she doesn’t know. Terra is asking her. She’s asking herself. “Yes, I’d love to.” She hopes to the stars she’s blushing less than him.
Terra has no answer except for a nervous giggle, his eyes gleaming. He leans forward and kisses her on the cheek, whipping himself back with a hand to his face like he’s committed the worst sin in the world.
It’s warm where he left his lips. Aqua touches it with her fingers.
Embarrassed laughter sputters out of Terra’s mouth with many unnecessary apologies.
Aqua smiles, and it comforts him. “Can you take me back inside?” she asks, that smile twisting her cheeks. It hurts so good.
“Sure,” he breathes. “Anywhere you want.”
They exchange rogue giggles and excited glances as he carries her. They talk as if nothing indeed has happened, where they avoid any mention of mischief to be had in the near future, at least for now. Maybe the stars threw her off balance this morning on purpose. Best friends. They’ve always been.
#terraqua#aqua#terra#ventus#kingdom hearts fanfiction#lmao omg#this cute little one is finally out#i hope you like it!#my fic
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Vas Prizrak-Seven
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader. Slight Steve Rogers x Reader
Words: 1518
Warnings: swearing, some smut, fluff, lots of angst.
Summary: Bucky and Reader’s life in Wakanda had been everything they ever wanted. But when they are told about the fight that was on it’s way to them, they fear that life would be dusted away for good.
A/N: I’m really hoping I can get another chapter out while my kiddo’s take a nap so fingers crossed!
TAGS: @mggpleasedontlookhere @grey-force-jedi @austynparksandpizza
The ship landed outside of Avenger’s headquarters in New York and as soon as my feet landed on the grass, I was met with a bone crushing hug from Natasha. She pulled away and placed hands on my cheeks, forcing me to look into her eyes.
She looked tired.
“You alright?” Natasha asked.
I nodded. “I’m not going to lie, I’m exhausted.”
Nat wrapped an arm around my shoulder and started leading me towards the compound, leaving Steve to walk slowly behind us.
“I’ve got your room setup with some clothes. Take all the time you want, we can catch you up to speed when you’re ready.”
“Clint tell you about our rendezvous together?” I questioned, the familiar halls bringing a small smile to my face.
She snorted. “It was nothing compared to our time in Budapest together.”
Gently pushing her away, I came to a stop in front of my old room and told Natasha that I would be down in the living area soon. We said goodbye with a quick hug and I was alone, staring at the dark, wooden door. I only lived there for a week but it still held so many bad memories of mourning Bucky that I was nervous to step inside.
After taking a deep breath, I entered the room and couldn’t help the very large smile that spread to my lips at the sight. On the nightstand was a beautiful bouquet of black roses next to an old picture of Bucky and I. My fingers traced over his face before picking up the note.
Buck mentioned that black roses were your favorite. He also made me promise him that I would look after you if anything did happen to him. I have failed the last five years but I promise that I will make up for it by bringing Bucky back home to you.
Xx Steve
“You knew I was going to come back with you?” I questioned the body that stood in the doorway behind me.
I didn’t have to turn around to see that Steve was leaning against the doorway, watching me with intent eyes.
“I knew that you would do anything to get him back, even if it meant seeing me again,” Steve admitted.
Finally turning to face him, I gave him a confused look. “Do you think I hate you?”
Steve shrugged and my heart dropped.
“I never hated you, Steve. Five years ago when Thanos destroyed the stones, I felt like there was nothing left to live for. My life had no meaning so I took my anger out on the people I loved other than Bucky,” I admitted.
“You know,” Steve started as we walked into the room and sat on the bed next to me, “I spent the last five years telling people that they have to move on but I can’t find it in myself too.”
He pulled out a familiar compass from his pocket and once he opened it, I saw an old picture of someone that he never talked about in front of me.
Peggy Carter.
I knew about his past with her back in the 40’s and knew that he loved her but I didn’t know that he was still in love with her.
“From what you told me about her, she seemed like a lovely woman,” I said.
Steve nodded. “She was. I only wish that I had more time with her. We never got our dance.”
I placed my hand on his thigh, giving it a loving squeeze. Our eyes locked for a brief moment and feeling the tension between us, I threw a thumb over my shoulder towards my bathroom.
“Uh, I really should shower before the team meeting.”
Steve reluctantly nodded and stood from the bed. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
When I was alone yet again, I forced my tired muscles from the bed and to the shower, hot water calling my name. My suit peeled away like a second skin as I stepped out of it, tossing it to the floor. The bruises and old scars from the last five years shone bright in reflection of the mirror, my eyes refusing to look any longer. I then looked at the ink on my left arm, the tattoo mirroring Bucky’s old arm; the one he had when he was The Winter Soldier.
You’re starting to look like me with the tattoo and mask.
The familiar voice brought a soft smile to my face as I worked the shampoo deep into my long hair. The redness of my hair was still bright as the first day my powers changed it back in Romania, me even trying to die it a couple years ago, only having it turn red again the next day.
I love your rose shampoo. The scent always stained my pillow case.
“God, I miss you,” I muttered to the voice.
My tears had mixed with the water from the shower head, unsure how hard I was actually crying until my loud sobs were heard echoing off the tiled walls of the bathroom. For the first time in five years, I allowed myself to mourn Bucky, the sobs racking my body, causing me to fall to my knees in the shower.
“I need you, Bucky. I don’t think I can handle it if this doesn't work,” I sobbed.
Dorogaya, don’t mourn me. I’m still here, watching over you.
“It’s not fair, you should be here with me.”
I love you, Y/N.
A soft knock on my room's door caused me to immediately stand, wiping the tears from my face, and turning off the shower. Once the towel was tightly wrapped around myself, I padded barefoot over to the door.
“Yes?”
“Are you alright? I heard you crying.”
Steve.
Damn his super soldier hearing.
“I’m fine,” I yelled through the door. “I just need to get dressed then I’ll be down stairs.”
Once I was dressed, I opened the door and almost ran into the hard chest that still stood in the doorway.
“Fuck, Steve. You scared me!” I curse, stepping back from him.
“Are you okay?” He questioned again.
His soft gaze told me that he was truly worried about me so I gave him a reassuring nod.
“I’m okay now. Want to walk with me?”
Steve nodded and we started to walk side by side down to the living room of the compound, where everyone was waiting to give me the rundown of the plan. Steve hadn’t mentioned anything about it to me on the way here since I had opted for taking a much needed nap.
“New tattoo?” Steve motioned to my arm.
“Uh, yeah. Let’s say that it was a dark time in my life.” I admitted.
A soft chuckle fell from Steve’s lips and we stepped onto the elevator, riding it down a few floors in a comfortable silence.
“Wait, say it again. My brain is having some trouble processing what you just said,” I spoke to Scott Lang.
He sighed. “Basically it’s time travel.”
I scoffed before looking between Steve and Natasha. “This is the big plan? Fucking time travel?”
“It’s going to work, Y/N,” Nat said.
My head shook with doubt as I leaned deeper into the couch, looking around the room at the faces I hadn’t seen in so long.
Tony had a family now, him and Pepper having a daughter.
Bruce had decided to live a life as the Hulk and Bruce Banner together. It was weird to look at first but eventually as time went on during the meeting, I got used to it.
Thor, on the other hand, had looked worse than all of us. He had taken the loss to Thanos harder than some of us, choosing to numb his pain with alcohol and letting himself go.
Clint sat next to me on the couch and he averted my attention from everyone else to him with a pat on my knee.
“I’m still pissed at you for telling them where I was,” I semi-joked.
He gave me a small laugh. “I know it sounds stupid but we have to try. For them.”
We had become incredibly close in the time we went on our killing spree before we parted ways and considered him a good friend of mine so if he had some hope for this plan, the least I could do was to try.
“Okay,” I nodded then turned my attention towards Steve. “How do we know it’s going to work?”
“One of us will go back to a point in time. They’ll only get five minutes before we bring them back.” Steve stated.
“So a test run?” I asked.
Scott nodded. “Exactly, a test run. Now we have to decide who.”
“I’ll do it,” I stood without a second thought.
Dorogaya, no.
“Not happening, Y/N.” Steve shook his head.
I crossed my arms while looking at him, putting all the weight to my left foot. The voice in my head and Steve would not be able to change my decision.
“Steve, you’ve known me for so long, you really expect to change my mind?”
He sighed, defeated.
“Let’s get you suited up then.”
#Bucky Barnes#bucky barnes and reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes angst#james buchanan barnes#james barnes#james buchanan barnes x reader#james barnes x reader#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers#captain america#captain america x reader#the winter solider x reader#soldat#dorogaya
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Memories
AO3 :: Before
2
Today
I heard the buzzing of his electric razor coming from upstairs. I knew perfectly well who was in the bathroom, and I hated myself for wishing it were somebody else. A desperate scream fought to rip its way out of my throat, and I gritted my teeth, trying to kill it.
This was a lost war, and an angry grunt escaped my lips. I smashed the coffee cup on the floor. Pieces skittered under the table, under the fridge, while the steaming liquid advanced slowly on the kitchen tile. Barefoot, I walked gladly on the remains of the cup, wishing with all my soul the shards could cut deep, deep into my heart.
I remembered large hands, sapphire-blue eyes, and red, red hair that autumn itself would envy. I wished I could run outside, shoeless, to search and find him. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, that I regretted so much, and that I still could not forgive myself.
But I crept closer to the sink, ignoring the stabbing in my foot, and the bloody splotch it left in its wake. I grabbed a tea towel and prepared to clean up the mess I’d made, because there was nothing else to do.
I dabbed at the brown puddle on the tiles. Irrelevantly, I recalled the words that would tumble heedlessly from my mouth when his lips found mine. Nonsense, heartfelt nonsense.
“When I’m with you… we can be completely silent and know there is no such thing as perfection, but when I’m with you, I’m so close, and I’m afraid.”
I balanced on my knees, pulling my hair back with a grimy, sopping hand. I didn’t care. Because it didn’t feel at all like Jamie’s hand, pushing my hair aside to kiss my bare shoulder and that comforted me.
“I’m yours. I was born to know you and then know myself.”
I wiped my hands on my jeans. I slumped back, resting my back against the kitchen cabinets. I picked a small ceramic chip from the sole of my foot, not bothering to wince at the sting. I was happy just to feel anything. My mind jumped all over the place, and I was scared that it might finally fracture. Although it might have been a relief, to finally open the gates for the flood.
I stared at the soiled tea towel, noticing its dark grey color for the first time. The color brought back unwelcome flashes of dark grey sheets sliding over smooth skin.
“Yer hands?” he whispers next to my ear, while his own trap mine, twining our fingers and pressing them into the bed.
“Yours, too. So you can touch me all over,” I say, struggling to breathe normally. He lands kisses on my eyelids, which close involuntarily. I would much rather watch him watch me.
“And yer eyes?” he continues, leaning back to look at me. I return his gaze, anxious and heavy-lidded.
“All I see is you.”
“Claire…” his voice trails off, and he nudges my nose with his.
I inhale his heady scent, honey and spice and him. My hands are suddenly free and I feel him dragging his fingers down my body. I fist the dark grey sheets at the sensation, my mouth trembling as he drops feathery kisses down, down, further down.
“I’m yours, to cherish, to destroy. All of me, body and soul.”
The dark grey sheets had been everywhere. I brought my knees to my chest, trying to hold myself together. I rocked back and forth, hating the feel of the body that no longer belonged to me.
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A Favor: Part Four
Nessian Modern AU
Masterlist
a/n: hey y'all. my new job has been draining the life out of me so i have very little energy left for writing, which is why these updates are taking so long. im still very passionate about this fic though, it just takes me more time to write :(
in other news, this chapter is saturated with descriptions of pain, both physical and emotional. i hated writing it but it was worth it.
***
Nesta, 14
Sometimes it all becomes too much. Feyre asking for help with homework and Elain begging for more money to go to the strip mall, and their dad ignoring them all as if they aren’t even there. Sometimes she wants to leave it all behind and pretend she isn’t anchored to three other people, wants to pretend she is a lone being in a lonely world.
When she needs to go away, she comes here.
Cherrywood House is quiet, as it always is this time of year. One of several expensive vacation homes in the Smokies, Cherrywood is Nesta’s favorite for a multitude of reasons— it’s empty for ten out of twelve months of the year, it’s the only house with a clear view of the nearby lake, and cherry blossoms bloom on trees out in the back every spring.
It’s early June, and she has a few more weeks left with the house until its owners return. The family that owns the place never leaves a trace of themselves behind when they leave each August, so Nesta returns the favor by never leaving hints of her inhabitance either.
She takes her worn Converse and socks off at the back porch and climbs in through the unlocked window barefoot. This is where she belongs. A ghost roaming the empty halls, with no one to care for and no one to care for her.
She makes her way upstairs to her preferred hideout spot: an airy bedroom with a bay window seat that looks out onto the cherry blossom trees outside. Cracking the window open to let the fragrance of flowers in, she settles into the bench seat with her book of the week and starts reading.
Absorbed in dreams of deep love and deeper kisses, Nesta doesn't notice the sun going down until she can barely make out the words on the page before her. Glancing up with sore eyes, she realizes she needs to leave soon if she doesn't want to take the wooded path back home in the dark.
“Damn,” she sighs, but she gets up and shuts the window firmly.
She keeps her nose in her book all the way down the hall and down the stairs, and doesn't sense anything off until a large shadow flashes in the corner of her eye. Her head whips up, and the face that greets her looks just as surprised as she is.
Nesta freezes.
“Um,” the guy says. He’s maybe a few years older than her, seventeen or eighteen, and tall with shaggy dark hair. The front door of the house is still cracked open behind him. “What the fuck?”
Nesta unfreezes. And then she runs.
All the way through the main hall and to the back door, while the boy’s shouts chase her through the house. “Hey, wait up!”
They weren't supposed to be here this early—
Her hand wraps around the back door handle and she flings it open, shoving through the second screen door and shooting right down the porch steps. Heavy steps behind her ignite a panic in her, and she gains a burst of speed.
“HEY!” he calls again. Soft grass becomes dirt and twigs beneath Nesta's feet, and she knows she's reached the tree line. Dark shadows fall over her as she darts into the safety of the woods.
Still standing on the back porch and waving a raggedy pair of Converse, Cassian tries calling for the girl one more time. “You forgot your shoes!”
Cassian wakes up at five in the morning to the sound of the house’s pipes creaking, a telltale sign that someone is using one of the faucets. Blinking his eyes open, he hears the distant sound of the shower running.
Who would get up in the freezing cold at this hour just to take a shower? He checks the time once more to make sure he isn't imagining things, and gets up to peek his head out of his bedroom. Sure enough, light leaks out from under the bathroom door.
Cassian walks up to the bathroom and listens closely for any sound beside running water. He knocks hesitantly. “Nesta?”
Her muffled voice calls back to him, but he can't make out a thing.
“Are you alright?” he asks. “How long have you been in there?”
There’s no response, and now he’s concerned. Raising his voice, he says, “I’m going to come in to hear you better, is that okay?”
A soft affirmative answers him, and he tries the doorknob. It’s already unlocked, which is odd, but he pokes his head into the steam-filled bathroom cautiously. “Nesta?”
From behind the curtain of the shower, a pale, tired face appears. She’s sitting on the floor of the tub, he realizes. “Hey,” she attempts a feeble smile at him.
Cassian fully enters the bathroom, the humidity dampening his skin. “Are you okay? When did you get up?”
“I’ve only been in here for an hour, maybe.” Her voice is weak enough that he has to move closer to hear her. “Don’t worry about your water bill. I’ll pay it, I swear.”
He shakes his head, confounded. “I don’t care about the water bill. You still haven’t told me if you’re okay.” He moves to crouch beside the bathtub, the opaque shower curtain the only barrier between them.
Nesta rolls her eyes, looking embarrassed. “It’s just cramps. I get really sick on my periods, and I would have warned you that they suck ass, but that would imply that my period could affect you. It doesn’t have to affect you— if you just leave me to myself for a few days, I won’t even be a bother.”
Cassian blinks, not really knowing where to start with that, so he just says, “But why the shower?”
Nesta shifts uncomfortably behind the curtain. “Sometimes hot water is the only thing that helps with the pain. I already tried getting out of the shower, but it hurt so bad— I had to go right back in. I’ll get out eventually, don’t worry.”
Cassian frowns. This all sounds incredibly worrying. “This is normal for you?”
She’s about to answer when her face pinches in a look of discomfort. “Cassian,” she says, strained.
He leans closer, wanting to help. “Yeah?”
“Get out.” She doesn't look like she has the energy to add anything else.
Cassian wants to defy Nesta and stay right there, but that would require arguing with her, and she clearly is no longer in the mood to hold up a conversation.
Reluctantly, he nods. “I’ll be right down the hall. Yell if you need anything.”
Nesta is already sinking lower into the tub, trying to get more fully under the burning hot spray. Her eyes drift closed and she hums in answer.
Cassian doesn't return to his room like he said he would, but heads downstairs instead. He spends a good ten minutes reading the drug labels of various painkillers from the medicine cabinet before carefully arranging a nonlethal cocktail of them on a tray. He adds a cold glass of water and various handpicked snacks before returning upstairs to set the tray by Nesta’s bedside, and turns the heat all the way up to combat the chill in her room, just in case.
Then he goes back to his room and waits. He tries to listen closely for the sound of the shower stopping, but he’s not used to being up this early on a Saturday, and his bed is so warm…
He falls asleep waiting.
***
Nesta stumbles out of the shower long after Cassian leaves her and downs a handful of pills without thinking too much about who left them for her. She already has an idea of how the next few days will go, and she just hopes Cassian will allow her the dignity to suffer through it alone.
She crawls into bed exhausted and shuts her eyes tight. The next time she opens them, sunlight is streaming weakly through the windows. Jarring pain lances through her abdomen, and she brings her legs all the way up to her chest and whimpers. From the edge of her consciousness, she notices the snack tray has been replaced with lunch— some leftover lasagna from the night before. Sneaking out her hand from her mountain of blankets, she goes for her phone. A text sent nearly an hour ago waits for her.
Cassian: please eat.
Nesta glares at the lasagna because she knows better. She might have spent this morning eyeing the bathroom tiles to determine if they were clean enough for her to curl up there and die, but she's not at a point to abandon her dignity just yet. The last thing her roiling nausea needs is solid food. Instead, she gathers the focus to text back Cassian: Leave me alone today.
It's only after she sends the message that she realizes it sounds harsh, but she can't bring herself to explain further or to soften her tone. Her pain always has a way of stripping her of any defenses and formalities and leaving only a primal creature behind.
Turning her phone off, she closes her eyes and inhales tightly through her nose. A wave of cramps that feels closer to what a brutal stabbing victim would feel like overtakes her, and— no, she has to get up.
During times like these, the bathroom is Nesta’s favorite place in the whole world. Cool tiles to rest her head on, hot water just a foot away, and a spacious tub if she ever feels like passing out. Heaven. Naturally, she escapes there first.
After maybe another hour of restless writhing and moving about, Nesta decides the suffering isn't worth it and hobbles downstairs in search of some Nyquil to knock her out. She’s got the medicine cabinet halfway open when a broad hand slams it back shut, and she turns to find Cassian standing behind her with a stern look. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. You can’t take meds on an empty stomach.”
Nesta wants to cry at the denial of pain relief, but she grips the counter behind her and manages a glare instead. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I will absolutely tell you not to wreck your liver, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
A desperate whine escapes her, and she can’t believe Cassian has to see her like this. Even worse, she sees sympathy soften his face as his hand slips off the cabinet next to her head. “I made soup,” he offers. “Can you have soup?”
Nesta hesitates. Her insides don’t hate the idea of soup. She nods.
***
Nesta insisted on avoiding Cassian for the rest of the day, and Cassian graciously eased off her back once he knew she’d eaten. He kindly pretended he didn’t hear her running back and forth from the bathroom all day because she couldn’t sit still, and only interrupted her once to make sure she took more Tylenol before bed.
Now, long after night has fallen, Nesta is truly alone. Her medicine either hasn’t kicked in yet or isn’t strong enough to do its job tonight. She can barely think straight, and this is when the most primal part of herself comes out.
Despite her age, despite everything, she still cries. She cries as if anyone would bother listening, physical pain intertwining with the pain and humiliation of being ignored. “Papa,” she calls into her pillow, again and again.
She hasn’t trusted her papa in years, and yet she still expects him to rescue her. She still waits for him to show up and make everything better.
A hot tear leaks from her eye, and the catharsis of it distracts from her cramps. She curls up into a ball and cries harder, as if she can weep out everything that’s wrong with her body.
A soft knock interrupts her helpless whimpers, and Nesta hears the door open a moment later. “Nesta? Were you calling for me?”
Somebody came. No one’s ever come for her before.
A sigh of relief escapes her, and she forgets to put her walls up. “I’m just—” she tries to say, “so tired.”
She hears Cassian come farther into the room and curse. “Fuck, it’s an icebox in here.”
A hand nudges at her mound of comforters, giving Nesta’s shoulder a shake. “You should’ve told me the heater wasn’t working. Are you okay?”
That question sets her on edge. “Do I look okay?” her voice cracks. She wants to cry even harder now that he’s here, for some reason.
“Obviously not,” he mutters. “You’re staying in my room tonight. Get up.”
Nesta groans and burrows further into her freezing cocoon of sheets. “Don’twannamove.”
“It’s either that or I’m carrying you. I’m good either way.”
Nesta finally cracks her eyes open, glad that Cassian is only a tear-blurred figure in the dark. She doesn’t want to read whatever is on his face right now. Gathering her heavy comforter around herself, she gets up and lets Cassian lead her down the hall to his room.
Toasty warmth hits her as soon as she’s inside, and she makes an exhausted sound and drops the comforter. In a blur, she’s tucked into Cassian’s bed, enveloped by his scent and his lingering body heat on the sheets. Under the dim lamplight, Cassian seems to finally take notice of the tear tracks on her face. Clicking his tongue in sympathy and concern, he rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin under Nesta’s eyes. Her whole body shudders under the gentle touch. Who knew just the pad of his finger could combat this inescapable agony?
“This isn’t normal,” he murmurs. “I’m taking you to a doctor as soon as this storm clears.”
If Nesta was in the right state of mind, she’d tell him absolutely not. However, she’s barely comprehending his words as it is, so she watches him click the lamp off in silence. Darkness fills the room, but she can hear him moving.
“I’ll be right back,” his voice rumbles, and then she’s alone again. More tears leak at the feeling of abandonment. She’s so sick of herself.
After what feels like an eternity but is only a few minutes, she hears Cassian return. The mattress dips behind her as he climbs under the blankets with her, and then Nesta feels something hot and dry being pressed to her side. A towel. “Does this help?” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly close to her ear.
Wordlessly, Nesta reaches down and takes his hand holding the hot towel, dragging it beneath the hem of her sweater so the heat burns against her bare skin. She sighs and allows her tensed body to sag, leaning back into the hard cradle of Cassian’s chest and arms.
In her ear, Cassian’s breathing has gone shallow. His hand slips from her side, only to find her back and start rubbing up and down.
Her eyes flutter shut.
“My mother was a Muslim immigrant from Algeria,” Cassian whispers out of nowhere. “And whenever I felt sick as a little kid, I would crawl into her lap and she would rub my back just like this, and say some prayers and blow on my face, and I would feel better.”
Nesta makes a weak sound of acknowledgment. That sounds nice, nicer than anything she ever knew growing up.
“I’m sorry I don’t know any prayers,” Cassian says. Then, Nesta feels a whoosh of breath tickle the side of her face. “Does that help?”
It feels weirdly good, and Nesta's shoulders start shaking. She doesn't know if she's holding in a laugh or a sob. Cassian’s hand stills on her back. “Nesta?”
A sharp wave of pain sets her straight. After she breathes through it, she tells him, “You don't need to pray. Just… keep talking to me.”
His hand resumes drawing circles on her back. “Alright.” And he whispers stories into her ear for the rest of the night, until she's fallen asleep and long afterward.
The next morning, Nesta is feeling much better. Cassian knows this because she’s sitting in the living room when he comes downstairs, straight-backed instead of hunched over in pain, and she’s regained the energy to glare at him.
Cassian’s relief at seeing Nesta okay hesitates at that glare. He slows on the bottom step. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”
“Don't call me that.”
He blinks, not sure what he did wrong. Before he can ask, Nesta says, “You didn't listen to me.”
“Excuse me?” He strolls deeper into the living area.
“I told you to leave me alone while I'm on my period, and you didn't listen. You dragged me to your room and made me spend the night with you.”
“You were crying for help,” Cassian says in disbelief. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore you?”
“Yes.” She looks even angrier. “It’s humiliating for me to have you see me like that. It's humiliating to have my own family see me like that.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you’re—” He almost says overreacting, but some deep instinct tells him that word won’t fly well with Nesta. “You’re wrong,” he decides. “Whatever you think I’m thinking of you after last night, you’re wrong.” Cassian has no problem going into caretaker mode for Nesta; it's his natural state of being most of the time anyway. Besides, last night was… a new experience for him. For a multitude of reasons. “You can't tell me you go through that every month and have never had anybody take care of you.”
“I haven't, and for good reason,” Nesta seethes. “You had no right to see me like that.”
Cassian leans on the arm of a chair and crosses his arms, considering her. “Have you ever seen a doctor about your period?”
“That’s none of your business,” she snaps. Here is the Nesta that Feyre is always talking about: quick to anger and always on the defense, to the point that she comes off as unreasonable. Nothing like the helpless woman in tears from just the night before.
It brings out a rougher side of Cassian, one that wants to nip and bite at her boundaries instead of letting her be comfortable all the time. “That’s no way to talk to someone who stayed up all night to wait on you hand and foot, you know.”
“Don’t you dare hold that against me.” Nesta’s voice is dangerously cold.
“I’m not holding it against you. I’m taking you to a doctor.”
“No.”
“I already made an appointment.”
“Cancel it.” Her voice is brittle and she’s now trembling with restrained rage. Cassian doesn’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to give her a choice or if she just really doesn’t like doctors. Either way, it doesn’t change how Nesta ran out of bed at four this morning to puke her soup up. If it wasn’t for all this snow, he would have dragged her ass to the ER by now.
“I don’t have health insurance,” Nesta admits when she sees that Cassian won’t back down. “And I’ve made it this far without any cause for concern; there’s no reason to go.”
“Then I’ll pay for it,” he says simply. Her lack of care for her health astounds and angers Cassian at the same time. How is it that nobody, not even her family, has looked at this woman before and said You’re not okay, do you need help? How many times has she cried in pain with no one to listen?
Nesta has now stood up and is turning red in the face. “Absolutely not. Stop it.”
“Stop what?” Cassian smirks and straightens up.
“I’m not going to the doctor,” she barks. “Cancel the appointment.”
“No.”
“DO IT!”
In that moment, Cassian sees it. He sees how beneath the adult manner and adult words, the carefully crafted facade of cool, there is an explosive, tantrum-prone child. And he’s about to reveal her for good.
“It’s this Wednesday. I hope you don't mind skipping class.”
An enraged shriek shatters the air in the room, and before Cassian can even be shocked Nesta is verbally pouncing on him, yelling, “How fucking dare you, you complete shithead—”
“Nesta.”
“You have no right to— You’re so useless, this is why I didn't want to stay with you, this is why I never talked to you—”
“Nest—”
“You egomaniacal manipulative bastard— just because you let me stay in your house doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do—”
“Damn it Nesta, can you just shut up and LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!”
Nesta freezes and blinks, taken aback. Cassian immediately snaps his mouth shut, wondering if he’s finally crossed that line he’s been so cautiously toeing this whole time.
He watches her face closely, looking for signs of upset— or worse, fear. She only says, “Fine.”
He’s confused. “Fine, what?”
“Fine, I’ll go to the doctor’s.” Just like that, her fight is gone and the facade is back in place. She sets her jaw, but a hint of surprise and newfound discovery lingers in her eyes. “But I’m not letting you pay for it. It’ll have to come out of my own pocket.” She doesn't look happy about that part.
Cassian wants to argue her, but he knows how to pick and choose his battles. For now, he’s just baffled that he demanded Nesta to do something, and she listened.
He raised his voice at her. God, he yelled at her in anger and she only blinked in response, and now she’s listening to him. What kind of sick alien shit is this?
***
a/n: i love talking about these characters so if you ever get sick of waiting for part 5 just shoot me an ask and ill gladly discuss nessian with you
tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx
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