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carstensfttlangston · 2 years

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Planting an Edible Scenery For Beginning Gardeners

Landscapes rely on easy to care for woods, shrubs, perennials, in addition to sometimes for typically the home gardener annuals and potted agreements to come collectively. Trees are usually the foundations regarding the landscape right after the home by itself. Plenty of fruiting trees that make good crops likewise make fantastic scenery trees. Many cherries, apples, pears, apricots, citrus, peaches, pawpaw and plums happen to be prime examples. Several are breathtaking the in the spring and coil, beautiful in contact form, and so they produce tasty fruit. There are usually many cultivars involving fruiting trees based on a growth heights in maturity, and all take well to be able to pruning and framework. Fruiting trees are usually passed often as landscape options inside many landscapes because they can be untidy, but this is usually only a difficulty should you be not going to harvest it from them. While edible landscape trees, nearly all fruiting trees are excellent landscape applicants. Some less generally known but extremely wonderful landscape berry bearing trees include crabapples (they create the best jellies and jellies! ), hackberry (jams and jellies), and persimmon (can supply for anything and are absolutely delicious). Again, most take to framework and therefore are lovely inside form. Crabapples frequently have glorious slide color, as do hackberry. Persimmon trees hold onto their berry past leaf drop and are really ornamental in branching structure. Nut showing trees are furthermore good landscape individuals where a large and stately woods is needed. Black color walnut may appear to mind although this would be the only different in the landscape since they produce a very potent contaminant that kills a lot of species of vegetation within their main zone and past. Another solution tree of which is making a very much welcome comeback throughout the landscape is the Butternut. They seem a lot like the stately black walnut but don't possess as potent of a new plant growth inhibitor in its root system. The peanuts are also scrumptious. There are now disease proof butternuts available. Hazelnut blooms when nothing at all else blooms plus sports beautiful plants in the fall. They are very small for trees, almost shrub such as in proportion, that makes them very beneficial from a design and style standpoint. Pecans plus hickory, and a few chestnuts will make good landscape trees simply because well. There are usually so many its heyday shrubs with tasty edible crops which are beautiful landscape specimens, that shopping with regard to edible landscape shrubs may be more involving confusing experience. Inside an effort in order to make the selection making task less difficult, we've picked the few of the favorites. These shrubs take to shearing and pruning; possess beautiful bloom, plants form and color, fall color, and even popular edible seeds. Blueberries are totally wonderful edible landscape plants. They are usually not as challenging to grow as numerous manage to think. Right now there are many cultivars that range inside form and coloring and fruiting. Coming from extremely small and compact mounded kinds to large and even sprawling and high forms, blueberries are available in many flavors. Add some peat into each primary planting hole in addition to mulch with fragment or pine small needles is all the particular pH adjustment they need, nothing confusing. They all endure adorable and gently scented spring flowers of pink and white. All of them include attractive bushy foliage in a great pleasing green, often new growth becoming red or green. They all endure delicious blue or even pink fruit throughout the summer. And they also all glow brilliantly red in the particular fall. They happen to be super hardy, doing well in just about all all climates, also the coldest locations. Elderberry is at a typically the forefront being a very potent and effective natural medicine. It also happens to be able to be a lovely plant well matched towards the landscape. Presently there are cultivars offered with purple foliage too, making these people a striking inclusion to the surroundings (especially when planted among chartreuse colours of foliage in other plants). The particular leaf form is usually lovely and strange. The flowers will be heavily fragrant and extremely attractive to pollinators. The berries are easily changed to jellies and jellies and even juices. While often treated as being a large perennial, they might reach shrub like proportions in one time of year and they need plenty of space in order to disseminate. They are super easy to grow, and as some sort of native plant you aren't doing all of your local ecology a favor by using elderberry in your landscape. You will have to plant more compared to one elderberry to be able to ensure good berries set. They like full sun nevertheless can tolerate some shade with sophistication. They don't such as to dry up consequently they're designed for xeriscaping or aspects of typically the landscape that acquire dry. Viburnums happen to be common in typically the landscape as that they are wonderful shrubs for all associated with the reasons all of us love landscape plants- great habit, type, colors, and variance in cultivars. Specifically for the edible surroundings, the American Cranberry Bush, or Viburnum trilobum, is a great especially valuable ready-to-eat landscape shrub assortment. The berries not necessarily especially eaten clean, however they are very delightful as a jelly or perhaps jam. Another American native plant, chickens love them simply because well. Viburnums may handle more hue than other shrubs, besides making a fantastic understory plant. Pinus radiata typically brings feelings of gigantic large trees and this is reasonably accurate to assume- but pine now comes in a lot of cultivars that function as shrubs within the landscape that will it's dizzying. Mugo pine specifically is definitely well suited with regard to landscape use since is very well-known. Better too is definitely, you can get a great every year crop of delightful pine nuts by mugo pine! There are many kinds and colors involving mugo pine, thus considerably more . good time buying some timeless material to fit your edible scenery perfectly. Shrub flowers are very old garden shrubs and plants. Fuller plus easier to grow forms of roses job well in the landscape, and keep behind very edible and delicious increased hips for harvesting. Rose hips are usually very high in vitamin C in addition to can be changed to teas and jellies. Rose hips help to make excellent extracts just like rosewater that may then be employed in cooking, plus even in selfmade cleaning products and even room fresheners. Flowers themselves require aggressive pruning but usually are fairly easy. The blooms will be a delight, and many new cultivars associated with landscape roses are really hardy, disease proof, and beautiful. Rosa rugosa is a native version associated with an excellent landscape and native flower that's healthy and even disease resistant, and even leaves behind big red and green hips in the particular fall. In more comfortable areas, rosemary can grow to plant like sizes in addition to makes a fantastic shrub. And of training course, rosemary is the essential in cooking food. You can likewise use rosemary in homemade cleaning products- specially in homemade soaps where it's smell works well for masculine (or not of course) scented bars and the needles themselves make for fantastic exfoliators. Rosemary is usually grown as some sort of perennial, but may naturalize in hot enough areas within bright sun. That can tolerate many drying out but enjoys consistent dampness. If you assumed your edible scenery choices with trees and shrubs and shrubs seemed to be liberating, wait until you begin looking with perennial choices. Generally there are so a lot of perennial edibles out there there, most notably for herb consumption. Good common perennial herbal products simply perfect for landscapes consist of rosemary (mentioned above like a shrub but can easily be kept because a smaller perennial), sage, thyme, oregano, chives, ginger (in warm areas), and even lavender. Mint will be a very hardy and aggressive perennial, nevertheless spreading character doesn't always help make it a great landscape plant. Mint is better kept planted in planting pots and contained. Agastache is actually a less typical yet very wonderful herb that tends to make an excellent landscape plant. So is tough Echinacea with its beautiful blooms, which now arrive in many hues aside from violet and white. Cheyenne Spirit is a good Echinacea increase red, orange, coral, yellow, and other colors that warm upwards the landscape with long lasting blooms. You can make use of the blooms plus leaves of just about all these plants with regard to culinary uses in addition to other countless careers around the residence.

There are a great deal of perennial plants that are not really herbal in characteristics, but offer vegetable foods. Artichoke is usually a beautiful perennial in warmer weather. It's very strange and stately contact form make for a great focal plant. Harvest the flowers before they full bloom, as that's the artichoke you eat. Asparagus, or what many of us know as asparagus, comes up early in the spring while a thick spear (that's the element we eat), nevertheless leaving some of the particular spears alone to grow and produce the rest involving the season rewards you with tall and wispy leaves that contrasts and fills in effectively among other plants. Edible rhubarb is actually a large leaved plant that can become harvested inside the earlier spring for its stalks. Super hardy, its one perennial crop enjoyed in the coldest involving climates and is nearly all popular paired with strawberries (another wonderful perennial edible for the landscape) inside pies. There exists ornamental rhubarb that may be actually larger and even more amazing than the type that is commonly grown in home gardens, and while those happen to be edible as well they are much larger and woodier. Numerous cold hardy cabbages and kale are highly ornamental and provide delicious and healthy greens through the particular season. They very easily reseed in many areas and are fantastic at filling in places. The blooms whenever allowed to bolt throughout the warm time of year are 4 petaled, often yellow or even purple, and intensely pretty. landscaping services Fair Oaks will be often overlooked inside the landscape as they will are typically harvested in gardens plus on farms for fruit, but when you look at strawberries in full reduced growing and growing mounds of very green foliage, you will see that they also create a great panorama ground cover. A lot of varieties must many controlling measures since they are good at spreading, but this can also be of advantage within the landscape where bare spots are hard to cover. Daylily plants are very popular landscape plants, yet not lots of people know that the blooms of daylily are extremely edible and yummy. Mild, crunchy, and of course floral, they are usually wonderful in salads as well as on sandwiches. Daylilies are hardy and never picky and even are grown almost everywhere. There are several forms and colours and sizes involving daylilies. One can spend an entire week looking at online catalogs of daylilies from breeders. Typically the most popular, most affordable, and the virtually all versatile daylily that's stood the evaluation of time nevertheless happens to be the Stella D'Oro. Ornamental annuals could be more than petunias and vive. There are many annual plants that will have edible finds and flowers of which work perfectly in the landscape. For illustration, pansies and violas have blooms of which are very ready-to-eat and beautiful. When anything, they earn stylish garnish. Freeze violas in ice cubes plus drop a viola filled cube into a cup associated with hot or cold tea for some sort of beautiful accent. Candies viola blooms throughout sugar for safe-keeping and rely on them later on on cakes. Pansies and violas come back yearly in most areas, but they will are typically treated as annuals. That they like full sunlight and in cozy areas benefit coming from shade. These are very easily grown in cooking pots but naturalize wonderfully in borders. Various other highly ornamental gross annual flowers that work wonderful in the scenery are nasturtiums and even calendula. Nasturtiums can be small and mounding, or long plus trailing. Calendula is definitely usually orange, daisy-like, and is wonderful as garnish, within salads, or in drinks. Both Nasturtiums and calendula may be available in typically the spring in houses, but usually are easily directly seeded into the scenery. Fun with kids! Lettuce can become an absolutely beautiful leafy landscape total annual, wonderful in the front side of the line. Lettuces come inside many colors in addition to patterns and designs. They look best in the cooler periods, but may be easily reseeded if thy bolt and become unattractive. An alternative to lettuce that works all season long and is as tasty and actually more nutritious is usually orach. Orach will be a relative in the common weed "lambs quarters" but can also be related to green spinach. Orach is usually sold as seed starting, and is available in colours of bright green, red, green, and even chartreuse. And lastly, all of us come to pampre. Vines offer a new neat chance to try out something slightly unconventional, as many attractive landscape vines will also be highly edible and beautiful, but normally are not well known. Hops are one excellent example. Hops are used in beverage making. They are the natural flowers on the sensitive little vine that's well behaved and super hardy. Hops love to ascend fencing. Another super easy to care regarding and hardy vine that makes delicious foods is the kiwi. The hardy kiwi version from the kiwi many of us are acquainted with helps make smaller fruits, although they are certainly delicious. Hardy kiwi provides male plus female plants, plus you need each to make berries. They frequently have alternative foliage that's filled with bright bubblegum pink. Kiwi pampre grow large, so they desire a large support- over 10 feet if possible. Generally there are plenty associated with edible landscape herb selections! To not become overlooked and intensely valuable, consider putting your own beautiful landscape to work for you plus your family.

#landscaping #landscapers

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pellucid-constellations · 2 years

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Undisclosed - Ten

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: A little angsty, me not knowing how the legal system works, beefy!bucky being very soft

a/n: The last leg before the epilogue!! I hope you enjoy it and, as always, I love feedback and appreciate feedback!! Thank you for reading 🤍🤍

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

The trunk slammed, Bucky’s palms firm against the metal as he secured your belongings inside. Between the two of you, there wasn’t much. But as spring turned into a barely there summer in Stowe Mills, and that summer began dissipating into a harsh winter, you knew you would need warmer clothes to brave the New York chill. So, your suitcases were stuffed full of sweaters and hats and gloves, along with business casual attire—for the courthouse, of course.

You used to have an entire closet full of clothes fit for any event, but since your move to this small town in the middle of the woods, you found that supply dwindling. That is, until the state of New York began their case against Beck. And your parents.

Now, you and Bucky had quite the wardrobe, his crisp, white button downs always fitting him just a little too snug in all the right places. And maybe you let your gaze linger a little longer when he wore those tailored pants the lawyer suggested he buy since the last case was being televised. Maybe you had trouble keeping your hands to yourself each time he pulled at the tie around his neck.

You couldn’t really be blamed; looking at Bucky all dressed up, his hair pulled back into a bun and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he stood tall next to you in every hearing—that was one of your only joys amidst this whole mess.

They sentenced Beck first.

That process had been simple because Beck, as it turned out, was a rat. Quick to let every name fall from his lips to buy him less time in prison, his entire operation turned to shambles in an instant. He sat in that courtroom and let every last detail permeate the air until all that was left were lies exposed.

He still ended up getting 45 years.

You cried in the hotel that night, sobs pressed close to Bucky as he held you on the ironed out sheets of an unfamiliar bed. His hands ran down your shoulders, past the stiff material of the jacket meant for someone you used to be, until he shed the material from your body and found solace in the skin of your back.

He shushed you with kind words and gentle kisses until your sobs turned into hiccups and his whispers turned into the hum of the window heater. You were okay now, he kept reminding you, he was gone and nothing was going to happen to you if Bucky had any say in it.

The next morning you felt much better, renewed even. You showed Bucky around New York. He didn’t have much to say, per usual, but you could tell by his eyes that he was a little more than intrigued. Maybe in the city, maybe more in the way you reacted to the city.

He held your hand as you rambled on about the coffee shop by your old middle school and pressed a kiss to your hair when you yanked him into the pizza parlor you frequented in college. He never rushed you, always eager to bask in your excitement and your newfound freeness that he had yet to witness; even when you were in Stowe Mills, your secrets then Bucky’s to bear, you still held a part of yourself back.

That day in New York, your clothes whipping back on the Brooklyn Bridge and your hands always pushing Bucky in a new direction, you let Bucky in, completely.

And then you got the letter about your parents’ hearing.

A simple Tuesday at the library, the first signs of a new snow creeping into the corners of windows, the mail shipment was much smaller that month. The door chimed and then quickly slammed—always the telltale sign that the mailman had graced Stowe Mills—and the bag at your feet was only about a foot wide.

“Probably forgot the rest, those good for nothing government workers,” Greta cursed, a sneer hidden behind the book she was pretending to read. You found she did that a lot, eager to look busy so that no one bothered her.

“Greta, I’m pretty sure we’re considered government workers,” you chuckled, hauling the bag onto the counter and beginning to sort through it. “Actually, yeah. Libraries are government run.”

“Well then quit your yappin’ before I report you to the government. Fake librarian.”

Your laugh continued as you pulled your name out from the bottom of the pile, the thick manilla envelope suspicious for someone that didn’t usually receive any mail. You took half a second to admire the way your name looked on top of Bucky’s address—your address. A home.

But then the papers were out of their packaging and the words burning onto your iris sucked every drop of joy from your body. The sound of the packet dropping to the floor was loud enough to make Greta jump from her stool from the other side of the room, but you didn’t notice. You couldn’t notice, not when reality was shoving a white-hot branding iron directly down your throat.

Your parents were going to go to prison. You knew this was coming; from the moment you saw that pitying look in your mother’s eyes you knew they were both guilty. But you hadn’t thought about how it would feel, how painful it would be to come to terms with the fact that they were such bad people until this very moment.

The same packet came in the mail when Beck was tried—a request to testify, an opportunity to let your story be heard. When that packet came you ran out of the library and down to the lumberyard in a flash, tackling Bucky in a hug and shoving the folder in Steve’s face as your boyfriend spun you in circles.

But this one—this one had a sobering effect on you, pressing you backward until you were sliding down the back wall behind the return counter. Pulling out strings of your sanity one by one until you were left gasping for breath on the floor, papers scattered around you, palms digging into your forehead.

Greta was kneeling in front of you, and her lips were moving, but this alternate reality you had slipped into made her sound distorted. Her face was wrinkled into a bout of concern unfamiliar to you, her hands fiddling with her cellphone that still had an antenna sprouting out the top of it.

It felt like it had been seconds since you closed your eyes, unable to face the stimulation with such rampant thoughts bouncing off of the inner walls of your mind. But when calloused hands cupped at your cheeks, you knew it must have been longer—enough time for Greta to call Bucky and for him to most likely run up the hill to get to you, at least.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he all but cooed, the kindness in his eyes unwavering. “You focusin’ on me alright? Try to match my breaths if you can. You’re gonna make yourself pass out if you keep that up.”

Your gaze trailed down to his shoulders as he exaggerated each breath, and it was then that you realized your own lungs were burning in exertion. Eyelashes fluttering, you focused on the way Bucky’s hands felt as they caressed your skin, the way the air sounded as it left his nose. The way he smelled and the way the paper sounded under his boots as he shifted in front of you.

“That’s it, y/n. Just keep on breathin’, doll. Me and you here, that’s all.”

The panic gripping at your chest felt more and more hollow as you fell into Bucky’s eyes, the comfort there enveloping you like warm honey and the way skin feels under plush blankets. Like Bucky after a long day, the endearing way he knocked his boots by the front door and small action of only ever hanging up his jacket with his right hand.

And after a short while, you were able to grapple with words again.

“My parents have a court date. I’m being asked to testify.”

Bucky’s face crumbled. “Oh, my sweet girl.”

He gathered you in his arms, propping himself up on the wall as you sat on his legs. This would probably be embarrassing if you hadn’t had a breakdown in front of Greta already. But Bucky, of course, didn’t seem to mind, gentle fingers brushing your hair behind your ear as he listened to you stumble over your words, trying to explain how this was the worst thing to ever happen to you and the best, all at the same time.

Greta had found somewhere else to be anyway.

She was probably still listening from behind closed doors—saving you from embarrassment, but never one to be far from information.

“Do you think I should do it?” you sniffed, a long-winded explanation finally out in the open.

Bucky sighed and pressed you closer to his chest. “I think that’s up to you, doll.” His next words were spoken into the skin of your temple. “I’ll be right there next to you no matter what you choose, but this one’s gotta be from you, y/n.”

It had taken you about three days, but after those three days, your decision was absolute. You were going to testify. The world and everyone associated with the victims deserved justice, and even though that involved your parents, justice would be served.

And it had crossed your mind for one selfish, fleeting moment that when you were sitting up on that podium, they would have to be paying attention to you. Just like you wanted.

For one last time.

“You remember to call me, you got that Jame Buchanan Barnes? I waited for an entire day the last time you two jetted off for New York and I was worried sick!” Sarah huffed over a worried lip, arms crossed beside the taxi.

Bucky sent her a guilty smile. “Last time there was a problem with the flights, Sarah. Remember? I’d never leave you to worry over nothin’.”

“Well, it’s a little late for that because every time you leave, I’m stuck here, worrying up a storm. Steve worries too, you know? I know it because he does that cute pout and then he starts knitting and I just—”

“Ma!” Steve cut in, hands full of the airport dinner Sam had made for you and Bucky. “Stop tellin’ people all that, will ya?”

Sarah scoffed. “Oh well. Just know that we all love you two. And if you don’t come home safe we’re gonna have some problems.” She engulfed you in a hug so full of warmth, you were sure it could only be replicated by a mother. The thought made your heart hurt as she whispered in your ear, “Just make sure you get back safe. Back home safe.”

It made your heart hurt less.

“Sarah, I’ll make sure our girl is fine,” Bucky assured, a light hand on your back as you pulled away. “Everything’ll work out. Maybe we’ll bring back souvenirs this time.”

Steve chuckled, nudging Bucky’s arm and sending you a painfully fond smile. “Just bring back what you can.”

“Yeah, or, you know, you could bring me back a magnet. I love magnets.” Sam’s shout from above was clear in the empty street, his head hanging out of his apartment window. “Just something to think about while you’re eating those sandwiches I made for you with my bare hands.”

“Always so dramatic,” you sang back. A hand brushing you off through the balcony window was all you got in return.

But Stan’s honk from inside that cab was evidence enough that it was time to go anyway.

These goodbyes were always hard, but the more court hearings you had to attend, the more the people of Stowe Mills were assured that you were always going to come back. You hadn’t even realized it was a fear of theirs when you left the first time.

It was just a three day trip, one of the smaller hearings for an accomplice you only spoke to a few times. Beck had been quick to sell them out for a few years off of his sentence.

So it was shocking, to say the least, when you opened the cab door and were immediately met with a crushing hug from Steve. Followed by Maria, and then Natasha, and then Sam. Each person was quick to tell you how glad they were that you were back, and it was impossible to miss the slight affirming nod they shared with Bucky.

How silly they were to ever think you were going to leave a place like this.

But all those times, on all those trips, there was still more to come. More hearings and more people to put in jail; the case wasn’t completely over. After your parents’ sentencing, it would be.

The finality of it all wasn’t lost on Bucky.

The impending closure to such a large chapter in your life. The chapter that brought you to him.

He didn’t share those thoughts with you.

When the lawyer told you the case was being televised, you thought that meant a camera in the courtroom. Maybe there would be a few reporters on the steps outside asking questions, but only a few. You would still be able to walk inside without hassle, as you had all the other times.

As it seemed, your lawyer did not prepare you for the sheer amount of press this case was getting.

It made sense; your family name was known by millions—the richest lineage alive, the lucky ones. If people loved one thing, it was watching the rich fall. And your parents were experiencing possibly the greatest fall from grace.

Which left you in their wake, as usual, enduring the residual overhaul of reporters and people holding angry signs and microphones shoved in your face. To his credit, the lawyer did try to clear the way a few paces ahead of you when he got out of the cab, but that solution was short lived. You would have been fine sorting through this mass of people with your head down and your arms pulled in tight.

Bucky disagreed.

His hand pressed firmly to your back, and an uncomfortable, disgruntled grimace on his face that had never been directed toward you, Bucky weaved you in between the flashing cameras and blocked out the intrusive questions. You kept a constant grip on the lapel of his suit jacket, your fingers turning white from the strain. It wasn’t until you felt a tug at the back of your dress that Bucky said anything.

“Hey! You don’t touch her, got that?” Bucky gritted out, his free hand pointing an accusatory finger at the reporter. She stood dumbfounded, her microphone looking uncomfortable in her hand.

“It’s okay, Buck,” you whispered. “We have to go inside. She didn’t mean anything by it.”

You knew he wanted to press more. Bucky didn’t particularly like crowds, so New York as a whole was tough for him to get used to. And after what happened with Beck, Bucky really didn’t like crowds around you. His hands would always twitch on your hips as he guided you through busy streets and crowded intersections, his head on a constant swivel. You figured it would take him a while to get past the glaring repercussions of that night in the run down cabin.

That it would take him a while before he could handle you being around so many people he didn’t know, possible dangers encroaching from all sides.

Guilt always licked up into your chest when you saw the unease in his gaze, so right now, with the reporter’s hand slowly falling back to her side and Bucky’s glare burning, you felt the worst.

He huffed, pulling you closer to his side and trying to block your eyes from the cameras as you made your way up the steps to the courthouse. You wanted to tell him that the cameras didn’t bother you, that what would hurt even more than the harsh lights was seeing your parents in those jumpsuits, pleading not guilty to something they so obviously did.

But instead, you let him shield you from the things on the outside; it made him feel better, and at least one of you should get that.

Pressing past the doors was a half-relief. You got out of the angry, intrusive crowd, but were then met with the harsh reality that Bucky had carefully guided you away from the day you got the notice in the mail. And this time, there were no gentle touches or afternoons filled with apple cider and old movies to calm your nerves. This time there were only suits and crisp papers and too many words that you had never learned in college, each one—

“Are you okay?” Soft words snapped you away from the downward spiral you were inching toward. “You wanna take a second in the hall or somethin’? I can probably hold off that Murdock guy or whatever his name is.”

You grounded yourself in the deepness of Bucky’s voice. “No. No—I can do this. It’s just my story, right? It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong. And they never really loved me anyway so I’m sure they aren’t too upset that I’m—”

The pain on Bucky’s face stopped you in your tracks, along with the hands he was quick to gather your waist into, pulling you close and burying his face into your neck. “Don’t say that,” he whispered into your skin. “Don’t say they didn’t love you. I can’t imagine anyone knowin’ you for that long and not just loving the life outta you. Give yourself more credit than that, doll.”

You could feel the tears welling up in your waterline as his lips impressed the words upon your neck. You hadn’t cried since you found out about the case; you hadn’t really allowed yourself to feel anything other than that initial shock. It was a tough thing to grapple with—going against your parents, even when they’d only granted you with a lifetime of unattainable love.

But now was hardly the time to sort through your feelings for your parents, not with them on the other side of the door, your fingers clutching at the speech that would send them to prison. You focused on Bucky’s warmth instead, tried to remember the way it felt pulling you into his cabin back at home, broad shoulders embracing you, soft smiles melting any ice left in your chest.

Back at home.

“It’s okay, Bucky,” you assured, pulling back to cup his face between your hands. “It’s okay, because I have you now. And I love you enough for the both of us.”

The corner of his mouth turned up as he leaned into your touch on instinct. “You do have me.” His eyes flickered up to the small scar that ran along your brow bone, a reminder and an unkind promise. He did that often, always worrying his lip as he ran a gentle thumb along the mark. He didn’t touch it this time. “And I’m gonna make sure you’re so happy that you never even think about these people after today, you got that?”

“I got it, tough guy.”

“Good.” He reached up and lowered your wrists from his face, pressing a kiss to each palm.

“Are you both ready?” Matt asked, his place in front of the courtroom doors never wavering.

You didn’t drop your gaze from Bucky’s as you affirmed, “Yeah, we’re ready.”

A resounding success.

You knew it would be; with Matt Murdock defending the opposing side and so much evidence mounted against them, you knew your parents never stood a chance. Your mother had given you devastated looks the second you took the stand, and your father avoided your eyes like the plague, but with Bucky there to whisper reassurances into your hair afterward, that was all okay with you.

Well, maybe it wasn’t completely okay with you—not yet. But you would get there with time. And with the comfort that Stowe Mills afforded you.

You already missed home. After the sentencing you received a phone call with about three too many people on the other line and a chorus of unintelligible praises. The arguing that followed made you want to hop on a plane the second Natasha started teasing Steve for freaking out in front of the television, but Bucky said you should wait; he wanted you to take some more time to enjoy New York.

You disagreed.

“Buck, there’s a return flight in just about six hours. I think I could book it with my leftover air miles if you don’t mind first class.”

Bucky rounded the corner of the hotel bathroom and pulled the toothbrush from his mouth, brows furrowed. “Doll, we just got back from the trial. I thought you wanted to stay a few days this time. You know, so you can take in the city and all that.”

“No, you said I wanted to see the city,” you teased, a fond smile finding its way onto your face. “I said I wanted to get home in time to watch that movie Sam keeps going on about.” You shuffled to the edge of the bed, Bucky slotted between your legs as they dangled off. “And don’t you have to get back to work? Those trees aren’t going to chop themselves and winter is right around the corner.”

His hands now free, Bucky reached up to fiddle with your hair as he mumbled. “Right, back home.”

“What, you don’t want to go home?”

The change in Bucky’s eyes was, unfortunately, familiar to you. He looked at you that way all those months ago and when he caught you calling a cab outside the diner and when you told him you couldn’t stay in Stowe Mills after Christmas. When you first started falling for him, you caught this look a lot; it was a sort of desperate longing you could never quite put your finger on, not until you felt it yourself after Beck had slammed you into a car.

Bucky stayed silent, your question going unanswered until it was forgotten and melted into the frosted hotel window. He shifted his weight from one foot to the next and you reached out to tug at his sweatpants and draw him closer. You were used to his quiet disposition, but this was something else.

“Bucky,” you began, reproach clear in the inflection of your tone. “What are you thinking about?”

He sighed.

It was an anguished sigh, the type that had you holding him close as he sunk into bed on the anniversary of his Ma’s passing or when he missed his sister too much. It certainly wasn’t something you were expecting when he talked about taking you home after such a long, grueling process. The sound made you ache.

“I don’t know, sweet girl, I just—” he paused, the fingers in your hair brushing down to press loving touches to your face. His focus shifted from the wall above your head to the blacks of your eyes. “I guess I’m just worried now that it’s all over. I mean you were in Stowe because of all these people that just got locked away. You were runnin’ from them.”

His thoughts made your stomach turn, an uneasiness rooting there and sprouting up into the tips of your fingers. He thought you were going to leave. After everything—after you had fallen so in love with him he consumed you, his comfort like a drug you sought out with practiced motions—he thought you were going to pack up and move back to the city just because you could.

He kept going before you could cut in. “And I’m not saying I wish they were free—god, I’m not saying that at all. Knowin’ that you’re safe and sound is the greatest goddamned gifted I could ever ask for. But now you can go anywhere. A girl like you, you deserve to go anywhere.

“I wouldn’t even blame ya if you wanted to stay here.” His posture deflated, the hands on your face never faltering as his shoulders caved in on themselves. “But I thought if we stayed here a little more it’d show you that we don’t always have to stay in Stowe Mills. I can… take you places, just you and me. I can’t move away but I’m tryin’ my best here and I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to stay because—”

You pulled him in by the back of his neck, his messy, endearing speech lost on your lips. His hands on your face froze, and then they moved, mere seconds separating his shock from his action.

This kiss was needy and it was desperate. It was Bucky trying to pour himself into you and it was you trying to show him that he had already done enough. Reaching under your thighs as you sat on the bed, Bucky picked you up and laid you down in the center, his frame hovering above yours as he kissed you deeper, more rushed.

You’d kissed him a thousand times, and yet, you’d never grow tired of it. Not when he pressed his body into yours in every way you liked, the weight a grounding reminder that this was yours, for as long as you wanted it. And you did want it; you’d never wanted anything quite like you wanted Bucky.

Words weren’t able to capture that, and so you kissed him.

His groan felt full on your lips as he trailed his hands down the curves of your body, relishing in the way you felt even though he’d been given the opportunity to map it countless times before. He could probably recreate your shape in any context, and yet, he’d never grow tired of you or your body or the way you felt against him. He’d always want more.

You’d always give him more.

“Bucky,” you breathed, his name like a secret between bodies. “Bucky, I’m not leaving. It’s me and you. You said that yourself.”

He kissed you harder. He pressed you further into the bed. He brushed your hair from your cheeks and slid hands over your hips and he kissed you until you couldn’t breathe. Until he couldn’t breathe.

“I’d do it for you, sweet girl. I’d take you anywhere you wanted to go if it meant you were mine,” Bucky panted, his forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m already yours. Take me home.”

“Anywhere you wanna go, and you wanna go home?”

His face was playful and light as he stared down at you, but it struck you then—just how much you wanted this. This life with Bucky would be good and easy and it was nothing you had planned when you were growing up, but it was everything you needed.

You reached up and caressed the apple of his cheek, the joy there evident and warm.

“Yeah, Bucky. I want to go home.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes #lumberjack bucky #modern!bucky

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criminalmindzjunkie · 3 years

Text

The More Loving One

Masterlist

Summary: Professor Reid finds himself falling for a student.

A/N: This fic is based on this request. I changed a few things up, but I hope you like the finished product!

Long time, no see! It seems like forever since I got to sit down and just enjoy writing something. And enjoy this, I did. I approached this one a bit differently than I usually do, but I like how it turned out none the less. I hope you all enjoy my take on the Professor Reid arc. The first poem I use in this fic is titled The More Loving One by W.H. Auden, and the second is from a collection of Perry poetry.

Also, I recently hit 2k followers, which is absolutely unbelievable. I can’t even begin to explain how thankful I am for each and every one of you. This fic is my love letter to you. Thank you all so much.

Pairing: Professor!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: a few swear words maybe?, teacher x student relationship, age gap, exhibitionism (sorta?), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex

Word Count: 4k

For as long as Spencer can remember, he’s always had a predilection for the finer things in life.

Spencer attributes the origin of his preferences to his upbringing. In his childhood, before his mother’s disease got the better of her, she exposed him to all sorts of literature. While he ventured to read all types of writings, he’d always been partial to tales of extravagance. A young Spencer Reid sought refuge in the profligacy of it all, as it was so starkly different from his own reality. Forced to bear the burden of household and a sick mother from an early age, Spencer’s own life left little room for reckless indulgence.

Now, as a single adult male, Spencer makes it a point to give himself up to the finer things as often as he can. Spencer isn’t a rich man, nor is he careless with what hard-earned money he does have. He simply likes to treat himself to the occasional five-star meal, and even more frequently, posh clothing and rare books. Walls lined with hundreds of antiquarian novels and a closet full of Comme Des Garçon cardigans are where the indulgence ends, however, and until recently Spencer was content with this.

But when she strolls into his life on the very first day of his teaching career, Spencer knows that his small luxuries will no longer be enough to keep him satisfied. The part of him that longs to have only the very best roars to life as he takes in every perfect inch of her. She stands before him, the embodiment of divinity and grace, looking like every fantasy he only dares to conjure up in the late hours of the night. A litany of cliches from every piece of romantic literature he’s ever read spring to the forefront of his mind in the instant that her eyes met his, but there is nothing stereotypical about the way her gaze banishes the air from his lungs. It is as jarring as it is intoxicating. He never wants to look away.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t feel the same. With a light flush of her cheeks, she turns away from him, and in an equally unfortunate turn of events, she proceeds to shuffle down the aisle and into the second row of seats to the right of the podium. The realization that washes over him feels like ice water in his veins.

She’s a student. Worse even – she’s his student.

Spencer wrenches his gaze from her as if he’s been burned, and the fiery shame of his embarrassment makes him tug at his collar. As he struggles to stave away the lingering heat in his chest and even more embarrassingly, the tightness in his trousers, Spencer chastises himself. His own carnal urges often go ignored, a fact that is glaringly obvious as he cowers behind his podium in an attempt to hide his arousal. He feels more than a little bit pathetic. No self-respecting thirty-five-year-old man gets hard just from gazing upon a beautiful young woman.

When Spencer pulls himself together enough to start his lecture, he positively forbids himself to look her way. It is hard to fight the urge, but every time he catches his eyes wandering to her, he reminds himself that she is an indulgence he simply cannot partake in. No matter how badly he wants to.

It doesn’t take long for her to notice him noticing her.

In the early days of the semester, she manages to convince herself that the stolen glances are but a figment of her overactive imagination. That, or an unhealthy dose of wishful thinking. But as the semester stretches on and the professor’s eyes linger more and more, wishful thinking gives way to a startling realization that she isn’t alone in her attraction. Professor Reid is, to her complete and utter astonishment, just as taken with her as she is with him.

This is all but confirmed when a slight brushing of the hands during an exchange of papers leaves them both with flushed cheeks and pounding hearts. Both of their heads snap up, two sets of eyes meeting in a prolonged stare that results in an understanding of sorts. It’s mutual, this thing blossoming between them. She can see her own hopes reflected in two velvet pools of brown – can see the longing, the desire that burns within them. Her heart soars, as she imagines his does, and she accepts the papers with a smile.

She also imagines that, if he could, he would tell her to wait for him. He would tell her that, for now, their relationship must stay strictly professional.

This doesn’t stop them from sating their cravings in other ways.

She makes it a point to stop by during office hours at least twice a week. Her visits always fall under the guise of her studies, but within minutes their hushed conversations stray from the professional and towards a more personal nature. She learns of Spencer’s mother and her condition, of his unusual job and his coworkers that were more like family. In return, she tells him about her upbringing in southern California, as well as her dreams of becoming a criminal psychologist. They never go as far as to discuss what will happen when the semester comes to a close. It is an unspoken agreement that the end of the semester will find them in each other’s arms. All they have to do is wait.

Spencer can’t voice his affections with words, but he more than makes up for this with his actions. Without fail, every Monday following the very first clandestine brushing of hands, lavish bouquets of flowers arrive at her workplace. Each bouquet is always paired with a notecard inscribed with a brief explanation of the meaning behind that week’s flower of choice. Cherry blossoms to pay homage to her beauty, plumeria to symbolize their new beginning, agrimony to convey his thankfulness that she is willing to wait for him.

Her favorite bouquet arrives four weeks before the end of the semester. As she steps through the doors of the bakery, a vase full of nine red roses sits atop the counter. The sight of them nearly takes her breath away. She pauses for a moment and runs her fingertips across the velveteen petals before plucking the notecard from its place.

This week, Spencer chooses to forgo the explanation in favor of a messily scrawled poem;

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

that, for all they care, I can go to hell,

But on earth indifference is the least

we have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn

with a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

let the more loving one be me.

That evening, Spencer receives his first bouquet from her. On his desk sits an arrangement of pale pink ambrosia.

The meaning isn’t lost on him, but if it were, the note that sits next to the vase makes her intentions clear.

We never had to force love.

We were drowning in it from the moment we met.

Spencer is horribly frustrated.

A mere twenty feet away from where he stands, the notoriously garish and wholly unprofessional PhD program director is gesticulating wildly to the young woman that stands trapped between him and the hors d’oeuvre table. To find Professor Van Wesep in such a position is not uncommon, due to his penchant for trying to charm (terrorize) the prospective female doctoral candidates. The man is practically a walking harassment complaint waiting to happen. Spencer would abhor Van Wesep even if he weren’t the only thing standing in the way of him and his lover.

At long last, the semester has drawn to a close. The lonely nights spent longing to hold her in his arms are a thing of the past. By the time the sun rises again, Spencer will no longer have to wonder what her body will feel like pressed against his. He’ll be thoroughly acquainted with every inch of her, and she with him. The thought sends a thrilled chill down his spine.

The torturous foreplay they’ve been engaging in for the last four months would have surely broken a lesser man. Spencer would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted on more than one occasion to have her during one of her frequent visits to his office. Some days, when her visits came later in the evenings, just as the sun began to dip low in the sky, her eyes would glisten in such a way that told Spencer her thoughts were none dissimilar to his own. That glimmer of lust had him holding on to his restraint by the skin of his teeth.

And here they were, on the last evening of the semester. Final grades had been submitted and were released hours prior. Spencer would have been content to skip this event altogether, in favor of more… recreational activities, but his lover insisted on attending.

Initially, Spencer assumed her insistence lay in her desire to mingle with her future peers and mentors. Her true intentions come to light when she breezes into the room clad in a pair of sleek, designer pumps. Her lips, painted fire engine red, curl up into a playful smile at the sight of a slack-jawed Spencer Reid. The devious glint in her eye twinkles sinfully in the light.

Tonight isn’t a social call at all. Tonight, she wants to play with him.

And play she has.

From the second she arrives all eyes are fixating on her celestial beauty. Peers and mentors alike trip over themselves in their haste to capture her attention, if only for a fleeting moment. She works the room flawlessly, leaving a trail of smitten men of all ages in her wake.

The most smitten is Spencer himself, because he’s the lone recipient of countless heated glances, as well as more than a few knowing smirks. She well aware of what she’s doing to him, and she takes pleasure in watching him squirm.

Spencer intervenes when Van Wesep makes the ill-advised decision to reach a hand up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. He barely has the time to withdraw his hand before Spencer is upon them.

“I apologize for the interruption,” Spencer casts a faux apologetic glance at his colleague, before settling his gaze on his target. “Ms. Y/L/N, may I speak to you for a moment?”

She looks positively gleeful. Perhaps Spencer should have intervened hours ago.

“Absolutely, Professor Reid.”

The honorific sends a jolt of heat straight to his groin. He definitely should have stolen her away earlier.

The two of them say their goodbyes to a confused Professor Van Wesep, whose imploring eyes follow them as they hurriedly slip from the party and down the hallway.

“Where are we going?”

Spencer leads her down a long corridor, far beyond earshot of the other guests. Pushing her into a dark corner, he positions her between himself and the cold wooden door of an unoccupied office. The only sounds that can be heard are the distant thrum of the music and the eager pants falling from his lover’s lips.

Spencer pulls her into a searing kiss, one hand tangling in her hair and the other finding purchase on her waist. He worries for a moment that he’s being too rough with her, that he should have taken a more careful approach to their first kiss, but she assuages those worries when she kisses him back with equal enthusiasm. Her hand reaches between them and clutches his tie, then she’s pulling him closer and whining wantonly against his lips. Spencer takes this as an invitation to slip his tongue inside and he finds himself letting out a low groan when he tastes a hint of strawberry.

Spencer pulls away to catch his breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Oh, I think I do, Professor,” she laughs, breathless. “Probably just as long as I’ve wanted to do this.”

Spencer jolts forward when her hand slides down to cup him over his trousers.

“Could��ve done that a lot earlier if you hadn’t insisted on teasing me for the entire night,” Spencer growls through gritted teeth. He’s more than a little proud of his ability to string together a sentence with her hand working him over with slow, steady strokes.

He trails a line of kisses across the underside of her jaw, before taking her earlobe and nipping it lightly with his canine. Spencer’s actions are rewarded with a full body shudder. He dips his tongue in the hollow at the base of her throat and her hands ball into fists against his dress shirt.

“Spencer, please.”

Spencer hums and pulls back to look at her. The hand in her hair lowers, and he trails a thumb across where her nipples are hard against the fabric of her dress.

“Yes, my love?”

Her eyes flutter against the weight of her arousal, and Spencer twitches in his pants. The sight of her with her hair disheveled and her lipstick smeared on account of him is a heavenly thing. He doesn’t know how he ever deprived himself of such a splendor.

“I want you. Right now.” She punctuates her words by pulling him down into a frenzied kiss. One of her hands tangles itself in the hair at the nape of his neck while the other busies with tugging his shirt out of his pants.

“Right now?” Spencer taunts, mouth against mouth. His hand trails down the side of her breast, caressing her rib cage and her hip before stopping at her upper thigh. Spencer’s fingertips toy with the tops of her lace thigh highs. “But anyone could walk by and see us.”

“I don’t care,” she argues, fumbling clumsily as she struggles to undo his belt buckle.

Spencer’s wandering hand dips below the hem of her dress to explore the silky-smooth skin of her inner thigh. She’s soft here, too, he thinks to himself as his hand travels up, up, up. He stops just short of where she wants him most and she lets out a despairing cry.

“You wouldn’t mind someone walking by and seeing you with your pretty legs spread wide for your professor?”

Spencer brings life to his words by lifting her leg up, hitching her thigh around his hip and pressing into her. The silk fabric of her dress rustles as he pushes it up and out of the way.

A breathy moan tumbles from her lips as he rocks against her, dragging his arousal up and down the front of her lace panties. The friction is maddening in that it provides only the smallest bit of relief. It’s not enough for Spencer, and judging by the way she desperately pushes down the fabric of his pants, it’s not enough for his partner, either.

“Need to get these off now,” she murmurs against Spencer’s mouth. An eager hand tugs at the elastic band of his underwear.

Spencer places his hand on hers, stilling her movements. “Not so fast, baby. Gotta make sure you’re ready for me first.”

Her fingers clamp down on Spencer’s wrist, guiding him to the sodden lace between her thighs.

“Don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” she whimpers as Spencer’s fingers take appraisal of the drenched cloth. “In fact, I think four months of foreplay is sufficient enough. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Maybe so,” Spencer muses, voice muffled as he sucks at the skin of her neck. “But I’m not willing to chance hurting you our first time together. You’re entirely too precious to me.”

Spencer captures her lips in a kiss so sweet it has her sighing into his mouth. When he pulls away, he fixes her with a smile.

“You’re not particularly fond of these panties, are you?”

Her eyebrows pull together. “No, why?”

Spencer pulls at the flimsy fabric harshly and it gives way under the force of it. He reaches back to stuff the thong in his back pocket.

“That’s why.”

Spencer’s lips come down against hers at the same time his middle and index fingers drag across her slickness. His foresight pays off when his mouth muffles the sound of her cries. As confident he is that they won’t be found, a cry like that would certainly have drawn unwanted attention.

The swipe of his thumb across her crest paired with the gentle pressure of his fingers dipping into her heat is enough to make her legs buckle. Had it not been for Spencer pressing her against the wall, she surely would have fallen to the ground in a trembling heap.

“I could get lost in you for hours,” Spencer groans, curling his fingers inside her in such a way that makes her clutch desperately to his shirt.

“Spencer, oh my God,” she keens. “I need you, please.”

“You have me, my love,” Spencer whispers the promise against her parted lips. “You’ve had me since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers until the telltale tightening of her heat warns him of her impending climax. He has to bite down on his lower lip to regain his own composure. The feeling of her tight and wet around his fingers is almost too good.

“Spencer, I’m getting close,” she whimpers.

Spencer continues until she’s on the cusp of tumbling over the edge, until one more pass of his fingers against her crest would surely seal the deal, and then he’s removing his hand and taking a step back.

“Spencer, what the fu-,” she pauses when he promptly shoves his pants and underwear just enough to free himself from their painful confines. “Oh.”

A dazed smile makes its way to her face as Spencer presses himself against her once more. He sweeps her up into a kiss comprised of pure, unadulterated desire, before pulling away and smirking deviously at her.

“Jump.”

It takes a moment for her pleasure fogged brain to make sense of the request, but as soon as it does, she complies without question.

Spencer’s hands grip her thighs firmly and in one swift thrust he sheaths himself into her fully – an indulgence so grand that all others dull in comparison. Now that he’s had the finest, felt it wrapped around him like warm velvet, he can’t imagine a world in which he must live without it.

“Spencer!”

Spencer swears he’s never heard a sweeter sound than her crying out his name as their bodies come together for the first time. It’s synonymous with a siren call, he thinks, because in that moment she could lure him to certain death and he knows he would go with a smile.

His lips seek purchase on the exposed skin of her chest as he buries himself in her paradise again and again. The sharp sting of her heels digging into his back with every thrust brings out a sort of primal urge in him, spurring him to rut up into her like a man possessed.

“You feel perfect,” Spencer groans out against the flushed skin of her neck. He presses a soft kiss to where her pulse bounds just beneath the skin before pulling away and locking eyes with her. “When I’m old and gray and can remember nothing else, I’ll remember this. I’ll remember how it felt to kiss you for the first time – how it felt to touch you. How it felt to worship you and make love to your body.”

Spencer’s voices catches, thick and overwhelmed with emotion.

“I’ll remember how it feels to love you.”

Her breath catches in her throat and sharp pang of panic burns hot in his chest. Had he misinterpreted her affections? Did she not burn for him in the same way? Perhaps the ambrosia meant nothing. Spencer’s movements falter, and for several torturous seconds he’s nearly paralyzed with fear.

She silences those fears with a kiss.

“Oh, Spencer,” she sighs as she presses her forehead against his. “I love you, too. More than you could ever comprehend.”

Spencer resumes moving in and out of her, but the frenzied feeling from before is replaced with something else now. Something softer, but no less passionate.

“Yeah?” he inquires, searching her eyes for any trace of insincerity. He finds none, and it’s a relief. Any hint of falseness in her claim would surely lead to a heartbreak he could never recover from.

“Yes.” The word trails off into a moan. “I love you, Spencer Reid. I don’t imagine I’ll ever stop.”

Spencer’s heart jolts and he whines pathetically against her mouth. “I’m counting on that.”

“I’m close, Spencer,” she pants, her breath hitting his face in warm puffs. “Don’t think I can last much longer.”

“Me, too.” Spencer nudges her nose with his own. “Reach between us and touch yourself, my love. I want us to cum together. Can you do that for me?”

She nods, and the hand that clung to his right shoulder dips in between them to rub tight circles against her crest. Spencer doubles his efforts when he sees her eyelids flutter closed, and the resulting tightening of her core leaves him panting hard.

“Spencer, I-” her breath catches in her throat as Spencer delivers a particularly strong thrust. Her head falls against his shoulder, her soft moans of his name like heaven to his ears.

“Cum with me, baby,” Spencer grunts out desperately. He needs it like he needs air to breath and water to drink. And once he has it, he knows he’ll need it again and again.

She gives it to him with a muffled cry of his name and he’s instantly swept away, drowning in the blissful way her body sings for him. His body follows her lead, shattering completely under her fingertips.

While he’s been through similar acts with previous partners, those instances always felt impersonal and clinical. The caresses and whispered words were all a means to an end, an end that usually left him feeling lonelier and emptier than when he started. But right now, as he feels the beat of her heart pressed against his own, he swears he couldn’t feel fuller - full of adoration, full of affection, full of love. It’s beautiful and overwhelming and everything Spencer didn’t know he was looking for.

A raucous round of applause erupts from the direction of the party, startling the two of them. Spencer feels her laugh against his neck.

“It’s almost as if they were applauding us for a job well done.”

Spencer presses a chaste kiss to the crown of her head.

“As they should. That was sensational.”

Spencer carefully pulls out and lowers her to the floor. He wastes no time in tilting her chin up and capturing her lips in a reverent kiss. Spencer hopes his lips convey his gratitude.

The two of them pull apart and set to making themselves presentable. Their efforts prove to be in vain when Spencer points out a dark purple love bite nestled into the crook of her neck. She counters this by taking note of the smudge of red lipstick on his collar.

“What an adulterous pair we make, Professor.”

Spencer rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m not your professor anymore.” He bends down and places a kiss to her lips before taking her hand in his.

“I suppose you’re not,” she muses as they meander down the corridor. “Whatever shall we do now?”

As the two of them step out of the dark hallway and reenter the party, Spencer smiles to himself. Visions of wedding rings flit through his mind. Spencer supposes he’ll have to take a break from the posh clothing and rare books in favor of saving his money. He’ll buy only the finest ring for his future wife, after all.

“I have a few ideas.”

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#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #professor!spencer #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #matthew gray gubler fanfic #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #smut #professor!reid

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infernalrevenge · 3 years

Text

Hey, Kiss Me? (Don't Mind If I Do)

Fandom: Resident Evil 8: Village

Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Rating: G

Summary: Daniela is used to being the flirty one, blowing kisses and making a pass at anyone who caught her attention. It just never occurred to her that the tables could turn on her.

Notes: [slams fists on the table] LET ME FLIRT WITH THE CUTE VAMPIRE GIRL. If RE8 had a dating sim spin-off in some alternate universe where Capcom REALLY wanted to capitalize on the game's success, one of my runs would definitely involve romancing the youngest Dimitrescu. For anyone else who feels me on this, this is for you too. I also tried writing this in 2nd person POV for a change. Hope it still turned out alright, it's my first time writing this way. Enjoy!

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You had been working for the Duke for quite a while now. He took you in in your time of need and had been made an apprentice of sorts in the art of trading and bargaining.

You've met your fair share of oddities while settled in the village and running errands, including but not limited to: A man who can control metal and electricity on a whim, a talking doll who lives under a waterfall, and the numerous wolf-man hybrids that lurked around the vicinity. They were what most may consider crass company -- at least, that was what the Lady of the castle would say.

Lady Alcina Dimitrescu was a frequent customer and a business partner of the Duke's, helping her in the sale of her vintage "wine" to intrigued buyers. This also meant that the two of you were frequent visitors to the castle on the other side of the village proper -- a vast estate that was entirely too large for just four women to occupy (even if one of those women happened to be nine feet tall).

Miss Bela was always the more polite and civil of Dimitrescu's daughters, offering a simple greeting whenever you would come by. When it was appropriate, she was always at her mother's side and paying attention to how meetings between the older adults would proceed, like a student eager to learn from the best. You figured that, as the oldest sibling, she might take over the business someday. You weren't sure exactly how that would happen, given what you knew of the family, but you really shouldn't prod anyway. At least, not now.

Miss Cassandra was more closed off, so to speak. It always seemed like she would barely acknowledge your presence in the castle, talking only when it was necessary and immediately leaving the room once she was allowed to. However, you would feel a prickling in the back of their neck when she wasn't around, like you were being watched from the background -- prey at the mercy of their predator. But every time you turned around, there would be no one there, not even a sound to indicate escape. A part of you thought you might have been pulled into some unwitting game, wondering what would happen if you did catch the perpetrator in the act. You weren't sure you really wanted to find out.

Then, there was Miss Daniela, whose attention seemed to lie in... other prospects. Like Bela, she offered warm greetings whenever you would stop by the property. Unlike her sisters though, who never really bothered with the Duke's apprentice, she always tried to entertain herself with your company. You had a friendly enough rapport with her that you could relax in her presence as well, so it was nice. You figured it was mostly because they rarely ever got outside company, and since the sisters stay in the castle a lot of the time, she always welcomed you with enthusiasm. And a smile. And a wink. And some passing remark about how nicely you dressed that day and that you must have been trying to impress her.

"I could just eat you right up," she would say with a giggle and a playful growl.

You've never been too sure what to make of her -- she always seemed to have her head in the clouds, only coming back down at the behest of her mother or when her sisters were persistent enough. You also never knew how to respond to her flirting apart from flustered silence, which only seemed to spur her on even more. It was like she was just trying to get a reaction from you, making a game of it. It was far different from the one her older sister seemed to be keen on playing, but a game nonetheless -- how far could she push your buttons and make you implode from embarrassment?

Honestly, it seemed to be working.

You had been well-socialized thanks to your training under the Duke, and of course the man himself was charming and likeable so a part of you liked to think it may have rubbed off as he raised you. But that was when it came to formalities and negotiations -- maybe banter, if you could really push it. You've thought about responding earnestly, but flirting was another ball game all on its own, one that you don't really play on purpose, and you frequently found yourself floundering at the face of it. Especially when that face was as pretty as Daniela's.

It wasn't like you thought she liked you that way or anything -- you genuinely thought she said all those things for fun, to amuse herself with how hot you got or how you would sheepishly shrink in on yourself. But you weren't going to deny that she was cute and that you may have just a small crush on her. Just maybe. Not that you would ever admit that out loud.

----------

One winter day, the Duke entrusted you with meeting with Lady Dimitrescu on your own. She was informed of his absence beforehand -- something about attending to Lord Heisenberg's business -- and so you were left to take care of updates. In the meantime, you kept yourself busy in the guest area, perusing the dusty books in shelves that definitely needed some cleaning. It seemed like the castle could never have enough help.

As soon as you were left alone, with only your notepad and thoughts to keep you company, you felt the hairs at the back of your neck stand. You slowly looked to the side, eyes trained on a dark corner of the room. The light from the fireplace didn't quite reach that spot, making it quite the hiding place. Was something (or someone) moving from there? Are your eyes playing paranoid tricks on you? Was it Miss Cassandra playing her one-sided game again? Perhaps... you shouldn't interfere then.

You turned your attention back to the book shelf, looking high above you, wanting to take a closer look at the selection. You dragged a stool and a few stacked cushions to the shelves and slipped your shoes off, praying to whoever was out there that Lady Dimitrescu wouldn't find you like this. Oh, the scolding I'd get from Duke about manners -- you'd never hear the end of it. Stepping carefully onto the plush surface -- a few feet from the ground -- and finding your balance, you start to pick something out that had an interesting title.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Y/N," a voice echoed in the room, catching you off guard.

You jumped in surprise and lost your footing, falling backward as the cushions slipped from under you. Oh yeah, this was gonna hurt! But before you could make contact with the hardwood floor, a hand reached out and grabbed you by the waist, catching you in a rather precarious position.

"You could've hurt that cute little ass of yours," the voice cooed. Daniela seemed to have materialized from out of nowhere, wearing a mischievous grin and holding onto you as she practically hovered over you. Oh god, she was so close, you don't know where your body heat ended and hers started.

"Miss Daniela," you greeted, finally finding your voice. "Um, thanks for the save."

She pulled you up to standing on the stool and raised an eyebrow at you, smirking amusedly, "And what exactly were you doing so high up in the shelves? Aren't you supposed to be waiting here like a good little one?"

"I was just... looking at the books," you replied softly, "And falling for you, I suppose," you added as a joke, chuckling as you shook off your nerves from earlier. You were a little surprised she didn't start off with that line honestly, given how easy--

Daniela's smirk dropped at your response, eyes widening as she stiffened. Uh oh... did you say something wrong?

She blinked at you, mouth hanging open slightly as if she was trying to find the words. It looked like she gave up though, just looking away and stepping off the stool. Were you imagining that her cheeks just turned pink?

"Mother's waiting for you at the meeting room," was all she said before quickly making her exit.

It took a while before the wheels in your head started turning again.

----------

The next time you came to the castle with the Duke, it was a warm day in spring. On these occasions, sometimes Lady Dimitrescu would be more open to a different venue of meeting than inside the castle -- "for a change of scenery," as she would say. The two of you met her and her daughters at the main garden at the back of the property, the sun shining generously on all forms of life.

When Daniela spotted you, she seemed almost caught unaware, but she quickly regained composure, throwing a smirk and wink your way -- her usual greeting. You couldn't help but duck down shyly, but nonetheless waved and smiled back.

The older adults took their business elsewhere, leaving you alone with the daughters at the lobby; well, more like a daughter, since Cassandra had already left before you can say another word and Bela had excused herself soon after. It was normal for you to be in the company of the redhead at this point. Not that she seemed to mind.

"Been a while since you've been back here. Betcha missed me, huh?" Daniela said, a charming smile curled on her lips. She stood next to you, seeming intent on leading you on a little walk around. Hey, you'd take any excuse to spend time with her.

You laughed softly, "Quite, Miss Daniela."

"You're still sticking to those formalities, Y/N? Come on, you can drop the 'Miss'." She sidled up closer to you, nudging your side. "You can even skip 'Daniela' altogether and just call me yours."

You unconsciously covered your mouth as you glanced her way -- she was being more straightforward than usual. You don't know if you were just trying to hide the blood rushing to your cheeks or trying to stop yourself from smiling too widely, but seeing the smug look on the other's face, you knew she succeeded yet again in flustering you.

"What's wrong? Did summer come early? You're looking kinda warm," she teased, bending down slightly to your face level. "Then again, you are hot enough for the both of us." Damn, she was too good at this. "You'd give the sun a run for its money, honey."

You took a few moments to collect yourself, standing up straighter and clearing your throat. Your eyes looked up to meet hers, showing a half-smile as you spoke with as smooth of a delivery as you can muster, "I'd always thought you would be the sun's rival, given how easily you brighten up my day."

Daniela nearly tripped when she took another step, only managing to catch herself on a nearby bench.

"Are you--"

"I'm fine! I'm fine, just, uh... stubbed my toe on something. Stupid rock."

There were no rocks on the path you two were walking -- unless one counted the flat rock ground. (It didn't.)

The rest of the day carried on as it normally would -- Daniela distracting you from the uneasy feeling of being watched from a proper walk with her usual demeanor, batting her eyelashes and telling you how she simply must teach you to dance some time. "Maybe then you'll learn to loosen up around me." But in return, you would sometimes reply with your own quips -- "Well I wouldn't be opposed to being closer to you, Miss Daniela." You weren't about to question where this newfound confidence came from; you may as well own it, right?

It was only after that visit, replaying the day in your head like you wanted to remember it for as long as you could, that a realization came to you -- the way her cheeks tinged pink and averted her gaze, how she was rendered speechless whenever you replied in the same way that was usually expected of her...

She's not used to being flirted back to.

Her self-esteem allowed her to accept most straightforward compliments with grace, so flattery did not faze her in the slightest -- but when it came to using disarming words? When charm and wit were used right back at her?

She floundered almost as much as you did.

Suddenly, you weren't just a prop in the game anymore -- you knew how to play it now. You knew uttering such sweet (and occasionally cheesy) phrases could make the youngest Dimitrescu blush harder than a maiden being courted. And by god, did she look adorable when she did.

You kind of understood why she did all that now -- watching someone get flustered and knowing you were the cause of it was fun. It was weirdly thrilling seeing her react like that, but then again you might be confusing that feeling with different kind of fluttering in your chest whenever you were alone with Daniela. Who knows?

One thought lingered at the back of your mind though: How long would it take before one of you broke and asked the other on a real date?

(Cassandra materialized behind Daniela as you bade her farewell for the day. She had been observing the two of you interact for a while, monitoring the redhead's "progress". She knocked her sister out of her faraway thoughts with a smack to the head. "So are you gonna admit you like them yet?"

Daniela seemed almost offended at the insinuation, "I would nev-- I mean how dare-- I don't like-- they're just-- I--"

The brunette only raised an eyebrow.

"They're..." She thought back to you, that cute little smile you wore whenever she tried to flirt with you, and how you suddenly rose to the challenge of using her own tactics against her earlier. It was kind of hot. "Okay, I guess. They're okay. They're fine." Quite fine. "That's all I'm gonna say."

"Suuuure...")

#daniela dimitrescu x reader #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #re8 #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #dimitrescu daughters #dimitrescu sisters

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monsterfloofs · 3 years

Text

Male Vampire (Greyson) x Female Reader (sfw)

You rest your cheek against your hand, listening to Greyson play the piano. He was a wonderful pianist, you could listen to him play for hours. However, the only thing about Greyson’s music was that he seemed to only come in one key, and that was the minor key.

Your mother fluttered a fan in front of her face with growing irritation. “Greyson dear. . . can’t you play something that isn’t dreary or proceeding a funeral?” Greyson fixes his moon shaped spectacles and gazes at her with a placid expression. “As you wish,” He responds politely before his hands change position upon the keys. Your mother slumps in her chair defeated, while the music he plays may be a more lively tempo. It’s sound was that you would expect to propel forth from a haunted piano. You smile into your hand to hide your wide grin. Tutting at your mother in your head. Greyson only has one key Mother dear, you really should know that by now. He will play ��Jump at the Sun’ and ‘Dance Macabre’ to your hearts delight, but it’s almost as if he can’t fathom any other kinds of songs. You personally loved Greyson’s passion for haunted tunes, and you were surprised that your mother allowed him to play so frequently. Surely by now, you thought, she would have looked for another pianist to perform at the house?

Perhaps you wondered if it was because Greyson had been the Head Butler to your family for many, many years. Perhaps it was out of respect for the butler to not be usurped by another pianist. That made you smile more with impish delight, and your thoughts fade as the butlers fingers hammer passionately against the keys in a dramatic finale.

He fixes his glasses, before turning to face your Mother, “Was that more to your liking Ma’am?” You mother sighs, “Well. . . it was certainly liviler.” Greyson gives a little smile and raises to his feet. “Thank you Madame,” He put a hand in his breast pocket to steal a glance at his pocket watch, “It is time to start working on dinner, if I may excuse myself.” You watch him give a polite bow before he heads towards the kitchen and out of sight.

You liked Greyson, you liked him a lot. Despite his usual strict and stark manner, he was very kind to you. Over time you developed more than a hint of a fancy towards him. And while it was your duty to look at the potential suitors that were pushed towards you, you couldn’t help but keep your head turned towards the polite and charming butler.

That night you couldn’t sleep, your thoughts were restless, tossing and turning in bed. You decide to stop the uncomfortable sleepless dance and go downstairs to fetch yourself a glass of water. Perhaps you can sneak something to nibble on from the pantry too, and squirrel it away upstairs for when you settle in with a book to read. Your hands roam around in the dark looking for your matchbox. Swiping a match and watching it gutter to life. The fire floating eerily in midair as your hand moves to light a candle. You watch the ignited flame dance in your hand, cupping your fingers over the open flame to dim the light as you stealthily make your way down the hall. You knew you would get in trouble to be up and out of bed this late at night, so you had to move fast.

You are just about to turn the corner, when your eyes see something strange in the dark. You go slacked jawed, about to raise your candle higher, feeling your heart turn to ice. You quickly make the smarter decision to turn back around. Your back pressed against the wall and clutching the candle holder to your breast. You caught the silhouette of something big and hunched, slinking down the corridor. Perhaps it was just your imagination, the dark likes to play tricks on your eyes. But you could have sworn you glimpsed the back of a creature, but it was enormous. You tremble hesitating, wondering if you should gather your courage to take another peek.

A hand grabs your shoulder and you let out a sound. Backing up in fright and bumping into the small table in the hall. You wincing in pain, before your gaze travels up to the owner of the hand on your shoulder. You see the glint of a pair of glasses in the candlelight, and a familiar face. "Greyson!" You breathe, in relief. “Oh it’s only you, my goodness you gave me a fright. I thought I saw--” But your voice catches in your throat, you choke down your words feeling silly. Everyone in the household knew of your love of monsters, they would think you were making up stories. “Greyson. . . did you by chance see anyone else roaming the halls?” You ask instead.

"No. . ." Greyson replies slowly, giving you a stern look. "I did however hear someone roaming the halls.” He gives you a pointed look. “You should be ashamed of yourself, being out and about this late at night. What if there had been an intruder?" You opened your mouth to interject but his glasses flickered in the waving candle. His severe expression looking downright ominous. "To bed. Now. And lock the door behind you." You have never been spoken to that way before and you felt hurt. Giving him a searching look before, spinning on your heels and flouncing down the dark corridor to your bedroom.

Your nightly adventure was cut to an end. And so to pass the time until sleep graced you with its presence, you sat reading in bed. You paused from your book, hearing a noise outside and you tilted your head. You were sure what you were hearing, it sounded like muffled voices behind the door. You slip out of bed carefully, putting the book down at the bedside table and creeping towards the door, you pressed your ear to the doorframe listening in on the conversation.

“We need to make this quick,” You heard someone say, but the voice was unfamiliar.

“Think she’ll be asleep?” Someone else asks in a low husky voice,

“Well if she ain’t she soon will be. . .”

You blink your eyes going round, you hear something like metal, and jolt as your door knob gives a little rattle. You back away, watching the doorknob rattle and hearing the murmuring more conversation behind the door. Your eyes glance around, falling upon the large wardrobe at the other end of the room, you bite your lip, carefully tiptoeing across the carpet. You have just enough room to squeeze yourself inside, keeping the door ajar just a crack. From here you watch the door knob stop jingling and you can hear the faint ticking noise of metal upon metal as the lock is being jimmied open. You suck in a deep breath, feeling your heart pounding in your ears. The door swings open and you can see the vague outline of two men sauntering inside.

From your look out, you can see glimpses of them searching your room. You were stuck inside the wardrobe until they found you, or the butler found them. You flinched as you heard a stool be thrown across the room and you trembled. It sounded too close to where you were hiding. You clutch onto the doorknob trying to think of a way to escape. You hear the tromping of feet getting closer and closer. . . and then silence. You strain your ears, knuckles turning white as you were getting ready to spring forth. You were hoping to take them by surprise, possibly smash the door into one of their unsuspecting faces. Then you hear a noise that practically makes you jump out of your skin.

There was a thud, a strangled sound like a muffled scream, a brief scuffle, then a chilling silence. You are shaking all over, palms sweating, listening as hard as you can for any kind of sound to quell the stillness. You push your face further against the crevice of the door, from what you can see, the room appears empty. How could it be empty? You dare to push the door open wider, and as you peek your head around the corner, you are indeed met with an empty room. You slowly get down, and survey the scene. The tossed furniture and the floor littered with broken trinkets. It made your heart shiver. That was when your gaze fixated upon the large balcony window that has been thrown open wide. The curtain billowed lazily in the breeze. You tiptoe to the balcony, staring out into the starry night. Whoever had been in the house was gone, and what about the beast? That was the only logical explanation you could come up with. The beast you had seen in the hall had got them. You crane your neck to search the grounds below, but you can only see the familiar grassy field glazed in moonlight. Your mind crawls back to the beast in the hallway, hearing the faint sounds of it’s long tapping talons moving over the tile as it snuffled in the dark.

You hastily close the window, locking it for good measure. Though you have a sinking feeling that if a beast like that could come and go as it pleased so silently. . . it would be back. You never believed the gossip of the staff before. Though, it was something you always fancied hearing about. Laughing with them as they would spin fantastic tales of the horror and the macabre. You would sneak down to sit with them, stealing pastries to share as you camped around the hearth. You longed for the comfort of those friends, and that warm hearth.

You hear the door creak and you whirl, relief flooding you as you see Greyson in the doorway. His usual attire disheveled and his glasses barely hanging onto the tip of his nose. “Miss-- Are you alright?” Twice in one night you’ve never seen him this animated before, you nod feebly before you sit down. “I think so. . .” You feel yourself start to shake and you nod. “Just in shock, I thought I. . .” You hesitated once again to tell the truth. What could you say? That two men came into your room and escaped out the window? But then there was that scream and the thrashing you heard. “I don’t know it’s hard to explain.” You look up just in time to see a strange expression pass over Greyson’s face, “There were men who had broken into my room. . . but I don’t know what happened to them, I had hid in the wardrobe.”

You laid in bed all night thinking about the butler, and their strange reaction. He had stiffened up when you had mentioned you had gone into hiding. Greyson had been relieved that you were alright, and he praised your cleverness. But there was something else, an emotion that lay curled just below the surface. And that was curious. . . was he hiding something? As you turned over, tucking your arms beneath your pillow, your mind churned over the other curiosities of the night that left you with unanswered questions. You decided to investigate in the morning, and you hoped the suspicion you had was just a fanciful indulgence in your vivid imagination.

You had to wait until evening, until Greyson had left his private room. Another strange oddity, you never really thought of before. He wasn't around during the day. Your mind felt feverish whirling with strange thoughts and strange questions. Those thoughts were what spurred you on, what led you to stand outside his room. Making sure he was busy preparing dinner before you had crept down the corridor. Throwing guilty glances over your shoulder as you tried the door. To your surprise it opened easily, and you were met with a very dark room. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dark, you had to leave the door open to let enough light filter inside for you to see. His room had no windows? No. . . candles. . . You're hands searched for them in the dark, but came up empty handed.

You held your breath as your eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. Standing as still as a statue and listening hard for any sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor. You needed to work fast, if you were to investigate. You were not sure what you were searching for, not sure what you could find to prove your suspicions. You felt a knot in your throat as you carefully looked through drawers. His normal set of clothes, all kept pristinely folded and pressed. Letters that had been addressed to him, you had only peered over a few. A few addressed from friends or acquaintances, in which he was in a heated argument with. Though what the argument was about was hazy at best. You carefully refold the parchment, and tuck them back away as carefully as you could.

That was when your eyes crept to the steamer trunk at the bedside table. Large. Dark. Mahogany. It sat on squat lions feet, and it looked large enough to house a corpse. You take a slow shaky breath, your hands tremble as you snap open the lock. You tense, expecting the worst as you open the lid. You had closed your eyes, but as they slowly opened, you give sigh of relief. No. . . No bodies thank goodness. More old papers, clothes, a few books, and something wrapped carefully in a piece of velvet cloth. You carefully unwrap the bundle and hold up an intricate silver broach. It was like nothing you have ever seen before, you turn it over in your fingers, staring at it in wonder. It didn’t belong to your family, you wondered if Greyson had stolen it. Not that you had ever suspected him of the sort to steal. . . but this had to be the heirloom of nobility. You carefully rewrap the broach, and gently set it back inside the trunk. Slowly lowering the lid, and closing the heavy metal clasp. Taking pains to make sure everything was as you found it, you are beginning to feel very foolish. Wondering what madness had compelled you to encroach Greyson’s private room, looking for a monster.

You start retreating towards the door, when out of the corner of your eye, you spot something odd. A spot in the wall that was strangely indented. Your feet stall and stop short of their destination, staring at the strange crevice. You hold your breath, walking over to inspect it. Your fingers are able to wedge themselves between the crack in the wall. It took all your strength, but slowly, steadily, you were able to pull the patch of wall forward. You wipe your brows panting, catching your breath from the strain. You had made a big enough gap for you to realize that it was a passage, and as you peered inside, you were able to discern two dark silhouettes slumped on the floor.

You pulse quickens, staring down at them in horror. You hold onto the wall to steady yourself, were they dead? You had no way of knowing.

You heard footsteps.

Crisp

Precise

footsteps coming down the hall.

You panicked on the spot, you couldn’t risk leaving this open. Hoping and praying that they were still alive, you pushed and shoved as hard as you could. You struggled to close the gap, the wall refused to budge and he was coming. Oh he was coming, you had to hurry! You had to risk leaving this open, you couldn’t stay here any longer. You stumbled forwards, reaching the threshold just as Greyson’s shadow filled the doorway.

"What are you doing?" You freeze, looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry. . .” You bluster, “I was-- Trying to find you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

He frowns at you, “It’s quite alright, though you look rather upset is something wrong?”

“N-no! I. . .” You take a deep breath, “I had been worried about you,” You bluffed, “Last night, I didn’t even think that you could have gotten hurt, I had been selfish. I started to worry like I do. . .” You notice his gaze shift and was desperate to catch his attention again. “W-well I’m sorry I didn’t mean to barge into your personal space-- I had just been so worried--” You make an attempt to sidestep him, you feel his hand land on your shoulder and you flinch. Greyson’s expression is unreadable. The grips on your shoulder feels like iron as his eyes stare past you. “I think. . . You and I need to have a talk.” “N-no!” You squeak and attempt to pull away, his hand catching your elbow pulling you into the hall as if you were a mere disobedient child. No matter how fiercely you struggle, he is unshakable. “Now is this anyway to act?” He hisses at you, and you freeze, feeling your blood run cold as you stare at him. He escorts you into the kitchen, closing the door firmly and resting his hands behind his back. “Sit down,” He glances at your expression before repeating himself, his voice softening slightly. “Sit down.” You take a seat, your face riddled with uncertainty and distrust. He turns his back from you to start a fire, grimacing slightly at the heat. You watch him doggedly, eyes shifting between where he stood and the door. He sets a kettle on the stove and turns to you. Folding his arms as his piercing gaze stares back at you.

I would recommend you to drink some tea." He says calmly, "It will help soothe your nerves." You stare down at the table, your hands shaking. “A-are. . .” You stammer, “Are they dead?” The whisper of your voice hangs in the air, Greyson gives a snort of irritation. Taking the kettle off the stove and pouring two cups of tea. “They are most certainly not. No. No matter how angry I was, I am not the kind of man to foolishly slather blood upon my hands. They were put there, safely out of the way until I knew what to do with them. And give them a damn good scare so they shall never come back.”

He pulls out a chair, and settles onto it, sitting across from you at the kitchen table. He steepled his fingers together watching you intently. ". . .Have you lost faith in me? I who have served your family dutifully for years?" You don't respond and refuse to look up and meet his gaze, he gives a small sigh. "My dear. . . what if I were to tell you that most of the household knows about me? In fact, I was employed because of what I am. I was given a home in exchange to protect your family."

“Then I was right'' You say softly, “You were the beast I saw in the hallway.” Greyson peers at you over his glasses, “I can become many different things. . . But yes. That was me. I was patrolling the house, I thought I had heard the sound of the front door and I wanted to make sure you were safe.” He takes his glasses off, carefully cleaning them with a handkerchief. You sit quietly letting his words sink in.

“Me?” You respond at last, “What about my mother?” Greyson, blinks before laughing and he shakes his head in wonder, “You’ve never seen your mother fence I presume. She is a devil with a sword.” Your expression softens, being able to picture your mother with a sword drawn and her usual disapproving scowl upon her face tempered your nerves. “I didn’t know she fenced,” You say, “But if you say she is a devil when she does, I must admit she seems like she would be very intimidating.” Your hand gingerly lifts the tea cup to your lips. “All those stories the staff tell. . . are they real then?” Greyson gives a huff of sound, “They’re spreading rumors about me again are they? They really like to do that, I need to have a word with them.” “Oh!” You say quickly, “I’m sure they mean no harm!” Greyson gives you an amused smile, “Harm? No of course not. . . but I was hoping I would tell you myself in time instead of their incessant dropping of hints.” He clears his throat. "I think. . . That is enough questions for one day. Dinner is already at the table. If I prattle on much longer your food shall get cold."

"Please, don't shoo me away," You stumble over your words to apologize. "About before, calling you a-- I wasn't trying to be cruel," Greyson fixes you with a steady gaze before giving a bemused smirk. "Oh. . . ? And tell me, what would you have done. . . If I had ended up being the beast you had been doggedly chasing? If I had been biding my time for the right moment to pounce. For all you know I could be lying. . ." A corner of his lip twitches and your eyebrows knit, looking down and your tea cup. "I don't know. . . I don't know what I would have done, honestly I-- I let fear get the better of me. I-- I'm sorry--"

"No, no, don't apologize, I should be the one asking for your forgiveness," His voice softens, "I was. . . joking, not very well at that. I did feel bitter, but it is nothing against you. How could you have known? I certainly did not expect you to have the courage to search my room. But I knew you would have questions." He puts a gloved hand to his forehead, giving a weak chuckle. "A foresight I should have known better than to overlook. You are too clever for your own good. Clever and much too curious.” Your head bobs up and your mirror his smile with a tiny one of your own. “There will be time for questions later on,” Greyson murmurs softly, raising from his chair, “But it is about time, you get to dinner.” You open your mouth to interject but he ignores you, “And for me to decide what to do with our two house guests.” You close your mouth and nod. “Shall we. . . be able to talk more later tonight?” You carefully get up following him with tea cup and saucer in hand. Greyson peeks at you before giving a tiny smile. “If that is what you wish. . .”

#monster x human #monster x reader #exophilia #fluff #sfw #vampire x human #vampire x reader #male monster x female reader

187 notes · View notes

ssatoritendou · 3 years

Text

Old Spice, Breakfast, & Memory Lane

Pairing: Itadori/reader

Yuuji Itadori

+ summary: Yuuji takes notice that you slept in his sweatshirt. In which leads into a conversation about your future, and talking about your past as well.

Word count: 1.7k

Genre: fluff

Warning: hornee Yuuji

“___, you won’t believe what this cursed- Shit you are sleep,” Yuuji said putting up his hands feeling guilty. He switched to whispering. “Sorry, Babe.” He placed his hand on your head gracefully stroking your hair.

“She looks delicious to eat,” Sukuna said mouth appear on Yuuji’s palm licking the hair under his hand.

Yuuji slaps his hand to his face. “I thought I told you to never do that to her.” He growled.

“Too bad though she smells like you.”

“Just ignoring me fine. What do you mean she smells like me? She always smells fresh like a clean spring day, refreshing.” Yuuji smiled.

“Maybe because she is wearing that gross yellow sweatshirt of yours and smells like your old spice. I have to live with it every day for the rest of my life.”

Yuuji stopped listening to the demon living inside of him and looked at his beloved girlfriend wearing his yellow sweatshirt, that desperately needed to be washed.

He smirked. He got up from crouching and took off his uniform. Slipping into bed behind you wrapping his arms lightly.

You wiggled up against him. He groaned when you did that but he suppressed that thought letting his chin rest on your head.

“No talking for the rest of the night you. She needs her beauty rest.”

“You can say that again.”

As much as Yuuji wanted to fight Sukuna for even muttering another word, he didn’t want to go wake his sleeping angel.

There were only four things that woke up Yuuji. 1) the bright sunlight pouring into his room when he forgot to roll his shades down. 2) Nobara when they need to go on a mission. 3) a wet dream. 4) the smell of food being prepared.

This morning it was the smell of breakfast. He could smell the eggs and sausage being cooked on the small hot plate. He sat upon his bed, fixing his pillows. He found himself staring at you in all your glory still wearing his sweatshirt. He let his eyes stop at your ass and his head fall to the side as he leered your round cheeks peeking out of the grey sweat-shorts.

“Morning Yuuji.” You said without turning around.

“Morn’ baby.” He said in a gravelly morning voice.

You turned your head slightly to say, “breakfast will be ready in minutes.”

“Thank you, baby.” He chuckled as he putting arms behind his head. “Do we have any syrup?”

“Yuuji you think I don’t already have it out for you?” You said to point your spatula towards his bed tray with a bottle of syrup already on it and a small glass of apple juice.

Now you were putting the food on his plate. Turning around with the tray in hand which was set up beautifully, his silverware wrapped in a napkin, his apple juice had a straw in it, a bottle of maple syrup to drown his eggs and sausages in, and a small vase with some wildflowers that grew on the jujutsu tech property.

You did this every time he came back from a long mission.

It was your way of telling him you love him, happy that he was safe and thankful for him.

“Thank you, angel.” He said picking up your hand and kissing it.

“How was the mission?” You asked.

“It was fine. The cursed spirit was weird looking. It was yellow, this was the first yellow cursed spirit I have seen. It looked like a Picasso painting."

You nodded understanding his description. You have only seen them briefly in high intense situations but you don't see them as frequently as your friends.

"It is not like I look forward to them. We are just doing a job and trying to find the fingers as well.”

He started to shove more food into his mouth syrup dripped down onto his chest. “You want to clean this up?” He asked in a flirty tone.

You only rolled your eyes picking up the napkin wiping his chest.

“Worth a shot right?”

“You know I love when you are overly flirty.”

He laughed. “I love it when you wear my clothes.”

“Oh, you noticed?”

"Of course I noticed, I notice everything about you." He said playing with your fingers resting on his leg.

“You even smell like the rat. That god awful old spice body wash and body deodorant.” Sukuna chided into the conversation.

“Stay out of this Sukuna.” You said picking up a sausage sticking it in the demon’s mouth. The demon willing took the sausage and chewed on it.

“You looked so cute last night,” Yuuji said. “I wanted to wake you up and tell you how pretty you look.”

He put his hand on your cheek as you rested against it. “I just can’t see myself ever living without you.” You said.

“Hey don’t think that way. I’m always going to be here. I need you to know that.”

“Yuuji…”

“___ baby, if I weren’t a jujutsu student we would’ve never met.”

That was true. You were Mei Mei’s niece. No clue how it was possible but your parents were both sorcerers and passed away at young age doing their job. Mei Mei became your parent. She never stayed in one place because of her job. You never developed curse energy. Mei Mei was thankful for that. Jujutsu Tech offered you, board. In return, you helped around the grounds.

You remembered the day you met Yuuji.

He and Fushiguro were hanging out by the open concrete archways. He had been sipping an apple juice pouch overly petting Fushiguro’s demon dog. You had been tending to the garden when the carton of apple juice had landed into the bush. You picked up the pouch and stomped over into their direction.

“New blood?” You asked Fushiguro.

“____ this is Yuuji Itadori. Sukuna’s vessel.”

“Yeah, idiot Satoru mentioned it in passing. He never gives the full explanation.” You said grunting.

Itadori was sitting there starring at you during a brief conversation with Fushiguro, finally speaking up when there was a small silence. “That is the most I have ever heard him talk.”

You laughed a little bit. You smiled turning towards him, “Itadori is it?” He nodded. “Keep your trash in the trash bin or live to regret it.” You walked away.

“Who is she?” He asked Fushiguro.

“Thats ____, ___. She is a sorcerer's niece. Her parents were sorcerers. She was raised here for the most part. I’ve known her for a long time. She doesn’t have cursed energy she is normal. But Gojo did teach her how to fight. Be afraid.”

It wasn’t long after that he “passed away” but you were cleaning some of the rooms and you heard a movie playing and walked in and saw Itadori sitting there sipping on his 4 can of soda holding a stuffed bear by its head.

“Itadori? How? I thought—you should be dead.”

“Trust me I don’t understand it either. But no one can know. A small number of people know.”

“So I can’t tell anyone?”

“Exactly.” He said with a thumbs up. And then the stuffed bear knocked him in the face.

You laughed so hard that your insides started to hurt.

Itadori pulled the stuffed bear off of him and got it to calm it down to sleep. He started staring at you again. He started laughing too.

“You want to watch movies with me?” He asked.

“Sure.” You said sitting down and eating some of the chips and drink what was left of Itadori’s soda. “Sorry about that. I haven’t really eaten anything today.”

‘Inadvertent kiss.’ He thought for a minute looking at you in the eyes making an awkward silence in the air. “Uh..yeah it’s fine. What do you want to watch?” He gestured to a stack of DVDs.

You scanned the titles. “Let’s watch Scream.” You said holding up the case.

“Really a horror movie?”

“You fight curse spirits every other day. This is nothing.”

“I just don’t want you getting scared.”

“Pfft.” You said.

You hated to admit it but Itadori was right you did get scared. Only when it was gross. You shoved your face into a pillow.

“You can come over here if you want.” He said looking away from the tv and your direction in general. You moved over closer to him. Over time while watching the movie he put his arm across the back of the couch slightly touching your shoulders.

When the credits started rolling you said. “Itadori if you wanted to ask me out or kiss me you could have.”

“What?”

“Never mind then.” You sighed.

“No no no…I do want to ask you out just didn’t think you would say yes.”

“You don’t think highly of yourself?”

“…I don’t usually have any luck with the ladies.” He said rubbing his head.

“Consider this lady impressed by you.” You giggled.

Itadori leaned down and kissed your cheek.

“You missed.”

“What do you mean I missed?”

You turned your head to him and straddled his lap. “I mean you missed.” You kissed him on the lips.

He was a little stunned by your boldness. He wasn’t sure what to do at first. But soon he melted into the kiss soon putting his hands on your waist.

You pulled away.

“So are you my girlfriend?”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course dumbo.”

Now you were here laying in his bed holding onto him to dear life. Tears were rolling down your cheeks and you were sniffling.

“Angel it will be ok. I can handle myself. You have seen me fight.”

“Yuuji I know that. It’s just the ending…”

“That’s a long time away.”

“Yuuji it’s going to happen. I don’t know what I will do if it happens. Yuuji if you fully turn into Sukuna I might try and save you from our friends.”

“___…”

“Yuuji it’s you. If there was a chance I could save you….” You couldn’t even finish the thought your face started to crumble.

He picked up your face. “___ I understand if it were you I would fight off everyone any way I can.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I promise everything will be ok. We will be ok.”

You nodded your head in his hands.

“Come on little lady let’s watch a movie together.” He pulled you closer to him.

“Scream?” You asked.

“Oh yeah definitely Scream.” He chuckled. Putting the movie on. “I love you ___.”

“I love you Yuuji.” You pecked his lips. He squeezed you in returned.

#itadori yuuji #yuuji x reader #itadori x reader #yuuji itadori #yuuji jjk #yuuji jujutsu kaisen #itadori jjk #itadori jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen yuuji #yuuji Itadori jujutsu Kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk yuuji itadori #jjk fluff #itadori fluff

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vidalinav · 3 years

Text

A Kinder Sea: Chapter 1

Summary: After the IC give Nesta an ultimatum Nesta chooses instead to support herself, cutting herself off from them completely and so begins Nesta’s journey of finding a job and falling in love with everyday life (Slice of Life/Fix-it Fic)

Masterlist, Chapter List

Dedicated to you Noni!

Three flights of stairs later and Nesta could feel the muscles in her legs quake, and she wasn’t even on her floor. Even after all these months she was still not used to the stairs. They wound up the apartment building in a way that offered no shortcut.

To get to her apartment, she’d need to pass every door on each level, each apartment spiraling around the building like a dome. Nesta’s was at the end. At the very top and the last apartment on the fifth floor. It was the cheapest one she could find in Velaris, and when she’d moved in she understood why.

Never mind that the entire layout seemed impractical, Nesta often wondered what would happen if a fire broke out. She could only imagine jumping from the fifth floor like a flying squirrel, landing in that lone tree at the center of the complex. Then she’d really be lost to the wild, as her sisters probably thought now.

She could hear the pounding footsteps of the floor above and Nesta rolled her eyes. Two little boys came trampling down, running as if they were made of air. They did not so much as huff as they bounced the ball they carried and Nesta held her breath as they passed. No sense in showing them that she couldn’t make it to her floor without panting out a lung.

“Hi Ms. Nesta!” One yelled.

“Bye Ms. Nesta!” The other called.

Nesta didn’t get the chance to answer before they were gone. Matching red shirts disappearing to lower levels. Her eyes tried to follow them as she grasped the railing for the fourth set of stairs. She couldn’t catch the youngest’s dark curly hair or the oldest’s green shoes and Nesta lugged herself up, sighing in defeat.

She wondered if falling down four floors was enough to knock herself out--if the beautiful fae male on the first floor would perhaps carry her up, gods knew she’d survive the fall. But no... Nesta couldn’t chance it. With her luck, no one would even notice, and she’d have to pick herself up, shame and all, and climb them all over again.

She supposed she could always pretend to be napping. Lie under that tree and the beautiful azure sky like she hadn’t fallen four floors. The summer sun, Nesta would say to her neighbors if they asked. Such a beautiful day to be out here. Picnics and all.

Why are your legs broken then? They’d say.

None of your business, she’d answer in that haughty tone of hers.

Nesta laughed at her own thoughts... But as she looked back at all those steps, her smile dropped. Nesta could only tip her head back and groan.

She’d chosen the apartment because it was the cheapest, yes, and she’d regretted it every day since. Not enough to move, but perhaps she was just too stubborn. Even when her sister had asked with that tone of hers why she lived there, or when the silence between them was enough of a proclamation that Feyre did not approve, Nesta held onto the apartment. Nesta held onto it like it belonged to her. Like she owned it and Nesta knew she owned nothing. The city might as well have been signed under Feyre Archeron and her insufferable mate—property owned and sold by the Night Court’s finest and Nesta was not ashamed to say the thought made her bitter.

Nesta could not run far enough away to escape her sister, and now her sister thought she owned her too.

She began the trek up, breathing through the burn of her thighs, trying to focus on the movements of her body rather than the berating voice of her mind, but the anger was a tight first pulling at her skull.

Forget them. They mean nothing to you, Nesta told herself.

You mean nothing to them, a voice whispered back.

She could only agree, and Nesta couldn’t help but lean over the railing. Four floors and then five, contemplating that height.

The only time she hadn’t regretted this apartment was when spring came in a flurry of rainstorms. She’d watched from her balcony window the rain pour down on the city below, gloomy and perturbed that her night of drinking had been postponed indefinitely. But when days had passed and the sun at last began to peek out once more, and she unashamedly ran to the nearest tavern, Nesta had caught a glimpse of that lone tree at the bottom. It had bloomed in magenta and white, it’s flowers swaying to a soft breeze.

She’d gripped those rails and stood there, didn’t even know if she made it to the bar that day. Nesta had stayed there for hours looking at those colors—to each door, each floor thinking that the building itself bowed to that tree, protected it in its sacred embrace. Nesta, herself, had bowed to that tree that day as she leant over the railings.

She could imagine the petals still, the wind picking them up as if it might gift it to her. She’d wished for Elain then... hoped that she might come—forget what she said about her life being separate from theirs. But Elain never came... Elain never visited her once.

Now, Nesta thought, Elain didn’t deserve to see it at all.

The thought of her sister made her chest thrum with unsettled words—and Nesta chastised herself for her straying thoughts and that restless anger she didn’t know what to do with.

The summer had taken away the beauty of spring and there were no flowers left when the sun beat across the sweltering concrete and all Nesta knew for sure was that she was sweaty and exhausted, her chest heavy in a way that she usually only felt after a long night of drinking and getting nowhere. The stairs were usually a punishment then, a pain she’d only vaguely complain about the next day when she did it again, lugging herself up flight after flight.

She supposed this was a punishment, too.

Nesta could see her door as she managed the last step and she could have flopped down right then and there, but she raised her chin instead because the stairs would not best her today.

Neither would her snooty sisters. Neither would her mind that wouldn’t stop thinking of them.

The surest way to forget, Nesta learned, was wheat, barley, and hops or whatever the tavern made ale with. She could practically hear the tumbling drunken voices as she walked to her door. She’d drink the memories away, music filling the space where her thoughts had once gathered. Let them return in the morning with the headache and the dry throat that would surely accompany like loyal friends—old friends that Nesta had begun to miss.

She fumbled with the lock on her door with that thirst in her throat, her mouth parched for the taste of it. The key jammed as she twisted it and Nesta shoved it harder in its slot.

“Are you serious?” She asked the door. The dingy, brown-painted wood did not reply and Nesta groaned as she kicked it. Nesta fiddled with the lock, turning the key over and over, slamming the door with her body, and when the lock would still not budge, she pointed to the door as she had to the King of Hybern. “Open up you blasted thing!”

Meow.

Nesta turned to the black shadow that poked its head out of the wall, clenching her fists at the interruption.

"Shoo,” she said as she waved her hand.

Meow, the cat sounded, tilting its ghostly head.

Nesta could make out no mouth or eyes and she didn’t know how she could hear its cry, but she’d stopped asking questions about the logic of the fae world the first weeks of becoming fae. It did her no good when she was hungover or tired... which were most days, and it was not the first time the little shadow cat seemed to come out of the walls and greet her at her door.

She pointed to the shadow merely wagging its tail like the arrows of a metronome. “At least you can get inside,” Nesta grumbled.

The shadow cat tilted its head as if contemplating her statement then rolled onto its back, offering its belly. Nesta didn’t know what solution that might have wrought so she ignored its luring movements.

“I’m allergic to cats,” she haughtily replied.

Nesta pulled the key from its slot and slammed it in once more. She wiggled it back and forth, her face feeling hot with frustration. The cat meowed louder as it jumped up, coming to rub itself against her leg.

Nesta raised her hands in defeat, sighing as the door stubbornly stayed closed.

“Fine,” she said, looking to the little shadow. “You win.”

The cat bobbed into her outstretched hand, and Nesta crouched low, scratching behind its ears. The shadow’s fur felt as soft as silk, and she wondered why it didn’t feel like air like she thought it should. The cat meowed again, and Nesta huffed. Attention hog, she thought, but the cat merely rubbed against her, purring sweetly.

“You know, you’re far less judgmental than most people I know,” she said. The cat flopped on its back again and Nesta went for its belly. The cat swatted her away with its paws. She swatted back, feeling herself smile lightly at its antics.

At the unconscious raise of her lips, Nesta frowned, but before she could contemplate the distraction, the little cat’s head stood at attention, its body stilling its lazy movements. The cat looked to the stairs and so did Nesta. She could hear the echo of concrete as someone took heavy steps.

When Nesta turned to the cat again, it was gone.

“No music. No stomping. No parties. No recreational sports. No hobbies. No shouting!” The male shouted.

“What? No laughter?”

“Not if it’s loud,” Nesta’s landlord threatened. She could recognize the nasally tone, the footsteps when he went from apartment to apartment reminding them about rent, leaving notes on their door about policies. Why he frequently climbed those stairs on his own accord Nesta never knew.

But she took note of the feminine laughter, one she’d never heard before.

Nesta recognized all of her neighbors—knew what they looked like, how they talked, their routine on a regular basis. She watched them from her world above and occasionally they would say high, but mostly it was Nesta watching as they interacted in the world below. She didn’t care to know any of their names, she only wanted to know what level of bothersome they would be—what kind of threat.

This voice was new and they didn’t sound threatening, but Nesta knew that she would spend hours looking out of the little peep hole to see if she’d catch a glimpse of that unknown being who laughed as if her landlord was joking. He was not joking.

Nesta certainly wouldn’t stay outside to greet them. She didn't have it in herself to meet one more person who would just stare along with all the rest. As if she was some carnival attraction.

Come see the failure of Velaris. Some say she’s so hideous, she never comes down from that tower.

Nesta looked to her door, the key still stuck in its slot. She could hear them louder this time, their voices clear and ringing.

“No pets. No flags. No patio decorations. Nothing colorful...”

She twisted the key with reckless abandon, slamming herself quickly at the same time she pushed. The door opened easily and Nesta watched her landlord reach the top of the stairs as she shut it quickly.

The door clicked in place with a heavy thump.

Nesta didn’t look back out—didn’t move. She was almost afraid the stout male would be there breathing down the worn paint, some random fae trailing behind like death on her doorstep. She leaned against the door and tried to picture that tree again. The cat with silk-soft fur. The fizz of alcohol that floated to the top. The pop of a champagne bottle as if she had something to celebrate.

But when Nesta closed her eyes, she could only see a shadowy figure standing beyond that worn, thin door. Hovering over it as if it breathed on the back of her neck. Scythe in hand—the grim reaper yelling across its wood in sharp, distinct notes.

Nasal and high-pitched.

Where. Is. The. Rent?

Nesta left the windows open to air out the scent that Cassian had so graciously commented on the day before, and the room had become unbearable. The hot sticky sun of a mid-summer warmed her skin, and she kicked her blankets away, feeling as if she’d just bathed. Her hair stuck to her face, but she didn’t bother combing it away. It seemed that all Nesta could do was slouch back and stare at the ceiling.

She had stared at the ceiling all day, couldn’t stop staring at nothing until Nesta hoped it would just collapse on top of her. Popcorn ceiling constellation for wary, vindictive dreams. Not that she remembered many these days.

From her bedside window, she could see the sun had already begun to set on Velaris.

The window was another thing she liked about this place—that she could see the city without ever leaving her bed. She could see rooftops and the interweaving trees. Great twisting oak that she felt might come alive one day, grab her by one of its many branches and hoist her over the city to the sky above.

Nesta didn’t know what time it was. Most days she found herself having slept before realizing she’d ever laid down. She was always tired and just like yesterday and the day before, Nesta had slept to the buzz of cicadas, and she’d woken to crickets chirping. The sound so loud she thought they might be hidden in her cupboards.

But all Nesta could do was sigh...

Nothing much had changed. She was still in her apartment, could still see the endless amount of clothes strewn about, knew that there was nothing to eat in the pantry or the refrigerator.

The crickets chirped, and nothing changed.

Still, she felt different.

And she felt as if the world should look different, too. Rain, because something permanent had happened yesterday morning and the sky wanted to wash it away. The ground shaking instead of her body. The wind roaring instead of her words. But the sky was only dipped in peaches and purples, and the world was still.

The bed creaked as she tumbled out of it and Nesta kicked away the dress she’d worn that gathered at her feet. Maybe she’d burn it, too, because she didn’t want to remember what it felt like to be embarrassed... ashamed.

Maybe she’d keep it.

Because no person, thing, entity, or otherwise was going to take one more piece of her. She’d keep it like the memory of a risen middle finger. Like a power that hummed a furious tune.

For now, she’d throw the dress in the corner with the rest of the clothes and hope it took up space in a room that was mostly bare.

That was her apartment’s fault. It was too large, even without a bedroom. A studio Nesta couldn’t fill—didn't want to fill at the time. It was empty and it echoed as she walked. She didn't even have a dining room table. Only a bed that came with the place, a frame that was squeaky and rusted. Her dirty clothes and her shoes strewn about decorated the room, and she was okay with this...

Until he had wandered in.

Some part of her thought she ought to take a bath and wash the grime of the days away. Look somewhat decent. But the thought of him filled her with disgust. She would be decent for no one.

So Nesta went to the kitchen instead, tucked away in the far corner, where the cream-colored shelves sat studiously staring as if to say you haven’t opened us in a while. Nesta didn’t bother with them.

Nesta went to the refrigerator instead, reached above the tall contraption she’d found to be positively fae. Nothing existed quite like this where’d she lived most of her life. They’d had an icebox when it was winter, where they stored uncooked meat if Feyre had come home with excess. But that had rarely happened. In the fae world, it seemed, everything she found a luxury, was common and not worth speaking about.

Nesta reached for the cookie jar that sat at the top, its white hue dusty as she took it down. In it was her security and she couldn’t help but hold it to her chest.

In the beginning, when she’d first started frequenting taverns and hadn’t yet discovered the joys of sex and booze, Nesta was rather serious about cards. Mostly because she was good at playing and males were easy to fool. They’d stare at her breasts, try to make casual chit-chat, all the while Nesta was making bets. They were making their own bets too, of course, who’d go home with her, who’d she kiss in the back hall, feel her up where it was quieter, and the lights were dim. They didn't seem to mind losing money and Nesta certainly didn’t mind taking it.

She stored the bills and coins away in some random jar she’d found in the local grocery store. It was on sale, and it was the first thing she’d ever bought with money of her own.

Nesta didn’t want to think on what they would call this money, but it was her money. She splayed the bills on the counter, piled up the coins, and when she was done counting, Nesta found she had just enough for next month’s rent... and maybe a grocery run if she’d budgeted well enough. It would have to last her—the groceries. Unless she found a job soon. She’d start looking today...

Tomorrow, she decided.

Today she’d clean herself up. Because tomorrow, she’d have to look presentable whether she wanted to or not. It was not about pride. It was about survival and Nesta had survived worse things than this.

So, who cares about them? Nesta thought. The only person who lives here is me.

Something her sister didn’t seem to realize was that getting drunk was free.

Most nights Nesta didn’t even have to buy her own drinks, and the only reason she did was because she’d knew her family would see it. She liked imagining the red of their faces, the clenched fists in which they held the bill. Making them angry seemed to spark some thrill in her that nothing else could replicate.

Now as she sat at the bar, a glass of whiskey in her hands, she almost felt annoyed. Not just because she couldn’t get drunk today, but because even if she did who would see it? Who would care?

Not that they did, anyways.

But she supposed all of them had won in that sense... and the idea that they won, that they had an advantage even now made Nesta want another drink.

“Can I get you another round?” The male asked, sidling up to her, placing his hand on her back.

Nesta didn’t spare him a glance, as she rocked her drink in her hand, “No.”

"You’ve been sipping on that drink since you got here.”

“You've been paying attention, how nice.” Nesta held up the half-finished glass, “I’m fine with this one.”

The male didn’t seem to get the hint as he sat at the stool next to her. He could have been beautiful or a disgrace, Nesta didn’t care. He could have been him and she still wouldn’t have looked.

The whiskey told her that was a lie.

“Come on, just one drink.” He lured, leaning into her. When the male didn’t capture her attention, she heard the slam of his glass on the table. She gave it a sidelong glance, where the liquid spilled on the counter. “What? You’re too proud to drink with someone as lowly as me? Lady Archeron.”

He sang the words, and at the title, Nesta shot him a glare, letting her powers glow through, “if you want to keep your tongue, I suggest getting away from me.”

The fae stepped back at the look.

Good, she thought. Smart. Nesta had no interest in blowing up the bottles stacked behind the bar, and she had no means to pay if it happened. If it happened, he’d have bigger things to worry about then her eyes glowing silver.

Nesta looked to the puddle forming where he’d slammed his drink and gave him another glare.

Leaving this mess? Who raised you?

A waitress huffed a laugh, and Nesta turned towards her. She couldn’t help the scowl she gave the female behind the bar, who took out a rag and wiped the counter clear. “What are you looking at?”

The female only gave her a smirk, humor dancing in her eyes.

Nesta gulped down the last of her drink, slamming the finished glass on the table like the male had done before. She took out a few coins, pushing them forward.

Tonight, she did not feel like another.

Finding a job was harder than she expected and Nesta spent most of the morning going from shop to shop asking if they had any availability for work.

Most of the stores had barely begun to open, and only a few gave her concrete answers. The little book shop—Nesta's first choice—had told her that the owner was away and wouldn’t be back for two weeks. The pastry shop, where Nesta might have been happy smelling the sweet scent of bread for hours and sneaking the tarts they’d displayed in the windows, had inquired about skills in which she had few.

By the time she made it back to her apartment, she felt the heavy weight of the rising sun and little more than disappointment settling on her shoulders. She was hungry, too. It seemed that job hunting worked up an appetite that only a job could satisfy, and Nesta could think of nothing that sounded remotely good to fill her.

Nesta had been like that lately. Always hungry. Never hungry enough... or perhaps too hungry to move and search for food in her pantry. Not that she had much in there besides dust bunnies.

She’d taken money out of the jar that morning, though her heart hurt with every silver coin. The bills, in their array of colors, Nesta hadn’t touched—wouldn’t dare if she wanted her rent paid next month. She couldn’t stop thinking about it... the looming sense of dread that accompanied her and her dwindling jar. Her stomach ached with it.

Still, she had enough for a bag of groceries, Nesta told herself... minus the coin for the drink. She shouldn’t have bought it. She should have let the male pay for it.

Nesta didn’t want to dwell as the guilt roared up her chest.

She had enough for some bread and butter, cheese and some fruit. Tea to tide her over. She let that fact comfort her. She didn’t need much. Afterall, she’d starved half her life. There was no difference in doing it now. Nothing new, Nesta decided.

For now, even as her nausea demanded she go home and hide behind her door where she could pretend it was safe, she’d buy a sweet bun for her effort and she would try to enjoy it, too.

There was a grocery store a street down from her apartment and trees lined the sidewalk. Nesta could make out the pinwheels poking out from the ground, rainbow colors spinning so fast she might have gotten dizzy starring at them for too long. Windchimes rang as she approached, and its soft music drifted past as if it were made of dreams. It made her envious. The little shop that could hear music made by the wind.

“Good morning!” An elderly male greeted her as he set down a box of oranges lined in neat rows. Nesta recognized him as one half of the couple who owned the store. She raised a hand in greeting but didn’t say a word instead jumbling past him and the ramshackle array of boxes. Reds and vibrant yellows. Bright greens and dark greens and something shaped like a star.

“Can I help you find anything?” He called, though Nesta had lost him between the shelves. The fae always asked her that as many times as she dared to show her face, and just like the many times before Nesta did not reply. She merely looked to the corner, already knowing its place, where the clear display casings were filled with buns and bread.

Nesta eyed her favorite immediately.

She took the tongs out of the encasing and felt her mouth water, her stomach grumbling its get on with it roar. She picked up the toasted brown, the bun dusted with powdered sugar. She ignored the other sweets trapped inside. Nesta hadn’t wanted to try any of the others. As soon as she’d first bitten into this one, she hadn’t wanted anything else.

She wanted nothing else, as she went to the counter, carrying that little bun wrapped in paper.

The male sidled up the register, clearing his throat as he smiled. Nesta only moved to get her coins and tried not to stare at his face. She didn’t care for the warmth it held.

Liar, she thought. Everyone in Velaris is a liar.

“That will be two silvermarks,” He replied cheerfully.

Nesta pulled out the two coins from her bag and felt her mouth pull into a frown.

Was a bun worth it? She asked herself. Two silvermarks for one bun that would last her only a moment. Apprehension welled up and her stomach twisted in greedy knots. But she set the coins on the counter anyway, the money rattling a harsh ring.

The male dipped his head politely, sliding the silver towards him. Nesta watched as he entered a button on his register and the till opened with a sharp ding.

“We appreciate your business,” he said at last. She nearly grimaced at how chipper he sounded, but he once more smiled warmly and Nesta’s brows furrowed.

Liar times two.

She didn’t note her goodbye even as he called for her to have a nice day and only when she was out of the shop did Nesta unwrap the bun she’d carefully held. She nearly moaned her pleasure as she bit into it. Her favorite part was the yellow custard at the center, and as she took a few more bites, she licked at the cream. Before she knew it the bun was half eaten and Nesta wrapped it once more in paper.

She’d save it. Savor it because it would be the last of them for a while.

Nesta shuffled along as she walked back to her apartment, cradling the rest of the bun with care. She blew at her hair that fell into her face, escaping from her braid. It stuck to her sweaty skin. She didn’t like how hot it was, how bright the sun shone, and as she entered the dome of her apartment building, Nesta could only think of getting back into her room, sleeping until it was night again.

No disruptions. No busybodies knocking on her door.

As she looked to the steps, Nesta sighed heavily. She could hear the noise of two little boys.

Oh, right.

“Ms. Nesta! Ms. Nesta!” They called, out of breath.

Nesta waited for them at the bottom of the stairs, but they were not coming from the floors above, but rather the pavilion. They passed that large swaying tree at the center, and Nesta stood straighter as they ran towards her.

“There's a ghost!” The oldest yelled.

“Come quick!” The youngest one said, grabbing on to the skirt of her dress. He pulled her forward and Nesta followed casually, not at all bothered by the notion of ghosts.

They had on matching blue shirts today. Jerseys of some sport Nesta knew nothing about. There were many teams in Velaris, she found, and she never knew if they were from a specific organization or just friends who went out in the world proclaiming that they fit together somehow. Nesta would never do such a thing.

She knew of one group who certainly would.

The youngest let go as he ran towards the laundry room. That was another thing that Nesta thought was strange. To wash clothes by spinning water and dry them using magic. Gods forbid, they hang one piece of cloth.

The boys stopped at the door and waited, and Nesta crossed her arms. “What’s wrong with it?”

“They think it’s haunted,” a voice said from behind.

Nesta turned to find the female leaning up against the tree. She recognized the voice—the light tilt of an accent.

Nesta eyed the fae, taking in the pink fuzzy slippers first. Bunnies, she thought. But Nesta’s gaze caught on the wings tucked so keenly behind her back.

Illyrian.

Nesta almost sighed out her displeasure.

“I gathered, after they said there were ghosts,” she replied.

“There are ghosts,” the eldest boy argued. He held up his hands. “Just wait.”

Nesta shrugged away the female and peered inside. White and dingy washers and dryers were stacked on top of one another. Dutiful soldiers all lined up on each wall. There was an old bubble gum machine at the farthest end that must have stopped working before she was born, because she saw no one ever use it when she came down. Granted Nesta didn’t do it often. But the number of gumballs didn’t seem any lower. It was rusted around the red base, and Nesta didn’t trust the age of the candy inside.

There was nothing odd about this place, though. She didn’t feel anything off.

“There is no such thing as ghosts,” Nesta said, looking to the boys peering back into the laundry room. She refused to look once more at the female. She squared her shoulders, raised her chin, averted her eyes as she so often did—the way she was good at. Nesta could feel her stare any way.

“You have to believe us!”

“There’s a ghost Ms. Nesta.”

“Did you see a ghost?” Nesta asked, turning to the female who only shrugged a shoulder.

“I might have seen a shadow move around.”

Nesta almost gave her a glare.

“Wait look!”

“See!”

Both boys pointed to the room that began to be overrun by darkness. It reminded her of a shadowed cloud. It filled up the room like water in a bathtub, and Nesta stepped toward it, her brows furrowing as she reached a hand out to feel exactly what the substance was made of.

It felt soft as if she were running her hands down the back of some giant cat.

As if summoned by her thoughts alone, the shadow stepped out of the cloud.

Meow.

Nesta rolled her eyes as it rubbed its body against her legs.

“It’s just the cat,” She mused.

The three of them merely looked at her as if she’d grown another arm.

Nesta crouched low; her hand held out scratch behind the little cat's ear. She’d forgotten she was holding the bun, and the cat seemed to smell it—to want it.

“Hey!” Nesta yelled, as the cat jumped on her shoulders. Nesta shifted the bun to the other hand, but it seemed to want to crawl down her arm, and she could feel the sharp claws sink into her skin.

“Stay away you mangy thing,” Nesta yelled in outrage. “Pay for your own!”

The boys laughed, coming closer, petting the menace as the shadow cat purred.

Nesta looked for the female, but the Illyrian seemed to not find them interesting enough. She went back to perch on her tree, or whatever those with wings could do. She could already feel the touch of irritation. Of course, she’d be okay living on the fifth floor. She could fly easily up there without wasting a breath.

“You have a cat!” A voice yelled.

Nesta closed her eyes at the nasally tone.

Just. Her. Luck.

“No,” the boys said in unison, but the landlord stormed towards them, all shrunken limbs and potted belly.

“I said no pets!” He raved.

“He’s not mine,” Nesta said even as she held it. The cat conveniently had not gotten off her shoulders. In fact, it seemed to want to lounge on them, and she hunched slightly at its claws on her back.

Her landlord sneered, “It sure looks like yours.”

“He’s been here since last fall.” Nesta tried for a haughtier tone, but she couldn’t very wall act arrogant when she couldn’t even stand straight. “He is not mine.”

The landlord wagged his finger, “Vagrant then. I’ll just ought to call the forest prowlers. They’ll tear right into him.”

Nesta blinked at that and she was sure the boys did, too.

“You can’t do that! He’s just a cat,” The oldest said.

“He’s not harming anyone,” The youngest argued. The child’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red and she watched as he clenched his fists while the oldest crossed his arms.

She had to admire them. When she was young, Nesta would have never been so bold. She learned to be bold after her mother had died, and it had done her no good in poverty. Nesta felt for them, felt for the cat—though she didn’t know what kind of creature could eat a shadow.

Nesta didn’t want to ask, but she held up her hand, feeling the regret already settle in her stomach.

“I lied. He is mine.”

Her landlord huffed as if he knew, but Nesta only gripped the cat as it came down her arms. She grasped it in the crook of her elbow. As its body dangled, its tail wagged lazily.

“Get rid of it, there are no pets allowed.”

“Unfortunately, it’s my brother-in-law's pet,” she said quickly, resisting the urge to gag at the phrase. “He told me to take care of it until he could take it back.”

The male paused at that. “Brother-in-law?”

Nesta hummed, “Brother-in-law. It was a gift for my sister, but... she’s allergic to cats. He’s looking to rehouse it. It seems he hasn’t found the right one yet.”

As the landlord sneered, opening and shutting his mouth, Nesta raised her chin. She felt the satisfaction thrum through her at the lie. She was good at making up stories. Perhaps she could find a job in lying through her teeth.

Nesta watched as he took a breath, his face dulling to a peach. She hoped that would be the end of it. She hoped that he’d never get the chance to ask her... brother-in-law... if the story was true. Nesta doubted he would do her any favors.

She didn’t want his favors.

In fact, she’d never mention him again.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to charge a pet deposit then. Nonrefundable. And of course, your rent is going to go up.”

Nesta dropped her custard bun.

“What?” She yelled. “Pets aren’t even allowed!"

“But as you have one, I’m going to have to change the terms of your lease. I’m sure your brother-in-law will have no problem fitting the bill as he’s done before.”

The little shadow cat meowed, wiggling in her arms. She set it down and Nesta watched as it disappeared back into the wall.

Good for nothing...

“You’ll have to keep it on a leash, too,” The male scowled, “I don’t want to break a leg going up the stairs because he’s running about.”

Nesta wanted to tell him that he could break more than just a leg.

“Oh, and make sure he isn't loud. I’d hate to have to terminate your lease early over a noise complaint.”

Her landlord smiled, dipping his head in a mocking bow as he went to yell at another neighbor coming down the stairs. The boys shirked away, looking to the laundry room again.

Nesta could only kick at the bun at her feet. Now dusted in dirt.

Tagged: I’m sorry if you wanted to me tagged and I didn’t tag you. I’m horrible at tagging and you should never consider be reliable for this. I think I tagged everyone who has ever asked to be tagged in any of my random posts of fics. But that’s probably a lie. If you want off/on let me know. I will not be offended nor enthused. I will have only one list from now on. No individual fics. If you asked to be tagged, it’s for all fics. Be forewarned. I’m tired. I hate tag lists.

@my-fan-side, @sophilightwood, @nestaarcher0n, @duskandstarlight, @soitsgorgeous, @ekaterinakostrova @swankii-art-teacher, @lordof-bloodshed, @arinbelle, @thewhelk, @daisy-in-danger, @highqueenevankhell, @valkyriae, @lovelynesta, @sirendeepity, @champanheandluxxury, @ladynestaarcheron, @moodymelanist, @teagoddess99, @spoilersteph,

Nesta’s... a little misanthropic. We’re going to beat that out of her through love and healing.

Personal Anecdote: I put a magnolia tree because at my university there was one in this random place on campus that you couldn’t find unless you knew where the post office was and I was obsessed with sending my mom cards to tell her I was still alive (She lived in a different state). No one ever went there, I never saw more than a few people or maybe they didn’t even know the post office was there. It was tucked in between buildings and it was the definition of serendipity. Little freshman me would go there and sit under it and sometimes eat a taco lol (fried avocado and barbacoa) when I was finished with classes. It bloomed every spring for about three weeks and I yearned for those weeks. I worked so many jobs, took so many classes, but during those weeks the only thing that existed was a tree of magenta and white. I sometimes really miss it.

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfiction #ignore acosf fanfic #vidalinav fic

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writinglizards · 3 years

Text

Can I be Close to You?

Summary: Geralt's been dealing with Hanahaki for a while. Jaskier comes down with it, too.

OR, what happens when you're in love with your best friend and your best friend (apparently) falls for another?

This one is for @witcher-and-his-bard both because she’s had a blah day and because this whole fic is her fault anyway. Hope you enjoy it, darling!

Read on Ao3

Witchers don't love. They may feel more emotions than they let on, may be fond of people and places and animals, but they don't love. Not like humans do. Hanahaki isn't something witchers get.

Except Geralt is, once again, proving to be a very stunning exception to every witcher rule.

It doesn't happen all at once. A cough here, a shortness of breath there. It starts after the fiasco with the djinn, when Geralt realized he really would do anything for his bard. As he parts with Jaskier in the fall and treks up the mountain pass to Kaer Morhen, he knows something is off, but what, he doesn't know.

He spends a long winter mostly normally. There's training and chores and long nights playing gwent. He still feels a little breathless, sometimes, but it's not getting worse, so he doesn't really think about it.

He coughs up the first petal on his way down the mountain that spring. It's delicate and butter yellow and just like that, everything slots into place. Hanahaki. Buttercups. Fuck.

---------------------

Hanahaki is a slow death, everyone knows. How beautiful, to love so deeply, so completely that it consumes you. How tragic, for that love to be unspoken, unreturned. The poets, the romantics, love Hanahaki. It's the physical embodiment of that which they wish to put into words.

Geralt thinks it's fucking annoying.

For the few years following that first petal, it's...almost okay. He coughs, sometimes. His chest hurts, sometimes. He can't quite catch his breath, sometimes. But it's all rather rare. Jaskier hardly even notices, even when he's discreetly coughing petals into his fist. It hurts. It's fine.

Gradually, the coughing becomes normal. The petals get more common. It's no longer a single petal, but multiple ones. Partial blooms. Whole buds. He may be able to conceal the little buttercups still, but he won't be able to hide the illness from Jaskier much longer.

His chest hurts near constantly, the spring he comes down the mountain and knows Jaskier will find out. He'd been unable to keep it from Eskel this year and the look he'd given Geralt had been...painful. Upsetting.

Tell him, he'd said, don't make me lose another brother, Geralt. We can't do this without you.

They'll have to, eventually. There's no way Jaskier could ever love him, not like this, not like Geralt loves him--this fragile, delicate thing in his chest, slowly being consumed by flowers. Geralt wouldn't ask that of him, anyway, to love a monster.

---------------------

They meet up on the path at a no-name village at the base of the Blue Mountains, like always. He's nervous this year--he doesn't want to see the look on Jaskier's face when he finds out, doesn't want the pity he's sure will be there in his gaze. Just thinking about it makes his chest hurt, fills him with a flutter of panic.

Jaskier's already got a room at the inn, as he usually does when he beats Geralt to the little village. Geralt knows because as he'd come in, the innkeep had tipped his head towards the stairs with a smile and Geralt had thanked him, ordered their dinner, and ascended the stairs with a curling warmth in his chest. The minute he smells Jaskier's blood on the air, that warmth turns to ice.

"Jaskier?" He's already pushing the door open and marching in, muscles tight with tension. He's not sure what he's expecting, but finding Jaskier bent over a bowl, vomiting tiny white flowers, hands shaking, isn't it.

Conscious thought clatters to a stop even as he steps forward, slips a gauntleted hand into Jaskier's hair to hold the fringe out of his eyes as he heaves, tears running down his cheeks. He hears his own voice as if from under water shushing and soothing, free hand rubbing gently at Jaskier's back.

When the fit seems to have passed, Jaskier shoves the bowl of bloody flowers away, leans heavily against Geralt's chest, breathing ragged. Geralt wants to ask so many questions. Instead, he waits, holds him upright, lets his breathing calm, lets him wipe the tears from his eyes.

"Ask," Jaskier rasps, not moving.

"Hm?"

"You want to ask, ask." He sounds so, so tired. Geralt wants to bundle him up in his cloak, take him back up the pass to Kaer Morhen, tuck him into his bed. There are so many reasons why he can't do that, but gods does he want to.

"How long?" Hanahaki's a slow disease. For Jaskier to be hacking up whole little buds, tiny unfurled flowers? This is advanced.

The smile Jaskier gives is sharp and painful. His teeth are bloody. "Six months," he says. And that's...that's too fast. It would have started just before the harvest festival and...fuck. Jaskier had been a little too pale, a little too quiet, hadn't he? Had Geralt really missed this?

"Jaskier--"

"I know," he cuts off, finally pushing out of Geralt's hold, crossing the room to the water pitcher. "I know. It's--I've always been one to fall hard, you know?" He does. "And by the time I realized, well--" he shrugs.

He watches as Jaskier rinses his mouth out, spits the now pink water into the ruined bowl, overly casual, and realizes...he can't do this.

"Who is it?" he asks, because he is not about to watch the man he loves die. Everyone loves Jaskier. Whoever this is the bard is pining for? They'll love him back. He's sure of it. They'd be a fool not to.

Jaskier stiffens. "I'm not--Geralt," he sighs hard, doesn't turn around. "Geralt, I'm not going to tell them. It's--it would upset them. It's fine."

"No," he grinds out, "it's not fine." He presses up into Jaskier's space, spins him with a hand on his shoulder. "I refuse to watch you die, Jaskier."

The look he gives him is painful in its hopelessness. It doesn't belong on his face, makes Geralt's chest tight. He can feel the tickle of a cough in response, thinks about how poorly timed a coughing fit would be right now and suppresses it, only just. "Geralt," Jaskier says, voice patient and still a little raw, "They won't love me back. Telling them would only hurt both of us. It's...I'd be okay. Dying for them."

"You shouldn't have to," he says, voice gravel rough.

"It is what it is, Geralt," he sighs, "I just--I just want us to have a normal year, okay? Just a normal year." Geralt hears what he isn't saying. I won't make it to the next one.

---------------------

Despite his reservations, Geralt lets Jaskier talk him into setting out on the path. A normal year, despite the fact nothing about this is normal.

Those differences make themselves known long before the end of the first day. Geralt quickly realizes that Jaskier's lung capacity has been greatly diminished--he struggles to keep up with Roach at even the most relaxed pace, needs frequent and long breaks. Geralt's tempted to offer Jaskier his spot on Roach's back but he has a feeling the offer will be ill-received. A normal year would not involve Geralt catering to Jaskier's wants or needs.

Instead, Geralt deliberately slows their pace, takes frequent breaks, and doesn't point out Jaskier's wheezing or the exhausted way he collapses at the end of the day, even though watching him push himself like this is painful. As if to add insult to injury, he isn't singing, either. He still carries his lute, but it's clear his lungs are too burdened to accomplish even the most gentle of singing. It's...upsetting. And Geralt can see how it weighs on him.

The only silver lining is that Jaskier's so fatigued he doesn't catch on that Geralt's not quite well, either. He's frequently passed out cold when Geralt has his worst fits first thing in the morning, buttercups coming up in clusters, stems and leaves attached. And if his voice is a rougher, a little lower, a little more torn up? Jaskier doesn't seem to notice.

It takes them almost three times as long to reach the next town as it should and it's making Geralt jittery. There's no contract posted, but Jaskier looks bad and Geralt's worried. His own chest is overly tight, his own breathing much shallower than normal, but it doesn't matter when Jaskier looks ready to faint on the spot, too pale, too quiet. He spends the last of his coin from the previous fall on a room and a meal and hopes a day's worth of rest will be enough.

---------------------

"Geralt? Do you have a contract?" Jaskier asks the next morning from where he's curled up in the single bed, groggy and hardly awake.

"No."

"Uh, okay...?" Jaskier yawns, which devolves into a coughing fit. Geralt's head snaps up from where he's sitting with his steel sword balanced on his knees, partially meditating. He's about to cross the room and do...something when Jaskier holds up a hand in placation. Geralt stills, watches with a sick feeling in his chest as Jaskier coughs and coughs and coughs. It subsides only when he spits out another fistful of tiny jasmine flowers into his hand, collapsing back on the bed.

"Okay?" Geralt asks, can hear the tightness in his own voice.

"Mm-hm," Jaskier groans, sounding anything but.

Geralt takes a deep, steadying breath in preparation to start the argument again--who is it, Jaskier? Let me help you--but Jaskier starts talking again before he can.

"Why'd you let me sleep in if there's no contract?" He sounds like he's been gargling with rocks. Geralt watches as he thrusts the balled-up fist of flowers over the edge of the bed, lets the bloody, torn things drift to the floor. They look the way Geralt feels--ruined, discarded. His own chest aches.

"You need the rest," he says. Jaskier tenses. Geralt knows it's the wrong thing to say but it's the truth.

"I don't need you to baby me, Geralt. You've never cared before."

That's not true, he thinks but doesn't say. He cares so, so much.

"Jaskier--"

"No," he cuts Geralt off, pushing up onto an elbow to level him with a look that cuts like a knife, "you don't get to do this to me. I choose this, Geralt."

"I--"

"This is where I want to be. On the Path." The with you goes unsaid, but Geralt can feel it hang in the air, the shape of it. He sucks in a breath that catches in his throat, throws him into a coughing fit.

"Geralt?" The worry in Jaskier's voice, the sudden tone shift, is painful. He wants to reassure him, but he's choking on buttercups and blood, stems and leaves. He hears him rise from the bed, stumble over beside him. Gently, Jaskier shifts his sword out of the way, sets it aside. He runs his hand down Geralt's back in a soothing gesture. "Geralt, what's--?" He spits the first of the flowers, still hacking. Jaskier goes very, very still. The hand on his back slows before balling into the fabric, grip tight.

"Ask," Geralt rasps between coughs, an echo of Jaskier's own words a few weeks prior.

"How long." His voice is hauntingly devoid of emotion. Geralt coughs again, chest aching as he brings up another bloody bouquet. He pants through it, gasping for air.

"Since the djinn," he breathes out weakly. Jaskier makes an awful noise.

"Oh, that's--" he cuts himself off, makes that same strangled little sound in the back of his throat again. "That's a long time," he says finally. He thinks Jaskier sounds strange, but his head is spinning from the lack of oxygen and it's hard to tell.

He doesn't respond, just focuses on calming his breathing. He doesn't want another coughing fit if he can help it. The back of his neck feels hot and he knows he's flushed with both exertion and embarrassment.

"I didn't know witchers could get Hanahaki," he says, voice still a little off.

"We don't," Geralt answers. His throat feels on fire, his chest hurts like he's been thrown around by a leshen.

"You do," Jaskier says slowly, "apparently."

"Hm."

It's silent for too long. Geralt finds himself staring blindly at the bloody little buttercups. This is it. Jaskier has to know.

The bunched fist in the back of his shirt eases, carefully. Too carefully. Geralt feels the strain in it. "We need to go see Yennefer," Jaskier says. His voice is also too careful. Carefully controlled, like it usually is when he's performing. Or putting on an act.

"Okay," Geralt agrees. He knows what Jaskier must be thinking--mages can cure Hanahaki, sometimes. It's...painful. Awful. Not something most people want. It's ripping a part of yourself away, the part that loves. Geralt's terrified of it, but he'll do it, if that's what Jaskier wants from him. He knows Jaskier must hate the idea of Geralt being in love with him, especially now that he's in love with another, no way to return it. Geralt's often been ashamed of feeling too much, but this is...worse.

"She'll fix this," Jaskier says, and Geralt can smell the salty tang of unshed tears in the air, "she'll fix this."

---------------------

They spend the rest of the day at the inn. Geralt knows Jaskier's upset, but at what exactly, it's hard to say. He’ll hardly look at Geralt for more than the briefest glances and keeps himself well outside of casual touching distance, which is strange for the normally tactile bard. He's either upset Geralt kept this secret from him, or he's upset Geralt's in love with him. Probably both.

Despite the distance he seems to be forcing between them, he bullies Geralt into bed beside him for the second night, doesn't let him meditate or sleep on the floor as he'd planned.

"Geralt, I know mornings with this are worse when you sleep on the floor. Sleep on the fucking bed."

"What happened to 'don't baby me'?"

"Fuck you, witcher. Get your ass on the bed. And don't hog all the sheets."

They settle, finally. Geralt lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to be hyperaware of Jaskier, curled on his side, back to him.

He dozes off, eventually, to the quiet wheeze of Jaskier's breath, a bubble of anxiety in his chest.

---------------------

He wakes an indeterminate amount of time later to find the bed beside him empty and cold, the tremble of suppressed sobs and the salty tang of tears on the air. He lays very, very still.

"--'s not fucking fair," Jaskier gasps, sucking in a harsh breath that turns into a hiccupping little sob. "Fuck."

Geralt listens to the hitched breathing that turns into a round of coughs, the wet, hacking sound of little snow-white flowers leaving Jaskier's lips. The way he tries to muffle the sobs, the coughs, with a hand over his mouth. Geralt feels cold. He hates that he's done this to Jaskier, made him this upset. He wishes he could take it back, keep this awful, painful love to himself. Jaskier shouldn't suffer because he can't return what Geralt feels.

After the third coughing fit in the last fifteen minutes, Geralt gives up the pretense of sleep and rouses, rises from the bed.

"'m sorry," Jaskier croaks when Geralt rubs his back, pours him a glass of water from the pitcher. It hurts that Jaskier thinks he needs to apologize. This isn't his fault, after all.

"Back to bed. We've still got a few hours." Jaskier follows, quiet and subdued. He's exhausted, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks still wet.

They settle, that sliver of space between them as always. Geralt's just starting to drift when--

"Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"Um--" he trails off. Geralt cracks his eyes open, tips his head to look at Jaskier. He looks miserable. Tired. "--nevermind."

"What do you need, Jask?" he asks, quiet.

"Hold me?" he whispers, eyes fixed firmly on the edge of the sheet. Geralt's heart clenches. "I know it's not fair to ask that of you, but--"

"Come here," Geralt says, voice rough. Jaskier shuffles over, awkward. Geralt curls his arm around Jaskier's back, tugs him over so his head rests on Geralt's chest, ear pressed just above his too-slow heartbeat. He settles his hand on the curve of Jaskier’s hip, tries not to enjoy holding him too much--it’s about comfort, not Geralt.

They're still and quiet for a beat. "Thank you," Jaskier mumbles, voice thick with something Geralt can't name. "I know it's not--just. Thank you."

"Shh. Sleep."

They do.

---------------------

They leave the inn bright and early, after only a single round of awful coughing on Geralt's part. Jaskier's stiff and rigid, watching him hack up the flowers, and Geralt hates that Jaskier knows. This was so much easier to bear when there was still a ghost of a chance he returned Geralt's affections. Now--

"So how are we going to find her?" Jaskier asks, during one of the numerous breaks early in the morning.

"We're not," he says. Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, brow pinched in unhappiness. Geralt speaks again before he can get the words out, "We're going to see Triss. She'll know how to find Yen."

"Oh," he deflates. "Don't you, I don't know," he gestures vaguely, "have some magic way of getting ahold of her?"

"A xenovox?" He asks. Jaskier makes a 'whatever' kind of noise that makes Geralt's lips twitch in the ghost of a smile. "No. Triss does, though."

"Ah." He doesn't looks happy, per se, but-- "Okay."

---------------------

"Yes, I can get ahold of her for you," Triss says when they track her down. She's still in Temeria, still serving the king. "Or at least, I can leave her a message. She doesn't much care for answering, usually," she laughs.

"Hm." That sounds like Yen.

"Tell her it's urgent," Jaskier pipes up, expression pinched.

"Is there anything I can do? If it's urgent, I mean."

Triss might actually be the better option, Geralt thinks, if he wants this love torn out of him. She's a healer; he knows first hand she has quite the skill. He could--

"No," Jaskier's already shaking his head, "we appreciate your offer, Triss, darling, but it's got to be Yennefer." His voice is strained. He coughs, a tiny thing he suppresses with difficulty. Geralt can hear him holding his breath to stave off the fit.

"Yes," he agrees slowly. He's...not sure why Jaskier's so insistent on it being Yennefer. They don't even like each other, and he's always liked Triss well enough. "Sorry, Triss."

She corners him before they leave. "He's not well." She'd obviously taken notice of the coughing.

"I know."

"I can--" she winces, gestures vaguely. She's offering to tear it out, the love. He knew she'd be the better bet.

"You can ask him, Triss, but I don't think he wants that. He told me he was...okay. Dying for them."

She makes a strangled noise. "Geralt--"

"We're not talking about it."

She's quiet for a long time. "At least take this." She shoves a bottle of something dried at him, "it won't fix anything long term, but it will help. Mix it with some tea." He takes the little bottle, tucks it into his things.

"Thank you, Triss."

---------------------

Geralt's still trying to figure out where to go from here when Yen tracks them down at an inn they've been staying at a few weeks later. He's just finished an easy drowner hunt and they're planning to pack in the morning. The dried herbs from Triss have helped, but they're not a miracle cure. And Jaskier refuses to take them unless Geralt does too.

"Now what about this is urgent?" she asks, stepping out of the crowd to settle at their table beside Jaskier without invitation. The bard splutters, choking on his ale. It sends him into a coughing fit. His hand flashes out across the table and Geralt reaches back automatically, lets him grip him hard as he shakes his way through the hacking. Yen watches silently, eyes wide.

"Shh," Geralt soothes, slips up from his seat to crouch beside Jaskier when he doesn't recover quickly enough, hands still linked. They're starting to draw attention, so Geralt uses his bulk to shield Jaskier from the scrutiny of the room, "it's okay, Jask." Geralt doesn't breathe easy until Jaskier spits up the little fistful of bloody jasmines, panting.

"Oh," Yen says, voice strange.

"'M not--" Jaskier breaks off, clears his throat, grimacing. He flexes his grip around Geralt's hand once before letting go, "It's not about me."

"It should be," she says. Her gaze cuts over to Geralt, the look in her eyes hostile and reprimanding.

"No, Yennefer--" he starts, gaze jumping fast between her and Geralt, "can I talk to you? Alone?" Geralt startles, tries not to show it. Yen glances up at him where he's still standing.

"Go, Geralt. Your bard and I need to have a talk."

"Hm," Jaskier won't look at him, "I'll go check on Roach."

---------------------

He takes his time brushing her down for the second time that day and forces his mind quiet, focuses on getting her hair all laying the same direction. He's...not trying to listen for the swirl of their conversation in the mix from the tavern. It just...kind of happens.

"Jaskier--"

"He knows and he doesn't feel the same, Yennefer. It's...fine."

"He's an idiot, bard. Did you--"

"No, doesn't matter."

"Then why--"

"He's in love with you."

Geralt's focus breaks when his breath catches and dissolves into another coughing fit. The buttercups are painful little reminders, bright and beautiful, even splattered in blood. He gathers them up, tucks them into his pouch for a lack of anything else to do with them. Jaskier thinks he's in love with Yen? Why--

"Geralt," Yen hums, appearing as if summoned by his thought (she very well might be).

"Yen." He turns to face her, leans his weight against the door of Roach's stall. He's still a little short of breath, knows he looks a sight.

She sighs, long-suffering. "I'm only going to ask you this once--why do you think your bard wanted me here?"

He's...not sure what game they're playing here. "He's...unhappy. With me." Her expression pinches and he can tell she's hanging on to her patience with him by a thread.

"Why?"

"Because--" he sucks in a deep breath, hates that he has to say this out loud, "--because I'm in love with him, and he's in love with another," he finishes quietly.

She makes an awful noise, patience snapping, "And how do I factor into that, Geralt?" She's pissed, but Geralt's not sure who at, honestly.

"He wants the Hanahaki gone...doesn't he?" He can't help make the statement a question. Yen looks like she's going to strangle someone (maybe him).

"You're both fucking idiots," she seethes, "and I would normally refuse to have anything to do with this but I promised your fucking bard, so--" she gestures viciously behind her, "lead the way to your room, witcher."

Geralt does, feeling like he's missing something.

---------------------

When they make it up to the room they're renting for the night, Jaskier is there, looking drawn and highly uncomfortable.

"Yen, I told you I didn't need to be here," he mutters. He won't meet either of their gazes.

"No," she says, voice firm, "you do. Now, Geralt," she turns on her heel to face him, "the only way to get rid of Hanahaki--no, don't interrupt me, we're not doing that--the only way to get rid of Hanahaki is to confess your love to the person the flowers are for." He shifts his weight, gaze jumping to Jaskier whose eyes are still downturned, before settling back on Yen. "Who are your flowers for, Geralt?"

He feels breathless, like he might be about to have a coughing fit again. "I'm--"

"I told you they're for you, Yennefer. Don't make him say it. Please."

"Jaskier, I told you to be quiet," she snaps, "who are they for Geralt?" Her gaze never leaves his, a sharp, angry challenge.

"They're not for you," he tells her. It's obviously not quite what she wants to hear, from the way her scowl deepens.

"You're fucking impossible," she tells him, the same time Jaskier makes a harsh little yelping sound. Geralt's gaze snaps to him.

"Geralt, you can't--" he's scrambling up, crossing the room, "you have to tell her, Geralt, or you'll die. Don't make me watch that." The scent of his worry, his panic, is heavy on the air, sour milk and fruit gone rotten. "She'll love you back, Geralt. It's okay."

His chest hurts. It's only partly from the coughing. "Jaskier--"

"Geralt, where are they? Your little flowers?" Reluctantly, he pulls the little handful of buttercups from his pouch, not sure where she's taking this. "Jaskier, they're buttercups," she says, tone harsh. He just makes a painful little noise.

"I know," he says, voice strained, “It’s hardly fair, is it?” His tone is light but obviously forced. Yennefer sighs, changes tactics.

"Jaskier, who are your flowers for?" She asks, gentle. He makes another little noise.

"Yennefer--"

"Did he tell you what he thought you wanted? Why you wanted him to see me?" She doesn't wait for an answer, "he thought you wanted his Hanahaki gone, Jaskier. Ripped out. He was going to let me do that."

"What? Geralt, I wouldn't--why would I--?" There are tears brimming in his eyes, "I'd never ask that of you, Geralt. Why would you think I would?"

"Why do you think I love Yen?" he asks in return. Yen makes a disgusted sound.

"This is enough. Figure yourselves out; I'm leaving. Don't have Triss call me again unless it's a real emergency." In the next breath, she's stepped through a portal. Gone.

"Geralt?" Jaskier's quiet question draws his attention back. He looks-- "Geralt, who is it?"

"Who else would it be?" he finds himself saying, "They're buttercups, Jaskier."

"I thought--" there are tears rolling down his cheeks, "I thought it was so cruel. For destiny to give you buttercups."

"I'm sorry," Geralt murmurs, reaches up to brush the tears away, "I know you don't--"

"You idiot," Jaskier laughs, a wet sound, "mine are for you, too."

Geralt feels the tightness in his chest fade, like heat leeching away in the cold. He hadn't realized how oppressive the blooms had become until they were gone.

He doesn't know what to do with Jaskier looking at him so full of love and relief. It's overwhelming and he can't help himself--he pulls him in for a kiss, slow and gentle, arms around his waist. Jaskier's fingers slip up into his hair, tilt his head to a more satisfactory angle. They only break when their lungs begin to burn, and then it isn't to go very far. Jaskier presses lingering kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his throat. Geralt shivers.

"I'd always known you'd kill me, darling," he breathes. Geralt slips his arms a little more securely around his waist, presses a palm flat to the small of his back, kisses down his throat to the open vee of his doublet and the ties of his chemise, temptingly on display.

"'M sorry it took me so long," he says, voice low. Jaskier presses closer in his embrace, winds his arms around his neck. "I was so afraid--"

"I know," Jaskier cuts him off gently, tugs him up for another kiss, slow and unhurried. "I know." When they pull away, Jaskier cups his face in his hands, rubs his thumbs across the arch of his cheekbones, "I was terrified too, love. What a pair we make, hm?"

Geralt hums in response. Jaskier laughs.

"Love you too, darling." He says it light and teasing, but the flowers, the look in his eyes, belie how much he means it.

Geralt swallows hard. "You too," he says, voice rough. He clears his throat, tries again, "I love you too, Jaskier." It comes out a little stilted, but the look on Jaskier's face--

He tugs Geralt down into another kiss. "You're entirely too sweet," he murmurs against his lips. And well. Maybe it's not so bad, loving Jaskier when that love's returned. He presses him backward towards the bed, listens to the delighted burst of laughter Jaskier makes as the back of his knees hit the mattress and he collapses backward, dragging Geralt down with him.

No, it's not so bad at all.

#witcher #witcher fic #geraskier #lizard writes

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hb-writes · 3 years

Text

Just Because You Can Doesn’t Mean You Should

Summary: After a few rainy days stuck inside during spring break, the whole Cullen clan is feeling restless and resort to pranking to pass the time.

Featuring: Emmett Cullen, Carlisle Cullen, and Mia Cullen

-- It had rained for fifteen days straight in Forks, a parade of stubborn drizzles followed by steady downpours and carrying over into the week-long spring break. Mia didn't usually mind the rain, quite used to it giving her something to watch out the window when she didn't care for a teacher's lesson or the drops of it falling against her window and lulling her to sleep at night.

She usually enjoyed the impromptu breaks her family took from school, too, more than happy to roam the woods or sit out in the sun with a book while Forks High School held the impression that Dr. and Mrs. Cullen had pulled the kids out of school for some outdoor activity. But being stuck inside while the school was closed for an endlessly rainy break had Mia feeling a little restless.

It had taken her only a day to finish her pending assignments, and just one more to completely rearrange her bedroom. She had actually grown tired of staring at things, her eyes fatigued by and bored with her laptop screen, books, and the view out her window. And she had grown tired of her siblings too, bored of their usual indoor pursuits and routines.

By day three, Mia had strayed to playing innocent pranks to pass the time—moving her siblings' things when they left the room and making failed attempts to sneak up on all of them, but most specifically Emmett, who'd first made a game of scaring her, wrapping the whole family up in it so that Mia could hardly go an hour without being snuck up on.

Because of that, her pride and joy in regards to the pranks had been the alterations she made to Emmett's jeep, a prank she entered into knowing it would likely be an act of delayed gratification, not like the hiding of frequently needed items or the botched pop up scares. Emmett had no need to take a vehicle out any time soon. If he was going anywhere, he was more likely to run, and once school was back in session, they would be more likely to take Edward's car. Mia knew she could be waiting weeks for any sort of acknowledgement.

She was willing to wait though, the mere recollection of all she had done sufficient enough to get her through Emmett continuing to scare her over and over. She’d done a few things to his jeep, easy stuff like rearranging the mirrors and seats, and adjusting the radio volume to its maximum, and changing the station to the local one that favored heavy metal. But all of that was mostly a distraction because Mia was far more proud of the collection of nuts and bolts in tin cans duct-taped under his seats and inside the spare tire set on the back to the jeep. The whole vehicle would be rattling if he hit a bump or tapped the break, two things she assumed Emmett would encounter before even making it out of the driveway.

Mia wasn’t usually one for such targeted and premeditated pranks, but Emmett had made a sport of scaring Mia over their week of near-confinement, and she felt he deserved something beyond the standard prank. So when the opportunity arose, with her siblings out for a hunt, her father at the hospital, and her mother occupied with some project in her studio, Mia took her opportunity.

She knew Emmett would discover the rattle was no more than a prank after he asked Rose to take a look at it, but she still giggled to herself imagining what would happen when he finally brought himself to ask for Rose’s help and then she laughed once again imagining the look on Rose’s face as she held up one of the offending cans. Emmett was clueless when it came to cars. Completely clueless.

But she had only had to wait a few days because Rose had decided she wanted to go on a date, and Emmett insisted on driving, insisted on getting dressed up, and settling himself down on the couch beside Mia while he waited for Rose to finish getting ready.

Had Mia realized they would be taking Emmett's vehicle, she wouldn't have stayed in such a vulnerable position, lounging there on the couch. She would have put some more distance between herself and her siblings, and a locked door, perhaps. She would have prepared herself a bit better to feign ignorance.

But as she had been caught off guard, she hadn't been prepared to fight when Rose stomped back through the front door with Emmett following in her wake. Rose had barely spared her a glance, the can rattling in her hand as she continued straight up the stairs.

And though it all clicked very suddenly that she was about to be told on, Mia couldn't scramble fast enough because it seemed to happen too quickly that Emmett had plucked her off the couch and was placing her down in Carlisle's office, less than two steps away from a seething Rose.

To Rose's dismay, there hadn't been any true repercussions for the prank aside from Carlisle's request that Mia issue a genuine apology and an acknowledgment that cars were not something to be messed with. Mia had laid low for a few days anyhow, avoiding Emmett and Rose, and even her father, to the best of her ability, which was why Mia had settled in for a day of self-care, feeling she’d earned an afternoon of soothing teas and good music and moisturizing skincare and nail painting after all of the effort put into pranking and the hassle of being found out.

With the rain and the music and her own voice filling her ears, Mia didn’t hear Emmett push her door open or tread across her bedroom floor. Had he been a human of his proportions, he’d not be able to sneak up on her, but as it was, Emmett was stealthy whenever he wished to be, able to take unassuming and delicate steps despite his size.

“Boo.”

The word was barely above a whisper and Mia stumbled and let out a scream, startled just as much by the hushed remark as she was by the quick rush of breath near her ear and the hands that grasped her before she fell.

“EMMETT!” she shouted, pushing at his hold and groaning once he settled her back on her feet.

He reached over to turn down the music, laughing. “You’re too easy, kid.”

“And you’re a stupid jerk,” Mia ground out, shoving against his solid chest with all her might only for him to stand there unaffected, chest puffed out and smiling down at her. “You scared me!”

“Same here,” he said, gesturing towards the green clay mask on her face. “Got a bit of a Wicked Witch of the West thing going on there.”

Mia’s rolled her eyes. “Actually, I was channeling my idiot older brother.”

“Ah, so Yoda, then?” Emmett smirked. “What an honor.”

“Hulk,” she offered. “You know, the incomprehensible behemoth with no self-control?”

Mia stepped away from him, heading towards the bathroom to rinse her face and Emmett appeared before her once again, another scream coming from her lips.

“Stop doing that!”

“I’m sure you’ve done something to earn it,” he answered, “just haven’t figured out what yet.”

“I’ve been up here all day, Em.”

“Yeah, and unfortunately your voice carries. Sounds like you’re drowning cats up here.” Emmett turned to glance in the open bathroom door and Mia smacked him on the arm.

“I’m going to tell Dad if—”

“Speaking of Carlisle, he wants to see you.”

“Why?”

Emmett shrugged. “I’m just the messenger, but you might want to clean that off and drop the Oscar the Grouch act before you go down there.”

Mia clenched her fist. If it would have done anything, she might’ve hit him, wiping that smug little grin off his face entirely, but she knew it wouldn’t, so she took a deep breath instead, releasing her fist and smiling instead.

“You mind giving me a minute, then?”

“Wait for wicked sister grouch, the Yoda Hulk brother will,” Emmett answered.

Mia took another deep breath, waiting a moment to see if he was serious, rolling her eyes as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the door frame.

“I don’t need you to wait. I can remember how to get myself downstairs,” she said, but Emmett didn’t budge so she moved to the sink.

She took her time with rinsing and moisturizing and didn’t utter a word to Emmett as she tried to step past him, but his hand caught her chin, though his palm and fingers spanned the whole bottom half of her face really, and the whole maneuver stopped her from moving entirely with little effort on Emmett’s part.

“So soft now, your skin is.”

“Emmeh, lemme go!” Mia shouted, her words muffled as her cheeks remained squished between his fingers. “Yur nod fummy.”

Emmett laughed, dropping his hold and holding a guiding hand out in front of them. “Fine, grouch. Go ahead, then.”

“I will.” Mia massaged her jaw as she took the stairs nearly two at a time. “And I’m going to tell Dad you’re being an assh—”

Mia’s mouth closed as she took a step off the stairs, rounding the corner, nearly knocking into her father.

Carlisle caught her arm as she stumbled and Mia briefly checked his face for any sign he intended to reprimand her for the word choice, but her eyes were instead pulled to the mess of tin cans on the table.

"What's…"

"All of this?" Carlisle asked as Mia wormed her way out of his hold. "I was hoping you might be able to tell us."

Her eyes flicked back and forth between the cans, her father, and her brother, who had taken a seat at the counter.

"I've been up in my room all day. I don't even know what 'this' is."

Emmett put his feet up on the stool beside him. "You're busted, kid. Might as well give up the act."

"I'm not busted because I didn't do anything.”

"Well, the fourteen tin cans found in the cars would say otherwise," Carlisle answered. "I thought we were in agreement that there would be no more pranks played, especially where the cars are involved?"

Mia’s mouth fell open a bit before she gulped. "But I didn't—"

Carlisle held up the can that certainly had been Mia's doing, a neat 'With love, Mia,' painted out on the side of the can with nail polish.

"You did this?"

Mia couldn't find the words, but she finally nodded. "But I didn't—"

Carlisle held up another tin can, a nearly identical message written out on the side with the very same shade of pink and Mia stepped forward, pulling the can from his grasp to study it closer.

"Dad, I didn't do this," she answered, "Emmett must've…he must be—"

"I must be what?"

Mia jumped at her brother's closeness and she smacked his shoulder as a reflex. "Stop doing that!” she said before turning back to Carlisle. “Dad, tell him to stop scaring me."

Carlisle sighed. "Amelia, I thought we were on the same page after our discussion. You agreed to stop with the pranks, but since our discussion doesn’t seem to have been enough—"

"Dad, I didn't do this," she answered. "I—"

"What about this?"

Mia let out a rushed exhale, a nervous laugh coming at the end of it. She had forgotten about the photo she'd replaced days ago, switching out one of her father and her as a baby to that of her father holding a potato wrapped in cream-colored blankets.

"I did that ages ago. It was before we talked."

"Aw, come on, Mia. You don't think we're that stupid, do you?" Emmett asked.

Mia turned from her father to her brother. "I think you are."

She shrieked as Emmett twirled her around, wrapping one arm across her chest as he held her against his front, using his free hand to clamp down over her mouth.

"Alright, I think we've heard enough of her lip, Carlisle. It's time for sentencing. Fearless leader, do your worst."

Mia knew her father would never do his worst. She wasn’t even aware of what Carlisle Cullen’s worst entailed, having never seen him more than slightly aggrieved, but she thrashed against her brother’s hold anyhow, prying at his hands until he caught her arms, and then she kicked at his shins, but Emmett easily sidestepped her attempts.

Mia yelled her brother’s name, the sound muffled into his palm before she bit down. It didn’t hurt him, more of a shock that she’d even done it, than anything. She'd gone through a short-lived biting phase around three or four, but they’d been incident free since then.

Emmett smirked. “Are you sure you want to challenge me to a biting war, kid?”

Carlisle cleared his throat. “I think a more appropriate punishment would be for Amelia to clean and detail the cars.”

She groaned, her efforts to get out of Emmett’s hold renewed, if only because she wanted to voice her protest.

“And dust every picture frame in the house,” Carlisle continued as Emmett finally uncovered her mouth.

“But that’s going to take forever and I—”

“I suspect it will keep you busy for the remainder of your break and provide you with plenty of time to think about your behavior,” Carlisle said. “And you’re grounded...three weeks.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Mia groaned, “Dad, I didn’t even do this! I—”

Mia felt Emmett shaking with silent laughter before she noticed the mischievous glint in her father’s eye, the slightest of smiles coming to his face.

“You actually are joking, aren’t you?”

Carlisle shrugged. “Emmett and I thought you could benefit from a little dose of your own medicine, Mia.”

Mia sighed. “So I don’t have to do any of what you said, then?”

Emmett lifted her over his shoulder, moving steadily towards the door.. “You’re still helping me wash the jeep, kid. Need to teach you the importance of not messing with my things.”

“But it’s pouring out—Dad! Help!”

Carlisle stepped forward, beating them to the door.

“Thank yo—” Mia started.

He pulled his daughter’s rain jacket off the hook, handing it to Emmett. “We wouldn’t want your sister getting sick,” he said. “And let me get that for you.”

Carlisle opened the door, an eyebrow raised and a small smirk on his face as Emmett carried her through.

“Have fun, sweetheart.”

Twilight Masterlist

#twilight #twilight fanfic #twilight fanfiction #carlisle cullen #emmett cullen #mia cullen #cullen daughter #cullen!daughter #cullen sister #cullen!sister

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

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The Oncoming Storm First Interlude: Electricity in the Springs

Kung Lao x Reader

Look, I don't even think these fit into the actual timeline of the story? But it was fun to write. An imagine that still fits in this Oncoming Storm universe! Will post Liu Kang here in a second. AND ALSO I could not make them kiss before they kiss in the actual story, so again, I'm only kind of sorry for the torture! Lol.

Part 1 of The Oncoming Storm Second Interlude: Steam (Liu Kang x Reader)

The training session had been rough that afternoon. You felt you’d more than earned a trip to the springs after how exhausting it had been. Besides, your inky arcana kept leaving you soaked. The only time you truly felt clean after a fight like that was when you got to bask in the springs. You understood why Liu was constantly covered in soot now. It was easier to function as a mess than to go out of your way to the springs. Worse than that, the springs were a time suck. You’d come down there and fall asleep or get carried away listening to stories told to you by the monks that frequented them.

That day was no different. You made your way to the springs, towel wrapped around you securely, and you joined a group of female monks who had invited you to sit with them. You listened to them speak about their day animatedly and then sat in comfortable silence while they continued to talk amongst themselves. You tended to check out when you were no longer included but had caught them talking about you several times.

Their gossip was never a bad thing, but they did enjoy teasing you for the company you preferred to keep. The fiery Liu Kang and handful that was Kung Lao. The monks jostled you awake and then bowed respectfully and said they had to take their leave. You were fine with that. There wouldn’t be anyone else in the springs but you and you would bask in the warmth of its waters and the emptiness of its walls.

Closing your eyes, you relaxed in the water and resigned that you would likely fall asleep for the afternoon. It almost always happened every time you came down there. Why did you resist the siren call of the relaxing water? You had no idea. Honestly, you weren’t sure why you resisted a great many things those days. Perhaps it was out of habit, perhaps out of guilt. Who knew? The human psyche was complicated and you had no aspirations of figuring it out.

Footsteps were followed by a familiar energy but before you’d sat up and opened your eyes, Kung Lao had leapt into the water and a great wave of bubbling warm water soaked over you in a wave. You fell over with a laugh. Upon correcting yourself, you were met with a face full of water. Kung Lao was splashing you, a grin on his face.

“What’s wrong with you?” You laughed, wiping your hand over your face. He splashed you again as if to make a point, though what the hell that point was you had no idea. You splashed him back as he made to speak and he coughed, spitting out water. You chuckled and swam a little away from him in case he retaliated.

Narrowing his eyes at you, he considered his options. “Oh, now you’re in trouble.”

“What? You started it!” You swam further away, making your way into the next pool but Kung Lao pushed into the water and the wave that it resulted in knocked you back into the water. You yelped and barely caught your breath before being submerged. He offered a hand to pull you back up and you smacked his arm then splashed him in the face. You coughed up water and then splashed him a second time for good measure.

“I didn’t mean to drown you!” Despite his insistence he was still laughing, so much so that his face had turned red.

“It’s not that funny, Lao.”

“It’s pretty funny, Y/N.” He purposely called you by your full name almost constantly. You’d thought it started as him teasing you when they were kids but now it was kind of sweet. He was the only one who did it. Even Liu Kang called you by the shortened form of your name. Kung Lao settled next to you but you scooted a cautious foot away from him. He laughed and purposely closed the gap between you again. “Hey!” He objected when you pushed him away again.

“I don’t trust you for a single second.” You accused and he seemed to think your words over before nodding.

“That’s fair.”

“You came in here very… chaotic. You do know that people come here to relax, right?” You gestured toward the water.

“What people? It’s just you. Figured you could use some action.” Kung Lao rested comfortably, arms outstretched on either side of him, taking up an impressive amount of space for one man. That was when you realized that Kung Lao was completely naked and your expression must have changed so severely to alarm that he’d noticed. “What? It says clothing optional on the door. The towels get all heavy and saggy.”

“You are a mess of a human being.”

“Oh? And you like me, so what does that say about you?” He laughed, pointing an accusatory finger toward you.

“I’m deeply flawed, obviously.”

“You’re defensive, is what you are. Always have been.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval then closed his eyes as he leaned his head back. He’d gone from hyper and attacking you with water to relaxing as though he’d been there all afternoon.

“Remember when I was that comfortable?”

“You need to learn to relax, Y/N.”

“I was relaxing, Kung Lao!” You splashed at him and he wiped his face free of water.

“Come on. Relax with me!”

“You are such an antagonist.”

“Sue me for having a little fun.” He stuck his tongue out at you then closed his eyes and relaxed again. You settled a bit away from him, sinking further into the water and avoiding looking at him. When he didn’t tease you further, you finally relaxed and closed your eyes. You heard the movement in the water but didn’t think much of it. When you opened your eyes, Kung Lao was crouched in the water before you, watching you.

“…you okay?” You asked curiously. He nodded and took your hands, pulling you further into the water with him. You leaned your head back with a whine and he laughed as he kept pulling. You allowed him to do so and he took you further into the pool until they were treading water. “You just can’t let me relax. That’s it. I’ve figured it out.”

“Tell me that this isn’t relaxing.”

“…it is.” You averted your gaze but agreed.

“What’s with the look?” He urged you to spin in the water with him and you laughed.

“I’m tired. You’re so needy right now.” He wasn’t usually like this. Well, he did have a fondness for pestering you but usually it was less pulling you around and more teasing.

“No reason.” He lied, right to your face! You saw it in his eyes. “Are you really bothered by me?”

“No.” You shrugged. “It is fun to give you a hard time though.” He laughed and splashed you lightly again. “So help me, Kung Lao…”

Much to your surprise, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close in a hug. You stiffened up at first, expecting to be dunked but his arms instead were comforting. He didn’t seem willing to let you go so you relented. Sometimes fighting with him was impossible anyway. And who were you to argue with him? His arms were strong, surrounding you, and offered you a deep security and indescribable warmth that was far beyond that of the springs.

“I’m really glad that you’re here, Y/N.” His voice was different then. The usual lilt of teasing was gone and it was deep and serene, a rare seriousness beyond his usual playfulness. There was a special place in your heart for Kung Lao. A hole that only he could fill, a hole you hadn’t realized was there until you’d been reunited with him.

“Me too, Kung Lao.” You watched the corner of his lip curl into a smile, fixated entirely on his lips. His hands brushed slowly over your back and then he rested his chin in your hair, offering the top of your head a kiss. You placed your hands against his chest and basked in the comfort he brought you. You leaned back up with every intention of telling him you were going to fall asleep and drown if you stayed there but found him watching you. The look in his eyes was so serious that you weren’t sure how to process it.

You pushed some of his messy hair away from his face. He took your hand and rested it on his strong jaw. That was your Kung Lao. All grown up and one hell of a man. Your fingers crept over his jaw and down his neck, eyes following your fingers. He tilted your chin back up, closer to him. His lips brushed just barely against yours and he hesitated, as if unsure that you would reciprocate. You would have, but that moment of hesitation was enough for you to wonder if either of you were ready for that.

You smiled and placed your other hand on his other cheek. Then with a yell, you leaned back and shoved him underwater, jumping up to do so. Then you swam backwards and away from him. When he popped back up and shook out his short, wild hair with a spray, he stared at you in disbelief. Then his smile returned, as if he understood why you’d done what you had done. You shared a knowing look.

“I’m going to get you back, Y/N. Just you wait for next time.” He swam to the other side of the springs and climbed atop the stone. You sunk into the water and turned away because there he was, naked, and making his way to the locker room. You stole a look when you were sure he wasn’t watching you. He had the cutest little butt, good god.

You sunk further into the water with a sigh. Placing your fingers to your lips, you swore you could feel the residual touch of just that gentle brush of his lips. It filled you with confused butterflies. There was no relaxing after that, so you made your way out of the springs.

#kung lao x reader #imagine #x reader #kung lao x you #a spin off of my fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #kung lao/reader #kung lao/you #romance #fluff #hot springs #mortal kombat movie #mortal kombat 2021

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fukurodaze · 4 years

Text

dump shot

pairing: third year!shirabu kenjirou x first year manager!reader (female) genre/s: PURE FLUFF, meet cute type beat! word count: 2.9k taken from this request by anonymous <3: “Shirabu x Manager! reader where reader is Karasuno's manager and she's seen pining over him and later the two end up in an accident outside the gym (before or after the games) where they find themselves locked somewhere”

for reference, this is set when hinata and the first years are in their second year, so ennoshita is karasuno’s captain. shirabu’s also the captain of the shiratorizawa vbc!

lowercase intended!

when shirabu kenjirou throws a dump shot, he is the coolest person in the room. it’s two words that come out of your mouth, groans of frustration coming from your team, and a faint smirk on the almond haired boy.

“so cool...” you mutter under your breath, watching the practice match between your team and shiratorizawa at their gym. you get goosebumps.

it’s not your first time seeing the third year. you had watched shiratorizawa’s match with karasuno in the prefectural spring high finals, and though your eyes were glued onto the then first-year setter, kageyama, you would, at times, find your eyes stopping at the magenta number 10 jersey. you would later find out his name was shirabu kenjirou, and that you would come to develop an almost baseless crush on him, hopeless at best.

another rally starts, this time with shiratorizawa on match point, an already dragged out 32-31 on the scoreboard. it’s the third set on a friday night, yet the match is already scraping past seven pm and you don’t know if your body can take any more of the anticipation.

and when the magenta jerseys spike a mean straight shot, your hands ball up with whitened knuckles at the bitter taste of a lost game. you run up to the boys with yachi, handing them drinks and towels, telling the second years “you did well” and the third years “that was a good one.” you glance at the first years, some of your friends, and give them a soft smile, as if telling them that you’re going to have to get used to this feeling, because it will happen. lots.

but loss is as temporary as victory when you see the boys mingle with each other, friendliness growing as the new first years dissolve tensions between teams. you even see kageyama bump into hinata and goshiki’s conversation, the sight of it new and endearing.

yachi taps you on the shoulder, “i’m going to be picking up the bibs, can you collect the balls and put them in storage?”

shiratorizawa’s storage room looks more like a shed. it’s also much further than you think, and even darker than you knew storage rooms to be. it looks like an entire sports supply factory outlet rather than a high school unit.

the large basket of volleyballs rolls weirdly on its wheels, knocking left and right as you try to drive it through the doorway. it makes a bit of a fussy sound when you bump into the basket of footballs, and as the footballs begin to fall out of their containers, you close the door in an attempt to keep them inside.

"here they are,” you hear from the corner of the room, behind shelves upon shelves of equipment. your body freezes up dramatically, as if dreading the awkward interaction with the unknown person. hurriedly, you pick up the scattered soccer balls, attempting to take up to five at once to no avail, only causing more sounds of balls hitting wooden floors.

“hello?”

you hesitate to answer. you only continue to put back all the footballs in their place and park the basket of volleyballs in some random corner of the shed before reaching for the door, only to find it doesn’t budge.

“aren’t you karasuno’s manager?”

you turn around to find the one person you wouldn’t want to see you like this. like every high school cliché, shirabu kenjirou is standing right behind you when you turn back, a pair of training shoes hanging off of his left hand. you nod and bow slightly, unsure what to do.

“i, uh, wanted to put the balls back here.”

“but why are you here in the shed?” his voice is softer, you notice, probably because he realises he’s talking to a girl, but his words remind you of how he’d talk to his team during the match.

“i just wanted to help clean up and stuff, like, uh, a token... of appreciation for this practice match?” god, your palms sure are getting sweaty.

“this shed isn’t the place we put our frequently used equipment. we usually put our volleyballs in the room in the gym. it’s the one with the double doors. how come you came so far here?”

you shrug slowly, feeling nice and stupid for not noticing the actual storage room’s large double doors and instead wandering off to carry a basket of volleyballs past three other gyms and a few questioning looks from the shiratorizawa basketball team to this single-doored, large building.

“i’ll just bring them back to the gym now-” you come back to the basket of volleyballs you had just left against a random wall as shirabu pushes on the door’s nonexistent handle. you think it’s all about to end until a muttered curse falls out of the third year’s lips. you look to him in confusion.

then he curses again, this time stopping himself midway as your gaze meets his, voice getting softer again. “did you close the door?”

“yes...?”

“it’s not supposed to be closed,” shirabu sighs, “there’s a little metal rod that falls into a hole in the ground on the other side, and it falls in pretty easily if we close the door, so we can’t really get out right now.”

oh shit.

“i’ll just call- oh my god, i forgot my phone.” your tone is fast and apologetic, considering you had closed the door in the first place. “i’m sorry-”

“don’t be, you didn’t know before.” shirabu sits on a pile of thick and colourful gym mats, elbows on knees. the shoes he was holding are now behind him. “this school might be big, but it’s also damn old.”

shirabu has no idea what situation he’s in right now. frankly, he’s kind of panicking. but he tells himself not to panic, especially when karasuno’s new manager is right there (and she’s pretty cute, not gonna lie - is she a second year?). shirabu would probably be shouting and pushing the door by now until his voice ran hoarse, but surely, there is no use for that.

“so, uh, how are we going to get out?” you shove your hands into your tracksuit jacket, stepping in front of the boy. you’re guessing it’s going to be a bit before you two can get out, so you might as well try to talk to him without a three meter gap in between him and you.

shirabu shrugs, and a look at you tells you that you can sit next to him on the pile of gym mats. “i think we’re just going to have to hope someone notices we’re gone.”

“i think they have to,” you chuckle, “you’re captain. would be kinda crazy if they didn’t notice you were gone.”

the conversation dissolves into awkward silence as the stranger you once pined over is literally right next to you, dried sweat and all, a light laugh leaving his lips.

“what’s your name?” the question is simple, obligatory, even, for introductions, but you swear you feel your heart skip a beat.

“l/n f/n,” you reply, and he says his name in return. you want to say you know, as you’ve already referred to him as captain of the volleyball club, but you settle with silence and a smile. he seems to like it.

“you’re karasuno’s manager, right?”

“yeah. i’m a first year, but i have a brother in karasuno.”

“oh really? is he in the volleyball team?”

you shake your head, “no. he’s in the basketball team, actually, but he’s friends with some of the third years in the team. he’s the reason i got dragged to the spring high prefectural finals last year, actually.”

you hold your hands together, clasping them to evaporate your nervousness. shit, this is shirabu kenjirou you’re talking to, don’t mess it up!

shirabu leans back on his arms, looking up in reminiscence. he sighs, “spring high, huh? you probably saw my tosses back then.”

you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face, the excitement of getting to talk to the third year getting to you, “i remember you from that game the most.”

“damn, then you’d probably also remember how my toss was bad enough for even ushijima-san to get blocked-”

“i think you were really cool, actually.”

shirabu stops in his vocal tracks. there’s no way she means that, he thinks.

“you’re just saying that.”

“well, of course i’m saying it. you wouldn’t hear it otherwise.” your feet kick themselves against the soft pile of gym mats, “but trust me, coming from a karasuno student, you were really cool. your entire team was, too, but, you know.”

at this point, you think you’re just embarrassing yourself. what if he thinks you’re some kind of weird fan? a naive first year? some wannabe manager who didn’t quite understand volleyball to its core? it seems like the conversation loves to come back to silence, and you don’t know how to break the ice.

“thanks,” shirabu mentions, tone higher, as he stands up and off of the gym mats. you feel a weight lift beside you, and in your floor-focused eyes, you see his shoes walk to the basket of volleyballs.

shirabu bounces the ball once, and then once again, before you see his shoes in front of yours. you look up.

“we have time. wanna toss?”

“i’m not that good at overhead passes...” you resist, knowing all too well from pe classes that your fingers don’t have the same kind of magic shirabu’s or kageyama’s have - or anyone in the men’s volleyball club, really.

shirabu only shrugs, “it’s fine, y/n-san. it’s just me. i don’t think you can even be that bad anyways.”

okay, maybe hearing him say your name was enough to persuade you. but still, the possibility of losing your pride in front of shirabu keeps you glued onto the gym mats.

you purse your lips, trying to hide the overwhelming grin spreading on your face. you try to say a word, but you can’t seem to make anything out when teeth and raised cheeks do nothing but make you feel like this hopeless crush isn’t so hopeless after all. and so you nod.

he stands a few feet away from you, tossing the ball at what seemed like the perfect angle for your height only for you to miss it every two good tries.

“see? you’re not bad.” you think he’s lying through his teeth at best.

“i drop, like, every toss you give. this is not not bad.” you slouch, catching the ball this time instead of attempting to toss it.

“well, that’s because you’re just doing it wrong. you hit the ball with the top of your palm every time. of course it’s going to come flying down.”

“okay, captain of the shiratorizawa volleyball club...” you tease, and you think it’s all fun and games until he comes to stand right in front of you, taking the ball.

“put your hands up.”

you do as he asks.

“they should be about this far from your head,” he puts down the ball to adjust your arms, and then your hands, “it’s supposed to feel like there’s a nice place for the ball to rest in your hands.”

his hands are cold and rough when they lightly press on yours, shaping your hands and your elbows the way he does it on court, “your elbows and hands should make a triangle.”

he lets go of your arms, and you keep your arms the way he left them. he tosses the ball to you, and the only thing you feel is the sturdy feeling of fingertips on fabric.

shirabu catches the ball when you toss it back, “see? not bad.”

he doesn’t miss it when your eyes light up at his praise, and he makes a mental note to himself to not get distracted next time shiratorizawa has a game with karasuno. or maybe he will; who knows - maybe seeing you might make him look at his job with more vigour and passion.

“how do you do it?” you stare, “i mean, not that i haven’t seen, but-”

your words are cut off when he sets the ball onto the wall and back in one quick motion, his hands like cradling the ball with care on every push and touch. maybe it isn’t backed by an ace spiker or a team of five, but there’s a quiet power in what he does.

volleyball might be a team sport, but you’ve only been focused on this one setter all afternoon. even worse, he’s from the opposite team.

he holds the ball and bounces it as he looks back at you, “when i got into shiratorizawa, you have no idea how much time i spent doing this.”

he exhales, like a weight has been pulled off his chest, feeling quite nice at your visible reactions. he throws the ball at you, exclaiming “toss!” only for you to catch it square above your head. you whine. then he laughs, and you laugh too, because you've never seen him laugh.

“it paid off, then,” you say, coming to sit back down on the pile of mattresses. he sits next to you again, but closer this time. it’s like your stomach performs a somersault, and you absolutely love it.

"i guess,” he mutters, “maybe next time i’ll show you the dump shot you seemed to like so much.”

you can only bury your face in your hands, remembering the way you exclaimed ‘so cool...’ at his actions about an hour ago. you mumble, “was i too loud?”

he laughs again. you like the sound of it. “no, it was good.”

“it was nice to know one of karasuno’s managers looked at me more than kageyama,” his tone is stagnant, but you can hear him grinning, “that wouldn’t be considered betrayal, would it?”

you take it upon yourself to look him in the eye, and you tell him, with a small voice, “maybe it’s just something about you.”

you hide your face in your hands again, and you hear the setter laugh once more. you wonder if he laughs this much with his teammates.

just as your embarrassment starts to settle, there’s a knock on the wooden door, “y/n? are you here?”

you recognise it as the second year, yamaguchi’s, voice, and you call back out, “yeah?”

“alright, wait up, i’ll just unlock the door...” his voice turns from muffled to surprise after the door opens, seeing you sitting so close to none other than shiratorizawa’s setter.

“i’m so sorry it took this long for us to realise you were, uh, gone,” yamaguchi scratches the back of his head, “but at least you had some company.”

yamaguchi gives the setter a prompt bow, and shirabu does the same.

“anyways, y/n, the bus is waiting,” the boy motions, and you nod, looking at shirabu.

you wave at shirabu and start to leave the shed when he grips the sleeve of your tracksuit jacket.

“are you free on sunday?”

you stop in your tracks, “yeah, i am.”

“i can show you my dump shot then. and there’s also a cute café nearby campus, i heard, so, we can go there after?”

you swear your heart melts at his words, “that sounds good.”

you can feel yamaguchi’s curious stare at both of you, but you don’t mind. “i’ll give you my number, then?”

you search through your pockets for something to take note with, “i don’t have a pen and paper... or my phone...”

shirabu sighs, “me neither, uhm...”

“oh, well. just tell me your number and i’ll memorise it.”

“are you sure?”

“yeah,” you smile, knowing that you’re not that good at memorising things but you know you’d keep his number dialed in your head. as he says out his string of numbers, you make sure to remember it all by the time you get to your bag.

“see you sunday, then.” he waves once more.

“i’ll text you!” you’re left to ponder what the hell you’re going to wear in two days to your date with shirabu kenjirou.

first date with shirabu kenjirou. is it a date? maybe you’ll know it on sunday.

when you step out of the shed, yamaguchi only grins as he walks you back to the bus, amused at witnessing one of his underclassmen set up a date with shiratorizawa’s third year setter and captain.

“on monday, tell us some of shiratorizawa’s secrets,” yamaguchi jokes as you two walk across campus. you glare at your upperclassman, and he only follows it up with a shake of the head and “no, no, just kidding! just have fun on sunday.”

“thank you,” you say quietly as you two approach the bus, “and thank you for unlocking that door at the shed back there.”

“no problem,” yamaguchi replies.

after announcing a small apology to the rest of the team when you enter the bus, you almost run to yachi when she shouts from the back that she’s already got your bag, with you practically grabbing it to take out your phone.

“woah, y/n! are you alright? do you have your stuff?”

you don’t answer, only putting down the numbers you drilled into your head five minutes ago, naming the contact “dump shot” and sending him a quick hello in text.

yachi asks again, “y/n?”

now you snap out of it, and nod before thanking her for bringing your bag. you can’t stop the uncontrollable smile on your face.

yachi stretches her arms out and smiles back, glad that her underclassman seems enthusiastic about this volleyball thing too. “i’m so ready for the weekend. i’m just going to sleep in and rest all day.”

you nod, slouching lazily into the bus yet with unknown excitement in your veins at the thought of spending a day with the boy you’ve only ever seen from afar until tonight.

“i’m so ready for this weekend too.”

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mudzdale · 3 years

Text

u kno what screw it. nuzleaf supermysterydungeon hc timeline

-seedot leaves home and evolves into nuzleaf (around 18 yrs old equivalent). home is where he picked up his southern mannerisms and upbringing, which stick to him like glue despite the extensive travels and experiences he accumulates through his life

-spends ~15 years travelling the world

-encounters dark matter in an evil forest. details unclear but it’s because he opted to delve deeper into what was already a pretty ill-advised exploration to begin with

-agrees to partnership (read: yields to possession) with dark matter, having been promised power, influence, and respect, and they begin to travel the world with nuzleaf as a vessel

-dm already has a few full vessels, including yveltal, but dm and nuzleaf vibe the best. nuzleaf is given responsibility for many of dm's errands

-they encounter and recruit the beheeyem at some point, who become favored vessels due to their preexisting teamwork and psychic power. they were also a voluntary possession, although theyre not as ambitious. they prioritize the safety of their trio

-when a vessel is possessed by dm, they experience the voidlands for themselves--not sent there through being turned to stone, but thru visions such as nightmares, etc. dm uses this as leverage, to threaten its vessels with what will happen if they step out of line, but also to just. make em upset. fuel the stone-making rampage with bad vibes

-anyways. dm at this point is aware of mew having been reborn ~10 years ago, and with more of its plans coming into place, it wants to start tracking down the child heroes. it has nothing on the status of the human hero at this point

-nuzleaf tracks mew to serene village relatively quickly, but doesnt make his presence known

-having ‘secured’ mew’s location, the vessels of dm begin a globetrotting search for the human child, who they assume to be reincarnated as an infant the same way mew was

-dm eventually connects the dots and figures if mew ~just happened~ to wind up next to the sacred spring, the human likely will as well

-about 2 years have passed since dm came into the picture? it has also been recruiting a few more vessels during this time

-nuzleaf returns to serene village and sets up shop, establishing his presence as a villager, while the beheeyem orbit nearby, selecting a mountain cave to settle in (much like their old home)

-nuzleaf and the beheeyem begin to roll out on extensive forays, scouting the world around serene village for signs of the human hero

-it is on one of these scouting trips that they encounter a young pokemon, far from civilization and indeed any other living creatures, close to a small waterfall

-the human child has only partial amnesia at the time, and knows about the purpose to their reincarnation--they have only been recently recreated as a pokemon, at the top of a nearby mountain, and experienced no childhood like mew did. they retain much knowledge and maturity from their past life

-when approached by nuzleaf and co, they all kind of recognize one another--nuzleaf knows this is their missing puzzle piece, and the human can pretty quickly attribute the group’s suspicious behavior to dark matter

-dm/nuzleaf's intentions are to overpower the hero and schlep them up to revelation mountain asap, securing the goods for a fast and hard takeover. the dm gang and hero get into a scuffle over this

-beheeyem's psychic blast renders the hero truly amnesiac this time (although their personality remains largely untouched)

-nuzleaf's mind has been largely overshadowed by dm through this entire process, but upon the beheeyem’s report of amnesia, a moment of "good" nuzleaf shines through, and he decides to take the hero under his wing instead. dm is amenable to this plan, because drawing out its takeover over a length of time will generate more negative emotion from across the world, adding to its collective power

-end scene. script continues on as usual, nuzleaf gets left by dm to largely keep living pretty normally. nuzleaf is willfully ignorant of his growing attachment to the child, believing he is just secure in the knowledge on having an important asset in hand (when in fact hes happy to have this new family member. hes Soft)

-sometimes dm's presence grows heavy in his mind, affecting his mood and opinion of the child sourly (not that they ever know, he is very good at hiding this). "good” nuzleaf is largely content with this lifestyle however

-although hero and partner's departure to lively town was not met with utmost delight on his part, nuzleaf ultimately welcomed their absence as it made his errands for dm MUCH easier. less sneaking around to do, and allowed him to lay a trap at revelation mountain

-at this stage, different vessels were tending to turning to stone various pokemon across the world, especially the big hundos like legendaries (latias and latios, for instance, were attacked by fast-flying vessels). nuzleaf is set on the very precise tasks of setting up their fall guy(s) and ensuring hero stays within reach

-although nuzleaf orchestrated that krookodile's rampage to serene village would attract the attention of the expedition society, it was a coincidence that hero/partner were on the pursuit team. he intended to run to lively town and fetch them himself if necessary, crying havoc

-after the pursuit team get stone'd, nuzleaf and yveltal storm serene village, before collecting the beheeyem and moving on to lively town. they continue to work and hit established communities while hero and partner are in the voidlands, although yveltal takes its leave sometime during that to start attacking more big hundos

-espurr is caught right before nuzleaf and co storm the village, hiding in the bushes atop the mountain. nuzleaf doesnt initially expect to recruit her, but dm suggested her powers might be of benefit, given that the other beheeyem might have their hands full. he doesnt have to do much threatening before espurr keys in and agrees

-espurr and the "manipulation" of the expedition society are nuzleaf's jurisdiction as well, assisted by the beheeyem

-its during this period that the turncoat beheeyem starts showing hesitation. nuzleaf is on it like a fly on doodoo but obv hides it perfectly. starts laying the prehistoric ruins trap

-its not just dm speaking when they spring the prehistoric ruins trap--nuzleaf is exposing how he’s the kind of person who might agree to a partnership with dark matter in the first place. that said, hes not intrinsically THAT mean, and his evil factor is REALLY amped up by the possession. but its still largely nuzleaf in the driver’s seat at this point

-again back to the script. dm tosses its vessels around where they need to be, up until it fully takes over their minds and has them fight hero and co. after their defeat, dm is (temporarily) kicked out of their brains. its PIIIISSED about this and whisks the vessels into the tree of life for what essentially will be a slow and painful death, which is of course subverted by the heroes

-yveltal warps the vessel crew to the bottom of the tree of life, seeking oxygen, where the group stops to decide whether to take action or just give up. most are inclined to the latter, but nuzleaf is determined to go back and help the heroes until dm stops him directly. the others come around to his point of view, and yveltal returns them to the top of the tree

-with dm fully out of his mind now, nuzleaf is real sorry :( distracting the enemy from his kid for even one moment was worth a thousand ends in the voidlands to him

-after dm’s defeat, nuzleaf and co find themselves returning to consciousness in the forest, not far from where the heroes are similarly recovering. before they can get their bearings, arceus slips quietly out of the woods, escorting yveltal away with it for a Very Long Talk. the rest of the crew are scared out of their minds, but in an act of forgiveness, arceus refrains from passing Judgement on them

-with yveltal indisposed, the vessels are again left to follow nuzleaf’s guidance. they find the restored turncoat beheeyem and make up with one another, and decide to quietly withdraw and see what they can do to make up for their sins

-after apologizing to serene village and associated victims, nuzleaf roughs it in the wilderness for a bit, declining the beheeyem’s invitation to their mountain cave. he wants some time to himself (in fact the first he’s had since he encountered dm in the woods, so long ago). he orbits close to the village, however, seeking a glimpse of the hero

-after learning of the partner/mew’s disappearance through the serene village grapevine, nuzleaf vows to do whatever is necessary to help his kid, however he can. the beheeyem are of a similar mind. they get in touch with the expedition society asap

-follow script, etc etc. nuzleaf’s natural stealthiness is of benefit when it becomes necessary to track the hero’s movements

-after the partner is restored, the beheeyem return to their mountain home again, deciding amongst themselves what their next move will be. nuzleaf tries to leave serene village for good, having done his bit, and wanting to spare the hero any further angst regarding his presence. however, the hero stops him and convinces him to stay and recreate their little family home, which nuzleaf accepts

-partner and the hero return to the expedition society for a couple of years, conducting explorations and making frequent visits home. mawile comes up with the idea to plant an expedition society branch on revelation mountain, after she discovers that not only has the sacred spring not lost its power, but that the luminous water there is slowly returning. the site is marked a protected location, and the child heroes are put in charge of the new branch

-the beheeyem, the other village children, and the heroes’ parents are among those recruited to the new branch. the beheeyem handle most of the admin work, and the schoolchildren embark on a variety of explorations as they grow up, travelling between the city and village locations

-hero and partner more often than not form an exploration team with their dads, making a four-person expedition group that goes out for long expeditions. the kids are able to experience more quality time with their parents, carracosta can spend time protecting his child, and nuzleaf can sate his wanderlust without abandoning the ones he loves. its a solution that keeps everybody happy

-and they all live happily ever after :)

#oh my gosh. bullet point essay... mortifying #golly gabs #long post (under the cut)#pokemon #psmd #nuzleaf #its. i dont often create hcs for fictional little men so this starts off based on the original text and then strays wayyyy into self ind #ulgence territory. srry

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merinnan · 3 years

Text

Fic Tag Game

Grabbed from @hils79, because it looked like fun.

Name: Merinnan, which I’ve gone by for... fifteen years now, I think? Prior to that, I mostly used Calicia (and sometimes Zoi).

Fandoms: Like Hils, I’m only going to list the fandoms I’ve actually written fic for.

Star Trek: My very first fandom, and the one I’ve written the most fics for (so far - I suspect that DMBJ will overtake it. It certainly already has in terms of word count). I was (and am still) primarily a DS9 fan, and was a huge Kira/Dukat and Garak/Bashir shipper back in the day. Most of my Trekfics are DS9 fics, but I also dabbled a little bit in TOS and TNG, and had one or two crackfic crossovers that involved Voyager characters. Discovery has tempted me with a few fic ideas, but I haven’t written anything for it yet.

Bishoujo Senshi Sailormoon: aka, the show that first had me seriously questioning my sexuality. Look, Haruka and Michiru are #goals, don’t judge me. This is also where my Zoi name came from, after the first season villain Zoisite, whom I cosplayed several times. Unsurprisingly, my main ships are HaruMichi and KunZoi. Despite this fact, neither of my published Sailormoon fics are HaruMichi.

Bubblegum Crisis Tokyo 2040: A short-lived fandom, but one I still liked enough to write a fic for and get the OST CD.

World of Warcraft: I wouldn’t say I’m really part of the fandom, per se, but I’ve been playing since the dying days of Burning Crusade, am a huge lore nerd, and started writing a crossover fic that is currently on indefinite hiatus. I do plan to come back and finish it, but first RL got in the way, and now I have to try and remember where I’d actually been planning to go with it.

A Court of Thorns and Roses: That crossover fic I just mentioned? Yeah, this is what it’s a crossover with. ACoTaR fandom went sleepy for awhile, but it’s back up and kicking now that A Court of Silver Flames is out - if any of you are still following me, it’s great to see everyone active again! To the surprise of no-one who knows me, I’m a big Nessian shipper.

Mo Dao Zu Shi / Chen Qing Ling / The Untamed: I came to this fandom via ACoTaR, actually, after a certain person (hi, @rhysand-vs-fenrys!) wouldn’t stop gushing about it :-) This is the fandom that really and seriously got me back into regular fic writing again after 15-ish years. I’m a multishipper here, and have written / am writing WangXian, NieLan, XiCheng, XuanLi, and XiSang.

Guardian / Zhen Hun: MDZS fandom led me to Guardian, which, along with DMBJ, has devoured my life in a way that hasn’t happened since my Star Trek days, and I love it! WeiLan is my major ship, but I’m also quite fond of the DaMian life raft.

Zhu Yilong: Yes, I’m going to list a person as a fandom. Zhu Yilong is one of the stars of Guardian, and is both incredibly pretty and an incredibly talented actor. So much so that I have suffered through some truly terrible dramas just to watch him in them. I do not write Z1L-fic, since RPF of living people is a personal squick of mine, but I am working on a massive crossover fic of most of his characters.

Mo Du: Guardian led me along to more of Priest’s works, such as Mo Du, which is now officially my favourite book, and I adore the main WenZhou ship. The Mo Du fandom right now is pretty tiny, and I’m still working on my first fic for it, but I hope that it will grow with the donghua due out this year, and the drama having just started filming.

Daomu Biji / The Lost Tomb: I initially came into this fandom because of Zhu Yilong, who played Wu Xie in the Reboot / Reunion / Chongqi drama, and then I got sucked into the fandom pit of all of the books and dramas and spinoffs, and it’s wonderful and fantastic. I have written so much for it, and have so much more planned. PingXie and PingXieSang are my main ships here, but I’m also a HeiHua fan, and very much enjoying the RiSang pool noodle that @kholran created.

Tropes: Hurt/Comfort and crack are my major ones.

Fic I spent most time on: A toss-up between Endings and Beginnings and Reunion, both DS9 fics. Endings and Beginnings is an alternate ending to the show, while Reunion is a Gul Dukat-centric fic set around, oh, season 5ish? Both were written for and initially published in print fanzines, so in addition to time spent writing, there was a lot of back and forth for editing, etc.

Favourite fic(s) you’ve written: Look, I honestly couldn’t say. I like most of the fics I’ve written, and there are several that I’m really proud of and really like.

Fic I spent least time on: Silent Graves, a super angsty DMBJ/Lost Tomb Xiaoge fic. I think I wrote it in like 15 minutes.

Longest fic: Cat’s Paw, a DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXieSang canon rewrite fic I co-wrote with @xantissa, at 247 826 words. For fics written by just me, not with a co-writer, then that would be Nevermore, my WIP MDZS/CQL XiCheng Pacific Rim AU, at 22 276 words and counting.

Shortest fic: Every entry in my DS9 Drabbles series, with each one at exactly 100 words. Although if you count them as a quintdrabble, then Indiscretion (a DS9 missing scene vignette about Gul Dukat, set during the episode of the same name) at 169 words.

Most hits/kudos/comments/bookmarks/subscriptions: The answer to all of these is either Cat’s Paw or Nevermore, so I’m going to give the next highest.

Hits: Those who fear darkness have never seen what light can do, a DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXie supernatural AU fic co-written with xantissa.

Since this fic also takes the highest kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions after Cat’s Paw/Nevermore, I’ll skip to the next fic along on each of those.

Kudos: Stars fall like diamonds, a DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXie missing scene fic from Reboot/Reunion/Chongqi.

Bookmarks: A Knight in Bloody Armour, another DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXieSang supernatural AU fic (but a different supernatural AU) co-written with xantissa.

Comments: Ears and Other Related Calamities, yet another DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXieSang supernatural AU fic (of a different again supernatural AU) co-written with xantissa.

Subscriptions: The Rescue Job, a Guardian WeiLan Leverage AU, currently at one chapter complete and posted out of a planned five chapters.

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: We have plans for a prequel and a sequel to A Knight in Bloody Armour, and a spinoff fic for The Zhang Identity (a DMBJ/Lost Tomb PingXie AU that is complete but not yet posted. It will be posted in April as part of the Small Fandoms Big Bang).

Share a bit of a WIP: This is from an as-yet-unnamed post-canon fix-it fic for the Guardian drama:

It was hurting again. Zhao Yunlan curled up into a tight ball under the hospital blankets, trying to ignore it enough to try to get back to sleep. He knew it wouldn't work, because he couldn't remember a time when it ever did, but it was always worth a shot, right? He squeezed his eyes shut and held himself tightly for a few...moments? Minutes?...before grabbing his stuffed cat and clutching it while he forced himself to breathe deep, slow breaths the way the doctors back in Spring City had taught him.

Eventually, the pain died back down to its usual dull ache, the one that was bearable and let him play, and watch TV, and do school lessons with his mother. One day, she said, they'd find a doctor who knew what was wrong, why he hurt all the time, and the doctor would give him medicine that would keep the worst pain away so that he could go to an actual school and meet more kids than the ones who lived in their apartment block or who frequented the same playground that he liked to go to.

Zhao Yunlan tried closing his eyes again, seeing if he could go back to sleep, but he was far too awake now. He sighed, sitting up in bed and looking around the room. Again. It was just like the hospital rooms in Spring City, and in Kiyota City. He figured that if the doctors here in Tomorrow Mountains couldn't help, his parents would take him to yet another city, and the hospital rooms there would probably look the same, too.

Then, over the faint beeping of hospital equipment, and the quiet murmurs further down the corridor of nurses at the nurse station or seeing to other patients, he heard a soft sniffling sound, like someone was trying not to cry too loudly. He picked up his stuffed cat and looked at it.

"What do you think, Dead Cat?" he asked it. "Should we go and find them?"

Dead Cat didn't answer, of course, but that didn't stop Zhao Yunlan from assuming that it agreed with him, and slipping out of bed. His feet touched the cold tile floor with barely a sound, and, still holding Dead Cat tightly, Zhao Yunlan padded over to the door. He looked up and down the corridor, then left his room to track down the sniffling noise.

He wasn't surprised that it came from the next room. He was surprised that it came from another kid, a boy who looked to be about his age, huddled in bed and wiping his eyes.

"Hi," Zhao Yunlan whispered. The other boy looked up in surprise, then stopped to clutch his chest as he began to cough. Once he'd finished coughing, Zhao Yunlan and Dead Cat were perched on the end of his bed.

"I'm Zhao Yunlan, and this is Dead Cat." He held up Dead Cat, moving one of the paws to wave hello. "What's your name?"

The boy wiped his eyes again. "Shen Ye."

I tag: ALL OF YOU! Are you a writer who hasn’t done this yet? Consider yourself tagged if you want to be.

#fanfic meme #dmbj #daomu biji #guardian #mo du #star trek #ds9 #bishoujo senshi sailor moon #sailor moon #mdzs #cql #acotar #bubblegum crisis #world of warcraft #zhu yilong

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scullyverse · 3 years

Text

Tomorrow Will Be Interesting

Prompt by @notdeannatroi;

“I fucking love you" - "Hang up, and tell me this when you’re sober”

I haven't written anything in ages so I hope it’s okay! Just trying to get back into the swing of things :)

Also available to read on ao3

Scully gets drunk after attending a wedding and decides to call her girlfriend Stella, letting some things slips as she gets sleepy.

Stella/Scully || cute/fluff || 1.4K words || rating T (for language)

It was ticking over towards 11pm when Stella had begun to settle into bed, cradling her glass of wine in one hand and her book open in her lap. The air was crisp as she pulled the covers up onto her lap, taking a sip from her glass before placing it next to her phone on the bedside table. This had become her usual nightly routine, but tonight it just didn’t feel the same without Dana nestled next to her, flicking through either a case file or a book of her own. Stella and Dana had become close during her recovery after the Spector case when she had transferred to America to seperate herself from the memories she had back in the UK.

It was at a conference about 3 months after moving to the states that she had met the beautiful woman named Dana Scully and the instant she had bumped into her, Stella had been captivated. It had been a strange feeling as she hadn’t felt the stir of wanting in the pit of her stomach since she left the UK but the instant she had met the sparkling blue eyes of the red head, Stella could feel that little spark and knew she had to have her. Little did she know that that single night of pleasure would turn into the best thing to happen to her, probably in the entirety of the life she could remember.

After talking over some drinks for hours, Dana’s cheeks had become slightly flushed with wine and the chemistry between them was instantaneous. It hadn’t taken much for Dana to be panting in her bed hours later, fingers intertwined with no rush for Stella to want her to leave. They began to see each other more frequently and it soon turned into something more than the casual lay Stella had been used to. Over the months, Dana become a friend, lover and someone Stella began to cherish. They became exclusive and Stella found that Dana would make her way to her apartment more and more until it seemed to become a nightly thing, for Stella to fall asleep with her arms wrapped protectively around her.

Looking over to Dana’s side of her bed, now seeming much larger being empty, Stella sighed. Dana had travelled up state to attend the wedding of a friend of the family and Stella had chosen to stay behind as Dana hadn’t told her family about their relationship yet and she didn’t think the wedding would be a good time to spring their relationship on her mother and brothers. Stella had wished she could be there with her, but she understood Dana’s process and didn’t want to push her girlfriend into anything rash to potentially ruin the bonds she had with her family. Fox Mulder, Dana’s partner and best friend, was the only one who knew about them and he took pride in knowing that they trusted him enough to protect their relationship while they figured out how to tell Dana’s Catholic family about her new relationship being with a woman.

Stella jumped slightly when she heard the sharp ring of her phone through the silence that had settled in her apartment. Looking over at the phone resting on the bedside table, she smiled when she saw the radiant face of her girlfriend appear with ‘Dana Calling’ underneath. Tucking her bookmark into her book and setting it next to her, Stella reached over to grab her phone, swiping before she brought it to her ear, tossing the loose blonde curls over her shoulder.

“Hello you, I was just thinking about you” Stella said, settling back against the pillows she had propped up against the headboard.

“Hello yourself, only good things I hope?” Dana smirked, holding the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she struggled to push open the door to her hotel room before she closed it behind her with a click.

“Just how big my bed looks without you here”

Dana’s smirk turned into a warm smile as she placed her bag down on the chest of drawers, kicking off her shoes and looking around the small and slightly run down hotel room very reminiscent of the rooms she had frequented with Mulder before her eyes fell on her own single bed and scrunching up her nose. “Well I wish I was there with you too, this bed looks quite questionable and I don’t think its going to be very comfortable for the hangover I’m probably going to have in the morning, I’m definitely more than a little bit tipsy right now”

Stella gave a chuckle before she took another sip of her own wine. “How much have you had? I thought you said you weren’t going to have much”

“Well that was before this guy from my mother’s church tried to come on to me all night.” Dana slurred slightly as she rubbed her forehead, walking towards the bed before she sat down on the edge, cupping her head in her hand. “He was very persistent before I finally told him to back the fuck off”

“I would have punched the shit out of him” Stella placed her glass back down on on the table feeling a pang of jealously hit her square in the gut. “Either that or I would have made certain that everyone in that place knew you were mine in the first place”

Dana giggled as she heard the strained anger in her girlfriends voice. “Come on Stell you know you’re the only one for me, you and that amazing ass of yours”

Stella threw her head back with a laugh. “Jesus you are pissed right now aren’t you?”

“I am quite intoxicated, yes...” Dana agreed, not hiding the huge smile on her face as she stood up and struggled with the zipper on her dress, letting the black silky material fall to the floor before she stepped out of it and crawled under the sheets, the cold material hitting the skin that wasn’t encased in her underwear and bra. The moment her head hit the pillow, Dana groaned, the phone pressed against her ear as she snuggled into the mattress below. “Wish you were here” she whispered softly against the material of the pillow.

“Me too” Closing her eyes, Stella snuggled down further into bed, hearing the rustling of sheets on the other side of the phone signalling that Dana had managed to crawl into bed. Smiling Stella reached out blindly to turn off the lamp that filtered the only light into her bedroom, flushing it into darkness. “Get some sleep Dana, we can talk in the morning if you haven’t got your head in the toilet all day”

“Shut up” Smiling against the pillow, Dana could feel her body ease further into the bed as the alcohol started to take effect and dull her senses enough for drowsiness to set in. She wasn’t sure what she had done in life to find someone as special to her as Stella and she could feel a warmth of happiness settle in her chest. Before her brain could stop her mouth, she mumbled “I fucking love you”

Stella’s eyes shot open as she felt her heart jump in her throat. They hadn’t spoken those three words to each other yet, as much as Stella had wanted to every moment she spent with Dana. Stella just hadn’t been one to easily express her feelings to anyone before, but knew that what she felt for Dana was definitely love. Though she desperately wanted to say them back, she knew that now wasn’t the right time. Trust Dana to bring this up when she was already half out of it. Chuckling slightly, Stella purred “Hang up now Dana, and tell me this again when you’re sober”

All she got as a slurred and sleepy “Mmhmm okay...love you...” before there was a silence on the other end of the phone. Stella’s face broke out into a huge grin as she stared at the phone in her hand. Dana may be drunk right now but from previous experiences of her girlfriend’s intoxicated brain she was sure she would remember this conversation tomorrow morning and couldn’t wait to hopefully hear her say it again so she could tell her she loved her back. Chucking her phone down onto the bed beside her, she settled down fully onto the bed, staring up into the darkness, the smile never leaving her face. Tomorrow would certainly be interesting and she couldn’t wait.

#stella and scully #stella x scully #stella gibson #dana scully #the x files #x files #fanfic #mine: fanfic #the fall #Stella/Scully #stellaxdanafic

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