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hertzwritings · 2 years

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An Arrangement, Chapter 3

A/N: I’m so happy you guys like this! Let me know if you have an idea where this is going, your thoughts or just if you want something special (wink wink) to happen!

Feedback feeds the soul, and I’m thankful for any and all types of feedback.

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Pairing: Henry Cavill x reader

Warnings: language, mentions of smut

Chapter 3: Do you believe in miracles?

You laughed, throwing your head back at yet another stupid story from Henry, who was chuckling hard.

“I mean… Who’d have known I would tear a hamstring by walking down the stairs?” He said, taking the last sip of his wine.

“Alright, ground rule 4: no stairs for Henry, if he’s drunk, especially if he had tequila.” You said, nodding your head while quickly typing it down on your phone. He sighed deeply and smiled softly at you.

You’d been at it for hours, trying to make some type of list of rules, you wowed to never break.

So far it had been about drinking, paparazzi, pizza (who knew pineapple on pizza would be a ground rule?) and now, stairs. He glanced at you with a smile.

“What about you? You must have one or two.” He asked gently. You shrugged.

“I don’t know. Don’t make fun of me when my hair is a mess from sleeping… Uhm…” You blushed. He lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“Well…” You bit your lip. “Uhm, maybe… Don’t mention the night, y’know?” You felt your cheeks burning. His gaze was intense.

“Are you embarrassed?” He asked softly. You shook your head.

“Not embarrassed, just… I don’t know, it feels weird. We’re doing this for show and it was way too real, so I’m..” You trailed off, shrugging. “Yeah.” You finished lamely.

It wasn’t just because of that. You just didn’t want to be reminded of something you’d never have again - it was too good, too much, and it would be torture to be reminded of it at any given time. He nodded.

“I can’t say I understand, because I quite enjoyed it..”He smiled at you. “But I respect it.”

You sat in silence for a few minutes, the sun truly setting by now.

“Speaking of nothing, we should have a story ready.”

“Oh?” you said absentmindedly. You didn’t notice his eyes lingering on your lips.

“Yes. I have a press tour before the wedding, which I will probably be hounded on. Details of our relationship, how we met, how much in love we are, where you are… Who you are.” he said finally. Kal lazily walked to his side and laid down, resting his head on Henry’s feet. Adorable fucker.

You nodded. That made sense.

“Before that, am I going with you on those press tours?” You asked, worry coloring your words. He smiled reassuringly. “If you’re comfortable with it, yes. I would very much like your company at any rate, it’s absolutely balldraggingly boring when I’m not doing press. The wait…” He trailed off before handing you a blanket.

You hadn’t noticed how cold it had gotten with the sun down, and your skin was breaking into shivers.

“Thank you.” You said gratefully, wrapping it around your shoulders. “Well, I haven’t really travelled, so I suppose it’ll be kind of fun.” He smiled widely. “Anyway, back to the story. How did we meet?” You asked, turning to him. It felt weirdly comfortable being around him.

He searched your face, his eyes resting first on your lips, then your collarbone, and you couldn’t help but wonder if the same memories of the night you met, ran through his head at the same rate as it did yours.

“Well, it would probably be a little much to say we met at a bar, and we fucked halfway to sunday.” He said with a wink, and you almost moaned. He was being a fucking sly fucker, and he knew it.

“No, probably not.” Your voice was breathy. How did he get so close? You were inches away from his face.

“How about… Your bookstore?” He whispered. So close. The mood had shifted somehow, the air around you electric.

“Uhm… I don’t want them to be overrun. Or misspeak.” You whispered back. He nodded slowly.

“What if we met somewhere innocuous? Like a park?” You asked, finally finding the strength to pull away from him, grabbing your almost empty wine glass and drinking the finally drops to excuse it.

“That could work. I was waking Kal, you were… What?” You grinned. “Being my merry self when Kal simply jumped me.” He rolled his eyes. “Ah, so still some truth to it?” You nodded with a smile. “And you, ever the gentleman, offered to buy me a new cup of coffee, because I dropped mine at the onslaught from your bear-dog. From there, it just snowballed.” He nodded.

“Okay, we can do that.” He nodded towards the house. “Continue inside?” He asked, stretching his hand out to you. You took it, electricity running through your hand and arm, settling right in the pit of your heart.

“Inside it is.”

Hours later, you’d covered mostly all the bases. Your childhood, your family, work, school, hobbies… All of it, even old boyfriends, not that there were many. Henry absorbed everything he could, asking for details if he could.

“Good. I think we’ve just about covered everything. At least everything we both could handle for tonight.” He said finally, glancing at the clock. “We should head to bed, it’s probably going to be a long day tomorrow. First day of press, and all.” He said. You smiled and couldn’t hold back a yawn. “Let me show you your room.” He stood up, smoothing out his shirt and gestured for you to follow him.

Not a problem. You felt 70 pounds heavier than this morning, your head was spinning with information and you were barely able to lift your feet from the ground - you were tired and spent.

The upper floor was kept in the same, muted grays and cream-colors, but it felt more personal up here than on the ground floor. Pictures adorned the walls, family and friends smiling at you, and it felt more familiar and intimate than his apartment had felt. It was like home.

You couldn’t help but to glance at some of the pictures of Henry with a single woman next to him, wondering if that was the ex girlfriend, lover, friend, sister.

“Are you okay?” He asked, turning around when you didn’t answer his question. You looked back at him, not even realizing you’d missed him speaking.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m good, I just…” You gestured to the wall. “It feels more homey and warm here.” He smiled sadly.

“Yeah. I don’t want to… If I ever have people over that I’m not sure will stay in my life, I’d rather avoid doing the whole oh, is this your family?-spiel.” You nodded. “It’s just easier to keep them up here, since there’s rarely company going up here.” He said softly. “I get it. Keeping it close. I’m sorry if I was intruding.” He shook his head. “Not at all. Currently, this is your home as much as mine. Which reminds me, are we living together?” You blinked in surprise.

“For the stories, of course.” He quickly said, trying to avoid getting knocked over by Kal, who was circling his legs.

“Oh! Uhm, yeah, that makes sense, right? I’m going with you on press tours, it’d be weird if we weren’t living together.” He nodded in agreement.

“Here’s your room. I’m right across if you need anything. There’s a bathroom attached, towels are in the cupboard, and I’ve put some different shampoos and stuff, I didn’t know what you’d like.”He rambled, his cheeks reddening. That was kind of cute. “Uhm, I believe Steve put your bags and box up here, so, please, get comfortable and make it as homey as you need. Tomorrow, we’ll go shopping for some extra stuff for your room and possibly some dresses for the press, if that’s okay?” You smiled.

“I’m sure it’s great, Henry. Uhm, is this place going to be the permanent address for the next few months?” You asked cautiously. “Not the apartment?” He shook his head, his hand on Kal and the other on the door handle to the door right across from you in the narrow hallway. “Yes, I thought it’d be best if we had some privacy. The paparazzi knows I live in the apartment from time to time, and this will most certainly bring a few dozen on night and day watch, so as to avoid having to be on at all times…” He gestured to the house. “I thought this might be better.” You smiled.

“Thank you, it would probably be nice to avoid getting stalked by paps all the time.” You both lingered in the hallway. Kal whined slightly, but Henry made no move to open his door.

“Well… Goodnight, Henry.” You said softly, opening the door to your own room, smiling gently at him. He sent you the sweetest smile that made your knees weak.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Sleep well.”

You were going to try.

—----

After putting your books away and stashing your clothes (making a mental note to get swimwear, there was no way you’d be living next to the ocean for six months without dipping once), you finally let yourself take it in.

It wasn’t necessarily weird spending time with Henry. He was kind and surprisingly down to earth, so conversation flowed, but it felt off in some way. Maybe, you thought to yourself as you turned on the water in the shower and stripped down, it was because he was inside of you not even a week ago. Maybe it was the fact that he was a well known actor, maybe it was the fact that he was clearly carved out by the Gods above, and it most definitely was because this seemed like the beginning of a bad rom-com from 2008.

You stepped into the warm water and let out a soft moan. You hadn’t realized how tense you’d become, and the warmth did wonders to your neck. You glanced at the shelf with several bottles of shampoo, conditioner and body wash and couldn’t help but smile; he was a sweetheart for even thinking about this stuff.

In the end, you chose the green apple shampoo and conditioner and the rose scented bodywash, creating an almost springtime-scent in the steam. You felt relaxed, truly, for the first time in days, and stood for far too long under the hot stream, trying to not think about a probably naked Henry Cavill not even three feet from your door. That seemed like an impossible task after you - for the upteempth time - had accidentally pictured his lower abdomen, the hair gathered there, leading straight to an area you'd become very familiar with.

“Get it together, Y/N!” you grumbled at yourself as you turned the water off and wrapped a very, very large and fluffy white towel around yourself. Your hair dripped down your back and you quickly dried off, all the while trying to ignore the feeling of absolute dread that came every time you thought about going out in public with Henry.

Who were you even? A single, average person with student debt that swamped you, no real future and a job in a bookstore. Not exactly dream material or close to the models, he must’ve dated before.

You angrily brushed your moist hair, probably ripping a little more hair than intended out and grabbed your underwear and pajamas from the closet and grumbled to yourself, putting them on before slathering lotion on your legs and brushing your teeth.

At least the bed looked comfortable. You felt the weariness from the day fully settle in your body and felt more tired than ever before - the bed was calling your name, and you laid down in down pillows and fluffy blankets, sighing in content….

And felt wide awake.

Fucking damnit. Your head was going a thousand miles, the bed felt too big and the room too quiet. It was weird, normally you could sleep anywhere, but apparently, you needed a night without sleep before going to a press tour where there would be cameras and good looking people and Henry fucking Cavill. You groaned loudly and flung a pillow over your face, just wanting to fucking sleep.

An hour passed. Then two. Then thre. No sleep. You glanced at the clock on the table next to you and groaned. Fucking 2 in the morning. You turned over once again, annoyed with yourself and your overactive brain, trying to will it to be tired, sleepy, anything.

You’d tried it all. Meditation music, your favorite comfort show, audiobooks, and all had failed you. All that happened when you closed your eyes, was images of Henry’s body, his moans, his eyes… It was wildly annoying. And making you very hot - it made you regret not bringing your vibrator to at least try to alleviate some of the stress and pounding in your core.

Just as you decided to just do it with your fingers, a soft knock sounded on the door, and you shot up, sitting in bed, trying to look a little less disheveled.

You cleared your throat.

“Yes?” Henry’s head poked inside, a soft and charming smile resting on his face.

“Can’t sleep?” He asked. You shook your head. “I think it's because it’s quiet. I’m used to ity noises at all times, it feels kind of eerie out here.” You said, shrugging slightly. He stepped into the room fully, and god dammit if he wasn’t wearing gray sweatpants and nothing else. He was carrying two steaming cups in each hand. “I brought you tea. It usually calms me down.” You scooted over a little, and he understood the silent invite, sitting on the bed and handing you the cup. It smelled a little like mint, and you smiled - he remembered the offhand comment you made about the tea, your mom used to make you when you were sad.

“Thank you.” You said, breaking the silence and took a sip. “Why are you up?” you asked gently.

He looked around the room, smiling slightly when he spotted the used copy of Sherlock Holmes on the nightstand.

“Couldn’t sleep either. I guess I’m a slight insomniac.” He said with a chuckle and leaned back in the bed, his abs tightening a little. His arms tensed as he took a sip of the tea, and you almost reached out to touch them. He glanced at your pajamas, sending a shiver down your spine. At least it was the shorts and top version, not the Spongebob one you got as a prank from your friend a few years back.

“Yeah.” you simply said, leaning back as well and sipping on your tea.

Your cup was empty and a conversation full of soft, hushed voices had flowed effortless in between you both. You learned more about Henry that intrigued you, mostly how big of a nerd he was, but surprisingly, small tidbits you didn’t think you’d ever know about him. He slept on his left side, he hated ice tea, he loved a bubble bath with lavender soap and his favorite quote was from Little Women: I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning to sail my ship. He believed in miracles in all shapes and sizes.

You hadn't noticed that you’d slipped further and further down and under the covers and barely noticed that you’d subconsciously had moved closer to Henry during your whispered conversation.

You didn’t notice when you fell asleep. You definitely didn’t notice curling up into his side, sighing happily and draping your arm around his waist. And you didn’t notice the soft smile and even softer forehead kiss Henry gave you before he closed his eyes and fell asleep next to you.

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#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x female reader #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill x you #henry cavill fiction

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satorisa · 3 years

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Falling: Chapter 1 - In which the Hug is Finally Acknowledged

Rating: T

Summary: "I wanna forget all this burden in my past."

Alternate Reading: AO3

Lift the Veil? I don’t know her.

D.N.Angel ending? I don’t know her.

But that hug? Lives, rent free in my mind, man.

Warning: Spoilers for the DNAngel ending abound.

After Dark disappeared, the hours continued to flow as if the incident had never occurred. Satoshi brought Risa home that evening before he visited the Niwa household to brainstorm a story for Commissioner Hiwatari’s disappearance. Daisuke slept next to him that night and, while comforted by his friend’s rhythmic breathing and familiar warmth, Satoshi kept his tired eyes on the window, watching as the evening skies brightened to a morning blue.

Commissioner Hiwatari was declared missing the next day, and Inspector Saehara decided to take Satoshi in for the time being. He moved into the Saehara household that same evening, everything he owned packed in a duffel bag weighing on his shoulder, and Takeshi showed him around the house.

Satoshi met Mama Saehara through a video call that same evening. She worked as a fashion designer, and her job had flung her off to Paris this time. He quite liked her.

After they hung up, he had a warm dinner with Takeshi and Inspector Saehara. It was leftovers from last night, but he enjoyed the food nonetheless.

That night, Satoshi slept next to Takeshi, who snored in his ear while either kicking him or rolling on him. Satoshi kept his tired eyes on the window, watching as the evening skies brightened to a morning blue.

He went shopping with the Saeharas the next day. They bought a bunk bed, a desk, and whatever else they thought that Satoshi would need. After that, the days fell back into their familiar rhythm as if the incident had never occurred.

Satoshi slept in the top bed for privacy. Takeshi took the bottom bed since he didn’t quite care. Their desks sat side by side in front of the window: Takeshi’s impeccably spotless and Satoshi’s covered in manila folders and schoolwork.

Everyday, Satoshi woke up, went to school, and attended the art club that Daisuke finally convinced him to join. On some evenings, Inspector Saehara would ask him for help on a case, and they always headed home after work with fried chicken for dinner. For the most part though, Satoshi spent his time after school with Daisuke and Takeshi.

Then Riku moved away.

Risa began to hang out with Daisuke and Takeshi just as much as she hung out with Ritsuko and the other girls, but she still maintained the same distance she had with Satoshi prior to the incident. She’d greet him, cordial and courteous, and she’d smile and laugh with the boys, just like him, but that was the extent of their relationship: friends of friends.

And that was how Satoshi’s second year in middle school came to an end.

…

The last of the art club members finally left. They were a group of giggling girls who clearly only joined to get closer to Satoshi but, after realizing that he wouldn’t pay any attention to them yet again, they decided to call it a day.

Satoshi sighed in relief when the door closed behind them and ran his hand through his hair. Daisuke, president of the art club, laughed at the strands that were sticking up.

“How long are you going to let them stay here?” Satoshi asked, watching the group walk and giggle down below.

“They’ll get tired eventually.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Just wait. They’ll eventually realize how boring you are and set their eyes on someone else.”

Satoshi shot Daisuke a look. He laughed before slipping off his stool.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

“My painting.”

Daisuke, eyes shining with curiosity, scurried over to Satoshi’s canvas. His jaw slacked.

Before him was the familiar visage of Dark outlined in pencil. The sharp angle of his eyes, his chiseled features, his charismatic smile, and his dark hair flowing around him: everything was detailed to utmost perfection.

“Oh my god.”

“How is it?”

“It looks just like him.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

Daisuke nodded, awestruck, but that eventually gave way to a darker expression on his face. “…why are you doing this, though?”

Satoshi shrugged. “I don’t know. Still life practice got boring, so I decided to try doing something different.”

“You could have done something else besides starting on a portrait of Dark.”

“I know, but this is what I ended up making.”

“…are you okay?”

“That’s a rhetorical question.”

Daisuke sighed. “It’s just—we’re worried about you, Satoshi. We don’t want you to hurt yourself, you know? If you’re not ready to face it, you don’t have to.”

“What? Would a portrait of my father have been better?”

“No, Satoshi, I—”

“Sorry,” Satoshi said before getting off his stool. He grabbed his bag and made his way to the door. “I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.” At the entrance, he turned around to face Daisuke. “But when the hell am I going to ever be ready?”

…

The sun began to set, casting its golden hue on the busts and wooden stands by the wall. Since Inspector Saehara didn’t need his help that evening, Satoshi stayed after the club meeting to work on his painting. A palette full of varying hues of purple floated gracefully in his left hand while a worn brush sat precariously in his right, waiting to lay down another thoughtful stroke.

The door opened.

“Hello, Hiwatari-kun!”

He tore his eyes away from the canvas to see Risa standing there. She no longer had her customary pink ribbon tying her hair up; her dark locks cascaded down just like Riku’s. If she trimmed some off, she’d be the spitting image of her sister.

Perhaps that was why she changed her hairstyle.

“Are you heading home soon?”

He glanced at his watch: 6:04 PM.

“Maybe.” Satoshi noted the bag slung over her shoulder. “I’m assuming you’re on your way back?”

“Yeah.” She frowned. “Saehara-kun kept us all late today because our monthly issue is coming out. What a workaholic.”

Satoshi smirked. “Like father, like son.”

“His dad’s just like that?”

“Absolutely. His mom’s the same way, too, so it probably runs in the family.”

Risa giggled. The door opened again, and it was the man of the hour himself. He pouted.

“I’m not as bad as my parents.”

“Sure,” Satoshi sarcastically drawled.

Takeshi just shook his head. “Whatever, bro. You headin’ back soon?”

“Maybe. Don’t wait for me if you need to head out.”

“Nah. I kinda want to hit up the arcade for a bit before we go grocery shopping.”

“Can we drop by the bookstore, too? I need to grab a couple of things.”

“Yeah. I think I need some stuff from there, too.” Takeshi then turned to Risa. “You wanna stick around with us, then? No hard feelings if you need to jet, though.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll pass. I don’t want to stay out too late and worry my parents.” She waved with a smile. “I’ll see you two tomorrow then. Bye!”

Risa skipped out of the room while Takeshi walked over to examine Satoshi’s painting. He whistled.

“Yanno, you’re a little too talented for someone who doesn’t like painting.”

“Shut up. You know how I feel about it.”

“And yet you joined the art club.”

“I have to start somewhere with that positive reassociation and all.”

“And how’s that goin’ for ya?”

“Terrible. I’m hating every second of it.”

“Well, uh, nobody asked you to make a painting of that Dark Mousy fellow, yanno?”

“Couldn’t help it. His handsome face kept bothering me.”

…

Mama Saehara popped up on his phone screen with the Parisian skyline behind her.

“Good evening, Satoshi.”

“Good morning, Saehara-san.”

“No need to be so formal with me! Please, call me Mama.”

“I’d rather not.”

She laughed. “Alrighty, hun. How’re you doing?”

“I’m alright.”

“And the therapy? Have you decided to go?”

“No. I don’t think I can.”

“That’s alright. You’re doing alright. No need to push yourself if you’re not ready.” She sighed. “I just need this project to finish and then I’ll take the first flight I can back to Japan. Just wait for me, okay?”

“No need to rush. Take all the time you need.”

“Oh honey, I appreciate the thought, but I don’t know if I trust those buffoons to take care of you. Speaking of them, how are they treating you?”

“They’re very nice. I like living here, Saehara-san. Thank you for taking me in.”

“I’m glad, Satoshi. And you’re very welcome! It’s the least we could do, truly.”

Her phone rang. Mama Saehara answered before launching into a furious tirade of French. After she hung up, she sighed and began to massage her temples.

“Sorry to cut this call short, but there’s an emergency. I’ll call again as soon as I can. Toodles!”

“Bye. Have a nice day.”

Satoshi saw himself reflected on his phone screen, and he took out his earbuds before leaving the room. He went downstairs to see Inspector Saehara at the table, can of beer open in front of him, while Takeshi began plating the food.

“How’s Ma?” Takeshi asked.

“Alright. Busy,” Satoshi answered. He grabbed some plates and bowls from the cabinets.

“Sound about right,” Takeshi said. “And you?”

“Hm?”

“How’re you?”

“Alright. Tired.”

Takeshi smirked. “Who isn’t?”

He patted Satoshi’s back before putting the plates full of table and hounding his dad about drinking: just another meal at the Saehara household.

Satoshi smiled as he began to set the table.

…

After the club meeting, Satoshi stayed behind to work on his painting, unrestrained by a request from Inspector Saehara. He mindlessly toiled away until the door opened.

“Hi, Hiwatari-kun!”

Risa’s voice broke his focus. Golden hour had passed and the blue hour settled in, dying the room a muted blue. Even Risa, despite her chipper demeanor, seamlessly blended in with the mood.

“Hey, Harada. Did the newspaper club meeting just finish?”

“Nope. It ended a while ago, but I stayed back to wrap something up.”

“So Takeshi’s already gone?”

“Yeah. I think he went to the arcade with a couple of our club members for some bonding time.”

“Ah.”

Risa swayed her head. “Are you heading home soon?”

“Yeah. Let me tidy up here, and I’ll leave with you.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

Satoshi covered his painting with a tarp before leaving the room to clean his brushes and palette. He returned to see Risa on a stool, watching something on her phone. She laughed until she noticed he had returned, and she paused her video before offering a weak wave and smile.

Satoshi grabbed his bag. “You ready to head out?”

“Yup!”

She hopped off the stool. Satoshi closed the door behind them before they walked to the faculty office. He bowed before entering, leaving the keys to the art room with the frazzled student-teacher, and bowed after leaving. Risa trailed behind him uncharacteristically calm and quiet the whole time.

When they got to the shoe lockers, Risa finally broke her silence.

“Hiwatari-kun,” she began as he took off his slippers, “did you know him?”

“Know who?”

“The person I was waiting for that day at the lamppost.”

“It took you this long to ask me about that?”

Risa giggled. “Sorry. I couldn’t find a good time to bring it up.”

“Really? I thought you’d do it by screaming at me about hugging you and overstepping boundaries.”

Risa giggled again. Satoshi raised his eyebrow as he slipped on his shoes. “I was thinking about it, but I thought it’d be too rude to. After all, you appeared when I needed someone the most. Thank you for that.”

“I had a snarky reply to that but, since you’re being genuine, I’ll keep it to myself.”

They reconvened at the entrance. Risa’s smile looked more genuine that the one she had earlier.

Good.

“So, why bring it up now?” Satoshi asked as they began walking out.

“I tried to forget about it. Why should I stay hung up over someone I don’t remember? But, well, long story short, I couldn’t. I want to know who he was.”

They stopped at an intersection. Cars rushed by while commuters joined them, preoccupied with their own lives. Satoshi focused on the red light of the crosswalk, trying not to look at Risa’s expression.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Of course I do! Why else would I be asking you about him?”

“And what if I tell you that it might be overwhelming?”

“So? I’d still want to know!”

“Even if it’ll make you cry?”

“Of course! I don’t want to just forget about him!”

Satoshi sighed. The light at the crosswalk turned green, and they began to move. Risa’s head bobbed with each step, and Satoshi focused on the sidewalk to avoid looking at her.

“Harada, I’d rather not see you cry,” he said. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Okay then. I’ll try not to cry.”

“You? Who displays your emotions for the whole world to see? Forget it.”

Risa grabbed his arm, and he turned around. She forced him to look at her. He saw the determination in her eyes, burning just as much as it did when she was chasing Dark mere months ago.

“Hiwatari-kun, please.”

How could he say no to her?

“Alright. Fine. Just give me some time, okay?”

He brushed off her arm, frustrated by her stubbornness. But he saw the softness in her expression when he yielded, and he etched it in his memory.

#DNAngel #satorisa #satoshi hiwatari #risa harada #takeshi saehara #daisuke niwa #dn angel #d.n.angel #My writing #my fanfiction #falling #this was a long time coming but i can't believe it took the end of the series for me to finally write it

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years

Text

Subterfuge

Part 8/finale in Getaway Series

Warnings: nonconsensual sex (vaginal ntercourse, violence), angst, general assholery.

This is dark!(nomad)Steve and explicit. 18+ only. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. I mean it, I’m not gonna tell you again.

Summary: The reader makes her move.

Note: Alright, so this is the final part of this series and I’m shocked that I’ve finished it bc I was struggling boo. But here ya go. I hope you all are ready and I dunno if you’ll like it, but this is the end.

Anyways, let me know what you think as always with a reblog and/or some feedback. Love ya <3

...

You watched your mother as she set the casserole dish in the middle of the table. She hadn’t said much to you since your arrival. She avoided it as she distracted herself with the family dinner. Your sister sat across from you, she meant to say something but had yet to find the gull.

Your father was the only who was unfazed by your presence. Never the talkative type, he at least looked away from his book for more than two seconds to acknowledge you. He greeted you with a hug and asked after your day.

The tension of thoughts unspoken kept you silent too. You waited at the table and resisted the habitual urge to take your phone out. That would only be a reminder. Of how terribly everything could go. Your last hope were the texts you quickly erased upon reading. The emails deleted within minutes of receiving them.

Tony Stark had a plan and it all hinged on you. And Steve. Agents were in place to descend on your apartment the moment you sent the code word but their target had been absent for almost five days. Just like his presence, it made you anxious. He had been away for longer before. You should be relieved to be free of him, but you knew it was only temporary.

Your mother served everyone before she sat. You twirled your fork but even the savoury aroma of her family recipe couldn’t rile your appetite. You may not know when Steve would show up next, but you knew the end was imminent. All you had to do was send the word. One word and he was done.

“So, honey,” Your mother’s voice was hesitant. “How have you been?”

“Working,” You replied. “You know, the same old.”

The sound of cutlery against the plates filled the silence that followed.

“And how’s Nick?” Gia asked suddenly. You looked up to her grin and narrowed your eyes.

“I wouldn’t know,” You said.

“Gia,” Your mom warned.

“Oh come on, the last time we saw her, her ex was tryna fight her new boytoy.” Gia trilled. “Our family can be dramatic but that was--”

“He’s not--Nick is just...Nick.” You interjected. “Jesus, I came here to be with all of you and you’re treating me like some...pariah. Should I have worn a scarlet letter for our dinner?”

“We’re worried,” Your mother intoned. “We don’t know this Nick very well and after what happened with Ethan--”

“Ethan hates me. He has every right to.” You snarled. “What do you want me to say? He was right, I’m a slut.”

“Language,” Your mother reproached.

“I’m an adult! I’ll use whatever language suited to the situation.” You dropped your fork and crossed your arms. “Why aren’t you saying anything to Gia as she dates a man nearly two decades older than her, hmm?”

“We love you, we just want to make sure you’re okay,” Your mother protested.

“Then leave her alone,” Your father spoke up as he swallowed a mouthful of casserole. “Pete’s sake, she’s told you a dozen times. Let her make her own mistakes. Judgin’ her’s not gonna do her any favours.”

You blinked and looked to your dad as he leaned back in his chair.

“This Nick boy causes any trouble, I’ll deal with him myself.” He shook his head. “Just like I dealt with Ethan.”

“What?” You lifted a brow. “What does that mean?”

“I had a talk with him after the barbecue. Told him to leave you alone. He’s angry. Hurt. But I told him it’s no sense hounding you and making you both more miserable than you already are.” He sighed. “It will pass. All of it.” He looked to your mother pointedly. “So let it pass and be nice.”

You mother sniffed and stared at the table. Gia glared at you over her plate and you tapped your fingers along the wood. You nodded and slowly stood.

“I’m not hungry.” You said. “Besides, I didn’t come here to eat. I came here to spend time with you. I thought, stupidly, that we could be friendly.” You stepped out from between the chair and table. “I love you. All of you. I just think I need some time.”

“Honey,” Your mother stood, “Please--”

“I’ve got work tomorrow,” You neared her and forced your arms around her. “I’ll see you.”

You let go of her and patted your sister’s arm as she sulked in her chair. Your father stood and hugged you in turn. He clung to you a moment before he held you at arm’s length. His wrinkles deepened as he considered you.

“Take care of yourself, kiddo,” He said.

“I’ll try, dad,” You slowly parted from him and his hand fell from your shoulder. “Bye.”

You grabbed your coat and jacket at the door and looked back into the dining room. Your dad watched as you opened the door and disappeared out onto the street. Well, there wasn’t as much at stake as you thought.

‘Dear Mom, Dad, Gia, or whoever finds this letter,

If I'm missing or dead, I want this to be a record of why. If this man gets the best of me, I want there to be a chance that someone might get him.’

Your hand hovered over the paper as you thought. The small book light lit your words as you sat in the dark. The mattress was lumpy, its time on the floor had worsened its springs. You flicked your pen against your lip and bit the cap. Slowly, you pressed the ballpoint to the paper again.

‘It happened up north, on vacation with my friends, Kaya, Camile, Milani, and Corette, as well as my sister, Gia. They do not know what happened but they can confirm that they left me alone for several hours to visit the beach. During which I was accosted and assaulted by the fugitive known as Steve Rogers. He was bleeding and left me bleeding in turn.

I returned at the end of the week to the apartment I shared with my boyfriend, Ethan. For a few weeks, my life was the same as it was. But then he appeared again, broke into my apartment, and assaulted both me and Ethan. He made Ethan watch as he raped me and this led to the end of that relationship.

Thereafter, living on my own and without witness, I was visited almost weekly by Steve Rogers. He introduced himself to those I knew as Nick and coerced me into hiding his identity. If you capture him, you will find footage of at least one of his assaults on his phone. You will also find that he once more assaulted Ethan at one of my family’s events.

You will also note my correspondence with Stark Industries. They can provide you with a full transcript as I have erased all evidence on my end to keep myself safe. If they have failed to aid me in capturing the fugitive, then this letter will be of use to you. I only hope that he is caught before he can do this to someone else.

In the event that this letter is read, I want my family to know that I love them. I am sorry I didn’t tell them the truth but it was for their own safety.’

You leaned back against the pillow and re-read the letter. You shivered and folded it up carefully. Your last testament. All that would remain of you should this all go to shit. You got up and tucked folded the paper up so that it fit behind the upholstery of your jewelry box. When Steve arrived, you’d text your mother your hiding spot. You only prayed Steve didn’t discover it first.

It was your day off. You didn’t sleep and so you showered and dressed early. Unsure of when the bell would toll, you determined to make what could be your last day to yourself entirely self-indulgent.

You spent an hour in the bookstore. It was ages since you visited the familiar aisles, browsed old titles and new. You still hadn’t read the last haul of books you’d taken home with you. You weren’t sure you ever would but the smell of paperback comforted you. It reminded you of a time before; the alphabetized spines were the only order in your chaotic life.

You paid for a collection of Poe’s stories and made your way to the cafe next door. Many of the bookstore’s patrons ended up here. It was bustling that day but many took their coffee to go. You ordered a tea and sat in the corner, a round-backed armchair with another beside it. Empty.

It was easy to feel lonely these days. With a secret you couldn’t share with anyone; a torment you faced on your own. You left your tea to cool on the small table between the chairs and opened the book. Many of these tales you’d read before but each time you read them, they felt new again, though the sense of horror was nothing compared to that you faced outside the pages.

“You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded –with what caution –with what foresight –with what dissimulation I went to work!”

You began to slump in your chair as you read the descent into madness, the almost inhuman insanity did not seem so fantastical anymore. Perhaps, Poe’s horror wasn’t fictional, but a reflection of the depths of humanity. Of how low one could sink when their soul is corrupted.

A shadow moved beside you and a cup was placed next to yours. The book fell closed around your finger as you let it rest in your lap. You stared over at your villain. Steve sat down heavily and smirked over at you.

“Is this what you do with your free time?” He asked as he ran his hands along his thighs, smoothing the wrinkles from the worn denim.

You pulled your finger from the pages without marking your place and set the small volume behind your cup. You took your tea and sipped as you looked around the cafe. “It’s what I’m doing today.”

“It’s been a while,” He remarked as he picked up his own cup and cradled it just above his lap. “Do you think this will save you?”

You turned and squinted at him. You drank again. The tea was lukewarm and acidic. “Save me?”

“All these people,” He glanced around. “Do you think that will stop me?”

“I know it won’t,” You replied and took another gulp before setting aside the dregs to cool entirely. “So what are you waiting for?”

He laughed and raised his mug to his lips. He drank the dark coffee and placed his mug next to yours. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“And neither do you,” You countered.

“I don’t,” He said as he leaned over the arm of his chair. “And let me assure you, I’ve dealt with people far more formidable than you, girl.”

You nodded. This was what he did. He enjoyed it; taunting you. “I’m sure you have.” You examined the lines of your palm. You itched to grab your phone but could not make it so obvious. “Where have you been, anyway?”

“Doing my valiant duty. Saving the people who need saving.” He said smugly. “You know, the ones I was outlawed from helping. This world seems to have forgotten that without me, they’d be in ruins.”

“Is that how you make it okay in your head?” You looked at him. “Hmm? This?”

“This is what I’m owed. You. A single life for the millions I’ve saved.” He reached over and touched your arm, his fingers danced along your shoulder. “I’m fucking hard already.” He pulled away and pushed himself to his feet. “Meet me in the mens’.”

He turned and strutted away as you watched him. His broad shoulders disappeared down the narrow hallway that led to the facilities. You sighed and grabbed the book of horror stories from the table.

You stared at the cover, the silhouette of a raven. A bad omen; a harbinger of warfare, of death. You grabbed your purse and replaced the book on the table. You didn’t need horror stories; you were living one of your own.

The walk along the hallway seemed longer than six steps. The clinking and steaming of the cafe kitchen disguised your footsteps. You passed the ladies’ and stopped in front of the mens’. You didn’t knock but stepped inside with resignation.

Was this the climax of your story? How then should the denouement bring you lower?

Steve reached over your head and pushed the door closed as you entered. His hand slipped down and turned the lock with a loud click. He grabbed your arm and yanked you away from the door as he turned you to face the small sink. You dropped your purse as you gripped the porcelain.

You looked in the mirror at yourself as he let go and hastily undid his fly. “Come on,” He tugged your shirt up and grabbed the waist of your jeans.

You flicked open your fly as he shoved your pants past your ass. The heat of his body surrounded you. You looked up. Your eyes weren’t yours. They were dark and haunted. Your features were marred by shadows. You felt hollow as his hand brushed against you and he pushed your shoulders forward.

You closed your eyes as he entered you. It hurt. You were dry and he was impatient. It took him a few thrusts to reach his limit. His hand went to the back of your neck as you shuddered and grasped the sides of the sink. He crushed your hips against the porcelain as his hushed grunts floated above you.

“Fuck,” He swore as he slipped his hand around your front. He felt between your folds and rubbed your clit. “I should’ve come yesterday.”

You bit your lip as you hung your head forward. You kept your eyes shut as each thrust came harder than the last. The cold porcelain grew slick beneath your palms. You slid forward, your face closer to the mirror. His hand crept around your neck and your back arched as his fingers tightened at your throat.

Your breath whisked from you as the sounds of the cafe crept in beneath the door. You felt yourself slicken around his cock. Your body worked against you. His flesh slapped loudly against your ass. You couldn’t stifle the heat as it flowed through you.

You gasped as he sped up. Your hands slipped as his left your neck. He caught your arms and held them back as he fucked you.

“Open your eyes.” He growled. You shook your head and he jolted into you painfully and stopped. “I said open your eyes, girl.”

Your jaw set and you slowly opened your eyes. His blue eyes were cavernous as they stared back at you in the mirror. He began to move again. Your body rebelled and continued its ascent. You breathed through your nose, trying to muffle your pleasure as he ripped it from your flesh. You squeaked and trembled as you came. He watched, pleased at your surrender.

He pulled you away from the sink. He dropped your arms and wrapped his around your middle as he rutted into you. You reached back to touch his thighs, pleading wordlessly for him to slow down as each thrust sent a ripple through you.

He jerked against you and spasmed as he threw his head back. He hissed as he came and rocked his hips slowly as he spilled inside you. You were weak as he released you and you stumbled forward as he pulled out.

He chuckled as you caught yourself on the sink and his cum dripped down onto your panties and jeans. He edged you out of his way as he grabbed a paper towel and turned the faucet. You took some toilet paper and turned away from him as he cleaned himself up. You tried to do the same but still felt dirty when you were done.

“I’ll be out there,” He said as he zipped his fly up. “There’s an alarm on the fire escape so let’s not play games.”

“Alright,” You grumbled if only to get him to leave.

The locked clicked and the door opened and closed. You wiped off your panties and jeans as best as you could and pulled them up. You locked the door and grabbed your purse off the tile. You dug around and found your phone buried in the mess.

You leaned against the wall as you typed in the single word. You stared at it as your thumb hovered over ‘send’. Once it went through, you had less than an hour before agents descended on your apartment. You sent the second, the one for your mother and shoved your phone away.

However this ended, Steve would no longer be your personal scourge.

The car ride was silent. It always was with him. It was better that way. The only words he had for you were cruel. You kept your eyes forward and watched the road through the windshield. Play it cool. This was the hardest part. The anxiety. The impatience. For your doom or his.

Your building was a spectre against the grey sky. A storm was moving in. You got out and he followed. The usual smack on your ass. You pulled out your keys as he pushed himself against you. He was hard again.

“We’ll have some fun on your day off,” He teased as you unlocked the door. “Better than your books.”

You stayed quiet. He didn’t expect an answer. He knew you wouldn’t. This routine had become too familiar. Too rehearsed. Too easy.

You led him up the stairs. With each, your heart beat just a little quicker. The keys jingled in your hand and you realized your were shaking. You stopped in front of your door to gather yourself and find the right key on the ring. He leaned against the wall and ran a finger down your side.

“You’re...excited,” He mused. “I can hear your heart racing.”

You looked over at him, the key poised just before the lock. “You can?”

“Yeah. I hear a lot, you know? Your heart, the blood flowing through your veins, your breath before it rises,” He smirked and you slid the key into the bolt and turned. “Serum gave me a lot more than muscles, didn’t it?”

He flicked your chin playfully and drew away. You held back your retort and stepped inside. Your apartment was as you left it, not a single speck of dust missing. You blinked as you entered the small living room. A furtive glance to the windows.

Did they get your message? Were they really coming?

Steve walked around the room as he stretched his arms above him. You watched him as he strolled around the small space. He neared the window and looked out, his figure a wraith against the grim sky. He twisted the plastic rod and the blinds closed.

He turned back to you and his hands went to his hips. That classic stance you’d seen on posters. Captain America. The saviour of the world. He laughed.

“You’re heart is still going,” He slowly inched across the room. “Faster now. Fuck, you’re gonna have a fit, girl.”

You swallowed, your mouth dry as you gripped your purse. You looked down and saw your phone through the open zipper. You couldn’t just pull it out and check. You hadn’t felt a vibration.

He neared, his shoes decisive against the hardwood. He was like a hawk circling. You looked up and backed away as he came closer.

“You really think Tony Stark would believe some small town girl?” Steve grinned and your chest clenched. “Hmm? You think you’re some spy with your code words and your covert messages? Your plan to have them storm your pathetic apartment?”

Your lips parted in shock as if you’d been slapped. No… Your flesh turned to stone as you met the wall and pressed yourself to it.

“I’ve faced real spies. Let me tell you, Hydra was a lot more intimidating but I tossed them on their asses. But you, you think you can bring me down?” He chuckled as his hand came up to grip your chin. “What do you think I could do to you?”

Tears rose along your lower lids and your lip trembled. You should’ve known. It was too easy. Another trick. A bug on your phone; your computer, too. He knew it all and you were too desperate to think. Stupid.

“Think of what I’ve already done,” He leaned in so that his nose was almost touching yours. “Of what I’m going to do now.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “It’s over, girl. Just like you wanted it.”

He pulled away, his hands balled as he glared down at you. His chest rose and fell as his jaw ticked. You wiped away the tears before they could fall and sniffed. You stood straight as you looked back at him defiantly.

“Fine,” You declared. “Then end it.”

You were stunned as his fist met your jaw. Your stumbled back and your head hit the wall. You slid down slowly as your legs turned to jelly and the room faded slowly before your eyes. You gripped your pounding skull as the strength drained from you. You looked up at Steve as he loomed over you and your vision swam with stars.

“You really thought you could get away from me?” He knelt as your eyes began to roll back, his voice floated in your ears and into the void.

When you awoke, the world was moving. When you awoke, you were shocked. Were you really alive or was this the purgatory you’d always denied? Your head lolled and you stared at the driver of the car. No, you were still painfully alive.

Steve’s features were limned in sunlight. It was either a new day or a new place. His blue eyes bore into the winding highway ahead. Your jaw ached terribly and your head felt like it was full of cement. You babbled weakly.

Your hands were tied together. Your ankles too. The seat belt was buckled around you and kept you from sliding down the seat.

“I really thought I might’ve killed you,” He said. “I hit you a bit harder than I meant to.”

You grumbled. No words would come.

“That’d be too easy. I’ve been too easy on you and you didn’t appreciate it at all. I let you stay in your shit hole apartment, let you see your family, let you live your life when it’s not your life. It’s mine.” The steering wheel groaned as he gripped it tighter. “You’re mine.”

You mumbled and felt the sting of tears as the world closed in on you.

“It’s all over now, girl,” Your eyes closed again. “You don’t even know how good you had it.”

His words were scribbled across your dreams as you sank back into unconsciousness. You dozed and woke at intervals. He allowed you a drink of water from a bottle and a piss on the side of the road. You barely recalled the stops as your world was clouded in shock and pain.

You were shaken awake for the last time. Your door was open and Steve felt along your jaw roughly.

“It’s not broken.” He stated and unbuckled the seat belt. “See, another thing to be thankful for.”

“Steve,” You rasped. “Please…”

“Please, shut up,” He spat and pulled you out of the car. “Come on, hop, bunny.”

He tugged you forward and you were forced to hop on your bound feet. There was a farmhouse just ahead; long-abandoned and slanted. The fields were overgrown with weeds. This was where he’d leave you.

“Just get it over with,” Your words were clumsy through your swollen jaw.

He didn’t reply and continued to drag you towards the barn. He slid the door open enough to angle you through. He led you to the corner where a pile of rotted boards rested. He let go of you and you wobbled on your feet as he began to move the rubble.

Beneath was a small hatch. This was tornado country. These vaults were built decades ago to keep families safe when the sirens sounded. Except the hatch was more than the usual wooden door; it was metal, shiny and new, a bolt on its face.

He took a key out and unlocked the hatch. He turned and bent to pick you up. He slung you over his shoulder and your head spun. He slowly carried you down the steps. He put you back on your feet and you wavered.

The light from above lit the shadows. There were shelves along the far wall, illegible packets and cans lined the middle shelf. A bed sat a foot from the shelves against the wall; a metal frame with a thin mattress. A toilet was attached to the wall along with a small sink. A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling.

Steve untied your hands and your feet. He stood and shoved you towards the middle of the room. You caught yourself on the bed frame and turned back.

“Welcome home,” His smile was sinister in the dim.

“No,” You gasped and neared him. He pushed you back easily and you fell on your ass. “Please, don’t do this. Just kill me, please.”

“Kill you? I never wanted that,” He scoffed and turned to set his foot on the bottom step. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back to check on you. Now and then.”

He started to climb the steps and you got up unsteadily. As he reached the top, you grabbed onto the stairs and tried to come up after him.

“I’ll throw you back down,” He warned as he pulled on the steps and slowly raised them. You clung to them as he tried to wriggle them away from you. “You’ll be worse off if I break something.”

“Steve, you can’t--” Slivers embedded in your skin as he yanked the steps free from you and raised them up after him.

“Now, now, girl,” He knelt and looked through the hatch at you. “Is there anything I can’t do?” He slowly lifted the door as he spoke. “Don’t you worry, I’ll keep an eye on the family for you.” He taunted as he slowly closed the door, the light draining away inch by inch. “Be good and I’ll let you know.”

He dropped the door entirely and it clanged shut. The lock turned and you were left in darkness. Tears rolled down your eyes and light sparked in your blurred vision. The light bulb crackled to life above you, a small beacon in the pit. You could hear him moving the boards back onto the hatch.

You turned blindly and fell onto the bed. You were poked by the corner of a familiar shape. You sat up and grabbed the book from atop the thin blanket. The silhouette of the raven shone beneath the wire. The book fell open as your sight came clearer through the tears. The world clearer through the dark. The scraping and steps above faded away.

“Then silence, and stillness, and night were the universe.”

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soranihimawari · 4 years

Text

West Coast kind of Love

Summary: There were certain things you know off the top of your head. One, the fact that popcorn and M&Ms should not be sold separately at the local movies is a crime; two, every other Monday of the month, the neighborhood film club would host dollar monster movies (where one of your neighbors in your apartment complex would frequently attend); and three, you might have to pinch yourself when he asks you to take a photo with you as a proof of “how things are going abroad” to his friend in Argentina...

Word count: 4.685K

Taglist: @m0nstergeneration20xx 📷 (google docs proof reader), @oitoorus, @tkags & her ⛅ (anon fam) , @oikawalovely [open still]

“Do what you love and the rest will follow”-proverb

--September XX--Thursday, 23:13 (11:23pm)

“Oh come on Yukihira,” you knocked on the closed bathroom door of your apartment.”You know I called dibs to the bathroom after we ditched those jerks at the dancehall.”

Every month you and your roommate took turns in choosing public places to go out for a night on the town. With midterms coming up for what would be the junior year of your undergrad studies, your roommate decided giving a double date a try. Unfortunately for her, those jerks were thinking of doing the deed way too early for either of your liking. You decide that spilling your peach Bellini on your friend’s outfit during the middle of the date was the perfect excuse to end the night early. More often than not, you mostly came along these dates with her as an enforcer. You two might be as different as night and day (yukihira studies medicine all hours of the day whereas your focus was the visual arts). Tonight was just one of those nights where you being there was beneficial.

“Ugh, fine,” she said opening the door revealing her freshly brushed grin. “I can’t believe you had the gall to ruin that outfit y/n.”

“Hey, whatever helps you throw it out like you did your ex then I was doing the Lord’s work for you, Yuks.” You rolled your eyes at her when she stuck out her tongue when you slithered into the ivory tiled washroom. This earned a laugh from the other member of your household.

“But because this was a bad date and I didn’t think things through this time again, that means I get to set you up on a blind date.” Her singsong voice reached your ears as you turned on the faucet to drown out her mocking tone. You paused for a brief moment while waiting for the make up remover serium to bubble up on your face before wiping it off effectively.

“With who?” you asked after you patted your skin dry post-makeup removal ritual complete. Your hair was undone from the hair elastic you pulled out of your inherited islander curls.

“I don’t know. Hmm...Maybe the guy in unit 23C? He’s awfully cute,” Yukihira mused as you leaned in her doorway. Her brows wiggled in delight when she noticed how you stared at your neighbor on move in day during your freshman move in day three years prior.

“Iwazumi? You can’t be serious,” you said. Your voice betrayed you because your eyes shined like the gods of furtune finally found their way to you.

“Do you want to or not? He’s focused, witty, determined; I have my physiology study group with him tomorrow. Why don’t you come with, best friend of mine?”

You really hated when she pulled the puppy eyes on you, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to refuse (not by a long shot).

“Ask him if he prefers coffee or tea.”

A few days later, you came home from your department’s masters class with your portfolio sling over your shoulder. Your hands were covered in literal ink stains from your latest mural macro-micro project.

“Hey, Yukihira! Have you seen where I kept my lacquer thinner?” You raise your voice slightly as you kick off your shoes by the entrance hallway. It was only then you realize there were a couple of other pairs of shoes that did not belong to either of you. That’s when you remembered your friend’s warning about her study group coming over. All color drained from your face when you rounded the corner to your living room area converted into a mini lecture hall. You clear your throat to announce your presence which went unnoticed (with the exception of your roommate). Without even looking at the board, you chose to mess with the med students’ practice case.

“And I’m telling you this is a bilateral cut to the optic nerve, Josefina.”

“The microabraisons on the left thoracic cavity allowed the victim to bleed out on the table due to the elevated use of blood thinners, ” your voice quiets the pre-med students and you smile in a nonchalant manner. You have read this problem with Yukihira so many times prior at the start of the semester that you were able to recall the prognosis off the top of you head. Being friends with a pre-med major does have its redeeming qualities although you were seen mostly honing your crafts in the art department and this was just the prime time of their study week.

“Oh! You’re back early,” Yukihira says in a warm tone. She stands at the end of the table in between you Her eyes glazed over as if to communicate that you were about to be formally introduced. You bite your tongue prior to allowing your roommate to clap her hands together as she went naming every member starting with the person on her left who was the aforementioned Josefina. When she had come full circle, her voice trailed off with a small apologetic smile.

“Aaaand this here is my roommate, y/n. To answer your question about the lacquer thinner, I put the bottle on your desk when it arrived last time,” Yukihira made sure to watch everyone’s response. She was more interested in seeing how the third member of her study group (the aforementioned neighbor in 23C) would react. His minuscule smirk was doubly noted, prompting you to fill the few seconds of silence with your own voice. After a brief trip down memory lane, spear headed by your best friend as they took a break from studying for a moment, Yukihira explained after years of being friends you learned about the medical cases for exams via osmosis. You were an unofficial member of the study group since the medical arts building was located near the visual arts department offices on campus. You chose to not let them be pushed back any further especially since their content exam was coming up later that month, so you bid them good luck.

“Don’t mind me,” your brass tone conveyed an even temper at the time. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to head to my room. You guys aren’t the only ones with an exam this week.” You raised your portfolio canister so they could see the poster sized dyed cylinder. Reams of paper filled with sketches made from ink and graphite poked through under the flourescent lights of the kitchen dining room table. The med students along with Yukihira waved and said it was lovely to meet your acquaintance.

With that you made a beeline route to your room, opened the door, and promptly shut the door. You dropped your portfolio canister next to your desk, turned up the volume of the lo-fi radio station playlist on your sound system, grabbed the nearest pillow and let out a muffled shriek to expel the remaining bits of embarrassment your friend threw you in. You were good at smaller group studies, but to be fair, given the fact that your friend was a social butterfly, you mostly seemed to rub off the “talented-artsy, yet focused,” type of woman. That night you cleaned up your outline for your stencil art piece of a fox and a hound for your take on minimalism class which had its peer critique at the end of the week.

You didn’t physically speak to Yukihira for the rest of the week. With both of you burning the midnight oil within the last few days before the exam, you noticed that the number of study group being held in your apartment had become the norm every other day (causing you focus more on a certain individual). Funny thing was he was also doing the same thing...

『from Yukihira: how many times do i have to apologize? You know I didn’t plan on having an emergency study session with iwazumi. He just showed up & wanted to chat. Besides the TA & professor chose to move up the exam date...』

『from y/n: you should of told me earlier before I came home. You know I forgive you... only if you buy me the latest ice cream along with the new Jun Ito novel. I’ll be out there in a minute till make some coffee for us.』

『from Yukihira: Mmkay & thanks. Coffee sounds good right about now anyways.』

--October XX-- Friday, 15:55 (3:55p.m.)

The weekend came through soon enough and on a Friday afternoon with no where to go, you were chilling at the comfort of your own living room. You were quick to thank the test gods for the exam being moved up once you had a proper conversation with Yukihira that morning. She mentioned she was going be out all day making sure she was able to finesse her study guide with her fellow medical study group. Since it was the end of the week, Josefina opted to have a free for all study day at the book store for those who wanted to go over last minute things according to the note yukihira left on your door that morning.

At the time of the day, you were expecting to be alone, curled up with your favorite cup of English Earl Grey Tea and a Lovecraft radio program you downloaded via the student Spotify network. Your phone vibrated and pinged with a notification from the bookstore where Yukihira placed the order for your horror novel to arrive sooner than the estimated timeframe. Because life finds it funny to pull another prank on your clown assery with your little cynical attitude, you were startled when the formal knocker was used.

“Shit!” you said when you clutched your heart as you placed your cup of tea down on the coffee table. As your put two fingers on your neck’s pulse point, you waited a few minutes for your heart rate to calm back down; you stood up and began to make your way down the hallway. Lo and behold, you were greeted by a casually dressed man who was clutching your new novel in his sunkissed hands.

It takes your brain a few synapses to register that it was Iwazumi who has been taking a liking to coming over for extra study hours with your roommate, but if anyone asked him to reply honestly, he wanted to know more about you. The human body has more than 240 bones, yet the more frequent his visits become, the more he felt himself become accustomed to befriending you both. There were instances where you joined them at the kitchen table glancing at their open notebooks and case studies; you often made tea or coffee depending on the hour of the day. On the days you had come home from the art department, Yukihira was quick to notice how Iwazumi’s usually tense face seemed to visibly relax when you came to prepare your favorite snack (m&ms and buttered popcorn). Your friend was quick to relay a text to his phone, which caused her study partner at the table to become more flustered than he already was.

Regardless of the various near misses over the next couple of weeks between you and Iwazumi (sometimes it was Yukihira’s fault other times, it was coincidental juxtopostional humour: it has happened twice on Iwazumi’s side when his friends back home noticed he was not at his usual place. [Yukihira called for a mini-study break] However, that didn’t stop you from asking him if he preferred sugar or honey for his tea & all hell broke loose (Hanamaki & Mattsun were cheering him on while Oikawa.exe has dropped the call).

All this back and forth for the past five weeks caused this moment to occur:

“I-Iwa-chan?” your voice went up several octaves before clearing your throat with a cough. “If you’re looking for Yukihira, she’s actually not here at the moment...”

“To the scientist there is the joy in pursuing truth which nearly counteracts the depressing revelations of truth.”

The audio from your radio program was keeping you company. The disembodied voice coming from the main sound system you helped set up when you first moved into the building with Yukihira quoted Lovecraft as the program continued to serve in the role of filling the silence between you and Iwazumi. The gods really did that, didn’t they? your thoughts were running away with you again, chasing a reality that would be yours--or so you think.

During that thought hurricane you conjured up, you decided to pause the train of thought for a few minutes. You released your hold on your front door knob as you pulled the door a little wider in order for you to lean against the frame of the front door. Your hair was pulled up in a messy bun (on your days off, you were typically clad in tapered mint green pants and a spare white button down blouse due to laundry day), but it was enough to see the usual semi-talkative and stoic demi-god of a neighbor wear such an embarrassed expression. You pretended to not hear the barely audible, “woah,” that escaped his mouth prior to him holding up the book to you.

“Did the mail carrier drop it off to your box again?” you ask taking the book in your hands. “Sorry about that. You can come in if you want.”

You were quick to notice that something caught your arm in an attempt to stop you from walking. When you chose to not try to pry yourself away from Iwazumi’s hold, he took it as a sign to bend himself to your ear and say the following in a powerfully low tone: “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t looking for her?”

“Yes,” you say in a timid manner, yet it was paired with a curt nod. You both had the tenacity to swat away any lingering negative thoughts.

Iwazumi took this moment to turn you around to face him by the arm he held you with. His smile disappeared when he let your arm go and instead moved his hand to hold yours with his opposite hand, he pulled the door shut behind him. You were probably too proud to admit this aloud, nonetheless, you liked the way Iwazumi’s firm grip felt in your hand; his were rough and calloused as much as yours were from years of honing your independent crafts. You gave him a kind smile before your neighbor decided to take advantage of the fact that the other person in your apartment wasn’t home; you squeezed his hand slightly and he let your hand go.

You placed the Jun Ito novel on the kitchen counter motioning for Iwazumi to meet you there. Your kettle was still warm, however you made a cheeky joke to your newly acquired friend. (Perhaps this was Yukihira’s plan, you think). You reached into the dishwasher and was about to pour him a cup of tea, yet you couldn’t help but make a small joke at his expense for holding your hand so intently.

“For the record, if you wanted to hold my hand, you could have done so earlier,” you mention stifling a laugh, pouring the steaming water into the mug. Iwazumi mumbled something about how he liked the way your hand fit, yet you chose to throw caution to the wind and quickly planted short kiss on his cheek when you extended the cup toward him after placing the tea strainer in it.

With one hand on yours and the other was wrapped around the ceramic mug,. Your kindness was always something Iwazumi found alluring. You might not have been in the same course of study as him or Yukinira, yet you were good finding the beauty in the mundane. A few of your pieces of work were hung around the apartment and from his line of sight, your dedication to your craft was something to be admired.With every sip he took a sip to deflect from the way his thoughts were heading into uncharted territories; OIkawa, Mattsun, and even Makki were the ones more verbose on love & conquest during the days of their you:

“You’re always over at your neighbors’ place, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teased.

“I wonder what his reason is,” Makki muses. “Mattsun thinks it’s a girl. Typical.”

Makki also noticed one of your sophomore symposium art pieces hanging behind the place where Iwazumi was sitting at the time of their weekly video call. Your avant-garde view of viewing the world was enough to set the sky amethyst hues. California does have it’s moments of striking beauty and somehow Iwazumi found it hard to keep to a straight face around his friends. His expression was usually hardened or bold, but today you sat across from him at the beginning of the call, reading up on the use of gold leaf detail work for your art restoration classes. Across the myriad of scattered medical books and various notes that were pertaining to another medical case were a tell that their friend was clearly not alone. You glance up at him quietly, a minute smile formed between you two; you write on a spare piece of paper the word, “friends” to which he nodded.

“Aww, is our little ace growing soft on us?” Oikawa’s whining was something you often heard Yukihira describe after nights like these.(She usually hung out in your room as you were placing the final touches of your latest art assignment. This month was dedicated to historic downtown with a twist of horror: modern mania & the ruiner of man. Right now, you didn’t mind the shared space of the dining room while Yukihira was out on a grocery run at the time the call was initiated.)

“Shut your mouth Shittykawa,” Iwazumi barks. His dark eyes hardened like stone and that was when Makki let out a wicked grin.

“I owe Mattsun 500 yen,” Makki chuckled.

“Holy shit,” Oikawa’s eyes bounced between his best friends and let out a low whistle. “if this woman is capable of such an amazing feat, ask her if she has a friend [for me].”

Iwazumi ended the call right then and there. He didn’t expect his heart to be beating so irratically when you walked room in your house attire for a moment to make yourself a cup of the same Earl Grey Tea. The hazy lights emitting from your room blended effortlessly with the flourescent ones in the kitchen; each beam clung to your body in such away Iwazumi was glad neither of his friends witnessed the moment he fell in love with California and all that came with it.

This afternoon was a different story as you liked the way Iwazumi allowed his natural blush to bubble to the surface of his cheeks and you could swear you saw a fraction of the high school volleyball ace shine through. The sunlight danced around the stainless steel details of the kitchen where you shared secrets, recipes, and drinks with your best friend. His free hand chose to move away from the counter finding its resting place under your chin. The cup of tea Iwazumi held earlier was placed next to the stove on the coaster by the sink.

You steady your breathing right before you felt Iwazumi’s breath on your cupid’s bow; his lips pressed against yours gingerly as though he felt his brain light up and catch a fire he needed to not run away from; everything he wanted to know about you was answered as soon as your hands cup his face. I think I like this, your conscience is egging you on to pursue his touch for a while longer. It was a silent acknowledgement of the other’s presence in the present moment.

“Hm,” you hear him hum in mutual amusement when you return his kiss. The pads of his fingers trace the highest points of your face teasingly. He wanted answers to the questions your lips asked. When you two separate for a moment, you realize you might have been too forward, but when you move your hands away from his face only to hug him in a loose embrace, you couldn’t help the next words from posing a question.

“Do you want to kiss me again?” your coquettish tone made Iwazumi’s answer very apparent as you suddenly took into account the last couple of weeks and the way both of you came to enjoy each other’s company during study group hours at either your place as the primary location or the cafe down the road from the apartment complex. (Iwazumi’s frequent visits weren’t for tutoring necessarily, about a majority of the time it was to see you as an added bonus).

Iwazumi did not have to be told twice; he enveloped you in his strong arms, he hoisted you up from under your knees and placed you a top the counter with gentle assertive force. Your legs wrapped around his fit waist as you gripped his biceps for leverage prior to letting the old ace prove his strength by placing you on top of the graphite counter like a doll.

“Comfortable?” Iwazumi’s expression was more seductive than profound.

“Very,” you reply as you unwind your legs from his body. “Where were we?”

Your hands wrapped around his neck before pulling him close to you again. A smug smile cut across both of your faces for a brief moment until your lips hovered over his for the second time. This time, you let him kiss you the way you knew he had been meaning to since he showed up at your door less than fifteen minutes prior book in hand. When Iwazumi kissed you at the current moment, the world crumbled and fell away; it was somehow comforting in a way that words would not compare to. His actions listened to the way you were setting the pace with the same tenacity as he showed you. The scent of his sandalwood conditioner mixed well with your ocean scented dry shampoo.

Your eyes were still closed when you felt your hands card through his ever-present spiky hair. His right hand rested below your ear, using the pad of his thumb and forefinger to caress your cheek and jawline again. You feel him smile against your own lips when you nipped the corner of his mouth playfully. You break apart long enough for your partner in the kitchen to began to sneakily undoing your top two buttons of your blouse to press his lips against your exposed skin. You let out a whimper in the heat of the moment the second his lips began to leave a trail of reverberating echoes in the simplest of ways securing his hold on your soul that very day.

“Beautiful girl,” Iwazumi murmurs as his eyes met yours when he was done having his fun. His voice was cautious, but when his arms began to hover over your own, you felt your heart rate speed up right as he told you this: “Tell me, what other sounds can you make for me?”

“Is that a challenge?” you retort, your hands disappearing under his hoodie to feel the fabric of his undershirt. Your hand stopped roaming atop of his chest; he was liking this. You could tell by the way he was taunting you with his smirk. “Because I was wondering the same thing. Do you want me to remove my hand?”

“No.”

Your hands could have been made of branding tools and Iwazumi wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. He chuckled at your question before you brought him down to your level and your lips met again. The sound he made upon impact was as though you broke him yet healed him at the same time; time was on your side for this one and you proved he wasn’t the only monster in the kitchen. There was a hunger there behind every kiss you let him have; you were smiling in the between long enough to feel his heart beat faster through the fabric of his undershirt.

Your hands automatically removed themselves from his shirt and were found holding on to the aglet of the drawstrings from the hoodie he was wearing. Iwazumi kissed your fingers before proceeding with posing a question to you.

“Just so we’re clear,” your voice was bold and daring. It was one of the many things he liked about you both in and out of campus grounds. The small details was what Iwazumi liked the most and the subtle tells of how you, Yukihira, and even the other members of the study group didn’t make him feel so alone like when he first arrived to California to study.

“Whatever this is between you and I, does it mean we’re...together?”

You make a sign in the air with your palms up and point between you and him. Iwazumi clears his throat as he taps his lips to tease you and that was when he saw it: a younger version of you covered in sidewalk chalk in your neighborhood (much the same as you saw reflections of the former ace/vice captain).

“If you’ll let me take you to the Monster Movie marathon on Monday,” he answered when he linked his right hand digits with your left and you capture his lips again on your own volition. Your ears perked up at this, you drop the string you played with and patted his chest with a light rapt.

“Eager to make me your girlfriend aren’t you?” You laugh and Iwazumi furrowed his brows, but you silence his worries in one swift and simple move: you kiss him with the intent of either being his salvation or his torment, either way Iwazumi was not complaining. The girl who loves to read about Lovecraftian monsters and the boy who was a monster chaser shared a love as unique as themselves: like a secret they each wanted to keep behind closed doors.

His only vice was the fact that his social call was coming to an end and every ounce of his well being was fighting to stay here with you. You back down for a moment only to showcase your best attempt at a flattering smile to match his own. Iwazumi would never let you know this at the time, but seeing that smile on your face made his list of top three things he found most precious in the world. This wasn’t a crush anymore was the proper conclusion you both concluded.

“Meet at your place at 7:30,” you suggest. Iwazumi released your hand from his to step back as you hopped down from the kitchen counter you made a seat of.

“I’ll see you then ‘Ms. Lovecraft’.” The nickname he bestowed upon you was one that made the butterflies come back in a flurry; this was the start of something special, but you didn’t know it at this point in time that the name will be used to describe your affinity for Iwazumi’s unyielding devotion to you (the seeds were planted in both of your hearts and the two of you waited for them to bloom).

Iwazumi made his way back toward the hallway and faced your apartment’s front door again. You refastened both buttons he undid prior to reaching for the door knob.

“For what it’s worth,” your not-so-innocent tone in your voice begins to come through. His darkened eyes observe you undo your top knot and shook your shoulder-length hair to reveal the fullness of your wavy locks. You place your hand on his wrist and the other was on the door knob. He stopped you from opening the door with a softened glance; pressing his lips lightly on your brow bone.

“I really like it when you come over Iwazumi. Thank you for dropping off the book.” You tap your fingers thoughtfully on your lips as a silent form of thanking him for the other part outside of the tangible order.

“Hajime, y/n,” he whispers his given name in your ear in order to get one last rile out of you before kissing your temple, and you could swear you could hear your heart beat in your ears. “Call me that from now on, ok?”

“Ok,” you swiftly reply. “Only if you continue to call me Lovecraft, haha.”

Iwazumi takes his leave when he thinksof how the next time he sees you, it’ll be filled with magic, mayhem, and the movie playing in his heart was one he would like to share with you for as long as it takes.

You rush to your room to retrieve your cell phone and immediately text Yukihira who was in the middle of her break between classes:

『from y/n: i have a date on monday night. the book came btw. thanks yukihira』

『from Yukihira: iwazumi asked you to go out with him, didn’t he? have fun and remember to not do anything i wouldn’t do. ;) 』

『from y/n: of course. and even if we did, i wouldn’t even hear the end of it from you. you’d might have an easier time talking to iwazumi than me, let’s be honest.』

『from Yukihira: (n˘v˘•)¬ oh you know me so well. see you later tonight.』

—November XX, 14:43 (2:43pm):

First dates & a glimpse into their social medias (ft. Iwazumi, Babs (y/n), & Yukihira)

Iwazumi credit

Suffice to say that Mondays became your favorite day after this kiss...😌

Bonus:

Instagram posts from our UCIrvine trio ft. Iwazumi, Yukihira, & Y/N-san

#iwazumi x reader #timeskip!iwazumi x reader #collegiate au #first kisses and monster movies #neighbor to lover #⏱queued post #iwa-chan wore glasses one day #west coast kind of love completed #🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #🌻.txt

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crimsonbluemoon · 4 years

Note

Terrornuckle/ Terrormoo (did we change the shipname?) 18, 1, 26

Okay, I went way too hard on this one. I always do that with this couple, damn >.>

AU: Celebrity Trope: Friends to loversPrompt: “sometimes, i sit in bed and wonder what would happen if things were different.”

Pairing: Terrormoo

“Where are you going this time?” Brian always enjoyed the limo ride to the private plane Brock owned. It was one of the only times that he got his friend alone, really. When he was working, he couldn’t be distracted and would lock himself in his home for days at a time. Brian didn’t blame him for it; being the writer of the biggest novel series in the world meant that he needed to nurture time for his craft. When he wasn’t writing his amazing stories, he was being carted away by Marcel, his manager, to different parts of the world for interviews and book signings. One day he’d be in their city, and the next he’d be in Hong Kong.

“It’s a small tour, so I’ll just be doing an interview with Ellen, a book meeting with my company in Los Angeles, and then a Q and A at a convention in San Francisco. I should be back before Wednesday.” Brian remembered a time when Brock hated flying. The loudness of the plane, the turbulence, the fear of falling before completing his dreams in life- Brock had told Brian them all one drunk night three years ago. Back at the time, Brock had only just picked up some steam, and had been asked to come to a small bookstore in Atlanta to meet some fans. They met as neighbors four years before, their apartments both sharing terrible heating and thin walls. That was when Brock’s greatness was still hidden. Two months later, the world would be exposed to Brock’s beautiful smile.

That had been before.

“It’s okay if you can’t make it,” Brian answered, trying to keep his grin wide to hide his own feelings. Brock always worried his lip too much when he thought Brian was upset, which then would get him scolded by Marcel and the make up artist he’d have to deal with for Ellen. Brock once told him he hated that part about his TV appearances the most. Brian remembered the first time Brock had pursed his lips out for Brian to coat with lipstick left over from his high school theater make-up. How his eyes had popped out after the eyeliner guarded his lids like a coat of armor. How Brock’s eyelashes looked so long with mascara. Brock hadn’t needed blush; he’d turned a pretty shade of red when Brian had told him how beautiful he was.

But that had been before.

“It’s your birthday. I won’t miss it.” Again hung so heavy in the air between them, Brian was sure he’d choke on it. He glanced out the limo’s window with a chuckle he hoped wouldn’t be wet with the sadness he held back. Last year had been…a rough time for them. Brock’s busy schedule pushed Brian away, and the conflicting feelings of jealousy and sadness waged war in Brian’s heart, making him curl away from Brock’s friendly affection when he did have time. Because Brian didn’t want friendly; it took a month long absence of Brock’s presence by his side for him to realize it.

His birthday had been shared with friends and family, with pretty girls and lots of booze. Brock was in Madrid, promoting his new book. There were no ‘after birthday pancakes’ the next morning, no horribly burnt bacon (six years and Brock still couldn’t make it right) and embarrassingly (but endearing) off-key singing. There was a nameless stranger in his cold bed and shameful hickies on his neck, which would have been signs of a successful birthday years prior.

But that was before.

“I’m not saving you a piece of cake if you’re late,” Brian said instead of any of the words that rattled in his heart. Brock rolled his eyes, his shoulder bumping gently into Brian’s. He didn’t pull away, and Brian stayed quiet about it.

“I’ll buy a whole customized sheet cake from that fancy bakery you liked in California and bring it back with me.”

“You wouldn’t, you hate showing you’re rich unless it’s for charity,” Brian answered quickly, their eyes meeting at the challenge.

“Or if it’s for you,” Brock’s soft reply twisted something fierce in Brian’s stomach, his fingers digging into his pant leg to keep from pulling Brock into a kiss. Because he knew it was the truth; Brock always spoiled Brian. He did the same for his other friends, sure, but Evan and Tyler never let Brian forget how ‘special�� he was.

Brock moved him into a house right next to Brock’s that Brian could never afford, and always made sure his needs were taken care of. Brock took Brian on some of his longer trips to Venice or Palm Springs, which Brian loved. But it had been just seven months ago when he had first discovered Proof Bakery in California. It was his favorite place, though not for the pastries like Brock always assumed. The little shop, which was way overpriced and the lines far too long, was where Brian first realized just how in love with Brock he was. The moment would always be sketched into his mind; the whipped cream that had crept over Brock’s nose from his frothy drink, the shy smile, the soft way his voice caressed the tail end of Brian’s name, and the sunlight that illuminated just how breathtaking all of it was put together.

He’d nearly confessed right there, if not for the fact that cameras and paparazzi were hanging on every word they said. Their picture had been splattered on several tabloid magazines, with questions of their ‘relationship’ hounding both men for weeks. Brian had been avoidant of the question, waiting for Brock to bring it up. He never did, not to Brian, though he always spoke about his ‘good friend’ on TV shows and red carpet interviews. It’d been a knife in Brian’s heart. Because once, Brian had hoped the soft glimmer in Brock’s eyes at the bakery had been love for him.

But that was before, too.

“Evan’s gonna get jealous, then Scotty will whine, and you’ll have to do it for everyone. With all the friends you have, you’ll actually put a dent in your wallet.” Brian doused any increased heartbeat he had by reminding himself how dedicated Brock was to making all his friends happy. Hurting himself more, he patted Brock’s thigh, not letting himself enjoy the muscle under his palm before pointing out the window. “Look, got here in record time. Almost time for you to head out.”

“Oh, right.” Brock’s voice hid something that Brian missed looking out the window, but by the time he glanced back, it was gone. He quirked an eyebrow, knowing he was grinning like a fool after Brock’s cheeks turned pink.

“You don’t sound to excited to get on your plane, mister. What, you gonna miss this beautiful face?” He forced himself to wink and blow a kiss at Brock, expecting the normal eye roll or scolding curve to his name that always made him feel special.

“What if I will?” So the open heartbeak that cracked Brock’s eyes made Brian pause, frozen by the look he never wanted to see.

“Brock, what… you know you can call m-us.” Desperate to get rid of the look on his friend, Brian leaned closer, ignoring his own rules of touch to cradle Brock’s face in his palms. “Video chat, anytime. Day or night, I don’t care. If you miss me- or any of the guys, that’s okay. We’ll miss you, too. We always do.”

“We, or you?” The distinction seemed important to Brock, but Brian’s tongue was too tied up in emotion to give a response. Sighing, Brock closed his eyes, letting his shoulders fall in defeat. “Sometimes…sometimes, I sit in bed and wonder…. what would happen if things were different?”

“Different? Different how?” Brian asked, unsure if his heart could stay contained in his chest at the soft nuzzle of Brock’s nose against his fingers.

“If I’d told you how having you come on the ride with me in the limo to the airport always helps me feel safe before leaving. If I said how much you saved me from my fears of flying by giving me all those helpful tricks. If I’d admitted you were the first person to make me feel beautiful that night with the make-up. Or, if I’d…if I’d been the one you’d taken to bed the night of your birthday last year, not that girl.” Soft flesh trembled against Brian’s thumb when he brushed it over Brock’s mouth, feeling the words from his own heart spill through Brock’s lips. “Would this be different, if I’d told all those TV hosts or interviewers the truth.”

“What’s the truth?” He was breathless from a marathon only his heart was running, eyes desperate for Brock’s pretty gaze when it finally opened to him again.

“That I’m head over heels in love with you. Would that make any of this different between us?” He was so vulnerable, splaying himself out in front of Brian with his heart in his hands. It was rare to see someone with Brock’s power, money, status in the world with such an open soul. But this moment, this little piece of Brock now shining bright in the back of the limo, this wasn’t for the world to see. This was Brian’s, if Brian would take it, and nobody else’s.

“Yeah, that makes a difference alright.” Brian leaned forward slowly, making sure Brock felt every indent and inch of his lips when kissing him. The kiss was slow, longing, full of each negative and positive emotion Brian had ever felt for Brock. He took his time pouring himself over Brock, teasing the crevices and dips of the mouth he’d been sure he’d only taste in his dreams. Brock was a willing participant, once his mind seemed to kick back on. Lust and need simmered just under the overwhelming love he had for Brock, and after fully divulging the months of realized emotion into their kiss, he pulled back. Not far, as his next words were whispered softly against bruised lips. “It’s going to make you late for your flight, love.”

Usually, Brian hated saying goodbye to Brock after their limo trips, knowing it was another chance for him to find someone to settle down with on his adventures without Brian. Brock still left this time, Brian waving from the limo they’d destroyed with their love making. This time, Brian’s heart didn’t ache watching Brock disappear into the plane taking him away. There was no pain.

Because that was before; before Brian knew Brock loved him, too.

#Anonymous #Terrormoo #Soft boys #Terroriser #Moo Snuckle #<3 #Crimson drabblez

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britishassistant · 4 years

Text

But I Like One Piece (1)

She was twenty when she died.

She’d just graduated with a double first in Literature and Preservation from Exeter. She’d been accepted into a prestigious master’s school in London.

She’d moved into a basement flat with her best friend and a couple of his friends. She’d been glad to escape her childhood house, where her mum and dad traded vicious words over who was getting how much in the divorce.

She’d promised her brother she’d get him out too, once she had a stable place that the courts would approve of. She had been due to interview for a job at a big bookstore chain next week.

And then someone had broken in while her flatmates were out. She shouldn’t have grabbed the knife. That just made the armed man freak out.

The last thing she remembered was a bang, and the blubbered words “I didn’t mean to!”

She wakes up as a baby.

She waves her arms around and cries as an unfamiliar lady with brown hair and brown eyes bends down over her crib, hushing her with more urgency than is really warranted.

Rain hammers down outside and thunder rumbles directly overhead.

Then a man with blue hair and grey eyes arrives. He stinks of copper, and that makes her wail harder.

The man and woman confer, words too fast for her to understand.

Then the man gently presses a cloth which smells chemical and awful to her face, hushing and looking at her with sad eyes while the woman strokes her head.

She struggles, but eventually swirling red circles dance before her eyes and she succumbs to sleep.

She grows, and learns that she is not anywhere remotely like her home anymore.

She looks in mirrors and sees grey eyes like the man’s, brown hair like the woman’s, hair too straight, eyes too angular, skin too pale.

Her new name is Ketsugi Mayu. The woman’s name is Ketsugi Chie, the man’s is Ketsugi Jirou.

They live in a little house, on the outskirts of a village that’s nothing like the village she previously grew up in. It’s too big, too bustling, with large compounds with symbols decorating the exteriors and brightly painted buildings, flat roofs alternating with asian-style pagodas.

Faces carved into a mountainside like a bastardization of Mount Rushmore. Huge trees everywhere, though she couldn’t tell you the type. She never was any good at biology.

Her “parents” escaped to this village from the rainy place before. Both of them work, but the woman takes her with her, or comes back first.

She gets the feeling their neighbors don’t like them very much.

Despite the electricity for lights and plumbing and cooking, there are not electronic communication devices, not like she knew them. Photography, but no video or animation.

Calculators and computers are unheard of, abacus and notebooks in their place.

The food is good though. Fresh and flavorsome, with meals that are usually served in what she mentally called “plate-2-bowls” style, a bowl of rice, a bowl of soup, and a meat or vegetable dish in the center.

The woman she is supposed to call her “mother” scolded her for ages the first time she dumped the rice out of the bowl onto the plate and tried to eat it that way.

The man she is supposed to call her “father” just laughed and said how lucky they were to have a daughter who would eat everything given to her.

And she did. Even if she doesn’t like the flavors, she eats it all and leaves no scraps.

One Piece taught her that those who waste food are scum, after all. She’ll never learn how the series ended now, so she does her best to live up to the ideals of her favorite characters in its place.

She probably should’ve seen it coming in the end.

The story she was read at bedtime was called “The Tale of the Utterly Gutsy Shinobi”. There were constantly people dressed in dark clothes jumping across the roofs.

There were stalls in the market that sold throwing knives and stars and japanese swords.

But she didn’t realize exactly what world she’d been reincarnated into until she sees a little boy around her age, with blonde hair and blue eyes and three familiar lines like whisker marks across each cheek.

He’s racing away from a severe woman dripping with orange paint, cackling even as she screams, “GET BACK HERE NARUTO, YOU LITTLE DEMON!!”

She’s four, so she promptly bursts into tears and remains in a strop for the rest of the week.

Naruto doesn’t have food.

It’s dumb and doesn’t involve her and she shouldn’t care because she never even read this series because it was stupid and sexist and dumb and pirates will always be better than ninjas no matter what stupid morons on the internet who have no interpersonal relationships say—

But Naruto doesn’t have food.

She saw the food vendors at the market slap away his money, yell at him for trying to steal from them, chase him away from their stalls with rotten produce.

And he goes away empty handed.

Every. Damn. Time.

Sanji wouldn’t let him go empty handed.

Fuck.

She buys three lunch boxes and an “easy cook recipes” book from a lady who coos at her.

She buys extra rice and ingredients so that she doesn’t use up her “family’s” food.

She decides on a sweeter, more protein-focused meal for breakfast, and presses rashers of bacon and scrambled eggs between slices of crusty bread, filling the compartments with orange slices and strawberries and a plain yogurt.

For lunch she tries and fails to recreate Ketsugi Chie’s perfectly triangular rice balls filled with salmon, but consoles herself that the cucumber and seaweed salad turned out okay, To make up for it, she sticks a packet of gummies in the dessert bit.

She shadowed him the evening before, and so wakes up obscenely early, tugging on the clothes she wore yesterday.

She deposits the food outside his door, checks the sticky notes with “BREAKFAST” and “LUNCH” on them are secure.

Then she raps on the door with all the power her little fists can muster and bolts.

She’s about halfway down the street when she hears the overexcited whoops and fights to keep a smile off her face.

That night, when she comes bearing a thermos filled with miso soup and a box with rice, baked salmon with mushrooms, and dango, the other two are stacked neatly outside the door, licked clean.

She deposits dinner, grabs the other boxes, knocks again, and bolts so she can make curfew.

Here’s her routine.

She goes to bed and falls asleep instantly after preparing that boy’s breakfast and lunch.

She wakes up early and runs through the village while the streets are still asleep and deposits his food, collecting his dinner box and the feedback sheet, knocks and goes, avoiding any traps he’s set up to try and catch her on his endless quest for her identity.

They’re harmless, more intended to snare rather than hurt, and she’s gotten good at dodging.

She gets home in time for her “parents” to wake up, washes up the box while they shower, and goes upstairs to get ready for the day.

Ketsugi Jirou makes her run through katas before breakfast. Sometimes he lets her practice with the wooden sword he carries, and laughs when she falls over, kissing her bruises.

Ketsugi Chie serves breakfast and corrects her table manners and posture. After Jirou has kissed them both and left, she is given lessons in calligraphy and etiquette.

Sometimes Ketsugi Chie takes her along to her job at a tearoom, and she has to observe as her “mother” elegantly serves the patrons and makes polite conversation.

Sometimes she’s left to clean the house and study the books on the history of her family. There are many, but more are missing, references they have no source for.

At lunchtime, she reviews the feedback sheet, making notes of what worked and what didn’t.

She’s supposed to play outside after lunch, so she runs laps. Once Ketsugi Chie’s shift is over, the woman either collects her from home or goes with her straight to the market for food.

She begins making Naruto’s portion the moment groceries are put away, serves it hot and runs it over. She picks up the empty lunch boxes and paper, deposits the dinner, knocks, and runs away.

She eats dinner with her “mother” and “father”. Jirou quizzes her on what she’s learned.

After dinner she washes up the dishes and makes tomorrow’s lunch and breakfast while her parents tell her a bedtime story.

Then she cleans up after herself, and goes to bed, falling asleep instantly.

It’d be nice if this could last.

So of course, the next time she deposits breakfast and lunch, an adult dressed in black with a white mask tackles her to the ground.

She barely avoids spilling the food, clutching it to her chest with one arm as the other is twisted viciously behind her back.

She screams, tries to kick out, but her legs are too little, she can’t hurt the bastard—

The lunchboxes creak ominously under her.

“Who sent you?!” The adult hisses—there’s no way that’s not a man, not with that baritone— “Drop the henge and tell me, or I’ll—”

Something twangs.

A mass of rope drops onto them, followed by chalk dust.

“HAH!” Comes a much higher-pitched yell. “I told you I’d get ‘em, believe it, I told—wait, what the heck?! Jiji, mask-guy’s hurtin’ my friend!”

The click of a cane and the sound of an old man’s voice. “Hound-san.”

The pressure on her arm lessens and the adult gets up, though he doesn’t let go of her. She wheezes, feeling her eyes watering now she can breathe properly.

She hiccups once. Twice. Bursts into floods of noisy tears.

A blurry figure of orange comes into her view. “Hey, hey don’t cry, don’t cry! It’s okay, mask-guy won’t hurt you anymore, Jiji won’t let him, believe it! Yo-you’re the one bringin’ me the food, right? It tastes really good, believe it! M-my name’s Naruto, wh-what’s y-yours? Plea-please don’t—”

The blur of orange begins crying as well.

“Oh dear.” The old man sighs.

The old man takes them to the tower in the center of the village, drawing curious stares at the sight of two wailing children, one bleached white by chalk dust, following him.

The tower is scary. It reminds her of government buildings, with lots of people in green or grey jackets or white masks moving from one place to the next like fire ants, ready to turn and bite intruders to their nest at a moment’s notice.

She doesn’t work out who the queen ant is until the old man sits behind the big desk in the room at the top of the tower, and another mask brings her and Naruto water at his gesture.

“Now, let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we?” Says the old man, smiling genteelly.

A shiver goes down her spine.

The questions should be easy. What’s her name, how old is she, where does she live, who are her parents, where do they work, does she have any siblings, what are her hobbies.

But her tongue is stuck to the top of her mouth and when she tries to speak, she just makes a pathetic little croaking sound, no matter how much water she swallows.

The man who hurt her gets more and more tense with every failed answer.

The old man just looks sadder, like she’s failing a test, like he’s going to let the mask hurt her again—

Naruto asks, “Can you make ramen?”

She swallows. “I—I’ve never had it. I don’t know the ingredients. Is, is it like miso?”

“It’s WAY better than miso, believe it!” Naruto yells. “It’s got noodles and green onions and fish cakes and pork and tofu and chicken and fish and seaweed, and sometimes the broth can taste like miso but better and sometimes it can be spicy and Ichiraku’s is the best, and I’ll take you there so you can have some, believe it!”

She frowns. “How can it have pork and chicken and fish? That doesn’t work. Those meats go with different flavors—like chicken katsu and pork katsu are served with different toppings.”

He blows a raspberry. “They’re not all in the same bowl at one time! There’s different types.”

Her mind ticks over the possibilities. “...So a dashi broth for miso could work? What type of flour are the noodles?”

He shrugs. “I’unno. There’s different types?”

“Of course there are!” And she tells him about wheat vs buckwheat vs rye vs rice flour, and how flour mixed with water can serve as food in a pinch but isn’t sustainable for him because he’s malnourished—

“I’m not mal-no-ished, believe it!” Naruto protests.

She scoffs. “Don’t be stupid. Look, try to touch your thumb and pointer finger around your wrist.”

He looks at her warily, but does as she says easily. There’s enough space between his hand and his wrist that she could wriggle her little finger in there, if she tried.

“See?” She says, holding up her own wrist where her thumb can’t quite reach her finger. “You’re too skinny, because you don’t eat enough. You need to bulk up, and eat to get your vitamins, or you’ll grow up weak and feeble.”

The boy pouts. “S’not my fault the stupid jerkwads in the market won’t sell to me.” He grumbles.

“No, it isn’t.” She replies. “But they sell to me. And those who let people go hungry are scum.”

There’s a wounded noise. She looks up at the forgotten adults, tensing again.

The masked man has vanished. The old man just looks tired, but also...happy?

The old man walks her and Naruto home, and she glimpses many more white masks in the trees. The idea that any one could hurt her at any time has her trembling, fists clenched.

“What’s your name, anyway?” Naruto asks, clutching his lunchboxes close.

“Mayu.” She replies after a moment’s hesitation. “Ketsugi Mayu. I’m five and ten months.”

“I’m Uzumaki Naruto and I’m six, believe it!” He cheers. “Imma be the Hokage one day and take over from Jiji, believe it!”

She frowns up at the old man. “What’s a hokage?”

He laughs. “It’s the ninja entrusted with the safety of the village and all those within. The Hokage specifically is the leader of this Village Hidden in the Leaves, Konoha.”

She looks around.

“This place is way too big to be a village, no matter how you look at it.”

Her parents burst out the door just as they arrive at her house, her father clutching his bokken, her mother still in nightclothes.

They blanch when they see her, the woman reaching out with an abortive hand.

The Hokage bows to them. “Ketsugi-san.” He says. “May I congratulate you on raising such a fine daughter?”

Ketsugi Jirou bows hesitantly back, eyes not leaving her. He has to press a hand to Chie’s shoulder to get her to do the same. “You honor us, Hokage-sama.”

The Hokage smiles and gently pushes her. She totters forward and is swiftly captured in a crushing hug, both adults muttering “Mayu, Mayu.” Like she’ll disappear if they let go.

Her eyes begin watering again, because she’s escaped. She’s safe. For now.

“Otou-sama.” She whimpers. “Okaa-sama.”

She mentally apologizes to her parents in her past life, and the brother she left behind. In their memory, her new family will remain “Otou” and “Okaa”, never “Mummy” and “Daddy”.

“OI, MAYU-CHAN!!”

She half-turns in the hug, sees Naruto and the Hokage some distance away.

“COME GET RAMEN WITH ME TOMORROW!! ICHIRAKU'S IS THE BEST, BELIEVE IT!!” He yells, with far too much volume.

She sniffles. There’s something wrong with Naruto. He lives alone and borderline starves, but the ruler of this village visits him enough that he calls the man “jiji”. People in the street call him “demon” and “monster” openly, but the masked man attacked her for approaching him.

The smart thing to do would be turn him down politely. Thank you, but no thank you. She’s his food provider, she’s not under any obligation to be his friend.

So, of course, she yells back, “EAT YOUR FOOD AND I'LL BE THERE!”

He pumps his fist and whoops, cheering loudly as the Hokage smiles and guides him away.

Mayu Ketsugi and her parents tense as the accusing, silent stares pierce them.

The neighbors never liked them much anyway.

#naruto #one piece #but i like one piece #my writing #reincarnation #isekai #naruto uzumaki #kakashi hatake #hiruzen sarutobi #pirates vs ninjas #konoha #fandom rivalry #naruto oc #ketsugi mayu #food #cooking #straw hat pirates

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labyrinth-runner · 4 years

Text

50 days of Fics: Day 40

Aight soooo my inbox is empty so I picked for today and you’re getting smacked with Obidala because I’m in a lot of hormonal pain right now. So I’m the equivalent of “I am the Captain Now.”

Prompt: You’re famous and you want to hide out in my bookstore which is fine except the stupid paparazzi won’t leave and now there’s a photo of us in the tabloids and they’re printing misinformation and why the fuck won’t you clear this up on your twitter account.

Obi-Wan sighed as he restocked his shelves. His hand gently stroked the cover of the book in his hand. It was a romance book. It was the latest book by one of his favorite authors. He took a hesitant look around the store. It was empty. Normally, that would’ve made him sad since it meant people weren’t trying to find a new story to read. But, right now? Right now he was going to take this book into the back and devour it... after he finished stocking the shelf. He tucked the book into the pocket of his apron. Swiftly, he arranged his books in the way that made him aesthetically happy and took a step back.

“Kenobi, you’ve really outdone yourself,” he smirked.

He bent down to pick up the empty box. Obi-Wan broke it down and dropped it by the trash. Then, he went to one of the comfy chairs he had set up around the shop and flopped into it with a groan. He wore a mischievous grin on his face as he fished the book out of his pocket. Reverently, he opened it and began to read.

He had just gotten to the end of chapter one when the bell to his shop jingled as someone entered. He heard footsteps running through the shop.

“Hello?” he called out, closing the the book and placing it on the arm of the chair.

“Hello?” a woman called back.

Obi-Wan got up to follow the voice, eventually running right into the owner.

“Oh, sorry, darling,” Obi-Wan apologized, using his arms to steady her. “What can I help you with? I have a little bit of every genre-”

“Oh, no, I’m not here for books,” the woman corrected.

His brow furrowed and he deflated a bit. “O-oh. What did you need, then?”

“A place to hide from the photographers,” the woman breathed, moving them out of the aisle and behind a bookshelf.

“Ph-photographers? Why are you hiding from photographers?” Obi-Wan asked in confusion.

Now it was the woman’s turn to be confused. “You don’t know who I am?”

“I’m sorry, darling, should I?”

She laughed. “You don’t know who your governor is?”

“G-governor Amidala?” he asked in disbelief.

“Ah, so you don’t live under a rock,” she teased. “I’m working on a new bill and the paparazzi have been hounding me. Can I hide in here?”

“Of course. On one condition, though,” he replied.

She raised a brow at him. “And what is that?”

“That you read a book while you wait,” he smiled.

She shook her head as she laughed. “Alright, Mr...?”

“Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he smiled, stepping into the aisle to give her a bow.

“Mr. Kenobi, I thank you for your service,” she smiled. “Do you have any recommendations?”

He thought for a moment, stroking his beard before retrieving another copy of the book he was reading. He handed it to her with a flourish.

“Oh, you’ve got an eyelash on your face,” Padmé murmured as she stepped forward, reaching up to wipe it from his face. She held it out in front of him. “Make a wish.”

He closed his eyes and made a wish before blowing it away. He led her over to the comfy chairs in the corner, pushing two of them together so that they could be nearby to read. They spent the afternoon gasping at plot twists and discussing how things could have been different with proper communication. Every once in a while, Obi-Wan would look off to the side to see if the paparazzi were still there. Eventually, they gave up as his business day was coming to an end. However, in order to make sure the Governor wasn’t mobbed, he led her out the back.

“What about the book?” Padmé asked. “I haven’t finished yet.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “Finish it and come back so we can discuss, Governor Amidala.”

“Please,” she smiled, “Just call me Padmé.”

“Alright, Governor,” he replied reflexively, watching her leave. As the door closed he quietly said, “Padmé.”

Obi-Wan packed up and went home for the day, not thinking any more of the encounter.

When he made his way back to his shop the next morning, he found it surrounded by photographers and journalists asking him about his relationship with the governor.

“I don’t have a relationship with the Governor!” he kept repeating as he pushed his way through the crowds.

“Then how do you explain this photo?” one of the journalists asked, thrusting forward the latest edition of the news. On the front cover was a picture of Padmé cupping his cheek. He groaned, they must have taken the shot when she cleaned the eyelash off his face.

“That proves nothing,” he sighed as he opened the door to his shop. He pushed his way through and closed the door behind him. He had to get these people to leave.

After a quick google search on the desktop in his office, he found the number to the governors office and gave it a ring.

“Governor Amidala’s office, how may I help you?”

“Hello, my name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, I was wondering if I could speak to Padmé,” he replied.

“The Governor is a little-” they broke off, hearing someone in the background, “Just a moment. I’ll patch you through.”

Obi-Wan waited a moment as he was transferred.

“Hello?” Padmé said on the phone.

“Padmé,” Obi-Wan sighed. “Thank goodness. The paparazzi won’t leave my shop alone. They have it in their heads that we’re... well, an item, and they won’t leave. Perhaps you could send out a quick tweet on social media and dispel these rumors?”

“Mmm, I don’t think I will,” Padmé replied.

“Why ever not?”

“Mr. Kenobi, let me know how business is in a week,” was all she said before hanging up.

Obi-Wan sputtered momentarily, but then the bell jingled and he had a customer to attend to.

A week passed and the days were the same, paparazzi hounding him out front, and then making a bunch of sales during the day. He called Padmé.

“Mr. Kenobi, how has business been?” she asked, but he could hear the smile in her tone.

“Booming, but I’m sure you know that. You don’t have to keep up this ruse for my sake, Governor,” he said softly.

“Who says I want it to be a ruse?” she murmured.

“Padmé, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying... that if you’re free tonight to discuss this book with me, I’d like that. And... should you wish to maybe re-enact the scene on page 254, I wouldn’t be opposed,” she replied.

“I’d like that too,” Obi-Wan smiled.

“Great. I’ll stop by later,” she replied before hanging up.

Obi-Wan smiled, but thought about what she said. He picked up the book and turned to page 254 and blushed. He was in for one heck of a night.

#50 days of fics #day 40 #obidala

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mistymark · 5 years

Text

the one with the soulmates.

johnny suh x reader // 1.5k words // soulmate!au // strangers to lovers!au

summary; in which soulmates can hear snippets of each other’s thoughts and what the fuck is going on his head

warnings; swearing

“I wonder how many teeth I have.”

You groaned, rolling over in bed to check the clock on your nightstand. 5:32am. The voice that seemed to echo in your room didn’t surprise you; you’d gotten used to hearing your soulmate’s voice as if he was speaking out loud, but what really had you shocked was the fact that your soulmate was awake this early.

And counting teeth?

“29? What? Surely, it has to be an even number, right? Let me ask Doyoung.”

You leant back into your pillow, staring at the ceiling to try and clear your mind of all your thoughts, so that you’d be able to hear your soulmate’s more clearly. It was something you did rarely, not wanting to invade into someone else’s mind too often, even if they were your soulmate.

The soulmate bond that you had was rare; most people had more vague soulmate clues, or random ones that made it very difficult to find their soulmate. You and your soulmate, however, had been given a very specific bond, yet neither of you had really learnt to master it. Despite how much you practiced as kids and teens, you were unable to directly control what the other heard nor what you could hear yourself.

However, you had discovered that if you attempted to clear your mind of your own thoughts, you could hear him more often. You had, unfortunately, discovered this at your first and last meditation and yoga class. Whilst everyone had been able to sit in silence and focus on their mind and body or whatever – you can’t really remember what the instructor had been saying – you were trying to hold in your laughter. Your soulmate had been attempting to cook, apparently, and someone had set something on fire…

Either way, you couldn’t go back. Not after being kicked out for not being able to sit still and stay quiet.

“You should go to the dentist,” the voice mocked someone else. Probably Doyoung, you thought. You had to admit, after your soulmate had gone through puberty, you found his voice extremely attractive.

“Wait, shit, I think I really do need to go to the dentist.” You couldn’t help but giggle at times like this; when your soulmate was so scatter-brained or just… humorous.

You threw the duvet from your body and walked into the bathroom, letting your mind wander to your own thoughts; your plans for the day, what time your shift started, did you have enough time to get a coffee before class?

Your own thoughts formed a barrier between the two of you and it wasn’t until later that day that you heard your soulmate again: “Ow!”

The sudden shout of pain almost made you fall out of your chair. Sitting in the silent library, studying for a final you had later that month, it felt like he had just yelled in your ear.

“OW! Ow, ow, ow, stop, stop stop!” You immediately felt concerned for your soulmate, worried that something was wrong, or that he had injured himself somehow. But your concern slipped away when his next thought came through: “This sucks. I hate the dentist.”

You felt yourself raise an eyebrow at him, even though he couldn’t see you. What an idiot.

Your boots squelched in the rain as you huddled under your umbrella, running as fast as you could to the small bookstore just off of campus. Your shift started in less than five minutes, and you had to clock in before the hour started.

“I knew I should’ve brought my umbrella,” the voice chastised. “Where’s Jaehyun; I’m going to go blame Jaehyun.”

Somehow your soulmate’s voice calmed you a little bit in your mad rush to reach the Huddler & Hound bookstore, and you arrived two minutes early. Frantically clocking into the system in the staff room out back, you shook off the water from your umbrella and stuffed your bag into a locker, removing your coat to reveal your green work polo, with a small dog embroidered in the corner.

You made your way to the front counter, ready to begin serving customers when his voice interrupted you again, seemingly much louder than before, “What the fuck is this shit? I mean, a book for babies? Babies don’t read.”

You felt yourself laugh, and you attempted to hide it with a cough when your customer looked up at you in confusion. Sometimes it was easy to forget only you could hear his voice.

The rain stopped outside briefly, and you looked wistfully out the window. God, I would kill for a coffee right now.

“Finally, we can leave.” There was a pause. “Shit, how did I lose Jaehyun again?”

“Is this all for today?” You asked the next customer politely, taking her stack of books and scanning them. “Cash or card?”

“Jaehyun!” You winced a little from how loud your soulmate’s thoughts could be, and attempted to ignore them.

The lady in front of you took the bag from your hand, a sympathetic smile on her face, “Gosh, you’d think he’d know to keep quiet in a book store.”

You felt your eyes widen, “Y-you could hear him, too?” He’s here?

She stopped as she turned to walk away, a confused and slightly terrified look on her face, “The man shouting ‘Jae, hun?’ Yeah, I heard it. Pretty sure the entire block did.”

You didn’t even tell her goodbye, you were already rounding the counter to look for the perpetrator. The person belonging to the voice in your head. Shit, this place is a lot bigger when you’re looking for someone.

You remembered he had been criticizing the baby books, so you decided to check the children’s section first. When you rounded the corner, you saw two boys crouched in the kids’ chairs, reading out loud to each other and dramatically pointing at pictures on the pages. They both froze when you appeared.

They both looked about your age, and were both really attractive, so you were hoping one of them was the owner of the voice.

A faint “damn” could be heard in the back of your mind, but you were too focused on your own thoughts to realise.

“Um, could you guys keep it down back here? I’m really sorry, but we’ve had a few complaints,” you squeezed your hands together, looking at both of them for any signs of recognition. Nothing.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” one of them flashed a smile at you apologetically, and you nodded, turning to walk back to the cash register. His voice was too smooth to be your soulmate’s, too soft. Way to get my hopes up.

“That’s her.” You froze. “Couldn’t forget that voice.” You felt yourself smile a little.

You spun around on your heel and stuck your hand out, “I’m Y/n. What’re your names?”

The taller one of the two slotted his hand into yours, “Johnny.”

You stared at Johnny as you shook the other’s, “Jaehyun.”

“It’s really nice to meet you, Johnny,” you breathed. He smiled, his entire face lighting up. My god, you could really get used to that smile. He was gorgeous when he was smiling.

He laughed, “Gorgeous, huh?”

You felt your face go red as blood rushed to your cheeks. You forgot about the bond for a second.

He decided to save you from embarrassment, “I think you’re gorgeous, too.”

You felt a smile tugging at your lips and you beamed at him. God, he was so handsome. You stared at him in wonder and excitement, taking him all in. No wonder he was your soulmate, you were already falling for him. He stared back at you, a smirk on his lips.

“Am I missing something?” Jaehyun glanced between you two curiously, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Johnny laughed, “Oh, right. Jaehyun-” He gestured towards you, “-this is my soulmate, Y/n.”

Jaehyun’s eyebrow quirked up at the mention of Johnny’s soulmate, having known how much it bothered him that he knew his soulmate, and all they had to do was actually meet. He clapped Johnny on the shoulder, “Right, well, we have to get to practice. So… say goodbye, Romeo.”

This seemed to spur Johnny into action, and he quickly dug his phone out of his pocket, holding it out to you, “Can I have your number, gorgeous?”

Your face felt hot. What was this boy doing to you? You nodded shyly, typing in your number under the contact ‘Y/n (gorgeous :D)’.

“A classic emoticon,” Johnny wolf-whistled in appreciation. “You are definitely my soulmate.” He winked at you as he left the store, leaving you standing in the kid’s section of the bookstore, stunned.

You had met your soulmate. Now, all you had to do was ask him on a date.

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emoboijk · 5 years

Text

knj | till death

In the demon world, arranged marriages are business transactions. But this isn’t that simple. —demon!au, arranged marriage!au, non-idol!au

01 :: 02 :: 03 :: 04 :: 05 :: 06 :: 07 :: epilogue

3,389 words

photo cred

After three months of living with Namjoon (of being married to Namjoon), you fall into the rhythm of your relationship, like a heartbeat or a breath. It's not anything you ever have to think about. And you wake up one morning to realize that, without meaning to, you both have a routine.

Namjoon always wakes up early (ungodly so, you think) and is most often gone by the time you get up. He leaves you notes in the morning, unfailingly (on the kitchen table, your door, and ever more frequently, on your nightstand). Addicted to the warm, fluttery feeling they cause in your chest, you squirrel them away into an antique letterbox you found at a thrift store (five dollars!).

After you wake up (and read your note), you shower and get dressed. Then you wander into the living room where Lisa and Jeongguk are loitering in the kitchen or on the couch. It takes you two months to discover that they arrive at the apartment building as soon as Namjoon leaves (per his request), usually waiting in the lobby or outside the building. As soon as you find out you tell them they’re welcome to wait in the apartment, embarrassed at them having to wait for you at all.

These days Jeongguk has breakfast ready by the time you leave your room. Originally, you’d always cooked for yourself, but Jeongguk has a penchant for trying new things (and ultimately being amazing at them), so he’s quickly taken over. When you’d first offered to hand him the reigns, he had beamed at the opportunity, cooking skillfully and smiling, “My boyfriend’s been teaching me.” If it were anyone else you would’ve been annoyed at his immediate success in the kitchen and his overall happy demeanor, but it’s Jeongguk so it just makes you want to smile and ruffle his hair.

After breakfast, you either read or watch TV, or you let Lisa drag you out of the house. Most days it’s a combination of both. You’ve been spending a lot of time in bookstores, expanding Namjoon's already extensive collection (it's a library really, that he tries to disguise as the guest bedroom). But you also let Lisa show you the newest boutiques or restaurants, just barely keeping her from dragging you clubbing. Once in a while, you'll get lunch with your mom or with Yeri (who now perpetually smells like the animal shelter she works for).

Then you have dinner around seven or eight (as long as there isn’t some sort of business function, charity ball, or high-class demon dinner to attend), which usually consists of some sort of take out. Afterward you dismiss both Jeongguk and Lisa in an official capacity; oftentimes one or both of them will hang out with you afterward (Lisa has taken it upon herself to keep you “groomed" so she’ll stay and paint your nails or teach you how to do an intricate braid; Jeongguk has introduced you to video games and he enjoys beating you at them).

Once they leave, you get ready for bed, washing your face and slipping into pajamas before burrowing under the covers. When you first moved in you would try to force yourself to sleep right away, but you soon realized that it was nearly impossible until you knew Namjoon had come home. On a regular business day, he may not return until midnight, so you lie awake daydreaming or reading until you hear the elevator or his footsteps after he shimmers in.

Tonight, as you rub moisturizer into your cheeks, your mind races anxiously. There’s a thought you've been turning over in your mind since this afternoon when Yeri had called you to check up. Two things had kept you preoccupied. First, after you’d spent nearly fifteen minutes talking about Namjoon and the note he’d left you that morning and all the funny things he’d said at the Demon LGBT Rights Charity Ball the night before, Yeri had giggled.

“What?” you’d asked.

“Nothing.”

“No, what is it?”

“You like him.”

“What?” You’d been sipping a glass of water and nearly choked at the accusation.

“It’s okay,” Yeri had laughed, “He’s your husband; you should like him.”

Yeri had moved on quickly enough from there, but it had been orbiting your brain all afternoon. Of course, you like Namjoon. You’d been friends for years!

You worry your bottom lip and look at yourself in the mirror. Scowling, you whisper: “Be honest.” Closing your eyes you take a deep breath and open them again, shrugging in an attempt at casual, “You like him.” As soon as you said the words that warm, fluttery feeling returned in your chest and you jumped a bit in excitement.

Gasping, you take a step back from the mirror, surprised at yourself, “Oh.” You giggle, frowning as the second thing Yeri had said that day came back to mind.

You had been complaining about your daily activities, how boring it ultimately was.

“Come volunteer at the shelter,” she had said simply.

“What?”

“We could use the help. And it would be nice to see my best friend regularly.”

The seed she’d planted had grown to a full tree now. You loved the idea. You missed Yeri and you loved animals (the pictures of the hell hound pups she sent you had you squealing!). But what would Namjoon think…

You end up tossing and turning in bed until 2:00 AM when you realize it’s no use trying; Namjoon’s not home and your mind is too preoccupied. You heave a sigh and crawl out of bed. Your giant t-shirt (one of Namjoon’s that was mistakenly put in with your laundry that you have yet to return; it’s a large, dark blue t-shirt with white designs on the short sleeves, made of the softest material…) has bunched up at your torso so you pull it down, wrapping a soft blanket around your legs and swiping your latest read (a feminist treaty by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie this time) off your nightstand. You walk quietly out of your room and across the apartment, tucking yourself into a corner of the couch, reaching to flick on the light. Then you squint at the coffee table, concentrating so hard your head begins to hurt, until a glass of chilled white wine appears there. You take a sip before opening your book and waiting.

Namjoon takes the elevator tonight, he usually does when he works this late, just too tired to shimmer anywhere. When the doors ding open and he steps out to find you twisting around on the couch to look at him, beautifully disheveled and happy to see him, he briefly considers always coming home this late if it means he’ll always be greeted this way. He steps out of his shoes and says, “Still up?”

You nod, reaching forward for your glass of wine so that he can see you aren’t wearing pants, a flash of skin peeking out from the bottom of your t-shirt and the top of your underwear. He averts his eyes, devilishly tempted, clenching and unclenching his fists to keep himself sane. “Couldn’t sleep,” you say around the glass as he puts his briefcase and jacket on the coffee table, sitting in a chair next to you.

You can’t think of anything else to say so you ask, “Want a drink?” even though you know his answer. You stare intently at the coffee table again, another glass of white wine appearing there.

Namjoon smiles, inordinately proud of you and takes the glass, sipping the liquid, “Thank you.”

“How was your day?” you wonder, closing your book and pulling the cashmere blanket closer around your waist.

He scratches the back of his neck and shrugs, “Could’ve been worse.”

You almost laugh. You’re not 100% positive about what he does all day, but you’re pretty sure that other people’s “could’ve been worse” are his reality. Namjoon runs a hand through his hair and adds, “What about you - good day?”

You shrug, chewing on the inside of your cheek before sipping your wine.

“What is it?”

You shrug again, “It’s just...I don’t do anything.”

“What do you mean?” Namjoon leans forward, watching you intently, clearly interested.

“I just…” you huff, urged on by his rapt attention, “I shop and I read and I cook and I watch TV…” you trail off and realize that you’re complaining about luxury, you feel somewhat foolish but finally say, “I want to do more.”

Namjoon nods thoughtfully, “Well, what do you want to do?”

You look at him with your eyebrows raised, surprised despite everything.

He shrugs and leans back in his chair, smiling at you, “Do you want to work? Or go to school?” His smile transforms to a smirk and he winks, “Give me weekly book reports?”

You flush at the tone of his words, your mind inadvertently wandering to unquestionably erotic scenarios. You clasp your wine glass tightly and take another large gulp, cheeks burning.

Namjoon can’t stop looking at you. You’re easy to fluster and it’s beautiful.

“I was thinking maybe…” you start, swallowing your wine and avoiding his eyes, “volunteer work? Yeri works at an animal shelter part-time? They’re always looking for help…”

“That sounds wonderful,” he grins, a spark of joy in his chest when he sees you smile.

And then, because you’re a little bit tipsy and you have that warm, fluttery feeling you say: “Also, I was wondering if...maybe, if you’re free sometime soon, we could go on a, um, on a date?”

Without missing a beat, he answers: “I would love to.”

“Good,” you smile, looking away from him as your cheeks turn pink, upending your wine glass to catch the last sip. When you put it down and glance back over, he’s still watching you. His eyes are sparkling and he’s almost glowing; it’s as if the sun is beneath his skin. You shake your head but grin, looking back down to your book but unable to get yourself to read.

Namjoon finally gets the hint, blushing at his own unabashed staring, before looking around frantically for something to preoccupy himself with. But his eyes graze over the clock and he starts, “Shit.”

“Huh?” You look up.

“It’s almost five in the morning,” he sighs.

You’re unsurprised when you look at the clock, closing your book and stretching. Your blanket falls down your thigh at the movement and you suddenly remember that you’re not wearing pants. You scramble to pull the material back up, looking at him wildly to gauge his reaction.

But he’s slumped against his chair with his hand over his face, “I have to be at work in two and a half hours.” It wasn’t until, for some reason, this angle that he realizes how familiar the shirt you’re drowning in is. He sits up again and motions to it, “Is that my shirt?”

You choke slightly, your cheeks an entirely new level of fuchsia at having been caught. You shake your head, “No.”

Namjoon feels as though he’s going to burst. His chest has swelled with pride and joy and love. He rubs his lips together, glancing at the clock to confirm that it is way too late at night. So he stands and indulges himself with a risk, running his fingers through your hair and whispering, “Keep it.”

You tense for just a second under his fingers but it feels so nice. He only touches you for a moment but it helps your body relax and you realize how tired you are. You yawn, smiling up at him and he grins, “Get some rest,” before taking his things and walking toward his bedroom.

The next morning Namjoon is almost late, and for no other reason but you. He scribbles his daily note (Please keep the shirt - it looks much better on you. Date tonight? —Joon) and tiptoes into your room to place it on your nightstand, stopping short when he sees you.

It’s only 8:50 AM and you’re dead asleep. But holy hell. You’ve flung the sheets off your body and your t-shirt (his t-shirt) has ridden up to reveal your stomach and a pair of lavender lace panties.

“Fuck.”

You stir at the sound and Namjoon discovers that, apparently, in these situations, it’s not fight-or-flight, it’s freeze. But you don’t wake up. He stares for a moment, almost crumpling the note in his fist because he wants to run his hands up your bare legs, trace patterns onto your stomach, suck hickeys onto your hips, bury his face between your legs and rip those…

He shakes his head, whispering more profanities and dropping the note unceremoniously on your nightstand before bolting from the room. He pauses outside to catch his breath, a bead of sweat on his brow line from the effort of leaving. He wrenches a hand through his hair, his mind still cloudy with fantasies.

He shakes his head again, walking with a determined stride into his bathroom and splashing water on his face. His head slowly clears, but he will always have that image of you in bed in his mind. Maybe he should ask for the shirt back.

You wake up a couple of hours later, groggy with sleep and curling to one side to pluck the note from your bedside table. You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face and you bury your face into your pillow in glee.

The day passes in complete bliss; total, all-consuming glee. You beat Jeongguk to the kitchen and make him and Lisa waffles with eggs and bacon, putting it all together to resemble a smiley face. Then you’re the one that suggests going shopping, giving Lisa heart palpitations from the shock.

Namjoon spends the whole day grinning, much to the dismay of his staff. Cold, serious, and expressionless they know how to deal with, but Namjoon singing (off-tune) under his breath and smiling as he thanks them for their work? No idea.

He already knows where he wants to take you. He’s had your first date planned since he was eighteen (with slight modifications as he’s matured). So by the time he shimmers into his living room at 7:01 PM he’s nearly giddy with anticipation.

Namjoon glances toward your bedroom door, only slightly ajar, listening as Lisa coos at you. When he turns toward the kitchen he spots Jeongguk sitting on the counter, chewing on a piece of licorice and frowning, “They’ve been in there for two hours.”

Namjoon grins.

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow at him curiously. Of all the staff, Jeongguk might be the most used to seeing his boss smiling since he’s Yoongi's best friend. But this is different than the late-night-drinks smirk or a birthday party smile. He’s…glowing like he could be his own star. His eyes are bright and those dimples Jeongguk had only ever seen flashes of were on full display.

The sight takes his breath away.

“I’m going to change.” Namjoon disappears into his bedroom.

You stick your head out of your room and look at Jeongguk wide-eyed, “Was that Namjoon?”

Jeongguk nods, still a little starstruck.

“Crap!” you mutter, disappearing again.

You remerge thirty seconds later looking a bit winded, naturally flushed, Lisa on your heels. You dig through your small bag, checking that you have everything while Lisa adjusts your hair, “You look amazing. You are amazing.”

You smile at her, so eternally grateful it hurts. Standing on your tiptoes you kiss her cheek lightly, “Thanks. Have a good night.”

“Night,” she grins, already beginning to fade, “I’m going to want to know everything!”

Jeongguk slides off the edge of the counter and squeezes your bicep, “Have fun tonight,” he says.

“Thanks,” you smile up at him, “Have a good night. Tell Yoongi ‘hey’ for me.”

“Will do.” He shimmers away.

“Ready?” The familiar baritone slides up your spine like a shiver and makes your knees weak. You turn to see Namjoon adjusting a cuff link, his hair falling forward in his face, glancing up at you with eyes so bright they’re almost blinding.

“Yes,” as if you'd been holding it like a breath, in your chest, all day.

Namjoon crosses the room and offers his hand. You take it without a second thought.

“We’re shimmering?” You whisper because you feel close and quiet and safe.

He nods, “I gave Hobi the night off,” he pulls you closer to him, fitting perfectly into his side. His lips graze your forehead as he says, “I wanted it to be just us.”

You smile into his suit jacket.

The restaurant is small and familiar. It has a brick face with a small glass door set into wood. A painted wooden sign, lit by yellow lanterns, reads Rosa Italiana.

A memory lights your mind like flash paper. Soft yellow lighting, his parents and yours, and him. He was seventeen, tall, gangly, almost awkward if not for the undeniable charisma and sincerity. And you, two years his junior, wise beyond your years and yet nervous, blushing anytime someone looked at you.

This was where you had first met.

“Namjoon,” you whisper.

He shrugs as he guides you forward, still holding you close to his body as you walk, “I’m a romantic.”

You blush like it’s triggered by the restaurant, by the memories.

The hostess doesn’t have to ask for his name before taking you both back to a secluded table. There’s a small candle in a glass bowl and roses as the centerpiece, a small piece of cream-colored card stock with the menu printed on it in cursive.

You order wine and pasta and find yourself holding his hand across the table, playing with his fingers absently. You’re not sure if it's the wine or the atmosphere or just the realization that you’re happy, but you can’t stop smiling up at him and drawing star patterns into his palm.

“So,” he says, pulling his hand away as the waiter puts down both of your plates, “when will you start at the shelter?”

You shrug as you begin twining pasta around a fork, “Yeri said they could start training me next week; Monday maybe?”

Namjoon grins hugely, opening his mouth to say something, just about to form the words when his whole body tenses and his eyes switch to black involuntarily. Like a protective instinct.

“Aw,” a sweet but menacing voice coos from behind you. A tall, slender man in a dark suit appears at your table, his pale hand squeezing Namjoon’s shoulder, “Don’t waste your energy on me, baby.”

Namjoon reaches up to grab the hand, fingers encircling the wrist and squeezing. You think you hear a bone crack. The man smirks and uses his other hand to stroke Namjoon’s cheek, “You remember I like it rough.”

Namjoon bats away the hand on his cheek, and uses his other to push the man away. The stranger barely stumbles but does take a step back, his eyes landing on you. Now that he’s facing you completely, you’re startled. He seems elf-like and ageless, sharp features and nearly translucent skin. His irises change color, like clouds of smoke floating behind a film.

“My competition?” he frowns, and you think you see real sadness in his eyes. He raises his hand, dark black nails centimeters from your face when Namjoon catches his hand in the air, standing and forming a barrier between you and him.

“She has nothing to do with this.” Namjoon’s voice is stern and it falls over you like a blanket, makes you feel safe despite everything.

“She has everything to do with this,” the stranger growls. He peeks around Namjoon’s shoulder, his eyes a sinister red now, “And I’ll be back for her.” He turns to smoke in Namjoon’s grip and is gone in seconds.

Your heart is pounding and you fall limp in your chair. Namjoon’s shoulders relax and when he turns around his eyes are human again, cocoa brown and concerned. He touches your cheek where the stranger would’ve, his thumb warm and comforting as it draws a path back and forth on your skin. When he pulls his hand away, it’s wet and you realize you’re crying.

“Who was that?” you whisper.

author’s note—THIS is the shirt! Joon wears it all the time (in AT LEAST two bangtantv eps) and I love it.

05: moni and yubs and the blood oath ↝

for more of my works check out my m.list

#rosynamjoon #bts #bangtanbuds #hyunglinenetwork #kim namjoon #rm #namjoon #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #series

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created-by-teen-fury · 5 years

Text

Disappearing Act || Bella’s Past part 4

Here is the final part to Bella’s past. Now I didn’t quite explain everything when it came to the ending, but I’m planning to go into more details in the next series.

WC: 4199

Trigger Warning: Blood, Major injury, Fire and Death

4 years later

14 years old

Run. That’s she could think about as she laid in a bare bone room save for a few nick knacks. The front door shut and that was her cue to bolt into a frenzy. She made a beeline for his backpack, grasping for whatever she could get her hands on.

Pack the books first, then you can get the water. If there’s no time there’s a stream nearby I can stop at, just make sure you grab the water bottle. One extra outfit is all I need right now, I can worry about dirty laundry when I’m far enough.

Warnings swarmed Ísabella’s mind, each one creating a new reminder amidst her frantic packing. She tried to keep her thoughts in the back of her head, attempting to stay on task, but one memory bubbles to the surface causing her to halt her movements.

How could something so innocent turn sour that quickly?

———————

3 years ago

11 years old

It started off like a normal day. The sun rose upon the horizon causing light to fill Izzy’s eyes. Her eyes squeezed shut trying to keep the fleeting moment of her dreams from escaping her mind, but alas it was too late. She blinked quickly, as the light temporarily blinded her. A hand can up to block the invading rays of sun as she sat up.

Has her eyes adjusted to the light she took a look around her surroundings. The circle of six sleeping bags only had 3 people occupying it, Izzy being one of the late sleepers. She took a glance at the three empty bags taking notice of the pack of boys. One more look revealed two of the missing bodies. Kole sat in a tree leaned against the trunk, a newspaper in hand. Aiden was below him, surrounded by several broken branches. The boy leap for a branch, but missing by several inches.

“C’mon Kole! That’s not fair! I wanna see what your reading!!”

Kole scoffed, “That’s strange. If I remember correctly, you already saw it this morning when you were poking around my stuff,” He never took his eyes off the paper, instead flipping to the next page.

“Didn’t West ever tell you that sharing is caring?”

“Oh believe me Aiden, he has. I just didn’t listen.”

By this point Izzy had made her way over to the base of the tree next to Aiden. Ignoring her younger brother’s protests she swung onto his shoulders she boosted herself up to a branch. From there she climbed up to the tree limb under Kole’s spot. Poking the bottom of his foot, she queried, “Can I see Kole?”

“Didn’t I make it clear I wasn’t going to let you read it?”

“Nope! You said to Aiden! I’m not Aiden Kole. Or did you forget that silly goose?” Instead of replying to her, Kole just rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the paper. Izzy huffed clambering onto the same branch as her brother, “Please? I’m asking politely instead of snooping like Aiden!” She jutted put her button lip and batted her eyes.

Kole looked up from his paper to meet her eyes. He stared at her for a moment before sighing, “Fine. You can read one page,” Folding the newspaper he handed it over to her.

Her face broke into a cheeky grin, “Thanks Kole!” Almost immediately she faded into the shadows and reappear next to Aiden who was wrapped around the tree trunk trying to climb up, “Here you go!”

Aiden’s face immediately lit up as her ripped the paper from Izzy’s hand. He fared in awe at the front page, eyes skimming over the headline.

Above Kole wasn’t as amused. Jumping down from his perch he pounded over to the girl, “Izzy! What the hell!”

Before Izzy could respond and hand wrapped around his shoulder, “No need to get aggressive Kole. All she did was let Aiden read a paper. No harm no foul.” West shrugged, walking over towards the center of the sleeping bag circle. Kole followed in suit.

“It’s my stuff West! I get to decide who can touch it.”

Removing his bag from his back he started unpacking, “If I recall correctly I was the one that brought that back for you. Now hush up and help me make breakfast.” Kole let out a low growl before helping his brother unpack

Slowly the rest of the members began to awake. The sleeping bags were folded up and put away. Aiden sat with Kole’s newspaper while the rest of them were handed a can of beans. West stopped in front of Aiden before crouching down holding out the tin can, “As much as I appreciate you reading, you need to eat first little buddy.”

Ignoring West’s statement, Aiden pushed the front page into West face, “Look at this West! This superman just saved a bunch of kids from some evil guy! Isn’t that like what you do?”

West chuckled before removing the paper from Aiden’s grasp, folding it and placing it to the side, “I wouldn’t go that far Aid, now come on and eat your breakfast. We’ve got moving to do today.”

Aiden was unrelenting as he jabbered on, “But you saved us! That makes you a superhero right? My big brother’s a superhero! That’s so awesome!” Before West could get a word in Aiden gasped, “Can you teach me to be a superhero?! You taught us all how to read! Surely you can teach us how to kick evil butt! Right?”

By now Aiden had grasped the attention of the rest of the group. West’s smile fell and he placed a hand on Aiden’s shoulder, “I’m sorry bud, but I can’t. Reading and teaching you to fight crime are very different things. And even if I could I wouldn’t. Do you understand how dangerous that is?”

Aiden’s eyes darkened and his head dropped on his shoulders. Quickly West places one hand on his arm, holding out the can to Aiden, “But if it really interests you, I’m positive I can find some comic books next time we stumble across a bookstore.”

The corner of Aiden’s mouth twitched into a tiny smile as he took the can from West. The older boy smiled, ruffling Aiden’s hair before turning back around to his own meal.

Kole leaned against a tree, a new plan forming in his head.

———————

Back to present

She was running out of time. He’s be back soon and once he heard her she’d never escape. Closing the backpack, she threw it over her shoulder before absorbing herself into the shadow in the corner of the room.

She materialized outside of the decrepit house, the woods being her only shelter now. She wasted no time as she sprinted down the forest floor. If he can back early he’d be able to sense her, then chase her down like a hound. She wouldn’t get another chance. She had them all fooled that she’d fall in line. They trusted her, but if she was caught she’d never be left alone again, or worse.

She mapped out her route last week when they first arrived to the house. Just up ahead she’d run by a pond. There she’d be able to use the mud to mask her scent. After that she’d be able to confuse him enough to make a quick get away. Then she can focus on infusing moonbeams in her clothing to react with her invisibility.

Up ahead Ísbella could see a body of water quickly approaching. Immediately she jumped into the shallow water. She resurfaced, a quiet gasp in response to the chilly water. Taking globs of soggy dirt from the shore, she covered her arms, chest, face and even hair. She crawled out of the pond and turned her attention to her legs which soon match the rest of her body. Taking two big handfuls, she smudge them on the backpack just for good measure.

The sun was peeking out of the horizon by this point. Her powers would be weaker, meaning she needed to hurry and get as far away as possible. Her feet began to pound against the shore, taking her further into the forest.

———————

3 years ago

11 years old

“Get up. He’s gone and we’ll only have about two hours before he returns”

Kole’s harsh tone filled Izzy’s ears causing her to groan. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she sat up. The world around her was dark albeit the flashlight clutched in Kole’s hand. Begrudgingly she crawled out of her sleeping bag joining the rest of her siblings around Kole.

For the past 3 months Kole has been training the rest of the group to fight. Behind West’s back of course. Every morning before dawn West would scope around the surrounding area looking for any threats, abandoned building, and occasionally if they were close to a town he would go and “restock” their supplies. Today was one of those mornings.

The twilight air surrounded the group as they walked further into the forest. Each of the younger kids followed Kole like mindless ducklings, them not being fully aware yet. Their leader stopped unexpectedly, causing Aiden the slam into his back, the rest stumbling to a stop.

Kole didn’t flinch, his form never turning to face the rest, “Aiden, this was your idea. If you can’t even tell when I stop, how will you be able to fight?” His voice was low, quiet. It showed no anger but also lacked West’s calming tone.

“Well maybe if you didn’t wake us up at the crack of dawn I’d be more responsive.”

Kole growled turning back around to face Aiden, “If you don’t want West to find out-“

“Too late.”

There was another growl, but not from Kole. Instead West emerged from the tree cover behind his younger brother, “What have you all been hiding from me? The truth, not some garbage excuse.”

Kole stiffened, eyes wide, “I thought.. but… You went into town!”

“You should know better brother. You can hide things from me. Now I know to never jump to conclusions, so I’ll give you time to explain your side of the story,” West was struggling to contain his anger. His arms crossed over his chest, his foot tapping against the ground in pace with Kole’s beating heart, “Well, I’m waiting.”

Kole’s mouth opened and closed, looking for words to paint him in the right, but his mind couldn’t think of an answer. Instead Izzy stepped forward, “We wanted to be superheroes…”

When his eyes landed on the poor girl, with her head down and shoulders slouched, they softened, but quickly returned stern. “Do you understand how dangerous that is? You could get yourselves killed!” The oldest member stormed over to Kole, “And you! You’re 15, you should know you can’t just make a team full of superheroes! Did you knit think about everyone’s well being? And what about yours! Did you even stop to think about what we went through, what you went through to get here! They’ll find you if they suspect your still alive!”

By this point, West’s golden eyes were glowing. His gaze was fixed on Kole’s, who stared back with just as much intensity, but then something broke as his eyes casted down, his ears following, “I’m.. you.. you’re right. I’m sorry.”

West took in a deep breath, his eyes returning to normal, “I wish I could tell you fine but it’s not Kole. You’re the second oldest in this group. I trusted you to keep everyone safe. And that includes you,” his arms wound themselves around his brother, bringing him into a bone crushing hug whispering, “I can’t lose you Kole. We’ve been through everything together.”

Once the hug was broken West turned his attention to the rest of the pack. They couldn’t meet his eyes. Shame written across their face. He sighed before stepping closer, “You all know I care about you. I just want you all to be safe.”

The children nodded. Head just now joining to meet his eyes. Their faces were downcasted, eyes glossy. Kole places a hand on his oldest brother’s shoulder, “West, you should know, they have been picking up combat skills fast for their age. And I’ve seen their powers get stronger each time they practice.”

Before he could continue, West cut him off, “What exactly are you implying brother?”

“That you just hear them out. They all have been enjoying this. We won’t go on any ‘missions’. Not yet at least, but maybe you can give us all a chance. We want to help people.”

“Just like you helped us!” Izzy was smiling now, her grinning bright like the rising sun peaking out of the horizon.

West was silent for a moment, contemplating his next words. His hands pulled at his cheeks, eyes sagging as he let out a sigh, “Okay okay! If you all can prove to me that you can do this without getting hurt, I’ll consider it!” The others gasped, grins taking over their features. Immediately they ran to hug the wolf boy, “But no promises okay?” He wrapped his arms around his pack, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

———————

Back to present

The sun beams beat down against Ísabella’s mud covered skin. We was starting to overheat, but she pushed herself to keep going. She was almost out of reach from her past. She just had to keep running. Her legs leaped over a fallen tree. Her feet slapped against the floor harder than expected. Her ankles rolled and her body went tumbling. She used all her strength to sit up, but down she stayed, her mind running a mile a minute, while her legs couldn’t respond.

Get up. They’ll find you. Get up. The sun is too hot. It’s making you weak. Get up. Keep running dammit.

She was able to pull herself forward an inch. It’s not enough. Further

She couldn’t comply to her minds demand. There was no one to help her this time.

What would he think of you now?

———————-

2 years ago

12 years old

“Weeeeesst!” Izzy clung to the older boy’s shoulder, her finger poking at his cheek, “Wesley! Listen to me!”

He chuckled before closing his book and setting it to the side, “Yes Bellarina?”

“You’ve been ignoring my question for weeks! I want an answer!”

“Oh have I? I seemed to forgotten. Remind me again.”

She huffed, hopping off his back, “When can we go on a mission?!” Her periwinkle hair swayed in the wind, her violet eyes holding a pout in them.

West face dropped. He turned to face Izzy, “Iz I told you that we would go on a mission when we are ready and-”

“We are ready! We’ve been training for the past year. What else do you want us to do?”

The rest of the pack had gathered around this point. Eyes trained on their leader and the smallest of the group.

The oldest fought back a grin, his smugness peeking through in the slightest, “You didn’t let me finish Izzy, but by all means continue. I can wait.” He leaned against the nearest tree, his arms resting behind his head.

Izzy’s eyes widened and she quickly muttered out, “Wait you’re hiding something! What is it! Are you letting us go on a mission?”

West let out a chuckle before pushing off the base of the tree, “You sure know how to ruin my dramatic moment Bellarina, but yes. Kole and I talked it over and we’ve decided you all are ready.”

Cheers erupted for the group, all of them high fiving and hugging, but it was short lived as Kole cut off their celebrations. “But before we can do that, you all need to think of codenames.”

And in the next few hours a team was born. Aidan took on the alias of Thermal. His counterpart Cora choose the name Frostbite. Aria became Whirlwind. Kole wanted to just be Coyote, but opted for Jackal after being called “basic”. West decided on Night Howler, which left little Izzy picking up the mantle of Disappearance.

———————-

Back to present

It was a silly thought that a bunch of orphan kids with abandonment issues could become a group of crime fighting superheroes, and West was aware of that, so he found a loophole for his pack’s dreams. The so called ‘crusade’ was less about putting criminals in prison and more directed towards helping the little guys. Each mission West deemed safe enough for his tiny group of heroes was tailored to protect kids like them.

Most missions were helping lost kids find their way home, which resulted in little confrontation, but occasionally the pack would get antsy, wanting to do more, and that’s when Kole’s ideas came into view. His type of missions consisted of searching for kids posted on milk cartons, or breaking kids out of abusive households.

As the group got older Kole’s missions got more out of hand, but each succeeding. Arrogance soon builded up against the group. They thought they were unstoppable, while West grew more cautious. It was long before Kole brought a new type of mission to the table. A takedown of a laboratory that used kids like lab rats. West vetoed immediately but the rest persisted, threatening to go with or without him. So West had no choice.

———————

6 months ago

14 years old

It was too easy to sneak into the laboratory. The pack thought they were sly, while West remained on edge. He knew this place and it was almost never this quiet. The hallways were deserted, test labs empty. West spoke up about his uneasiness, “Something isn’t right here. We need to turn back now.”

It was Aria who replied, “Are you kidding? There is no one hear! Perfect time to break the kids out!”

“That’s exactly what I mean. Why would a state of the art research lab be left unattended in the middle of broad daylight!” His golden eyes bore into the rest of his teams, but most just deflected it by moving further down the hallway, Kole leading them.

Izzy pulled at West’s arm, her mouth set into a slight frown, “Let’s just patrol around to make sure there isn't anyone here and then we can leave, okay?” He let out a sigh before nodding following Izzy to the rest of the group.

“Okay everyone, we’ll split into pairs, Whirlwind and Frostbite take the left wing, Thermal and I will take the right, Disappearance and Night Howler you guys take downstairs” Kole listed off commands, the others nodding along.

“And don't forget your walkie talkies!”

Kole groaned, walking to the right wing, “God West. Don’t call them that! It sounds so lame.”

Izzy and West ventured their way down stairs, passing a sign that read, “Authorized Personnel Only” and West’s stomach lurched. “Iz, something doesn’t feel right about this…”

“It’ll be fine West. We just need to take a quick look around then we can leave.”

When they reached the bottom a hall lined with doors greeted them, all as seemingly empty as the ones above. “I’ll take the ones on the left, you take the ones on the right?”

West shrugged in response, “Whatever gets us out of her quicker,” He made his way to the first door, his hand braced on the handle, “Ready?” Izzy nodded in response and together they tour open the first two doors, “Nothing but lab equipment in here. What about you Iz?”

“Same over here.”

They continued with this procedure down the hallway until they reached a single standing door. West’s suspicions remained, but it didn’t stop him from turning the doorknob and peeking into the room. At first glance it seemed like nothing was different than the last room. It was filled with old cobwebs and lab equipment. West took a step over the threshold and immediately a beeping sound started to ring out. His eyes widened at the set of electronic number that appeared amidst the junk. 1:00 1:59 1:58.

He rose his walkie talkie to his lips before he cried out, “There’s a bomb down stairs. Everybody out now!” The door slammed behind him as he gripped Izzy’s arm dragging her to the edge of the hall. Each step they took felt like an eternity, but time remained, each second fleeting from their grasp.

By the time the pair made it to the bottom of the steps Kole’s voice over the communicator echoed through them, “Aiden and I are out. We are still running further away. What’s your status?”

West didn’t reply, instead swiping an unresponsive Izzy’s legs out from under her and into his arms. He held her close as he ascended the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Her eyes filled with tears, the only sound processing was the beeping that rang out across the building. Mocking, teasing.

“Bellarina, It’s gonna be okay. We’re going to get out,” His goal was to calm her fears, like a big brother always should, but he sounded unsure himself. Holding back tears, he finally reached the top of the stairs. He held her closer as he sprinted to the exit.

“West? Where are you? Aria and Cora just joined us. West answer me!”

For every step he took, the opened door seemed two more steps further. His time was running out. Possibly only 10 seconds left, if he was counting right. In a last hope to save his little sister he threw her towards the exit with the last of his energy before collapsing to the ground. She fell to the ground with a thud, just shy of the door. West yelled, cried even for her to run, but she didn’t get the chance.

The beeping silenced, almost giving the two a saving grace, but in an instance the floor underneath the erupted. The ground shattered, the ceiling crumbling onto them. Then everything went dark.

Izzy gasped, her eyes flying open. She took in her surroundings, seeing nothing but fire, rubble and… red. That’s when she saw him. She wanted to run to him, but her foot was caught under a flaming beam of wood. Her panicked eyes searched the area for a shadow, finding one a few inches from him. Her eyes squeezed, blending into her shadow, soon appearing in front of her brother.

West was barely conscious, his eyes fluttering between a state between open and closed. Dirt and ash covered his face, scratches making him red. The rest of his body was crushed under pieces of rubble from the building and lab equipment. Izzy was quick to put all her energy into freeing from his imprisonment.

He chuckled weakly, “Hey look at that Iz… You s-shadow traveled. I-I’m so proud.”

Tears fell from her violet eyes, as she managed to rip the last piece of equipment off of him. Her arms pulled him close to her. Her arms entangled around his body. Both red and black blood mixed and she held her older brother closer to her, “I-I gotta get you out of here. The other m-might know we’re down-”

West’s head shook, his ears drooping down, “I-It’s no use I-Izzy…” His hand raised slowly, reaching her face. His thumb stroked her cheek, smearing red across it, “Let the others know I love them okay?”

“No no no no no. You’re o-okay! You’re going to be okay,” Her head spinned as she searched for any sign of hope. With none in sight she screeched out, “HELP! SOMEBODY HELP HIM!”

West cupped her cheek again, tearing her eyes back to his, “Isabella, I n-need you to l-listen okay?” She let out a dry sob, her voice cracking, “Don’t b-blame yourself… D-Don’t let anyone blame themselves.” He took in a shaky breath before continuing, “I loved being apart of this family, a-and I want you all to m-move on.”

Teardrops fell on to his chest, stinging the cuts, but he pushed aside as he grabbed Isabella’s hand. “You s-saved me! I should be able to save you!” Her voice was hoarse, but she continued to scream out for help. A squeeze from his hand made her stop.

“I-I love you B-Bellarina… Don’t f-forget that…”

His hand lost its grip, his head fell, now resting on her useless leg. For the next few moments she watched helplessly has he took in one last breath, his eyes closing with his exhale. She screamed, but this time there was no one to stop her.

————————

Present time

Bella took in a deep breath as she approached the edge of a cliff. It had been several hours since she collapsed and the moon had risen on the horizon, giving her strength to move on. The mud had rubbed off her skin, exposing her scars. Her leg had finally healed, but the burn marks never faded.

She looked out to see the buzzing city below her. She was finally free. Free from Kole’s control. Free from the scornful looks of Aiden and Cora. Free from Aria’s torment. Free to live a life West would want.

#my ocs #fucking bella #creative writing #series #bella

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rosegrl18 · 4 years

Text

Day Seventeen - Drawing each other

Fandom: Kamen Rider Saber

Pairing(s): Mei Sudo x Rintaro Shindo

Prompt: Day Seventeen - Drawing each other

Notes:

Touma had already submitted his latest manuscript, which meant Mei couldn't hound him. It was safe to say that Mei Sudo was bored out of her mind. She pulled out her phone and began scrolling through "Inster" as if searching for something. There was nothing. No news, at least none that mattered, no nothing. There was simply nothing to research.

"I'm so bored. If you have any more ideas, feel free to write out a brand new manuscript."

Touma didn't have any new ideas churning around in his head at the moment.

"If you're bored, why don't you try writing?"

"I'm an editor, not a writer."

Mei huffed and left the bookstore, obviously getting as much out of Touma as she was going to get for the time being. She returned to her apartment and flopped down on her couch. Why did she have to be the editor to a writer that only had a good idea, seemingly, once in a blue moon? Then, her thoughts turned to Rintaro. What was he doing? Was he training? Was he fighting a Megid that appeared in the city? She didn't think it was likely he was fighting a Megid, as that meant Touma would've gone out to join the battle. Maybe he was at Northern Base? The apartment was lonely and quiet without him. She thought about calling him on his Gatrikephone, but if he was busy, he wouldn't pick up. She thought about visiting Northern Base, but maybe he wouldn't want her there?

She stood up from her couch and found a blank sheet of paper and a pencil. She sat back down on the couch and began sketching an amateur portrait of Rintaro, though it wasn't the best. She snorted to herself. There was no way she was going to be a professional artist. When the portrait was finished, she laid it on the couch. Having the portrait of him sitting next to her made things a bit less lonely, but Portrait!Rintaro couldn't compare to the real thing. She sighed and sank back into the couch, pulling out her phone again. She began scrolling through "Inster" again, just in case something had been posted since she last looked. There was nothing. Were the Megid just taking time off? She'd have to bring it up with Rintaro when she saw him.

About an hour later, Rintaro walked through the apartment door and found Mei sitting on the couch, asleep. One arm was down at her side, her phone loosely gripped in her hand. She must have fallen asleep while scrolling through her phone. He pulled her phone out of her loose grip, locked it, and plugged the charger cable into it, setting it on the table next to the couch. It was then that he noticed the piece of paper sitting next to her. It was a drawing of him. Why did she have a drawing of him? If they weren't in a relationship, he would've thought that was a bit creepy. As they were, he thought it was endearing. He found some paper and a pencil and decided to attempt a sketch of Mei while she slept. He tried his best, but Portrait!Mei didn't do the real Mei justice.

It was clear that neither of them were artists. One was a book editor and the other was a swordsman and Kamen Rider. Their art wouldn't be winning any "Artist of the Year" awards, but that was alright. Rintaro didn't care if his art did or didn't win any awards and he was sure Mei felt the same. The quality of the art wasn't important. It was the sense of being together even when apart that the art brought them that was truly important.

"Mei, I have returned home," Rintaro said, quietly, gently shaking her awake.

"Mmm," she stretched and moaned softly. "Welcome home."

It was clear to him that she wasn't fully awake yet. She didn't even seem to register his presence in the room. However, a few minutes later, as if someone lit a fire underneath her, Mei shot up like a rocket.

"Rintaro! You're home."

"You were asleep, but I already told you I had returned home. You replied, 'Welcome home.'"

"I must have been really out of it."

"I think you may have just been half asleep."

"I'm awake now. Where did you go? Was there a Megid attack? There's no new news on "Inster" about monster attacks, so have the Megid just been taking time off?"

"To answer all of your questions in order, I was at Northern Base. We had a brief meeting and I did some training. There was no Megid attack that I know of. If the Megid are taking time away from their attacks, it is because they are likely planning something large-scale. What that would be, I have no ideas. What is with the drawing?"

"I didn't know where you were, I was bored, and I got lonely. I visited Touma, but he had no new ideas for a new manuscript. After I returned home, I found a piece of paper and decided to make a sketch of you to keep me company. It's not the best, but Portrait!Rintaro still kept me company enough until you came home."

"It does not need to be perfect. As long as your art fulfills the purpose you created it for, it is alright."

Mei smiled and noticed his amateur portrait of her.

"I see you drew a picture of me too."

"I noticed yours and thought it might need a partner."

Mei laughed. His dorky nature was quickly rubbing off on her.

#mags's otptober

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sufferthesea · 7 years

Text

The Death of a Seamstress (aka 8 Ninken Jackets and Kakashi Assumes Too Much)

Kakashi Week 2017 - Prompt #4: Ninken

Kakashi! Haven’t you ever heard the expression “You know what happens when you assume”? Anyway, I don’t know who makes ninken jackets but someone has to, right?? (Also sorry for spelling errors and stuff? I’m too lazy to go back through for a 10th time to check...)

Rating: General Words: 3.132

Also on ao3

It’d been several years since all of Kakashi’s ninken got their little jackets and forehead protectors. He remembered when he’d first got the blue jackets with the Henohenomoheji face embroidered onto them and presented them to the eight ninja hounds.

“Kakashi,” Pakkun had said gingerly, as he pawed at the smallest jacket of all, meant for himself, “this is nice and all, but … we’re dogs. We don’t need these jackets. None of the other ninken wear them.”

“Maybe,” a younger Kakashi had replied, “but you’re the ninken of the Hatake clan. We actually have some pride. Put on the jacket.”

Throughout the years, the jackets had gone through a lot. They’d been torn, stained, forgotten, and even buried at one point - though Kakashi figured that had been on purpose by a few of the dogs who were embarrassed to be seen wearing clothes. He’d done his best to patch them up, but his hands weren’t nimble enough to work a small needle through the fabric. And when he had decided to do it himself, they had turned out rather pathetically. The fabric was puckered, the hems were uneven, and they looked sadder than before. It only took one serious look from his ninken and Pakkun declaring, “I am not wearing that - anywhere,” before he gave up for good trying to fix it himself.

Whenever he got the chance, he’d return to the old seamstress who’d originally made the jackets for the ninken when he was younger. Sakumo had taken him there when he was a child to have a set of custom shirts made with a mask before he started at the Academy, and she seemed like the perfect person to ask to make the matching set of jackets for the dogs. Of course, it helped that she’d already knew Kakashi and didn’t ask many questions - the only thing she’d told him to do was summon all the dogs so she could get their measurements. Every time he returned to the shop, she’d patch up the jackets with smooth seams and polished stitching. She’d even gone so far as to replace all of them with brand new jackets a few years ago as a gift to a “loyal and kind customer.”

Now he was holding a paper bag packed with the eight jackets, each one folded as neatly as he could manage with the tears and tatters fluttering about. He’d done his best to tell his ninken that they needed to take care of the jackets - they couldn’t be reckless, but even with his stern words there was at least one dog who’d accidentally scratch at himself and tear a hole clean through the fabric. Plus he couldn’t help that they’d gotten worn down through use - I mean, you can only fight in clothes for so long before they’re damaged at least a little. This last bought of training hadn’t been bad, but somehow every - single - jacket - was - ruined.

Kakashi felt incredibly bad since these hadn’t even lasted that long, and the old lady hadn’t even charged him for them! But still, he needed to replace them.

The small shop was tucked away in an easily overlooked corner of the village, behind a few weapons shops and a bookstore. A wooden sign hung over the door that read Custom Clothes - Seamstress and Tailor in faded ink and the windows were dark even though all the lights were on inside. Kakashi pushed open the door and was greeted with the familiar chime of bells overhead. There were wooden mannequins placed in the front of the shop, each one wearing a different outfit. A display case over to the side held bolts of fabric, a few sketches, and an old pincushion. At the back of the store was a door curtained off with a sign that read Private - Fitting Rooms. It smelled like potpourri, and threads of linen hung in the air.

“Sato-san,” Kakashi called, wandering over to one of the mannequins dressed in an airy, cream-colored yukata. “I hate to say it but my ninken have torn through all of their jackets. Do you think you could fix them? Or replace them? I’ll pay you this time.”

Someone moved behind the curtained room and footsteps echoed off the wooden floor. Kakashi didn’t bother looking up as he rubbed the sleeve hem of the yukata between his thumb and index finger.

This is nice, he thought to himself. I should ask her to make me one of these before summer gets here.

The curtain was thrown back and Kakashi, still gazing at the mannequins, held up the bag. “I’ve got them all here. Could you see if there’s anything to salvage?”

“What do you mean you’ll pay her this time?” came an unfamiliar voice.

Kakashi turned and was startled to see a young woman standing in the fitting room entrance, the edge of the curtain in her hands, a stern look on her face. She was dressed head-to-toe in black with a white apron tied around her waist, decorated with the same symbol Sato-san had explained was her family crest. The girl had her hair pulled back into a bun and a pencil behind her ear. Her glare was frightening and Kakashi stepped back from the yukata and threw a hand up as if to show he wasn’t armed.

“Sorry about that,” he laughed lightly, “I wasn’t aware anyone else worked in this shop. I was looking for Sato-san. She usually mends these for me.”

The girl continued to stare at him but she let go of the curtain and folded her arms. “Yes, I guessed that. What are you doing having my grandmother sew your clothes and not paying her?”

“Huh? Your grandmother?” Kakashi studied the girl’s face and he could see a faint trace of Sato-san in her - the same large eyes, the same stooped shoulders, even the small flyaway piece of hair on top of her head was the same. “This is a family business? That’s nice. But she’s really the one who does all of my mending, so if you could just go get her —”

“Not until you pay her what you owe,” the girl said sharply, standing firm. “It sounds like she’s been doing a lot of work for you, so I expect you to pay up. What’s your name? I’m sure she kept a record of how many times you came in. I’ll get the guest book and we can crunch some numbers. Take a seat over there.” She pointed to a cushioned bench on the other side of the room before disappearing behind the curtain. When she returned she had a huge book in her arms and a determined look in her eye.

“I didn’t mean to give off the wrong impression,” Kakashi began, clutching the bag to his chest. “I never cheated your grandmother out of anything. She said she’d made these as a gift for me. But I’m more than willing to pay you to fix them.”

“Nice try!” The girl dropped the book onto the bench and flipped it open. “Grandma was very nice and she did a lot of favors - but plenty of people took advantage of that kindness and nearly put us in debt! I’m going to collect every last cent that was owed to her if it’s the last thing I do. Let’s see … What’s your name?”

“Uh - it’s Hatake Kakashi.”

“Hatake … Hatake …” She turned the pages until she reached the page titled HA and went down the list. “Ah, here you are. Hatake Kakashi! Let’s see. You’ve been in - ah!” She stood up and gawked at him. “You’ve been coming here since you were a child?”

The jonin nodded simply. “Yes. I’m sorry, are you able to mend these?”

“Just a minute - Grandma always put a check mark next to orders that were paid in full, and a star next to a gift. Of course, most of these pages are filled with stars - but I know what was a gift and what wasn’t. Hmm, seems that most of your orders have been paid … that’s a first. Ah! Here it is! Eight sets of jackets for …” She paused, puzzled, and reread the page. “Maybe the writing is smudged. Does that say what I think it says?”

“Eight sets of jackets for my ninken, that’s right.”

She turned, giving him a bizarre look. “You had … custom jackets made … for your dogs?”

Kakashi felt a sudden blush cross his face and he looked away. “That was the order that was a gift - the most recent one. I’ll pay you to mend these ones - or to make new ones.”

Huffing, the girl slammed the book shut and eyed him suspiciously. “So, only one order was a gift, huh? I guess you’re lucky. There’s some people in here who’ve been scamming my grandma for years. I’m going to make them pay in full. Can you imagine that bill? Let’s see the damage.” She took the bag from his arms and sifted through the shreds of fabric. “Jeez, you can tell these belong to dogs. Er, ninja dogs. I can’t save any of this. I can make new ones, if you want to order them. My grandma kept all of her patterns so they should be around here somewhere. Maybe in the back …” The girl wandered off to find the missing patterns.

“So,” Kakashi said, following her through the curtain into the back room. He stopped and stared in awe. He had always assumed the shop was tiny, since the front of the store wasn’t much to look at. But back here was another story. To the left were fitting rooms to be used to adjust and tailor clothes, to the right was where customers were taken to be measured, and in front of him was another door leading to what appeared to be a workshop. He suspected he had been back here at some point when his father had ordered his masked shirts, but the memory was distant and faded – and since the ninken were so well behaved (usually), he had just sat on the bench in the lobby reading Icha Icha while Sato-san had led the dogs behind the curtain and taken their measurements.

A long table lined with benches and cluttered with scraps of fabric and spools of thread filled the center of the workshop. It was bright inside and there was a solid wall of bare mannequins waiting to be dressed. A filing cabinet was shoved in the corner of the workshop and all of the drawers were opened; hundreds of papers were pulled out and lying scattered on the floor.

“Sorry for the mess,” she said. “I’ve been going through all of Grandma’s papers to get things organized. I’ve got to finish her orders and collect her payments. Come this way. We’ll find the patterns. What were you saying?”

“Huh? Oh - I was just … I was gonna ask where Sato-san was. I didn’t know she had any family, so it really surprised me that you were working here.”

The girl hesitated, pausing in her walk towards the large table in the center of the room. Kakashi almost ran into her but stepped aside just in time. She shook her head and scurried over to the other side of the table, heading towards the filing cabinet. “I’m sure your patterns are in here. It’ll just take me a moment.”

Kakashi sat on one of the low wooden benches and watched the girl balance the bag of shredded fabric in one arm and frantically shuffle through the see-through patterns in the cabinet.

“Aha! Here they are.” She pulled out a large paper folder and slapped it on the table beside Kakashi. Across the front in scribbled handwriting read, Hatake, Kakashi - 8 Patterns - Jackets, Various Sizes. “I can make as many jackets as you want with these!” she beamed, setting the bag down on the table. “Look here, see these notes? She wrote down what fabric she used, what thread, what kind of stitch, and she even wrote down the name of the dogs the jackets were for. She always paid attention to stuff like that,” she mused fondly, running her fingers along the folder. “So - you wanted to order new ones? I’m sure we have this fabric still in stock. And it looks like there’s a pattern on it.”

“Yeah - it’s Henohenomoheji.”

“… what?”

“Uh, it’s …” Kakashi felt another embarrassed blush rise on his masked face and he cleared his throat. “It’s, you know, the little face kids draw on their scarecrows.”

“Huh — oh! Kakashi! I get it! Hm. I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone with a sense of humor. Actually, considering you’ve had jackets custom-made for your dogs with a scarecrow face on it, I guess you are kind of funny.” The girl took back the folder and went to studying the patterns, looking through the bolts of fabric to find the exact type. “You can wait here or you can come back later. It’ll take me a while. Well …” She studied the measurements for Bull and paled. “This one might take me all night. Maybe you should come back tomorrow afternoon. I can tell you then when they’ll be ready.”

“Sure. Do you want to keep my wallet hostage so you can be sure I don’t cheat you?”

“Very funny. You can pay me before I hand over the jackets when they’re finished, though. I’ll tally up the bill now if you want.”

“That would be helpful, thank you.”

She grabbed a pencil and quickly wrote down a handful of figures. She shoved the paper at Kakashi and pointed at the bottom string of numbers, “That’s your bill.”

Kakashi’s only visible eye widened in bewilderment at the sight but he fought to retain his cool exterior and shrugged. “I … see the price of labor has gone up.”

“Well, it is only me here. If I start these tonight it’s already overtime! Unless you can wait a few days, then I can knock a few zeros off. Otherwise, I’m charging you for priority. I’m pretty backlogged, you know.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Kakashi studied the pieces of fabric pinned to other patterns and the wicker basket on the floor beside the sewing machine, overflowing with garments. “That price is fine. As much as they hated wearing them, I feel like they’re a little ashamed to be seen without them. It’s a modesty thing.”

“Uh-huh. Right. Anyway, I’ve got to close up soon or else more people are gonna think they can come in this late. I’ll walk you out.” The girl clutched the folder into the crook of her arm and escorted Kakashi out of the workroom, through the curtain, and to the front door. “Stop by tomorrow and we’ll see where we’re at.” She waved at him to stop when he moved to grab his wallet out of his pocket. “You can pay tomorrow. Maybe by then I’ll have softened up a little and reduced the price. Do you mind if I keep these here tonight? I can use them as reference. My grandma always did things a little differently than me. I want to make sure I get them right.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine. You did those?” He motioned towards the clothed mannequins sitting in the front of the shop.

“Yeah! They were some of the first things I made when I took over this shop. I was getting used to her sewing machine, but I think they turned out alright.”

Kakashi guessed that from the aversion of the question, he knew the answer about where Sato-san was. He took a deep breath, remembering the old woman who’d done so much to help him in the past. Although the village had certified tailors and seamstresses to make the chunin and jonin uniforms, as well as masks, Kakashi had always brought in his clothes to be mended by the woman. He’d also kept all the shirts she’d made for him when he was young; even though he had far outgrown them, they were still in good condition. For the most part. Kunai strikes and bomb shrapnel were not kind to clothes, no matter how well they were made. He looked at the girl, feeling a strange sort of sadness in the middle of his chest, and he muttered, “I’m sorry for your loss. Sato-san was a really wonderful woman. I’m glad you’ve taken over, though, and kept her shop open.”

The girl stared at him in silence for a while before leaning forward with her eyebrows pulled together tightly and her mouth stretched downward. “Huh?”

“Sato-san,” Kakashi said, unintentionally shuffling backwards under the gaze of the girl. “I’m s-sorry for your loss. She really was a nice woman.”

To his surprise, the girl let out a sudden laugh and stood up, looking just as confused as before. “My grandma isn’t dead! Is that — is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time?”

“Uhm … yes?”

“No! No, she isn’t dead. Oh my gosh. I should’ve said something. Grandma retired last year and has been traveling around to different villages. She trained me to be a seamstress like her and left me in charge of the shop before she left. She had a few orders left but I said I would take care of them, but they were a lot more than I thought. I’ve been trying to get through them all, but I don’t work as fast as her. And, like I said, she was too generous for her own good so now I’ve got to collect all that money before we lose the shop. But that’s none of your concern, aha ha ha! I didn’t mean to frighten you, either, by letting you think she was dead. I think she’ll be stopping by for a bit sometime in the summer, if you want to come by again to see her.”

Kakashi wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or relieved. “That’d be nice,” he forced himself to say. He couldn’t believe he just paid his condolences for a woman who wasn’t dead. “I … should go. It’s getting late and you need to close up. I’ll stop by tomorrow. Goodbye.” He turned and hurried out of the shop, leaving the poor girl behind. He marched down the now-dark street back towards his apartment.

I’m so stupid, he thought as he passed by the shops, long since closed for the evening. I can’t believe I just assumed her grandma was dead. He was absolutely convinced that if it weren’t for the jackets he was going to pick up tomorrow, he would never show his face at the shop again. Shoving the key into his lock, he pushed open his door and dragged himself into the apartment. It doesn’t matter tonight, he tried to tell himself as he collapsed on the couch, kicking off his shoes. I have to see her tomorrow, so I’ll just pretend it didn’t happen. After that, though, I’m never going back.

Soon, he was asleep, the embarrassing moment and the hefty fee temporarily forgotten.

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gryffvndors · 7 years

Text

uncommon alliances: part three

summary: you take advantage of the fact that pansy literally doesn’t care about house security, and decide to sleep in the slytherin common room with daphne and draco. also, the hogsmeade four has a lengthy discussion about dicks.

word count: ~3900

a/n: hi guys im back from the dead w another part of this series that has, essentially, no plot bc don’t we all love pwp! (; potter without plot!! what did u think i meant??? anyway there’s a discussion about dicks in here so if u dont wanna read that, it’s near the end, just ctrl+f “upside-down” and u’ll skip it, it’s just for a laughhhh

part zero part one part two

“It is far too early for this,” you mumble, eyelids fluttering. The option of settling back into the black leather sofa you’re sinking into and shutting your eyes to drift off is far too appealing - next to you, Daphne pokes you in the ribs, snorting when you let out a hysterical giggle. She pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her forehead on them, body shaking with laughter. Your eyes are too heavy, world too incoherent to join in and make fun of yourself, so instead, you just sigh and lean forward to grab your mug of tea.

“Stop laughing at me, Daph, ‘m tired ‘nd I didn’t mean to,” you whine softly, hands wrapped around the mug. You bring it up to your lips and sip at it. The hot liquid - scalding liquid, Merlin’s fucking pants, that is burning your tongue right off- “Fuck, tha’ ih ho’-!”

Daphne raises her head and takes in the image of you coughing and letting the tea dribble back into the mug, then bursts into even louder, more violent laughter. “Y-you look s-so-” she chokes out in between gulps of air a minute later, “that is g-gross, oh my goodness-”

Scowling at the tea, you set the mug back on the table and huff. “Well, I’m awake now,” you mutter, scowling. Your friend wraps her delicate arms around your body and squeezes, her blonde ponytail hanging in your face. You relax, hugging Daphne back. When she pulls away, her pretty face is split in half by a huge grin; Daphne rests her head on your shoulder and stretches her legs out so her socked feet are crossed at the ankles on the table, right next to your tea. Behind you, you hear the distant sound of feet thumping on stairs. A familiar scoff greets you in lieu of a hello, and you have to fight not to break out in a smile. It’s crazy how you know who it is just by the sound of his annoyed exhales, but you decide not to think about it, or else, in your half-asleep state, you might become too sappy and scare him away. You’ve never seen sleepy Draco - that would be too vulnerable of him, and Draco doesn’t do vulnerable - but you can imagine that he wouldn’t be sappy or clingy. You, on the contrary, are very huggy when you’re sleepy, hence the fact that you and Daphne are practically cuddling in the Slytherin common room.

Draco shuffles around to stand in front of you, arms crossed and lips puckered in a confused sort of pout. “What… are you doing here,” he asks. “This is the Slytherin common room. Stop cuddling with Daphne and go back to the trash you call living quarters.”

The corners of your mouth spread into a slow, lazy smirk. “Oh, but Draco-” you pat the seat next to you, the one connected to the arm of the couch. “Come cuddle with us. It’s so cold in here, and we’re so lonely. We’re all alone.”

Daphne nods in agreement. She pats the back of your hand and murmurs, “Come on, Draco, we’re lonely.”

“You have each other. You aren’t lonely,” Draco says, but inches forward a little. He glances at the seat, then to you and Daphne, then back to the seat again.

“Why did you even come down here if you didn’t want to cuddle with us?”

He rolls his eyes and retorts, “I was going back to my dorm from the bathroom and I thought I heard your annoying laugh. The one you do when somebody pokes you in your side. I wanted to see if you were actually here so I could tell you to go away. Why are you here, anyway?”

Your smirks grows wider as you say, “Come join us and I’ll fill you in.”

After a staring contest between you two (which is filled with Daphne’s quiet giggles), Draco huffs out a, “…Fine. But only because I’m curious, and not because I want to cuddle with you.”

“Mmm. Sure. Come on…” You untangle one arm from Daphne and hold it out to him. Draco tentatively takes a seat, sighing when you snuggle into his side without restraint. He begrudgingly wraps an arm around you. Daphne doesn’t unattach herself, so it soon becomes a train of cuddling. The prospect makes you giggle into Draco’s chest. He tucks his legs underneath him and glances down at you, blushing and looking away when he sees you already staring at him.

“So,” he clears his throat, gaze trained on the floor, “why is a Gryffindor like you in the Slytherin common room at… five in the morning on a Saturday?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you slur. You slide down so your head is resting in his lap. Draco stiffens and, for a second, you think he’s going to push you off. Instead, he runs his fingers through your hair. Surprised (and a bit overjoyed), you shut your eyes and relish in the feeling of the boy you like playing with your hair, joined by the presence of one of your best friends. For a few minutes, the three of you engage in tired, slurred conversation that has much to do with nothing. Daphne murmurs something about wanting a necklace from a jewelry store at Hogsmeade. At the mention of the town, you announce that you’ve been searching for a book on Quidditch Beaters that they don’t have stocked in the library, and you hope it’s at one of the bookstores there. Draco mutters his wish for firewhiskey. You only get to hear half of his sentence, because by the end of it, your mind has drifted off to a warm, comfortable sleep.

“Malfoy, Greengrass - why is Weasley here?”

You open one eye. Before you stands one of the Slytherin Prefects, Zoey Cross, a seventh year, with one eyebrow raised and an unimpressed expression on her face. You remember a couple years ago, when the older twins went to school, Fred dated her for a couple months. They were pretty serious, too. Something happened between her and another guy and they broke it off, but after, you’d noticed them pining from afar. When you told Fred, he said he didn’t want to talk about it.

“She couldn’t sleep,” Draco responds softly. “Don’t wake her up, she hasn’t been sleeping well.”

You quickly shut your eye so Zoey doesn’t see you. From the tinge of amusement in her voice when she replies, she’s already noticed your consciousness. “Right…” Zoey muses. “Well, there’s no use in kicking her out if she just comes back inside. Her Weasley genes make her prone to that sort of behavior. Stop telling her the password.”

You snort, chomping on your lip to restrain the smirk that threatens to spill past your lips. “But you told Fred the password,” you crumble and finally mumble, snickering. “And you knew the Gryffindor password.” You open both of your eyes, then, automatically meeting Zoey’s cinnamon brown eyes. She narrows them, sending you A Look. You respond by sending you one of her own. “Checkmate, Cross.”

“Fred and I were in a committed, monogamous, public relationship,” Zoey purses her lips. “And you? Who are you currently in a committed, monogamous, public relationship with in Slytherin? Certainly not Greengrass, what with her relationship with Hemmings-”

“I am not dating Kit Hemmings, Cross-”

“Daphne,” groans Draco. “Hemmings, of all the people? He’s such as ass-”

“Oh, rich, coming from you, Daddy’s Boy-”

“Can it, sister, I caught you two snogging in the boys’ dormitory the other night. And shut up, Malfoy, you’re the biggest prick of the entire Slytherin house. And don’t pull that He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named bullshit, you know I’m talking about modern years. Anyway, we’re waiting, Weasley.”

Your leer melts into a frown. You sit up; Daphne scoots aside so you can fit in between her and a tense, pouting Draco. From Zoey’s triumphant power stance, she knows she hit a nerve. ‘Stupid Slytherins,’ you think, huffing. It’s like they can read minds, or something. It’s like they can sniff your insecurities and manipulate them.

Before you can spit out a, “Nobody,” through clenched teeth, Draco takes a deep breath and mumbles, “Me.”

You, Daphne, and Zoey, in unison, say, “What.” and gape at him.

Daphne recovers first, snapping her fingers and pointing at the Prefect. “See! She has permission from her boyfriend!” The word makes you and Draco flinch. Daphne rages on excitedly. “So she can be in here! Because you let her brother in here when you dated him! I remember, you know, you two would always snog in that armchair over there and I’d have to stop Astoria from staring. She stares a lot-”

“Okay, okay,” Zoey holds her hands up in surrender. “I’ll back off. But, since Ethan’ll hound me if I don’t, I’m taking one point from Gryffindor every time I catch you in here after today.”

You snap out of your shock enough to nod and force out a, “Gryffindor loses so many points a week, it’ll hardly matter.”

She laughs, “I guess you’re right… I’ll leave you to it, then. Oh, and Weasley-” you raise an eyebrow. “If you’re wanting breakfast, I’d suggest you go down there now, before your brother eats all of it. Last I saw, he was on his third plate.”

Rolling your eyes and mumbling something under your breath, you slide off the couch. Draco snorts, getting up and helping Daphne to her feet. “She’s not much better,” he mumbles, making you turn around and slap his arm. “Don’t slap me, you imbecile, you know it’s true!”

“Doesn’t mean you have to say it, Draco!”

Zoey glances between you two and rolls her eyes. “I’m going upstairs. Weasley, remember what I said.”

As she ascends up the stairs, you call, “You should owl Fred sometime. He misses you.”

“I’ll… take that into consideration.” She turns and flashes you a small smile. “…Thanks.”

The three of you watch her vanish into the girls’ dormitory. As soon as she’s gone, you point an accusing finger to your friend. “You didn’t tell me about Hemmings!”

Daphne groans and covers her face with her hands. She shakes her head, blonde hair whipping around to hit Draco in the face. You try to suppress a laugh; instead, it comes out as a rather strangled noise deep in your throat like you’re being throttled. “I’ll tell you later with the rest of the girls, okay? At Hogsmeade. I promise!” She leans forward to grab your crossed arms, dark green eyes boring intensely into yours. Sighing, you shrug. “Thank you for not being upset with me! I wanted to say something to everyone at once! Okay, well, I’m going to leave you two alone and go down to the Great Hall.” As she skips to the exit, she spins and does a weird backwards skip/jog thing that nearly makes her trip. After she recovers, she points at you with both hands. “Noon! Bye, Draco!”

Daphne leaves the common room in her pajamas, which you let her go in just because you’re too lazy to say anything about it. And then there were two. You stand about a foot away from him, too aware of the awkward silence between you two. The tension is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. You purse your lips and raise your gaze to meet Draco’s.

“So…” you begin, shifting weight between your feet. You should just go on and say it. Neither of you are getting any younger here, and you’re not one for unnecessary tension; quite on the contrary, you prefer to just get everything out in the open. “Boyfriend?”

He takes a sudden interest in the fireplace. Clearing his throat, Draco shoves his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants and shrugs. “Is that okay?”

“Uh - yeah! Yeah, it’s fine with me. Just a little… surprising, is all. Um, public? We’re public now?”

“Well, Daphne seemed to already know about it. If she knows, then Pansy and Millicent do, as well. It was just a matter of time,” Draco pauses. “How do you think Weasel will react?” If you didn’t think the idea so insane, you’d reckon Draco actually looks nervous. Or something of the sort.

“Badly,” you admit, shrugging. “But I don’t care. It isn’t his relationship, it’s mine. He has no business in my relationships. He tried it with Ginny and Dean earlier in the year - we both put an end to that.” Smirking, you remember the Dean Era. You can’t recall whether or not Michael was before or after - Harry’s definitely here to stay for a while, which is something you couldn’t be happier about.

Draco is saying something when you snap out of your thoughts. You see him stroll to the staircase to the boys’ dormitory - you call after him, throwing your hands in the air. “Where are you going?” Draco raises a brow. “I’m getting dressed. Were you not listening to me while I was speaking?”

“Uh, no.”

He rolls his eyes, then turns back to the stairs. “That is your loss, not mine. You should get changed, too. I’ll see you later in Hogsmeade, okay?”

You mumble, “Yeah, fine, whatever,” and head for the common room entrance. On your way, you pass Crabbe and Goyle - instead of sending them a huge grin, like you do Blaise and Theo, you merely nod to them. You’re not quite there with them yet.

“Where have you been?” Questions Ron immediately as you step through the Fat Lady’s portrait. He rises from the armchair that faces the Gryffindor common room exit; you pass him, nudging his shoulder with your hand on your way to the girls’ dormitory. “You’re wearing the same clothes you were yesterday! Is my little sister doing the Walk of Shame?!”

“Twins,” you remind him with a smile. “We’re twins. One minute doesn’t count. And I just crashed with a few friends, nothing to worry about. I’m fine. I didn’t sleep with anyone, not that it is any of your business even if I did.”

“What? You don’t have any friends. You have - you have us! Me, ‘Mione, Harry, and Ginny!” A moments hesitation, then, “Were you with Luna?”

“Ron! I said it’s none of your business. I’m fine. Don’t go all overprotective of me. Trust me, I can hold my own. I’m going to get changed for Hogsmeade, maybe see if Ginny has any snacks. I’ll see you later-”

“Ah, right, wait-” Ron grabs something off the table next to the armchair and jogs over to the bottom of the case; he eyes it warily. You snort, planting your hands on your hips and descending the necessary amount of steps to become eye-to-eye with him. “I noticed you weren’t at breakfast, thought you were ill. I brought you some food. It’s probably a little cold, but I don’t trust myself to do a Warming spell and not torch the thing.” Ron offers you the thing. It’s a plate of assorted breakfast food. You take it gingerly, a flood of familial affection washing through your body. It’s such a sweet, thoughtful gesture, you feel bad about being so adamant with him about your whereabouts. Of course, if you were him, you’d be worried, too.

You pull your brother in for a one-armed hug. He accepts it for a second and pulls away the next, ears red. “Thank you, Ron!” You beam into his blue eyes. You decide to add, “You’re the best twin older-brother-by-one-minute ever!”

“It’s nothing, I just thought you’d be hungry,” he mumbles, shuffling backwards. You let him inch away from the conversation. Instead of forcing him into more sibling bonding, you just go up to your dorms to get ready. Before eating the breakfast, you take out your wand and cast a light Warming spell. Then you proceed to burn your tongue on a forkful of eggs.

“Is his dick big, though?” Pansy sips at her butterbeer, nonchalant about the question she just imposed. “Like, Daph, I know you’re all, ‘size doesn’t matter’, but let’s be honest, ladies - it does. Size does matter.”

Daphne chokes on her treacle tart. When she stops dying, she grabs the nearest thing to her and chucks it across the table. It just so happens to be the bag of owl treats Millie bought for her owl - Daphne just nearly misses, Pansy ducking out of the way just in time. The bag sails over her head and lands behind your table. It bursts open and all the treats scatter amongst the floor. “Oh, shit-” Daphne jumps up, shouting an apology to Madame Rosmerta, who just rolls her eyes, a small smile on her face. “I’ve got it, Madame, really-”

Madame Rosmerta waves her off and takes out her wand. You turn back to the table, snickering as Millie scolds Daphne for wasting her owl treats. Madame Rosmerta hands the newly-mended bag back to Millie, nodding at Daphne’s gushing of ‘thank you, Madame, thank you - I’m so sorry-’. She, along with the entirety of the Three Broomsticks, ignores her shrieking when Millie attempts to hit Daphne over the head with the bag. You and Pansy step in. Pansy wrestles the bag away from an angry Millie while you protect a screeching Daphne.

“Give me back my owl treats, Parkinson-”

Pansy raises a perfect, dark eyebrow. “Uh, Bulstrode, you can get them back when we return to the common room. I won’t have you trying to kill Daph on my watch.” She flips her hair and smiles. “Anyway. What was I talking about?”

“Size does matter,” you offer, much to Daphne’s chagrin.

“Oh, right - yeah, size fucking matters, Daph.”

“No - Pansy, it’s all about personality. It doesn’t matter if he has a large penis, because if he has a large personality, then I am satisfied,” Daphne sits back in her seat, pleased with herself.

You lean over and stage-whisper to Pansy, “I think Hemmings has a small dick.”

“I’d wager he does, too,” Pansy stage-whispers back, maintaining solid eye contact with Daphne.

“No! Stop it, guys, it isn’t your dick, I don’t see why you care-”

“You’re not denying it, Daphne,” Millie cuts in. Her temper has calmed, and she’s back to first-name basis again. Good; having Millie angry is like… having Hermione angry with you. She’s sullen, stubborn, and a pain in the ass to be around. “If you’re not going to entertain us with Hemming’s dick, let’s talk about Draco’s.” Fuck. Nevermind, you want her to be sulky again. “How big is Draco’s dick?”

Pansy leans in, a laugh at the tip of her tongue. “Yeah, tell us. Give us the details.” After a moment, Pansy shakes her head. “Actually, I have to look at him in the eye. Don’t give us the details, but make a broad accusation, y’know?”

Shooting a wink at your blonde friend, you rest your chin on your fist and say, “Well, let me tell you girls, I think size does matter, and I am more than satisfied.” Grinning at Pansy’s shrieking laughs, you take a small sip from your mug and watch her and Millie viciously tease Daphne.

“See? Daph, even Draco has a big dick - and we all thought he was compensating! Sucks that Hemming’s is too small - maybe you should try someone else, like Po-”

Daphne, fuming, slams her fist on the table. Some butterbeer sloshes over the side of your mug, but you barely notice it in your violent giggling fit. “You know what?” She snaps. “I wasn’t going to tell you, because privacy, but I’ll have you know Kit does have a big dick. In fact, Kit has a huge cock. It’s the biggest I’ve ever seen. Nine inches,” she says the last bit proudly.

You, Pansy, and Millie all shout in unison, “Nine?!”

“Nine. Kit’s dick is nine inches long. So, yes, I am very satisfied. I get nine inch cock-”

“That’s very interesting, Daphne, but I’d rather not know the size of Kit Hemming’s dick. Or first-hand accounts of how he uses it. Or, quite honestly, his name gives me a migraine, so I’d prefer to not speak of him, at all, for the rest of my life,” Draco’s voice sounds above you. You crane your neck to look up. He’s smirking in Daphne’s direction. Draco leans down to give you a weird upside-down kiss that’s actually quite cute and endearing, and leaves even Pansy awwing. Pansy never aws. Pansy is a cold, emotionless snake who takes pleasure only in seeing other people’s discomfort. And, sometimes cute things, when she’s in the mood. It’s not often; the mood comes once in a blue moon.

You love Pansy.

Draco drops a book onto the table as he falls into the seat in between you and Pansy. You pick up the book. Scanning the title, your heart rate quickens with each letter until you’ve finished the cover page and your excitement is through the roof. “Draco!” You shriek, setting the book down and tackling him in a hug. “Merlin’s tits-”

“Nice one,” he says, sarcastic.

“-Thank you so much, holy shit! I’ve been looking for this forever! How did you find it?!”

Draco picks up your mug and drinks from it. He leans against the back of the chair and shrugs. “I’m a Malfoy. I can get whatever I want.”

“I thought you were, like, half-asleep when I talked about this?”

“I was listening to you. I don’t tune you out,” he scoffs.

It’s then that you remember that your friends are still here, and staring at you expectantly, waiting to be included. “Oh, right - Daph, you might remember this. It’s the book on Beaters and tips and biographies and tricks of world-famous Beaters that I’ve been looking for for ages.”

Millie wiggles her eyebrows at you and Draco. “And what is he getting in return for your book?”

Draco answers before you can, saying, “Peace and quiet, hopefully. I’m leaning towards not being mindlessly bothered by her every second of the day.”

The three girls change the subject after laughing, leaving you and Draco pretty much alone. You look up at him, smiling. He’s smiling, too; the corners of his mouth are slightly upturned. You can tell he’s trying to hold one back. “You keep getting things for me, and I don’t know what to give you.”

“I don’t need anything,” he says quickly. Draco takes the book from your hands and sets it back on the table. He twists in his chair so his entire body is facing you. You do the same until you’re knee-to-knee. “Honestly. Don’t get me anything. Please. I… have everything materialistic I need.”

“Kiss me?”

Draco goes to glance around, then seems to think better of it. He meets you in the middle and kisses you long and hard, fingers making their way to clutch the front of your shirt. After you pull away, he mumbles, “How do you always get your way? Manipulation?”

“No, that’s you,” you retort, setting the book on your lap and opening it to the first page. Before you start reading, you grin at him and wink. “I use scare tactics to get my way.”

Draco snorts. “Right. That’s it. You’re so scary, I get it now.”

Humming in response, you lace his fingers with yours and begin the book, relishing in the feeling of his thumb sweeping over the back of your hand, light as a feather.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy one shot #harry potter fanfic #draco malfoy imagine #my writing #liquidmusing #writing #uncommon alliances #uncommon alliances: part three #i love the slytherin girls

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danithebookaholic-blog · 6 years

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A Book in Which NONE of the Ten Commandments are Broken - A Book for New Year's Resolutions

Only Love Today Reminders to Breathe More, Stress Less, and Choose Love

By Rachel Macy Stafford

When Emry pulled this topic out of the bundle I was less than enthused, but more than that I was worried. Not because I don't think you can have a great book without breaking a commandment, but because I didn't know of any that had been written.

Sure enough I had a really hard time locating something that would meet the criteria of the topic. I've been searching for a book that met the requirement ever since he pulled the topic for me over a month ago! Not even the Bible meets the requirements! It's full of greed, lust, envy and murder. What was I going to do?!

To remind those who may have forgotten and to inform those who may not know, the following are the Ten Commandments that were given to Moses on Mount Sinai (Exodus 20: 1-21):

I am the Lord your God. You shall have no other gods before me.

You shall not make yourself an idol.

You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord your God.

Remember the Sabbath day, and keep it holy.

Honor your father and your mother.

You shall not murder.

You shall not commit adultery.

You shall not steal.

You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.

You shall not covet.

With the internet being no help (I guess no on out there has ever boasted their book doesn't break any commandments) I decided to head to the religious section of the bookstore. Sure I could find something there. Here is where I found Only Love Today. I found that while flipping through it it seemed to match all my criteria, and it would also be a great book to recommend as a New Year's Resolution book as well. Nothing like two birds with one stone, am I right, Emry?

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Some History:

Rachel Macy Stafford is the New York Times bestselling author of Hands Free Mama and Hands Free Life. Rachel provides readers with practical, motivating methods to let go of worldly distractions and live authentic, fulfilling lives. Rachel has been featured in USA Today, Reader's Digest, and on CNN, Good Morning America, and The Today Show. Rachel lives in the South with her husband and two daughters who inspire her daily. (Harper Collins Publishers)

The Synopsis:

Live undistracted, heart led, and hands free... every day.

Rachel Macy Stafford, known as the Hands Free Mama, equips readers to breathe life into what really matters: the ordinary moments in our routine lives and the people in them.

Stafford's inspiring words fill this beautiful book of short pieces constructed around the seasons of life. This flexible, non-dated, moment-to-moment resourse of encouragement can be picked up whenever you need to find meaning in the meaningless... when your soul is weary... when your heart is heavy... when your connections are weak. Only Love Today's life-giving words remind you of the tools you already possess and the insights you already have to guide you back to what matters most. Regardless of what you're experiencing or what season you're in, you'll find wisdom and encouragement to move each day in a positive direction.

Only Love Today - is clarity when you're conflicted.

Only Love Today - is unity when you're divided.

Only Love Today - is faith when you're uncertain.

Only Love Today - is a reset button directing you back to what matters most.

With Only Love Today, you'll feel more aligned with your heart so love can fuel you forward. (Harper Collins Publishers)

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The Review & Wrap-Up:

During Rachel Macy Stafford's introduction she plainly states that this book is not a daily devotional book, and it's not; however, this is not one that you sit down and read straight out either. Only Love Today is an inspiration book that will make you sit and think about what you have just read and compare to your own life. Each individual entry is - as the full title says - a reminder. A reminder to "breathe more"; a reminder to "stress less"; and mostly a reminder to "choose love."

Only Love Today is a thought provoking book that makes you really take the time to look at your life and realize just how much of it is revolved around the things that don't matter in life: scheduling, work, to-do lists. Why aren't you spending more of that time on the loved ones in your life?

Doing these reviews and writing this blog in general takes a lot of my time. I try to schedule it out so that I'm not always working on some part of it, but things don't always work out the way that I hope, and end up taking more time than planned. While reading Only Love Today one morning, worrying over my looming deadline to have it read by, I had to remind myself to stop and take a moment to look at what was really important: finishing this book to have the review posted by a specific date, or take the ten minutes I had left of my planned reading time and spend it with those that I love?

While I don't have human children, my fur children need my love and attention, too. I looked up from reading to find Gandalf - my Great Dane - staring at with with sad eyes from the couch; Emry - my Green Cheek Conure - banging on his cage door, wanting nothing more than to sit in my hair; and Simon - my tabby cat - sitting at my feet, staring at the lap my book was in instead of him. It broke my heart seeing these loved ones wanting my attention and here I was, not giving them the time of day. Right then, I put the book down, Put Emry in my hair, grabbed one of Gandalf's toys, and coaxed Simon into my lap and spent the next ten minutes focusing my attention on them.

Reading this book helped to remind me that life isn't compartmentalized. I, like Rachel Macy Stafford used to, cannot plan every little detail out and expect to live a fulfilling life filled with love and memories. You can only build both of those things by living in the moment and experiencing them with loved ones. After reading this book, I (try to) no longer hound my husband, Jack, with annoying questions, but rather tell him about something to begin a conversation, and take those special moments and run with them. So what if I don't get something checked off my to-do list, there's always tomorrow for that, but that special loving moment is only here right now.

For 2018, resolve to take the time and live in the moment. Resolve to spend more time with loved ones and less time on the things that don't matter. Resolve to take the time to slowly read Only Love Today, and cherish the moments it will help you to see in a new light.

From one bookaholic to another, I hope I’ve helped you find your next fix. —Dani

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Love this book? Check out Everyday Gifts written and illustrated by Susan Squellati Florence.

A very short but beautiful book that reminds you to open your eyes and see all of the wonderful gifts you are given each and every day.

Everyday gifts line the path of our lives. Like sunflowers blooming along the highway, they often go unnoticed as we speed by. Butterflies, bees, and birds receive nectar from the sunflower and carry pollen from flower to flower. We too are sharing our gifts with each other.

it is in our everyday relationships, that we challenge and define ourselves. With those we love, with those we barely know, and with ourselves we grow and learn about who we are. It is in ordinary moments that we experience the sacred part of life. By this giving and receiving of ourselves we become everyday gifts to each other. -S.F. (C.R. Gibson Company)

Pair it with: A hot glass of tea of your choosing.

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Start a conversation: When life is pulling you in ten different directions, what do you do to put yourself in the now and Only Love Today?

Have a book you’d like to suggest or one you’d like me to review? Please feel free to leave your comments down below.

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