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glassrowboat · 3 months

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Our Adventure. Venti.

Summary: A child of Mondstadt has recently been gifted a vision. A gift from the gods. Yet all she views it as is a decorative charm that invokes ire and fear in her very own heart, a babble she can't even control. The solution? The best bard in Teyvat, obviously!

Word count: 2400+

Authors note: Basically, I've been toiling away in my head what would happen if a vision user was struggling to use their newfound gift and I wrote this :)

The wind had a habit of carrying many things along it's ever flowing breeze, from leaves to the sweetest of songs, from love confessions to the dandelion seeds that truly marked Mondstadt as a land full of endless wishes and freedom. Tonight, however, there was a cry, a wail that even a banshee herself would be incapable of making as it rang in the young bard's ears. This was how the archon had come to know so many secrets that lay in the land he called home, and this was how he ended up below a closed window with pebbles in his hand.

A small thud could be heard on the sill, bouncing off the wood as Venti tried his best to not get hit with the smooth stone hurtling back down to the ground. When no answer came from that still weeping woman another pebble was tossed.

What plagued her was already known by many, far too many if anything. Gossip spread fast in these stone walls. Drunkards would talk about how they came across a random patch of grass just outside the city's gates dried out beyond compression. The local carpenter would talk about how he had to chop down a tree that suddenly became too unstable to be allowed to stand any longer, only to find out behind the untouched bark the inside was lacking any moisture that was so characteristic of fresh wood. The most notable of all however was the knights who said they had to escort a young woman home, too weak to walk as she knelt down right inside a ring of brown blades too stiff to wave in the wind like the fields of green typically would.

(Y/n), a child of Mondstadt recently gifted with a hydro vision.

The very same person who was on the other side of that window was struck with knock after knock as she glared at it with pure contempt, nose still running even as she picked up a random shoe. A heel with its pointed end should do some decent damage, right? So she held it tightly in her grasp, that is until the window randomly opened as if Peter Pan himself was trying to sneak into her darkened room. No candle lit to truly brighten up the scene of a red shoe hitting a green figure square in the face.

“No, no, that's some vampire shit I ain't about. Go find some other woman to prey on I- I ate garlic bread for dinner ya know?” Even with your vision blurred by tears you quickly grabbed the other shoe, getting ready to throw this one too.

Vampires can't enter without permission, right?

Well nevermind to that idea as the green figure landed on the floor having successfully passed through what was supposed to be a barrier of protection. All the while he was beaming at you with a smile that would make anyone want to punch him, even with his hands up in the air.

“That's not allowed….”

“Hello to you too.” Ah, you recognize that voice. The little pest that would run around the cobblestone streets all the while humming a tune that would be running on replay in anyone's head for hours after. “Can you put the other shoe down? My face already hurts from the first one.”

“I think you deserved it, you oversized fly.” Letting go of the shoe you let it fall to the ground as you got back up from what was an admittedly cowering position on the floor.

“Come now, what happened to you calling me a grand poet the likes no one has seen in this modern age? Am I not the next-” and you ended up throwing the shoe at him in the end- “Hey!”

You just shrugged, hands raising in the air in what could only be described as a whatcha gonna do about it motion.

Venti looked down at the shoe for a moment as it fell to the ground before kicking it back over to you, giving you free ammunition. “You could throw that shoe at me again or you- I was joking about the shoe! Please, spare me.”

“Flies usually get swatted.”

“Okay….different approach then.” Sighing to himself Venti walked over to, hand ruffling with something in his pockets before pulling out a handkerchief. The white square of cloth held out to you as it swayed in the wind coming from that still open window. “A fair maiden such as yourself shouldn't be crying, so I offer you this: let the best bard in Teyvat whisk you away on an adventure for the ages. We can make our grand escape right away!”

That's a great way to have missing person posters plastered up right next to the ones of the travelers sibling, and how well have those worked so far? Therefore your answer was an obvious “fuck that.”

“Please, with a cherry on top? And sprinkles too.”

Grabbing the handkerchief, and half tempted to throw it right back at him, you brushed it against your eyes. The fabric is surprisingly soft for something a bard who can barely afford a drink would be carrying, yet the lack of an abrasive texture appreciated nonetheless. “Why are you even here?”

“Well,” with a giggle Venti held his hand up, like he was in a play about to recite a sonnet in the middle of a stage with hundreds of eyes on him and him alone. If it was any other situation it could be an amusing sight, but he's still trespassing. “Let's say the wind guided me to you.”

It was hard to pinpoint why it felt so off-putting the way he said that, wistful in a way, but you didn't really get the chance to think on it more as Venti opened his mouth again. “What bard can stand hearing a fair maiden cry and not try and cheer her up with a song or two? Certainly not this one.”

“The wind?”

“Yup. Or maybe even Barbatos himself.”

“Have you ever gone to a doctor to see if you're clinically insane? Or have you just been hanging around Barbara and her musings of the church doctrine too much?”

With that Venti leaned over, a hand held up right next to his mouth so he could whisper, “the results came out inconclusive.”

Wait. What?

“Now come on! We have to get going before the sun fully sets and we have no light to help us see.” After all, who would want to be running around tripping over the loose cobblestones in the streets? “Walking through the dark is only romantic on beaches and sneaking around back alley ways to meet your lover, you know.”

So, he is insane.

Yet here you are taking out the hand he was holding out to you, letting that bard whisk you away on this promised adventure as he drags you out the window. (Trying your best to pretend you didn't notice him grabbing the vision you had tossed on the bed as he did). So while you didn't trip over the loose stones, at least not this time, you did fumble over roots as Venti pulled you under windrise. Leaves occasionally fall down from the tall tree, flowing back and forth as the wind catches the thin object before it finally settles down amongst the grass you two were trampling over as he pulled you to sit down.

Your knees hitting the dirt right before the stream winding along the plains to the coast, water softly rushing past you both as the sound hits your ears almost like a melody. Though a certain drunkard would be aghast to hear you say you prefer this over the strumming of his lyre he'd be plucking at any other time, even if it was just as a joke. Though admittedly it was odd not to see the ducks wading around, having gotten so used to seeing them so often from past visits trying to steal your lunch when you weren't looking.

Pesky little things they were, just like this brat.

“So, what's with the field trip?”

“I can't just pull you along for a midnight trip to my favorite spot?” The answer was clearly an obvious no. Not without a reason of course. “I give, I give, just don't have to glare at me like that. I've heard around town that you had a little incident.”

Oh great, so the rumor mill was doing its thing. What a goody. Just the thought of that scene again, of the hydro vision being cradled between your hands as the grass beneath you withered away to the point a patch of dead, dried out flora has your nose wrinkling. Not wanting to go over the image that played in your head like a highlight reel. A movie dedicated to your own inability.

“Is this the part you impart on me some sage advice?”

“I can.” With the wave of his hand, or more like a flutter of the earth's breath itself as a breeze swayed past you both, catching his braids and making them dance, Venti summoned his lyre. A certain blue glow reflecting off the wood from the gem sitting between you both. “Or we can sit here while I play a tune. It's up to you, (y/n).”

“I'd pick the latter in an instant.”

“But?”

“But it won't get me anywhere.”

Somehow even just the gold encased vision (or maybe the casing was a part of the vision, you didn't really know much about how that all worked) had a certain aura about it that felt daunting. Just an item. Just something as useless as an accessory if it wasn't being used by its owner. It was like instinct to avoid it, just like when you were a child and you had to learn the hard way not to touch that pan that had just been pulled off the still burning hot stove. For the two instances to be so comparable was like a funny, passing thought, but to you it certainly wasn't.

How can one laugh at their own misery without doing so just to mask their pain?

“Venti, what was it like when you first got your vision?” It felt like a natural question to ask, but he didn't really give you much of a real response to that besides strumming that lyre. A tune playing between you that you had heard at the tavern a good handful of times before.

“Let's just say I have always been a natural.”

“So you're useless to me.”

“Sounds like it, doesn't it?” Reaching over Venti picked up a windwheel aster only a little bit away, close enough he didn't have to shift at all to simply pluck it from the ground. “Though I wouldn't call the company of a friend useless.”

You couldn't help but huff at his statement, annoyed by the fact he had a point. “Fine. Sorry.”

He nodded in turn, not bothering to say anything about your mood today. Not when you both knew why you suddenly turned into such a grouch. “I can still explain how it feels for me.”

“As long as you promise not to say something cheesy like I become the wind itself.” That would surely make anyone in your position a little peeved. A prodigy sitting before you who has the ability to so naturally have control of something that threatens to turn on you. The claws of a wild animal that one can never say for sure will come to you for help or to attack.

“I can try!” Holding the flower out, those same orange petals that had become second place in the walls of Mondstadt began to spin. Turning round and round as you were left to stare at the little demonstration. “Like freedom itself has graced me. I can feel wind under my fingertips just as easily as I do strings or this flower for an example.”

“(Y/n), you may not currently know exactly what melody you are trying to share with the world yet, and that's fine! We all have to start somewhere.” Giggles came out between his words, easing the tension you couldn't help but feel at being so blatantly called out. “But just like always, a tune will still play, or in this case the sound of rushing water will be the music you grace me with. Either way, I can't wait to see what you can come up with.”

“My, how sweet, I almost want to wretch.”

“Hey, I was being serious for once!”

That's why this entire interaction feels so wrong.

Still, you glanced back down at the blue gem, watching how it glows so the grass it lays on is tinted with its color. Would it do the same to your garments once you get brave enough to hang it from your clothes like you've seen Amber doing? It was still a burner after all, but even a burner will cool. It just takes time.

“I wasn't expecting to see this side of you today.”

“Like what you see, my lady? Next, all we have to do is throw you in the water and see what happens.”

“I swear to fucking god-” No, you are not down for being thrown around by his wind currents. Just having to ride down one as you left your apartment to get here was enough for one day.

“Easy! Easy! We won't go back to throwing shoes at me, right?” He asked, hands in the air. Already surrendering just in case. The flower hanging in the air between you both. His doing, obviously.

“You're infuriating sometimes.” With a huff you snatched the flower from the air, pulling it close so you could look at it properly. It still had life left in it, still had water coursing through that green stem.

Your eyes were so focused on the petals you didn't even notice the smile Venti was giving you, soft in nature as he watched you stare down at the gift with a pout. You didn't need to know that he was just happy to see you free from tears again, to no longer have you be locked up in your own room from fear of something new. As for Venti? He didn't need to know you couldn't help but think maybe Barbatos did send him to you.

No, not all.

So just like any silent night at windrise, or as silent as can be with you two mouthing off at each other, the leaves rustled as branches swayed back and forth, and a tune, for the wind had a habit of carrying the sweetest of songs.

#venti x reader #venti #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #hoyoverse #x reader #fem reader #barbatos x reader #banner by cafekitsune

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ahfbhdfgdx · 3 years

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Please | Diluc x f!reader (NSFW)

Summary: diluc tries out some aphrodisiacs on u <3

Warnings: Smut, aphrodisiacs, intoxication, slight dubcon, oral, unprotected sex (lmk if i forgot any!)

Note: First post! If you like my writing, requests for nsfw or sfw are greatly appreciated :)

"Are you sure this is going to work..?" Diluc peered into the little vial that Albedo had bestowed upon him. It was a little bit foggy in there, a light pink tone. "This little of an amount too?"

Albedo nodded in silence, then walked back to his desk. "I think you'll find it actually works quite well. If it doesn't, let me know." He sat down and straightened the loose papers that were strewn across the tabletop. Diluc simply nodded in thanks and scurried out, closing the door behind him.

-xxx-

The sun has long set, nearing about midnight. Diluc stood in the tavern among the last few patrons chugging down their drinks. He wiped glass after glass, occasionally checking the clock. When would you finally be here, he thought to himself, placing another glass away.

"Don't get so worked up over her, Di!" Kaeya laughed, words slurring a little. He was sat at the counter with Rosaria. The rain pounded heavily on roof of the building, sending Diluc into further panic, although he hid it well. Maybe you had gotten caught in the rain? You could catch pneumonia out there! He tossed the rag down and leaned on the counter to catch a breath.

Rosaria glanced at Kaeya, both of them equally intoxicated and giggly, and turned back to Diluc. "Yeah, why are you so tensed up about her? It's not like she needs to abide by tavern hours anyway, she'll get here when she gets here!" She shouted the last line a little, Diluc scoffing at the stupor of these two. The tavern was closing in only half an hour. He could leave it open just for the two of you, it would make it easier anyway.

Suddenly, the door whipped open, and there you were, squeezing out your hair outisde the door. Head to toe, you were dripping wet. The three last people in the tavern turned to look at you as you laughed sheepishly. "I missed the forecast," you shivered and came to the bar counter, leaning over to kiss Diluc on the cheek, much to the delight of Kaeya and Rosaria.

He tensed up looking at you. Even fresh out of the pouring rain and all disheveled, you were still the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. You had mentioned being ok with what he was going to do before, so he knew that he wasn't in the wrong, but the feeling of doing something so taboo got him going, especially with you standing right in front of him.

Glancing at the time, 12:30 am, he quickly ushered the drunken Kaeya and Rosaria out of the bar. "Shall I get you a towel to dry off?" He patted your soaked hair as he turned to the stairs. "Nonono," you laughed, "Drink first. Then towel."

He gulped. Now was the time he needed to do it, arousal and nerves swirling around his mind. "As you wish," He breathed out as he poured a glass of dandelion wine, your favourite. While his tall frame was turned against you, he carefully slid the vial out of his pocket, pouring it into the glass. It dissolved quite neatly, save a few sparks that flew out.

He picked up the drink, turning around and placing it hastily down in front of you. Giving him a weird look, you picked up the drink and looked at it for a good few seconds. Shit, I've been caught, he thought as he stared straight into your confused eyes. Shrugging, you took a swig of the wine.

Eyes widening, you looked up at his looming figure, "This is great! Did you put something in it?" You joked and giggled as you took another sip. His heart skipped a beat and shook his head. "I'll go get you that towel," Diluc started climbing the stairs, looking down over the railing to see you take another swig.

Looking down on the glass in front of you, your head started to feel a little floaty. Your wet skin started to feel a little warmer, maybe the warmth of the tavern was helping. That's all you thought, until you started feeling a pulsing feeling. Where's Diluc is all you thought as you took another short sip from the oh so delicious wine.

Diluc came back down the stairs, sneaking up behind you to place the towel over your now damp hair. Whipping around, you grabbed onto his waist and pulled him closer. "Diiiiiiluc.." You groaned into his stomach. "I'm so hot.. and so wet.." Your doe eyes looked up to him, gauging his response. His crimson red eyes looked back down on yours, starting to fill with lust.

He thought whether to just satisfy you now, or let you finish the substance he oh so intensely bargained for. "Don't you want to finish your drink?" In your foggy brain, anything Diluc says goes, so you nodded, still cuddled in his chest. He could get used to this, he thought as he gently grabbed the back of your head.

Bending down to whisper in your ear, "Would you some help with that?" You nodded again, turning your head to try and kiss him. "Yes please, Luc." That set a light inside of him as he picked up your spiked drink, pulling your head back a little. Moving the glass up to your lips, you parted them just enough to latch onto the glass, drinking it thirstily as he tilted the glass further and further, right till the very last drop.

As the wine went down your throat, you felt a sudden jolt of pleasure, moaning into Diluc's arms as he picked you up. It was as if any touch had you off the rails. As Diluc carried you up the steps to the third floor of the tavern, you peppered little kisses and nips all over his neck and cheek. "Where are we going..?" You breathed into his neck as he pushed the top floor door open with his hip.

Diluc placed you down carefully on the guest room bed, then stood back to admire the blank canvas in front of him. How beautiful you were lying there, moaning as you grabbed onto the bedsheets, a hungry expression on your face.

"Diluc, come here," you called out, shaking him out of his trance. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself on top of you, pinning you down. "Yes, my dear?" He cooed, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on the corner of your lips. You in turn grabbed his collar a bit harsher than you meant to, staring straight into his moonlit eyes. "Fuck me, Diluc." You whispered just close enough for him to hear. "I need it. Please fuck me.." You trailed off, feeling him start to trail his mouth down your neck.

"As you wish," He smirked slightly, unbuttoning your shirt one by one. "You really want it that badly, darling?" You nodded your head vigorously in return, threading your hands in his red locks. "I need you Dilu-" You were cut off by the man biting your hard nipple. Moans escaped your mouth in a steady flow as he licked and sucked it, playing with the other in his hand. "M-More please!!" You cried as the spike really started to set in, causing an unsatiable fire inside of you.

"You're so greedy, you know that?" Diluc growled, pinching your nipple with his hot fingers, it felt like a zap in your system. "I did this to you and no one else," He continued as he bit at you more and more. "By the end of tonight, the only thing that'll still be in your mind is me.." Only half of it registered in your mind, but the sound of his low voice vibrating through your system is all you needed to remember.

"Repeat it, my love.." He raised his face to be inches away from you, slowly reaching his hand down your unbuttoned pants, "Only I can make you feel this way." He toyed his finger at your entrance as you gathered the words in your mind.

"Only you can make me-"

He shoved his fingers inside you deep in, finishing your sentence with a scream. "D-Diluc-!" You huffed out as he started pushing in and out fast, curling at your g-spot. "More! More-" You yelped, bucking your hips, pushing his fingers in further. "Oh you want more?" He licked your jaw, sucking at the rainwater still left over. "Almost.. There-" You prepared to have the orgasm of a lifetime but was stopped short by Diluc pulling his fingers out.

You whimpered as he raised himself back up to your level. You were so cute laying there quivering, he thought. "What do you desire, y/n?" He inquired, toying with your wet hair strands, your face now a mix of rainwater, sweat, and tears of joy. "Give it to me, DIluc," You pushed his head down, craving that sweet release that was stripped from you.

He scoffed at your selfishness as he pulled down you pants and underwear, as if he didn't do this to you. He'll make you understand the manners you need to use for him. His tongue slit against your throbbing clit, sending you back on the ride. as he dined on your clit, his hand found its way back to your sopping entrance, continuing the pace he was going at before.

Your sight was blurry as you looked down, all you could see was the shape of Diluc. Him and the stars that filled your vision. You've never felt like this before, each lick and suck he did felt like its own orgasm. Diluc's doing this. Diluc's the one making you feel like this. Only he can make you feel this way. The words he put in your mind were the only words left at all as he took your brain away piece by piece, he was all that was left.

"Diluc.. Diluc.. Diluc!!" You screamed as you got pushed to the very edge. Suddenly, as if he could tell you were about to fully become his, he pulled himself away again. Tears rolled down your pretty cheeks as you brought your hand down, needing to finish yourself but to no avail. "Tsk," He sat himself up, giving you his fingers to suck off.

"I'm afraid only I can make you cum, my dear.." He peeled your hand away from your clit, and you moaned in defiance, at least as much as you could with his fingers in your mouth. "But you made a vital mistake," He took his fingers out, trailing them gently down your waist. "You didn't say please."

"P-Please Diluc.." You choked out, taking extra time to remember the word please, all you could think of is Diluc. "There you go! Was it that hard?" He tucked your disheveled hair behind your ear as he unbuckled his pants, taking the pants and shirt off. "Now you'll get what you deserve, my love." You pulled his underwear down in a frenzy, positioning his hard cock right at your entrance to take the work off his hands. "Oh how kind you are, y/n, positioning my own cock for me." He smiled a rare gleam as he pushed himself into you, finally getting to moan.

"You're s-so beautiful, so perfect," He complimented you for every deep thrust he blessed you with, "And you're mine." He growled the last one as he sped up his pace. Your head lolled back and all you could see is red in your vision. Not that you were to notice, but all you've been doing is chanting his name as you bounced from his thrusts.

"You come when I come," he pushes the words out with great effort as his pushes got shakier. Your legs were already shaking violently from being edged like you had, and you nodded your head as best as you could. "Ready?" He called out as he thrusted the deepest he could go.

"3... 2... 1..." He came with a loud groan right in your ear as you cried out his name, clawing at his back to get as close as possible. He filled you up to the very brim, burying his head in the crook of your neck as he slowly thrusted, coming down from his high.

Your eyes stayed close as he took himself out, resting on top of you with his hands in your hair.

"I love you darling.." He whispered as he pulled the covers over the two of you, but to silent ears. "Y/n..?" He lifted himself slightly to get a better view of you. There was no way you were going to have any senses for a good day at least. He sighed into a smile, and cuddled up close.

#diluc smut #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader #genshin smut #genshin lemon #diluc #genshin imagines #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin impact

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 3 years

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Quiver (bbh)

Summary: You meet a man who seems to know nearly everything about you, save your name.

As with nearly every Baek fic I write, for @illneverrecover! Although she actually paid me for this one hahaha

Also thank you to my sister for betaing and making my gorgeous banner!

Warnings: angst, violence and death tw, unprotected sex, outdoors sex, oral sex (f. receiving), this is more soft and sad than horny tbh

Word Count: 10,219

Deja vu is something you don't feel very often, and so when it washes over you in a wave that leaves goosebumps on your flesh, you look around.

You're not sure what you're looking for, but you feel that when you find it, you'll know.

Your eyes fall on a man sitting at a table, looking down at a book. His hair is slicked back but with pieces falling into his face, and as if he knows you're staring, he looks up at you.

He has the warmest brown eyes, and something like a shock shoots through your heart. Your feet are moving before you realize it.

"Have we met before?"

He smiles, and your heart flutters.

"Maybe in another life."

His name, it turns out, is Baekhyun, and he works at some investment firm you've never heard of but it doesn't matter because he has the most endearing way of smiling at you while you're speaking to him.

You assume he has money because the car he leads you to is nice, not ridiculously so but expensive to upkeep, a foreign model that's sleek and your favorite color: red.

"Why red?" You ask, sliding into the leather seat of this stranger's car because you just know he's safe, somewhere in you.

He gives you that half smile again, the one that gives you something akin to deja vu.

"Reminds me of someone."

You wonder if you might fuck him on the first date, if coffee even counts as a first date, and it's the first time you've ever done that but when he makes you tea and you lean against his kitchen counter he gives you this look. It's like there's something dark and deep in his brown eyes, something both flirty and almost darkly lustful.

It makes your heart flip. It makes your body tingle. It makes you a little afraid.

But you've never been one to run from fear, especially when it's all wrapped up with excitement and lust.

When you're sitting on his couch and sipping tea he's swiveled his body toward you just slightly, open and inviting, but he doesn't make a move, just watches you, listens as you fill the silence, laughs when you make a face when you pick up his tea instead of yours, which is bitter and devoid of the sugar you love.

You make the first move, in fact, end up clutching at his shirt as you kiss his mouth over and over because it feels soft and his tongue is hot and it feels familiar.

His hands skate up your sides once, above your shirt, and then again, under it, and that feels familiar too, long fingers on your flesh.

"You haven't met your soulmate yet," the tarot reader said. You and a friend had visited her a few years ago, when you were half drunk at a carnival.

"At least," she'd continued, "not in this lifetime."

"Are you sure we haven't met before?" You ask, two weeks later when you've spent almost all

your free time with him, and most of it in his bed.

"Maybe in your dreams," he'd quipped, and you elbow him but he's already spooning you and you're too half asleep to do much damage.

"Always in mine," he says, softly, just as you're drifting to sleep, and you can't pry your eyes open long enough to ask what that means.

You start a fling of sorts with this mysterious man, and for the most part, you’re happy. But then you start having these dreams.

Sometimes, there’s fire on a wall in front of you and when you turn around it’s behind you, too.

You can feel your skin burning and you can barely breathe when you wake.

Sometimes there’s thunder booming all around you, lightning that streaks across the sky and you’re running and running toward someone, a man with warm brown eyes, but you can’t get there and when you look down you’re running in water up to your waist.

Always, he’s there. You suppose it’s because you and Baekhyun have been spending so much time together, that he’s in your head all the time as much as you hate to admit it.

Finally, he’s next to you in bed when you bolt upright, frightened by the thunder because it’s one of those fire dreams, one where you can feel the flesh on your arms crinkling, and it burns burns burns until it doesn’t, until you feel so cold you wake up shivering.

You’re afraid and disoriented and the dream all comes out in a rush — you tell him everything, small details about how you’re clutching a rosary in one hand, how the baubles on it popped n the flames, and he puts his arms around you, lets you bury your face in his chest as your heart rate slows down.

“Your name was Eva, then,” he murmurs, so quietly you’d think you were still dreaming.

Something about it rings true. You wonder if you’d heard that in the dream and told him still half asleep, so you nod against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes into your neck after pulling you into his lap and it’s so mournful it almost frightens you.

“You can’t help my dreams,” you say playfully, trying to forget it, and he gives you the saddest smile.

“No, not those.”

You keep having those dreams, and they get more and more detailed and sometimes your name is Eva and sometimes it’s Yui and sometimes it’s Sarabeth and they’re all different, you look different, but you always feel how it ends.

And Baekhyun is always there. He looks the same, unlike you, and sometimes he’s your enemy, sometimes he’s your friend but most of the time, he’s your lover.

The dream that finally makes you confront him goes like this.

Your name is Angelica and your father was royalty but you’re just a bastard, your mother a commoner, a servant of the crown.

Once you’re old enough to have his eyes, you have to stay hidden like some fairy tale princess. Except you’re no princess in your dusty cabin, and you learn to hunt small game so that your mother doesn’t have to steal so much from the castle. It’s good that you learn, because your mother stops coming to the cabin and you learn that the plague has taken her.

The plague has taken nearly everyone, and you haven’t seen another person in months when you happen upon a man.

You have your bow drawn before he ever sees you, the string (made of rabbit sinew because it’s all you had, the bow made of oak that you’d chopped yourself) and arrow pointed straight and true.

He shifts, turns around and you hesitate just a moment when you catch his gaze, something familiar in his deep brown eyes. It’s long enough for him to draw his own bow, and he’s quick, quicker than you are, so you let your arrow fly.

His arrow flies a second after yours and they meet in the space between you, shredding each other in two.

You’d thought, then, that it was an omen.

Good or bad, you didn’t know.

You’d run back to the cabin and locked yourself in, but he’d followed you.

A few hours later, he knocked on the door and your heart started to race. Your mother had warned you what men could do to an unattended woman.

There was nothing else, though, and you waited half an hour to open the door.

A basket is sitting on the doorstep, and it contains dried meat and fresh cherries and peaches.

You hadn’t had fruit in years. There’s also a small bouquet of flowers, filled with dandelion fluff and baby’s breath, a few blossoms of lavender. It smells lovely.

You take your time eating the peaches, they have the sweetest juice that you let run down your chin like a child.

It’s been so long since you’ve eaten well that you overdo it and your stomach feels tied in a knot, but you’re smiling when you fall asleep that night, for what feels like the first time.

There’s another basket at the end of the week but he’s standing on the doorstep with it, smiling.

“Maiden, I was wondering if you had any water?”

“Will you draw your bow again when I turn my back?” You ask, wary, and he shakes his head, laughing softly.

“You drew yours first, maiden. I was surprised. The plague has taken so many it seems like I’m the only one left in all the world.”

He doesn’t look intimidating, doesn’t look as if he’s about to rush you, but you’ll be damned if you’ll let a strange man into your home, so you sit on the doorstep with him and eat the peaches he’d brought.

He watches the juice drip down your fingers, how you lick it off, with something in his eyes you haven’t seen before.

You sit and chat for a while, still wary, but he keeps looking at you like that, and you wonder if this is what it feels like, if this is what is to be wanted.

Three days and three dinners of peaches and dried meat later, you let him inside for a glass of water drawn from the well out back.

He drinks it down like he’s been thirsty for days, and you feel guilty for not letting him in earlier.

The way he licks his lips when he’s done makes something flutter inside your stomach and you put a hand there, low, almost on your pubic bone.

He watches every move you make, this mystery man who doesn’t have a hint of facial hair despite living in the woods, watches where you place your hands and fingers, how you move your mouth. He watches you as if you’re something fascinating, like watching fire burn wood down to embers.

When you were young, your mother took you to the Maypole festival, and all the children had been given these long sticks to dip in the fire, to twirl them around and make shapes in the night sky. You’d done it over and over until the stick was burned down too far and even then, you tried to dip it and burned your wrist.

He looks at you like you’d looked at the shapes you’d made with the lit stick. With wonder.

The first time he touches you it feels like the first time you’d felt warm water on your skin as a child, warmed on the fire with an iron pot, your mother spooning it over you slowly.

He touches you that way, slowly, murmuring bits of your name and it slides off his tongue like honey.

“Angelica. Angel,” he murmurs, right at the shell of your ear, and your bones seem to turn to jelly as you melt into him, your back against his chest.

Your mother had told you that one day you’d have a lover.

“Not a king,” she’d said, “but something more.”

You’d asked her what’s more than a king and she’d only smiled, held a finger to her lips as if the two of you shared a secret.

You did, your secret was that you existed, that your father was who he was and that your mother wasn’t his queen, at least not in name.

You tremble underneath his hands and when he turns you around, presses his mouth to yours, he does it slowly. You’re the one who grabs the back of his head, threads your fingers through the long hair at the nape of his neck, wanting him closer, so close, wanting to burrow inside him and live there because you’re aching for him all over and you don’t know what it means.

“Let me call you by your name,” you plead when he’s kneeling before you, pulling down your underclothes, spreading the curls at your core where you’re hot and aching and wet.

He shakes his head. “I have too many names.”

“Tell me one of them,” you beg.

He doesn’t answer, presses his mouth to your cunt and you gasp, tugging his hair hard and he makes a low groan, throat exposed, that makes something come awake in your lower stomach, something somehow both like fire and honey, hot and slow and sweet.

“Give me your name,” you demand.

One corner of his mouth turns up.

“My name is Love,” he tells you, and presses his face back into your cunt, inhales like he loves the scent of you, his hands spreading apart your thighs so roughly that you brace your hands on the table behind you.

It isn’t a name you’d heard any man to have, but maybe he isn’t a man, maybe he’s one of the fae your Irish born mother told you stories about when you were a girl.

Maybe that’s the something more your mother told you about your future lover after reading your palm when you were sixteen.

You hunt together, and you’re in awe of how quick he is with his bow, how he shoots straight through the heart of even the smallest animals, voles and rabbits that you roast over the fire and feast on while he tells you wild tales about his brothers and sisters.

One rules the sea, he tells you, with a magic trident. One makes lightning bolts for his father deep underground where there’s fire so hot it melts rock and stone.

You’re fascinated, sit for hours just watching his mouth as he speaks and sometimes you vault into his lap mid sentence, silence him with your mouth on his because you want want want.

Your mother had told you many things about your future lover, about how you should be demure just like a man wants, but you can’t even try, not with him. Not with your mysterious, many named, no named lover, because he presses your nails deep into his chest when you straddle his hips, hisses when you leave bite marks along his throat and collarbone.

You pretend to be demure sometimes, if only to make him frown, to make him throw you down on your bedclothes roughly, to bite your lip bloody.

“Don’t pretend you don’t have talons, angel,” he growled, and you can’t help the way you laugh loud and open, even with your legs spread wantonly.

Physical love isn’t at all like your mother had described it, and you wonder if she’d only ever been with the king, with a man who cared so little for his paramours that he’d allowed your mother to die alone in the slums, locking her out from the castle so that his heirs might live.

It isn’t something that you lie down and take the way your mother must have, sometimes it’s animalistic, feral like you’d seen horses mate at the castle’s stables when you were young.

You present yourself on all fours and he slides his hands down your ass, grabs the flesh there to part you, presses his face into your cunt until your thighs are shaking. It’s not love that you feel during those times, not exactly, more like that want want want that you feel so often with him.

Your breath catches when he pulls your hair, wraps it around his fist so that your back arches, so that you twist to look at him. Later, when you’re both sweaty and sated, that’s when the love comes, loud and blooming in your chest as he kisses the fingerprint bruises he’s left on your hips, his fingers gentle on your sensitive skin until your breath slows.

Love is a thing that blooms, you would write if you’d ever been taught how. Love is my man’s name and it’s blooming in me like spring flowers.

You go for walks to gather berries because you’re too busy fucking to hunt and you can get by on a few more fruits and you don’t want to wake him. Once you’d brought home rose petals for tea and a piece of a honey comb that had made his eyes light up.

He’d spread the honey across your nipples, suckled and nipped there until you were sore, and one day, you want that again, especially the way his brown eyes sparkled when he’d seen it.

You have a way with the bees, after all, a way of singing high and sweet that makes them buzz around you slowly instead of angrily.

You’re halfway down the path before you realize you’ve left your quiver and bow. Love (both the man and the feeling) makes you feel stupid, heady and slow, and you pause for a moment, wondering if you should turn back.

Instead, you head forward because it’ll be sunset soon and you won’t be able to find that tree, the one with the beehive and honeycomb that your man loves so much.

It happens so quickly it feels like an instant. You step out from the bushes after gathering some blackberries, so juicy they’ve stained your fingers, and the next thing you know, you’re on the ground. When you try to stand, you can’t, a pain blooming (a lot like love) through your stomach and you’re sure there weren’t any raspberries so what’s this red spreading out onto the ground?

You see your man’s boots, barely laced, before you see his face and someone behind you is stuttering but you hear the swish of your lover’s arrow, a choked, gurgling sound and then he’s knelt down at your side.

“Angel, angel,” he whispers, and he’s crying and you want to tell him not to because it makes you afraid.

What’s happened? What’s wrong?

You don’t realize you’re not actually speaking until he cradles your face, lies down in the dirt to face you, and everything but his touch, his eyes, seems far away and unimportant.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly. “I need you to remember. When next we meet, remember my name.”

You want to. You want to remember everything about him but you’re sure that you’re floating away now.

“Baekhyun,” he tells you. “My name will be Baekhyun.”

As an immortal, it's hard to remember every moment. Years and decades blur together. The only moments Baekhyun can call to mind in perfect recall are the first times he's seen you

For a while, he’d thought Rome might be the worst lifetime he’d ever have.

He knows what he’s supposed to do, knows it’s his job, but he can barely ever bring himself to do it.

In Rome, you’re excited, young, bouncing around with your hair braided. Fire red, always red, always as fiery as your personality. “Eros, right? God of love.”

He’d smiled, wondering if he looked as tired as he felt. “You think I’m a god? I’m flattered.”

You scoff, swirl your dress around as you turn, speaking with your hands as always and his heart aches with how familiar it all is. “Don’t think that means you’re special.”

Baekhyun cocks an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes. Means that you’re here to help me fall in love.”

“Is that so?” He can’t stop smiling at you, despite knowing what will inevitably happen next.

“Mmhm.” You’d taken his hand, flipped your braid over to the other side of your shoulder. He always tries. He always tries, gods damn it, damn his father and his brothers and sisters, he tries.

But there’s always this moment, where you take his hand, or brush your knuckles against his lips just so, or you just look at him up under your lashes, and the arrow he’s supposed to be aiming feels like it goes straight through his heart.

“I have someone in mind.”

It’s like the arrow in his heart twists, and gods know his arrows have always been true and fatal.

Your smile is so bright, and his heart is so full but it hurts at the same time and what a curse this is, to be able to fall in love with you so easily but have you fall for someone else just as fast.

He tells himself that he won’t try to change your mind, that he won’t let himself get close to you as you go on this search for your true mate.

You’d been childhood sweethearts, you and your match, but he’s been called away to war and you’ve been in mourning ever since.

He’s a god, but he is the god of love, after all, and with all your heart you believed that you loved another. He tells himself he’s doing the right thing… for the third time.

The first time, when it had all started, he’d fallen in love with you and seduced you and you’d forgotten all about your true match and it had all ended in fire and blood.

In Rome, in your third lifetime, he tells himself he won’t let that happen again. So when you put your hand on his thigh when you crouch down to drink on your journey, he wills his skin not to heat and his heart not to skip.

Three weeks in and you’re exhausted, your feet are swollen and bleeding from all the walking and you slide into his furs instead of your own, press your face against his chest.

“Maybe he’s gone,” you say, quietly, and Baekhyun is as still as death, telling himself he doesn’t want to lean down to kiss you, to tell you that it doesn’t matter where your sweetheart is because he’s here and ready and he wants you more than anything.

“We’ll find him,” he promises, and it’s a promise he keeps, even when you press your mouth to his and he takes it, this small comfort, until you fall into a fitful sleep.

Greece was bittersweet, because you found your match in the end and Baekhyun shot his arrow hoping that he’d miss. But his arrow was true, shot straight into the heart of your paramore.

You found your true match, fell in love, had children, and Baekhyun could have gone. Could have sailed away at sea, gone anywhere in the world. But even in Greece he’d spent three lifetimes with you (in one way or another) and he can’t bring himself to be more than a few miles away from you.

Instead, he’d watch you playing with your daughter in the garden, watch you kiss your husband, laughing into his mouth when he picked you up.

He watched you grow old, have grandchildren, plant roses that still never bloomed. You were never a gardener, no matter how you tried. It’s odd, how happy he feels for you, and how his heart clenches in his chest, how hard he wishes it were him.

He would never grow old, and he would never have you more than a few fleeting weeks, months, once even two wonderful years. Eros is love, and love isn’t supposed to fall in love.

So when he did, all those years ago, his father cursed him to find your match, over and over and over. It was you then and it’s you in Greece and Rome and England and Portugal and a thousand other countries that didn’t even have names when he’d met you there.

He’d thought Greece would be the worst because of the longing, because of the jealousy that brewed vile in the back of his throat, but Rome was much worse.

The Church ruled everything and at first Baekhyun thought that was normal. After all, when he was young he and his family had ruled everything. These are just different gods, although perhaps harsher ones.

They called you a harlot because of the fire red of your hair, the way you wore dresses slit up to your hip, the way you'd laugh if someone asked the last time you'd gone to confession.

"You should go to Mass," he'd warned with a lock of that fire red hair slipping through his fingers.

You'd smiled at him. "Why's that, lover? You want to hear my confession?"

He tugs your hair, exposing your throat as you let out a raspy moan, grinding against his thigh.

"What have you to confess, stellina?”

(Of all the languages and all the pet names he'd called you, stellina is his favorite, translates to star, and you burn so bright and beautiful it breaks his heart.)

"Impure thoughts," you muse. "Fornication before marriage.”

You pause. "This might take some time, amore."

You slide down under the linen, leaving open mouthed kisses and nips on his hip bones and thighs, and he forgets what he was going to warn you about.

(He loves any term you call him, in Spain mi corazon, in England love, in German liebling. But his true favorite is when you learn his name, his true name.)

You die fighting, that lifetime, clawing at the priests who’ve decided a witch needs baptism, holding you under the water until you finally stop, your nails broken and bloody.

Baekhyun finds you there, hours too late because he’d been sleeping off the night before, when he’d warned you about Mass, when you’d both stayed up all night, love talk and making love and a good deal of fucking, too, and he hates himself.

Hates that even though he is what he is, he needs sleep and food and water. He hates himself when he lifts you up, your fire red hair darkened by the water, hates himself when he kisses your bloody nails one by one and buries you behind the garden where you used to plant roses that never bloomed.

He hates himself most because it never gets easier, seeing you die, never gets easier knowing that he can’t, that he’s cursed to do this over and over.

In 1402, in Malaysia, you’d just had two streaks of red locks in the front, tendrils that stuck to the sides of your face when you were sweating, and you’re sweating when he first sees you, although you hit him before he ever sees your face.

You’d dropped down from a tree branch, locked your arms around his neck and cut off his airflow. It isn’t as if you could have killed him, but he respects it, all the same. You’ve got this little knife and you slice his throat but it doesn’t bleed, closes up as you watch and you drop to your knees, wide eyed but still, not submitting. Even when you know he’s a god, you never submit. At least, not that way.

Later, he kisses all the scars on your forearms and wrists, defensive wounds from battles and scuffles with the male soldiers who’d found you out.

"I never let them break me," you'd said, proudly, but there's something behind your eyes that makes him want to slaughter all the male soldiers in their sleep, bring you their heads, a sacrifice like the old gods had demanded.

As he had once demanded, before he met a human girl with an immortal soul full of fire and was punished for worshipping her.

Now it's 2021 and he's been through so many years, and he's tired. He's changed his name, over and over, from Eros to Cupid to then more common names.

He's been Baekhyun the last four lifetimes because you seem to like it, it makes you giggle in 1924 when your red (always red, red like fire and blood and love and all things that are important to him) hair was bobbed and you were wearing a black sequined dress at a speakeasy.

"Baek," you'd laughed, tipsy, one hand on his arm and he couldn't stop smiling at you. "Almost like Bark, like a dog."

"I'll be whatever you want me to be," he'd answered, flirting but also honest. He'd always been whatever you wanted because he got so few years with you, each time.

"You'd be my dog?" Your eyes sparkled with booze and excitement.

He nodded. "Follow you around like a puppy."

When you'd given him an incredulous smile, he'd opened his mouth in the middle of a packed speakeasy in New York City and barked like a dog.

The way you'd laughed is something he can hear in his dreams years later, tries to make it the memory he remembers most instead of the ones where you'd died screaming.

Now, there are no more gods who want you for sacrifice, all of his kind who were vengeful had gone silent, moved on or passed on, including his father who'd cursed him in the first place.

He's hoping, every lifetime, that this is where it ends. He's hoping that this time he doesn't have to tell you.

He's wrong, just like he had been in 1425 and 1604 and 1976. The curse outs itself, as curses always do.

You sit up in bed, watching him sleep and shivering, for what seems like hours after that dream.

He wakes slowly, but scrambles up into a seated position as soon as he’s fully conscious, being careful not to touch you.

“Do you remember?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumble, even if you have a feeling you do.

“At some point, you always remember.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you so goddamn cryptic?” Your voice is hoarse and loud.

He nods, as if expecting your outburst.

“Sometimes you’re not ready to hear.”

You want to scream in frustration. “Hear what?”

“What I am. What we are.”

“And what are we?”

“Immortals.”

You gawk at him. He makes it sound so simple, like he’s talking to a child.

“You’re an immortal?”

“You, too.” He pauses. “Well, in a different way.”

“So what, you’re telling me that was real? My dream? Angelica?”

Baekhyun lets out a long breath, shifts on the bed to face you.

“You were Eva. Angelica. Yui. In Greece I called you stellina. You’ve had more names than I have.”

You look up into his eyes and if he’s lying, he deserves an Academy award for the performance.

“What… what are you?”

You aren’t sure if you’re frightened or intrigued or both.

Baekhyun smiles then, wryly.

“Eros. Cupid. Angelica simply called me Love.”

“You’re telling me you’re like... the god of love? The one with the arrows?”

He looks as if he wants to laugh at you but wisely, he doesn’t. Instead he nods.

“Is it… is it always like it was when… when I was Angelica?” You ask, breathing in deeply because you remembered the pain in your chest, the way the blood spread out on the dirt in your lucid dream.

“Almost always,” he says softly, and reaches out to put his hands on yours.

You would have thought you would have flinched away but instead, his touch seems to comfort you and you lean into him.

“What happens when I don’t?” You ask, curiously, and something shutters over his eyes.

“You’re happy.” He rubs your knuckles between his fingers.

It’s a lot to take in and you have a million more questions but also, you can’t think of a single one that you can put into words. You pace around the bedroom and when that’s not enough, your entire apartment, and then outside to the elevator and back and he stays put, sitting cross legged in bed and looking at you with those deep brown eyes.

Finally, you plop down on the edge of the bed, exhausted.

“So what do we do?”

He just looks at you, again with that bemused smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

“How do we fix it?” You demand.

Instead of responding, he takes your hands in his again, brushes his lips across your knuckles but this time you do recoil.

“I’m not going to die horribly again. You can’t want that.”

“Of course I don’t,” he murmurs, and you want a reaction, something other than the way he’s just looking at you so you shove him and he just lets you, falls back on the bed when you do it a second time.

“You just keep letting me die?” You accuse, crawling up onto the bed and he makes a growl in the back of his throat, grasps your wrists with one of his hands and pins you when you try to shove him again.

“I never let you die. I try over and over and over to save you, but I can’t. The only way I can save you is by finding-”

He looks away from you, shuts his mouth with a click of his teeth and you wriggle under him.

“Finding what?” You insist.

He lets you go, rolls over and puts his forearm over his eyes.

“Your true match. In all the lifetimes that you’ve lived to old age in, I shot my arrow to find your true match.”

You deflate, lying there next to him and staring up at the ceiling.

“So you’re saying in order to live like a normal person, I have to fall in love with someone else?”

“Yes,” he says miserably. After a few moments, he lifts his arm and opens one eye to look at you. “Got anyone in mind?”

You shove at his arm, but not as hard this time, and he breaks into a smile, takes you into his arms. You melt against him, just like before, because that’s what feels right, that’s what feels natural.

“That happened? Before?” You ask, stroking his hair and usually he preens at the attention, leans back to kiss you but now he buries his face in your hair, avoiding your gaze.

He murmurs something in affirmation and kisses just under your earlobe.

“You found someone else for me?”

He nods, still not lifting his head, and you huff out a breath, wanting some kind of reaction out of him.

“Was he hot?”

Baekhyun groans and laughs, rolls over onto his back. ‘You always do this.”

“Always do what?” You demand, poking at his side. “You know all these things about me...or well, some version of me, and I don’t know anything about you.”

He looks at you, smiling just a little. “You know everything about me.”

You huff, frustrated. “It doesn’t feel like it. I want to know more. I want to know how I died, why I died, what all this means.”

To his credit, Baekhyun tries to explain it to you. The curse, his family, but it’s all twisted up in your mind with these memories you have of him in past lives, of being so in love with him you can barely breathe, wanting him so badly you can barely sit still, and it ends with you tearing off his clothes and him laughing into your mouth as you guide him inside you.

After, you’re contrite, kissing along his collarbone.

“I don’t want you to find anyone else for me.”

Baekhyun makes a sound in the back of his throat and you don’t know if it’s surprise or something else.

“I don’t want anyone but you,” you continue, orgasm drunk and with this fire burning under your skin, remembering how Angelica felt, how Yui felt, moving closer to him on the bed because you can’t bear to have your skin not touching his in every place you can.

He pulls you on top of him, kissing you after you squeal in surprise and your lips feel swollen and bruised already but it’s the sweetest ache.

“I don’t think I could, even if you asked,” he admits, and something about the way he says it makes you proud, makes your heart swell. His hands skate over your upper arms and his touch gives you goosebumps.

“No?” You shift to spread your thighs, liking the way he hardens under you with just the barest movement.

Baekhyun shakes his head, his tongue coming out slowly to lick his lips. You see that you’ve bitten his bottom lip bloody and it sends a shot of heat through you.

“Usually I never found anyone else for you, not after I’d touched you. I started out meaning to find someone for you. Touching you first… having you first… it makes things complicated.”

You don’t speak but shift again and it seems to spur him on.

His face is flushed and it’s cute, makes you smile.

“You know why.”

“Do I?” You’re grinning now, like the cat that ate the canary, and he groans but he’s smiling.

He sits up suddenly, bracing himself against the headboard and he puts his hands on your hips to move you backwards so that his half hard erection sits right at the cleft of your cunt and when you gasp and try to guide him inside you, he tightens his hands with a slight shake of his head.

“You gonna make me say it?”

“You know I am.”

You gasp when he puts pressure on your clit with his thumb, humming in the back of his throat.

“I’ve loved you for centuries, and I’ll love you for centuries more, stellina.”

“What does that mean?” You gasp, your insides on fire with lust and love and full to bursting, rocking your hips forward and he gives you what you want, puts more pressure on your clit and lets you guide his cock inside you.

“Star,” he says softly, moving a hand up to cup your cheek. “Because you burn.”

You do burn, you burn inside and out and you want to tell him that you burn for him but he sticks his thumb in your mouth, presses down on your tongue just how you like and all you can do is moan around it.

He keeps his other thumb positioned just right so that you can rock against his hand and lift your ass so that his cock slides against your g-spot and you suck on his thumb until he hisses and bucks beneath you, moving so that you can lean down and kiss him hard, brace your hands on either side of him so that you can get more traction.

You’re sure that you’ll be sore in the morning, ever since you’ve met him (in this lifetime, at least) you’ve been in some type of bittersweet pain, an ache across your throat, soreness in your thighs and hips and ass where you’ve been riding him, a rawness deep inside from too much sex and not enough rest.

There’s never enough, never enough of your sweat misted skin sliding across his, never enough of his hand fisted in your hair, of his cock at the back of your throat, of his fingers hooked inside you. The past couple of weeks you’ve only left his apartment for work and a few changes of clothes (not that you wore them much, anyway).

It makes you feel more sane, knowing that you’ve wanted him this way in other lifetimes, makes you feel like the way you feel makes more sense, because you were beginning to think you were going crazy.

It isn’t as if he’s some kind of sex god, exactly, he just seems to know exactly what you like, exactly what you want, right away. That makes a kind of sense, now, how even when you’re on top he knows exactly what to do and say to get you to tip over the edge.

“I love the way you look like this,” he rasps, looking up at you as if maybe you are a star exploding and it isn’t just some nickname he gave you in Rome. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You cry out his name, throwing your head back when you cum and he palms his hands across your breasts and the stimulation across your nipples sends an aftershock through you right after. You’re like a ragdoll for a few moments after your orgasm and he shifts you around just like one, using you to get off and you kiss and kiss and kiss him, loving the way it feels when he spills inside you.

You say it then, maybe because he said it to you first or maybe just because your heart is full to bursting with it.

“I love you.” It’s almost defiant. “I love you, and I don’t want to love anyone else.”

He strokes your cheek where you’re still lying on top of him.

“I don’t know if we get a choice, stellina.”

There’s always questions when you find out, and Baekhyun is prepared for them. There’s often questions that hurt, somewhere deep in his bones, questions you’d asked over and over again.

Sometimes you’re curious about your other perfect matches, and that stings. Sometimes you want to know about your deaths, and those are hard memories to bring to the surface.

The question that always hurts the most, though, is the one you ask after you’ve both showered, lying sated and exhausted in his bed, the curtains blacking out the sun outside.

“Did we ever have children?”

You’re rubbing your stomach and there’s something caught in his throat and he has to cough to clear it.

“We didn’t. You did. Sometimes.”

You look up at him and frown. “With my true match?”

Baekhyun heaves a sigh so deep it hurts his chest. “With him, yes.”

You pause. “Was it the same guy? Same… soul, I guess?”

Baekhyun nods slowly, his heart sinking, but you don’t ask anything more, you just lie your head on his shoulder.

He wonders what you’re thinking, wonders where it branches off from here. He’s been here so many times before. He feels more tired than he should.

But instead of asking more questions or storming out crying or any of the things you’d done after you’d found out, you start to snore softly, curled up next to him.

Baekhyun wonders idly if he’ll be able to sleep, but he’s drifting off before he’s even completed the thought.

When he wakes, you’re gone, and he scrambles out of bed in his boxers to pace around the house. He can feel you aren’t around and it’s like a hole in his chest. It’s always been that way, he knows when you’re close and when you’re not, and you must be miles away because now, there’s nothing.

When he checks his phone you’ve texted that you’ll be back with food. He’s shocked that it’s nearly noon, it hadn’t even been sunset when he’d dozed off.

Perhaps immortals can be just as bone tired as mortals, sometimes. After a dozen lifetimes of fighting, he doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

He waits for you, sitting on the couch and idly flipping through the channels, and he thinks about when it all ends. His father had moved on, had no one worshipping his name anymore, and it isn’t as if school children are learning much about Eros, Cupid relegated to only one day out of a year with awful sour sweet candy and paper mache hearts. He’s stored his bow a few hundred miles away, hoping that this lifetime he wouldn’t need it, hadn’t actually found a true match for anyone but you in centuries.

Baekhyun wonders, with no real sense of urgency or fear, if this is the last lifetime. There’s a kind of exhaustion he’s never felt before that seems to weigh him down, and he’s finding it hard to care about anything but you. He hopes it happens before you pass, before the curse ends your life too young and too violently. He wants to move on and set you free, because he knows he can’t resist you for more than a couple of lifetimes. He’s tried too many times and failed.

You return bright eyed and with half a dozen books and a notebook, a pen pinched between your teeth.

At your urging he goes out to the car and brings in the breakfast you’d bought and you spread your books across the table.

“Greek and Roman Mythology for Dummies.” He reads aloud, laughing, and you look up at him from the floor and frown.

“Don’t judge me, this is all new to me.”

He holds up his hands. “Not judging. What’s all this for?”

“I’m going to find a way to end the curse, of course.”

Baekhyun sits down hard on the couch. “Oh.”

“What does that mean?” You demand, your nose scrunching up just a little.

He can’t help but smile at you, and he shrugs.

No reason to shoot down your hopes. Not yet, at least.

Four hours later, your eyes red rimmed from staring at books and your laptop screen, you jump onto the couch and into his lap.

“I found it!” You screech, and kiss all over his face.

Baekhyun smiles, kisses you back, and you make love there on the couch. You want to be bent over, his hand on the small of your back to keep you over the couch arm, up on your tiptoes and making a little grunting noise every time he thrusts into you.

Baekhyun may be exhausted after all this time but he never gets tired of this. He never gets tired of you.

Your moans are muffled in the couch cushions but he hears his name, the one he always uses with you, ever since you were Angelica and that hunter’s arrow had pinned you to the ground.

Baekhyun is tired. He’s tired in a way he’s sure no human ever could be. He’s tired of all the times he’s lost you, to your true match and then worse, to death, and he’s tired of living them over and over again.

But when you stand up, twist his face to kiss him, your eyes bright when you grin against his mouth, he thinks that it’s all been worth it.

You’re always worth it, and the thought of getting to meet you again, another you, is all it takes for him to keep going.

It takes a few months to get the time off work, match up travel plans, and get supplies.

Supplies meaning mostly travel gear and light clothes and a passport, the place you need to get to is high up on a cliffside in Northern Greece.

Baekhyun’s supportive enough, you guess, but you feel a bit nervous about his lack of excitement when you’re finally there, in Greece, at a gorgeous resort near the cliffside. Money hadn’t been a problem. Apparently when you’re immortal you manage to accrue a bit of savings.

“Aren’t you happy? Doesn’t this feel like home?”

Baekhyun laughs, loud and open, for what seems like the first time since you’d found out.

“This isn’t my home, stellina. I’m older than Greece.’

You blink, shocked. “But you are Eros.”

He nods. “I’m Eros, and Cupid, and Ishtar, and Kuni. Many gods and goddesses, different names. My duty and purpose was always the same, but I’ve never had a home. Except with you.”

He brushes your cheek with his nose and you sigh, hate that the way he says that so simply, as if it’s the whole truth, makes your heart clench.

“Still, you remember being here.”

Baekyun nods, staring out at the sea, reliving some life you only half remember.

You don’t ask many more questions, at least not until the next day when Baekhyun is listlessly pulling on his clothes and you’re tugging at his hands, excited, wanting to hurry and have this curse looming over your head end, so that you can stop thinking about it.

“Why aren’t you happier about this?” You pout, but you quiet when he looks up at you, his usually warm brown eyes dull and exhausted.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” You ask, softer now.

Baekhyun shrugs. “Some.”

Then he grins at you and there’s a flicker of life in his eyes. “I’m a very old man, you know. I need my rest.”

It makes you laugh, makes you forget, and you don’t think of it again until you’re hiking up the trail, about an hour’s long journey to reach the top.

He’s behind you by a few hundred feet and you frown at him, waiting until he reaches you. You’ve never seen him out of breath.

You take his hand, tug him further up the trail but it’s only a few moments before he stops, bracing himself on a tree near the trail.

“Stop,” he wheezes, and you do, tilting your head at him in confusion.

“Baekhyun, we have to-”

“Just stop,” He insists, and you’d think he was angry if his voice weren’t shaking.

“Why? What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me?” You fire off at him, moving closer, and he shakes his head.

You take his chin in your hand and force him to look at you.

His brown eyes are still as tired as earlier, and wet now, too.

“I don’t want to do this again,” he manages hoarsely.

You take a step back. “Have we done this before? Have we been here before?”

Baekhyun doesn’t answer, but there’s a truth in his silence.

Your eyes begin to well with tears. “So what? Maybe this time it’ll work, maybe this is different-”

“It’s not different. In France you were called Jacqueline and we came here. You read books about it, forced me here just like you did this time. You were so certain it had worked.”

You shake your head but he keeps talking.

“You were so certain that after a couple of months, I was certain too. Three months later, there was a bus accident.” His voice breaks and he’s quiet again and you feel like you can’t breathe properly for the ache in your throat.

“We don’t know that will happen again.”

“I know!” He bursts out. “I know it will happen because it does, over and over again! Listen, we should go back to the hotel. I can get my bow out of storage and-”

“No!” You cry, stalking over to him. “No, that’s not the way to fix this.”

Baekhyun laughs bitterly, and he won’t look at you. “There’s no way to fix this.”

“You don’t know that,” you say stubbornly. “Whoever I’ve been in the past, I’ve never been this person, and I know I can fix it.”

He pushes himself away from the tree as if it takes effort to do it. “You always say that,” he says, and he doesn’t sound angry anymore, just tired.

You’re angry, heat rushing through your veins, and you don’t know if it’s at him or the fact that some ancient curse has decided to come through your life like a brushfire.

You push at him and he doesn’t fight back, doesn’t even keep you from pushing him against the tree.

“You don’t care, is that it? You’re what, bored of this? You want to get your bow so you can get rid of me?”

His jaw tightens and he looks away from you. “Maybe I do.”

You push him again and he has nowhere to go, backed up against the tree so he just takes it, stands there.

“Coward.” You spit. “You’d rather match me with someone else. You’d rather let someone else-”

“Stop it,” he says, something like a warning in his voice and you want to laugh or cry or both.

“Look at you. You can’t even hear me say it, but you’re going to marry me off like some 14th century child bride-”

“I’m not-” Baekhyun huffs, then stops, runs his hand through his hair. “He’s your true match. You… you always love him, when you meet him.” He struggles with the last sentence but he maintains eye contact, jaw working.

“Fuck my true match. And fuck you if that’s your answer to this.” You rage.

He doesn’t speak. “You’re always happy when you find him.” His voice is weak and it sounds like a weak excuse to your ears and you’re shaking with anger and fear.

You have this memory, sudden and sharp like a knife.

You're in this stone room, an inn you think, and you're half asleep but you can hear a low murmur from the room. It's familiar, from your traveling companion of the last few weeks.

His name is on your lips as you sit up but he's pacing around the room, not paying any attention to you. The way he's talking to himself makes you worried.

"You have to do this. You have to, you know you do," he mutters and there's something liquid in his voice.

Suddenly he slaps himself across the face and you yelp his name, stand up to take his wrist in your hand.

"Baekhyun," you whisper. "What are you doing?"

His face is flushed and his eyes look so tired, so worn, like he's lived a thousand years.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he manages, pulling away from your touch as if you'd burn him.

A few days later, his hands are shaking when he draws his bow, and your eyes are on him instead of your true match.

"Wh-what if you miss?" You whisper.

Baekhyun smiles but he won't look at you. "I don't miss."

He doesn't, but part of you wishes he had.

The memory just makes you angrier, makes you want to push him again.

“Am I? And what about you? What about you, Baek, are you happy without me? Are you happy giving me away?”

He scoffs, finally looking at you.

“No, really. Tell me. You must be happy giving me away because you want to do it so badly-”

“I hate it!” He bursts out. “I fucking hate it, every single time. I hate the way you look at him. I even hate how happy he makes you. I should be happy giving you away so that you can be safe, so that you can have the family that you want, but I fucking hate it.”

“Why do you hate it?” You demand to know, tears streaming down your face.

“You know-” he starts and you shake your head.

“I need you to tell me.”

Baekhyun puffs out his cheeks, he does that when he’s frustrated, when he wants to scream but you don’t have time to think about how cute it is right now.

“I hate it because I love you. I hate it because whoever your true match is, you’re mine.” He says, finally, heaving in a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

“Because I’m yours,” you parrot back at him, and his mouth opens, brows furrowed in a frown.

He takes a step toward you, now, but you don’t back away, and you don’t flinch when he takes your hips in his hands, tugs you toward him, claiming your mouth.

You claw at him, can’t help yourself and you don’t care that brambles are scratching your legs when he lies you down on the ground, don’t care because he’s panting your name into your ear, your name, not all those previous yous. You don’t care because you’ve chosen him, despite whatever the gods had determined to be your “true match.”

“We have to do this,” you tell him as you’re adjusting your clothes and he’s still lying there, panting.

He nods, as if humoring you, but he isn’t as listless when he starts back up the trail with you, keeping up with you and stealing kisses and making small talk.

You’re sweating by the time the two of you reach the top of the mountain, and when you look back, Baekhyun has fallen behind a bit, struggling up the hill.

You startle when thunder cracks overhead, sudden and close, but you walk back down the path to him, put your hand on his arm and he’s trembling.

“We’ve never made it this far,” he says, voice hoarse. “I don’t know what will happen next.”

“We don’t ever know what happens next, Baekhyun, but you know what happens when we don’t.”

Baekhyun shakes his head. “Not if you let me get my arrows, we can stop all of this, we can-”

“No!” You yell. “No, shut up about that, I can make my own choices!”

You tug on his arm and he stumbles forward only a few steps before stopping again and you can see the circle of stones at the top of the hill, where you’re supposed to stand according to the legends, and you haven’t done weeks of research and travelled across the world for nothing.

You take his hand in yours, squeeze, and look into his eyes.

“It’s okay,” you promise, and you have no idea what’s about to happen and it’s raining now, cold against your skin, but you know that you have to do this.

Baekhyun looks at you and there’s nothing in his eyes but fear and uncertainty but you tug at his hand again anyway and this time he follows without resistance.

It happens so quickly after that.

You step into the circle first, and he pauses, hesitating before breaking the barrier by stepping over one of the irregular stones. The second he does, lightning cracks above your head and you cry out, frightened.

Baekhyun grabs you out of instinct or some desire to protect you and you go down, scraping your elbows against the rock and sand as you try to catch yourself. Baekhyun puts his hands on either side of your head and it’s raining so hard that it’s all you can hear, that and the thunder, and there’s lightning everywhere, lighting up his features as he looks down at you.

“I was never strong enough to do this before,” he says, nearly yelling over the storm. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t-”

He’s cut off by another crack of lightning and he seems to be… lighting up, somehow, some glow that you think is from the lightning but then you see it’s coming from inside him. He arches his back, his face lined with pain and you realize something’s happening, something bad but when you reach up to touch him, he’s giving off so much heat that the tips of your fingers burn.

“Baek,” you whisper, and he manages to focus on you again. When he does, his face… it isn’t his face, but somehow you recognize it anyway and it keeps changing, cycling through all the lifetimes you’ve shared together.

“I’ve been so many things,” he says, and his voice is strong even over the chaos. “but I’ve always been yours.”

He manages to touch his forehead to yours and you’re terrified by the storm and what’s happening and especially how it seems to pain him to even move, how he’s glowing brighter and brighter until your eyes start watering.

He says your name but it’s your name and Jacqueline and Eva and Yui and so many others, all wrapped into one, and kisses you, the bright light coming from him forcing your eyes shut as he gets closer.

When you open them, there’s no sound of the rain or thunder and the ground under you is dry, as if you’d imagined it all.

But you can taste the rainwater in your mouth. You can still taste him there, too, but he’s gone.

You scramble up, yelling out his name and there’s nothing, just the sound of the birds in the trees. Moments before, the sky had been black, but now it’s sunny again.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the tears running down your throat as you stumble down the path.

You’re sobbing by the bottom of the path because there’s nothing, no evidence he was even there at all. You’re remembering what he said, how he said you’d never been that far before, but you’re wondering if he’d known, anyway.

You’re wondering if breaking the curse means that he has to die and how all of this is your fault your fault your fault.

There’s a sound in the woods and you barely realize it until there’s a man standing next to you.

“Miss? Are you all right?”

You sniffle, looking up at him, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Baekhyun, just the same, wearing the wet and sandy clothes he’d been wearing just a few moments ago, but something’s wrong and you can’t rush to him like you want to.

“Baekhyun?”

He rubs the back of his neck, smiles a little sheepishly. “Is that my name? I seem to have forgotten it. I think… I think I got lost.”

You think about how this feels, how there’s not a single light of recognition in his eyes and it feels like your chest has cracked wide open. You think about how he must have felt this, over and over again, and understand why he didn’t want you to have to feel it.

You take a deep, shaky breath and wipe at your eyes with the heels of your hands.

“You’re not lost,” you tell him, and take his hand.

Baekhyun looks down at your hand in his and then back up to you, a smile breaking across his face. “No, doesn’t seem like it anymore.”

You’re trying not to cry as you lead him back to the resort when he stops and you turn back to look at him.

“I know this might seem like an odd question, but… have we met before?”

It hurts but you crack a smile anyway, remembering how he’d done this for you over and over, remembering what he’d said to you a few months ago.

“Maybe in another life.”

#supermnet #noonasinnetwork #byun baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x reader #super m imagine #exo imagone #baekhyun imagine

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pillage-and-lute · 3 years

Note

Hey I have a holiday prompt for you! What if it’s the pairing’s first holiday together and they stress about figuring out what to get each other? Any pairing you feel like! PS Reading your stuff never fails to put a smile on face!💜💜💜

Hi Blondey!

cute shit ahead. Modern AU

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“Yen,” I swear,” Geralt panted into the phone. “It’s an emergency. Please, I need your help.”

“No.”

“Yen please I’m actually begging.”

“You should have thought to beg before Christmas Eve.”

“I’m meeting him tonight, Yennefer, I’m on Wilson Street, with all the shops and I’m so lost, please.”

“No.”

“I’ll set you up with Jaskier’s hot friend. The one from the coffee shop. She’s single.”

“...I’m on my way.”

-- -- -- Across Town, Triss and Jaskier’s Apartment -- -- --

“I just thought I’d have more time to get him a gift,” Jaskier wailed, draped dramatically over Triss’ beat up armchair. “And then it was thanksgiving, then finals and it’s Christmas eve and I don’t have a gift.”

“Well,” Triss said, sipping her cocoa and barely looking up from her book. “It’s not noon yet, shops aren’t all closed. What kind of gift does your relationship need?”

“What?” Jaskier looked up from his flop of despair, confused.

“I mean, if you’d been dating for a month it would be slippers or some scotch or something.”

“We’ve been dating eight months though!” Jaskier wailed. “I love him, Trissy, desperately. I see his face and everything goes all pink and mushy.”

“You should get that checked out.”

“No, I mean,” Jaskier sat up and looked at her. “I think he could be the one. He might be it for me.”

Triss looked up from her book. She’d known Jaskier since university, and his heart had always been so mobile, but there was something shining in his eyes. She shrugged mentally. Put it down to a Christmas miracle, but Jaskier was really in love.

“What does he like?”

Jaskier huffed. “He likes being grumpy.”

“And?”

“Me.” He paused for thought. “His horse, Roach, he loves riding. He loves his goddaughter, and mythology.”

“Lord of the Rings nerd?”

“Oh you have no idea, he’s basically Aragorn if Aragorn had albinism.”

“I know a place,” Triss said, getting up. “Put on your coat.”

“Will it be open?” Jaskier asked anxiously, pulling his boots on.

“They live above the shop,” Triss said, throwing his scarf at him. “I know the owners, I’ll just shoot them a text.”

-- -- -- Back on the other side of town -- -- --

“Okay,” Yennefer said. “And you’re sure the hot barista is single?”

“Triss,” Geralt said. “And yes, apparently she’s been crying about it to Jaskier for ages.”

“Right, let’s go looking,” Yennefer said, looking remarkably cheerful.

The rows of shops were mostly open for last minute shoppers and Geralt and Yennefer fought through them.

Well, Geralt fought. Yennefer just glared and people moved out of her way.

“Does he cook?” Yennefer asked, pointing at a cookware store.

“Ramen and box mac n cheese,” Geralt said.

“You said he likes clothes?” A very full store with what could only be called hipster clothing.

“He has lots of clothes I want something...special,” Geralt said. He was trying not to lose hope.

“You really like this one.”

“I do, you met him he’s just...bright,” Geralt said, mumbling a little into his scarf as the wind blew a flurry at him.

“Hey, look at the music shop on the corner,” Yenn said. “I’m down here all the time, I’ve never noticed it before.”

Neither had Geralt. “Is it new?” It didn’t look new. It looked nearly condemned.

“You said he loves music,” Yennefer said, stomping in the direction of the store.

“I dunno, that store looks...”

“He loves music,” she said. “And you love him.”

They entered the store.

-- -- -- Triss and Jaskier -- -- --

“How the hell did you find this place?”

“I told you,” Triss said, matter of factly. “I know the owners. They’ll be down any minute to open it up.”

“They’re opening it up just for us?” Jaskier asked guiltily. It was Christmas eve after all.

“They owe me,” Triss said. “I introduced them. Well...reintroduced.”

“Welcome to The Sword in the Stone, Gifts and Novelties,” grinned a young man with very blue eyes and slightly large ears, opening the door. Behind him a blonde young man grinned cheerfully too, he was wearing a santa hat.

“Hi,” Jaskier said, stepping gratefully inside. “It’s a pleasure, I’m Jaskier.”

“Merlin,” said the young man who’d opened the door.

“Arthur,” the blonde waved.

“Seriously?”

The pair just shrugged. Well, Jaskier, called Buttercup/Dandelion/Julian/a lot of other things, wasn’t about to tell people what to call themselves.

“I hear you need a gift for that special someone,” the blonde -Arthur- said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, he loves fantasy stuff and I just... I don’t know what to get him.”

“Gotcha,” Arthur began to lead him back into the shop. Merlin and Triss were chatting by the door.

“Were you thinking bigger, got a lovely cardboard cutout of Viggo Mortensen?”

Jaskier pictured Aragorn watching them have sex from the corner of Geralt’s little studio apartment. “Maybe smaller but kind of...niche?”

“Lucky you, this place if full of niche,” Arthur said cheerfully.

Jaskier looked at the wall full of swords and was that a battle axe? “Yeah...”

“Does he wear jewelry?” asked Arthur, jingling a box full of metal in Jaskier’s direction.

“Not really,” Jaskier said. Then something caught his eye. “Wait...” he pulled something out of the box and held it up to the light.

Somehow...it was perfect.

“How much.”

-- -- -- Yen and Geralt -- -- --

“This place looks closed,” Geralt whispered to Yennefer, looking around at the racks of instruments.

“Not closed dearie, just dusty,” came a cheerful voice from right behind Geralt. He and Yennefer jumped.

“Sorry honeys,” said a little old lady with coke bottle glasses. “Got my slippers on, makes me quiet. She shuffled one foot, clad in pink fluff, off the floor as exhibit A. “Gift from my great grandson, aren’t they darling? Now,” she looked at Geralt with laser intensity. “You’d be needing a gift.”

“Um, yes ma’am,” Geralt said. How had she known?

“Ooohoo you need a gift,” said the tiny old woman, “Cause you’s a boy in love.” She nearly cackled. “Follow me honeys!”

Geralt and Yennefer looked at each other, shrugged, and followed. What choice did they have?

“Got a harp,” the shopkeeper called cheerfully. It was indeed a full, standing, concert harp. It had a figurehead on it but the face looked absolutely agonized.

“Maybe not,” Geralt said.

“Hmmm no,” said the lady, shuffling her fluffy slippers. “Bagpipes?”

“He lives in an apartment.”

“That’ll be a no, then,” said the woman, peering at a rack of instruments in the corner. “Aha!” she shrieked, startling Geralt and Yennefer both.

“This!”

It was perfect.

“I can’t afford it,” Geralt said, feeling hopeless.

“Oh yes you can,” said the little old lady gleefully, if she could Geralt got the sense she would be jumping and clicking her heels. “Nobody wants ‘em these days, this one’s seventy-five percent off!”

Geralt left with a weird shaped package.

-- -- -- Geralt’s studio apartment, evening -- -- --

“Hey,” Jaskier, said, stomping his boots on the mat.

“Hi,” Geralt replied, stealing a kiss. “What’d you tell Triss?”

“Told her I was sending a gift, what’s you tell Yennefer?”

“She’s heading over there now,” Geralt said. “With that movie they both like.”

“Ocean’s 8?”

“That’s the one, and a plate of homemade Christmas cookies.”

Jaskier smiled at Geralt and stole another kiss. “We’re never going to have a moment of peace, now we set them up,” he said. Geralt grinned at him. “Never, but I think we did the right thing.”

They settled in on Geralt’s little loveseat. Jaskier set a wrapped present on the side table. Beside it, on the floor, was a very poorly wrapped mess. Lots of scotch tape was visible. It was quite large.

Jaskier felt panicky.

“Should we,” Geralt said awkwardly. “Do you want to exchange presents now?”

“Sure.” Oh god, Geralt’s gift was so small, and what if he hated it?

“You first?” Geralt said, handing over the odd package.

Jaskier had always been a rip-it-open present person, but he took his time, although there was no salvaging the taped up paper.

“A lute?” he turned to Geralt in delight, face lighting up.

“A lute,” Geralt said. “Is-is that a good thing?”

“Oh my god, Geralt, yes! Oh I love it! I can’t wait to learn it!” Jaskier dropped kisses all over Geralt’s face, careful of his new baby.

He handed Geralt the little package. “It’s not as great but...”

Geralt was a folding kind of person and folded up the wrapping paper carefully, then he opened the box and took out the amulet with the silver wolf’s head.

“Oh,” Geralt said.

Oh. Was that a good oh or a bad oh? Jaskier tried to breathe slowly.

“Jaskier I...”

Oh no. He hated it.

“It’s perfect.”

What?

“When I was little I thought I’d be a knight,” Geralt said, pale eyes shining. “And I drew wolf’s heads on everything, my crest, I said.”

Geralt was holding up the amulet as if transfixed.

“Vesemir can show you, he kept the drawings,” Geralt said. Then he slipped the medallion over his head.

“My knight,” Jaskier said. “My wolf.”

Geralt gave a playful growl. Jaskier’s heart thumped a little harder. Geralt must have picked up on something in his eyes because he cocked his head.

“Oh?” he rumbled, low in his chest. “You want a wolf, do you?” He growled again.

Jaskier leapt up, shrieking with laughter and ran to hide in the bathroom. Geralt caught up before he could close the door.

“I’ll huff and I’ll puff,” he said, dragging Jaskier closer and giving him a bear hug. He growled in Jaskier’s ear.

“And I’ll blow your...how does it go?”

“I’m not sure, wolfie,” Jaskier said, pulling Geralt closer by the amulet. “But I think it ends with you eating me all up.”

It was a very merry Christmas indeed.

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Ope! Idiots! With a random appearance from BBC’s Merlin (In 2020? I guess.) and a little old lady. + the magic of christmas.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #modern au #christmas #minor merthur mention

297 notes · View notes

opaldraws · 3 years

Text

Dandelion

Billy never thought that he would become a dad. Besides believing that it wouldn’t be possible for a person like him, he also was scared shitless. He’d seen first hand what happens when the wrong kind of person became a parent, he knew how screwed up things could get. He had this huge fear that he would ruin a kid’s life. And even though Steve had assured him countless times that Billy would be a fantastic dad if they were to have a kid, he also accepted that Billy wasn’t ready for fatherhood and he may never be. So Steve never pushed the idea.

Then Max had a baby.

Out of the pair, no one expected Billy would be the one hit with baby fever.

Max was only able to get three weeks of leave from her work, so Billy volunteered to help out with little Julien. Julien was precious: He slept for long hours and rarely cried, he loved playing peek-a-boo and was easily entertained by crinkly paper, and when he got especially fussy, all Billy had to do was put him in his swing and Julien would knock right out.

Billy would come home from Max and Lucas’ and gush to Steve about whatever him and Julien got up to that day. It was usually the same sort of stuff, babies don’t really do that much, but Steve would listen fondly to Billy’s report while they cooked dinner together. Eventually Max found a sitter and changed her work hours, so Billy didn’t spend as much time with the runt.

A few years passed and Billy mentioned having kids of their own. Steve and him were in bed, the light on the nightstand casting enough light for Billy to read but not too much that Steve couldn’t doze off.

“Steve.” Billy ruffled Steve’s hair gently, letting his hand wander down to rub his back. Steve blinked over at him sleepily, his eyes a little unfocused without his glasses.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, frowning.

“No, nothing’s wrong. I just… I’ve been thinking lately, maybe we could look into adoption?” Billy wrung his hands together nervously. When Steve didn’t answer immediately, Billy interjected, “Only if you want to, of course! Fuck, nevermind. It’s stupid, I shouldn’t have even brought it up.”

Billy picked his book up, not able to look back at his partner. Steve hadn’t seen him this nervous since Billy had asked him to marry him. This conversation caught Steve off guard- and not only because he was half asleep. They’d talked about kids before when they were freshly married (technically unofficially, but whatever), Billy said he didn’t think he’d ever want to go down that path. And now, Billy was bringing it up.

“Babe, it’s not stupid.” Steve said seriously. “I want to do that with you.”

...

Adoption for two gay men in 2000 wasn’t easy. They were basically at the bottom of the ‘list’ of candidates and they’d been through multiple near adoptions that eventually fell through in just the past two years. Steve was beginning to lose hope, but Billy stayed determined. He called the adoption agency every week and he stopped by in person once a month. Steve told him he was probably bothering the agency, he said that they had their application and when the right kid came along, everything would work out. Billy’s perspective wasn’t quite as rose-colored as Steve’s: He realized that the agency didn’t want a same-sex couple adopting a baby. They may not outright say it, but he could tell. Billy wanted to show them that they were just as serious as any other couple.

In November of 2001, they got the call from the agency. The weekend before they brought their daughter home, Billy and Steve prepared the second bedroom for their new addition. Steve excitedly put up a fresh coat of paint while Billy struggled through assembling furniture for the bedroom. When they finished, they stood side by side in the doorway, misty eyed and excited for their daughter’s homecoming.

“We’re going to be parents.” Steve sighed, he let his head fall to Billy’s shoulder.

“Fuck, I’m so scared.” Billy admitted. He took a deep breath and tried to ease the panic creeping in. Steve gently wrapped his arms around him, pulling Billy in to hold him. Billy sagged into the hug.

“I am too, but I know it’s gonna be okay.” Steve said.

“How could you know that though?” Billy asked fearfully. So many things could go wrong, what if this was a mistake? Steve tightened his arms around Billy and leaned them against the doorframe.

“Because I know you. I’ve seen you grow into the man you are today and I know you’re going to be an amazing dad.”

...

Billy knew that for every developmental milestone that Abby passed, he should be excited. Don’t get him wrong, he was beyond happy to see his daughter growing and becoming a little person… but he also got sad? Abby was growing up so fast, one day she was crawling around on the carpet and the next she was racing around the apartment wreaking havoc. It felt like only a few days ago she drooled and needed to be spoon fed, now she was talking in barely formed sentences. Sometimes Billy would just curl up next to Steve in bed at night and have to cry about how big Abby was getting. Steve would rub his back, comforting his partner as best as he could. These breakdowns started happening more frequently as Abby’s 2nd birthday got nearer and nearer. Billy was aware that he was being dramatic, but his little girl was growing up way too fast. He felt like he was going to blink and then she’d be gone, old enough not to need her dads anymore.

“Billy, stop worrying about the future, Abby’s barely two! You have got to just live for today.” Max scolded him during one of Abby’s and Julien’s playdates after he had opened up to her. It was a sunny June day and Julien was happily keeping Abby occupied on a blanket in Lucas and Max’s yard. Lucas had been called out of town for a work emergency and Steve had gotten stuck covering a late shift. The step-siblings watched the kids from the porch, periodically bringing out new toys and snacks.

“Yeah, that’s what Steve keeps telling me. That’s what everyone keeps telling me, shitbird.” Billy huffed, rolling his eyes. “I can’t help it!”

“Listen to me, I felt the same way. Every time I had to go into work, every time I left Julien with you or Lucas, or the babysitter, I was so afraid that I was missing out on his childhood. Even when I was with him, all I could think about was how I could never get this moment back. But it’s useless to think that way! I realized that I couldn’t stop time from passing so I needed to enjoy it while it lasted!” Max insisted. She grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Billy squeezed back. Even though Max was younger than him, he appreciated the wisdom she occasionally provided. He was happy that their days of fighting and heated arguing were left behind at the house on Cherry Lane.

Billy looked out at the yard, he watched the way Abby would giggle when Julien ran circles around her with his toy airplane. She made grabby hands at him and squealed, “My turn!” Julien passed the toy plane to her and she zoomed it around. Max gave his shoulder a hard pat and announced that she was going to get food ready. Billy walked over to the rainbow blanket and sat down beside the duo.

“Daddy attack!” Abby jumped up, discarding the airplane to wrap her arms around his shoulders and climb onto his back. He held onto her chubby little legs and she laughed into his ear. He tried not to dwell on the future, let himself enjoy the moment. “Down.” Abby instructed him and he helped her back to the ground. She plucked a nearby dandelion from the ground and held it to Billy triumphantly. “Present for you.”

“Thank you baby, I love it.” He smiled at her, taking the dandelion. She beamed at him, clearly happy that her gift was well received. He tucked the yellow flower into the breast pocket of his shirt. Julien came bounding up to them excitedly, hiding something behind his back.

“I have a present for you too, Uncle Billy!” Julien grinned and offered him a wiggling pink worm clasped between his fingers. Billy chuckled and took the worm and Julien bounded off - probably to find more worms.

Abby went back to playing with the airplane and some of Julien’s matchbox cars. She pretended that Billy’s arm was the road and rolled the cars over it, back and forth. Every so often, she would show Billy a new car, telling him which color it was or if she liked it or not. Steve had been working on colors with her a lot recently, and Abby had gotten into the habit of pointing out the colors of things frequently. It was really adorable and she always looked proud when she got the color right. And when Billy would catch those intrusive thoughts about the future, he gave it his all not to dwell on them and instead focus on Abby rolling her car over his arm. Max rejoined them with a big plate of fruit and sandwiches to share for an early dinner, calling Julien over to eat.

Before Billy knew it, a few hours had passed and the sun was beginning to set. He helped Max bring all the toys back in the house and the kids savored the last few minutes of light while they cleaned up. Billy caught a glimpse of the clock on his trip inside; It was nearing 7pm and Steve would be arriving soon to pick them up. Billy and Max tried to coax the kids inside with the promise of a movie, but Julien had other ideas.

“Five more minutes? Please? Momma, I wanna see the fireflies!” Julien tugged at Max’s pant legs, giving her his best puppy dog eyes. “I promise I’ll be good for bedtime!” For a five year old, Julien was quite the negotiator. Of course Max caved which meant that Abby also got to chase the growing number of fireflies blinking around the yard. Billy couldn’t help but grin watching the cousins running around- and periodically jumping up- to try and catch the glowing bugs. After struggling to jump high enough to reach any of the fireflies, Abby pouted at Billy.

“Hold me?” She asked and how could Billy say no? He lifted her up in the air and she swung her little hands around, attempting to catch at least one bug. Billy could tell that she was getting frustrated when each time she came back fruitless. Abby got distracted by Julien showing Max all of the bugs he had captured, a faint green-ish yellow glow coming from his closed fists. “Daddy! Want one.” Abby’s chin wobbled - one of her tell tale signs that a meltdown was coming.

“Okay honey, I’ll get you one.” He smiled and moved her so that she was propped on his hip. They walked slowly around the yard together and Billy caught one for her. He helped her get it in her hand and her eyes widened. “Now you’ve got to be real careful, you don’t want to squish it right?” Abby shook her head no, wanting to keep her new friend forever. Billy watched the way she would peek into her fist to catch a glimpse of the small bug, finding it sweet how gentle she treated it. She kissed the top of her hand and said “I love you” to the tiny insect hidden within. Billy was so transfixed with her that he didn’t notice Steve’s arrival; It startled him when a hand met the small of his back. Abby lit up even more once she saw Steve.

“Papa look! Bug!” She opened up her hand to show Steve the bug, but the firefly took the opportunity to make its escape and flew off into the night sky before Abby could close her hand. She gasped and tried to reach for it in a futile attempt. Here comes the meltdown... or so Billy thought.

“Oh Abby, it was such a beautiful firefly! Looked like it was a really good flyer too huh?” Steve smiled and Abby only pouted a little. “Now it’s going to go home and tell all of its friends about you. And we gotta go home too sweetheart, it’s getting pretty late. Let’s say bye to Julien and Aunt Max, okay?” Steve was great at de-escalating a situation, he always knew exactly the right thing to say to stop Abby’s tears. Billy put Abby back down on her feet so that she could go over to Max and Julian to say goodbye. Steve turned to Billy and gave him a quick peck on the lips before taking his hand and walking them over to the trio waiting for them.

“Seems like you were able to get out of your head today, I’m glad.” Max said to Billy during their hug.

Once their farewells were said and done and they were all loaded up into Steve’s car, the small family made the short drive back home. Steve’s hand rested over Billy’s atop his thigh, periodically giving it a light, reassuring squeeze.

Back home, Steve carried a sleepy Abby in from the car and straight to her bed (he hated for her to miss brushing her teeth, but made an exception because of the long day she had had). While Steve helped Abby get settled in, Billy headed into their bedroom. He picked one of the heavier hardcover books off the bookshelf and pulled the dandelion out of his pocket. He tucked the wilting flower between the pages, saving it so that he could remember the day. Steve came into the bedroom as he was reshelving the book, he walked straight to Billy and wrapped his arms around him.

“Had a good day?” Steve asked. Billy twisted in his grip, turning to face Steve. They shared a few slow kisses, with no intention to escalate, only to be in each other’s space after being apart for the day. Billy pulled back, hands still holding onto Steve’s waist securely.

“Yeah, it was really good.” He smiled. Sure Abby was growing up, but they had so many years ahead of them, so many warm summer days just like this one. Although Billy didn’t expect he could completely quell his anxieties about the future, he was ready to start enjoying the moments as they happened.

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #dads!harringrove #my fic

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hazeltiberiuslee · 3 years

Text

Is My Life of Value? (Noelle & Zhongli Fanfic)

Noelle paused as she reached out for the cup of water on the counter. Dejected at the thoughts consuming her mind, she gripped the air tightly before lowering her hand.

As she glimpsed at the waters reflection, she saw her distraught expression looking back at her.

This was her eighth time taking the exam to become a knight of Favonius, and again, she had failed it. This time, Jean had come up to her to explain why she had failed.

“Though you have all the traits of a wonderful knight Noelle, you are a tad too reckless when it comes to yourself. A knight must treasure themselves, and value their own lives while aiding others. I wish for you to take this time to truly think about the value of your life, and not just everyone else’s. You’re special too, I only wish you could see that.” Jean said.

Noelle held her head as she kept thinking about it. Was she really that reckless? She only wished to give her all when it came to her aspirations. She didn’t think that was a bad thing.

But that had been exactly what kept her back from becoming a knight.

She sighed before heading outside of the shed to gaze at the sunset dipping lower into Teyvat. Gripping both her hands anxiously, she desperately looked around in vain to see if there was anyone in need of her help. Straining her ears, she tried to hear any horses footsteps, or a cry for help that she can assist with. But no one uttered her name, only the sounds of snoring from a boar who laid near a tree.

Shoulders drooping, she sighed deeply and decided that maybe she needed a walk to clear her head.

As the light from the sun diminished, the stars took its place to guide Noelle in her walk. Dandelions wavered in the air with its luminous blue glow, and Noelle finally stopped at the end of a giant cliff.

“Acting grand master Jean had told me to take some time off to rest and figure things out. I should do as she says since it is her order, however…” Breathing in another heavy sigh, Noelle sat down at the edge and let the wind rustle gently past her cheeks.

Her perfect posture made her sit upright, hands automatically folding itself on top of each other, neatly resting above her lap. The breathtaking view of Mondstadt filled her eyes as her mind wandered.

Did anyone call her name in hopes that she would arrive? Did someone feel an ache of disappointment, as she did, that she was no longer available to help them in their moment of need?

“…It is…quite lonely when I’m not doing my duties within Mondstadt.” she whispered.

She missed the feeling of being needed. Being wanted.

“Am I naive in thinking that chasing after your dreams without stopping is the right way to go?” She wondered out loud.

Keep your eyes on your goal and never stop working to get it. If you slack off, you’re being lazy. Never stop racing towards your dreams. Those had been the messages that came through while growing up as a child.

Is it possible those messages have been always wrong? She thought.

“Sigh…”

Closing her eyes, Noelle let herself go and flopped to the ground. The grass tickled the sides of her face as she listening to the rustling of the trees. All of it had somehow started to calm her raging thoughts.

It had been years since she rested like this. The only time she had done so was before her dreams ignited within her chest, as a child to be a knight. Ever since then, she had read hundreds of books about knights and their moral code.

Every time she read about them, the words had fanned the flames of her passion higher than it did before.

As her consciousness started fading, she felt a tug deep within her guiding her to another direction.

Looking around the dream, Noelle heard a sigh, and a slight whisper. She didn’t understand the context of the words, though the voice sounded oddly familiar.

“That old blockhead sure likes to put me to work even though there’s no wine to be exchanged for it.” It muttered.

‘Huh?’ Noelle voiced.

“Ah well, it’s not much work anyway. Well then, have a good talk Noelle! And next time, drink some wine with your friends! Wouldn’t want you to end up the same as that workaholic.” It sang, before a flash of light appeared and faded.

Out of habit Noelle shielded her eyes and blinked rapidly, only to find her breath escaping her.

‘Wow.’ She exclaimed.

All around her she saw pools of water and a low, wide tree centered on the small patch of land that she was standing on top of. Near her, a stone table stood with ceramic cups filled with herbal tea.

“Come child.” A voice called out.

Gasping in surprise, she snapped her head to look at the source of the voice and saw a tall gentleman with long brown hair and amber eyes. He gave a small smile and gestured her to sit.

For some reason, she found herself easily doing so.

In normal instances, she would have refused and instead asked if he required assistance before serving up some snacks.

He chuckled as if he knew what was going through her mind.

“I heard that the exam didn’t go quite as you wished.” he stated.

A pout began to form as Noelle’s lips puckered out. ‘It didn’t go well at all! Though I got everything right.’ She slumped in her seat.

‘From the physical aspects to the written parts, I’m sure I aced everything! But… I failed because master Jean said I didn’t care for my life well enough. But isn’t knights supposed to be able to put their lives on the line anyway to serve?’ She moped, hanging her head low.

A part of her was dumbfounded that she was suddenly acting like this but she couldn’t stop revealing her true feelings to the stranger. It was quite baffling.

The stranger didn’t seem to mind though as he smiled and gave a hearty chuckle.

“You have a strong sense of duty and loyalty to Mondstadt. That is what I quite liked about you, which is why I gifted you your vision.” he said nonchalantly. Bringing the cup close to his lips, he breathed in the scent of hot green tea.

Under normal circumstances, Noelle would have opened her eyes wide in shock at the revelation that the person in front of her was the Geo Archon. But whether it was the fact that they were meeting in a dream or not, she remained calm, accepting the situation easily.

Picking up her own cup, she followed Morax and breathed in the tea before drinking it. The warm taste of green tea penetrated her being and strangely put her in a calmer mood despite her misgivings.

While staring at the tea’s reflection, she found that the knots holding her complicated emotions tightly in a knot were slowly unwinding itself.

‘I don’t understand… Why is my life important if others may benefit from my actions, especially if Mondstadt finds itself in dire need of my assistance? As long as I am okay with it, is it not fine to continue the way it is?’ She pondered.

There was a moment of silence as Morax stirred his cup. He closed his eyes before lifting his arm. The air behind him shimmered before revealing the knights of Favonius headquarters.

In there, Jean and Kaeya were in a hushed discussion with each other. Jean’s face was furrowed with concern while Kaeya had his arms crossed but tried his best to comfort the acting grand master.

“She’s going to be fine Jean. The doctor said she will live, and that Noelle didn’t suffer from frostbite. Just need a few days rest and she’ll be back up ready to take on the world as always.” Kaeya reassured. He flashed her a charming smile but a corner of it twitched.

That didn’t escape Jean’s eyes and she just sighed with worry. She didn’t want to be acting like this but she had no one else to express her concerns to.

“She took on a reckless mission all by herself. What made her think that it was okay to do this without telling us?! Noelle barely had enough water and food as she went up into the mountains, and continued on even though her armor iced over after discovering the missing man.” She sighed.

Rubbing her face with both hands, Jean felt the stress building back up at the memory of Noelle nearly collapsing in front of Mondstadt gates. Jean had been making her rounds with Lisa when a guard yelled out in shock. Everyone had turned around to look expecting an attack, but found Noelle in the distance pushing herself to carry the man back through Mondstadt walls.

Everyone had ran to help her but it was as if Noelle couldn’t see them. Her eyes hazy and breathing haggard, she kept muttering that she’ll make sure that they both arrive home safe. For the man to hold on for his family. That it will be warm soon. She kept repeating those lines over and over, and those around her found it hard to make Noelle let go of the man on her back.

Kaeya suddenly stepped in and grasped Noelle by the shoulders before leaning in. “Welcome back. You did well Noelle, thank you for your services. Because of you, both you and Nimrod will live to see another day. Now let go of him, we will take care of the rest.” he said.

Transfixed on the voice speaking to her, Noelle lost grip of Nimrod and like a puppet with their strings cut, collapsed into his arms.

Jean felt thankful for Kaeya though she wondered how he knew that’d work.

The scene changed, and an image of Noelle unconscious on a patient bed appeared. Klee was looking concerned at how red Noelle was. Though red was her favorite color, she didn’t like it on Noelle like this.

Rummaging through her bag, Klee happily brought out a slightly crisp fish. She placed it on a plate that she brought out separately and left it on a counter before sitting up on the hospital chair.

“You need to get better so that we can go get some more fish together okay? Don’t tell master Jean, but I have the perfect spot to go to so that we can get a fresh meal! Fish is the just the best!” Klee exclaimed loudly.

There was no response from Noelle as Klee nestled her head onto the bed next to Noelle’s hand. Klee gently grasped the unconscious maid’s hand as she closed her eyes.

“Wake up soon so that we can together. I’ll even stay inside just for you, so that we can go together later. So please, wake up soon.” Klee whispered.

And with that the images from the past ended. Noelle stared stunned in silence. The Geo Archon had brought up a past incident and the reminder that she had worried people stung her conscience.

“You wish to charge in without rest and regard to your own life. As heroic as that may sound, it is not the way a knight should live.”

Morax set down his cup and looked into Noelle’s wavering eyes.

“Were it any of them marching through the dangerous winters of Dragonspine, would you also not fret for their lives?” he questioned. Noelle’s face flushed with guilt as she started understanding.

“Though there will always be situations where one puts their lives at risk for the safety of others, it is not ideal to completely disregard it.”

Bringing the cup to his lips once again, Morax sipped on the remainder of the tea.

“A knight is a citizen of their country. And what good country would want to needlessly throw away the lives of their citizens?”

Refilling his cup, Morax watched as Noelle looked down once again. A kind smile formed on his face.

“It is good to have the spirit of a knight, however, do not forget that you are a individual. Your life isn’t just yours once you build connections as well. There will be those that grieve for you, and those who will happily share their moments in life with you.”

He got up and stopped in front of Noelle. Reaching out, Morax patted her head tenderly like a father would with their daughter.

“Do take care to enjoy those moments yourself, and to share your times of suffering as well. Enjoy life, and you will shine like gold in the memories of both yourself and others.”

Closing his eyes he gave one last smile. “Now awaken and go home.”

Authors note:

Please like and subscribe! This is from my archiveofourown account as well https://archiveofourown.org/works/34323085

You can find more fanfics on my archive account as well, under HazelTiberiusLee. Have a nice one! <3

#genshin impact #zhongli #genshin fanfic #noelle #kaeya #klee #jean #morax #geo archon #daughter #father #lifepurpose #meaning of life #knight #knight of favonius #maid #heartwarming #fluff

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tears-and-lilies · 2 years

Text

@myst-in-the-mirror requested a Glorien flashback so here is that!

Glorien is around 12 years old here. Alira belongs to my sister.

CW: mention of fantasy religion

***

Glorien’s aunt got accepted as the head priestess of the Koian religion. The whole day, his mother had been talking to friends and family about the good news about her sister. Glorien felt excited too. It was such an honour to have a close relative hold such an important position. Since all close female family members of Emperor Ravi had died, the position had to go to one of the noble ladies. Glorien had heard some of his mother’s friends say it was thanks to her that her sister even got it.

He entered the atrium of the villa, where his mother and her friends were sitting on couches talking about his aunt. The woman in question was there too, proudly sitting on the middle couch, wearing the starry veil – a veil handmade for the new head priestess, dyed in a deep blue-purple colour with embroidered stars that depicted the wearer’s birth sign. She wore it to show off, and Glorien thought she had all the right to do so. She looked gorgeous, it stood so perfectly with her curly black hair and the white-and-blue dress she had picked today. She was smiling from ear to ear, bringing joy to everyone around her.

Glorien went to sit next to his mother and hugged her. She put her arm around him and petted his arm. She planted a kiss on his forehead.

As he tried to follow the conversation, he noticed Alira sitting two couches away from him. Why wasn’t she with the other kids? She smiled, but he recognized it was insincere. He knew her well enough to see when she was trying to be polite and when she was genuinely enjoying herself. He got up and walked to stand behind her.

‘Hey, Alira’, he whispered. ‘Come.’

She nodded and excused herself to her mother. She stood up and followed Glorien to the garden, where the other kids were playing. They were playing tag, a game she didn’t like. So that’s why she wasn’t here.

He jumped onto the stone fence.

‘Listen, guys’, he said, loud enough so everyone could hear him. ‘I had an idea! What if we show up with flower crowns on our head?’ He smiled and clasped his hands together as if he was plotting something big, and involving everyone in his secret plan.

‘Oh, good idea!’, his best friend said. Glorien knew he could always count on him.

Soon, others declared they wanted to join too.

‘Alright then!’ He looked at Alira. ‘Alira, we need your opinion. What flowers should we use?’

She looked around. ‘Dandelions. There’s an abundance of them in spring, so we don’t have to look too far.’

‘Okay, you heard her! Pick all the dandelions you can find!’

Immediately, everyone was running around and picking flowers. Glorien got off the fence and turned to Alira.

‘Thank you miss! Now that you’re here, do you want to help us?’

She nodded, and started picking flowers too. As they were making the crowns, Glorien glanced at her again. She was focused on her task, her lips curling into a tiny smile. He felt relieved. She never talked much, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t do what she wanted to do.

#thanks for the request!#my writing #oc #glorien #alira

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uas-fics · 3 years

Text

-Title: Flower Crowns

Rating: G

Summary: Half lost on his walk, Leon finds a frustrated Piers attempting to weave flowers together.

Ships: Leon x Piers

Content Warnings: N/A

----

What a wonderful day for a walk. The sun shone over the yellow-green of the land. Not a single cloud floated across the blue sky. Flowers swayed in a gentle breeze. Rookidie chattered in the trees as bug pokemon skittered along the ground.

Simply a wonderful day outside of...Well, Leon didn't know exactly where he was, but he was at least sixty percent sure he was outside of Hulsbury. Or maybe Tuffield? He was on one side of the Northern Wild Areas.

Probably.

He stretched his arms up. His jacket sleeves rolled down to his elbows. The worn blue jacket had been his grandfather's and was still a little too big for him, even now that he was an adult, but it was comfortable and warm enough for spring days. He kept it with him when he wanted to go incognito since it wasn’t as distinguishable as his sponsor cape.

He could use more days off like this, more calming walks in nature with nothing but the plants, wild pokemon, and--

"Oh, c'mon!"

Leon jumped, nearly knocking his hat from his head.

Who was that?

He titled his head, listening. Someone swore up a storm not too far away. Half in an attempt to help, and half to seek confirmation of his location, Leon followed the colorful language over a small hill to its source.

Amongst a field of wildflowers and tall grass, someone kicked at the dirt. Grass, flowers, and dirt sprayed into the air.

"And you’re no help, you piece of--!" They spun around, throwing something.

Leon ducked just in time to avoid coming face to screen with a cellphone. The phone landed with a dull thud in the grass behind his feet.

Regret welled up in Leon's stomach. Maybe he should have just called the Pokemon League and asked them for help getting home. This person seemed too upset, and Leon interrupting their rage would just make them angrier, won't it?

"Champion Leon?"

Leon jumped at the sound of his name. Taking his gaze off the phone on the ground, he looked towards the phone's owner.

The gym leader of Spikemuth winced.

"Sorry 'bout that, mate." Piers raised his hands, palms facing forward as if he expected Leon to throw something back at him.

Leon shook his head, both to shake off his shock as well as to placate Piers. He picked up the phone.

"It's nothing to worry about," He reassured, wiping the screen on his jacket sleeve. On the screen, some sort of brightly colored webpage stared back at Leon. In a curling font, the header read 'Just A Unovan Country Gal' with 'recipes, DIYs, and patterns for good old girls' written underneath.

Deciding not to ask about the site, he pressed the power button as he passed the phone back, darkening the screen. Piers put the phone in his pocket. He hadn’t noticed Leon staring at the screen or didn’t acknowledge he knew Leon saw it, at least.

"You're lost, aren’t you?" Piers didn't hesitate to ask.

"What? Of course not. I know where I am," Leon lied, unsure why he did. Everyone in the Pokemon League knew he was terrible with directions. Every gym leader had to come to find and escort him to their gym at some point or another, including Piers.

"If you need help gettin' home, I can take you,'' Piers offered. "I'm done with...I'm done for today."

"Done with what?" Leon couldn't help but venture. The Unovain website flashed in his mind’s eye.

He couldn't figure why Piers of all people would be in a wildflower field in the middle of the day so far from Spikemuth. Was he picking flowers for a special someone? Searching for a certain pokemon? Training his team? Did it have to do with the website he had open on his phone?

Piers wrinkled his nose. "None of your business."

It was Leon's turn to hold up his hands. "Sorry." He took a few steps past Piers. "Didn't mean to pry. I'll leave you to it if you can point me toward Hulsbury."

Piers eyed him up and down, slowly, calculatingly. A shiver ran up Leon's back. Why did his stomach twist into knots? It wasn't like Piers planned on stabbing him.

With a heavy sigh, Piers pinched Leon's jacket between his fingers, stopping him from wandering off.

"Flower crown," he muttered, refusing to look at him.

"What?"

"Flower. Crown. I was trying to make a flower crown." Piers took his hand away to run it through his thick bangs, pushing them back away from his face. A tinge of pink blush dusted his face.

Leon bit the inside of his cheek to keep a laugh in. Flower crowns? Piers was the least likely person to be making flower crowns. Leon tried to imagine the dark-type gym leader with a ring of wild daisies and dandelions around his head but only succeeded in a snort of amusement at the idea.

Piers glowered and raised his hand. All of his nails had a sheen of shiny black paint, except for the middle one lifted at Leon, which was a matte white.

"If I left you out here, you would die of exposure before you found your way back."

Leon covered his mouth before another snort could make its way out.

"Sorry, sorry, but..." He took a breath, "why do you need a flower crown? It doesn't much match your..." he gestured to Piers’ punk, monochromatic outfit, “aesthetic.”

"It isn't for me," Piers snapped. "It's for Marnie, my sister. She wants one, not me."

Leon wasn't sure he'd ever actually met Piers' sister. He rarely went to Spikemuth, and when he did, he just stopped by the gym to deliver papers to Piers and get out. Had he ever even seen Piers’ sister before? She was about Hop's age, he knew that, but he couldn't remember if she was a little older or a little younger.

"Oh, of course. That makes sense," Leon said. "That's nice of you to make her one."

Piers searched his face for any sign of insincerity. Leon flashed him his champion smile. Whether that helped or not, he didn’t know.

Piers snorted. More to himself than Leon, he muttered, "It'd be nicer if I knew how to make one. Stupid website wasn’t any help..."

At this, Leon finally took a gander around. Most of the flowers had been plucked in the immediate area. They either sat in a pile or as parts of what Leon could only assume were attempts at flower crowns.

He knelt and picked a crown up, holding it carefully. Yellow daisies made up the crown. Each daisy had a slit cut in the stem with the next daisy slipped through until the end where the last stem was tied to the first. It was crude and the spacing of the flowers uneven, but not the worst flower crown Leon had ever seen.

Before Leon could look closer, Piers snatched the crown out of his hands. Pale yellow petals fell to the ground.

He glared, the tips of his ears burning red. “Making flower crowns isn’t a life skill they teach you in school, you know.”

Leon tilted his head to the side then asked, "Do you want help?"

"Help?" Piers tossed the crown into the tall grass. "You know how to make them?"

Leon nodded. "I grew up in Postwick." He fell back to his bottom. "Everyone knew how to make a proper crown." His lips twitched up into a smile. "I remember chasing down a wooloo to stop it from eating the crown I'd just given it."

He took a few daisies from the pile next to him. It took mere seconds for his fingers to remember the motion of wrapping stem over stem.

"Silly thing was someone's prized wooloo, and the farmer spoiled it rotten," Leon continued, occasionally looking down at his hands, "so when it saw me coming towards it with a handful of flowers, it thought it was getting a treat."

He laughed at the memory. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight at the time. His mother still brought it up when she wanted to embarrass him in front of guests.

“I remember looking out the window and seeing my little boy, nearly in tears, shouting at a fat old wooloo.” She’d laugh. “Oh, he chased that thing for an hour trying to catch it!”

As Leon continued rambling, Piers watched his hands weave together daisies, dandelions, and corncockle. He sat back with his hands resting across his knees. He puffed his cheeks a little as he watched, breathing only through his nose. Whether he noticed he was doing it or not, Leon wasn't sure and didn't ask.

"And that's how I broke my arm for the first time," Leon finished, holding up the crown. He placed it on Piers' head where it sat unevenly on top of his ponytails. Leon beamed at Piers, proud of his work as if they were children playing in the fields of Postwick and not young adults.

Piers brushed his fingertips against the soft petals. He took a dandelion and a wild clover flower from one of the piles. With his face set in determination, he started to copy what he'd seen Leon doing. He wove together six flowers before tossing his hands in the air.

"What am I doing wrong?" He demanded.

Leon scooted until he sat next to Piers then took the crown to examine it. He nodded to himself. Without asking, Leon took Piers' hands in his own.

"You're doing it backward. See here?" Leon made Piers' thumb press against the first wrap in the crown. Instead of locking around the flower, the stem went behind it. A simple mistake for a first-time crown weaver to make.

Piers pulled his hands back.

"I think I got it." He took a meadows cranesbill and corncockle and began the wrap and lock method Leon showed him. He held up his attempt for inspection.

"That's it. Just keep doing that until it's long enough."

"This is going to take a while," Piers said, adding a daisy to the chain.

Leon shrugged sympathetically. "It might," he settled into a more comfortable, half-reclined position, "but it'll be fine. I'm here to help."

Piers paused and looked over at Leon, eyeing him once again. This time, however, Leon didn't feel a chill run up his back. Instead, heat crept up his cheeks at Piers' half smile towards.

Leon's pride wanted him to hold Piers' gaze as he would with any other gym leader, but he broke away to look at a patch of foxgloves in the distance.

"Thanks." Piers turned back to his project.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while before Piers held out a flower. Its stem was too short.

"D’you know what this is?" He asked, dropping the flower in Leon's lap.

Leon picked it up and spun it in between his fingers. Of course, he knew what it was, but he shrugged and pretended to think it over.

"Primrose, I think." He said. "My grandma kept some fancier varieties in the house when I was growing up."

The memory of cleaning up broken pots formed a smile on his face. Sonia and he landed themselves on his grandmother’s naughty list for killing her primroses, even if it was an accident.

Piers hummed. "I thought that's what it was. And this?"

Leon moved next to Piers. "That's a ragged robin. This is a cornflower. That's chicory." He continued pointing out the names of the flowers he knew, silently thanking his mother and grandparents for explaining all the wildflowers to him when he was a kid.

Of course, he didn't know them as well as Milo. He couldn't tell what medical uses dandelions had or how to make coffee from chicory, but Piers seemed impressed nonetheless with his botanical knowledge.

Leon picked up a flower from a failed crown attempt. He held it up, about to explain what it was, but Piers spoke first.

“That’s a wild violet.”

Leon slowly nodded. He was a little disappointed he didn’t get to explain it but shoved the feeling away. Of course, Piers would know such a common flower.

Piers smiled down at his work. “Marnie made me fill a whole basket with them once. She learnt you can cook with them.”

“Did you--cook with it, I mean?”

“Unfortunately.” Piers snorted. “I’ve had pot brownies that taste less like grass.” He paused, then added nonchalantly, “Before I was part of the league, of course.”

, Leon snorted a laugh to himself. That was a lie, he knew, but instead of remarking on it, he said, “Did you use the flowers or leaves?”

“Marnie baked them, not me. I just turned on the oven. I think she just put the whole plant in there, roots and all.” He laughed. “I’m going to have to tease her about that when I get home. Thanks for reminding me about that.”

Finally, Piers held up his crown. It was far from perfect, some of the flowers lost their petals and long stems stuck out at odd angles, but Piers held it out as if it were a royal crown. His expression wasn’t unlike how Leon’s mum said he looked when he finished making a crown for the spoiled wooloo.

"Wow, it looks great," Leon complimented.

Piers snorted with a smile. "For a first attempt, I guess." He looked at his flower crown, then at Leon, then back, before reaching up. He took hold of the bill of Leon's baseball cap. With a flick of the wrist, he tossed it off then replaced it with the crown.

He smiled at him. “You look like a prince, champ.” He teased before bending down and picking up the hat.

“I could say the same.”

The two shared a laugh and grins. Their fingers touched as Piers pushed the hat into Leon's hands. Leon wasn��t sure the touch was unintentional.

"It's getting late."

Leon looked up at the saturated orange-red sky.

"If you get me to Hulsbury, I can get a taxi home."

Piers chuckled and shook his head. "You really are lost, aren’t you? We're not too far outside the Spikemuth Tunnel, mate."

Leon dropped his hat. He held his head in his hands. The heat of embarrassment crept up his face. He had wandered farther off the beaten path than he thought. How did he even get so far away from where he started like this?

With a sympathetic smile, Piers put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"How about I take you back to my place, as a thank you for teaching me this." He gestured to the crown on his head. "I'll cook you up a little somethin' then you can hitch a ride on a flying taxi back home."

Leon's heart skipped a beat. He swallowed the embarrassment down and smiled.

"That sounds great."

----

AN: I stopped writing this halfway through to go outside, find some flowers, and learn how to do this because the way I described Piers doing it is how I've always done it. XP It is a completely valid way to make flower chains don't get me wrong, but it doesn't look nearly as fancy.

Anyway, maybe a little too sugary sweet, but I wanted to write some short fluff and doggone it I did!

Check out @uas-art for more of my drawings.

#pokemon #fanfiction #one-shot #piers #leon #champion leon #gym leader piers #swsh #piersxleon #leonxpiers #fluff #Still don't know the ship name...le sigh

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sery-chan-13 · 3 years

Text

Childish

Niragi Suguru

So, a recent comment left by someone made me realize that there isn't many stories where the reader has a little space. I mean, I've noticed it as a person with one, so... yeah!

A quick explination for those of you that don't know what a little space is: A little space is when a person age regresses due to trauma. This could be situations from abuse to having to be an adult when you were a child. People use it to cope with all sort of trauma however(yes, being in a car crash, near death experiences etc. Etc.) When they age regress it can be to any age as well. Although a lot of people age regress to smaller ages (personally, my friend's little spaces (gave me permission to share) are of the ages of 4,5,7, and 3. I, of course, did research on how others experience it, but am mostly going off of how I personally experience my little space!

Warnings: blood, weapons, swearing, harassment(none done by Niragi towards the reader), soft Niragi things because I can't write his character canonly for the life of me-

Side note: there's a whole headcanon thing from I think @aceofspadegrass ? here on tumblr where there's pancakes on Fridays only and everyone goes nuts over it? Yeah, that inspired a section of this-

Niragi didn't know why he felt protective over you. You were just another girl at the beach. But he was protective over you since the first day he met you. It was a quick attachment on your side as well, feeling safe and protected around him. Although, you knew of his interest in you, you didn't want to bring attention to yourself. You already did by accidentally regressing in places around the beach. Or maybe being a bit to childish for your age. It wasn't your fault. You couldn't help it. And Niragi understood. That's why you were with him most of the time. He didn't mind your clingy or childish nature. No, he told you he thought you we cute for needing him so much. And you liked it when he called you cute. You felt safe.

You sat in the small field behind the beach, picking up dandelions and weaving them together into a crown. You kept humming quietly to yourself as you did. "What are you doing there princess?" You heard someone ask from behind you. It was Niragi. You knew his voice, you knew him. And you would never ever mistake his voice for someone else's. It was impossible. You smiled widely, showing him the bright yellow flower crown. He nodded, crouching down besides you. "Don't you have games tonight?" You questioned him, placing the flowers on his head. He looked at you, and up at the crown now placed on his head. He went to grab it off, but you grabbed his hand, interlocking your fingers with his. You pouted at the fact he was going to take it off, and he kissed your hand, muttering an apology of sorts into your hand. "Yeah. And so do you," he whispered. Neither of you wanted to be separated for the games, but you also didn't want to be in a game where there could only be one survivor. Of course, you didn't get to decide when you two would oand wouldn't play together, but it was so hard to not want to leave his side, but also not want to be the one left alive after a game. He had told you before that if it was a game where there could only be a sole survivor, you would be leaving. And that scared you. You couldn't think of life without Niragi caring for you, or giving you sweet words. After he met you, he started hating the fact he knew what others felt when they were waiting for their partners to get back. Now, you two had never really established what you two were, but you were really hoping he felt the same, because confessing was already stressful enough for you. You didn't want him to leave you alone.

"Niragi-"

"(Y/N)-"

You both spoke at the same time, making you laugh. "I'm going first. Because...yeah. You're mine, right?" He asked, looking at you. His dark eyes met your own, and you looked down. "W-whadya mean by that...?" You questioned, still looking away. He tilted your head to the side making you look at him. "You're mine, right? Mine means mine," he repeated. You understood what he was saying. "I'm yours, pinkie promise!"

You whimpered, clutching onto his shirt in pain. "Owie... hurts," you whined. "I know sweetheart, I know," he whispered into your ear, glaring at all the people who looked at you weird as he carried you up to his room. More like your shared room, because you slept in there more than in your actual room.

You had gotten hurt during the game. This time, Niragi was there to help you. Some asshole had tried to use you as a shield, and you ended up getting hurt. Niragi quickly got rid of them, making sure to protect you.

He sat you on the bed, and watched you to make sure you didn't get hurt. " 'Shiya can help, can't he?'' You said, hissing in pain when you tried to move your leg. "No. That bastard isn't putting his hands on you. You're my princess," he stated. "Yours, I pinkie promised!" You reminded. You kicked your leg on reflex, and almost screamed in pain. "It hurts... pwease get 'im?" You begged, giving him the puppy dog eyes. He scowled, and then reluctantly nodded. "I would much rather you go to Ann though," he said, kissing your forehead. "But she has dead bodies down there... 's scary," you explained. "Yeah yeah.... I know sweetheart. Still... can you try and be brave?" He asked. You thought for a second, before nodding. "I can be brave!" You shouted. "But only for you," you mumbled.

It was your favorite day if the week. Not only was it Friday, and you got pancakes for breakfast, but it was also suply run day. At leat you got pancakes this week. Last week you gave them to Aguni because he helped you with one of your plants that was dying. Niragi was very confused on why you were crying over a plant, until Aguni gave him the look. You know, the dad look? The scary one when a boy goes home to pick up the daughter, and the dad is just giving the the look? Yeah, that's all it took for Niragi to leave it. And the week before you gave them to Last Boss because he got Niragi during one of your panic attacks. So that was no pancakes for two weeks. You were hoping nobody would guilt trip you or threaten you about you giving them your pancakes. It had happened before, and it would definitely happen again.

Niragi usually took you with him, unless they were going to a place he thought you would be in danger. Along with spending the day with Niragi, not having to wear a skimpy bathing suit, and eating pancakes, Niragi let you take some things back. Most of the times you picked out a stuffie, or a fluffy blanket. He also made sure you had suckers or jolly ranchers. Kuina had even once joked that his room was like a little nest for you.

"What do you mean a nest Kuina?" You questioned tilting your head to the side. "Hmm... have you ever read... no, I probably shouldn't tell you about that... like a bird's nest. The pair build a nest out of things they like so they feel safe and at home. And in the other thing I was going to mention... the... usually it's a girl, so I'm going to go with that. The female builds a nest out of clothes and things that smell like... her partner for neutrality's sake," she explained. You thought about it, and nodded slowly. ''I guess you could say that. I like the things that smell like him. Make me feel safe 'n warm," you giggled.

"Am I going with you today?" You asked him, having your fingers crossed behind your back. He nodded.

''You are st-"

"Staying right by your side or within arms reach. I know!" You interrupted, giggling at his worry. Although he wouldn't outwardly say it, you knew it was worry. "Good girl. Such a smart girl you are," he cooed. You smiled at the praise hugging him tightly. "Gi-gi..." you muttered. "Hm? What's up?" He asked. "Thank you."

You fell asleep on the way there, making Niragi be twice as much on edge. He was in the passenger seat, and you were in the back. Of course, you looked cute as always, but that's kind of what was the problem. He kept glancing back to make sure you were still there, and nothing was going on with you and the other people in the car.

"She's Niragi's girl, I wouldn't do that," he heard someone whisper in the back seat. He glared, glancing back for a second. "I don't really care... no rules, as he likes to say," he heard the other whisper back. This made him scowl in anger. You were his. And no one would dare fucking touch you. How dare this person try something while he's right in front of them. "S-suguru," you whined, still sleeping. He turned back, and glared at the person besides you. Their hand was on your inner thigh, high above where it should be. It shouldn't even be on you. "Hands off her. Now," he growled, his hand twitched trying to not reach for his gun and shoot the person. The other stared back defiantly, their hand going higher. He heard you whine his name again in your sleep. At least you were dreaming of him. But he was going to have to deal with this person. While they were next to you, he couldn't do much, as he didn't want to dirty your clothes. You had picked them out specifically for today. Specifically for him. And your beautiful face would get blood on it, he didn't want that. You looked too cute to get ruined by this person's blood all over you. "Stop the car," he told the driver. They did so, knowing that Niragi was not one to spare those who angered him. Especially when he was already pissed off. "You, out. Now. Since you think you're so good, come out here. If you're so confident, you'll be fine, no?" He asked, scowling at the man.

You stirred in your sleep, making Niragi cautious of what he did. Sure, you knew he had killed, and would continue to do so, but he never did it in front of you. If you happened to be in the room, or space, he would tell you to shut your eyes, cover your ears, and sing a little song until he came back. And you did. You were always pretty good about doing so, not wanting to trouble him with a possible panic attack. (He never minded helping you through them, and wished you would understand that.) But right now, you were asleep. And he couldn't tell you to do that.

The person got out of the car, staring at the gun. "Like that's fair," they muttered. Niragi rolled his eyes. "Life's not fair, get over it," he groaned. The person cracked their knuckles, and Niragi laughed. Like they could hurt him, he had a gun.

Boy was he wrong.

Of course, by the end, the person was no longer an issue. Dead most likely. And if not, to suffer from now until their slow, painful death. Niragi had not gone unscathed, however. The person had gotten in a few punches, making Niragi bleed.

"Fuck..." he groaned, wiping away the blood. The driver started driving again, and he heard you start to wake up. He turned in his seat, seeing you yawn, and strech. "Mornin' " you muttered. "Good morning sweetheart," he said. You rubbed your eyes, and looked at him.

"Gi-Gi! You're bleeding! You ok? Hurt? What's wrong?" You panicked, reaching out to touch him. He pushed your hands back. He didn't want your hands dirty with that disgusting person's blood. "I'm fine, you worry about yourself for now."

You held onto his hand, swinging both his and yours arms back and forth as you two walked through the abandoned mall.

"And... that's the last thing on we needed. Which shop do you want to go to now?" He asked you. You smiled widely, tugging at his hand. "Stuffies stuffies stuffies!" You giggled. He laughed, "Alright, alright. Calm down first, and we'll see what we can find."

He was always kind to you. Maybe it was the fact that you didn't make him feel alone. The fact that he didn't want to be seen as a monster by you, even if he knew he was. He could pretend. He could pretend this was back in the normal world, and that the borderlands never happened. That he had really met you at the coffee shop he went to every morning, and not during a game where you almost died. He could pretend and lie to himself that he was a good person when he was with you. Because if you left him, or even worse, you died... he knew he would go back to being alone.

And you felt safe around him. Maybe it was the fact he saved you during the game you two met in. The fact he wasn't weirded out the first time you had regressed. You loved him. Even if you knew of all the people he's killed or the things he's done. He hadn't left you to die. He hadn't hurt you, and something told you he wouldn't. He trusted you, and you trusted him. And as long as there was the feelings of love, saftey, understanding, and trust, you'd stay. This meant you'd always be with him, because there was not a doubt in your mind those feelings would always be there.

Yay, first one done! I hope you enjoyed, and please always remember to stay hydrated, and eat because you deserve it! ♡♡♡♡

#alice in borderland #niragi #×reader #fluff #🎶please don't kill me i just want to include diverse things in my writing🎶#i will write more for the rest after work tomorrow #promise

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songbirdsingingthings · 3 years

Text

Chapter Eight - Spurred Racehorses

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

Previous Chapter ~ Next Chapter ~ Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Word Count: 1.5K

A/N: Hi you guys! I’m so sorry this chapter took so long to write and post, but I wanted to make sure that it was as good as could be and that I was happy and satisfied with it. I hope you all enjoy!

The day was big and the pressure was on the Yagi family as guests filtered through their large garden gate, all of them flocking to the biggest event of the month; Lord Izuku Yagi and the newly titled Lady Ochaco Yagi’s wedding reception. Of course, the actual marriage occurred earlier in the day and only the closest members of each family were invited which included the elder Lord Yagi, yourself, and Ochaco’s parents. It was beautiful, really. Both of their vows to one another were tender and faithful, and it was clear to both families and the officiant that the newly married couple shared true love. Now, of course, you were able to change out of the simple dress you wore to the ceremony into a bigger and more expensive gown that you were saving especially for this event. It was a deep midnight blue with perfectly puffed sleeves and had intricate embroidery all around it. Paired with a sparkling sapphire hair comb that had previously belonged to your mother along with the prettiest lace gloves you could find, you were sure that you exuded both maturity and beauty without stepping on the toes of the glowing bride.

She really did, in fact, glow. As soon as Ochaco and Izuku entered the gardens, all of the guests were on their feet and applauding with wide smiles on their faces. And while your brother cleaned up well, Ochaco’s beauty spoke for itself. Her wedding dress was gorgeous - a lovely cream color with beading and jewels on the bodice and her veil matched to make her a vision. As soon as the crowd simmered down, you made your way quickly over to them.

“Congratulations to the both of you! I must say, I teared up at your ceremony - it was just so divine.” It was evident that there were happy tears welled up in both of their eyes as they embraced you, squeezing you tightly.

“The music should start up soon - shall we, my love?” Izuku says, offering his hand to his wife. With a warm smile, Ochaco nods and takes his hand, but not before turning quickly to you.

“I know this is our wedding, but I would keep your eye out for all of the young men falling at your feet. Attending receptions tend to spur them on like racehorses in a starting gate.” Ochaco says with a wink, letting Izuku lead the way to the middle of the floor. With a flushed face due to her words and a little spring in your step with confidence, you checked your posture before making your way to one of the tables, perching yourself on a chair. You relished in the little peace you got, nibbling on finger foods and sipping lightly on an expensive glass of champagne. However, the little moment of peace and tranquility you experienced was capped shorter than you would’ve liked by the sudden clearing of a throat. Hesitantly, you turned your head to catch a glance at the speaker, only to be displeased with the presence of Lord Mineta.

“My Lady,” he slurs, his eyelids clearly hooded and his stance incredibly casual. He was clearly drunk - at merely 3:00 in the afternoon might you add - which meant that his occupancy would be even more unfortunate.

“Lord Mineta,” you say evenly, giving him nothing more than a curt nod. And, while you thought just him alone would put a damper on your mood, the addition of several other young men - all of them drunk or at least half-way there - definitely turned your previously sweet attitude into a sour one. Being the lady you were and a partial hostess, you tried to show grace and elegance in the way that you spoke to these men even though you meant almost none of the emotion being conveyed through your words. Finally, you had enough. “Excuse me gentlemen, but I must be moving on to other tables. The job of a hostess never does stop, does it?” You say, trying to fake a smile to go along with your meaningless banter.

“Lady Yagi, may I please have a word with you before you go?” You recognize that voice to be from Lord Ojirou, his face slightly flushed from the alcohol but his expression kind. Breathing out a subtle sigh, you nodded.

“Of course,” you say, giving him a kind smile. Humoring may have not been your best decision of the day though.

“I realize that you and I have not had the proper time together for me to be asking this question, but…” oh god, your inner monologue frets, can this actually be happening right now? “... I have come to ask for your hand in marriage.” You felt your body grow tense. You knew that you had no intention of marrying him, you would definitely have to let him down, but it didn’t stop your stomach throwing itself into a twist. Someone had actually made the move in proposing to you. A man, of a fine background and maintained polite manners, wanted to be with you for the rest of his life - that was enough to spur on the butterflies.

“Oh… Lord Ojirou,” you begin, swallowing the lump in your throat, “your offer is very kind, but-”

“But you must decline.” He says, his smile a bit dampened. With a gentle nod and empathy showing in your eyes, you confirm his suspicions. “It is alright, Lady Yagi, I knew it was quite a long shot. Thank you for humoring me.” He says politely.

“I am sure you will find a Lady that is perfect for you,” you’re quick to say, trying to soothe the sting of rejection. With a smile and a nod, Lord Ojirou bows before you and then steps away.

“What was that interaction about?” From behind you, you heard Shouto’s voice, causing you to whip around and face him.

“Oh, um, nothing too important.” You say, trying not to prompt jealousy from the red-and-white haired man in front of you. Shouto shifts in his stance, looking past you towards Lord Ojirou and then back to you. He twists his cuffs a bit (maybe out of nervousness?) and shakes his head a bit.

“Did he ask for your hand?” He asks, his voice more timid than you have ever heard before.

“I declined.” You say, quick to answer him. “Really, it was nothing important, I knew beforehand that I didn’t want to marry him.” You explain, grabbing onto his hands with your own. Shouto was about to speak, but nothing was able to squeak out as his eyes focused on your hands. Your ungloved hands. His eyes widened, as did yours, but you made no effort to move them. With a clearing of his throat and a wobbly, but giddy, smile, Shouto wraps his hands more firmly around yours.

“Would you like to dance?” he asks, his eyes twinkling. You nod eagerly in return, letting him lead you onto the dance floor as the string quartet readies their instruments. A beautiful melody is hummed out, one you recognize to be paired with one of your favorite dances. Shouto bows before you as you curtsy in return, then offers his right hand to yours. Your grasp onto it immediately and then, like a whirlwind, twirls you into an entrancing dance. Everything is a blur to you, everything except for Shouto. His eyes were like a homing beacon to you, his hold the thing grounding you to the earth. Oh how you longed it was just the two of you, for you would have confessed your love right then and there. You felt like a dandelion, ready to blow away with just a single breath, but Shouto was the person shielding you from the wind. You see him lean closer to you, his cheek grazing the shell of your ear. His actions sent chills down your spine, causing you to shiver in his grasp.

“I’m going to ask for your hand.” He states, simply but strongly. Your eyes widened.

“Right… right now?” You whisper back, your heart rate starting to pick up. He pulls away from your face so that you could see each other more clearly. Shouto smirked and shook his head.

“No, not right now. That would be rather unromantic of me. A proposal for you must transcend the most pronounced displays of love ever shown before. I hope to dazzle you with wonder and gain all of the love in your heart when I do. But, for now, let’s just dance and enjoy the wedding.” You felt dizzy by his genuine words - like you were floating on air. All you could do was nod and smile as he twirled you through the afternoon all the way ‘til midnight, dancing alongside the twinkling stars.

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juliandev0rak · 3 years

Text

Into The Wild

Chapter 3: Goldenrod

✧ Into The Wild Series ✧ playlist ✧

Words: 3055

“Willa! She took my beads!”

“Willa, Lucio told us there are sharks in the lake, is that true?”

“Willa I got a paper cut!”

Willa takes a seat at the front of the arts and crafts cabin and takes a moment to breathe and re-center. She’s been at Camp Vesuvia for two weeks now, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t exhausted from being constantly on. Someone always needs something from her, and there's only so much coffee one person can drink to stay energetic and peppy through it all.

She gives herself thirty more seconds to wallow a bit, and then she’ll get back to the campers. Willa breathes in slowly as she watches the little hand on her watch tick out the seconds, and exhales. Thirty seconds are up.

“Ok campers, gather up!” Willa calls, her enthusiasm only slightly fabricated, her smile only slightly tired.

Thirty minutes later, the campers are happily working on their art projects and Willa has another chance for a break. She likes to give them free choice most of the time, they can do anything they want with the supplies in the cabin. Some of the campers are painting, others making bracelets, and one kid in the corner seems to be making a spaceship out of modeling clay. It's chaos, but Willa likes to think it's the organized kind, or at least the fun kind.

She steps outside to check on a group of campers making flower chains, humming as she walks. The hum gets stuck in her throat as Willa stops, looking around the empty clearing in confusion, and then panic. The kids she’d seen only five minutes before have vanished, and though it's not unusual for campers to wander off to some other activity, they’re supposed to tell her first.

Willa is about to call Nadia for help when she hears a camper’s voice say, “Is that a wolf!?”

The word “wolf” puts her on alert and Willa hurriedly follows the sound of the camper around the side of the arts and crafts cabin. She sighs in relief at the sight of the kids she’d been looking for. And sure enough, they’re busy petting a large black wolf.

Her first instinct is to pull the campers away, but the wolf looks up at her with kind eyes and Willa realizes that she knows this wolf. “Inanna! What are you doing here?” She scratches her behind the ears and Inanna sniffs at her hand happily. “Is Muriel around?”

Inanna stops licking her and turns towards the building next door, a storage shed with a door ajar, and Willa realizes that Inanna is giving her directions. She turns towards the campers first to give them a quick lecture on not approaching unfamiliar animals, especially wolves, and sends them back inside. Muriel steps out of the storage shed and nearly hits his head on the top of the door frame in his surprise as he sees Willa.

“Muriel! Over here!” she calls, waving him over. For a moment it looks like he’s going to walk away, but he finally turns towards her. He stops several feet away and Inanna trots over to his side.

“Can I help you with something?” Muriel asks.

“I was just wondering what you’re doing,” Willa smiles, leaning down to pick up a flower one of the campers had dropped on the path. It’s a dandelion, some people would call it a weed, but Willa has always liked those sorts of flowers best.

“I’m working.”

“What are you working on?”

Muriel looks at her warily. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Yes, I’ve been told that before,” she laughs, her fingers busy twirling the stem of the flower.

“I help Nadia sometimes, around the camp. There was a light out in the shed,” Muriel explains, pointing back towards the small cabin he’d just exited.

“Oh, we’ve got a lightbulb out in the arts and crafts cabin too! I uh, couldn’t reach it and i couldn’t find a ladder or I would’ve changed it myself,” Willa turns towards the still open cabin door. She points to the back corner where a lightbulb flickers faintly. “If you’ve got a minute, could you replace it?”

Muriel regards her for a moment and then turns to walk away in the opposite direction. She watches him incredulously and walks back into the cabin with a huff, “How rude.”

A few minutes later, Willa is busy helping a camper with a tangled bracelet when Muriel enters the cabin. A few of the campers greet him as “Ranger Muriel” and Willa can’t help but smile at the way he greets the campers back. He knows a lot of their names and seems interested in the projects they’re working on.

“Where did you go?” Willa asks as he approaches her table.

“To get a lightbulb.” He holds it up to show her and crosses over to the left side of the room where the dead light is.

“Oh,” Willa says, feeling bad for assuming he was being rude. “Thank you.”

It takes him only a minute to change out the lightbulb, but when he’s done he doesn’t leave. Instead, he walks over to where Willa is sitting, awkwardly hovering for a minute before she notices him and looks up.

“What are you working on?” he asks. It takes him a minute to get all of the words out, as if the question took a lot of effort to ask.

“I’m making a friendship bracelet!” She holds it up to show him. It’s a design of her own making, a repeating pattern of different kinds of leaves all made in green thread. If a certain green-eyed park ranger was the inspiration for the color palette, she’ll never tell.

“It’s nice.”

“Thank you!” Willa says proudly, setting the bracelet back down carefully. “Would you like to make one?”

Muriel takes a step towards the door. “I should get back to the station.”

“Of course. Feel free to stop by any time!” she smiles. He gives her a nod as he leaves, and Willa’s attention is soon pulled away by campers.

Later that evening, Willa finds herself huddled over the fire pit mourning the loss of yet another marshmallow. She can’t seem to toast a marshmallow without catching it on fire. Asra comes over to watch as she tries again, and this time goes marginally better, she’s able to blow the fire out before her marshmallow burns to a crisp.

“I wouldn’t eat that,” Asra says, eyeing the charcoal colored marshmallow.

Willa adds a piece of chocolate and smushes it between two graham crackers without a care. She eats the s’more in one giant bite, wiping chocolate off of her chin as she chews. “Well, it’s a good thing that was my marshmallow then.”

“You’re bad at s’mores,” Asra frowns.

“There’s no wrong way to s’more, Asra, you’re a marshmallow snob!” Willa points the end of her metal marshmallow skewer at him and he backs up, holding his hands up defensively.

“I am not, I just prefer my s’mores to be edible.”

“Perhaps my tastebuds are more developed than yours,” Willa teases, “I can appreciate the delicate flavor of blackened marshmallow.”

“Sure, you just keep telling yourself that,” Asra laughs. He walks off to join the rest of the camp staff on the other side of the amphitheater, leaving Willa to her marshmallow pyromania.

“You’re too impatient, you have to cook it low and slow,” the now-familiar gruff voice comes from behind Willa, startling her.

She turns towards Muriel, her face pulling into a grin at the sight of him, “You came!”

Muriel’s lips pull up into the barest hint of a smile as he looks back at her, but his eyes quickly shift away. “You’re a fire hazard, I had to make sure you weren’t going to set the forest on fire.”

“It’s not my fault all the marshmallows spontaneously combust!”

“You’re too impatient,” Muriel repeats.

“I am not impatient!” Willa frowns and shoves another marshmallow onto her skewer, nearly stabbing her hand on the pointy end.

“Careful,” Muriel eyes her cautiously, keeping a safe distance away from the sharp end of her stick.

“Fine, if you’re so good at roasting marshmallows show me how to do it.” Willa holds the skewer out to him and he grabs it, their hands briefly touching as she passes it over. They both recoil as if they’ve been burned and Muriel clears his throat as he turns away from her and towards the fire.

“Hold it over a smaller piece of wood, away from the fire.” Muriel demonstrates, holding the marshmallow low over one of the smoldering logs instead of putting it directly into the fire as Willa does. She watches him intently, but she’s looking at his face rather than the marshmallow lesson. In the firelight, she traces the sharp line of his jaw with her eyes, marking the shape of his nose, his eyebrows, his lips.

“See?” Muriel hands her the skewer, breaking her out of her daze. Sure enough, the marshmallow is perfectly golden brown, not a burn mark in sight.

“You’re a wizard, this has to be witchcraft,” Willa marvels. But even magical marshmallows need to be eaten. She prepares a s’more and hands it to Muriel, who seems quite surprised to be handed the sweet treat.

“It’s not magic, it’s patience.” Muriel takes a bite of the s’more and Willa watches as his eyes close halfway and his lips pull into another rare smile at the taste. He must like sweets, Willa makes a note to remember that. Maybe she’ll bake him something. She notices a bit of chocolate on his cheek, next to his lips, and reaches up to brush it off without a thought.

“You had chocolate on your face,” she explains as Muriel pulls back in surprise. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Muriel looks away, but the fire is just bright enough to illuminate his blushing face.

“Alright, I’m gonna try it,” Willa changes the subject, sparing them both the awkwardness. She prepares another marshmallow, gently rotating it over the log as she’d seen Muriel do.

Her marshmallow is not quite as perfect as Muriel’s was, but it still tastes great. Whether it's the amount of sugar she’s had or her proximity to Muriel, she feels more awake than she has all week, and bolder too. “I made you something.”

“You— what?” Muriel’s eyes widen as he looks at her.

“I made you a friendship bracelet.” Willa reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls the bracelet out. She doesn’t know when she decided to give it to him, but it feels like he should have it.

“A friendship bracelet?”

“Yes! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Willa holds it out to him and he takes it, holding it carefully as if it’s breakable.

“I guess.”

Willa laughs, shaking her head at his comment. “You saved me from a bear, that makes us friends.”

Muriel holds the bracelet in the palm of his hand, his eyes still glued to the green woven threads. “You don’t have to give me this, are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, I made it with you in mind,” Willa admits. “Here let me help you put it on, if you want.”

Muriel holds his wrist out, and when Willa’s hand rests on his arm they both freeze, looking at each other briefly before their eyes move away. She tries to focus on the task at hand and carefully ties the bracelet onto his wrist. His skin is so warm against hers, and his hand is calloused. Willa resists the urge to run her fingers along the lines of his palm, but she still lets her hands linger longer than they should.

“There. I think it suits you.” Willa takes a step back and sits down on the amphitheater bench, stretching her legs out in front of her. Muriel hesitates for a moment before taking a seat next to her, closer than she would’ve expected. They sit in companionable silence for a minute until two campers run up to ask Willa a question.

“You’re good with them,” Muriel comments after the kids have scampered off.

“The campers are sweet, most of the time,” Willa smiles, thinking of some of the more mischievous kids she’s met over the last few weeks. “I think it must be hard to be away from your family for so long, eight weeks is a long time for a child.”

“Mmm,” Muriel agrees. He busies himself with tracing the leaf pattern on his bracelet, his fingers working their way around the trail of leaves and back around again.

Willa leans back, tilting her head up towards the sky and the stars which are just starting to appear. “I was shy as a kid, and I pretty much only had my family since we lived in the middle of nowhere. I think a camp like this would’ve been good for me. I did go camping with my family a few times, but that’s not the same. Did you ever go to camp as a kid?”

“No.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“I never knew my family,” Muriel replies, looking vaguely uncomfortable at the admission.

She turns to look at him, but he keeps his gaze fixed to the ground. “I’m sorry.”

Muriel nods at her sympathetic comment and turns to look up at the sky. He shoves his hands into his jacket pocket and sighs, his voice a bit softer as he asks, “Do you have siblings?”

“I’ve got two brothers, one older and one younger,” Willa replies, her thoughts turning to the family she left behind to move to the city. It's been years since she last saw her brothers, and being in a place like this makes her miss them more than usual.

“Do you miss your family?” Muriel seems surprised at his own question, as if he didn’t mean to say it aloud.

“I miss my brothers, but my parents... well, I think we get along better from a distance,” she sighs. “Things are complicated.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok.” For a moment Willa thinks about saying more. She wants to tell him everything, where she’s been, where she wants to go. She’s pretty sure that he’d listen. But Willa’s not ready for that yet, she doesn’t want to ruin the fragile friendship they have, so she changes the subject again.

“A few of us are going into town later since we have tomorrow off. There’s a little bar that does karaoke on Friday nights, Asra and Portia roped me into it. You could come with us if you want.” She has a feeling she already knows what his answer will be, but she doesn’t want to miss out on the slight chance of spending more time with him.

“I don’t sing.”

“Well, I must warn you, if you don’t go you’ll be missing out on Asra and I dueting every song in ABBA’s discography, complete with choreography,” she says. To her surprise Muriel laughs, the sound deep and gravely and somehow very comforting. Willa joins in with him, unable to stop the smile spreading across her face.

“I hope you have fun.”

“If I come back tomorrow with my voice gone, blame Asra,” she laughs, looking across the fire at her friend who is busy talking to Nadia.

A few moments pass in silence as Willa watches sparks fly from the fire, bright spots of gold standing out against the dark sky. Finally she looks up at Muriel, her breath catching a little in her throat as she tries to think of something to say. She wants to ask him to stay, to spend more time with her, but instead she says, “Thanks for showing me how to roast the perfect marshmallow.”

She playfully nudges his shoulder with hers and Muriel looks down at her. He stiffens a bit but doesn’t pull away as she lets her shoulder rest against his arm. Then suddenly Asra is standing in front of her and Willa pulls away from Muriel, trying to hide the way her face flushes.

“Willa, you ready to go?” Asra asks, giving her a teasing grin.

“Yep!” Her voice is a tad too loud and she winces at the squeakiness. She stands up and brushes dirt off of her jeans, turning back to look at Muriel again. “You sure you don’t want to come?”

“I’m sure.”

“I’ll see you around, then.” Willa turns away, taking a step towards Asra.

“Willa, wait,” Muriel calls, and her heart leaps into her throat as she looks back at him.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for the bracelet. It’s nice,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear him.

“You’re welcome! We’re friends, that’s what friends do.” She gives him one last smile and turns to follow Asra and Portia out of the amphitheater.

“So, ‘friends’ huh?” Asra teases.

“Shut up or I’m not singing Mamma Mia with you,” Willa grumbles.

Asra puts his arm around her shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze. “You wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“I hate that you’re right.”

“I’m usually right. And am I also right in guessing that you have a crush on Muriel?”

“Oh please, that’s not a guess, that's just an obvious fact,” Portia adds. “Even the campers know about it.”

“They do!?” Willa’s eyes go wide, wondering how the whole camp could possibly know when she’s only just figuring it out herself.

“Yeah, earlier I heard a camper say that they ‘ship it’,” Asra laughs.

Willa puts her head in her hands, shaking her head in dismay. “Oh no.”

“So...you’re not denying it?” Asra asks. Willa’s car comes into view as they walk up the hill towards the front of camp and she tosses her keys at Asra.

“You can drive.”

“Answer the question,” Portia prods as she gets into the back seat of the car.

“I’m not denying it.” Both of her friends turn to look at her with mouths wide open in surprise and Willa flushes red, focusing her attention on buckling her seatbelt.

“So you admit it then, you have a crush on him?” Portia grins. “Oh, I definitely have a crush on him,” Willa sighs.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Asra asks.

“Honestly? I have no idea.”

✧

#c h a p t e r 3 !#this was so fun to write ahh i love them...#asra and portia are ideal best friends i feel like drunk karaoke with them would be hilarious #i almost went to the craft store to buy supplies for making friendship bracelets after this lol #i have also really been craving a s'more #willa wednesday #willa clary #apprentice willa #muriel the arcana #milla

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starkerforlife6969 · 4 years

Text

Starker - Angel Fire

Tony is an Angel-Hunter, and Peter is...

Peter Parker is beautiful.

Then again, all angels are. Tony’s been following him for a couple of days now, his latest mark. He’s seventeen years old, one of the youngest Tony’s ever encountered, but really, that just makes him easier to kill.

Not that there’s anyone around to teach him how to fight anyway. His mother is human, and Tony’s a good guy, so he’ll make sure she’s not home when he kills Peter. She’ll mourn, of course, which is a shame, because she isn’t his real mother. His real mother’s an angel- hopefully killed already- and now Peter’s here, pretending to be her child. Pretending he can feel real, genuine human emotions. Pretending like he doesn’t feed off the souls of others.

Tony feels for her.

So, he waits and watches and follows.

Peter doesn’t have many friends which doesn’t surprise him. Angels are horribly standoffish beings.

What does surprise him is that even as he follows Peter in every shadow, he never sees the boy feed.

Well, he is a young angel. He doesn’t need as much as the older ones.

Tony wonders how many humans this one has killed.

The perfect opportunity presents itself on a Saturday morning. The mother’s out of town, and Tony sneaks into the apartment by quietly busting the lock, his gun in his pocket, as the sun begins to peak over the horizon outside.

It’s nearly seven am.

The apartment is still and warm when he enters, and he closes the door behind him silently. It’s painfully normal looking. Throw pillows on the couch, homework on the kitchen counter, left overs in the fridge. They’re struggling for money, that much he knows. At least the mother will only be feeding one after he’s done.

Right on cue, he hears Peter start to stir, so he presses himself behind the sagging armchair and the curtains, and watches.

Goddamn, he’s seen a lot of beautiful angels. But Peter Parker takes the cake. He watches as the boy ambles into the kitchen, rubbing one eye with his dainty fist. His skin is smooth and flawless, like a pearl, and his eyes are the warmest brown with flecks of honeyed gold. He’s wearing these skimpy little silk shorts; white with little painted dandelions, showing off those long legs and shapely thighs, and a flimsy button up sleep shirt that exposes the lovely sharp collar bones he has.

Goddamn. Such a shame.

The boy potters around the kitchen, eyes still half-closed, yawning every so often, and his thick, hickory locks tumble into his eyes, and Tony levels his gun, and takes a deep breath.

It’s second nature now, to see the lavender glow that shines around angels. It’s like a fuzzy aura that hovers just over their skin, he sees it without trying. But the halo? That takes effort. A lot of mental strain.

He draws on it now. He’ll need to see the halo. It’s the only way to kill an angel. A bullet will shatter it, and they’ll drop-

When he opens his eyes, he nearly drops his gun.

There’s no halo.

Above those brown curls, is nothing. Just air. Almost like a…

He steadies himself, and tries again. His head starts to ache with the strain, but still nothing.

He can feel his fingers trembling. What the hell? How is this- how is this possible-

And then, he gapes, as he watches Peter dig his hands into a box of Lucky Charms and inhale them noisily. He crunches happily, letting out little moans of contentment and…

He’s eating. He’s eating- human food- with no one around to prove anything to- just for- just for-

For one, absurd moment, he wonders if he got it wrong. Maybe he’s been tailing the wrong person, but-

no. He can still see, clear as day, the lavender light that glows over Peter’s skin. The sheer beauty of him, the elegant slope of his neck, the long flutter of his eyelashes- unnaturally stunning.

What is he?

There’s a clatter, as cereal spills all over the floor, and Tony looks up to see honey-gold eyes staring at him.

Oh shit.

Peter screams, immediately bolting for the door, and Tony strides over, and grabs his arms.

“Please!” Peter cries, yanking ineffectually, tears blossoming like crystals, “please, please! I don’t- I don’t have anything, oh god-“

If Angels can’t feel, how is- how is Peter crying? How is he shaking like a leaf with fear so tangible Tony is crushed with guilt?

But the lavender light- this boy is-

“Please,” Peter sobs, pulling harder, “please, I won’t tell anyone, I won’t, I swear-“

Tony can’t think. He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t-

He twirls the boy in his grip, and Peter startles, and Tony gets him in a sleeper hold.

Peter struggles, and then slumps.

Tony can’t breathe. He draws in deep, worried breaths. What the fuck. What the fuck is happening?

No halo, there’s no- there’s no halo- he eats, he cries-

The dawn makes everything looks clean. The air is fresher, and birds are tweeting as they start to wake. The city is almost silent; the calm before the storm; the cacophony of car horns and exhaust pipes yet to come.

Tony carries Peter to his car without any problems at all.

Apart from when he gets there.

The front seat? The back seat? The boot?

He’s not sure. The Jeep is pretty high off the ground, and the back lights are doubly secured- no chance the kid could kick them out.

But- if he’s not an angel, and Tony’s vision is just a little wrong, he doesn’t really want to put the kid in the trunk.

Jesus, he tries not to feel the skin under his fingertips. Peter’s soft thighs are over one hand, his shoulders in the other as he carries him bridal style, and the slip of a thing is so light, so silky.

In the end, he picks up front.

He buckles the kid into the front seat and then zip ties his hands under the dash, before getting in. Peter’s limp body slumps against the window, and it looks like he’s dozing.

He’s a gorgeous sleeper. His lashes cast shadows against his sharp cheekbones as the sun moves farther up the sky, and his chest rises and falls languidly, like a princess in a story.

Tony peels off into the road and curses himself as he does so. The mother will be back in two days- but she’ll know something’s off before then. When Peter doesn’t answer her calls. She’ll go to the police- there’ll be posters- missing persons.

This is sloppy. Tony doesn’t like sloppy. But he doesn’t know what to do.

He could report to his boss. It’s a long drive up to Canada, but he could make it, he thinks. Hopefully. If the boy’s story doesn’t go national.

His fingers are deathly tight around the steering wheel, and he tries to get ahold of himself. Glancing to the right, Peter’s breathing gently, and the sound soothes him, as dangerous as that is.

The lavender light still glows beautifully from his skin.

Fuck. Tony exhales slowly, trying to get himself under control. Canada it is.

***

The kid wakes up a few hours before Connecticut.

He makes a soft noise, before he seems to remember everything, and he jerks desperately- letting out a whimper when the zip ties cut into his delicate wrists, and he spins to face Tony- eyes huge and petrified.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, yanking frantically, “please- oh god please-“

“Settle down, kid.” He warns, even as his stomach ties itself in knots. He better not be abducting a fucking innocent child. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” Yet, he thinks uncomfortably. If the boy is an angel. But how would they even kill one without a halo?

“Why? Please,” he begs, “we don’t- we don’t have any money, please, my mom- she’ll-“ his breath becomes fast and shallow, “she’ll freak out, Sir- please-“

He’s tossing and turning in the passenger seat now, his wrists already marked red with how he’s trying to free himself, his gaze wild and manic like a trapped animal, as he watches the motorway whirl past. “Calm down,” Tony tries, keeping his voice low, “kid, calm down- stop- jeez, just stop wriggling!”

Peter screams, ear-piercingly loud, and Tony nearly swerves the car into oncoming traffic.

“Shut the fuck up!” He snarls, and is immediately rewarded by silence.

He doesn’t look over for a while, heart pounding. Sweat is budding at his temples.

But when he does look, his heart breaks.

Peter’s got his knees drawn up to his chest, and his cheeks are red with tears- eyes glistening, and he’s muffling his sobs into his arms.

It cuts Tony up. “Kid, please,” he says, more softly, reaching out- only for Peter to flinch away in fear. He’s shaking so bad Tony thinks he might burst.

Okay. This isn’t going to work.

He pulls over the next chance he gets, and parks the car.

Peter doesn’t move. He’s still crying.

Tony rubs his face with his hands, feeling sick. The kid can’t be an angel. The fear and sadness is so strong as it rolls off him in waves Tony feels suffocated by it. He wants to let the kid go. Just drop him off here. But the lavender still hovers over his skin.

“Peter, listen.” He begins, but the boy only makes another choked off sob.

“You know my name.” He weeps, and Tony groans-

“Kid, kid, look at me. Seriously. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“You were pointing a gun at me,” Peter wails, cringing into the window. Tony swears he can almost hear the frantic jack-rabbiting of the boy’s heart.

“You’re not human, Peter.” Maybe the truth will do it.

Peter squirms. “You’re crazy,” he whispers, looking like Tony’s a delusional kidnapper, gaze swinging to the window, desperately searching for help.

It’s not an unfair assumption. “Peter, I know you have no reason to believe me, but I’m an Angel-Hunter, okay? I kill angels. I was sent to kill you, but, you don’t have a halo.”

Peter looks at him for a long moment, before he hollers for help again and tugs at the dash so hard that the plastic creaks warningly. “Help! Help, please, somebody!”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. Thank god for his soundproof car. “Believe me or not, this is what’s gonna happen: I’m driving us to Quebec, that’s where my boss is. She’ll tell me whether or not you’re human, and if you are, you can go home, if you aren’t…” he shrugs, “I’m going to have to kill you.” How they’ll do that if the boy doesn’t have a halo, he still doesn’t know.

Peter seems to pause at that. He stops shaking so much. He looks at Tony tentatively. “If your boss says I’m human- you’ll let me go?”

“Probably reimburse you for your trouble,” Tony promises. “She’s very good like that.”

“Okay,” Peter whispers, nodding, even as his cheeks glisten with tears. “Okay, so-so- we just need to go there, and then you’ll- you’ll let me go?”

“If you’re human.”

Peter nibbles on his plush bottom lip, before he seems to sag into the seat. “Okay,” he whispers hoarsely, “let’s go to Quebec, then.”

Not that he has any say in the matter, but Tony doesn’t point that out. He doesn’t want the kid freaking out again. He just nods, and starts driving.

Silence, as it turns out, is not Peter’s strong point.

The kid’s a babbler. Asks a ton of questions. If Tony were a real kidnapper, he’s not sure he’d have bothered keeping the boy this long. As it is, he answers tersely, and then flips the radio on as an excuse not to answer anymore.

Of course, it doesn’t deter the boy.

“So, how long have you been angel hunting?” Peter asks over the thrum of a pop song.

Tony shrugs noncommittally. “Born into it. My dad was.”

“And-and what do angels do that’s so bad? Aren’t they meant to be, like- good?”

He snorts. Common misconception. “Not these ones. They look like people. But more beautiful. They feed on human souls. Drain the life out of someone and kill them. The death looks natural. It makes them hard to track.”

“Feed on human souls?” Peter repeats; horrified. “Oh. We didn’t learn that in Religious Studies.”

Tony almost cracks a smile. Damn, the kid’s a little cute. “There’s a lot you don’t learn at school, kid.”

“But- if they look just like humans, how do you catch one?”

“You have to train. Every human has the ability to see auras, but they have to harness it.”

“Auras?”

“A light that hovers over people. Humans have white, Angels have purple.”

Peter pauses. “You think I have purple?”

“I’ve been doing this for over twenty years, Peter. You do have purple.”

Peter looks down at his arms, and squints a little, before sighing. “Wouldn’t I know? If I was an Angel, I mean? I don’t kill people.”

“I know.” Tony frowns, “therein lies the problem.” Peter eats food.

On cue, the boy’s stomach rumbles.

His huge eyes look at Tony hopefully, before they quickly dart away. But it’s been a bit of a morning, and he hasn’t eaten bar a handful of Lucky Charms, and Tony has technically kidnapped him, so he follows the route to the nearest drive-thru.

Peter’s relaxed now, thankfully. Doesn’t seem so frightened. Seems desperately hopeful. He’s the optimistic sort, then. Awfully trusting, too. Naive. Innocent. It’s troubling.

“What do you want, kid?” he asks, as he pulls-up.

Peter vibrates with excitement. “A chicken wrap? If they- um have it?”

Tony rolls his eyes, and turns into the microphone- just before he does, he gives Peter a look. “You’re smarter than to cause a scene, right, Pete?”

Peter nods, pressing his lips together. He looks as if the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Tony doesn’t want to, but he can’t risk it.

He takes his gun out, and sets it on his thigh. Peter’s eyes go wide, but he nods his understanding.

Tony turns to the microphone. “I’ll have three chicken wraps, a cheese burger, a black coffee and…” he turns to look at Peter, sizing the boy up. He’s sweet. “and a double chocolate milkshake.”

Peter smiles so beautifully that Tony feels a small lurch of arousal.

The thought is horrific. Not only is the kid seventeen, but he may not even be human. Tony shudders, and carefully doesn’t look at the boy as he rounds the corner, and gets to the window. The spotty teenager who hands over their food barely looks up, which Tony is grateful for. He doesn’t need anyone remembering they saw Peter.

He only has a day or so before he’ll have to get Peter to duck when they drive through busy areas.

He hands over the wraps and the milkshake, one hand on the wheel, before he takes a bite of his own meal.

Peter’s making contended little sounds beside him, opening the wrap carefully, making sure none of the foil falls on the floor, and biting.

His moan is pornographic, and Tony feels himself grow warm, and starts ahead resolutely.

The kid devours two of his wraps, and leaves the third one, before starting on his milkshake. Which Tony now realises is a mistake. Even in his peripheral, he can see the way the kid’s lips purse around the straw, the hollow of his cheeks as he sucks- fuck.

More significant than his arousal, though, is the fact that Peter can get nourishment from food.

If Peter is an Angel, he’s an Angel who doesn’t kill humans. And if that’s the case- then- would he have to be killed at all? Even if he was-

There’s some shuffling beside him, and he turns to see Peter attempting in vain to get comfortable on the seat. The boy notices he’s watching, and then blushes. He’s got freckles dappled all over his nose. It’s irritatingly endearing. “Could you um, maybe, just tie my hands together? Not to, the car- I mean?”

Peter’s wrists are very sore. Tony doesn’t like the sight of them. He wants to help the kid out, but…he shakes his head. “Sorry, Pete. We’re not there yet.”

The boy nods, and then shuffles some more, trying to find a position that’s comfy.

Tony falls into the lull of driving. He keeps thinking. If the boy doesn’t kill, then he’s not a threat. And if he’s not a threat, Tony could just…let him go. But it’s not up to him. He needs to see Peggy. She’ll know what to do. He just…he rather hopes that killing the boy isn’t the way she’ll handle it, but again, not up to him.

Maybe he should stop thinking of him as a boy. Because of the lavender light but- innocent until proven guilty, he supposes.

When he looks over, Peter’s got his cheek smooshed into the dash, curls spilling out over the plastic, hunched over, and fast asleep.

Tony smiles before he can catch himself. It can’t be comfortable, like that, but the kid’s clearly exhausted. Coming down from an adrenaline rush and some warm food will do that to you. Tony turns on the heater, and leans back into his seat, and tries not to think too hard at all.

***

It’s a reflex as they drive through towns, to keep his eyes peeled for any spark of purple.

There are a lot of Angels still around, but Tony doesn’t see any. Probably for the best, really. He doesn’t want to kill one in front of Peter.

He doesn’t know why.

He just passes trees and people until he gets past the border.

Then the people disappear, and sunlit woodlands spread out all around them.

When Tony pulls over, Peter stirs.

He blinks to awareness slowly, smacking his lips together and blinking hard.

His eyes seem to glow like liquid gold in the light.

“Bathroom break,” Tony says, by way of wake up call, and Peter lets out a sleepy little muffle, before sitting up.

Tony’s fingers brush against Peter’s wrists as he slices through the zip tie. He can feel Peter’s pulse; slow and lazy with sleep, and he wants to press his lips to it.

It’s so fucking dangerous. He’s walking a thin line-

“Are we in Canada?” Peter asks in surprise, as he looks out the window. His voice is still syrupy with sleep.

“We crossed the border about an hour ago.” Tony confirms. “My gun’s in my pocket, kid, I’m gonna open the doors, we’re gonna do our business, and you’re gonna stay in my line of sight.”

Peter nods, squirming like he already has to go, and Tony bites back his smile and unlocks the door.

Peter jumps out, flitting around the car to Tony’s side and hurrying towards the privacy of the trees.

Tony has no such qualms about privacy. This stretch of forest road is deserted. The sun is hot on the back of his neck, but there’s a nice breeze that sends the branches and the flowers dancing.

When Peter finishes, he heads back over to Tony obediently, before his eyes go huge and stare at something in the road like he can’t look away.

Tony turns and rakes his eyes over the environment. The blades of grass sway, the branches creak with old age; craning up to the sun, but nothing else moves.

And when he turns back to Peter-

the boy is gone.

Alright, Tony is almost impressed.

It was a sloppy technique, but the kid got the job done. It’s Tony’s fault really, he’s not on high alert. He should be. This case is more important than the others.

So, he makes his way through the forest. He’s slow and methodical. He’s quiet and he listens. Peter, no doubt, will be running as fast as he can. The kid’s smart. Acting docile so Tony will let his guard down, and what’s more infuriating is that that such a junior technique was effective.

He won’t be so lenient with the boy after this. It’s straight in the trunk. No more drive-thrus. No more nice guy-

He comes to a halt suddenly, when he breaks into a clearing.

A gap in the canopy, where sunlight is streaming down onto a meadow of grass- and there, sure enough, is Peter.

He’s on his knees, feet folded neatly underneath him, his profile as beautiful as the statue of a cherub, and he’s before the hulking great mass of a grizzly bear.

Tony thinks his heart does a horrible sort of jerk. He stares, uncomprehendingly for a long moment at the scene. The bear- huge and immense- and Peter- tiny and defenceless-

It’s the final thought that kicks him into gear, reaching for his gun when-

“I was calling for you,” Peter murmurs, and Tony creeps forward, gun in his hand, before he sees that the bear is holding it’s gigantic paw in Peter’s lap, and that Peter is pulling thorns from it. It’s horrifying. It’s beautiful. It’s something from a children’s story book. “But I realised I didn’t know your name.”

“It’s Tony,” Tony manages; wrecked.

Peter’s pulling thorns out of the paw of a fucking wild grizzly bear.

The bear looks at Tony, with horrifying black eyes, and Tony levels his gun.

Peter shakes his head without a word. “Put it away. It wouldn’t even leave a dent.”

Tony wavers. The kid’s probably right. A bullet against that. Fucking goliath. Have bears always been so big? But where’s the sudden wisdom come from? Where’s the kid who inhaled a milkshake-

“Couldn’t you hear it calling?” Peter asks.

Tony just stares at him. The sun throws its rays against him, and there’s a halo of sunlight around Peter’s curls.

He looks like an Angel. A real one, not a monster.

“No,” Tony whispers hoarsely, as the bear lets out a guttural moan, pulling his paw away as Peter wipes his hands. “I didn’t hear anything.”

The bear leans down and rubs its nose against Peter’s head, before turning away with its massive weight, and disappearing into the forest.

Peter’s still glowing lavender.

“Oh.” Peter frowns, turning to look at Tony with his big gold eyes. “I could hear him. That’s why I came, I didn’t…” he trails off, looking unsure. “You didn’t hear him?”

“No.” The woods had been silent.

Peter looks very troubled, and he doesn’t resist when Tony comes over and offers his arm. Peter gets up, grass stains on his knees. He’s still in his pyjamas- all floral and soft. He looks like a flower child. Like he grew here, in the forest, surrounded by nature.

“A bird fell in the playground in middle school.” Peter says, and he sounds far away, as Tony guides him back through the forest. “I heard it in class and no one- no one else did.”

“Peter.” Tony says, because it’s all he can say.

“Is that what-“ his voice drops into a whisper, “am I an..?”

“I don’t know.” Tony confesses, “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of an Angel being able to hear animals.” But then- he doesn’t know much about them. Other than that they glow, that they feed off humans, and that they can’t feel. “I don’t think they do, though.”

“What am I?” Peter asks helplessly, and Tony’s touch is more protective than it should be.

“I don’t know, sweetheart, but we’ll- figure it out.”

The incident sets Tony on edge.

Instead of driving right to Quebec he pulls over at a nice looking hotel. It’s expensive, but he has the money, and the receptionist’s smile turns much warmer when he slides over his card.

But he has eyes for no one but Peter. The boy’s staring at his hand. Squinting hard. He looks utterly dazed.

Tony supposes wondering whether or not you’re human will do that to you.

It doesn’t mean he should want to reach out and comfort.

Tony’s leather jacket is hanging over Peter’s shoulders, draped there, but the bare feet and grassy legs have drawn a little bit of attention.

Not too much attention, but even a little can be dangerous.

Tony gets them up to their room as fast as possible.

Peter still looks dazed. He doesn’t take in much of their room even though Tony’s sprung for an enormous, gorgeous, airy suite, he just sits on the edge of the bed where Tony settles him, and looks down at his lap.

Tony checks all the windows and shuts the curtains, and locks the door, before turning to look at the boy. Peter peaks up at him through his curls. “I’m scared,” he confesses.

Tony’s heart. He pads over, and lays his hand awkwardly on the kid’s shoulder. The boy’s so small. “I know. We’ll figure it out.” We?

“I can see…or maybe I’m imagining it.” Peter lifts up his hand and squints, “It’s purple. My head hurts.”

It’s a relief, that the kid can see it too. Tony nods, before flipping off the lights. “Get some rest, Pete.”

Peter flops down onto the bed, and wriggles under the blanket with the sort of fatigue Tony’s seen on men back from war. “I don’t have any friends.” He whispers, “I feel alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Tony says fiercely, automatically, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed. “You’ve got me.”

#starker #peter x tony #au #half angel peter #angel hunter tony #angel fire inspired #protective tony #kidnapping #precious peter parker #tony stark has a heart

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digitalworldbound · 3 years

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koukari 24 or kenkari 30? sorry for the challenge :p but if you're not comfortable with the pairings, go ahead with takari! :3

Pairing: ken x hikari

Summary: “I can’t talk to cute people, okay? I don’t know how to flirt!” (#30 from the prompt list)

Author’s Notes: I was revisiting my old fanfiction from when I was thirteen, and it reignited my love for cheesy AUs. So, I present to you my first ever KenKari content (I apologize if it is bad, but I've tried my best!)

on the corner of thompson rd. and fifth street stood a quaint structure with walls that appeared to sag and well-worn stairs. a seemingly hand-painted sign hung above the door way read : ♡ book 'n' brew ♡

in full honestly, the crooked hearts would of been enough to draw ken in completely had he not been on a search for a new coffee joint. earlier that september morning, a bug placed strategically in his starbucks cup stirred up the motivation to search for a more tasteful choice in brew.

mindless trotting about lead him to the worn, brick steps. many customers were slightly deterred by the haggard appearance of the building, but ken thought otherwise.

it was charming and smelled of home. plus, the little pink hearts were hard to dismiss.

pulling the smooth handle and trapping the chilly air behind him, ken opened the door and stepped in.

the store was quite small, as expected, but seemingly transported him away. warm fairy lights hung on the edges of tall, oak bookcases. the lights made ken’s dark cerulean eyes dance with wonder. while the oak cases were aging, they were sturdy. books lined the shelves in every way imaginable. when the books filled up the shelves vertically, the left-overs were placed haphazardly in the spaces between, whether that be on top of, in front of, or behind other books. the smell of well-loved pages filtered through the air, mixing with the smell of freshly brewed something.

the coffee! ken reminded himself.

humming a mindless tune under his breath, he made is way to the countered that was nestled in between two bookcases. plants, napkins and even more books littered the counter top. the owner, however, was nowhere to be found.

"hello?" ken’s crystalline voice called out.

"how may i help you?"

ken made a noise of surprise, not expecting the light, feminine voice to come from behind him.

a girl emerged from behind one of the bookcases, her hair swept to the side and held in place with a barrette. she looked ethereal in her loose dress, the extra fabric making her look like a bird ready for flight. she coughed quietly, her amber eyes drilling into his own with curiosity.

blush erupted like wildfire across ken’s cheeks. the tips of his ears burned in embarrassment. he was caught staring, but the stranger’s beauty was disarming.

"so?" the owner lightly suggested, a gentle reminder that ken still had yet to respond to her initial question.

"oh, yes! i was wondering if you had any coffee?" he finally spoke up. all too late, he realized his mistake. a flush rose to his neck, and ken had half the mind to run out of the store and never return.

raising an arched eyebrow, the stranger purposely flitted her eyes over to the obviously placed coffee pots, before turning her attention back to ken.

"hm, i would say that i do." she chuckled. her dress gently swayed behind her as she slipped behind the counter. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled in his direction.

"obviously." the boy muttered under his breath, embarrassment consuming him alive.

"pick your poison."

ken pretended to ponder his options. on a normal day - which this wasn't - he could always go for a medium roast coffee with creamer and two sugars, but today felt inexplicably different.

"i think i might go with some oolong tea today, if it isn't any trouble."

"of course not, silly. it's one of my personal favorites." the barista smiled. she turned around, completely engrossing herself in the task at hand while ken decided to explore the shop.

his fingers danced on the spines of novels and novellas, enjoying the way they felt beneath his fingertips. as a child, ken never had the attention span for reading. he was always distracted by the butterflies or colorful markers or dandelions. these things were real, and for him, the words in the books weren't.

consumed by his thoughts and the texture of the spines, ken drowned out the shop owner's declaration of warm drinks.

when the surprisingly small hand cupped the boy's shoulder, he jumped, knocking several books from their perch.

"oh no, i'm so sorry. usually, i'm not this clumsy." he offered, quickly picking up the fallen objects and shoving them haphazardly back onto the shelf. anxiety swirled in stomach; he felt like an absolute fool.

the owner simply smiled and pushed the small mug into ken's cold fingers. how long had it been since he stumbled into the shop? ten minutes? an hour? the thoughts were washed away with the first sip of tea, as the warm, comforting flavor washed away the flush on his cheeks.

"my name's hikari," the mystery barista offered, turning towards the door behind the cluttered counter space, "yell for me if you need anything else." she smiled, then disappeared.

"i'm ken ichijouji!" he called after hikari, but it was too late. her delicate frame had already slipped away, disappearing into further into the shelves.

with a barely distinguishable pout on his pink lips, ken sipped his oolong tea languidly and perched himself in recliner nestled into a dusty corner. the cloth on the seat had once been beautiful, ken was sure. years of patrons had worn away the bright red velvet into a thread-bare pink. it was s comfy, so ken snuggled himself deeper into the chair.

glancing around, he browsed the titles nearest to him.

viva by e.e cummings

pride and prejudice by jane austen

star girl by jerry spinelli

the hobbit by j.r.r. tolkien

hikari apparently had an interest in most things, not unlike ken. they just had interests in different places.

losing interest in the books quickly, ken demolished the luke-warm beverage and placed his dirty mug (that he now realized adorned the same little pink hearts as the sign that hung above the entrance way) next to the coffee pot and hurriedly yelled out his goodbyes.

he closed the old, wooden door, walked down the brick steps, and turned onto thompson rd. his stride was strong and his gaze was fixed onto some imaginative point on the horizon.

ken was on a mission.

the rest of his week was rough, even by ken's standards. book 'n' brew had been closed for the past five days, much to his dismay. ken had inherited the ability to burn water and couldn't be trusted to make his own tea. with the name-brand fix no longer being an option, five whole days without caffeine had put ken on edge.

it was a rather dreary sunday. the rain fell in sheets and drenched the ken down too his sock-less toes. inky black hair plastered to his forehead; his eyelashes had already clumped together. his wet sneakers lead him down the familiar cement of thompson rd. and his heart leap into his throat when he saw the lights on in the infamous bookstore.

the warm atmosphere was once again barren of any patrons (besides ken, of course). hikari was much easier to spot, given that she was directly behind the counter. ken’s heart-rate picked up; he was almost giddy.

hikari's hair was swept to the side again, the ends barely dancing across her shoulders. her billowy dress had been replaced by jeans and a t-shirt. an apron hung loosely off her thin frame. she wore the tea stains like accessories. his heart gave another weird flutter.

however, before he could question his reaction, ken became far too preoccupied with the smells of the quaint shop. cinnamon wafted around his ears while cocoa assaulted his nostrils.

the owner physically perked up when the wind chimes above the door sang a song, signaling the first customer of the day.

rain dripped from his clothes as ken walked towards the delicious aromas while mulling over the half-baked plan that he attempted to conceive a week prior.

it wasn't much. he just thought that hikari was impossibly cute and wanted an excuse to strike up a seemingly casual conversation. the only problem that presented itself was the fact that ken absolutely despised reading.

so, during his caffeine withdrawal, ken invested a part of his meager wages into a hoard of "spark notes" books. these were easier to understand and got straight to the point, anyways. every morning of his coffee-less week began with a literary classic. much to his dismay, the plots bored him to tears. lovers would fight and makeup, enemies would always become friends. books were too predictable.

nevertheless, when the shop was finally reopened, ken had the basic knowledge of not one, but five(ish) novels to use as conversation starters. he wanted to be prepared to keep her interest, no matter how small his understanding of the material.

"hello, hikari!" ken chirped, a bright smile spreading across his wind-nipped cheeks.

"good morning, ken ichijouji, how have you been?" though she was talking to him, her eyes never left the countertop she was cleaning. the shadows under her eyes did not go unnoticed, but ken decided against bringing it up.

" i'm great! i've been put off, though, as your shop hasn't been open in nearly a week."

hikari chuckled darkly, her eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments. "don't worry about that. i'm here now. would you like anything to sip on or any novels to escape into today?"

ken was slightly confused by the unusual turn hikari's behavior. her voice was no longer sweet, but laden with exhaustion. however, he let none of this deter him from his mission.

"yes, please. i would like a coffee with creamer and two and a half sugars, please."

the blue-eyed boy watched intently as hikari made his drink. In an effort to bring a smile to her face, ken joked that his preferred his coffee the color of his sun-kissed skin. despite how stupid it sounded, her cheeks warmed as she giggled. looking like an idiot was worth it if it meant that hikari would laugh like that.

"so," ken began as the silence settled in, "have you read any good books lately?" he took a quick sip of his coffee and let the warmth sink to his icy toes. september was almost over, but the chill of october was already creeping around the corner.

the corner of hikari's mouth twitched, and ken’s heart soared when he knew he made the correct choice.

"hm," the young woman started, her body relaxed against the cluttered surface of the counter., "i had you pegged as more of a 'movies-are-better-than-books' type of guy." her elbow grazed a stack of books that were balanced precariously on the edge.

"ah, well, of course not! i have loved reading since primary school." ken stuttered out. his face was a shade of deep red, resembling the worn-out velvet of the chair he was sat in. the lie sat uneasily at the pit of his stomach, but ken pushed it aside.

"well, to answer your question, i just finished the book thief by markus zusak." by now, a smile had warmed up hikari’s amber eyes, brightening the mood. rain still splattered against the shop windows, but the pair paid little mind.

"what was it about?" inquired ken. while he had no interest in reading, he certainly had an interest in whatever hikari was talking about. her slow, languid voice soothed him.

hikari eagerly rambled on and on about the characters and plot, being careful to only tease at the spoilers. ken stared intently into her eyes. he didn't have a clue what she was talking about, but he loved every minute of her voice ringing in his ears.

the coffee sat abandoned in his lap, warm long gone and chilly. the raven-haired boy took a drawn out sip, absentminded. furrowed eyebrows and a quirk of the month made hikari giggle in the midst of her story-telling.

once hikari’s story lulled to an end, ken began to talk about the books he didn't really read. he steered away from specifics and danced around with the big ideas. though her attention was divided behind between making herself a cup of tea and ken’s pride and prejudice synopsis, she seemed at ease.

"you remind me of Lydia Bennet, actually.” hikari’s hair whipped around, her eyes wide with surprise. ken was too preoccupied with the speech he prepared, one that he was sure would enthrall her. “you have that aura about you.”

“i have the aura of girl that would run away with a grown man at the age of fifteen?” the incredulousness in her voice snapped ken from his coffee-induced stupor. He hands shook. oh god, i should have read the book.

“the sparks notes didn’t mention that part.” his mouth reveals him before his brain can put a stop to it. “oh, god, i’ve ruined everything. i can’t talk to cute people, okay? i don’t know how to flirt!” his absolute, all-consuming panic must have been obvious from the way the warmth crept across his face.

her giggle caught him off guard. “how can you laugh at a time like this? i just compared you to a mother’s worse nightmare.” ken was miserable, doing his best to disappear into the cushion of the recliner.

“because it was endearing to watch you pretend to know what you’re talking about.” hikari said simply, her cheeks pink.

ken only hummed in response, not trusting his voice to respond. Instead, he basked in the warm atmosphere and tried to gain the inertia to take himself to work. while they sat in comfortable silence, mulling in the conversation, hikari leaned down and pried the empty ceramic mug from ken’s now-cold fingertips.

the contact sent a shiver down his spine, his heartrate skipping sporadically in his chest. he was on fire.

and ken knew.

he knew by the blush that rose in the girl’s cheeks, and the look of confusion still in her eyes. ken knew that coffee was good, but it had never tasted better than when he was with her. he had never tried so hard to gain the attentions of the girl, never expecting himself to be willing to do research on a subject that didn't interest him just for the sake of conversation.

the realization shook him to his core.

ken knew that he was falling for her.

so he did what he was best at.

he ran.

"oh my, look at the time. i am going to be late for my shift. it's been good. thanks for the coffee." he slammed a wad of money on the counter and rushed to the door, wind chimes tinkling after him.

hikari's goodbyes were caught in her throat.

#kenkari #ken ichijouji #hikari yagami #digimon

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