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torreshalstead · 6 months

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It Seemed Like a Good Idea - Chapter 21

Summary - Hailey’s US visa was due to expire, which normally wouldn’t be an issue as the CPD would get it renewed but due to a backlog of paperwork, this wasn’t possible. This meant Hailey was faced with the real possibility of having to leave the country, her job and everything she held dear. That was until Jay offered up a solution which would allow her to stay in Chicago, in Intelligence, with him - they could get married. Getting married was a good idea, right?

Chapters - 21/21

Chapter Title - The Honeymoon

Notes - I can’t believe we’ve reached the end of this story. All of your love and support has meant the world and I hope you enjoy this final chapter. Thanks so much for reading ❤️ AO3 Link

‘Are you going to tell me where we’re going?’ Hailey asked after they had been on the road for a little over an hour. Jay just turned and threw one of his signature smirks her way before returning his gaze to the road.

‘Not a fan of surprises?’ He asked, already knowing the answer. His wife, he couldn’t believe he could actually call her that now without any additional pressures being attached to the word, was a planner. She liked to know what was happening and when, and relinquishing control was not something she succumbed to easily. But he also knew; she would love this surprise.

‘Jay,’ she sighed, shaking her head a little but when Jay looked at her out of the corner of his eye, he could see she was smiling. He reached across and took her hand, linking their fingers together and letting them rest on the centre console.

‘We’ve got about two hours left to go,’ he admitted, watching as the cogs started to spin in Hailey’s head as she put together the direction of travel, the familiarity of the route and the arrival time. She was an elite detective after all, putting clues together and coming out with the right answer was her forte.

‘Wait,’ she said, curling up her legs as she spun in her seat to look at him, her eyes wide in excitement. ‘Are we going to your cabin?’

‘We’re going to our cabin,’ he said with a grin. He let out a small chuckle as he heard Hailey’s intake of breath.

‘Our cabin?’ She asked, clearly confused by his choice of words.

‘Well, we are married now, what’s mine is yours and all that,’ he said with a shrug. He had spoken to Will about it already, about adding Hailey’s name to the title and deed of the cabin and he was completely on board. That way, should anything happen to him and/or Will, it would still stay in the family. Because that’s what she was, his family.

‘Jay, you don’t need to-’ she started but Jay cut her off with a gentle squeeze to her hand.

‘The cabin belongs to the Halstead’s,’ he said calmly, ‘and you’re a Halstead now, maybe not in name but you are Hailey. The cabin belongs to you too.’ He chanced another look at her although the traffic on the highway was starting to pick up. ‘It’s the family cabin Hails,’ he added, ‘you’re my family.’

‘Jay,’ she said and Jay didn’t need to look at her to know her eyes would be brimming with tears - he could hear it in the shake of her voice. ‘I love you,’ she whispered quietly after a moment of silence.

‘I love you too, Hailey,’ Jay said, giving her hand another squeeze and turning his full focus back to the road. ‘You can rest your eyes if you want, I’ll wake you up when we get there.’

——————————————————————————

It felt weird being back at the cabin with Hailey again, but the good kind of weird, the kind where you feel it in the depths of your stomach and it makes you want to grin at everything. She was still dozing in the passenger seat, the grip on his hand loose but their fingers still linked together. Since they had finally come to their senses and admitted how they felt about each other, the need to be touching each other, even just the smallest of touches, had increased exponentially. If Jay could spend every hour of every day just holding his wife in some shape or form, he’d be a happy man.

Still, the last time they had been here it had all been an act. At least on the outside. He had known even then, that his feelings for her were not just platonic - hell he’d never brought a girl to the cabin, friend or relationship. But he wanted to share it with her. Wanted her to know a bit more about him, where he came from and wanted her to experience a place that meant so much to him. Because she meant so much to him. Even if she didn’t know it yet.

But now, being back here and getting to kiss her on the dock, wrap his arms around her as they snuggled in front of the fire and tell her he loved her as often as he felt it. It was going to be perfect.

Glancing back over at the peaceful form of the blonde haired love of his life, he debated waking her up or pulling the cheesy move of carrying her into the cabin. He decided to unload the trunk first and if she was still asleep then he would make the call.

He hadn’t packed them too much. Unfortunately their time at the cabin was limited to two days as that was all the time off he could get approved and as happy as he was to spend the entire time naked, he wanted to show Hailey all the wonders the lake fronted cabin had to offer, and that would involve them being dressed for at least a portion of the time.

He’d also packed a limited supply of groceries - the nearest restaurant didn’t deliver and some of his mothers recipe books were still tucked in one of the kitchen cabinets and he intended to wow Hailey with a couple of them. He knew he didn’t need to impress her anymore but he also wanted to spoil her, treat her like she deserved to be treated and they always say a way to a girl's heart is through her stomach. He wasn’t sure that was anatomically correct but still, his mothers chicken pot pie recipe was calling his name.

With everything unloaded and put away, he was back with his original dilemma. To carry his sleeping wife into the house and risk her potential wrath for him being too old fashioned or wake her up and risk her grumpiness at being pulled from her slumber too soon. They hadn’t slept much the past couple of days, had been far too occupied getting to know each other on a different level so her needing to recoup some energy wasn’t too unusual. And she looked so peaceful asleep, like whatever weight she had been carrying that day had completely evaporated.

His mind was made up. He softly opened the passenger door, unclipping the seatbelt and sliding his arms underneath her, pulling her against his chest and kicking the door closed. She shifted a little in his arms but Jay just smiled as she buried her face into his neck. It seemed to be one of her favourite positions, her face tucked tightly into the space between his head and his shoulder, her breath tickling his neck. It was adorable the way she buried in deeply, like she didn’t want to be apart from him. Jay’s only complaint - when her face was tucked in like so, he couldn’t reach it to kiss it. And kissing her had become his new favourite hobby - something he was sure he would never get sick of.

Walking slowly toward the cabin, trying not to jostle her too much he let his mind wander. If you’d have asked him just a couple of months ago if he thought they would ever have ended up here, as much as it would have pained him, he would have said no. No matter how much he loved her and had hoped with every single fibre of his being that she could possibly feel the same way, he had never let himself really believe that. It felt like too much of a happy ending, and it was just out of reach.

‘Are you carrying me over the threshold?’ A soft voice broke through his thoughts and he let out a little chuckle. He hadn’t even thought about it like that, had just wanted her to get a little more sleep if she needed it.

‘Go back to sleep,’ he chuckled, continuing up the steps into the cabin.

‘You’re such a fool,’ she sighed but he felt her snuggle just a fraction closer to his chest.

‘And you love me despite my flaws,’ he smirked, making his way over to the couch. But when he tried to set Hailey down and pull his arms out from under her, her fingers gripped tightly to his shirt and wouldn’t let him go.

‘Stay with me,’ she murmured. He couldn’t say no to her. So the next couple of hours were spent napping on the couch, Hailey using his chest as a pillow, his arms tight around her and their legs tangled together. It was what he had never daren’t to let himself imagine - it was perfect.

——————————————————————————

‘I promise I won’t let you fall in,’ Jay said, offering Hailey his hand as he stood in the wooden row boat. The boat was already moving a little too much for Hailey’s liking so her feet were glued to the dock as she shook her head ferociously.

‘You can’t promise that,’ she said, crossing her arms over the unattractive buoyancy aid that she had rescued from the outside storage unit next to the dock. She wasn’t sure it had been worn in the last 10 years but she wasn’t going to risk getting into the boat without it. She knew how to swim but getting caught in the middle of the lake which looked freezing for want of a better word, did not sound like a fun way to spend their honeymoon.

‘I promise if you fall in, I’ll rescue you,’ Jay offered, wiggling his fingers at her with a smile. ‘Pretty sure if I let my wife die on our honeymoon, people might ask questions.’ He chuckled and Hailey couldn’t help but giggle.

She knew she was being stupid, she could swim, it was only a small lake and she had Jay. She trusted him with her life at work day after day, she could do this right?

‘Okay,’ she said tentatively, taking a small step towards the edge of the dock. ‘But if we end up in the water, you’re going to have to warm me up later!’

‘That was already on my list Hails,’ he said, his boyish grin firmly on his cheeks. ‘Come on, I’ve got you.’

‘Okay,’ she repeated, another small step brought her right to the edge, her toes hanging off the dock. One small step would put her in the boat next to Jay. On the water. In a boat.

‘Hailey,’ Jay said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Have you always had a fear of boats?’

‘It’s not the boat that’s the problem,’ she said frowning, trying to get her feet to move just a fraction more but it was like they were made of granite, heavy and unmoveable. ‘It’s the potential of drowning.’ She heard Jay laugh and turned her frown on him. ‘Do not laugh at me Jay Halstead!’

He raised both his hands apologetically. ‘I’m not laughing at you Hails, just shocked that I didn’t know.’

‘Well, I joined the police academy not the boat academy,’ she said through gritted teeth. Why wouldn’t her feet just move damn it!

‘The boat academy?’ Jay scoffed.

‘Jay will you just pick me up and put me in the damn boat,’ she groaned.

‘Are you sure?’ He asked, his jovial tone vanishing from his voice and Hailey knew why. He would never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do, and she loved him for it. But this was just in her head. She wanted to row out into the middle of the lake with Jay.

She’d never admit it to anyone unless under the influence of a good number of whiskeys but she loved the Notebook and the scene with the rowboat had always been one of her favourites. And call her a hopeless romantic but a boat ride with her husband on an empty lake - well it was more romance than she thought she’d ever experience.

‘Positive,’ Hailey said, nodding her head. ‘Once I’m in I’ll be fine,’ she said, trying to assure both him and herself.

‘Okay,’ he said, climbing back onto the dock. He dropped a kiss to her lips which she let herself get lost in for just a moment before his hands came up underneath her armpits and lifted her up as if she weighed little more than a bag of flour and dropped her gently into the waiting boat.

Hailey froze, the boat rocked with her movements so her logical brain told her if she remained totally still, so would the boat.

‘Hails, sit down,’ Jay said gently, pointing at the empty bench. ‘It’ll rock less if you’re sat, I promise.’

She breathed out and slowly bent her knees until her butt met the wooden bench beneath her. Jay had been right, seated the boat felt like it was a lot more stable.

‘I’m coming in now too,’ Jay said, climbing back into the boat and unlooping the rope from the cleat, pushing off against the dock and letting them drift towards the middle of the lake.

As much as she had been apprehensive about the boat initially, sitting there with Jay gently rowing, the only sound was the water against the oars and the birds from the tree line, it was so peaceful. The view she had of Jay’s toned arms as he dragged the oars through the water was also not one to scoff at. She had initially scolded herself for ogling him until she remembered that he was her husband and if that didn’t grant her permission to appreciate the body that he worked so hard to maintain - what did?

She let herself relax more as they continued their journey with no destination, the enjoyment of each other’s company and the fresh Wisconsin air their only companion. She loved Chicago, the bustle of the city was programmed into her bones, but getting to take a step back, step away from the noises and the continued busyness, well it was like a reset button for her soul.

Hailey didn’t know how many favours Jay had to call in to get them both assigned to two days off consecutively and together, and if he had told her what he was planning she probably would have said it wasn’t worth it, that they had already been married for months and a honeymoon seemed like a foolish idea. But she was so glad he hadn’t. After the chaos of the last few months, this was exactly what they needed. Peace and Quiet. Together.

——————————————————————————

‘This is perfect,’ Hailey said as she sipped on her mug of hot chocolate, the marshmallows bobbing around in the steaming liquid. Her legs were thrown over Jay’s and the blanket tucked around them both as they shared a single Adirondack chair that Jay had dragged down to the water's edge. ‘The stars are so bright out here,’ she said as she let her head fall back to take in the view of the night sky.

‘It’s the one thing I miss when I’m in the city,’ Jay said honestly, his fingers were drawing patterns on Hailey’s thigh, she could feel the warmth even through her leggings.

‘I can see why you like it up here,’ Hailey admitted.

‘I like it better with you,’ he said and Hailey could hear the smile in his voice.

‘Thank you for sharing it with me,’ she said, taking another sip of her drink, letting the warmth of the liquid heat her from the inside out. She thought back to the day they had had and couldn’t remember a time she had felt quite so happy and so free.

After Jay had successfully navigated the lake and brought her safely back to shore, he offered to take her on a walk to show her the rest of the lake but Hailey had had other ideas and had tugged him into the house by the collar of his shirt. It wasn’t the sex by the fireplace that Hailey had planned for later, she hadn’t had the time or the forethought to build a fire before disrobing Jay of his clothes, her own had been divested before they had even made it halfway up the stairs.

Once her legs had stopped their shaking thanks to the skills that she had been unaware that her husband had possessed until very recently, more fool her, they made their way downstairs and had pottered around the kitchen making dinner together. Jay had wanted to make her dinner but she had insisted on helping, which really meant sitting on the counter and reading out the instructions from his mothers handwritten recipe book. It also gave her the perfect position to be able to capture Jay with her legs every time he tried to reach into the cabinets behind her.

‘Why didn’t you bring this back to the city?’ Hailey asked after one such capture, gesturing to the book open next to her.

‘Mom always loved it up here,’ Jay said with a little shrug, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, ‘seemed right to leave a piece of her up here.’

Hailey smiled softly, pecking him on the lips before letting her legs fall back down again letting him continue with his cooking.

They had eaten the perfectly prepared pot pie before Jay offered a hot chocolate for dessert and suggested they drink it by the water. It had been the most perfect day.

‘Thank you,’ Hailey whispered quietly. The night was silent apart from the sounds of the water meeting the shore and their own breathing so there was no doubt Jay had heard her words, but he stayed quiet.

Hailey knew he knew what she was thanking him for, it was the same thing he had told her all those months ago not to. But she meant it as something more this time, thank you for marrying me but thank you for trusting me enough with your heart as well. They were both guarded people, people who somewhere deep inside themselves weren’t completely believing of the fact they were deserving of love. But they were. And Hailey knew they both realised it now. They had just needed a little pushing.

She made a mental note to send Will a big thank you card when they got back to the city.

——————————————————————————

‘Come on Hails,’ Jay said loudly as he ran ahead of her, his laughter echoing back through the trees.

‘I’ve only got little legs!’ She yelled back. It was only partly true, she was shorter than him by at least a foot but in a flat out running race on regular terrain she would smoke him. However this was anything but.

They had been halfway round the lake, about a mile and a half from the cabin when the heavens had opened. It hadn’t been on the forecast so they were not prepared and were currently legging it back to get out of the rain. They were already soaked to the bone and Hailey was certain at this point there wasn’t a single part of her that was dry. She was also at a significant disadvantage - Jay knew this trail like the back of his hand whereas she was having to watch her feet to avoid every root and stray log that crossed the path.

But still she was laughing. Normally she would hate to have been caught out in a situation like this, highly unprepared splashing through puddles and mud in nothing more than her running sneakers, her hair plastered to her head and the rain soaking her socks. But Jay was hooting and hollering in front of her, betting that whoever got into the house first got the prime spot in front of the fire and first dibs on the shower.

She knew her husband well though and knew that there would only be one shower happening and they would find a perfectly good way to warm each other up.

‘I’ll make you a hot chocolate if you beat me,’ he yelled from his position a couple of paces in front of her.

‘You’ll make me one anyway,’ she yelled back, but as she jumped over a broken tree trunk, her feet slipped on the wet mud and she came crashing down to the ground with a loud thud.

‘Hailey!’ Jay yelled, spinning around and racing to her side. He pushed her hair out of her face, the worry etched across his cheeks but was met with Hailey laughing.

‘I’m fine,’ she chuckled. ‘Just a little bit muddy,’ she shrugged before reaching up with one muddy hand and cradling Jay’s cheek. ‘Anyone ever tell you Halstead, you’ve got such pretty eyes.’

Jay’s eyes widened in sudden realisation as Hailey proceeded to smear the mud across his cheek, laughing as she did so. ‘Upton, you’re going to get it now,’ he said, his brows furrowing in mock anger.

‘Well I hope so,’ Hailey winked before dramatically holding out her hand, ‘you going to help your wife up Halstead, or just leave me in this puddle.’

‘I’m debating leaving you,’ Jay growled before taking her hand and pulling her to her feet.

If she hadn’t been muddy before, she was covered now, head to toe.

‘You’d never leave me,’ Hailey said, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close, not caring that she was rubbing the mud all over him as well.

‘Never,’ he said, clearly not minding either as he leant down and kissed her softly. ‘But I’ll still beat you back,’ he said, grinning and turning round to continue his way back down the path, only to be tripped by a wayward root and land in his own muddy puddle.

Hailey bent double with laughter, the real deep kind of laughter that bubbles up from your stomach and your whole body shakes.

‘That’s it,’ Jay said, reaching up to grab her hand and tug her down into the mud beside him, which she landed in with a wet thump.

‘Well you always said where I go you go,’ Hailey smirked and sealed her lips to his, the rain and mud long forgotten, her husband’s lips her only thought.

——————————————————————————

A few hours later, they are wrapped around each other in front of the roaring fire, the blankets from the coach acting as both cushion and cover, but neither Hailey or Jay were paying much attention to the hardwood floor underneath them. Their focus was on each other and nothing else.

Hailey folded an arm over Jay’s shoulder and used it to prop herself up so she could look at him, her other hand trailing across his bare chest, absentmindedly connecting the freckles she had already memorised.

‘What time do we have to leave?’ She asked softly, her voice the only noise apart from the crackling in the fireplace.

‘In an hour,’ Jay said reluctantly. They had both avoided talking about leaving from the second they had arrived, but they knew it was coming. They had to be back in the bullpen at 8am tomorrow so needed to drive back tonight to get some sleep, theirs was not a job one should do without at least a few hours of rest.

Hailey hummed in response, she didn’t want to leave. She had never felt as carefree and content as she did at the cabin, with Jay.

‘But we can stay right here until we need to leave,’ Jay said, clearly sensing her apprehension. ‘I’ve already packed the truck.’

‘I knew there was a reason I married you,’ Hailey muttered, dropping a gentle kiss to his lips.

‘There was,’ Jay said when she pulled back, ‘a visa.’ He smirked and Hailey grinned.

‘That’s true,’ she chuckled. She was glad they could laugh about it, she had been worried initially that it might have been awkward, but it hadn’t been. It was their story.

Sure it wasn’t the most normal of roads that relationships took, but it was theirs and Hailey didn’t think she’d change a single moment of it. Because that crazy road, with all its twists and turns, had led her right here. To this moment in time.

To Jay.

#upstead #hailey upton #jay halstead #chicago pd #upstead fic #one chicago #hailey x jay #chicago pd fanfiction #upstead fanfic #chicago pd fic #upstead fanfiction #chicago pd fanfic

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theluckywizard · 11 months

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In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 33: The Shattering of Things Part 1

Well, it sure seems silly when we've reached the titular chapter!

Chapter 33 of my Dragon Age Inquisition longfic In the Shattering of Things featuring Rose Trevelyan/Cullen and Rose/Hawke. Read on AO3.

Chapter 33: The Shattering of Things Part 1

We've reached the start of In Your Heart Shall Burn. Summary: Rose is determined to share her appreciation for her new lease on life with Cullen and is grateful for the extra time they now have to pursue whatever is brewing between them. But when enemy forces arrive to attack Haven, it all starts to feel like a bitter joke.

Excerpt:

Dawn. Well. Night, according to Dorian.

The thought of catching another moment with Cullen in the sanctity of the smallest hours of the morning flutters inside my chest as I dress myself. The mornings have always been ours, together when so few others are stirring, stubbornly forging a friendship between our arguments, between brushes with death and the gravity of the tasks expected of us. I have my usual valid excuse, my walk in the woods, my bow, stashed safely in the cabin that needs fetching. I glance at the amulet on my dressing table and slip it over my head. The idea I’d hatched last night still blazes inside me. It should belong to him. A memento perhaps, one to remember the time he saved the Herald of Andraste’s life when she sealed the tear in the Veil. My thoughts chase after the way he’d offered to hold me up to do the fateful deed, to risk his life right alongside me. Cassandra had been right. It was foolish, but the romance of it nestles comfortably into my mind.

Cullen is tying his tent open already when I walk through the gate and step near enough to be in view. My pulse quickens, my entire being starting to hum with embarrassing immediacy. He pokes his head out into the night and it feels almost like an invitation. I hold the amulet under my scarf, resolute in my intention to give it to him.

“Cullen?” I ask, as if it could be anyone else and then curse myself for sounding like such a ninny.

“Herald. Good morning,” he says, his words and his expression equally soft. I decide he’s been waiting for me. Perhaps he’s been waiting for me every time. I drift into the wavering candle light that barely illuminates the area outside of the tent. Cullen isn’t properly dressed yet, a dark wool doublet over his linen shirt, his hair is a tangle across his forehead as if his curls have impetuously rebelled against his management. My stomach flips with nervous energy but I press forward, fueled by the infusion of confidence last night gave me, our friendship confirmed with hints of more.

Read the rest at AO3

Tagging the DAFF Crew:

#dragon age inquisition #cullen x trevelyan #dragon age fanfiction #cullen x female inquisitor #cullenmance #enter hawke #hawke x trevelyan #rose trevelyan #in the shattering of things #love triangle #eventual smut #cullen rutherford #long fic #work in progress #theluckywizard #luckywizardart

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juliasdowntonstuff · 2 months

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Chapter 38

Chapter 38 is out now on ff and ao3

It's a bit of a special one for me for personal reasons, but I enjoyed writing it and I do hope you enjoy reading it. I am sorry about the way I ended this one, but what's done is done now ;)

"No, this is not it," he gave back, trying to keep his voice from trembling as he spoke softly to her. "You said it yourself, not too long ago, when I was on the floor with you holding me. We will not let this be it. We made it so far — you did! We are here, my dear, and the doctors are trying their very best to help you. Believe me, Cora, this is not it."

She looked at him, her hand stopping its slow caress of his cheek, and her soft smile turned into a slight frown. It was obvious that this was harder on her than she wanted to let on. With determination in her voice, she said just as quietly: "Still, darling. If this is it, I just want you to know how much I love you. And I need you to tell that to our girls, too; and our grandchildren. I love all of you so very, very much."

Robert gulped.

This was rare. Incredibly much so. His wife was always rather open in showing her affections — in gestures, looks and good deeds. But she rarely ever uttered those three words, and she never had to, because he knew she loved him from the start and she showed it frequently. Robert had always been the one to say it much more often than her. This only made the few times she did it all the more special.

Even in spite of that, despite the possibility of maybe never hearing those words pass through her lips, he did not want to hear her say it. Even though he loved her more than life itself. Or maybe he did not want to hear her say it just because of that.

Robert took a steadying breath and wiped at the single stray tear hanging at the corner of his eye. "We love you, too, and we want to have you with us for a while longer still. Don't give up the fight now."

"I don't want to give up," she said in that lovely American lilt he so adored. Her imploring eyes looked at him, they took him in and searched his features — what for, he did not know. Finally, her eyes focused on his and in the smallest voice Robert had ever heard, she whispered: "I am just so scared."

"Cora," he started to say, but he stopped himself when he saw her expression change subtly. She stopped hiding behind her mask of feigned strength that could truly fool anyone who did not know her as well as her husband did.

"I don't want to die yet, Robert."

He saw it in her eyes. The honesty. The fear.

#downton abbey fanfiction #cobert #cora crawley #robert crawley #my dearest darling

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queengiuliettafirstlady · 1 year

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The Hero of Love

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Pairing: Leon x MC

Prompt: 14. "I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much."

Part of Be my valentine content creation challenge hosted by @xxsycamore and @chaosangel767

Tag: Kisses Fluff

Word Count 1.459

Author’s Note: Snow feel from the sky on a placid winter night, while a pair of lovebirds cocconed in their cozy nest show their love to one another as it burn brigher than ever filing their heart with much happiness and deep rooted affection. 🥰🥰

Tag list

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @lordsisterxotome @aquagirl1978 @violettduchess @atelieredux @klutzyroses @randonauticrap @thewitchofbooks @princess-pray-a @itsjudesfault

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊

Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it 😊

It was a chilly winter night, darkness fell on Rhodolite engulfed in the soft and pure snow falling since morning in the whole country, keeping everyone safe inside their homes, giving an unexpected twist to the monarch vacation currently snowed in a cottage hidden amidst the forest bordering with Jade, living their best life as only two lovers could finding happiness in the smallest task of each day away from the bursting and mess of the royal court, away from the golden cage of lies and deep in the simple easy life of commoners they felt more akin to, beloved and cherished by people and aristocrats alike for their wise ruling.

There bathing in the cozy atmosphere created by the cracking fire burning slowly in the fireplace they stood side by side on the sofa cocooned under a blanket, sipping the steaming hot cocoa Leon prepared beforehand from roses decorate mugs wearing handmade sweater as a soft lion plush keep them company nestled in a duvet on a nearby armchair.

The quiet atmosphere make her feel dizzy as she drowsily leaned her head on his chest feeling his gaze lingering on her a shy question escaped her lips as she looked up at his eyes glimmering in the darkness under the warm light of the fire looking almost like the sun had dawned a second time that day and only for her

“Leon, I have something on my face ?”

“Aside from your beauty ? ” his amber gaze glimmering like molten golden reflecting the warm color of the fire, the passion in them burning twice as much dripping over his sensual smile, she could not help but stare in awe at his gorgeous features as his raven hair seemed to dance with the the copper colored curls around his face melting together as he leaned unperceivable closer to his lover.

A sheepish smile on her lips she could not help but feel heat rising to her cheeks as soft shades of pink colored her fair complexion, her soft curls moving all around her gracious visage as she shook his head

“I was speaking about dirt spots. ”

“I see. Let me take a better look at you.” softly he cupped her face in his hands staring at the soft frown on her lips making her even more adorable than usual like a spoiled little princess, His princess the one and only he has ever and always would have loved with all his heart for all eternity, taking advantage of her naivete was even too easy yet the temptation of teasing her was too strong to be ignored, his mind already settled to mischievous deeds he assumed the most serious expression he could muster as he told her

“It seems you have some. Here let me clean them for you.”

her frown deepened only to be swiftly replaced with delight feeling his touch setting her heart ablaze all over again reveling in the light brush of his thumb over a corner of her bottom lip, swiftly replaced by his soft melting over hers swallowing the sweet moan that escaped her at the sudden but not undesired sensation took over her while a pleasant warmth spread in her heart as she fiercely kissed him back.

Reluctantly and breathless they pulled away their fingers entwined with one another lost in the bliss of the moment she did not noticed his lips slide up to leave an an achingly tender soft kiss on her forehead, hiding her rosy blush nuzzling her face in his chest a light frown curled her lips she shook her head as his arms tighten around her

“You are such a tease, it is not fair.” his hearty laugh reverberated deep in her heart showering it with his happiness, before she knew she begin to laughing with him letting that bright mirth fill the air of their small little cottage

“It is not my fault if you are so adorable.”

gently he cupped her face in his hands brushing his thumb sensually over her lips, feeling her warm breath fanning on his finger he tilted her chin up gazing into her bright eyes, his entire expression overwhelmed with happiness he gazed at her so affectionately making her feel like he was holding a precious treasure careful and lovely in his touch, their gaze reflecting all the love and affection they held for one another, soulmates destined to be, to defy all odds, laced with the red thread of fate.

A love story worthy to be in a fairytale for the prince who had finally found his princess, the same one they were writing together day by day loving and cherishing each precious moments, treasured memories all theirs to spoke of during long cold nights in which sleep late to come left them to enjoy intimacy growing stronger at each word murmured in sleepy pillow talks with secrets shared in whisper with only the aster as witness of the deep rooted love and complicity they had with one another.

He leaned closer bathing in the blissful expression of hers waiting, craving, yearning deeply for his kiss but too shy to ask for it, her lips slightly parted and her eyelashes fluttering lightly on her rosy cheeks begging to satisfy a desire he did not hesitated to indulge melting his lips on her once more, rolling down on the sofa, the pleasant flavour of the cocoa melting on his tongue rendered even sweeter by her moans he greedily swallowed leading his tongue in a passionate dance with her, smoldering kiss she deepened as her fingers crawled to caress his soft raven curls mewling at the sensation of his hands sliding sensually down her body taking in every inch of her voluptuous curves, his fingers wandered greedily on them before settle down on her hips their hips moving softly against one another, breathless and panting staring in awe at the sight of her gorgeous colorful eyes widen with affection, smiling mischievously at her he bent over peppering light kisses all over her face and collarbone, covering each uncovered side of her skin his light tickles making her giggle filling his heart with the tinkling sound of her happiness

“You know I am quite eager to discover all your hidden sides.” his gentle voice dripping with admiration as he tenderly brushed his lips on her nose

“You always manage to surprise me everyday. I swear you will never stop to amaze me.” an hearty laugh escaped her lips

“I was thinking the same.I love every single little thing about you, my hero.” softly she brushed the tip of her nose on his reveling in his smile resplendent like a smoldering fire brightening the dimly lit room making it warmer with his love radiating from his heart

"I didn't think it was possible to love someone this much.” his honest confession make her heart swell with love in her chest, a smile bright to put the sun itself to shame curled his lips as affection took over her appearing on her lips in a tender smile her eyes glimmering in the dark as she looked at him

“Thank you for showing me what love is.” his amber eyes sparkled with affection, as a lovestruck adoration glimmered in its depth

“Oh Leon.” overwhelmed by his heartfelt confession she hug him tightly hiding her face in his chest to conceal her blush placing a tender kiss on his heart feeling his arm tighten around her as she slowly raise herself up enough to palace a soft kiss on his lips looking straight into his eyes, smiling at his words enough to melt even the coldest iceberg with its warmth.

“I love you so very much my princess.”

“I love you so words are not enough my lion.”

Softly she nuzzled in his neck feeling his arm tighten around her back, feeling his lips delicately brush on her forehead, they drifted asleep together ready to explore the land of dreams hand in hand, careful to not awake Morpheus from his slumber with their pranks, awaiting the morning when they would have woke up only to continue living their dream together showing off their love to one another from the first light of dawn and well past the dusk, with only the aster as accomplices audience of their own fairytale written down with colorful ink on blank pages relegated in a book he would have surely not got tired of reading mesmerized by her soft voice as she read it to him on a lazy afternoon under a tree, grateful for that spell that caught in its hand every animals and humans alike, bonding soulmates destined by the universe to be together in the name of love.

#be my valentine ccc #be my valentine content creation challenge #my writing #ikemen prince #ikemen prince leon #ikepri leon #ikepri

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

A-Yuan wasn’t the only child among the Wen Remnants, just the youngest.

Children's Day - ao3

Lan Wangji carefully scooped up the boy out of his hiding place, tucked beneath a pile of stones, sick with fever and fast asleep.

It was a good hiding place. If Lan Wangji hadn’t played Inquiry and demanded to know if there were any living beings around in this cursed place of death, he would never have found the small child.

He remembered him – this was little A-Yuan, who Wei Wuxian had taken down into town to play, the one Lan Wangji had bought all those toys for in his confusion, the one who called him rich-gege. Barely more than two years old, having never known anything but war.

He was all that was left, now. There was nothing else left in the battlefield.

No one else left.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes in pain.

I’ll care for him for you, he promised Wei Wuxian’s ghost, wherever it might be now. Now that you cannot.

I’ll take him back to Gusu to raise as my own – wishing you were by my side.

-Earlier-

“Sect Leader!” one of his aides cried out when he staggered back into camp. “What – who’s that?”

Jiang Cheng looked down at the girl in his arms. She was – four, maybe? Five? He had no idea.

She looked a bit like Wen Qing.

“I found her hiding in the corner of the battlefield when she made a noise,” he said hoarsely. “The Wen sect remnants…by the time I got there, they were almost all dead already, all her family. She’s – she’s young. It didn’t seem right.”

Wei Wuxian always liked children, he thought vaguely to himself as he looked down at her. It wasn’t so much of a surprise that he would keep one there…in fact, if he thought back to that horrible meeting they’d had that one time he’d come to the Burial Mounds to try to talk to Wei Wuxian, he thought he remembered there being a small child there. This must be her.

She was bigger than he remembered, but that was what happened with small children, wasn’t it?

“Her surname is Wen?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng snapped automatically, and his aide took a step back from his vehemence. “The Wen sect is dead, you understand? All of them. The cultivation world refused to allow them to live, that much is obvious enough. Her surname…”

He looked down at her.

I failed Wei Wuxian, he thought grimly. I won’t fail his legacy.

“Her surname will be Jiang.”

-Earlier-

“We found this child hiding in the Demon Subduing Cave,” one of the guards reported, looking nervous. “Lianfeng-zun – what do we do with them?”

Jin Guangyao frowned down at the child, judging the child’s age to be about five or six – maybe seven, considering the likelihood of malnutrition at the Burial Mounds. If they were any younger, he would’ve said that the child ought to just execute them as useless; any older, and he would’ve had no choice but to declare them an enemy combatant, and thereby order them executed.

At this age, though…they were still young enough to be taught to forget their current surname, and to learn new loyalties, and yet old enough to perhaps remember a little of what they had learned, living as they had for a few years with the inventor of demonic cultivation.

Jin Guangyao glanced at the papers in his hands, full of barely legible scribbles, laying out powerful new spells and interesting ideas. They would help Xue Yang with his work – but not as much as a helper would, and naturally they’d just brutally executed all the other ‘helpers’ that might have been available.

Not exactly Jin Guangyao’s personal preference, but he wasn’t the one leading the Jin sect army.

Still, his father, who had been the one leading, had retired to his tent, and now Jin Guangyao was the one with the power, left to be in charge of mopping up. That, in turn, gave him a little more leeway, which meant he could implement his own thoughts, rather than badly thought out instructions.

“Put the child in my tent,” he said, and smiled. “The poor thing must have gotten lost and entered the battlefield – after we arrived. You understand?”

The guard saluted deeply. “Lianfeng-zun is kind and beneficent,” he said, and his expression was worshipful. “I will tell the others that the child is from some distant Jin branch.”

Jin Guangyao hadn’t intended for him to do that, but – well, he couldn’t exactly refute it now, could he, and anyway there were worse things to happen. Everyone would know that he had kindly taken in some orphaned child of war, which would be good for his reputation.

He smiled and nodded, and thought of the future.

-Earlier-

“Well, shit,” Nie Mingjue said, staring at the trio of children: nine or ten years old, he thought, maybe a little older, two girls and a boy. They stared back at him, wide-eyed and terrified – they were very clearly trying to sneak off the Burial Mounds down the back way.

Nie Mingjue rubbed his face, glad that he’d insisted on doing the forward scout work before the attack tomorrow morning himself rather than let it go to someone else. He hadn’t wanted to come to this blasted place in the first place, being that he still wasn’t sure exactly what had gone down with Wei Wuxian, who’d been a good man once. But good Nie cultivators had died at Lanling City at Wen Ning’s hands, the Jin sect claiming that that brutal attack was at Wei Wuxian’s instigation, and at the Nightless City at Wei Wuxian’s hands directly, and he didn’t have any evidence to exculpate the man, either; he had no grounds to look the families of those Nie cultivators in the eye and tell them not to pursue vengeance against the man who had slaughtered their brothers and fathers and sons, sisters and mothers and daughters, like they meant nothing.

They deserved vengeance.

Just as he had, for his father.

But at the same time…

“You’re all surnamed Wen, I take it?” he asked, and they slowly nodded. “Dafan Wen?”

Another nod.

“Wrong answer,” he said, making a snap decision. This wasn’t like his father at all, not really; he had wanted to kill Wen Ruohan, who had done the deed himself, while these children clearly hadn’t done anything. “Swear to me here and now that you won’t seek revenge for your sect or family, and you can be surnamed Nie instead.”

They looked at each other.

“Your family didn’t send you to run away because they wanted you to take revenge,” he said. It was a guess, but he could tell from the way their shoulders sagged that he was right. “They wanted you to live. Well?”

They swore.

He took them home.

-Earlier-

She tripped and fell flat on her face.

“Hey, girl!”

She looked up, eyes wide with terror – she hadn’t expected to be caught so soon – but the cultivator in front of her didn’t strike her down. He was a young man, just a few years older than her, and he looked nice, kneeling to help her up.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Did you get lost?”

Lost? From where would she get lost, exactly?

Despite that, she nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Here isn’t a good place, though – we’re going to have a battle tomorrow…can you tell me where you’re from?” He frowned. “Or – can’t you speak?”

An idea suddenly came to mind, and she shook her head, lifting up her hands to mime signs like the ones she’d seen Lady Wen and her brother use sometimes when they needed to talk without disturbing others.

“Doesn’t talk,” he murmured to himself. ��Clothing of white, ripped all to ribbons –”

She’d torn out any trace of the red sun. White was a common color, but she was old enough to know that she couldn’t let anyone know she was surnamed Wen.

“Oh, I’ve read about this before! Are you a bird yao that’s cultivated to humanity?”

What?

She’d been thinking of trying to pass as a traumatized war veteran, but she was only fourteen, after all; it wasn’t very believable. Of course, it was a lot more believable that bird yao – who would leap to that conclusion?

“My surname is Ouyang,” the man said, smiling brightly at her. “You should come back with me – I can teach you to speak, and we can give you a name…how about ‘Luo’ as a surname? That has to do with birds. Or we could surname you Bai, instead, since your clothing is white! Or maybe -”

She smiled helplessly at his nonsense. What a silly, cheerful man! Maybe she’d overestimated his age, he couldn’t be more than two or three years older, at most, and his brain was clearly not in the right place, filled up to the brim with romantic stories and adventure tales instead of facts.

It was a nice change, actually.

She accepted his hand as she stood.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

-Earlier-

Lan Wangji had returned home and submitted to a dreadful punishment. The elders he had injured on Wei Wuxian’s behalf were either in treatment or recovering.

As for the rest that had been at the Nightless City…

Many were dead.

Lan Qiren landed in the Burial Mounds, lips pressed tightly together.

He knew he was taking a risk in coming here to Wei Wuxian’s lair – no matter what Lan Wangji thought, whatever good points he’d had in the past, the man was now little better than a mad dog. He’d caused the death of three thousand people just the day before, three thousand innocents that hadn’t had anything to do with anything; why would he hesitate to attack his old teacher?

There was already talk of a siege – Jiang Cheng himself had promised to lead it, to wipe off the stain on the Jiang sect’s record, and the Jin sect had been right behind him. Even Nie Mingjue had been dragged in against his will, suborned by his sect members’ need for vengeance. As for the Lan Sect…Lan Xichen had looked so stricken by the thought that Lan Qiren had volunteered for the grim duty, despite Lan Qiren having never been much of a fighter and even less of a general. He intended to take only the smallest possible contingent, and to limit their work as much as possible to cleansing the dead rather than killing those who remained there – that much, at least, he could do for his nephew.

Either way, though, no matter his powers, Wei Wuxian would not live out the week.

If Lan Qiren desired vengeance, he need only wait.

And yet, here he was.

Alone, practically unarmed – and here nonetheless.

An old woman came out from the cave and squinted at him.

“It’s over,” she said sadly. “Isn’t it?”

Lan Qiren looked at her. One of the Wen remnants that Wei Wuxian had surrounded himself with, he assumed; the ones he’d given up his comfortable life for, claiming he was only acting as a righteous man ought. Perhaps he even had thought he was, back then.

Perhaps he really had been, back then.

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said, and cleared his throat. “After what he did at the Nightless City – the verdict is unquestionably death. But the rest of you…there are armies coming, and armies are not known for their leniency, especially not on passerby with the wrong surname. But they’re not here yet. There’s still time to flee – if you go now, you could take on a new surname and find some quiet place to live on.”

Lan Wangji had said they were civilians. Civilian life was to be prioritized above all else.

Lan Qiren was only doing what he must.

Despite his well-meant warnings, however, the old lady shook her head.

“There’s nowhere to go, and we won’t give up our surname,” she said, polite but stubborn to the last. “But thank you for taking the time to come here to tell us.”

“Wangji said that there were children here,” Lan Qiren insisted, ignoring her refusal. “If you won’t flee with them, at least send those that are old enough out on their own, and hide the younger ones. Tell them to forget their surnames – most people won’t rampantly murder children, so there’s a chance they’ll make it through, and live. Can you deny them that, just for pride?”

That gave the old woman pause.

“We’ll do what we can,” she said, and then eyed him. “How good are you at medicine?”

Lan Qiren frowned. “I can’t provide care –”

“She’s already dead. Come help anyway.”

The woman in question was not already dead, but dying – she was in her late teens, seventeen or eighteen at most, and she was in labor. From the glassiness of her eyes, the redness of her cheeks, and the threadiness of her pulse, it was clear that infection had long ago set in. It was not an exaggeration to say she was dead, little better than a corpse.

She was little more than a child.

“I don’t want her to die alone,” the old woman said. “But if you stay with her, I can use the time to try to take care of the rest. You’re not wrong, I suppose – the children, at least, deserve a chance to live on, even if it means leaving our surname behind.”

Lan Qiren looked down at the woman, unconscious already and unlikely to ever wake, and yet still whimpering. “And her child?”

The old woman looked surprised. “Can a child born like this still live?”

Lan Qiren had almost no medical training beyond the most superficial basics that were the necessity for any battlefield or night-hunt, with one sole exception: he had supervised the births of both his nephews by himself with little aid – his brother’s wife hadn’t wanted anyone else to be present, possibly in an attempt to prematurely enter her grave, possibly just out of spite. He had studied very hard in the days leading up to those births, and knew far more on the subject than most men did.

“It’s possible,” he said. “Unlikely, but – possible.”

He hesitated for a long moment.

“I can take the baby,” he finally said. “Pass him off as some war-orphan child of distant Lan cousins, sent to me on account of their deaths. I could raise him, or else give him to my cousin to raise; he’s got a large enough family that no one would question it.”

“Why would you do that?”

Lan Qiren looked at the woman who was dying, little more than a child herself. “Because of the children I can’t help.”

The old woman was quiet for a little while.

“Very well,” she said, and leaned forward to whisper the name the young woman had thought about for her child into his ear. “That works with Lan as a surname, wouldn’t it? That’s not bad.”

“Not bad at all,” Lan Qiren agreed, and rolled up his sleeves, settling down beside the girl. “Not bad at all.”

#mdzs #lan wangji #jiang cheng #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #lan qiren #original characters #my fic #my fics #children's day #some untamed elements

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happylittledrabbles · 3 years

Text

Sour, Then Sweet

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Eijiro Kirishima

Rating: 18+ (DO NOT INTERACT IF UNDER 18)

Genre: Fluffy smut

Word Count: 7K

AO3

Kirishima used to like having sex with Bakugo...until he had to keep calling in sick every time they did it because Bakugo was so rough, it hurt doing Pro Hero work the next day. He avoids having sex with his boyfriend until Bakugo thinks that he isn't attractive anymore, causing a miscommunication between the two men. Kirishima eventually fesses up, and Bakugo reveals he's preferred romantic sex over rough the entire time.

Then, they try it out.

Eijiro Kirishima liked sex. Keyword: liked.

It’s not as if he’s completely averse to it now. No, he enjoys it—it’s very evident every time he does it. But, well, the effects of the deed afterward left much to be desired, and now, whenever Bakugo initiates, he can’t help but imagine the amount of pain he’s going to feel the next day. Bakugo is…rough. Very rough. Kirishima used to like it…the first few times. Really only the first time. But that’s probably because that was when he was between Pro Hero jobs and didn’t have to get out of bed the next day and do actual work.

“Oh, my God, just tell him!” Mina would say whenever Kirishima would FaceTime her, but he’d just change the subject and promptly hang up.

There’s no way in hell he’s going to talk about something as embarrassing as a sore butthole or the fact that his hips feel so rickety that he has to call in sick for work. Actually, he’s had to call in sick every single time they have sex. The fading hickeys on his neck don’t get the chance to fade away before being replaced with a fresh set; usually, that’d be very sexy to the Pro Hero, but when he has to go out as a venerated public figure, being seen by children and old people, it’s very much not desired. Mina lent him her concealer, saying “It does the trick” with a wink, but Pro Hero work isn’t exactly conducive to keeping makeup looking flawless. Thankfully, Pro Hero work is conducive to explaining away the scratches and “bruises” on his chest and neck.

Bakugo is genuinely concerned whenever Kirishima has to call in sick, but the redhead just pushes him out the door saying that he was fine; he just isn’t feeling it that day. But the excuses are running thin. There are only so many times he can call in sick without losing his spot in the top ten of Pro Heroes, and above all, he needs to help people. He can’t help but turn on the TV and watch in horror as depressing story after depressing story popped up on the news, all while lying on his side because sitting on his ass hurt too much.

So…he’d started turning down sex. And never initiating it. Well, he’d stopped initiating for a while. But he’d never turn it down. Now, before getting home, he’d use his trip home to think of all the excuses he could use when he climbed into bed with his boyfriend later that night if Bakugo was in the mood. He knows a simple ‘no’ would satisfy the blond and earn him a forehead kiss before being left alone, but…he still feels guilty. Therefore, the excuses came rolling in.

“Ah, sorry, just ate a big burrito.”

“I just took a shit. Ha.”

“Look over there! Oh, no…our potted plant broke. Gotta fix that.” (Kirishima pushed it off the dresser.)

“I’m really sweaty from work…no, it’s not sexy. No—a villain pissed on me, too.” (They had not.)

Bakugo, instead of being sexually frustrated, has been panicking. The main worry on his mind hasn’t been “Fuck, blue balls again?” Rather, it’s been “Is Eijiro not attracted to me anymore?” He hasn’t put on any weight. In fact, he’s gotten more muscular as an effect of his Pro Hero work. U.A. was challenging, especially with the League of Villains always up their asses, but at least they had their teachers and other Pro Heroes looking after them. Now it’s all up to him. He thought this feeling of losing control would stay at work, but clearly, it’s followed him back home because he can’t get a grip on Kirishima. Any time he thinks he’s figured Kirishima’s feelings out or gotten him close to talking about his feelings, he slips right out of his hands and locks himself behind a door, both metaphorically and physically. He’s already losing control and stamina in his Pro Hero work; the last thing he wants is for that to happen to his relationship.

Bakugo’s frustration boils to a point after a particularly hard day when he comes home and sees Eijiro on the couch, and instead of his boyfriend greeting him with a hug and a kiss, he stiffens and looks over his shoulder with a weary smile.

“What’s wrong with you?” Bakugo shouts, throwing his hands up in the air as he kicks off his boots. His anger subsides immediately when he sees Kirishima’s face fall, and he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, that came out wrong. I mean, why have you been acting weird?”

Kirishima frowns, visibly confused. “Weird? What do you mean?” He gets up from the couch and pads over to his boyfriend, his hands nervously laced together in front of him.

Bakugo’s scowl deepens, his eyebrows furrowing in the middle of his forehead. He snaps his arm forward, motioning to Kirishima’s hands. “I mean, you won’t even touch me. Why are you acting so nervous every time I get close to you?” He steps forward, and Kirishima takes a step back. Bakugo’s heart falls to his feet, cementing them to the ground. He’s paralyzed.

“See?” he adds with the smallest voice he’s used in a while.

It’ll be painful for Kirishima to explain why he’s been avoiding sex. But it’s even more painful to watch his boyfriend, who is usually so full of gusto, look like a timid mouse before him, pleading with him to explain himself. Kirishima never thought that communication would be this hard. It’s so simple out on the field: “Uravity, on your right!” “The villain is heading west down Third Street!” It’s short, informational, and unimportant in the long scheme of things. But relationships are a whole ‘nother level.

“I—” he starts, but panic sets in and closes his throat to any speech.

“Spit it out!” Bakugo’s hair is standing on end, and he lets out a long breath. “C’mon, Eijiro. You’re treating me like a villain here.” He hesitates before asking quietly, “Are you not attracted to me anymore?”

Kirishima’s chin dimples as he tries to hold back tears. He’d never thought that he had been hurting Bakugo, too. But clearly, he had, to the point of the other thinking he isn’t attractive. That is the most ludicrous thing he’s ever heard. So ludicrous, in fact, that out of pure spite, his mouth opens to offer the explanation once and for all.

Kirishima groans from frustration. “No, that’s not it at all! You’re still the most attractive man ever! Like, the first time I saw you, I was like ‘wow.’ Then when I saw you blow stuff up, I was like ‘wow.’ Like, you went kablam and kaboosh! It was so cool! What’s there not to be attracted to?”

Bakugo scowls. “Then why won’t you have sex with me?! Why do you keep putting things off? If you don’t want to do it anymore, that’s fine. I guess.” He begins to stutter out his next sentence before stopping to recollect himself. “I just want to know…if I did anything wrong.”

Kirishima’s never seen his boyfriend so downtrodden. He’s desperate to put a smile back on his boyfriend’s face, but the only way to do that would be to have sex with him, and well…

He purses his lips before coming clean. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise! I’m sorry, Katsuki! It’s just…you’re…” He looks up from the floor to meet Bakugo’s eyes, the blond’s ruby eyes darker than usual. Kirishima inhales sharply and balls his hands into fists by his sides, finally yelling, “You’re too rough!”

When he has the courage to open his eyes, they reveal a thoroughly confused Bakugo. His head is cocked, and his scowl has morphed into a straight line.

“…What?” Bakugo asks, lifting his hands up to look at them. “Like…my voice? Or how I act?”

“Uh…” He’s gone this far. Time to come clean. Kirishima rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and groans before saying, “In…in bed. You’re too rough in bed.”

It’s comical how quiet the two men are and how quickly they meet eyes. They just stand there, staring at each other for what feels like eons before Bakugo takes a step forward, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I’m too rough…in bed,” he repeats, and Kirishima feebly nods.

“I’m sorry for letting it drag on for so long; I know that isn’t really manly of me. But I didn’t…I didn’t know how to tell you. It’s embarrassing, but I can’t do it anymore. My ass hurts so much after, and—and the hickeys and bruises are embarrassing, and—”

Kirishima is silenced by the softest pair of lips upon his own, a mere brushing of lips together. He barely would have noticed had his vision not been clouded by a flurry of spiky blond hair and blushed tan skin. His hands are up in the air, unsure of what to do with them, until they come to rest on Bakugo’s shoulders, his fingertips digging gently into the hard muscles underneath them.

“You fucking idiot,” Bakugo whispers underneath his breath before diving in for a deeper kiss, making sure to keep it passionate but gentle. He lets his hands roam Kirishima’s torso with a feather-like touch before resting them on his hips, giving them a tender squeeze to let the other know that none of his words have any bite. But Kirishima has known that for a long time. Ever since they first met at U.A., while everybody feared Bakugo, Kirishima knew there was something else under the surface. And there was. Pure, unadulterated love.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Bakugo asks, pulling away for a short second before going back to kissing. “You should’ve told me.” Kiss. “Why don’t you ever tell me anything?” Kiss. “Now I feel like an asshole.” Kiss. “You’re the asshole for not telling me, asshole.” Kiss.

“If only you’d let me talk!” Kirishima exclaims with a laugh, cupping a hand over Bakugo’s mouth to stop any further kisses for a moment. “I know, I am the asshole. But it’s humiliating, Katsuki! Admitting that your butthole hurts? Why the hell would I ever tell anybody that? Especially after doing hard anal the day before? Mina laughed in my face—”

“You told Mina and not me?!” Bakugo roared, tearing Kirishima’s hand from his mouth. “You are dead. You’re fucking dead. You both are dead, you and that purple shitbag.”

Kirishima has to hold back a chuckle. “She’s pink.”

Bakugo’s head whips back to his boyfriend, his eyes flaming hot. “Not the point!”

Kirishima laughs again and cups the sides of Bakugo’s face, which is now a mild shade of red. He leans forward and plants a butterfly kiss on the tip of his nose, drawing himself back with a soft smile on his lips. “I’m sorry, Katsuki. Seriously. I really should’ve told you. I just figured that you really like rough sex and didn’t want to get in the way of that. We can still do it…just on a weekend or a day off so I can recover.”

“No, no.” Bakugo wipes Kirishima’s hands off his face and laces his own fingers through his boyfriend’s, dropping their hands between them. “We’re not doing that anymore. Unless you want it. I just…”

Now Bakugo’s face is the shade of the hot sauce in the fridge. He suddenly understands why Kirishima was so embarrassed now. Talking about sex is…embarrassing. Their first time, while sentimental, is not something he wants to remember often. In fact, his brain only brings it up when it wants him to cringe, like on a random patrol down the block. Full of misunderstandings and miscommunications, it was a jumble of body parts and weird fluids and Kirishima’s head hitting the headboard so hard he got a lump afterward. Well, the misunderstandings and miscommunications clearly didn’t stop there because they are in the same situation—just without the jumble of body parts and weird fluids. Not yet, anyway.

Bakugo inhales like Kirishima did, using the short time to build up the courage. “I thought you were the one who liked it rough. You seemed…really turned on that one time in the love hotel. With all the, uh, handcuffs…and stuff. So I just…kept on doing it like that.”

Kirishima’s eyes are wide as an owl’s, and he tries not to bite through his lip with his sharp teeth with how hard he’s attempting at not laughing.

“You based…our entire sex life off one time where I seemed particularly turned on?” Kirishima asks, his voice wavering as the laughter tries to butt in. “Is that what the logic was in your head?”

Bakugo yanks his hands back to himself and starts toward the bathroom. “Shut up, you idiot! Forget I ever said anything.”

“No!” Kirishima practically throws himself at his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist. “No, I think it’s adorable. You just wanted to make me happy, right?”

Bakugo stiffens before relenting with a nod.

Kirishima rubs his cheek against Bakugo’s back and grins. “You know, I was so excited that one time because of when you weren’t rough. When I had the blindfold on and I couldn’t see you, and you slowly dragged your fingers over me…” He mimics what he’s saying on Bakugo’s chest, stroking his pecs with the tips of his fingers. He lifts them up to the skin above the deep V of his costume, feeling the warmth of Bakugo’s skin skyrocket.

“That’s what made me so excited,” Kirishima explains. He begins to step away from Bakugo, but his hands are firmly kept against Bakugo’s chest by the other’s grip on them.

“Don’t move.” Bakugo’s voice is strong but with a needy undertone. He turns around in Kirishima’s arms, his eyes looking down at their feet. “I’m sorry.”

Kirishima chuckles. “That’s not something I hear every day. This is a cause for celebration.”

Before Bakugo can retaliate or stomp away in a fit of rage, Kirishima stands on his toes, kissing the firecracker on the forehead. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re still my favorite manly man.”

Bakugo manages a smile despite his previous bitterness and nods. “I’m gonna go shower.”

Kirishima nods along with him. “I’ll shower after you. Mind throwing a frozen pizza in the oven while I’m in there for dinner?”

Bakugo’s smile fades, and he hums absentmindedly as he turns around to go to the bathroom. “Yeah, sure.”

Kirishima’s smile fades as well at that response. Hadn’t everything been resolved? Why was his boyfriend still acting like that?

His worries continue for the better part of the evening, especially when Bakugo steps out of the shower and doesn’t say anything in passing before flopping on the bed and going on his phone. Kirishima tries to share a smile with him, or even just a glance, but there is no contact. He frowns to himself and goes to shower, his mind swirling with panic the entire time he’s in there. Once he’s done, he steps out and wraps a towel around his waist before walking into the bedroom. However, he doesn’t walk two steps in before he spots Bakugo sitting at the foot of the bed, smoothing the throw blanket down.

“Babe, what’s going—”

“Eijiro, c’mere,” the blond says, his voice gruff but sincere. He pats the spot next to him, and Kirishima obeys, nervously fumbling with the towel as he sits down. Bakugo places a hand over his boyfriend’s hands to still them and looks up with a gaze of pure love and admiration. His eyes rake over Kirishima’s body, the tan skin still dewy from the shower and his stringy hair framing his angular face. He truly is the manliest man, Bakugo thinks before biting back a snicker. That is clear evidence that he’s been spending too much time with the redhead: he’s even starting to think like him.

Maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.

“Eijiro,” Bakugo starts but hesitates. He clears his throat before saying, “Y’know, I like rough sex, but I’ve always been more of a romantic guy. Um, like…” He sheepishly scratches the back of his head, his eyes refusing to meet Kirishima’s. “Candles…or rose petals. Or…like, soft music. I don’t know. But…I—I like that more.” He bites his lip. “Especially with you.”

Kirishima’s eyes are wide as saucers. He knew that Bakugo didn’t always act like the rude stereotype people make him out to be, but never in a million years did he think that he would purposefully like lovey-dovey sex. He didn’t like fucking—he liked making love. Just the thought gives Kirishima butterflies, which are now running rampant in his stomach. He places a hand over it to stop the feeling from going down too far, but the look in Bakugo’s eyes makes it seem as if that isn’t so bad.

“I…I want to try it,” Bakugo finishes, twiddling his thumbs anxiously for his boyfriend’s response.

However, he doesn’t even need to think about it. He replies, “Then let’s try it.”

Now Bakugo’s eyes are wide, his head turning slowly to meet Kirishima’s determined gaze. He wants to laugh at how adorably resolute his boyfriend looks. Instead, he whispers, “Eijiro,” but he doesn’t finish his sentence, letting it trail off as he leans forward and touches his top lip with Kirishima’s. Both their eyes are lowered, their breaths quickening and their heart rates jumping.

Kirishima closes the gap and nearly falls into their routine foreplay of smashing lips and roughly tearing their clothes off each other like hungry animals. It’s strange doing it so slowly; he’d never felt Bakugo so vividly before. He can taste the strawberry lollipop some kid probably gave him on the street. He can feel every wrinkle, every cut on his bottom lip from how he’d anxiously bite it. The kiss has no teeth, no sharpness at all. Just the soft smacking of their lips and their warm breaths against each other’s chins.

It feels juvenile, all of it. As if they’re going to have sex for the first time and getting to know each other’s bodies. Bakugo lifts his hand and hesitates before gingerly placing it on Kirishima’s chest.

Cute, Kirishima thinks of Bakugo’s nervousness.

“You can touch me, Katsuki,” he whispers, guiding Bakugo’s hand to press firmly into his chest. He’s certain Bakugo can feel his heartbeat going at the speed of a hummingbird’s, but he’s not embarrassed. It’s perfect: it shows how much he’s enjoying this without him having to voice it.

“Okay,” Bakugo replies and returns to kissing, cupping Kirishima’s pec in his palm and giving it a tender squeeze.

“Mm,” Kirishima breathes, breaking the kiss.

Bakugo’s face was already red, but now it’s horridly scarlet at the mere sound of the soft groan. He’s also nervous; he knows that Kirishima will tell him—now that they’ve worked everything out communication-wise—if he’s being too rough, but the panic still lingers.

“Good?” he asks.

Kirishima can tell Bakugo’s being overly cautious, and all he does is direct his boyfriend’s hand to go lower down his torso, letting out another shaky breath. “Y-yes,” he replies, his eyelids heavily lidded. “Good.”

Bakugo nods, and they return to kissing, the one thing both know how to do softly by now. It’s everything else they need to learn how to do. One step at a time. The only “rough thing” they do is when Kirishima playfully nips at Bakugo’s bottom lip with his sharp teeth, eliciting an irresistible groan out of the other.

Bakugo laces his fingers with Kirishima’s and gently pushes him down onto the mattress, never breaking their lip-lock as he turns to settle himself between his legs. While one hand is secured in his boyfriend’s, he uses the other to roam Kirishima’s body, of which he had missed for far too long. He caresses his soft stomach, feeling the strong muscles underneath the thick skin. He runs his fingers down his black happy trail (he burst out laughing the first time he saw it, saying “So the carpet doesn’t match the drapes?” earning a swift kick to the head). His fingers’ journey is stopped by the towel, and Bakugo separates from Kirishima to look down at him for approval.

“Yes, Katsuki,” Kirishima mumbles, his breaths already heavy with anticipation. “Touch me.”

Bakugo smiles and slips his fingers underneath the towel, his hand bumping into Kirishima’s cock only a few centimeters down.

“You’re that excited for me?” Bakugo asks, gripping Kirishima and drawing out a shrill gasp from him. “I’m flattered.”

Kirishima’s about to say something before he’s cut off by his own moan once Bakugo begins pumping his hand, his head falling to the side and his free hand coming up to cover his mouth. He bites his knuckles as Bakugo’s lips fall to his jaw, then to his chin, then to his neck, leaving his skin prickling and pink wherever those lips fall.

The knuckles provide the bare minimum of sound dampening, his voice still echoing off the sides of their bedroom as Bakugo’s stroking gets faster and his kisses grow more feverish. He resorts to draping his forearm over his eyes, squeezing his eyelids shut underneath the darkness his arm provides. If he’s going to be heard no matter what he does, then he’ll hide whatever embarrassing expressions he’s making. Usually, the foreplay and sex go by so quickly, there’s no time to even look at each other. But he can feel Bakugo’s eyes on him, on his body, and the thought makes him squirm.

“Before you say anything, no hickeys, got it,” Bakugo says after pulling away from kissing. He takes a moment now that he’s hovering over Kirishima to admire his body as it is. Usually, they went too fast to savor each other’s bodies. For instance, he didn’t know his boyfriend had a freckle in the middle of his sternum. Or that his nipples are slightly mismatched—but are gorgeous all the same. Or how his stomach expands then contracts erratically to compensate for his hurried breaths.

“You’re beautiful,” Bakugo whispers, diving in to kiss Kirishima’s jaw.

Kirishima chuckles before letting out another soft moan. “I’m a man, you’re supposed to call me handsome.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Bakugo replies, tweaking Kirishima’s nipple playfully and earning a surprised yelp and displeased grumble. “A beautiful dumbass.”

“I’m going to harden and crack you across the face.”

“But you’re already hard.”

“Hey-!” Before Kirishima act out his promise, Bakugo tightens his grip on him and strokes him even faster, pressing his thumb into the head and smearing the precum around it. “A-ah!”

Kirishima shivers, but Bakugo isn’t done with his compliments, even though his boyfriend thinks he doesn’t deserve them.

“Beautiful nose,” Bakugo says, kissing the tip of Kirishima’s nose that’s peeking out from underneath his forearm.

“Beautiful cheek.” Kiss.

“Beautiful jaw.” Kiss.

“Beautiful neck.” Kiss.

“Beautiful chest.” Kiss.

“Beautiful stomach.” Kiss.

Bakugo sits back on his haunches as he pulls the towel away completely, revealing the rest of Kirishima’s body. Another shiver racks Kirishima’s body at all the compliments, his legs self-consciously shutting closed at all the love. He isn’t used to being looked at. To being revered. Of course, Bakugo compliments him, but it’s usually laced with an insult or said begrudgingly. Not like this. Not so easily. Not so…tenderly. It’s…nice. The butterflies are at full speed now, and he’s feeling dizzy as he watches Bakugo continue to press kisses into his skin. Probably because all the blood in his body is draining into his dick. With each compliment, his head gets fuzzier.

“Cute dick,” Bakugo says, which brings Kirishima’s mind back to fully functioning.

He tosses his arm off his face and sits up to look at his boyfriend staring up deviously at him from between his legs, his cock right in front of his face. “What? Not beautiful? Cute?” he exclaims, his voice breaking.

“Yeah, now shut up,” Bakugo says, pushing Kirishima back onto the bed and giving the head a kiss before the redhead can retaliate.

“T-that’s playing—ah! D-dirty…” Kirishima says before dissolving back into his moans.

Bakugo snickers and gives his cock another lick before kissing the tops of Kirishima’s thighs, delighting in seeing them flinch at the touch. “Beautiful thighs.”

He lifts Kirishima’s leg to his shoulder, all the while still pumping him vigorously.

“Beautiful calves.” Kiss.

He kisses the top of Kirishima’s foot. “Beautiful feet.”

“You’re into feet now?” Kirishima asks with a half-laugh, half-gasp.

Bakugo doesn’t answer. He knows that what he’s about to do will be funnier than anything he could say. He licks a trail from Kirishima’s ankle, putting down his leg in the process, to his thigh, watching with satisfaction as his boyfriend’s back arches off the bed. Without giving Kirishima time to recover, he engulfs his cock in his mouth, nuzzling his nose into the black happy trail before coming up for air.

“T-too fast!” Kirishima cries out, his forearm pressing down on his face while his other arm was outstretched, his hand fisting Bakugo’s spiked blond locks. “I’m gonna come…”

“From just that?” Bakugo teases. When he feels Kirishima’s legs tense underneath him and try to close, he forces them back open, leaning forward to give the tip another kiss. “C’mon, Eijiro, I thought I knew you better.”

But what Bakugo is really thinking is: If this is what it takes for him to come so easily, no wonder it took him so long when we were doing it rough before.

He makes his way back to Kirishima’s cock and lays his tongue flat against the base before licking up the shaft, giving special attention to the head before doing the whole routine again. He takes it into his mouth again and, using the spit pooling at the base, wets his fingers and circles Kirishima’s entrance.

Wait, he thinks, stopping himself. That’s too rough.

He lifts himself from his mewling boyfriend, reaching over to the nightstand and retrieving a condom and the lube bottle rarely used since they get to the deed so quickly, there’s barely any time to stretch.

Fuck. I’m an idiot. No wonder Eijiro was complaining about the pain. It must’ve hurt like a bitch.

He coats his fingers in a generous layer of lube and lowers himself back onto Kirishima, rounding his entrance tantalizingly.

“Katsukiii!” Kirishima whines, his hand back in Bakugo’s hair. “Please!”

“Patience, babe,” Bakugo replies nonchalantly. “Didn’t you say you wanted it slow?”

“Not this slow!” the other exclaims from underneath his forearm. His legs spread apart to make room for his boyfriend, his body language much more communicative than his words.

Bakugo is about to tease Kirishima some more before he gives in and works in a finger, spreading Kirishima’s walls and pumping it back and forth. He’s just as needy and impatient; sure, he loves some romantic lovemaking, but damn, did he want the main course.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, looking up at his boyfriend while he busies his mouth with his cock.

Kirishima feebly nods. “Getting t-there.”

“Just have to find the right spot,” Bakugo whispers to himself, using Kirishima’s moans and sighs as a guide to where his prostate is. He has a vague idea; however, yet again, they went too fast for him to properly know where it is.

He inserts another finger, scissoring Kirishima open while trying to find his spot at the same time. All the while giving him a blowjob. Why hadn’t he done this earlier? The delicious moans and cute exclamations and sultry expressions Kirishima’s releasing is addicting, and Bakugo can’t picture their future sex life without any of it. Even though they’ll probably be having sex less often with how long the process is going to take now, it’s completely worth it.

“Yes!” Kirishima cries out, his back arching again and his head flying backward into the pillow. His legs begin to tremble the more Bakugo massages the bump raised from the velvety walls around it. “Katsuki—hnngh! Feels…so g-good…”

Bakugo puts all his energy into working Kirishima open so that he feels no pain the next day while paying special attention to that special bump, sending Kirishima into a pleasure-fueled frenzy.

Kirishima’s tripping over his own words, his tongue getting caught in “C-coming! I’m—"

“Not so fast,” Bakugo says after popping off his cock, slowing down his hand and slowly slipping it out. Kirishima lets out a high-pitched whine at the loss inside him, and Bakugo chuckles as he pushes himself back up to his boyfriend’s face and kisses his cheek. “Just a little more, baby. You can take it.”

Kirishima’s panting like a dog in heat at this point. The only reason he isn’t completely humiliated is because his forearm is his saving grace, but even that is taken away by Bakugo. He grips Kirishima’s wrist and uncovers his face once and for all, pushing his wrist into the mattress.

“I want to see your face,” he whispers in the other’s ear, giving the lobe a feathery kiss. Kirishima grumbles something under his breath but complies to his boyfriend’s request since, after all, how is he supposed to see Bakugo’s face and all his expressions if his eyes are closed?

Bakugo uses his free hand to lift the condom up to his mouth. He uses his teeth to tear the packaging, spitting out the corner and retrieving the condom from inside. He meets Kirishima’s eyes for the first time the entire night, which are dark with lust and wild from unadulterated pleasure. “Mind putting it on me?”

Kirishima’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, but he eventually nods, pushing himself up by the elbows and taking the condom from his boyfriend’s fingers. He reaches forward, pinches the tip, and slides it on with ease, giving Bakugo’s cock a gentle squeeze and quick stroke to tease him back for everything he’s done.

“Fuck,” Bakugo mutters with a heavy exhale. He smirks and looks up at Kirishima, who’s now laying back down with his hands fisting the pillow underneath his head and his pink legs spread wide open in invitation. “You can be a little devil, can’t you?”

Kirishima lifts a hand to Bakugo’s face, drawing him closer until their lips are touching once again. Bakugo’s blond eyelashes tickle his cheeks, and he smiles. “Make love to me, Katsuki.”

Bakugo’s power trip is gone, replaced with highlighter bright red cheeks. That’s it. He’s going to only make love to Kirishima from now on, especially if it means this.

He nods; it’s the only thing he can do. He glides his hands into Kirishima’s, prying them from the pillow and pressing them into the mattress next to his shoulders. Their hands are so warm together, slick with sweat, their knuckles white from how tightly they’re clutching each other. Their hands are their anchors. Bakugo nor Kirishima can imagine separating them now.

“I love you,” Kirishima whispers, placing a butterfly kiss on the tip of his boyfriend’s nose. “So much.”

Bakugo smiles and presses his sweaty forehead’s into Kirishima’s. “I know.”

With that, he slowly slides inside, letting out a low groan at the sudden warmth and tightness surrounding him. Kirishima, on the other hand, is speechless. He’s confused; either it’s the combination of the lube and the stretching or he’s just gotten looser from all the rough sex, but…it doesn’t hurt. He just feels full, yet to feel pleasure, but if he shifts his hips a specific way, he’s certain he’ll feel it in no time. But it’s the lack of pain that he’s surprised about. He couldn’t be happier.

“You okay?” Bakugo asks from the crook of Kirishima’s neck, where he buried his face, his voice muffled by the soft skin underneath.

“Move,” Kirishima demands, moving his hips down and whirling them around. He’s left speechless again as Bakugo’s cock brushes against his prostate, his eyes wide and his nails digging into Bakugo’s knuckles. “Move, please.” He doesn’t want to rush it in case of injury, but damn, he’s on cloud nine.

Don’t need to ask me twice, Bakugo thinks. His hips move on their own, rocking forward slowly and drawing groans from both men. He starts up a languid rhythm, listening to the noises spilling out of his boyfriend’s cherry-red mouth both because it’s music to his ears and for any signs of distress. But there is none. Just begs and whines and mewls.

“Faster,” Kirishima pleads, his thighs clinging to Bakugo’s sides. Bakugo can feel them shaking, as well as the rest of Kirishima’s body. And he gladly complies, ramping up the speed, but it’s nothing compared to their fuckfests. Even though it’s slow compared to their other times, Kirishima is treating it as if he’s going a hundred kilometers an hour in terms of going absolutely crazy. His back is arching so much, his stomach meets Bakugo’s, their chests touching every time Bakugo pushes inside. His neck might break with how far his head is thrown back, allowing his Adam’s apple to protrude from his neck and dance along to every single moan and whimper that comes out like samba music.

“Yes, Katsuki—fee…ls s-so—nngh!” He dissolves into blabbers and incoherency, working his hands free from Bakugo’s to cling onto his back for dear life, leaving ugly red scratches along the way. “I want…I want—ugh!”

“Use your words, baby,” Bakugo murmurs, and Kirishima’s shoulders hike up to his ears at the warm breath on one of them.

“Mm… deeper, harder—” That’s all that comes out of Kirishima before he’s overtaken by moans again.

Bakugo works out his pace. Usually, he just goes fast. But Kirishima isn’t asking for faster anymore, he’s asking for deeper. Harder. Same speed, but just—

SMACK!

“GUH!” A guttural cry escapes Kirishima’s throat, and Bakugo groans along with the hard thrust. It echoed off the walls, the bed creaking to show its displeasure with the move.

“Yes! Like that! Just like that!” The scratches are numerous and ugly now, covering the majority of Bakugo’s back.

“Good boy,” Bakugo mumbles, pressing a kiss onto Kirishima’s forehead adorned by beads of sweat. “You did good. F-fuck.” Now Bakugo’s getting incoherent, unable to form a singular thought as he continues the punishing thrusts and slow pace. “You f-feel so good, baby, so good…”

“Close…I-I’m close,” Kirishima warns, crossing his ankles behind Bakugo’s back to push him even closer. He drops his hands from Bakugo’s back and cradles his face with them, bringing his boyfriend’s face back to being nose-to-nose with him. “God, I love you. Make love to me, Katsuki. Love me, love me, love me—”

“For the rest of my life,” Bakugo murmurs back against Kirishima’s lips. “For the rest of my goddamn life, I’ll love you.”

That’s all that Kirishima needs. Yes, the pleasure he’s receiving from his prostate being abused by Bakugo’s cock is more than enough to push him over the edge. But hearing his boyfriend, the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with, confirm that he in fact feels the same way and is using passionate sex to communicate that to him…it’s more than enough.

“Katsuki, I’m gonna come—I’m—!”

With one last snap of Bakugo’s hips, Kirishima’s done. White blurs his vision, his entire body racked with pleasure, tears, and electric pulses, both across his skin and deep in his muscles. His hair stands on end, goosebumps decorate his skin, his body is pink and glistening with a sheen of sweat, and his come is the last garnish on the eye candy that is Kirishima’s orgasm.

Bakugo would’ve come anyway from how tight Kirishima’s clamping down on him, but just the look of ecstasy on his love’s face pushes him over the brim. He buries himself deep inside Kirishima and grabs one of Kirishima’s hands on his face for support, burying it in the mattress. He rides through the demanding orgasm that commands his entire body, his hips continuing to snap forward because of the aftershocks, causing even more oversensitivity to torment his body. He feels the ends of his hair singe from how hot he’s burning, and he’s afraid that the intense orgasm will lead to him burning down the apartment.

“Fuck!” he growls, using Kirishima’s lips to silence himself.

“Katsuki, Katsuki…” Kirishima pants, trying to separate from Bakugo’s kisses. “I love you…”

The two men stay there for a few more moments catching their breath, Bakugo long since collapsed on top of his redhead. Their chests rise to meet each other, their skin sticking together like glue. Their hands are still joined together, making a nice imprint on the mattress. Everything about them is joined together.

Somehow, Bakugo finds the courage to push himself off Kirishima and pull out. Both men hiss with displeasure, the loss of warmth on Bakugo’s end and the loss of fullness on Kirishima’s end. He carefully rolls the condom off him and ties it at the end, tossing it in the trash and flopping onto his back. Kirishima immediately saddles up next to Bakugo, tossing a leg over Bakugo’s hips and laying on his chest.

“Thank you,” Kirishima mumbles, giving the skin underneath him a kiss.

“For what?” Bakugo asks then laughs. “For giving you the best night of your goddamned life?”

Kirishima laughs and hardens his fist to punch Bakugo playfully on the chest—delicately enough to not scar, but hard enough to hurt. And it does: it elicits a great yelp of pain from his boyfriend.

“No. I mean, yeah, but—I mean, there will be other nights—ugh, that’s not what I’m trying to say.” He props himself up on his elbow to look Bakugo directly in the eye, unhardening his fist to slide it up to cup his boyfriend’s cheek. “Thank you for understanding. For not making fun of me. I…” He sighs. “I regret not talking to you. I’ll always regret that. But I just wanted to make you happy and being rough seemed to make you happy. So, I went along with it.”

“Eijiro—”

“Let me finish,” Kirishima stresses. “You didn’t force me. I liked those times. But this…this is different. I’ll tell you what I’m in the mood for. I will let you know.”

Bakugo’s eyelids are heavy with fatigue, but he nods and runs a hand through Kirishima’s damp hair, shaking the hair into his boyfriend’s eyes with an amused smile. “Okay, babe. Just don’t pull that shit again.”

“I won’t, I promise,” Kirishima says. “Manly men don’t break their promises.” He winks before relaxing back into his boyfriend’s side. “I love you.”

Bakugo snorts and drapes a lazy arm over Kirishima’s waist. “I love you, too. Idiot.”

They’re both drifting off to sleep when Kirishima whispers, “Who would’ve known you’re just a big ol’ softie for lovey dovey sex in the end.”

Bakugo stares at the grinning redhead through the darkness.

“Ow! Okay, I get it, sorry! Stop burning me!”

…

When Kirishima awakes, Bakugo’s already left for the early shift he picked up from Ingenium since he’s sick. When Ingenium’s sick, that means something is really wrong with him since that nerd always clocks in, even if he has to wear a face mask because he’s hacking up his lungs from the flu.

He stretches his arms over his head, delaying the inevitable: the sharp pain in the ass from sitting up. He’s woken up with this pain one too many times, so he turns to slip off the bed instead of sitting up. However, out of habit, he sits on the edge of the bed to stand up, and he almost misses it before he stands up. His ass is fine. He has no pain. He feels nothing. It’s almost as if they didn’t have sex last night.

Did they? Yesterday feels like a fever dream, but that doesn’t make the fact that he feels no pain after sex any less real. He stands up, almost as if testing the waters, and walks around. No pain. He slips on some boxers, which includes lifting his legs, which also elicits no pain. He sits down on their ottoman. No pain. He gets in the shower to clean himself up, pressing his fingers inside himself. No pain, other than the usual sting from going in dry. No throbbing, no swelling, no puffiness. Nothing.

No more pain.

Kirishima has successfully had sex without needing to call in sick afterwards. And he’s ready to celebrate.

He cooks himself a giant breakfast fit for a king and goes out on patrol with a grin so big, it startles a few children. He knows his coworkers know that he got laid, but they don’t know why specifically he’s so happy about getting laid. He can actually walk. And use his Quirk without a flare-up of pain in his lower back. And he doesn’t need to worry about bruises or hickeys to cover up. Mina sees his joyful demeanor and tries to “accidentally” wipe away the concealer on his neck as a joke, only to reveal that there’s nothing to cover up.

“Did you even have sex?” she asks, and Kirishima gleefully nods.

“Yep.”

Mina’s eyes snap open. “What? How are you standing? Why didn’t you call in sick?”

Kirishima smirks and shrugs. “No pain.” He winks at his pink friend and throws her two finger guns. “I worked it all out.”

Bakugo, on the other hand, is suffering from taunts from everybody in his department. He has a relatively conservative costume compared to Kirishima’s, but his shoulders are still exposed for all the world to see as a spectacle. Kirishima made sure of that. They’re tattooed with angry red scratch marks, and anybody can see that they lead to a maze of many more rows underneath his shirt. Bakugo can’t even think of an excuse. Yes, a villain is an obvious excuse, but with how airy and normal he’s acting at the agency, anybody can infer what happened. He’s blowing up a lot less and isn’t using his Quirk on innocent bystanders to intimidate them.

“You should get laid more often,” one of the Pro Heroes in his agency mutters under his breath, and in return gets his eyebrows singed off.

But it’s true, and Bakugo can’t deny it. When he gets home, he finds Kirishima on the bed sitting back on his heels, his eyelids heavy and his sharp teeth tugging on his bottom lip in a smirk. He takes full advantage of the fact that his good behavior at work earned him a day off and that Kirishima got a day off from so efficiently handling villains by making love to his boyfriend all night. When Kirishima wakes up the next day to reveal, yet again, that he has no pain, he can’t help himself to a morning lovemaking session as well. And the cycle continues.

Eijiro Kirishima likes sex. Keyword: likes.

#my hero academia #mha smut #mha #mha bakugou #mha kirishima #boku no academia #boku no hero academia #my hero fanfic #mha fanfiction #boku no hero fanfic #kirishima smut #bnha kirishima #kiribaku #bnha bakugou #bakugou smut

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owletstarlet · 3 years

Text

the grand deeds of great men, the smallest of gestures

"My hero."

An (extremely late) request of sorts from @taizi for some solid nishi content, involving Tanuma putting those childhood karate lessons to good use. Established tanunatsu.

Ao3 link in the notes.

“Your boyfriend,” Satoru announces without preamble, dragging Tanuma by their joined hands through the hotel room door, “is a badass.”

Natsume looks up sharply from where he and Atsushi are huddled over a pile of rumpled travel pamphlets on the bed. But it’s Taki who’s on her feet first, closing the distance to the door with a pinched look and taking the shopping bag out of Tanuma’s hand.

Satoru’s grinning. Tanuma is very much not.

But they’re both shaking.

Satoru doesn’t let go of Tanuma’s hand until Natsume’s there to take it. Atsushi’s there to grab Satoru by the shoulders, and the five of them shuffle back as one towards the beds.

Natsume doesn’t press for the explanation until they’re all seated, he and Taki pressed up against either side of Tanuma, their knees bumping up against Atsushi’s and Satoru’s in the narrow space between the two beds. The muttered question is probably more directed at Satoru than at Tanuma, because Tanuma’s gray-faced in the lamplight, gaze a little too wide, breaths coming a little too fast. Both Natsume’s hands are wrapped around Tanuma’s slack one, and on his other side Taki’s hands are gentle where they rub his back, but her keen eyes keep darting over to Satoru, expression tight with all the same concern. Satoru, for his part, is practically vibrating where he sits tucked against Atsushi’s side, from nerves or exhilaration or both, Atsushi can’t quite tell.

“He flipped a guy!” Satoru declares, with a wide one-handed swoop of a gesture at Tanuma, sounding positively giddy about it.

Well. Whatever Atsushi was expecting to hear, it wasn’t that.

“What,” Natsume says, blankly, at the same time that Taki says, “…wait.”

And then they’re all looking at Tanuma. Who very much looks like he’d rather not be looked at.

“It was the actual best thing I have ever seen,” Satoru says, nudging Tanuma’s knee with his own, and there’s something fierce and warm in his eyes. “And he thinks he’s gonna go to jail or something for it, which he’s not, because the guy deserved it, so that would be dumb.”

“What happened?” Atsushi blurts, now well and truly alarmed.

And he tells them.

They’re in Osaka for a long weekend, because Natori had invited them all along for some premiere of a new period piece that Satoru had been gushing about for months. Natsume’s not exactly ecstatic about attending the event itself, but he’s clearly happy that Satoru’s happy—Atsushi gathers that that’s whole point of this—and even if Natori himself is all booked up with press events for the majority of the weekend, it’s a chance for them all to explore the unfamiliar city together.

Not thirty minutes ago, Satoru and Tanuma had volunteered to make a combini run for snacks, only about two blocks from the hotel. But once they’d finished and were through the door, bags in hand, Tanuma had realized he’d forgotten to get the ice cream Taki had asked for. He’d gone back in to get it, while Satoru stayed out front to sip at the cocoa he’d bought. They hadn’t really paid any mind to the group milling about out front. Salarymen, by the looks of them, three or four younger guys in tidy suits with raucous voices and beers in hand. Satoru had been making his way to the bench near the entrance to wait, not quite looking where he was going, and he’d bumped into one of them, causing some of his beer to slosh over the lip of the can and onto the guy’s blazer sleeve. From his place in line Tanuma had heard it, the sharp “Oy!” and the rumbles of displeasure from man’s friends. Tanuma’s not sure what became of the ice cream he’d been holding—maybe he dropped it, maybe he shoved it into the hands of the customer beside him—but the next thing he knew he was out the door, wedging himself firmly between Satoru and the man who now had him by the arm.

“And then he just…bam!” Satoru mimes the motion, as though he’s grabbing something heavy with both hands from behind, and twisting it downwards in front of him. “Like. Grabbed him. And just. Flipped him! Guy went down beer and all, and he looked super confused about being on the ground all of a sudden. And it was amazing, and I had no idea he took karate before.”

And with that, three sets of startled eyes all land squarely on Tanuma. Natsume taps his knee, like he’s trying to break him away from whatever’s got its grip on him behind his own glassy gaze.

“Karate?” Taki looks, at first, gobsmacked by this piece of information. But it morphs into something like slow-breaking delight across her features.

Tanuma’s nod is a single, tight bob of the head. “Just, um.” It’s the first time he’s spoken since walking through the door, and his voice is a ghost of a thing, like it might get swallowed up by the stale air of the room. “Until I was twelve. On and off. I don’t remember much.”

“You remembered plenty,” Satoru tells him, tone banking no argument, before clasping his hands together dramatically. “My hero.” His grin is so wide and irresistibly cheesy that Tanuma looks up, just for a moment, with the barest twitch of his lips before his gaze drops back down towards the stretch of flowery pink carpet beneath their toes. Natsume shoots Satoru a grateful look, even as Atsushi finds himself doing the same to Tanuma. Somewhere, during the course of the story, he’d found himself squashed up impossibly close against Satoru, arm tucked firmly around his shoulders. He seems genuinely excited, not distressed, but against Atsushi’s side he still feels wound up tight as a coiled spring. It’s definitely not lost on Natsume, either, judging by the glance he gives Atsushi. Atsushi nudges Natsume’s foot—he’s okay, I got him—and Natsume nods, once, though his gaze lingers a moment longer on Satoru’s flushed, still-beaming face.

“So you’re afraid someone saw?” Atsushi asks, while Taki fishes out a tea bottle from the shopping bag, uncaps it and presses it into Tanuma’s hand.

Tanuma doesn’t answer, but that touch of a grin from before has twisted itself into something distinctly nauseated.

“If anyone did see, they’d know the dude was fine.” Satoru shrugs. “Also that he deserved it, remember. We ran, anyways.”

Natsume blinks. “You ran here?”

And Atsushi can’t help but see the comedy in that being what Natsume seizes on, considering the truly impressive amount of times Atsushi’s seen him tearing through town apropos of nothing like he’s got a swarm of invisible hornets on his tail.

“Yup,” Satoru says, brightly, tapping Tanuma’s knee. “Felt like an action movie.” A pause, before he tacks on, not unkindly, “Y’know, if you’re not gonna drink that tea, then I will.”

Tanuma blinks down at the tea bottle, which had tilted enough in his hand to nearly spill onto the scratchy comforter as though forgotten about. He manages a couple measured sips before letting Taki take it back and cap it.

Natsume squeezes Tanuma’s fingers in his own, looking unsettled. Taki looks thoughtful, idly tapping the bottle in her hands.

“Were you thinking they had a security camera out front or something?” she asks.

Tanuma says nothing.

Taki leans into his side. “You know, even if anyone watched the footage, it’s like Nishimura said. All they’d see is that man getting exactly what was coming to him,” she says, fervently.

“And you being cool as hell,” Satoru adds. “Seriously, they teach twelve-year-olds how to do that?”

The way his shoulders loosen, just a fraction, feels like a win. “I don’t…actually know?” he starts, squinting like he’s trying to recall. “I was in this class for high-schoolers at the time, because there were nothing else available in the town I lived in.” A shrug, a sheepish glance up and away. “Usually I was just partnered up with my teacher.”

“That actually sounds kind of brutal, though,” Atsushi says, curious now. “Did the teacher demonstrate take-downs and stuff on you?”

“She did, but. Really slowly,” Tanuma replies, and it’s as though the warmth of Natsume’s and Taki’s shoulders pressed up against his has started, though incrementally, to seep into his voice, his eyes. “And I never really got the hang of doing any of it back to her. I’m surprised that worked, earlier.”

Precisely none of this explanation seems to have made Satoru look any less starstruck. Atsushi has to hold back his snort. “You should totally pick it up again,” Satoru’s saying now, around a mouth full of the lemon ice pop Natsume had fished out of the shopping bag for him. “What color belt did you get up to?”

“Um.”

Just that half-second’s hesitation is long enough to put a loaded look into Natsume’s eyes, for him to slot their fingers together properly and squeeze.

Tanuma lets out a breath, and there’s something years-old and lonely clinging to the edges of his smile. Atsushi doubts he’s aware of it. “None.” He shrugs. “I didn’t pass the one exam I took. I got pneumonia that year and had to quit after that, so.”

He looks faintly embarrassed, now, and Satoru opens his mouth as though ready to nip that right in the bud, but Taki beats him to it.

“Tanuma,” she says, solemnly, turning around to face him. “You have got to teach me how you did that.”

***

By the time the polite-yet-firm call arrives from the front desk, indicating a noise complaint from their neighbors in the next room and forcing them all to call it a night, things are better.

By then, Tanuma had been goaded into demonstrating some unwieldy modified version the maneuver behind his earlier takedown, executed on a poor unsuspecting hotel pillow because the entire room had immediately nixed Satoru’s offer to be the human test dummy.

Now, Satoru and Taki are a boneless, lightly snoring tangle of limbs on the far bed, one of Satoru’s arms thrown over Natsume’s whale shark plushie. (A surprise gift from all of them, Taki’s idea, after they’d caught him eyeing it more than once in the aquarium gift shop yesterday. If he’d walked out of the aquarium clutching it to his chest just like he might’ve done with his fat cat, currently hundreds of kilometers away, none of them said a word about it.)

Natsume himself is dozing in the other bed, but he lies facing Satoru—and Satoru’s fine, he’s unharmed and happy and completely safe, he is. But for some reason the longer the night’s worn on, Atsushi’s had to remind himself of these facts more, not less. He knows the dark cast to Satoru’s slack wrist is the lamplight-shadow of his sweatshirt sleeve, knows because he checked.

Still.

Tanuma’s in the bath, now. And he seems, well. Better than he was, certainly. But Atsushi had seen the taut-lipped glances he’d stolen at Satoru, and he looks about the same way Atsushi feels. At least the unwelcome scenarios and possibilities unspooling in his own mind have got to be more vague than whatever Tanuma’s imagination was serving up. Tanuma had seen it. Had stopped it.

Let Satoru wave it off, insist ‘til he’s blue in the face that it was fine, all fine, that he hadn’t been in any real danger. If it would put his friends at ease, he’d have said the same with a smile on his face even if he’d just been robbed at knifepoint.

Atsushi really needs to stop thinking about this.

He’d heard Natsume earlier, voice whisper-gentle through the bathroom door after he’d led Tanuma in by the hand behind him. Satoru and Taki had drifted off by then. Atsushi couldn’t make out the words, and heard nothing at all from Tanuma, aside from a few isolated, stuttering breaths. Tanuma had re-emerged dazed, red-eyed, but calmer than Atsushi had seen him all evening.

When the door opens now, Tanuma steps out in a halo of steam, wet-haired and barefoot in an old t-shirt. Atsushi’s on his feet and halfway across the room before he’s even really aware of it, the change of clothes for his own bath forgotten at the foot of the bed.

Tanuma goes still, when Atsushi pulls him close. Atsushi almost lets go, but then he feels the tentative hands come up to rest on his back.

“Thank you,” Atsushi mutters into his shoulder.

“I—“

“No. Listen.” Atsushi pulls back, hands shifting to rest on his upper arms. And god but Tanuma looks exhausted. “You kept him safe,” Atsushi says. “And don’t try to tell me you didn’t, because you did. Thank you.”

Tanuma opens his mouth, closes it again, swallows. He says nothing for a long moment, but he doesn’t look away. Finally, “…sorry for freaking out.” He smiles as he says it, but his voice snags on the words. He swallows again.

“Hey.” Atsushi waits until Tanuma’s now-dropped gaze returns to him. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for that, okay? Not with us.”

A sound like an inhale, somehow sharp and shaky all at once, and then it’s Tanuma that’s pulling them together again. A steadying breath, in-out-in that ruffles Atsushi’s hair. Stillness.

“Okay,” he whispers.

***

If he does go to jail, it's Natori who'll have to bail him out :)

Sensei didn't come along because I like to think Hiiragi, Sasago and Urihime have been taking turns watching over Natsume, which is more than sufficient, except for when it's *not* Natsume himself who's getting into trouble--

Fun fact, according to the most current iteration of canon, Tanuma's taken judo in the past as well as karate, but the bulk of this was written before that chapter came out.

All credit to taizi for the nice hug idea--

#natsume yuujinchou #kitamoto atsushi #nishimura satoru #tanuma kaname #tanunatsu #kitanishi #if you squint #natsume takashi #taki tooru #natsume's book of friends #taizi #owlet's fanfiction #natsuyuu

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seriously-really-soft · 3 years

Text

Heartless

A/N: This is a repost of something I uploaded to AO3, I forgot I took it down from Tumblr and I honestly can’t remember why.

Word Count: 780

Pairings: Lucifer x reader, she/her pronouns are used

Warnings: This one is a little angsty but other than that none

��People say that I am heartless.”

If it were true he wouldn’t know, and though things always seemed more absolute when spoken to air, some part of him couldn’t help but think that something about that notion didn’t seem quite right. At least not when his gaze fell over the soft outlines of her face and the comfortable silence of the room found rest somewhere far behind their world reserved for two. Seldom had Lucifer found comfort in the quiet of places like these, where the thumping of rain against the windows of that small, lonely room could easily be mistaken for aggression and the rise and fall of breaths held wafts of time so fleeting, but as his fingers traced the veins of her wrist, he found that he wouldn’t mind staying in that room for however long she stays. Forever in that place seemed not at all long and right there with her warmth tucked beside the pulse in his chest, for the first time in a long time the present felt so precious he thought he might start to cry. There in the fading light he could only think to wish, wish that she’d graze a finger upon the streams charting the sides of his cheek so that she may bear witness to the last shards of paradise on his body.

Tears were to humanity a connection to childhood, in Lucifer they were indicators of innocence and the pieces of heaven he held before his fall, and all of the world seemed to have gathered around this Lucifer who wept so freely, whose cries spoke of love as though he were beneath the sun once more. Though he failed the first time —

“People say that I am heartless,” — he tried once more, the slight smell of her and futures too precious to know more of drifting into this tiny, wandering dream. With the smallest tremble his fingers followed the flow of skin behind her ear as if Lucifer saw in them fallen petals in a river, drifting upon the endless body of where love and the universe meet in their kiss. He hoped for her expanse to bring him too, even if being stationed by her side would mean revealing pieces of himself to wind and rain.

I wouldn’t even mind touch, not if it’s yours, not if it’s by your eyes which touch and find in me love so sweetly.

“and maybe I don’t know what makes a heart, at least not anymore. Some nights I wish I did, but I guess the loss of those things are normal when you’ve fallen so far,” he mused.

The moment’s chill left his voice undressed, pride and pretense discarded somewhere forgotten, made useless. There was only Lucifer now, and with every piece of existence in this world, he was the roses of Elagabalus laid bare for her eyes. Stray hair slumped upon the side of his face, and some part of eternity let out a sigh in her slumber for she too was bewitched by him, much like the dark which fell on his shoulder in her exhaustion. If shadows had casted upon the above by now it meant very little, and Lucifer cared not for the sun’s rest nor for the star’s glimmer for moonlight was enough to make out the necessity for sleep beneath her eyes, was enough to assure him that it was him that she touched, him that she shown her warmth upon.

“but when time is passed like this,”

With the heavens witness to us as if sinners and believers are distinct no more, like things like this, things like what exists between you and me, mean much more, much different than the hurt from a crime or tears from a deed.

“and when the scent of you is deemed the sole reason for my breathing, like whoever came up with the idea of me had the thought of you within the same breath,”

When the image of you like this, at peace under moonlight and the company of stars gleaming down on you as if they’ve already accepted you amongst their ranks, is all that I can envision behind every blink,

“I think you are the sweetest thing.”

And they embraced where believers could not find them, among the shades of silence, and though sadness could not reach the embrace of those whose souls touched where bodies cannot, Lucifer still wept between kisses.

“Somehow, questions of hearts and sinners become meaningless when I can hold you so dearly, when short-lived riches abandon me as I lay here waiting, in hopes that you would kiss me, at least just this once once more.

#obey me fandom #obey me headcanons #obey me hc #obey me hcs #obey me fic #obey me fluff #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x you #obey me lucifer headcanons #obey me luci #obey me luci x reader #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me short fic #repost #lucifer x reader

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misslilli · 3 years

Text

Welcome to Miss Scully's classroom 🤓

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | AO3

Chapter 12 - A Rainbow In It's Natural Habitat

[ FM ]

The weekend passes quickly in a blur of household chores, runs along the beach and unpacking the last of the boxes in our basement. Before long, I find myself back at the school to drop off Felix and hoping against hope for seeing a certain someone I can’t stop thinking about.

I check my phone for new messages when a classroom door opens and there she is, stepping outside, on the phone and with a frown on her face. I can only see her profile from where I’m standing and would it be totally ridiculous if I started to write poetry about the way her nose curves inward just the tiniest bit before the tip? ‘Yes, you need to be checked for head injuries, man, this is beyond ridiculous!’

“No, it’s totally fine, I understand. Tell him to feel better, okay? I’ll figure something out, don’t worry!” She sighs after she hangs up, rubbing her forehead exasperatedly. As if she senses my eyes on her, she turns to look at me. “Hi! Mr. Mulder right? Um… I’m in a bit of a situation here and I was wondering if you could help me out… please?” I’d give her the moon in a basket with a bow on it, if she asked – hell, I’d give her the whole damn milky way! Stars, planets andworm holes! But she doesn’t know that.

I see the hand with her phone in it shake slightly and her intake of breath is just a bit louder than normal when I step up to her. Could it be because of me? No, don’t flatter yourself. Maybe? No. Shit, you still haven’t answered her question.

“Yeah sure, what can I do?” Relief washes over her face.

“I asked a parent to help out this morning with our reading-centers but her kid is sick with the flu, so she won’t be able to make it. Do you think you have time to help? It’ll only take an hour, 90 minutes tops, I promise!” If she had been nervous before, it had quickly dissipated, her professional side taking over.

“Of course I can, I still owe you for being the knightess in shining armor for Felix last week, remember?” At that, her lips curve into a smile. ‘Yes! Took you long enough.’

“You’re absolutely right, I almost forgot my selfless good deed as Knightess of the Injured Children. Remind me to let you fill out an IOU next time! Come on in.” You both chuckle while she walks into the classroom in front of me and my hand itches to land on the small of her back to guide her inside. ‘Don’t touch her, don’t touch her, donttouchherdonttouchherdonttouchher! Send help.’

24 curious pairs of eyes stare at me when I’m inside and Miss Scully is bombarded with questions about who I am and what I’m doing here. She just shakes her head and points me to a small table in a corner with two chairs, instructing me to sit in one while the kids come to me one after another to read to me. I’m immensely relieved I don’t have to stand up in front of the classroom and actually teachthem stuff, because that would scare me shitless.

I look down at my hands as she moves to stand in front of the classroom because I don’t trust myself not to stare at her ass in that black pencil skirt. Also, and more importantly, I don’t trust the kids not to notice and ask her why that strange man is staring at it. And I’m sure they will. Notice. And ask. So until she’s in front, I stare intently at my hands. Then I look around at the kids.

I notice that most of them quiet down when their teacher takes her stance in front of them, safe for a boy in the back (it’s always the ones in the back), who’s still talking to his neighbor. I expect her to call him out on his behavior, maybe to raise her voice just a little and I feel a bit sorry for him already. Teachers in my school always raised their voice at the smallest misbehavior.

Instead, I find her just looking straight at him with a calm look on her face. Huh? Then I notice subtle changes in her body language. First, she shifts her weight onto one leg, her eyes never leaving the talkative boy. Then, she purses her lips ever so slightly. Some of the other kids are starting to catch on, turning their attention to the boy.

Next, her eyebrow goes up, just one, and I find myself hoping that I’ll never be on the receiving end of that look.

I send a silent prayer to the God I don’t believe in to make the kid shut up already.

When he still doesn’t and all the other kids are looking at him, she crosses her arms in front of her chest. Finally, the boy he’s talking to catches on as well and puts a finger to his mouth, pointing to the front of the classroom. The culprit looks in the direction in which his neighbor points and immediately shuts up.

‘Okay, here it comes. Oh no. Bet you’ll wish you would’ve been quiet right away, now buddy.’

“Thank you, Charlie. Alright, now that we’re all ready to get started, good morning kids!” ‘What? That’s it?’

“Good morning, Miss Scully!,” they reply in unison. I’m just sitting here like an idiot, awestruck. How in the world did this work? What a magic trick!

“Alright, as you’ve all noticed, we have a guest here today. This is Mr. Mulder and you’ll get to read to him when we’re doing reading centers this morning.” I feel a little uncomfortable under the stares of the children, but they all greet me with a smattering of Hi’s and Hello, Mr.Mulder. “Who can tell me what our expectations are when we have guests in our classroom?” A little girl raises her hand.

“Respect and best behavior. Oh and no running in the classroom” Miss Scully nods and proceeds to giving them instructions on the other centers. Soon, she sends a girl to my desk and the lesson is on its way.

While I listen to the fourth graders read, I see her walking around the classroom in my peripheral vision, helping out kids whenever they need her assistance and I’m reminded again how different it is to my own days in school.

After the lesson, the kids return to their desks and eat their snacks and I make my way over to Miss Scully’s desk. She stands and smiles at me gratefully – Yes! “Thank you so much, Mr. Mulder, you’ve been a great help and the kids loved you!” ‘Can YOU love me? Please?’

“Aah it was fun, no problem. That was awesome, by the way, the thing you did before the lesson? How did you do that? When I was in school and behaved this way, I really had it coming!”

She just smiles enigmatically and shrugs her shoulders. “A magician never reveals his tricks, Mr. Mulder. But I can tell you a secret: Yelling at kids to get them to listen is a rookie mistake. Don’t tell the Magician’s Guild I said that, though.” I laugh and shake her hand goodbye, kind of disappointed that I have to get going.

“Well, as a fellow magician I can appreciate that. Goodbye, Miss Scully.”

“Bye Mr. Mulder. Kids?”

I walk out the door to their Goodbyes and smile to myself. Off to a good start.

#xf #the x files #xf fanfic #msr #felix felicis

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blanc-et-n0ir · 3 years

Text

MCYT ONESHOTS pt. 1

Made by yours truly <3 (Check out my Ao3 fully over here)

ONESHOTS

This Speedrunner is Weird (3,386 Words)

Tags:

Dream, GeorgenotFound,Sapnap

No Romantic Relationships, Dream & George, Dream & Sapnap, Dream & Sapnap & George

Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Alternate Universe

Summary:

Everything was supposed to be fine-

Nothing was fine.

They were supposed to have a nice little meet up- have fun like they always did--

Everything was w r o n g

Enjoy each other's presence and have a good time.

It was all his fault.

That was... until he came and ruined it all.

"You're a good speedrunner..."

The Deal (1,463 Words)

Tags:

Dream, GeorgenotFound, Sapnap, Punz, TommyInnit, Tubbo

No Romantic Relationships, Tubbo & Tommy, Dream & Tommy

Traitor Tommy, Traitor Tubbo, Betrayal, Deals

Summary:

It wasn’t planned, when has anything the Dream Team ever done planned? Of course, they had Dream as their strategist and planner but at this moment it was George and Sapnap who were at a standoff with Tommy and Tubbo. Sapnap and George trained their crossbows at the younger duo who merely stared back with disgruntled expressions, unarmed.

(A short drabble about Traitor Tubbo and Tommy because you just can't separate these two)

We Meet Again (1,308 Words)

Tags:

Dream, Technoblade, Mentioned Wilbur Soot

No Romantic Relationships, Dream & Technoblade

King Technoblade, Mercenary Dream, Alternate Universe- Medieval, Rivals

Summary:

Techno only wanted to retire back from his daily potato farming. He didn't expect to see an unexpected visitor in his room that day.

Unseen (717 Words)

Tags:

Dream, Technoblade, Wilbur and Tommy

No Romantic Relationships

Character Death, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Inspired by Edgar Allan Poe, Ghosts, Storm, Family Dynamics

Summary:

Dream, Techno, Wilbur and Tommy all decided to go into the woods for a little trip. Then a storm strikes and two missing friends turn up-

Differing Sides (1,987 Words)

Tags:

Dream, GeorgenotFound, Sapnap, Technoblade

No Romantic Relationships, Dream & Technoblade

Traitor Dream, Dream and Techno Duel, Anger, Rivals, Character Bonding

Summary:

In a sick twist of fate, Dream's actions have come to life and George and Sapnap confront him about these choices. When he ends up running away, he is met with his pink haired rival in the forest and he is offered a place to go back to.

The Movie (767 Words)

Tags:

Technoblade, Dream, Mentioned Sapnap, Mentioned Skeppy, Mentioned GeorgenotFound, Mentioned BadBoyHalo

No Romantic Relationships, Dream & Technoblade

Movies, Tickets, Frenemies, Rivals

Summary:

“This is not worth it.” Technoblade grouched, slumping against the chair and shoving some popcorn into his mouth.

“It’s… funny.” Dream forced out a laugh.

“No, it is not.” Technoblade snorted, “Even Tommy is more entertaining than this.”

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

(Based off of this prompt-- “I literally hate you.” “I know, I hate you, too. But I have an extra ticket to this movie, and no one wants to go with me.” “I wonder why.” “So you’re in?” “Fine, but you’re paying for popcorn.”)

A Tell-Tale Heart (4,834 Words)

Tags:

Dream, Technoblade, GeorgeNotFound, Sapnap, Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit, Karl Jacobs, Skeppy

No Romantic Relationships, Dream & Technoblade, Skeppy & Technoblade, Skeppy & Dream

Deity Dream/God Dream, Deity Technoblade/God Technoblade, Deity Skeppy/God Skeppy, Mind Games, Manipulation, Twoshot, Friends to Enemies, Villain Dream, God Complex

Summary:

Dream isn't as he seems and only Technoblade managed to catch onto his true nature and deeds. But of course, it was expected considering how Dream had operator and he knew how to use it. See as Dream finally sets the scene for Pogtopia and Manberg to clash.

Unless You’re Dying to Cry Your Heart Out (4,337 Words)

Tags:

Dream, GeorgeNotFound, Wilbur Soot, Schlatt, Technoblade, TommyInnit, Tubbo, Quackity, Niki, Sapnap, Skeppy, BadBoyHalo, Eret

No Romantic Relationships, Dream & George

Character Death, Angst, Villain George, Betrayal, Traitor, Hurt No Comfort, Bombs, Pogtopia and Manberg Arc

Summary:

George got ahead of himself. Just the smallest spark and he brought all of L'manber- Manberg- however you want to call it- to it's knees. He finally did everything just as planned.So... why was he faced with silence and that damned porcelain mask.

(Or Dream doesn't help Pogtopia but he isn't with Schlatt either and George is a little too invested in Manberg)

Continuation in Part 2

#minecraft youtubers #dream smp #dreamsmp #dreamwastaken #dream team #dream #wilbur soot #dsmp #dsmp wilbur #mcyt #mcyt fanfiction #tommyinnit and tubbo #technoblade #sapnap #minecraft #fanfic

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discojupiters · 3 years

Text

Another Lonely Night in New York

Casually uploading Bee Gees fanfic as if I haven't had this account for almost five years and I'm just now using it to post stuff because I am upset at the lack of Bee Gees fanfic that exists and I need to change that also cuz I haven't posted on any form of social media in literal ages and I just really want an excuse to post classic rock shitposts and whatnot. :D

Ao3 link to the fanfic if you'd prefer to read it there

Another Lonely Night in New York

Robin/Fluff

The rain had been predominantly worse at night than it had been in the morning. Dense raindrops splattered onto Robin's hotel room window as he sat near the window, flinching every now and then at the speed at which the pellets of rain struck the window. The weather had been like this for almost the entirety of Robin's stay in Manhattan, which made it difficult for him to see many of sights that he originally intended to see. He stayed for nearly 4 days straight cooped up in his hotel room and if he forced himself to stay in there a minute longer, he was about to go mentally insane; he had to get out and go outside for a stroll. Despite the brutal showers and the absence of an umbrella, he put on his coat and made his way down to the lobby and out the door. He knew not where his first stop would be nor how long he'd be out, all he knew was that he needed fresh air, whether the air was battling fierce weather or not. Robin trekked out east in hopes to find something worthy of his time.

Robin had originally desired to head to New York in order to find inspiration for new music for his solo album that he was working on. After the Bee Gees decided to take a break for a bit following the release of Living Eyes, Robin found himself in a great opportunity to release more solo albums and expand his talent as a songwriter. His intentions were unfortunately tampered with as the climate in New York at this time was not the best. Little to no inspiration had crossed through his mind for the entirety of his trip and he only had one more day before he needed to be back in London to begin recording sessions.

Robin's mind was as blank as a fresh piece of paper as he strolled through the streets of midtown Manhattan. Bright and colorful lights guided him to Times Square in what felt like no time. Robin had only prayed that something in those lively, radiant billboards and lights would make a light bulb go off in his head and give him enough material to write a perfect song.

The rain showed no signs of stopping any time soon, and it wasn't until now that Robin realized how foolish he looked sopping wet with his hair sticking to his face and neck while everyone else were as dry as bones under their umbrellas. Robin reached for the hood of his coat to hide his drenched hair only to notice he brought the coat without a hood instead of the other one he had in his room that did have a hood. He thought for a moment about heading back to the hotel to spare the rest of his embarrassment but he kept walking, tenacious to find even the smallest bit of inspiration for a new song.

The stop at a crosswalk was the first break Robin had given his legs in God knows how long the amount of time he had been walking for. They ached almost enough for Robin's knees to buckle and give out on him. He could feel people staring at him, businessmen coming home late from their office jobs, young fools in love heading to various restaurants and clubs downtown, rebellious teens on their way to their secret hideouts. All these people nice and dry under their umbrellas while they stared at the lonely freak in New York who couldn't have even bothered to bring the correct coat in order to save his head from the rainfall.

'Another lonely night in New York'

Eagerly waiting for the crosswalk light to flash white, at this point he couldn't wait until it was time to go back home to London. This trip had been nothing but disappointing to him. No benefits to his song writing or even his own well being what so ever. The only thing he'd catch from this trip now would be a cold from the rainwater coating his entire body, making his pants stick to his legs, seeping into his sneakers and making his socks damp, that he'd have to deal with once he got back home. On the bright side if he did catch a cold then he would be able to delay the recording sessions until his voice got better which would give him more time to write some more material for the album.

'The city of dreams just keeps on getting me down'

In the midst of all the dismay washing over him, he almost didn't notice that the rain had suddenly begun to repel him. He could still see the rain in front of him, yet none of it was touching him anymore. Puzzled, he looked above his head to see what had happened, but all he spotted was a black, dome shaped piece of nylon; the canopy of an umbrella above his head. The misty scent of perfume filled his nostrils. He glanced over to the right of him to find a woman holding the umbrella over his head for him. Her resting face was nonchalant as she peered across the street, also waiting for the crosswalk light to turn white, but she gave a coy smile to Robin when she noticed him staring at her.

Robin wanted to speak up, wanted to thank the winsome young lady for sharing her umbrella with him, but the words wouldn't come to him. As the crosswalk light finally changed, everyone made their way across the street. New Yorkers were fast walkers, it was strenuous to keep up with the woman. Her strut was self-assured, even in the six inch stilettos that she wore; it was like she injected confidence into her veins every morning. Robin was mesmerized by her. He was still thinking about the smile she gave him when they were on the other side of the crosswalk, trying his best to hide a cheeky, daydreaming smile.

As the walk with the woman continued, Robin couldn't help but wonder: Was he going to be following this woman around until she reached her destination? Did they both have the same destination? Robin didn't even know where he would end up, he wracked his brain wondering if this woman was gonna lead him somewhere or if she was just doing a quick favor and wanted him to leave now. The woman hadn't spoke the whole time. Her nonchalant expression turned into a gentle smile yet she refused to look at Robin anymore than that one glance she shot at him when he noticed her.

Robin and the woman were now exiting Times Square, the high-spirited lights merely staining the background now as the woman continued to head for the subway. Robin knew right then and there that it was time for him to head back, as much as he adored this woman, he couldn't take a chance. He didn't know her and God forbid he let himself get killed tonight all because he had love fogging up his brain just for a woman who did a single kind deed for him. Again, Robin's mouth couldn't open to say a goodbye. It was like his throat was frozen every time he was near this woman. After an extensive fight to make the words come out, he gave up and instead stayed put in his spot on the sidewalk, waiting for the woman to notice and hopefully say goodbye first. After the woman reached a few paces noticing Robin had left her side, she worriedly glanced around, holding onto her hair to make sure the rain didn't touch it. She glimpsed behind her to find Robin slowly sauntering backwards in order to give her the indication that he was leaving. She relaxed her arms as her gloved hands waved goodbye to Robin, granting him the same kittenish smile she had given him earlier that night. Robin waved back and finally turned around to make his way back to the hotel.

Robin tried hard not to glance back every few seconds to get one last look at the woman, but failed miserably; he couldn't help it. After fully losing sight of the woman, he ran back to his hotel. He was grateful that she helped him, yet suddenly glum now that he was aware that he may never see that woman again. He didn't know anything about her, not her name, not her voice, not her story, but that didn't stop him from falling head over heels for her. He knew that feeling wouldn't last long, it would probably be gone by the time he'd step foot on the plane back to London, but it was a nice thought to occupy his mind with for the time being. It fascinated him at times that he could be so in love with a woman that he knew absolutely nothing about all because she noticed him and did something good for him.

'Cause my baby's no longer around and my feelings can never be found'

Robin made it back to the hotel, tracking puddles of the water all the way up to his room. The first thing he did upon entering his room was remove all of his drenched clothes and head for the shower. Once he dried himself off, he frantically searched the room for a pencil and paper, heading to his window when he finally had one. Before he could even write down a single lyric, he found her. The woman who had helped him. She was making her way down the street of the hotel as if she had been walking in circles this entire time. Was she actually trying to reach a certain destination? Or was she just out and about looking for men to swoon over her through her acts of kindness? It didn't matter to Robin, because at least he got to take one last look at her that night. That was all he needed for inspiration. If that woman was enough to give a songwriter with writer's block inspiration for a new song, than in Robin's book that woman was enough to make the world go 'round. Robin wrote down lyrics as swiftly as they came to him.

'Another lonely night in New York, and my sorry eyes are looking out on the world'

#bee gees #barry gibb #robin gibb #maurice gibb #bee gees fanfic #robin gibb fanfic #robin gibb fluff

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alch3mic · 4 years

Text

in between. (drabble series)

chapter two (cracks.)

beast!sans x gender neutral reader. 3k+ word count.

please be advised for themes of self-loathing, violence, mentions of death, self-harm, a whole lot of cursing and depression.

* finally, here is chapter two! this one focuses more on my dear underfell sans named beast! if you’d like to know more about him, feel free to check out his full fic here over on ao3, or his tag here on my tumblr. thank you for being patient with me and i hope you all enjoy!

Beauty.

.....

..There were very few things that came to Sans' mind when thinking of that word.

After all he was probably the last person who should be havin’ an opinion on anything based on looks, but still.. a few things always came to mind.

Like the stars, of course.

And the sky.

Those things were beautiful.

..It also made him think of other things like..

Having a full day to do absolutely nothing, which was always great.

Or better yet a freshly made burger from Grillby’s, complete with the works and extra mustard.

Now that was a real thing of beauty.

...

It... also made him think of...

...Roses.. as corny as that was.

Sans never thought he'd come around to admiring flowers after living in that snowy and lifeless town all his life... and after one flower in particular gave him a hell of a lot of trouble.. but hey, living topside had certainly gave him a whole fucking list of surprises.

..Like..

The most recent addition to the small list of things he found beautiful.

...

...Which was you...

....

Even now thinking about you and that gentle glow of your soul made him tremble, and how just the single word ‘beautiful’ came to mind when he laid his eyelights upon you.

And that's.. certainly something he'd never expected to think about a human...

He was a Fell after all, and to them... appearance was everything.

From the clothes you wore, to the way you looked, everything single last detail about you was judged. That's because the very first lesson all Fell monster children were taught was that in this world, it was kill or be killed.

The people around them were not friends.

They were not neighbors or allies.

They were competition, tools and objects to be used to elevate themselves into a position of strength and status so that they may one day be considered worthy living in the eyes of their king. The Underground was their prison, and the other monsters who were also unfortunate enough to be born in that fucking hellhole with them were their test...

So.. Would you kill, or would you be killed..?

...

Obviously, many bared their teeth and claws to survive.

Life was a gift reserved only for the strong.

Weakness was a disease that was to be purged, and their king had entrusted his people to enact such a cleansing in his stead. For every monster to be given such a power over one another shaped their entire Underground into the dusty inferno that it was, eating it's people and their hope alive in it's cleaning flames. Only the brave and the mighty could prevail in that nightmare, and those who failed to prove themselves capable of even defending themselves from other monsters were... unfit.. to become warriors worthy of one day taking down humanity.

..So they were dusted..

And their EXP was the reward for those who did the deed, only making the strong, stronger...

...

For them, there was only value in strength.

In EXP.

In.. LOVE.

Emotions were a handicap.

Kindness was vulnerability.

There was only happiness to be found in being more powerful that everyone else around you.

There was only a future for you if you could prove yourself to everyone that you were worthy of getting to live another day by pushing all of that other unnecessary bullshit down, like feelings or regret, and killing everyone around you so that you could survive in that unending hell...!

..But..

...Such stats like EXP and LV were usually hidden to the naked eye. Unless a monster was born with the very rare ability to see stats with their sight, the only way to see those stats was checking through an encounter, and at that point it would be much too late. Even the smallest of creatures, with innocent smiles and bright shiny eyes, could be hiding something truly sinister beneath.

So, what better way to prove yourself and show off how strong you were than with scars.

Scars were the physical, undeniable proof of your mettle and determination. They were the marks across your fur, skin or scales that showed you had fought someone and walked away, which was quite the feat considering that under the king's decree, no encounter was ever allowed to end without a single winner and one pile of dust...

....

..The more scars you had the better, because it meant you were strong.

They were complimented, sought after and coveted above everything else for the Fell. Anyone with half a working soul would know it was fucking stupid to fight someone who looked tougher than you, so those with more scars got to live more peaceful lives.

They didn't have to live in fear of being picked off for just looking weak..

Those with scars were respected.

They were admired.

They were made out to be the pinnacle of a your existence.

And many in their desperation to be considered strong, began inflicted wounds upon themselves to get a taste of that life. They began scarring up their bodies just so that others would think that they too were worthy of living too.

It really was..

..Awful.

What an awful way to live.

What an awful thing to go through!

What an.. awful thing to be the product of.

But.. it had been their reality.. and it shaped the person San had grown to be. That's why he could only wonder why his head was spinning with thoughts of you.

A human.

Soft.

Small.

Someone who laid all of their emotions bare when they struck a cord on their guitar, opening their heart up for a moment and just letting it all go.

You were the complete and total opposite of someone like him.

Huge.

Ugly.

And.. very guarded. ...

He had spent most of his life actively pushing others away from him.

He had to, so he could protect himself.

So many monsters had weaponized feelings like love and attraction in their favor to get other monsters to let their guard down, and he wasn't about to become a pile of dust just because he was fucking lonely. One thing he promised himself about going through that hell was that he wouldn't let his emotions get the better of him.

He still had someone he cared for after all, and he didn’t want to leave his brother to live out that nightmare alone.

..The only reason they were both still here today was because they had each other..

So, he convinced himself he wasn't interested in romance.

It'd only bring unnecessary trouble.

He'd have no datemates, no interests, and most certainly..

No soulmate.

He was already convinced he didn't have one anyways, but he always swore to himself that if he found them he wouldn't let himself get sappy over it like some other idiots did.

The most he'd ever let himself do is spend a night trying to forget the fact that he was trapped in this fucking nightmare with another monster and that was it. There was no sense getting attached, someone would just turn and use that feeling against him in the end.

...

...And yet..

...He had spent all those years building up a wall...

And then just completely turned around and allowed himself to fall head over heels with one beautiful little human.

....

The skeleton let out a small groan, pinching the bridge of his nasal bone while shaking his head at the mirror. The steam from his shower was still clinging to the edges, but he could still see his dumbass reflection clear as day even in the dark.

Just... what the fuck was he doing?

...

..Setting himself up for soulbreak, that's what.

There's no way in hell a human could ever love a Fell, especially one like him. There was a reason they called him Beast! What you saw was what you got, and the crack in his skull should've been proof enough of how broken he was.

There was no sparkling personality and certainly no handsome prince hiding underneath all this

..It was just him..

....

Staring at his reflection for so long in the mirror made him want to break the damn thing, but he really didn't want to get another skull full from Papyrus from doing it twice in the same month.

'JUST SHOWER IN THE DARK SO YOU DON'T SEE YOUR REFLECTION IF YOU HATE IT THAT MUCH YOU IDIOT!'

...

Right. Yeah.. Sure..

A very simple solution to a very simple problem.

It's not like he's been struggling with self image already since his childhood days, especially considering he had only been born with 1 HP, 1 ATK and 1 DEF.

..Heh. Still made him laugh, thinking about it now.

...

..It.. must've been a joke, right?

..To be born with stats like those?

Surely whoever was running this gig was laughing their fucking ass off about it too, sending this sorry sack of bones out into a violent world with one miserable point of fucking HP.

...

...Well, he certainly hopes whoever cursed himself to such a fate also found it all funny..

..'Cause he was going to beat the shit out of them if he ever found them..

...

Most of his childhood had been spent in fear due to that knowledge.

Fear of the day he would finally enter an encounter.

The day when someone, somewhere out there would realize he had been the easiest target of all, and that just one strike would be enough for his pathetic little life to come to an end. Then he'd end up being nothing more than a pitiful pile of dust and a few meager points of EXP to someone else, and that would be the end of Sans the skeleton.

...

It would’ve been a fitting existence for a monster only born with those kinds of stats.

...

..He really thought that there was.. no way someone like him could ever be strong.

There was no chance in hell he'd ever survive down there.

...A part of him wished he never even knew.

Maybe life would've been so scary down there if he had just never known he only had only 1 HP to hang on to.

..Maybe.. he wouldn't of turned out this way...

...

In the end it would've be painless.

With only 1 HP it'd just take one hit and then it'd be all over.

One hit and he'd be done.

One hit and he'd be free.

....

It was an.. accident, the first time he activated his sight magic. He was still just a kid, standing up on a stepping stool and practicing scary faces in the mirror. He remembers it startled the absolute stars out of him when it happened since he was just trying to change the color of his white eyelights to be more threatening, but instead he...

..Well.. when he gazed back into the mirror his eyelights were definitely red.

And he could definitely see it, clear as day.

"Sans" LV 1 HP 1/1 ATK 1 DEF 1

......

...

"ya've.. gotta be jokin'.. right..?"

He remembers the silence that followed after saying that, nobody around to respond to him. Nobody was there to reassure him that'd it'd be alright. No one was there to support or care for him, or to help him through the fear settling into his bones.

Really... it must've been a joke, right?

That couldn't.. really be his stats.. right?

The phrase came out a second time, and then several more, each and every time the words picking up momentum as the maelstrom of feelings brewed in his chest louder and louder. It swished and swirled, sucking up his thoughts one by one and the whole room felt like it was spinning around him. He wanted to look away, his red eyelights unable to gaze at anything but his stats, even as the tears came to his eyesockets.

..No..

It couldn't..

It just.. couldn't!

....

...How..

..How was he suppose to be strong with those kinds of stats?!

He had to be strong!

He told Papyrus every morning and every night that he was strong!

He told his brother that he'd be become most powerful monster in the whole damn Underground, that way they didn't have to live in a shoddy broken down house!

That way they could live their lives free of worry!

That way they didn't..

...have to be..

....so scared anymore..

...

How.. how was he suppose to be survive..

With only 1 HP..?

....

...

His fists clenched, the reality of it all setting in as the number remained unchanged no matter how much he begged and pleaded. The fear melted away into anger, shooting through ever inch of his body like someone had ignited a fire through his bones. It spread rapidly, clouding his mind in a hazy and hateful fog as he stared at the number.

He couldn't think.

All he could see was 1 HP.

1 HP.

....

...

...One hit is all it took to break the mirror.

His fist connected and the glass shattered, small shards flying everywhere as he screamed out in frustration. The tears fell and he yelled again, unable to handle the heat of his hatred as he sobbed alone in the bathroom. Soon a few deep breaths left his mouth followed by a string of curses, the pain in his hand causing him to reel back a bit and inspect it through his tears. Small scrapes littered his phalanges from the impact, his hand now buzzing with a dull pain as he clutched it and glanced back up at the mirror.

His once clear reflection was distorted by twisted and ugly cracks, scattering and creating a broken image of himself.

One hit was all it took for the mirror to become break.

One hit.. and it..

...Shattered.

...Just like..

He would..

....

Imagine his surprise when he didn't.

...

He took a blow.. and lived.

And.. it became the very first scar he had ever earned..

...

....And he.. hated it.

He hated it what it did to him. He hated what it stood for. He hated the way it traveled up his dumb fucking face, always catching everyone's attention. He hated the fact that he got complimented about it back in the Underground. He hates how it's become his defining feature. He hated to how it lead to so many more scars, so many more battles, and so much more EXP, washing away his once poor stats in a wave of dust and bloating them to.. terrifying numbers.

He just..

Hated it.

...

Like how he hated himself.

...

..Ugh.

Great. Now his head was swishing around with self-deprecating thoughts about the present and the past, which he really didn't need right now. If he started acting depressed again he'd be given another certified Papyrus pep talk, and as much as he loved that egotistical bonehead he really didn't need to hear his brother prattle on for hours about his 'good qualities' and how their 'past doesn't define them'.

He sighed a final time before pulling a sweater over his head, feeling it catch and snag on some of his rougher breaks and notches on his bones. He stomped out of the bathroom, rubbing the back of his skull in frustration at himself for allowing one human to get his thoughts swishing around that broken head of his.

..Well..

It's not like he could've done anything else to prevent this. He had already steeled his emotions back when he realized how pathetic his stats had been, but all that had work just practically vanished the moment he laid his eyelights on you.

..It had.. only been a brief second too.

He had just been trailing down a runaway client after they missed their third payment. The brothers had a three strike policy, which was.. a little generous for Sans' taste but hey, he was just the brawn here not the brains, so three strikes it was...

This idiot was already on his shit list for taking advantage of their generosity and missing a third fucking payment, but then they had the fuckin' nerve to run. If there was one thing Sans hated, it was a runner.

..It was just kinda pointless, ya know? All it did was delay the inevitable and give him more work to do, as if his days weren't filled to fucking the brim with shit already. Seriously, it's like these humans had no fucking consideration for a busy skeleton like himself...

Assholes.

Still, they ran and he gave 'chase'. All he had to do was keep shortcutting as he anticipated their every step, catching them off-guard and sent them bolting off in another direction. Bastard was slippery though and having already spent most of the day working Sans’ aim was a little off. It was becoming more and more infuriating until he nearly managed to corner the bastard.

What he did not expect was for his little runaway to dive into a busy, shitty looking bar like somehow they'd lose him in there.

..And to be fair, they did.. for a moment...

...

..When his eyelights landed upon you, after taking just a few small steps inside.

....

...

You were beautiful..

....That was the only thought he had.

...

The lights had casted you into an angelic glow up on that stage, illuminating your form in a soft shade of yellow as you bobbed and swayed to the music. A small yet sweet smile was gracing your lips, your soul shining so brightly in the crowd that it was like a flame, and he was just a dumb fucking moth drawing ever closer.

..Then you struck a cord on your guitar...

...and it reverberated into his very soul.

....

It was.. so sad.

And a little lonely...

Tired.

Overworked.

Underpaid.

And...

Free.

...

He had been so completely entranced by you that it almost felt like you put him under some kind of spell. Never in his life had he been so captivated by anyone, fully admitting to himself now that he would've just scooped you up right on the spot and fled off into the night if given the chance.

..And.. a part of him was still wishing he had..

...

...The seconds had ticked away as he watched you perform, giving enough time for that rat to slip out the back and out into the night.

Shame that little bastard never made it very far in the end, but the whole fiasco had left Sans' head buzzing with the human who had completely stopped him in his tracks for what felt like an eternity now. You had looked so serene up there and he couldn't stop the fluttering of his soul in his chest every time he thought about you.

And he was thinking about you a lot.

...Which is exactly why he was also so annoyed with himself.

...

...Argh fucking.. damn it all..!

At least if he was only thinking pervy things he could let it slide as feeling lonely again, but no! Not a single perverted thought had crossed his stupid fucking head about you! It was all mundane shit, like wanting to see you smile like that again or maybe just getting a single chance to talk to you. Instead of spending his free time relaxing, he was just sitting around daydreaming about how beautiful your voice must be too and how much he just wanted to.. see you again!!

Ahh! What the fuck was wrong with him!

Just where the hell was all of this coming from, huh!?

It's like you were pulling something outta him that shoulda never been there in the first place..!

...How fucking dare you..!

....

...How dare you..

Do this to him..

...

It was too late for.. someone like him, with sullied hands and scars, to be thinking like this..

....

The only thing he deserved was to be a lonely fucking bastard.

...

If... you ever came anywhere close to him he'd just.. sully you too...

...

And yet.. despite knowing that he..

Just wanted a chance.

Just one, to see you again..

And maybe.. talk to you...

Just one single chance..

....Please...

And if you went off screaming into the night like he figured you would then..

That’d be the end of it.

He’d snuff out that little flame of hope inside his soul, and then he’d live out his lonely days hating his stupid reflection ..

..Like he deserved...

.....

....

...

"..Okay."

....

You.. said yes.

Stars above you had said yes, he..!

He couldn’t help but smile in response as his while body felt lighter than air. Although your first meeting wasn’t at all like he had hoped you were..

Here.

And right now he has a chance..

"heh. cool.. cool.. the names sans, doll. or my friends sometimes call me beast."

...

"...Pffft ehehe..!"

You laughed and somehow.. he wasn’t angry in the slightest.

"wow, really gonna take a punch at my pride like that, huh?" he asked.

"Sorry! Sorry, sorry..!" you apologized between giggles. "It's really nice to meet you Sans!"

You introduced yourself to him, although he already learned your name a long ago.

But to hear you say his name like that..

Well....

"real nice ta meet you too, doll."

That flame of hope in his soul was flickering ever stronger...

That perhaps.. a Beauty really could love a Beast.

#i leave this all here for you #while i throw myself back into the void #beast!sans #sans #undertale #underfell #underfell sans #undertale fic #yandere sans #long post #fanfic #drabble #depression tw #violence tw #prince is up next ahhhhhhhhhh!#alch!writes #inbetween!fic

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strikearose · 3 years

Text

Uncovering Passione's Underside (1/1) GIOMIS

What one can learn by listening to what the secretive Passione's staff have to say about their Don... One-shot, GioMis, Post-canon, Humor, G+ You can also read it on ao3 here!

For as long as many Passione members could recall, Agnese Bianchi had always been there, grumbling as she would mop the hall floor and nagging at fellow cleaning employees and ruthless gang members all alike. It didn't matter how long their felonious resumes were, she simply couldn't stand slackers. Years of working within that specific industry had forged her strong character - she was honest, hardworking, and probably a tad too outspoken too about her aversion for mobsters, but she still knew better than to ask silly questions like some other people did.

The housekeeper glared at the man who'd been chatting up the new cleaner (and therefore, preventing her from mopping up the floor as she had explicitly urged her to) for the last half hour. His name was Trado, Trattore, or something that sounded way too much like Tradittore anyway: he was one of the Don's many henchmen. Ever since he had started working there, he had taken that annoying habit of snooping everywhere, making idle chitchat with the household staff during rush hour.

The old maid cleared her throat, grabbed her cleaning cart handles, and pushed it unceremoniously between the pair. "Is that what you call cleaning the reception room? Signore Giovanna wants it sparkling clean: go fix it now or apply for another job already!"

Her harsh tone worked just fine: the young employee, caught red-handed slacking work, gasped in surprise and mumbled a brief apology before leaving in a hurry. The man, however, didn't seem the least concerned about her admonition. He simply smiled and raised his hands in self-defense - and lord if there was a way he could possibly piss her off even more.

Agnese chose to simply disregard his presence and rummaged through her pockets to find the key she needed.

Click.

As it opened, she began to push her cleaning cart over the door sill with some difficulty.

"Need some help?"

Agnese sighed when she realized he was still there. Who the hell was he taking her for?

"I don't. As always, I'm doing just fine on my own."

To her dismay, it seemed that her sharp answer didn't manage to get rid of the gangster. For God's sake, couldn't he just go bother someone else, literally anyone but her? There was nothing Agnese hated more than to have someone watch her every move.

...

Or perhaps slackers.

Slackers who intended on watching her every move.

"So, for how long have you been working there? They say you'll bury us all..."

Agnese rolled her eyes as she finally managed to get her cart through the doorway.

"Long enough to have seen my fair share of slackers come and go..." The cleaning lady truly wished he'd get the memo this time. She had seen it all: louts in suits with fake good manners and scarred faces, but also men that seemed to be way too nice and curious for their own good. To her, that last species was the worst: they were wolves in sheep's clothing.

But of course, Trado (or Trattore or whatever was his name) didn't appreciate the subtlety of her response, and he continued his questioning: "You've been there long enough to have known the former boss, right? The one before Don Giovanna, a real freak apparently... "

Agnese tensed at that: she didn't like where the conversation was heading. She was unfortunately all too familiar with those office gossips. A little over five years ago now, Passione had gone from having no official face, to Giorno Giovanna's gracing every streets' corners. Rumors had it that the young, brilliant, man had brutally murdered the Original Don in the span of a week. Others thought that Giovanna's was his son and that the boss had simply granted himself a well-deserved retirement.

She couldn't care less about what had truly happened: Don Giovanna gave her a monthly salary as well as direct, concrete instructions. And those were the two things that mattered to her. He was good at that, giving clear orders to the people to his service. And it was nicer to serve him than to obey blindly the weird requests she'd receive by mail like before.

"Don't you really have anywhere else to go?", the cleaning lady suddenly turned to the man she had heard approaching but was relieved to see that he had not dared to enter the Don's office. He was looking at her, peering at what she was doing, from the door's threshold. "If you want a piece of advice, stop being so damn noisy."

The gangster laughed and at that, Agnese wished she could just sweep him out of the room.

"Relax! I'm new here, I'm just curious. Don Giovanna's pretty nice, he won't murder us over some harmless chitchat."

The Boss of a criminal organization, a nice man?

It was Agnese's turn to snort.

Yeah, she guessed it was the kind of public image he was adamantly working on And some people seemed to believe it: newspapers were reporting less traffic, a decline in thugs harming citizens' and tourists' safety. The astounding sums of money he was giving to local shelters, hospitals, and public schools were also common knowledge: rumors had it that the city council was even thinking of naming the brand-new biological museum, founded thanks to his many donations, after him.

As a boss, Agnese considered him to be pretty decent - well, as decent as being the Don of a criminal organization could possibly allow him to be considered. After all, he was well-educated enough not to leave clothes and magazines scattered everywhere like the previous boss and some of his most favored underlings did.

But as a man, there was no way she could possibly tell if he was nice. Agnese was just an old, tired cleaning lady: she never pried into the Don's private life even though she guessed there were things that couldn't escape her lack of malicious curiosity. Details such as notes and silly doodles scribbled on his desk, scraps of paper (of extremely dubious content) discarded in the garbage can she needed to empty or sweaters which were at least two sizes too big for him lying on the normally spotless ground of his room...

Sighing, the old maid was about to close the door behind her when she noticed it: the stupid smirk on the gangster's face. The stupid knowing smirk they always had whenever they would bring up the one topic she had no desire to discuss.

How she wished she could just spray him with a window cleaner to wipe it out of his face.

"You know people say 'bout them, right? I'm sure it's complete bullshit but..."

The answer Agnese gave him was the same she would lecture her own underlings with: "One thing I know for sure is that the Underboss always carries his gun on him... And the Don sure doesn't need one to silence people. So just drop it and mind your own business."

With a last sigh, she finally shut the door closed and started her heavy work. However, even though the noisy snoop had left, Agnese felt her mind drift to her first encounter with the Don as she was dusting the ancient bookcase.

It had happened about four years ago, on a late December afternoon - was it because she had arrived too early or because he had stayed in his office later than usual, but the door had been left open so she had loudly pushed her cart inside. The old cleaning lady had instantly understood her mistake - after all, there was little mystery about whom that man was... Who else would dare to enter the big boss's office in his absence?

Golden locks, emerald eyes looking right at her with mild surprise: he obviously had not been expecting her.

"Oh, it's already that time of the day," his chin tilted high and proud, the mafia boss had flatly made that statement.

Not knowing what to say, Agnese had simply nodded and taken a discreet look at the massive clock behind him. 8:17 pm. He was definitely the one behind schedule, not her: she was just on time.

Not that she could say it aloud anyway.

"I didn't know you were still in there, Signore Giovanna," while her head was slightly bowed as a sign of respect, she had not apologized for her intrusion. She had nothing to apologize for: boss or not, he was the one messing with the established schedule. "I'll come back to clean your office later."

Don Giovanna had however soon dismissed her concern with a motion of his hand.

"It's fine, you can start working now. I was about to leave anyway."

The old housemaid nodded and was about to approach the bookcase when she had stopped right on her track, seeing the state of the ancient Victorian carpet. The boss had a rather keen hearing as he almost instantly turned his attention away from his papers to peer at Agnese, understanding what the problem was right away.

The blood hadn't just spattered on the carpet - there were traces of it on the sofa. And on the cushions. As well as on the desk's marble border.

And of course, the Don had to insist on furnishing his office with pristine white furnitures - even the smallest stain could be spotted from miles away.

Well, at least to look at the bright sight, Agnese realized that she wasn't the one who had to take care of the body, to each, his own mess: scrubbing out the carpet was already going to be a real nightmare.

"I apologize for that," the voice of her employer was surprisingly gentle, and it had taken her off guard. "I'll make sure the floor is covered properly next time."

As unbelievable as it might sound, the Don had kept true to his word: she hadn't been able to find a single drop of blood in his office ever since.

And she had even gotten a raise in the following week.

Rumors had it that Don Giovanna was capable of prodigious deeds that a rational mind could not possibly explain: that dazzling smile of his could enchant things and bend them to his will. Some prominent figures from all parts of the world, whose identities shall remain hidden, had apparently come out of his office miraculously cured. But rumors also had it that the reason why his public appearances were becoming more and more scarce was because of a growing sensitivity to daylight.

So Agnese paid very little to no regard to them. Most of the time, like Tradutti had stated, it was indeed complete bullshit.

However, later that night, as she undid her bandages to observe the state of the burn on a forearm (a stupid domestic accident involving a boiling teapot), Agnese was amazed to find her epidermis completely smooth. There was no more blistering or dead skin: her forearm was of a softness that contrasted with the rest of her body:the astronomical amount of tiger balm and aloe vera used could not possibly explain that. So as much of a skeptic as she was, the cleaning lady was forced to admit that it had to be somehow related to her earlier encounter with the Don.

As soon as she had stepped outside his office after tidying it, she had spotted the mafia boss in the hallway. He was accompanied by five or six men dressed in equally expensive suits. Among them was a face quite familiar to her: the city mayor who was making it to the news because of yet another corruption scandal.

The last thing she needed was to get involved in this ugly mess, so the cleaning lady kept her head high and bravely pushed her cart forwards. What she wasn't expecting however was for the Don to stop her.

"Did you injure yourself?"

She had had no choice but to peer down too at her bandage and lie through her teeth: "It's nothing, Signore."

His face showed no emotion, but he took a step towards her and delicately grabbed the injured arm before she could protest. His grip was somehow gentle but tight: there was no way she could escape from it. It was a literal iron fist in a velvet glove.

Agnese could still recall feeling the gazes of the Mayor and his bodyguards on her, they had also stopped walking to stare at her. Her heart rate had momentarily quickened when the Don's hands had brushed over her wound, his emerald eyes never leaving her confused expression. A sharp pain had set her wrist on fire... And then nothing.

She no longer felt a thing - it was as if it had never happened: Don Giovanna had taken a step back and addressed his subordinates, and they all had resumed their walk, any concern about the poor old maid definitely forgotten. The only one who had graced her with something (a strangely amused smile) before leaving was Guido Mista.

The Underboss truly was something. He often reminded Agnese of her own son: way too careless and untidy. His room was a literal nightmare to clean: most of his cashmere sweaters (which he had no problem leaving on the floor for all that mattered) needed to be hand-washed, and he also had the specificity of returning several times a month completely riddled with bullets.

The fact that he was somehow still alive despite his many injuries was as much a real blessing to him that it was a curse for her.

After all, Agnese was the one who had to clean up after him: and there was nothing easier than to track him because with Underboss Mista came blood everywhere.

Everywhere.

From the pavement outside to the sheets of a certain person whose name shall remain unknown.

...

The kitchen timer rang and Agnese was brought back to reality.

She couldn't say for sure if the Don was responsible for this miracle, but she still wished he could have also helped with her rheumatism too.

━━━━━ ༻🌱༺ ━━━━━

Unlike Agnese, Rolfo Giardino was still fairly new at that whole managing-not-to-get-mixed-up-in-mafia-mess-while-working-for-them dilemma. This gardener may have had twenty years of experience, nothing could have possibly prepared him for what was about to come.

The headquarters' gardens themselves were very pleasant - they were spacious and ideally located. Starting from scratch, that is to say from an austere backyard where some pathetic trees were beginning to wither to this authentic example of Giardino all'italiana, adorned with classical sculptures, flowering shrubs, fountains and ornamental parterres, had not been easy at first but Signore Giovanna had agreed to pay the price without thinking twice and the result was worth it.

Now that it was done, now that Rolfo and his team only had to maintain the garden (meaning watering the flowers and cutting the hedges one or two times a week), he guessed the job would be pretty nice if it weren't for all those mobsters who, for some reason he still couldn't gather, enjoyed watching him work. That, as well as those dreadful echoes of gunfire and screams which would shatter from time to time the peaceful atmosphere of the garden.

The rustling of water, the birds' chirping, a loud explosion from within the building... A nice sunny day overall.

Some of his employees were still refusing to work there despite his best attempts to reassure them: for as long as they would stay away from the actual building, it was not like something could happen to them, right? Still, they were places where even Rolfo himself did not like to approach, near the window overlooking what he thought was the Big Boss's office for instance. He had been forced to come close (way too close) to it because of his client's special request to have ivy and white roses gambling along this wall.

He had started working on it on a day when the weather was so mild that the window had apparently been cracked open for once - and the uncanny noises and groans that had escaped through it had scared the gardener to death. He hadn't dared to peer inside to find out what was really happening: the last thing he needed to know was what the Don of Passione's private torture sessions consisted of. Ever since that unfortunate incident, Rolfo had not ventured any closer to the damn white rosebushes. The branches were becoming too long, they were clearly starting to block the path of light, but as long as the Don didn't make any complaint, Rolfo would leave them be.

But on that day, however, the poor gardener saw red as his eyes fell on the figure loitering near that damn window: who was that son of a bitch was stepping on his flower beds!

"Hey you fucking moron: Move! Can't you see you're ruinin' my work?" Rolfo's shout managed to hit the bull's eye. The criminal was startled by it and half a dozen of armed men (probably criminals too) suddenly burst out the building to see what the hell was happening. He sprinted in the direction of the jerk and threw his pair of pruning shears at him. The gardening tool narrowly missed him - it crashed against the window instead (which, thank lord, did not shatter after the impact), but still made him leave. The stern face of Giorno Giovanna soon appeared, his head comically peaking out the building.

The Big Boss frowned when he realized that five of his men were gathered outside, frantically looking for someone, and took a deep breath: "Did one of you just threw a rock at my window?" He sounded confused, and to his credit, that was quite understandable.

Rolfo felt all adrenaline leave him abruptly - he could feel on him the murderous glares of literal murderers, who would have probably murdered him on the spot were it not for the presence of their Big Boss. He had no choice but to come clean: "Uhh, I do believe it was my pruners, Signore. I apologize, I swear they weren't aimed at you. It was for that damn...- uhh, I mean, that employee of yours!"

The Don didn't seem the slightest taken aback by the choice of weapon. He ran a hand through his braided locked and motioned for the others to go.

"You're saying that someone was eavesdropping on me just now?"

Rolfo looked down for a moment before answering: "Uhh, probably? I mean, he was stomping on my rosebushes near your window, that's for sure. They're Blanche Moreau's you know? They took weeks to arrive from France, weeks to finally blossom in Italy's sunlight!"

The mafia boss frowned at that, and Rolfo just knew he understood how valuable these roses were. After all, the Don seemed to be pretty knowledgeable about plants and lots of stuff: rumors had it that they were going to name that new museum after him so...

Signore Giovanna looked behind him and seemed to be addressing someone in the room: "Make sure to find him."

Curiosity overcame his initial reserve: standing on tiptoe, the gardener finally peered at the window to see what was happening inside. The office seemed incredibly spacious and clean: a dark-haired man, behind the desk, was adjusting the position of his cap on his head.

"Kay, I'll climb down the window to catch him faster! The fucker must be hiding somewhere close!," as soon as the man finished speaking, Rolfo couldn't help but react straight away.

"No, you can't do that! You'll ruin the other bushes!"

Both mafiosi looked at him for a moment and the old gardener realized he might have spoken out of turn, but the Don settled the matter for them anyway:

"He's right, I do like these Blanche Moreau's: go around my office Mista. And please, your zipper." That last part had been uttered quietly, but Rolfo had still managed to pick up on it. His devout Catholic mind would probably have been offended by it were it not for the sudden realization which left him quivering.

How on earth was he able to peak so clearly at the window now...?

"That fucking son of a bitch!", at that the mafia boss frowned and looked at him quizzically, but Rolfo couldn't halt the stream of profanities coming out of his mouth. It was too late. "He chopped it off! The whole branch!! It's all gone!"

Rolfo had promised his wife he would never get too close to the mafia, even though those paychecks sure were quite weighty. And yet as he was now, comfortably sitting in a well-made leather seat, a cup of coffee in his hand, he thought that for a first time within the shady building he had tried to avoid entering for so long, things were actually looking pretty normal. A week had passed since the unfortunate roses incident, and he had been surprised to receive after a subsequent sick leave a call from the Don's office. He didn't really have much choice, so he had shown up on time and was now patiently waiting in the lobby.

"Don Giovanna will now receive you."

Rolfo followed without a word the pretty secretary - she too looked way too customarily pretty to be involved in that kind of business. It was only when he passed under the massive arch of the door that he became fully aware of what was happening: the head of the Italian mafia had summoned him here.

As expected, it was the Don's spacious office, the one he had managed to catch a glimpse of through the window free of rose branches. The room appeared to be spotlessly clean - hell, it even smelled like a mixture of disinfectant and fresh lemon. Definitely not what he was expecting it to look like. Oddly enough, the very first thing he noticed was the tarp on the floor: that gaudy blue plastic was seriously clashing with the rest of the pristine white furnishings.

"Good afternoon, Signore Giardino. Is that the man you spotted by my window the other day?," Rolfo met the gaze of the mafia boss who was calmly standing to what soon turned out to be a man in bad shape, feet and fists bound onto the chair.

On the other side of the suspect, nonchalantly propped against the desk, was the gangster who had wanted to hop out the window.

All three of them were looking at the gardener expectantly, and he heard behind him the sound of the door closing. Of course, the pretty secretary couldn't stay.

"I can't say for sure Signore. See, I was so focused on the combat boots trampling my bushes that I didn't pay too much attention to his face..."

He hated the bastard who had wrecked his work, sure, but to rush him to such a tragic fate...

"Cool, then check it out!," the underboss had spoken with a casualness contrasting with the cruelty of the angle in which he twisted the poor man's leg. Rolfo had no choice but to look at the sole of his boot.

...

The fucking bastard.

There were still manure and rose petals stuck to it. And those were no common rose petals - they were large, fluffy and creamy white. They had been violently snatched away from a Blanche Moreau's sepal.

The gardener hardly needed to speak up to convince the mafia boss - the lethal look he was giving the tied-up man was already enough evidence.

Umberto Tradduto's fate had just been sealed.

Rolfo couldn't say what prompted him to look outside, but after that he only overheard bits of the conversation whispered in front of him: what was he was seeing right now was far more chocking anyway:

"I leave it to you for now Mista. I'll dispose of him later."

"Another donation to the museum?"

"Not this time. I think he'll make a fine aphid instead, that way our gardener will be able to settle his score with him."

Rolfo wasn't even pretending to be listening to what was being said anymore. He couldn't believe his eyes. He took a step towards the window and the two mafiosi, deep in their discussion, didn't notice it immediately.

"Keep your evening free, we'll be paying a visit to the mayor tonight. I'm getting tired of the spies he keeps sending here."

"Tonight? Hey, do you know how much it cost me to book the entire restaurant?"

The Don cleared his throat as if suddenly reminded of the other two's presence: "The sooner the better. I'm sure she won't mind. You'll reschedule your date later."

Mista was about to protest, but he fell silent as he realized where the gardener was standing: "Hey man, what the...-"

But Rolfo overstepped his role again to cut him off. His eyes shining with emotion, he turned towards the mighty Giorno Giovanna and addressed him as if he was a true deity.

"How...- How did you...? This is prodigious Signore!"

Behind him, blocking the light from the window, were proudly standing three beautiful unscathed roses branches.

━━━━━ ༻ 🚗 ༺ ━━━━━

Alfredo waked up completely startled as he heard someone bang on his window: dozing off at the wheel was a rookie mistake, he was well aware of that - but still.

"Hey open up!"

The underboss' voice was agitated - something very rare for such an easy-going man, so Alfredo immediately unlocked the doors and got out of the vehicle to assist him. Mista was backing up the big boss, a hand wrapped under his shoulders to help him stand.

The driver shot a panicked look at the small cottage they had just come from: what the hell had just happened in there?

Alfredo glanced at the Don's patent leather shoes - he was dressed as reverently as usual - and then at the underboss' worn-out leather jacket: even though they were clothed as if they were going to very different events, they had asked him to drop them at the same address: the mayor's private country hous. He had followed the itinerary scribbled on the paper an informer had given him a few hours before. It was the driver's special talent: being resourceful. Even without a precise address, he always knew how to bring his customers to the desired place.

His clients never asked him how it worked, and in return, he never made any remark on the state they would return to the car in. Or to question why they seemed so keen to surprise the mayor at such a late hour of the evening.

Alfredo was even willing to give an extra hand if needed, occasionally overstepping his role of a simple driver if the client was likely to be a good tipper.

He opened the passenger door for the mafia boss, but to his great surprise the latter stopped him right there:

"I'm fine. Just open the trunk instead."

Alfredo tensed up but said nothing as he went back to his seat to retrieve his leather gloves.

It was another kind of extra service: helping them to get rid of incriminating clues. Well, it wouldn't be the first body dumped in the back of his precious vehicle, and certainly not the last. As long as they would pay for the subsequential cleanup, he didn't mind.

"How many bottles have you stolen?," The underboss had ushered that question to the boss not discreetly enough, and the driver allowed himself a relieved sigh.

No bodies on the horizon, then?

No scandal of the mayor's disappearance making the headlines on the next day?

Great, he'd be able to go back to bed sooner.

As he passed next to the two mafiosi to open the trunk, Alfredo noticed the two bottles of prestigious champagne that the Don was clutching tightly against his. chest. Oh wow. The underboss, on the other hand, was eyeing Giorno with a bewildered look, as if it had just occurred to him that the mysterious gigantic box he had been forced to carry from the cottage contained more bottles.

"Guido please, go fetch me a last one," the Don was less assertive than usual - you could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

Alfredo awkwardly stood next to them in silence as he waited for his next instructions. Charcoal and emerald eyes were engaged in a long, fierce battle of dominance, neither of them breaking contact. Hell, it even seemed to Alfredo at some point that the Don fluttered his lashes - but that could also be exhaustion talking.

Years of working within that specific industry had taught Alfredo how they would inevitably settle that growing tension between them.

Once again, for as long as they would pay for the subsequential seats cleaning, he didn't care. It wouldn't be the first indecent make-out session to happen at the back of his precious vehicle, and probably not the last.

A partition wall was always between Alfredo and his clients. Until now, he had never managed to catch them red-handed, but he had heard of those rumors. And he, better than anyone else certainly, knew for a fact that the Don had never sought to have good company brought to him. He'd always travel to his secondary residence alone while the underboss was the kind of man who preferred to drive there by himself.

Apart from the occasional names slips, he had never witnessed any tender gesture, he had never overheard anything remotely ambiguous. The details that had tipped him off were more subtle, or well usually at least they were. They would simply sit a little too close to one another, with no free seat between them - the pair was never five feet apart so that to speak. But right now, unless he would turn off the parking lights, there was no way Alfredo could pretend he wasn't seeing the Don's right hand slowly lowering far too low along the other's back. It was clearly no longer a question of keeping his balance.

"Fine," the Don let out a dramatic sigh and the driver nearly said hallelujah - now that he had admitted defeat, they would be able to leave at last! "If you won't do it, then fine I'll ask our driver instead."

Holy shit, what the hell was going on that night?

Alfredo quietly took a step back to exit the scene but it was too late - both mafiosi were already looking at him. If they were seriously intending on making him break into the mayor's house, he sure hoped they were ready to give a real good tip.

Fortunately, the underboss shook his head and rolled his eyes (had they just swapped personalities?), before reluctantly talking: "'kay you win I'll go. But then, we're outta here." Mista put the box inside the trunk and headed back to the cottage, leaving the driver in the company of the big boss who didn't seem quite inclined to enter the car yet. So Alfredo had no choice but to stay with him outside, on the chilly night and very awkward silence.

It was only after the third hiccup of the Don that the realization came down to him: he wasn't injured by any means, he was just completely drunk.

"Umm," Alfredo knew he wasn't supposed to question his boss, but the silence between them was becoming seriously uncomfortable. "So were you celebrating something Signore?"

The mafia boss looked at him for a long moment - god, the poor driver sure hoped he hadn't made a mistake, before shrugging: "Not really. I simply like Champagne, especially when I'm not the one paying for it."

Who could have thought that someone who spent so much on luxury clothes could be stingy?

Alfredo decided to politely answer. "Yes, I've heard you own several vineyards in Europe Signore. It's clever, I'm sure you never run out it..."

At that, the mighty Giorno Giovanna ungraciously hiccuped again, and the driver had the decency to pretend not to notice it.

"Mhhh.. You don't get it," had the mafia boss just snorted in contempt? "It's not so much about the Champagne itself as it is about the pure satisfaction of having taken possession of it... The mere contentment in knowing that the stupid mayor will never be able to savor it now that it's mine, you know?"

No, of course, not. There was no way Alfredo could possibly relate to that: it must be one of those crazy rich people whims.

Not that he could say it out loud, of course. The night was getting colder and colder, so he hoped the underboss wouldn't take long to be back.

"Would you like a bottle?," the Don's question took him by surprise so the driver, out of reflex, shook his head.

"Good, or you would have had to convince Mista to go back."

The stingy rich bastard.

Alfredo couldn't believe he was thinking that of him, in any other situation he would never have allowed himself to think that of Giorno Giovanna, but there were at least eight bottles in the trunk, he had seen them. And the Don knew that.

Fortunately, the underboss chose that exact moment to reappear and slam the trunk door shut after charging it with two other bottles.

Discreet much?

But whatever, the Don seemed rather pleased with that and finally agreed to go inside the car - his customers' satisfaction was what mattered the most to Alfredo.

After all, with good service came good tippers.

And that night, in exchange for the obvious promise to keep his mouth shut about what he had witnessed, the underboss sure went overboard with the tip.

━━━━━ ༻ 🧹 ༺ ━━━━━

It was now 8:20 a.m.: even though the day had started way earlier for Agnese, she had had to wait for the mobsters living upstairs to rise and shine, so she could proceed to clean their rooms. It was by far the task she hated the most: grabbing her heavy cleaning cart, she pushed it towards what had to be the cleanest place of them all. The Don's private quarters, starting with his excessively large bathroom: since the fancy tiles there took the longest to dry, she would then continue with his connected bedroom.

However, as soon as she stepped foot inside, Agnese almost fainted at the horrible sight that met her eyes.

Clothes, confetti and popped balloons were scattered everywhere, pieces of glass were covering the soaked floor, and an astronomical amount of what furiously smelled like Champagne had been dumped into the bathtub, splattering the walls and the carpet- hell, it even seemed like some of it was still fizzing inside.

Up until now, she had thought that she had seen it all, that nothing that the most wicked mind was capable of, could possibly surprise her. But that was a whole new level of a mess.

Thankfully, the inscription on a balloon (the survivor, the only one that had not exploded yet) was what prompted her not to hand the culprit her immediate resignation letter.

The Don's birthday would only happen once a year.

And with some sheer luck, she'd be able to negotiate her well-deserved retirement before the next one.

That morning, Guido woke up because of a cuss word that reminded him very much of his native Italian countryside. He had no idea what time it was: Giorno's expensive alarm clock having been inadvertently smashed the night before. He yawned gleefully and stretched out his arms before turning to face the lumpy shape beside him.

The mighty Giorno Giovanna, drool on his chin, was muffled in his blanket, and it didn't seem from the look of it that he'd be getting up any time soon.

He was probably dealing with a hell of a hangover right now - served him right for the astronomical quantity of Champagne in which he had literally bathed and drowned. Giorno would decidedly never learn from his past mistakes. Well, he was very much looking forward to taunting his lover for years about that unfortunate late birthday episode.

There was no way the mafia boss would be able to conduct his meetings of the day - changing the planning wasn't something to worry about even though it would piss the hell out of Fugo for sure. Feeling compassionate about what was awaiting Giorno, he gently patted what he thought was his head (?) and smiled as he heard him grumble in return. How cute.

Guido finally stood up to start his day, he would smuggle him some Ibuproben later but first thing first, his much-awaited morning tinkle. And a long hot shower. Yeah, that way he would perhaps find a ploy to avoid dealing with Giorno's responsibilities instead of him. While he was not hungover, the late night's events had completely drained him of his energy.

Giorno's bathroom truly was something: it was way more spacious and tidier than his own. To him, it was a literal spa: cool extra-powerful water jets, a gigantic glass shower cabin AND a massive marble bathtub, a myriad of bottles of heavenly-smelling shampoo, conditioners, shower gels and body lotions everywhere - hell, there was even a housekeeper politely handing him a towel.

...

Holy shit.

Trying his best to cover his naked glory, Guido Mista could only stutter pitifully:

"Uhh.. Yeah, so about that new raise of yours we were discussin' the other day..."

This would only be the fourth time of the year, so at this point...

#giomis #misgio #misgio fanfic #giomis fanfic #misgio fic #giomis fic #giomis fanfiction #misgio fanfiction #giorno x mista #mista x giorno #one shot #giomis oneshot

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candlelight27 · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2: Reach For My Hand

Summary: Sylvain has been ignoring you since you met him. You had been in love with him since you met him. College is about to offer you a fresh start. New academic year, new life. You were ready to forget him. But fate seems to have other plans… (COLLEGE AU)

Series: Seeking Your Warmth If Only For A Day

Warnings: Objetification (?), anxiety attack, curse words

Pairings: Sylvain Jose Gautier x Female Reader

Word Count: 4562

AO3: Reach For My Hand

A/N: Sorry it took too long. My writing process is unpredictable. Besides, it was a boring chapter at first and I think I managed to make it interesting? Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter! If you have suggestions, requests, theories or whatever leave a comment of come talk to me on tumblr - same username.

Your first week of university had passed all at once. Time flew between jotting down notes, going back and forth, meeting all your new teachers and, overall, trying to survive. Thankfully, Lysithea had shared all her notes with you, so you weren’t that lost – since Claude was keen on gossiping with you in the middle of lessons…

…And since Sylvain proved himself to be a huge distraction. And an active one, in fact.

The ominous day Byleth paired you with him, Sylvain had approached you after class. Hands in his pockets, his chest a little puffed and a glamorous grin on his face, he had the perfect pose to be on the cover of a teenage magazine. And with his casual tone, he nonchalantly asked you for your number..

“We better stay in touch to finish the project”, he added. Your heart skipped a beat – or two or three – and you nodded. You hoped that excitement would go unnoticed. There was the slightest shyness in his voice, but you discarded the thought. It was absurd to consider you’d awaken even the smallest amount of insecurity in him, regarding the fact that he was the embodiment of confidence.

“Sure”, you smiled and grabbed a pen. Sylvain stopped you muttering a ‘wait’ and took out his phone. He opened a tab for a new contact.

“Here, write your number.” You took it and started writing. Then, it hit you that Sylvain actually knew how you were called. He had edited the blank space, where you saw all the letters that spelt your name standing triumphantly. He even had added a heart emoji next to it. So, even if he had never acknowledged your existence, he was aware of it.

“Write me whenever you feel like it,” he said with a wink. Your name rolling out of his lips was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard.

As he went away and followed Mercedes out of the classroom, Claude rose his eyebrows.

“Well, that went better than expected. Our plan is running smoothly,” he hit you with his elbow.

“Your plan, Claude. I never agreed to it,” you sighed, while he just chuckled and let it be.

But that wasn’t the end of the phone matter. Not at all.

The next day you met your new teacher, Catherine. She was interesting, and she made her lessons about the Evolution of Warfare quite enjoyable – which was itself a great deed, in your opinion. However, there was a downside, and it was that the blonde woman talked your ears off with her millions of tales that weren’t that interesting and definitely not exam material.

It was early and you were barely awake when you felt the light vibration of a message on your mobile phone. Who could be at that hour? You looked next to you. Marianne was as still as a corpse, Claude was probably asleep and Lysithea was fiercely taking notes, so it was not any of them trying to be discreet. Ingrid would never use her phone during a lesson, so she was ruled out too.

With caution, you unlocked the screen of your phone and placed it on your lap.

Unknown 09:45: Are you bored too?

Did Dorothea change her number again?

You 09:46: Who are you?

Unknown 09:46: Look right 😊

You did. And you came across Sylvain waving at you. You saved his number quicker than you’d like to admit.

You 09:48: Good morning, Sylvain

You 09:48: And yes, I’m bored to death

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a smile gracing Sylvain’s countenance, and you felt like a schoolgirl all over again.

Sylvain 09:49: Is Claude asleep? For real?

You 09:50: Most likely…

And that was the beginning of your academic doom.

It turned out that Sylvain was a compulsive text-writer. He wasn’t shy about sending you millions of messages at any time. And you, foolish as always, responded every last one of them. Against your will, as you typed on your phone, butterflies flied around your stomach.

The first days, he limited your interactions strictly to Catherine’s lessons and breaks. But as the week progressed, you found yourself going to sleep a little later just to share a few more words with the infamous flirter.

You two didn’t have meaningful conversations at all. You talked about high school, books, films, you shared jokes and silly occurrences… Yet it made you feel that an already existing connection tying you with Sylvain was awakening. It was absurd, to think there was a bond that had been formed before between both of you, but you couldn’t cast aside that sensation. Like a distant memory of a dream you once had. Like the primal needs our bodies feel. You felt there was something that linked you with him, and it was ancient and significant.

When Claude discovered what you and Sylvain were up, he was delighted.

“Don’t you realize that’s just what we needed for our plan?”, he opened his eyes and leaned in closer, so your classmates wouldn’t hear him.

“Again, your plan, Claude”, you shook your head. “And you seem to be making it up as it goes.”

“Well, that’s my charm, darling,” he laughed, and went on playing with his phone. You threw him your best deadpan look.

With so many distractions, the weekend arrived in the blink of an eye. It was rather cloudy when you woke up, and late, because it was Saturday and you didn’t have any obligation. You rolled in bed, throwing away your blanket and yawning.

Then, you heard a thud next to you. It was your phone. You remembered you had been talking with Sylvain when you fell asleep. You deliberated if maybe it wasn’t better to ignore him for a day. You were starting to get your hopes up, and you wanted to avoid another disappointment. But as if your hands moved on their own, you opened the conversation to see what you had missed.

Sylvain 01:13: What do you mean you HAVEN’T seen Loog and the Maiden of Wind???

You 01:15: ??

You 01:15: What’s wrong?

Sylvain 01:17: It’s Ingrid’s favourite film!

Sylvain 01:18: More like, she loved complaining about how they got all the scenes from the book wrong

Sylvain 01:18: Still she made me watch it like 1819341973 times

You 01:19: She wanted me to watch it

You 01:20: I just happen to have really good excuses 😉

Sylvain 01:25: Well you are going to watch it with me

You 01:26: Why would I?

Sylvain 01:27: It’s called solidarity

You 01:27: I don’t have that

(Unread) Sylvain 01:31: ☹

(Unread) Sylvain 01:31: Please, suffer with me

(Unread) Sylvain 01:33: C’mon I promise I’ll be good, I won’t bite you

(Unread) Sylvain 01:33: Unless you ask me 😉😉😉

(Unread) Sylvain 01:35: So I’m going to believe that you’re asleep and are not in fact ignoring me

(Unread) Sylvain 01:34: Good night, princess <3

You sighed and got up. What were you getting yourself into? And what were you trying to achieve? ‘Don’t implicate yourself too much’, has said Claude, but you were already in too deep. But your friend probably knew as much and was plotting something entirely different.

Ignoring your best judgment, you started typing.

You 09:53: Good morning!

Goddess, you felt stupid.

“Good morning”, greeted Ingrid when you left your room. “I got some pastries for breakfast.”

“Nice.”

You sat next to her and started to munch on the first sweet piece you found. The television filled the room with a comforting background noise. You were half listening the weather and the news. Your phone suddenly beeped, indicating you had a new text message. You looked at the screen with discretion and unlocked it with an unbothered appearance, trusting Ingrid wouldn’t ask questions.

Sylvain 10:01: I unilaterally decided we’re watching the film today, princess

You couldn’t hide your expression, and Ingrid looked your way.

“Who are you texting?”, she tried to use a teasing tone. “I’ve never seen you so hooked on your phone. Is it Claude?”

There was no use in lying, so you’d answer thruthfully. You could even get some intel about Sylvain without revealing your game if you played your cards well.

“Oh, no. It’s Sylvain?” You feigned disinterest.

“Is he bothering you? I could scare him off,” she offered, with her eyebrows furrowed.

“What? Don’t do it.” A small and nervous laughter escaped your mouth at the idea.

“Don’t tell me he’s done it”, Ingrid said, and she rested her head on her hands, her attention focused on you.

“What has he done?”

“Charming you!”, she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Ingrid, I was paired with him for some project. That’s all,” you assured her.

“Well, just don’t fall for him. He can be very disgusting sometimes. He’s a good friend, but he’s not a good boyfriend.” She hummed. “As far as I know, of course.”

“Don’t worry,” you smiled, appeasing, “I’ll be fine.”

“It’s weird, though. He never texts anyone on his own accord. He always says it’s a waste of time.”

“It’s for the project. No biggie,” you affirmed, yet you knew you’d have to keep in mind that fact.

“Ah, that must be it,” Ingrid shrugged. “He may be always chasing skirts, but he’s very diligent with academic matters.”

You 10:15: I have a better idea

You 10:16: Let’s go to the library and start Byleth’s project

You weren’t ready for watching a film with him. In the best-case scenario, you’d faint like Bernadetta on your high school days.

Sylvain 10:17: The library? In this era of technology?

You 10:17: Yes.

Sylvain 10:18: Okay, fine

Sylvain 10:19: You are right, old-fashioned university professors love their bibliographies filled with books :/

Sylvain 10:19: But you owe me one film

You 10:19: … we’ll see.

You 10:19: Let’s meet at the library at 6 p.m.

“I’m going to the library with Sylvain today,” you commented to Ingrid.

“Do you mind if I invite Ashe over?”

Well, you weren’t expecting that. You noted mentally to compare notes with Dorothea, because now you didn’t have any doubt that there was something going on between her and Ashe. Never ever had she invited a guy before that wasn’t Felix, Sylvain, or Dimitri.

“Oh, yeah, go ahead, I don’t mind,” you encouraged her.

“Cool!”

You were getting ready, mulling over what you were going to wear. You didn’t want to try too hard, this wasn’t a date, but nevertheless you wanted to look good – despite the fact that if anyone ever asked you, you’d completely refuse that thought had crossed your mind. It was absurd, but denial helped you to keep going.

As you struggled to decide, you heard Ingrid biding you goodbye and the door being closed. You supposed she was going to meet Ashe and bring him to your place. You grinned to yourself. Immediately after, your phone started ringing. It was Dorothea. She had a distinctive melody that she sang herself for you. What on earth could have made her call you? She was the queen of voice messages.

“Yes?”, you began.

“You better tell me what the fuck is happening!”, she yelled with her usual dramatic twist.

“What is happening?” You were quite confused and tried to go over all the things she could be referring to.

“Don’t play dumb. First, Ingrid is all starry-eyed when she talks about Ashe and now you have a date with Sylvain? Is the water in your apartment poisoned?” You wondered how she found out, but Dorothea had a sixth sense for love affairs.

“Well, Ingrid is the one with an actual date,” you pointed to divert her attention. “I’m just going to the library because-”

“Because a project? Why does it sound so familiar? Ah, yes, it’s what I told my parents when I was going to make out with a classmate in high school. And don’t distract me throwing Ingrid to the wolves.”

“What do you want of me?”, you exclaimed out of frustration.

“A confession!”

“Who are you? Seteth?” You could hear Dorothea’s sweet laugh at your joke.

“How could I be so stupid? Your crush has been Sylvain all these years!”, she was creating a fuss on the other side of the phone. “I’m not going to lie, I didn’t expect that, not in the least.”

“You are assuming way too much.”

“Shut up! I guess Sylvain is a whole reason himself to keep it a secret, but you should have told me.” Dorothea made a pause. “My poor baby suffering all those years in silence! Aunty Dorothea is here to comfort you!”

“Quit the joking. Now tell me what I should wear for my not-a-date”, you said indignantly.

“Oh, right. Do you recall the Red Canyon? You definitely should put on that thing you wore. It will catch his eye, but it doesn’t seem way too elaborated.”

“Thank you, Dorothea, you are a genius. Are you reading my mind?”

“Really? I can see right through you”, she giggled. “You haven’t changed. And I would you why you are so worried about your clothes when it’s not a date, but you’d just mutter any excuse and ignore me altogether.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Now, inform me of you not-a-date with Sylvain when you’re finished right away, okay?”, she finished with her motherly intonation.

“Fine, fine! Goodbye, I have to go now!” You saw the time and it was really late.

You got dressed in a hurry and grabbed your laptop, some notebooks and a couple of pens.

By the time you arrived at the library, Sylvain was already there. He was looking around, his bag grabbed laid causally on his back, hold by the handle with his strong fist. His other hand was resting in his pocket.

While his appearance was laid back, you were a bundle of nerves. As soon as your gaze found him, you felt a knot form in your gut. You denied that the young man could have that kind of effect on you, but the evidence was overwhelming. Why did it have to be so difficult in person? It had been so easy when you didn’t have to see his face – so handsome it was unnerving. You were the opposite you had been on your telematic conversations, far from your calm, charming and charismatic charade.

He was wearing a simple long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. It was a mystery for you why he didn’t opt for a modelling career. You forcibly reminded yourself that despite his beauty, he was a Don Juan, totally uninterested in you. You chanted Claude’s words ‘see what happens, don’t implicate yourself too much’ as you approached him.

Suddenly, his tan eyes focused on you as he recognized your figure, so you composed yourself the best you could. His lovely lips displayed a soft smile.

“Hey, Sylvain”, you greeted with an affected amiability. Still, you were tense.

“Hello there, princess.” He winked at you. “It’s nice to see you outside the classroom.”

“Yes, it’s refreshing,” you nodded.

You entered the big building with Sylvain at your side. Neither of you said anything, justifying yourself in the mandatory silence of a library. Some girls giggled as you walked past them, pointing at you two. And you noticed Sylvain looked a bit annoyed. The next thing you noticed was your teacher Catherine distracting the black-haired librarian with her nonstop chatter.

You turned your head to comment something to him, but he grinned, and you forgot your words. You simpered back, and he seemed content with that.

At last, you were in the ‘working-group’ area. The library itself was almost empty – but Dorothea told you it would be filled to the brim during finals week. There were some students chatting and taking notes, but not too many since most of the would be probably going to bars, pubs, and discos. And it was right then when it hit you that Sylvain was not in some sort of date or in a quest to gain the favours of a pretty girl.

So far, you had detected two oddities in his behaviour. Texting and spending a Saturday evening in the library. And the common factor was you.

“Where should we start?”, asked Sylvain as he took a seat, startling you since you were absorbed in your thoughts. You mimicked him and made up your mind.

“Let me thing”, you said. At the same time, you took your laptop from your bag and turned it on. “Since we have to talk about the early history of Faerghus… maybe we can cover the foundation first?”, you suggested. Sylvain had a notebook and a pencil and started scribbling an outline of the project. “We’ll need… a biography of Loog. Or two. And a history book about the 8th century.” You peeked his handwriting. It was neat, with small letters. His S’s had an characteristic flourish.

“I have a good book on the Crescent Moon War, which is also a theme featured in our project”, he said, staring at his sheet. “Well... it’s Miklan’s”, Sylvain grimaced as he added that part, “but I can borrow it.”

“That’d be great.”

“Do you know what’d be great?”, he looked at you. “Watching Loog and the Maiden of Wind! I don’t know what you have against films. It would have been a perfect way to spend our Saturday.”

“Again?”, you laughed.

“It’s for research purposes. No fishy business here.” He placed the palm of his hand over his chest. “Scout’s honour.”

“If I accept will you focus on out project?”, you bit your lip.

“Yes! I promise.”

“Okay. How about we watch it once we’re finished?”

“It’s a deal.” He winked again, looking satisfied with himself. Then, he stood up. “I’ll look for the books we need. In the meantime, you can search on the Internet some good articles on the controversies of Loog’s biography.”

At the moment he vanished, you breathed deeply to calm your heart, since you could almost hear it thudding in your chest. This meeting had been more awkward than you had expected, at least on your part. You wondered if Sylvain was feeling it too, the rusty mechanism of two people who knew each other but had never held a whole conversation in real life.

And all the same… It didn’t feel bad, being next to Sylvain. It was great, even if you were on edge. If you didn’t know it was impossible, you’d describe that sensation as familiar. A déjà vu of some sort, as though you had gone over this stage with Sylvain a million of times and every time your pulse shot up.

You tried to concentrate on looking for articles. You found a couple of them that could be useful, singed under big names of the field that would increase the credibility of your work.

You were absentminded during the rest of your search, trying to figure out how to be natural in your next conversation with Sylvain. You were a little insecure, even when Sylvain seemed to be comfortable with you. Your head was full of what ifs.

“I got our books!”, Sylvain announced cheerful, interrupting your worry.

He sat again next to you. And you swore he was closer than he was before. You could feel the heat emanating from him, warming your arm. And you could hear him breathing. His scent reached you. He had used just deodorant, which along with his natural smell was intoxicating. His shoulder bumped into yours in what looked like a premeditated manner.

“We could split the work. Maybe we could work together on the main structure and the final draft, and work on the information on our own…”, you said as you tried to concentrate on the pile of history volumes rather than any matter related to Sylvain. Otherwise you’d forget how to speak.

“That seems fair.”

Sylvain made himself comfortable, resting his chin on the hand opposite to you. This way he had a perfect view of what you were writing on your computer – and your face, but you refused to believe he was that interested in you. He was invading your personal space in every way and he didn’t care.

“What do you prefer?”, you asked, all professional. You weren’t going to move away.

“I don’t mind, love,” he shrugged. “What do you prefer?”

“Sylvain, we are a team. You should give your opinion.” He remained silent and you dared to turn your head away from the screen of your laptop. He was smiling, but his eyes were half-close, as if figuring out what you were thinking. “Sylvain?”

“Ah, yes.” He blinked. “We’re a team.” He stopped, savouring the word. “I’ll take the Crescent War Moon in that case.”

He then wrote a couple of lines on his notebook. You could see he was writing down a list of ideas on bullet points. You did the same on a sheet of paper you had on you. After a couple of seconds, he talked again.

“Thanks for taking into consideration my preferences,” he placed his arm around the back of your chair.

“Why wouldn’t I?”, you questioned seriously. You were at total lost with him, so you leant in closer. You couldn’t care less, you were just playing his game. He acknowledged it, because you could see him narrowing his eyes at your movement.

“Let’s say some people is not as nice.”

You didn’t answer. What could have you said? It was not what you were expecting him to reply.

Breaking the bubble that you both had formed around you, two girls appeared out of nowhere. They were the ones you had seen before when you entered the building. Instinctively, you distanced yourself from the redhead.

“Sylvain?”, one of them started. They both were wearing fake grins.

“Do I know you?”, Sylvain asked, showing a bit of discomfort.

“Of course? We had a date in summer!”, the girl continued. She hadn’t taken the hint. “So, my friend and I were wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight, go to a bar, then you could come to our apartment, you know…”

You opened your eyes in surprise at the girl’s forwardness. And judging by Sylvain’s astonishment, he wasn’t expecting either such a direct and shameless offer. Did Sylvain have to deal with that too often? It made you feel uneasy. Of course, Ingrid would say he’d deserve it, because he had cultivated his reputation himself, but every part was so wrong. The way they talked to him as if he was a piece of meat, they way they looked at him.

“I’m afraid I must decline your offer, darling,” he talked in his most conciliatory voice.

“What? Really?”, said the other friend, huffing. “You said he’d agree.”

“Well, I’m working on a project with my friend, so… I’m quite busy.”

“I can’t believe you are rejecting us, Sylvain,” she made a disgusted face. “Anyways, your choice. Enjoy your new girlfriend, but I guess it will last like one week before you can find someone better.” Then, they turned around, looking behind a few times and gossiping.

“What the hell?”, you wondered, bewildered.

“Just my routine”, he sighed.

“We can continue another day, Sylvain”, you tested the waters. You sensed something was wrong and that he wanted to go home, and you had the feeling that he wouldn’t admit it by himself. “It’s getting late anyways.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re right. Let’s go” He put the piece of paper inside one of the pages of a volume he was going to take. “We can meet other day to put everything together.”

“Of course.” You started putting away your things back in your bag. Sylvain was no longer smiling.

“Can you pass me that book?”, he pointed at the red one you had on your side.

You took it and offered it to him. He extended his hand, and when he placed his fingers around it, they brushed yours. Your heart started to beat fast.

Yet before you could make sense of the occurrence, a stabbing pain stroke you. It felt like a spear had pierced through you, right below your chest. It was so real, so shocking, tears started to form on your eyes. You felt blood coming out, but when you looked for it, there was nothing there. The pain was beginning to expand, a wildfire burning your torso.

You put your palm where you felt the pain, unable to breathe. Suddenly, Sylvain realised something was wrong. You were opening your mouth to take in oxygen, but it was in vain.

“What’s happening?”, he could be shouting your name, but you couldn’t listen because the only thing you heard was a rush on your ears.

He grabbed your arm, but it only made it worse. It made all those strange phenomena more sharp and real. You whispered a faint ‘let me go’, and Sylvain moved away immediately. His steps were so fast he hit the chair and it fell down.

All of a sudden, when his skin wasn’t in contact with yours, everything subsided.

“Are you okay?”, Sylvain asked, alarmed. You hadn’t seen him that serious in all your life.

“Yes. I…”, you didn’t finish the sentence. Instead you recovered your breath slowly.

“Stop making so much noise! And don’t break the furniture!”, a kid appeared from behind one of the bookcases. His hair was dark brown, and he wielded a broom that he used to threaten. You felt a little embarrassed, so you muttered an apology before grabbing your things and almost running to the exit. Sylvain followed you closely.

“Are you okay?”, Sylvain repeated once you were on the street. As far as you could tell, he was concerned, but more than worry, his eyes displayed suspicion and curiosity.

“Yes. It’s nothing, I just had a problem breathing… maybe it was the dust”, you brushed it off.

“It might have been an anxiety attack. Some people have a lot during their first year at university”, he noted. His smile came back, reassuring. It was incredible how his demeanour could change so quickly. “What a day, huh?”, he laughed. “We should meet again soon. I had fun despite everything.”

“Despite the awkwardness too?”, you replied, both playful and too exhausted from the experience to second-guess your interactions with him.

“What do you mean? That was the best part!”

“C’mon Sylvain!” You denied with your head.

“I don’t know, okay? It just felt nice. You make good company.” He was staring off inro space, and you hoped in the most obscure part of your heart that he was being honest.

“Oh, and you realize that now?”, you teased.

“Better late than never,” your classmate added.

“I suppose.”

Step by step you started walking in the same direction. You were in silence. Each of you had much to make sense of. You weren’t paying attention to the time, until you reached a familiar crossing.

“I’m going this way”, you said as you signalled your direction.

“I’m happy we got paired up in class,” he stated. He was just as handsome as when you met him, but he had a sadder air.

“Me too. See you later, Sylvain.”

“See you.” He stood there, watching you disappear into a corner. Then, he talked to himself. “What a day…”

#sylvain x reader #sylvain jose gautier x reader #sylvain jose gautier #fire emblem three houses fanfiction #Fire Emblem Three Houses #reader insert #sylvain x female reader #Female reader #college au

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teruthecreator · 4 years

Text

Red Lines, Blue Hearts

hi friends! remember how i keep saying i’m going to write something, and then i do anything but? today’s “anything but” is brought to you by this epic and emotionally laboring art by matt (@accesscodex), as well as his chaos!fitzroy au which injures my soul. i don’t feel like putting this on ao3 but!! my ao3 is always available if you would like to see my other graduation crimes.

reblogs > likes and i hope y’all enjoy!!!

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The first thing Fitzroy sees when his body is released from Chaos’ grasp is red.

Pinkish-red scars litter nearly every inch of his body, permanent reminders of the power he let consume him. Some follow the pathway of his veins, like the ones on his legs. Others are large patches that once revealed the pearlescent skin Chaos manifested underneath, like on his face and back. There are a few that look to be a result from fighting, puncture marks or slashes in odd spots across every plane of skin. Along with the dull pain that persists for weeks after, they leave Fitzroy feeling mangled and ugly. Like a porcelain doll shattered by a rowdy child, glued back together but never looking quite the way it once did.

His friends have done a good job keeping his mind off the changes. Rainer comes over every week to repaint his nails and catch him up on what’s happening outside the safety of his room. She always extends the offer for him to meet at her place, but he always refuses. The wounds of what he did under the control of Chaos are still too fresh, and he’d rather spend months in solitude than force the people around him to relive through any of the destruction he caused.

Buckminster and Leon (now restored to his human form) also visit with new cloaks and waistcoats for Fitzroy to try on; the excuse being they accidentally bought a size too small or large, even when the garments look ill-fitting for the pair at a glance. The brothers will then sit on Fitzroy’s bed and demand a fashion show, Leon politely clapping as Buckminster narrates each outfit with overabundant dramatics. They never ask for anything in return, nor will they accept the gold Fitzroy shoves into their hand each time.

“It’s what friends are for!” Buckminster will say, patting Fitzroy on the back heartily (yet gently, so as to prevent any flare-ups of pain).

Althea Song stopped by once, meekly peeking into Fitzroy’s room with a large bag in hand. He later found out the bag contained a number of hair and skin products for people with sensitivities. They spent the next hour smelling lotion scents and talking self-care. Admittedly, Fitzroy had pretty much stopped both his hair and skin routine after his faculties returned to him; the thought of even staring at himself in the mirror for that long gave him the shivers. So it was nice to have an excuse to start trying to mend the damages done to his body, even if he had to cover his mirror for the time being. At the end of her visit, Althea nervously extended her arms for a hug, which Fitzroy hesitantly allowed. The moment was a little tense, but overall nice. Althea murmured some encouragement that was lost to Fitzroy, who was too in his head to hear.

Althea smelled of maple and charcoal. Just like his mother.

It is a few days after this visit that Fitzroy sees something else, something he lost in all the constant red lines and marks.

Blue roses, delicately painted along the skin of his left wrist. Marred by two lines of red, crossing out the pristine image permanently.

The sight broke Fitzroy’s heart in twain.

The tattoo was, admittedly, a bit of an impulsive decision. After spending nearly every day with the other two Thundermen, the roses on Argo’s right arm became a bit of a focal point for Fitzroy’s dazed stares. There were...quite a few reasons why his gaze always seemed to drift to the genasi, as loathe as Fitzroy was to admit to that, at first. But the roses were different; they were beautiful, matching Argo’s complexion perfectly and complimenting the rest of the art painted up that arm. After a while, the flower became synonymous with Argo. Fitzroy would pass by a rosebush and suddenly images of Argo’s sharp-toothed smile would flash through his head. He would smell rosewater and hear Argo’s boisterous laugh echo through his skull. The two became intertwined--land and sea, beauty and beauty.

So, when Rhodes invited him to New Hope to touch up one of her forearm tattoos, he felt compelled to get the roses. It was only after the deed was done--artist paid, skin wrapped in a tight plastic, and instructions handed to him on how to care for the new ink--that Fitzroy realized how weird this was. Him and Argo weren’t even an item, yet!

Not that they would be, or that Fitzroy even wanted them to, but--

You know what? Never mind.

He couldn’t hide the tattoo forever, at the very least. The topic would have to be breached. Would Argo be offended that Fitzroy copied his tattoo without asking? Would he feel weird that they technically have matching tattoos? Would he...like it? Would he find it sweet or endearing that Fitzroy thought of him so much he wanted a tattoo to match?

After two weeks of hiding it and a week of teasing from Rainer (after she saw it during one of their study sessions), Fitzroy randomly showed it to Argo. He attempted to not be weird about it--simply rolling up his sleeves while he did homework with Argo in their common area--but Argo only noticed after a handful of dramatic coughs and awkward arm movements on Fitzroy’s end. Once he saw it, though, his eyes lit up with delight. He immediately reached out to grab Fitzroy’s wrist, leaning across the table to admire the artistry on his skin. The contact lit a fire in the pit of Fitzroy’s gut; a fire that continued to burn for months after.

A fire that doused in the wake of seeing his roses ruined.

Instinct overrides rational thought as Fitzroy stands up from his bed, maimed wrist planted firmly at his side to hide the truth from his eyes. His legs carry him to Argo’s room, who was in bed studying. Argo’s head shoots up just as Fitzroy’s body leans and collapses into the embrace of the genasi. The tears unconsciously streaming down his face continue to fall as Argo’s arms come to envelop him.

“F-Fitz? What’s goin’ on?” Argo asks, his voice gentle but concerned. Fitzroy hiccups a few sobs, feeling weak and helpless and utterly broken, as he leans back to show Argo his wrist. It takes a second for Argo to pinpoint the problem, but once he does he lets out a soft, “Oh.”

“I-It’s broken,” Fitzroy whimpers, leaning his head onto Argo’s right shoulder. “I-I ruin--ruined i-it!”

“Aw, no, hey,” Argo says, gently carding through Fitzroy’s platinum locks. “This isn’t your fault.” Fitzroy stubbornly shakes his head, face still pressed into Argo’s shoulder.

“Y-Yes it is because I a-allowed them to do this to m-me.” Fitzroy’s voice warbles with his cries. “I-I wanted p-power, and they knew that, and th-they used me to g-get what they wanted because I didn’t stop them. A-And then they hurt you, and Master Firbolg, a-and Rainer, and the school, and the town, a-and nearly the world if--if you hadn't stopped them.” Every point of contact with the rogue is both a soothing salve and a knife to his skin. He burns with the broken, defeated rage of man with nothing. “A-And they’ve broken me, Argo! I--I can never return to normal, I can never be who I o-once was, I-I’m ruined!”

“Hey!” Argo’s voice is stern, yet his touch is gentle as he pulls Fitzroy’s head off his shoulder to look him in the eye. It’s then Fitzroy can see the glimmer of tears in Argo’s eyes, along with the scattered lines of light-blue permanently streaked across his face. He moves the hand holding Fitzroy’s head to gently rub along his wrist, the other still firmly wrapped around his waist. Fitzroy’s mind unhelpfully provides only one thought: He’s beautiful.

“‘M not gonna sit here and let ya kick yourself while yer already down, alright?” he continues. “I know this is all really...really hard for you t’handle. You spent--gods, felt like years, but was really only a couple’a months under Chaos’s control. And, yeah, things did get massively fucked because of that. But...But that wasn’t you!”

“I-It was, though--”

“--Will you let me finish?” Argo stares at Fitzroy until he sheepishly nods. “Thank you. What I was sayin’ was that the destruction wasn’t you! It was Chaos--they had most of the control of yer body during that time! And, sure, maybe you did allow them a little access in the beginning because y’wanted power. I-I get that, though! You...You didn’t have the nicest childhood. You’ve been constantly pushed down and made to feel lesser--so have I, if I’ll be honest. It’s a natural reaction to wanna get some power in return, to finally get what’s yours, as the saying goes. B-But you didn’t ask to be hurt like this. You didn’t ask to hurt me! Or anyone else! It just...it just happened. And we gotta just start...tryin’ to move beyond it, I guess. Not really a ‘live and let live’ situation, but more of a… ‘you got hurt and so did I, so let’s just try and move on together’ sorta thing...Y’get what I’m saying to ya, Fitzroy?” He carefully pulls Fitzroy’s wrist up and closer to his face so Fitzroy can see.

“Yer not broken, Fitz. This,” he gently shakes Fitzroy’s arm to emphasize, “isn’t ruined. It’s just...new! A different take on life! A different take on art! But yer still you, Fitzroy, even with all the new. I still...I-I still think you’re gorgeous, if I’m, uh, bein’ honest. You, uh, always have been...to me…” The genasi’s cheeks flush as he breaks eye contact, bashfully looking towards the floor as the words flood Fitzroy’s head. It seems so silly--the smallest, most asinine fact out of Argo’s whole speech--but hearing Argo call him gorgeous makes the burning rage within turn to a melty, gooey, warm mass of fondness.

“I...Thank you, Argo.” Fitzroy mutters, feeling his own blush start to climb up his face. “You, uh, you’ve always been...there for me. H-Helping me. And I, uh...truthfully, I do not know where I’d be if it was not for you and your kindness, and humor, and cunning...ness. And...you’re, uh...I-I think you’re handsome, as well.” The last part he’s barely able to get out of his mouth, but Argo still hears it because he looks back to Fitzroy. The half-elf smiles nervously and shrugs. “I...thought I made that obvious on several occasions, but, uh. I’ve always thought you were handsome.”

Fitzroy and Argo’s relationship has been difficult to understand, to say the least. The two have been dancing intricate circles around the truth of their feelings for so long it feels almost like instinct. Yet, despite their hesitations, the pair have been drawing ever closer in their rotations. Now, in this moment--their bodies pressed close together, their hearts beating in unison--it’s natural what happens next.

Argo smiles, full and big, and leans down to press a kiss to Fitzroy’s wrist. And Fitzroy, lost in the sensation, makes no move to pull away.

They spend the rest of the day in this embrace, sharing few words and even fewer kisses. When the Firbolg finds them later that night, he smiles softly at the two wrapped in each other’s arms and quietly heads to his leaf bed.

And when Fitzroy wakes that next morning, the first thing he sees is blue. Beautiful, beautiful blue.

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