#yeah… the overlapping voices….. the blinking eyes…. the glow

[saintvampe]

and if i told yall that after seraphina’s final metamorphosis she rly closely resembles the seraphim

#thinking abt gdt’s blue fairy……. #yeah… the overlapping voices….. the blinking eyes…. the glow #YEAH YEAH. #this is me officially launching the ‘seraphina is literally a primordial being’ campaign

[nitewrighter]

Reidan and Rakasha double date shenanigans for upcoming Valentine's day, Mun? :0

Ooh! Fun!! (This still counts because the Valentine's day event is still going on in the game :P)

---

The neon sign glowed red and green in the all-too-quickly dimming late afternoon light. In theory, the days were getting longer again, but the dimming light made Akasha's stomach tense. A day double date was just 'hanging out'--but a night double date was much more of a double date. Akasha craned out from next to Rajeev to look at Rei and Aedan apparently lost in their own conversation. Her eyes flicked to Rajeev, who was squinting at the menu and the different 'Pot Full of Love' Valentine's day deals. Akasha couldn't read Korean but the translator on her comm said that the name of the restaurant was 'Boiling Heaven,' which she honestly was still trying to parse out mentally. Heaven didn't seem like a place that would be boiled...

"You're sure you're cool with us tagging along?" Rajeev spoke and Akasha perked up.

"I'm just glad you two agreed to this so last minute," said Aedan, "We had a craving, but at the same time, it's just so much food."

"And winter's going to be over soon," Rei chimed in as they moved through the front door, "Hotpot's really only good when it's cold out, you know?"

There was a pause there and Akasha realized Rei was looking at her, trying to give her an opening into the conversation.

"I--I've never had hotpot," Akasha mumbled.

"There you go, optimized first experience," said Rei, opening the door.

The interior of the restaurant was surprisingly close-quarters, with slatted dividers of golden-brown, polished wood rendering each table its own cozy alcove. The hostess greeted them and guided them over to their table, and the four of them shed their coats as they sat down on narrow benches at their table in the corner. Akasha quietly leaned over Rajeev's shoulder as they looked over the menu. Aside from some appetizers, hotpot was definitely the star of the show, here.

"Welcome to Boiling Heaven!" an omnic waitron unit breezed over to their table, "How can we serve you this evening? We have a special on some exquisite pork belly tonight."

Rei's eyes lit up at the mention of pork belly and Akasha pressed her lips together. Communal dining--she really hadn't thought this through.

"You're vegetarian right?" Aedan looked over the menu at Akasha.

"Kind of?" said Rajeev, "Well, Akasha more than me, really. Like I'm lactose intolerant but I still like eggs, but she can have dairy, plus I mean we're okay with stuff with fish sauce in it so it's not, like, super-hardcore, but--

"I--It really doesn't matter--" Akasha started, "I had to eat all sorts of things when--"

"Could we get one vegetarian and one shabu shabu?" Rei asked the waitron and Akasha felt her face burning.

"It would be my pleasure, miss!" said the waitron before hovering off.

Akasha blinked. Oh. That was an option.

"I never get the vegetarian one," Rei shrugged, "I'm down to try something new."

Akasha smiled.

"So..." Rajeev said as they were all mixing their sauces at the sauce station, "You two usually do this sort of thing for Valentine's Day?"

Rei and Aedan exchanged a glance and Aedan leaned forward slightly, "Not really, we're usually busy with missions."

"There was that one time last year," Rei rested her own chin in her hand with a slight smirk at Aedan, "It wasn't on Valentine's day, but you cooked for me."

"I cook all the time," Aedan gave a smiling eye-roll to Akasha, "I like cooking."

"Yeah, but you had a bottle of Prosecco that time, and all those tea-lights, and you almost brought in that orchid you'd been working on for the table's centerpiece, but you said--"

"'It'll feel like she's watching us,'" Aedan's voice overlapped with Rei's and he chuckled, glancing back at Rei as they all made their way bck to their table. "Shouldn't your standards be higher? You were in Hollywood."

"I like seeing what you come up with," Rei's shoulders bunched up as she took her seat.

They seemed to catch themselves and look back at Rajeev and Akasha.

"What about you guys?" Rei smiled.

Akasha tensed in her seat. What could she say? That she was too much of a headcase to go out? Not that they hadn't gone out, but when they did go out it was to embarrassingly pedestrian places. They didn't have tea lights and orchids that watched you and inside jokes about orchids that watched you.

"We have jam sessions," Rajeev said easily.

"Eh--" A short sound fell out of Akasha as she tensed in her seat.

"Akasha's a great singer, actually," he went on.

"Really!" Aedan leaned forward and Akasha glanced off, "I'd love to hear you guys sometime."

In this moment Akasha suddenly felt herself imbued with the mental strength to go on a million fancy, hyper-social dates with tea lights and orchids and what-have-you if it meant not having to sing in front of other people.

"He still wants the band to be a thing," said Rei.

"All things considered, Tommy Andromeda and the Rocketeers did do pretty well on that one mission. Gonna have to do something after we save the world."

"You really think you're going to save the world?" the question slipped out of Akasha unbidden. To be honest, she had a hard time distinguishing between the Watchpoint's gallows humor and its optimism.

Aedan looked at her with a somewhat unreadable expression. "I mean I doubt it'll be that clean-cut.

"We're here because it's never been that clean-cut," Rei shrugged next to him.

"I think we're going to save the world," said Rajeev.

Akasha looked at him, her look pressing for further explanation, but he just smoothed some of his hair back and said, "I mean if we don't, it's not like we have to worry that much about what comes after."

All three of them stared at him.

"...that's... not as optimistic as I wanted it to sound, is it?" said Rajeev.

"I want to worry about things," said Akasha, and Rajeev glanced at her, "I--I like the idea of worrying about stupid little things and realizing I'm doing that because I'm so used to having something to worry about. Not because there is something to worry about." She thought for a second. "Wait, does that make sense?"

Or do I already do that? she thought.

"Kind of...?" Aedan offered.

"Vegetarian and shabu shabu?" the waitron spoke up and Akasha flinched to attention.

"That's us!' said Rajeev as two pots were placed on the table.

All of the hotpot additions were laid out around the steaming broth--sharp shards of lemongrass, little rings of delicate green scallions, cabbage, tofu slices, yuba knots, golden potato, sweet potato, baby bok choi, broccoli florets, cartoonish wheels of lotus root slices, bouquets of enoki and maitake mushrooms, and shiitakes with starbursts cut into the top. The vegetarian broth itself nearly stung Akasha's nostrils with the dense gochugaru already perfuming it. She watched with fascination as everyone chatted as they waited for the pots to boil again, and began gently lowering the different fixings into the broth, chatted, and pulled them out again.

The lemongrass and the harder root vegetables tended to go in first, the mushrooms and proteins seemed to be a trickier game where they would watch more closely. Akasha,watched the movements of different hands. Aedan seemed to favor the mushrooms, while Rei was observing everyone else before dipping yuba knots in, clearly trying to figure out the subtle shifts in the broth with the various ingredients going in and out. Rajeev was chiefly invested in the potatoes, which proved more time-intensive, but it was worth it to watch the starches cloud the broth.

The conversation slowed to murmurs, and "Try this," and "What sauce did you mix? Let me dip that--" and the occasional earnest debates of "it's done, it's done, pull it out now--" and "No, just a little more time-" then everyone trying to poach an egg in the hotpot's ladle with varying degrees of success. Aedan and Rei were careful to keep the fixings for the shabu shabu hot pot separate from the vegetarian pot, using different chopsticks for each pot, but with a permissive nod from Akasha, Rei was dipping some of the yuba knots and lotus root into the shabu shabu pot. The look on her face chewing on some shabu shabu-cooked tofu was almost enough to make Akasha consider eating meat, but the vegetarian pot was plenty filling on its own.

There was something about the cooking itself being an active part of the meal that practically elevated it to a ritual, a funny, semi-bickering ritual that seeped warm into the bones. Akasha couldn't remember the last time she had sat down to eat like this and wasn't caught up in her head. The pile of vegetables and tofu and mushrooms surrounding the vegetarian pot once seemingly unconquerable, dwindled, bit by bit, and the eating slowed as bellies filled, until the broth, clouded with starches, fragrant from the baths of so many different things, sesame oil and fat glittering like jewels on its surface, was ladled into everyone's bowls. The gochugaru wasn't as intense as it had been at the beginning, but still bloomed a warmth through her throat and chest that she couldn't help but breathe out as a sigh. She glanced over at Rajeev, who had ladled himself another bowl and was drinking that down with that rare composure he had that only seemed to come in just the right moments to catch her off-guard. He glanced over at her as he set his bowl down and she quickly looked away, smoothing her hair.

"Hah!" Rei slumped back in her seat, giving her tummy a satisfied pat. She glanced over at Akasha, studying her for a few seconds. Akasha was dabbing at her mouth with a napkin before doing her best to try and sort her bowl and sauce dishes into manageable pile for the busser to pick up.

"I'm going to go use the restroom," said Rei, stretching, "Wanna come with?"

"Uhm... " Akasha trailed off.

"At least let me fix that makeup smudge," said Rei, grabbing Akasha's forearm and tugging her to her feet.

"It's smudged?!" Akasha asked with alarm as Rei pulled her towards the restrooms.

"No, it's just an excuse to--" Rei huffed, "This is just the girl portion of the double date."

"There's a girl portion!?!" Akasha blurted out with alarm.

"Oh my god I said that as a joke--no--I mean---look, don't worry about it, okay?" said Rei as they pulled into the restroom.

---

"Why do girls do that?" Rajeev murmured, watching after them.

"...pee?" Aedan quirked an eyebrow.

"Go to the bathroom in packs."

"To make fun of us," Aedan said easily.

Rajeev looked alarmed. "Wait, really?"

Aedan snorted a little. "You know it's interesting how much you changed since Akasha popped out of that wormhole."

"I changed?" Rajeev sat up a little.

"Well you used to... charge into things a lot. You pay a lot more attention to everything now," Aedan was mindlessly pushing slices of lemongrass around the bottom of his bowl.

"Really?" Rajeev scratched at the side of his head, "I honestly feel like more of a goon a lot of the time."

"Well, that's relationships for you. I mean I manage to make an idiot of myself by overthinking, Rei feels this need to make up for my dawdling by rushing into things--it's a balancing act."

"...balancing act, huh?" Rajeev scratched a finger at his temple.

---

"Sooooo?" Rei spoke from inside the stall as Akasha fussed with her hair and how her scarf hung over her chronal accelerator in the mirror.

"So...?" Akasha echoed.

"Thoughts on the double date so far?" asked Rei.

"I think--" Akasha started but cut herself off as Rei flushed the toilet. "I--I think I like the lotus roots, best."

Rei came out of the stall and moved to wash her hands. "Okay.. thoughts on... being on the double date?"

Akasha kept her eyes fixed on the mirror and seemed to vacillate between having one stand of hair in front of her shoulder or behind. The soap Rei was using smelled faintly like peonies. "It's... fine."

"...just fine?" Rei had to speak a little louder over the sink.

"Yeah."

Rei toweled off her hands and now moved to adjust her own hair in the mirror next to Akasha, shaking it out from its hair fork and smoothing her hair back to tie it up again. "Okay, then."

"I'm not seducing Rajeev," Akasha said reflexively and Rei made a half scoffing, half snorting sound, loose strands of hair falling around her face from her flinch.

"What?" said Rei.

"I'm not seducing him."

"...no one said you were?" said Rei, slowly.

"And it's not like seducing would work on him anyway. He's chivalrous," Akasha folded her arms tight across herself and looked off, waiting for the rebuttal.

Rei was just staring at her, mouth hanging slightly open, thick eyebrows crinkled.

"What?" she looked at Rei, "What do you have to say to that?"

"You think.. we think... you're seducing Rajeev," Rei said to her slowly.

Akasha could feel her face burning. Hearing it come out of someone else's mouth like that ended up hitting her with how her own paranoia at other's thoughts about them as a couple had left logic far behind. The way Vishkar had talked about the Watchpoint--No--God how much of them were still in her head? But there were times when she had trouble believing Rajeev was with her after everything--and the others...To the outside viewer, there was no sane reason he would be with her, there had to be something transactional--but that also implied thought she was capable of that sort of thing, or that Rajeev was the kind of person who would actually use someone like that, and it was clear from the way Rei was looking at her now, that that was not the case. But Akasha was already talking, really before her thoughts could form completely.

"People keep acting like he's so stupid for giving me any chance to feel like I might belong here, and I--I--" Akasha's breath hitched, "He's not stupid. He just believes in whatever you guys believe in better than you do."

Rei stared at her for a few moments. "Yeah," she said after a few beats, "Yeah, he does." She drew a long breath. "Look, I didn't pull you aside to make you feel like something had gone wrong or anything. I pulled you aside because we worry about you. Not because we think Rajeev's dumb or because we think you want to do harm, but because we know we're a team. And I know Rajeev's the first person you trusted here, but it's not fair to either of you that he's the only person you trust."

Akasha's mouth drew to a thin line.

"Aedan and I thought--" Rei sighed, "We thought if we brought you two into a couple-y situation, it might help... open things up to the whole team. But obviously Valentine's day is a whole bunch of nonsense and obligation that only serves to make people uncomfortable, and even if that wasn't our intention, here we are."

"...I've been having a good time," Akasha said slowly, "I really did like the soup."

"Oh thank god," said Rei, seemingly more to herself than to Akasha, before looking Akasha in the eye again. "Rajeev's not the only person who wants to make this a home for you. I mean in some respects we all do, it's just... the old-timers have been burned before, and they're wary. And god knows Jaime's desperate to talk to you about Vishkar stuff. And I know--" Rei huffed, "I know it's hard with a lot of the watchpoint still coming around to you, but I'm sure once they get to know you, they really will like you. You just... need to give them a chance. Like you're giving Aedan and me a chance right now."

"Do I need to go into the bathroom with them?" asked Akasha.

Rei snorted. "Only if you need to go. Wanna head back out there?"

"Ye--" Akasha started and seemed to catch herself, glancing down. "Okay--I just--actually, can I ask you a few things?"

"Uh... I guess? About what?"

"Just... watchpoint stuff, mostly. I think... I think I'm still dealing with a lot of assumptions about... how everyone is."

"Like how you thought we'd think you were seducing Rajeev?" Rei tilted her head.

Akasha cringed a little. "Yes..." she said slowly, "And Rajeev can get a little..."

"Protective?"

"Every time I ask him about someone, he says stuff like, 'Are you okay? What did they say to you?' And then I start getting nervous like, 'oh no, what if they're saying stuff about me,' and we just end up kind of shutting down the subject," she folded her arms, "I know... I have issues. But I can't keep going through things like I'm made of glass."

"All right," Rei folded her arms and leaned against the sink, "Shoot."

---

"They've been in there a while..." Aedan murmured, glancing in the direction of the restroom.

"Should I text her?" Rajeev dropped his voice.

"You don't text someone when they're in the bathroom," said Aedan.

"Unless they've been kidnapped from the bathroom."

"Rei wouldn't let that happen," said Aedan, firmly.

"Neither would Akasha," said Rajeev.

"...sword girlfriends, huh?" Aedan quirked an eyebrow.

Rajeev paused for a second before blinking and saying, "Yeah.." his voice trailing off slightly.

"How are you two doing?" said Aedan, as the busser picked up their plates and bowls.

"You've asked that already," said Rajeev.

"Well, to be fair, you're pretty sparse on details."

"How many details do you need?"

"Look, it's not like we don't trust you--"

"I'm not stupid. I can see the way this watchpoint looks at her."

"Because she spent her first days here saying she'd destroy us and rush right back to Vishkar!" Aedan blurted out.

"She didn't know who she could trust, and Vishkar raised her," Rajeev said stubbornly.

"I know, and the whole watchpoint knows from your mom that it's a complicated issue but--" Aedan exhaled, "There's a home here. There's a community. And it's only fair that those that live in it want to protect it. To make sure that they and the people they love feel safe. Believe me, I know more than anyone what Akasha is going through right now. Only wanting to help, only wanting a home, and only being met with suspicion. But we worry about you. Both of you."

Rajeev's mouth tightened in thought.

"And... I know for you, there's also this need to set things right after what happened six years ago--"

"That's not why we got together--" Rajeev interrupted.

"I know, I know--but when Rei lost her dragon..." Aedan trailed off, unsure of how to finish that thought, before saying, "It's really intense when your feelings for someone are also tangled up in the idea that you've wronged them."

"You saved Rei. You couldn't have known she would come back without her dragon."

"And you were saving your brother. And he was saving you. And you couldn't have known what would happen to Akasha. Even if it was the heroic thing in the moment, the idea that you fucked up still sticks with you. But things get better when you let other people in. I'm really grateful to you, and Marti, and everyone for really making me a part of the team in that time."

The waitron came by and left the bill on the table. Aedan gave it a brief glance before looking back at Rajeev. Rajeev was quiet for a while.

"And you want to do the same for her," he said at last.

"Just like you do," Aedan smiled.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, letting what had just been said percolate.

"The bill can't be that bad, can it?" Rei's voice piped up and both Rajeev and Aedan flinched to attention.

"...little warning, next time?" said Aedan.

"Ninja," said Rei, as Akasha stepped up behind her. Rei had apparently lent Akasha her hair fork, her hair now with a visible wave through it from her hair fork, brushing her shoulders, and Akasha's long hair tied half-back from her face in Rei's hair fork.

"What were you doing in there?" a chuckle shook Aedan's voice.

"Making fun of you guys, obviously," said Rei, taking her seat across from him.

"It's the girl portion of the double date," said Akasha, taking her own seat across from Rajeev.

Rajeev noticed a two second pause between Aedan and Rei, a mutual scanning of the faces, and in that moment he quickly understood that Akasha and Rei were not, in fact, making fun of them while they were in that bathroom. His eyes flicked to Akasha, who was smoothing a hand at her own new hairstyle. She met his eyes with a brightness that she tended to reserve for when they were alone, and he raised his own eyebrows slightly. Rei, Aedan, and Rajeev all hovered their phones over the miniature check tablet on the table to pay their bill. There were a few minutes longer of chatting, mostly letting the food settle, before a combination of timeliness and full bellies lending themselves to overheating in the warmth of the restaurant finally prompted them to force themselves to their feet to get their coats on and head out of the restaurant.

The contrast of cold wind outside and a fully-warmed through body was almost exhilarating. The light was dimming and the street lights were turning on, now, and some of the store fronts had been done up with pink and red fairy lights, matching the pink and lavender of the sky.

"...don't suppose it's too late to do the traditional Valentine's thing and grab some chocolates?" Aedan mused.

"If I even look at chocolate I'm going to explode," said Rei, propping her chin on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss on her hair on reflex.

Akasha strung her arm around Rajeev's and pulled close, more out of a natural response to the wind blowing than to an actual feeling of coldness.

"We should do this again, sometime," Akasha said abruptly.

Rajeev raised his eyebrows at her.

"Maybe with more people?" she added.

Rajeev was looking at her like she had grown a second head.

"Jaime loves fifth-wheeling," Rei suggested.

"God knows we could drag Marti away from all her tinkering and plotting once in a while," murmured Aedan.

"Or Samir could--" Rajeev started and caught himself, then looked at Akasha. She just gave him a shy nod. "He needs to get out, too. He can be just as bad as Marti."

"Oh--hey! Akasha, check this out," said Rei, rushing over to a store front where several dresses were on display. Akasha unwound her arm from Rajeev's to head over, and Rajeev and Aedan watched as they quietly chatted about what clothes Akasha might still need, and pricing, and the weather-appropriateness of the dresses.

Rajeev and Aedan watched them both in silence.

"Now I'm wondering what the hell's going on in girl's bathrooms," said Aedan.

"...peeing," Rajeev said with a shrug. Aedan scoff-laughed.

#Reidan #Rakasha #*narrator voice* Akasha later hid under the couch at the watchpoint to recover from social exhaustion

[inkykeiji]

you’re all that i need, underneath the tree

characters: dabi, shigaraki tomura

genre: tooth-rotting fluff with a sprinkle of angst

notes: aaah okay! set in the break my bones but act as my spine universe, between part one and part two but after dabi’s apology!! poor dabi gets dragged out with the happy couple to go hunting for the perfect christmas tree :) | title credit: underneath the tree by kelly clarkson

warnings: pining, daddy kink (without the kinkiness), generally toxic relationships

words: 3.3k

synopsis:

And so what if you’re more excited than Tomura is about his agreeing to come, even though it was Tomura who asked for his assistance; so what if it makes his chest swell with that irritatingly tingling sensation, the one that seeps into his veins and shoots through the rest of his body, the one that makes him feel like he’s buzzing. What’s it matter, anyway?

The answer, as far as he’s concerned, is simple.

It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. It never will.

    ��           ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅           ❅     

Snow crunches under his heavy boots as he trudges along behind you, staring at the back of your head with a glare so vicious, so ferocious it could melt platinum.

Dabi hates Christmas.

Smoke from a large bonfire, lined by families—good looking couples with tiny carbon copies of themselves, gloved hands tenderly cupping hot chocolate as the children chatter animatedly, little squeals of laughter overlapping the indistinct noise—blows into his face and he chokes on it a bit, the tiny glowing embers it carries with it through the air burning his eyes.

Dabi hates Christmas.

He’s only coming because Tomura’s his fucking boss, he had told you curtly when you swiveled around in the front seat of the Maybach to express your excitement to him, forcing his eyes to stay on the white leather beneath him, unable to bear the way he’s sure your face is falling at his sharp words. He hates Christmas.

But Tomura had snorted a little to himself the moment the words left Dabi’s lips, because God, what a fucking lie. He doesn’t voice the thought, but he doesn’t need to—it’s clear in his ruby eyes as they meet sapphire through the rearview mirror, an amused little smirk present on his scarred lips as he raises an eyebrow in mocking question.

Yeah. Alright, fine. He’s a fucking liar, so what? Yeah, alright, so maybe he’s only here because of you, because he knows that if he had refused, the entire trip would’ve been ruined, and he couldn’t have that on his conscious, couldn’t handle that on his conscious.

It’s his turn to snort at himself, rolling his eyes. What a pathetic excuse for a man. It’s a real funny joke, though; a man who can kill indiscriminately, who can kill delightfully, without batting a fucking eye as bits of skull and brain splatter on the toe of his boot, can’t handle the thought of even one more of your salty tears staining his soul.  

And so what if you’re more excited than Tomura is about his agreeing to come, even though it was Tomura who asked for his assistance; so what if it makes his chest swell with that irritatingly tingling sensation, the one that seeps into his veins and shoots through the rest of his body, the one that makes him feel like he’s buzzing. What’s it matter, anyway?

The answer, as far as he’s concerned, is simple.

It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. It never will.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

This place is way too extravagant for a Christmas Tree farm, Dabi mutters to himself as he trails behind you, seething azure darting around the venue with a deep scowl, taking note of the large stone building that doubles as a gift shop and a café—all baked goods made on the premises and handcrafted with love, of course—with crystal windows that gleam in the weak afternoon sunlight and gentle curls of smoke escaping its chimney. Scattered bonfires blaze among the grounds, each with a group of Christmas tree hunters arranged in a loose circle around it, keeping warm and roasting marshmallows. The sticky sweet scent drifts through the air, Dabi wrinkling his nose as it hits him. That soft clop-clop of horseshoes against matted snow mingles with the sound of classic Christmas music as white and brown horses pull intricate wooden sleighs around the area.

It all makes him fucking sick. God, Dabi hates Christmas.  

“Oh my gosh!” you’re gushing as you cling to Tomura. “Daddy, it’s so pretty,”

The two of you are attracting the gazes of everyone in the immediate vicinity, Dabi hunching in further on himself, trying to bury his face in the neck of his jacket. Really, he should be used to this by now. The pair of you are always a sight to be seen, with you in your little dresses—crushed black velvet this time, with a high neckline and a dainty satin ribbon tied around your ribs in a tiny, neat bow—and black trench coat, hem ending just above your knees; and Tomura in his vibrant red coat, teasingly obscuring his fitted black trousers—tailored specifically for him, of course—and black cashmere turtleneck.

It makes the two of you look like you just stepped out of the Christmas edition of a fucking high fashion catalogue. It makes Dabi feel ratty and underdressed—makes everyone around you feel ratty and underdressed, honestly—in his faded black jeans and big combat boots.

You’ve wandered off a little further ahead now, eyes glittering and bright as they soak everything in, hands clasped adoringly against your chest.

“Daddy!” you gasp suddenly, turning back to look at Tomura, eyes wide and sparkling, catching in the soft yellow glow of nearby Christmas lights. “They’re giving out hot chocolate!”

“Yes, they are, princess,” Tomura smiles, eyes softening as he gazes at you, now halted a few feet ahead of him, his hands outfitted in leather gloves clasped loosely behind his back as he strolls.

“Can I go get some?” you bounce a little on the balls of your feet as he meets you.

“Of course you can, baby,”

“Thanks! I—Do you want some, too?”

“Sure,” Tomura shrugs amicably. “Go wait in line, Daddy will be there in a moment,”

Your smile falls a little—just a hint, really, the corners of your lips twitching, a miniscule action Dabi hates that he notices—as your eyes flit between your Daddy and him, blinking twice, brow wrinkling in the cutest way. Dabi grits his teeth, hands balling into fists as he fights the itch, the urge, to reach out and smooth your skin out again. Pathetic. He’s fucking pathetic.

“Um, o-okay,”

Tomura nods encouragingly, then quirks his head towards the ever-growing lineup, as if to say get going! You obey immediately, scampering off with a cute little affirmative yelp. Dabi instantly moves to follow you, is so accustomed to having you glued to his side that watching skip off on your own like that evokes a thick panic in his chest, rising way too quickly in his throat, his mouth opening to call your name, to scold you for running off as he’s done so many times before.

“Wait,” Tomura mutters, a hand curling tightly around Dabi’s bicep, his voice low, dangerous. Brow furrowing, Dabi looks from the hand wrapped around him, to the face of its owner, and back to you again.

“Look at me,” Tomura snaps, Dabi’s tongue running along the front of his teeth as he sucks on them, keeping the insults brewing in his mouth from escaping. Scarlet eyes search his face, slowly, calmly, but every second you’re away from him has Dabi’s heart pounding harder and harder, powerless to stop his eyes from worriedly glancing your way again, only brought back to his boss’ face by a harsh squeeze around his bicep.

Tomura speaks at an unhurried pace, voice even and controlled, annunciating each word with purpose in an effort to beat them into Dabi’s scattered brain.

“Do not upset her today, or I swear to God, I’ll break your fucking nose. She’s been looking forward to this for weeks—I had to pull teeth to get this day off,”

And Dabi hates that, even in the middle of a humiliating, demeaning scolding from his boss, he can’t keep his eyes from darting towards you again, scanning the line you’re currently squished in for any potential threats, instinctual and automatic at this point, a habit. Tomura pulls on his arm a little, directing Dabi’s stare back to him again.

And he knows, goddamn it, he knows how excited you’ve been for this, how important this stupid little Christmas tree hunt is to you, because it’s all you’ve been able to babble about for fucking days now.

“Take whatever the hell you need to, to be fucking nice, you hear me?”

But he nods anyway, carves false derision into his face as his eyebrows furrow and his lips tug down, ripping his arm from Tomura’s grasp. “Yeah. Got it.”

His tone is clipped, and he doesn’t miss the way Tomura’s jaw clenches once with the grinding of his molars, smirking a little as his head tilts, crimson eyes regarding Dabi in a way that makes him feel like shivering, in a way that makes him feel exposed, naked, unprotected.

“You better.”

      ❅           ❅           ❅

“Here, Dabi!”

A jolt runs down his spine at the sound of your voice saying his name, and he turns towards you, brow knitting slightly as he’s met with a paper cup, held out to him between your two mitten-clad hands, your own drink secured precariously between your ribs and the crook of your elbow.

“What’s this?”

And he fucking hates the way his voice trembles, the way that stupid warmth starts blooming in his chest again, the way it does any time you do something small for him, any time you physically prove that you were thinking of him, too. Clearing his throat, he stares at the beverage, pointedly avoiding your eyes.

“I got you one, too,” you explain simply, pushing the streaming drink at him a little more, rich notes of chocolate and cream wafting over him, urging him to retrieve it from your tiny hands. “Take it,”

He has half a mind to lie, to tell you that he hates chocolate even though his mouth is watering, even though he knows you know he loves it, to knock the cup from your hands and watch as the hot liquid eats through the snow like a disease, melting it into nothing.

“Thanks,” he grumbles instead, looking away as he grabs it from your outstretched hands.

Tomura returns a moment later, a large red saw in his clutch. “All ready to go Christmas tree hunting, princess?”

      ❅           ❅           ❅

Dabi will always be amazed by your ability to make everyone around you fall absolutely, irrevocably, head over heels in love with you in mere moments, cobalt eyes trained on the old man holding the horses’ reins—a wide, sincere smile stretched across his face, hazel eyes positively gleaming as they gaze down at you from his spot atop the sleigh—asking you if you’d like to feed the animals, your knuckles gently caressing their velvety noses.

Maybe later, Tomura promises you when you glance back at him, whispering “Can I, Daddy?”, reminding you that there’s only a few hours of sunlight left, and if you’re on a mission to find the perfect Christmas tree, you best start soon.  

Sat in between Dabi and yourself in the tiny oak sleigh, Tomura pulls a tattered, folded piece of paper from his pocket, reciting your criteria for The Perfect Christmas Tree.

The Perfect Christmas Tree, the paper states, must encompass the four elements listed below:

It has to be the perfect mixture of forest green with those pretty blue undertones—nothing too blue or powdery!

It has to smell good but not too strong—if it’s too strong, it makes you nauseous

It has to be full—you know, not one of those Charlie Brown trees that are all branches and no body, or one of those thin tall trees—but not too bushy! Not so fat that the needles obscure the lights and ornaments

It has to be perfectly symmetrical and triangular, not lopsided or wonky

Dabi plays stupid, acts as if he doesn’t have that whole list memorized back to front, acts as if he couldn’t regurgitate it in his sleep, like he didn’t sit down with you at the breakfast bar and help you make it, even though it’s in his handwriting.

      ❅           ❅           ❅

Every tree is beginning to look the same to him. The three of you have been wandering through these fields for just over an hour and a half now, and Dabi’s positive he’s about to lose all ten of his toes to frostbite.

“We are not leaving until we find the perfect tree, damn it!” Tomura spits, ruby eyes practically glowing as they fly to Dabi’s face.

“Right, right,” Dabi grumbles to himself, nodding his head a little and tucking his gloved hands under his armpits in an attempt to at least save his fingers.

But you do eventually find it, after Dabi complains about dying from hypothermia for the third time; a massive blue spruce that isn’t too blue, that smells good but not too strong, that is full but not bushy, and that tapers off into a perfect triangle—wide at the bottom and coming to a point at the top, perfectly symmetrical.

Tomura glances over his shoulder at you after he’s finished brushing off all of the snow from the tree’s branches, so you can examine it fully. “Well? Is this the one, baby?”

And the way your eyes absolutely dazzle as you gaze at it, a large, brilliant smile splitting your face as the most precious giggles hitch in your throat, head nodding in cute little motions—well, God, that makes it all worth it. In that moment, Dabi’s sure he’d endure this cold a thousand times over, would lose all of his fingers and all of his toes, just to experience that look of pure, innocent happiness on your face once again.

“Yes, Daddy! It’s perfect,”

      ❅           ❅           ❅

Even baled, this tree is a giant pain in the ass to get up to the penthouse. It takes the men a solid half hour to figure out a way to fit the tree into the elevator, gleaming droplets of sweat dripping down their faces, tufts of hair clinging to their cheeks.

“Is it still—oh, for fuck’s sake—the perfect tree?” Dabi hisses out as the three of you press yourselves against the monstrous tree, just barely stuffing yourselves into the elevator, an escaped branch digging into his cheek.

“Yes,” you snicker.

“Yes,” Tomura echoes. “Stop being a brat, Dabi,”

“I—Me? Me!” Dabi sputters, at a loss for words. Him, a brat? After everything he just did for you, Tomura’s perfect little princess?

“Yes, you,” you giggle, knocking your shoulder playfully against his bicep. Any rebuttal gets lodged in his throat as he gazes down at you, sapphire eyes softening as they meet yours, shining with mirth, unable to tame the smile tugging at your lips.

He hasn’t seen you this happy in a long time. An ache takes root at the very core of his body, agony radiating throughout his limbs as he’s hit with the dim realization that Tomura’s increasing absence affects you a lot more than he originally thought—that you miss him more than you let on—and the ache in his chest pulses, though he is unable to discern whether it pulses for you, or for him.

It takes nearly another thirty minutes to get the tree safely secured in its stand before slowly cutting through the netted baling and removing it, allowing the tree’s branches to fan out.

Isaac is immediately curious, sitting back on his hind legs and gnawing on one of the branches for a moment before leaping into the tree, lithe body curving through the boughs as he burrows his way to the trunk in the center, digging his little claws into it as you cry out his name in alarm.

“Here, I’ll get him,” Dabi offers, still kneeling on the floor from fastening the screws on the stand.

A little chuckle falls from his lips as he reaches between the branches, gathering the kitten in one hand.

“What do you think you’re doin’ in there, little guy,” he asks as he pulls Isaac from the tree, little paws swiping at the needles, trying to catch them as Dabi drags him out.

“Silly kitty,” you scold as Dabi places him gently on the hardwood. “You aren’t an ornament!”

And Dabi can’t help the genuine laugh that gets caught in his chest, gazing up at you with a fond shake of his head. “He’s gonna be real trouble around this thing, that’s for sure,”

Tomura returns then with three large boxes full of expensive, glittering ornaments in his arms, grumbling about how he had to dig through one of the spare closets to find them and dropping them unceremoniously by the tree, the items delicately clinking together.

Exhaustion weighs heavy on his chest, beginning to restrict his breathing, and Dabi takes this as his cue to depart, because truthfully, the last thing he wants right now is to have to witness you being all mushy and domestic with Tomura. Wordlessly, he heads towards the front door, already craving the soft embrace of his lush bed, eager for the bliss unconsciousness undoubtedly brings with it.

“Dabi?”

Your voice is so small, so fragile, sounds almost hurt, his hand freezing on the handle, shoulders tensing.

“You’re not staying?”

He stares directly ahead, gaze searing into the door as his body goes rigid. Please, he wants to beg, don’t start, not now, not when he knows he won’t be able to resist you.

But his name falls from your lips again, the sound so beautiful, so heartbreaking, and it pulls a deep sigh from his chest. He has no control, not an ounce of authority as his body instinctually turns towards you, the voracious need to comfort you outweighing the full, throbbing pang it inspires.

And, Christ, you look so fucking cute in your little opaque tights with fluffy, woolen socks pulled over them, clinging to your calves with cute little reindeer sown into them, toes pointed inward and overlapping just a little as you stare at him with the sweetest pout.

“Wait,” Tomura smirks, chucking a little. “You were going to leave me alone with this one, when she’s all hopped up on Christmas joy like this?”

Dabi stares at his boss, blinking rapidly, lips parting in anticipation of the words that never come.

“There’s no way I could handle her by myself today,” Tomura continues after a beat, crimson eyes shining in the warm light. “She’s got enough Christmas spirit for all three of us, and then some,”

“Daddy!” the word escapes your lips in a playful little squeal, giggles bubbling up in your throat as Tomura wraps an arm around you, pulling you against his side and nuzzling his nose against your neck. “We could really use your help,” you tell him softly, almost gently, still leaving that option for him to escape, should he choose to do so.

His heart’s thudding against his ribs as he clears his throat, tongue darting out to lick his lips, words leaving his mouth sluggishly, yet at an uneven pace, voice quivering ever so slightly.

“I-I guess I could…Stay, to help you guys decorate the tree—for a little. I mean, it is a fucking monster,”

“Ah, yay!” you beam at him, clapping your hands excitedly. “Daddy, now that Dabi’s staying, can we make cookies?”

“Sweets before dinner, princess?”

“Pretty please?” you whimper, gazing up at him with the very definition of puppy-dog eyes. “I promise I’ll eat all my veggies, even the funky looking ones—” Tomura snorts, interrupting you, but you barrel on. “—I will, I swear!”

And, really, Tomura’s powerless to resist you, to deny you, left absolutely defenceless when you’re batting your eyelashes up at him like that, voice syrupy and sweet as little fingers cling to his shirtsleeve. Dabi doesn’t blame him—your pout should be registered as a lethal weapon.

Tomura goes to call for his personal chef, but you cut him off, wrinkling your nose and shaking your head.

“No, not the fancy ones,” you say as if it’s obvious. “I wanna make the store-bought ones! Y’know, the ones in the tube—”

“The ones that you begged our personal grocery shopper to smuggle in for you?” Tomura raises an eyebrow, and you finally have the decency to look sheepish, nodding your head. “Those ones?”

“Yes! Yes, please, those ones,” you respond eagerly, waiting for that final nod from Tomura before scampering off towards the kitchen, Tomura’s voice calling after you as he warns you to be careful with the scissors!

Yeah, alright, Dabi thinks as the smell of cheap sugar cookies washes over him, nimble fingers hanging another crystal bulb on the tree while you scold Tomura for placing too many ornaments of the same colour in one spot, an involuntary grin spreading across his cheeks as that inexplicable warmth blossoms in his chest again. So maybe Christmas isn’t that bad after all.

#dabi x reader #dabi fluff #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki fluff #dabi #shigaraki tomura #WAAAAAH SURPRISE ehehe #this is just something small n quick u know but i wanted to write some cute christmassy stuff for the bmb universe too!! #figured it would be nice to give u guys some old fashioned fluff amidst all that touya angst <33

[darks-ink]

Ephemeral

Prompt: Tucker Ghouly thought this was going to be a good, peaceful day. That thought is crushed when not one, not two, but three portals open, depositing the halfa versions of his two best friends (and his best friend’s sister?) into this world. Why are they here? And how are they going to return to their home worlds? Prompt by: @bibliophilea Word count: 4,175

[AO3] [FFN] [more Phic Phight fics]

---

“This patrol has been very calm,” Tucker muttered, raising himself higher in the air like that would reveal some sort of hidden ambush. “Suspiciously calm.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Danny grumbled, rolling his eyes. One of his hands wandered to the ecto-gun hidden under his black jacket.

Something in Tucker’s chest seized—his core, he knew instantly—and he jerked to a halt. So did both of his friends, coming to a stand-still a step behind him. A green spark flickered in front of them.

“Too late,” Sam grunted, pulling her own small ecto-gun out of its holster. “This one is on you, Tuck.”

“When isn’t it?” he bit back, but lit up his fists with roiling violet ectoplasm anyway. Whatever this was, whether it would be hostile or not, he was ready.

The spark spluttered, and for a moment it seemed to extinguish entirely. Then, with a terrible ripping sound—a sound which seemed to echo in Tucker’s very core—the green extended, like a tear through reality.

A portal into the Ghost Zone.

The surface of the portal wavered, then parted way as a single humanoid ghost stumbled through. Literally stumbled through, feet on the ground, almost tripping on the edge of the portal as it immediately closed behind the ghost.

And then the noise came again, and then a third time, as two more portals opened up, just to the side of where the first had been. And, again, the portals both released a single humanoid ghost before immediately closing again.

“What the hell,” Danny muttered behind him, and Tucker could only heartily agree. At least he didn’t seem to be the only one confused by the going-ons, as the first ghost to stumble through was also watching the newcomers.

Or he had been, because the ghost’s gaze had snapped towards Tucker—and more importantly, Danny—when his friend had spoken.

Bright green eyes blinked at the two of them, and Tucker was struck with a sense of familiarity. It took him an embarrassingly long moment to see through the glowing eyes, the innate difference in appearance caused by the mild glow of a ghost, before he could place the face.

The ghost was an exact copy of Danny. Or, more accurately, of a hypothetical ghost version of Danny, since his hair was as white as Tucker’s was in his ghost form, and his usual blue eyes replaced with green.

He ripped his eyes away from Danny’s ghostly doppelganger to look at the other two ghosts, and felt his stomach flip. One of them was undeniably Sam’s copy, with white hair and vivid cyan eyes. The other took him a moment longer to place, before he realized she looked like a younger version of Danny’s sister Jazz.

“Huh,” Sam mumbled, stepping up to Tucker’s other shoulder. All three ghosts’ eyes followed the movement. “This is… odd.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” the ghostly version of Danny said. Despite the echo, his voice was undeniably Danny’s. “So, uh. I guess none of you were responsible for the creation of that portal?” He paused, looking over his shoulder at the other two ghosts. “Or, those portals, since there were multiple?”

“Definitely not,” Tucker confirmed, and let the ectoplasm gathering in his fists sizzle out. None of the ghosts seemed hostile, and he didn’t really feel much for fighting his friends’ duplicates.

“I didn’t do it either,” the young Jazz said, her golden eyes narrowed and her purple hair flickering violently in a manner that reminded Tucker uncomfortably of Ember.

“Me neither,” Sam’s doppelganger piped up, crossing her arms. “So, Danny, you up to something?”

Ghostly Danny flinched and pulled a face that Tucker immediately placed as guilty. “Uhhh…”

“Why is my ghost version a disaster?” Danny loudly complained, leaning against Tucker’s shoulder now that he had—without noticing it himself—come low enough to the ground for Danny to reach.

“Just be glad that he’s wearing black,” Sam put in, leaning around Tucker’s other side to watch her own ghostly copy. “Since apparently everyone else has been forced into brightly colored jumpsuits.”

“Stop dodging the point,” the younger Jazz snapped, before whirling around to her ghostly brother. “What did you do, big brother?”

“Big brother?” both Danny’s echoed, eyeing her. When she growled, the ghostly Danny raised his hands placatingly and added on, “I didn’t— Okay, I might’ve, but I didn’t mean to!”

“Illuminating,” Sam’s ghostly double muttered, shaking her head. “Please stop dodging around the point, Danny.”

Luminescent green eyes rolled as Danny’s copy lowered his hands again. “Okay, so I might have been trying to open a portal to the Ghost Zone. I was just trying to reach a friend!”

“And you somehow missed catastrophically,” Sam concluded, now also leaning on Tucker. He was starting to feel slightly used. “You know what? That checks out.”

“Wow,” Danny muttered, pressing a hand against his chest. “I’m hurt, Sam. Right in my poor black heart.”

“Okay, that’s enough out of you three!” Jazz snarled, her glow flickering brighter for a moment before it settled again. “That explains how Danny got here, but what about us?” She gestured at herself and Sam’s ghostly version. “Why are Sam and I here?”

“The connection between Danny’s world and this one must’ve destabilized something.” Sam’s ghost frowned, brows drawing together in thought. “Or maybe something about how he reached for a friend drew us in too?”

All five of them looked at the ghostly Danny, whose shoulders slowly but steadily climbed up to his ears.

“Sorry?” he said, sounding uncertain. “Uh. Whoops?”

Danny snorted, then shook his head. “Maybe we should move somewhere a little more private while we figure this out, since it doesn’t seem like you folks are intent on causing trouble.”

“We can go to my place, since we actually have a shot at privacy there,” Sam offered, stepping away from Tucker. “The three of us will need to go through the front door. Can I assume you three can find the way to the greenhouse yourselves?”

Sam’s ghostly double raised an eyebrow, then grinned. “Yeah, I think I can manage that. We’ll be right there.”

“Just know that if you don’t show up, we will hunt you down,” Danny threatened, holding a single finger in their direction. “You’re not safe just because you look like us.”

“Yeah, yeah, we hear you loud and clear,” Danny’s double replied, waving him off almost casually. “Get going.”

They went.

---

By the time Tucker, Sam, and Danny made it to Sam’s greenhouse, the three ghosts had already arrived. True to expectations, Sam’s double was checking out the plants. The other two, ghostly Danny and Jazz, seemed to be frowning at each other.

Tucker cleared his throat the moment he stepped inside, ignoring the way his core pulled in his chest. He had very little experience dealing with ghosts while human, and felt distinctly disarmed. If they attacked, he would need precious moments to transform.

But that was if they attacked, which he highly doubted.

“Oh,” ghost Danny said, with a tone of heavy understanding. “We’re all half-ghosts, then. That makes sense.”

“Does it?” Tucker muttered, only halfheartedly venomous. “No, I guess it does. Can we start with introductions?”

Jazz nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face. “There is too much overlap in the names, I think. Should all half-ghosts go by our ghost names, then? Since I assume we all have one?”

The half-ghost version (apparently?) of Sam turned away from the plant she’d been looking at. “I’m Manes, then. And can I just say that this is a damn impressive greenhouse.”

“Thanks,” the actual Sam answered with a snort and a pleased smile. “It’s a good place to hide away from my parents.”

Half-ghost Danny shook his head, the expression on his face somewhere between hurt and cheered. His Sam must be the same about plants, then. “I’m Phantom.”

“Specter,” half-ghost Jazz chipped in, a thoughtful expression on her face.

Tucker kind of got it. Somehow, they all went with a similar theme on names, yet lacked overlap entirely. “I went with Ghouley, but considering that I’m the only Tucker around, you can just call me Tucker.”

“Where is your sense of camaraderie, Tuck?” Phantom asked, grinning impishly. “We’re all in this together, aren’t we?”

“So it seems,” he allowed with a grumble, rolling his eyes. “Am I supposed to shift to my ghost form as well, or are you all gonna shift back to human, or…?”

The other three exchanged brief glances before Manes shrugged, a ring of white light forming around her waist. The light swept away cyan eyes and a green suit, leaving her in a rather generic shirt and skirt combo, the same green and purple he knew from his own Sam, and her usual purple eyes blinking back at him.

Phantom huffed but followed her, letting his own transformation wash away the black jumpsuit and green eyes, replacing them with a white and red shirt and ordinary jeans, sky blue eyes like the Danny right behind Tucker.

With the other two transformed, Specter rolled her eyes but also shifted, her golden eyes turning teal and her purple ponytail coming down to cascade red hair over her shoulders—just like the Jazz Tucker knew, if a little younger.

“So they are all half-ghosts,” Danny jibed, gesturing at the three… the three alternate versions of his friends. And Jazz. “That’s good to know.”

“This was a test?” Phantom asked, raising his own eyebrow and looking eerily like Danny. Tucker was kind of starting to wish he had just shifted back to his ghost form for this. “I guess that that’s fair. I don’t think I would’ve trusted it either, if I was in your shoes.”

“Okay, not this isn’t nice and all,” Specter interrupted, sounded not at all sorry for doing so, “but can we please focus on the whole”—she gestured around them—“this thing?”

“She has a point,” Sam allowed, stepping further into the greenhouse. “We’re still working on the assumption that Phantom somehow did this?”

The boy in question made a face but didn’t deny it. “I was just trying to open a portal. I don’t know how it went this wrong!”

“Was this your first time opening a portal?” Manes asked, leaning forward with an expression of curiosity on her face. “If so, what made you so certain you could do it?”

“I’ve seen a future version of myself do it,” Phantom explained with a dismissively casual shrug. “I managed at least one of the other powers I saw him do, so I figured portal making wasn’t out of the question either.”

Tucker felt himself frown at that. He’d seen a future version of himself? Sure, the three of them had run into all sorts of weird ghost stuff, but that? That wasn’t something he was familiar with.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one, because Manes also frowned. Specter, it seemed, did recognize the events, if vaguely, because she nodded understandingly.

“I’ve seen something similar,” she allowed. “But I never successfully opened a portal, either, despite what I’ve seen her do.”

“Weird.” Phantom shook his head, like he was clearing his thoughts. “I don’t know why Specter and I saw a future and you two didn’t, and I don’t know what went wrong with my attempt, either. I figured that if I messed it up it just wouldn’t work, not”—he gestured vaguely, much like Specter had before—“not this.”

“Must’ve been some weird Fenton thing,” Manes commented, her frown wiped away in favor of a grin. “Come on, there’s gotta be something that sets you apart from Specter, if she just couldn’t do it and you tore open the fabric of reality to tap into alternate dimensions.”

Phantom flapped his hands aggravatedly, and despite the oddness of the situation, Tucker was secretly kind of glad of how easy it was to read him and Manes. Specter was more troublesome—he didn’t spend a lot of time around Jazz—but his friends? Piece of cake.

“I don’t know, okay?” Phantom snapped, his eyes briefly flickering green. Really aggravated, then. Good to know. “I don’t know how I screwed up this badly! I didn’t even know it was possible for ghosts to open portals to different realities!”

“And you can’t think of anything that might work?” Specter pressed, crossing her arms and frowning at him. “No ghost artifacts or anything?”

That ground Phantom to a halt. “Uh. Hm…” His brow creased as he thought, muttering to himself under his breath, until… “The Reality Gauntlet could’ve done it, maybe?”

“The what?” Tucker blurted out automatically. That sounded like some kind of superhero comic device, not an actual ghost artifact.

“The Reality Gauntlet?” Phantom repeated, like that alone could explain everything. “Big metal glove, fits four gems? Can alter the fabric of reality?”

Tucker shook his head in negative, and was oddly relieved to see not only Manes but also Specter answer in negative.

“No one else has dealt with it?” Phantom asked, incredulous.

“That must’ve been it, then,” Danny concluded, humming to himself. “The Gauntlet must’ve done it.”

“But that’s impossible,” Phantom countered, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. “I destroyed it months ago.”

“And, assuming the timelines are roughly equal, your core would’ve been young enough to absorb the energy released from a broken ghost artifact,” Sam bit back. “What were you thinking, Phantom?”

“That it was too dangerous to leave hanging around!” Phantom’s eyes glowed green once more, but it was quickly repressed, and he continued in a quieter, more morose tone. “Freakshow already used it against my friends and family once. I couldn’t leave it hanging around for him—or someone else—to try again.”

That… checked out. Tucker might’ve done the same, if he had been in Phantom’s shoes. Danny definitely would’ve. “Okay, so now what?”

“We ask Clockwork?” Phantom suggested with a loose shrug. “He’s usually helpful for this sort of thing.”

Clockwork? That was a ghost name if Tucker had ever heard one, but not one he was familiar with. From Manes’ expression, neither was she.

He wasn’t sure whether it was comforting or not, that his universe and Manes’ were so similar when the Fentons’ universes were so different. It was like they were somehow significantly different from the Fentons. Was it because Sam and he weren’t the kids of ghost hunters? Somehow?

“Clockwork is the ghost of time, though.” Specter huffed, rolling her eyes at Phantom. “Besides, we’re in a different universe entirely, and it looks like Ghouley doesn’t know him. Clockwork probably won’t know any of us, never mind care enough to help.”

“Why can’t we just go and grab the Reality Gauntlet?” Manes asked. “If that’s the thing powerful enough to break through the fabric of reality, surely we can just use the one in this universe to make portals back?”

Phantom made a face at that. “I’m not sure where it is. I think Freakshow might’ve stolen in from the Guys in White, but I’m not 100% sure on that.”

Eugh. Yeah, that explained the face. “So that’s out too,” Tucker concluded, trying not to feel too down about it. At least he wasn’t stuck in a different reality altogether. But if there was no way to return the three other half-ghosts home… That was bound to become messy.

“Why can’t Phantom just try again?” Sam asked, a tone of genuine curiosity in her voice. “If we’re all pretty sure he’s the one responsible for the portals in the first place, maybe he can open up portals back, too.”

“Using a power he can’t control?” Manes returned, but she cocked her head in thought. “But I guess that it’s worth a shot.”

“We could try doing it together?” Specter suggested, placing a hand on Phantom’s shoulder. “We’re all half-ghosts, and we’re all here for some reason, right? If Phantom’s power brought us here, maybe we can combine all our powers to make the portals back?”

Danny huffed out a laugh. “I don’t think that that’s how ghost powers work, is it?”

The look he got from Specter could only be described as imperial. “Friendship—love—is all we have on our side, it seems. It brought us here, it can damn well bring us back, too.”

“That’s fair,” Danny allowed with a snort.

“I guess we’d better wait until it’s dark.” Tucker pulled out his phone, grimacing at the time. “Why don’t we all call our parents that we’re staying here and order in some food?”

Phantom shrugged, then sat down on a stool hanging out in the greenhouse. “Sounds good to me.”

“Same,” Specter said, following his example. Manes shrugged and nodded her approval as well.

“We could talk a little about the differences between our realities.” Danny stepped forward to nudge Phantom. “I, for one, would really like to know why you’re wearing white.”

“What am I, a goth?” Phantom laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve got Sam for that.”

Oh yeah, they would get through the time well enough, Tucker thought.

---

“I think it’s late enough,” Specter muttered, and Tucker jerked out of the drowse he’d fallen into. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he followed her gaze to outside the greenhouse.

“Looks like it,” he agreed with a yawn. “Let’s all sneak off to the park, then.”

The other half-ghosts—and Danny and Sam—pushed themselves out of their seats as well, getting to their feet slowly. Looked like he wasn’t the only one who’d gotten tired while waiting.

Actually, it made perfect sense that all his fellow half-ghosts got as little sleep as he did. Ghost hunting was bad for your sleep rhythm, he knew.

Tucker waved Danny over closer, then pushed a camera into his hand. “Can you film the thing for me?”

Danny snorted but nodded. “Of course, Tuck. Just don’t get yourself sucked into an alternate reality, please?”

“I’ll try,” he promised wryly, then nodded at the other half-ghosts, who had gathered into a sorta-kinda circle around the two of them. “I think the best plan is for all of us to fly there together. Two of us can carry Sam and Danny to sneak them in with us.”

Manes shrugged and stepped forward. “I can carry my counterpart, and Phantom can take Danny.”

“You’re volunteering my services?” Phantom squawked, then shook his head and stepped forward as well. “Sure, whatever. Yeah, I’ll carry this universe’s version of myself, no problem.”

Getting a nod of approval from Danny and Sam, Tucker figured it was all satisfied and shrugged. “If everyone’s fine with that. Let’s get going, then.”

He shifted into his ghost form before he finished the sentence, the other three half-ghosts following his example.

But, man, Tucker really hoped this would work. Having the other three stick around might be helpful in the whole ghost hunting business, but it was weird to see what his friends would look like as ghosts. Or, as half-ghosts at least, since he knew they all looked rather human compared to most other ghosts.

Phantom easily scooped up Danny, despite his earlier protests, and Manes was quick to follow suit and pick up Sam.

Tucker, not quite sure why he was their lead—because this was his universe, maybe?—pushed himself off of the ground, flickering intangible for a moment to exit the greenhouse. He didn’t even have to look over his shoulder to make sure the others followed, because he could feel them, faintly, trailing just a little behind him.

Good thing that it was too dark for people to tell who they were carrying, because that would be awkward. If people questioned Ghouley about the other ghosts he could at least sorta-kinda tell the truth and say they were his friends, but if they had seen Sam or Danny with them? That was asking for trouble, for sure.

Before he knew it they had arrived at the park, all of them touching down silently. They must’ve looked like a fright, their glowing eyes piercing through the dark, but it looked abandoned enough.

Which was exactly what they had counted on, since the park was closed at night, but you never knew.

Sam and Danny were released by Manes and Phantom, trailing away to the edge of the square where they had landed. Making sure they stayed out of the way of whatever was going to happen here.

Good. That made Tucker feel better. If this somehow went catastrophically wrong… at least they would be safe.

Specter reached forward, suddenly, grabbing Phantom’s hand and linking their fingers together. Then, with her free hand, she gestured Manes over.

Clearly the other half-ghost caught on quicker than Tucker or Phantom, because she grabbed Specter’s free hand and then reached for Tucker. Following their example, he linked his hand with Manes’ offered hand, and then grabbed Phantom’s, completing the circle.

“This is stupid,” the half-ghost in question muttered, glaring venomously at the ground between them. “I’m pretty sure I used my hands to open the first portal.”

“Well, what else do you want us to do to offer our strength? Put our hands on your back?” Specter snorted, the smile in her voice undeniable. “Just try it, ghost-boy.”

Phantom rolled his eyes, then closed them. Took a deep breath. For a moment, it looked like nothing happened, but then…

Then, Tucker could feel the swell of power in the air. Could feel it waver through Phantom, down their connected hand. Could feel the energy running through his own core, through his hand to Manes.

Could feel the pulses of— of whatever it was going through all of them at once.

And, as a terrible but familiar shredding sort of noise sounded, the energy fled from them all at once. Phantom pulled himself free from Tucker’s hold—not that Tucker tried to stop him—and stepped closer to one of the three portals that had opened up.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Tucker muttered to himself, and he heard Manes snort next to him. Quickly he let go of her hand as well, and watched her step closer to one of the portals as well. A different one than Phantom’s.

“I think it did,” Specter said thoughtfully, moving towards the third portal. “It… calls to me, almost?”

Manes hummed in agreement. Rather than reply, Phantom just stuck his head through the portal he’d been looking at. Tucker flinched automatically, but Phantom pulled himself back out before he could move closer.

“It looks right,” Phantom agreed, cautiously. “It feels right, too. But it’s hard to say. From what I’ve seen, this Amity Park looks just like mine, and I assume so do yours.”

“Yeah.” Manes shrugged, then. “We’ll just have to hope for the best, then. If this didn’t work we didn’t have any alternative plans anyway, so…”

Specter snorted. “That’s true, unfortunately.” She took her eyes off of the portal to look at Tucker—and at Sam and Danny, who had crept in closer. “Thanks for the hospitality, and,” she turned to shoot looks at Phantom and Manes, “thank all of you for the experience.”

“Yes, what she said,” Manes agreed, a smile creeping onto her face. “Thank you all for the help as well.”

Phantom nodded. “Yeah, uh. Sorry for causing this, probably? And thanks to uh, all of you.” He nodded again, this time to Tucker and his friends, then stepped towards his portal. And paused.

“Uh, maybe you two should leave first? I don’t want to risk yours closing if I’m gone.”

Manes clapped him on the shoulder, then, still smiling, stepped through her portal. The moment she was gone from their sight, the swirling green mass pulled together and disappeared like it had never been there at all.

“Good luck,” Specter wished Phantom, and then floated through her portal. Once more, it immediately closed behind her.

Phantom nodded at them. “Seriously. Sorry for the mess, and thanks.”

“Just go, dude.” Tucker waved, and with a grin, Phantom stepped through the last portal.

He waited for a few moments after the portal had closed. When no new portals popped up, he sighed, letting the exhaustion of the day wash over him. “Man, I really hope that worked out fine.”

“They’ll be fine,” Sam said, then nudged him. “They’ll have the help of their friends.”

Tucker hummed, then turned to Danny. “You got that, right?”

“Of course I got it,” Danny scoffed, shaking his head. “I’d be crazy not to. Yeah, I got it.”

Tucker nodded, then turned to look at the empty space again. The place where the other half-ghosts had just been.

“I really hope that nothing else crazy like this happens, because I really don’t think I can handle that.” He sighed. “And… I hope that they’re all okay.”

“I’m sure they will be.” Danny bumped his other shoulder, taking the opposite side of Sam. “Now come on, let’s get some sleep. You need it.”

“Wow,” Tucker mumbled back, already turning around again. “Hurtful.”

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2021 #phanfic #dp fanfic #tucker foley #danny fenton #sam manson #jazz fenton #dark writes

[sugarcubetikki]

why are you in my friend’s clothes?

Summary: Firstly, Chat Noir has had a bad day. Secondly, why the hell was Ladybug in Marinette’s clothes?

Notes: Wrote this little one-shot to celebrate 500 followers (more like 561 now) but tysm! I literally don’t even know how I have these many-I swear most of the content I post is like random shit. But thank you! I really appreciate it so here’s a treat : D

P.S. THIS IS POST MR. PIGEON 72

AO3

Adrien Agreste was shaking with that feeling of utmost disappointment, that feeling he had harboured getting used to. 

Once again, that was another dreary, awful day that he was drowning away into oblivion through a warm lactaid beverage.

He chugged his flask of milk under the thick layer of clouds that masked the ethereal twinkle of the stars embedded in the night sky. Huffing frustratedly into his warm woollen scarf (the only worthwhile present his father had gotten him), he lounged lazily on the rooftop in solitude.  No Ladybug there to brighten up his world even in the murkiest times. 

But it was fine. It was fine. She really needed it. Being guardian was weighing down on her. He understood that. She could miss as many patrols as she wanted.

He still really missed her though.

Restlessly, he sprang to his feet and languidly leapt across the rooftops, the cold rush of the wind pounding in his ears. But he didn’t really care. He was used to that too. 

He took little sips from his flask at regular intervals between each jump. It was solace to all the unpleasantness that was swirling within him right now. 

At about the fifth jump, when he was chugging down some milk, quite a strange sight caught his eye.

It was Ladybug.

And she was on Marinette’s balcony.

In a polka-dot bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her head. 

What?

He choked a little, and the milk in his mouth sprayed out, accompanied with some rather loud coughs. And it seemed that he had caught the fair lady’s attention.

Her eyes widened and her face blazed red at his presence. Lips spreading into a sheepish smile, she waved reluctantly. He simply stared at her with his mouth agape. A blur of questions bursting into his head.

“M-milady?” He leapt to Marinette’s balcony, landing right in front of her. As he met her eyes once again, he noticed the large pair of glasses perched on her nose. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh! Hi! Hi, Ch-chat!” She squeaked, her voice an octave higher than usual, an uncannily wide smile, and her arms splaying all over the place. “I-well-you see… I’m here to relax, you know. Marinette and me…w-we’re friends! Yeah. We’re friends.”

“You are?” He arched his brow.  A painful pang struck his heart. He just didn’t know what to say…when she said, she couldn’t make it, he wasn’t really expecting this. He expected her to be busy with guardian stuff or something. Not that she shouldn’t relax! She totally should! She was completely allow-

He just didn’t know. 

He didn’t really know why he was upset. He just was. He didn’t expect her to be on Marinette’s balcony like this. And that…didn’t make him feel so good…

“W-w-well. Y-you s-see. My kwami loves sweet stuff! And M-marinette pretty much lives in a bakery. So, I come here often to get snacks for her! Absolutely.” Ladybug replied frantically to his question, and took a long sip into her mug of…hot chocolate?

He bit his lip and looked her up and down again. She was in Marinette’s clothes. Why was she in her clothes? He had the most insane hunch gnawing at the back of his head. He could just say those couple words now. But he didn’t want to jump to conclusions just yet, so he went…

“Did she lend you her clothes?” He asked stupidly, slurping into his flask of milk, gloved hand perched on the railing. 

“I-oh-yeah. Yeah, she did. Like an hour ago or so, she’s not here now though. Went to her best friend’s place for a sleepover…hahaha” Amidst her rambling, Ladybug reached out to place her own hand on the railing. Mere inches from his own. He had the urge to reach out and caress it under his own. But with everything in his head, he lacked boldness in the moment. “Sh-she was nice enough to…you know.”

“I know.” A smile glittered onto his face. “Marinette’s incredible.”

For no reason, Ladybug’s face grew a brighter shade of red at that compliment. One that wasn’t directed towards her. But he chose not to question it, and instead turned to the murky sky, his mind whirring for a surreal joke to cover up all the awkwardness. After all, he didn’t really have anything else…valid to say.

“Do you- “

“I’m really- “

They simultaneously say, voices overlapping over one another, making them stop and stare at the other sheepishly.

“You go first.” Ladybug said, fidgeting with a loose strand of her hair.

“No, milady, I was about to crack a stupid joke.” He tells her with a gentle smile. “I’m sure whatever you have to say is far more important.”

Hesitantly, she stared at him for a moment, with doubt plastered in her eyes. He widened his smile at that, letting her know it was okay. Satisfied, she reciprocated his smile, and her uncertainty faded away into amusement. Playfully leaning in, she hooked her arm around his own.

“Thank you, kitty. Make sure you reserve the joke for later.” She bopped his nose affectionately. “You know I love them.”

“Good for you then, you’re never getting rid of this clown of a partner who’s crazy for you.” He played along with a wink.

Eyes filling with joy, she lightly chuckled and took a sip into her mug of hot chocolate. Making her laugh always filled this sense of pleasure within him.

“So…” she continued. “I just want you to know that I’m really sorry for bailing on you today at patrol…I-I j-just I didn’t mean to intentionally h-hurt you or anything. It’s just th-that I needed some time to myself…to relax…and by relaxation, I didn’t expect myself to be a mess on a-uh-civilian’s balcony. It…well…just happened.”

Her apology caught him off guard with a little gasp. But he was able to compose himself and gave her a brighter and even more genuine smile than before.

“I-thank you for apologising, milady. I appreciate it and I do understand.” He shot her a gentle glance taking a sip into his flask. “I have to admit…I was hurt by seeing you here but I…I felt better when you apologised. I mean it when I said I really appreciated it.”

A mixture of surprise and shock filled her face, his genuineness had her stunned, but it was short-lived. Her face melted into a very pretty smile and it made her face shine even more brighter under the golden glow of the balcony light.  

He really was glad that she had apologised though. If his father was in her place, he would’ve ignored it completely and turned the blame on him, saying he was too sensitive for feeling hurt over something so trivial. 

Like he’d done today when Adrien found out that his Chinese lesson had been cancelled and neither Nathalie nor father had informed him of this. He’d sat there waiting for his teacher for ages. He didn’t even know it was cancelled until dinner when Nathalie told him.

It was one of the few days his father sat to have lunch with him. And the only thing Adrien had done was express his disappointment on how he missed walking home with Marinette today unnecessarily. 

His father wasn’t amused. And had said that he shouldn’t be feeling hurt over missing such trivial events. Of course. Spending time with a friend was so trivial to father. How could he have forgotten? 

It hurt. It wasn’t fair. It was these evenings that hit him with the constant reminder how difficult it was for him to have fun.

That’s why he really appreciated that he was spending the last hours of the day with his lady. Where most of his fun moments lay.

“You’ve got a milk moustache.” She chuckled and leaned in to wipe it off with her gloved hand. “There you go.”

“I am a cat.” He playfully remarked, raising his shoulders in pride. “This is how we cats drink milk. Milk moustaches are the best way to go.”

“I’m not a cat but I do agree with you.” She said with a spark of confidence in her eyes. Her competitive self took a large gulp into her mug of hot chocolate. Upon lowering the mug, she grinned triumphantly with a thick layer of brown spread above her lips. 

“That’s naughty.” He reached to wipe off her moustache. “You got one intentionally.”

“It was still bigger than yours.”

“Still intentional.” He pouted in faux annoyance, and she laughed, her hand automatically coming to rest on his chest almost to contain herself.

As usual, there went the freezing of his breath and rapid beating of his heart. Something about Ladybug that he would’ve never expected in the start:  she was a very touchy person.

Sure. She laid all hands off him during akuma attacks and when she was in an all-business mode. However, it was moments like these where she would open up, where he got to see more of the girl behind the mask. And he really treasured these moments.

Her laughter came to a halt and her eyes focused on her chest. Fingers crawling up to play with the ends of his scarf, she gazed at it quite fascinatedly. Too fascinatedly. 

“I-is that Adrien’s scarf?” The words bluntly slipped out of her mouth.

“Wh-what? A-adrien?”

“Uh-“She sprang away from him, seeming startled that she had said that out loud. “I-well-you know-that looks like Adrien Agreste’s scarf!”

“I-uh-well- “He tensed and looked at her with wide eyes. There was no way he could reveal his identity like this. “I-I-borrowed it from him! You know! Just like you did from M-marinette!”

“Ah- “Her mouth flapped open and closed a couple of times. “Th-that m-makes sense.”

The bluenette turned away with pursed lips and speechlessly stared ahead.

“Yeah.” He replied in relief. Good. No identity prying questions. Now, she wouldn’t know he’s Adri-wait a minute.

“H-how did you know this was Adrien’s scarf?”

Her head merely turned to him with a dumbfounded expression and she heavily blinked.

“I-well-I recognise the stitching! You know! I’m good with this kind of stuff-very into fashion-and he wore it a couple of times when I saved him you know!”

“I- “He didn’t recall wearing the scarf anytime around her. Had he? He wasn’t sure. She had saved him as Adrien plenty of times. He didn’t remember everything so maybe…it was plausible. 

“Oh…okay then.” He simply said. “Looks like we’re both wrapped up in clothes lended from a civilian friend, right?”

He wanted to bonk his head onto the railing right then and there. Stupid thing to say, Agreste.

“Y-yeah.” She replied uneasily. “F-from civilian friends.”

“Marine-Oh!” Another voice shook the tense atmosphere, both heroes turned around in alarm.

A surprised Alya Cesaire greeted them as she peeped out from the trapdoor. 

Hold on a second.

“Alya?” He questioned in shock. “I thought Marinette was at Alya’s place for a sleepover, but if she’s here then- “

He suspiciously arched a brow at Ladybug. Her eyes widened for the umpteenth time that night and she blankly looked at Alya.

“A-alya! W-what are you doing here! I th-thought M-marinette and y-you were meant to be at a sleepover at your house! Right?” Ladybug mimicked a dramatic tone of surprise. But he wasn’t falling for it. 

“Ah…right…you se- “

“I think I know what’s going on.” He cut Alya off. The two girls hastily exchanged frantic glances.

“Look, Chat- “Ladybug commenced. 

“I know she didn’t tell you bu- “Alya began to explain at the same time.

“You’re dating Marinette and Alya’s the only one that knows.” He cut both off. Feeling relieved to finally let go of that hunch. 

“What?” Both girls yelled flabbergasted.

“It all makes sense! You’re on her balcony! In her clothes- “

“It’s not-it’s not what it looks like-I-wait up-you’re in Adrien’s clothes?” Ladybug paused in a frenzy realisation. “If you’re saying me being Marinette’s clothes means I’m dating her, is that confirmation that you’re dating Adrien?”

“What! No-I-you didn’t deny it.” He took a step forward and pointed accusingly at her. 

“That’s not the point!  You’re the one who’s dating Adrien.” She reciprocated his body language. 

“Well, you’re dating Marinette.”

Brows narrowed with competitive expressions. They stood toe-to-toe with Alya giving them a what-the-hell look.

“I’m not even going to get involved in this…” Alya facepalmed and disappeared under the trapdoor.

“You’re not denying it!”

“You’re not denying it either!”

They bickered back and forth about the whole dating chaos, taking swigs from their beverages every now and then, from the way they argued, it was almost like they were drunk on milk. The clouds began to clear the sky, and the moonlight began to cast a lovely glow on the city.

“Look…to resolve this…let’s never talk about this night again, got it?” Ladybug concluded, taking one last sip into her mug. 

“Fine.” Chat raised a hand in surrender, sipping onto his own flask. “I have to make my leave anyway.”

“Okay.” Ladybug huffed. “Have fun seeing your boyfriend!”

“Well…you have fun seeing your girlfriend, milady.” He fluttered his eyelashes playfully. “I’m sure she’s just as nice, pretty, and talented as you said.”

“I never said tha- “ 

“See you, milady!” He cut her off again and leapt away on his baton, catching one last glimpse of an adorable pout on her face.

It was nights like this that always brought a smile onto his face even on the most miserable of days. And that’s exactly why he loved spending time with her.

Despite the whole situation with her thinking he was dating-well-himself. Ugh. 

Wait a second…

She was dating Marinette.

The multitalented, insanely kind and endearing Marinette.

Oh crap. He was screwed. 

#sugar writes #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfiction #ml fanfic #ml season 4 #ml spoilers #mr pigeon 72 #ml fanon #ladynoir #ml love square #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng

[sneezefiction]

found

Oikawa x Reader - Scenario

desc: Oikawa found a steadiness in the stars... and then in you too. alternatively, you’re Oikawa’s apartment neighbor & you two have gotten pretty close.

a/n: i’ve been thinking about stargazing and Oikawa lately. i’ve honestly always wondered how he adjusted to life in Argentina and if he ever got very close to anyone in his time there. here’s something fluffy along those lines <33

warnings: none

wc: 2.4k

---

The night sky has always had a gravitational effect on Oikawa.

Leaning up against the cold metal railing, head tilted back with tired eyes, he feels free to drop his composure and look up into the vast expanse of space.

Long days under bright arena lights are a constant in his life. He’s used to it by now and remains grateful to the fluorescents that have followed him throughout his blossoming career, but at 24 years old Oikawa has found himself drawing closer and closer to the bright specks in the sky.

The novelty of success had Oikawa on cloud nine. His hard work had paid off and his name was spreading like a wildfire, not to mention, he was finally making some good money…

But he was drifting.

That cloud had him riding a high... but it was also starting to sweep him off of his feet. And he desperately needed to remain planted, feet firmly pressed against the ground. He didn’t have Iwaizumi to knock him in the head anymore, so he knew he had to find something else steady.

That’s when Oikawa realized that those stars were the most grounding thing in his life.

And there wasn’t a better place to view them than from the unlit rooftop of his brick, Argentinian apartment building. It was an escape of sorts. One where he could easily slip on his coat, trek up the concrete staircase, and breathe deeply without any unnecessary attention. There was nothing more pacifying than taking in the skyline view and watching cars the size of ants pass below him.

To some, a starry sky is just a nice picture. A moment only briefly studied and then tucked away in ones memory. But to Oikawa? Stars are stablization. 

A taste of humility.

The open-ended, unravelable abyss reminds him that he is just one man. A single person resting under the glow of a trillion stars. Oikawa feels small and, according to the galaxies above, that’s exactly how he should feel in comparison.

But lately he’s found himself up on the rooftop for another reason.

Which brings him back to you.

The tap of your shoes and the blowing of the wind are the only noises to break the silence of the chilly autumn night.

Oikawa perks up as he picks up on your footsteps behind him, but acts like he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t want you to think he’s been checking over his shoulder for you for the past 10 minutes, impatiently waiting to see your face.

Only once your feet meet the edge of the railing does he shoot you a glance.

Oikawa has to keep himself from leaning into you right then and there. He has to fight the urge to try and charm you like he does with his fan-girls and the pointed cameras.

So he keeps his arms crossed atop the iron rail, his chin resting on top of them snugly. One leg is placed further back than the other to keep himself balanced, while still propped up against the metal comfortably. There was a serenity to his pose. He was always standing up so tall. Always so poised.

Yet here he was... Leaning sloppily, eyelids heavy and dark circles on show, letting his guard down in front of you. Again.

“Took you long enough.” Oikawa pouts into his jacket.

His voice is whiny, but there’s an affection to it.

You rub your hands along your upper arms in an attempt to create some friction. You could really use some warmth right now.

“Yeah, sorry, I couldn’t find my jacket.” You mumble back, inhaling deeply and blowing it out to watch the cold air turn your breath into a little, misty cloud.

He turns his head toward you, but doesn’t lift his chin off of his arms, blinking and quirking an eyebrow in confusion.

“You could’ve just sent me a text. I’ve got tons of sweatshirts at my apartment.”

Oikawa has perfected the art of mock-petulance, his voice is breathy and feigning hurt.

But without hesitation, he stands upright and shrugs off his dark-blue coat, swooping it over your shoulders like a blanket. It retained his heat well and transferred the warmth from his body to your own in only a few short seconds.

“I knocked on your door, but you were already up here!” You sigh, tugging the jacket a little closer to your face.

You shuffle your feet, inching your body closer to his as you overlapped your forearms on the frigid rail.

Oikawa takes note of your cozy form. You’re unbearably endearing with your head tilted and your body wrapped up in his coat like that. Your nose is tucked within the coat’s collar; it acts as a warm shield, guarding your face from the biting breeze. If it weren’t so dark out, he might’ve tried to snap a picture of you, but the mental image would just have to do.

Oikawa goes back to his original position on the rail, noticeably closer to you.

“You don’t always have to be so quick to get up here, y’know?” You remind him, your elbow and side pressing up against his own, attempting to catch some more of his body heat.

He smiles, mouth closed.

You’re always so thoughtful. Always steady. 

“Yeah, I know… but I wanted to see you.” He admits, breaking eye-contact to watch the cars below instead.

Oikawa’s words come out low and slow, but they’re coated in honesty, like thick, sweet honey. Something he hasn’t gifted anyone else with since he’d moved to Argentina.

“...I wanted to see you too.”

And with that response, you lean your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes.

It’s an awkward angle, but you couldn’t care less. You’d fallen into a habit of ‘shoulder leaning’ over the past few weeks and neither of you are complaining about it. Oikawa sneaks an arm around your back, tugging you into him.

The wisps of his hair tickle your forehead and tease at your ears, while the wind tangles your senses in his soft scent.

His cologne quickly reminds you of when you’d first met him. To be completely honest, you’ve felt drawn to him since the day he moved in to the apartment complex.

Those pretty, brown waves, his cheeky smirk, and the fragility that lingered just beneath his surface had you genuinely curious about it… you wanted to know him better. Most of your initial meetings were accidental run-ins and hallway chats - you just couldn’t seem to catch him at a regular time.

So you built up the courage to speak with him directly. 

It started with a simple knock. A life-altering knock on a door across the hallway and two apartments to the left. And before you could even introduce yourself, you were met with Oikawa’s tired but warm voice explaining that he was heading up to the rooftop and that he could use some company.

The rooftop where it all started.

It’s been well over a year since you’d become friends and only a month since the dating phase had begun, however, Oikawa knows that he’s finally found someone that he can hold onto.

Someone who needs him just as much as he needs them. Someone who knows who he is deep down and still wants to stick around. 

He’s found a bright light that contrasts beautifully against the dark sky.

And this time it isn’t a star or a flashing camera.

Oikawa breathes out a sigh of peace, pressing his cheek up against the top of your head.

“Whatcha thinking about.” You whisper, throwing him off his train of thought.

He hums into your hair.

“You.” Oikawa drawls sweetly, not missing a beat.

You should’ve known he would say that. He’s a witty one. The way you feel him smirk against your head makes it clear that he was prepared for that question.

But it’s true.

He’s really is thinking back to the day he first met you. He’s thinking about how nice it is to have your cold hand wrapped within his own right now. How badly he wants to make you smile and laugh. How much he wishes to touch your skin while pressing his lips against yours.

And that last option seems quite doable right about now.

Oikawa shifts, standing up slowly.

 It prompts you to lift your head up off of his shoulder, your hand still intertwined with his own. 

He stares at you with such adoration. There’s a subtle shimmer to his brown eyes, a spark that’s barely visible under the shading of the dark sky... but you know it’s there. It’s a look reserved for you and you only.

You can’t help but feel flush under his gaze.

There’s this forbidden, beautiful message within those umber-brown eyes. One that sets off a flame inside of you, burning and crackling deep within. Those brown pools catch you off-guard and vulnerable, trapping you in the gentlest of ways with a look that almost dares to say, “I think I love you.”

You turn your head, flustered, and look out across the city instead.

And it’s beautiful and vibrant. 

The bright hues of streetlights and restaurants color the sidewalks in vivid shades of reds, violets, and blues. A neon glow casts a lively image across the entire cityscape... and yet, it pales in comparison to the male in front of you. 

But you hold your head in place, still bashfully averting your eyes.

“S-stop looking at me like that, Tooru.” You stammer through a soft smile, your sweet expression denying the substance of your plea.

Oikawa doesn’t look away, and instead brings his hand to your cheek, caressing it. You almost flinch as his chilled fingers touch your skin, but you quickly tilt your head into his palm. It’s hopeless. Avoiding his eyes clearly wasn’t in the cards tonight.

“I can’t help it.” He replies smoothly, running a thumb across your jaw.

His cheeks are pink.

You can’t tell if it’s because of your close proximity or if it’s from the frigid air surrounding you two, but you like to think you’ve incited a little nervousness within him. After all, this relationship is still somewhat new to the both of you. 

But his prior relationship experience allows him to feel a warranted confidence around you. Oikawa takes the lead, stepping forth and slowly leaning toward your face. He scans your eyes, concern and eagerness apparent.

He’s silently asking if this is okay.

And after giving him a small nod, Tooru closes in on you, eyes softening. 

You meet him the rest of the way, taking his lips into a shiver-inducing kiss. Chills run up your arms, but are quickly followed by a wave of heat that fills up your chest and coats your entire body. 

You don’t really need that jacket anymore. 

Oikawa’s lips are cold, but soft and pleasant. They meld with your own in several gentle motions, getting a feel for you once more. You think he must have been taking notes from your last make out session, because he knows exactly how to move his head to accommodate for your comfort and how to make you jittery at the touch of his calloused fingers as they roam your neck, arms, and sides.

While Oikawa is busy reading you like an open book, you’re on your tiptoes in anticipation, wondering what his next move will be. 

One moment he has your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging and inciting soft whines from you, the next he’s gingerly cupping your cheeks as if you were the only thing that’s ever mattered to him. A concoction of deep pleasure and unguarded intimacy - as fragile as a butterfly’s wing. And these aforementioned butterfly moments inevitably bubble their way out in nervous excitement and shaky, skin-seeking hands.

His tongue surprises you as it licks your bottom lip for permission. The warmth is inviting, so you gladly comply and let him explore your mouth gently and curiously. He’s patient. More than generous with his time, making sure to appreciate and savor every last second of you. You taste like nothing he’s ever had. It’s addictive. Like maple-syrup or freshly cut strawberries, your sugary lips had him sipping on you for another kiss. And another. And another

As you run your fingers up his neck with a fluttering touch, he lets his hands wander down to your hips in the process. You breath hitches and you feel him smile against your lips as he tips you back slightly. As your legs become shakier, knees threatening to give out as the kiss intensifies, Oikawa only pulls you closer. 

Because you had a way of bringing him back to reality with the brush of your lips and the breath of your words. Those kisses are a gentle reminder that he doesn’t need to be on a court or draped in medals to be worthy. His career, his passions are important... but so is this.

And so those strong arms hold you up, their touch tender and protective. Like he’s guarding you. Cherishing you. Begging you not to pull away yet.

But all kisses must fade at some point. 

Only when his thumb is brushing against your jaw do you part. In an instant, you miss his warmth and the sweet minty taste on his lips. You both find yourself panting from the long-winded session, seeking oxygen and energy... though you wish it were possible to breathe him in instead.

And while you’re feeling cloudy and dazed, you note that there’s a clarity to his gaze. It’s a clearness you can’t quite discern, but you know it’s coming from a good place, because he’s already pulling you into a hug, tucking you into his chest, and peppering your face with little kisses.

It’s a love letter in the form of a kiss… or 20 if you count all the pecks being pressed against your forehead and cheeks. Without words, he’s thanking you. Praising you. Asking you to stick around for as long as you can bear. 

And, in a sense, you’ve discovered the real Oikawa Tooru.

The Oikawa who doesn’t have to hide behind his fame or his successes or his pretty face to receive your recognition. Because you see past all of that. You see him for who he is right now.

An achiever who needs to be reminded of his humanity. A man who craves touch and care just like any other. A lost soul searching for a space in the world and in your open arms.

You’ve helped him to find himself underneath all of the pressure and all of the lights.

You’ve shown him that there’s worth in just being himself. That you can keep each other grounded and stable, saving each other from themselves in more ways than one.

You’ve found him for who he is… and neither of you are planning on letting the other go.

---

tags: @cherryonigiri, @yams046, @miss-rin, @shou-kunn, @senkuwu-chan, @super-noya, @stcrryskies, @holaaaf, @sugacookiies, @vintgicals, @moonlightaangel, @kit-tea, theworldupthere, @sugasugawarau, @randomesk-yuku, @ideshine, @macaronnv, @anseoo, @aprettyfruit, @bbakougo, bloom-uwu, @spikertrash, @iguessimastannow

(comment, dm, or send an ask to be added to my general tag list - blogs in bold could not be tagged)

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa #hq #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #reposted this from wednesday bc the tags werent working :/ #thank u all for being patient w/ me! #i still dont know exactly how i feel about this fic #but i think i like it? #sneezefiction

[forasecondtherewedwon]

and the stars (they all aligned)

Fandom: Sex Education Pairing: Ola Nyman/Lily Iglehart Rating: E Word Count: 3887

Summary: Ola knows there's more to outer space than aliens with penis-fingers, and from their spot on the hill, gazing up at the night sky with Lily, it's never felt closer. They've never felt closer.

“Life can get small, you know?” Ola says sadly. The gravity inside her body still feels a little off, like her heart’s bobbing around, unsure whether to float or land. She’s sad, she’s elated, she’s aching for her mum, she’s grateful to have her girlfriend next to her on the grass.

“Like when I stopped writing my stories,” Lily suggests, frowning thoughtfully under her silvery makeup.

“Yeah. But the stars are so beautiful out here. I feel like, if I laid down and just looked straight up… blocked out the people and the lights from the houses… I could see really far into space.”

“You are seeing far into space, with some of these.” Lily points a pale, precise finger up above them. “The light’s coming from such a long way away that you’re basically traveling in time. And that’s real,” she quickly emphasizes, “not science fiction.”

Ola smiles widely.

“Cool.”

The other spectators are beginning to walk back to their cars and homes, but Lily and Ola lie back on the plaid blanket. Lily’s arm pulls her gently closer until Ola’s resting her head on her girlfriend’s chest. Just when it seems that the star shower has ended, another lone light flies past.

“They’re meteors, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Lily says, but Ola can tell she’s held something back.

“If you want to say what you imagine them to be,” she prompts, “I’m here to listen.”

“Aliens,” Lily blurts, given permission, but then she adds: “Or angels.”

Ola lies very still for a minute, breathing, feeling the plasticky pink stripes on her girlfriend’s outfit pull on her cheek a little when she repositions her head.

“Angels?”

“Well, this was your mum’s favourite place,” Lily says, straightforward and unflinching, the way she explains everything that can’t possibly be real. “So maybe angels. Cosmic angels who ice skate on Jupiter’s frozen moon, Europa.”

“Aww, that’s lovely.”

“And hump the rings of Saturn.”

“That’s not really how I’d like to picture my mum’s spirit.”

“Sorry,” Lily says. Ola can hear the wince in her voice and gives her waist a quick squeeze to show she isn’t upset. “The cosmic angels could also be juggling moon rocks.”

“Tanning on planets that orbit three suns.”

“Riding spiral galaxies around like a carousel!”

“And when we see shooting stars,” Ola says with a smile, “they’re surfing.”

“Yes, I think that’s right,” Lily agrees, sighing contentedly beneath her. “You know—” She taps the nape of Ola’s neck like Ola’s seen her tap her desk when she’s writing and pauses to consider the next turn her intergalactic saga will take. “—you’ve got a really good imagination.”

Delighted, Ola lifts her head and smiles at her girlfriend.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“So do I,” Lily says while Ola nods, “but maybe I use it too much? If I’d been better at living in reality, you wouldn’t have gotten sick of me.”

Ola frowns. She’s big on showing affection through physical contact and instinct tells her to brush Lily’s hair back from her face or something, but it’s too slicked down tonight, the silky length of it twirled into a magnificent pair of space buns, wound through with metallic thread. Her girlfriend is so creative, and so many beautiful things come from her brain. Ola hates that Hope, their classmates, and even her made Lily believe her ideas and the way she expresses them aren’t valuable.

“Lily. I was never sick of you.” She reaches to adjust the gleaming pleather collar of Lily’s outfit, then leans down to nuzzle her nose against Lily’s. “And I never want you to use your imagination less, or try to turn it off, or anything like that. The answer might even be to use it more.”

“More?”

“Yeah.”

Ola drops her head onto her girlfriend’s chest again, hugging into her side as a chatting couple wheel a stroller up the hill past them. She thinks of the new baby while Lily mulls over what she’s said. Joy. They’ll have to sedate her dad if they want him out of the hospital tonight while that tiny girl slumbers there. Joy will learn, when she’s older, what a good dad she had from the very beginning—watching over Joy and giving Ola, well, space. She stares up at the sparkling scatter of stars.

“Because there are other ways for us to enjoy having sex,” Lily says a few minutes later, no preamble.

Ola nods, face shushing across her girlfriend’s costume.

“We’ve done so much together already, but I’m sure there’s loads we haven’t explored.” She shrugs. “I might never have tried any sort of alien roleplay if I hadn’t met you, and you come up with new things you want to try all the time. You inspire yourself, through your writing, and I think that’s amazing.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Ola says confidently. “I do.”

“Your mom must have loved you really well,” Lily murmurs, “because you love really well too.”

Ola is a box. A clear, plastic box with a hatch where her heart is. She is an incubator, like Joy’s, housing a very fragile thing, and Lily has reached inside to cradle that thing in her careful hands. Ola sniffs and the stars smudge into a big, messy glow up above. She blinks fast as her eyes brim.

“She did.”

“I wouldn’t want to be abducted without you.”

Ola laughs wetly.

“Thanks, Lil.”

Lily speaks some more, but it’s not to her. She mumbles and traces lines up and down the sleeve of Ola’s green jacket. Ola can tell she’s thinking out loud; the words ‘pulsing’ and ‘Glenoxi’ and ‘penis-fingers’ hum in the air over their heads. She’s prepared to flip off anyone who looks at her girlfriend strangely, but the final stragglers march by in their own wild costumes, dragging signs with hopeful and blatantly sexual pleas. Huh. Some of these really are Lily’s people.

Once they’re alone on the hill, Ola sighs and rolls fully onto her back, head on Lily’s oversized round belt buckle as she lies perpendicular to her girlfriend. She kicks her legs out, feet apart, and folds her hands over her stomach. Lily’s fingers creep over and toy with her rainbow pin. Smiling at the warmth of her girlfriend’s hand through her jacket, Ola’s finally ready to do what she said before: block out everything else and look up.

The dark is comforting and lovely. When she relaxes the muscles in her face, lets her gaze go unfocused and fuzzy, all of that celestial light becomes a soft background for her thoughts and feelings. She imagines that she (and Lily, of course) are someplace else, far from this hill and the wonderful, painful complexities of their lives. Would she be able to see Earth? She supposes that she would, diving back through her memories to her childhood treehouse, the telescope her dad hauled up there for her and her sister. Ser du det, Ola? Det är planeten Venus. She’d forgotten about that clunky old telescope.

From a distance, Earth would twinkle too, reflecting the light of the sun. Magic. There are so many incredible things, Ola thinks, that are true. Facts that inspire fiction, and are in some cases more wonderful than anything most people could make up.

She rolls onto her stomach, propped up by her elbows.

“I’ve… had a thought,” Ola says, gaze sweeping up Lily’s torso to her face, where wide eyes swivel to stare back at her.

“About what?”

Ola stretches a hand out to trace her girlfriend’s upturned nose with a fingertip.

“Something we could do,” she says slyly. She brings her finger down to cover Lily’s lips and Lily bites the end with faux-ferocity.

“Here?”

Ola nods, grinning.

Eagerly, Lily sits up.

“Well, tell me,” she says.

“We’re going to go on a journey,” Ola informs her. Lily smiles reservedly, waiting for more. “And you can narrate.”

“Where are we going?”

“Space.”

Lily glances from side to side, at the hilltop that’s darker now everyone’s left with their torches and camera flashes and glow-in-the-dark clothes. Only their candle remains.

“Where are we really going?”

“Nowhere, technically,” Ola says, scrunching her nose. “We’ll do it right here.”

“Ok,” says Lily gamely. “What is it we’re doing?”

Pushing up onto her hands and knees, Ola leans forward to kiss her. It’s quick, but when it’s over and her girlfriend inhales like she’s going to ask another question, Ola kisses her again, smiling against her lips. Sometimes doing is better than explaining.

Lily’s hand raises and cups her cheek. It’s when Ola feels the other hand curl around the back of her neck and flex as Lily presses more enthusiastically into the kiss that she knows she’s got it, she’s understood. They kiss faster and Ola’s hands skitter across Lily’s belt, searching for a piece to undo until she realizes its overlapping ends Velcro together in the back, hidden by the cape. The ripping sound of the strips unfastening makes them both laugh. Ola lays the belt out on the blanket before planting one hand on her girlfriend’s far side, bracketing her as she reclines slightly onto her elbows and they continue to kiss.

Lily’s cape is designed like a vest, with holes for her arms to go through. Ola tugs at one, then accepts that she won’t be able to get it off over the massive, padded shoulder spike on Lily’s bodysuit. Not without help.

“You won’t be too cold, will you?” she checks, sitting back to allow Lily to maneuver out of her cape.

“Not yet.”

“And if I want to take this off as well?” Ola asks coyly, sliding her hands along her girlfriend’s outfit, up from the waist to knead Lily’s breasts through the quilted fabric.

Lily smiles back and tips her chin up, encouraging the deep kiss Ola sinks into, already feeling her arousal climbing with the anticipation of trying out this new idea. Maybe she should have found a way to talk to Lily about introducing some variety sooner, because it’s been a while since she felt this level of excitement for sex. She always enjoys herself, but it has been a little hard, acting out one of Lily’s fantasies after another without ever taking the lead herself. Hopefully, tonight establishes a revised balance in this area of their relationship—a fusion that’s partly Lily, partly Ola.

Locating the zipper at the back of Lily’s costume, Ola pulls back.

“This is ok, right?” she asks, because Lily never said out loud that she wouldn’t be cold.

“I think so,” her girlfriend says. She looks down. “I can snuggle into the blanket as well, don’t forget.”

Ola scans their surroundings.

“And there isn’t anyone around,” she says, grinning. Could she be into the idea of getting caught? She’s never considered it before! Not actually caught, of course, because she very much wants to keep this about the two of them, but there’s a thrill surrounding the possibility that Ola didn’t expect.

“Five, four, three, two, one,” Lily counts down. “Ignition.” She holds Ola’s gaze and lifts her eyebrows, some sort of a cue.

“Oh, got it,” Ola says, beginning to unzip the silvery bodysuit.

Arms wrapped around her girlfriend from the front, her hands slide down as she exposes Lily’s skin to the air. She can tell through the material that there isn’t anything underneath it—no lines, no ridges but her spine, her shoulder blades—so when the zipper hits the end of its track at Lily’s lower back and Lily peels the front of the outfit down, Ola isn’t surprised to be confronted with her girlfriend’s bare breasts.

The shinier segment of the costume winds up being a sort of torso-less shirt—the sleeves connecting to the high collar that encircles Lily’s neck. That part stays on as Lily wiggles and hops, getting the sleeveless bodysuit over her hips and bum, and Ola sees that the shiny leggings are separate as well.

“This is really cool,” she notes.

“Thanks,” Lily says, working the bodysuit off over her nearly-knee-high boots. “The cape…?” she wonders when she’s done.

“You can put that back on.”

“And you want me to talk?”

“Yes please. Just not about aliens,” Ola adds, watching her girlfriend’s expression cautiously for signs of hurt.

But Lily’s face is open, unoffended. She shrugs into her cape.

“Alright.”

“I mean, if you find you have anything you want to say,” Ola clarifies. She smirks as she slips her hand between Lily’s thighs, cupping her and rubbing a bit through the leggings.

“I think the ship—the normal, regular Earth spaceship,” Lily clarifies, breathing slightly unevenly, “—is monitoring a disturbance. A buildup of energy.”

“Oh?”

Ola smiles wider, then bends over her girlfriend, running her mouth along her skin below where her sleeve-top conceals her collarbones. Gradually, Lily lies back. As Ola hoped she would, Lily narrates, easily spinning a science-fiction story that’s heavy on the science for once. Ola kisses back up her throat as Lily’s high voice speaks clearly of stellar nurseries, dense with dust and gas. In spite of her flowing words and dreamy descriptions, the actual subject matter doesn’t sound that nice to Ola, until Lily announces the mission of this particular spaceship. (“Mmm?” Ola asks wordlessly, kissing below Lily’s jaw; Lily nods to acknowledge that Ola’s mouth will indeed be playing the role of the spaceship in this scenario.) It’s closing in on this cloud of stellar stuff in search of the new star that’s about to be born.

“Passing between huge planets,” Lily says, while Ola hunches hungrily over her body and kisses down between her breasts. “Gas giants. Jupiter, maybe.”

Ola nearly starts laughing when Lily confirms one of the planets to be Jupiter by the fact of ‘the ship’ spying its Great Red Spot—Ola’s focused in on Lily’s nipple, dragging it tenderly between her teeth before sucking to deepen the colour; with the blue of the night, that’s closer to purple than Lily’s normal rosy pink.

She keeps going and so does Lily, infusing every lick and tug with the richness of her imagination, as well as actual knowledge of the solar system, about which she seems to know quite a lot. For a risky, romantic hookup under no roof but the sky, it’s rather educational.

The minute Lily’s bent knees go flat as she straightens to her full length, Ola swings a leg over to hover above her. She redoubles her attention to her girlfriend’s breasts and caresses her hands swiftly up Lily’s sides. Lily shivers and Ola thinks it’s the cold getting to her after all, but when she raises her head to check in, Lily’s eyelids are drooping with pleasure. So Ola continues to touch her. And Lily continues to unravel their tale.

She recounts the rushing of a meteor shower as smoothly as if she was up there when it happened, half an hour ago. Ola matches her pace with her mouth, skimming kisses down her ribcage. Lily’s imagination turns her own bellybutton into the deep crater of a moon which the ship sets down to explore. (Lily is very kinky about her bellybutton being probed by Ola’s tongue, and Ola’s not going to leave that out, even if they are going in a different direction than usual.)

Progressing, Ola hooks her fingers into the waist of Lily’s leggings and, undistracted, Lily makes the story sound like something she’s reading out of a book—the spaceship setting a course that will take it beyond the most distant line humankind has ever drawn in the universe, farther than it’s ever been before. For Ola, touching Lily below her navel is far from uncharted territory. And yet, she’s sort of enjoying the dramatics.

Lily keeps the story fertile with details another storyteller would make dull (spaceship maintenance, the sleep schedule of the crew), but which grow like lush, otherworldly flora coming from her. The human interest side of things accompanies Ola’s descent as she strips the leggings down. Although they only get as far as the top of Lily’s boots, the leggings are stretchy enough to let her girlfriend part her knees so Ola can kiss lower.

A little lower.

Barely.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Ola says with a laugh, raising an apologetic hand to interrupt her girlfriend.

“I do think I might be cold if I take everything off completely.”

“Well… hmm…”

While Ola’s still appraising the situation, Lily’s face lights up with epiphany. Legs locked stiffly together, she raises them into the air. Ola climbs off of her to see what she’s up to.

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to stay like that?” Ola questions, watching her girlfriend’s legs waver at a 45-degree angle to the ground.

“I won’t need to if you crawl underneath!”

Thank goodness Lily isn’t shy with her. Instead, it’s funny for them both when Ola moves down to lie on her stomach. Lily parts her legs enough to hook the half-lowered leggings behind Ola’s head, Ola’s face poking between her thighs. Lily lowers her legs back down until they rest on Ola’s shoulders and, basically, they’re in business. Holding happily to the top of her girlfriend’s naked thighs, Ola peruses Lily’s body admiringly before ducking her head.

“The nebula,” her girlfriend breathes, as Ola’s kisses near the soft nest of Lily’s pubic hair. The boundary’s been made unnatural by the squiggly shape Lily’s attempted to shave into it (something Ola might have called silly before her resolution of open-mindedness), and Lily uses that as fuel for the plot, making the spaceship’s journey treacherous, full of objects to navigate around. In reality, Ola pecks a straight line down to Lily’s cunt. Honestly, she’s relieved at the extra evidence—beyond Lily’s expression, her readiness to undress out-of-doors, and the quick pants that’ve become part of her breathing pattern—that Lily’s into this.

Ola wraps her arms farther around the top of Lily’s thighs until she’s able to brush her fingers between them, thumbing her girlfriend’s labia apart. Gosh, they haven’t done this in weeks, which is ages for them. The last vulva Ola saw was iced onto the top of a cupcake.

With Lily held open, Ola licks deftly between her legs with the tip of her tongue. Her girlfriend’s voice trembles. When Ola’s worked her way inward until she’s ringing just inside Lily’s vagina, Lily’s hand comes down and lands on the top of her head. She doesn’t really want it there though, isn’t being forceful. Ola understands this reaction, a common one from her girlfriend when she’s being eaten out, and frees one hand, blindly offering it up. Lily links their fingers together. Their joined hands fall next to her hip.

“Closer,” Lily gasps, arousal seeping slowly over and under Ola’s tongue. Her other hand slips down Ola’s neck and into the back of her top where she’s warm, almost sweaty, with the heat of being turned on. “They’re getting closer to the star.”

The commitment to the story, every time, is something Ola loves about her.

And so she indulges her girlfriend, sliding her tongue higher, easing a finger into Lily’s vagina to perform an unhurried in-and-out while her mouth closes in on her clitoris. Ola’s own clit is desperate for a fingering, blood pumping strongly towards her groin inside her baggy jeans, but she can wait, get Lily off first. Whenever they pleasure each other in that order, Lily always comes alive after, flipping Ola onto her back and smothering her in enthusiastic kisses and caresses.

Picturing this as the likely near-future, Ola hums blissfully against Lily’s clit (Lily squirms and lets out one of her moans that sound like a ghostly wail—yeah, Ola kind of loves those too). She closes her eyes to intensify the sensations and does the rest by familiar feel.

Her girlfriend babbles now, about the spaceship orbiting the new star that’s forming while Ola teasingly orbits her clit with her tongue. It takes a lot of effort to separate Lily from one of her stories when she’s on a roll, but broad, firm licks to her clit are enough to pull even Ola’s one-foot-in-outer-space girlfriend into the present moment.

“Oh god, Ola, I can almost see the cosmic angels,” Lily whines, striving exquisitely towards climax. “I’m going to see cosmic angels.”

Ola believes her. She believed this hill was special, she will believe in aliens, and right now she believes that Lily’s imminent orgasm looks like a flock of cosmic angels behind her eyelids. Sure. Why not? Her hand clasps harder to her girlfriend’s. She doesn’t care that Lily’s rerouted to the fantastical right at the end. They’re real. The elements that got them here are real: Lily’s storytelling, Ola’s desire to feel close to her in a world that wasn’t only Lily’s, loneliness, love.

Without speaking very loudly, Ola knows her voice will carry to her girlfriend’s ears—this evening, silver and pointed.

“Glenoxi,” she groans rapturously against Lily’s clit.

Lily’s hips buck once, then her body buckles, fingers twisting with Ola’s. Her voice rises brokenly into the night and Ola is on fire with how much she wants her.

Ola wipes her mouth on the blanket while Lily catches her breath. She quit moving her finger when her girlfriend clenched around it and came, but now she begins to hook it shallowly inside Lily’s sopping channel, coaxing her.

“You wanna again?” Ola asks, grinning between planting gentle kisses on Lily’s inner thigh.

“Yes,” Lily sighs. She twitches their joined hands. “But come up here beside me so I can take your jeans off. I want—”

There’s a snapping sound and Ola jerks her head up as much as she can in her current position. Under a hundred feet from them, someone’s standing, raising the chunky green glowstick they must’ve just found, dropped in the grass by an Eighth attendee, and cracked. The person turns, looks their way. Freezes. They won’t be able to see everything in the dark. Not everything, but enough. Ola hears a noise of surprise.

“Um,” she says, thinking quickly. Louder, she calls to the accidental intruder: “The aliens just beamed down this human woman! Quick! Go find a scientist!”

The person spins and runs in the opposite direction, back over the crest of the hill.

Ola looks down at Lily, who stares curiously back.

“Do you think they’ve gone to find a scientist?”

“No,” Ola yelps giddily, “I think they’ve gone to call the police because they’ve just seen two people fucking on a public hillside.”

“Are you sure they’ll think that? Your cover was rather good.”

“Thanks,” Ola says, extricating herself from between her girlfriend’s legs, “but yes! We’ve got to go!”

They scramble to their feet, Lily yanking her leggings back up. There isn’t time to fuss with the rest of her costume, so she snatches it up, clutching it to her chest along with the sign she brought. Once Ola’s grabbed their candle and gathered the blanket into a sloppy bundle in her arms, they sprint for the road and onward to Lily’s house.

The glow of the candle and Lily’s cape, reflecting it, are streaks of light in the black.

A blaze of brightness and joy. Their own two-person audience of believers.

#my writing #Sex Education #Sex Education spoilers #Ola Nyman #Lily Iglehart #Ola x Lily #Lily x Ola #Sex Education fanfiction

[phantom-curve]

49 or 50 for willex, and au of your choosing!

“Also happy second birthday!! Hope you have a wonderful day”

Thank you! This was an absolute joy to write so I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it! From the gimme a chance AU (which I guess now officially has spin-off lore about Willex) I give you Alex and Willie’s first date.

#49: holding onto the other’s shoulders for support & #50: putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up 

When Willie had asked Alex if he wanted to go on a date to the art museum, Alex couldn’t help but picture something cute and romantic. The two of them wandering around bright, airy rooms with the sunshine streaming in, bathing them in an ethereal kind of glow. Long moments standing in front of different paintings, fingertips brushing as they exchanged meaningful side long glances with one another. Maybe they would even kiss. Alex had been nearly breathless with the thought. Which was why he said yes without hesitation.

Willie looked like an absolute dream when Alex first caught sight of him outside of the museum, his long hair fluttering in the breeze behind him under his helmet, the loose, slightly cropped t-shirt he wore rising up every now and then to reveal tantalizing glimpses at tanned skin and toned abs. He came to a graceful stop on his skateboard right in front of Alex, grinning from ear to ear as he raised his eyebrows up and down teasingly.

“Didn’t run ya over this time. This date is already going better than our first meeting.”

Alex couldn’t stop the slightly high-pitched embarrassed laugh that slipped through his lips. Willie’s cheeks stretched impossibly wider, and Alex felt his own cheeks warm.

“I didn’t really mind so much.”

Willie smirked like he thought Alex was lying, which, fair. Alex had been pissed when Willie had crashed into him, ready to absolutely lose it on whatever dumbass had knocked him down and then had the audacity to complain about his stupid fucking skateboard. But then Willie had been scrambling to apologize, his brown hair tumbling down from his helmet in a mesmerizing cascade, and Alex had forgotten about his injuries completely because he was entirely focused on remembering how to breathe and getting his brain to restart. And then Willie had asked him out and it became the best day of Alex’s life. So, in the end, he didn’t really mind.

“C’mon, I got us tickets already.”

Willie tucked his skateboard under one arm and held his other hand out like he was offering it to Alex. Which, he was, Alex realized after a long second. He felt the blush paint his cheeks again and rushed to pull his hand from his pocket so he could place it in Willie’s. Willie didn’t say anything, but Alex caught the way his lips curved a bit on the edges, like he was holding back a smile.

Willie, it turned out, had an extensive understanding of almost everything art related. He named off artists without having to read the little cards by their work and talked about different periods of art styles and the evolution of art as it related to history, explaining how the two were inextricably linked which wasn’t something Alex had ever really thought about before, but was fascinating, nonetheless. Alex let himself be led around, impressed and in complete awe as Willie pointed out his favorite pieces and waxed poetic about Jean-Michel Basquiat, who Alex had learned was his favorite artist. It was everything Alex had hoped for in a date, especially when Willie led him down a set of stairs and into a basement gallery that was practically deserted.

There were large abstract sculptures throughout the room, concrete benches spaced out along the wall. Willie walked over to one and sprawled out, Alex sitting down next to him in a bit more conservative manner.

“Man, I wish they had let me bring my board in. How dope would it be to skate through this place?”

He traced his fingers through the air like he was mentally mapping out exactly how he would maneuver around all the obstacles. Alex laughed.

“I’d be way too worried about running into a priceless piece of art and ruining it.”

Alex shuddered as he thought about how awful it would be to destroy someone’s artistic creation. He still remembered how heartbroken Luke had been their senior year of high school when their former bandmate Bobby had stolen his songs and sold them to a record label on a solo contract. The pain had been unbearable, and Alex hadn’t even been the one dealing with the brunt of the hurt. Something must have changed on his face because Willie leaned over to nudge him softly with his knee. Alex blinked, startled back into the present and looked into the warmest pair of brown eyes he’d ever seen.

“You’re wound a little tight, huh? Where’d you go just then?”

Usually, Alex didn’t really open up to people. He’d learned from a young age that emotions were best kept in a bottle locked in a safe shoved into the farthest reaches of his brain. Alex and Reggie had unpacked some of that throughout the years, slowly gaining his trust and teaching him that it was okay to express himself. But Alex never really let other people in like his boys. Except, there was something about Willie, some innate goodness in him, that made Alex feel safe and calm and like maybe it was okay to let him in, too.

So, he did. He talked about Bobby, and then that spiraled into talking about the band and his homophobic parents and their silent rejection that stung all the more because it was like they weren’t even mad, they just decided that he suddenly no longer existed. Willie didn’t interrupt or judge. And when Alex had finally exhausted himself and felt a little less bogged down by it all, Willie reached over and placed his hand on Alex’s knee, skin to skin through the hole in his jeans.

“That sucks, man. I’m glad you’ve got a better family with your friends now. Luke and Reggie, right? So, you all moved down here from San Fran together?”

Alex had mentioned that when they first met. It shouldn’t be a big deal, the fact that Willie remembered and had clearly actually been listening to the things Alex had said then and now, but he was so used to not being heard that it felt monumental. His lips curved into a small smile.

“Yeah. They’re my best friends. Luke swears someday our band will take off now that we’re in LA, but I’m just happy I get to be here with them, living in a house that doesn’t feel so unwelcoming all the time and whaling on some drums whenever I need to.”

“I’m happy you’re here, too.”

The way he said it, with a little smirk and some bouncy eyebrows, Alex knew Willie meant more than just being in LA. He meant here in this museum, with him. Suddenly, Willie jumped to his feet, holding both hands out towards Alex.

“I think I know something else that might help you loosen up. Wanna give it a try?”

Alex was pretty sure he was willing to give anything a try if Willie asked him to. He slipped his hands into Willie’s and only stumbled slightly when he was pulled to his feet. Willie let go so he could catch Alex by his shoulders, their faces so close Alex could count every one of his eyelashes. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, something crackling in the space between them. And then, Willie threw his head back and yelled.

Alex jumped about 10 feet in the air and immediately slapped a hand over Willie’s mouth, muffling the sound of the other boy’s voice. He whipped his head back and forth, thankful that there wasn’t another museum patron around or worse, a security guard.

“What the hell was that for?!” He whisper-yelled, feeling the need to compensate for Willie’s vocal volume by lowering his own.

Willie laughed, his lips moving under Alex’s palm. Alex let his hand drop, not wanting to think too long about Willie’s lips touching his skin.

“It’s stress release!”

Alex raised a judgmental brow.

“Yelling in a museum is stress release?”

“Yeah, man,” Willie was still laughing, his smile easy and eyes sparkling. “There’s something about letting everything out all at once, especially in a place where it feels like you shouldn’t. C’mon, you said you would give it a try.”

Alex glanced around the gallery again. They were alone, and he had said he would try it. He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. Willie grinned and nodded encouragingly, so Alex inhaled again and tried to copy him.

“Ahhhhh!”

It was pretty pitiful in comparison. Willie doubled over with laughter for a moment, but when he straightened his smile was patient and kind.

“Nah, dude. You gotta mean it. Here, we can do it together.”

He stepped close, the tips of his shoes touching Alex’s, hands fisting into the shoulders of Alex’s favorite pink hoodie. He looked down at where Alex’s arms were dangling limply at his side and cocked his head, so Alex grabbed onto Willie’s shoulders as well. He felt Willie lean against him, letting Alex support some of his weight, and did the same. It weirdly felt almost like a hug, the way they were each clinging onto each other, trusting the other one to hold them up. Alex copied Willie when he sucked in a deep breath, but this time, instead of lifting his head towards the ceiling, Willie maintained eye contact. That same tension from earlier pulled taught between them. The moment built until all the sudden Alex felt a huge rush of emotion and opened his mouth at the exact same time as Willie, their voices overlapping and blending together in one loud, messy shout.

The resulting rush was incredible. Alex understood immediately what Willie had meant. He let out a laugh, absolutely delighted, and yelled again. Willie yelled back, and Alex felt like his head was spinning, drunk on adrenaline and release and Willie himself. He opened his mouth to yell again when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Willie glanced over his shoulder towards the doorway they had come through and then he grabbed Alex’s hand without hesitation, giggling as he pulled him through the room and out a second doorway at the back of the space before they could get caught. They raced up a different set of stairs, only slowing to a walk as they reentered the main level gallery space. Alex was breathless and giddy, the feeling of Willie’s hand in his making him feel brave and reckless. When they finally came to a stop in a hallway between the main gallery and a doorway to the outdoor sculpture park, he used their joined hands to pull Willie close.

“You are insane, and I cannot believe I let you talk me into that.”

His words were too soft to be a real admonishment. Willie leaned in, his hips brushing against Alex’s and the feeling was overwhelming. Without letting himself think about it, Alex reached up to move a few errant strands of hair out of Willie’s face, letting one hand rest against his jaw and bringing the other around his neck so he could tilt his face up. Willie’s eyes were shining, gaze dropping to Alex’s lips as the tip of his tongue peeked out to wet his own. It was all the invitation Alex needed.

He swooped down, Willie stretching on his toes to meet him halfway, arms sliding around his waist and pulling their bodies close. Alex’s mind went blissfully blank, focusing on nothing but the taste of cherry Chapstick on his tongue and the feeling of silky hair slipping through his fingers. Willie made a little noise in the back of his throat and Alex pulled back slightly, feeling shy and nervous. Their foreheads were still touching, breaths comingling in the tiny space between them. Willie leaned in to press a soft kiss against Alex’s cheek, leaving a burning mark behind as he moved so his lips grazed Alex’s ear.

“Totally worth it.”

He pulled away with a satisfied grin, dropping his heels as Alex felt himself blush from head to toe. Willie laced their fingers together and started to retrace their steps back towards the front of the museum, pulling a dazed Alex along in his wake.

“Wanna go grab some food? There’s a pretty good hotdog stand around the corner we could hit up.”

That broke Alex out of his spell.

“Ugh, no. Literally anything but hotdogs, please.”

He shivered, his stomach clenching like it still remembered the time Luke had convinced them they could totally trust the dude selling food out of the trunk of his car at next to a venue they were playing at. Willie laughed and quirked a brow.

“Sounds like you’ve got a story to tell, Hotdog. Let’s go.”

And Alex went, groaning the whole time about his new nickname but secretly loving the fact that Willie had given him one. Nicknames said familiarity, affection. Maybe by the end of their next date he could earn a different title: boyfriend.

#mads writes #gimme a chance #jatp #julie and the phantoms #send me prompts for my birthday! #willex #willex week #jatp ficlet #willex ficlet

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences (TW: language)

Words: ~3K

Summary: Lars has no idea what he was expecting the moment Steven texted him in the middle of the night to ask if he could come over, but being immediately tackled in an intense vice-grip of a hug the second he opened the door probably wasn’t it.

Set mid SUF.

I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to write Lars’ POV before this, but it was really fun! If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

____

Besides the quiet lull of the TV and the electric hum of the attic’s rickety old heater, all is silent in the Barriga household. The nighttime streets outside are vacant. Not a soul roams through his section of town, not even the newer Gem arrivals, who thankfully have been informed of humanity’s biologically mandated curfew by now. Sheesh, it’s about time.

After all, silence is peace. And in this day and age, in a world where the barriers between human and intergalactic politics are becoming increasingly blurred by the hour, peace is a gift.

Which is why having free time to play whatever old video games he wants in complete and total solitude at one AM is probably the single thing keeping him sane at this moment.

Lars’ fingers expertly flick at the joysticks of the controller as if by innate memory. It genuinely feels like forever since he’s been able to lose himself for hours in a solo campaign like this, and quite honestly, if given a choice he prefers it to any other leisurely activity. Chatting with his online friends or with that Gem gang of his is fun, sure, and working the counter at his bake shop can often be emotionally satisfying, but pushed too long and any kind of social interaction feels draining. He shifts on his bed, paying little to no attention to the slight chill against his bare chest. He’s pretty sure it’s like, near freezing outside and yet somehow it’s no more an annoyance to him than having to pause to reload an ammo clip in this game. It’s weird. Really weird. But then, at this point everything about his dumb life is.

It’s the Steven effect, he thinks with a soft scoff. Weird practically orbits him and his moms, and inevitably, every person he comes in contact with is brought into the fold. He’s a good kid, though. Don’t get him wrong. Steven always tries his best to be thoughtful when dealing with people he doesn’t understand— even when initially those people just act like dicks in return— and he for one is grateful for that, for the gift of a... a second chance. He knows full well he didn’t deserve it, (he still doesn’t), but he’s grateful.

The kid’s still on his mind when his phone lights up on the nightstand beside him, like the now familiar glow of Gems synchronizing to fuse.

(And goddamnit, does a part of him still balk almost two years later that it’s so normal to be casually relating everyday things to outer space Gem stuff anyways. What is he, with his pink hair and alien friends, the main character of an anime?)

Eyes skirt away from the grainy television set he’s been playing his favorite Immortal Combat on, and glance at the new notification.

Steven, the name at the top of the text reads. Well, lo and behold. The true shounen protagonist himself. Somebody’s ears must have been burning. Though, hmm. Come to think of it, that’s actually unusual. They pass bullshit memes back and forth sometimes, yes, but he never sends him anything this late at night.

Lars frowns, failing to obscure that annoying, instinctual worry that seizes him like the long lost sensation of hunger rising from the pit of his stomach, and scoots forward on his bed to grab his phone. What’s he want at this hour, anyways?

Steven: hey, sorry i know its late but can i come over ?

His frown deepens as he glances down at himself, clad in only a pair of boxers. He doesn’t mind having an unexpected visitor— after all, it’s not like he requires sleep anymore— but he’s not exactly dressed for company, here.

yeah but gimme a mo, he types back. kinda need to put on a shirt

Steven: k

Yawning out of sheer habit, he leans over the other side of the bed and grabs the first decent smelling tee he can find off the floor. It’s got an overlapping triangular emblem on it, a symbol from one of the game series he used to be obsessed with as a kid. He quickly shrugs it and a stray pair of sweatpants on, then returns to his phone.

decent now, he updates him.

The response is almost immediate.

Steven: be there soon

With a heavy inhale, he leans back against the headboard and begins to mentally prepare himself for the passage of One Whole Teenage Boy through the portal in his hair. For the most part he’s grown used to the changes caused by Steven’s literal magic resurrection, but not this. Who the hell knows how his pet lion puts up with it all the time. Quite frankly, how that creature has remained so docile and patient after years of interloping within Steven’s chaotic world of Gems eludes him, ‘cause it sure as hell isn’t a side effect of all the death-defying space voodoo.

Also, he’s like, 97% sure that “docile” and “patient” aren’t words anyone would pick to describe him at any stage of his life, ever.

And yet, yawning in his boredom, Lars waits.

And he waits.

And he waits.

And when eventually he breaks his stubborn streak and dares to check the time on his phone to see how many minutes have elapsed, how many minutes of his thrice-damned maybe infinite lifespan he’s wasted sitting up against the far wall of his room waiting for that kid to tumble right out of the literal inter-dimensional door hidden amidst the curls atop his head, he’s mildly surprised that his first emotional response to this delay is... dare he admits... disappointment.

It’s been nearly fifteen minutes. For whatever unknown reason, it seems as if Steven may not be coming over after all. Huh. He wonders what changed his mind. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Lars decides to check his texts. It’s possible the guy wrote something else and he just didn’t see it. But when he pulls up his latest conversation, all that comes up are the last messages they sent to each other. Be there soon, he said.

He hovers hesitant fingers over the keyboard, caught in the midst of trying to decide whether or not it’s too invasive and prying to send some sort of casual check-in, when he picks up on a very timid knock on the front door downstairs. And given the lateness of the hour, there’s really only one person it could be. He blinks for a moment, his mind still doing somersaults in order to process the mere concept of Steven not gleefully taking the opportunity to explode out of his hair for once in his life, and then drags himself up to his feet. Walks out of his attic room and down the stairs, being careful not to disturb his slumbering parents. Unlatches the locks on the door.

Truth be told he has no idea what he was expecting the moment Steven texted him at one fucking AM to ask if he could come over, but being immediately tackled in an intense vice-grip of a hug the second he opened the door probably wasn’t it.

He struggles not to stumble backwards at the initial force of the teen’s silent yet yearning embrace, eventually regaining his stability and... slowly, delicately... hugging him back. Honestly, he’s never been much of a hugger himself, but eh. He’ll give the guy this one. After a brief moment Lars gives him a few awkward pats, clearing his throat.

“Uh, Steven? You good to let go, now?” he asks quietly, still keeping his voice in a whisper for his parents’ benefit.

“Oh! Y-yeah, yeah,” his younger friend stammers, immediately pulling himself away. His eyes are drawn to the floor as he wrings his hands together. Timid. “Sorry, I just— I just needed somewhere I could clear my head tonight. Thank you, by the way.”

“No problem,” he throws back, gesturing for him to follow up the stairs. “‘S not like I ever sleep a wink now anyways. So I might as well have company.”

The two of them tiptoe towards the attic, a familiar setting for both. Steven’s been in here quite a few times before, so— already knowing the lay of the land— he plops himself down in the beanbag chair Lars keeps at the foot of his bed. They don’t talk about much of anything at first, merely passing back and forth brief updates about their lives. Small talk, nothing more. As expected though, Steven’s update is infinitely more interesting than his. Apparently he went on some mission to an alien planet with that Lapis friend of his the other day and had to deal with the attitude of some stubborn terraformers who didn’t want to stop working on their shitty old Homeworld assignment. (Meanwhile, the only update he has to offer is how he’s teaching Blue Lace Agate the art of bad baking puns while at work. Gotta leave behind some sort of legacy before he leaves with his fellow Off-Colors, of course.)

When the small talk finally dries up, (which seems... uncharacteristic, given the typical enthusiasm of his current visitor), Lars offers him a second controller.

“We can play the go-kart one, if you want,” he says, knowing full well that his friend isn’t a huge fan of all his war-themed combat games. Still, he figures the guy could probably stand to blow off a little steam. He looks super stressed, with his brow all creased and his stare unnervingly glassy.

The sixteen-year-old nods, adjusting his hands around the grips of the controller as Lars switches out the disk.

They race a few rounds in relative quiet, wholly insulated by the reassuring stillness of the night all around them, before Steven decides to open up again.

“Where do you think the line is?” he asks when they finish their current course.

His whole face scrunches in confusion. “Huh?”

“Between like, doing bad things, and outright being bad?” he continues, seemingly unaware of the comedic pulse of Lars’ initial response.

Lars blinks.

Considers these words deeply and thoroughly for a moment, as any good friend should.

And then...

“Where the heck did you pull that question from?”

Steven merely shrugs, his shoulders drooping a bit lower than they had been when he first entered his house a while back. “I dunno, just musing, ‘s all.”

The edges of his mouth curl downwards as he lets this corker of a conversation starter wash over him, not so much intended as a frown at Steven, but a frown at... whatever force of this universe would lead his friend to start musing about such depressing philosophical quandaries in the first place. Acting numb and brooding at the rest of the world is supposed to be his job, not this kid’s! And sure, yes, yes, yes, he knows he can’t exactly call him a kid anymore— at least not to his face— and that he’s been a teenager for a good three years now. It’s just that... well. For all his complaints about it earlier in life, Lars kinda grew to respect and feel uplifted by his cheery, upbeat, never-give-up-hope outlook. Dare he says, he kinda misses it.

(And for Steven’s sake, he kinda hoped he’d never discover the burnout and cynicism waiting on the other side. Alas, he fears that ship has probably sailed.)

“Sorry,” the sixteen-year-old mumbles upon noting his extended silence, his cheeks flushed with shame. “Probably not something anyone wants to think about at two in the morning. Just- forget I said anything, okay? Let’s play one more round, and then I can lea—“

Eyes widening, he holds up a hand to intercept that train of thought. “No, that’s— you asked an interesting question. Deep, but interesting. It’s fine, I don’t mind. I...”

He inhales deep, collecting his wits and whatever years of wisdom he may or may not have accumulated ever since dying and coming back to life.

“I suppose in my mind, people aren’t truly bad unless they intend to cause harm, y’know?” he begins, meeting Steven’s eyes. “You can still hurt others without meaning it, and like... that’s still not great, and you should still try and make up for it however you can, but... life’s complicated. People are complicated. It’s all a huge mess of emotions and ethics and beliefs all the time.”

He pauses, a twinge of melancholy rising within his chest as he catches a glimpse of a photograph hung on one of the wooden support beams at the far wall. It’s a selfie of him and Sadie he printed out a few years back when they were still low-key dating, one that— for the life of him— he can’t bear to take down. She’s kissing his cheek. He’s caught in the middle of laughter, playfully trying to nudge her away. They look... so young.

So naive.

(So human.)

“And sometimes it can be so, so easy to convince yourself that you’re always in the right,” he continues, quieter, “that people feeling hurt because of something you did is just their problem. In that case, it’s not that you wanted to harm anyone, it’s just... that you were blind to it, I guess.”

(And he was blind for a long, long time.)

“Like I said, it’s messy.”

Lars sighs, willfully averting his glance from the photographic reminder of all the ways he ignorantly fucked up with Sadie as a friend and partner, and with everyone in his life, making the same stupid mistakes over and over with nearly no improvement until he literally died to his old self.

“So, yeah. There. I guess that’s my opinion,” he mumbles, absentmindedly fiddling with the collar of his graphic tee. “Everyone makes bad choices sometimes, but you’re not actually a bad person unless you literally want to harm others. I don’t think people are bad once and bad forever, though,” he adds, pulling his hand away from his shirt.

Inhaling deep, he splays his palm wide, admiring those same old loops and whorls at the tips of his fingers, identical in every detail to his old, living, human self... but now pink. It's haunting, sometimes.

“People can change, y’know? If they make the effort to.”

When he finally glances back at Steven, he seems thoroughly spaced out by all his impassioned rambling, his gaze walleyed and void of any identifiable emotion. He scowls, unsure whether or not he should feel offended, and gives an exaggerated shrug to defuse the sickeningly earnest atmosphere out of this room.

“But hey, I’m biased,” he mutters, letting that instinctual, age-old self-depreciation coat his tone once more. “For all I know, everything I said could be absolute bunk, and I’m still just an asshole.”

“I don’t think you’re an asshole, Lars,” Steven finally speaks up, his expression still perplexingly unreadable.

“I—“ His eyes blow wider, the sheer frankness of this comment catching him entirely off guard, overturning all of his once-impenetrable defenses. “...Thank you. I’m trying not to be.”

The conversation doesn’t advance any further from there, both parties content to fade back into the understated comfort of silent companionship. They play a few more rounds of their racing game, Lars beating Steven handily each time. (Truth be told, he’s not confident he’s bringing his A-game, though.) Then, sometime around three AM, his friend drags himself out of the beanbag chair and announces that he should probably head home and get some rest. Apparently he’s got a lot of planning to do for Little Homeschool's graduation ceremony that’s happening in a few days, or whatever. Which, is fair. Not everyone is blessed enough to be a sleepless zombie like him.

“Y’know, it’s been nice, getting to hang out, just us,” Steven says— quiet, but genuine— as Lars leads him back down the stairs. “We should do this more often.”

Purposefully, given the unusual emotional atmosphere of this whole visit, he decides not to mention the fact that he's planning to leave Earth again when his all Gem friends finally graduate. Later, he thinks, when everyone's in a better place.

“Well, if you’re ever bored, you know where to reach me,” he replies as they reach the bottom step, fondly rolling his eyes. “The good ol’ inter-hair-mensional express. Just, y’know— text me. And not during work hours.”

The teen gives his thanks once again, and then exits out the front, making sure to be extra gentle shutting the door on his way out for his parents’ sake. Huh. Seems that even when he’s (seemingly) in a funk, he’s capable of being uber courteous like that. Goodness, how does he do it?

Lars stands motionless at the entryway for a few moments after he’s gone, staring blankly at the now empty space the sixteen-year-old just occupied. His brow furrows, his fingers curling in perplexion at his side. He doesn’t have enough insight into Steven’s inner life to claim anything for sure, but he can’t help but feel like something with that boy was... off, tonight. Like, beyond your standard teenage moodiness. His demeanor, his bizarre and specific question, his relative silence... it all seems to be pointing towards something, lurking in the background. Still, there’s little he can do for a person who’s not volunteering information. And it ain’t his job to drag it out of him, either. He always hated when his parents tried to do that when he was younger, and it almost ruined their relationship entirely. That’s the last sorta scenario he’d want to force upon Steven. He’ll open up when he’s ready, in the end.

And until then... well.

He just hopes that the kid knows that— beyond the bizarre magic portal in that pink lion’s mane— he’s always got a brother on the other side who’s willing to at least listen. To be but a small source of support.

If he wants him to be.

#su #su future #lars barriga #steven universe #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the mermay fills: indruck, 25, any rating

Here you go! I went with SFW for this one.

The thing no one tells you about journeys of self-discovery is that they’re really fucking boring.

Duck’s been on this highway for days, and another highway for the days before that. He wanted to see the desert in the spring, but it’s involved fewer super-blooms and more butterflies dying on his windshield than he hoped.

Now he’s on some two lane strip of barely paved road in the vast expanse between Las Vegas and Reno. Green catches his eye to his left; a ribbon of well-watered trees shines in the distance. Closer to the road are dueling picket signs shoved into the ground, some demanding the preservation of the tiny pocket of wetlands and others proclaiming this the site of the Hungry Man Casino expansion. The signs continue all the way to the tiny town of Kepler, where he pulls into a gas station in front of Tarkesian’s General Store.

After filling the tank and chatting with the owner and his incongruous New York accent, Duck decides to stop in Kepler for the night. The road north is mostly open range, and he’s already had one near miss with a cow on a pitch black stretch of asphalt. The lone place to rest is the Reconciliation Motel Court and Casino. He gets his key, pulls up to the chipped door, and flops onto the burnt orange bedspread for a nap.

He doesn’t wake up until eight at night, wondering what the hell is wrong with the other guests that they’re all playing music loud enough for him to hear. He counts at least six separate voices, their overlap meaning the lyrics turn to gibberish. It’s still hot and stuffy in the room, and maybe outside will be quiet. He pulls on his swim trunks and rash guard; a peek out the window at the pool shows it’s empty and that, plus the general sparseness of the parking lot, makes him confident enough that he won’t bump into anyone and try to make up some lie about being shy or mormon or whatever the hell else would explain a dude keeping a top on to swim.

But, just his luck, when he latches the pool gate shut, he discovers he’s not alone. A man with silver hair floats in the pool, eyes closed. When Duck sets a towel on the chair, his eyes fly open and he dives under the water, giving Duck twin shocks: glowing red eyes and a long, jet black tail.

“What the fuck?” He says aloud in case someone else is watching and can explain why there’s a fucking mermaid in the pool.

The merman resurfaces, blinking at him, “How in the world did you get in here?”

“Uhhhh…” Duck points to the gate.

“You...you see the pool? Do you see the motel as well?”

Duck turns, wondering if this is some kind of prank, “yeah?”

“Apologies” the merman swims to the edge of the pool nearest him, “it was such an unlikely future I am having a hard time processing it.”

“You’re havin a hard time”

“Oh, oh of course, this is all very confusing to you. Here, have a seat.” He gestures to one of the pool chairs. Not knowing what else to do, Duck sits.

“Now, have you heard singing while you have been here?”

“Yep. Thought it was the other guests.”

The merman shakes his head, “They are sirens. As am I. We are the descendants of sirens who lived here in the days when there was far more water in this area. As the water dwindled, we made our home in that river and wetlands” he points towards the south end of town, “and then the founders of this fine establishment decided to catch us and use us to lure people to their rundown casino. Since you are about to ask, a siren song shows you what you want; turns out many people want the promise of easy money, food, or sex. But you...somehow you do not seem to respond to it.”

Duck shrugs, “Guess not.”

“I wonder...hmm, perhaps you do not want anything?”

“Don’t think that’s it. Been drivin up and down the country lookin for somethin I want but can’t name.”

The merman rests his arms on the concrete, “You must tell me everything about your travels.”

“I mean, uh, they ain’t all that excitin-”

“I have been stuck in this pool for three years.”

“Okay yeah, more excitin than that. Also, what the fuck?”

“There are ones like it in almost all the lower level rooms. I get stuck out here because I will not sing, but due to having future sight I am too valuable to do away with.”

“This ain’t gettin less fucked up.”

The merman laughs, “Perhaps that is why you don’t fall prey to our song; you are just very honest.”

“That a nice way of sayin I can’t lie for shit?”

“I suppose so.” He grins, sharp teeth glinting in the yellow streetlights, “regardless, I am glad you are not susceptible. I haven’t spoken to anyone aside from the owners in months. They even keep me from my own kind.” His tone is breezy, but Duck sees the flash of pain in his eyes.

“What’s your name?”

“Indrid. Yours?”

“Can’t you see it comin?” He teases.

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it. I get ahead of others often enough as it is.”

“Duck. It’s a nickname.”

Indrid flips his tail once, “Care to join me for an evening swim, Duck.”

“You ain’t gonna eat me or anythin, right?”

“I only taste humans when offered” His tail undulates hypnotically as he pushes into deeper water. Then he pauses, “that was meant as flirtation and not as a threat.”

Duck slides into the water, smiling when he meets Indrid’s nervous gaze “Yeah, I got that.”

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

“See, you can tell it’s a saguaro because--fuck” the camera slips from Duck’s hand, only for Indrid’s to shoot out and catch it before it hits the water.

“Thanks, ‘Drid, startin’ to wonder what I’d do without you.”

The mer, cheek resting on the warm concrete, shifts sideways so he can bump Duck’s knee with his forehead, “The feeling is mutual.”

For the last two weeks Duck’s stayed at the motel, watching his fellow occupants walk zombie-like through doors or stagger from them in a daze when their money runs out and the owners kick them to the curb to make way for new targets. Following Indrid’s instructions, he delivers messages between the trapped sirens, the kind they dare not sing aloud, brings them things they’re missing, like favorite foods or things to do, when he can manage it.

He’s also careful to spend time in town, away from any lingering influence of the siren songs. Leo Tarkesian gives him a job in the store, and he strikes up a friendship with a woman going by the name of Mama, who comes in once a week with beautiful wood carvings for Leo to set out for sale. It turns out her family used to own the motel before Reconciliation swooped in and stole it in what Mama insists was an illegal move.

“Worst part is, they crowed about creatin jobs, bringin’ in more tourists. But they won’t let no one outside their inner circle work there, and folks who stop never leave and visit the rest of town. Now they’re gunnin for the state park. But they ain’t gonna get away with it this time.”

More than anything, Duck spends his time with Indrid. The siren tells him stories about life in the wetlands and river, Duck tells him about his travels, about his home, talks with him until the stars come out, would stay until they go away again except the mer tells him he needs his sleep.

Indrid is a very encouraging conversation partner, disdain and aloofness only appearing when he has to speak to the owners of the motel. He’s also very affectionate, resting his head in Duck’s lap or winding his tail around him whenever he stands in the water. Which is why, when he asks Duck if he’s made up his mind about what to do come fall, his fingers are stroking the humans back and his tail is lazily petting his legs.

“I dunno. I could go back and finish my degree, become a ranger and all that. But what if I’m only doin that because I feel like it’s what I’m supposed to do?”

Indrid brushes Duck’s hair from his forehead, “When you think of the future where you meet that goal, how do you feel.”

“Happy. Content. Like, like there’s a thing I can do to keep the world healthy and whole. Sometimes I feel like I’m supposed to be out there savin the world, solvin every problem, makin everythin better. And that’s too damn much. But when I think about havin some forest or park or somethin where part of my job is to care for it, help it grow...yeah, think I could do that.” He smiles at the image of his future self those words conjure.

Indrid smiles at the current him, brushes their noses together, “It seems to me that you have your answer.”

Duck loops his arms around Indrid’s waist, “Then again, could just stay here, look after you and the other sirens forever.”

Chlorine stings his eyes as Indrid zips backwards, looking as if he’s been slapped.

“‘Drid? What’s wrong?”

“You cannot stay here any longer.”

“What do you mean? I wanna stay. I wanna be with you.”

“No! Don’t you see? This is how the song gets you. It is making you think that your greatest wish is to stay in this crumbling motel, looking after a siren who has seen better days.”

“Hold the fuck on” Duck tries to swim to him, only for Indrid to swim further out of reach, “‘Drid, it’s real fuckin insultin to tell a fella that the only reason he feels how he feels is because of a magic song. Maybe I am startin to feel the effects, but I know that when I think about you, no matter how near or far to this fuckin pool I am, I wanna be with you. I’ve fallen in love before, I can recognize the feelin from a mile away. And it’s what I’m feelin now.” He crosses his arms, daring Indrid to argue.

The siren swims to him, cups his face in cool hands, “It’s what I feel too. Why do you think I cannot ask you to stay? I am a prisoner here, Duck. If you remain for my sake, you will be one as well. I cannot do that to you. I know the agony of being cut off from the world you love, and you have so much love yet to give it I cannot, will not, rob you of the chance to do so.”

“I…” Duck he mirrors Indrid’s touch, runs his thumbs along his cheeks.

“Please” Indrid kisses him once, softly, “please, if you love me, don’t stay here and make me watch you decay.”

Duck pulls Indrid as close as he can, kisses him until his lips ache and the siren is pliant and purring in his arms.

“I’ll go. I fuckin hate the idea of leavin you here, but I’ll go.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s just one thing you gotta let me do first. Will you let me introduce you to another human? She’s got almost as much cause to hate Reconciliation as you do, and I got a hunch you two might be able to help each other out.”

Indrid cocks his head, then nods, “Of course, my love. Just tell her to wear earplugs and bring something to write on.”

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

The cottonwoods rustle in the summer breeze as Indrid floats lazily down the river on his back. A family is picnicking outside the visitor center, but only the youngest member of it sees him. She waves. He raises his tail in reply, smiling when she spills her drink in delight.

Most sirens give the heavily trafficked parts of the park a wide berth, still wary of interactions with humans. Indrid doesn’t blame them; Reconciliation was chased out ten years ago, but their memory lingers like smog. He himself stays clear of unfamiliar groups of humans whenever possible.

But today, the futures show him the park is welcoming a new ranger. And so he swims back and forth, hoping the recent arrival will see him. Hoping he remembers.

“I’m sorry sir, but swimmin ain’t allowed in this chunk of the river.” A teasing drawl drifts over his shoulder.

He spins in what he hopes is an elegant way, accidentally splashing the figure on the bank behind him.

“Of course.” He grins, swimming over and resting his arms on the bank and batting his eyelashes as the ranger crouches down to meet him, “how very rude of me. I am terribly sorry.”

Duck’s smile is brimming with years of stored up affection, the lines on his face hinting at stories Indrid cannot wait to hear, “S’okay. For my favorite roadside siren, I’m happy to make an exception.”

#indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #mermay

[buck-nialled]

Stimulate - N. Horan Imagine

NOTE: here is another combo request and reminder that i am no longer taking requests, and am just finishing up the last of the few that have piled up in my inbox. Thanks so much, i hope you all like it! <3

“What?” You turn your neck up to observe Niall’s befuddled expression. You hide your wincing at the movement. His eyes trail off of the page of your hefty textbook explaining the entire human body in depth.

“What the fuck?” he repeats. “How do you remember all of this stuff?” One of his brows lifts upward, doubtful of your memory.

All you manage at first is a shrug, which is enough to emit a cracking noise from your spine. “Flashcards, study groups…you.” His other brow joins the raised one, surprised.

“Me?” You hum. “H-how?”

Heaving a sigh, you reach out for the book Niall swooped off of your desk moments before to skim and flipped to the page you must have had memorized like every other word printed into the stack of paper. You stand up from the desk chair your slouched form was occupying since the afternoon, and shuffle over to Niall in his slippers, soft but slightly loose when filled by your feet.

“The human eye has three layers,” you begin explaining, just like every book—and professor to accompany it—had explained to you over your last three years in medical school. “The sclera, choroid, and retina. From the outside in, the order of the eye’s most known parts goes cornea, iris, pupil, lens…” One by one, you walked him through the functions of each different part of the eye and how you managed to ingrain it in your mind overnight.

“Cornea is the protective layer.” You read aloud from the book before turning up to look into Niall’s glistening pair of pupils. “When I read that sentence, it reminded me of the night you promised to keep me safe and tell corny jokes to cheer me up whenever I needed it. And then, somehow more things you had said or done became memory cues for things. I aced that test because of you.” You giggle abashedly, pointing a nail—mutilated by your teeth constantly gnawing on it—down at the page displaying a large illustration of the inside of an eyeball.

“Hmm…so, you already took a test on eyes. What else do you need to learn from this book?”

“Nothing.” You shrug.

“What?” Niall slams the book shut, allowing the pads of his fingers to graze the name on the cover: Human Anatomy and Physiology.

“Yeah, that was stuff from freshman year. I could probably recite the entire thing in my sleep if I tried.” You murmur with a tiny smirk. Your boyfriend, however, only turned his brows downward, almost to the point of connection.

“Then, why look over what you already know?”

“Because,” you moan out, “exams are in two and I need to know everything like the back of my hand. Especially the old stuff. I haven’t touched this book in probably a year and a half since tonight.”

“Right,” Niall breathes, now shifting on his feet. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to be there with ya.” His eyes peered up into yours, the deep blue rings conveying the same sincerity as all of the missed birthdays and holidays with your family he apologized for many of times for not being able to attend. He regretted that no other time other than when you had completed your undergraduate studies in medicine would also mark the beginning of the North American leg of his tour.

“Hey,” your voice grew softer, setting the book back down onto the desk. “don’t apologize. We both have different lives with different careers. Things are going to get in the way sometimes.”

“Yeah, I guess…” Niall shrugs his shoulders before the irises you nearly drowned in the first time meeting him visibly darkened. “But,” his hand snapped up all too quickly for you to catch it. While taking your chin in between the calloused skin of his thumb and forefinger, he speaks low and sultry, “when I get back, I am going to be the first person you celebrate with. Deal?”

“Well…” there are flashes in your mind through the past years, where you and all of the close friends you had made in your university went out to drink once exams were called to a finish.

“Please?” He jutted his bottom lip out for the small glow of the desk lamp to glisten against it, that leaves you huffing in sexual frustration and acknowledgment that the last letter you bubble in will not be followed with drinks.

“You owe me at least three vodka cranberries.” You muttered, lips remaining tight while his daunting pair curled up into a victorious grin.

“That can be arranged.” Finally, the fingers taught on your chin begin pulling your lips closer toward him. The kisses were blissful, like always, and left you contemplating if catching your breath was worth the time when you could spare the time for more lip-locking. He hummed into your mouth as your tongues navigated each other’s mouths from memory. Reaching your arms to lock around his shoulders was something you could now achieve with your eyes closed. In addition, your nails knew all the right areas on Niall’s scalp that could leave him groaning in ecstasy for minutes on end.

Upon separation, your chests were heaving against one another’s and Niall’s features donned a look of adoration. You continued mindlessly sifting his shorter cut locks towards his neck in between your fingers while the two of you panted.

“Um...fuck,” Niall blinks, losing grasp of every thought and word just by the sight of you and your persistent, subconscious handling of his curls. “You’re gorgeous.” He exhales while you giggle.

“There is no orbicularis oris I would rather stimulate.” Niall hums.

“I don’t know what the fuck that means, but god,” he releases a guttural cry and situates his hands on your hips, above your shirt, “you sound hot saying it.”

“Orbicularis oris…” you whisper to yourself, recounting that night. “Kissing muscle. And then masseter overlaps the sternocleidomastoid…no, shit!” You hiss, before correcting yourself, “that’s the platysma.” The drilling against the sides of your cranium had been merciless in their duty to make you lose focus on your studying.

“The temporalis…” you breathe, guiding the tips of your fingers to one side of your aching head and rubbing circular motions. “the temporal muscle…is fan-shaped and…” a pained whine is elicited from you as another barrage of pounds ping-pong the inside of your head.

“Petal, you alright?” Niall’s head pops through the open, office door before you could refuse his entry. A shake of your head was all you could muster, before pushing yourself up from the desk chair and becoming lightheaded instantaneously. Hours had passed since you sat yourself down to do a quick study of the basics. The past couple of weeks have been filled with more uncertainty than what your exam score would yield. The virus now reached nearly every country and was spreading rapidly. This led to many canceled in-class lectures, school events and also annulled the American leg of Niall’s tour. There were perks to the last inconvenience, sure. But it also left you with many mental tribulations, and lately, a high increase in anxiety.

“Woah, woah, careful.” Niall heeds, allowing your worn figure to slump against his. Seconds of silence pass where he occupied the time with rubbing your back soothingly and cooing, but when the familiar shakes against his chest commence, he knows this was more than an average study night.

“Hey, it’s okay princess. I got you, it’s okay let it out.” He brings you away from his chest and locks a firm grip on your shoulders. It is a few moments before Niall can manage to steady your frame back into the chair and crouch in front of you. Pain coursed through his veins and he knows you would call his bluff for saying he felt his heart crack inside of his chest, but it was true. Witnessing the one he loves to suffer shattered breaths and unbroken streams of tears and learning overtime from you that it was necessary to let your panic attacks “run their course” was near intolerable. You gripped his hands tightly in your own through uneven gasps and releases of oxygen, trying to match the demonstration Niall started a few seconds prior.

“Talk, petal. Can you talk and tell me what’s wrong?” The separation of your lips elevates Niall’s hopes, but all you can manage is a strangled cry and shake of your head.

“That’s okay, hey. Look at me, hey…” His voice is soft and composed as he delivers several squeezes to your hand. You blink away the fresh tears attempting to pool and continue the race down your cheeks and follow your boyfriend’s instructions.

“If this is about the tests…it’s okay to be nervous. It’s a big thing, of course, there are going to be concerns. But that isn’t any reason to overwork yourself.”

“Look into my lenses.” The man directs, widening his eyes. Through a few more uneven breaths you succeed in letting out a small laugh.

“What?” Niall asks.

“Y-you…mean pupils.” You sniffle, bringing your joined hands to knuckle at one of your stinging eyes. “You said lenses.”

“Oh, whoops.” He murmurs, cheeks growing red. “Good thing I’m not the nurse.” He grins.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, finally able to inhale full breaths with ease again. Comfortable silence fills the air between the two of you the seconds after. Niall’s cheeks were nearly drained of their red tint when your head snaps up to look at him, eyes wide with eagerness. “I have an idea on how to help me study.”

Niall was splayed onto your shared bed, adorning nothing but his boxer briefs as you tower over him. “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind…”

“It works though. What’s better to study anatomy than with a human body?” You gander, flicking through the large stack of flashcards. Niall only huffs, allowing his stomach to rise and fall rapidly in your view.

“I guess. You promise after this you’ll stimulate my obiculer ori?”

“Orbicularis oris, and yes. Now…” you sift through the stack of lined index cards, labeled with different muscles, bones, and veins before stopping on the card of conversation. “Hush.” You demand, placing the card against Niall’s puckered lips. All he does is roll his eyes and endure it. As long as it assured you and your impenetrable memory, he would do this every day. Of course, he did not say that out loud in fear of you agreeing.

“I think I’m done!” You cheer in glee, eyeing your model lined head to toe in cards. Niall’s cheer is muffled from the card obstructing his mouth and he is pleased when it is finally removed. Staring up at you with fervent eyes, he asks the question which has been ringing in his mind through the entire study session.

“Will you stimulate me now?” He earns a roll of your eyes and fallen grin in response. You should not even be surprised.

“Fine,” you murmur, before leaning down to meet Niall in a string of sweet, chaste kisses. Your hands remain on his pectorals for a few minutes, leaving him impatient and wondering. While it always felt nice to kiss you, he was becoming frustrated and yearned greatly for them elsewhere.

“Hmm, when are you gonna start?” He hums against your mouth.

“What do you mean?” Pulling away, you keep your hold on his torso firm and furrow your brows. He is silent, figuring there must have been a miscommunication.

“What’s an ob…obiculer…” He struggles to even remember the word.

“Orbicularis oris?” You guess. “That’s the mouth.”

Oh, Niall thinks to himself, that was not what I thought it was.

“Right.”

#niall horan #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fanfic #niall horan imagines #niall horan imagine #niall horan blurb #niall horan oneshot #niall horan fluff #niall horan smut #niall horan angst #niall horan story #one direction #one direction fanfiction #one direction imagines #one direction imagine #one direction fluff #one direction angst #one direction smut #one direction one shot #one direction blurb

[astraeal]

Commission for @aciddial! I had a lot of fun writing this; hope you enjoy! Read on AO3 here. 

Stardew Valley, and all characters therein, belongs to concernedape.

Leah’s washing her freshly picked blackberries when the birdsong falls silent. Her days are measured by the ebbing and flowing of flora, fauna, and the babbles of the river, and though it’s growing darker, the birds should still be singing. She flicks the water off her hands, drying them against her shirt as she goes to the window.

The sky is darker than it should be for an autumn evening, but rain is common as the seasons begin to change in the valley; less than the thunderstorms of summer, but still something worth celebrating. Perhaps the rain will push out a couple more mushrooms and berries before winter’s chill sets in; that, Leah can get behind.

Rough sketches, surplus canvases and paints, inventory sheets of supplies, and scattered, dulled tools, resting between miniature scale replicas of future projects cover her only table. She’d rather sit and eat than have to wade back into her workspace. Then again, her cabin is so small, the whole structure could be considered her workspace. She likes to think that she keeps her bed free from her work, but even then she makes exceptions to sketch her dreams from time to time, so.

Perhaps not.

She finishes cleaning the berries, setting some aside in the jars the Farmer had kindly given to her, the rest sprinkling on her evening salad. She perches on her stool, the plate held aloft in her hand as she begins her dinner. As she chews over the fall fresh berries, her mind wanders through the pathway of small cabins and creatives who live inside them, and naturally, she begins to think about Elliott.

He insists that he’s fine down in his little beachside shack, but that doesn’t stop her from offering for him to stay with her every autumn and winter. There are some comforts the forest offers that the beach does not, just as there are comforts her cabin offers that Elliott does not. He treats his piano with better care than he treats himself, despite Leah’s best efforts to improve her friend’s state of living.

Sure, Willy doesn’t mind allowing Elliott’s use the bait & tackle shop’s outhouse, and his electricity bill is nonexistent because there’s simply no lights in the shack. But when Leah points out that maybe those things aren’t exactly good, Elliott refuses to see reason. It’s a point of independence and pride, she knows; they both were running away from naysayers when they each came to Pelican Town.

She still feels that relief whenever she sees him walk into the saloon, that balm of finding another artistic spirit in a place of salt-of-the-earth folk. Of course, there are dreamers elsewhere, but aside from Sebastian and Abigail’s infrequent character art commissions, Elliott is the only person with whom she can talk about her craft.

And right now, she’s in her cozy woodland cabin, eating a foraged salad by the fire, and he’s probably freezing his ass off in his drafty shack. She’s talked with Harvey; she knows Elliott goes to the clinic more often than not in the colder months, and beer doesn’t keep a cold away like mead, according to Willy.

She presses a blackberry to the roof of her mouth with her tongue, feeling it slowly crack apart and turn to sweet, seedy mush. Tomorrow, she resolves; tomorrow she’ll talk to him and make him seriously consider moving in for this winter. Even the community center is well under way; perhaps he could temporarily move in there, and take advantage of a proper fireplace instead of a firepit.

Leah clears her plate to the sink, already planning where she could unroll her extra cot if need be. If she did the work ahead of time, maybe Elliott would take advantage of what she was offering. Maybe, just maybe, she could make him dinner, bring him up to the cottage and have him coincidentally stay while the storm rages on.

Yeah; that’ll be what she does.

♢♢♢

She wakes up to a loud cracking sound outside her cabin, and the sound of something large crashing to the ground. Then, the white noise rushing in her ears registers as rain, the ominous rumble of thunder coming from somewhere to the north. Her cabin is dark, save for the firelight, but even that has dwindled down.

Leah swings herself out of bed, first tending to the fire to coax it back up to full brightness, feeding more logs into the heat. As the cabin glows warmer and brighter, she turns to look around. Nothing seems out of place inside, so she goes to the window, pressing her nose to the glass and looking into the darkness.

Two pine trees closer to the river bank have been struck by lightning, split down the middle, still slightly steaming in the rain. She knows she’s lucky they hadn’t caught fire; the forest could have gone up in flames and she could have been stuck in her very flammable, very toxic-if-lit-ablaze cabin full of art supplies and paint. Still, those weren’t small trees, and while she mourns the loss of two of the older companions she’d had since moving to Pelican Town, she also recognizes the severity of the storm. To be able to strike down such trees, old and strong as they were, required no shortage of lightning and chance.

Again, her thoughts drift to Elliott, in his own drafty, cold cabin, surrounded by much flimsier palm trees. If one of them was struck, the tree could easily fall onto his cabin – or worse, fall onto Elliott himself.

She grabs her galoshes and stuffs her braid into a knit hat, dressing quickly. She doesn’t know what time it is, but if the storm woke her up, then it must’ve woken Elliott. He’s a light sleeper, always has been, and she mentally kicks herself for not heading to the Saloon the night prior, not being able to check in with him.

Before she leaves, she pulls out two thick knit sweaters and sweatpants, as warm and neutral as she can. Much of her and Elliott’s personal taste in fashion overlaps, a fact she’s grateful for, but he can be particular regarding loungewear. Better to be safe than sorry.

Armed with a flashlight and a long waterproof jacket, Leah heads out into the storm. Marnie’s cows are all boarded up in the barn, and the path to town is clear of any debris, though Leah’s footsteps squelch deep into the mud. She moves quickly, running parallel to Willow Lane, skirting between the fence line of the sewer entrance and the trees. The river swells with rain water, and she slips a couple times but never completely falls.

The street lamps at the entrance to the beach have halos around them, the light smeared across the buckets of rain pouring down. She jogs into the soaked sand, and from there on every step becomes twice as difficult. She’s has to be particular with how she moves, taking it one step at a time, fighting towards the door of Elliott’s cabin.

His windows are dark, and she feels horrible for letting him continually choose this version of his independence. The stone pathway does little to give her reprieve from the muddy sand, but it gives her just enough to get to the doorway and knock. A loud crack of thunder sounds from over the ocean, the sky briefly bathing her in white light.

She knocks loudly, even as she opens the door, announcing herself. “Elliott! It’s Leah!”

She shines the flashlight around the cabin. Her cubist artwork still hangs on the wall above the piano. But the table that usually resides in the corner has been pulled into the center of the cabin, with a bucket in the corner catching a rather impressive stream of water. The bed itself has been pulled away from the wall, towards the front of the cabin, and huddled in that bed is where Elliott sits, a book held to his chest.

“Leah darling! What are you doing here?”

Leah closes the door, leaning against it. The movement drags the spotlight of the flashlight across the floor, and it’s then that she sees water bubbling up between the panels. “Elliott, your house is filling with water.” Her voice is somehow calm, despite the freezing rain she had to run through to get here, and the predicament her friend keeps putting himself in. “Your house is filling with water and you’re not even at the Saloon?”

“It’s 2am, I left there hours ago.” He at least manages to look a little ashamed. “I didn’t think the storm was going to be as bad as it was.”

“The Farmer told us the weather was going to be getting worse.”

“The Farmer lives between the forest and the mountains, it’s a completely different biome than here on the coast.” Elliott presents his words with a flick of his hand, yet the ambivalence is undermined by the congestion in his nose and the slight tremble in his fingers.

“Oh, did Demetrius tell you that?” Leah rhetorically asks as she walks over, bringing Elliott’s boots from where they had been discarded by the front door. “Come on; you’re spending the night at my place.”

Elliott blinks in surprise. “Leah, that’s…you really don’t have to do that. I’m quite fine here on my own. And I can’t leave without my manuscript.”

“El,” Leah murmurs, holding the boots out to him. She aims the flashlight at the ceiling, the light cascading down around the both of them, giving them enough to see in the pale white light. “You have the story in your mind. You can bring it with you, if you really need to, but I’m not leaving you here, alone, with–”

Her words are covered by the loud crack of thunder. Pointedly, she gestures around the leaky cabin.

She sees a bit of that classic Elliott pride in his eyes, the squaring of his shoulders. He’s older than her, yet she consistently takes on the leading role, the more grounded approach, because she can’t fully lose herself in make believe worlds. Her work is in reality, and the reality of this situation is that she can’t walk away and leave him here alone.

But the next rumble of thunder in the distance lets them both know that this storm isn’t going to pass overnight; it will likely be here until tomorrow, leaving them in much the same predicament. Leah gives him another withering look, and two minutes later the duo make their way back to the forest.

As they pass over the bridge, Leah can hear the water sucking at the lower side of the stone structure. She watches as it spills over, and can hear the soft wheeze with each of Elliott’s breaths as they walk back to the forest. It’s slight for now, but she can only imagine it’ll get worse with time. Harvey will have something to say about it, that’s for sure.

Together, the two arrive, rain soaked and nearly blinded by the darkness, to Leah’s cabin. She pushes the door open, ushering Elliott inside first, then following herself. “Take whatever you want from the bed,” she says, tiredly gesturing to the bed, flinging some water off her hand in the process.

The two kick their boots off and lay their jackets on the coat rack. Leah watches as Elliott carefully spreads the manuscript pages – only slightly crumpled – onto the darkened WIP table. She peels off her wet jeans and socks, casting them in front of the fire to dry out little by little, picking her way to the bed. She takes her hair out of its soaked braid, her hat also needing to dry.

“If you’re hungry, I can whip us up some tea with elderberry syrup,” she offers, brushing her hair out.

Elliott comes over, clumsily putting his hair up into a bun and taking the softer, baggier pair of joggers from the bed. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice a little hoarse.

Leah politely looks away when Elliott takes his shirt off, but she is relieved to see a bare back, meaning his binder isn’t on. He tends to keep it on far past the guidelines for expected use, but that’s an argument she’s too tired to have right now. When they’re both dressed in warmer, dry clothes, she pulls back the sheets on her bed and gestures for Elliott to get in.

“What? I can’t possibly put you out of your own bed.”

She points more emphatically at the sheets. “I have a cot I can use, but you need a warm bed. In.”

He throws a pout at her, but which she returns by sticking her tongue out. She feels better – better that he’s good enough to be teasing her, and better that he’s getting in the bed and following her directions with minimal complaining. She goes to the small array of kitchen appliances she has tucked against the wall, and begins to prepare some elderberry syrup tea. Something to warm them both, and she notes the soft sniffles Elliott keeps giving off.

“Do you want something to eat?” she softly asks, the sound of the rain cocooning them in relative safety. Thunder booms every so often, but it’s not as close now, perhaps moving more towards the mountains, or simply a break in the storm.

There’s no response.

She turns to look, and sees him curled up on his side, the blankets pulled so only his eyes are visible, watching her. She furrows her brows a little, though she smiles in response, and softly prompts, “El?”

He hums a little, and she can tell he’s smiling from below the blankets. “Uh huh?”

“I asked if you wanted something to eat. I have some tom kha soup, if you want. With crab.” She watches as his brows furrow a little – now he’s confused.

“I thought you didn’t eat meat.” Leah’s vegetarian, but that doesn’t mean she can’t stock her friend’s favorites.

She simply shrugs. “Yeah, but you do.” At his resulting silence, she blushes a little more, turning back to stir the heating syrup. “What?”

Elliott remains silent, but she hears the soft rustle of sheets. “That’s really very kind of you, Leah. Thank you.”

She feels her cheeks flame a little, then reaches down into the basket of jars. She pulls out the jar of soup and a pot, clicking the flame on the stove and pouring the soup inside to heat up. “Y-yeah, anytime.”

It’s now that she remembers exactly why it would be so difficult for her to have Elliott permanently in her space. If not for their quite different versions of productivity and rhythms of living, there’s also the unmitigated crush that had blossomed over the course of their friendship. She knows he’s aware of her rocky foundations with romance, especially as it intersects with her art career – she’s told Elliott the story of Kel more than once, sometimes after one too many beers at the Saloon. But Elliott was never anything but supportive, and he always made sure to respect her boundaries when it came to romance.

She knows that he’s currently working on some romance novel, though, and that part of that had to do with the Farmer’s influence. Then again, she’s currently working on pieces for the town art show, also at the Farmer’s influence. Maybe they’re all a little starstruck with the newcomer, or maybe the Farmer just makes for good inspiration. Muses come in all shapes and sizes, and the Farmer’s never been anything but helpful.

They’re the reason Leah has leftover tom kha soup in the first place.

She has a spoon in each hand, stirring the pots in circles, before the syrup reveals itself as ready. Her electric kettle has the water primed and ready, and she drizzles the syrup at the bottom of the cups before tossing in some mint tea and pouring the water over it. The rest, she’ll cool to keep on hand as actual syrup, but the freshly made syrup – or sauce, as it really is in this form – is good to go now.

Taking the cups over to the bed, she hands one to the newly resurfaced Elliott. He looks much softer and safer here, tucked in her bed, the sweater a little tight on his arms but still comfortable nonetheless. He takes the cup with gentle, ink stained fingers, green eyes watching her with something she can’t quite name.

“Drink that and tell me how you feel in the morning,” she says, feeling her words slip quietly out of her mouth.

He nods, and she sees his soft freckles across the bridge of his nose, usually long dormant as the shorter days come about in the colder months of the year. “I have some inkling.” The words seem to puzzle him, and Leah tilts her head a little as he hurriedly takes a sip.

What could that mean?

“Let me get the soup. I’ll be the one eating it, it’s the least I can do.” There’s a darkened splotch on his upper lip, leftover from some elderberry syrup. She wants to reach up and wipe the syrup away, but she instead takes a sip of her own tea, nodding in gratefulness. Her legs ache from the struggle through mud and sand, and she hasn’t sat down since they arrived back home.

Isn’t that a thought? To call this a home in regards to them both.

She sits on the bed next to him, watching the fire dance in the brick enclosure. “You could move in here full time,” she offers, her mouth working without full permission from her brain. “Thoreau ran off to the woods for two years, two months, and two days. Think of the beach cabin as a summer home.”

“Thoreau wasn’t writing what I want to write. But I appreciate the comparison.” He laughs a little into his cup, fidgeting with his earring with one hand.

“Just, please think about it. I mean, what is the cabin going to look like when this storm ends? And winter’s coming, all of that’s going to freeze over, and you’re far enough from Harvey’s that going to an appointment is a whole ordeal, and…Look, Elliott, I just don’t feel comfortable letting you stay there.”

Elliott sighs. “…I’ll stay for the next couple days. At least until I can get the water out of my house.”

“And fix it so that the water stops coming into your house. I mean, do you know how unsafe that is?” Leah is aware that she’s perhaps ranting a little, but she feels it’s deserved.

“Yes, darling, I know. It’s all I can afford though, since no one in this town is moving out anytime soon.” He hops out of the bed, going over to address the soup. Wordlessly, she follows, handing him the only bowl she has in her possession. Enough living materials for one, not two, but she would be willing to make the choices to purchase more for him. She’d be willing to make that space in her life and fill it with Elliott, if only he would let her.

Once his soup is poured, she joins him back on the bed, sitting cross legged and clutching her tea. “You pay nothing to live there; I’m sure there’s gotta be room somewhere. Maybe there’s some apartments above Pierre’s? You know he’d love another way to make a quick buck.”

Elliott laughs, sipping the soup directly from the bowl. “Maybe, darling.” He sounds a little cleared up, and Leah hopes that trend continues. Nothing against Elliott, but she knows he can be a bit of a baby when he’s sick. Not that she finds it endearing or anything, or appointed herself Pelican Town’s resident Sick-Elliott-Caretaker despite knowing this. Nothing like that.

“I just, you know. If you don’t want to come here. I know that my sculpting can be kind of loud, and I know you need quiet to work, and there’s not a whole lot of places in town.” She tugs a little at the sweater by her wrist, suddenly shy.

“I…wouldn’t mind living with you, Leah. I’m sure we could come up with an arrangement to suit both of our styles of work.”  He’s also blushing, but Leah attributes that to the heat in the cabin. Surely, that just means the warm soup is working its magic.

She nods, and the conversation quietly dies. Rain continues to pummel the roof and siding of the house, but thankfully no more trees fall. They finish their tea, and Elliott finishes his soup, and they’re faced with the exhausting prospect of pulling out a cot and making it with pillows.

“Or you could just sleep in here,” Elliott offers, patting the sheets next to him. “I would sleep better knowing I’ve not displaced you for longer than this storm required.”

Leah rubs her eye, looking at the warm inviting sheets – and man within them – and the empty space where she knows her cot could go. “Would…you be comfortable with that?”

Elliott nods. “I trust you.”

That alone makes Leah’s heart race a double time, and she heads over to the bed. She slips between the sheets, nose to nose with her closest friend, feeling safe in the rain. Just in case he catches anything, she knows she shouldn’t be so close to him. But it’s comfortable, and the moment he slings an arm over her waist she’s out like a light, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

♢♢♢

She wakes with Elliott’s arm still around her, her back pressed to his front, and the rain continuing down. It’s less now than it was in the middle of the night, and she hopes that means the damage to the town is going to be less than the forest. Still, she can hear the rushing of the river, still overly full of rain water, and she knows it’s going to be a while before she feels safe taking her sketching supplies to the pier to draw lake life.

Leah yawns, stretching out a little, feeling her muscles yelling at her for having the audacity to go for a midnight sprint through the rain. Elliott tugs her closer, and she remembers that he hasn’t actually left the bed, nor her house, nor her person. She freezes, eyes wide, staring across her cabin at the whorls in the wood.

Elliott is still asleep, breaths deep and even. She knows that there’s a possibility that he wakes up, shy and embarrassed, about them being so pressed together. Even still, there’s only one bed, and it’s a small bed at that, so maybe they can both be forgiven this moment of weakness. She closes her eyes, resting again in this warm embrace.

She’s unsure of how long passes before she wakes up again, this time because Elliott himself is waking up. He rolls away from her, his shoulder hitting the wall if the dull thud is anything to go by, resulting in a sleepy grumble.

Staying still, Leah waits to see how Elliott responds to their morning position. True to the romantic man he is, he reaches over and resumes holding her closer to him. She feels him sigh, his breath moving over her hair, followed by a soft, “Good morning, darling.”

“Good morning,” she replies, wondering how he knew she was awake. His resulting startle tells her that he did not, in fact, know she was awake. Which meant he wasn’t saying that for her benefit at all.

Interesting.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, still holding her close to him.

“Good; how about you?”

“Oh, wonderful, thanks. Haven’t been this warm since before the Moonlight Jellies arrived.” She can feel his smile through the words, and it makes her laugh a little bit to herself.

“Well, stick around here and you’ll be as toasty as you like.”

There’s a moment of quiet, and then a soft response. “I’d like that.”

Leah blushes, biting her lower lip. “I can get us some breakfast, if you’d like. It’s not too late, I don’t think.”

“That would be nice.” Elliott turns with a stretch, back cracking a little. “I suppose I should see what the damage is at home.”

The dip in his tone makes Leah feel guilty. Of course her first priority was to get Elliott to a safe place, but after that, what of what he had to leave behind? He claimed to do well in his self-imposed minimalist lifestyle, but to Leah, that meant what little he had was very important. It was something he couldn’t deal without, if he’s to be believed.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “Why don’t we –”

A sneeze interrupts her, and she starts, hopping out of bed. The movement makes her muscles protest, and she winces a little, rubbing a hand down her thighs. “We’ll go to Harvey’s first. Then breakfast, and then…the beach? It’s still raining, so it might not be…done.”

It referring to the slow damage done to the beachside shack. She doesn’t want to be impolite, but she doesn’t want to sugarcoat how bad it could be. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get the image of water bubbling up between the floorboards out of her head.

“Sure,” Elliott says, his breathing a little raspier than before. He clears his throat, brows furrowed, the magic of the morning seeming to fade away. “Yeah, let’s see what he has to say.”

Harvey, of course, was happy to see them both, then contrite at his happiness as if they’d accuse him of being pleased with their misfortune. Luckily, Elliott didn’t seem to have anything serious, besides a growing cold. He sent them home with some medicine, tucked away in a little waxy paper bag folded over, and prescription for rest and hydration. Nothing to do but wait it out, he’d said, and Leah had bitten the inside of her cheek.

Of course.

“Well that sucks,” Elliott mutters as they leave the clinic. The Saloon isn’t open yet, and Leah doesn’t feel great bringing Elliott to a bar first thing in the morning.

“Yeah. Sorry about the sickness, but it could have been worse if you’d stayed.”

Elliott shakes his head. “Not that, darling. That I could have gotten you sick is the real drawback here. I do my best work when left to my own devices, but I know how you like to travel around Pelican Town, gaining inspiration from whatever you can find. I’d hate to be in the way of that.”

Leah frowns a little, biting her lower lip. “Well…thank you.” It’s still strange to have someone care for her when she’s so used to doing the caring for others. It’s not that Elliott is immature, far from; it’s just that he has grand, romantic notions that often leave him far from reality, and that means he acts a little less like one would expect. Then again, only Harvey and Shane seem to be in Elliott’s same age bracket, and each of them is so different from the other, Leah doesn’t know how they begin to compare.

“Here, why don’t we do this? You head home, and I’ll restock on some groceries and healthy stuff. When you’re feeling better, we’ll handle the, uh, Beach Situation.” She gives him a warm, crooked smile, and she’s not imagining the way his face flushes a little, independent of the low grade fever he’s running.

“That could take days, though. Leah, I don’t want to –”

“Please.” She puts her hand on his forearm, ignoring the little look Jodi gives her as she and Sam walk towards Joja Mart. “For me? You’re not going anywhere else for the time being, I won’t let you.”

Elliott raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you won’t let me?”

“Yeah, I won’t let you.” The challenge comes with a bit of familiar sass, and she raises a brow in turn. “There’s nowhere else to go, El, please.”

He sighs. “Fine, fine. You win.” And then a warm smile. “I’ll be waiting.”

♢♢♢

Elliott remains with Leah for four days. It takes two before he starts personally feeling better, but it takes another day before the beach is dry enough for either of them to consider going through the sand. Elliott’s important belongings are salvageable, though bigger pieces like the bed and tables need severe rebuilding to make them serviceable again. The mold and rot creeping up the piano’s legs, however, nearly drives Elliott to tears.

Leah comforts him, passing along contact information she had from when she still lived with Kel in the city and had debated a career in music. It would take a couple months, but the piano could be good as new in no time.

On the fourth day, Elliott and Leah sit in the cozy woodland cabin, each quietly working. Elliott had crafted a space for himself at the table, back to the open windows, writing whatever additional scenes had come together in his feverish state. Leah stations herself at the easel, broad strokes bringing to life a vivid autumnal woodland scene. These quiet moments shared together have the opportunity to become something more profound.

Leah finishes putting the touch on the sunlight coming through the young buck’s antlers before she finally pulls back. “El? Do you wanna go to the fair?” she asks, stretching back and feeling her body thank her after so long of remaining in one position.

Elliott grunts in response, and she looks over her shoulder, seeing him clearly still in the midst of working. She sets her brush down on the paper towel, getting up and going over to him. “Elliott.”

“Huh?” He looks up, brows furrowed, flyaways swaying with the movement of his head. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“The fair. It’s starting soon. Do you want to go?” She comes up beside him, one hand in her pocket of her paint splattered jeans, the other on the table.

“Oh. I’d like that, sure.” He gives her a warm smile, hastily grouping the pages back together. “Sorry about not hearing you. I had a new idea for a story.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes; it takes place in an enchanted forest, where the weather is broken. Snow comes up from the ground, lakes and rivers collect at the bottom of tree branches – very Dalí meets Escher. But there’s one woman who moves forward through time, while the rest of the world moves backwards, and she meets a man who moves only through space but not through time. So everything happens at the same time for him, though he can go to different places to experience other perspectives. And they have to work together to put the forest back to rights, but they each have to rely on the other because while she can see the future, he can see the immediate changes and ripple effects, and they have to communicate that with the other while being completely unable to see what the other can. It’s an exercise in communication, trust, and romance.”

This is the farthest from her understanding as an artist, though she does understand the artistic references. “Wow. That sounds…interesting.”

He gives her a look as he laces his boots up. “…Yeah.” The look on his face is somewhat confused. Or maybe something else.

“What?”

He blushes. “Nothing. Let’s go?”

“No, hey, wait.” She steps between him and the door, looking up at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that it’s a bad premise or anything. I think it’s really cool, it’s just…what are you calling it so far?”

“Sunken Shores,” he murmurs, and she has a small realization, that’s more of an altering of her perspective. Something that was always just slightly to the left, just slightly out of reach, now slotting into the proper place.

“…Really?” That’s not what she means to say, and she watches how his expression shutters. “I mean – Elliott, is that inspired by, uh…”

The pain in his expression shifts a little. “You really didn’t know?”

“I…” There’s no way that she’s going to be able to duck out of this conversation. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Get your hopes up,” he repeats in a whisper, as if completely unsure that she actually means that. “Why…you..oh.”

She blushes. “Yeah, oh.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was going to! But then you were here, and then you were sick, and I didn’t want to make things weird while you were houseless. And you really seemed to like living here, and I didn’t want to say something and make you uncomfortable. You’re my best friend, El. I didn’t want to ruin that.” She starts out defiant, voice raised a little in a panic, but it falls to a whisper by the end of it.

“Oh.” He rolls his lips, green eyes looking askance, before searching her face. “I mean, I’ve liked you for quite a while. I knew how things ended with Kel, though, and I didn’t want to press where you were, you know…still healing.”

She winces a little at the mention of her ex. “Yeah…she did a number on me, huh?” A beat, and then, “I’m better. Than I was. And I appreciate that, and…I…do you, um, want to…?”

Elliott blinks for a moment. “Do I want to what?”

Leah’s face flushes, her entire body heating. “Do you want to go out? Maybe?”

He tilts his head, giving her a warm smile. “What do you think going to the fair is?”

“Oh!” The noise is involuntary, a mere vocalization of a series of exclamation points. She’s flustered, and it only gets worse when Elliott takes another step, further into her personal space. He puts his fingertips beneath her chin, delicately tipping her chin upwards so they can lock eyes.

“A gentleman has no reason to withhold his love from the public,” he murmurs, “yet he should also never kiss and tell. So I find myself at odds, with how to proceed.’

This can’t be happening to her. The most romantic man in Pelican Town can’t be asking her in his roundabout way if she wants to kiss. She nods, barely adding pressure to the fingertips at her jaw, not breaking away from his gaze. “I wouldn’t mind,” she whispers.

Despite his obvious charm, Leah knows he’s never really been with anyone for a long period of time. Part of that was due to his discomfort with his perception before coming out, even to himself; once that veil had been lifted, and Elliott established a new relationship with himself, his confidence grew, and with it, his attractiveness. But he’s still new to all of this, and Leah wants to gently push him along, but all of those thoughts of remaining careful melt away the moment his lips touch hers.

She feels herself wrap her arms over his shoulders, pulling him closer to her, going up on her tiptoes and humming into the kiss. It feels electric, like the storm that had forced the two of them together, yet by some miracle they’re able to keep it semi-chaste. When they part, their gazes remain on the other’s mouth, as if waiting for permission for a second kiss. It comes easily, Leah softly pressed against the wood of the doorway, Elliott now cradling her face between his large, writer’s hands, softly tasting the morning coffee from each other’s mouths.

When Elliott pulls back for the second time, Leah realizes they’re both panting. “Maybe…that was overdue,” she says softly, and Elliott laughs.

“One could say that.” He tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and gives her a fond look that is familiar – one he gave her from between her sheets on the night of the storm. “Come. Let’s go get some of Gus’ specialty barbecue. And, perhaps, some of Farmer’s wine for the lady.”

Leah hugs him, pressing her face to his chest. They have so much more to talk about – the logistics of Elliott’s winter move, affording the piano repair, how Elliott will work in the cabin when Leah does her winter sculpting, when they should make the relationship public, among other things – but for right now she’s content to be here, in her cabin, much less lonely than either of them had been before.

“Sure. Let’s hit up the fair.” And so they do.

#commissions #stardew valley commission #stardew valley #sdv #sdv elliott #sdv leah #elliot/leah #aciddial #thank you for commissioning me!! this was a lot of fun

[psycho-slytherin]

Strangers ch. 44

You begin moving on, but Yoongi is stuck.

Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Actress!Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Genre: fluff, angst, idk

Warnings: Strong language, I think that’s it?

|mlist|

<–– Prev  Next ––>

“Idiot. What were you thinking?”

“Oh, come on. Look, it all worked out, right?”

“This wasn’t part of the plan! Now everyone knows who you are!”

“They were gonna find out anyways. I just used it to my advantage.”

“Don’t you realize how careful we have to be?”

“You. I’m safe.”

“Have you forgotten our goal? We need to destroy her.”

“Yeah, but that was so he’d be safe. Haven’t we already won?”

“Not yet. But we will.”

~~~

“C’mon, D. I know you’ve got something for me.”

“Look, man-” D huffs in frustration. “I’m sorry, but ain’t the girl you’re trying to track down dead? It’s been a good month.”

“She’s alive.” Unless the photo is old, or doctored.

“Her phone hasn’t been on in any sorta way since the day she texted your girl. I’m tryin’ to locate her but I’m hitting a lotta dead ends.”

Yoongi bites his lip anxiously. Lisa is the only hold Seoyeon has over him– and the only proof he has that she’s a criminal. If he can find Lisa, Seoyeon won’t have any more leverage and Yoongi will be able to turn her over to the police. He’ll explain everything to Y/n, and finally be set free.

But he can’t do any of that until he has Lisa. 

“Yo, Gloss, hit me with that image description again?” D says over the phone. Yoongi can hear a mouse click several times as he closes his eyes, focusing on the photo in his memory. If only Seoyeon had sent it to him instead of just showing him, it might be easier.

“The walls were white. She was barefoot– her hair was short. Her hands and feet were tied.”

“What sort of knot?”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, thinking hard. “I- I can’t remember. It looked tight, the rope was pressing into her wrists.”

“That’s an oof. Did she look skinny, like she hadn’t been eating?”

“I don’t know, I can’t compare. I never met her in person, I only saw Y/n’s pictures of her.” Yoongi clenches his fist, frustrated that he’s so useless.

“Hey, hey, chill, man. We’ll find her. Now, what color were her hands?”

“Her hands? Uh… skin-colored?”

“Huh.” D pauses– Yoongi’s barely used to hearing his friend not talk.

“What?”

“I mean, you said the knots were tight. You’d think it would cut off her circulation.”

“Fuck, dude, I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t looking. How is this going to help us find her?”

“I mean, I can already tell you that she’s probably not at Seoyeon’s place. There’s no way this chick can keep Lisa at her house without her family finding out, that shit’s just one story.”

“You’re kidding, she lives with her family?”

“Bruh. If she was stalking you enough to get away with what she’s done, do you really think she’d be able to keep a good enough job to afford that place? Nah, man, she lives with her folks and a sister.”

“We don’t know that she was stalking me.” 

“How else did she find Y/n outside of the hospital, then? You tell me.” 

Yoongi falls silent. He doesn’t want to dwell on the possibility that he so directly put Y/n into danger– it’s too destructive a thought. “Whatever. D, I really need you on this. The authorities have been useless.”

D sniggers. “Ain’t that the truth. Look, I’ve got an alert on her number and socials. If she so much as turns her phone on, or tries posting from another device, I’ll know.”

“Thanks, you’re the best.”

“Yeah, whatever, you owe me a collab.”

Yoongi grins. “Deal.” After hanging up, he sighs, leaning back in his chair. He’s been spending as much time as he can this week in his studio. Even the other members and their antics can’t lift his spirits, not when he has to answer Seoyeon’s constant summons for yet another photo op. And while he’s got her hanging onto his arm, Yoongi can think of nothing other than Y/n. 

He remembers how angry he was when he found out that you’d been an ARMY all along. It seems like ages ago, and yet the sense of betrayal is fresh in his mind. He can only imagine how you’re feeling now… 

~~~

“Miss L/n?”

You stand, taking the well-dressed man’s offered hand. “That’s me, hi.”

“Nice to meet you, you can call me Mr. Park. So, Avery Lee messaged me saying you’re looking to join our agency?”

You nod, fidgeting with the sleeve of your heavy coat. “Yes, until recently– well, I guess you could say I had a freelance manager. I can’t work with her anymore, and Avery said I should sign with an agency.”

“She’s right. Rising stars like you need guidance. So,” Mr. Park says, settling back into his plush leather chair and staring at you from across his desk. “Tell me about yourself. What makes you valuable to FYP Entertainment?”

You swallow. “I’m a third-year acting major at Seoul Arts University. I’ve been an active member of the theatre club and improv club, and competed in Central Seoul’s Improv Showdown twice. I was a featured extra in BTS’s Possible music video. I’ve modeled in Premier Bride Korea and for Beauty of the Seoul’s lipstick line. I recently appeared in a cologne commercial for Fierce, and I was an extra in Medicine of the Heart, a medical drama. Most notably, I play Kim Ji-Woo, a recurring character, alongside BTS’s Suga in Moon Over the Sea.”

Mr. Park rubs his chin. “That’s a long list for a pretty actress who’s never belonged to an agency. And I see an overlap– how familiar are you with Bangtan’s members?”

You fight the urge to laugh; has he not seen the tabloids? “Quite- quite familiar. We’re friends.”

“Just friends?” Mr. Park leans back. “I’ll be honest, Miss L/n, right now the only reason anyone knows your name is as Suga’s ex-girlfriend. Taking you on would be a gamble, and one I’m not sure would pay off for us. I need to know that you’re more than just a scandal– that you’ve got real talent.”

You inhale sharply, but instead of the overwhelming nervousness you were expecting, you feel only determination. They can’t hurt you anymore. “I’m talented. I’m experienced. And I’ll put in the work, sir– I always do. My relationship with Yoongi had no influence over either of my related jobs; I was scouted for the Possible video at a cafe, and Kim Seokjin was the original casting choice for Moon Over the Sea. I can’t deny that knowing Yoongi has helped my popularity, but I got my work, all of it, on my own. Sir.”

Mr. Park stares at you for a long while. “How are your grades?”

You blink. “Sorry?”

“You said you’re a student. How have you been doing in classes? I mean, all this work must keep you from school.”

“Fine,” you say hurriedly. “I, uh, haven’t let it interfere with my degree. I’m very efficient at multitasking.” A little white lie can’t hurt. You’re leaving to film in two days, you’ll check in with your professors tomorrow to make sure you’re good to go.

“That’s very admirable,” Mr. Park says. “And reassuring to hear. We like knowing our clients have the qualifications to continue in the workforce after retiring from entertainment.”

You nod, suddenly shivering at a chill you know isn’t real. 

“Well, I’ve received a glowing recommendation from Avery Lee, who’s worked with us for years. You certainly have more experience than many of our new stars. And a connection, even one like yours, with a group as big as BTS could help you go far. If you, as you said, ‘put in the work’,” Mr. Park smiles briefly. “Then I’d be willing to make this particular gamble, Miss L/n. Will you sign with FYP Entertainment?”

“I-” Yes! “I’d have to look at the contract first, Mr. Park. I’m sure we can negotiate a good outcome, and I’m very optimistic about my future with this agency.”

Mr. Park chuckles. “I see you know how to play the game. Your email is on the form you gave to my assistant– I’ll have her send you the contract today. And, Y/n?”

“Yes?”

“I’d stay in touch with those boys– maybe not Yoongi, if your relationship ended badly, but… They have more power than any of us know. If you really want to get big, stick with BTS.”

You furrow your brow. Now that you think about it, it’s been a minute since your last dinner together– after all, you were meant to see them on the night you found out about Lisa’s disappearance. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

When you leave the office, you pull out your phone and call Hoseok.

“Yyyyyyellow?”

“Hobi, it’s me.”

“Y/n?” Hoseok’s voice changes. “Uh, what can I do for you?”

“Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to have a Bangtan plus-one dinner again? It’s been a while.” 

“Yeah, um… What about Yoongi hyung?”

You feel a vague burning inside your chest. “He’s invited too, if he’s not busy with his new girlfriend. Our relationship was fake, remember?”

“Ah, yeah, right. How about tonight, then? Come over, Seokjin hyung’s making a souffle for dessert. We can hit a few clubs later? There’s some that are VIP enough that we can be safe.”

You laugh; Hoseok is so good at making you feel relaxed. Still, you don’t know if you’re hoping Yoongi does or doesn’t show. Either way– “That sounds excellent. See you tonight!”

~~~

"What do you want?” Yoongi growls into his phone.

“Don’t sound so grumpy, sweetheart.” Seoyeon’s voice in his ear is like poison. “I just wanted to let you know we’re going out tonight.”

“I have plans.”

Seoyeon giggles, far too happily for such a sadist. “Oh, but Suga-bear, you don’t have a choice! Let’s meet at Club Xyon at ten, okay?”

“I hate you.”

“You’re so silly! See you then. Oh,” Seoyeon’s voice turns dark. “And don’t forget what happens if you don’t show.”

A/N tysm for reading!!! <3

#bts #bts au #bangtan #suga #yoongi #min yoongi #bts suga #bts yoongi #fluff #bts fluff #bts angst #bts drabble #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi drabble #yoongi au #idol!au #actress!au #yoongi x reader #idol!yoongi x reader #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #bts fic #yoongi fic #suga fic #angst #suga au #stl #ftl

[vampirequeenoffan]

Intrusive

IDK, just a DP drabble that seized me by the hands and forced me to write it. I haven’t re-read or edited lmao so it’s probably Real Bad but I have other shit to be doing so imma just dump it here, sorry to yalls eyeballs

Tucker pokes him in the shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Danny groans. He’s got his arm slung over his eyes and he’s upside-down on the couch; legs hooked over the back and back pressed into the cushions. It’s not exactly the world’s most comfortable position, but if he eases off the gravity a little it doesn’t actually hurt. Besides, the discomfort is grounding, pulling his brain away from itself and back into the physical world.

“Ghost bullshit,” he grunts at Tucker. He doesn’t bother uncovering his eyes. He doesn’t really even need to, not the way he is right now, with Tucker picked out so neon in his mind that he can almost taste his presence. He doesn’t use his eyes to “see” when his friend sits down beside him, leaning his elbow on the back of the couch and drawing his legs up off the floor.

“That sucks,” Tucker says.

“Tell me about it.”

“Do you wanna?” he asks. “Tell me, I mean. Get it out of your brain.”

Danny contemplates that for a moment, falling so still he nearly forgets to breathe. Then his lungs start complaining, reminding him that he is very much still in human mode, thanks, and that he does need air for more than just vibrating his vocal chords.

Danny sighs.

“Urges,” he says. One-word response.

He still can’t see Tucker, but he can “see” him nod. He’s such a pleasantly warm shade in Danny’s mind right now, a color he can’t describe because humans can’t perceive it. Danny could look at it forever.

“One of the fighting ones again?” Tucker asks. Danny shakes his head.

“I wanna put you in a box.”

It’s a testament to their relationship that Tucker doesn’t freak out about that sentence and all that it could imply. Instead he just pauses, purses his lips in the way that Danny can only vaguely “see” (a slight variation in his color, dipping almost orange on the spectrum), and drums his fingers against the back of the couch.

“Like. . . a coffin?” he asks, tone casual. More casual than it probably should be for the subject matter.

“Not really,” Danny says. “I mean, it’s not not a coffin either, but it isn’t specifically one. My brain just. . . really wants you and Sam to be tucked away somewhere safe where no one else can touch you and I can guard you forever. And ever.”

He pauses.

“And ever.”

Tucker nods, the motion burning brightly in Danny’s mind.

“Creepy,” he comments.

Danny groans again.

“I hate my brain.”

“So do I, you’re not special,” Sam calls from the other room. Danny’s itching under his skin with the urge to go grab her, despite how the walls in between them don’t dampen the “sight” of her in his mind. He presses his arm a little harder down over his eyes, as if that could block out her luminous smear across his consciousness.

“We’re having a private conversation,” Tucker yells back at her. “Me and Danny are bonding. Get your self-depreciation out of here!”

“Then stop talking so loudly, idiots!” Sam says. She’s crouched on the ground, rifling through what Danny knows is a box despite neither seeing nor “seeing” it. It shouldn’t take her that much longer to find Dead Teacher iii, and then she’ll be back in the room. Danny has to keep repeating that to himself.

Tucker reaches down and pokes his shoulder again.

“It’s really bugging you, huh,” he says. “That she’s in the other room.”

“How can you tell?” Danny asks. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t acted on any of his instincts. For all intents and purposes Tucker should just see a normal teenager lying sprawled out next to him, albeit in a somewhat awkward position.

Tucker shrugs. His shoulders bleed color behind them in an echo of the movement.

“Your teeth. They’re always pretty sharp, but right now they look like you could bite your own lip off. You’re not kissing anyone for a while, by the way,” he adds.

Danny’s groan borders on a whine this time.

“My ghost half is ruining my life,” he complains.

Tucker snorts and pokes him again, this time on the cheek. The warmth of his skin, of his presence in Danny’s mind, make Danny shiver. He wants so badly to bundle Tucker up in his arms and never let go.

“Is it just us right now?” Tucker asks. “Do you wanna box up anyone else?”

Danny hesitates, turning that thought over in his head.

“. . .no,” he ultimately concludes, “Not really. My brain’s got my house categorized as safe and mine and that’s where my family is right now, so they’re fine. And Val– well. Val is Val. I’ve always got conflicting feelings there.”

“It would be nice if those cancelled out, huh,” Tucker muses. Danny’s complained about this to him before. Fight and Protect fluctuate in his mind from moment to moment when it comes to Valerie and The Red Huntress, and the overlap when they’re both at their strongest can nearly give Danny a migraine. In the same way he can have a panic attack while in the middle of a depressive episode, he can very much want to swaddle Val in bubble wrap while also wanting to stab her.

“Well,” Sam says, straightening up and starting to (yes!) return to the room, “We can’t do a box, but we were already going to cuddle pile on the couch.”

“I still can’t get over you saying cuddle,” Tucker says.

“There’s nothing more hardcore than cuddling,” Sam huffs as she flops down on Danny’s other side. Her arm swings as she makes to throw what Danny assumes is the DVD box at Tucker, and Danny’s hands shoot up to snag it out of the air before it can strike his friend.

There’s a moment of silence. Danny opens his eyes. It’s weird seeing the world around him and “seeing” on top of it, part of why he’d covered his face in the first place. His brain just isn’t meant to process that much visual information at once, the same way his brain isn’t actually wired to “see.” He tries to focus on what’s real, on the actual light bouncing off his friends and into his retinas, and blinks away the glowing smear that isn’t even on the visual spectrum. He’s holding Dead Teacher iii in his hands, and he stares at the cheesy cover art with the single-minded focus of a guy recalibrating his eyes.

“Ah,” Sam says. “That bad, huh?”

Danny lets go of the DVD and it lands on his face. It hurts, but not that much.

Tucker sighs and grabs the case, standing up and moving to pop the DVD into the player. Danny, with a herculean effort, manages to not grab his ankle on the way by and drag him bodily back onto the couch.

Sam stretches, her long pale fingers tangling together overhead, physical form barely more present in Danny’s mind than the glow of her presence. Then she drops her hands and lays down, plopping her head onto his stomach and peering up into his very-close face. Danny can pick out every sun-starved freckle-that-could on her face, inherited from her parents and dampened by lifestyle choices. In the summer, when even the extra-strength sunscreen Sam slathers on can’t fight back her love for the outdoors, those freckles darken and bloom like constellations in the night sky.

The weight of her head against his stomach smooths some of Danny’s anxiety. She’s here. She’s real. She’s alive. She’s safe. She’s his.

She isn’t, of course. Tucker isn’t either. No one, on this planet or off of it, belongs to anyone, least of all Danny. And Danny knows this, believes it with the same certainty and maybe even the same part of his brain that knows that the earth goes around the sun, but that doesn’t get rid of his ghost-lizard brain chattering away in the back of his consciousness.

There’s the hum of the DVD player starting to spin the disk, then the previews begin behind Danny’s head. Tucker sits back down and, with Sam taking up the real estate on Danny’s abdomen, hooks an arm under one of the legs thrown over the back of the couch. He drags Danny’s limb closer and starts using it like a headrest, cheek pressing against Danny’s shin.

“You guys–” Danny’s voice breaks off. Finally, the anxiety that’s been buzzing at the back of his mind for the past hour and a half is tapering off, soothed by his proximity and contact with those he wants to protect. It’s such a relief that Danny could almost cry. But. . .

“You guys don’t have to be that close if you don’t want,” he says. Because it’s true. Sam and Tucker are under no obligation to play along with his ghost brain, no obligation to surrender to whatever weird instincts Danny has jammed into his consciousness. Danny has no right to ask them to, and he doesn’t. Not ever. They can make their own choices, and he refuses to become the kind of monster who would try to take their free will from them. They’re his friends, not his property, and he’s never going to forget that.

“Danny,” Sam says, “Shut up. The movie’s starting.”

“Yeah, man,” Tucker chimes in, “We were gonna do this anyway. Let us know when your brain’s calmed down enough to be upright, okay? I want popcorn later and there’s no way we’re gonna be able to integrate a bowl into this mess.”

Danny kicks his foot lightly, jostling his leg in Tucker’s hold and bumping his head, but he’s smiling. His friends are here. They’re alive. They’re watching a dumb movie from a dumb series they love and hate in equal measure.

And Danny’s happy.

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Tucker Foley #Sam Manson #Eternal Trio #kinda #I use the term friend a bunch but there's also the implication that They All Be Smoochin #sooooo #Posessive behavior #intrusive thoughts #Ghost Bullshit functioning like anxiety #IDK this is probably super poorly written and I might delete it later but #whatever!

[sunshinehighway]

Not a prompt as such but could you write something fluffy and nice for Ballum please?

hey anon!! thanks for the prompt!!! here’s some post-kidnapping bathtime fluff <33

The light is soft over Callum’s cheeks.

That’s the first thing Ben notices when he nudges the bathroom door open, so gentle that it stays blessedly silent from it’s usual creaking, so tentatively that Callum’s eyes don’t flicker open. They’re alone in the flat, Stuart had whisked Rainie away for a Valentine’s Day surprise and even thought of it is enough to have Ben’s stomach churning.

It’s hitting evening-time now, sun setting down between the trees and pouring dappled, milky reflections through the window, splayed along the tiles, just a hint of wintertime hanging onto it’s last breath.

“Hey,” Ben whispers. The door closes behind him without a click.

Callum shifts, eyes flicking open, almost translucent where the light hits, like pale, stained glass. There’s something so delicate about the way he blinks, lashes tangled together by droplets, his brows mused, hair sticky on his temples. The water laps mutely against his skin when he lifts an arm to brush a loose curl from his eyes, a heady silence draped around them.

“Hey,” Callum says. His voice sounds loud in the quiet.

Ben lets himself drift towards the bath, the water is pink, a summer sunset on it’s last breath before the burn of sunlight flares up in ambers and golds. The bath bomb is one of Lola’s, she’d given it to Ben and told him to relax, yet there was someone who needed it more. He dips his fingers in the bath and watches as the colour swirls and the bubbles rift among them slowly, absently, water baying and moulding under his touch.

There’s a vulnerable haze to Callum’s tired eyes, so young-looking with his hair dripping and clumped at his forehead.

“How’re feeling?” Ben questions, not able to hide the wobble in his voice. He settles himself on his knees, reaching a hand out to trace his fingers over Callum’s shoulder.

Callum leans into him, like instinct, and Ben lets out a tiny sigh at it, the comfort of touch, of Callum letting him whisper his fingertips over the outline of his bones. He glances up at him, from under his wet lashes, under his messy brows. Sunlight dances on one side of his face, pale strips of it that bring a white glow to his temple and the tip of his cheekbone.

“Alright, I suppose,” he echoes for the umpteenth time that day, shifting forward to lean his arms on the edge of the tub, torso stretching, ribs just poking through the delicate skin there. Water slides in droplets along his arms, a soft rhythm as it drips from the tips of his elbows. “Just tired, you know?”

“Relaxed?” Ben asks softly, dipping his own fingers into the bathwater, lukewarm.

“Mm,” Callum leans his cheek against his arm, sleepy. “Thank you for this, you didn’t have to go to all this effort.”

“It’s only a bath, babe.”

“Still,” Callum lets linger.

“Well, there’s no need to thank me,” Ben replies. He tucks a stray piece of Callum’s fringe back in place, letting his fingers linger and watching the way Callum’s eyes flutter shut again, butterfly wings as he breathes in deep. Ben rests his fingers among his hair, scratches gently, both of them silent save for the muted sound of the water pressing up close against Callum’s side. “I’d do anything for you, remember?”

Callum’s breathing is steady, cheek squished against his forearm, the delicate skin of his cheeks so pale compared to the callus of his fingertips and the defined bones of his hands. Slowly, Ben trails his fingers to Callum’s jaw, thumb pressed up against the hinge of it, stroking in minute little movements, nails still scratching gently at the wispy hair behind his ears.

“Gonna fall asleep and drown if you keep that up,” Callum murmurs, almost sighing the words on a quiet breath instead of speaking. A tiny smile tugs on the corners of his mouth, content, and Ben’s heart warms, thaws like hot coals are brushing over his skin.

Ben pulls his hand away slowly, but Callum whines and reaches for him, loops his long fingers over his wrist gently and places his hand back against his cheek, so that his palm cradles it now. He nuzzles into it, eyes still closed. Ben wants to rest his fingertips so carefully by his eyes, by the scar there, a wipe it away with just one brush. Erase Callum’s pain and all the memories it brings. Callum holds them like that, his hand lined up against Ben’s, long fingers overlapping his shorter ones.

“How’re you always so warm?” Ben says. He presses his thumb gently under the cradle of his eye, where his skin is shadowed and bruised, a thin veil of lavender.

“`M warm on the inside,” is Callum’s reply, muffled against Ben’s palm, finally opening his eyes. His lips are wet, scraping over his skin, peach dusted and soft.

“Yeah?” Ben laughs softly, finally leaning close enough to let their foreheads touch. Callum’s skin is wet against his own, hair leaving thin streaks of water over Ben’s temple. “Suppose one of us has to be.”

“Shut up,” Callum lets out in a breathless laugh. He reaches his other hand out and guides Ben’s palm to his chest, holding it over his heart, fingers brushing against a scar, deep and red and frightening. But all Ben can feel is the thump-thump of Callum’s heart, the pulse of warm blood in a warm body, his world beating steady and sure. “You are warm Ben. You’re warm, and you’re kind, and you’re fiercely protective. It’s why I’m with you. It’s why I’m still here.”

They’re curled together now, Ben’s elbows folding over the edge of the tub, fingers firm over Callum’s cheek, where Callum’s fingers are curling into his own.

“Cal,” Ben says, and it’s a hiccup of breath, noses bumping together, Callum shifting closer, as close as he can.

Their lips brush, but they’re still just breathing, just feeling the warm air settling around them, feeling the warmth of their limbs tangled together. A tiny droplet of water falls from a strand of Callum’s hair and lands on Ben’s cheek, streaking down his face in a race with the stray fallen tear. Callum brushes it away with his lips, the drag of his mouth barely a kiss, just a gentle touch, to feel. “You are* good Ben, you’re good and you're warm and you make my world all soft and bright.”

And finally, when their mouths do meet, when Callum dips lower towards him and tucks Ben’s bottom lip between his own carefully, all is blessedly quiet, like the world is just for them, just for this moment. Wherever Ben’s hands trail, wherever his fingers spread of curl, Callum follows, fingertips a whisper over the fine bones of Ben’s wrists, holding on, palms encasing. It’s been far too long since they’ve had this, and Ben’s shoulders sag with the weight of the last few days, falling into the touch helplessly.

Callum is a rose beneath him, unfurling his first petals, soft and pink and shadowed at the edges, mouth so open and wet against his own, droplets pinging against the pastel bathwater like shiny pearls. He presses closer, curls over the tub to cup Callum’s jaw gently, that forgiven feeling of stubble nearly pulling him under once more, searching for the feeling he knows they’re both craving. He wants to open him up entirely, card his hands through the softness that’s settled around them, care for every fragile, vulnerable whisper that Callum is breathing into his mouth.

Finally, he feels the whisper of his lashes, wet and heavy, feels Callum’s shaking breath when he tries to clamber closer, clinging to Ben’s hands so desperately, despite how soft their lips fold, how careful their tongues touch.

Ben slides both his hands over Callum’s jaw, tilts his head back and soothes his thumbs back and forth along the line of it, fingertips stroking among the short hairs around his neck. Callum makes a quiet sound in his throat, and there, with the sag of his shoulders and the sigh that he breathes between Ben’s lips, Ben finds his comfort, his home.

“Love you,” Callum whispers, quick and swallowed straight up by a kiss. Ben fumbles their mouths together, breath stuttered and short.

“I love you too,” Ben whispers, but it catches in his throat, choked on a cry. “Should’ve told you that ages ago, but I do. I love you. So much.”

The words are smudged against Callum’s bottom lip, his chin, and then their lips are just brushing again, just feeling skin while they breathe. When he opens his eyes, Callum is staring up at him, wide open and vulnerable, cheeks flushed the same colour as the bathwater, this tinged peachy pink that matches his lips.

It still scares Ben, how much he feels for him, how this boy makes him feel so soft, like his skin is puddy, ready to be taken apart, petals torn from a flower. He-loves-me. He-loves-me-not. He-loves-me. He-loves-me. He-loves me.

“Stay,” Callum whispers, voice tightly coiled like there are fingers pressed up against the curves of his throat. When he speaks, the words flutter over Ben’s lips. “Please.”

“Always,” Ben drops a firm kiss to his lips, turns his palms to tangle their fingers together properly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t want to be alone again,” Callum says thickly.

“Hey,” Ben soothes. “You won’t be, not ever. Besides, I ain’t ever letting you out of my sight again.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Callum questions, a delicate, teasing edge to his voice.

“Whatever you want it to be.”

The bathwater is cold now, the bubbles sunken and drifting aimlessly with the waters heartbeat, thumping along with their own press of whispers. The light outside is changing, sunset pulling an array of colours on its way. It gives Callum an aura of bronze. All is soft and quiet, Ben’s mind settled, his heart in rhythm with Callum’s, his fingertips grazing the pink flush on his soft cheeks, content and warm.

You’re safe. We’re both safe. I love you.

#ben x callum #ballum #ballum fic #eastenders #mywords

[myriadimagines]

Tease

Deadly Class One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Lex Miller

Other Characters: Petra Yolga, Billy Bennet, Marcus Lopez Arguello

Warnings: smoking, swearing, alcohol consumption

Request: @jordsie​ — “My oneshot idea was for a Lex Miller x reader piece where him and the reader have had a bit of a friends with benefits thing going for a while but, when she admits to having real feelings, he freaks out and calls everything off even though he does have some of those feelings himself. Mutual angst ensues, and then eventually (maybe after someone else tries with Y/N?) they get together.”

Word Count: 2,367

A/N: i miss deadly class hgnhgnghnggggg which i say like at least once a day. anyway, thank you so so much to @jordsie for donating to Reclaim The Block, you’re amazing! if you would like to request a one shot of your own, please read this post!

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!

Your name: submit What is this?

“And now the party’s officially started!”

You let out a loud groan as Petra rolls her eyes beside you, and the two of you look over your shoulders as you see Lex burst through the door to the rooftop, arms thrown up in the air as Billy and Marcus trail behind him, shaking their heads with teasing smiles on their faces. Lex jokingly wrinkles his nose as his eyes land on you, and Lex asks, “What are you boring lot doing up ’ere?”

“Trying to mentally hype ourselves up to go to Shabnam’s party.” Petra responds through a puff of smoke, and she passes her cigarette to you as you watch Billy sidle up to Petra. He eagerly nods along to what she’s saying as she continues, “I don’t understand why you idiots want to go. Shabnam’s nothing but a try hard.”

“Yeah, ugh, Shabnam.” Billy pulls a face, trying his best to impress Petra. “We hate him. Right?”

You and Marcus can’t help but exchange a knowing glance, and Marcus chuckles as the both of you know that Billy’s crush on Petra is more evident than ever as Petra shoots him a confused look. Shrugging, Marcus gives you a little nudge as he responds, “Whatever. A party’s a party. It’s about time we blow off some steam.”

“And I take it you’re going to be there?” you turn to look at Lex, putting on a nonchalant tone as you raise an eyebrow at him. Lex’s goofy grin creates a smile on your own face, and you try your best to keep a straight face as Lex slings an arm around your shoulders, giving you a little shake.

“Well, of course! I’m not one to miss a party.” Lex responds, pulling you close to him despite your attempts to shove him away. He laughs, and teases, “Come on, don’t be like that, love. I know you want me at that party.” 

You pointedly roll your eyes, finally managing to shove his body off yours as you tell him, “Fuck off.” 

Lex throws his head back in laughter, and you duck your head, hoping you don’t look as flustered as you feel. You avoid Petra’s suspicious gaze that falls upon you as you hand the cigarette back to her, and you divert your attention to the view from the rooftop. None of your friends are aware of the little arrangement you have with Lex, secretly hooking up in the dead of the night, dragging each other into empty classrooms for desperate kisses. You know you’ve come close to getting caught, but perhaps that’s what you love most about it. The adrenaline and the rush of sneaking around week after week.

But that’s not the only thing you love. You may or may not have feelings for Lex himself, too.

“We gonna get a move on or what?” Lex asks, jostling Petra as she drops her cigarette, putting it out from under her boot. “Come on, lads, let’s go!”

Lex spins on his heel, leading the way as he makes his way off the roof, and you bite back a smile before reaching for Petra’s arm, tugging her along with you as you all make your way to the party. 

—

You flop against the couch, taking a sip from your cup as you watch the party unfold before you. There’s a mix of everyone from King’s, Rats and Legacies alike, and you flip off a member of the Dixie Mob as you notice one of them scowling at you. Scoffing into her drink beside you, Petra shakes her head as she mutters under her breath, “Remind me why we’re here again?”

You open your mouth to respond, when you suddenly notice Lex in the corner of the room, lingering in the doorway as your eyes meet. He raises an eyebrow at you, a signal you’ve become all too familiar with, and he nods his head down the hallway of Shabnam’s house before he disappears. You gulp down the rest of your drink, straightening your top as you abruptly get up, and Petra looks up at you with wide eyes as she protests, “Where the hell are you going?”

“Come on, you’re a big girl, you can survive without me for a bit.” you tease, avoiding her question as you notice Billy walking over. Perking up, you beckon for him to come over as you continue, “Here, Billy will keep you company.” 

Before Petra can protest, you’ve already darted away, leaving her with Billy as you weave your way through your drunken classmates. You duck into the hallway, tucking your hair behind your ears as you open the first door you come across. You quickly slam the door shut as you see a group of Kuroki Syndicate kids inside, who glare at you as you interrupt whatever discussion they’re having, and you shake your head as you head to the next room.

You peer inside, yelping as you feel a hand reach out to grab yours, and Lex shuts the door behind you before quickly pushing you up against the wall, crashing his lips against yours as you immediately kiss him back. You push his leather jacket off his shoulders as he quickly shrugs it off, and he mumbles, “Kept me waiting long enough, didn’t you, love?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you feign innocence, pulling away from him so you can smile at him, and Lex chuckles as he shakes his head.

“You’re such a tease,” he replies, before leaning forward to kiss you again, his hands roaming up your body as you stifle a gasp. You can taste the alcohol on his lips, which soon trail away from yours, and he presses kisses to your cheek, your jaw, and down your neck, and you tilt your head up as you run your fingers through his spiked hair. 

“Fuck,” you breath out, and you swear you can feel Lex smirking against your skin as his hands pull your hips closer to his body. “I love you.”

The words slip past your tongue so fast you don’t even have time to think about stopping them. For a moment, time seems to stand still, and you feel Lex stiffen as he slowly pulls away, eyebrows furrowing as he asks, “What?”

You gulp, eyes wide as you feel your heart hammering in your chest. “I—”

“Shit.” Lex jerks back away from you, as if your skin is burning against his, and he fumbles to pick his jacket off the ground. “You… you don’t mean that, right?”

You open your mouth, yet no words come out. You can’t even deny it, can’t even pretend for his  sake that you’re not in love with him, but you can’t take back the words now. You can’t deny your feelings any longer. You only wish you had been confronted with a different reaction.

“I do.” you finally blurt, and Lex’s face falls. “I…  fuck, I do mean it! I… I love you.”

“No, no,” Lex paces through the room, his thoughts jumbling together as he doesn’t even know how to process everything. “This was supposed to be casual, yeah? Why’d you have to go and fuck it up?” 

Your breaths become shallow as your vision becomes blurry with tears. Weakly, you try to reason with him, “Lex…”

“I’m leaving.” Lex abruptly interrupts you, pushing past you, and you try to lunge after him.

“Lex, wait!” you desperately try to reach out to grab him, but he slips past your fingers, rushing out the door as you defeatedly watch him run off, not having the energy within you to run after him. Covering your face in your hands, you spin around, falling against the bed inside the room. Tears prickle your eyes as regret and embarrassment washes over you, and you reach for one of the pillows. Burying your face into it, you let out a frustrated scream.

—

Lex drags his feet through the hallway, head hung low as he shuffles back to his room. It’s been weeks since Shabnam’s party, weeks since you confessed to being in love with him, and he’s managed to avoid you since. Despite your overlapping friend groups, he’s managed to pointedly never be left alone with you, no matter how hard you try to talk to him. Figuring that cutting you out of his life completely is the only way to solve the issue, Lex is doing just that. 

But the more he thinks about it, the more he realises he doesn’t even know what the issue is. Is that fact that you’re in love with him really a problem? Does he feel the same way about you, despite the fact the two of you initially agreed everything would be casual between the both of you? The questions swarm Lex’s mind to the point where he can barely think straight, and he shakes his head, as if trying to shake the questions out of his head. 

He looks up momentarily as he turns the corner, and his eyes go wide as he sees you further down the hallway, shoving books into your locker. He freezes on the spot, and he flinches as you look up and spot him. You blink in shock, but just as you open your mouth to call his name, Lex quickly sprints away, disappearing back where he came from before you can stop him. Your shoulders slump, and you gulp as you slam your locker shut, feeling humiliated and rejected as you try to hold back tears. 

“Hey, y/n.” a voice greets you, and you look up to see Marcus approaching you before he leans up against the lockers. He holds up a pack of cigarettes which he digs out from his blazer pocket, and he asks, “Want a smoke?”

You let out a sigh. Perhaps this’ll help you keep your mind off Lex. Nodding at Marcus, you respond, “Let’s go.”

—

You dump your bag on the floor as you and Marcus sit down on the rooftop, soaking in the orange glow of the sunset. You lean forward as Marcus offers you a lighter, and you can feel his eyes on you as he lights your cigarette up for you. You lean away, watching as Marcus lights up his own cigarette, and after a moment of silence, he asks, “So, you and Lex, huh?”

You tense up, and Marcus stifles a laugh at your reaction. “Come on. It was obvious.”

“Whatever.” you roll your eyes. “It’s over, anyway. Whatever it is that we had.”

The words sting you, but you try to ignore the pain, pretending that your heart isn’t splitting inside your chest. Marcus awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, and he quietly responds, “Yeah, I kind of figured.”

“He’s such an asshole.” you suddenly blurt, anger bubbling in your chest. “He doesn’t even have the decency to talk to me.” 

Marcus shrugs. “You deserve better.”

It’s only then do you notice how close Marcus is sitting beside you, and you suck in a sharp breath as you slowly look up at him. He’s already looking at you, studying your expression, and your voice barely comes out as a whisper as you say, “Marcus…” 

Maybe this isn’t so bad, you try to reason with yourself. Marcus is one of your friends, and maybe this’ll be a good distraction to get Lex off your mind. Marcus leans closer to you, his gaze momentarily falling to your lips before back up to your eyes, and you feel frozen in place before the sound of the rooftop door opening jolts the two of you apart. You both look up, alarmed, as you see Lex standing in the doorway, and you can’t quite decipher the look of hurt and betrayal that mixes in his expression as he sees you and Marcus. Jealousy swirls in his chest, as Lex wants nothing more than you to himself, and he can’t help but feel slightly crazy seeing you with someone else.

“Oi, Marcus. Fuck off, will ya?” Lex finally speaks, and Marcus’ eyebrows furrow as he opens his mouth to protest. He turns to look at you, shrug at him apologetically, and Marcus rolls his eyes as he collects his belongings and walks off, making a point of shoving past Lex’s shoulder as he does so. Lex approaches you, and you defensively fold your arms as you turn to look away, and Lex says, “Aw, come on, y/n.”

“Fuck you, Lex,” you spit, turning to glare at him. “You don’t talk to me for weeks, and now you’re just going to show up and interrupt me while I’m hanging out with other people?”

“Looked like a bit more than a hangout.” Lex points out, raising an eyebrow at you. “Didn’t know Marcus had a thing for you.”

“Well, it’s none of your business, first of all,” you scowl. “And secondly, why do you care? Since you’ve made it pretty clear you want nothing to do with me.”

“It’s not like that.” Lex tries to defend himself, and you let out a loud scoff.

“Are you serious?” you splutter. “I was the one who fucked everything up according to you, remember? Right before you stormed out an—”

Before you can continue, Lex suddenly grabs your face in his hands, kissing you. Despite how badly you want to push him away, you immediately melt into his touch, his touch you’ve been craving ever since the night of the party. You hate how quickly you soften into him, but as he pulls away, you feel as if all the air has been knocked out of you.

“I’m the one who fucked things up, alright?” Lex admits. “I love you too, okay? I was a bloody idiot not to realise it earlier, but I do love you, and I want you.”

You blink, in shock at his words. “Don’t be a tease. Do you really mean all that?”

“Yes.” Lex reaffirms, cupping your face in his hands. “I mean it, y/n.”

Your lips quirk into a smile, and you lean forward to kiss him again. And this time, it’s no longer desperate, but soft, and tender, and loving. 

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