#… so do you remember that manager i was muttering about ages ago ….

[duskholland]

entering my lover era.

[luveline]

losers | remus lupin

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?” 

you find remus’ number on an abandoned motorbike. things snowball from there. [10k words]

fem!reader, fluff, first date, smut mdni, implied inexperienced!reader, almost rockstar!remus, mentioned that remus takes painkillers, muggle!au, early 2000’s au

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ There’s a motorbike outside of the cafe.

It’s huge. Too heavy for you to move. Technically, you hadn’t found it at all, it was left there in the dead of night a few days ago and hasn’t budged since. It’s illegally parked, a fact that your manager won't stop muttering about while she’s elbow deep in latte foam and coffee cakes. 

“I’m getting the bastard thing towed,” she grumbles that morning. “Let the police deal with it.”

That seems rather harsh to you. It isn’t necessarily in the way, and it looks well loved. Perhaps whoever left it can’t remember where they left it, having stumbled home on inebriated footing after one too many at the pub across the street. You think about how much it must cost to get your stuff back after it’s been towed, and though you aren’t sure of the specifics, you know it can’t be cheap. So, when your manager falls into conversation with a regular and your break begins, you creep outside to do some investigating. 

It’s a hulking thing made of more black than silver. There are stickers across the left side of the body, weathered and peeling, though one is newer than the others and immediately draws your eye. 

A phone number. 

If lost, please call. 

You take your phone out of your pocket, a flip phone with one dangling charm in the shape of a star. You click each faded button slowly. You're scared to talk to someone you don’t know, but relieved to maybe save the day. 

It goes for ages. 

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you say, dropping your voice into its sweetest tones, though nerves make you too soft, and you worry you’re hard to hear. “Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I work at The Mill, it’s a– a cafe in the city centre… Are you missing a bike, by any chance? A motorbike?”

“Oh, thank you. Yeah, it’s my friend’s. He can be… forgetful.” The voice that speaks is both smooth and gritty, impossibly, like whoever it is that’s talking smoked half a pack of cigarettes before he answered the phone. He clears his throat. “I hope it hasn’t been an imposition for you.”

“Actually, uh, my manager wants to have it towed. Like, now. I can try to fend her off but honestly she’s like, that physics law, um, unstoppable force? Uh,” —you’re stuttering, making it worse, because his voice is surprisingly handsome and you’re an idiot through and through— “yeah, so could you come and get it?”

“Yes! Yeah, absolutely, we’re on our way. Thank you.”

“Sure. Of course.”

You hear something not meant for you, the tail end of, “Sirius, get up. You better call Marl and—”

Phone back in your pocket, you take a quick glance around the street before reaching out to run your finger over the cracked leather of the motorbike seat. You’ve never ridden one before. You’ve never wanted to. The level of fearlessness one needs for it isn’t one you possess. 

You’re the opposite of fearless. 

The sun hides behind a wave of clouds. Your skin chills near immediately, your prim slacks and apron a worthless defence against the cold. It’s an average day here, grey and quiet. Occasionally a couple will pass you, hand in hand as they traverse the worn pavement. You smile at an elderly man and his dog as they shuffle across the street and into the cafe. Your smile fades as you tune into the fierce tones of your manager, demanding to know where you’ve gone. If your absence is what distracts her from calling the police, so be it. 

You’re considering getting your phone back out to play Snake when a passing car slows beside you. You straighten up and out, feeling your spine click in more places than it should as the passenger door opens and an insanely attractive man throws himself out of it. 

“My angel!” he cries, heading straight for you. 

You take a panicked step backward. The man dives for his motorbike. You flinch, mystified by his enthusiasm and his opposite appearance. Short sleeves reveal arms full of dark tattoos, with one side marred by a brutally long scar from his elbow to the back of a ring-laden hand. You tear your eyes from him as a second door closes across the street, and feel all the air rush from your chest as a second man approaches. 

He’s very pretty. It might be redundant to say it to yourself, presented as you are with an undeniable truth, but you think it anyway. Sandy brown hair, pale skin, and in enough layers to make up for his friends lack thereof, the second man ignores any dramatics and meets you head on. 

“Hi,” he says, holding out his hand, “you’re the one who called?”

Closer now, you can see the scars on his face. They stretch over the ridge of his nose and into his eyebrow. A smaller one tugs as he talks against his top lip. 

You take his hand and shake it limply. “Yeah, that was me.”

If he’s concerned with your nervousness he doesn’t show it. His smile doesn’t move. “He wants to say thank you. He will, once he gets over himself.”

“Thank you!” the dark-haired man calls. “She’s my everything. I’ve been sick with worry.”

“Have you?” the man in front of you asks, his voice steady, almost intimidating in its impassiveness. 

“Yes, Moons, I have been… not that you’d know.”

“Some of us have real problems,” Moons snips, though he quickly looks at you like he’s embarrassed. “Sorry. He brings out the worst in me.”

“You must be good friends.” 

You don’t know why you say it. He only smiles. 

“We must be.”

The first man stands up from checking over his motorbike and beams at you. You suspect it’s an expression that works in his favour more often than not. “What can I give you, doll?” 

“No, nothing. Please. I’ll just be glad to hear the end of it.”

"Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, really." 

Your manager calls your name, clear as day despite the thick pane of glass and brick walls separating you. 

"That's you?" Moons asks. 

"That's me. Sorry." 

"No, don't be. Thanks so much for calling." 

You nod hurriedly, throwing them both a 'nice to meet you, I'm sorry for leaving so fast' kind of smile and head back inside. 

You take a sneaky look back when you're behind the counter again. They’ve turned their backs to you, Moons' friend ruffling his hair roughly. After a minute or two, Moons gets back in his car, and the motorbike pulls away like it was never there to begin with. 

What sort of name is Moons? you ask yourself. It's a question that stays with you for a few days. You find yourself hoping you'll see him again, or that his friend's motorbike will turn up outside of the cafe for a few long days and give you an excuse to call him. His number stays unsaved in your recent calls menu for a while. Eventually, you forget about him altogether; the motorbike, the call, the gentle wave of his hair. 

You're hard-pressed to forget his voice, though. There'd been something familiar about it. 

"Nice highscore." 

You jump hard and wince as the metallic taste of blood hits your taste buds. To make it worse, you slam your phone up into the counter it was hiding under in shock. It makes a fatal crunching sound. 

You shove it into your pocket and look up. Standing there, in all his handsome weariness, is Moons, sans friend. He's wearing nice clothes, clean and clearly ironed. You're immediately aware of your ratty uniform and your unkempt hair. 

"Shit," you say, which is so fucking embarrassing, honestly, you could fall through the floor and stay there, "Sorry. What can I get you?" 

His eyebrows inch up his forehead. "What's the easiest thing to make?" 

That's not a question you get often. "Uh, regular black coffee, or tea, or, the uh– the hot chocolate's not that hard. But you should order whatever you like, of course." 

Moons smiles at you. You're starting to understand the nickname (assuming it is a nickname). He has this odd but enticing presence about him, like that awestruck feeling of looking up at night and seeing all the teeny tiny stars and the moonlight that comes down with them, bright and somewhat daunting. 

"Sure you don't mind?" 

"I'm paid not to mind." 

"Can I get the biggest cup of tea you can make? Milk and two sugars, please." 

"Absolutely." You sidestep to the register and click a bunch of the wrong buttons. You're unprofessionally flustered. "Uh, three sixty five?" 

He passes you a five pound note. Your tip cup is for the more generous type, and he has no trouble dropping his palmful of change into it. He barely looks. You're expecting him to take a seat but he stays standing, one arm pressed to the counter, the other held up. He scratches behind his ear absentmindedly, as though he has nowhere else to be. 

"Are you in a hurry?" you ask, confused. 

He stays quiet for enough time to shit you up. You're tipping milk over your hand and hoping he hasn't seen it when he says, "No rush. I'm here to see you." 

You look over your shoulder at him. You can't help it. "To see me." 

"Yeah." 

You spin back to his tea. The counter is covered in spills and sugar, cup tops and wooden stirrers. You take them all in with wide eyes. Nobody ever comes to see you. Not your friends, not family (unless they want something). Especially not boys you met once for two minutes. 

"Is there something wrong?" you ask. 

You clip the lid onto his big tea and wrap it in napkins so it doesn't burn his hands. 

"Nothing's wrong," he says kindly. "I wanted to apologise. Your boss was upset with you. It was Sirius' fault. We owe you for it." 

"You really don't have to say sorry. She wasn’t that mad. No harm, no foul." 

You put his cup of tea down in front of him and try to smile like girls do in the movies. Soft doe eyes, not too bright, not too awkward. You give up after a second and feel it twist into something regrettable. 

His long silence makes you squirm.

"A thank you, then.”

He offers you an envelope. You take it. 

The paper is crisp and thick. Your fingers are clumsy, and it takes you too many seconds to fold the envelope's lip and pull out the card stock inside. 

You look up in shock. "I can't–" 

He's not there. You look to the door, catching what might've been his hand as he walks out of view. 

He's left you two concert tickets. You don't go to concerts. You might have, when you were younger, and had friends to follow. As it stands he's given you two seated tickets for a show in the Pointer Arena not far from where you work, for a band you've never heard of. The price on each is a solid £20, which is way too much repayment for ringing a number from a sticker. Worse, you're not sure you have somebody who can use the second one. 

You hope he'll come back for clarification alone, and a little to see him, but he doesn't, and soon the date on the ticket matches the date on your calendar and you're standing outside of the venue with no clue how to hold yourself. 

You stand in line for a while. It's a very long line made up of mostly younger women. You listen for the calling of a reseller and spot a group of young girls trying to haggle with them, reluctantly leaving your place in line. 

"Hi," you say quietly to the one furthest from the epicentre. "I'm sorry if this is weird. I have an extra ticket tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like it? I know it's seated, but maybe you could use it to get in and then, uh, not sit? Or just sit." You could writhe around on the ground in shame. You hold out the spare ticket. "If you want it." 

"Are you kidding?" 

"No, seriously." 

She takes the ticket and you walk away before she can try and give it back to you. Whether she uses it or not, it's no longer your problem to deal with. The lady who'd been standing behind you lets you back in line, for which you're extremely grateful, and you shiver your way to the front with nerves churning your stomach. 

You've imagined being turned away twenty times by the time they usher you through the doors. The air is buzzing with excitement, enough of it to ramp up your nerves, and you smile weakly at the people who pass you on the way up to the seating area you've been designated. The Pointer Arena is a smaller venue with much more standing than seating capacity available. The seats are at the sides and back of the second floor, looking down at the pit with a safety barrier in front. 

You slide into your seat and peer down at the crowd as it fills up one ant of a person at a time. You can't distinguish one person from another after a while. It’s a moving sea of dark clothes. 

It takes a long time for the opening act to come on. You're not having much fun. You'd tried to use the computer in the cafe to research the bands playing tonight but the dial up hadn't been working and your manager hates when you take long breaks, so you aren't sure you'll even enjoy yourself. You're not sure why you came here — is it sad, to come here alone? It looks sad, you think, pathetic, but it doesn't feel sad. You're not very good at talking, anyways. It's so difficult. Or maybe you just make it that way. 

This is why you regret coming. Any time spent by yourself is time to think. You hate thinking, but it's all you seem to be able to do. Think and think and think. Your mind runs in the same circles. Things you've done, things you wish you did, things you want to do so badly it makes you feel sick. You can't stand it. 

The crowd begins to rise in volume. Cheers echo against the atrium ceiling, and you push yourself to the edge of your seat to see what's making them all so excited. 

The opening band. They're too far away to see clearly. First on stage is a man with brown skin and a head of black curls, a guitar swinging from his neck, the body barely held as he waves to the masses. Next comes a paler man with hair tied up in a bun who sits down behind the drum kit and doesn't move much after that. A girl practically sprints to centre stage, scooping up a waiting guitar (or bass?) and strumming down the body appreciatively. She has purple hair, bright and choppy, particularly abrasive against the alabaster white of her skin. 

And last on stage… last on stage is Moons. 

You move forward suddenly, smacking your face against the plexiglass barrier and biting your cheek for the second time in a week. Used to your mistreatment, the poorly healed skin wastes no time splitting, and the metallic taste of blood makes you cringe. 

That's Moons. There are two huge screens either side of the stage that magnify him. First his hand on the microphone, a scar coiling up from his wrist to his thumb purple against his skin. Then his face. You wouldn't forget what he looks like so soon, not when you've half obsessed over him for days with could-be's because he'd wanted to see you and you have a bad habit of inventing future's with people you don't know, but even if you did it wouldn't matter. You've never met anyone else with three scars as he has across his face, taking centre stage. 

You hadn't realised the tickets were to see his band. It makes sense, now, why your seat is in such a quiet area, and why the people sitting close by aren't firecracker happy at the sight of them. They must've received their tickets in the same way, gifts or thank yous for small favours. 

Your mouth dries as they begin to play. It's not what you're expecting. Of course, you haven't really had time to expect anything, and yet you're shocked when they start to play a slow song. He doesn't really look like a rockstar, but a heartthrob? You can see it easily. The long lengths of his lashes, and the dark honey of his eyes. His smile, so small but somehow piercing. 

His voice is careful. He doesn't sing anything impressive —there's no belting or high notes— but you still find yourself wringing your hands together, entranced by his confidence. He dances around the melodies and fills up every space he can find between the beat of the drums and the searing guitar riffs that follow. 

They only play five songs. By the time they've finished you're feeling sick to your stomach, and you can't get your heart to calm down. You hadn't known a word of the lyrics, but you'd felt them. 

They're good. 

Like, too good to be openers for long. 

The crowd echoes your sentiment. They clap and scream and wolf whistle. The noise vibrates in the depth of your stomach. The cheering doubles when the headlining band’s techies emerge. The lights go down. Equipment begins to roll out. 

You scrounge through your purse for a lip balm and think about heading downstairs to the concession stands for an overpriced bottle of water to wash away the unfortunate tang of blood. It aches to pay, but if you don't soon you might get nauseous, and that would be a real disaster, throwing up here of all places. 

You hear his voice before you see him. He's laughing, talking to somebody about the set. 

"It was great!" compliments a feminine voice. "I don't know what you were so worried about, Remus, you're really great. And if you weren't, Marl would've saved the day anyways with her gorgeous showmanship." 

"Thanks, baby," says a second voice. Marl. 

"Thanks, Mary," Moons says. 

What had Mary called him? Remus? Odd, not quite as strange as Moons. 

You try not to tense as footsteps approach. 

"Can I sit?" he asks. 

You look up too fast. He's a little damp, the hair closest to his face curled with it, but he smells good as he sits down. He must've washed up. 

"I– I've been calling you Moons in my head," you admit, not sure what to say. 

He's intimidating. You don't imagine he knows it. He sits in the chair without any fanfare, setting his forearm on the rest between your two seats and turning his face to you completely, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, almost like he doesn't want to smile but can't help himself. His eyes are the slightest bit lidded, emphasising the brilliance (and unfairness) of his lashes, so thick and dark you wonder if he's wearing makeup. 

"You can call me whatever you want to, but my name's Remus. I should've told you that before. I was… distracted." 

He isn't being coy, you realise. He easily could be if he wanted to, but he was genuinely lost for words for a second.

"I didn't really tell you mine," you say, hoping to ease his gentle confusion. 

He says your name like it's easy. Like he enjoys the sound of it. "Y/N. Do you like music?" 

Is that a trick question? His eyes trace up to your eyebrows as they pinch together, but he doesn't amend his question. Not a trick, then. 

"I like music,” you say.

"I realise it's brave to ask someone to come and see you on stage. And that I look like a tosser sometimes with the stage lights and makeup." 

"No," you say quickly, "you don't. You looked just fine. You looked good. I bet it's hard getting on stage like that, and in front of this many people. And singing. You have a really nice voice." 

His eyes soften. "Thank you. Do you wanna go get a drink with me? There's a bar. It's quiet." 

Your elbow brushes against his long sleeve. "Yeah." You're not breathless enough to embarrass yourself, but it's a close call. 

Remus leads you up and out of the seats. The venue is large in that it has just as many hallways and back rooms as it has places to watch the show. Remus’ warm hand catches your elbow, a friendly touch that guides you around the barrier and through a dimly lit hallway that takes you to the bar. 

The bar overlooks the stage, but the sound of the band and the crowd is dampened severely, making for a sorely needed respite. VIP's mill around the room on plush leather sofas and cushy bar stools sipping from sweating glass bottles. Remus' hand moves up to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as a familiar face waves you over. 

"Hey, it's you!" 

You smile at Remus' motorbike friend. You're a hundred percent sure his name is Sirius, but you won't say it aloud in case you're wrong. Beside him sits the other man you'd seen on stage with them, the guitarist with brown skin and a head full of thick hair. You look between the three of them in secret shock, wondering if handsome attracts handsome or if it's just dumb luck that they ended up together. 

"James, this is the babe that found Stacia," Sirius says.

James wrinkles his nose. "Hi," he says, in a voice that sounds deeply apologetic, years of it like the rings of a tree. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Um, and you?" 

"I'm good! Thanks, I'm good, it's nice of you to come see us. Did you like the show?" 

"Yeah, I did. I had no idea you guys were musicians." 

He splits his attention between you and his jacket. He pulls a glasses case out of his pocket, clicks it open, and straightens out a pair of wire frames. 

"Couldn't tell from our baby boy's general demeanour?" he asks. "Hey, that's better, I can see you now." 

"Sirius is the youngest," Remus says. 

"And the handsomest." 

"No, Marl's clearly the handsome one," James says lightly. 

Sirius takes the rebuttal in good jest and brandishes his drink toward you like a toast. "Want a beer?" 

"I'm getting her one," Remus says, "come on, give me a minute here." 

Everybody laughs. You laugh too, turning your face into your shoulder to smother the sound. 

"Well, come and sit with us, make yourself comfortable," James says, moving his jacket off of the chair in front of you.

Remus makes a small, apprehensive sound. "Drinks first." He looks to you for confirmation. "Yeah. We'll be back." 

You follow him to the bar. Your shoes, a pair of dirty converse you wish you'd swapped for heels or something sophisticated, squeal against the hardwood floor. How were you supposed to know you'd see him again tonight? In what world does stuff like this happen to scruffy waitresses? You're starting to think he might be somebody. 

Not that it matters if he is or isn't. 

But if he is… This is embarrassing, right? Not knowing who he is. 

There must be a couple thousand people here tonight. Then again, his band were the opening act, so it doesn't necessarily mean they're all famous or anything. 

"Hey," Remus says softly, stopping your thoughts cold. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine. Sorry. I've never been in here before, anywhere that's like it,” you say. 

"Venues are all different but the bars don't change," he says. "What do you like?" 

"I'm not a big drinker." 

"That's okay. I just wanted an excuse to be alone with you." He doesn't even give you time to recover. "Truth is, I wanted to ask you out. But between shows I couldn't find time, and next week I'm in San Marino." 

What you mean to say is, you wanted to ask me out? But instead, you choke, "You're going to Italy?" 

Remus pushes a seat out for you, helping you up with a solid hand, and, while your fingers are still warm from his touch, he says, "San Marino isn't Italy. I didn't know that 'til a few months ago. But pretty much." 

"What's in San Marino?" 

"A wedding." He climbs into the seat next to you, smiling.

The tan colour of his long-sleeves contrasts his pale hands. Your eyes flash to his ring finger. Not his wedding. 

Remus isn’t easy to talk to. It's not wholly his fault. He doesn't force conversation, leaving you awkwardly searching for something to say. You're not the best conversationalist either. He clearly doesn't mind it. 

You're in the midst of a clumsy retelling of a shitty customer service moment when he tips his head to the left just a touch. 

"Maybe we can go on an actual date when I'm home,” he says.

He says it like he's talking about the weather. You'd be worried he was messing with you, but then he smiles again, flicking his index finger against your wrist mildly. "You don't have to answer me now. Finish telling your story."

"It was pretty much finished. And– and I'd like to. Go on a real date. I've never been out of the country, so you'll have to forgive me if I want to know everything about San Marino." 

He looks at your lips. Says, "Good," and doesn't give any indication that he's noticed how nervous you are. That is, until he covers your trembling hand with his and presses it flat to the bar. 

"You're really pretty," he murmurs. He takes a moment, and he smiles. "Come with me? If I don't give Sirius some attention soon he'll start showing off."

— 

James is starting to wonder if he should invite you to San Marino. He's not that stupid; it would be a huge pain if you were standing in the middle of all his wedding photos and you and Remus don't work out. But, while he's certainly and majorly jumping the gun, he has a suspicion he’ll be seeing you again. 

James has never seen Remus like this before. 

His friend is usually quiet, quipping every now and then perhaps at Sirius' insufferable antagonism but otherwise brooding. He hasn't seen him smile this much, ever. 

James is under no illusions — he knows Remus loves him very much. He knows Remus is happy, and not always healthy but managing. He knows Remus is pleased with their lives and ecstatic to have their music take off. But he also knows Remus won't let himself have a good thing, not really. Maybe that's why he's asked you out now, when in a week they'll be in San Marino, and a week after that they'll be in Cardiff to officially start the new tour. 

He knows Remus, sweetheart, kind hearted, miraculous Remus, tends to let people down. He's a stickler for asking people out and cancelling the day before. It's how it always goes. James will ask how the date went and Remus will shake his head and say, "it didn’t work out." 

He knows Remus doesn't mean to hurt anybody. He just… can't get close. 

But he's trying, with you. A glass of cordial in one hand, the other behind your chair, Remus tells you one of his more embarrassing stories about how he'd taken a bad fall and ended up in A&E with half of an eyebrow. He doesn't mention the painkillers that made him woozy. 

You've relaxed considerably since sitting down. James would be happy to report that you're having a good time. You have your own drink in hand, and your eyes are bright, with a receding space between your face and Remus' as the story goes on. It's like watching two magnets fight to hold themselves apart.

Matter of time, James thinks to himself smugly. 

—

Honesty is important. You admit to yourself that you and Remus aren't exactly a perfect match. Both quiet, both not quite social butterflies, your conversations had occasionally been stilted and slow, but you've only met twice. Things don't have to be perfect, and more than that — there's a spark there. A twinge of a possibility. He'd liked what little he knew about you enough to ask to see you again, and you'd like what little you knew about him in turn to say yes. 

It doesn't have to be perfect, you insist to yourself, a bundle of nerves. Nothing does. 

He looks pretty perfect. Base of his palm pressed to the brick wall of the cafe, hand angled down as his fingers grasp the neck of a bouquet whose flowers have been shedding petals onto the damp pavement below. He holds his other hand against his chest, clicking buttons on his phone. 

You approach from the left and watch him play a game of Snake. 

"You play Snake?" you ask.

"Doesn't everybody?" he asks back, his smile softening what might otherwise feel like a chastisement. He doesn't look up from his phone.

"Woah, how long have you been out here?" you ask, eyeing his weirdly long snake.

Remus guides the snake into a wall on purpose. It dies, his high score flashes across the screen, and he aims an apologetic look your way. "Sorry, that was rude." He doesn't try to hide that he's looking over your face. "Thanks for coming." 

He leans in and kisses your cheek. Delighted warmth curls in your stomach, worse when he passes you the bouquet of flowers. They've mostly survived his poor treatment, and there's a lot of them. He's left the price tag on and you're not sure if he's noticed. You pretend not to see it. 

"Thank you…” You look away from the flowers, all whites and reds and baby’s breath, to ogle him as subtly as you can manage. “Wow, you've caught the sun. Was it lovely in San Marino?" 

"I'll tell you all about it over dinner,” he says. “I thought we'd walk, it's not far." He holds out his hand. You wipe your palm against your side before you take it, worried you'll have clammy hands. He must guess, because he says, "Don't be nervous." 

"I am," you say hopelessly. "I've never been on a date before." 

"This is your first date?" 

You feel a hot flush coming on. "I– yeah. That's embarrassing, I shouldn't have told you that." 

"No, it's a good thing. Now I know it has to be extra special." 

"It doesn't," you say. 

"I was hoping it would be." He pulls you down the pavement and further into the city centre toward the main high street. "San Marino. It was beautiful, and I took a couple of photos but I didn't have room on my phone. Well, I could've deleted Snake–" 

"Why would you?" you joke, grinning. 

He laughs, and squeezes your hand slightly. "Exactly. I have priorities. It's a long flight, and looking over the photos can only take up so much time. No, but it really was… it was beautiful. I'd never given much thought to a destination wedding. They make sense, right? It's the best day of your life, why would you have it here?" 

He tilts his chin toward the grey sky. You look up with him, feeling the cold wind kiss the sides of your face and pull through your hair. 

"Come on, Remus, it's not that bad. If it's sun you're after, you could just wait for British summer time. You know, the whole three days of it." 

He laughs — you've made him laugh twice already. This is going okay. Laughing while looking at one another, a bouquet in one hand and his hand in the other, you feel that curl of delight begin to bloom. It fills your insides up, has you smiling until your eyelashes brush in the corners. 

"It was James' wedding. Do you remember which one that was?" 

He asks so kindly. You don't doubt for a second that he wouldn't care if you forgot. It's refreshing, even if it's something you'd expect. 

"I remember. I didn't realise he was getting married." 

"Don't ever say that in front of him, he'll put himself on the cross." He swings your hand as you turn a corner. The Italian restaurant you'd agreed on winks from a distance. 

"He's devoted," you guess. 

"He's insane. He was worse when we were younger. His girlfriend– his wife," he amends, "Lily, she's really something else. Warm and funny, but she's been keeping him on his toes for years. She has family in San Marino, hence the wedding." 

You listen to him talk eagerly. His voice is as handsome as his face, and the more he says the less stilted he becomes. There had been a strained quality to it before (strained, or restrained? something he wasn't saying) that's all but disappeared. 

"It was like a movie. White linen, sand, crying." 

"Did you cry?" you ask, expecting a puffed up chest. 

"So much. Too much, maybe. I was half of the best man." 

"Half?" 

"We had to share, me and Sirius. They've always been…" Remus slows his steps. "Am I being boring? I'm talking too much about me." 

"We have time. I want to hear it. I'd like to hear it," you say. 

James and Sirius are brothers. Remus sees your surprised look and doesn't condemn you for it. Sirius is unofficially adopted. The Potter's fostered him from ages thirteen until he aged out, and though they tried to adopt him, Sirius was reluctant. Remus doesn't get into the reasons beyond that, and you don't ask. You suspect he's only telling you about it to drive home how much the Potter's love Sirius. How much James does. 

Remus had been Sirius' friend from their very first year of comprehensive school. Sirius moved in with the Potter's, and, adoring as they were, they let him have friends over whenever he liked. James, Sirius, and Remus spent the next decade together like that, hiding in Sirius' room. Best friends, entirely inseparable, and all fiercely protective of each other. 

"They've always been like brothers." 

"But not…" 

He understands what you're worried to say. "I think it would've been weird… I had a candle burning for James. For a long time." 

Your jaw drops a little. "And you just had to watch him have the most romantic wedding ever," you whisper sympathetically. You're joking: it's clear the candle isn't burning now. 

"Told you I cried," he says. "No, but you've seen him. He's a supermodel. It's awful." 

"Remus, I think you might be underestimating how handsome you are," you say. You bite your lip and look at his chin rather than his eyes. 

He's generous. He gives your wrist a tug and chuckles warmly. "I'm glad you think so. Tonight might have been awkward, otherwise." 

You duck together inside of the restaurant, hands falling apart as Remus gives his last name for the reservation. Lupin. Your face has a mind of its own. 

"Charming, isn't it?" 

"It is," you say emphatically, denying his sarcasm. "I've never heard anything like that. Lupine, like a fox?" 

"Wolf."

A server shows you to your table and hands you two leather covered menus. Leather, not plastic, a sign that tonight is going to be classy. You've dressed for the occasion in a smart blouse and slacks, too terrified of wearing a dress. Remus seems to have done the same as you, reaching for smart but dodging the mark in a button down and a casual jacket. When he takes off his coat, he looks perfect. He fits right in. 

"Could we get a glass?" he asks the server. "For the flowers? If it's not too much trouble." 

"No trouble at all." 

You run your hand across the silken tablecloth and the space between you both feels somehow smaller than when you'd been holding hands. Outside, you could let your gaze drift to the pavement, the fenced in trees, the couples that passed you by. Here, you're forced to watch one another. 

It's not so bad. It's agonising. 

"This is weird," you say. You flinch when you hear yourself. "Sorry, not that you're weird! I'm weird. I've never ever done this." 

"No, I know," he says, almost murmuring, "it's okay." 

"I just blurted out what I was thinking–" 

"I know." He sits back in his chair. His head tilts down, his eyelashes kissing the skin above his brows as he fixes you with a look. It has the intended effect, tension easing from your rigid spine and tight shoulders. "This is weird. But it's still early. It could get weirder." 

You like that he says it as if it's a good thing. 

You order the same thing he does, and you don't turn down his offer to get a bottle of wine, though it feels too grown up. You keep forgetting you're an adult, and that your life isn't on hold. Things can happen to you at any time. 

"I want to address the elephant in the room," he says. 

Not promising. "Okay." 

"Are we having dessert?" Remus leans forward on both forearms. Hair falls in his eyes. He's dressed nicely and he's handsome but there's something homespun about him, something golden. You can't help looking at him and thinking impossibly forward thoughts, cheesy waffle from the films. He's familiar. "Nobody ever wants to get dessert with me. It's actually a real issue for me." 

"I'll get dessert with you." A smoother you with more confidence, who wore the dress and asked him to go to the Thai restaurant instead, would've said something more suave. We're having whatever you want, handsome.

Remus flips the menu to the very last page and reads the desserts aloud. For himself, it seems, half-muttered and apprehensive. "Chocolate cake from places like this will either be the nicest thing we've ever eaten or burnt in the microwave. And it's childish that I want chocolate cake. I should be spoon feeding you creme brulee. Or whipped cream and strawberries." 

He tips his head back and rubs his eyes. It's a charade of feigned self loathing that makes you laugh. 

"I'm a child," he laments, thumb and index finger pressed into his eyes. He checks to see if you're watching before doubling down. 

"I like cake," you say, and you'd lie if you thought it was what he wanted to hear. Handsome, kind, and funny. Not to mention talented. He needs smart for the sweep. 

Remus falls out of his dramatics. You mourn the loss, beggy a good look on him, but forget all about it when he slides his chair around the table to share the menu with you, your heads inclined as you read it together again. He smells woody. You hope he likes the jasmine of your perfume. 

"It all sounds really nice," you confide, afraid to disturb the comfortable hush. "I haven't had gelato since I was a kid. Oh, did they have real gelato in San Marino?"

“They had a lot of stuff in San Marino… I want to hear about you.”

“What do you want to hear?”

The questions start and don’t stop. Where did you grow up? That’s the easy part. What did you study in school? Were you in sports? The art club? And what do you do now, when you aren’t working in the cafe? The more he asks, the easier it is to answer. He doesn’t slow when the waiter brings a glass for your bouquet, simply stands and places them inside with exceedingly gentle hands, smiling at you from between the stems. You eat slowly when the food arrives — you're busy talking. 

It feels fucking amazing. To have someone want to know anything about you. And unless he’s an actor of the highest regard, he’s obviously enjoying your conversations, though they wilt and wane and wind around one another. You lose track of time and thread as the night goes on, distracted by the near unnoticeable asymmetry of his smile, and the way he laughs when you laugh, like an echo. 

You get cake like he wanted. Triple fudge cake with buttercream thick but melting from the heat. It looks straight from the pages of a magazine, glossy and dusted with sugar powder, but he doesn’t seem to like it. He takes a couple of bites and leaves it alone. You don’t want to look greedy, so you do the same. 

The date is suddenly over. 

“Could I walk you home?” he asks, when you’ve both put your coats back on, and the damp roots of your flowers are leaving an imprint on your chest. 

You nod rather than answer. 

Things are good, not perfect. That’s what you keep thinking. There’s something he isn’t saying. Or, horrifyingly, something he doesn’t like about you. Still, the sky is velvet black and the air is crisp. Stars like needlepoints dot the air. Street lights work to hide them, casting a warm yellow glow over the pavements and your meandering shoes. 

A brisk wind whips past you. You shiver and press your lips together hard, hands quick to rigidity. Remus looks at you sideways, and breaks the quiet. “Are you cold?”

“A little.” No point in lying when he can see you trembling. 

“Do you want my coat?”

“No, no, it’s alright–“ You cut off as he steps in front of you, his hand vying for yours. 

He tucks the flowers under his arm and sandwiches your fingers between his. He has short fingernails, and another scar down one pinky finger. How’d you get that one? you want to ask. How’d you get any of them?

His breath clouds the air. “I should’ve thought about the cold.”

“This is better,” you say. Than a warm taxi home. His thumbs brushing down the backs of your hands. 

You walk to your flat building and hesitate at the foyer door. The potential for a kiss goodnight has flayed your thoughts. The image of his hands climbing your arms, holding you still, plays like a flickering film. You have no idea if he’s going to do it. 

“How will you get home?” you ask quietly. 

“I parked by the cafe, it isn’t far.”

“Oh…” The lights from your building paint him the faintest shade of pink. Your breath fogs out in front of you, as does his, and the warmth of walking will soon fade. “I–“

“Here,” he says, handing you the flowers again. 

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Fits the recipient.”

It takes a second for you to get it. Oh, you think. You can hardly feel the cold now. Your heart hurts, and you’re begging him to want to take a step toward you. The silence goes for too long. 

“I– I’d love to see you again,” you say. Love comes out funny. Maybe because you can feel his rejection coming. 

“I won’t be here next week. Not for a long time. We’re touring properly, now.” He scratches the side of his face.

“Right. Right, of course you are. Um, good luck with that. And thank you for tonight, for dinner.” You wave your flowers weakly. 

He looks at you. He takes a half step toward you. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. 

“You really are pretty,” he says finally. “Goodnight.”

He smiles quick and turns quicker. You watch him walk a few steps but ultimately can’t face it, pushing into the foyer of your building with a hardset frown. Your hands shake, minute abstractions of the sharp rejection panging in your chest. Your ears roar and then go quiet. What did I do wrong? you think, shocked and upset and trying to rationalise. He doesn’t have to kiss you. He asked you out on a maybe, and now whatever question he had is answered. 

The door creaks open. You spin on your heel, too wrapped up to think about hiding your expression. Remus stands in the doorway of the porch, his arm pressed to the glass panel, the other held out to you. 

"Come here," he says quietly. It isn't a question, but he's asking. 

You step into his reach, letting him pull you by the waist against his chest. He leans down until his nose glances against ýours, and he starts to say something. You push your chin up in your eagerness and he doesn't try again. He kisses you, once, contrite, and he pulls back and his hand clasps your arm tight as he ducks in for another. His lips are fast to lose the cold of the weather, but his tongue is a hot shock at the seam of your own. 

You go weak in his arms. The flowers between you crunch and smother themselves. You can’t think about it. Your hands are numb. He takes over every one of your senses until you’re more kiss than thought, reciprocating his slow, deep searching. You run out of breath. 

He eases you backward, cupping the side of your head in his big palm. 

“I want to see you again,” he says hoarsely. “But I– I don’t know when I’ll be back.” His hand adjusts against your cheek, like he’s worried you’re slipping out of his hold. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can wait,” you say. 

“I couldn’t ask you to.”

You rub your buzzing lips together, each heaven of your chest marked by the crinkling sound of cellophane. 

“Do you want to come upstairs?” you ask.

He strokes the edge of your mouth with his thumb. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him. You don’t know if this will work, any of it, the broad stroke or this one night, but you want him. 

—

Remus doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows how to fuck somebody, that isn’t the problem. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with you. The same thing that made him walk away had pulled him right back in, had him skipping steps on the staircase up to your flat, drinking in the back of your head and roll of your shoulders as you’d made apologies for the mess inside.

He doesn’t feel like himself when he’s with you. He thinks of it like this — what he is, his pain, his wants, that’s all set in stone. Any change is an erosion, and little by little over the years he’s managed to whittle himself down into the smallest, cleanest version of himself. Then suddenly the band’s making money, people are listening to his voice on the radio in countries all over the world, and he can’t hide anymore. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, after all. What else inspires a performer into the spotlight? The music, he thinks desperately, knowing it’s half a lie. 

Isn’t it why he’d asked you to the show? Come and watch me sing. See me at my most impressive. My most curated. 

And now he’s following you into your bedroom after one date, about to strip it all away. 

“You didn’t have too much wine, did you?” he asks. You hadn’t really finished your first glass, but it won’t hurt to make sure. 

You peel your jacket off and drop it over the back of a wide armchair. “I don’t think so. Did you?”

“No.” His head has never been this clear. 

He thinks about what you said. This is your first date, and he’s not clueless enough to assume that never going on a date means never having sex, but he wants to be careful with you anyway. He wants this to last beyond a dinner date. 

Which means he has to get out of his head. 

Beyond all of his own mess, he really does think you're pretty. More than pretty. You’re beautiful, and your voice… 

He wants to see what other sounds you make. 

Remus gets his hands on you. Soft touches, his hands coasting from your elbows to your warming hands. He squeezes your fingers, leaning in for a quick kiss. He rests his nose against the skin beneath your eye. “Tell me if it’s too much?” he asks, a murmur of hot air. 

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go slowly.”

“Okay.” Your voice is barely audible. 

He pulls away to make sure you’re alright, and is surprised to see a glassy sheen in your eyes. He holds your face in both hands and works your lips open against his, guiding you backwards into the plush of your poorly made bed. He’s all sweet touches and eager kisses, cautious not to hurt you, or let too much of his weight press against your soft torso. His kisses follow to the corner of your mouth, the tip of his nose tender against your cheek. “You’re so quiet,” he says. He isn’t complaining, but he wants to hear your voice. 

“I’m a bit preoccupied.”

He laughs into your skin, kissing down to your jaw. “You’re right,” he says, revelling in the goosebumps that rise under his hands. 

Your shaking inhales cleave a pit in his stomach. He mouths at the side of your neck, half-kisses, tiny warning nips before he thumbs open the first button of your shirt. He meanders, dropping a path crescent moon kisses into your front until the fabric of your bra gets in the way. The soft hill of your breast staggers to a halt beneath him. He can tell that you’re holding deliberately still. 

Kisses. You need more kisses, an absolution from any lingering nervousness. Your hands thread into his hair gently, your fingers raking wavy strands behind his ears as you give in. You melt into your sheets, your legs parting from the pressure of his hips. 

Your hands fall from his hair to needle between your two bodies and undo the rest of your buttons. The fabric falls aside, your chest and tummy his to catalogue. He drops his hand against your stomach, smoothing a line down to your slacks. His lips ache against yours as he asks, “Can I?”

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?” 

He smiles at your daunted expression. “Can I take these off?” he asks you, his fingertip running under the edge of your underwear. “Please?” he teases.

Your skin is a furnace, hot hot hot everywhere he touches as you nod your permission and Remus undresses you, one piece of clothing at a time. Your trousers, your shirt. Your bra, your underwear. His fingers slip in his ardency as he tears out of his own button down. 

Your thumb traces a scar. 

He looks up from your chest, startled, but you aren’t giving him anything he doesn’t want. There’s no pity in your gaze, no curiosity, no sadness. Just lust, your trembling hands pulling his slacks down the lengths of his thighs. 

He pulls the condom from his wallet in his pocket and lets it fall to the floor. 

Remus hooks his hands under your arms and urges you back against the headboard, a pillow behind your head, your thighs tipping open as his hand runs down between them. He grabs at them greedily, handfuls of fat that have his mouth dry as a bone. 

“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” he asks. He needs to know.

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head. 

Fuck. “Hey, look at me,” he says, waiting for your eyes to meet before continuing. “I just want to make you feel good. If I don’t, you let me know.”

He waits for you to answer aloud. “I will,” you say, your hand behind his back and urging him forward. “Please.”

“What did I say?” he jokes gently, letting his weight bear down on you again. 

He closes his eyes, his lips in what feels like a new home at the juncture of your neck. His hands skirt dangerously close to your heat. 

He’s gentle. He rubs a sweeping line against your cunt with the front of his fingers, heart hammering fast as a mouse’s when he finds the little button of your clit. You shiver and shudder and squirm as he toys with you, your fingers steadfast against the plane of his back while he opens you up. His lips part in tandem, not nearly as kind as his hands. His teeth scratch against your throat. 

Your soft moans move through him as he hickeys over your pulse, chasing each capering thud of blood. He winds you up. You’re snug around his fingers, fluttering, and he knows he’s probed something sweet when your breath catches and you whine. 

“Was that alright?” he asks. 

You nod, heavy headed, and lick your lips as he tears open the condom and eases it onto his cock, one measured roll at a time. 

“Can you– I want you to–” You turn your face from him, the line of your jaw kissed by the lamplight outside, and the rest hidden. 

He drags you down to lay flat on your back and holds himself over you, nudging his nose against yours until you lift your head. Face to face, he gives himself time to adore the shape and colour of your eyes, the side of his hand brushing along your cheek. “Do you think you’re ready?” he asks sincerely. The slickness between your legs is obvious, but he doesn’t want to blindside you. “It will feel…”

You nod, saving him the explanation. It will feel weird. Good, but foreign. “Will you kiss me again?” you ask feebly.

He can’t stop himself. He kisses your lips sore, his hand behind the crook of your knee pushing your leg up toward your stomach as he slides into the space he’s made there. He breaks the kiss to listen to your breathing as he pushes forward.

Remus hadn’t been lying — he wants it to feel good. He takes it slow, his thrusting almost languid as you get to grips with the feeling. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, struggling to smother the moan that escapes him as he feels you clench around him. You gasp, your arms tightening around his waist, destroying any semblance of space between your sweat-damp bodies as you hold him tight. He murmurs praises in your ear, his forearms tucked beneath your shoulder blades, hands gripping your shoulders a touch too hard. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to somebody, can’t remember ever feeling so maddeningly lost, like he’s one good push from hurtling over the edge. 

He kisses your cheek, calling you all the things he’d been too scared to say before. “Lovely girl,” he pants, “how’s that feel?” And, when you answer, “Yeah, you’re taking it so well, dove. Think you can take a little more?”

All that nervousness and desperation shrinks down to dust, and the smiling girl he’d been with at dinner comes to the forefront. There’s no mistaking it. You giggle something awful and turn your face into his, kissing him between sounds, dizzying him with the tender scratch of your nails down his back as he starts to move. 

“There she is,” he says lightly, almost smirking. “Feel good?”

“Feels– oh,” —you shiver violently, filled all the way up— “feels good.” 

Remus let’s his forehead fall to your chin, his eyes closed in pleasure, his cock to the hilt. Every move he makes evokes a near sinful sound from you, mewling, silvery whimpers and pleased little laughs when he angles his hips right. He’s a mess, desperate to cum from the second you touched him and running on stolen time as he presses you deep into your mattress. One of your hands flies backward into the pillows and scrunches up into a ball, the look on your face too tempting to ignore. 

The first time you fuck someone — it’s never timed right. Remus knows he hasn’t quite figured you out, but he knows enough to get you where he wants you. He slides his hand between your bodies and your soft cunt to draw circles into your clit, entranced by your twitching lashes as the pleasure builds. You chase him with your hips, and he grabs your hand at the last second to stop you from covering your mouth, holding it above your head as you come apart. 

He cooes at you. The sound you make — the breathless little cry that leaves you, your hips jutting up to meet him. He’s at your mercy, just like he said. 

Remus fucks into the extra tightness, drawing your climax out for as long as he can. You’re smiling as you shove his arm away, a playful chastisement that wanes when you see the look on his face. “Are you close?” you ask, brushing a curled strand of hair from his eyes. 

Close? Remus is fucked. 

“You can go faster,” you say, “rougher, whatever you want.”

“Shit,” he hisses, leaning back. 

His rutting hips slap the backs of your thighs. He squeezes your waist, his eyes fixed on your cunt as it pulls him in. One last wavering, “Oh, fuck,” from you is all it takes for Remus to lose it. White hot pleasure tightens his whole body, his abdomen aflame. You scramble to gather him back into your arms. You kiss him, swallowing his resulting string of moans. 

He has to catch his breath afterward. You comb the hair back from his face, your eyes droopy with pleasure.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, voice stringy.

“Of course not.” You’re quickly losing your confidence. Remus hates it, but he understands. This vulnerability can only stretch so far. 

“Let me clean you up,” he says.

“You look like you’re gonna fall over if you stand.”

He strokes your face with the back of his ring finger, his nail ghosting along the highest point of your cheek. “Funny,” he says dryly. 

He gets confused in your bathroom, and you won’t let him towel you off, but when he lies down beside you with his boxers back in place you don’t push him away. You drop your face into his chest and curl up. 

He drags the quilt over your naked back. 

Was that okay? he wants to ask. “Sore?” he worries instead. 

“Don’t think so.”

He chews his cheek. “You’re alright?”

You stir, looking up at him through your lashes. He thinks you’re the kind of pretty people might not always see. You’re clearly beautiful, but there’s something else to it. The way you move, maybe. The way your eyes smile before your lips can catch up. 

“I’m fine. I’m good… Can I…”

He hums. “What?”

“Could I kiss you again?” 

You speak so quietly, he hears the vibration in your throat more than the sound of your voice. It’s endearingly timid. He feels his attraction for you flare violently. 

He wants to ask you to come with him to Cardiff. He knows he can’t. It’s yards too soon, but for a second he entertains the thought. 

“Wait for me to come home,” he says. He’s still asking for more than he should. “I want to see you again. You can kiss me as much as you want, if you say you’ll wait.”

You nod immediately. Not a flicker of reluctance to be seen. 

You lift your chin and kiss him. He tries to make it the kind of kiss worth waiting for.  

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging cos it helps more than you might think <3

[to-thelakes]

banged up

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; after being friends with daredevil gets you into a sticky situation, frank takes care of your wounds

warnings; fluff, hurt/comfort, reader is very injured but also very stubborn, soft frank, not proof-read, mentions of torture + wounds. some insecurity from reader

notes; okay this one-shot was written ages ago and i just got reminded that i could post it when i got an anon request (which i am going to work on if that anon sees this post ;) ) about the reader not liking swallowing pills. that's a big thing in this fic because I have been taking like 4-5 medication/supplements a day for the past 6+ months and honestly, i hate it. so so does the reader here <3 i hope you enjoy this little fic, i was debating on writing a part 2 that would be a little more angst-focused because frank hates when people he cares about gets hurt but feel free to lmk if y'all would be interested in that <3

part two

“Hey, hey,” A gruff voice pulled you back from unconsciousness. Your eyes slowly blinked open and the first thing you felt was pain. A cry escaped your lips as your hand shot to your side where the pain seemed to be radiating from. But the quick movement only seemed to make you feel worse and you cried out again, “Stop- Stop moving,” The voice repeated. It took you a minute for your eyes to adjust to the gloom and you turned your head to see Frank kneeling on the edge of the bed. There was a frown on his lips.

“It hurts,” You muttered. He sighed and gently took a hold of your bandaged wrist, pulling it down towards your side again.

“I know, sweetheart. You gotta stop moving,” He retorted. Your eyes fell closed again, the pain seemed to be coming from everywhere. Your side is where it hurt the most and as you shifted, the pain rocketted through your system. Eyes squeezed shut and another whimper fell from your lips. Frank sighed, “Sweetheart.” His tone was a warning and you balled your hands into fists by your side which made more pain shoot up.

“What happened?” Your voice was croaky. Your throat was dry and even trying to say a word made your body hurt. Your throat was scratchy, it was so uncomfortable. A ragged breath escaped your lips and you heard Frank’s heavy footsteps moving away from the bed.

“You got banged up pretty bad. Gotta stay there, sweetheart,” He insisted as his footsteps only seemed to get further away. Your eyes opened again and you turned your head to see that he was in the other room of your apartment. You didn’t know what he was doing and you knew that you should have stayed down but you never really listened to him.

With a deep breath, you slowly pushed yourself to sit up. It made your entire body ache and you cried out when the pain bloomed across your side again. But you fought against it to get onto your feet. Frank came rushing back into the room and managed to catch you just as you were about to fall on your ass. You hadn’t expected your ankle to hurt as much as it had when you put pressure on it.

“I told you to keep your ass on the bed,” He snapped. Though there wasn’t as much conviction behind his words as there usually was when it came to Frank. If anything, he seemed concerned that you were hurting yourself.

“What happened,” You repeated your earlier question. Frank sighed and he led you back to the bed so that you could sit down.

“Told ya,” He retorted. You scoffed and then whimpered when your side began to hurt again. Frank gave you a warning look before he disappeared out of the room again so that he could get the glass of water and painkillers he had initially gone out for. The room was silent and it made you pause, you could vaguely remember it now. The torture. The men. You didn’t even know who they were but they wanted to know who Daredevil was. They needed Matt’s identity and they were willing to kill you to get it.

“Where’s Matt?” You croaked out as Frank walked back into your bedroom with a glass of water and pills. You stared at them and then at him. He knew that you hated taking pills. You always bought the liquid form for your own sake. The only reason you had normal pills is because of him and Matt and Karen for when her periods got bad.

“He’s patrolling, making sure you’ll be safe,” Frank explained. You were glaring at the pills that he offered out to you and he sighed. He placed the glass on the table and put the pills next to it, “You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?” You rolled your eyes and watched as he walked back to the kitchen. Everything hurt. Your face, your body, your feet, your ankles, your hands. When you lifted your hands up, you could make out the bruises in the gloom and there were ugly marks around your wrists from where you had been tied up.

You shoved your hands under your armpits, hiding them from your sight as you waited for Frank to return but even that movement made you hiss out in pain. After a moment Frank returned, with your usual bottle of painkillers. You always bought the kids stuff because it was the only one that was reliably in liquid form. You knew it was silly but you hated swallowing pills and your periods were too bad to force yourself to swallow them down.

“Thank you,” You mumbled. He nodded and then he got onto his knees in front of you so that he was on your level. He didn’t want to make you feel any worse by looming above you as he spoon-fed you painkillers like he would a baby.

“I patched you up. Red dealt with the rest,” Frank informed as he poured some of the liquid onto a spoon with the precision only a Marine would have. Usually, you spilt the liquid everywhere but he seemed to have practice with it.

“Explains why it hurts so much,” You retorted, practically teasing him. He narrowed his eyes, holding the spoon of painkillers away from you, “Frank,” You whined. He chuckled and then moved the spoon forward so that you could take it into your mouth. You swallowed down the liquid and watched as he poured another spoonful, “How long is it gonna hurt for?” It was a stupid question, you knew that. It was probably going to hurt for weeks, if not months considering the damage that they had done but you wanted him to lie.

“You’ll just have to see, sweetheart. Gonna have to take some time off work with an injury like that,” He said as he held the spoon out to you again. You took it gratefully and then he poured another one just for good measure.

“My boss is gonna kill me,” You mumbled. Frank scoffed and he then held the last spoonful of medicine out to you.

“If he gives ya any trouble, I’ll deal with it.” If it was anyone else, you would have laughed off those words but this was Frank and you knew he meant what he said. A soft sigh escaped your lips once Frank put the spoon onto the bedside table. He then twisted the cap back onto the bottle before he placed it down beside your glass of water.

“How bad is it?” You asked after a beat of silence. Frank was just looking at you, concern etched across his features.

“I’d still call you a pretty lady,” He said. You let out a soft huff and glanced over at the water but Frank passed it before you could hurt yourself doing it. You took the glass gratefully and cautiously took a long sip. It soothed your dry throat and you were so glad to get something to drink. You were sure that you were incredibly dehydrated after all the tears and the blood.

Frank took the glass back from you when you had drained the whole thing and he slowly got to his feet. It seemed he was going to get you another glass and you wanted to go with him. So, once he was in the other room, you pushed yourself to your feet again. It was slow and you made sure to keep the pressure off anywhere that hurt and you were on your feet, comfortably.

Each step was slow and he heard you step into the other room, his head snapping back. He narrowed his eyes, placing the water jug down before he turned to look at you. He shook his head slightly at the fact that you were walking around.

“They could have done worse,” You said before he got the chance to comment, “Can still walk.” There was a small smile on your face, trying to make light of what had happened but it was hard considering how much your body hurt with every movement.

“Don’t tempt them, darling,” He retorted. You made it over to the kitchen counter and he took a hold of your waist, keeping you steady as you took the glass. You downed the water again before placing the glass down and limping over to the fridge. You needed something to eat, your stomach was growling for it but when you looked inside, there were no leftovers. Your roommate - who worked the night shift - must have taken them with her.

“Hungry?” He asked. You nodded and he glanced over your shoulder before he grabbed a few things from the shelves, “I’ll make you something, go lie on the couch.” You let out something akin to a ‘yes’ before you hobbled over to the sofa and lay down. Your head hurt, your body hurt and you were glad that Frank was here.

<3

[feelinmatcha]

❛ 𝐏𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ❜

DESCRIPTION: you don't want to celebrate your birthday, but perhaps your friend(?) will change that NOTE: reader is implied to be an older sister. angst to fluff. age mention?? but you can easily take it out!! CHARACTER(S): modern! sanji & zoro 🎵: the last time by taylor swift ft. gary lightbody

You wished you could care more about it. Truly. But birthdays stopped being special a long time ago. And now they felt like something you'd outgrown, like a shirt that once fit and no longer did.

When Nami asked about it over breakfast, her voice so casual as she asked when you'd be celebrating, it was like the entire room froze around you. The others were watching, forks paused mid-air, and you felt yourself retreat inward, pulling your arms around yourself as if you could make yourself disappear. "It doesn’t matter," you mumbled, but you could feel the weight of their stares even after you said it.

You tried to remember when you stopped caring, tried to pinpoint the exact year birthdays turned hollow. Maybe it was the year your parents stopped lighting candles and making cakes, reserving that fuss for your younger siblings, who still had reason to smile as they counted the candles. Or maybe it was the year your stepsister—just a few months older—received a thoughtful gift and the whole family gathered around her, while you spent the better part of your own day staring at the phone, waiting for your mom to call. She finally did, hours later, voice muffled by kitchen sounds, explaining that she’d been busy with pastry orders and barely managed a quick “Happy Birthday.”

And you wanted to be okay with it. You really did. You told yourself she was doing her best, that she had her own life, her own dreams, that maybe it was selfish to want more.

But later that night, alone in your room, you finally picked up the phone and left her a voicemail, your voice thick and breaking. “Hey, Mom. I tried calling you earlier. Guess you’re busy right now. Just wanted to tell you… remember that test I was stressing about? I got an eighty-one. Not perfect, but it’s something.”

You stared at the screen for a long time after hanging up, waiting for the pang to settle. Twenty-one years old, but somehow you felt twice that. You wondered if birthdays would feel different if you’d already moved out, if you had your own house, your own kids. Maybe then she’d remember, maybe then she’d care.

The ache returned, and you swiped the back of your hand across your eyes, furious at yourself. Why couldn’t you be stronger? Why couldn’t you stop hoping?

Eventually, another year came around, and with it, the dreaded day. You were thankful Nami hadn’t brought it up again, not since that morning at breakfast. She must’ve seen the look in your eyes, the way your voice cracked just enough when you’d admitted you didn’t take pleasure in celebrating it anymore. She hadn’t pushed, and for that, you were grateful. For that, you felt a little less alone.

roronoa zoro

The kitchen lights buzzed to life, casting a warm glow over the counters stacked with groceries. A couple of tomatoes, three fresh baguettes, too many leafy greens for one person—all evidence of Sanji’s over-the-top attempt to “share” his food with Nami. You could almost hear him explaining it to her, claiming he’d bought too much for the week. But you knew better. You knew he’d counted on her taking it, on feeding her like she wouldn’t feed herself, and the thought made you grin, sifting through the bags with a growing smile.

“Eggplant, garlic, rosemary,” you muttered, almost impressed by how thoughtful it all was. Everything was fresh, carefully chosen, perfect for the recipes he’d probably rattled off to Nami before he left. But still, the faint lingering scent of his cologne���the one he seemed to think was charming but always hit your nose like a cloud of spiced ash—hung in the air.

You set a bottle of olive oil on the counter, catching your reflection in the glass. There was something about today, the weight of it pressing a little harder as you remembered it was your birthday. You hadn’t mentioned it, hadn’t wanted to, but it felt like the knowledge was there, lurking, like a reminder you were determined to ignore.

The door down the hall creaked open, followed by the soft thud of it closing and heavy footsteps coming closer. Zoro’s voice rang out, gruff and tinged with irritation, “I can smell Sanji’s disgusting perfume. Did he come here?”

Flipping on the kitchen light, you turned and stifled a grin as Zoro appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, his nose wrinkled in mock disgust. He looked every bit the part of the annoyed rival, his hair damp from training, shirt rumpled as he leaned against the frame, eyeing the bags on the counter with open disdain.

“Yeah, he was just here,” you said, glancing up as Zoro stepped into the light, his nose crinkling in mock disgust. “But I think he left enough rosemary in here to mask the smell. Unless you’re that sensitive?”

“Sensitive?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes as he leaned against the counter, arms crossing over his chest. “It’s just hard to breathe when that walking cologne cloud’s been around. How many tomatoes does he think Nami needs, anyway?”

You shrugged, picking up one of the tomatoes and tossing it his way. He caught it with a smirk. “Sanji just wants to make sure she's fed.”

“Please,” Zoro snorted, turning the tomato over in his hands before placing it back on the counter. “Does he really think Nami can’t feed herself? Or did he just want an excuse to show off?”

“You know him. Probably both,” you said, leaning back against the counter, a smile tugging at your lips as you watched him. Zoro’s presence filled the room in a way you couldn’t quite explain—steady, calm, a quiet sort of reassurance that reminded you there was no need to feel alone.

You found yourself letting out a sigh, the kind that comes when you’ve been carrying a weight around for too long. Zoro’s gaze flickered over you, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Something wrong?”

For a second, you thought about brushing it off. But the way Zoro looked at you—sharp but somehow softened by a quiet understanding—made it hard to lie. It was as if he could see through any mask you tried to put on.

“Just… thinking,” you murmured, glancing down at the bags Sanji had left behind. “Birthdays, you know? Nami brought it up the other year, and it kind of stirred things up.”

Zoro’s face shifted, his usual hardness melting away as he took you in, tilting his head a little. “Didn’t know it was your birthday,” he said quietly, his voice steady, free of pity or fuss.

“It wasn't... it's today, actually,” you admitted, the words feeling heavier than you’d expected. “It's fine, I just… stopped celebrating it a while back.”

He didn’t press, but his gaze was unwavering, his arms still folded as he leaned a little closer, his posture saying he was there, that he was listening.

“Why did you stop?” he asked finally, his tone calm, as if he were inviting you to share without any pressure.

You took a slow breath, the ache you’d been holding onto all day surfacing. “I guess… it just stopped feeling like my day,” you said, each word weighing you down a little more. “It was always about someone else, something else. Eventually, it felt easier to just… ignore it. Less disappointment that way.”

He didn’t break eye contact, his expression unreadable yet somehow gentle, as if he were waiting for you to finish, giving you room to feel everything out loud.

“Makes sense,” he said after a beat, his tone soft, thoughtful. “But… maybe you’re looking at it wrong.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the insight. “Oh yeah? How so?”

He shrugged, his gaze drifting briefly over the countertop before coming back to yours. “Maybe birthdays don’t have to be about other people making it special. Could just be about you doing something you actually want to do. Doesn’t have to be a party or some grand gesture. Could be as simple as sitting around eating these tomatoes if that’s what makes you happy.”

The simplicity of it caught you off guard. You’d thought of birthdays as a day that had to mean something because other people made it that way. But maybe Zoro was right. Maybe the day didn’t have to be a spectacle; maybe it could be quiet, even small, and still feel like yours.

“Maybe…” you murmured, feeling a small, tentative smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe today I’ll just take it easy, let myself have that. Not stress about what it’s supposed to be.”

Zoro’s lips quirked into the faintest hint of a smile. “That’s the spirit.”

You both stood in comfortable silence, his steady presence taking up space in a way that felt grounding, safe. He glanced down at the bags Sanji had left, his smirk returning as he let out a soft chuckle.

“Now, let’s figure out what to make out of Sanji’s mountain of produce before it goes to waste. Who knows—could end up being the best ‘birthday dinner’ you’ve had in years,” he added with a teasing grin.

You laughed, the sound soft and light. And as you started unpacking the groceries, working side by side with Zoro, the day felt different, lighter. No big party, no expectations—just a quiet moment, one you could claim as your own.

black leg sanji

Sanji had been over at your apartment last night, like he often was on weekends. He’d practically taken over the kitchen, turning the small space into his own personal cooking studio, filling it with warmth and the scent of roasted herbs and spices. It was cozy, cramped, and packed with the kind of laughter that spilled out of the windows and into the autumn air outside. He’d left around midnight, making his usual theatrical exit, waving his hand with a smirk, promising he’d be back to “save you and Nami from culinary catastrophe” as he dramatically put it.

When you’d come back to the kitchen to grab some water, there it was on the counter: a small white envelope with your name written on it in his signature, neat handwriting. There was no address, no note outside, just your name.

You took the envelope to your room and opened it, heart skipping a beat as you unfolded the note.

“Hey, you,” it began, simple but with his effortless charm. “I didn’t want to say this with everyone around, but tomorrow’s your birthday, right? You probably won’t want to make a fuss, but I thought maybe I could do a little something to make it a day you’ll remember. Meet me at the coffee shop by the library at noon, if you’re up for it.”

When morning arrived, you found yourself a little more excited than you’d expected. Noon couldn’t come fast enough. You made your way to the small coffee shop tucked along the edge of campus, right beside the library, where trees were shedding leaves in a blanket of amber and red. The café itself was a quaint, narrow little place with warm brick walls, a black-and-white tiled floor, and wooden tables spread under strings of fairy lights. It had that cozy, old-world feel that made you want to curl up in one of its soft leather booths and lose track of time.

You found him immediately. Sanji was leaning against a table near the front window, gazing outside, lost in thought. The soft autumn light filtered through the glass, casting a warm glow over him, and when he turned, catching sight of you, a genuine smile broke across his face. He walked over, dressed in his usual dark button-down and black slacks, looking completely at ease despite the bustle of students around him.

“There you are,” he greeted you, his tone gentle as he took your hand, leading you to the table he’d reserved. His eyes flickered over you with a softness that made your heart race.

On the table sat a small, carefully frosted cake—something he’d clearly made himself. A single, delicate candle was nestled in the frosting, and beside it, a small bouquet of wildflowers sat in a mason jar, the bright petals adding a splash of color against the warm browns and reds of the café’s decor.

“It’s not much,” he said, scratching the back of his neck with a slightly sheepish smile, “but I thought you deserved something that was just for you. Hope you don’t mind me commandeering your birthday a little.”

You took a seat across from him, feeling the coziness of the café wrap around you, like a small world set apart just for this moment. There was something quietly magical about it all, something you hadn’t felt in a long time—an unexpected warmth that went straight to your heart.

Sanji cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Close your eyes,” he said, a hint of that usual playfulness back in his tone. “I’ll light the candle.”

You closed your eyes, listening to the soft flick of his lighter and feeling the glow of warmth as he leaned in to light the candle. When you opened your eyes, he was watching you, a gentle smile on his face, his eyes reflecting the candle’s flickering light.

“Make a wish,” he murmured, voice low and intent.

The café faded away, the distant hum of conversation and clinking of cups disappearing as you focused on that single, flickering flame. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself, for the first time in a long time, to make a wish. And when you opened them, he was still there, watching you, as if he could read exactly what was in your heart.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered, his voice warm and sure, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You leaned forward, blowing out the candle, the quiet applause of the flame fading into the room’s ambient light. The scent of vanilla and warm frosting filled the air, mixing with the comforting smell of coffee and the rich, earthy tones of autumn that drifted in from the open window. You smiled, feeling a warmth in your chest you hadn’t realized you missed, a feeling of being seen, of being cherished, if only for a moment.

“Thank you, Sanji,” you murmured, unable to keep the gratefulness from your voice.

He smiled, his fingers brushing yours across the table, his touch light but reassuring. “It’s nothing. Besides, you have a lot of birthdays to make up for.”

[sscieloz]

Sunday afternoon shenanigans

Aeri Uchinaga x aespa5thmember! reader

Synopsis: you were having a Sunday off at the dorm and you were bored out of your mind when you remember Ningning’s vibrator hidden in one of her drawers. you’ve decided to have some fun, after all, but of course Giselle never knocks.

Warnings: smut? I guess. dom!giselle x sub!reader.

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: I HAVE RETURNED MY BELOVEDS. this is my first time ever writing/posting something like this… I was so embarrassed I swear to God. but I did have fun, too! I hope you like it and if there’s anything wrong pls tell me so I can fix it. I won’t check for any errors or mistakes or else I’ll just be too embarrassed and delete it all so enjoy!! luv u kisses. also i wrote vibrator bc I didn’t want to write dildo. so imagine what you will.

Pt. 1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3

-

It was a slow Sunday at the dorm. Karina and Winter had gone out shopping and Ningning was in China on one of her solo schedules, which left you and Giselle alone, all bored and tedious. You’ve been staring at your room’s ceiling (which you shared with Minjeong), for quite a while now, wondering what to do to kill off the boredom. Your mind wandered to something you remembered spotting in Ning’s room, once, when you were looking for a shirt she had borrowed ages ago. Remembering the big, bright-green toy in Ning’s drawers, you’ve impulsively decided you were done waiting for someone gross to finally fuck you; you’d do it yourself, instead.

That thought left you staring at the thing, still eyeing the vibrator suspiciously after wondering if you weren’t just too bored, and all. Surely, Ningning wouldn’t mind (or she would, but you’d by her another weird dildo if she fussed too much about you using it).

However, you had no idea of how that whole sex thing worked in practice. Sure, you’ve watched porn and listened to your bandmates ramble about their escapades, but it simply wasn’t the same. You huffed, frustrated but determined to but an end to it, after all.

“Hey, the girls were wondering if you’d like them to bring something to eat when they get ba-”Giselle stopped herself mid-sentence as she barged into your room, no doubt surprised by the sight of you with your hands down your shorts and the neon green vibrator one of your hands.

You jumped on your bed, pushing Giselle out of the bedroom as you cursed her out.

“What the fuck, unnie? Don’t you ever fucking knock? Doors are closed for reasons.”

You seriously wanted to die. And kill her. Then die and kill her again. You felt your face getting flushed with bright red as you hit your head on the door, hearing your friend’s laugh through the wood.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll just let the girls know you’re not… hungry. For food.” Another laugh echoed, and you knocked your head stronger. “I’m sorry, ok Yn? Let me in… please?”

Giselle was met with silence, as you were still trying to figure out how to flush your head down the toilet after being caught in such a scene by one of your bandmates and best friends.

“Listen, there’s nothing wrong with getting yourself off, ok? It’s like, super natural. It’s not like we don’t masturbate, either.” She kept on talking, and you could picture her looking at her nails with her bored expression, tiny nose and monotonous voice, “In fact, I really should get a new vibrator for myself too. I feel like mine’s fucked up with the batteries or something. Although, of course I won’t get one in that hideous color like yours and-“

“Ugh, it’s not mine!” You said, giving up on ignoring the shorter girl and deleting yourself from earth. With an exasperated sigh, you pulled her by the arms, making sure to close the door well enough this time. “Just shut your fucking mouth, unnie God.” You muttered, preparing yourself to explain the whole situation to her.

(…)

“Why is it so green, though?” You questioned Giselle, turning the vibrator upside down with 2 of your fingers, almost unsure of how to manage it.

The two of you were sitting in your bed after you explained the entire idea to your friend, hoping she wouldn’t find you too pathetic. Thankfully, the only thing that truly made Giselle wrinkle her nose at was the color of the thing.

“How would I know? Ning’s weird as fuck. Maybe it’s a kink of hers or something.” Giselle scoffed, also looking a bit disgusted by the device’s bright color, and you hummed in approval.

It was very Ningning coded, indeed.

The silence after your conclusion was awkward, and you intended to give your friend an excuse to exit your room when she uttered, out of nowhere, “I could help you out, you know.”

“E-excuse me?” You gagged. This afternoon just kept getting odder and odder.

You mean, it’s not like you and Giselle weren’t close, which you were. You’ve changed, bathed and shared more intimate moments together than you could ever remember. It’s just… this was different. Very different.

“I could help you with what you… want.” She sounded almost unsure, even though she nudged you playfully. “Come on, it’s not like you know anything in practice.”

“No need to flatter yourself, huh.”

“I’m just saying,” she continued, ignoring your bitter tone, “that I could make you feel good. And that’s what you want, right? I mean, that’s what sex is about anyway.”

You were still not fully convinced, but you were eyeing her more attentively now. Sensing you were almost giving in, she plucked one of your locks out of your face. “It’s really not the big of a deal you think it is, Yn. It’s just sex, and we’re friends. Right?”

“...Yeah, right.”

This was obviously a stupid, impulsive, brainless idea, to have sex for the first time with one of your bandmates. While your other bandmates weren’t home.

You took a deep breath, nudging Giselle back and laughing as she looses balance and almost falls from your bed.

“Fine. Let’s do it, then.”

(…)

“So... should I just put it in?”

“What? No!” Giselle looks at you with big eyes, giggling a little. She stopped when you kept on staring at her, now realizing you were serious about not knowing how to do this. She took the toy from your hands before frowning at it, then sizing you up. “Well, not at first, at least. You’re not even wet. This way it won’t fit, and it will be too painful.”

“It’ll be painful anyway.” you grumbled, allowing her to spread your legs to place herself between them. Aeri massages your thighs before giving them a gentle squeeze.

“Not really, no.” she can tell you’re nervous by the way your eyes never meet hers, and you keep twitching as if to fight the urge to close your legs and dress yourself. “It might be uncomfortable at first, but then it’s like... a nice kind of discomfort.” her fingers tease the hem of your shorts, lightly brushing your abdomen. Ever since she’s caught you in your room and offered to help, Giselle has been nothing but patient. “You don’t have to do it, though.” she reminds you, still caressing your body. “There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin and-“

“I-“ you took a deep breath, finally gathering enough courage to stand on your elbows and look at her, although you still sounded unsure. “I do want to do it. I’m just ashamed, I guess. You can admit that it’s a bit pathetic, no problem.”

Giselle giggled again, this time with her fingers accompanying her light posture are they ran through your body, picking on your waist and poking your ribs in the places she knows you feel ticklish the most. You laugh and try to squirm under her touch — you’re taller, much taller, but she is stronger, so she quickly strands you entirely, hands locking your wrists up in your head so you couldn’t move or try to get on top of her.

“Hey, no fair! Let me go!” you plead, but your laughter and the weak way you try to run from her is all Giselle needs to know her mission has succeeded: you’re way less tense now.

“You’re so cute, Yn. it’s adorable, really.” she says, kissing each of your cheeks repeatedly. You try your best not to blush.

Even though you were the group’s maknae, you weren’t often reckoned as such, with your height making you impose and usually not the cute girl type. You didn’t mind it, either; you’d rather jump off a bridge than do aegyo anyway.

One of Giselle’s hands let go of your wrists to make its way down your abdomen again, though the other one kept holding you in place. Her featherlight touches still made you squirm, but she held you with such care, you couldn’t help but to feel safe.

“Is it ok if I take this off?” she asked, gripping at your panties as she scanned you for any reservations. You tensed again, but as you opened your mouth to say it was ok, she cut you, “it’s ok, then. We’ll just push it to the sides.”

Giselle knew how insecure you were about your body. The girls were always teasing you and karina for wearing the clothes with most fabric, and you often laughed about it. It was only now, in your newest comeback, that you were beginning to try new things and riskier, revealing outfits. She never understood it, though. You were praised by numerous knetz about your body; how toned, and athletic you were, with your long legs and gracious arms, fit for a supermodel. Which you have been since your teens, for a fact. The company had recently signed you off with Valentino and you were absolutely outstanding walking in Paris Fashion Week, which Karina had also attended, though not as a model. She did try her best to always praise how beautiful you were, though, to make sure you knew it.

True to her word, Aeri tapped your hips, and you raised them as she slipped your shorts past your legs and threw them on your bedroom floor. Your panties were pushed to the sides, as promised, but before her fingers could reach your pussy, the older girl lifted herself up from between your thighs, a slight frown on her face.

“What’s wrong, Unnie?” You asked her, looking for any signs of trouble in her yourself. Did you do anything wrong? Should you touch her, too? Does she even want to be touched? Fuck, you were so bad at this. Perhaps if you were any bolder, you would’ve gotten laid already and wouldn’t be in this pathetic situati-

“It’s all ok, Yn-,” Giselle reassured you, squeezing your hips to snap yourself away from your thoughts and back to her, to this. Now that you noticed it, she was gripping each of your thighs with her hands, and her face was too close to your core. Too fucking close. You felt your face get hot and a familiar sensation build up on your lower abdomen. (You weren’t a total prude, of course you’ve touched yourself before, even if it wasn’t often.). “I think my fingers will hurt you if we do them now, though. But don’t worry, I’ll prep you up.”

“What do you mean with prepping me u-oh fuck,” you drop your head on the bedside as she finally gave your pussy a long lick, delighting herself as she saw how responsive you were. Smaller, quieter ones followed, and soon the older girl was nearly making out with her dripping cunt.

You bit your lip, trying not to make any noise, but soon your bandmate’s fingers brushed your lips, forcing their way in.

“Don’t silence yourself,” she told you, watching you suck on her thumb so prettily. It made her so aroused to see how good you were at this. At following commands—her commands. It made Giselle want to rip the rest of your clothes and take you until you were crying for her to let go of you. “It will feel better if you let the sounds out, trust me.” She cupped your jaw before going back to eating you out, so you did as told, not bothering to hide how good this was making you feel at all.

“Ok...” you mumbled, moaning loudly as she teased you with her mouth. You arched your back whenever Aeri slipped her tongue into your dripping cunt, her nose brushing against your clit. The friction it made was out of this world, and you felt the waves of pleasure building up slowly but deliciously to create an entirely new feeling.

“Is it good?” She asked, her hot breath on clit before she gave it a light suck. You nodded, “Tell me.”

“S’too good, oh fuck.” You managed to answer her, breathless. One of your hands grabbed her hair, and you tried to shove her face even deeper into your pussy, but it made Giselle stop instead. You rolled your eyes at her. She was too bossy. “Sorry, unnie. More, please?” You were rewarded, then, as Giselle’s attention went back to your clit, circling it hard and fast as her hands pulled on your panties with enough strength to rip it off.

She grabbed your thighs and gave your clit a hard suck, making you almost scream. You cried loudly as you were hit by a hard wave of pleasure, with Giselle still licking you through your high, her eyes trained on your frame.

She got up and made her way up to you, promptly kissing you with her lips smeared with your juices. “Next time, tell me when you’re close, ok?” She asked, brushing some strands of hair out of your face. You nodded, still brushing her lips.

You could feel her hands in the hem of your hoodie and your shirt, and she stopped the kiss to gesture for you to get your arms up, which you did. Soon you were bare to her, a bit shy from the way her eyes were darkened and she stared at your chest with such lust. You tried to cover yourself, but Giselle was quick to replace your hands with hers instead, cupping your breasts eagerly.

“So pretty, Yn...” she said, and soon you two were making out again, with you on her lap. Your brain had long been reduced to mush and your sole focus was on Giselle: the way her hair was perfectly in place, hands running through all your body.

She was painfully clothed, though, you noticed. A clear contrast to your exposure. You told her just that, trying to get off of her so she’d undress too, but you weren’t allowed.

“Of course I am, silly.” She smiled at you, “This isn’t about me anyways.” And as she reached for you once again, you couldn’t find much strength to be bothered enough to argue, too busy with her kisses and touches. You couldn’t muster how long the two of you spent like that, just exploring each other’s bodies, but it was long enough for you to feel the heat building up on your core a second time, making you worry you were making a mess on Giselle’s thigh.

You tensed when you felt her fingers brushing your entrance, not quite entering but teasing, gathering your slick before going up on your clit, circling it for a few times then presenting themselves again on your pussy.

“Shh, it’s ok,” she cooed, placing wet kisses on your neck. She gently sucked on your pulse point, making you drop your head and moan embarrassingly loud. Thank God the girls were out. “It’s just one finger. You’ve taken fingers before, right?”

You shook your head, whining when you felt it enter you. It burned a little, and it was clearly too tight, but you already felt your entire body burning up. It was too good to stop. She stopped the work on your neck to stare at you, and you saw her eyes darken.

“No fingers? Not even yours?” She gripped your thighs harder, urging you to answer, but you were too busy rocking yourself against her hand to create more friction, anything to deepen this feeling that was already so, so good, “Answer me when I talk to you, yn.” Giselle’s tone was harsh, and you flinched a little. She curled another finger inside you, making you rock yourself onto her faster.

“It d-didn’t do anything when I did it by myself before, so I would just p-play with my clit until I came-oh God.” You squeezed your eyes as she added a second finger, increasing her rhythm.

She was breathless, too, you noticed as she kissed your chest, pinching your nipples and sucking on your breasts without caring if it was messy.

“Fuck, yn. You’ll drive me fucking insane” she murmured. You couldn’t even answer, reduced into a pool of cries and whimpers, but it just felt so good it made you want to cry. How could you have gone so long without it?

Giselle’s grip on you was strong, whether it was in your arms, hips, or thighs, and it would surely bruise later, but you didn’t care a single bit. All you wanted was for her to go harder and faster, not stopping.

“Unnie, please.” You pleaded, searching for her lips as you kissed her sloppily. “More, please, please, ah...” now you were deeply thankful that jimin and minjeong were out. There was no way your moans weren’t being echoed through the entire dorm.

It didn’t matter, though, because your cries rewarded you with an even faster pace, and the pain of being stretched as now only a reminder of the combo of sensations you were feeling.

“You’re such a mess right now, yn.” Giselle told you, her hands on your hips to keep you grinding on her without losing the fast pace. “So, so pretty.” She praised, pecking your lips.

You got shy, hiding your face in the crook of her neck to keep her from noticing how much that aroused you, feeling the familiar heat gathering in your belly.

“Aeri stop, I-I’m gonna,” you motioned to stop, but she only gripped you tighter.

“It’s ok, baby, don’t stop. Come for me.” She commanded, working her fingers even faster as she added her thumb to your clit and circled it fast. With a few strokes, you came.

Your vision went black, and you felt your body go numb, almost as though there were a million fireworks exploding inside of you. You felt Giselle’s hand on your back, tracing light circles as she held you close, still snuggled to her. You took your time evening your breaths, and a few minutes passed until you felt strong enough to get out of her lap and lay in bed, staring at her attentively.

“That was...” you didn’t even know what to say. “Amazing. I’ve never felt anything like it before.” You told Aeri, meeting her gaze.

She licked her fingers clean, the ones who were buried deep inside you just a few moments ago, letting them go with an audible ‘pop’.

“You did very good, baby.” She said, hugging you gently. “I’m glad you liked it. I told you it was good.”

“I guess.” You murmured, closing your eyes for a few seconds. It had been intense, but now you felt like a big-ass truck had run over you multiple times.

The sound of the shower being turned on made you open your eyes again, seeing Aeri besides you, a glass of cold water in your hands.

“Here, take it,” she motioned to you, who complied immediately, drinking it all pretty fast. “How about you take a bath now, huh? The girls might be back anytime.” You nodded, not wanting them to see you like that, and you took the hand Giselle offered to get up and go to the bathroom.

You did see something green displayed on the ground when you’ve reached your bathroom door, though, and you laughed a little to yourself.

“Unnie?”

“Yeah, Yn?”

“We didn’t even use the vibrator.” You pointed it out, seeing Aeri’s big smirk. The girl’s mouth opened in a fake motion as she grabbed it, taking it out of the room with her.

“I guess we forgot. We’ll have to save it for next time, then.” She winked at you, leaving you to shower alone.

Giselle would be caught dead if she wasn’t going to corrupt you all to herself.

[yelena-bellova]

Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: Someone’s Something

Plot: Joel, Y/n and Ellie meet Henry and Sam, who try to convince them to team up to find their way out of Kansas City together.

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: tlou ep.5 spoilers, languge, implied smut, guns, mention of death, sa and loss of a child (16+)

A/N: Happy Valentines, y’all!! My gift to you is some light heartbreak with some fluff to soften the blow 😉

As always, this series is 16+ and I will not be adding anyone to the taglist unless your age is specified in your bio. Gotta look out for younger eyes 👀

Y’all have blown this lil’ ficlet idea up so much, I’m still shocked it’s this loved. I’m so excited to finish out the second half of the season with you guys. Hang onto your butts 🤍

——————

July 1st, 2002. Austin, Texas.

Y/n had integrated perfectly into the Miller’s life. Sarah adored her, Tommy loved her, and Joel couldn’t get enough of her. He’d never admit it to Sarah, but he was thankful that she’d taken matters into her own hands and snuck down to the hardware store that June day.

In the beginning of July, Sarah went away to a two-week summer camp. Joel and Y/n had seen her off on the bus, Joel fussing over whether or not she had everything she’d need. He didn’t do well when she was gone for more than a day, a combination of missing her dearly and parental worry. Y/n had made it her goal over the course of her trip to distract him as much as she could.

They’d made a dinner date at Joel’s house the day Sarah left, the first of fourteen that Y/n had to keep him busy. His days would be consumed by work, but his nights belonged to them. Y/n knocked on the front door of the house, carrying a six pack she’d picked up on the way.

Joel hurried to the door, swinging it open and enveloping Y/n in a hug. She laughed, clinging to his neck as he literally dragged her into the house. Joel’s lips were on her the second the door shut.

“Missed you,” he mumbled between kisses.

“You saw me, like, six hours ago,” Y/n managed to say.

“Way too long,” Joel smiled against her lips.

Y/n chuckled, “Yeah, well, if I die from lack of oxygen,” she wiggled a hand between their smushed chests, “You’re gonna miss me a whole lot more.”

Joel wrapped an arm around her neck, smiling so big his cheeks hurt. That was the effect Y/n had on him. She’d turned his curmudgeon qualities, plying them like clay until they were soft. He was a new man with her in his life.

“Joel,” she said softly.

“Yeah?” He was barely taking in her words, focused on how her lips were starting to swell from his attention.

“What’s burning?”

It didn’t register at first, then he remembered the food was still in the oven. “Shit,” he muttered, letting her go to run back to the kitchen and save their dinner.

Y/n chuckled, kicking off her shoes and heading in to help him.

Joel’s attempt at a simple roast chicken and potatoes turned out slightly crispy, but good, all in all. They’d eaten it at the table, Joel’s hands stretched across the surface to hold Y/n’s.

After their meal, they retired to the living room. Joel turned on the stereo and fell onto the couch, Y/n laying her legs across his lap.

“Well, day one’s almost over,” she said, “How’re you feeling?”

Joel sighed, “She called earlier when they got there. Sounded real excited.”

“And you could not sound happier about it,” Y/n chortled, “Joel, she’s going to be fine.”

“I know that, it’s just,” Joel strroked his hand over Y/n’s calf, “It’s been me and her for…ever. When she’s off it just…”

Y/n watched her boyfriend with soft eyes, waiting for him to say more.

“I know she’s growin’ up, she’s always been independent, but,” he paused staring down at his hands, “It gets easier and easier for her every year to get on that bus. Makes me think about the day she’ll leave for good.”

“You know that no matter where she goes,” Y/n offered, “She’s always coming back here. She loves you too much.”

Joel gently smiled, his fingers brushing against Y/n’s leg. She always knew the right thing to say.

“And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she kinda loves me too,” Y/n smirked.

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot to work with there,” Joel winked.

Y/n giggled, her eyes drifting over Joel’s shoulder to the corner of the living room. An acoustic guitar sat propped up in a stand.

“Y’know, I still haven’t heard you play,” she said, nodding to the instrument.

For as much as he loved music, he still got a little bashful about his talent. “I sound like everyone else,” he replied.

“Yeah, nice try,” Y/n wasn’t so easily discouraged, “Play me something.”

Much like his daughter, there wasn’t a lot Joel could deny Y/n. If it was going to make her smile, he’d gladly do it. He lifted her legs off of him and went to retrieve the guitar.

“Does the audience have any requests?” Joel asked, settling back down beside her and fiddling with the tuning pegs.

Y/n tucked her legs into her chest, barely containing her grin, “Something sweet.”

Joel finished tuning the guitar and took his position. He hadn’t played for anyone other than Sarah in a very long time.

The first pluck of the strings relaxed them both, Joel settled into the piece quickly. Y/n watched his fingers dance up and down the string, a series of movements only he knew. It sounded like an old folk song, the kind that told the tale of doomed lovers torn apart by tragedy. She had enough musical knowledge to know it was in a minor key. Sweet, it was not, but it was brimming with passion, and the way Joel watched the strings so intensely only added to it. Y/n was taken aback by the simple beauty of him, pouring himself into the music.

When it was over, a few final notes slowing the tempo before stopping entirely, Joel looked over to Y/n, a whisper of a smile playing upon his lips. Their eyes connected, the ever present flame between them stretching the distance between their bodies. In that moment, Joel was thankful they were alone.

In the same set of seconds, Joel blindly set the guitar down to the side and Y/n surged forward, the two of them meeting in a heated kiss. Y/n held both of Joel’s cheeks in her hands while he maneuvered her on top of him, their lips never losing their connection. The sadness of the song had drawn them together, both needing to feel the fullness of each other’s devotion to counter the loss that the notes had grieved. That wasn’t them, they said with each touch, it could never be them.

—————————

September 28th, 2002. Austin, Texas.

Fall had hit Texas, as much as it could affect the south, anyway. Sarah and Y/n were in the backyard of the Milller home. Sarah had her first soccer game of the season that weekend and she wanted to get in some extra practice.

“Okay,” Y/n called from the goal, “Don’t go easy on me.”

“Yeah, right,” Sarah scoffed, she was never afraid to show the full force of her talent on the field. Faking Y/n out, she broke to the left before making a sudden right turn and shooting the ball through the goal.

“Yes,” she exclaimed, pulling her fists down in celebration.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Y/n smirked, coming up beside Sarah as she did a little victory dance, “Don’t get too cocky. Let’s work on your goalkeeping.”

Sarah grooved her way back to the goal, “Okay, but I’m kinda spectacular at that too.”

“Well, we certainly don’t need to work on your confidence,” Y/n remarked. Sarah had the same cockiness, reserved only for things she was truly great at, as her father.

Joel materialized then, coming through the back door and watching his girls from the deck. “How we lookin’?”

“Today, Taft Middle School,” Y/n replied, catching the ball with her heel as Sarah kicked it, “Tomorrow, FIFA.”

Joel smiled proudly, both at Sarah and Y/n. Most women would have kept distance between them and their partner’s child. Y/n had jumped in headfirst, determined to be there for Sarah as much as she wanted her. She was the feminine influence his daughter had been denied all her life.

“Alright,” Y/n announced, “Good?”

Sarah nodded, “Good.”

Joel saw an opportunity and couldn’t pass it up. He carefully made his way down the steps of the deck, sneaking through the grass and up behind Y/n just as she was about to make her shot. As she wound her leg back, Joel wrapped his arms around her middle and lifted her into the air.

Y/n shrieked as she was swung around, “Joel!”

“Sarah, steal it,” he yelled, smiling as Y/n wriggled in his embrace.

Sarah surged forward, avoiding Y/n’s flailing legs as she fought against Joel, and snatched the ball. She moved through the grass effortlessly and landed a perfect kick into the net.

Laughing heartily, Joel finally released Y/n back to the ground. He shared a high-five with his daughter as she bounded back to them.

“You two are awful,” Y/n gave Joel a shove to his chest, her wide grin contradicting her words.

Joel hung an arm around his girlfriend’s neck, pressing a kiss to her temple. “C’mon,” he separated from Y/n and clapped his hands, “Two-on-one, girls vs. boys.”

“We’re gonna destroy you,” Sarah teased, coming to stand beside Y/n.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” he quipped, standing in front of the goal.

The three of them stayed out until sunset, practicing plenty, but laughing more than anything.

—————————

December 25th, 2002. Austin, Texas.

The Millers didn’t do anything spectacular for Christmas. A church service on the 24th, a simple dinner on the 25th, and presents.

It had been decided that both Tommy and Y/n would spend the night, it would make waking up and opening gifts easier than waiting for them to drive over. Tommy had taken the collapsable cot, his body was still used to military accommodations, while Y/n had gone for the couch. Joel and her were still hesitant to spend nights together, sleeping over at the other’s only when Sarah was away at her own sleepovers. Christmas didn’t feel like the time to test any boundaries.

Just past midnight, Y/n was still wide awake, tossing and turning on the sofa. There was a light snowfall happening outside and she hoped if she watched the flakes flutter through the air long enough, she’d drift off to sleep. So far, she’d had no such luck.

She took stock of the living room in its entirety. A fresh pine tree sat in the corner, a modest stack of presents surrounding the trunk. Two stockings were hung on the walls, Sarah and Joel’s names stitched across each. The room still faintly smelled like the batch of cookies her and Sarah had baked earlier in the evening. Even in the dark and completely silent, the house felt warm.

Footsteps down the stairs drew Y/n’s attention away from the decorations. She expected to see Sarah tiptoeing in to sneak a peek at the presents. Instead, Joel’s broad shadow entered the room.

“Can’t sleep?” Y/n asked from the couch.

Joel shook his head, “Nope.”

Y/n gave a small nod, pretending like the silence wasn’t as full of asking as it was. Joel’s posture had purpose in it, he wasn’t leaving until he got what he came for.

He tipped his head back towards the stairs, his eyes never leaving Y/n’s. “C’mon,” he said, his voice raspy with near sleep.

Y/n smiled to herself, throwing off her blanket and crossing the room to take Joel’s hand. The two of them tiptoed back up the stairs, trying not to wake Sarah or Tommy. Y/n knew the walk to Joel’s bedroom like the back of her hand, navigating in the dark made no difference. She certainly didn’t need Joel’s hands on her hips to guide her, but she welcomed them anyway.

Once the door shut, their routine commenced. Joel went to his dresser, blindly reaching into one of his drawers and tossing Y/n one of his flannels. Y/n slipped it on over her t-shirt, the sleeves ending way past the tips of her fingers. They made their way to their dedicated sides of the bed, Joel closest to the door because he felt better being a wall of protection between Y/n and the world.

“We have to get up before Sarah,” Y/n reminded him.

“We’ve got a 50% chance of makin’ it down before her,” Joel said, his hands gliding around her body to pull her into him, “Christmas morning, she’s up at the crack of dawn.”

Y/n drew closer to Joel, resting one hand on his chest and the other gripping the back of his neck. Already, she could feel her body relaxing in a way the couch just couldn’t coax out of her.

All the tension Joel had been carrying in his spine went lax the moment Y/n’s fingers grazed his skin. He was finding it harder and harder to sleep without her.

“Thank you,” she said out of the blue.

“For what?” Joel asked.

Y/n’s fingers danced along the line between the ends of his hair and the base of his skull. “For letting me be a part of all this,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s heart swelled, he took one of her cheeks into his hand and let their lips drift towards one another. Six months in, and he wasn’t sure if he could fall any harder in love with Y/n. She wasn’t just his, she was theirs. She was a permanent fixture in their home, the house a little less bright when she was absent from it. She had become a confidante to Sarah, a best friend to Tommy and everything to Joel. How could he not want her in every part of their lives?

“‘M afraid you’re stuck with us, Rosebud,” Joel smiled after he pulled back, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone.

“No place I’d rather be,” Y/n returned his grin.

Pressing one final kiss to her forehead, Joel tucked Y/n against his chest, his chin resting atop her head. She let her hand drift around to his back, her fingers spreading across the expanse as she tried to hold as much of him as she could. They fell asleep within minutes, the gentle snowstorm outside creating beauty that would only enhance the magic of Christmas for the Miller family.

—————————

2023. Kansas City, Missouri.

“Eye on me! Eyes on me!”

Joel’s eyes slid to the other side of the room, to the man with the barrel of his gun pointed at Ellie. Her and Y/n both had their hands raised high.

“You don’t have to worry about what to say,” the young man said, “We don’t wanna hurt you. We wanna help you.”

Joel watched him, he was shifting his weight between both feet, no expert marksman was that nervous to threaten someone’s life. Joel felt significantly better about his chances.

“Okay.”

“Okay, um…” the young man paused, “I don’t know what the next step is with something like this, but if I lower my gun…we didn’t hurt you…so you don’t hurt us…right?”

Joel stared him down, “That’s right.”

“That’s a weird fuckin’ tone, man,” their enemy replied.

“That’s just the way he sounds,” Ellie interrupted, first looking to the stranger and then back to Joel, “He has an asshole voice. Joel, tell him he’s okay.”

Joel stared, nearly a hint of a smirk at his lips, “Everything is great.”

“Dude…” Ellie muttered.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Y/n intervened, looking to the man, “Now drop the fucking guns before I second guess myself.”

“That wasn’t any better,” Ellie exclaimed.

“Fuck! Okay, listened,” the stranger started, his voice practically trembling, “I’m gonna trust you.”

He then stopped to signal something to the child, Y/n recognized it as ASL. They communicated something none of them could understand.

“But if any of you guys try anything,” the man kept his gun aimed at Ellie, nodding to Joel and Y/n, “Yeah? Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ellie whispered, her heart was in her throat.

The child backed away from Joel and Y/n’s mattress, his aim still firmly locked onto them. Y/n was trying to get her heartbeat back down to a normal range.

“Can I sit up?” Joel asked, his voice was still on edge.

“Yeah,” the stranger conceded, “Slow. Get up slow.”

Joel obeyed, rising to a seated position without any rush. He raised his hands, the left one grazing Y/n’s injured right. Shockingly, the fleeting touch made her feel a little less nervous. If Joel was good for nothing else, at least he was a good fighter. They could get out of this easily, if necessary.

“Who are you?” Joel asked.

“My name’s Henry,” the now-named stranger answered, “That’s my brother, Sam. I’m the most wanted man in Kansas City. Although right now,” Henry finally lowered his gun, “My guess is you’re running a close second. Her too.”

Y/n and Joel looked to one another, that ambush was going to come back to bite them in the ass, one way or another.

“Henry,” Y/n spoke up, lowering her hands and laying them palm up in her lap, “We’re gonna need a lot more than that.”

The five of them ended up huddled around a lantern, snacking on their dwindling food supply and waiting for the rest of the story to unfold. Henry had made it clear that he had to get some food in his brother first. It had been Ellie’s idea to share what they had left.

“Where’d you get these?” Henry asked, chewing on a cracker.

“From Bill,” Ellie answered, “He’s dead.”

Y/n and Joel had been watching Sam, digging into what they’d shared with him as if he hadn’t eaten in days. There was a real possibility of it, or something along the lines. They both wordlessly handed what was left of their portions to the boy, who in return, signed something to his brother.

“He says ‘thank you,’” Henry relayed, “I’m guessing you don’t have much so, this means a lot.”

“How old is he?” Ellie asked.

The brothers talked amongst themselves, with Henry answering, “He’s eight.”

Ellie nodded, “Cool. I’m Ellie.”

“Y/n,” Y/n spoke up, wanting to try and make the child feel as comfortable as the circumstances would allow.

Henry spelled out the names for Sam, who responded with a sign that both Y/n and Ellie assumed meant ‘cool.’

Ellie smiled before smacking Joel on the knee and waiting for him to introduce himself.

“I’m Joel,” he swallowed his last bite, “Look, you ate, we didn’t kill each other, let’s call this a win-win and move on.”

Henry dusted off his hands, “Well, I’m betting that y’all came up here to get a view of the city and plan a way out. And when the sun’s up, I’ll show you one.”

Joel and Y/n thought it over separately before glancing over at one another. If Henry hadn’t killed them by now, he wouldn’t. He already knew their supply was low, the only reason he was sticking around was because he needed something from them.

“Okay,” Y/n answered for them, earning a quick turn and glare from Joel, “Sam can take our bed. As soon as morning hits, you show us the route.”

Henry scoffed, “Just like that you’re gonna trust us?”

“I know the eyes of a liar, Henry,” Y/n leaned forward, resting her elbow on her knee, “And you don’t have ‘em. You weren’t even going to kill us in the first place, and you certainly weren’t gonna make him do it.”

Joel was ready to jump in at any second, but Y/n spoke with such precision and intention, he couldn’t come up with any reason to stop her.

“So how about we get some sleep,” Y/n continued, “And tackle this tomorrow?”

Henry’s eyes focused in on Y/n, someone as calculated as she was was either the most honest person on the planet or so calcuating and conniving, they could deceive the worst of humanity.

“Okay,” he landed on trust, “First thing.”

Ellie and Sam settled onto their makeshift mattresses, while the adults sat against the walls of the apartment. Henry on one side, Joel and Y/n on the other.

“What happened to equals?” Joel asked, the edge to his words undercutting the softness of their volume.

“Would what you have said been any different?” Y/n countered, watching as Joel tried to come up with an answer that differed from hers, “Exactly.”

The two of them stayed close to one another, without actually touching. Y/n was still slightly rattled from waking up with Joel’s hand over hers.

“Although my fucking neck’s gonna be messed up all day,” Y/n mumbled, trying to find a comfortable position to rest her head against the wall.

While they trusted an already sleeping Henry enough not to kill them, instinct told both Y/n and Joel to not leave themselves in such a vulnerable positon again. Sleeping sitting up was the only option that would allow them a little bit of rest.

And Joel hated what he was about to offer.

“You can…” he pointed to his shoulder, “If you want.”

“I don’t want” Y/n quickly replied.

Joel sighed in exasperation, “Forget I offered.”

He crossed his arms and settled against the wall, shutting his eyes and shutting down his momentary lapse into generosity.

Y/n inhaled, trying to get over herself. She was getting way too much up close and personal time with Joel to feel comfortable. But it was either another dose or a hideous day of lingering discomfort without the blessing of Ibuprofen.

She awkwardly scooted closer to him until their thighs were touching, causing Joel to open one eye. He looked down at their parallel bodies and back to Y/n.

“Just don’t grab my hand,” she grumbled, laying her head down on his shoulder and praying that her stomach stayed unaffected.

Joel’s body stiffened as she rested on him, a quick shot of adrenaline running through his extremities. He wanted to pretend to be unmoved, unbothered by her touch, but it was impossible. He would never fully be without affection for the way she felt against him.

“Go ahead,” Y/n said, sensing his discomfort but mistaking it for simply physical.

Joel hesitated a few seconds before shaking himself out of his doubt and resting his head on top of Y/n’s.

When the weight of Joel’s skull fell on hers, Y/n’s natural instincts took over and she almost, almost, tucked into him more. It was by the grace of God that she caught herself before she did it. No matter how hard her mind loathed him, her body would have accepted him back in a heartbeat.

The two ex-lovers sat against the wall, still trying to convince themselves that they were miles apart.

—————————

Just as the night before, they woke up so much closer than intended.

Y/n had fully curled into Joel, snuggling into his chest at some point during their glorified nap. When she woke up to the rough scratch of his flannel agaisnt her cheek, drowsiness did not immediately remind her she was in the year 2023. In her sleep-adled state, it was winter of 2002.

When consciousness pulled her back to the land of the living, she lightly groaned. Why were their sleeping selves making everything so complicated?

Y/n rolled off of Joel, causing him to sharply inhale. He blinked a few times, rubbed a hand over his face and evaluated the room. Henry was still asleep, but Sam and Ellie were already awake and sitting on the edges of their beds.

Y/n was beside him, at least twelve inches of space between them.

“I do anything in my sleep?” Joel asked.

Y/n shook her head, sucking on her bottom lip, “Nope.”

Joel wasn’t buying it, “Then whydya got that look on your face?”

“I know why,” Ellie teased in a sing-song tone.

Y/n let out two loud claps, startling Henry awake, and got to her feet. “Rise and shine, time to work.”

Joel stayed on the ground, watching how fast she moved around the room. Something had happened and it had messed with her. He ran a hand over his right shoulder, noticing that it was warm when the rest of him felt cold. He peered back over at Y/n, rifling through her backpack to find Ellie and Sam breakfast. He watched how she crouched down and handed the kids what was assuredly the lion’s share of her rations. How she held up a questioning thumbs up to Sam, who in return, smiled and copied the gesture. How she cared. She still cared so much.

It was killing him.

But there were bigger things to worry about than the stirring in his heart for the woman who perhaps, hadn’t changed that much at all.

————————————

Once fed and watered, the group of five headed a few floors up to the apartment building’s conference room. Henry had promised it had the best view of the city.

“Welcome to Killa City,” he announced, showcasing the place in daylight through the massive windows.

“No FEDRA,” Joel observed.

“Not as of ten days ago, no,” Henry replied.

“We always heard KC FEDRA was-“

“Monsters? Savages?” Henry finished for Joel, “Yeah, you heard right. Raped and tortured and murdered people for twenty years.”

Y/n looked down at her shoes, “Fucking hell.” It was stories like Kansas City that were one of her reasons for joining the Fireflies.

“And you know what happens when you do that to people?” Henry continued, “The moment they get a chance, they do it right back to you.”

“But you’re not FEDRA,” Joel stated.

Henry paused before answering, “No…worse. I’m a collaborator.”

Joel shook his head, “I don’t work with rats.”

Y/n wasn’t so quick to walk away, Henry had too much of a heart it seemed to be a true collaborator. He had a story.

“Yeah, you fucking do,” Henry said, “Today you do, ‘cause I live here and you two don’t. That’s how I followed you here. I know this city and I’m gonna help you out.”

Joel watched Henry as he spoke, trying to see through him, “Why help us?”

“I saw what you two did,” Henry answered, “The way you killed those men. Now I know where to go, but I don’t know how to make it through alone, not if it’s just Sam and me.”

“You seem capable enough,” Joel replied, “You’re armed.”

“You’re wrong and wrong,” Henry said, “Never killed anyone. And pointing an unloaded gun at you was the closest I’ve ever come to being violent.”

Y/n nodded, no one let their hand shake that much when holding a loaded gun.

“So that’s the deal,” Henry stated, “I show you the way, you clear the way.”

Joel didn’t need anyone else slowing them down or making them more noticeable. And partnering with Henry would only make them bigger targets.

At the table behind them, Ellie and Sam were seated, reading from Ellie’s pun book. The energy was divided down the room; the grown-up side was deathy heavy while the kid’s side was warm and uplifting.

“Haven’t heard that in a long time,” Henry smiled, watching his little brother laugh.

Joel turned back to the window as he tried to put distance between him and the moment. Y/n glanced over at him, watching as the cogs in his mind turned. Her mind was already made up, it would have been wonderful if they could avoid an argument.

“So how’re we getting out?” Joel relented, turning to Henry.

Henry fetched a piece of paper from one of the drawers, office supplies had never been in high demand post-pandemic. He sketched out a square, writing down the names of the roads that cut through the city.

“Highways…” he pointed to one section, “Downtown,” then to the other, “Us. This whole area belongs to Kathleen.”

“And she is…?” Y/n asked, standing between Joel and Henry.

“Leader of the resistance,” Henry answered, “You can see the way we’re bounded by highways. They got people posted all around the inside perimeter. If we get close, we get caught. No question.”

“So how do we get across?” Ellie asked.

Henry banged a fist against the table to get Sam’s attention, signing something to him after. Sam went to drawing on his magnetic erase pad, Joel wasn’t made to feel any better about a kid being involved in the planning of their escape.

Sam held up his pad, having written the word ‘Tunnels’ on it.

Henry snapped his fingers, “Boom.”

“Kansas City has a subway?” Joel asked.

“No,” Henry answered, “But they do have maintenance tunnels. There’s a bunch of buildings all put up by the same developers. And they share these tunnels, including…” he pointed down to a specific section of his sketch, “A bank building here,” he began to draw their route, “So we enter the tunnels here, travel underground, and pop up here. Westside North. Residential. There’s an embankment on the other side of the houses. We head down, pedestrian bridge over the river,” Henry dropped his pencil, “Free as a bird.”

“You’re right,” Joel admitted, “It’s a great plan. So what do you need us for?”

Henry hesitated a moment, “You notice anything strange about this city? I mean, other than the strange shit you’ve already seen?”

“No Infected?” Ellie guessed before Y/n and Joel could.

“Oh, there’s Infected,” Henry replied, “Just not on the surface. FEDRA drove them underground fifteen years ago, and never let them come back up. It’s the only good thing those fascist motherfuckers ever did.’

Joel looked between Y/n and Ellie, “So you want us goin’ into a tunnel?”

“Everyone thinks that it’s full of Infected,” Henry quickly corrected, he sensed Joel’s doubt, “Including Kathleen, which means that we’re not gonna be running into any of her people. But you see, what I know is…it’s empty.”

“You know this?” Y/n questioned, “You’ve seen it? With your own eyes?”

“No,” Henry replied.

Joel took a deep breath, hands on his hips again. Y/n sighed and rested her elbows on the table. Henry was losing them both.

“But the FEDRA guy that I worked with told me that it’s clean,” the young man continued, “Completely clean. They cleared it out. All of it.”

“How long ago?” Y/n asked, shutting her eyes as if it could shut out their problems.

“Like,” Henry shrugged, “Three years ago.”

Joel scoffed, glancing to Ellie as if asking if she was believing this either.

“Okay, maybe there’s one or two,” Henry quickly said, “But you can handle it.”

“You’re making this sound a whole lot simpler than it is,” Y/n responded, looking to Joel, whose eyes were already expectantly waiting on her. “We need a minute.

Y/n pushed open the glass doors, bringing them outside the conference room and giving them a sliver of privacy.

Joel pointed a finger behind them, “You still feel good about this?”

“Not exceptionally, no,” she answered truthfully, “But we don’t exactly have a lot of other options, now do we?”

“If this guy’s gonna endanger our lives more than if we were on our own,” Joel argued, “Then we’re better off-“

“Fighting our way through a city we’ve never been in with targets the size of Texas on our backs?” Y/n finished for him, “Look, I don’t wanna go down there either. But we’re guaranteed a very slow, very painful death if we go it alone. I’d rather have allies and stand a chance, at least.”

Joel wanted to fight tooth and nail, but he knew she was right. She’d always had a talent for being right.

“Plus, it’ll give you plenty to lord over Tommy’s head when we get to Wyoming,” Y/n quipped, her mouth still frowned but her eyes were lit up with humor.

Joel huffed, he’d have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire. The thought of seeing his brother and his ex together again was a sight he didn’t think he’d ever be ready to see.

Without another word, and a silent concession from Joel, the two of them marched back into the conference room where the debate was still being held.

Henry pointed to Ellie, “She says y’all fought off two Clickers. Is that true?”

Joel and Y/n uncomfortably shifted, the dread sweeping over them.

“And you’re still alive,” Henry stated, “You see? You’re the right people. If it gets bad down there, we turn around, and run right back out the same way we came.”

Joel was about one poorly constructed sentence away from giving the whole idea up, “Oh, that’s your great plan?”

“No, that’s my dicey-as-fuck plan,” Henry fired back, “But as far as I can tell, it’s our only shot.”

Sam signed something to Henry.

“They’re saying,” Henry narrated as he signed back, “They’re going to help us escape,” he turned back to the party, “Right?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “That was a low fuckin’ blow, man.”

Henry didn’t seem bothered at all by the manipulation.

Joel’s jaw twitched as he thought it all over. Y/n could practically feel his unease. She craned her neck back, muttering more into his body than at him, “Lesser of two evils.”

With every fiber of his being, Joel wanted to fight. But instead, he let his hands fall against his legs, admitting defeat.

—————————

The team got across the city with minimal close calls, every once in a while there’d be a truck or patrol group to avoid. They got to the bank building intact and only slightly out of breath.

“We need to get outta sight,” Joel said, every entrance/exit of the place was structured in a glass wall.

“Uh, I-I-I think it’s this way,” Henry pointed towards one of the halls, the rest of them following.

They trailed through the building till they hit a back door, hopefully leading to the tunnel entrance. Joel and Y/n entered it cautiously with their guns drawn.

“This should be it,” Henry announced, “You ready?”

Joel looked to Ellie, “Get your gun out.”

Rebelling in her own small way, once again, Ellie pulled out the gun from her jacket pocket. At this point, Joel wasn’t surprised in the least that she wasn’t heeding his advice. Him and Y/n marched forward regardless and took the lead. They entered through another door, delivering them into the tunnel system.

“You see?” Henry proved, “It’s empty. The plan is good.”

Joel and Y/n quickly shushed him. “‘The plan is good?’” Joel repeated, “We’ve been down here two seconds. We don’t know anything.”

Henry looked to Ellie, “Your dad’s kind of a pessimist.”

“I’m not her dad.”

“He’s not my dad.”

“He’s not her dad.”

Joel, Y/n and Ellie’s protests overlapped.

“Just point your light forward,” Joel instructed, tightly gripping his own, “And be ready to run.”

Y/n steadied her breathing and began to move beside Joel down the underground maze.

They walked for around an hour, snaking down the sets of tunnels, holding their flashlights and handguns as if they were life itself. Eventually, they turned down a hall with child’s art painted all along it. The door was even painted as castle. All of them examined the walls in quiet confusion.

Sam bounded forward, wanting to go through and explore. Joel threw his hand out to stop him, “No.”

Y/n tucked her flashlight under her chin and gripped her pistol, sharing an affirmative nod with Joel that they were ready. He slowly turned the doorknob and it creaked open, revealing a room that looked…civilized.

The whole place looked like a daycare center. There were toys scattered throughout storage bins, art and books against the walls, small cups, and a faded soccer goal painted across one of the cinderblock walls.

“I heard about places this this,” Joel commented, taking stock of their surroundings, “People went underground after Outbreak Day. Built settlements.”

“What happened to them?” Ellie asked.

“Maybe they didn’t follow the rules and all got infected,” Joel replied.

While Ellie and Sam sat down, playing with a few of the toys, Y/n, Henry and Joel scanned the room. Whoever had been living there, they’d been gone long enough for a layer of dust to settle across everything.

“Hey,” Joel called to Ellie who was being a little too loud, “Keep it down. We’re not out yet.”

“Ah, c’mon,” Ellie groaned, “Can we just rest here for a while? There’s, like, actually shit to do here.”

“Wouldn’t be so bad to wait the light out a bit,” Henry agreed, “Safer in the shadows when we pop back out on the other side.”

Joining Ellie and Henry, Y/n tilted her head in a slight shrug to Joel. It was a smart decision and he was just going to have to get over himself.

Joel shrugged back to the group, raising an eyebrow and going back to checking out the room.

Ellie and Sam occupied themselves by reading comic books and messing around with some of the toys. Henry, Joel and Y/n rested at a table, putting their feet up without actually relaxing at all. At some point, Ellie and Sam switched to kicking a soccer ball around on the makeshift field. Y/n watched carefully as Ellie interacted with the boy, she was so caring and patient. She’d confided that she didn’t have any brothers or sisters, but the glow coming from her radiated big sister energy.

Y/n scooted her chair back and walked across the room. “Can I join?”

Ellie enthusiastically began to switch the ball between her feet, trying to fake Y/n out. Y/n rotated to stand alongside Sam at the goal.

“That’s not fair,” Ellie argued, “There’s two of you.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you can’t do it,” Y/n teased.

Ellie’s determination set in, jumping slightly in place before kicking the ball in between Sam and Y/n’s legs quicker than they could stop it.

“Oh, shit,” she exclaimed, shooting her hands into the air.

Sam and Y/n shared a laugh before Y/n got down on her knees, “Can you teach me something?”

Sam watched her lips and nodded, showing her a sign. To her, it looked like he was pulling something out of his mouth, before bringing his two thumbs up and splitting their directions at his chest.

Y/n mimicked it, “What does this mean?”

“Oh, that’s from Savage Starlight,” Ellie exclaimed, copying the gesture with them, “‘Endure and survive.’”

The three of them continued to sign it over and over. It seemed to make both Ellie and Sam extremely happy, which meant Y/n would do it as many times as they wanted.

Joel and Henry watched from their seats. To say Joel’s heart ached would have been an understatement. His soul was barely holding together, a new piece of it dying off every day. But Y/n and Ellie had somehow kept the last few from withering. It was so subtle, he hadn’t even figured the phenomenon out yet. He was barely self-aware. But seeing Y/n, crouched down on the floor with the kids, still with the innate need to make the world around her better, he came to fully realize his thought from earlier in the day.

She was still his Y/n.

Smiling, laughing, loving, caring, kinder than the world deserved. Underneath all the anger was the woman he had loved with all his heart.

And that fucking terrified him.

As Y/n made her way back to them, Joel pulled himself back to reality, switching gears and channeling his energy into focusing on the kids. Specifically Sam. He was eight years old and in survival mode. No child deserved that. It was making him rethink his stance on the things he’d said earlier.

“If you were collaboratin’ to take care of him,” he said to Henry, “I…I shouldn’t have save what I said. I don’t know your situation. And I’m not sayin’ they should let it go, but all things considered, seems kinda cruel—to send a whole army after you for that.”

Henry waited a few seconds, Ellie’s cheers filling the silence, before speaking. “You know, I wasn’t, uh…exactly telling you the truth before…about me not killing someone.”

Y/n and Joel’s attention turned to him exclusively.

“There was a man,” Henry began, “A great man. You know, he was never afraid…never selfish…and he was always forgiving. Have you ever met someone like that? Kinda man you’d follow anywhere.”

Y/n tensed up, forbidding her eyes from flicking to Joel.

“I mean, I wanted to. Well…I would’ve,” Henry gathered strength for the rest of his story, “Yeah, but, uh…Sam, he, uh, he got sick. Leukemia,” he scanned Joel and Y/n’s somber expressions, “Yeah, anyway, um…there was one drug that worked and, whoa, big shock…there wasn’t much left of it, and it belonged to FEDRA. And if I wanted some, it was gonna take something big. So I gave them something big. That one great man. The leader of the resistance movement in Kansas City. And Kathleen’s brother.”

Understanding washed over Joel and Y/n. All the firepower, the tanks, the trucks, it all made sense.

“Yeah, so, you still think they should take it easy on me?” Henry asked rhetorically, “Or am I the bad guy?”

Y/n stayed silent, weighing morals against necessity. Joel pulled his lips down, barely shaking his head before Henry cut off what he would have said, “I don’t know what you’re waitin’ on, man. The answer’s easy. I am the bad guy because I did a bad guy thing.”

“But you did it to keep him alive,” Y/n spoke up, “You’d go to the ends of the earth for him. That’s not evil, that’s family.”

Henry’s eyes cut through the space between Joel and Y/n, “You two get it,” he nodded toward Joel, ”You may not be her father, but you were someone’s. See, I could tell.”

There it was. The big, dreadful, terrible thing that Joel and Y/n had gotten this far without talking about. It was the unspoken wound, the one deep enough to kill yet shallow enough that it didn’t show. It was a constant phantom pain in both their chests and it broke them all over again to have it brought up.

“You too,” Henry smiled at Y/n, nodding to Ellie, “That is, if she’s not yours.”

Y/n didn’t think the blade could slide any deeper into her heart. She had been something to someone once, and it was as much a part of her still as the air she breathed.

“Uh,” Y/n tearily began, clearing her throat quickly, “No, she’s not mine.”

Joel had had more than he could handle just by Henry’s assumption about him. Referring to Y/n as the word he couldn’t bring himself to utter in that context had sent him over the edge. He picked up his gun from the table and practically jumped to his feet, “We’ve waited long enough.”

Y/n stayed still at the table, holding back her tears took so much strength, it was stealing her ability to move. If she allowed herself to cry in front of Joel, she didn’t think she’d ever recover.

Henry didn’t ask questions, he didn’t bring up the very visible sorrow etched across Y/n’s face. Some hurt was palpable without ever being touched on, and it was painfully clear that Joel hadn’t been the only one to lose a child…

————

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[amethysttribble]

“I do believe I am a very bad person,” Finrod said, and Celegorm sighed around the lip of the bottle.

“We were having fun, I thought we were having fun,” he groaned, stretching languidly over the arm of the couch. He and his ‘king’, the King of Nargothrond, were laying together, legs tangled together like a couple of youths, drinking wine. They’d been laughing, singing, naught but a second ago. Ah, but wine was a changeable drink.

“I was just thinking,” Finrod said, cradling his own bottle to his chest tenderly, “about the time Grandfather found us in the royal wine cellar, how scared we were that we were in awful trouble, how he smiled and said, ‘well? Won’t you pour me a drink?’ I loved him so much.”

“We all loved him,” Celegorm muttered bitterly and he tipped the drink back and drank until only droplets were coming to his tongue.

He tried not to think of Grandfather. Or the other grandfather. Or Mother. Or Father. Or-

“I wanted to rule something beautiful like he did,” Finrod was sighing, “Something glorious; powerful and intricate and built entirely in my image. Mine. All mine, in the palm of my hand, and then people would look at me like they looked at Grandfather. Someone beautiful, glorious. Worthy. Worthy of his name, not because I did what he did, but because I made something all my own. I wanted it. I wanted it so badly I spat on my father’s kind heart, and trampled over my cousins�� blood, and scorned our uncle, and… Turko, Grandfather never wanted us to come to this land.”

“‘Two sons at least thou hast to honor thy words’,” Celegorm said with a sneer. He let the bottle roll from his hands and stared at the ceiling, not daring to close his eyes and face the spinning. “I remember. Those words ruined my life.”

Those words spoke in jealousy by Fingolfin had seen Father banished and started this unending nightmare.

It always came back to the same question, stay or go.

Oh, but Celegorm wished he’d stayed.

“He would be disappointed in us now,” Finrod said, “If he caught us now. No drink for him but tears, to see us in this land, that wasn’t what he wanted. We did all this in his name, but it wasn’t want he wanted. What selfish children we are, always pilfering from his stores and caring nothing for how long that wine aged. Now we age it ourselves and it is vinegar. And yet I still want all the glitters. How foul is that?”

“Why are you telling me all this, Felagund?”

“My brothers are dead.”

And that was all there was to it.

“Right,” Celegorm grunted as he swung his feet to the floor and sat up. “I’m going to go throw-up, and I suggest you do the same before you vomit up anymore useless words.”

He swayed on his feet but managed to stay upright. He might have made it to the privy had Finrod not grabbed his hand as he passed. When Celegorm looked down, it wasn’t the king who looked back. It was the little cousin Tyelkormo knew, full of sunshine smiles and mischief, who he used to have such fun with; but now that boy’s face was blotchy with tears and sorrow.

They had been having fun. Weren’t they?

“This doesn’t end well, Turko.”

Yes, well, Celegorm had guessed that. Had felt it in the gnawing void in his chest that called and called and called and received no answer. It was shredding him, and in the open wounds crept in fear. Celegorm was so tired of being scared.

Finrod’s eyes did nothing to quell his fear, instead they inflamed the terror. Those eyes… Celegorm suspected this ended pourly, but Finrod’s eyes knew. An animal sort of fear wrapped around his throat, and Celegorm’s chest heaved, his heart hammered like he was naught but a rabbit caught in a snare.

He didn’t know what to do with the knowledge that dauntless, peerless, kingly Finrod was frightened, too.

And it was not quite the same expression on his little cousin’s face, but it bore a distant relationship to the nervous, startled look Finrod had shot him when Grandfather caught them drinking in the wine cellar. Turko, Turko, he asked, what do we do? Both times, Celegorm wanted to demand, how should I know?

He really wasn’t that much older.

And yet-

He meant to sink to his knees, but instead collapsed onto his ass heavily, and, ah, that was going to smart in the morning.

“Felagund,” he slurred, reaching up to take the bottle away and then to run his fingers through Finrod’s hair. “Shut up and go to sleep. When the night’s not fun anymore, that’s when you should go to bed. Isn’t that what I taught you? Go to sleep before you make mistakes you can’t take back.”

“Don’t go,” Finrod cried and Celegorm shushed him. He started to sing.

And, as Finrod’s eyes slipped shut and his quickened, guilty breathes evened out, if the words Celegorm moaned were the hymn they would sing to the doomed and dying animals…

Hopefully, they were both be too drunk to remember in the morning.

[littlewriters-posts]

My Experiment 2 - Cooper Howard/Ghoul x OC

Part one here

Plot: Cooper meets a strange sweet girl from his past, wondering how someone that kind has managed to survive the place like this. He tried to forget her, but she keeps coming back.

Warning: None

It had been 30 years. 30 years since Cooper last saw Addy. He didn't think anything of her of course, after being stuck in a coffin for 30 years, he felt no reason to think of the past.

Things like that only brought pain.

After leaving Addy's shop behind, Cooper realised he had never actually told her his name. But did it matter? The likelihood of him seeing her again was very limited. She was probably dead and buried, 30 years was a lot longer than the average life expectancy.

Or so he thought.

The second time he met Addy, he was exhausted.

After letting the dog trail after him, he was on the hunt for yet another Valutie that had ventured out into the open, and had this time taken a head of a very important scientist.

But he had acquired a dog, who was following the scent.

All of a sudden, the dog gave a harsh bark, before scampering harshly to the right.

Cooper frowned "What is it boy? Picked up a scent?"

The dog carried on sniffing, walking with its nose buried in the path.

"goddamn it," The ghoul muttered, realising he was going to have to follow that damn dog whether he liked it or not.

What surprised him, however, was that after a while the dog barked again, this time at a shop.

A rather long shop, with a pink sign. It hadn't changed a bit in the last 30 years.

"Well I'll be darned," Cooper muttered, pushing the door.

He was met with the same calming smile, and cheeky eyes that he was all those years ago.

"Well I live and breath," Addy smiled, her hands on her hips "Ain't you a sight for sore eyes,"

Cooper raised his eyebrows "You weren't kidding about the no aging then hey," he said. He wasn't wrong, Addy seemed not to have aged a single day since he last saw her.

She shrugged "If 200 years is the equivalent to my body clock aging 10, I'd say I got a fair few left in me,"

"You haven't seen a girl walk through here have you? A vaultie?" he asked.

Addy shook her head "No Vaultie here Mr Howard, I think I'd know,"

Cooper eyed her suspiciously "Dogmeat here was tracking the scent ya see, dragged me to here,"

Addy nodded "Ah, yeah erm..." she paused, looking at the dog with adoration "I'm like a magnet to a compass for dogs I'm afraid. They seem to really like my scent,"

Cooper blinked at her and she sighed.

"I'm part wolf Mr Howard. That's the animal they chopped me up with?"

Cooper rolled his eyes, is temper flaring as he glared at the dog. "Stupid," he muttered angrily.

Addy shrugged "Well, you're here now sugar, so what do you need?"

"To get going, I gotta track that damn kid," Cooper said gruffly. He thought about mentioning that she was related to Addy, but decided better of it.

Addy set down a vial of Radway and a mug of steaming hot cocoa in-front of him. "Suns gone down sugar, I'd stay here if I were you,"

Cooper looked outside with a sigh, she was right of course.

"How many favours do I owe for this?" he asked in a teasing nature.

Addy winked at him "On the house honey,"

Cooper watched as she sauntered to the front door, looking outside, before shutting it, and starting on the many locks.

"I never gave you my name you know," he said "So how did ya get it?" he couldn't help but wonder if she really knew who he was, if she'd even remember one of the many people she brought coffee too all those years ago - or if she'd even recognise him in the state he was in now.

She looked back at him, a sad smile playing on her lips "You may have changed your face a bit honey, but the eyes never changed,"

Cooper stared at her, shocked. Did she really recognise him?

"Couldn't break from the cowboy costume could ya?" she laughed. Cooper chuckled slightly.

"If there's one thing I learnt it's you gotta look the part," he said "How you been holding up the past 30 years then?"

Addy shrugged "Same old really. Couple people tried to raid me, didn't work,"

She reached up by the window and started pulling a steel meta curtain down.

"Had to up security a bit," she said.

Cooper watched as she set about locking yet another set of locks.

"Set up a shower in the back if you need it, it's not hot but I managed to get it lukewarm if you wait for a bit," she said.

Cooper raised an eyebrow "I thought you were a runner, not an inventor," he said.

She shrugged "Surprisingly I had time to kill in-between days they were picking me apart. One of the scientists actually took pity on me and started teaching me how things worked,"

"How kind," Cooper said sarcastically.

It was almost uncanny, the two of them speaking. Both thought they'd never see anyone from their past ever again and yet here they were, chatting like old friends.

"Come on, " Addy said "I'll show you to ya room,"

"You got a room for me?" he asked "How sweet,"

She rolled her eyes "Not just for you asshat, it's my room too. But you can't stay out here, it's not as safe - bring your dog too,"

Cooper eyed her "With all the locks you got on this place I'd say it's as safe as you're gonna get,"

Addy grinned "Well unlike some I like to let me guard down sometime, and it's easier to do that in a smaller space,"

Cooper tipped his hat to her, following her into the smaller room.

He didn't quite remember this room from last time, or if he did it was a lot smaller. There were two single beds, each on the opposite side of the room. In the middle a small chest of draws sat, with an old TV sat on top. Old tapes lay scattered around, some with writing on, some without.

Canned food, a dog bed, and bottles of water sat in a tidy pile in the corner of the room, along with what looked like to be extra blankets and covers as well as a first aid kit.

"Nicely stocked in here as well I see," Cooper said looking around "You expecting me?" he asked, gesturing to the dog bed and the other single bed.

Addy rolled her eyes "You that full of yourself?" she asked with a laugh "If you must know, I took in a guy for about 20 years. Him and his damn dog," she said bitterly.

"What happened?" Cooper asked carefully, sensing a sticky end to the story.

Addy shrugged "Dog died of old age, he died of an overdose," she said "Bought 5 years ago now," she added as an afterthought. "Stopped taking in strays after that,"

"I'm sorry," Cooper said sincerely. He was clever enough to not get close to people in the wasteland, but that was a lesson Addy clearly hadn't yet learned.

She waved him off "It happens. Listen I'm off in the shower. There's spare clothes and shit if you wanna get comfy in that wardrobe. Take what you need,"

Cooper watched as she left, before turning back to her little table where the TV was and rifling through the tapes.

Some made him snort, a lot of them were tapes from his good old days. Mainly ones she'd been a runner on, so they included all the behind the scenes footage.

Watching them he knew would probably make his heart break, so he neglected to put them in.

One of the tapes, seemed much newer than the rest however, a white case enclosing it.

Experiment 007 it read.

This was from her vault.

Was she Experiment 007?

He checked that the shower was still running, before putting it into the TV player.

The black screen lit up white, as a man stepped away from the camera. He was short, with glasses and a stout expression.

"Experiment 007, changing human DNA," he read "If we can get this right, it's be a big discovery, and would enable us to make more soldiers when we go atop the surface," he said confidently before stepping back.

As he stepped back, Cooper let out a low growl. For in the middle of the room was a chair, and a young lady strapped too it, her wrists, ankle and forehead strapped to the seat so she couldn't move a muscle.

He recognized her instantly, for she was still seventeen in the video, as she was when he last saw her. She was dressed in a white hospital gown, and on her lap sat a brown teddy.

She was sobbing, her eyes were red and every limb she had was shaking.

"Please no," she moaned "It hurts,"

But the man didn't care, as he leant behind a glass screen.

"Please keep still Amy, It'll be a lot easier," he commanded.

Before Cooper could even realise what was going on, a big red stream of light echoed pieced right through Addy's skull, making the back of her eyes glow.

She let out a scream of pain, the teddy falling from her lap as she cried and writhered.

Cooper took the tape out quickly, breathing heavily. He'd seen some horrible things in his lifetime, it's how he learnt that killing was a mercy, but seeing that brought back pain he didn't realise he could still feel.

"I see you found the tape," Addy said, padding out of her makeshift shower room.

"I did," Cooper said lowly "Have you-"

"Watched it?" Addy asked "Don't need to, I remember everything those fuckers did. The irony? I spent six weeks, 4 hours a day under that laser and it didn't even work. They ended up cutting my head open," she shuddered "Course didn't want to use pain relief on me, that would have been a waste,"

Cooper looked at her sadly. But Addy threw a blanket at him.

"You'll need this, it gets cold at night round here. This room is enclosed with steel - hard but cold,"

"How did you manage all this Amy?" Cooper gestured to the house "Where did you even start,"

"Don't call me that," Addy shuddered "That's not my name anymore." she sighed slightly, looking round the room. "I told ya didn't I? Favours pay a lot more than caps. Got these steel sheets from a welder I helped escape some thieves. The locks installed by some guy I gave water too when he almost died. You rule people out of fear Coop, but you'll find it's crazy what people will give you out of gratitude," she said

Cooper nodded slightly, petting Dogmeats head as he lay on his new found bed.

"You did pretty well for yourself Addy," he said.

"You didn't do too badly yourself Mr Howard," she retorted with a kind smile.

He scoffed "No-ones called me that in years, you don't need to either,"

She shrugged "Can't help it. I had posters of you on my wall when I was a kid. It's like meeting a celebrity,"

Coop snorted "Well I'll give you this, you sure have a way to make a man feel special."

Addy winked at him "I'll still be your runner girl if you need one,"

There was a brief silence as Cooper took off his jacket and boots, collapsing onto the bed with a sigh of relief. He couldn't remember the last time he had laid on an actual mattress.

"When was the last time someone looked after you doll?" he asked, looking over to Addy.

She yawned, stretching up. She was dressed in a battered T-shirt and shorts which were soon covered by the many layers of blankets she put over herself.

"Dunno Coop, not since I was five I don't think," she said "Now you get a good night sleep mister. Sleeping when you know you're safe hits different, trust me,"

Coo[ felt his heart, which hadn't felt anything for such a long time, tug slightly. He silently cursed himself. Hardening his heart to the world wasn't easy, but once everyone you loved was dead it became easier not to love again.

Unfortunately, the past is never that easy to forget, no matter how hard he tried.

He let his eyes shut, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

He was awoken to a piecing scream. His first instinct was to grab his gun, which he had hidden under the pillow, and point it as the noise.

His second instinct was to open his eyes.

But there was no intruder, no threat. Just Addy, eyes tightly shut, screaming at the top of her lungs.

He quickly grabbed her, putting a hand over her mouth, and drawing her up to him so her back was leant against his chest.

"Shhh doll," he whispered urgently "You'll wake the fucking dead,"

Addy opened her eyes as she stopped screaming, her breathing erratic.

"I - I'm so sorry," she gasped, wiping the furiously forming tears from her face.

Cooper rocked her gently, his arms still wrapped around her shoulders.

"I take it you remember that vault a little too well," he said and she nodded.

"Every night I dream of it," she said bitterly "Been a while since I woke up screaming though. I'm so so so sorry," she pouted slightly "I wanted you to get a good nights sleep,"

Cooper shook his head, letting her lean her head back onto his shoulder as she yawned.

"Don't be sorry, I slept great," he said lowly. "Now scooch over,"

Addy frowned, but did as she was told, moving to the far left of the bed, her back pressed against the wall as she watched Cooper get comfy.

"What are you doing?" she asked. Cooper rolled his eyes, opening his arms and gesturing for her too come to him. Addy's eyes widened considerably, she knew that Cooper Howard the actor probably had a soft side, but from what she heard of Cooper Howard the Ghoul, he was more likely to kill her than comfort her.

"I might be a ghoul but I was human once," he said dryly. "So shut it and let me comfort you,"

Addy paused for a second, before shrugging. She scooted down, turning onto her side so she was cuddled up to cooper's side. It was nice, she admitted, to have such a dominate presence. It was like an extra security blanket.

"No-one would believe me if I told them The Goul had gone soft," she giggled.

"You tell em and I'll have to kill you," Cooper muttered sleepily "So keep that pretty mouth shut,"

[sparklingsin]

— lost time | ron weasley

+ ron weasley x witch!reader

boy, the lack of ron fics on here is saddening. my goofy king is so under-rated so i just had to write someting. this is purely self-indulgent because i'm obsessed with auror!ron and miss hogwarts. can you imagine dancing with ron in auror robes? swoon.

tags: fluff, getting-together, aged up/adults, after hogwarts

You're not sure how long you've been staring. It might have been an embarrassing amount of time — if you cared to check.

Time has been good to him. He is taller than you remember, lankier than ever, cheeks hollowing out and accentuating his strong, angled jaw. He's dressed in Auror robes no doubt, the thick black material cutting into the pale, freckled flesh and contrasting tastefully with his fiery red hair.

You spot Harry Potter beside him, who, to no one's surprise, is surrounded by a swarm of people as Ron snickers at him from the edges of the group. Harry throws him a disgruntled look. Their boyish tendencies make you smile, as your mind's eye turns back in time, to your years at Hogwarts.

While most people in your year had been obsessing over the Boy who Lived, you had had your eyes set out for his best friend. He had been, after all, your then closest friend's brother. But nothing had ever happened except for him once borrowing a quill from you and then he was someone else's.

And now, years later, there's just a small flutter in your heart at the sight of him. The dysrhythmia induced by a school girl crush has long disappeared but he's plenty handsome and that is hard to ignore.

"If you'd like me to introduce you, you need only say the word," Ginny's voice stirs you out of your daze.

You blush, tearing your gaze away from the red-head and look at the witch beside you. There's an all too familiar glint in her eyes that makes you frown. You had already caught up with each other several minutes ago, delighted at finally being able to meet each other at this Hogwarts Reunion, which was otherwise impossible because of your busy schedules.

"It's Harry you should be worried about," you retort, gesturing at the sea of innumerable witches he has now disappeared amidst.

"Ron's not seeing anyone at the moment," Ginny notes nonchalantly and you almost choke on your drink.

"It was a school crush, Ginevra," you mutter, but your words sound hollow to yourself as you watch Ron Weasley tilt his head back and laugh at something Luna Lovegood had just said.

"If only you had told me before year seven...," she mumbles, trailing off into her own thought. Only when Harry, Ron and Hermione had famously left their last year at Hogwarts to go on a quest to save the world (a story that was now a bed time tale for the new generation of wizards and witches) did you confess to Ginny that you had had an unrequited crush on her brother. But then the world almost ended, lives were lost and you lost touch with your only link to the Weasleys.

"If only. Too bad a dark, evil wizard was trying to kill us all," you mutter and Ginny throws you a look.

"You're actually perfect for Ron, you know," she remarks and you sigh, sipping the last of the enchanted beer.

"Why are you trying to play cupid, anyway? Do you not have people to meet? Hear Slughorn's looking for you," you say, in a vain effort to change the subject.

"He was?" Ginny asks, suddenly perking up and looking around with a troubled expression.

"If he asks for me again, I was never here," she whispers, slinking off into the crowd and out of sight.

Finally managing to shake off the flaming presence of one, adamant Weasley, you weave your way towards the bar. You order another round of the butter beer and look off to your left and back, only to find yourself standing beside... Ron Weasley himself.

"Hi," you say, a little out of breath, having been caught like a deer in headlights. He looks shocked too, not expecting someone to ambush him at the bar counter.

"I'm Y/N L/N," you add, trying to compose yourself and smile awkwardly.

"Oh...Y/N...?" his expression remains blank.

"Ginny and I used to be close...," you say, trying hard not to let the disappointment shine through in your voice.

"Ahh," Ron mumbles looking away and you're not convinced that means anything to him.

You wish the ground would open and swallow you whole. You're about to make a run for it and apparate, to save yourself from the embarrassment, when Ron speaks up.

"You wouldn't happen to be the girl who set Dean and Ginny up back then, did you?" he asks, as he gestures for the bar tender - Mrs. Rosmerta's son you've learnt.

You frown. "No, I don't think that was me. Why?" you ask, curious.

"Oh they were trouble, don't know why anybody thought they were a good idea," he mutters and you chuckle.

"'Suppose it's better having your best friend date your sister," you note, grateful for an excuse to keep the conversation going.

Ron turns towards you. "You'd think. But every time he's home, she takes up all his bloody time," he murmurs, so very sincerely, that you can't help but laugh.

"Don't tell him I said that though," he says, turning his head to look at Harry in the crowd who has finally managed to find his way to his old friends. "Don't need his head getting any bigger."

You grin. "I doubt it'll ever come up but I'll keep it in mind," you chirp, pausing to take a sip of the drink hat the bar-tender's handed to you.

You fall into easy conversation then, the awkwardness disappearing as Ron's smile gets wider and you start feeling more relaxed. He's sitting much closer to you now, drink in hand, smelling slightly like an old comforter and toothpaste and you're so happy, you've forgotten your drink beside you.

"We had a good run here," Ron is saying. He looks up and around him, at the adorned walls of the Great Hall and you nod.

"She's still so beautiful," you murmur, looking at the ceiling that has been bewitched to twinkle like with sky with stars today.

Ron sighs, wistfully. "Merlin, I miss Hogwarts."

"What do you miss the most?"

"Everything, you know, the food, the teachers, these halls, the dormitories. Blimey, even the classes, the girls—"

"What was so bad about the girls?" you ask, pretending to be offended and Ron's ears turn red.

"No, hell, I mean, it was so difficult to talk to girls back then.... but I'd take that over what I have going on right now."

He looks at you sheepishly, running a hand through his hair.

You frown at him.

"What do you mean?"

"What with work and everything, you know, there's no time," he admits, sighing.

"I'm sure any witch would make time for a wizard like you," you muse, eyes twinkling.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron echoes, quirking an eyebrow at you but there's a playfulness to his tone.

"I mean— you're an Auror— a great, distinctly famous wizard— and a good man from what I've heard," you say, as the red-head's eyebrows shoot up higher.

"And you're gorgeous," you add after a beat, not quite looking at him but Ron turns crimson. It's bold, for your standards and you decide to blame the beer.

"It's not that easy you know," he says after a moment, clearing his throat.

You look back at him through your eyelashes. There's a new shine in his eyes, a little pucker at the corner of his lips that makes your heart beat a little faster.

You're in the mood to play, so you lean over. "Oh, it's not? Do tell..."

"Well, I've been sat here twenty minutes," he says, leaning closer, voice dropping low, "...trying to rack up the nerve to ask a witch out for a dance and been failing spectacularly so far."

A shiver travels down your back and you tongue the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning. "Maybe try now?"

Ron suppresses a grin.

"Do you...," he's turned a slight shade of pink and you can't help but smile.

"Do you reckon you'd like to dance with me?" he asks, running a hand through his hair, tousling it and you have a mad urge to smooth it out but resist. There's a blush tinting his cheeks but the bashful grin on his face makes your cheeks heat up.

"I'd like that," you whisper as Ron stands up and bows before you, extending his hand.

You weave through a large part of the crowd hand in hand, to a somewhat empty space is the middle and Ron pulls you close to himself, taking one of your hands in his and placing a gentle one on your waist, taking the lead.

You blush a little, surprised by the charge he takes. You definitely like this cooler, confident Ron with bits of awkwardness and goofiness sprinkled in.

"You're a lot different than I remember," you blurt out, regretting it the minute the words roll off your tongue.

To your surprise, Ron looks amused.

"You have memories from school about me?"

You start swaying to the music, falling quite easily into the step of waltz.

Trapped. "Well...I was one of your sister's closest friends and you were only one of the most famous wizard's best friend," you say quickly, before you can embarrass yourself more by letting out your secret.

The song slows down, as you gently sway to the music, painfully aware of how warm Ron's breath is on your face. The hall is quieter now, the couples swaying silently on the floor as others watch and the gravity of the situation sinks in.

You're dancing with Ron Weasley.

You try to contain the flurry of butterflies erupting in your stomach at the realisation, but it's hard to focus when he's so gently holding you against him. You dance in quiet embrace for the rest of the song, fighting a losing hormonal battle, and just as it segues into something slightly faster, Ron spins you out on one arm.

"I'm sorry I don't remember you from school much," he says softly.

It's nothing— it's a pinch, a paper cut if anything. You already know he doesn't remember you but you can't help the flutter of disappointment in your chest his words.

You roll back into his arm gracefully and look up into his piercing blue eyes.

"Quite a shame really, you'd think I'd not be stupid and remember one of the most beautiful witches I've ever seen," he says, a genuineness in his eyes that makes you falter.

You freeze briefly in your little step, a wave of heat erupting over your chest at his swift words. School-girl-you would've melted into a puddle on the floor at these words, but adult-you knows better and wills your rapidly beating heart to slow down.

"You'd think so," you reply breathily, feigning disappointment and Ron chuckles.

"I'm sorry. You've got to excuse teenage Ron, he was a right git," he says and you can't help but laugh.

"I forgive him," you say. "We were all gits when we were sixteen."

"You know," he pipes again, pulling you away from the center of the floor. The music has turned faster now and by the time he's pulled you to the very edges, the floor is a chaotic flurry of limbs.

"We could make up for lost time."

You quirk up an eyebrow at him, surprised by his forwardness.

"For someone who was struggling to ask me for a dance only minutes ago, you're being awfully direct."

Ron blushes but the grin on his face grows wider.

"Something an old friend told me about letting people know you fancy them when you fancy them," he mumbles and you quirk an amused eyebrow at him.

"You fancy me?"

He smiles sheepishly. "I thought it was obvious," he quips, pulling you closer by your fingers.

"I'd like to get to know you better then," you whisper. Ron smiles down warmly at you, turning your stomach to mush.

"I'd like to get to know you better too," he says, and his smile quickly turns into a smirk.

"Your place or mine?"

i write for harry & ron (and possibly others if inspiration strikes) please send in requests and your thoughts!

[agendabymooner]

colour me your colour || toto w. x ofc (7)

Summary: Tilly Marie nearly loses faith in her passion as she refuses to listen to everyone who told her to quit. Everyone but one. And it’s the man she met years ago at a racing event she didn’t want to attend. Who would have thought that her father’s partial ownership of three brands could take her to the zone of Mercedes and meet the love of her life?

Chapter summary: It turns out, Tilly and Toto looked like they were loving each other up constantly - so Tilly's mother, Blanche, had decided to step up to warn her about the wonders and failures of being in a relationship with someone more mature.

Content warning: Age gap relationships, use of explicit language, brief mention of Max Verstappen x OFC (Sylvie), mention of divorce and mental health problems

masterlist

vii. age is just a number and love is just a shame

LOVE ON CAMERA: Future Racing Teams Major Shareholder Tilly Hearth Sends Mixed Signals Alongside Toto Wolff

“Are they the newest power couple of F1 or is this putting their teams to shame?”

AGELESS ROMANCE: FIA Executive’s Daughter Tilly Hearth Cozies Up with Mercedes-AMG Petronas Team Principal Toto Wolff Post Qualifying Interview

“Is this a ploy to get a favourable result for this year’s championship?”

This isn’t the kind of day I’d like to have today. I’m not going to be distracted by some silly gossip outlet’s article.

“I’ve read that. That’s fucked,” Daniel huffs out, peering over my shoulder. Today’s going to be a disaster. I haven’t even seen my family just yet, and now I’m being hounded by gossip sites about my love life. Was I ever thankful that I told my sisters about the “rumours” that’ll soon circulate around the paddocks and F1 world beforehand. 

“Tell me about it,” I mutter, resting my head on the table that I sat on. 

“That should have stayed in the garage or something, I don’t know how they’ve managed to even know it’s Toto,” he says. 

I look up at him and answer, “The Daily Mail caught me arriving in a Mercedes with him yesterday. Remember?”

“They’re fucking fast to capture that,” Daniel shakes his head incredulously, “you were practically running away like you robbed him.” 

“I told him that the British media are too invasive,” I scrunch up my face, “some of them were just here to get some drama to broadcast throughout England and fuck all.”

“Sorry you have to go through that,” he offers a sympathetic smile as he pats my shoulder, “I hope they’ll fuck off for once.”

I gave him a lopsided grin. “Don’t expect too much from them— shouldn’t you be waiting in your driver’s room right now?”

“TILS!” My back nearly broke after I turned my upper half around. A strangled screech escapes my mouth as I stand. Daniel, who’s standing behind me, is accidentally pushed off to the side as four arms wrap around me. I can’t even see Daniel’s reaction but I can hear him introducing himself to a woman. 

I pull away from the embrace as I look between my sisters. Last time I checked, Aimee- our youngest sister- was on her trip to Scotland. What’s she doing here? I look at Stevie, her hair tied neatly, her ponytail coming out of the Mercedes cap that she’s wearing. 

“What’s with the Mercedes get up?” I look at Aimee, who’s wearing a white Mercedes shirt. They’re in the Red Bull hospitality. 

“Hello, too,” I shake my thoughts away as I grin, looking past my sisters and approaching our mother.

“Maman!” I exclaim, hugging her tightly before giving her a once-over. “Still pretty I see.”

“You’re still as hilarious, Tilly,” she rolls her eyes, keeping her arm around my waist. I look at Daniel and he’s standing there with a grin.

“Daniel, you’ve met my mom,” I gesture at my sisters, “these are my sisters, Stevie and Aimee. Steve, Aims, this is Daniel. He’s a driver for Red Bull.” 

Stevie immediately reaches out to shake his hand. She looks more like our grandmother, according to Maman. Nobody could ever mistake her for someone else besides Nan. Her honey-blonde hair and blue eyes are the kind of features that’ll make you feel like you’re in a tropical paradise. 

“Holy shit, you really weren’t joking when you said your sisters are models,” Daniel’s eyes widened as I nodded. “How do you push yourself through it?” 

“It’s— ehh…” Stevie scratches her head and tries to answer his question, “Modeling is kinda fun… if you’ve been doing it for a long time. Like racing.”

Aimee only waves at Daniel, then she’s hiding behind Stevie. Her mother always encourages her to be more… out there yet she disagrees. She can be whatever she wants to be, she’s 14, but she pressures herself to stick to one thing like an adult. She told me once about wanting to model as well and expressed how she wouldn’t do well like Stevie and our other sister would. I don’t know what made her think that; her brown skin and eyes made her glow, like she has her own spotlight. She’ll need to be encouraged more. Or perhaps I should just accommodate her and her camera shyness. She didn’t like being in front of the cameras.

Speaking of our sister. I look around and ask, “Where’s the other one?” 

“Causing ruckus somewhere in the pits,” Stevie jokes. I look at her with my frown becoming more obvious. What is she even doing in the pits? How did she even get in the pits? It was a question never asked yet Stevie has an answer to it. She tells me, “We met Lew in their area and he gave us access to the garages. Just to say hi to a couple people we might know. Now she’s probably running amuck in there—“

“Stupid, stupid, dumb boy,” I hear a hiss nearing us. Daniel peers over Maman’s head.

He gestures in her direction, “I think we found her.”

The middle of the three approaches us as she wraps her arm around me, still seething and her head rests on my chest. I turn to look at Maman and my other sisters, my forehead creasing as if I’m asking for an explanation. They’re just as clueless as I am.

I pat her on the back, “Daniel, this is Sylvie. Sylvie, that’s Daniel— the driver for Red Bull.” 

“Hi,” she nods curtly before her eyes burn with irritation and anger. She gives me a dirty look. “You know— if Father is giving you Red Bull, do you think you can fire that idiot?” 

Daniel’s eyes widen at the comment while Maman hisses at Sylvie, “Sylvie!” 

“What?” Sylvie scowls at our mother, “he’s such a bloody nuisance—ugh!”

“You’re not even telling us who it is, sweetheart,” Daniel pipes up, his face expressing amusement as he continues to goad Sylvie into spilling her feelings. 

“Verstappen! Did you know he’s the reserve driver for Toro Rosso?!” Sylvie stomps her feet like a child as she groans aloud. She’s so bloody dramatic. 

But hearing her answer makes me say, “Ahh. Max.” I can’t say anything else besides those two words; Sylvie despises Max Verstappen since god knows when… maybe at birth. The thing was that they’ve been best friends— like soul mates since birth so it wasn’t exactly hatred that they’ve shared for the past few years. She claims that she sees him all the time and “thinking about his ego gives her a migraine.”

And she quit racing. She enjoyed karting as much as Aimee did, but for some reason, she quit attending the tournaments two years ago. She pushed herself with modeling even more instead of joining Formula Three. My father wasn’t happy with that. Sometimes, I’d like to think that her hatred for Max would soon disappear and that he may be the reason why she quit. I’m not blaming him of course. But there should be a reason why she’s acting like that towards him, right?

“Tilly, please please promise me you’d fire him,” Sylvie whines dramatically, clutching onto my Red Bull jacket as I continue to stare at her. She’s growing taller and she’s beginning to look more like an adult, but her petulant behaviour says otherwise.

“No,” I pushed her off with a sigh, “I can’t do that, lovie.”

“Why not?”

“Because Verstappen is a good driver and if your sister did fire him everyone would chase after him. It would be a shame if Red Bull loses an asset,” Daniel answers for me, making me nod in agreement. 

“And he isn’t in Red Bull, love,” I explain, making her groan aloud. 

“He’s shitty,” Sylvie curses out, crossing her arms with a grumble, “he’s an ugly Neanderthal. He pisses me off to no end. You can be good at driving and be bloody handsome, you know? Clearly he doesn’t—“

I rolled my eyes, now turning to Daniel as my pager went off. Looking down at it, I give Daniel a once over and say, “Garage. Go now.” 

“Fine fine fine,” Daniel rolls his eyes before grinning at my family, “I’ll catch you pretty ladies later, yes? Sylv, maybe you can rant more about him later. If you want, I can pass a message.”

“Dis-lui que je le déteste,” tell him that I hate him. Sylvie tells him with a huff. Daniel gives me a look and I can only tell him, “Don’t worry about it. Go.”

“Get that P1, Daniel,” Maman tells him, making his grin stretch until it reaches both of his ears. 

Daniel winks at her, “I’ll make sure to dedicate my win to you, Mrs. Hearth!” He stalks off. I look at the four of them. 

“I’m going to the Mercedes zone to see Lewis,” I announced with a shrug.

Stevie’s eyes brighten at the announcement and she exclaims, “I’m coming along!” 

“Haven’t you seen him already?” Sylvie snickers—surprisingly happy now— beside me as I chuckle quietly, trying to avoid having to laugh loud. 

“You know,” Aimee begins with an evil smile, “some people might think that you’ve got you know… a crush on Lewis?” 

Stevie, who’s standing between the two, has taken the chance to reach out and pinch their sides. The girls cry out at the pain, leaving me no choice but to hit Stevie at the back of her head as lightly as I could. She pulls away, shooting the both of them a death glare. 

“You three,” I jeered, “if you won’t stop I’m going to leave.” 

It did not take long until Toto found me and met my family. Him finding me somehow made me think that he has some sort of antenna that’ll lead to me. How he manages to either come across me or find me is amazing. Like a mastermind.

It didn’t take my sisters long to catch onto the stories that Lewis clearly wanted to tell about the time spent with Toto. He was rather vocal about his feelings about the three being here — not wanting to save face and be pretentious around his teammate any longer. The interview yesterday was nothing but a way to avoid the fines— Lewis really didn’t want to act all friendly but had to do so. I was only there to make the situation better… somehow. Lewis texted me yesterday about how thankful he was to have me there for the interview.

“Tilly,” I look around and ask myself where the voice came from, only for me to find a 6’5 figure nearing me. Toto Wolff’s rare smile appears as I nod as a greeting. “Nervous?” 

“About my drivers?” I scoff, “No way. Are you?”

“Eh, I’m confident that Lewis and Nico would do a good job,” he answers lightly.

“I know my boys would do alright,” I murmur next to him, “but it seems like the power unit’s been fucking them over. At least Vettel is being fucked over by it.” 

“Well, let’s hope that doesn’t happen this time.” 

“Christian didn’t have an outburst in Austria for nothing,” I joke quietly, making him chuckle under his breath as he refrains from laughing. Oh my god. Handsome.

“Oi, lovebirds,” I sigh as we both turn around to face my siblings, my mother and Lewis. Sylvie continues to tease, “Tils, if you’re done being flustered—“

“I forgot how bloody blunt you are,” I interrupted her with a glare. She cheekily smiles as I look at Toto. I gesture at my family, “My sisters— from left to right are Aimee, Stevie, Sylvie. That’s my Mama. Everyone, this is Toto Wolff. He’s the Team Principal of Mercedes.” 

“Oh look at that,” Toto teases me with a smirk, pointing at their Mercedes hats, “everyone’s a Mercedes fan.” 

I roll my eyes, “They’re bound to run the teams you’ll be competing against, Toto. I wouldn’t be that excited.”

“But at least now I know where their hearts belong,” he continues with a shrug. He looks at my family, reaching out to shake my mother’s outstretched hand. “Pleasure to meet you all.” 

“Likewise,” my mom introduces herself, “Blanche Ford.” 

“Ah, you are the lovely Miss Ford that Tilly’s talking about,” he grins, his charm obviously taking effect on no one but me. “I finally found where your beauty came from, schatz.” 

My face suddenly feels warm as I look down to my feet, watching them as I rock back and forth. 

I didn’t notice Stevie slowly inching toward Lewis but I can hear her say, “Oh she is in love love.” I can’t even debate on anything in front of the person that they think I’m in love with. Am I not allowed to admire a fine specimen such as him? 

And Stevie is literally in love with Lewis! She’s been cracking the worst jokes ever and Lewis is laughing, she’s so proud of herself. She’s telling me, of all people, that I’m in love with the Mercedes team principal whereas she’s literally pining after his driver. 

“Hey Lew,” Sylvie then turns towards Lewis as he gives her a questioning look, “mind if you make Toro Rosso cry a little bit?” 

“Sylvie,” I warn her, “you cannot just say, ‘please make them lose a bit harder’ to someone just because you hate the reserve driver.”

Toto’s forehead creases at my warning. Sylvie ignores the look on his face as she says nonchalantly, “You’re right, I can just smack him in the face if I “accidentally” come across him at their garage.” 

“Stop resorting to violence,” Lewis tells her with a scowl, “there’s other ways to handle a situation than a fight.” Yeah, like he wouldn’t have done that last Monaco race.

My eyes peel away from the conversing people as I look at Toto, “I’m off soon enough. Are you ready?” 

“Ready,” he answers me with a nod. “Will you be there at our after party if we win?”

“I’m not exactly the full on party kind, to be honest,” I tell him, “it gets overwhelming talking to people. It doesn’t sound as bad, though. But it’ll get overwhelming at some point.”

“Fair enough,” he agrees before pausing, then he looks at me once more and asks, “How does dinner sound?” 

My mouth did not even hesitate to answer, “Depends. If either Red Bull or Mercedes get a podium then sure.” As if I was expecting it to happen. Toto felt the same, I think. He didn’t take a second to think about his next move as he continued,

“If we get a first?”

I shrug out, “Well, I’ve got no clue just yet.” 

“I’m looking forward to it then,” he grins. 

Yeah, Mercedes is definitely getting a podium today. 

“You’re thinking again,” my mother says, pulling me back into reality as I shake my head and glance at her. “That must be hurting your head.”

“Maman—“

“I’m joking, ma fille.” 

It’s so hard to lie to someone who practically knows everything about you. Even the dirty laundries I’ve never aired out? Yeah, she knows about them yet she never mentions anything. 

She pays attention to details as she’s used to staying at home as a mother. She told me once that she has enough money that she doesn’t need to work, but she writes under pen names that eventually makes her a lot more than what one should have. Her marriage and divorce clearly never stopped her from pursuing her dream all while she takes care of her three daughters by herself.

Julius Hearth, I rarely call him father now, divorced Maman shortly after Sylvie was born. I was 13 and with enough support from the staff in the household, Maman was able to cope without endangering herself nor anyone. Was I ever thankful for having a chauffeur? Absolutely. If it wasn’t for Jordan, the lovely driver, I wouldn’t have been able to get home earlier so I can spend my time with my sisters. Maman was resting, and I always made sure she’s doing that. 

Now that she’s feeling better, she’s managed to get back up and running. The Mother’s Day celebration in our middle school had her running across the field with bare feet. She certainly loved the game especially when Stevie and I were screaming our ears off. She began taking Stevie to her karting class, which then changed into modeling the moment my sister claimed to work as a model. 

So throughout my life, she could sense the emotions deep inside her daughters. She could tell which career we wanted to have and if she was able to support it. 

She could tell anyone a thing or two about themselves just by looking. So it wasn’t a surprise that she decided to deduce me. 

And since she kindly observed what I’m thinking, I decided that this is the right time to discuss the shitshow that we call Julius Hearth. 

“Father is naming me as the shareholder for his teams,” I’m staring at her as if I’m feeling so solemn about such a matter. “And he’s giving me everything. Did you know that?” 

“Yes and no,” Maman tells me. I’m so glad the girls aren’t here and being watched by our personal guard as they prepare themselves to watch at the grandstand. I didn’t want to expose them to this for now.

Maman continues, “I knew he was going to give up his position in his teams but I didn’t think he’d pass it down to you. Or to your sisters for that matter.” 

“He wants me to hold ownership on those teams and his money, Ma,” I tell her, “all because he wants that promotion at the FIA and to keep Red Bull on a leash.” 

“He only said he trusts you and your sisters enough to do his part,” she sighs, her sympathetic smile can be interpreted as a charming one. “I wish I could do more but… I’ve no place in power.” 

The sad truth is: she’s right. She can only do so much with the company. Even if I’ve taken her in, word would still get out to father. He still doesn’t trust her, despite being the one to cheat and be absent in the household. 

“Toto is a decade older than you,” I must have zoned out again because her voice drowned out while my eyes squinted. But her voice returns the moment she mentions him. 

The cold tone on her voice after saying that has me questioning her. She then continues, “Much like your father is to me, Tilly. He’s an older man.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask her, actually curious about what she’s insinuating. 

“Just—be careful with him,” she tells me quietly, her voice warning me like she’s been there before. She had been there. She married our father when she was 28 and he was 40. “Older men, no matter the validation they’d give you, would hold their maturity above your own. I’m not saying most men but… be careful when you’re falling in love with someone who’s seen more in the world than you have.

“They tend to hide that away from you.” 

Her advice, while it’s something to remember, has me laughing as if it is actually a joke. But still, a piece of it was etched into my heart and brain. “I’ve only met him,” I shrug and deny, “I don’t think I’d fall for him that fast.”

She rolls her eyes as if she doesn’t believe it. She says, “With how you two looked at the picture? Some are already saying that you’re smitten. Just as he is. I think you should give him a shot.” 

“Oh, Maman,” my eyes narrowed at the comment, “Don’t believe what you see on the internet.” 

“I’m just telling you what I can see,” she giggles quietly, finally standing up and gestures, “Come on, do you really want to miss out on Lewis winning?” 

“I’m supposed to be rooting for Red Bull,” I mutter to myself, standing as I begin to take her to where the girls are.

At first, I wanted to ask myself why she brought up Toto as if I was meant for him. I wanted to ask her what made her think that I’m even willing to try things out just like the others are thinking. 

But everyone is slowly seeing it as much as I am seeing it. For such a short period, he has already decided to do the things he wouldn’t normally do just to reach out to me. In this busy weekend alone, he’s managed to squeeze me into his schedule no matter how stressed he looked before everything. He acts as if he’s much calmer than me when he has a whole team and another to run. 

Maybe my mother is warning me about the price that relationship may come with. Perhaps she’s afraid that the fate I want for myself isn’t something that I’ll get if I continue on with this.

Or she’s just scared that she’ll have to watch that scene again. But instead of her falling apart, it’s me this time. 

Who knows. 

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

chapter 6

warnings: warnings: warnings: swearing, divorce, suggestive jokes, Roman makes self deprecating jokes (mostly about his weight and money situation), kate is an asshole and drunk, mention of sex

“Kate.” Roman growled. “Don’t.” My gaze kept flicking between the two. My mind was trying to piece together how those two had ever gotten together in the first place. Especially when Kate looked like she belonged on the cover of Forbes or vogue or something, expensive clothes and jewelry paired together.

“why not?” She asked, pouting. “Never took you for the goth type.” Roman tensed and I tried to pull away from him but he held me tightly. She looked me over and Roman pushed me behind him slightly.

"What the fuck do you want Kate?" Roman asked, sighing and squeezing my arm where it was still wrapped around him. "I don't have the kids. You know that. It's your time with them." Kate rolled her eyes at him.

"But you were supposed to pick them up from Chet's an hour ago asshole." She snapped. Roman frowned and looked at his watch.

"No I wasn't." He said. "I don't get them until next weekend. Since your wonderful lawyer decided I wasn't fit to be alone with them for more than a few hours a week." I tightened my hold on Roman as Kate narrowed her eyes at him. “Thanks for that by the way.” Kate rolled her eyes.

“Well if you’re going to be such a stuck up asshole…” Kate trailed off turning her gaze to me. “Maybe I should tell this bitch…”

“Katherine!” Roman cried as loud as he dared since we were still in the hallway.

“Just what kind of man you are.” She continued, giving him an evil grin. Roman tightened his hold on me and pushed me further behind him. She started walking over towards us, swaying with every step.

“Dammit.” Roman muttered. “She’s drunk.”

“so what do we do?” I whispered. Roman kept himself between the two of us as he moved towards his door.

“follow my lead. We’ll lock her out here and I’ll call…I don’t even know who she’s dating right now.” Roman winced as Kate fell into the wall with a thud. “Fuck it I’ll call Connie.” Roman managed to get his door open and both of us inside as Kate slid down the wall.

“Roman!” She yelled as Roman locked the door, leaning heavily on it and taking a deep breath. “Why won’t you have sex with me anymore?” I raised an eyebrow at that.

“last argument we had. During the filings. She showed up drunk and I was pissed off and she wanted a friends with benefits thing. I said no. So she…started screaming about our sex life in front of the judge.” Roman shrugged.

“how she ever got custody of your kids I’ll never understand.” I shook my head.

“I lied remember? And she blamed me on the mine shaft thing. Said I was supposed to be watching them when she told them to stay in the car.” Roman responded. He finally found the phone number he’d been looking for and dialed. “Connie? Oh hi Chet. No everything…well Kate’s outside my door…yeah asking why I didn’t pick up the girls…right…” while Roman talked to his brother in law I sat down on his couch. I ran my hands over my face and glanced at the door where Kate was still yelling after Roman.

“roman?” I said softly. He looked up and told Chet to hold on. “Tell him to be quick or someone’s gonna call the cops.” Roman nodded and relaid my message.

“yeah…I guess…thanks Chet. Say good night to the girls for me.” Roman said before hanging up. “Their car broke down.” He said, smirk on his face.

“how convenient.” I said, leaning into him. We listened to Kate for a minute before I tilted my head to look up at him. “Should we be the ones to call?” Roman chuckled and grabbed the phone again.

“I don’t see why not.” He said dialing the phone. “Yes hello. I’d like to report a public disturbance. There is a drunk woman screaming outside my apartment. Late 30s. Dark hair. Caucasian. Well dressed.” Roman paused for a second before giving the building number and his apartment number. “Ok. Thank you.” He hung up and looked at me with a smile. “Not the first complaint of the night.” We both started laughing as Kate moved on to complaining about how roman was in bed.

“For fucks sake does she ever talk about anything but sex?” I groaned. Roman rolled his eyes.

“money.” He said. “Which I don’t have so she can’t complain about that.” Roman took a deep breath before taking my hand. “Come on. It should be quieter in my bedroom.”

“taking me to your bedroom already Mr. Craig? I’m flattered.” I giggled. Roman chuckled as he led me down the hall to his room.

“It was only a matter of time before I brought you here anyway.” Roman teased. “Maybe not for nefarious purposes but I mean I’ve got a tv in here and we can cuddle. Beds pretty comfortable honestly. I mean not the softest or firmest but…” I kissed Roman and cupped his cheeks.

“Roman.” I smiled softly at him. “You don’t have to sell me on it. I know we’re not going to do anything back here. I’m happy just to cuddle with you.” Roman smiled at me before kissing me softly again.

“ok.” He whispered. “I just…with Kate…” Roman sighed as we both climbed on the bed. I laid on his chest, tilting my head against his neck. Roman wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. I put my hand over his heart and closed my eyes, smiling softly as he turned on the tv. “You ok?” He asked finally. “I know meeting Kate that way wasn’t on your list of things to do.”

“I don’t think it was even on my list to begin with.” I chuckled, rubbing his chest. “Like at all. I don’t know what I expected but it wasn’t her. I didn’t think I could honestly. Whenever you talked about her, I just wanted to hit her. She put you through so much Roman. So much unnecessary shit. I just…” Roman tilted my head up and kissed me hard.

My lips moved against his, hands curling into the black sweater he was wearing. I hummed as he pulled back for a second before diving back in. Roman rolled me on my back, hands framing my hips. Lowering himself, Roman’s forearms trapped me on the bed. I wrapped my arms around his neck and tugged him further down onto me. I played with his hair as we lazily made out.

“Roman.” I moaned as he ground down against me. Roman paused and drew back. I stared up at him with a smile.

“spend the night.” He whispered. “Please. Spend the night.”

“I’d love to.” I breathed out. Roman smiled and buried his face in my neck. He leaned more of his weight against me. “I do need to go back to my apartment for pajamas though.” Roman shook his head.

“wear mine.” Roman whispered. I smiled up at his ceiling.

“if you think you can handle it.” I teased. Roman pulled back with a smile.

“I think I can.” He responded before kissing me soundly.

[tennessoui]

democratic fic part two

(democratic fic masterlist) (5k)

Four days after meeting Obi-Wan Kenobi for the first time, Anakin has an unexpected and incredibly unfortunate break in his schedule. 

“Are you sure about pulling down the committee meeting?” He asks, verging on desperate. His eyes look through the tinny figure of his fellow senator and out through the transparisteel windows of his office. Coruscant moves around him, early morning settling gently into early afternoon. “It was supposed to be four hours.” “Yes,” Senator Amidala says very slowly. “And everything on the agenda can be discussed via written missive. We do not need to physically meet to discuss things that can wait until after the coming assembly—”

“But I think I’ve found a solution!” Anakin interrupts, no longer bordering desperation but rather falling directly into near-begging.

“A solution,” Senator Amidala repeats. “To…galactic slavery in the Outer Rim?”

Anakin’s eyebrows furrow and his lips purse. “Yes.”

“Oh, by all means then,” the tiny comm figure crosses her arms, tilting her head to look disbelievingly at Anakin. “Please, tell me.”

Fierfek.

“Kill…them.”

“Kill them,” Senator Amidala repeats. “Kill the slavers?”

“...yes,” Anakin says and then winces, knowing what’s to come.

Senator Amidala puts her hands on her hips as she tries to stare him down through the poor connection of the holo comm. “Alright,” Padmé decides. “What is going on, Anakin? You haven’t suggested such a policy since your first year on Coruscant when you actually started learning about how politics worked.”

Anakin scowls and looks away, jaw clenching and then unclenching. Most days, he still doesn’t think his younger self was wrong to advocate for the death of all slave owners, but Padmé is right: he knows better now than to say that. That’s how he and Padmé have managed to build and maintain their friendship over the years, even though their policies and values couldn’t look more starkly different on paper: Anakin swallows his words, and Padmé pretends she did not see him move as though to speak.

“Nothing is going on, Senator,” Anakin replies with a mutter, rubbing a hand over his eyes and then down his face. If she is calling him by his first name then it means that the official part of their business has concluded. Reaching up, he unpins his hair and tosses the ceremonial hair-piece to the side. It makes a heavy clunk as it lands on his desk. “I was simply looking forward to that meeting.”

“Banthashit,” Padmé surmises immediately. Anakin scowls. He hates when she— “Ani, ten years ago if someone told you that one of your four hour long meetings was cancelled, you’d be halfway down to the lower levels by now.”

“Maybe I’ve grown up,” Anakin replies and then winces again.

“If only the growing up had happened six months ago,” Padmé’s tone turns sharp. “Perhaps before the holonews were flooded with pictures of you pressing some podracer bunny up against an illegal pod we both know you’ve been flying for decades, hands stars know where—”

Anakin remembers exactly where his hands were, but he thinks probably that information is better kept between him, the stars, the woman he’d slept with that night, and all of the users of the Holonet who had thought to raise the brightness on those photos.

“You almost sound jealous,” Anakin’s mouth moves without his permission, and he can’t stop the wince that follows because karking stars, he shouldn’t have said that.

Padmé laughs, which is almost more offensive than anything else she could have said. “Of your image in the media? No, I wouldn’t say so, actually. Just tell me what is wrong, Anakin. You do not have to pretend to be so alone.”

Anakin feels his eyebrows furrow and a sneer grow at the edge of his mouth. Pretend? Rich, coming from Padmé Amidala, who grew up surrounded by people her age, other girls who adored her, a large family who loved her as well. Anakin did not have to pretend to be alone. He simply is and has been for more of his life than he hasn’t.

But…if Padmé is so insistent on being helpful, then…maybe she could help him solve his sudden and dire problem.

“There’s this boy,” Anakin tells her before he can think better of it.

Any malcontent seems to wash from her face at this confession, and her mouth falls open in surprise. “There’s a boy?” Her eyebrows fly down into a suspicious look. “How young is this boy?”

“Scandalously so,” Anakin admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Anakin—”

“I know, I do,” he cuts her off quickly. “But he is a visiting dignitary, the grandson of a Count who wants to get into politics—”

“Anakin, a boy saying he wants to get into politics does not mean you should take him into your bed—”

“That isn’t what’s happened, Padmé, come on. He just—he requested that I escort him around Coruscant for an afternoon, and I couldn’t say no, his grandfather and the Chancellor were right there, alright, I’m not a monster. But I am uninterested in pursuing the boy—the scandal that being seen alone with him would bring me….”

Padmé’s eyes narrow. “What does this have to do with our committee’s meeting.”

“I told him that I would comm him should I have free time to escort him, Padmé! I am honor-bound to see that vow to its conclusion.”

The tiny figure of his friend raises her eyebrows. “Genuinely, you are not,” she says, but her words do not soothe the part of him that insists he must follow through on his word—the part of him that knows he will be comming Kenobi within minutes of ending his call with Padmé.

“I am,” he insists, resting his hands on the desk in front of him. Perhaps not as gently or as naturally as he would like, he adds, “but if you were to escort me escorting him, there would be no scandal for the holonews to write about.”

Padmé blinks. “I’m sorry?” “Think about it,” Anakin says, tone edging back into desperation. “If you accompany me, he will assume we are together and any interest he may harbor for me outside his ambitions in the Senate will dwindle.” Without Anakin having to say anything one way or another, which is the best scenario Anakin’s thought of yet.

Though to be fair, he does not know if Kenobi has any interest in him in that way. After all, he had also flirted with Palpatine’s secretary. 

But, a tiny, self-satisfied voice points out in the back of his mind, he did not ask her to show him around Coruscant, did he?

He shakes his head quickly to dislodge the thought. What he has to be self-satisifed about, he doesn’t know. Kenobi’s appreciation of him, perhaps the boy’s infatuation with him,  will only cause him problems if he does not act to rid him of it.

“You won’t be in any meetings, will you?” he adds innocently, and when Padmé does not immediately scold him for the cheek, he knows he’s won.

After all, they have been good friends for years now, and she stepped up to guide and mentor him when he first arrived on Coruscant to be Senator of Tatooine. Their names are tied together on the holonews—any scandal that Senator Skywalker invites reflects badly on Senator Amidala.

“Alright,” she relents. “I will join you two.” The edge of her mouth curls up into a smile. “It will be an excellent jaunt down memory lane, won’t it, Ani? I have not had to act as your shield against suitors since we were in our twenties.”

“Yes, well. Who knew you would have to reprise the role?” 

“Certainly not me,” Padmé tells him archly. “After all, from what I’ve seen, you’ve been handling your suitors just fine.”

—--------

Kenobi is, of course, free. His comm message comes through perhaps half a minute after Anakin had sent him an inquiry as to his schedule for the rest of the day, given that Anakin’s own had opened up rather unexpectedly.

Yes, Kenobi types. I will be free at 1700. Perhaps we can meet at the North Entrance of the Senate Sector Gardens? I have always thought they looked beautiful from the outside.

Anakin wrinkles his nose and wonders if he can beg off because of allergies. The Senate Sector Gardens are, in Anakin’s mind, one of the most offensive displays of wealth and greed on Coruscant. They are open most of the calendar year, regardless of the manufactured temperature of the planet. This is because each of the plants grow inside a near invisible force field, one that carefully monitors the temperature and humidity and soil texture of its plant. It’s Coruscanti artifice at its most beautiful.

But, he remembers, a walk through the gardens has a set beginning and end point: a destination where he can separate from Kenobi, duty fulfilled and honor intact.

Of course, Anakin replies. I will meet you there at 1700.

Kenobi does not respond, and Anakin does not think anything of it until he sees him several hours later, waiting quite docilely with his hands behind his back as he appears to study the entry requirements of the gardens.

He must not have responded to Anakin’s comm because he must have thrown his own down and spent the next five hours getting ready.

Stars.

The curse is apt, at least, as upon his approach, he sees that the boy has placed strategic flecks of silver glitter on every one of his freckles, and the boy has many cascading down his shoulders and back, which is bare to Anakin’s eyes. A silver chain rests loosely against the dip of his lower back. There are freckles made into stars here, too, at the base of his spine, Anakin’s eyes tell his brain, as if this is necessary information to know.

Kenobi turns around, as if waiting for him to get closer. His smile is bright, a flash of white teeth framed by deep dimples. The neck of his tunic stretches almost up to his chin, but his shoulders are bare, the edges of his clavicles visible before the dark blue fabric stretches up his neck. 

He has woven silvery chunks of metal into the fall of his hair, and they hit the light each time he moves his head even slightly.

Anakin is quite upset to realize that his memory of the boy does not quite do him justice. His eyes are paler, his hair a crisper strawberry blonde. He’d somehow forgotten the beauty marks on his face, a faint one on his forehead and the other on his cheek. What a great disservice Anakin had done him by forgetting these marks.

“Hello, Senator,” Kenobi says, stepping forward and offering up his hand. Anakin would be a fool  to take it. He would be a fool to scorn him. He takes his hand and brushes a kiss over his knuckles, lips catching on the cool bands of metal that frame his knuckles. Rings, each with intricate patterns and bright jewels set into them. “You look lovely.” Anakin does not, of course, having worn the same dark clothes he wore to the Senate today.

“I think the dark tones suit you,” Kenobi adds, hand coming to rest on the large wine-red collar of Anakin’s outer tunic. “It makes you look powerful.”

“I thought you said I looked lovely,” Anakin replies, taking an unnecessary yet completely rational step closer to the boy. His hand is still extended between them, laying almost on his chest. It looks rather delicate—pale and willowy against the darkness of Anakin’s robes.

Obi-Wan has painted his eyelids a glittering silver, a color just a few shades lighter than his eyes. It’s…enthralling, especially when the boy looks up at him from beneath his pale eyelashes. “Do you not believe that something can be both lovely and powerful at the same time, Senator?” 

Anakin has the unignorable and quite worrying feeling that he is looking at one such thing now. The boy’s hand is still on his chest. There are very good reasons why this cannot continue, and Anakin is quite sure he recalls them all.

“Powerful things are not lovely,” he murmurs. “Not by their nature. But lovely things…” Kenobi cocks his head as Anakin trails off. A piece of his hair falls out of its delicate arrangement and rests against his cheek. Anakin watches his hand reach out and grasp the strand as if he was not in control of his body. He carefully tucks it behind Kenobi’s ear, only just realizing that the boy has draped his ear with a dangling, sparkling silver chain that wraps along the shell, threads through the lobe and hangs down almost to his shoulder. Kenobi shivers at the touch of his finger. The reaction makes Anakin’s mouth dry. “Lovely things are always powerful, one way or another.”

When their eyes meet once more, Kenobi’s seem to have darkened considerably. A faint flush has bloomed across his cheeks. 

“Anakin!” A voice cuts through the charged moment, and Anakin steps back from the boy automatically, as if he’s been caught red-handed. He hasn’t been caught at all.

Obi-Wan’s face shutters at the interruption, though his eyes remain fixed on Anakin’s face, like he expects Anakin to get rid of the intruder and return his attention to Obi-Wan alone.

Unfortunately for him, Anakin had invited this intruder.

“Padmé,” he says, turning from the boy completely to face her. He even holds out his arm for her to loop hers through, thinking that maybe such a gesture is overkill until he catches sight of Kenobi’s sour expression and the way his eyes are focussed with laser-like intensity on where Anakin’s arm is covered by Padmé’s hand. “You look wonderful.” Padmé had dressed in a soft pink outfit, like the sky just as dawn breaks. With a wide golden headband and her hair loosely braided, she did look wonderful.

And yet Anakin couldn’t stop thinking that she paled in comparison to Kenobi.

“Thank you,” Padmé replies gracefully, smiling up at him the same way she did when he was twenty and she twenty-five. It makes her look girlish and soft around the edges, and Anakin can barely stop himself from snorting. He knows her too well to fall for such an act after all these years.

But Obi-Wan Kenobi does not.

“Sorry,” the boy says, not sounding very sorry at all, “who are you?”

Padmé’s smile turns a hair more genuine as she turns to look at Kenobi. “My name is Padmé Amidala, young one. Ani said you were interested in learning more about Coruscanti politics? I am one of the senators of Naboo.”

Kenobi scowls. “I’m twenty-three,” he says, no sign of the temptress angel anywhere in his tone or face. He ignores the last part of Padmé’s question, running his hand over and behind his ear instead—perhaps subconsciously copying Anakin’s touch. 

“When you’re our age, young one, everyone thirty years and below looks young,” Padmé replies, waving her hand through the air with a slight smile.

“Your own failure to age with grace should hardly color the faces of all those younger than you, my lady,” Obi-Wan says rather scathingly. “Such a mindset is indicative of an underdeveloped and immature worldview, one I am surprised to hear come from a senator. I am twenty-three.”

His eyes land once more on Anakin’s arm, and his lips soften from a scowl into something more closely resembling a pout.

For a man who insists on being treated like a fully-fledged adult, he certainly knows how to look rather young and indubitably pathetic.

Anakin sighs inwardly and offers his other arm to Obi-Wan. The boy’s face lightens considerably as he accepts it, and Anakin feels suddenly infused with a strange sense of warmth, almost like he can feel the boy’s pleasure wrapping around his mind.

Maybe he can—after all, the boy was trained in the Force, up to a certain point at least. That sort of control and power isn’t so quickly forgotten, despite how many years it’s been since he received a proper education. After all, Anakin had had several lessons in the Force when he was a teenager, once it was clear that even though he was too old to be trained as a Jedi, his connection with the Force was not fading and in fact only growing more feral and out of control.

Instead of simply locking their arms together as Padmé had, the boy curls his hand to rest on top of the length of his arm, bare fingers touching his bare wrist.

The scamp, Anakin cannot help but think. He keeps his face resolutely straight forward as he leads them both into the gardens, ignoring whatever look Padmé is shooting him. 

What was he supposed to do? The little harlot was pouting up at him like he’d broken his heart and left him for dead simply because he’d given Padmé attentions he hadn’t given Kenobi. And Anakin isn’t a monster.

“Shall we?” He says, not giving Padmé time to speak or Obi-Wan time to protest.

“I hadn’t realized you would invite another,” Obi-Wan says finally, after several minutes of tense silence.

Anakin makes sure to shrug artlessly, carelessly. “I remembered you told the Chancellor that you were interested in immersing yourself in Coruscanti politics over this next season. He advised me to bring along another Senator so that you could begin to make connections.”

Obi-Wan falters for half a moment, head snapping to look at Anakin’s face. “He did?” he asks, sounding rather strange. Perhaps slightly disconcerted that the Chancellor had opinions and advice on his life.

Palpatine hadn’t said anything to that effect of course. All he’d said about the Count’s grandson after they’d left the office had been a short and rather mysterious: “Be careful with that one, my dear boy.”

Anakin hadn’t liked the idea—or rather, the reality—that even the Chancellor of the Force-damned Republic not only knew of Anakin’s…appetites, but also felt the need to warn him away from scandal.

“What did he say?” Kenobi insists, hand tightening on his wrist, like he’s considering jerking Anakin to a stand-stil. 

“Nothing of note,” Anakin reassures him. “Only that it may do me well to help you find your way.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrow, as if silently calling the words banthashit in his mind. He’d be right, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that.

A moment later, his face smooths out, as if a change has overcome him. His eyes brighten and widen, and his grip softens significantly. “And would you, Senator?”

“Uh,” Anakin says, distracted by the appearance of a moue between the boy’s eyebrows. “Would I what?”

“Guide me,” Obi-Wan replies, finally pulling Anakin to a stop in the middle of the garden path. “You are in need of an aide, I checked the Senate accountant files myself. I know it wouldn’t pay much,” his nose wrinkles at the thought, and a part of Anakin has to stop himself from snorting. Most honest jobs would pay less than being a Count’s grandson. “But I would be such a hard worker. Diligent and passionate.”

“Uh,” Anakin says, unsure if the emphasis he’s hearing on certain words really exists or if his dirty mind is tricking him into all the ways Obi-Wan Kenobi could be a hard, diligent, passionate worker. 

“Do you have a resumé of past work experience?” Padmé asks with interest from Anakin’s other side. He almost startles, having forgotten she was there at all, despite her holding his arm. 

Obi-Wan’s face scowls as he remembers her presence as well. “I may,” he says shortly.

“I would be interested in taking a look,” Padmé says with all the grace of a queen. “At least I could perhaps offer some insight. At best, I myself am looking for another aide—”

“I thought all of your staff had to bear a resemblance to you in order to work in your office,” Obi-Wan lifts his nose in the air and turns away from both Anakin and Padmé. “I should sooner die than bear that burden.”

Anakin chokes slightly on thin air and then on the ghost of a chuckle when he realizes what Obi-Wan’s just said. Padmé lets out a vaguely offended noise, and Anakin pats her on the arm. “There, there,” he says in an undertone as he watches Obi-Wan stalk further up the path from them. The loose chain against his lower back swings with each step, and Anakin finds himself halfway to entranced just watching it move.

“He is incredibly….” Padmé trails off with a shake of her head.

“Beautiful, I know it,” Anakin agrees, running his eyes up to linger on the boy’s rather muscular back.

“I was going to say spoiled,” Padmé replies with an arch of her eyebrow. “Conceited, in fact. Catty, not to mention outright rude.”

“There, there,” Anakin repeats, patting her arm once more. “You know you’re beautiful as well. The opinions of a twenty-three year old hardly matter.”

Padmé arches one fine eyebrow, but before she can say in return, Obi-Wan is calling Anakin’s name from further onward.

Anakin goes, only realizing he has let go of Padmé when he arrives by Obi-Wan’s side unencumbered. “Yes?”

“Look,” Obi-Wan murmurs, eyes fixed on a fully-bloomed light blue rose, growing out of harsh, dry desert soil. “They say it is from Jakku.”

Anakin hums, looking between Obi-Wan and the rose. “Do you have—some sort of connection with Jakku?” “I’ve never visited a desert planet,” Obi-Wan tells him lightly, fingers hovering over the forcefield protecting the plant. “Tatooine is one though, yes?”

Anakin grunts his agreement.

“Do you believe something as beautiful as this could grow on Tatooine?”

“This isn’t even growing on Jakku,” Anakin points out rather dismissively. “Beautiful, fragile things do not last long on desert worlds.”

Obi-Wan does not reply for long moments, studying the rose. “Stewjon is a desert world,” he finally murmurs, allowing his hand to drop once more to its side. “I was shocked when I found out…I have no memories of the planet. The Jedi took me when I was quite young, you see. Just a babe. But when Dooku found me, he took me there.”

“I thought you said—”

“I requested that we leave before the ship even broke atmo,” Obi-Wan admits quietly. “I knew just from circling the planet that it was not my home. It could never be my home.” He looks once more at the rose before turning to study Anakin, expression unreadable. A moment later, his face breaks into a small smile. “I’m far too pale and fair for a desert planet, I would burn to a crisp within a week.”

“When I’ve visited Tatooine, I’ve worn light protective cloth and escaped without a single burn,” Padmé remarks, having silently come to stand beside Anakin’s side. “You do not have to renounce your home just because you feel as if you are ill-suited for it.”

Whatever vulnerable light that had been shining in Obi-Wan’s eyes shutter once more at the interruption. “I like to think that the planet is ill-suited for me, Senator, not the other way around.”

“Does Serenno suit you more?” Anakin asks curiously, allowing Obi-Wan to take his arm once more. 

Obi-Wan grins, a small, artificial thing. “Does it look as if it suits me, Senator?”

Anakin swallows rather uncomfortably. It does, of course. Obi-Wan Kenobi looks resplendent and wonderful and angelic and lovely. He knows better than to say this.

As a group, they move further into the gardens. After perhaps an hour, Obi-Wan stops frowning whenever Padmé speaks, settling into a chilly sort of acceptance rather than throwing out outright insults.

Over a particularly rough patch of cobblestoned path, Padmé trips, and Anakin moves to catch her automatically.

Whatever progress Obi-Wan and Padmé have made withers and dies the moment Obi-Wan turns from examining a hanging vine to see Anakin’s eyes wrapped securely around her waist, her hands braced on his chest.

Thirty minutes of what Anakin can only describe as bitching later, Padmé decides to take her leave. They’ve barely started through the section of the gardens dedicated to the Mid-Rim planets, but Padmé will not be convinced to stay.

“Ani, if he says one rude thing about Naboo’s greenery, we may come to blows,” she tells him in an undertone as Obi-Wan moves ahead of them, carefully examining each plaque beneath each plant—looking, no doubt, for the ones from Naboo, for no other reason than to release barbed and vitriolic comments.

“Padmé, come on, you know the risk of scandal should I—”

“It occurred to me several hours ago that you never said that you did not want to sleep with him,” Padmé interrupts, eyebrow raised. “Just that you were uninterested in pursuing him because of the scandal.”

Anakin flushes. “I am uninterested in sleeping with him.”

Now, both of Padmé’s eyebrows raise. “You would lie to me so blatantly after I just spent the last two hours putting my life on the line as a favor for you?”

“You’ve hardly put your life on the line—”

“Either tell him you will not fuck him or fuck him somewhere private. Where no holo cameras can find you,” Padmé says in a very no-nonsense tone.

“Pads—”

“And then after, refer him to my office,” she adds, looking down the path at the boy. “He’s quite—lethal. If you do not want him as your aide, I’ll take him as mine.”

Anakin blinks. “What?” he says. “He hates you.”

“Then be a dear and fuck it out of him,” Padmé replies archly. “He could be useful if all that hate was directed a different way.”

“I don’t want to fuck him,” Anakin protests far too loudly. His eyes dart to Obi-Wan, but the boy seems distracted by a venus fly-trap from Dereak.

Padmé looks pitying and unamused. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Ani. Please don’t tell me the details.”

Anakin scowls and opens his mouth to argue once more. Before he can, she turns and leaves in a tidal wave of soft pink. 

He hates it when she does that.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says when Anakin comes to stand next to him. “Did your friend leave?” The brat.

Anakin purses his lips. “She had somewhere to be,” he lies.

“How unfortunate,” Obi-Wan lies in return, and Anakin’s lips twitch up into a slight smile before he schools his expression.

“We should hurry through the rest,” he says, “as it is almost dark.”

“Yes, of course,” Obi-Wan says, entirely docile once more like a loth-kitten allowing its fur to be smoothed flat now that the danger has left.

Anakin shakes his head. If the boy is serious about getting into politics, the first thing he should learn is how to be a better actor—or at least, how to better control his emotions.

“I was thinking,” Obi-Wan tells him thirty minutes later, twilight now fully taking over the Coruscanti upper levels. “This was quite fun and very educational.”

“Yes,” Anakin agrees, only slightly reluctantly, but he cannot pretend that he did not have fun. Obi-Wan’s company has been surprisingly pleasant, the boy surprisingly endearing. 

“Thank you for acting as my escort,” Obi-Wan adds, gently touching the back of Anakin’s hand.

“You’re welcome,” he replies rather roughly. The twilight throws fascinating shadows over the lines of Obi-Wan’s face. He shines in the pale light, like something truly ethereal.

“But this is not really Coruscant,” Obi-Wan says, blinking up at Anakin’s face. “It is too…artificial. It reminds me of the Jedi Temple gardens: carefully tended to and carefully curated. Incredibly fake.”

Anakin had thought the same thing when Obi-Wan first suggested the location. “I feel the same way,” he says, feeling as if he is walking into a trap.

“I would like to see the Lower Levels,” the boy says. It sounds like a demand, and it must to the boy as well, because he adds a nice little please at the end.

It doesn’t do much to soften the blow of the words. “The Lower Levels?”

Obi-Wan nods, looking quite serious. “We could get something to eat down there, you could show me what Coruscant is truly like! Please, Senator, this is the only home I have—I want to see it all now that I have returned!” “You can’t go down to the Lower Levels dressed like that,” Anakin shakes his head and rubs his free hand over his mouth as he looks at the boy. “Stars, you’d be torn to shreds.”

“You’d protect me,” Obi-Wan says confidently. Too confidently. Anakin resents the assumption the boy has made, similar to the one Padmé had made: that he wants this boy. That he will go out of his way for him.

“No,” he says, shaking Kenobi’s hands off him. “I will not, young one. The Senate meets for assembly tomorrow, and—”

“Please,” Obi-Wan interrupts, voice shaking. “I would like to see them, and you make me feel safe, Senator—” “And I said no, Kenobi,” Anakin snaps, and Obi-Wan recoils as if he has been slapped.

The rejection hangs in the air between them for several still moments before Obi-Wan throws back his shoulders and tosses his hair back. “Fine,” the boy sniffs, somehow looking cooly down his nose at him, despite their height difference.

He spins on his foot and stalks away from him. 

“Where are you going?” Anakin snaps, moving forward to keep up with the boy without consciously deciding to follow him. “It is late and dark—I must ensure you get back to your apartments—”

“I’m going down to the lower levels,” Obi-Wan declares, halting in his path to glare at Anakin. The garden lights have flickered on as the night fully descends. The golden lights of the floating orb fixtures dance across Obi-Wan’s face and make his eyes glow slightly as well. “Without you if I must.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin starts, but Obi-Wan turns his cheek away from him.

“Must I?” he demands, blue-gold eyes finding Anakin’s and fixing him in place. “Must I go alone, Senator?”

[imaginesmai]

Once upon a fairy tale - Ubbe Ragnarson (1)

First part is here! I have almost finished the story, so expect one part per day BECAUSE I NEED TO SHARE IT.

Other parts: Once Upon A Fairy Tale Masterlist

Plot: just like any other summer, you have to leave your country. Just like any other summer, Ubbe has to open his to your annoying presence.

Warnings: none, maybe mentions of sex and nakedness.

-

“I think I might be sick”

“You aren’t”

“Maybe I’ve got the chicken pox. Have you heard about it? At least half of – “

“You haven’t”

“Storms seasons have barely finished. Would it be safe for the last remain of our dynasty to take that risk?”

“It is”

“Father, I don’t think – “

“We have the same argument every year, darling” your father sighed, finally looking up from the mountain of papers on his desk. “You’ve already faked the chicken pox twice, you got food poisoning on purpose last year and the storm season finished two moons ago. So, unless the kingdom is about to crumble in the next hours, we’re leaving”

“It might” you muttered, looking angrily at the hem of your dress. “It might”

You knew it was pointless to argue with him, but each time, you tried. The chicken pox wasn’t actually an original idea, but Ubbe’s, who tried a year before you. And no one had any proof of the princess sneaking into the kitchens in the middle of the night to drink expired milk. You made sure of that.

None of them had worked. For the past sixteen years, princess Y/N Ealhmunding have spent the summer months in the lovely company of Ubbe Ragnarson and his brothers. It didn’t matter in which castle they decided to try – you hadn’t enjoyed a summer since you both were kids

The first year you actually wanted to try and make a new friend, because you rarely played with children your age. But Ubbe decided you making him look like a fool in front of his father was unforgivable, and after dinner he stained your dress with horse poop. Which got your in problems with your father and maid.

After multiple pranks, he went back to his castle and you thought it was over. Only for next year to go on a trip to his castle, in Mercia. You didn’t like Ubbe nor his brothers, and they didn’t like you. That summer, you went back home with a broken wrist and Ubbe had his nose broken for the first time.

It did not get better. If anything, both of you got smarter and more creative.

“Y/N” Ecbert called, dragging his daughter out of your torturous daydream. “Darling, look at me. You cannot fight me forever”

You didn’t look at him, and after a few moments, the sound of a chair scrapping the carpet filled the room. As he came closer, the anger faded away.

As long as you could remember, it had always been your father and you. Your mother died when you were a child, in some type of retaliation from another kingdom. There was a dark past to that land that not many people talked about, but that you knew. Your mother was assassinated and you were saved by accident. A servant who was in the castle managed to run away with a baby while the enemy took the castle and slaughtered everyone they found in their way.

And by the time they killed the queen and realized there was supposed to be a baby with your, princess Y/N was long gone.

Since then, it had been your father and you against the world. He let his daughter train with a wood sword while he practiced, and draw with ink on old papers while he attended to councils. Everyone in the castle knew and adored the young princess, with your bouncy locks and rosy cheeks. And still, they were happy knowing it wouldn’t be like that forever.

“He’s a good man. He’s responsible, caring, and loves his family” he said for what felt like a thousand time. “And you’ve known him since you were a child. He’s no stranger. One day – “

“I’ll have to marry a person I don’t love, not even like, and become what it is expected for me to be. Which is a quiet wife, ready to carry his children and look pretty while doing nothing” you cut him off, feeling more sad than angry. “I don’t want that, father. I don’t like him. We’ve tried getting along and we don’t. So maybe it’s time to move on”

“It’s not that simple, and you know it” Ecbert put a comforting hand on your shoulder and gave you a small smile. “He needs a wife. You need a husband. It could be worse”

“Sure, he could always break my leg after throwing me from the top of a ladder, almost drown me or make me drink coffee with salt. Oh, but he already did that.”

“Children do that, right? Do I have to remind you when you locked him in the barn and he wet himself?”

You thought about that summer and had to stop a smile. After another argument because something you couldn’t remember anymore, Ubbe had broken one of your dolls. One of your favorite dolls. And that night, when he came back from riding with his brothers, you decided to pay him back by locking him in the barn. Only that you forgot it was supposed to be for just a few hours and ended up falling asleep. The next morning, the ostler found him curled in his own pee after crying himself exhausted.

You weren’t proud of that moment, but it wasn’t by far the worst thing either of you had done. Cutting hair, giving rashes or breaking bones were only a small part of the long list of pranks you had performed over the years.

“It was a pretty good one”

“Yeah. For a child, Y/N” he snorted, and you finally met his kind eyes. “I’m getting old, and you – “

“Don’t say it” the princess whined, not liking that conversation.

“I have to” his eyes lost a bit of light and you were highly aware of the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, the whiteness of his hair and beard. “I don’t have any other children. Your mother gave me one and I couldn’t ask for anyone better. I couldn’t protect your like I should have, my darling. So I have to protect you, for when I’m gone. Other kingdoms have already started poking at the borders. Unless I assure the kingdom and your safety soon, they’ll start moving”

It was a reality everyone in the kingdom were well aware of. Great king Ecbert was no longer the man who conquered the kingdom of Wessex and brought the best out of it. Who built farms and houses for everyone and made its name known across kingdoms and countries. Now, he was a man who had a noticeable limp, who took medicine before going to sleep and forgot things every now and then.

And according to laws he couldn’t change, a princess like you couldn’t rule by your own. Not unless you were married to a man powerful enough to rule both his and your kingdom, because you were a woman, and women were supposed to just look pretty and carry children.

“Besides” he added, getting up with a soft creak from his left knee. “You didn’t see him last year. Maybe he has changed”

“For worse, probably”

Last year, Mercia entered in war with Northumbria. When the boats of Wessex appeared in the Ragnarsons’ castle, they found it almost empty. Aslaug had seen all of her sons leave to fight, dressed in shiny armors. Ragnar Lothbrok led an army against the enemies’ forces, and you had been there when he came back. Not as a victorious king, but as a tired man who had seen too many wars.

Even though Mercia won, Ubbe and Sigurd stayed in the border to maintain the peace, and you spent the summer with the servants and Aslaug. While she approved the accord between her husband and Ecbert, she didn’t particularly like her soon to be daughter – or anyone that wasn’t her, for that matter. Which turned that last summer into the most boring of your life.

You hoped that summer would be different.

 -

 Ubbe watched the boats come closer to land, the port coming alive as the first rays of sun touched the horizon. It was soon, but not soon enough for the prince to miss the arrival of the guests. If anyone could call them that anymore, as they came every year. It had been a while since he visited Wessex. As the heir and commander of the great army, he couldn’t leave for the summer no more, so they had to come to him.

Which, if it was his choice, wouldn’t happen.

Ubbe Ragnarson had a wide range of scars on his body, all of them worthily obtained in battle. Only that he was a skilled warrior that rarely let a sword near him, and that the biggest battle he had faced so far was against a girl half his size.

“You should head to the port” Hvitserk said behind him, leaning against a tree. There was a naked woman between his legs, whose name they couldn’t remember. “Mother will be furious if she doesn’t find you there”

“She can think whatever she wants” he snapped. “They know just fine their way into the castle. And I’ll see her. Eventually”

“You should have seen her last year. She has tits”

Scoffing, he decided to ignore his brother. It was easy to enjoy life when the crown didn’t rest on him. When the biggest responsibility he had was not to let anyone know if he had a bastard, or at least don’t acknowledge them in public. In the last two years, Ubbe had gone from spoiled prince to commander, heir and almost king.

With a father that was spiraling away, a mother that couldn’t be farther from him, and an enemy that was ready to attack, he wouldn’t think about Y/N’s tits.

What he had thought about, though, was about you. He had always been opposed to the marriage between the two kingdoms, since the moment the young and bratty princess humiliated him in front of his father. Ubbe knew you shared his feelings, that you didn’t want to marry him and would rather throw yourself from that boat.

But he also knew Y/N were in a dangerous age, where other kingdoms showed interest in your hand and the power it held. He knew that you needed the marriage as much as he needed, a strategic union between two kingdoms before one of them fell.

No matter how many times he repeated that, he couldn’t bring himself to ride back to the port and greet the incomers. Pride was a prize he wouldn’t lose on this battle.

“You should bring her back” Ubbe told his brother, guiding his horse back to the road. “Her family might get worried”

“Worried about what? She’s with a prince. she couldn’t be safer” he chuckled, closing his eyes. “I intend to extend the night a few hours more. As soon as you leave”

“If I’m not wrong, this is my hideout. Yours was close to the cliff”

“What’s yours is mine, Ubbe. What’s yours is mine”

Ubbe spurred his horse and left his brother behind, knowing he wouldn’t like what was about to happen. It was the only place from where someone could see the port without being seen, and he had thought it would be empty. He didn’t think about his brother and his night adventures, which could happen anywhere.

The road back to the castle wasn’t long, and for Ubbe, it would have been shorter. He knew those lands as the back of his hand, was a fast rider and knew a bunch of shortcuts. But instead of taking them, he chose the long way.

Bordering cliffs, he let his horse choose the pace, stopping to drink water and sniff a few flowers. He let the wind blow his braid, until his cheeks were red and his hands cold. Since he could remember, riding horses and getting was has been one of his passions. Even more when he discovered it was one of the few things he could beat you to.

He would never admit it, but racing you through the forest and feeling the adrenaline of almost loosing was one of the very few moments he looked forward for. That, or losing knowing he did his best and wasn’t expected to do more.

Being the heir of Ragnarson wasn’t easy, and if he could, he would choose the life of any of his brothers. He knew Hvitserk envied him for the power and position he held above others, yet that came with a price. A price that, day by day, he was starting to understand.

By the time he reached the castle, the sun was high and the cold was giving space to the heats of the summer. During the first month, there wasn’t a big difference in Mercia, as there was snow in the mountains and ice in the forest. The same slow changes that every year started with the arrival of his future wife and the king of Wessex.

“She’s mad”

Ubbe had heard his brother Sigurd entering the barn, so he wasn’t surprised when he appeared behind him.

“You should have seen her face. It was red and she was doing that thing with her mouth when someone asks her to change her plans” Sigurd explained, staring as Ubbe tied up his horse. “Father wasn’t there either. It was a bit sad, actually. Only mother and me. But they didn’t say anything about it, so I guess they’re used by now”

“Where’s father?” for the last year, Ragnar had disappeared a few times, only to come back a week after thinner and dirtier, with no explanation. “Is he with Yidu?”

“Probably. He was complaining last night. You know how he gets” he shrugged. “You should go and say hi. Not because mother says so, just… it was sad. Like they aren’t welcome anymore”

He wanted to say that it was because they weren’t, but he bit his tongue just in time. Of all the brothers, you had grown closer to Sigurd. It wasn’t a friendship, nor a relationship. Yet whenever you could, you stuck to his side and in the past summers he seemed to tolerate your presence.

For his brother, he could do so. He could even pretend it was for his father, who wasn’t at his best moment. Either way, he left his horse to rest and made the way to his chambers, hoping to change into something decent and have a short bath that made him presentable. Not that it mattered when you had seen him covered in mud and forced him to come out of the lake wearing one of your dresses.

He tried to list reasons why he should actually try to accord the marriage proposal that summer, why he should make an effort to stop seeing the child who would put ants on his shoes and start seeing a woman he could grow fond of with the years. He managed to come up with two before reaching his room and opening the door.

When he looked up, he was met with a very naked body that belonged to his future wife. And he instantly added Hvitserk’s reason to the list.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

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@66vikings​​

[lemoncrushh]

Too Far From Texas | Chapter Nine

STORY PAGE

Word Count: 4657

I felt sick. I wasn’t sure how much sleep I’d actually managed to get, but I knew I’d gotten up to go to the bathroom three times, and laid in the bed staring into the darkness for so long that my thoughts had started to get twisted.

Lorelei was quiet during breakfast, smiling and nodding to the handful of things I was willing to share, though her looks at me over the table told me she was dying to get the details. Finally, during our cab ride to the bookstore, she nudged me.

“Alright, spill.”

“Spill what?”

“What exactly happened? I’m assuming you stayed the night, but the fact that you don’t have the most lovestruck, goofy look on your face tells me something’s off.”

I looked down at my lap. Lorelei leaned closer.

“Is he not that good?” she whispered.

I eyed her, then sighed. “No, that’s not it.”

“Really? ‘Cause I mean...it happens. He wouldn’t be the first man not to live up to expectations.”

“He…” I gazed out the window, “he exceeded my expectations.”

“Wow! Seriously? Hot damn!”

I shook my head.

“Are you sore? Is that it? Sometimes when I’m with a guy who’s...kinda big...I feel off kilter for a few days. Like I’m totally blissed out, but also raw. What I do is soak in a hot tub and then lie down with a pillow between -”

“Lor!” I interrupted. “I didn’t sleep with him.”

“What?”

“Well...technically I did sleep with him. But we didn’t have sex.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” I sighed again. “Emery was sick.”

“Wait, what?”

“Tod called me. Emery had a high fever, and he was worried, and of course that got me worried ten times more because he never worries about shit.”

“Oh, God!”

“I kept my phone next to me so he could keep me updated, but here I was on this amazing date with this amazing man. And I knew, Lor, I knew I was gonna sleep with him. I was ready. But I just...couldn’t.”

“Well of course not! Your baby was sick! Plus, you were having to talk to your ex on the phone. Who the hell can concentrate on sex when that shit’s going on?”

I widened my eyes. “Thank you!”

“Wait, was he mad?”

“Who?”

“Harry. Was he mad you didn’t have sex?”

“No,” I shook my head. “Well, he said it was okay. He’d wanted me to stay though. And I know it had to hurt when I said no.”

“You probably bruised his ego.”

“I didn’t mean to.” I swallowed hard. “There’s more.”

“More?”

“I had another dream.”

“A dream about Harry?���

“Yes,” I nodded. “While I was with him. We’d fallen asleep after Tod had called to say Emery was okay, and I woke up shaking.”

“And?”

“The Harry part was...sweet. I was happy. It was my birthday and he’d asked me to marry him.”

“Oh my God!” Lorelei squealed.

“It sounds ludicrous now. But I remember feeling amazingly happy in the dream. Then Tod showed up and told me I’d never truly be happy.”

Lorelei scoffed. “He’s said that to you before.”

I shrugged. “Maybe it’s the truth.”

“No, it’s not, it’s a lie. And you know it. You might be a little afraid of letting yourself go simply because you had an asshole telling you how to feel for so long. But I think once you do, you can and will be happy. The happiest.”

I turned my head to the window once more. “I think I’m falling for him, Lor.”

“That’s awesome!” she declared, grabbing and squeezing my hand.

“No, it’s not,” I muttered. “It’s frightening as hell.”

The book signing was much like the ones in Texas, only at a larger scale. More people came, which shocked me considering we weren’t local writers. One woman, who looked to be around our age, stood and chatted with us for several minutes about her own personal story that was very similar to Melissa’s. She’d come to New York fifteen years ago in search of her twin sister from whom she’d been separated at birth. Lorelei and I laughed when we heard that after finding her, she’d fallen in love with her sister’s brother-in-law. He’d acted skeptical and aloof in the beginning until she’d confessed her belief that they were soul mates.

“I told him if he wanted to act like I didn’t exist, that was fine, but I knew we were meant to be together, and I wasn’t planning on leaving until he saw the truth.”

“Maybe that’s what Melissa should have told Gavin,” Lorelei quipped.

“Nah,” the woman shook her head. “Gavin was too stubborn and hard-headed. Not like my Sammy.”

By the time we broke for lunch, we’d already sold more copies of The Loving Kind than we had in a full day in Houston. Lorelei and I walked around the corner to a deli, and when I sat down to eat my sandwich, I checked my phone.

Just wanted to wish you luck today. I’ll call later.

Shit.

I hadn’t realized I’d voiced it aloud until Lor asked what was up.

“Yeah, he’s mad,” I mumbled.

“What?”

I handed her my phone so she could read his text.

“Stacey, where the hell does it say he’s mad? He’s wishing you a good day. And he wants to talk later.”

“Exactly. Short and sweet. No “I miss you” or “baby” like he usually says. He’s mad.”

Lorelei rolled her eyes. “He’s busy. He made it a point to text you in the middle of his crazy schedule.”

“You’re right,” I sighed. Then I laughed at myself, my face in my hands. “Oh my God, I’m being ridiculous.”

“Well, you know, you were the one who left.”

“I know. Why did I do that?”

“I’m not blaming you, Stace,” said Lorelei. “I’m just looking at it from his perspective.”

“So you do think he’s mad.”

“No, I didn’t say that. But he might be...cautious.”

“Yeah,” I swallowed. “Yeah, he has every right to be. I mean, I’ve got so much baggage already. Why would he want me?”

“Stacey! Stop overthinking!”

I nodded in response, picking up my sandwich.

I had a stomachache for most of the afternoon. I smiled and greeted our readers, but my heart wasn’t in it. I knew I shouldn’t have been worried about Harry’s text. He’d said he’d call after all. I was reading too much into it. I felt like a fool for more reasons than one.

I hadn’t been back in my hotel room for ten minutes before he called. I caught Lorelei out of the corner of my eye grab the ice bucket and head out the door.

“Hello?” I timidly spoke into the phone.

“I want to apologize.”

“Um...what for?”

“I’d meant to set up the coffee for you again at the bookstore, but someone dropped the ball.”

I giggled and covered my face with my hand. “Oh my God, Harry.”

“Wha-?”

“I don’t know. You’re just...too much. I don’t know how to feel.”

“Feel about what? About me? Or coffee?”

“Stop it.”

“Everything okay?” he asked after a moment of silence. “How’s Em?”

“Oh, she’s fine. I called Tod this morning and he let her stay home from school. Her fever is gone, but she needed the rest since she’d been up late.”

“Good. And how are you?”

“I’m okay. Had a great turn-out today. It went by fast.” I didn’t bother to tell him about my stomachache.

“That’s great. But I meant...how are you? You still seemed pretty upset when you left this morning.”

“I did?”

“Stacey…” he sighed.

“Hmm?”

“Look, as far as I’m concerned, there really isn’t any need to discuss what happened, or...didn’t happen. But if you wanna talk, we can.”

I felt my stomach flip as I scooted back on the bed. “I just feel like an idiot,” I whispered.

“Why?”

“Because...it was such a wonderful evening and I ruined it.”

“No, you didn’t. Stacey, I don’t regret one damn thing about last night. Except...maybe not trying harder to make you stay.”

“I wanted to stay,” I admitted. “Please believe me.”

“I do.”

“Really?”

“Just bad timing,” said Harry. “Or unfortunate circumstances. Out of our control. But I promise you, love, we haven’t missed our chance. We’ll have another.”

“I hope so. I’ve just been sick over this all day.”

“You have?”

“I’d thought I’d made you mad.”

“Baby…”

“Like I said, I felt like a fool. And now I’m leaving in a few hours.”

“I wish I could be with you before you go,” Harry murmured.

His choice of words were not lost on me. He said “be with you”, not “see you.”

“Me too. Where are you?”

“Rockefeller center. I’m filming The Tonight Show.”

“Ohh, excellent!” I exclaimed. “I love Jimmy.”

“Yeah, me too,” he chuckled.

“Would there be any possible way you could get a picture with him and send it to me? I might be a teensy-weensy bit of a fan.”

Harry laughed harder. “I’ll see what I can do.”

After the light-hearted conversation with Harry, I felt much better. Lorelei and I watched a movie before deciding we should grab something to eat before heading to the airport. We were looking over the room service menu when there was a knock at the door.

“Delivery for Barnett and Burns?” said the man on the other side when I opened it.

“We didn’t order anything,” argued Lorelei behind me.

“No, ma’am. This is courtesy of NBC studios.”

“NBC?”

“Oh!” I nodded. “Yes, thank you!”

The man smiled at me as I held the door open for him to bring the cart inside. On the top tray were what looked to be two covered dishes, a beautiful pink floral bouquet in the center. The bottom tray held a chilled bottle of champagne and a mini-sized fruit tray complete with dip.

“What the hell is at NBC?” asked Lorelei incredulously after the man had left.

“Harry. He filmed The Tonight Show today.”

“Oh, of course,” she chuckled.

Walking around to the other side of the cart, I let out my own cackle.

“What?” asked Lor.

Behind the floral arrangement was a Starbucks cup. I lifted it up to show her. “He sent me my latte.”

“What a guy. There’s a card, too,” she pointed.

I bit my lip as I opened the envelope. Unfolding the card, I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand.

“What is it?”

I turned it around so she could see the polaroid picture of Harry and Jimmy.

“I’d asked if he could send me a picture. I kinda just meant on the phone. I wasn’t expecting all this.”

“Well, I think the rule with Harry Styles is to expect the unexpected.”

“Apparently.”

Lorelei lifted the cover of one of the dishes, her eyes wide. “Wow, nice!”

“What is this?” I asked, removing the cover on mine. Once again, I couldn’t hold back my fit of giggles. Harry had sent a delicious meal of steak, salmon, potatoes and asparagus.

“I don’t get it, what’s so funny?”

“I’m not exactly sure if he meant to do this,” I replied, “but on our date we had chicken. He’d said it was because he wasn’t sure if I was a fish or steak person. And I told him I liked everything.”

Lorelei shook her head slowly, and I thought she might have rolled her eyes.

“Are you making fun of me?” I pouted, crossing my arms.

“Not at all,” she winked. “But you two are so fucking cute, it’s sickening.”

Sitting in an airport at night is interesting. There’s still tons of people coming and going, but in my mind, it seems like everyone should be at home, relaxing with a book and curled up under a cozy blanket, or holding their loved ones. Instead, they’re boarding planes, or arguing with the staff at the gate, or trying to get their baby to stop crying, or talking on their cell phones like it’s the most important conversation they’ve ever had.

I’d texted Harry before I’d left the hotel to thank him for the dinner, but he hadn’t responded yet. I sat next to Lorelei as I flipped through a magazine, not really reading anything. I watched a young couple across from me who shared a pair of earbuds, the girl wearing pajama pants and an oversized hoodie with her hands inside the sleeves. She leaned over and rested her head on the boy’s shoulder who gave a small smile without looking up from his iPad. For a split second I considered that he looked like a younger Harry until I remembered Harry was only twenty-three.

This time I actually did fall asleep on the plane. It was no wonder though, after the night I’d had before. I awoke just as the pilot was making the announcement that we were descending into Chicago. There was no Drew waiting for us at that airport, however. We took a cab to the hotel, a smaller, older one than the Hyatt, but I didn’t care. As soon as I rolled my suitcase next to my bed, I went to the bathroom to shower.

“Your phone rang,” said Lorelei when I returned. “I didn’t look to see who it was though.”

I actually had two missed calls from Harry. The first time he’d left a voicemail.

“Hi baby. You’re probably on your flight right now. I just wanted to tell you I got your text and you’re very welcome. When I told Jimmy about you, he actually insisted on the polaroid and the flowers. The food was my idea.”

The smile in his voice made me smile.

“Anyway, I miss you already. I wish you could have stayed another day. Maybe...maybe tonight would’ve been better. We could’ve continued where we left off.”

My breath caught in my throat as I heard him groan.

“Jesus, I shouldn’t be saying this on a voicemail. If...if I don’t...talk to you before you go to sleep, then have a good night and a good morning and I’ll...talk to you soon, yeah? Yeah. Goodnight, love.”

I stared straight ahead, my phone still attached to my ear. It took me a minute or two to even realize where I was. Blinking, I laid down on the pillow, covering myself with the sheets and comforter.

The call while I’d been in the shower was also Harry, but he hadn’t left a message that time. He probably thought I’d gone to bed. Pressing his name on the screen, I felt my heart race.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hi, did you just call me?”

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I was in the shower.”

“Oh.”

I sucked in my lips, wondering what the heck to say next. “I miss you, too,” I blurted.

I could hear him breathing through the phone. “Glad to know it’s not one-sided, then.”

“No way,” I said.

“Hmm.” That contented sound again. “Sorry, I’m really tired. I just wanted to hear your voice before I went to sleep.”

“That’s sweet.”

“I leave for London tomorrow,” he yawned.

“Oh.” I hadn’t realized. “Then I guess I’ll miss you even more.”

“Tell me about it. Have a good day tomorrow. You’re in Chicago, right?”

“Yes. And you have a safe flight.”

“Thanks. Goodnight, beautiful.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

Once again, the book signing went off without a hitch. Well, maybe a small hitch. I missed Harry. He’d managed to provide Lorelei and me with our much-appreciated coffee, a tiny offering that continued to make me feel special and reminisce about our first meeting.

I thought about him a lot. I knew he would be busy, whether he was in the air or on the ground, so I didn’t bother texting or calling him. I knew he’d contact me when he had time.

“We should go out,” declared Lorelei as soon as we returned to the hotel.

“Do you not recall the last time we went out?” I scoffed.

“We had fun though, until you wanted to go back to the hotel so you could talk to Harry.”

“Excuse me for not being a party girl.”

Lor rolled her eyes. “I just mean we’re in a new city. And it’s Saturday night. And Harry’s most likely not going to call. Because by the time our evening gets going, it’s gonna be four in the morning in London.”

“You’re probably right,” I nodded, tossing my coat on the bed.

I wore the same dress I wore on my date with Harry. It was really the only thing I’d packed that was suitable for a night out, unless I wanted to look like I’d just come from the office or from the gym. I stared at myself in the mirror while I was waiting for Lorelei to finish up her makeup. I thought about all the things I’d hoped would happen when I’d worn that dress. I thought about the way I’d have let him touch me, how I’d wanted him to touch me. Closing my eyes, I ran my hands down my chest, my waist, my hips. I thought of his voice when he’d asked me to stay, and again when he’d said he’d wished I had. Grabbing the sides of my dress into my fists, I let out a sigh.

“You ready?” I heard Lorelei call.

Fluttering my eyes open, I let out one more deep breath. “Yeah.”

Pulling on my coat, I followed her out to the elevator.

The first club we went to was so loud, I thought my ears were going to bleed. I didn’t even like the music they played, not to mention the dancefloor was so crowded my claustrophobia was kicked into high gear. I went into a mini anxiety attack before Lorelei agreed to leave.

The place we found next, and ended up staying the rest of the evening was a bar where a live cover band was playing. That was more up my alley. The band was really good, too, and I knew all the songs they played - a good mix of classic rock and more current tunes.

We sat at a table close to the bar where we had a good view of the stage. The band was in the middle of a Foo Fighters song when Lor leaned over to whisper in my ear.

“Don’t look now, but someone’s watching you at the bar.”

“Well how am I supposed to see without looking?”

“Okay, but don’t make it obvious. Plaid shirt, three o’clock.”

Shifting my gaze to where she’d mentioned, I saw him. He was definitely checking me out, though he was also trying not to make it obvious.

“Eh, not my type,” I remarked.

“You mean he’s not Harry.”

“No, I mean he kinda looks like a douchebag,” I explained, lifting my beer. “Plus he looks like Tod.”

“He does not!”

“Yeah he does. He looks like Tod did when I met him.”

“Really?” Lorelei made a face. “I didn’t know Tod ever looked like that.”

“Well, he was no Brad Pitt-”

“Or Harry Styles!”

I pursed my lips. “Or Harry Styles. But he still managed to do a little something for me. Enough to fall in love and marry him and have two kids.”

Lor glared at me. “Can I gag now?”

I chuckled. “Yeah, you can. Sometimes I can’t believe I fell for him either.”

“You know you can do so much better, right?”

I smirked, taking another swig of my beer. “Yes, because you keep telling me.”

“That’s what friends are for, my dear.”

Setting my beer bottle on the table, I eyed the guy at the bar. The band switched into “Whiskey in the Jar” as I swung my leg to the rhythm. He smiled at me. I smiled back.

For the duration of the song, I guess you could say we were flirting. The more I caught his eye, the cuter he seemed to get. Or maybe it was just the beer. Lorelei nudged me, wondering what the hell was going on, but all I could do was shrug.

Just as the band was setting up for the next song, changing guitars and allowing the bass player to step up to the mic, a tall frame came into view, blocking some of the already dim light.

“Hi ladies,” said the voice occupied by the frame.

“Hi,” greeted Lorelei, automatically bouncing her blond curls from her shoulder.

“I couldn’t help but notice your beers are getting low. Can I buy the next round?”

Had Lor’s smile not been spread so wide across her face that she looked like she had a clothes hanger in her mouth, I would have laughed at the guy. But when he sat down and introduced himself as Brandon, I knew that my own boy-toy flirting had kept me from noticing that she’d been having some of her own.

Brandon seemed like a nice enough guy, but I quickly felt like the third wheel. I tried catching the eye of the boy at the bar again, but he was gone. It was just as well. I was probably just reacting to the attention instead of the guy himself.

I excused myself to go to the restroom and while inside, I checked my phone for any potential messages. Nada. With a sigh, I shoved my phone back in my purse. I didn’t know why I wanted to hear from him so badly, or why I’d expected to. I just missed him.

“Hi!” I heard before I saw him.

He was standing in the hallway that lead to the bathrooms. Okay, truth was, he was cuter than Tod. In fact, he looked nothing like him. But he still most definitely was not my type.

“Hi.”

“I thought you’d left,” he said.

“Nope.”

“What’s your name?”

I licked my lips. “Lexi,” I lied. I didn’t know why.

“Sexy?”

I laughed. “No, Lexi. With an L.”

“I like Sexy better. Fits you.”

I shook my head. What a dork. “I should get back to my friend.”

“I’m Chip,” he said, extending his hand.

“Of course you are,” I muttered under my breath. “My guess is corn.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Nice to meet you, Chip. But I really must go.”

“Why don’t you have a drink with me?”

I sighed. I guess it couldn’t hurt.

I rejoined Lorelei and Brandon at the table while I waited for Chip to bring our drinks, though they barely noticed my presence. The band played some 90s song and Lor stood up and swayed, Brandon taking advantage and dancing up against her.

When Chip emerged with more beer and tequila shots, Lorelei squealed and took a shot in one large gulp before carrying on with her dancing.

Chip and I tried to have a conversation, but I was bored with everything he had to say. I barely paid attention to his story about himself, where he was from (Cleveland? Milwaukee?), and where he went to school (Who the Hell Knows Tech). I wanted him to get the hint, but either he was dense or too drunk to care. When he came back with another round of drinks, I told him thanks, but that it would be the last one and Lor and I had to go.

“Aw, you don’t have to go so soon,” he slurred.

I grimaced. “Yeah. I have a plane to catch in the morning.”

“Both of you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes.”

“Doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere,” Chip pointed in Lorelei’s direction.

I nearly gasped when I saw her. Brandon had her up against the table, his fingers in her hair, his tongue in her mouth.  I watched as she hiked up her leg and wrapped it around his before he lifted her up and onto the table.

“Lor!” I whispered loudly, knowing damn well she couldn’t hear me over the music. I tapped her on the shoulder. “Lorelei!”

“See? Told ya?”

Giving Chip a look, I quickly rose from my stool and grabbed Lorelei by the arm.

“What the fuck?” she cried.

“We gotta go.”

“Why? What happened?”

“You’re drunk,” I said firmly.

“So?”

“So, it’s almost two a.m. and we’re in an unfamiliar city and you’re making stupid decisions.”

“I’m not stupid!” she exclaimed, shaking her arm from my grip.

“I didn’t say you are. Just your actions.”

“No, I’m not leaving!” she yelled when I tried to pull her hand.

“Why not?”

She stepped closer to me, her breath reeking of tequila. I supposed I hadn’t been keeping tabs on how many shots she’d had. But now it was obvious she wasn’t acting rationally.

“I’m going home with Brandon,” she said.

“The fuck you are,” I scoffed.

“Yeah. Fuck, Stacey! It’s something normal people do.”

She might as well have slapped me in the face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m horny. And I need to get laid.”

I sighed, my face falling. Shaking my head, I tried to grab her hand once more. “Not like this, Lor. This isn’t you.”

“Yes, it is,” she whined.

“Say goodnight to Brandon.”

She turned to look at him, his tall body hovering over hers. “Sorry, hon. I gotta go. Nice meeting you.”

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered just as I peeled Lorelei away. I didn’t bother to give Chip anything more than a wave.

“Shit!” Lorelei groaned when she slid into the back seat of the taxi.

“I’m sorry, Lor, but you’ll thank me in the morning.”

“Maybe,” she sighed, leaning her head back. “But damn, I could climb that boy like a tree.”

The effects of the tequila were tenfold the next morning. Lorelei threw up a couple of times during the night, but it was the hangover headache that kept her in bed. I offered to make sure everything was packed and ready for checkout so that all she needed to do was shower and brush her teeth before throwing on her most comfortable sweatsuit.

It wasn’t until we were waiting to board our flight to Nashville that I checked my phone again. I’d made myself not check it when I’d gotten back to the hotel the night before, nor that morning when I got up. I figured if I kept checking every couple hours and saw nothing, it would only make me disappointed and paranoid.

However, I kicked myself when I realized he’d called. And texted. And sent a picture.

“Hi, baby. I’m sorry I missed you. You’re probably out having fun though, as you should be. I just thought I’d try to catch you because of the time difference. I’m finally going to bed. It’s almost five here. But I’ll ring you again when I wake up. Night, love.”

I felt my cheeks pinch as I smiled. I only wished I could have heard his voice that night. It was the text and photo though, that really did me in.

So, I thought of something that I don’t know about you yet, that I’m hoping to find out soon. How do you like your eggs?

Underneath the text was a photo of a table, a white tablecloth covering it with a teapot, cup and saucer. Beside the cup was a silver platter filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit and muffins.

Regardless of the full display of food, however, the thing that got my heart pumping was what was in the bottom right corner. A leg. And not just any leg. But a hairy thigh, a white terry robe only half covering it, a knee poking out at the end. Whether he’d meant to show me skin or not, my mouth was watering.

I texted him back the cheekiest thing I could think of.

I like them any way I can get them.

I laughed out loud when he texted me back.

Good answer.

A/N: I really hope some of you find the humor in my writing, because I'm making myself laugh as I read it back lol.

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[chloe-spade]

Tangled Up Prolouge

This is the story of how I died a painful, horrible death, which was told for generations to generations. For all the naughty boys and girls all over the world as a cautionary tale.

Ruggie..

Alright, it's not exactly true, but I did die, but we have to go way back, even before I was born. You can tell how long this story is if someone as young as me has to retell it.

☀️

One very few centuries ago, the sun and moon dropped a magical raindrop during the day and night cycle, which led to certain things from happening. One was the Sunflower, a magical flower that had an odd power for those who found it. The Moonflower was a different story, it would lead to healing but also destroy, which is reflected in the moon cycle.

But this story is about the Sunflower.

As I mentioned, it has the power to heal anyone who comes in contact with it, but only a special few know about how to activate its power.

☀️

An old man managed to rummage through the forest and looked at the flower, looking back at his notes with a small laugh as he looked back at the flower, starting a small hum.

(See this man, yeah, remember him, he's very important. His name is Divus Crewel, and he's a harsh man who values something unattainable, like beauty, and an awesome flower, but I'm getting ahead of myself.)

"Flower petals are glowing gold with soft purple highlights, glows the brightest when the sun sets," Divus notes, "This flower is the first of its kind, but the possibility of various isn't unlikely." As he takes his notes, he slowly begins to hum.

A light glowed and he felt a small energy throughout his body. He gasps as he stares at his hands. No sagged skin, no wrinkles, nothing. He stared at the flower and began to hum again, and the flower reacted again.

Flower,

And soon, lyrics came to his mind, and he sang:

Gleam and Glow,

Let your power shine~

Save what has been lost

Bring back what once was mine,

(Are you freaked out? Yeah, so healing also means de-aging, so this crazed scientist decided on what he wanted to do with this newly discovered flower.)

What once was mine~

Divus took note, "Has some anti-aging properties, and alerted by song, whether song or humming. It could be used for healing?" He swiftly took out his dagger and slashed his hand, only for him to heal and flower healed it.

"Amazing," he muttered and looked around. With all around, he slowly mustered a wicker basket and created a makeshift bush to hide the flower. "No one should know about this," he concluded when he walked away, leaving the flower, hidden and alone, hoping for sunlight to peak through.

☀️

Creepy, huh?

Ok, so you've met our villain, one with so much vanity, that he hid the flower for his uses only. Now let's focus on the king, who was around the area at the same time but for an entirely different reason.

That man was King Lilia of the Sol Kingdom.

He became king after his queen gave him the title for she foresaw she was to die during an expanding war between Sol and an unnamed kingdom.

With his leadership, he was able to win the war of all, and this led to the kingdom being covered with walls to prevent wars and show peace instead. That was how good Lilia was as a king, and now today was the day that would change his life.

☀️

Rumors were heard of a wailing spirit stuck in the woods, which caught the attention of King Lilia. He looked around the woods, along with the knights of the kingdom. Lilia didn't believe the rumours but since they scared the villagers, he had to look around for the ampty named spirit.

"What has the emergency?" Lilia asked the head guard.

"Well, one of the women in our village has said that she heard a cry in the woods, but she couldn't identify the location. She was sure it was a ghost." A Guard explained.

Lilia nodded held the lantern high and kept walking around the forest, before the cry was heard again, causing an alert to everyone before Lilia began to walk towards the sound, only to see a basket with a baby covered in a blanket.

"Well," Lilia chuckled and carefully picked up the basket, "You caused many a fright, little child." The baby squeaked and cried again. "Oh, my," Lilia whispered, "Let's get you to somewhere warmer." Lilia alerted the guards and walked towards the castle.

After what seemed forever, the baby was now healthy and happy. Lilia grew fond of the child and named the baby Silver, due to his mysterious hair color that reminded Lilia of a silver blade. Silver was crowned prince as soon as he would. Lilia loved Silver with all his being and adored his son with every waking moment, and so did many of the townsfolk who met the boy. He was the pride prince of Sol, everyone loved and adored him, even at his young age. It was such a momentous occasion that a tradition began on the boy's birthday.

On the special day, golden lanterns will rise into the night sky, but Lilia made one for his son and it was so special, that if the prince touches it himself, it would glow a beautiful purple, like his eyes, which makes it more exciting when he grows up. Legends have spoken about how that lantern will never crumble, and he kept it inside a special vault.

It was strange having a child around the castle, but it made Lilia's day. Especially when the child began to dream about becoming a knight, inspired by King Lilia. He even got a small horse, an old birthday present.

But soon, after his 5th birthday, he got a bad illness, an illness that made the young boy bedridden, coughing every single moment. It worried everyone in the kingdom, horrified that their darling prince was going to die because of this horrible illness.

It was one of those days when King Lilia was dealing with massive dread of fear because of the situation until an alchemist came in with an incredible discovery. He told Lilia of a rare golden flower, which caught King Lilia's attention and asked for the location.

The Pharmacist agreed and soon, both they and Lilia planned a search party, despite Lilia having doubts, it was approved by Lilia and as soon as dusk approached, the search party began.

"What do you know of the golden flower?"

This caught the attention of Divus, who continued to use the flower to provide for his youth. He heard horses scatter and neigh around. He managed to hear more of the conversation.

"It could heal anything, including illnesses," The Alchemist explained. "It is from the sun,"

(Yeah, yeah, hey! I already told everyone where it came from, and I don't need a re-explanation. How about we go back to Crewel? Please?)

"What in the heavens?" He muttered, before covering the flower and departing, unaware that the cover completely flipped over by his foot.

The glow caught one of the Head Knight's attention, and he walked over to it. He gasped at it, watching the golden flower glow, illuminating everything around it. He turned back and yelled, "I found it!"

"Alright men, King Lilia said we should be careful with it," one guard reminded, "it's for the prince,"

"Yes, sir."

Divus watched in horror, seeing the flower he tried to keep hidden taken from the ground and being carefully carried away. "King Lilia…" He hissed to himself as he slowly followed the guards back to the village. But what stopped him was when they reached the castle, and the gates were shut.

☀️

"It'll be ok," Lilia whispered to Silver, "We've gotten something for you." Silver looked up but remained silent as his throat hurt horribly. Silver watched as an unknown man walked inside, holding a bowl of glowing liquid and within it a flower. He watched how the bowl slowly went towards him.

Silver gulped and sipped the water.

"What a strange flower," Silver yawns, "..it tastes amazing. What is it, Father? It felt like magic."

"That's our secret, dear boy," Lilia laughed, kissing his forehead. "But do sleep and you'll feel better in the morning. Please enter a beautiful dreamland."

Silver smiles and yawns again, his eyes drooping until he fell asleep.

Lilia sighs, gets up, and leaves the room. He looked down at the flower water in his hands, not knowing what to do with it. But he did have an idea when he saw seeds swim around the water.

"What if I.." Lilia pondered.

"Your highness?"

"Oh, Shroud," Lilia gasped, "I do thank you for finding this. Though I do fear of what would happen if this would to be found by others. I may have an idea."

"What do you have in mind?" Shroud spoke up.

Lilia looked and made Shroud follow him, to a secret room.

"I plan to create a small room, where I can keep this flower inside and maybe create more if things happen to our people. I understand why it may be a bad idea, but I have so much fear that I will lose Silver once again. I was entrusted to keep this kingdom safe and I intend to keep it that way."

"Then let me join you," Shroud offered, "we should start a small garden and create notes."

"Perfect. I thank you once again."

☀️

Knights surround the castle, but none can see a dark-figured man go around the castle and pass everyone. The dark figure entered the window, into the young prince's room.

Divus stared at the sleeping boy, as peaceful as he could be, with a raging hatred because if it wasn't for him falling ill, he would still be young and beautiful. But it was not his concern right now but to find the flower to replant for himself.

Flower,

Now to start the search:

Gleam and Glow,

Let your power shine~

Save what has been lost

Bring back what once was mine,

He was about to continue until a glow fetched his eyes.

What once was mine~

The glow belongs to the sleeping boy in front of him, unaware that his hair begins to glow when Divus sings. He walks over and begins to sing again, and his hair glows once again and Divus felt his body getting younger and younger when it did.

It was strange that his hair was glowing, but it did create some new notes, still humming to see more of the result.

He watched and a wicked smirk appeared on his face, and he gently pulled out scissors, and slowly began to reach for a strand but as soon as he cut it, it became dull and fell back down on his face, no more power overflowing of it.

"I saw him go through here…" said a guard outside the door, as he heard two footsteps.

Crewel looks at the door and back at the child.

Divus had to make a choice. He didn't care about the consequences, all he cared about was his beauty and his research about the one thing the king stole from him.

As he heard the door begin to open, Divus looked at the child with a grin.

"You've taken what's mine…so," He picked up Silver and held it close as soon as the door opened, "I've taken what's yours!" And with that he disappeared into the winds, leaving the guards confused as his laughter echoed in the air.

The door broke open but it was too late for the knights. The figure was already gone, only leaving an old notebook on the floor.

☀️

The guards searched everywhere, so wide even the outskirts of the kingdom, the forests were searched but an area they didn't expect was a house, a small cottage within it all. The house belonged to Divus Crewel, the one confirmed by the knights to have kidnapped the prince, and the house was empty, saw for a few items such as mirrors and potions.

But Lilia found something that could help them understand the kidnapper, just enough to save his son one day.

☀️

Beyond the border of Solm and into the dark forest, if you see a moss-filled rock, best to double-check if it's really a rock. Behind is a cavern, which leads to the other side, to reveal a tower filled with moss around it and no entrances to be seen, so one would think it would be abandoned.

That's where the prince was hidden, singing for someone he now thought was a father. Yes, Crewel took the kid and raised him as his own, with the help of a magic spell that distorts memory.

He had found his magic flower, and now, more than ever, he was determined to keep him hidden, even if he were not to leave the tower ever.

☀

Silver was only 5 years old when he was aware of his odd home. He didn't have many complaints, mainly because his memories were so fuzzy, but he was a kid. Shouldn't he be outside, playing with the grass and birds up in the sky?

So, when he has the opportunity to ask his father about it.

Silver hummed as Crewel brushed his hair, unaware of its cause to him in particular, but he only saw it as helping his father relax after a rough day. "…Father," He asked, "Why can't I go outside?"

"The world is a dangerous place, full of nasty people," Crewel lied, "It's only to protect you, my dear. I hope you understand." Silver nodded while looking back at the fireplace.

But inside, he was giddy, for he knew today was his birthday and that meant those special stars would appear high above where he was. So as the night continued to fall, Silver sneaked past and opened the window, watching as the lights began to float above the forest, just enough for him to stare. He watched increasingly and wondered where they came from, and why on his birthday no less.

His father spoke of them once but only claimed them as nasty stars that don't belong in the sky and would never let Silver watch them at night, but that never stopped him, and he'll continue until the day he finally leaves the tower and onto the world below.

[aki-draws-things]

Phanie dear I’m going to need a de-aging fic about Ron thinking he’s still with his dad and they have to convince him he’s okay and not going to get hurt.

Sorry, I'm sooo slow dear! (and kind of a perfectionist...sigh) but here...

Enjoy this baby Ron. Literally deaged. No idea how they'll turn him back to adult him. Maybe he'll just pop back to the right age after a little.

Magic.

As impossible as it sounded, magic was also the only explanation they could give for that. Whatever that was.

Maverick cursed.

Phoenix slapped the back of his head and pointed at the kid with an outraged "Watch your mouth!". He wanted to say he heard Ron say much worse than that.

Yeah, Ron. Exactly. The problem at hand. Ron who currently looked 10 years old or so amd was looking at them with the biggest, most scared brown eyes ever.

Jake opened his mouth, the curse was more child-approved than Maverick's, but he still cursed.

Ron was sitting on a bed in the infirmary, his legs swinging slightly, his hands gripping the blanket. His eyes kept darting through the room, following all those strangers around him talking all at once. He couldn't understand what they were saying, they talked too fast, one on top of the other. He had to pay closer attention to what they were saying, though, his father always said he had to listen. Father would get angry if he didn't listen. But he couldn't follow. Too many people, adults. Too much sound. His head was hurting. It hurt so much.

His lips quivered and he grasped the closest shirt he found.

Jake felt a light tug on his uniform and turned.

"Hey... hey, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Ron sniffled. He didn't let go of the shirt and Jake turned and gave him his full attention. He brushed his thumb across his cheek catching a stray tear.

"Scared, little bird? Hurt?"

Ron shook his head. He lied. Father would get angry if he said his head hurt. He was going to hit him if he said he was scared because boys are not supposed to be scared.

The blond man got closer, his hands were big and warm, he touched his head, checking him carefully.

"Does it hurt here, little bird?"

He shook his head again and the man titled his. Ron flinched, his eyes filled with tears, he wanted the man to stop touching his head.

He whined.

Then suddenly his eyes grew bigger, tears spilled down his cheeks and he pressed both hands over his mouth. Big boys don't cry nor they make those sounds.

"Hey, it's alright... get us some ice, Mav."

He sat next to him on the bed, took the ice pack, and wrapped it in a cloth before placing it on his head. "Better, mh? You're safe here, little bird, I will take care of you."

Ron didn't know why, but the blond man felt safe.

"Safe?"

He finally managed to ask in a small voice, quiet.

"No papa?"

Jake's eyes darkened, and the one he called Mav took a step closer.

"Do you want us to call--"

Before Jake, who suddenly looked up, could say anything, Ron trembled and tried to jump off the bed and, Jake suspected, hide.

"Hey hey hey... it's okay. Safe, remember?" Jake pointed at himself. "Safe."

It took a little longer to coax him into not trying to run, but he looked distrustful of Maverick.

It took even longer for Ron to fall asleep, curled in Jake's arms the way Jake used to do when he was his age. He felt familiar, safe. He smelled familiar.

"Okay... we need to fix this."

"No shit."

"You're good with kids." Bradley muttered and Jake shot him a look and a wink.

"I had a good example. We still need to fix it."

Before my dads find out their husband is currently 10.

Fuck.

Ron curled up tighter in his arms and Jake could only wrap himself tighter around him. He did have a good example, the best even, and he was currently sleeping in his arms.

"Jake..." Bradley called again, he sat down next to him, he looked at the boy who had been admiral Kerner until 3 hours ago and then back up at Jake. He hesitated. "You-- you can talk to me, you know that right? For... for anything. I mean--" he took a deep breath and watched as Jake tilted his head slightly. He saw the kid do the exactly same movement before. Weird.

"They say that an abused child grows to be very...uhm-- caring. Compassionate. Toward children and--"

Jake almost laughed. He didn't only because he would've woken Ron up. Oh god, did he really though he had been abused? Didn't he know who his-- oh. Wait. He didn't.

"I'm serious, Jake."

"Well, you're not wrong, but it's not my case."

"Not your--"

"Papa... both my dads had a troubled childhood, but when I dropped in their lives they did exactly the opposite of what they got. And believe Roos, they set the bar so high that it's kind of a miracle you managed to even get me out on a date."

Bradley fell silent for a bit, he stared at the way Jake rearranged his position when his arm started to hurt but never let Ron go too much or for too long.

Ron frowned and squeezed his eyes, Jake hummed something, Polish words falling weird with the Texan accent he took growing up, his fingers carding through the curls on his head. It looked like something Jake had been used to do, weird as it was. (He was. Ever since he was 10, and his dads permitted him to bully papa when he didn't have to leave the couch because he was sick or hurt. He let papa put his head on his lap, one hand was on the head, the other usually on the chest. Tata knew exactly why he did that.) It did little to soothe him, though, because Ron gasped awake and shot up sitting, brown eyes so wide he thought they would pop out of his skull. He looked around wildly, trembling hard and grasping and curling his shirt into his hands.

"Little bird, hey... hey, it's alright. Safe. Look at me, safe. I'm here..." He opened his arms and waited for Ron to trust him enough. Ron crashed into his stretched arms, climbed on him, and held tight. He sobbed, muttering some words that Bradley wasn't sure made sense.

That was when the compacflt appeared. He stared at them briefly, and took a deep breath, he knew that mop of curls.

"What happened?"

Bradley almost jumped to attention. Jake rolled his shoulders and the kid looked up and stared at Tom with teary eyes.

"No idea. He just pooffed into his 10 years old body and memories."

"Not good..." was the only comment Iceman let out before crouching at Ron's eye level smiling. Mav returned with a can of soda as Tom spoke.

"Hey Sunny, what did you get yourself into, baby?"

For a moment Jake thought Ron would start crying, if the way his lips quivered meant anything.

"Not my Tommy." He finally muttered. He was staring at Tom, but still holding on to Jake's shirt. "Only my Tommy calls me that. And my Tommy's small."

Oh. Oh, of course. Jake saw a shade of grief pass through Tom's eyes.

"Can I see my tommy?"

"Later... first we need to be sure you're okay. Let the doctor--"

"I'm okay! I don't need a doctor! Father says that only a weak kid needs doctors. I'm not weak."

Jake wasn't sure if he wanted to cry or to kill the man, again.

"He's wrong," Tom said, so fast. "He's wrong because I say he is, and I'm always right."

Ron tilted his head and blinked. His Tommy always said that whenever he said things about his father. he liked this grown-up.

"I and Jake will be with you , and then-- and then I'll call Tommy and tell him you really want to see him."

Ron seemed to briefly light up.

"... and father?" He shuddered even saying the word.

"He won't find you here. You're safe, Ronnie. I promise. Do you trust me?"

Tom held his hand out, his pinky finger, like when they were little. Ron seemed to consider it carefully before giving a hesitant nod, and linked his smaller pinky with his. God, was he that small all the time, back then? Tom never realized. He was so tiny--

"Trust you."

They would find a way to fix it, to get Ron back, until then, they swore to give him the best days, or hours, they could manage.