#I read two chapters and I already want to bash them across their head

[atlantablack]

Started reading a fic and got about three paragraphs in and went ohno immediately which means this is going to HURT ME (it is a 90k slow burn and I am already suffering)

[taomyou]

a sip of sunshine - chapter one (B)

!! minors dni !! pairing: levi ackerman/reader word count: 20,191 sypnosis: Life is not easy, and Levi’s made peace with the fact that it never will be. And, yet, as the days pass and he comes to enjoy the company of the baker across town, he learns that the sun will always continue to shine, no matter how unworthy he feels to bask in its warmth. - or, Levi learns to be okay with drinking shitty tea. tags: postcanon, canon universe, birthday, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, found family, survivor guilt, eventual romance, eventual smut, character study, grumpy/sunshine, hurt/comfort, bakery, tea, meet-cute, no y/n, pov levi ackerman, not beta read a/n: no smut in this chapter, will be in chapter two. also sorry this took a while to crosspost www. this chapter is also being broken up into two parts because it exceeds the text limit, this is the SECOND half (,,>﹏<,,) accompanying playlist || ao3

chapter one: white peony beauty, bashfulness | shame, apology

There’s not much said, only instructions from you to him.

“Could you hand me the butter? It’s at the back of the fridge, on the left.”

“Could you pass me the sugar?”

“Could you preheat the oven for me? 180, please.”

“Can you hold this for me? I’m sorry.”

The air is neither sociable nor somber, only still as he moves in tandem with you. He’s careful not to spill, not to slip, not to speak too harshly, and you keep your eyes downturned as you work, mixing and sifting and measuring.

You have a smile on your face whenever he glances over to look at you, but it doesn’t reach your eyes in the way he knows. 

After you put the batter into the oven and the ganache is in the fridge and Levi’s gathered all the sugar and water and butter and eggs and vanilla you need for the frosting, you and him are stood on opposite sides of the same counterspace, neither of you daring to look up.

Your eyes are kept down as you slowly pour hot sugar syrup onto egg yolks, arms tense as you mix, switching back and forth as you tire of the other. There’s the sound of the whisk hitting the sides of the bowl, a scraping of metal on metal, but the kitchenette is still dead silent as you start to add in cubes of butter and continue to mix.

It becomes too much for him, and he gets up, careful not to hit you as he sneaks behind you. He goes to the sink, full with bowls stained with chocolate and spatulas made of rubber, and he turns on the water. As the water continues to run and he continues to scrub at streaks of batter left behind, he hears the sound of metal on metal stop, and he looks over his shoulder to see you looking at him already, your hands still.

You smile at him, “Thank you for washing the dishes. You don’t have to.”

Of course he has to.

“I know that.”

“And you’re still doing them.”

He looks back down briefly and puts a sieve in the drying rack. “Yeah.”

Your smile reaches your eyes, finally, and you laugh, shaking your head as you look back down and mix slowly. “Sorry I’m so quiet, I don’t really know what to talk about.”

“That’s okay. Me neither.”

You hum and tap your whisk on the edge of the bowl, getting off the excess of buttercream. “What’s she like?”

“Who?”

“Your mother.”

Levi quiets, going back to looking at the sink and watching how the water splashes against the metal basin. “Was like.”

There’s a pause.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay.”

Another pause.

“Are you okay making a cake for a dead woman?”

“She’s still your mother, isn’t she?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then, there’s your answer.”

The oven beeps, telling you that the cake has finished baking, so you tap your whisk against the rim of the bowl and hand the dirtied utensil to Levi, who puts it into the sink. You put on a pair of cloth oven mitts, take out the cake, and set it on the counter to cool.

Levi rinses the leftover frosting from the whisk before bringing the sponge to it. “Did you still want to know about her?”

You take off the mitts and put them back in the crevice of the oven handles. “If you don’t mind telling me. If you don’t want to, I get it. I hardly know anything about you to begin with.”

“Yeah.” Levi holds the whisk under the water, washing the soap away. “I don’t know anything about you, either.”

“All the more reason to talk now, I guess,” you say, taking the bowl of cream you’d just made and opening the fridge to cool it alongside the cake and other parts. “I’m going to take a break on the couch. Sit with me?”

He knows he shouldn’t.

He knows he’s already in too deep, and that knowing you—you knowing him—is the last thing he needs.

But, looking over at the drying rack, full with kitchenware and other miscellaneous appliances he doesn’t know the names of, he thinks that…

Maybe, he can do it.

He can know you, and that will be enough.

To know you, in the moments you’re together, and to forget you when you’re not.

He’ll keep you away during the night, when he’s at home alone and sat at his dining table with nothing but a cup of his tea. He’ll keep you away during the mornings, when the sun has gone so deep into sleep that he has no choice but to see the darkness of the lives lived past.

The last two moons will not have gone by for naught—they’ll remind him to keep his distance, but in the ways his soul demands to be hidden.

He can allow himself this, at the very least.

To know you, in the moments you’re together.

He puts the whisk, now cleaned and glimmering underneath afternoon sunlight, onto the drying rack, letting it drip dry, and he nods, walking over to join you on your couch.

When he’s sat enough, the plush of the cushions flush against his skin, he clears his throat. “What do you want to know?”

“About you, or about your mother?”

Levi isn’t prepared to talk about himself.

“Her.”

“That’s not really up to me to decide,” you muse, stretching out your tired arms. “Whatever you have to say about her, I guess.”

He finds quickly that a lot about her, tells of him.

“Well, she’s dead.”

“I’ve gathered that much. I’m sorry, by the way. When did she pass?”

“I was a child when it happened. Don’t really remember much besides her face.”

And the feeling of sitting alone on the floor, waiting for her to wake up again.

And the feeling of putting her clothes over his, trying to feel her warmth again.

And the feeling of his hair, long and covering his eyes because she hadn’t gotten the chance to trim it sooner.

He doesn’t get much chance to think of her, but in spite of the years which’ve passed, he remembers too much.

Yet, still not enough.

“I’m sorry. Must’ve been hard growing up without her.”

“It was.”

. . .

“Is there anything else?”

“Not really,” he sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “Does that make me a bad son?”

“From the way you talk about her, I can tell you love her dearly. That’s more than enough.”

“Maybe.”

. . .

“You have her face, don’t you?” You ask after some pause.

His breath halts. “What?”

Where’s this coming from?

“I don’t know, you just seem like someone who’d look like their mother.” You shrug. 

Levi remembers his mother as far more graceful than he ever could be, so he can’t really be the judge of that.

Again, “maybe.”

. . .

“We’re not that great at talking.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

You chuckle, and Levi feels a greater shift in weight as you sink in further, bringing your legs up and putting your knees to your chest. “Okay, then. How about we take turns asking each other about things?"

Easy enough.

“I’m fine with that.”

“You can ask first. You already told me something.”

What is there to know?

“What’ve you been doing, since you aren’t running the bakery right now?”

“I have enough money saved up to get by for a while, so I’ve been taking a bit of a break before I get things back in order,” you muse. “Still baking, obviously. Don’t really know what else to do with my time.”

“No hobbies?”

“No, not really any time for that when you run a bakery. There’s a little field for all the tenants in the building, so I garden there when I can, but that’s about it. I’m pretty boring.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I’m just as boring,” he says plainly. “Your turn.”

“You already told me, but do you really do nothing with your day?”

“Yeah. Just the normal shit like gardening, cooking, cleaning.” A pause. “I go out sometimes. Go to see old friends, or they’ll come to my place. Help out around the house, have dinner.”

“That sounds nice. You live in a house?”

“Yeah, on the other side of town.” Another pause. “How long have you lived here?”

“A long time. Fifteen years, give or take. I opened the bakery a year after. What about you? In your house, I mean.”

He counts. “Almost four years, not too long.”

“Not from here?”

“Something like that,” he says, looking over and out through the window. “Do you like it here?”

“It’s alright, I don’t really mind it. The people are nice, weather’s good,” you yawn, soaking in sun as you stretch lengthwise. “As long as I have my bakery, the rest is irrelevant.”

He won’t comment on the fact that, right now, underneath the two of you, there’s a barren eating area and display case that’s destroyed.

“Do you?” You ask.

“Do I what?”

“Do you like it here?”

 “It’s nice enough. Haven’t explored much, but I’m content.” He thinks of the sky, the sea, the earth. “I hate the birds, though.”

“Oh? How come?”

“...I just hate them.”

You giggle, bringing up your hand to your face. “Fair enough, they are pretty annoying. At least you’ve got a bakery you can frequent on the Wednesdays you feel like doing anything but nothing,” you tease, looking over at him. “Plus, no birds here.”

His eyes meet yours, and he feels a quiet bloom in his heart. “That, I do.”

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

Along goes the rest of the afternoon, filled with mundane, meaningless questions as such.

It’s surprisingly easy—how conversation flows after the initial awkwardness, knowing that conversation is happening purely with the intention of knowing as much as possible, in as little time as possible. It’s a catching-up on lost time, and a surprising rekindling of the level of comfortability which’d existed and quietly bloomed in the months spanning before this.

It’s not a lot, but it’s enough.

He learns that you always have a cup of tea in the morning, never at night, because you know you’ll have to get up early and can’t afford to miss out on any sleep.

You learn that he refuses to let anyone else clean his bathroom, because he knows that they aren’t going to do a good enough job anyway, and it’s a waste of cleaning solution to have someone do it half-assed.

He learns of how your bakery came to be, how you’d struggled to find investors when you were younger and eventually just decided to take out a loan and hope for the best.

You learn of Gabi and Falco formally, and how they’d gotten dirt on the floorboards of his house yesterday because they were too eager to come inside and show him the centipede they’d caught from the garden.

At some point, you have to get back up on your feet to assemble and decorate the cake, and although there isn’t much that Levi can necessarily do to help, he stands on the other side of the counterspace and watches as you work.

“What kind of cake is this?” Levi asks, speaking softly to not disturb you as you make careful cuts along the lines you mark on the sponge.

“It’s called an opera cake.”

An opera cake? Like, those fancy singers?

He supposes it’s fitting. His mother used to sing him goodnight, all those years ago.

But, still, “I don’t think I’ve seen it before in your display.”

“I don’t sell it in the bakery,” you say, pulling away your knife and turning the sponge to get the next side. “I hate making it.”

“Then why are you making it right now?”

“...It’s the fanciest cake I could think of.”

“Go figure.”

“Well, I had to pull out all the stops.”

“And why is that?”

You close one of your eyes to get a more accurate look as you start the next cut. “Today is important to you, I can’t have you taking home any ordinary cake.”

. . .

“I appreciate that.”

“I know.” You open both your eyes again and slice a bit faster, still careful not to nip your fingers or chip the stone countertop. “Uh, my turn again. What’s your favorite drink?”

Well, he can’t say it’s tea. He’s gone this long without ever giving up on that white lie.

“Water.”

“How… health-conscious of you. Trying to make it to a thousand-and-one?”

“Shut up.”

You roll your eyes, and you put down your knife. You gently pull away the trimmings of the cake, and you hold out a piece for Levi to nibble on. “Here, tell me what you think.”

He takes it, and he takes a bite. “It’s good.”

“Aw, no ‘this is the greatest thing I’ve ever eaten in my life?’”

“Maybe when it’s put-together, but, for now, no.”

“I never knew you were such a critic,” you sass, turning around and opening the fridge to get something else. “It’s your turn, by the way.”

With your back turned to him, he sees the ribbon in your hair again, and it sways back and forth as you muse to yourself what you’re talking out of the fridge.

“Your ribbons,” he starts, “why do you…”

“Why do I use ribbons all the time?”

Levi nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“Personal question?”

“It’s personal?”

You chuckle slightly, and you turn back to him with the bowls of ganache, buttercream, and coffee in your hands. “It’s a bit of a long story, are you alright listening?”

Levi’s brows furrow.

How could the origin of this trait of yours be that personal?

Again, he nods slowly. “Only if you want to answer.”

“Might as well, right?” You hum, and you reach up to grab a cake board from one of your upper cabinets, and you set that down on some clear space on the counter. “Well, the short story is that my mother was a seamstress, and she’d always sew bows and ribbons onto my clothes when I was a kid because I thought they were pretty.”

“Was?”

“She was a seamstress when she was alive.”

Oh.

“You can ask about her later, if you want.”

Levi nods curtly. “Go on, then. With your… long story.”

You put the slab of cake onto your knife, and you transfer it to the board before turning to grab a spatula from the drying rack and a pastry brush from a drawer. “Long story being that my younger sister was a really sickly child. We were really close, but it was still really hard to see her so sick.”

“That’s tough.”

“Do you have a sister yourself?”

Isabel.

“Yeah.”

“I guess maybe you’ll understand, then,” you take a brush soaked with coffee and run it along the cake. “Anyway, our parents died when I was a teenager, so I had to take care of my sister by myself.

“And I remember her first birthday without them, I got a teddy bear for her. Got it all wrapped up in this huge box, put a ton of bows on it that I got from the store, and I gave it to her as soon as she woke up. I was so excited because I’d just gotten a job as a waitress at a nearby restaurant and finally had the money to do something extra for her.

“And, I don’t know why I didn’t consider it? Maybe because our parents never had the money to get us presents and I’d never really thought about it before, but she just… couldn’t open it. Like, she could peel off some of the tape, but her fingernails were really weak, and she was too drowsy from the medicine to handle a knife if I gave her one to cut it open.”

You grab hold of the spatula again, and  you take a dollop of cream and plop it onto the coffee-soaked layer. “I ended up opening it for her, and she was super happy to have a new friend, but I remember thinking about how my friends from school would talk about how great it was to open presents on their birthdays and tear at the paper, and I felt bad that my sister missed out on that feeling.

“I asked around afterwards to see if anyone had anything else I could try, and the lady who owned the restaurant I worked at showed me how she wrapped presents for her husband who lived in hospice. She’d put a ribbon on the box, and if you pulled on it, it’d just tear off the rest of the paper.

“I used that way of wrapping for my sister when I had the next excuse to get her something—it’s been so long that I don’t remember what day it even was, but she was so happy—and I guess it stuck? I was already kind of obsessed with ribbons to begin with, so I just learned all these ways to tie it, and I’d show her too.” You’ve finished spreading the cream evenly, and go on to put another layer of sponge.

“She died a few years later, I moved on with my life, and now it's just a habit.”

You awkwardly smile. “Sorry, that was a lot.”

It was.

“It’s fine,” Levi says. “Are you doing okay now?”

“Yeah, it’s been a long time.” You take your brush again and put on more coffee. “It gets easier, too.”

“What does?”

“Living without people you love. Can you hold this bowl for me?”

“Sure,” he says, taking the bowl of ganache from you, and when you motion for him to tip it slightly, he does. You let a bit of it fall onto the coffee-soaked sponge, and Levi frowns. “Does it really? Get easier.”

“I think so,” you muse. “What other option is there? Being sad forever?”

“That’s one way to put it,” he says softly.

“Everyone’s different, so there’s not really any measure on that sort of thing. But it’s hard to move on if you’re always stuck in the past,” you hum.

What if he doesn’t want to move on?

““You can put that down, now. Thank you.”

“Okay.”

You transfer another layer of cake onto the stack, and then another level of coffee soak, and for the rest of the time you assemble the cake, neither of you speak. What else is there to say after learning something like that?

Though, the inner musings of your grief become louder when, after you take another break and chill the cake in the fridge before you send it off with Levi, you sit at the dining table and slowly unravel a spool of ribbon to start wrapping it up in a box. Levi sits across from you, watching as he usually does as your hands unravel the color and cut strands to lace through the slits.

There’s a faint sad smile that he’s never truly been able to understand before on your face as you carefully set down tape to keep everything in place.

“Oh, shoot! I forgot!” You tug on all the ribbons you’ve just put down, opening the box all over again, and you get up and rush to the fridge to grab something. Levi watches in confusion until you come back to the table with a piping bag, and you steady it in your hands. “Just ‘Happy Birthday,’ right?”

Levi nods, but right before you can put chocolate on chocolate, he interrupts again. “Could you write something else, too?”

“Of course!”

He tells you, and he sits up a bit straighter to peer over the edge of the box as you pipe out the cursive lettering.

Happy Birthday, Mommy

You repackage the box again, needing to cut a few more pieces of fresh tape, and you put it into a cloth bag. And, like those many weeks ago, you move around to the back of Levi’s wheelchair with the cake and a spool of ribbon, and you tie it up onto the handles and secure it in place for him.

You walk him down back through the door from which you’d both came, and after making sure that the cake absolutely will not fall on the commute back (and he's discreetly slipped the proper amount for a cake into the pocket of your apron), you stand up straighter again and hold the door open for yourself, waving goodbye to him.

“Come back again soon, I’ll be waiting for you!”

Can't exactly come back when the bakery isn't... open.

“How soon is ‘soon,’ exactly?”

You lean against the doorframe, looking off and down the street. “I should be open again by the end of the year, maybe?”

The end of the year?

“It’s only May, you need the rest of the year?”

“I guess that isn’t really ‘soon,’ huh?” You halfheartedly jest. “You saw when you passed through, everything's wrecked. Nothing I can really do to reopen quicker, I only have myself to get things back in order.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Huh?”

And with the musings of his heart, he watches as the sun reflects from your eyes, glassy and shining, and he speaks from his soul once more.

“You have me.”

It goes without saying that, to Levi, that means you'll only have him in the moments you're together—in the moments that he's able to give even half of himself to you—but you'll still have him, even if only to rebuild the bakery and the part of your soul that's asking for purpose in the same ways that his is.

He can only hope that it's enough.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

In the early summer, the days bleed together, unified only by the long stroke of orange and dandelion yellow across a sky that’s grander than the opera.

Levi, just as he had in the late winter and early spring, returns to the bakery every Wednesday.

Only, instead of coming to have a slice of cake and people-watch for hours on end, he wears shoes with thick soles so he can sweep away broken glass and step over broken wooden tables, and instead of you having a cup of tea next to him, you’re looking through catalogs of furniture to order new chairs and tile for the chipped floor.

And, unlike when he’d been with you in the bakery kitchen that one morning many moons ago, it’s not quiet. Between the crunching of plywood and the flipping of checkbook pages, he continues to learn more about you, and you him.

He learns that you cannot stand the look of white lights, and that you’d much rather work in darkness than be without muted yellow glow.

You learn that he’s very particular about the way he cleans windows, and that he always ties a cloth over the lower part of his face to keep from inhaling dust.

He learns that your nose is especially sensitive to sawdust, so he tries his best to sweep slowly to keep you from sneezing.

You learn he hates, among (many) other things, the smell of mulch and compost, but he tolerates it because Onyankopon insists that the plants need it to grow, and you tell him you can take out the trash at the end of the day while he gets ready to leave.

He learns that your favorite desserts are cannelés, but you hate making them so you don’t sell them in the store.

He’s never had one, nor can he really pronounce it correctly, but he tells you he’ll visit one of the other shitty bakeries in the area to find them for you one day.

You learn that his favorite flavor of the cakes from your bakery is lemon and mint.

You promise to always keep one in the display, just in case he decides to buy one out-of-the-blue when you reopen.

In earnest, it becomes easy for him to let himself fall into the dynamic once more, with even greater grace.

On this particular afternoon in the late summer, you’re standing up on top of a chair, using a paint roller to get the corners of the wall, and Levi’s holding the chair steady like his life depends on it.

“Can you hurry up? The longer you’re up there, the more likely you’re going to fall.”

“You don't think I'm scared of that right now too?! I’m trying, I don’t want it to look too patchy!”

“Who the fuck is going to care if the corner is the same shade of paint?!”

“Me!”

Levi sighs. “Okay, okay, whatever.”

After a bit more struggle from you, you get off your tip-toes and slowly bend down again to get off the chair. With a shaky hand, you try to find the back handle of the chair to hold onto, but Levi just holds his hand out to you to make it easier.

You take it, and he feels a spark.

He ignores it, but you don’t.

“Did you feel that?”

Levi clears his throat and lets go of your hand, as well as the chair leg he’d been gripping onto for dear life. “No.”

And though his heart seems to be stuck in place, you move on quickly and stretch upwards, now looking up at the spot from the ground, and you put down the paint roller onto the tray. “I think we’ve done enough for today.”

“All we did was repaint a singular wall and decide what tables to order,” Levi deadpans.

“Which, I think, is good enough!"

"You haven't even marked the order in your notebook yet. You're gonna forget."

You sigh wistfully. "I'll get to it eventually, just not right now."

“If you’re tired, I can keep cleaning down here. I don’t mind.”

He’d literally just gotten here an hour ago, he is not about to go home and do… whatever else it is that he has to do today.

“Actually,” you start, looking past him and at the door. “I was thinking we could go out and do something today.”

“Like…?”

“I made reservations at a restaurant, but other than that, we’re free to do whatever we’d like. Obviously, I won’t keep you too late, but I was hoping you'd come along."

A reservation?

Levi raises a brow. “What’s the occasion?”

"What're you talking about?"

"A reservation is a bit much for an 'impromptu' outing, so what's the occasion?"

“Today’s the summer solstice!”

Levi wasn't particularly aware, but the sun did seem to be up higher today than usual. “And that’s important because...?”

“What's unimportant about the longest day of the year?"

"Everything."

You laugh, and you go to grab the sunhat you'd brought down to the bakery today. Looking more closely now, you're dressed a bit more nicely than you normally are, in a long sundress and shoes not quite meant for fixing up a storefront still covered in sawdust. "Well, there hasn't really been much to celebrate lately, so we have to make unimportant days like this mean something."

"If you say so," he grumbles. Seriously, what's all that special about the solstice?

"Besides, if the sun is out longer, that means you can stay later than usual today!" By now, you've got your hand on the door, and you tilt your head towards the door. "Do you wanna come, or are you gonna stay and mull over what kind of wood the tables should be?"

"Yeah, yeah, one second," he sighs. "And you know I thought walnut was the best."

"You still had to go through the catalogue, like, three times, before agreeing with me on that!"

He grabs his cane, and he follows you out the door, the brightness of the afternoon assaulting his eyes and forcing him to narrow them for a second. "Whatever, let's just go."

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

More or less, it's an... interesting time.

You drag him to a restaurant a few streets down, pointing out buildings to him as you pass them by and telling him what they're for. The place isn't all that crowded to begin with, so Levi hardly knows why you'd put in a reservation in the first place, but you seem to be having a decent enough time making small talk with the hostess as she leads you and Levi to a table by an upstairs window. Thank goodness Levi's dressed somewhat appropriately in a black turtleneck sweater and slacks; the people here, even if they look nice enough, are dressed pretty well, and it seems to be on the higher-end of luxury scaling.

It does faintly bring red to his ears to hear that you'd made the reservation for both you and him, being so confident in telling the hostess that the two of you were together. It tells him he's doing enough—enough that you're secure enough to be inviting him at all, and secure in the thought that you have him.

The hostess leaves two menus at the table booth, the two of you now seated across from each other. "Someone will come by to get your order soon!"

"Thank you!"

The both of you grab a menu for yourselves, and Levi frowns when he sees the prices. "Why is everything here so fucking expensive?"

You hum, flipping to the next page. "Don't worry about it, I got it covered."

"You paying for me is worse than us just running out before the bill comes."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Who said anything about that?"

"Great, so we really are going to run out on the bill," he sighs, bringing his menu back up to cover his face. Thank goodness he'd brought enough money with him.

After a few moments wherein you and him are reading through them, you pull down Levi's down to make eye contact with him. "And you can't just choose the cheapest thing on the menu and hope that I won't know that's what you're doing."

"You can't stop me from ordering the," he scans the page, "children's bowl of salad greens."

"Ha, ha, very funny, Levi. Pick anything but that."

"And what if I actually want that? How dare you deprive me of my," he looks back down at the menu, "artisanal assortment of seasonal vegetables, including but not limited to spinach, lettuce, kale, and cabbage."

"Come on, just get what you want! Really, I got it."

Levi sighs. At this point, he knows there's no point in questioning you, even if you aren't making any sense.

A waiter comes by to take your orders, and even though Levi's got no idea what you have cooking up, he orders whatever looks appetizing to him in the moment. The waiter takes away your menus, and you lace your fingers together underneath your chin, leaning forward and looking at him. "So, Levi?"

"What?"

"Do you have to get home early today, or do I get you all to myself until sundown?"

"I don't really have anything to do, so I guess the latter."

"You don't sound all that enthusiastic," you tease, playfully kicking his foot underneath the table. "Tired of me already?"

"I never said that," he deadpans. "You know how I talk by now, you know what I mean."

"Just poking fun at you," you smile. "Is there anything you wanna do for the rest of the day after we eat, then?"

"How should I know? I hardly ever go out."

"Would you mind following me around all day?"

No.

"Aren't you already dragging me around?"

You chuckle. "Yeah, you're right, sorry about that. I probably should've asked you earlier if you wanted to do anything today."

"It's fine, I don't mind."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I trust that you know your way around this place better than I do, anyway."

"Probably, but I don't have any ideas of what to do for the rest of the day, so I guess we'll just go where the wind takes us."

"Sounds good enough."

The waiter returns with two glasses of water, and you tap your cup against his in cheers before taking a sip. "Got any plans for this week?"

This is a pretty routine question, with an equally routine response.

Levi shrugs, reaching over to pull his glass closer to him. "Nothing much. The wind has been a pain, so I have to redo some of the fencing around my house tomorrow."

"Aw, at least the heat hasn't been too bad this year, so it can't be that bad to be working outside. Are Gabi and Falco going to come over to help you?"

"Yeah, but I know they only wanna help so they can force me to get ice cream for them afterwards," he sighs.

You smile. "They're just kids, you can't blame them."

He rolls his eyes. "I can if they do a shit job."

"Well, if they don't do a shit job, I can show you this ice cream parlor down the road later! It's good, I used to go there a lot. Maybe you can take them there."

"Maybe," he takes a sip of water. "Is it expensive like everything else is around here?"

"It's a decent price, I wouldn't worry about it," you wave him off. "Doing anything else?"

"You know as well as I do that I'm boring as shit, so no. You?"

You hum, looking off and out the window. "I have to go and collect bank statements before the weekend, but that's about it."

"That's it?"

You roll your eyes with a smile. "Are you the only one allowed to be boring?"

"You just seem more productive than boring."

"Normally, you'd be right, but I can't bring myself to really get anything done right now."

He doesn't need to ask why that is, but he follows your gaze outside and hums in affirmation. "Not judging you."

"I know."

You and him sit in silence for the rest of the lunch spent, only making brief comments about the random happenings you can see through the window. There's a bird that chases after a teenager for a loaf of bread, a fountain that spits water in the center road, a couple of kids who fall into said fountain. When the food arrives, Levi feels slightly uneasy because you still haven't told him what's happening with the payment situation, but as soon as he takes his first bite of the dish, he just lets himself forget about what you're plotting because it's too good to be worrying himself over. You eat in similar quiet, only once asking if he likes his meal, but it's an easy quiet. One that's familiar, that'd been present in the simpler days where you and him would only spend time in each other's company people-watching.

The both of you finish your food with similar-enough speed, and the waiter takes away both your plates before you yawn and stretch out your arms and legs. "I'll be right back, going to the bathroom," you say, sliding out of your side of the booth.

Levi nods, and he looks down into his glass of water once you're out of view. The ice practically refuses to melt, clinking against the sides of the cup as he rocks it back and forth, but it isn't really all that long before you return. He raises a suspicious brow at you, really doubting that you'd gone to the bathroom at all, but before he can question it, there's a small ensemble of wait staff around your table, and a slice of cake is placed in front of him with a lit candle on it.

"Happy birthday, sir!" They all chorus.

"Happy birthday, Levi!" You cheer.

Levi blinks, looking dumbfoundedly at the candle that flickers in front of him. "What? It's not my birthday."

Levi then looks across the table at you, who's got your hands together in thanks, a grin plastered on your face. "Thank you! Sorry, he's just shy."

"No worries! We'd still love to give you a discount for this special day."

Is this your idea of getting the meal "taken care of?"

Good lord.

"Would you like to be sung to, sir?"

Fuck no.

"No, thank you."

You snicker from behind your hand, and after the wait staff (and the rest of the people in this fucking restaurant) wish him another happy birthday, Levi kicks your feet underneath the table again. You yelp, but you burst into laughter as he continues. 

He hisses your name under his breath. "I cannot believe you said it was my birthday!"

"Come on! It's all in good fun, and we get a discount!"

"How is this fun? What if I wanted to celebrate my actual birthday here someday?"

"Don't worry, I thought that through!"

He groans into his hands. "I don't even want to know, but I probably should."

"Well, this is practically the halfway point between your birthdays, so this is the perfect time for you to be pretending it actually is because the employees will have six months to forget!"

Ugh, he hates that that makes sense. "I'm never going anywhere with you again."

"You already agreed I get you for the day, so you can't really say that," you laugh. "You should probably blow out your candle before the wax melts into the cake, though."

He sighs, and he brings his hands away from his face to blow the flame. You clap excitedly, as does the table directly next to you, and Levi sinks back into his seat. "Let's get out of here."

"Not gonna enjoy your birthday treat?"

Levi rolls his eyes. "Why, do you want it?"

"I'm alright, I'm too full."

"Well, I doubt it's better than anything you could make, so I don't really want it either."

"Can I have it, mister?" A young boy from the table behind him asks, popping up from behind Levi's seat.

His parents shush him, but Levi just gently plucks off the burnt-out candle and hands the plate to the kid from over the divider. "Sure, happy birthday."

You smile as you watch the exchange, but before you can tease Levi for his soft spot, he gets up from his side of the booth and pulls you up to leave with him.

At least he gets the one-up on you when he forces you to let him to pay for the both of you himself, even if it isn't nowhere as much as it should be if it weren't "his birthday."

When you and him exit the restaurant and Levi's left once again at your mercy, the first order of business is you showing him all the ice cream shops up-and-down the streets. You pull him along as best as you both can go, which admittedly isn't all that fast, but Levi still feels a breeze as he walks alongside you and through crowds of people going about their day. Even though you'd said you only knew of one place, it turns out that the whole town is riddled with seasonal ice cream shops that are jumping at the chance to take advantage of the sunniest day of the year.

You sweet talk each and every one of those employees into giving you and Levi free samples far bigger than they should be (it certainly does help that you tell all of them that you're celebrating a birthday), but after the third time you pull it off, Levi just goes along with it and gently knocks at the back of your knees with his cane once you're safely away and onto the next parlor.

With the sun high in the sky and only a gentle zephyr to carry the scent of summer flowers, it feels like the perfect time to be having ice cream, and even if Levi doesn't really have the heart to tell you he doesn't have a favorite flavor for himself, he enjoys the flavors that you pick out for the two of you so that you can try to guess.

He also tries his best to ignore the twinkle in your eye when you inevitably change samples with him and indirectly kiss, but it's hard to miss the way your smile reaches your eyes as you walk merrily alongside him and muse your joy, completely obvious to the gentle sunshine reflecting from the ribbon in your hair.

At some point, though, the both of you tire of eating so much ice cream, and you find yourselves walking along a strip of small shops facing a stretch of sea he didn't know was even here, shadows following you and telling Levi it's been a few hours since having first gone out. You're at the edge of the town, neither of you having quite ventured so far before, so there's no sense of direction other than where the weathervane points.

"What's next to do?" Levi asks.

"What, you don't wanna try more ice cream?"

"You said you were tired of it not even three minutes ago."

"That's me! What if you wanted more?"

"I'm good, thanks," he says plainly. "And I doubt we'll come across any more shops. We've been at this for hours now."

"Don't say that, this is important!"

"Sure it is," he rolls his eyes. "But, still, where are we going? I have no idea where we are."

"You and me both," you hum. "I don't know, see anything interesting here?"

Levi looks up to see the overhanging signs, lined up neatly at the upper edge of his vision. There's what looks like clothing stores and other small shops, none of which catch his eye, but after a bit more walking, he hears a halt in your step next to him and turns to look back at your form still stood three steps behind.

In the window you're looking through is a cake, put up on display against the glass.

A kid with a chocolate roll in his hands runs past you and towards the other side of the street, drawing your attention to this bakery's doors where people come in and out, arms full with pastries and other things you'd also made when you were still opened. The smell of summer berries and brûléed vanilla sugar are carried by the now-strong summer wind, and Levi's eyes catch sight of yours looking at the sign hung from the awning. The skirt of your sundress billows in the breeze, the fabric undoubtedly irritating the skin around your ankles, but you remain standing there, half-stood between walking forward and backwards.

And he's filled with sadness, watching you as the sun overhead mockingly casts down light onto your figure.

It isn't a tragedy for there to be another bakery here, he knows that. It's a good distance away from yours, and there's hardly any reason to be upset that people are able to get their fill of sugar and spice. There's enough room for everyone to do well for themselves, and he knows the look in your eyes isn't that of jealousy, and the longing therein is not for the height of success this place seemingly has. Even if you'd been envious, he wouldn't blame you. He's competitive in his own right, and perhaps if it'd been under different circumstances, he'd scoff at you and tell you that there's no way this place has better scones than yours.

But the windows have no curtains, and the glass on them is whole. The door isn't locked shut, nor is there a sign hung on it saying it's unsure of when it'll open again. The display case is unshattered, there's a light illuminating whatever's in it. The chairs are filled with people, and the paint of the walls don't need to be redone. Whoever owns this place doesn't spend their afternoons sprawled out on a freshly-dusted table that's the only piece of unbroken furniture left, but, rather, with patrons who praise their craft and line their pockets with petty cash and loose coins.

And all those things together explain the frown that's settled on your features, out-of-place and pulling at the strings of his heart.

So, he does what he has to.

Levi grabs your hand, his cane held half-firmly in the palm of his other hand, and he pulls you away. He pulls you in the direction of the wind so your hair doesn't get caught in your eyes, and he takes you off-balance just enough to force you to follow his guide.

You ask where you're going.

He has no idea where he's going or how far he's going to travel, but all he knows is that he has to get you away from there. Again, it's not like he can move all that quickly, his legs not necessarily made for running, but he does his best, pain permitting.

So he keeps his mouth shut, only telling you that it's a surprise.

You ask what's wrong, why he's walking so fast.

He knows you aren't going to say anything to let on that you're upset or admit you need to be somewhere else, so he makes up some bullshit excuse about everything here being boring and needing to leave for something less mind-numbing.

You stop questioning things when Levi squeezes your hand, though. He probably should've thought to do that sooner.

The wind directs you both to a bench facing the water, faraway from the bakery and out of the breeze, and by the time and you've both caught your breath back and sat down, Levi's still got a hold on your hand, and you can only stare at the linking of warmth where they meet before looking up to his face.

He can see the overglaze in your eyes disappear as you blink and take in your new surroundings, looking past him now and around the area you've found yourselves in. He does the same, wanting to see the same things you're seeing.

The sky above the water is clear, only colored in the blue he's used to seeing on land. There's blinding glimmer from the sun above, and the sea is as clear as it is cloudy with sand. There's kids playing in the sand, burying their father underneath a layer that'd certainly break if he so much as moved a finger. The birds give Levi another reason to hate them (not that he needs any more, but it's nice to have more justification) because he can only watch in horror as they fly over and steal sandwiches from plates left unattended.

It certainly does look different when the sun is actually out.

He looks over at you occasionally, trying to figure out what the fuck he's meant to say after he's dragged you to this random ass bench in the seeming middle of nowhere for seemingly no reason, but you look content enough, your eyes only focused on where the sky kisses the sea, so he doesn't say anything. He looks down to where your hands are, still connected and with a grip gentle enough for either of you to pull away with easy, but when you don't make any movement away from him, he decides he doesn't want to either.

And the two of you sit like this for a while, just watching as the sun seems to endlessly light the world in front of you.

Yeah.

This is fine.

At some point, however many hours later, you pull your hand away to instinctively cover your mouth to yawn, and Levi knows then that it's about time to head back, no matter how sunny it is outside. He forces you to get up, poking you at the small of your back with his cane until you are awake enough to be aware of your surroundings, and you're suddenly back to yourself, teasing and smiling and walking alongside him with a smile on your face.

The two of you struggle with getting back to your apartment, only able to track yourselves using vague recollections of shop signs you'd both only seen once several hours ago, but after a lot of walking in circles (and a quick detour through a farmer's market to get things to make dinner), you finally find yourselves back at your home, Levi taking the opportunity to prove he's not totally inept in the kitchen. What comes as a result is a meal that you insist is fit for royalty, and you and him eat while speaking half-truths over two more cups of tea that go cold before you can drink one of them.

With nothing else to do but to wait for the full feeling in his stomach to pass, Levi finds himself slumped back on your sofa, his forearm over his eyes, you right next to him with a fresh cup of tea to keep yourself from falling asleep. You're quite tired for someone who always seems so energetic, but Levi supposes that a day like that would wear anyone down. He's still not penchant to sleep, though, even with all the movement of the day, but he does let himself close his eyes while he tries to give himself the energy to take himself home.

"You can just go to sleep, you don't have to stay awake," he says quietly, adjusting his legs to lay a bit more comfortably. "I'll lock the door on the way out, I'll leave soon."

You yawn. "I don't want to sleep yet, it's too early. You sure you don't just wanna stay over again? I won't wake you up at 3 in the morning again to make tea for me downstairs."

"I have to fix the fence with the kids tomorrow, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, forgot."

"I appreciate the offer, though."

"Yeah, of course. You're welcome anytime." You hum before stretching and getting up from the couch. "One second, I'm gonna get something real quick."

Levi nods, and he looks out your balcony's glass doors as he waits. There's still plenty of light out, but it's nearing what's supposed to be evening, so he really ought to go soon. Just as he's about to get up, though, his hands about to push himself up off the seat cushion, you're halfway leaned down in front of him with a cake in your hands.

The two of you make eye contact, and you freeze. Levi's eyes flicker back and forth between your face and the cake, a candle lit in the center. You're silent, stuck in place, so Levi takes it upon himself to break the sound barrier.

"Aren't you going to start singing? It's my birthday, you know."

You blink, and, suddenly, laughter sputters from you, and you tip your head back and look up at the ceiling, careful not to drop the cake. Levi rushes to get up, take the cake from you, and set it on the table, and you fall back onto the couch and cover your eyes from the overhead light with your forearm. The rise and fall of your chest as you laugh and try to catch your breath is too much for Levi to watch, so he looks away and stares at the flicker of the candle as it melts shorter.

"Oh, Levi! You're hilarious!"

"I'm really not," he deadpans. "What's this for, anyway? You know it's not my birthday."

You roll your eyes, leaning forward and turning the cake so that it's faced properly towards yourselves on the couch. "So conceited. Who said anything about it being your birthday?"

"You did, all day-" Levi pauses. He looks at the cake, and there, in icing, are the words Happy Birthday.

If it's not his birthday...

"Gonna sing for me, old man?"

. . .

"Today's your birthday?"

"Yep! What, you thought I'd take advantage of that restaurant without it actually being someone's birthday?"

He frowns. Why hadn't you said anything earlier? The entire day, you'd just gone around telling people that it was his birthday, not yours. It makes a lot more sense that you had a reservation for the restaurant, why you cared so much about the other happenings of today, why you wanted to do something different.

He could've done something. Not that he could've gotten you a cake, really, seeing as you're the one who he goes to when he needs that, but maybe he could've-

"I'm waiting," you singsong, leaning over to nudge his shoulder.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"What, so you could get me a cake?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Ah, ah, ah," you wave your finger at him. "You know you aren't gonna win with me, so you can stop with that."

"You still should've told me," he barks. "For fucks sake, it's your birthday."

He's not meaningfully upset, and he knows you know that, but he can't understand why you wouldn't say anything until bringing out an entire fucking cake.

You raise a brow at him, leaning sideways deeper into the couch cushions. "If I remember correctly, you're the one who doesn't care about your birthday all that much, right?"

Okay, well, that might've been true regarding his own birthday, but he's really taken to celebrating for other people's lately, especially with the gradual shift in his attitudes of celebrating things in general. For fucks sake, he's bought, like, twenty cakes from you at this point. You, of all people, know this.

"Okay, and? It's still unfair you spent your day wasting time with me."

You lean your face into your hand. "And it's unfair you've been doing the same with me for the last couple weeks with me, so we're even."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

You roll your eyes. "Come on, Levi, just let me be selfish."

"No, really, what are you talking about? I-" Before he can continue, his eyes drift to the cake (more specifically, to the evershortening candle on it). "Your candle!"

"Oh, right." You tuck a front strand of hair behind your ear before leaning over the table, pausing for a second to make your wish, and you blow out the candle. Your eyes follow the stray smoke as it floats up and dissipates in the air. Levi, though still mildly distraught, claps for you, and you flash him a smile.

You then get up and bring back a knife, two plates, and two forks, and you kneel on the floor in front of the cake while turning it. You'd sat down a bit too quickly, so the ribbon in your hair was brought to the front of your head, so Levi leans forward to pull it back properly and make sure it doesn't get caught on any frosting.

At the feeling of his hands over your hair, you look back at him, and the abrupt movement undoes the ribbon, one end of it held onto by Levi's hand. Levi pauses, unsure of what to do with it, but you only smile at him again before going back to the cake. After a bit more staring at it, you lean to the side to let him see. "That look like a good piece?"

Honestly, he doesn't really know what constitutes a good piece in the first place, but it has a strawberry on it, so he nods, the ribbon still in his grasp. He's still unused to seeing you with your hair down, so he also doesn't really know what to say without sounding like a complete and utter idiot, but you luckily make it easy for him by thrusting a plate with a slice of strawberry cream cake into his hands.

You put down the knife after getting yourself a piece too, and you sink back into the couch happily with a fork between your lips. Levi takes a bite, too, and he wills himself awake to enjoy it properly. He makes no further comments regarding you keeping your birthday to yourself, but when you and him both finish eating, he gets up from the couch and steals your plate from you to do the dishes from this and dinner himself. You try to stop him to no avail, as he threatens to drop the plates to the floor if you try to take them away from him, but you quietly follow him to the kitchenette and sit at the dining table as he turns on the faucet and grabs a sponge, squeezing soap onto it.

He scrubs as quietly as he can, which isn't really all that quiet anyway because the running water is still far too loud, but when he's finally at the point where he can put the sponge down and just wash away bubbles, you yawn again and you look off wistfully, leaning further into your hand as you watch the sun set in the sky.

Well, not really, because it's still very bright outside and the sun is nowhere near actually setting, but it'd ordinarily be around this time anyway, so it feels like it should be.

"Thanks for coming along with me today, Levi. I appreciate it."

"Yeah, I know." He puts a plate onto the rack. "Still don't know why you didn't just tell me it was your birthday."

"I didn't want you to do anything special. You do enough for me as is."

Levi scoffs. "Like washing the dishes is that much work."

You chuckle. "It isn't, but you've been a lot of help. I don't really get much done in the bakery when you're not here."

"You don't?" He thought as much on the front that the storefront doesn't look all that different between the Wednesdays he comes, but he assumed you did other things during the rest of the week by yourself.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't lost sleep over the worry that you'd be alone in the mornings, the time only reminding you of when you used to wake up to start your day down at the bakery, though.

"You can probably read me as well as I read you, right?"

"I doubt it."

"I think you do, since you probably already know this," you muse. "I don't know, it's just hard to do anything on my own about it. It's really overwhelming to think about fixing everything."

"I can imagine," he says, frowning slightly.

There's a brief silence as you get up to get the cake and bring it back to the fridge, and you lean against it as you watch Levi get to wiping dry the rest of the kitchenware.

"Really, Levi. Thank you for coming over so often. I'm sorry I can't give you anything in return."

You think you don't give him anything?

You probably couldn't be any more wrong about that.

"Don't worry about it." He pauses, flicking off excess water on his hands into the sink. "I like being here."

The with you goes unspoken, but he doesn't know if he wants you to know that or not.

Levi turns to look back at you, far closer than he thought you were to him, and he tries his best to match the smile on your face with a softening of his gaze. "Happy birthday."

And maybe because he's already within reach or because you're too thankful for your own good or because the sun has decided he's deserving, you reach out and wrap him in a tight hug, your smile against the skin of his neck as you hold him.

For the first time today, the nagging at the back of his mind is there again, telling him that he's not meant to be held this way. That he's meant to be anywhere else, where the sun is down for as long as he's awake and the sky isn't painted in the same pink that's surely on his face right now.

But, for the thousandth time, he'll ignore that, if only, once more, he can be here with you, to do whatever it is that you wish for, wherever the wind takes you.

And, today, the wind took him to celebrate your birthday with you.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

The sweet months that became of the summertime fly by, as does the progression of repairing the bakery storefront, and in the autumn breeze, Levi’s heart soars alongside the leaves. 

Speaking of much, Wednesday is no longer the only day of the week which Levi returns. After that conversation on your birthday, he's found himself with you for far more days than just the meager third day in the week.

Whenever packages of tables and chairs and tile and floorboard get delivered, Levi comes.

Clear is the sound of delivery trucks which come through the road and drop off boxes much too heavy for the both of you alone, so days consist of dismantling parts, getting them inside, and haphazardly putting them back together. The floor's been repaired for a while now and all the debris is gone, so the two of you will sit on the floor with only a single wrench between the two of you to figure it out. It's not the hardest thing in the world to figure out, but between all the empty-hearted fights over who gets to read the instructions and who gets to use the tools, it takes its time to get completed. In the end, though, it's usually Levi with the wrench, you with the instruction manual, and a kiss to the sky to hope that you're both doing everything correctly. In the moments you have to switch roles and your knees start to hurt after having to get underneath the tables to screw in the bottom panels, Levi is quick to go to the kitchen and fetch you some ice before you're even starting to complain.

Whenever ceramics are set to arrive, Levi comes.

They get dropped off in wooden crates at the bakery's front door, and Levi brings them in on his way inside. You take them from him, hold the door open for him to come through, and the two of you fight over whether or not they deserve to be on display or actually used by customers. The rest of the day is either spent with two teacups between the two of you (always one untouched, but that's not necessarily any issue) and a new dessert you're thinking of putting on the menu, or with a newspaper that Levi brings from the market so you can take turns doing the crossword while the other unpacks the shipments of porcelain.

Whenever it's someone's birthday, Levi comes.

It's never quite sat well with him that he's been asking you to make something for everyone he deems deserving of a birthday cake, but after the first time he'd off-handedly mentioned having to attend a celebration, he just tells you because he'd rather you go ahead and have the cake ready than rush to send him off with something before the sun sets. He speaks very briefly about whomever it is that it's for, but you don't demand any information from him, so it goes without saying that it's just someone important, and you're better off just talking about the weather or how Gabi had made fun of (but still tried to copy) the way Levi'd held his tea-, sorry, water cup while they were out on the benches.

His friends have started to wonder where he gets all these cakes from, all ornately decorated and divine to the soul, but all he can say is that you're closed (for now, and that they should all come by when you're reopened to support you however they can; not that he's ever going to admit to bringing in more customers).

Sometimes, though, when the kids ask, he'll bring them with him, and they'll ask you dumb questions about your life over the cupcakes you make for them while Levi gets to putting up new light fixtures.

Levi's happy they seem to really like you.

Well, not really "seem;" they just do. They love asking him questions they're too shy to ask you in the moment when you're there, and even though Levi's usually quick to shut down any accusations of romance or intimacy beyond what's become of his relationship with you, he answers what he can.

Whenever there's too many bundles of carrots left over and he knows he can't eat them before they spoil, Levi comes.

With the summer warmth, there'd been a great harvest this year, and because all the petals had turned to fruit and vegetable in proper time, there were no issues with allergies to keep him from staying out in the open for too long. He's able to harvest more than enough for himself and whomever he can thrust crates of cabbages onto, but he doesn't really know what else to do with the rest besides bring it to you. You take the fruits and put them into tea syrups and cakes, and if he's brought vegetables, Levi, definitively the better cook between the two of you, will come up to your apartment and make dinners to last you until the next time he's planning to come and bring more squash. 

And, still, of course, when it's Wednesday, Levi comes.

There's always something that needs to be done, whether it be cleaning, counting up loose inventory, or finding a new supplier for powdered sugar, so he might as well just continue with the routine that he's not actually supposed to be following. When there's absolutely nothing else to do, Levi sits next to you, shoulder-to-shoulder, and he listens to you explain how the finances work and how the bookkeeping is maintained, two cups of tea in front of you that always go cold. Days spent like that remind Levi that he made the right decision in choosing a life of relative peace in his quaint little house because the stress of having to file every receipt he's ever received would've killed him before he even opened.

Though, he can't deny there's romance in catching you half-asleep and then rushing upstairs to grab a blanket to drape over you, and he can thank the endless rows and columns on numbers marked in your little notebook, written in with ink and doodled in the margins with the same color pen, for that.

But he holds himself steady in the life he's had for the last four years, in spite of the time he now chooses to spend with you.

He still gardens all the same, only real difference now being that he's not absolutely irritated out of his mind every time he has to put on his gloves. He'd almost forgotten the feeling entirely, save for the time when the pale yellow stitch came undone after a particularly lengthy day of raking out weeds, but you'd resewed the slit back together after he'd brought it back to you.

He still sees his friends, seemingly now more than ever with how often they regroup to celebrate birthdays and other anniversaries. Hange's birthday was just last week, and all the kids came together to hold a little gathering at a bar in memoriam, but more than that, they'd met plenty over the summer to exchange food and recounts of new experiences.

He still sleeps in his chair, waiting for the lull of sleep to take him and keep him away from his mind. His inner thoughts have become much quieter, much more muted, but they still haunt him in the ways they're etched into his skin and bone. It feels almost wrong sometimes, how at peace he is when he's done with his day and there's nothing that comes to mind other than what tasks he has for the following day, but he's done a pretty good job at just ignoring the part of himself that taunts him to think too deeply about anything at all.

He still has his tea, boring, bitter, the same as always. There's no desire to deviate in the slightest, even with how hot the summer wind is, and there's no wavering in the lie that he doesn't have tea anywhere but in the safety of his home, under the roof that's never quite felt like his.

But, nevermind the plainness of his life and the relationships therein.

Point being, Levi comes to the bakery often to do the same nothings that occupy the rest of his time.

But, today, it's none of those aforementioned days where there's a new piece of furniture to pick out of a magazine or a new shipment of vanilla sugar to move into containers or a new batch of squash that Levi needs to get rid of or the third day of the week.

When you reopen the bakery, Levi comes.

It's not a grandiose occasion, by any means. Levi comes in only a little earlier than usual (as in, he leaves his home as soon as there's enough sun to make it to you safely), and you let him in as soon as he's there so he can help around while you continue baking and making sure everything's ready for opening. He makes you a cup of white peony tea, only a little less strong than the cup he'd brewed for you his very first night in your kitchen, and you give him a blueberry muffin to snack on while he pours it out for you. He sits quietly, listening as you talk your head off about vanilla sugar and 

The week prior, the two of you had celebrated the final happenings of getting the storefront back together and better than it had been before all this ever happened, and along the ways back-and-forth to a restaurant neither of you care to remember the name of, you and him had plastered reopening flyers all over lampposts and bulletin boards; so, it goes without saying that you're expecting a lot of people to come through and see what's new.

What you hadn't expected, though, was for Levi to volunteer and man the register and front of the house while you kept at the baking and brewing in the kitchen. At this point in the late summer and after so many days spent sprawled out on the floor arguing over prices, Levi knows the menu like the back of his hand, and although he can't personally attest to the quality or flavor profiles of any of the teas, he forces you to accept the help because you're stressed enough just seeing the line outside.

The day goes about as Levi expects it to, though.

Far too many things are bought, far too many cups of tea are delivered to tables made of walnut wood, and far too many people come. He recognizes some of them, but he doesn't really have the time to remember whether or not they were regulars before you had to close because there's just too many people to tend to. The line dies down as the time ebbs and flows, but the kids that come by with their friends don't have enough money to get something for everyone, so Levi has to shoo them away after paying for their things himself.

Soon enough, though, after many hours spent wrapping up pastries and trying to make sure that he's as nice as humanely possible to avoid scaring away any customers, Levi's sat on the couch in your apartment while you answer the door, having just finished sharing a dinner he'd slipped away to make while you tidied up downstairs and counted up the day's earnings.

"Thank you so much! See you tomorrow!" You close the door, and Levi looks over at you now that you're coming back to him, holding a basket thinly veiled in colored cellophane.

"Who was it?"

You sit down next to him after putting the basket on the table in front of you, and you stretch upwards and touch the wall above the couch. "My landlady came by to give us a reopening gift."

"That's nice of her, but did you just say 'us?' As in, including me?"

"She knows you, why's that such a surprise?"

Levi raises a brow, leaning forward to try and look through the plastic wrapping. "She knows me?"

"Yes?"

"I only see her when you send me to the garden to get tomatoes and shit, how does she know me?"

"I tell her about you!"

His breath catches in his throat. "You do?"

"She asks about you sometimes, too."

His initial instinct is to assume that those questions are either deeply personal or deeply embarrassing, so he only sighs in muted exasperation.

You join him in looking at the basket, squinting your eyes to try and look past the cellophane. "I wonder what she got us, she didn't mention anything when she gave it to me."

"Why don't you just open it?"

"It's more fun to guess first!"

"It can't be that much of a mystery," Levi rolls his eyes. Looking more closely, he can't really make out anything, but there's a faint outline of some sort of bottle. "Do you drink?"

"Not really, no. You think it's alcohol?"

"You don't?"

"It could be a bottle of sauce or something. I ask her for cooking wine sometimes."

"So, alcohol?"

"You know it's not the same thing!"

"My point still stands."

"Maybe it's some other drink? Or something she'd just put into a bottle to throw us off?"

"I really doubt it, but just open it already."

"Ugh, you're no fun, but okay." There's a really tightly-pulled knot holding together the cellophane, so you get up to bring back a pair of scissors. You slip one of the blades underneath the ribbon, and you snip at it before peeling away at the plastic.

Lo and behold, it's a bottle of dark red liquid. Also inside the basket is two wine glasses and some small jars of assorted expensive spices and homemade jams, but it's more than obvious the primary gift is the drink.

"Huh, guess you were right. Don't know why she'd get this for me when she knows I don't really drink, though." You reach forward and carefully pull up the bottle from the mixed paper cushioning the it in the basket, and you bring it up closer to your face to read the label your landlady had attached to it. "Oh! She made it herself, it says it's pomegranate wine. Have you had that before?"

"No. Not really a much of a drinker myself, either."

"Here, you can read the label."

As you move to hand the bottle to him, Levi sees a little piece of paper attached to the underside of the bottle that he doesn't think you saw, so he points to it before you can pass it off. "What's that?"

You swiftly move your wrist to turn the bottle upside-down, and you gently peel it from the bottle and hold it up to your eyes. Your lips move as you silently read it to yourself, but you fold it and tuck it underneath your sleeve. Before he can ask what it'd said, you hold out the wine to him again with a soft smile and tell him. "Just a note from her to me."

He hesitantly nods, unsure of what that really means, but he takes the bottle from you anyway, and he looks down to read the sticker.

Homemade Pomegranate Wine. Store cold. Faintly earthy, slightly sour, sweet, it reads.

"Are you gonna open it?" Levi asks, putting it back on the table.

"I don't know, do you think I should?"

"I asked first."

"Well," you go to grab one of the two glasses in the basket. "I'd feel bad if I didn't have any, especially since she made it herself."

"Then what's stopping you?"

"I don't wanna pressure you into drinking just because I am."

"What? How old do you think I am, twelve?"

"Don't flatter yourself," you sass. "I was just trying to be considerate."

"You don't need to be, I'm not influenced so easily. Just open the damn bottle."

You roll your eyes. "You've really lost your tact over the last couple months, haven't you?"

"You want me to get it back?"

"No, no! I like you this way," you laugh. "I'm gonna go wash this, then."

You get up to rinse the glass, and he reaches forward to pull the basket closer to him, looking at all the little jars sent from your landlady. Going by the difference in lids (some being blue, some being yellow), he's meant to be the recipient of the spices.

You'd probably told her he's the better cook between the two of you.

The gentle clinking of glass against glass sounds sweet to him as he reads the labels on them, many of them listing herbs and spiced seeds he's never heard of before. It seems that there was a decent amount of effort in finding these exotic seasonings. The jams look nice, too, neatly arranged and filled to the brim with the sugared fruits. You'd mentioned once before that you'd wanted to try having your tea with jam instead of honey, and these seem like they'd paid well with the plethora of teas you have in your apartment cabinets.

You could probably make these jams all yourself, but he knows you think the thought is worth more than the practicality. You hate washing pots after making jam, anyway.

Looking between you and the other glass, Levi wonders to himself if it'd be worth the slight headache in the morning tomorrow to try some of the wine. Pomegranates are a pain to peel open so he seldom eats them, but in the rare occasions that he musters up the halfhearted willpower to do it, they're pretty good. One can only imagine how such a fruit would translate into wine, but him especially when he's only used to the hard-hitting liquors that those brats force onto him during Happy Hour.

You had to close the bakery a bit earlier than expected, running out of time to justify starting whole new batches of what was missing to sell, so despite summer coming to its end, it's still bright enough outside. There's more than enough time for him to make it home, even after having something to drink, and even if that weren't the case, he knows you'd have no problems with him staying over anyway. Ordinarily, he'd do everything he could to avoid that, but you'll have to get up early anyway to prep downstairs. It might be fun to go through that again, too, especially knowing that you'd be enjoying that feeling for the first time in months now.

He gets up and takes the glass with him to bring to your kitchenette, slipping past you as you dry yours. You look at him from over your shoulder, and you raise a brow. "I thought you weren't drinking?"

"Might as well try it."

"Will you be able to get home okay? If not, you can stay here for the night."

"It takes a lot to get me drunk, I'll be fine," Levi says. "And maybe. We'll see how it goes."

"I don't get drunk easily either, but I don't know what this exactly is gonna feel like."

"It's okay," he muses. "It's worth it to celebrate, anyway. You worked hard to reopen."

You smile. "Couldn't have done it without you, though," you tell him sincerely, pushing past his frame to hang the drying towel back on the hook on the wall. "But you're right, we should celebrate!"

After you leave and bring your glass back to the table to open the bottle, Levi turns the faucet on and grabs the sponge to scrub at whatever dust or grime might be on the cup. He can hear you grunting to yourself as you try to pry open the bottle with the blade of those scissors, sighing loudly when you lose grip of it. He rolls his eyes as you continue to struggle with it, and after he's finished washing his glass, he comes back to the couch to take the scissors and pull out the cork himself.

He gets it open quickly and without fuss, and you hold out your glass for him to pour a bit out to try. He does with steady hands, and you put your glass on the table before grabbing hold of the wine yourself and pouring some out for Levi. He nods in thanks, taking the glass, before he can bring it to his lips, he sees you looking at him expectantly, your own glass held out in-between the two of you.

Levi sighs. "Do we really have to?"

"Who do you think you're talking to?"

Levi halfheartedly rolls his eyes before adjusting his grip to be holding the glass by the neck and clinking the rim of his glass against yours, and you smile as he does. He takes a cautious sip at the same time you do, and while the initial sting of sour is sharp on his teeth, his taste buds are more than welcome to their helping of sweet silk. The burn of alcohol is hardly noticeable, and it tastes almost like a juice rather than a liquor.

Maybe he ought to add winemaking to his long list of nothings to do.

. . .

Well, not really, because the process sounds hellish enough from the little tidbits he knows about it, but it's the thought that counts.

"This is good," he mumbles over his glass, taking another sip.

You hum as you savor the taste on your tongue, leaning back into the seat and closing your eyes. "Yeah, I could drink the whole bottle."

"Don't fucking do that."

"You can't stop me," you joke lightheartedly, taking a dramatically long sip. "But don't worry, I won't."

You both make quick work of the wine already in your glasses, and you put your glasses back on the table to hold them steady while Levi pours another round. He's not all that opposed to keep drinking, partly because it tastes divine, partly because he wants to keep listening as you start to ramble about all the things that'd transpired while you were working by yourself during the earlier parts of the day. You're nowhere near drunk, only speaking more freely than usual with a tiny bit more laughter, and Levi lets you go on-and-on, only stopping you when your hand movements get too erratic and he has to steady the hand holding your glass.

"Thank you, Levi!" You tell him every time, completely oblivious to the way he looks at you as you speak nothings.

But, of course, because it's just the nature of an activity like this, inhibition slowly seeps from your souls, and about an hour after initially popping open the bottle, there's a call to unbridled honesty that Levi resists. It's hardly difficult, already knowing that he's not as effected by alcohol as the ordinary person, but you're not as staunchly tolerant as he is. You're just barely tipsy at this point, but, still, Levi puts the cork back in the bottle to keep you from drinking yourself into feeling sick the next morning. The sun is just barely out, but it's started to rain, so he's just decided he's going to leave tomorrow after helping you in the morning.

He tells you as much, and you swirl your glass, now only barely holding a sip left in it, and you tip it in Levi's direction with a lazy smile. "You really weren't lying when you said you don't get drunk, huh."

"Can't really say the same about you."

"I never claimed to be invincible," you grimace.

"Sure you didn't."

"Okay, maybe I did, but I'm still not drunk yet!"

"I know."

. . .

"So, you should open the bottle for me again." You grab the bottle from the table, and you hold it out for him with a big smile. "Please?"

Levi deadpans, unmoving.

"Come on! Just a little more, and then you can hold onto it for the rest of the night."

"If you want it so bad, you can open it yourself."

"If you say so." You reach for the scissors on the table, but Levi takes your hand and pulls it back. You lazily try to tug it away, but he holds it firm. Obviously, not enough to hurt you, but enough that you can't get back to the sharp object. "You just said to open it on my own," you whine.

Levi groans. "That was a joke, you're gonna hurt yourself holding those."

"Then you open it!"

"I already said 'no.' You're gonna feel like shit in the morning."

"I won't!" You hold out the bottle to him again, and when he doesn't take it, you groan, putting it back. "You hate me."

He glares at you. "I just don't want you to be hungover when you have to get up later."

"I know, I know, I'm just kidding." You fold your hands in your lap, looking at the room with seemingly newfound wonder (and as if you don't literally live here). "Do you really not hate me?"

"Do you think I do?"

. . .

"No."

"Then, there's your answer."

After a bit more silence where he lets the gentle buzz settle and you look between the ceiling, the wall, and the bottle of wine that's so far out of reach to you, you speak up again, eyes trained everywhere but on him. "Hey, Levi?"

"What?"

"If I can't have any more wine, can you make me some tea?"

. . .

A bit of an odd request, but sure. Beats out having to deal with a drunker version of you, even if you've proved to hold your alcohol well enough to stay yourself.

He nods, and after you tipsily cheer and throw your arms around him in a loose hug, he pries you off of him and gets up to brew you something. It's quiet again, the only noise being that of the running water, the kettle hum, the opening of a tea tin, and the clinking of porcelain as Levi opens and closes your teapot. You take your turn at looking through the things in the gift basket, careful not to make too much noise or break any of the glass jars, but Levi does hear the faint musings of joy when you see a jam you want to try later.

And maybe it's because he's halfway tipsy or because he's brewed that black tea that he drinks at home or because it's made exactly the way he likes it or because he's so used to the simple sight when it's the two of you, but he pours two cups, and he brings them both to the coffee table.

When you see that he's brought two of them, you tilt your head in confusion. "You didn't have to get me two cups."

"One's for me," he says curtly. Before you have to look down and guess which one he'd chosen to brew, he tells you that it's black tea.

He can be thankful that the faint tipsiness you feel makes you forget that he's been insistent on the fact he doesn't drink tea in the first place, because you just thank him and get up from the couch, slightly stumbling over air as you get yourself to the kitchen. "I'm gonna get some sugar to have with it."

He waits for you to come back, a bit of humming from you and the sound of shuffling feet and the ever-growing pitter-patter of the rain outside filling the space as you get a small dish and tip out a small jar you keep on the counter with sugar cubes. You come back and drop one into the cup on your side of the couch, and you hold out the dish for Levi. "Want one?"

He shakes his head 'no,' and you put it down on the table. Levi touches the side of his teacup, and because it's too hot to start drinking, he gently pulls your hand away when you try to pick yours up. You don't start any fuss about it, though, and you go back to looking in the basket, now at the jars with the blue lids.

You look over your shoulder and hold one up. "Have you used saffron before?"

"Don't think so, no."

"I think you'd like it," you tell him, putting it back in the basket. You pick up another jar, and you bring it up closer to your eyes to read it. "Imported nutmeg seeds? She sure put a lot of effort into this, I better make her something as thanks."

"The ones with blue lids are mine, right?"

"Yeah, I think so, and the yellow ones are mine. Unless you want," you count them, tapping their lids, "ten different jars of jams. This pear one looks like it'd be nice, if you want it."

"I'm good. You should have it, it'll taste good with those croissants you make." He looks out the window and out towards the rain, the shine of the fresh rainwater bright against the long leaves of the plants you leave on your balcony. "Did you tell her I cook?"

"Tell who?"

"Your landlady."

"It's come up before, yeah." After a pause and some more clinking of glass against glass, you continue with a chuckle. "She likes to tease me and say I'm lucky to have a man who can cook for me."

It goes over his head completely what the implication of that statement is, but although he'd been too apprehensive to ask earlier, he figures that this is his one chance to pester you for your opinion of him.

Neither of you are drunk to the point of actual misdirection. If anything, the alcohol has only made you both honest, so this is where he won't have to worry about you needlessly lying to preserve his feelings.

He's wanted to know you've felt about him for a while now. Whether or not that fact has been truly bespoken to him, he isn't sure, but right now, where the world is entirely quiet except for him and you, he decides he has to know.

"What else do you say about me?"

You put down the jar of peppercorns, and you look back at him from over your shoulder. "Hm? What do you mean?"

"You said you talk about me, right? What else do you say?"

"Gotta be more specific than that." You pull away from the table, and you adjust to be facing him on the couch, your side against the back of the cushions. "What do you wanna know?"

And though he'd ordinarily recoil in such an intimate setting, the wine in his veins gives him just enough bravery to watch as your eyes flicker with amusement. His body shifts to mirror yours, knees almost touching as Levi tries to get his side to mold into the plush. "I don't know, everything?"

You lean into your hand. "You think we have the time for that?"

"Why wouldn't we?"

"Because I talk about you a lot."

. . .

"You do?"

. . .

"There's a lot to say about you, Levi."

. . .

"What's there to even say?"

. . .

"For starters, that you're practically live here now. My landlady keeps asking if I need to add your name to the lease."

Not off to the greatest start.

Levi pinches the bridge of his nose. "Seriously? And you let her keep asking?"

"She doesn't really mean it, she just likes to mess around," you laugh.

Reminds him of someone else who liked to meddle in his business.

"Good grief," he groans.

"But, really, what do you want to know?"

What does he want to know?

When he takes too long to think of an answer to give, you take the liberty of continuing however you'd wanted to, powered by only drunken stupor. "Well, you already know I told her that you cook."

"That, I do."

"Where'd you learn, by the way?"

"Just picked it up as the years went by, I guess."

"I'm jealous, you're so good at it, too," you sigh, leaning further into your hand.

Levi rolls his eyes. "As if I don't cook for you all the time."

"And, for that, I love you," you cheer, lazily pumping your first in the air.

And though Levi's heart stops for just barely a second, he knows you're only exaggerating.

Right?

"Hm, what else have I told her," you muse to yourself. "Ah! I've told her you live in a house."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you say wistfully, turning around to take a glance at the kitchen. "I've never been there before, obviously, but I think I have enough of an image to have described it well-enough. I don't tell her all about it, but she probably has an idea in her head."

"How do you know what my house looks like, anyway?"

"You talk about it a lot more than you realize," you tease, smiling.

He raises a brow. "I do?"

"Yeah!" You beam. "Your garden's more of a field than a small plot of dirt, so I can't imagine that you have much directly around you. You don't complain about any neighbors, either, so you probably don't have any."

. . .

"You'd be correct."

"See? And you'd mentioned once that it's made of wood, and the interior is painted blue. I think you said something before about getting some new furniture, too. And you have one of those directional things on your roof, right? The horse?"

"My weathervane?"

You nod, now remembering the word. "That! You said you painted it black, which isn't really practical because it's meant to reflect in the sun, so either you're really stupid, or you have a horse that's that color. Or had, you haven't complained about having to clean up manure or anything, so I doubt you have any farm animals."

. . .

Levi nods. "The latter."

Your half-drunken rambling continues, your hands now moving in tandem with your mouth. "And you have a small, circle dining table," you make the same shape with your hands, giggling. "Well, not that small, but it only fits four people, and you refuse to get a bigger one, so you always have to move stuff around so you can make enough space for your friends to have dinner when they come over.

"In my head, you ask them to push the random tables and chairs together, but you always end up being the one to do it because you're too worried about the floor getting scratch marks," you laugh, tipping your head back. "And you take the phrase 'too many cooks in the kitchen' to heart. Can't get anything done if someone's nagging you while you cook, which is ironic considering I'm sure my kitchen is smaller than yours and you have no problem sharing it with me.

"Oh! And there's that loose floorboard in front of your bedroom door you used to complain about all the time. Did you ever get it fixed?"

. . .

"No."

"Oh. I think there's some leftover wood from when we redid the flooring, maybe you could use that?"

"It's alright, I've gotten used to the creaking." Levi kisses his teeth, and he adjusts to lay his arm against the top of the couch. "You really remember all that stuff I told you?"

"Why wouldn't I? We're friends, aren't we?"

His heart pauses again, this time for longer than a second.

Friends.

You consider him a friend?

He'd felt this same feeling before, hadn't he? Where he'd questioned how you could be friends with him in the first place.

But...

This feels different. The quiet tug in his chest isn't that of despair in the way it'd been before. The hurt shouldn't be there, but it's dull. 

Friends.

Is that the correct word for the two of you?

"Hello?" You interrupt him, waving your hand in front of his face.

Levi blinks quickly and clears his throat, and he nods. "Right. We are friends."

It feels wrong coming out of his mouth, but he can't place why. He's long left his guilt over occupying your time.

"I'm sorry, it's probably weird for me to be talking about you so much to someone you don't really know," you nervously smile, tapping your pointer against your cheek.

He raises a brow. "Is it?"

"Isn't that why you're asking me about it? To make sure I haven't said anything too embarrassing?"

"No."

It's weird. He can't quite place it, because even though he knows that the notion of somebody talking about him in any capacity would be irritating otherwise, he can't bring himself to really care in any negative light.

In fact, it makes him... happy. Happy to hear that he exists to you outside of the moments you're together.

And maybe he's selfish in that way—thinking that he's allowed to be happy about it, or that he's allowed to ask more about it.

"I just want to know."

"I suppose I'd be curious too if I were you," you hum. "Maybe, one day, I'll get to ask you what you tell Gabi and Falco about me."

"You could just ask them yourself if you wanted to."

"Bring them by again, by the way. Gabi asked that I show her how to make cookies."

"Okay, I will."

. . .

"Anything else you tell your landlady about my boring self?"  

. . .

"I guess that's something else I told her. That you think you're boring."

Back to square one.

"Do you think I am?"

"What? Boring?"

Levi nods, half-afraid you'll say "yes," half-afraid you'll say "no."

He knows it's immature to think that either answer is indicative of any particular shortcoming in your opinion of him. "Boring" is hardly a negative adjective for him to begin with; boring is routine, boring is stable. He knows there's more to life than chasing fun and distractions.

But if you say "no," you're disagreeing with him. Challenging his disposition about himself.

"I don't," you answer.

And, suddenly, he's afraid you think of him in ways beyond his own world.

What's wrong with him? He'd been happy to hear that you talked about him outside of when he'd existed in front of you, but now he's too scared to think about how anything could go beyond that.

But even if he can't understand why, he'll hope his sober self will remember the details of this night and allow him the grace to continue living as boldly as he is now.

Now's your chance, Levi.

"Then, what do you think of me?"

You look up at him from your hand, and Levi watches as you blink at him, and your eyes twinkle with whimsy. "What do I think of you?"

He swallows down a lump in his throat, and he nods.

"Well," you hum as you lean further into your hand once more, and you look beyond him, your eyes only flickering back to him to make sure he's listening. "I think you're...

"Beautiful."

. . .

Beautiful?

. . .

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," you giggle. You move your head so your hair ribbon falls over your shoulder, and you roll the satin between your fingers. "You just are."

Levi refuses to believe you mean that. You don't know what that word means right now. You're drunker than he thinks you are. "You're lying."

"Come on, Levi. You know I'm not."

Looking more closely at your face, the flush on your cheeks is only attributed to the slightly hot summer heat; devoid is significant affect of alcohol. The smile on your face, though small and reserved, still reaches your eyes in the same way he'd learned to love, and in them, he sees no dishonesty.

"I do," he bites the inside of his cheek. Better now, than never. "But why?"

"Why? Hm," you start, eyes turning down to look at your ribbon. "Well, you're hard-working."

"What the fuck does that have to do with beauty?"

"It's moving that you care so much about what you do with your time," you smile to yourself. "Gardening, taking care of your home, helping me around here."

He lights up in embarrassment, and he covers the lower half of his face with the palm of his hand. "I don't think I care that much," he grumbles.

"There's no shame in caring about things."

. . .

"I know that."

"Sure you do," you chuckle. "Well, continuing on, you're brave."

Okay, now you're actually losing him. Again, what's that got to do with beauty?

"How the fuck am I brave?"

"You put up the new chandelier downstairs all on your own!"

He deadpans. " That's your measure of courage?"

You furrow your brows, and you change from looking dazed to halfheartedly frowning. He's about to correct himself and comfort you, but you don't speak at all in the way you look. "It takes real guts to get on the ladder! I used to have to ask an installation company to do the light fixtures!"

"That still doesn't make sense. How does that make me," he hesitates in using the word, even if it's prompted by you to use it for him in the first place. "...That."

"It just does," you hum, now back to having a relaxed smile on your face. "Oh! And you're kind. That makes you beautiful, too."

"Do I even bother questioning why?" Levi sighs. "I don't even think I'm kind in the first place. I'd go as far as to say I'm un kind."

And that's the truth, isn't it?

He's grumpy.

He's needlessly straightforward.

He's hanging onto something that he should've given the grace to leave.

He-

"Well, I don't think a man who's unkind would help raise two children, no matter how well-behaved they are."

"Actually, they were decently rowdy when I first met them." He pauses. "Well, one of them. Falco's always been respectful."

. . .

"Wow, you really showed me, huh," you tease. 

"Shut it."

"I mean it! I really do think you are kind."

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

You groan. "Whatever, don't believe me, then. But you aren't changing my mind."

"Why are you so insistent on it, anyway?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I don't think I've met a person kinder than you in my life."

And that's finally enough to make him freeze.

Or maybe he melts; he hasn't been able to discern the feeling. All he knows is that he's caught off-guard, and he's begging you to clarify and set him straight again.

You don't seem to catch on, though, and you just continue, closing your eyes and speaking with a new melody which resonates something deep within his soul. "From the day I first met you, you've always been so nice. You didn't want to take anything for free from me, and you still wanted to buy out the entire display case.

"Even I can tell you're no sweet tooth, but you still came back to have a slice of cake every so often and get something to bring home for your friends. You let me talk your head off at the counter, and you let me awkwardly sit with you and drink tea."

"That's not special. It's just what anyone would do," he asserts quietly.

Right?

"Maybe, but not just anyone would spend their entire summer trying to rebuild a bakery that's, what? An hour's walk away from where they live? And you never asked for anything in return. You just... did it for me. Even though you didn't know me all that well yet, and you'd only learned I was closed that same day, you still promised to come back and help me.

"You came back, and you installed new lights for me. Read the instructions to me when we had to assemble the appliances. Sat with me while I did property paperwork. Let me drag you around and say it was your birthday when it was really mine."

From the corners of your eyes seeps tears, but even though Levi wants to rush in and wipe them away, you seem content in letting them settle there. Time stills as he watches you speak from your soul in the way he'd so desperately wished he could himself.

"And you didn't just help me.

"You came so often my apartment started feeling empty when you weren't here.

"You brought in your own vegetables and fruits from your garden and cooked for me. Hell, you even started leaving extra portions so I could keep eating your cooking on the days you were gone.

"You ate all the desserts I made out of boredom and brought them home to take them off my hands, too, only to come back and tell me how much everyone you gave some to enjoyed it.

"You let me talk about anything, everything, and nothing at all.

"Fuck, you even memorized the prices of everything so you could help me with reopening today."

And, from Levi's heart, something blooms. Like a peony, flowering in a gentle, autumn breeze, he feels something bloom.

"So, you're not allowed to call yourself unkind around me."

Your eyes remain closed, but you've stopped crying.

And, like a fool, Levi can't keep his mouth shut.

"I think the meaning is still lost on me," he says softly, reaching forward to wipe at the stray tears left on your cheeks with his right hand.

"What?"

"Is beauty not a physical attribute anymore? Last I heard, all those things you just described me as aren't physical."

You laugh, Levi feeling your face light up as he continues to swipe away water from your eyes with his thumb. "Even after all of that, it still doesn't make sense to you?"

. . .

"No."

You sniffle, and you keep laughing.

"What?"

"Beauty manifests itself in a lot of ways, you know that, right?"

"I really don't."

"You want me to prove it?"

"I doubt you could."

"Watch." You grab hold of his hand, already within reach, and you bring it down and hold it in your lap. His thumb is still wet with your tears, so you pull the sleeve of your dress a bit longer so you can dry it. "Remember when you asked me for my name?"

He dumbly nods, his eyes following downwards to watch as you hold his hand in yours.

You look down and rub at callouses on his palm, careful not to press too harshly against the flesh. "Even when I didn't know you, I knew you were a hard worker. I could feel your callouses through your gloves."

Flames licks at Levi's heart, and he's too nervous to speak again. Even faintly drunk, he can't do anything against the everpresent feeling of warmth that comes from you.

"Then I learned more about you, and that opinion just strengthened."

"And you think that's... beautiful?"

"Yeah," you drunkenly smile. "I guess that'd be right."

"Then how exactly does bravery translate into something felt?"

You laugh, and you let go of his hand, bringing your right hand back on the top of the sofa backing. "Well, that's a bit more superficial. I just like having someone who can do things on the ladder so I don't have to."

"Of course you do." He supposes there's a sort of appeal in having someone else who can do the things you can't—namely, manual labor—but it still doesn't make that much sense to him.

"And! And! You're brave enough to try all the things I make, so that's gotta count for something, right?"

"Right, because trying a new flavor of cake is so scary," he deadpans.

"You'd be surprised how many people stick to only one flavor," you hum. "But, for you, I guess what that translates to is you not really looking nervous. You look pretty attractive with your whole 'cool and collected' disposition, you know."

"If you say so," he sighs. "What's left, then? Kindness?"

"Sure, you want me to show you?"

"You can try," he scoffs. "I really doubt you could."

No way you'd be able to point anything out about his appearance that conveys that in any meaningful way. His body's worn down, and the only marks of physicality he has left are the absences thereof.

Hard-work?

Sure, that shows up in the way his hands are weathered. He could've figured that out for himself if he really wanted to.

Bravery?

Just as stupid, but it makes sense; he was a soldier before all this.

The ability to climb a ladder without screaming at the top of his lungs is apparently also something of an indicator of this trait in his physical being.

Kindness?

Yeah, no fucking way.

Then, suddenly, you reach outwards to push aside his bangs so you can see his face more clearly. At the touch of your fingers against his forehead, he burns hot red again. Your hand lingers there, pinning his hair to the side of his face.

Fuck, he can barely breathe with you in front of him like this.

"What're you doing?"

"They say eyes are the window to the soul," you say, looking into his.

Mesmerized by the swirl of care in your own orbs, he can't look elsewhere, and he can feel his heart beating even louder in his chest.

"And what about them?"

"You can tell me all you want that you aren't all these things. That you aren't caring, that you aren't courageous, that you aren't nice-"

"Didn't you just say I wasn't allowed to say any of that?" Levi asks abruptly.

You move your hand to gently pinch his cheek, lightly scolding him. "I know you're gonna say it anyway, so I can't stop you."

"I would've listened," he murmurs, putting his hand over yours on his cheek.

"No, you wouldn't have," you giggle.

. . .

Levi sighs. "You're probably right."

"You also didn't let me finish!"

Levi rolls his eyes, trying to ignore the rising burn coming from his chest. "Then finish."

"Well, now I've lost my train of thought. Um..."

"Something about me not being nice."

"Right, right," you hum, and your hand moves to lace itself in his hair.

And maybe it's because he's drunk, or maybe it's because he's waited for this moment for so long, or maybe it's because it's you, but he leans into your touch, begging to feel your warmth.

And with your next words, you give it to him.

"You could say any and all of that, and I'd never believe you.

"Because when I look in your eyes, all I see is someone kind. Someone beautiful.

"Someone who's you."

And, then and there, time stills completely.

The scent of familiar tea, the burn of your hand against his scalp, the feeling of his eyes locked with yours. All of it is so overwhelming that Levi can barely register you moving to straddle him, only to make it easier to hold his face with both your hands. He lets you, his hands moving to rest on your hips, and he stares up at you, a ring of light around your hair from the overhead lamp.

You lean in closer, looking at him with as much intensity as he is at you.

Maybe you really do believe all those things you'd said.

Maybe, through his eyes, you really can see him in the ways he can't see himself.

And, looking into your eyes, he thinks he sees you, too.

The fragment of light that'd always been there tells him what he'd already thought of you. All the ways he'd described you in his dreams could be rewritten into the way your eyes twinkle here, the way they shine. There's a tenderness in the way your gaze softens when you look at him, and it begs him to admit to himself that you're as beautiful as he'd always known you as. 

And, in your eyes, he thinks he finally sees the beauty in something as simple as sunshine.

"Is this okay?" You whisper in song, your lips hovering over his.

He nods slowly, his eyes fluttering closed, trying to burn the image of rosy cheeks and a breathless smile against his eyelids. But, although his heart wills him to lean further forward, to press skin to skin, it hits him all at once.

With the feeling of your breath hitting his, your fingers laced in his hair, his heart beating in sync with yours, he's sobered up again, his senses overwhelmed with the revelation that already came to him many moons ago. From the very beginning, when he'd only known you through the ghost of your touch through wrapped presents and lemon vanilla, he'd already known this.

He's not supposed to be here.

The feeling of his blood running cold comes quick, and it freezes him. You're still right in front of him, begging for affection to be returned with the confidence that you express in your touch, but long gone is the warmth of your hands all over him.

What’s even wrong with him right now?

His subconscious mind has been nagging him all this time to stop indulging in the simple company afforded to him by you, and now it demands that he give into it entirely? And, yet, he can't find it within himself to do even that. Even when he's meant to be at his most honest, his system flooded with liquid courage meant to give him the clarity to speak from his soul, nothing comes to him other than the taunting call of a sunless sky, telling him this;

If he were truly, wholly, deserving of this kind of love, wouldn't he be ready to receive it?

In this moment, he realizes there'd been love since he'd first crossed paths with you. His soul spoke for him and told him even your smile showed romance, and, still, nearly a whole year later, his heart still demands to be steeled and kept away from even himself.

His own heart isn't even his to give. He wants to believe that, if he had it, he would give it to you, but he can't know it enough to promise that to himself.

And, as if he'd had any control over it in the first place, the light in his soul is turned off, like a lamp with a bulb that's burned itself to the wire.

The only things that occupy his head presently are questions he wish he'd answered sooner, before all of this. He'd exhausted willpower to question all other beauty he'd encountered in this life, but the prospect of romance seemed so impossible, it hadn't ever been paramount enough to mull over completely.

Who is he to deserve compassion from someone else?

Someone so kind?

Someone so far away?

Someone who’s a friend?

Someone who’s halfway a lover?

Someone who’s as bright as the sun itself?

Someone who’s you?

He’s undeserving of a life like that. He can barely even muster up the courage to will himself to breathe now, the realization creeping up too quickly yet sucking him in with its familiar malice.

He should’ve known that the sun doesn’t shine for someone like him. It'd felt so easy to soak it in, to let himself fall, to find himself here, in the arms of someone so inviting. Even with how beautiful this life is and how much he’s come to own, he’s lost too much to consider himself any more than a shell of the person he was forced to be up until this point.

And you.

Even with how much he's tried, he can't even let you into his heart any more than he had when you'd first met. You've been prying at the cracks with your smile and the taunting second cup of tea you've always got in front of him, and, even right now, your touch is far too gentle, and the only way that it burns is in the way your soul threatens to see his.

But who are you to deserve someone so callous?

Someone so self-removed?

Someone who can't be present?

Someone who can't accept the love you give?

Someone who can't give you the love you deserve?

Someone who's him?

You're undeserving of a life like this.

He can't even will himself to talk of himself in ways any more meaningful than what can be prompted by the falling of the sun in the sky, how could he be anymore than a stranger to you? How could he let you be in the company of a man whose soul is weighted down by an island across the sea?

He can't give you the life in the sun that you want.

Sure, the sun exists in his world.

So does the sky, the sea, and all the other beautiful things that just happen to exist at the same time as him.

But none of those things belong to him, and all that is beautiful in this life is not his. All that belongs to him is a life is marred by the loss of all that he's ever held dear to him, and he knows he can't let you in. His life is tethered to the many pasts he doesn't let himself forget, and even though you try to pull him ahead with you, his heart is somewhere only it knows, close enough to allow him the same pain of heartbreak, but far enough to keep him from feeling it beat in his chest.

Flashes of his past lives lived flicker through in his mind, and they tell him, all along, that he was right to keep you away from his own world, and to only be with you in yours.

And they tell him he was wrong to believe that he would be okay with only that.

He can’t afford to lose you in this way, but this isn't about him anymore.

He can't let someone like you fall in love with someone like him.

All at once, he crumbles, just as your lips graze his and he feels a faint calling to the sun.

He doesn't have the heart to stay there for even a second, knowing that if his body had the chance to remember your touch in this way, he'd never forget it.

And, so, with hands made of ice and a soul as heavy as hand, he undoes his fingers from your hair, and though he wishes he had done that to cradle your face instead, he wills himself to gently push you away.

He wants to keep his eyes closed, but he knows he can't. No matter how badly he wants his last image of you to be that of wine-stained lips and the look of tranquility that graces your being, he knows he isn't allowed the luxury of loving remembrance.

He holds back a quiet sob, and he opens his eyes.

"I have to go," he breathes in broken song. "I'm sorry."

He forces himself to look at you, but though his soul etches the image of a broken heart into itself, he sees nothing.

It's as if the sun had already stopped shining, leaving him lonesome in a land without even the moon.

And he wishes he'd let himself be selfish, if only to remember you as love itself, but it's too late now.

From there, his body moves on its own, the only feeling being the burn that the ribbon in your hair leaves behind when it brushes his arm as he gets up to go, the satin branding shame onto his skin through

He thinks he's careful to avoid knocking anything over as he finds his shoes.

He thinks he puts them on correctly.

He thinks he's already grabbed his cane from the dining table.

He thinks he has everything he needs from here.

He thinks he knows the way home.

He thinks the rain isn't so bad.

All the while, you're calling after him, asking what's wrong, telling him that in his haste to get out the door, he's forgotten to tie his shoes.

Telling him that he's forgotten his cane at the dinner table he'd only mere hours ago set food on.

Telling him that he's forgotten to take his share of things from your landlady's reopening gift, namely the saffron you'd said he'd like.

Telling him that he's forgotten what direction to turn in to get himself downstairs.

Telling him that he's forgotten how harsh the downpour is tonight.

Telling him that he'd knocked over the cups of tea he was meant to share with you.

But he doesn't hear any of it.

What he does hear is you telling him that he doesn't have to leave. In the same way only his soul remembers how you'd looked, it's the same here. He has no idea what you're actually saying, only a dull ring in his ears that tells him he's being spoken to. Words travel through his ears, but never quite reach his head, only wounding his heart in the way his hand feels phantom pain.

But you're wrong anyway, no matter what it is that you're saying.

He does have to leave, and even if you don't know why, he can't let himself be here, in your world.

Because no matter how much his heart yearns to be let into the sun, to be bare without caution, the thought that chases after him remains.

He's not supposed to be here, and neither are you.

｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ

next part coming soon! thank you for reading (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

[novankenn]

Reluctant Hero?

= Nineteen = (Chapter List)

Jaune: So is there anything else the Doctor has discovered?

Ozpin: Not currently. He has advised me that he is only possibly a quarter of the way into the contents, and much of what he is finding is details regarding summoning various demonic entities.

Jaune: So it's going to be awhile, unless he stumbles upon it?

Ozpin: Most likely.

Jaune: Okay, well, if that is it, I need some food.

Ozpin: There are a couple of other items, you need to know of. Ms Nikos has been asking to see her "partner" ever since she woke up after her surgery... and Ms Schnee would also like to speak with you... though I have a suspicion it is not for a friendly chat.

Jaune: Alright. So food, then I go get my ass kicked. Sounds like a normal, average day for me. So... time to eat.

/==/ 20 minutes later - Cafeteria /==/

Jaune still being followed by Nora and Cardin took a seat at a vacant table and dug into the pancakes and bacon he had requested. His two "shadows" sat across from him, with their own meals, before them.

Cardin: So?

Jaune: (Between mouthfuls) So?

Nora: You never did tell us what the fuck is going on. So spill.

Jaune: Nah. I think it's better that you guys just forget about it. You don't need to get neck deep in this shit. Go have normal lives.

Nora: No. I want to know. I need to know. Whatever that was out in the Emerald Forest took my Rennie...

Cardin: I want to know as well. I had to bash in my best friend's head yesterday... I want to know why.

Jaune: Listen, and I'm telling you this for your own good. You knowing about this crap is bad enough... getting involved in any way more than you already have... is a bad idea. I've been living this nightmare for three years... you guys don't deserve that.

Cardin: No, that's not going to fly. I want to know, and you said you would "read us in", so let's hear it.

Jaune: Listen, I'm telling you! You do not... (Jaune stopped and squinted one of his eyes as if he just realized something.) Did... (points and Nora with his fork) Did you say they TOOK Rennie? Not killed?

Nora: Yeah, I did. I found him fight a King Taijitu... he caused one of the heads to burst, and it just went still... then when he turned after I shouted his name... it came back to life, grabbed him and pulled him into the forest... I tried to chase after, but then some Ursa found me.

Jaune: Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

Cardin: What's wrong?

Jaune: We need to speak with the Headmaster again. If there were more "taken" we have a big problem... shit!

Forgetting the remains of his meal, Jaune stood up and made his way to the exit. Cardin and Nora looked at each other, and then rose up to follow.

/==/ 20 Minutes - headmaster's Office /==/

Ozpin: (Shocked at Jaune and Co just bursting into his office) Mr Arc?

Jaune: The bodies! How many were recovered, and where are they?

Ozpin: I...

Jaune: Just answer the question! How many bodies did you recover?

Ozpin: Six intact... three headless.

Jaune: Shit! Where are they?

Ozpin: They are in the morgue, until such time as we can return them to...

Jaune: Shit! Fuck! Shit!

Ozpin: I don't understand?

Cardin/Nora: (Cluing in) Oh Shit!

Jaune: Right. Let's go!

Ozpin: Mr Arc?

[violetswritingg]

Only in Darkness

Jason Todd X OFC!

Description:

"Only in Darkness can you see the stars."

Or

Marlowe Knight stumbling upon a girl prophesied to end the world and going on the adventure of a life time.

Rating: M (Blood, cannon typical violence, sibling rivalry, scars, torture, trauma, angsttttt)

Want to read the other chapters?

Click here

9

Washington, District of Columbia

2018

Bags in hand Dick held open the front entrance of the red brick apartment building for the two girls. Rachel walking right through while Marlowe followed slowly, free hand rubbing against her eye as she yawned – still partially asleep.

The nineteen year old was a pace or two behind Dick and Rachel as they walked down the hallways of the building. Her duffle bag and canvas Staff carrier straps crossed over her chest while she carried her case in her left hand. 

She may be half-asleep but she had seen the street signs outside and knew where they were and to say the least, she definitely didn't expect to be back in DC so soon after what happened the last time she was here. Which was a big bunch of nothing but disappointment, failure, and embarrassment.

"Who are these people again?" Rachel questioned, she couldn't remember what their names were, or if Dick had even told them his friends names in the first place.

"Old friends, truth is I haven't seen them for a long time." His knuckles rapped on the oak door thrice, the man leaning on the door jam. A woman with Platinum blonde hair tied into a braid over her shoulder opened the door, soft music spilling out into the hallway from inside the apartment. Her pretty smile dropping at the sight of Dick.

Marlowe tried to come off as nonchalant but suddenly a lot of things clicked into place and she just wanted to bash her head into the ground.

"Hey." Dick greeted lightly.

"Hi." Confusion and disbelief colored Dawn's voice and bled into her eyes, especially when Rachel stepped forward with her hand out, introducing herself formally. Dawn giving the girl her name while shaking her hand.

Marlowe had never felt more uncomfortable in her life.

"Can we talk?"

"You're about four years too late, but sure." Dawn opened the door for them to come in.

~~*~~

The wind had picked up, Marlowe distancing herself from the two adults as quickly as she could once getting to the roof, but not sitting with Rachel either. Instead standing on the opposite side of the bird cage, taking in the view of rooftops and alley ways below.

The sound of doves cooing mixing with the quiet car sounds and horns as Marlowe pulled her lined rain jacket closer to her. Aware of the eyes burning holes into her back but acting as if she wasn't. She didn't want to know what they were saying about her.

"That's Starman's daughter?"

"You might have head he retired, she took over apparently. She goes by-"

"Stargirl." Dawn finished for Dick, the man looking on in confusion at her. Dawn shifted, facing Dick a bit more, "She passed through about a month ago, kicked up some dust. We never crossed paths though. As soon as she showed up, she was gone."

Dick looked to the girl looking off the side of the roof, her hair whipping around under her beanie.

"She's helping out for the time being. Whoever is after Rachel has people in the department. We needed someplace safe to regroup. Think about what I'm gonna do." Dick trailed off, his eyes following an invisible path from Marlowe to Rachel. Dawn's doing the same.

Marlowe could feel the change in the air right before Hank appeared. Already rolling her eyes at his 'I'm an alpha male, grrrr' posture as he all but stalked up to Dick and Dawn. 

The three exchanging words before he turned and saw Rachel, then Marlowe. Who barely glanced over her shoulder at the hulking figure. Dawn crossed past him, leaving Hank to follow her back into the apartment. Leaving the traveling trio alone, Dick and Marlowe meeting eyes across the rooftop.

~~*~~

Marlowe had tried to put as much distance between her and everyone else as the cramped quarters would allow. Mostly staying out of everyone's way, to the point that it was almost concerning to Dick. Marlowe quietly removed herself from the apartment, without anyone noticing - so she thought. Feet traveling into a darker part of town, every other street light either flickering, on it's last legs, or just not working at all.

Stopping in front of a run down building, a warehouse that really should be condemned at this point. The front and sides of the building covered in tags and graffiti, the side entrance casually ajar allowing her easier access than the first time she had broken in, just over a month ago now. Her feet followed a path that had been burned into her brain, just more memories that haunted her at night.

Entering what looked like a factory floor, conveyor belts and other machinery all rusted up and broken beyond repair. Scaffolding set around the edges of the room, already dim moonlight being filtered by the murky plastic tarps. The only sound in the room emanating from where her sneakers met the floor.

The crunch of plaster dust and concrete debris slowly getting louder as the amounts of it increased closer to where she was headed.

The wall still in pieces, rebar, concrete, and plaster piled onto the floor, some of the pieces bound together. Their edges marbled and rough.

"What are you doing Marlowe?" the girl asked herself, running a hand through her hair and partially turning away from the destruction. "What the fuck are you doing?" her chin turned down into her chest, sights unintentionally being set on a piece of rubble. The rounded chunk no bigger than her palm and having almost equal parts of materials all twisted together. Unable to stop herself she crouched down and picked it up. Gently between two fingers.

Lifting her find up to her eyes she turned it over and over. As if she'd find her answer there.

"I see your tastes in locale hasn't changed." Marlowe spit out, her fingers adjusting their grip on the Staff. Arms vibrating at the same frequency of the rest of her body. 

He didn't say anything, just stood there.

"Oh, don't be like that. The silent treatment doesn't suit you." Marlowe tried to bait again, still getting nothing. She wanted to fight him, she wanted to make him feel the pain he had put her through. She wanted to-

"Speak! You fucking coward." Marlowe snapped, trying and mostly failing to talk around the lump forming in her throat and ignore the stinging in her eyes.

"You destroyed everything," Marlowe stepped closer to the Mist's unmoving figure, "I want you to look at me." If she hadn't of been so blinded by hatred and anger and pain, she would have seen the flickering of the body in front of her. Like a mirage.

"I want you to look at the monster you created while I throw you where you belong," Still no response, "Look at me!" Marlowe's voice broke as she blasted through the figure. Her brother's body evaporating in smoke before her eyes. Marlowe spun in circles, looking for the figure again. Her eyes locking on a glimpse disappearing behind a corner and rushing after it, seeing nothing but red.

Had she taken a second to breath she'd have seen this for what it was.

Coming to another open room, conveyors and rusted machines lined up in the space, Marlowe didn't wait to blast her brother in the back once she saw him. His seemingly solid body being thrown through a half-crumbled wall and getting buried under the rubble on the other side. Marlowe rushed over, stumbling down the concrete and loose rebar, taking in a shaky breath at the sight of a hand sticking out.

Marlowe's chest heaved, from exertion or panic she didn't know, but her chest was tight either way. All Marlowe could hear was buzzing in her ears, like the world's loudest neon sign had taken residence in her head. Falling to her knees and dropping the Staff, her gloved hands pulled at the rubble. Trying to unbury The Mist. Needing to know for sure. Needing to know if this was real.

If he was-

When she pulled off a large chunk of stone and exposed the face of-

Nothing.

She hated the rush of relief that shot through her before she managed to push it down. "No, no, no, no." Marlowe started to pull at more rubble searching in vain to find her brother's body under there somewhere.

"No!" Marlowe screamed through gritted teeth, slamming her hands down on the ground. There wasn't anything there. Just rubble and debris where his body should have been.

A flutter of paper echoed in the heavy silence that came after, a folded over page of college ruled paper falling on the ground beside Marlowe. Her brother's mist vapors twisting tauntingly in the air, shaky fingers picked up the paper and unfolded it.

Better luck next time.

Your loving brother,

The Mist

Then and only then, as Marlowe spiraled into a panic attack - hyperventilating, rocking herself back and forth, her arms clutching onto her sides - did she see what this was. A trap. A sick game devised by her brot- by the Mist.

One she walked right into.

Marlowe stood, dead eyes sweeping over the space of her failure. Her fingers moving the piece of debris among themselves. Her bottom lip started to tremble, a flash of red surged through her and with a scream she launched the debris at the last of the wall left standing.

~~*~~

Slipping back into Dawn and Hank's apartment was slightly tougher than she thought. Luckily finding a bobby pin in a pocket and picking the lock. Closing the door quietly and locking it back. Looking around with tired eyes, the darkness of the room hiding the red tinge in the white.

"Where were you?" The whisper made her tense up, turning to see Dick sitting up on the couch, his bed for the night, closing his computer case.

"What's it to you?" Marlowe rolled her eyes, making her way into the kitchen. Seeing a couple bottles of cheap beer and hesitating. Fingers with picked over cuticles wrapped themselves around the cold glass bottle and opened it on the kitchen counter beside the fridge. Footsteps sounding lightly behind her as she chugged half the bottle in one go.

The open fridge door casting a warm light across the tiled floor and lighting up Marlowe's silhouette.

"Marlowe-"

"Shut up Dick." She breathed. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and looking over her shoulder. Dick was taken aback by the emptiness a winter ocean could hold.

"What happened? Are you-" He stopped himself, already knowing that she wasn't. Hedging a step in her direction as she took a large gulp of beer to avoid answering.

"I'm going to bed." She sat the, basically empty, bottle down on the counter and swung the fridge door closed. Pushing past Dick to enter the guest room she was sharing with Rachel. Dick watched over his shoulder with wide eyes as she disappeared behind the door. Looking back to the kitchen in shock at what had just transpired, catching something in the moonlight. Walking over to the counter and sliding a finger through the fine white dust, holding it close to his face as his eyebrows crashed together.

"What?" He breathed, shaking his head. Completely in the dark.

~~*~~

Marlowe didn't sleep that night.

Just laid on her back next to Rachel and stared at the ceiling.

Getting dragged to the store with Dawn and the blue haired teen was the last thing on her list of things she wanted to do.

 She had wanted, strangely, to stay back at the apartment with Dick. To come up with their next steps. So that they could get Rachel to safety as soon as possible so that she could get back to what she should be doing. But he pushed her to go for some strange reason.

So, here she was. Casually strolling through the aisles, a couple feet behind Rachel and Dawn. Listening as the two of them laughed and made conversation that Marlowe could honestly give less of a shit about. Lazily eyeing the products lining the shelves as she barely kept up. Dawn suddenly stopping the cart faintly registered in her mind as she looked through pop tart boxes.

"Hey Rachel, could you go grab eggs? I forgot to while we were over there." Dawn asked the blue-haired teen, who rolled her eyes but nodded, a grin tugging at her lips. Turning on her heel and exiting the aisle with a worried glance in Marlowe's direction. Leaving the two vigilantes to their own devices. Marlowe watched Rachel closely out of the corner of her eye until she wasn't in sight.

"What?" Marlowe asked, her eyes rolling to Dawn's figure. Knowing that Dawn hadn't just 'forgotten' to grab eggs.

"Hank and I could use you're help-" Marlowe rose a skeptical eyebrow at the blonde and Dawn sighed. "Dick told me about you, about your friend that likes to glow."

Marlowe grit her teeth and clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth. "Bird boy just can't seem to keep his mouth shut, can he?"

"Don't act like you don't know who Hank and I are." Dawn challenged, raising an eyebrow and Marlowe huffed. The older teen retracting herself from the pop tarts and crossing her arms over her chest as Dawn smiled, "There's a gun Op we're trying to take down. But it's a lot for two people, we could use the help." Dawn explained, leaning on the cart's handle, Marlowe taking a second to think it over hesitantly.

"When?" Marlowe asked, mildly interested. Or at least trying to come off that way. Dawn could tell though, that she was acting, and her smile grew in amusement.

"Tonight."

"What's the-" Marlowe started but saw Rachel enter the Isle and shut up, turning back to the pop tarts with one last meaningful glance Dawn's way. She was in.

Dawn smiled reassuringly at the young adult, nodding her thanks before turning to Rachel and thanking her. The group on their way through the store once again. Marlowe following a little closer this time.

Marlowe didn't participate much more than before in conversation but at least she didn't look like she actively wanted to murder everything that breathed. So, taking bags from a giggly Rachel, the older teen helped Dawn shoo her off once they passed the threshold of the apartment. The newest episodes of Game of Thrones all the bait they needed. Dick coming up behind them in the kitchen. Marlowe meeting his eyes in fleeting glances as she opened the fridge to put in their perishable items.

"What did you do to Rachel? You know the sullen one?"

"I didn't do anything with her, I just didn't treat her like a kid." Dawn shrugged, pausing in putting away food in the cabinets. "She's a good girl." Dawn didn't let the slight roll of Dick's eyes faze her, "Do you wanna take a look?" her words obviously directed at both Dick and Marlowe.

Dick didn't hide his confusion, making Dawn huff and clarify, "At the case."

~~*~~

"The suppliers name is Bronson. He's moving small handguns." Dawn started to explain the file on her tablet as Dick booted up his computer at the kitchen table. The two adults sitting in the chairs, while Marlowe hopped up onto the counter across from the table.

"He's trying to corner the pre-teen market. Intel says they're making a new shipment tomorrow night on the docks and we think we can break the chain." Dawn handed her tablet to Dick, the man watching the blueprint of the warehouse spin on the screen with critical eyes. Laying the tablet down in favor of bringing up the building in question on his computer using satellite imaging. Marlowe watching closely at the information that came up.

"The famous bird computer." Dawn smirked, leaning forward with her chin in her palm, "Wayne Enterprises Tech."

"You can't beat it." Marlowe added, eyebrows raising as her head tilted. Dawn and Dick both chuckled at the girl and her slightly swinging feet.

"What happened between you two? You and Bruce?" Dawn had asked a question Marlowe had been wondering herself for what felt like forever. But before the man could answer Rachel's voice disrupted the atmosphere. Her exclamation of how cool the dragons were making Marlowe almost smile. She sounded like a kid.

"It's a big responsibility." Dawn mentioned, confusing both Marlowe and Dick.

"What?" The man asked.

"Taking her in," Dawn smiled, turning her eyes to Marlowe, "protecting her." Both Dick and Marlowe dodged Dawn's eyes, but not for the same reason. Marlowe could feel her cheeks heating up, and she didn't want Dawn to see her blushing at the clear compliment.

The woman turned her attention back to Dick, "I mean, I know how healing it must be, doing what Bruce did for you when you lost your parents... But taking care of a kid is complicated. You know that better than anyone." Dawn lowered her voice and Marlowe took that as her que to leave. Hopping down from the counter Marlowe quietly edged her way out of the kitchen. And she would have left, gone into the living room with Rachel but Dick's response stopped her in her tracks just around the corner and out of sight.

"I'm not taking her in." Marlowe was in shock, the wood ridge of the wall cutting into her back as she leaned back. Eyes wide and darting across the floor as she tried to process what Dick was saying. "I'm not good at the staying with people part. I don't have to tell you that." Marlowe bit the inside of her cheek and shook her head, walking away and heading into the bathroom.

Locking the door and reaching automatically for the hand soap. Washing her hands with ice cold water and splashing some on her face, she wasn't caffeinated nearly enough for this shit. Bracing herself against the sink she looked into the small mirror above the porcelain.

the realization of what was about to happen plopping itself onto her already heavy shoulders. She didn't know when, but Dick was gonna bail. After he told Rachel he wouldn't - which meant it was up to her, and her alone, to protect Rachel now. 

Leaving her with two almost complete strangers wasn't an option. They didn't really know the situation, they were trying to leave the city anyway, and they didn't have the Cosmic Staff. They were just two normal people that put on masks. They wouldn't be enough. 

"Shit." Marlowe hissed.

Sounds of loud voices and banging got her attention, Marlowe whipping the door open and following the sound to the kitchen. Her eyes widening at the sight of Hank and Dick going at it in a shoving match. It didn't last long though, Rachel losing control and screaming to break it up. The windows and anything made of glass shattering and flying everywhere.

The silence after was deafening. Everyone looking at her with wide eyes and shocked expressions. Rachel slowly backed up, apologizing and then bolting out of the apartment. Marlowe looking at the adults in wide-eyed anger.

"What the fuck?" She bit out, following after Rachel, hot on her heels. 

~~*~~

[1kook]

crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast. 

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.  

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office. 

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5. 

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses. 

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful. 

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.” 

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.” 

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.” 

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking. 

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever. 

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours. 

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together. 

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.) 

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be. 

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you. 

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber. 

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend. 

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary. 

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days. 

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.  

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.) 

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like. 

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites. 

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?” 

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.” 

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind. 

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into. 

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway. 

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin. 

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear. 

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass. 

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you. 

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak. 

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead. 

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat. 

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts. 

They go like this: 

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really. 

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively. 

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once. 

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you. 

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome. 

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve. 

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek. 

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts. 

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.” 

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles. 

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild. 

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums. 

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again. 

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning. 

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.” 

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment. 

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“ 

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him. 

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned. 

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.” 

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.” 

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.” 

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.” 

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“— 

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear. 

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer. 

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole. 

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips. 

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise. 

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath. 

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. 

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue. 

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger.  “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…” 

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?” 

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles. 

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over. 

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more. 

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them. 

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub. 

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face. 

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention. 

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock. 

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand. 

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane. 

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh. 

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be. 

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds. 

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter. 

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic. 

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock. 

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you. 

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip. 

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl. 

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully. 

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin. 

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said. 

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away. 

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself. 

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you. 

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once. 

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth. 

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets. 

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever. 

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries. 

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you. 

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question. 

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest. 

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[heliads]

Hello can i request a tmr Thomas imagine /he is my soulmate my boyfriend my love the love of my life my husb- you get it ! 😍😅😜/ when the reader is in our reality , when she read the tmr book her comfort character appear in front of her with a smile in his face because one the reader love him so much than even in a other universe he notice and two because he want to ask her to be in his world and he know that she will accept ( if she go in their world she will be magically immune )

Thanks you again if yo don’t understand tell me 😅😍

Ps :

Im sorry for fangirling like that

Hug 🫂

ok but this idea >>>

masterlist

“Please don’t tell me you’re reading The Maze Runner again.”

The words, cruel and totally unwarranted, ring out across the room. You refuse to give your accuser even one iota of eye contact, preferring instead to keep your eyes firmly locked onto the page of your book.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Even if I was reading The Maze Runner, that would be totally fine.”

Your friend, cruel and undeservingly spiteful towards your love of charmingly dystopian universes, rolls her eyes. “Maybe it’s because you read it all the time. There are other books in the world, you know?”

You can’t help but grin. “Yes, but none of them are about the Maze. You’re missing my point.”

“Actually,” your friend grumbles, “I think you’re missing mine. You do realize that rereading the same book isn’t going to make it any more real, right?”

You laugh. “Obviously, I’m not totally insane. Still, it would be fun if it was real. That’s why I’m reading it.”

Your voice trails off a little. No matter how it sounds, you can’t deny that you’ve thought about it sometimes, what it would be like to wake up in your favorite fictional world. It would be perfect, of course, skies always blue except for when you’re getting kissed in the rain, and although it would have to be thrillingly dangerous, you’d never be in any actual harm.

Your friend, picking up on this hesitation, groans. “Don’t tell me you’re actually considering what it would be like to live in that world. Maybe you should become an engineer, figure out how to make a portal so you can travel between fictional universes.”

You arch a brow, considering her with a barely concealed smile. “What, so you can travel to Mystic Falls?”

Your friend’s mouth drops in mock horror. “Hey, The Vampire Diaries is peak TV. Don’t even try to argue with me.”

You hold up your hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Good,” your friend says, “because it’s not like The Maze Runner is the height of classic literature, either.”

“Are you here for a reason, or just to bash on The Maze Runner?” You ask, and your friend scoffs.

“Although that’s one of my favorite things to do,” she comments under her breath, then continues in a louder voice, “that’s not all, no. I was just going to say that I’m going to head back to my place. My mom’s freaking out, apparently there’s a bad storm hitting soon. You want to come with me? We can make hot chocolate and watch something.”

You smile at the thought. “It sounds fun, but my parents are out and I need to make sure we’re not going to lose power during the storm. Have fun watching The Vampire Diaries, though.”

She frowns. “How’d you know I was going to watch The Vampire Diaries?”

You laugh. “Just a hunch. See you soon.”

Your friend waves goodbye, and a few moments later you hear the roar of her car’s engine as she pulls away into the night. You tuck contentedly back into The Maze Runner, but you’ve only been able to progress a chapter or two further into the novel before the storm settles upon you. 

It rushes down around your house, sheets of rain appearing out of nowhere to beat against your windows. The sky has turned an odd shade of green, and you silently hope that your friend was able to make it back to her house before the storm got too bad. Already, your lights are starting to flicker, casting your living room alternately in shadow and light in irregular intervals.

A loud sound from outside makes you flinch. Carefully putting down your book, you walk over to the windows, angling to try and get a good view of what’s going on outside. You can’t see much, though, the air is dark and battered by furious rainfall. You shiver slightly. This area hasn’t been hit by a storm this bad in quite some time, so you hope that everything will be alright.

A strange humming sound jars you from your thoughts, and the air suddenly seems pierced by a strange fervor, like you’re standing too close to a stream of electricity. You peer through the window in the hopes of seeing something, perhaps a tree struck by lightning, but all you see is this faint glow. The problem is that it doesn’t seem like it’s outside, more like it’s reflected on the glass. Like it’s instead coming from the inside of the house, right behind you.

You turn around slowly, and feel your blood freeze like ice in your veins, slowing all your thoughts to a dull stillness. There’s a shimmering sheet of energy blocking off half of your room. It glows a strange gray, and although you can’t see what’s behind it, you swear it no longer leads to any part of your house.

It reminds you of something, but for some reason you can’t quite put your finger on what that is. You draw closer to it, curious, but it remains there nonetheless. An earth shattering clap of thunder makes you startle, and you swear that the shimmering gray wall flinches with you. You don’t know how, but a voice in the back of your mind tells you that this won’t last forever, whatever it is.

Drawn by some strange fascination, you reach out a hand to touch the gray surface. Your hand goes straight through, sending waves of tingling electricity rippling up your arm. You can still twitch your fingers on the other side, they just feel slightly different. The further in you go, the more you can feel a summer breeze, bright sun against your skin.

Thunder crashes again outside, and your lights give up their fight, plunging the room into black. You can’t see a thing, and when you trip over an uneven fold in the carpet, you manage to stumble forward just enough to walk fully through the shimmering gray wall.

For a moment, you’re not sure of anything. A wave of cold ripples over you, drawing over your limbs like being encased in ice. Just when you’re certain that it may go on forever, trapping you in a neverending plunge of chill, you open your eyes and find yourself standing in the middle of a grassy field.

You’re not alone in your strange new world. Already, shouts of alarm are echoing around you, and figures start to race towards you. As your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness of the noon sun, you realize that they’re all teenage boys, with the exception of one girl, her long dark hair tangling in the breeze.

What catches your attention most of all isn’t the boys, though, nor the miracle of the grass beneath your feet, the disappearing storm. No, you’re frozen in place, staring with shock at the massive stone walls blocking out the far edges of this field. There are four gaps in the stone, large enough to be doors. The Doors. 

This can’t be happening. There’s no way you could be here, no possible reason for any of this to make sense, no earthly reasoning, but yet here you are, in the Glade. You’re staring at the walls of the Maze, and somehow, you’ve ended up in your favorite book.

You’re in the world of The Maze Runner.

Your first reaction is to panic. Sure, it had been fun to picture ending up in this universe, but it had always been your choice in your all-too-vivid imagination, your idea to cross over. Now, you’re stumbling blind, no preparation whatsoever for the fact that the boy currently racing to you to demand just what you’re doing here is Alby, head of the Glade.

He glares at you in bewilderment, and you want to comment that this is such an Alby reaction, but you don’t think it would go over all that well.

“Who are you, and how did you just show up in the middle of nowhere? No Box or anything?”

You blink at him in surprise, and a blond boy by his side sighs in consternation. “She’s not going to know what the Box is, Alby. Look at her. She’s bloody terrified.”

You frown. “I’m not terrified, just confused. How am I here?”

Newt, for of course it is he, shrugs a shoulder. “We’d like to know the same thing. Most of the time, we get our newbies once a month. They don’t show up like you, though, out of nowhere.”

“It wasn’t out of nowhere,” you argue, “it was–”

Your eyes widen as you realize at last how you recognized the shimmering wall of gray. It came from this world after all.

“It was a Flat Trans,” you finish, and Teresa, who has just come up short beside you, lets out a startled gasp.

“How do you know about that?” She asks, her voice barely a hissing whisper.

Instantly, she seems to regret her reaction. After all, she’s not supposed to have her memory back, even though any casual reader would know that she’s been faking it this whole time. Judging by the look Teresa shoots you, she’s just as aware of that as you are.

No one questions Teresa on her sudden outburst, however, because another boy has shown up to the scene, this one issuing questions in a booming voice so as to drown out everyone else.

“Hold it, hold it. Why is this girl not immediately in the Slammer? Obviously, she’s not someone to be trusted. Why wouldn’t she come up in the Box? Also, she’s the third arrival this month. Something’s up, and I promise you it’s her fault.”

You groan before you can stop yourself. “Oh, shut up, Gally. No one asked you.”

Gally frowns. “How did you know my name?”

A dark-haired boy standing in between Teresa and Newt chuckles under his breath, but quickly fixes his face into the picture of innocence when Gally shoots him an irritated look.

Alby steps in again, hands raised. “Alright, alright. No one knows what’s going on, and we can’t just throw people in the Slammer because we don’t know who they are. Let’s call a Gathering, alright? Get all the Keepers, we’re going to need to sort this out. You too, Thomas,” he continues, as the dark-haired boy starts to walk away, “You and Teresa both, along with the new girl. Gally’s not wrong, something’s obviously going on.”

Thomas’ brow furrows. “I have nothing to do with this. Trust me, I know just as little about this as you do.”

Alby sighs. “I know that, but don’t you think it’s weird that three Greenies showed up this month instead of one? Even if you don’t know a thing, you’re still an anomaly.”

Thomas looks displeased by that, but shrugs his shoulders at last and looks towards a crooked wooden building that must be the Homestead. Teresa’s called off by Newt, leaving you alone with one of your favorite literary characters. You try not to let it go to your head.

Thomas shoots you a quizzical look once the other Gladers start to trickle off, their show over for the time being. “You really don’t know how you ended up here?”

You spread your hands as the two of you being walking. “No idea. One minute, I’m in my house, next I’m being surrounded by irritable Gladers. Did you see anything?”

Thomas shakes his head. “I was supposed to be trying out with the Track-Hoes to see if I’d do well with their job.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So is that a no or a yes?”

He chuckles in spite of himself. “Well, I might have been looking for a chance to get out of work a little, so maybe I wasn’t entirely focused on the crops. Still, I didn’t see a thing. One minute, it’s just another day, next everyone’s freaking out about a girl appearing out of nowhere.”

You grimace. “Two girls show up, and they both don’t go over well. It’s not a great track record.”

“Wait,” Thomas asks, suddenly suspicious, “how’d you know that Teresa’s arrival wasn’t normal?”

You freeze. Technically, you shouldn’t know a thing about this. If you’re not careful, you’re going to reveal yourself. It occurs to you that you have a choice about how all of this goes down. You could reveal to the Gladers that they’re just characters in a book, which could go a number of ways, most likely all bad.

Or, you could feign ignorance, and pretend that you have no idea that they’re all going to go through the worst trauma of their lives within the next few months. You don’t know how it would go, trying to fix the story, but you’ve read enough books to know that prophecies usually come true, even if the guidelines of oracles are locked within the supposed plotline of a fan favorite dystopia.

So, you lift a shoulder, and do your best to seem unconcerned. “I don’t know, I figured from Gally’s attitude alone that a girl showing up in the Box would cause some problems.”

This seems to satisfy Thomas, because he grins again. “Yeah, you can say that for sure. He’s got a bit of a temper.”

You smile. “Just a little bit. I think I figured that out for myself.”

The two of you have reached the doors of the Homestead, but instead of going inside, Thomas catches at your arm, bringing you to a stop. His voice is suddenly urgent, and drops a few decibels to ensure that nobody can overhear you.

“Listen,” he says, “I don’t know who you are, or what you know, but you seem like somebody we can trust. These guys may not feel the same, though. Just be careful, alright? Don’t give them reasons to be suspicious of you. I already had to go through a Gathering of my own, it’s not fun. I want you to stick around, but that means you have to keep your head.”

For some reason, his words make your heart do a loop in your chest. Thomas has no reason to trust you, yet he does. It’s everything you could have ever hoped to hear.

“I’ll be cautious,” you promise him, “and thank you, Thomas. I’m glad to have a friend.”

He smiles back at you. “Hey, no problem. I remember what it was like when it felt like everyone was against you. I don’t want you to go through the same thing.”

A shout echoes out from the Homestead, and the two of you head inside. It’s time for you to defend yourself.

From the second you enter the room of the Gathering, you can tell that Gally is gunning for you. You glance around at the assembled Keepers, trying to figure out both which characters they are and who would be on your side. Zart and Newt look welcoming, Alby keeps himself carefully neutral, but Winston and Gally both seem uneasy. Well, no one said this was going to be easy.

Just as you feel the nerves crest over you, you glance over your shoulder and see Thomas standing right by your side. He flashes you a smile, and just like that, you’re certain you can carry on.

Alby begins the questioning, asking you what you remember from traveling here, what your world was like, if you remember anything about theirs. You answer as best you can, making sure all the while to not give anything too damning away, like the fact that you read the story of his eventual death as something to calm your nerves after a long day. It sounds terrible now that you’re face to face with him, doesn’t it?

You present the narrative that you’re just as lost as they are. You talk about saying goodbye to your friend, how the storm surged, your reaction when the shimmering wall of gray appeared out of nowhere and what it was like to step through. You’re protected by your obvious confusion, because the truth is simple:  you have no idea what’s going on, and neither do they.

Despite Gally’s hemming and hawing, when the Keepers take a vote on what to do with you, they all agree that you shouldn’t end up in the Slammer for something that clearly isn’t your fault. They talk to Thomas and Teresa for a little while, making sure that neither of them have any recollection of you, but it’s plain to see that no one has a hand in this.

Eventually, you walk out of the Homestead with the threat of an increased eye on you, but no major punishment. Basically, you’ll go about like you’re a regular Greenie, and nothing more has to happen.

Thomas catches up to you once the Gathering is over. “So,” he asks, “what did you think? Are you sufficiently intimidated by our Keepers?”

You laugh at that. “I think Winston did an excellent job with his death stare.”

Thomas nods sagely. “I’ll tell him all his practice paid off. Seriously, though, I’m glad it worked out.”

You smile. “So am I.”

The two of you walk in companionable silence around the Glade, but just as you near a section of the walls, Thomas taps your shoulder, indicating that you should stop.

You frown at him. “What is it?”

Thomas reaches into his belt and pulls out a knife. He hands it to you, jerking his chin towards the wall. “Well, you’re a Glader now, aren’t you? That means you have to officially join our ranks.”

You follow his gaze and realize where you are. The names of all the other Gladers have been carved here, some crossed out, others so old that the edges have been worn smooth. You can see Newt’s slanting script, Minho’s capital letters, Ben’s name, the slash through it still new. And there, just beneath Alby’s name, Thomas’ carving, slightly lopsided but still so perfectly him that you want to smile.

You stare at the knife in your palm, then walk forward, placing the tip of the blade against the wall and beginning to engrave the first letter of your name.

“This is more difficult than you guys made it seem,” you mutter under your breath.

Thomas squints at you. “What?”

You shake your head hastily. “Nothing. Alright, I’m done. What do you think?”

You hand the knife back to Thomas, who takes it with a grin. “Looks nice. Alright, you’re a Glader now.”

“Just like that?” You ask.

“Just like that,” he confirms, “Don’t look so pleased with yourself, I can promise it’s not nearly as fun as you might think.”

You shake your head, smiling to yourself. “I don’t know, I think I’m pretty glad to be here.”

Thomas gives you a strange look, but you don’t bother to explain yourself. After all, how could you possibly put what you’re feeling right now into words? You’re in the Glade, talking casually with Thomas as if it’s nothing at all. Even though you know that danger is looming on the horizon, you couldn’t be happier.

Danger does come, of course, it races towards the Glade at a breakneck pace. You’ve barely been in the Glade for a couple of days before things start going wrong. The Sun disappears, the sky quickly turning a blank gray. You remember that WICKED is letting the place fall apart in the hopes of prodding the Gladers to launch an escape, but the boys don’t know that, and it freaks them out.

It freaks you out too, in all honesty. Once you remember that the Doors are going to stop closing, it hits you that you’re in just as much peril as the rest of them. After all, James Dashner never clarified that you were going to make it out because he never even put you in the story in the first place.

Besides, what if you being here means that more of the Gladers end up dying? You’re going to be taking water, weapons, food away from someone else. You have no guarantee that this will end the same way as the actual book. All of a sudden, messing with the storyline doesn’t sound that great.

Despite your best attempts at secrecy, you must seem fairly nervous, because Thomas approaches you at dinner, casually sliding into a seat next to you. He arches a brow, giving you a once over.

“This is really getting to you, huh?” He asks.

You frown. “What does that mean?”

Thomas shrugs. “You look nervous. I mean, I know things aren’t going well, but you’re going to be alright. I’ll make sure of it.”

He seems so certain of himself. You only wish that you could share in his relentless optimism.

“You don’t know that,” you counter, but Thomas shakes his head.

“I’ll figure something out. That’s what we do around here, I’ve learned that. You still have time to learn it, too.”

You chuckle. “I didn’t realize everyone was so nice to their Greenies. Is there any reason for this, or are you just a natural saint?”

Thomas laughs as well. “I have my own reasons, yes. Maybe I like being around you. Is that so surprising?”

You stare at him, then break out into a slow smile. “Not entirely,” you say, and Thomas smiles back at you. Forget the Maze, right now you feel damned invincible.

It doesn’t last, of course. True to the book, the Doors refuse to close, and you’re sunk into a relentless cycle of nights lit by fire, pierced by the screams of boys who are taken by the Grievers and won’t ever come back. Thomas stays by your side, just as promised, but that doesn’t mean that you forget what it’s like to watch someone die before your eyes.

Eventually, though, the time comes to break free, and you do so with a surging confidence unlike anything you’ve felt before. You race into the Maze with the other Gladers, and although the fight to defeat the Grievers long enough to shut it all down is costly, it works. You have your fair share of bloody cuts and stolen breaths, but it is finished at last.

You go through the next bit on autopilot. The Gladers find the wrecked ruin of WICKED, they’re rescued by people who definitely aren’t just another group of WICKED soldiers, and you’re all supposedly free. You have warm food to eat, clean clothes, everything.

What’s more, you have something that you haven’t considered in a very long time:  a way home. Once all of the surviving Gladers sit in a ragged circle, leaning against the walls and each other as they catch their breath at last, a new man walks in. His eyes are beady, reminding you of a rat, and he eyes you with an odd smile.

“Miss Y/N?” He asks, regarding you with the deliberate air of someone who thinks themselves much too clever, “Would you like to go back to your world?”

Instantly, all conversation comes to a screeching halt. You can feel the weight of the Gladers’ stares pressing in around you. They’re all aware that you came here from somewhere else, but the option of going back was never even remotely feasible, so none of you considered it at all. Now, though? It looks like that’s a definite possibility.

You swallow hard, fighting to get the words out through a suddenly dry throat. “What? How would that even work?”

The man shrugs, tapping idly on a portable screen in front of him as if multiversal travel is the least of his concerns at the moment. “We can get you a Flat Trans. It wouldn’t be hard.”

He glances around at the Gladers, as if suddenly aware of the growing tension rattling throughout the room. “Take a few minutes to make your decision, of course. I’ll be waiting.”

He settles himself into a chair in a corner of the room, and you are left to determine your future in a matter of minutes.

Thomas, who has been sitting next to you, turns to you with a desperate stare. “Are you going to do it?”

You shake your head slowly. “I have no idea. I don’t know what to think.”

He nods mechanically. “Well, from what you’ve told me, it sounds like a really good place. No Mazes, you know.”

You laugh weakly. “Yeah, no Mazes. That’s a really great selling point.”

Thomas’ eyes fly up to meet yours. “Does that mean you’re leaving?”

It occurs to you that he is terrified of the choice you’re going to make. Thomas’ entire being is turned towards you, both deeply afraid of your answer and unable to live another second without knowing.

A thousand thoughts race through your mind. Memories, inside jokes, laughter, all occuring in your world. Your best friend, your parents. Going to your favorite classes at school, bemoaning the worst ones. Taking walks outside, marveling at the fresh air. Spring flowers, in bloom and gone within a week. Your entire life has happened there, all except the last few weeks.

All that, and yet, when you think of all the times you had been purely happy, when you had been living, really living, the kind you hear about in books but never get to experience for yourself, it all happened here, in the Glade. You have never felt anything like this world, and if you leave now, you know for a fact that you never will.

So, you stand up and clear your throat. The ratlike man in the corner nods at you, putting down his portable screen for the first time since he showed up.

“Well?” He asks, tone so casual despite the fact that your entire life is at stake. “What’ll it be?”

Thomas’ eyes are wide as he stares at you, like he can’t bear to drag his gaze from you. You can tell from the hunch of his shoulders that he’s certain what you’re about to say, that you’re going to leave him once and for all, never to return again. It’s a shame, then, that you’re about to prove him wrong.

“I’m staying,” you say, and you don’t know that any words have ever felt so right.

The man nods. “Alright, well, don’t say we never tried. I hope that you made the right choice.”

Looking over at Thomas, whose entire face has lit up, you know for certain that you have. You sink back down to the floor, and Thomas leans closer, unable to stop a smile from growing across his face.

“Really?” He asks, delighted, “you’re not going to go?”

You smile back at him. “Why would I? I have all I need right here. What, are you sad you couldn’t get rid of me quite yet?”

Thomas grins. “Not exactly.”

To explain himself, he closes the distance between the two of you at last and kisses you. A storm of fireworks goes off in your chest, a thousand shades of colors you’ll never be able to describe again. Just like that, you’re living. Just like that, you have never been happier.

maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @thatfangirl42, @hiya-its-amber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria

[mllx-anazra]

tis the damn season (pt. 3) [Eddie Munson x Fem!Henderson reader]

Here is part 3 (read part one here, and part two), also on ao3), thanks for the likes and comments :)

Summary: Hawkins' ex-golden girl's return two years after graduating as a high school teaching assistant leaves the small town wondering. One Eddie Munson, in particular, is determined to figure out the true reason for your come back if he can manage a discussion without wanting to kiss you forever and whisk you off your feet as he did two summers ago. Musician!reader, because love declarations are always better with a guitar.

TW/ Warnings: smut in later chapters so minors DNI, talk of therapy and trauma in later chapters, Eddie Munson is pinning, so is the reader, mentions of asshole rockstar boyfriends, drugs (the old devil's lettuce), explicit references, reader is a Henderson to make my no Y/N rule easier but is a cousin so hopefully it's ""inclusive"" enough?

Tag list: @eddiethesexy

Part 3: But if it's okay with you, it's okay with me

            "Glad to see you are gracing us with your presence, Mr. Munson," drawls the unimpressed voice of Mrs. Click, the History teacher narrowing her eyes dangerously at the long-haired man as he passes her on his way to the gym where tired-eyed high school students cram themselves to another pep rally.

He bows dramatically to the professor, his wink only increasing the ire in the old bat's eyes, as ancient as the dates she teaches about. Three times he has taken her class and looks like he's on his way to failing it again. Oh well, Civil War battalions and other US presidents were never his forte. Even less so that you were no longer here to reward him with a kiss the few times he got it right.

Eddie is trying to tamper the giddiness in his step as his eyes scan the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, who had not escaped his thoughts since he helped you move in before the weekend started.

He thought it would be creepy to seek you out so soon already and busied himself over the two days by practicing a newer set for Corroded Coffin's next gig and prepping the next campaign for Hellfire. Despite these solid distractions, you had remained stuck to his thoughts, memories gliding along the metalhead's thoughts like honey, dripping on any space available in his brain. Would you think this new riff he just mastered sounded cool? Would Dustin clock if the siren he incorporated in the next campaign to charm and suck the life out of the party bore your resemblance? Would you notice the new ring he impulsively purchased Saturday, remembering how much you loved playing with his adorned fingers?

He wanted to repeatedly bash his head against a concrete wall at the desperate state your mere presence put him through. 

Have I plagued your mind like you did mine, sunshine? He was genuinely dying to ask. Ugh. 

Gareth, Jeff, and Grant throw him questioning looks as he sighs deeply, plopping down on the bleachers next to them, at the very top of the assistance and as far away from the cheerleaders and their jock boyfriends as possible.

            "Long weekend?" inquires his friend and bandmate, wiggling his brows.

            "You have no idea." Eddie rubs a hand across his face. Gareth scoots closer and curiously sniffs him.

            "Are you… are you wearing cologne?"

A crimson blush creeps on his cheeks, and he pushes away the laughing drummer as firmly as he can. Gareth's incredulous peals of laughter are contagious, the eldest members of Hellfire snickering at their designated leader as he curses them loudly. The commotion prompts a loud and stern shushing from Fred Benson and a blasé glance from Nancy Wheeler, Eddie childishly sticking his tongue out to them.

            The cheer squad begins their routine, pompons moving in harmony as their shoes screech on the gym's polished wood, Hawkins High's very own band playing a dull fanfare. The basketball team comes roaring in, Jason fucking Carver's righteous attitude and pompous ass leading his squad of dimwitted jocks around.

            "Do you think he practices his strut in front of a mirror?" you had commented on the same bench two years ago, sneaking up on the long-haired boy as the same routine was displayed, the then sophomore's already radiating assholery being the butt of many of your shared jokes.

            "I'm pretty sure he uses the dance studio to perfect his prancing around," he had commented, prompting an amused giggle out of your lips.

The student body of Hawkins back then had been taken aback when you started walking in corridors and sitting in pep rallies next to the resident freak but had let it slide, thinking you were doing some charity work. Rumors of Eddie corrupting you had started floating around, your laugh vibrating across study halls at his jokes on the absurdity of it all. If anything, you had been the one corrupting him by invading his brain and colonizing most of his thoughts and desires.

            Lost in them, Eddie does not notice that the popular circus was done until Higgins stands with a mic in hand and the "Go Tigers!" chanting dies down. He zeroes on the line of basketball players behind the Principal, noting with disdain the beaming smile of Lucas Sinclair at the very left. Mmh, that's why the little crud was so adamant on defending Carver lately. Oh well, practice seldom clashed with Hellfire, and although he would never admit it out loud, the Dungeon Master appreciated the freshman. Lucas, Mike, and Dustin were a lovely bunch of teens, reminding Eddie of his own beginning of high school, which is why he had very naturedly taken them under his wing during the first day of school. Granted, it has only been a few weeks since then, but he already feels quite fond of the dickheads.

            "And finally, let us welcome back an alumnus who generously accepted to step in as teaching assistant and librarian, Miss Henderson!"

At the mention of your name, you stand out from the row of professors and come closer to Higgins, excited whispers and encouraging claps resounding around the gym. Eddie sucks in a breath, feeling punched in the gut as he takes in your appearance. He didn't know what he was expecting, but seeing you dressed in a pencil skirt and padded blazer combo was not what he had envisioned. It makes sense that you swapped your casual clothing for something more professional, as you are, after all, a teacher and no longer a student. But damn, if you look good, your hair pinned up and lips painted a deeper crimson, beaming at the student body. He catches you winking at Lucas as you pass by the freshman and wave quickly to Dustin, who is still clapping loudly.

            "Damn, is that really Henderson? How the fuck is she hotter now than then?" comments Jeff, a slightly dazed look in his eyes.

Grant elbows his friend with a snicker and juts his chin towards a slack-jawed Eddie.

            "Careful, Munson does not share his girlfriend."

He shoots a murderous glare at his friends, frightening them enough to stop their mockery, as he grits out: "Not my girlfriend. Never has been, for that matter," Even though I would fucking love to.

            "Then why the fuck is she looking our way?" Gareth tilts his head down to where you are still standing, thanking Higgins and the student body for what you hope will be a "great enriching year for everyone."

Eddie catches your eyes, which matches the dimpled smile gracing your features. He cannot help the probably lovesick grin that breaks his previously annoyed face, which prompts you to smile wider and tuck a stray lock behind your ear. His heart skips a beat like he was a schoolgirl in a dumb rom-com. Like when you would initiate the kisses when you first started seeing each other.

            "Man, you are hopeless," chuckles Jeff. "Don't let mini-Henderson know you have the hots for his cousin, though, don't think he would appreciate it."

Eddie breaks his tranced look at your face as you keep talking, his eyes jumping down to a familiar mop of curly hair covered by yet another nerdy cap. He narrows his gaze at the suspicious look Mike is throwing at him, observing him like a hawk. Sneaking around this time might prove more complicated.

He schools his expression to be neutral and chastises himself. Why the fuck is he thinking of re-starting your two-year-old fling? Just because you were back in Hawkins did not mean you would revert to the same habits and relationships. How could you even qualify what you two had been doing since then? Sure, you hung out. Like, a lot. Sure, you fucked. Like, a lot, lot. And sure, Eddie's infatuation has not really wavered that much in your absence, apparently. But you never explicitly said you were dating or in love or anything (another heartbeat skip). You were just… Friends. Unlikely friends with shared interests in music and nerdy stuff. Unlikely good friends who knew what the other looked like when they came and how they tasted.

Eddie stifles a groan. He had no claim over you back then and is not about to have one now that you had lived out of state for two years. A gorgeous and talented girl like you probably has dozens of guys fluttering around and fighting for your affection. The fleeting image of a good-looking polished guitar player headlining a dumb-sounding band appears at the forefront of the metalhead's mind. What was the pratt's name again? Something basic, like Johnny, or Joe, or Paul… Chris, Chris was his name.

A year ago, Eddie had compulsively purchased a specialized magazine where your name had appeared in small prints on the cover. He had furiously scanned through the pages until he found an interview starring Chris' band, Running Mouths, or something, where the snotty guitarist had explained in great detail the numerous inspirations behind every single song he ever wrote. "My girlfriend is very helpful in that regard. A true well of inspiration, a God-given muse" the line read, under a picture of you perched over Chris' shoulder, mid-talking, your hair cascading down prettily. The interviewer had asked you only one question, along the lines of "what does it feel to date an up-coming rockstar?". Your response, as it was written on the glossed page of the magazine, etched on Eddie's brain, read: "Well, you should ask Chris! (laughter). No, it's great to be with someone who understands the process of music creation. It's a privilege to see Running Mouths get the recognition they deserve and an honor to contribute to their success, not just as a muse but also as a co-composer, y'know. Most of their newer songs could not have seen the light of day without my input (laughter from Chris). You know I'm right, Stenson, don't deny it!". It was not just envy and jealousy prickling his heart but the sadness of knowing he would have prevented you from reaching such heights if he had begged you to stay with him in Hawkins until he graduated so you could run off together. He reasoned that admiring your shine from afar should suffice to convince him that he had made the right choice by watching you leave.

But, your return to this hole in Indiana may indicate some trouble in paradise, after all. A flicker of hope drums against his ribcage at the thought.

Eddie decides there and then, on the sticky bench of Hawkins High's gym, that by the end of this week, he will figure out the reasons for your return and if the feelings he harbored for you were matched, somehow. Operation Sunshine, starting now.

[belphies-cuhm-sluht]

I saw your request were open! And I wanted to ask if maybe you could do a one shot with An Mc that runs to Satan after maybe Lucifer cheated on her and then Mc and Satan start dating? If you can’t I apologize for asking. I hope you have a nice day!😊

Thank You, Lucifer (Satan x GN!Reader ft. Lucifer)

Word Count : 2.1K Warnings : Cheating;

It was something that you had already assumed was going on. He had grown distant, the dates had all but stopped, and the visits to your bedroom in the middle of the night were becoming so rare that you had stopped even trying to stay up for him. There was no point in believing that he loved you anymore, that he even needed you anymore, but there was a part of you that wanted to keep holding onto the smallest fragment of hope that maybe he was just going through something, that he would come back to you and apologize. Looking back on things, the red flags were there, all the signs were practically flashing in neon lights, you just refused to see them at the time. Now though… now you couldn’t ignore them. They were right in front of you… He was right in front of you. Him and the other demon who had taken him away, and you couldn’t even blame them for it. He had lied to you, and he had lied to them. They probably didn’t know a thing about you, just as you hadn’t known a thing about them. All of his excuses of having to go to the castle to have a meeting with Lord Diavolo, all the times he said he couldn’t come up to meet you at night because he was staying late in his office… they were lies, he had lied. Lucifer didn’t care for you, he didn’t care for your feelings, and even if you were to confront him about what you saw, he was too prideful to admit that he was wrong and apologize for it. There was no hope, and there was no point in trying to salvage something that had most likely been falling apart long before you even realized it was.

“Satan…” You stood in the doorway of the library, the tears had been streaming down your face since you turned away from the scene in front of you. You had run all the way home, hoping to find comfort or solace in someone or something. You heard the wood crackling in the fireplace, knowing exactly who was in there before you even saw him in the chair. It’s not that you were actually looking for him, but he was the first brother you had come across, and you needed someone to talk to, someone to listen. His eyes lifted from the pages of his book, widening when he saw the slowly drying tear streaks that coated your cheeks. “What happened?” He was immediately in defense mode, closing his book and tossing it to the side as he moved to stand next to you. “Did someone hurt you? Where were you? Who was it?” His touch was soft as he brought his hands up, brushing his thumbs lightly across your cheeks to wipe away the tear streaks. “Nobody…” Nobody had hurt you, not the way that he thought at least. Telling Satan what happened would most likely have him going on a rant about how shitty Lucifer is and how he hadn’t deserved you in the first place. It’s not that you cared about how Satan would bash your now ex, it’s just that you didn’t want to hear about Lucifer at all, you didn’t even want to say his name. “He’s cheating on me… I saw him with someone else… I saw…” You had been trying so hard to not break down about it again, but saying it out loud, telling someone else, it was just as hard. Your voice broke, and you threw yourself against him, burying your face in his chest as the tears started falling once more. Strong arms immediately wrapped around you, holding you close against him, like he was trying to hold you together to keep you from breaking anymore than you already were. “It’s okay… I know it doesn’t seem like it is right now… But it will be. It’s gonna be okay.” His head rested on top of yours, he was doing all that he could, the best that he could to try to make you feel better. “Do you want to sit and read with me? Maybe it’ll take your mind off of things…” Take your mind off of it… You weren’t sure how well that would work, or if it would work at all… but he was trying. You nodded weakly, pulling away from his chest and walking with him to sit on the couch, his arm wrapping around you loosely as you leaned against his shoulder. His voice was soft, soothing… it was the comfort that you needed, the comfort you had been looking for when you had run into the house. You hadn’t thought that you would find it in Satan, you had thought that he would have taken the opportunity to bash Lucifer as much as he could while throwing in an “I told you so”, but he never said that, he never once brought up Lucifer after you had told him what happened. He cared about you when he didn’t have to, he didn’t have to do any of this for you, but he did, and as his voice filled the room, quiet and sweet, it slowly lulled you to sleep.

“It’s time to wake up, come on…” You nudged the blonde's shoulder, trying to wake him from his deep sleep. He groaned, rolling over and wrapping his arms around you as he moved his head onto your lap, essentially holding you there on the bed until he actually felt like waking up. It was like this every morning, especially when he’d stay up late reading or studying. You leaned over to kiss the top of his before rustling his hair, scooting out of his arms as you got up off the bed, smiling down at him. “This is why I tell you not to stay up late, you’re almost as hard to wake up as Belphie.” He groaned even louder at the mention of how late he had stayed up. He would strain his eyes to read in the dim light of a candle so that the rest of the lights could stay off and you could get some sleep. You had told him way too many times to stop doing that and to just sleep, but he would always give you the “one more chapter” or the “I’m almost finished” and then end up finishing an entire book in one night. You laughed lightly as he pulled the blankets over his face and rolled back over onto his stomach. “Just a couple more minutes, kitten. I’ll meet you down at the table.” He mumbled, and shortly after you heard the soft snores coming from him as he fell back asleep. When Satan had asked you out it had come as a surprise to you. What had started as a strong friendship based on your deep hatred for Lucifer had turned into something more, and it wasn’t until you had begun dating him that you realized just how unhappy Lucifer had actually made you. Satan was the picture perfect boyfriend, it was something that you had never expected, and to be quite honest, you had never expected to be with him at all, but things couldn’t be better than they are right now. You grabbed your robe and slipped it on before leaving the room, deciding to give him a couple more minutes of sleep before going back up and trying to wake him up again. “Glad you moved on so quickly, Y/N.” Lucifer was sitting at the table, sipping his coffee as you grabbed the pot to fill your own cup. It had become common with him to make snarky offhanded comments whenever he saw you, even if he saw you and Satan together. He never said it shittily, but you could hear the undertones, and what he said was meant to upset you or irritate you. Usually you’d just let it go and Satan would take you back up to his room, or take you out of the house to keep you from thinking about it too much… But you were alone this morning, and you’ve had enough of it. You finished making your coffee before going over to the table and sitting across from him, giving him a smug smile before taking a sip and placing your cup back down. “Not as quick as moving on before the relationship was even over, right Luci? How’s that one going, or did you already get bored and find another one?” Talking back to Lucifer like that was just as dangerous as doing it with Lord Diavolo, but you weren’t going to let him keep saying things like that to you, trying to make you feel bad for being with Satan after he had screwed up. It wasn’t fair, and everyone knew it. He rolled his eyes, and even though he was smiling, you could tell that what you said bothered him. His grip on his cup handle tightened, and you could see his jaw clench as he tried to hold back. Before he could say anything though, Satan came up behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders and leaning in to kiss the top of your head. “You should try to keep better company, kitten. I don’t think your cheating ex is the best company to have around.” There was no need to turn around and look at Satan to know that he was smirking, you could hear it in his voice as he said it. It would be another morning of those two trying to pluck each other's nerves. “Oh there you are. I’m not used to seeing the kitten without their owner.” You heard Satan’s teeth grit together from behind you and you quickly placed your hand on top of his own on your shoulder. You didn’t need them to get into an all out fight, not today at least. “Do you take in all lost kittens or just

the ones that you already know belong to someone else?” Now it was your turn to grit your teeth, your nails digging into the top of Satan’s hand as his fingers tightened around your shoulder. “Oh shut up, Lucifer. You sound like an idiot, everyone already knows you’re the one who screwed up.” Satan was beyond done with Lucifer’s shit, and he wasn’t going to play the games anymore. He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the chair, wrapping his arm around your waist as he started heading out of the kitchen. He was annoyed, as anyone would be under the circumstances. Lucifer was acting like he did nothing wrong and trying to make Satan seem like the one who had ruined the relationship. It was bullshit, and everyone in the house knew that it was too. “I don’t want to think about him, especially not today…” He squeezed your side lightly, smiling softly down at you. “You know what today is, right?”

Of course you knew what day it was. You had been looking forward to it all week, planning how you would celebrate and what you wanted to wear and where you wanted to go. It was yours and Satan’s six month anniversary, you had been together half a year, and whenever you thought back on the day that you had first ran into his arms, it always seemed like just yesterday. It was ridiculous that Lucifer was still hung up on it, and while it was highly annoying to you that he wouldn’t shut up, it seemed like Satan found some sort of entertainment in it most of the time. In his eyes, he had won, he was better than Lucifer, and he had something that Lucifer could never have. He had you. “I have something really big planned for tonight… but the whole day is ours. We can do whatever you’d like, but tonight… you’re all mine.” He winked down at you, and it felt like your skin had burst into flames. He always had a way of doing that to you, he was such a tease sometimes, but you loved it, you loved him. He was perfect, he was everything that Lucifer wasn’t. He was loyal, he was sweet, and he was kind. Satan wasn’t just the complete opposite of Lucifer, he was exactly what you needed, and he was always there when you needed him. If someone had told you a couple years ago that you’d be dating Satan in the future, you would have laughed at them, told them that you hadn’t done anything that awful to deserve such a punishment, but now… You couldn’t see yourself being with anyone but Satan. He was more amazing than words could describe, and even though what Lucifer had done was awful, you couldn’t help but silently thank him for basically pushing you into the arms of the one man that you truly loved. Maybe that was the one good thing Lucifer had done for you.

[lawngnomeofdoom]

Part Five: when I'm near you

PT1 PT2 PT3 PT4 PT6 PT7

Summary: Connor works up the courage to tell you how he feels, and ends up getting a little help from Hank.

A/N: Y'all are always so sweet in the comments and messages, thanks again for reading! I'll have a masterlist set up soon and for those who are wondering the chapter after this will be the smut you've been waiting for! ;)

Markus had promised Connor that after he admitted and accepted his feelings toward you everything would be much easier.

Connor had begun to suspect he had lied.

He approached you initially with confidence, you sat at your desk typing away. Connor planted himself in front of you and cleared his throat.

“Y/N, I am interested in you romantically. I wish to pursue this further with you, provided you are also interested.” He declared, but you didn’t even glance up to the sound of his voice. He waved his hand in front of your face after a moment and you remove your earbuds.

“Oh hey Connor, what’s up?” You ask with a light smile.

“I just wanted to see if you needed more coffee.” Connor choked out.

“Mmm nah I’m okay right now but thank you, you’re so sweet.” You reply as you stretch your arms. Connor still stands in front of your desk, unmoving.

“Did…did you need anything else?”

“No, just wanted to mention that you look nice today.” He managed to say.

“Aww thanks buddy.”

“Buddy.” Connor repeats, the word stings somehow. But not as much as you rising from your chair and patting him on the head, it reminded him of how he pets Sumo.

“I’m heading down to the archives, I’ll be back.” You say as you walk down the hall, Connor watches you go, trying to will the right words out but managing only silence.

“You are the most pathetic android I’ve ever seen.” Hank says.

“Hank, I didn’t realize you were there.” Connor gulps as he realizes the LT. was at his desk the whole time.

“I mean that was painful.”

“I wasn’t-

“Shut up. I know what you were trying to do.”

“Are you opposed to my pursuit of Y/N? I know you care for her as well.” Connor asked hesitantly.

“Look, I am not going to give you my blessing or anything like that but no I’m not opposed. What I am opposed to is watching you crap your pants every time you talk to her. It makes me nauseous.” Hank complained. Connor sat at his desk and sighed.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Not that.” Hank chuckled but softened when Connor threw his infamous puppy dog eyes his way.

“Okay, okay, we can talk about this but not here. Come over to my house tonight, and bring roses, purple ones if you can find em’.” Hank conceded after a moment.

“Thank you, Hank.” Connor said with relief.

“Don’t mention it. Literally, don’t tell anybody about this ever.”

That night Connor arrived at Hank’s home at the exact time he instructed, a bouquet of purple roses in hand. When he knocked on the door Hank threw it open, and to Connor’s surprise he wore a stained floral apron.

“Fucking finally.” He cursed snatching the flowers out of his hand.

“Are you cooking?” Connor asked with a cocked head.

“Gumbo. God Connor, you didn’t think to put these in some water? Why are you still standing there get inside!” He grumbled and slammed the door behind Connor. His eyes explored his partner’s kitchen to see various veggies chopped up along with a variety of seasonings littered across the countertops. A boiling pot sat in the kitchen; Sumo watched it diligently.

“Will others be joining us?” Connor inquired, knowing that Hank didn’t make the extra food for his consumption.

“No. This is Y/N’s favorite food, and these are her favorite flowers. She lives a few doors down; you’re going to take her a bowl of gumbo and these roses.” Hank explained as if briefing him on a mission.

“Just like that?” Connor asked.

“Well yeah, it’s only hard if you make it hard.” Hank said scooping the gumbo into a stained Tupperware bowl.

“You seem to know a lot about Y/N.” Connor commented.

“Yeah well, she lost her dad, I lost my son, and we sort of found each other. I got a kid to be proud of, and she got a grumpy old man to yell at her.” He explained.

“Oh.” Connor said simply.

“I don’t want to go into all of it right now Connor but maybe someday. Let’s just focus on tonight.” Hank said handing him the bowl of gumbo and flowers that he placed gently in a glass vase.

“Just be yourself. Don’t be a fucking weirdo.”

“But you said to be myself.” Connor smiled.

“A sense of humor? Use that, it’ll distract her from that weird blinky thing you do with your eyes. Alright, knock em dead kid.” Hank said and patted Connor on the shoulder. He glanced down nervously at the food and flowers and back up at Hank, his eyes pleading.

“Hey, you can do this. If it makes you feel better, she maybe mentioned one time that she thought you were handsome or something.” Hank sighed. Connor’s eyes lit up.

“Did she?”

“Don’t let it get to your head Casanova. Just go already, she’s two houses down, to the left.” Hank said and shoved Connor out the door into the night. Connor forced his feet forward down to your door and stared at the floral wreath adorning it before finally knocking. He heard, the sound of a dog barking, then the sound of your feet across a wood floor, then a series of locks being unlatched. Finally, the door opened and there you stood, you wore boy shorts and an oversized t-shirt that exposed one of your shoulders, your hair, normally in a slick ponytail at the station, was loose and curly down your back and shoulders, a black german shepard peeked through your legs. The sight of you stunted all of his processors, freezing him there on your doorstep.

“Connor?” You said with a surprised but excited grin.

“Gumbo.” He replied after a moment and awkwardly held up the Tupperware.

“Oh, uh that looks good, thank you. Do you want to come in?” You ask and hold the door open for him.

“Yes, thank you.” He said and stepped inside, lightly brushing up against you as he did. Connor wasn’t sure but he thought he heard your breath catch.

“I can take the food, and oh my! Those roses are beautiful.” You say in awe as you take the vase from Connor.

“Beautiful creatures deserve each other.” Connor said without thinking. The entirety of your face turns bright red and your turn away toward the kitchen to hide it.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you but what are you doing here?” You ask regaining your composure.

“I wanted to spend more time with you, but I didn’t know how to proceed on the matter. Hank suggested the food and flowers as a start.” Connor answered truthfully as he scratched behind your dogs ear. You lean against your kitchen counter and fail to fight a bashful grin.

“Well I am grateful, but you could’ve just asked, I like spending time with you Connor.” You say. You can tell he’s having a hard time focusing with how scantily clad you're dressed and it makes you feel slightly accomplished.

“I like spending time with you too Y/N.” He replies awkwardly. You look away from his gaze, something about it is making your stomach do backflips, and go to admire the roses he brought you.

“Ow!” You wince and pull your hand back, having sliced your finger open on a thorn. Connor is immediately in front of you, stopping the minor bleeding with a kitchen rag.

“Are you alright?” He asks in a low, gentle murmur.

“Yeah, just a little cut, no big deal.” You reply looking up into his brown eyes. His lips are inches away from yours and you feel a desperate hunger to close the distance between them. He delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and then uses the same hand to tilt your chin up to his.

“Can I-“Connor begins to ask but the softness of your moment is cut off by the loud vibration of your cell phone going off.

“It’s probably work.” You say as your stomach drops. Connor blinks a few times and nods.

“Yes. A homicide was just reported.” He replies, his tone dripping with disappointment. You reluctantly release his hands and sigh.

“I should probably put pants on for that.” You say trying to lighten the mood.

“Unfortunately, I’d have to agree with you,” Connor says. You turn toward your bedroom but then turn back to face Connor and stand on your tiptoes to peck his cheek.

“We’ll have to continue this some other time.” You promise. Connor places his hand on the spot of his cheek you kissed, a wide grin forming.

“I’d like that Y/N.” He replies, his LED flashing like a Christmas tree.

[wandsandwheezes]

Fake It | Weasley Twins | CH1

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff.

Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London's best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.

He was giving you that look. not the look, that look - the one that told you to stop doing what you were doing. It wasn't often that you'd layer it on thick for the press, making sure that you're giggling as you press your hand to his chest. With each flash of a picture you make sure you're striking a different pose. It was hard work being a liar, but it was even harder work without the publicity you gained. 

Your Publicist Cheryl or 'cherry' as she begged you to call her, had devised her own scheming plan to generate not only some amazing press for you, a well established quidditch player, but also some well-needed hype and sales for Fred Weasley's shop. After all, it's not every day that London's best quidditch player was dating Infamous Fred Weasley, Gryffindor Star beater and all-in-all stellar man. The plan had been well and truly in action for just over four months, With Fred the main face of the shared brand with his brother George, it felt like the best option according to Cherry. 

You were leaning into Fred, answering press questions about the latest win, how you were feeling about the upcoming game and, of course the all too regularly asked update on the relationship. You were 'very happy with a man like Fred', he was smiling down at you, gushing sappily "She may be the best Seeker in the game, but my god is she a keeper." The line made you sick to your stomach, When Cherry had pitched it to you both, you were groaning in disgust, but as she pulled the lollipop from her bright red lips with a pop, staring at you with raised eyebrows, you knew it had to be done.

As the interview began to wrap up, you thanked the photographers and journalists, grabbing Fred's hand and interlocking your fingers with a beaming smile, you made sure the cameras could see, after all the last issue of the Daily Prophet branded it as a 'winning smile'. You were escorted away from the press, once out of sight from them, your hand dropped from Fred's grip. "Well done for not making that so not obviously fake." you quipped at him, going to pull your coat on and check your phone for any messages. He laughed, imitating your voice, "Oh, Fred, you're so handsome, won't you just kiss me right now?" You scoffed, throwing your bag over your shoulder. Your phone had three messages when the screen had lit up, your stomach feeling like it had butterflies when you noticed the name. 

>> Do I get to see my beautiful girl later? 

>> I got your favourite for dinner. 

>> I miss your lips already

You felt like the luckiest girl alive in his presence, he made you feel like a princess - a queen even, with every night you spent with him. It all started at Hogwarts for you two, after all, It's not often you get to see the best Slytherin seeker and the Gryffindor star beater together. It really wasn't often because you'd been hiding your relationship for that long. He taught you quidditch skills that got you to where you are today during late, late night practices, often ending with makeout sessions on the grass as you straddled his hips,giggling into the bitter Scottish air. 

You fell in love with George Weasley as a teenager, and for 6 years you had kept your relationship a well-guarded secret. Even through the war, you kissed each other goodbye, praying that it was only a see you later. You knew that one day you would marry the gorgeous man you loved so dearly. You tried to persuade Cherry, who had and still has no clue about your true relationship status, for it to be George you had a public relationship with, but she quickly shut the idea down because George was 'too quiet'. 

<< I miss you so much Georgie… heading back to the shop with fred now

<< btw I'm staying over tonight, I won't suffer another night without kisses :'((

>> Just kisses? ;) 

<< Shut up. 

<< I love you xx

>> I Love you too, babygirl xx

>> Daddy can't wait to see you <3

George stood lazily, arms draped over the balcony as he was smiling down at his phone like a muppet. He was so head over heels with you that he wasn't sure what to do with himself. George wasn't mad that you had to fake date his twin, after all, he'd rather it be Fred than some random quidditch man, or worst of all, Krum. He knew and recognised how important it was to your career plus, what good businessman turns down the opportunity to rake in some sales? It hurt to read the papers sometimes, seeing how much attention you both got together, a part of him wished it was he who got to show you off. 

When you entered the shop, you caught George's eyes immediately, a bashful smile spread across your face, immediately feeling like a schoolgirl again in his presence. Fred sulked off to his office, leaving you to browse the shop until your driver arrived to take you to team practice. You were browsing the upper back wall of products when you felt his stare on you, he was meters away from you and you ached to draw him in for a kiss. You reached out to him, making the grabby hands that he couldn't resist, he checked over his shoulder, seeing nobody, before waking over to you, he pulled you into a quick and needy kiss by your neck, his other hand finding your hip. 

"I'll be home after practice," you mumbled between kisses. It was common for you to travel to his via floo, arriving at the place you truly called home, leaving a vacant and empty flat behind. He shook his head, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. "Too long to wait," he laughed softly, his lips pressing to yours again, you were just about to deepen the kiss when you heard Cherry yell out, "Y/N let's go or you'll be late for practice!" You sighed, leaving your boyfriend behind, fingertips being the last thing to separate as you walked away, leaving him dumbfounded. 

Practicing with your team was always a long, tough grind, your captain worked you hard and she knew it was all for the best, she was due soon to step down from her duty as captain, leaving the team in your hands, so you felt like you were learning double constantly. The warm water running down your skin made you crave George's touch even more, pushing the thought of Fred's hand on your hip out of your mind completely, you simply couldn't wait. 

When you arrived home, George, as promised had your favourite dinner ready for you. He was an amazing chef, using muggle techniques and tools to help create the perfect dishes without the need for magic. You shrugged off your jacket and bag, relaxing into the dining table chair as George brought out your bowl, his hands were massaging your shoulders as you ate, "Aren't you gonna eat, Georgie?" you questioned him, he smirked, "I've been waiting for you to get home so I could have my favourite." George was on his knees, hands reaching up to pull down your leggings, you lifted your hips up, allowing him to drag the material down each of your legs, hooking them over his shoulders, 

You knew exactly what he was doing, your hands found his hair and he tutted, breath fanning over your pussy as he looked up at you. "I made your favourite for you, Princess, You always liked it when we eat together." His tongue darted out to lick over your covered slit, feeling you already wet through your underwear, he hummed in appreciation, his teeth pulling the material to the side before attaching his lips to your clit.

Every time he hummed against you, it made you shake, the task of eating dinner becoming more and more strenuous, as you struggled to swallow down the food while he was pulling such sinful moans from you. George's skilled tongue was fucking your cunt, swallowing everything he could like it was the last meal he'd ever eat, and godric did he think you tasted divine, his thumb came up to circle your clit slowly, bringing you closer and closer to the ege. 

Thing is with George, he doesn't stop till he's got what he wanted. "Finish your dinner, baby," he smirked, a long finger slowly teasing your entrance, "I'm not finished until you are too." he was a determined man, by your second orgasm you could hardly hold up your fork, but nevertheless you soldiered on, managing to swallow the last piece just before number three hit, your legs were shaking and you were moaning incoherent sentences. That was possibly the best meal of your life, your weak legs could hardly hold you up when you tried to stand. 

George pulled you up into his arms, carrying you to the bed where he found your favourite shirt of his, helping you change into it, he left to make you a cup of tea, bringing it into the bedroom for you. sitting contently beside each other.

George's phone buzzed on the side, he read the message from fred. Laughing before showing it to you, the irony all too funny for him to resist. 

>> George, if only you had to do this… Fancy swapping places at the product launch on Saturday? 

<< Love to, but I'm not sure that's how the whole twin thing works. 

>> With an ass like hers, I don't mind it too much… shame, she seems like your type. 

The last text from him made george both laugh and be angry at him sexualising his girl. You laugh, pressing a soft kiss to your boyfriend’s jaw before taking a sip of your tea, "He doesn't know George."

He hums a little bit before typing a reply. 

<< It really is a shame, she does have a nice ass. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes - Men. 

///TO BE CONTINUED///  Chapter Two >>>>>

Taglist // @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @whiz-bangs78 @weasleysflowr @vogueweasley @minty-malfoy @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @rip-us @witch-and-a-half @sarcasticallywitty15 @pandaxnienke @loony-loopy-lupinn

[amberlynnmurdock]

Library Series (Pt. 16)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Chapter Summary: Finally, Thanksgiving is here. 

A/N: WOW GUYS. It's been QUITE the journey since I've last updated this fanfic. I hope you all are staying safe and healthy in this madness. I've been so busy, I'm sorry it's been a while. Now that I've graduated college, I'll have plenty more time for writing and finishing this series (though there's a long way to the finish line). I still have so many hopes for this story, I can't wait to see it unfold. If you've been here from the start, THANK YOU. If you are just discovering this story, WELCOME!!! I hope you enjoy this fluffy chapter. But get ready... it's going to be a wild ride from here on out. :)P.S. Thank you for all the feedback! I recently kept getting emails about people leaving kudos and comments (more than usual) and I took it as a sign to sit my ass down and write this long awaited chapter. You guys inspired me, and I'm going to keep it up for you.

AO3 LINK

New Jersey was a place Matt hadn’t spent much time in, so he couldn’t form a picture in his mind of what it would be like. He was born and raised in New York; the city was exciting enough. His dad had taken Matt to the Jersey Shore beach a few times, before the accident. All Matt can recall are shelly sands and ice cold water.

With his heightened senses now, Matt almost shivers at the thought of the shore. But thank God you didn’t live near the beach. In fact, quite the opposite, Matt could tell.

The first sound he heard was the crunch of a leaf under his shoes. Matt could vaguely hear you tip the taxi driver and wish him a happy holiday. For once, his focus was on the new territory that was the country side of New Jersey. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he’s pleasantly surprised at the quietness of the town you lived in.

A cold breeze passes and Matt shivers. It’s the only thing he can hear. No distant yelling like New York City has, no cars honking or subway doors opening. All he could hear was the wind, the slick pavement of the road as the taxi drove off, and the sound of your sweet voice pulling him from his thoughts.

“Ready?” You ask. Your voice is optimistic, but cautious. This isn’t just new territory for Matthew–it’s new territory for yourself, too. You can’t remember the last time you brought a boy home to meet your parents.

“Lead the way, miss,” Matt replies playfully, sticking his elbow out for you to hold. You take it graciously and lead him down a cobblestone path.

Matt can smell buttered rolls and red wine. His mouth waters at the scent, but he quickly gains composure as you open your front door.

“Mom, Dad, I’m here with Matt!” You shout stepping in. Matt tries to hide his blush–of course, you’ve told them about him already.

“Welcome home, sweetie,” your dad comes walking down the hall that leads from the kitchen to the living room. He gives you a warm hug and kiss on the cheek. Matt stands patiently with his hands around his cane.

“This is Matthew,” you introduce Matt to your father. Matt holds out his hand and smiles.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir. You can call me Matt,” he says.

“We’re happy to have you join us, Matt. Usually it’s just the three of us. It’s nice to set a fourth dinner plate. We’ve heard a lot about you, so hopefully you live up to the standards we have in mind. My daughter speaks very highly of you,” your dad jokes. You glare at your father.

“Dad,” you say sheepishly. Matt smiles. He’s pleased you’ve talked about him, and he thinks your bashfulness is adorable. The overwhelming urge to pull you in for a kiss washes over Matt, but like your dad said, he’s got to be on his best behavior.

Matt laughs, “the pressure is on.”

In the kitchen, your mom is prepping the turkey. She pops up from behind the kitchen island and smiles as you and Matt walk in.

“Matt, it is so nice to meet you!” Your mom was notorious for jumping right into it, no matter the situation. She walks around the kitchen island to shake Matt’s hand. “It’s such a pleasure to have you join us.”

“Thank you for having me,” Matt says. Matt was so used to being surrounded by Foggy’s entire family on holidays, he wasn’t even phased with how outgoing your mom was. He likes your parents. It’s nice to have a small gathering. Hopefully there will be more, Matt thinks. And hopefully, it will bring you two even closer.

Matt doesn’t want to get ahead of himself.

Dinner was delicious, and conversation was fun, full and flowing. Matt never took so much time talking with Foggy’s family members because there were so many of them, but he liked the intimacy he shared with you and your family. It’s been a long time since he’s connected with someone other than Father Lantom.

Your mom gets up to clean the dishes and Matt offers to help.

“Matt, you don’t have to, really,” you say defensively and reach for his hand, feeling bad for some reason. Matt was the guest, he shouldn’t have to clean. Plus, and a part of you felt guilty for thinking this, but he was blind and… you just felt bad.

“I want to,” Matt simply says. He can hear the guilt in your voice, and the sound of your beating heart is loud in his ears. He appreciates your concern, but he doesn’t need it.

It’s just one of those things.

“Okay,” you reply, slowly letting his hand slip from your grasp.

While Matt helps your mom clean the dishes, you clear the table with your dad. Your dad tugs on your arm and leans in closely to tell you, “I really like him. Invite him for Christmas, too.”

“I want to take it easy, dad. But I’m glad you like him, too. I think mom approves as well,” you whisper back as you look over to see your mom laugh at something Matt said. The scene warms your heart.

After cleaning was done, your parents surprised you that they’d be going downtown tonight. You had an inkling that they were being nice and giving you alone time with Matt, since they’ve never went out after dinner on Thanksgiving before.

“So you’re going to what?” You ask as you and Matt follow them to the front door.

“Just the pub downtown, they’re opening only for the night so the neighbors invited us out as a town Thanksgiving celebration. You guys will be okay here? You can show Matt where he can stay,” Your mom explained as she and your dad put their coats on.

“Oh okay, well, have fun! Be safe. We’ll probably be asleep by the time you get back,” you say, starting to feel nervous that you and Matt would be together in your house alone. The thought was exciting at the same time.

When the door shut, the air in the room changed between you and Matt. It’s like you’ve been waiting all day, all weekend to be alone together, finally. You stand facing the door for a moment before you look at Matt.

“I’ll show you where you’ll be staying,” you say softly to Matt. He has a ghost of a smile on his lips and nods his head. He follows you upstairs with his bags.

You lead him to the guest room which is directly across from your room. You switch the light on and grab Matt’s bags, setting them down on the mattress. It’s a dimly lit room. The bed is a queen size with cotton sheets and a quilt.

“It’s cozy in here,” Matt says, smelling an unlit vanilla candle on the dresser. It reminds him of you. He can only imagine what your room looks like.

“It is. You know, we don’t have to say goodnight just yet. Let’s hang out in my room for a bit,” you say as innocently as possible. Matt nods his head.

“I’d love that,” he says in a soft voice.

The walk to your room felt like miles. The growing anticipation was too much to bear. Your heart was pounding. You had been with Matt alone so many times before but this time was different.

You’re taking him to your room, the room you grew up in and the room that has changed from time to time as you got older. It felt like you were entering a new phase with him and the thought was intimidating because you couldn’t exactly get a read on how he was feeling about all this.

Your room looked exactly like how you left it months ago before the start of the fall semester. Your bed was made and everything was put away–your records, clothes, books. You felt Matt behind you and turned to face him.

He immediately meets you with a kiss. He pulls you in around your waist and lets his cane drop to the floor, like he was dropping the facade he had around your parents. You could tell he was waiting all night to give you a long kiss like that. Suddenly, you thought you had an idea of how Matt felt about all this.

You pull back from his soft lips and smile, “thank you for coming tonight.”

“Thank you for having me,” Matt says in a deep voice, “I’m sorry. I’ve been wanting to kiss you all night.”

“You could have; my parents are cool like that,” you say with a smile.

“Not with the way I wanted to kiss you,” Matt quips.

“Oh,” is all you say with a smile. He was really sweeping you off your feet right now. And that’s exactly what he did.

Laughing, Matt gently places you on your bed and joins right next to you. You look at him and smile.

“You’re really making yourself at home, huh,” you joke with him.

“It’s easy with you, my dear,” Matt replies.

“I really hope you had a good time at dinner,” you say.

“I did,” Matt answers honestly. “I really like your family.” You notice he still has his red tinted glasses on. Without asking, you take them off. He doesn’t object.

He turns to look at you, his gaze falling shortly below your chin. For a moment, he takes in his surroundings. Across from your bed is your dresser and on top of that, a lavender scented candle that’s unlit. He can tell you have a lot of books from the smell of the pages.

Branches of a tree rub against the windows from the wind. Being this close to you is even more intoxicating than the red wine you both shared at dinner. Matt could get lost in your senses but being in your room with you on top of that is downright exhilarating.

It’s nice to be alone, with you, Matt thinks. Away from school, away from New York City, away from all the problems it comes with–he thinks being away with you is something he’d like to do more often. It’s safe being away. It’s easy to be with you, being away.

Laying down on your bed, in your room, with you was just the escape Matt needed from what felt like the weight of the world he’s been carrying lately. He wishes the weekend could turn into a week, a month, a year, forever.

For now, he’ll be grateful he gets to spend even a second in your presence.

“I’m sorry I got defensive before,” you say, the thought and scene still bothering you.

“It’s okay,” Matt replies. There’s honestly nothing you could do to make Matt upset, “I know I’m blind, but I’m still capable of doing things normally. People tend to forget. They wonder how I get to class, how I know which dorm is mine, how I–“

“–simply live life,” you finish his sentence.

“Exactly,” Matt sighs.

“Well, I didn’t want to be like one of those people,” you tell him, turning to face him on your side. “I know what you’re capable of.”

You have no idea. Matt felt bad that he was partially lying about the blind thing. Of course, he’s actually blind, but there's much more to what he’s actually capable of doing. He pushes the thought aside. He doesn’t want to be a mystery to you.

“You? Like other people?” Matt scoffs, “You are nothing like anyone I’ve ever met, sweetheart.”

You smile, swooning at him. “Happy thanksgiving,” you say.

“Happy thanksgiving,” Matt replies. He leans in to kiss you on your forehead. “I’m grateful to have met you, ___.”

You kiss his lips and rest your head on his shoulder. You thought tonight would be full of chatter, but instead, you relish in each other’s company in silence.

That night, Matt doesn’t bother to move to the guest room. You close your door and join Matt in your bed for a restful sleep together. You fit snug against his strong and warm body. He wraps his fingers around yours and whispers something in your ear, but you've already fallen into a deep sleep before you could hear what he had to say.

[mxvladdy]

Unrepentant: Chapter One

Yoz! Finally, I sat down and edited this! (Yaay I'm slow as fuck)

I loved writing Diavolo's True Form piece (Located Here) so I wanted more and really to write this headcanon I've had since he was introduced! It is suggested to read his true form before this but you do you and live your best life.

Anyway idk how long this will be but all the true form stuff will be in this fanfiction :)

Hope ya like!

Word Count: 4k

Rating: General

The Devildom moons glint high above you outside your bedroom window. Their perpetual radiance casting dancing shadows across the walls. The solace of your empty room envelops you like a warm hug. It pulls the stress of the day away off your shoulders leaving you sleepy. Dropping your book-laden bag to the floor you flop face-first into the freshly washed sheets of your bed.

Exam season was rolling in fast and all of the academy was gearing up for the students' and teachers' inevitable breakdowns. From personal experience, you saw firsthand what happens when a demon gets stressed out. Even the lesser demons you know can cause some major damage when they reach their boiling point, though it pales in comparison to the havoc the big seven cause. Just yesterday Beel lost control in the middle of cram school after the teacher refused to let them out on time for dinner. Poor Lucifer was still scrambling to pay for the damages and trying to find a replacement in time for next week's lessons. Then, on the same day at the other end of the campus, Satan all but totaled a classroom in a fit of rage after another student dared to try and correct him. Bless the Old Gods themselves that at least Levi and Belphie were easy to deal with during these times. They were both book smart and beyond capable with their studies, they just lacked the wherewithal to put the effort in. Well, Belphie was more guilty than Levi when it came down to it. Most of the time Lucifer could be seen dragging Belphie to class by the ankle, face stormy with rage. It was humorous to watch-just from a distance.

As for you, you figure it was best to just be out of the direct line of fire. One too many brushes with death in the Devildom for your comfort. During this time of year, it became almost a sport. You got really good at dodging large pieces of furniture and spells during exam week when the brothers finally start coming to blows. Not that you fault them, they were just letting their aggression out as any good primordial being would. But, the lack of sleep and constant fear of annihilation by bookshelf is murder on your grades. After a few meetings with Lucifer and Diavolo, you all decide you should stay in the palace till after exams.

The palace.

You smile softly to yourself tracing a thumb over your clavicle. Your finger ghosts over the healing black marks running down your skin. It was rocky at first, rebuilding your relationship and trust, with Diavolo after your "run in". He acts like you were made of spun glass and eggshells, physically trying to keep as much distance between the two of you as possible. All the while you had to butt head with seven of the strongest and most bull-headed men you had ever met. Their protectiveness towards you tried your patience in ways you never expected. It took what you are pretty sure was your guardian angel to finally get the brothers to relent. With Simeon acting as your chaperone you start to live again. It was nice to finally feel comfortable around the demon again. Seeing him return to his normal candor and temperament again was a breath of fresh air. Thinking of him makes you flush, the cool air of your room burning your cheeks as you recall all the stolen evenings in his and Barbatos's company. All the hours spent laughing at their outlandish assumptions of modern human social norms while they tried to guess if they were correct or not, and then there were the nights where it was just you and the prince. He was nothing but cordial and proper, just conversations between two friends.

A nice glass of port and dinner...maybe an errant brush of fingers when there was no need to touch a time or two. Perhaps a gaze held too long to be considered appropriate.

You groan into your pillows, feeling your heart flutter. You couldn't deny he was fascinating, and yes, perhaps you were a little infatuated with him. Who wasn't? You say it on the daily how other demons fawn over him. He is one of the strongest of their kin after all. Power is a huge part of the Devildom hierarchy, and he exudes it in spades. To a demon, he is the peak of their ideal. Yet, to you, from a human perspective, you enjoyed his personality and jovial nature. It was a side very few got to see of him and you cherish each moment you got to enjoy in the privacy of his quarters.

Of course, watching him crush an unruly usurper without a second thought was kinda hot. Hmmm-

A sharp rap at your door startles you. Was it time already? "Door's open Simeon!" You yell over your shoulder grabbing your robe and go behind your room divider to undress.

"Good evening!" The angel chirps entering your darkroom. With a wave of his hand, he lights your fireplace. The bright flames dancing to life to chase away the cold of the perpetual night.

"Show off." You come back around your divider to face him. He shrugs with a bashful smile offering you the tray he brought with him. His lithe fingers grab the few bottles he needed, leaving the rest for you. You unscrew the lid on one of the jars of salves specially crafted for you. You inhale, humming in delight, and the fresh scent of honeydew and lavender wafting up at you. "This one is new!" You beam dipping a finger in your eye the soft green goop. It was warm to the touch and made your finger go numb.

Simeon nods, twirling his hand in the air to make you turn around. "You mentioned stiff joints last night so I made something to help." His hand strokes over your back while he mutters to himself. "This is healing up nicely, though the color is becoming more opaque." You nod in acceptance. The curse- taint- whatever it was when Diavolo injured you hadn't stopped at just mental damage when it struck you. It took root on your body, burying itself deep and spreading through you like an uncontrollable flame. It wraps and twists itself around your arms, shoulders, and sides joining and merging with itself to rest around the tender skin of your neck. You found it beautiful in its own right. Like those ornate chokers in Levi's animes or the ones Mammon wore in some of his high-end modeling shoots. Yours was just as gorgeous but very permanent.

"These are coming along nicely," Simeon remarks looking over your back. He rubs some of his sweet-smelling ointment into your sides. He traces over some of the more intricate lines, they radiate power heating his celestial skin in a way you could not sense. The marks pulse in warning, threatened by his celestial power. Simeon frowns, taking his hand away. "It looks like Lucifer marks have been consumed completely now too."

"Really?" You crane your neck trying to see Lucifer's mark at the base of your neck. It figures Lucifer's was the last to be consumed. Solomon had hypothesized that since he was the eldest and thus the strongest it would make sense that it would take longer for Diavolo's blight to consume it. So far he has been correct.

Over time you watch as all the brothers' marks were taken over. Their bright colors bleed out to be replaced with an iridescent black. It was a little unfortunate since you loved the colors of their marks, but there was nothing you could do about it.

Simeon hands you a jar over your shoulder while he inspects the growing marks on your back. "I increased the dosage in this, your arms were still itchy, correct?"

You nod, taking the jar. You grimace as your nails scratch the delicate glass. Your skin wasn't the only thing that physically changed after Diavolo's magic took root. Your nail plates gleam black now, no longer clear and flimsy like human nails normally are. They are sharp now with lethal tips. They could gouge stone like it was tissue paper and even pierce the hard shell of a demon's skin. Beel had been impressed by the nick you gave him during P.E. It healed quickly so no harm was done, but it frightened you still.

Tutting, you shoot your fingers a scathing glance. As a defense mechanism, this new addition was great, but daily life was a pain. Your hands tore through everything if you weren't careful. Delicate pillows and sheets were kept far away from you lest they turn into ribbons. It was beginning to look like the brothers had adopted an unruly cat let loose in the halls.

Asmo fussed over you for days trying to figure out the best way to care for them. He wasted some nice clippers on you until he landed on a heavy-duty nail file. Your manicure only lasts a few days at best, but it was better than turning your pillows into pin cushions. Aside from your skin and nails, you could see better in the perpetual night of the Devildom. The blue haze of the twin moons is cleaner now. Every surface their light lands on shines like a beacon illuminating farther than you could see before. Gave Mammon a good scare walking the halls in complete darkness, you didn’t need a light anymore just the moons.

It was utterly fascinating to you, and Solomon. The mage takes every opportunity he could to poke and prod at your changes and charts them down with feverish excitement. So far, much to his displeasure, you show no more magical prowess than when you first arrived in the Devildom but he was certain you should. For now, no one knew what to expect so you were to just monitor yourself and check-in with Solomon and Simeon daily till they deemed this settled.

"There," Simeon finishes examining your back and neck, making sure he covered the entirety of each mark. "Looks like everything is in order. I'll leave you to rest for the evening." He wipes his hands helping you back into your robe before tidying up the small mess he made.

"You sure?" You ask following him to the door. "I feel like we haven't hung out for ages! I could fetch us some tea." You smile up at his soft face. You miss just hanging out with him. As of late all he has been to you is an on-call nurse. It would be nice to talk with him and Luke about something other than you for an evening.

Simeon smiles but shakes his head. "Perhaps tomorrow, Madame Scream has a few new cakes out this month. Luke has been talking my ear off about them and I'm sure he would love your company too." He eyes the door knowingly. "But for now someone else wishes to steal you away." He bids you goodnight then, leaving you clasping the doorknob and looking about into the pitch-black hallway.

It's in the moment you lock your door and turn to crawl into bed that someone knocks on your door. Your heart leaps in with an indiscernible emotion before beating fast with excitement, your brain following along slowly after it. You couldn't stop the smile crossing your face as you made your way back to the door. Something deep within you knew who it was. "Dia!" You swing the heavy door open and hug him tight. The moment your body makes contact with him you feel amazing. The grind of the day is gone, chased away by his warm arms encircling you. "I thought you were busy all evening?"

He chuckles swaying from side to side. "I was! But, what kind of prince would I be if I didn't throw my weight around every so often?" He leans down and nuzzles his face in your crown. He smiles into your hair. You were smelling more and more like him each day, it was titillating.

Dia breathes deeply taking in your sweet clean scent and savoring how his smokey amber smell was mingling with it. It was faint now, perhaps only strong enough for him, Barbatos and Lucifer can discern. Soon though lesser daemons will take notice of his scent mingling with yours. He makes a quick note to tell Simeon to look into a stronger ointment, it will be needed soon. Diavolo pulls away, clicking his tongue. He glances down at where your nails punched through the thick fabric of his waistcoat to graze his skin. "Do you have time for a drink? Barbatos went topside today and purchased a bottle of whiskey barrel age wine. It smells simply divine ." His gold eyes glance up to the large grandfather clock in the corner of your room. It was far past polite visiting hours, but he couldn't give less of a damn, despite the warning of his closest circles.

The nobles were beginning to notice how much he favored you and thus the court was beginning to talk. They were beginning to question his loyalty to the goal of the program, his fascination with one mere human raised concerns throughout his family members. "Why are you spending so much more time with that one?" They ask claws and fangs clinging as they nash and hiss at him, so many of his bloodline still refuse to use glamour believing it was an insult to their heritage. "They are of no importance, playing favorites could lead to a disaster for your crown." He knows many of them would love that.

For him to lose his neck and the crown so the old ones could rule again was a dream for many of them. Diavolo grimaces inwardly, they weren't wrong either. He was infatuated with you. Even Lucifer was beginning to express concern. While having you and the program was raising his ratings and the morale of the general populace, those of royal blood were beginning to create factions again. So far many were loyal, but the ones starting to make waves were the oldest in the circle.

He had plans in place of course, pieces on the board ready to move at a moment's notice. It would be messy when it happens and with you still in his kingdom...such actions were best to be avoided. No, for now, the brothers were enough protection from potential defectors and nay-sayers. He will do as he pleases, especially when it revolves around you.

"That does sound good," You agree tapping your chin in thought. It's been ages since you last drank a human liquor. All Diavolo's ports and sherries, while delicious, did not affect you. You missed the warmth that settled in your stomach after a good drink. "A good drink could calm my nerves. Give me a minute to change?" You step back into your room to scurry back behind your room partition leaving the massive demon to stand at your doorway.

"Nerves? Do you need more time for your finals?" He lumbers in coming to stand by your bed. He licks his lips staring at your rumpled bedding. It was still warm from you sitting there with Simeon. Deep down in his stomachs turns detecting the cherry sweet scent of the angel covering your sheets. He wanted to rub his body on the bedding, erasing that weakling's scent from what was his- He pulls himself back forcing his fangs back down. He trusted Simeon, no one was better suited for healing demonic wounds than an angel.

The prince observes your shadow scurrying about behind the paper screen. "There!" You jump from behind the screen in an oversized shirt. The fabric drapes down to rest just past your knees, the sleeves long and folded several times. "Ready to go?" You come back to his side slipping on your slippers.

"But of course!" He offers you his arm. "Though I am perhaps a little overdressed for the occasion, no?" He ribs, teeth flashing in jest. You accept his arm squeezing it tight and look him over dramatically.

"Yes, very much so...What good is a nightcap if you are still dressed in your day clothes?" You tug at his pressed white tie. For the first time that day, Diavolo laughed freely.

The walk from your room to his was a long one but filled with idle safe conversation. You jump from talks of the upcoming garden parties to what this week's lunch menu will be. Neither of you was blind to the prying eyes and ears lurking in the shadows of the corridors. You were unfazed by them now after months of coming to visit Diavolo and Barbatos during the evening. You became accustomed to their judgmental gazes and gossip over time. You nod politely to one of the visiting earl's and his entourage. They pass, many eyes looking you over curiously. "Earl Jan and his entourage have taken a liking to you." Diavolo rumbles watching the demons wander off to one of his many smoking parlors. "He finds your many human idioms and stories refreshing."

"Really? I have classes with a few of them they-"

"Young Prince." Diavolo stiffens by your side lurching to a halt. His hackles rise.

"Pleasant evening Lady Marquess?" The prince calls out not bothering to even turn around to acknowledge the baroness. You turn though curious as to who drew such vitriol from the normally genial demon.

The baroness scuttles out from where she had been standing, the shadows around her falling off like an elegant cloak. Her pale mandibles click in distaste when your eyes meet hers. Her hundreds of spider-like eyes latching onto you unblinkingly before flicking to Diavolo's tense back. "You missed our meeting on the upcoming festivities. I have some more requests on the dress requirements for the ball." She pauses head listing down to look at you again. Even without lips, you could feel her scowl of disgust. "It would be good for your little pet. Their dress attire at the last one was... lackluster."

Bull. Asmo and Levi had designed your outfit for the last ball. It had been amazing, the crowds looking on with jealousy and lust as you clung to Dia's arm. You don't have to look at Diavolo to feel his displeasure. "Such asinine topics like that can wait till tomorrow." He sniffs pulling you closer. His free hand comes up to grasp your hand around his bicep. “Good night Madame.”

You keep your eyes forward letting Dia escort you. The Marquess hisses quietly under her breath, something dark and biting in their native tongue. Diavolo goes rigid in head-snapping about inhumanly fast. The temperature in the hallway drops.

"Dia." You call in warning, breath wafting up in great puffs from the chilled air. He ignores you, turning his full attention to the interloper. He replies in turn voice simmering with rage. She wilts, head tilting down into a mockery of the usually appropriate bow when speaking to him. Beneath the fringes of her bangs, you could see a smirk playing on her lips. She struck the exact nerve she was looking for. "Dia," You pull on him more adamantly. "Come please?" His shoulders loosen at your words. His gold eyes drifting down to look at you.

"We will speak of this later matrona." He leaves the matter at that leaving with you in haste. The rest of the walk is tense, his eyes now darting to each shadowy corner in case another guest jumps from them.

"I apologize for that." Diavolo sighs the moment the doors to his private quarters close. He loosens his tie and tosses it to his smoking chair by the fire. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll be out in a moment." He smiles at you before disappearing into his bathroom.

You take a seat kicking off your slippers to dig your toes into the plush hide of some animal you didn't know the name of and pour out two drinks for you and Diavolo. Waiting for him to reappear you eye the treats laid out on the table next to you. They looked too good to ignore. Popping a few tarts into your mouth you groan at the sweet citrus and mint creme that coated your tongue. Your ears twitch at the creak of the bathroom door.

Burly arms drape over your shoulders as Diavolo bends to nuzzle your neck. "Too good to wait?" He chuckles. You flush hyper-aware of the sugar cookie crumbs on the corner of your mouth.

"You said help myself." You reply after swallowing.

The prince hums. "That I did." He raises a thick finger up to collect the crumbs around your lips. "Ah- Barb outdoes himself again." He licks his finger coming around to take the seat next to you. Diavolo busies himself for a moment propping his feet up on his footrest and taking the drink you prepared from the table along with a good handful of sweets. Despite his casual demeanor you still could feel his agitation thrumming through your markings.

"I'm sorry." You blurt out. He looks up at you with a frown. "That confrontation in the hall, what the Marquess said was about me wasn't it?" You didn't know what her heated words meant, but the context of the exchange was quite clear.

A glint of pain flashes through his golden gaze. Diavolo goes for his drink, downing half of it in one large gulp. "You have nothing to apologize for. " He licks his teeth deep in thought before dropping his head back with a grunt. "What are politics like in your realm? Are they all-" He waves his glass vaguely.

You sit for a moment thinking hard on what you remember of human politics. "Most countries are no longer run by royal families. Though they still have a lot of sway with laws and the like." You take a sip. "But, back when royal families were more prevalent I would say they were like this." You mimic his little hand wave with a little smile.

"Homicidal and power-hungry?"

"Quite so." You chuckle looking into the fire. "Perhaps I can take you on a mini trip to go visit some old palaces?" Diavolo perks up intrigued.

"Where do you have in mind?"

"Maybe Italy?"

His eyes grow dark. "And why there?" He bites out. You shrug feeling as though you just crossed an unspoken line.

"Just-well. Your name, at least in human culture, is Italian, and you slip into it so casually. I thought you would like it..."

"I am not looking for you to humor me." He cuts you off. His glass thunking heavily on his oak side table, amber liquid sloshing over the side. "I get enough of that from the court. I only wish to spend time with you." You acknowledge him with a faint nod curling into your seat. "Ah-no, no mi giglio." Diavolo reaches for you, scooping you up to sit in his lap. "Forgive my agitation. If it is somewhere you wish to go then I would be happy to take us... The south is beautiful this time of year I hear." A shuttered look crosses over his eyes before he blinks it away. "Shall I get started with preparations?"

He pulls you in closer, your heat seeping through the thin layers of clothes separating the two of you. He feels you melt into the soft planes of his body. His closeness soothing the itching of your bandaged and oiled skin. Dia falls silent listening to you nod off on his lap but does nothing to stop you. Closing his eyes he instead enjoys the feel of his pseudo mark upon your body vibrating in harmony with his magic. Stroking your neck and spine he is unable to control the flood of unwanted memories bubbling to the surface of his mind. As you sleep peacefully unaware of your wishes he spends the rest of the evening watching the flames die down, lost in a waking nightmare.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 154

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

I was able to get the Master Post cleaned up this morning.  I know there is a reblog going around with some of the links missing... I put that one up originally as a place holder so I could update my page links in chapters 101 through this one.   I did NOT anticipate it would get immediately reblogged, which made me squeak in pleasant surprise.  I’ll reblog the full post so everyone has the right one.

Also, thanks to @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, and @charlylimph-blog for keeping me going and all your help beta-reading and checking my links.  You three are the real heroes here!

“The quiet rooms are done,” Hannah yawned the next morning. “It’s a good thing we decided to make them available immediately, because the first one had people scheduling time before we finished the second one.”

“How many did we end up with?” I asked, pushing down my own urge to yawn. I had always prided myself on being able to resist the urge to yawn when others did, and I wasn’t letting that stop now.

The model of the Ark came up on the table emitter, and Hannah zoomed in on the highlighted areas. “Right now, we have twelve, just like you set up for the second Food Festival. But I’ll be honest, they rooms are already booked for the foreseeable future, and I don’t think that’s tenable.”

“Agreed. I’ll talk to the rest of the Council, but at this point, we need to see about setting all available spaces for quiet rooms.” I nodded and added that note to my agenda. “Moving on, food vendors being allowed in BioLab2. Any updates?”

Parvati flicked the data to everyone. “Grey isn’t thrilled with the possibility that the food will contaminate the aquatics, but is willing to allow vendors in ‘The Fairy Circle’?” She gave me a questioning look. “They said you would know what that meant.”

I just smiled and shook my head. “It’s where I go camping. Conor managed to pull off a prank that fooled even Charly and made a Faerie circle.  It’s a good choice, though: ten, eleven feet across, accessible, and far enough from the water that there wouldn’t be any risk.”

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “Credit to Conor on that one. But, Grey was very enthusiastic about the idea of setting up some picnic tables throughout the woods and letting people bring picnics.”

“I already have some vendors on board, there,” I breathed in relief. “Especially the ones who specialize in the type of foods that lend themselves well to being portable.”

Hannah’s face lit up. “Do we get to taste test some of these? I’m really getting some bento box and pasty vibes from what you just said, and I’m not sure which I’m more excited about.”

“I think I can get that to happen,” I laughed. “I wouldn’t mind trying some of the options myself, but I can at least already confirm that all bases are covered for dietary requirements. Next up, where are we on the holiday date?”

“Still working with the other departments to finalize a date where all projects can be completed, paused, or at least at a point where they don’t require direct observation. Everyone is on board, though.”

“That’s the biggest hurdle,” I confirmed. “Means we can proceed with at least putting the rest of the events together in preparation for the final date. I trust you two in handling the party aspect of it, and Charly is already working Bash on another Kink Night event at the Undine - minimal planning needed there. So, let’s figure out who is coordinating the paint-tag fight, and we can loop back to the plans for the party.”

“While I am entirely sure Charly can handle planning for both the paint tag and the other - seeing as both were her ideas - it doesn’t feel fair to leave them both entirely on her shoulders,” Hannah agreed. “It says here that you already had Conor confirm we missed Holi?

“By about six months,” I confessed. “So we’re pretty much both too late and too early.”

“I do believe the arrows would be frowned upon, in any event,” Parvati joked. “I still have her paint formulas - flavors are not listed, but there is a distinct lack of both black and yellow.”

“Those were… scotch bonnet for the black, I know that one. I think the yellow was gochujang, which would still hurt if you got it in your eyes,” I recalled.

She flicked her hands, bracelets chiming. “I will ask for a new formula for yellow, but I think we can live without black paint. The yellow was lovely, though.”

“Ask nicely, and she’ll probably give you the glitter formula colors, which I think are different flavors from the regular palette,” I suggested. “And the glitter is ultra-violet reactive, so that’ll be fun.”

Emphatic stabbing at her datapad ensued - impressive, because it wasn’t even physically there, just emitted from the band on her wrist. “Once I have those, I believe Hannah and I can coordinate that along with the party.  There is no food component, it is only for one day, so the scope is far smaller than the Festival was.”

“And besides,” Hannah added with a shrug, “whip up some paints and some spongy balls to soak it up, set boundaries, invite anyone who wants to attend. Planning done.” She dusted her hands off for emphasis, but she had a point.

“I’ve got the care packages well underway, so we’re solid there. The party. What’s the plan there?”

Parvati dismissed the schematic from the table emitter and sent a different image to it. This one was practically the opposite of what I had expected: where I had anticipated Food Festival 2: Pyrotechnic Boogaloo, I was instead looking at a park that I was reasonably certain only existed in dreams.

Soft green grass that my toes wiggled to touch spanned a rolling, looping thoroughfare. Trees arched overhead like an arbor, and were either woven with lights are absolutely covered in fireflies.  Between breaks in the canopy, a night sky filled with more stars than I had seen in my living memory.  Here and there small braziers burned brightly with fire, resting on sturdy rugs and dotted around with cushions.

“Vati,” I whispered hoarsely. “We can’t use BioLab2 for this, can we? Will Grey allow it?”

“We can, and they are.” Her smile was the feral one that usually preceded a coup de grace of event planning. “This, however, is not BioLab2.  This is the corridors of levels twelve through fourteen, leading into the lab.”

My first urge was to guess what she was planning, but my mind came up blank. I circled around my desk to stand closer to the table. “Okay, talk to me. Make it make sense.”

She nodded. “The grass is real, laid down like sod. The terraforming teams have agreed to let us use it, provided we allow them to collect data on how it holds up to so much foot traffic and include a post-event question regarding the tactile feel on bare feet.  So, bare feet they shall have.” She winked when I realized she and Hannah were going to make it part of the theme. “The trees are an illusion, simple light emitters against the corridor walls, combined with the existing texture of the surface.”

When she moved the image to mimic walking further down the path, Hannah picked up. “The larger spaces are actually where the corridors are longer between quiet rooms. Rather than trying to pull off the tree illusion, we’re going to create a  night sky with shooting stars, comets, the works.  Like a dream.”

“I like it. It’s not what I was expecting, but I’m even more impressed for that.”

“We couldn’t compete with Charly,” Parvati confessed. “She is already going to have our base desires covered.  Anything we tried to do would look like a pale imitation. So, we went the other direction: What else do we do to feel alive?”

“We dream,” I laughed. “It’s all a fairy tale dream, isn’t it?”

“That’s the goal,” Hannah confirmed. “A beautiful dream. One day and one night where you can live out your humanity however you want, without having to compromise.  If someone wants to throw paint with childish abandon, then stroll and dance through a dream, and finish the night at the Undine trying something they never dared to do before, they can do that.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds decadent.”

“I was going for hedonistic, over all, but you’re on the right track,” Parvati laughed. “Hannah and I agreed that everyone on the Ark needed one perfect day.  And since perfect is different for everyone…” She shrugged. “We just decided to give them all the options.  The quiet rooms will be open if their perfect includes a botanical garden, or a cloud… the mess halls will be open if it means a feast, or even just decadent hors d'oeuvres they could never make an excuse to try. It’s literally all on the table.”

“Consider it signed off on.” I still couldn’t take my eyes off that grass, toes wiggling happily. “Just let me know the date when we have one, I need a pedicure to enjoy this completely.”

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[jovialyouthmusic]

A not so creepy Halloween Tale

So - I don't do scary, life's too short. But after writing a fluffy fic about Drake's birthday in my 'Two's Company' TRR AU I wanted to go a little further. So here's a tale about celebrating Halloween in Cordonia. All fluff...

Tagging - I've tagged anyone who liked, reblogged or commented Drake's Birthday Bash. Please let me know if that's unwelcome.

Word count 2247

W/N I hope to post three chapters, the final one on Halloween itself. No warnings, all fluff. This brings together my 'Two's Company, Three's Allowed' AU and 'Protect and Serve'. It features King Brad (Liam), Duke Drake Walker and MC Lucy Valois plus Bastien Lykel and his LI Sophia - plus all their children.

Halloween in Cordonia Part 1

King Brad of Cordonia got out of the SUV in front of Valtoria Manor. The air was crisp and cool and leaves scudded across the courtyard before landing in the water of the fountain. He loved autumn, and made a note to take a walk along the nature trail the next day with Lucy and the children. He wondered if Luke and Molly were asleep yet, as when he texted Lucy on his way back from the airport she hadn’t answered. His son Luke was five and had just started school, and Drake’s daughter Molly was in the grip of the ‘terrible twos’ although in between tantrums she was a sweet playful child. He pictured them all scuffling through the autumn leaves, the children wrapped up warm in woolly hats, scarves and mittens.

The guard assigned to him, a relative newcomer called Haufmann, fetched his luggage out of the back of the car and handed it over to a member of staff that came out to greet them. Since his car accident some years ago when Lucy had discovered she was pregnant with Luke, Brad wasn’t allowed to drive alone. He suffered from a temporary loss of memory and it took some months for him to fully remember his past with Lucy.

Brad frowned at the lack of a warm welcome from his family, but told himself that they were probably busy with the children’s bedtime routine. Lucy would be reading them a story, Luke sitting up in bed listening attentively, eyelids growing heavy, while Molly sat on her mother’s lap, nestled comfortably and head nodding. He wondered if Drake was helping, as he hadn’t come out to greet him.

‘Thankyou Haufmann, Cook said there’s be some dinner for you when you’re ready, just go to the kitchens and she’ll see to it. You don’t need to check in for work until the morning.’

‘Thank you, your Grace.’ Haufmann bowed stiffly. ‘I’ll just put the car back in the garage.’ Brad followed in the steps of the staff member carrying his cases back inside. He’d been away for a week visiting various European countries, fostering diplomatic ties and negotiating trade agreements, and was looking forward to destressing.

In the hallway the only person to greet him was the majordomo, Grace.

‘Welcome back, your Majesty. I hope your journey was smooth.’

‘It was uneventful. Where’s her majesty and the duke?’ She coloured a little.

‘They’re upstairs settling the children. They’ve had quite a…’ she started to say something, but Brad was already halfway up the staircase, taking them two at a time. He strode along the corridor to Luke’s room and pulled up as Lucy tiptoed out of the room adjoining, her back to him.

‘Boo!’ he said softly, stepping forward and putting his arm around her waist, intending to nuzzle into her neck and kiss her. However, Lucy jumped violently and screamed. A wail went up from behind the door at the sudden noise.

‘Mummyyyyyy.’ Molly’s voice came, and Lucy rounded on Brad, shrugging his arm off and slapping his wrist.

‘For fuck’s sake Brad, look what you’ve done! It’s taken me half an hour to get her to settle.’ She hissed. Drake skidded out into the corridor from Luke’s room to see what was going on. Doing a double take, he stared at Brad and Lucy for a moment before turning back to the room.

‘It’s alright Luke, your dad’s here.’ He called back softly. ‘He gave your Mum a bit of a surprise.’

‘Daddy!’ came Luke’s voice. ‘You’re home!’ He appeared at the door in his pyjamas, hair tousled, and ran forward to throw his arms around him. Drake leaned on the doorway, slumping with a look of resignation and exhaustion before drawing his finger across his throat pointedly. Brad guessed that Luke’s bedtime hadn’t been plain sailing either, even though it was later than his little sister’s. Molly wailed for her mother again and she glared at Brad before turning back to the little girl’s room, her tone changing.

‘It’s alright sweetie, Papa Brad just scared Mummy. Everything’s fine.’ She disappeared and Brad ruffled his son’s hair affectionally before extricating himself and crouching down to his level.

‘I’m so glad to be back, son.’ He said ‘Be a good boy and settle down quietly and I’ll give you your present in the morning.’

‘A present?’ his eyes lit up, but behind him, Drake shook his head violently as Luke bounced with excitement. Too late, he realised he’d just delayed bedtime again, and it would be a while before he would be sitting quietly with Lucy and Drake with a glass of wine or whiskey in hand, if indeed either of them would welcome him at all after disrupting the children’s routine.

‘Only if you go back to bed quietly.’ Luke looked at him sceptically and he held his breath.

‘Okay Daddy.’ He said. Luckily he was showing all the signs of taking after his father and developing into a sensible and considerate boy. Being big brother to Molly was all part of that too. ‘Just one story first.’ He pleaded. Drake rolled his eyes and opened the door behind him, ushering Brad in with a wide gesture, following it with a salute.

------

In the end, Brad reaped the rewards of the lengthy bedtime process that Drake and Lucy had already suffered, as Luke fell asleep halfway through the story. He got up carefully and tiptoed out, closing the door gently behind him. Drake sat outside, back to the wall, his hair looking more unkempt than usual.

‘I don’t know how he fell asleep to a story about vampires. When did he get that?’ Brad asked, and Drake shrugged wearily, nodding toward Molly’s room and motioning him to keep his voice down.

‘School has brought a whole slew of new experiences, not all of them positive. Luke learned all about scary stories and Halloween this month.’ Lucy emerged into the corridor and held her hand out to shush the two men while she listened at the door. Satisfied that it would stay closed for some time, she advanced on them and grabbed Brad’s arm. He yelped in pain at her tight grip, and she yanked him along the corridor toward the stairs. Drake tried to turn back toward his bedroom, but she gave him a scathing look that warned he’d better follow her for whatever she was planning.

She marched them downstairs to the lounge, where Brad decided it was best to remain standing as she paced the room, hand to her forehead, lost for words. Drake stood motionless beside him for a moment before starting toward her placatingly.

‘Lucy, it’s not Brad’s fault…’ he started, but she rounded on him and he clamped his mouth shut before she changed focus to the king.

‘You – do you know nothing about bedtime?’ she started. ‘Why didn’t you just wait downstairs until we’d done?’

‘I thought…’ he began, but Lucy was in full flow.

‘Thought?’ she snapped. ‘You claim that you thought about what you were doing when you grabbed me in the corridor?’ She raised her index finger and waved it in front of his face. ‘Molly had only just settled and you pulled that stunt.’

‘I’m sorry…’ his voice trailed away as she went back to pacing the room. He decided enough was enough before she could start on him again. ‘Lucy I truly am sorry that I scared you. Yes, I was thoughtless, and I should have asked Grace what was going on before I went upstairs.’ Drake shifted uncomfortably beside him. Brad stepped toward Lucy and placed his hand gently on her arm.

‘I missed you so much, Lucy – and the children. It was unbearably dull and lonely. I’d give a month of bedtimes instead of having to be apart from you all for one day.’ He expression softened a little and she sniffed defensively.

‘Be careful what you wish for.’ She said shortly.

‘Forgive me. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’ She put her hand to her forehead wearily, visibly softening and sighing deeply.

‘Oh Brad, I’m sorry too. We’ve had such a time these last couple of days.’ Drake peeled off toward the drinks cabinet and Brad heard him selecting something and pouring it out, but he kept his focus on Lucy.

‘Why don’t you tell me about it?’ He drew her to the couch and sat her down, where Drake handed her a glass of wine. She took it gratefully as Brad sat next to her. She sipped and sighed, closing her eyes briefly.

‘It all started when Luke brought back some artwork from school. They’d done a project on Halloween, and naturally Molly was curious. Then they were playing quietly in the nursery when Molly started crying.’ She sighed, looking into her glass wearily.

‘It turns out Luke told her a ghost story.’ Drake said ruefully. ‘She didn’t like it at all.’

‘You let them play without supervision?’ Brad said accusingly.

‘You can’t watch them twenty four hours a day.’ Lucy snapped ‘I just stepped out to get Molly a drink…’

‘You didn’t send a member of staff?’ Lucy glared at him.

‘You know I don’t like to keep asking them to do things. We’re lucky to have people at our back and call. You still take your staff for granted.’

‘That’s true, but…’ he was lost for words. He’d had a privileged upbringing and having people round to do things for him was ingrained, no matter how much he tried to be independent. He sighed.

‘So what’s the damage?’

‘We’ve told Luke not to tell her scary stories, but she picks up on everything. She’s afraid of the slightest thing and takes twice as long as usual to get off to sleep.’

‘And she has nightmares.’ Drake added wearily. ‘Don’t expect her to be in her own bed all night. The only thing that calms her down from a bad dream is to cuddle up with Lucy.’

‘So don’t expect any personal time with me.’ Lucy added. ‘Even if she doesn’t wake up, I don’t have the energy. I could sleep for a week.’

‘I’m sorry you’ve had such a tough time.’ Brad said, putting his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him. ‘I’ll have a word with Luke, though I’m sure you’ve both handled him as well as you could.’ Lucy yawned.

‘Well I’m sorry we’ve not welcomed you back with open arms. I need sleep – ask cook to make me a hot chocolate…’ she paused and shook her head. ‘Now I’m taking it all for granted.’

‘I’ll make it myself.’ Brad said, kissing the top of her head. ‘Go up and I’ll bring it when it’s ready.’ He let go of Lucy and she got up wearily, stooping to kiss him on the cheek before turning to Drake for a hug. When she’d left the room, Drake gave him a wry smile, and when he’d come back from making the drink for Lucy he went to pour a whiskey. Drake was already drinking himself, a sure sign of stress. He leaned toward his friend, elbows resting on his knees.

‘Hey man, how was the trip? We were a bit too preoccupied to ask.’

‘It all went well, but I was telling the truth. It was boring and lonely. I wish I’d been able to take you all, but it would have been unsettling for the children.’

‘Now Luke’s at school it’s difficult to make plans, I know.’ Drake replied. ‘I can see the advantages of private tutors now.’

‘You know I’d far rather Luke mixes with children his own age rather than stay isolated at the Palace like I did. Hopefully by the time he’s old enough to rule most of the responsibilities of monarch will be undertaken by an elected Council.’ Brad asserted. Although Drake had grown up at the Palace, he and Savannah had attended the school in the capital while Leo and Brad had been privately tutored up to University level.

‘Same goes for Molly - and by the way, Luke is all excited about trick or treating. All his school friends’ll be going door to door dressed up and asking for sweets.’ Brad frowned as he took a sip of his drink.

‘That’s a security nightmare. What have you told him? We can’t risk exposing him like that, even with a full detail of the King’s Guard.’

‘We’ve been non committal, but he wants to know. I said I’d talk it over with you. It’s a tricky one, because Molly’s gotten hold of the idea of dressing up and getting chocolate too.’ Brad sucked his breath through his teeth.

‘It wasn’t really a thing when we were their age so I’m not sure what to do. I’d better sleep on it. Talking of sleep, what shall we do? If Molly’s getting into bed with Lucy, what about us?’

‘I’ve been going back to my room once she makes an appearance. You can cuddle up for a while but I think it’s best to leave the girls to themselves.’

‘Let’s hope this doesn’t go on for too long.’ mused Brad. ‘Or they won’t be having any more brothers or sisters.’

‘I’m bushed coping with these two.’ Drake grinned. ‘And we have staff to help us. I wonder how Bastien and Sophia are coping with the twins?’ Brad looked thoughtful.

‘I wonder – I think you just gave me an idea.’

@sirbeepsalot @fluffyfirewhiskey​ @dcbbw​ @kingliam2019​ @katedrakeohd​ @texaskitten30 @camillemontespan @twinkleallnight @karahalloway @mom2000aggie @secretaryunpaid @angelasscribbles @tinkie1973 @neotericthemis @walkerdrakewalker @tessa-liam @gkittylove99

[dumdumsun]

Forever and Never

A/N: One more chapter! You guys are a dream, thank you so much for reading ❤️

Warnings: mentions of marijuana, derogatory terms for homosexuality, blood/gore and death/dying

Word Count: 5690

—————————————

Eight: All Die Young

“Um… I think besides everything with Ricky… the night of homecoming was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.”

“With Bradley Lewis’s death.”

“Yeah. I-I mean, it started off as a normal day, a-a great day, actually.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Awaking to a text from Stanley Barber, informing me that he was driving us to school, was a heavenly sight. Almost as heavenly as waking up beside the boy, himself in the near future. Grabbing my phone off its charger, I rolled onto my stomach and texted him back, my feet giddily kicking in the air. It amazed me how he could change my entire demeanor within seconds. I could go from a sniveling baby to a hopping and skipping lovesick fool when it comes to Stan. And I don’t even think he meant to have this much of an effect on me. I wondered if I had the same effect on him? I never really paid much attention to it, just accepted the fact that he would never reciprocate my feelings. Even during that time, I had no idea if we were a couple or just adoring each other. It didn’t matter, though. Stan was finally looking at me the way I wanted him to.

Jacob stared at me with unease as I skipped down the stairs, prancing my way into the kitchen for breakfast. “Mom, (Y/N)’s being weird.” He called out as he opened the front door to leave. Pam hushed him before handing me a plate of food.

“Hush, now, Jacob. Let her be in a good mood for once.”

“For once?” I frowned and sat myself down. Pam smiled over at me and gingerly kissed my forehead as I began eating.

“Yes. For once.”

When I finished eating and readying myself for the day, I received a text message from Stan.

Stan: I’m outside

Me: omw

Pocketing my cell, I called out to my family before stepping outside to see Stan in his car with a grin on his face. “Good morning, lovely!” He called out above his music as I strode up to the vehicle, climbing inside. I gave him my usual greeting before leaning over and kissing his cheek. He chuckled and waited for me to strap myself in before riding down our street. It was clear he was in a good mood, because he let me pick the music for the ride. As Waterloo by ABBA flowed out of the drawn-down car windows, I felt the comforting warmth of his hand latch onto mine. Our combined hands shook to the beat of the music as we happily sang the words to the song. Remember when I said I had only been this happy one other time? This was even better. There were never any consequences to being with Stan, never a dull moment, never a hint of doubt between our bond. I’d never been as close to anyone as I was to him. And now at last, we were even closer in more ways than one.

Stepping onto the school campus, we were no longer strangers. I still walked within my bubble, and I probably always will throughout my life, but from now on there was no need to allow Stan inside. He was planning to be beside me through it all. He wasn’t afraid to be alienated with me any longer, we were to embrace it together. We were going to allow the stares, the whispers, the rumors. Allow them to act as water on a duck’s back. I was proud of him, I was proud of us. Even as I felt the dark brown glare of Ricky Berry trail after the two of us, watching our bashful and lovestruck glances throughout classes, the way we held hands in the halls. I was certain he got the message that I was no longer his, despite the forceful way he claimed me the previous week.

At lunch, I was just about to declare my spot in line when I felt a gentle hold on my arm. Stan, with a warm grin, pulled me away and walked us to an empty table. “Um, Stan, I’d kinda like to eat lunch today.”

“I know, Nugget,” He held up two brown sacks. “I made lunch for the both of us.” The way his grin grew prideful made my heart swell in affection. We sat across from each other as he slid the bag over to me.

“Awe, Stanley, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to, though,” He shrugged and watched as I took each item out of the bag and carefully organized them. “So, about homecoming. I was thinking we could make a big deal out of it. If you want to.”

“I totally want to,” I nodded, eyes trained on my task. “What were you planning, beautiful?”

I didn’t miss the bashful blush tinting his cheeks when I snuck a glance up at him. “Uh… Well, I was thinking when I pick you up, we can take, like, a shitload of pictures. Like, just let Aunt Pam go at it. She’ll love it.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely.”

“And then after the dance, I wanna take you out to eat.”

“Really? Where to?”

“Nothing too fancy. You don’t like all that. I was driving around yesterday and saw this restaurant that specializes in their pasta,” I suddenly felt the tip of my nose being gently pinched. Looking up, Stan was playfully wiggling my nose with a goofy grin on his face. “I know how much you love pasta.”

“I do,” I laughed and swatted his hand away. “And after that? Are we robbing a bank and driving off into the night?”

“If only,” He wistfully sighed. “But alas, I’m afraid we’ll have to remain trapped within Brownsville until we’re old enough to run away.”

I gave a mischievous smirk. “The entire act of running away is rebellious. Why wait until we’re allowed?”

“Because, frankly, I don’t feel like running away,” We shared a laugh. “But in all seriousness, we go to my house and just chill. We can have a dance contest. Our last was a tie, remember?”

The antsy excitement rushed through my veins the closer the night approached. I was never one for making a scene about school dances, but this time was different. It was my senior year, I had Stan, Ricky was out of the picture. Or at least, he was for the next hour. After lunch, Stan walked me to photography class, the two of us hand-in-hand as we had been for the entire day. Approaching the door, he wished me a good class before leaning in and pecking my lips. Our fingertips lingered as he pulled away and continued to his own class. Feeling my burning cheeks, I turned to go into the room, but an arm blocked my path. “Hey, Zip.”

Inwardly groaning, I looked up at Ricky. His bruises were beginning to fade, the dark ring around his right eye taking its time to heal. I silently hissed at the sight of him. “What.”

“Listen, I just wanted to apologize. Brad talked to me the other day and… made me realize that what I did was really fucked up. Really, babe, I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

“You’re so fucking lucky I haven’t called the police on you, Ricky-”

“Yes, I know,” He sighed, discreetly rolling his eyes. “And I really appreciate it. Gives me a chance to better myself, you know? Help you better yourself. And what better way to make up for what I did than to make homecoming the most magical night for you? Yeah? We still on for tonight?”

My eyes dangerously widened at his hopeful smile, his expression melting under my fiery stare. “Are you kidding me?! Hell no! You think I wanna be anywhere near you?!”

“(Y/N)-”

“Besides, I already have another date.” I shrugged and moved to duck under his arm, but he leaned against the doorframe to decline me access inside. I quickly backed away from him, my fear kicking in at his brash behavior.

“What, Stan The Faggot? You’re really going with that fucking twink when you could be going with me?” He laughed right in my face. I lifted my chin and stepped forward.

“Don’t ever speak about Stanley that way. He’s the most kind-hearted person I’ve ever met and is an even better boyfriend than you’ll ever be to anyone-”

“Boyfriend?!” He cackled. “I knew it. How could I not? It was so obvious! You’re fucking crazy.”

“Excuse me?!”

“You don’t see the way he dresses? He’s fucking weird, (Y/N). He’s a goddamn drug dealer. What is he gonna offer you? Huh? Free weed? Babe… Come on, you are so better off with me.”

He lightly shook his head with a smile of disbelief as I took out my phone. “I just remembered. You’re not supposed to be near me, talking to me, or even looking at me. I think Jacob would love to hear about this-”

“Fuck you.” Ricky hissed before stomping away, leaving me in an empty hallway that was filled with the ringing of the tardy bell not too long afterwards. At that point, I was just about sick of guys. I was irritable during gym class, running off my anger and letting it steam off my shoulders. When the coach told us we could stop, I took greedy gulps of air and trudged to a nearby bench to rest. As I plopped down, I noticed Syd and Dina walking together to the opposite side of the field. It was good to know they were to finally talk everything out. Now for her and Stan to make up…

I was thankful for a split second for the shadow that casted over the burning sun raining down on me, but huffed upon seeing who it was. Some guy from my math class stood before me. He was shirtless, displaying his six-pack and chest glistening with sweat. He beamed down at me with a suave smirk. “Hey, Zip.”

“Hey.”

“So… I know you and Ricky are… you know. So, since the dance is tonight-”

“Sorry, I already have a date.”

“Right,” He nodded slowly, beginning to back away. “I should’ve known. No worries.”

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

“And he just walked away?!” Stan laughed on our drive home from school. My hold on his hand tightened as I tried to hold in my own laugh.

“No, he ran away!” I snorted, triggering the increase of his laughter.

“What is that, the fourth guy today?”

“Don’t remind me.” I rolled my eyes as he pulled up to my house. Unbuckling myself, I froze at Stan’s intentuous stare. He reached over and grabbed my hand again, raising it to his lips.

“I expect you to dazzle everyone like you usually do.” He kissed my knuckles.

My breath hitched. “Of course. And I expect you to do better than me, like you usually do. What time should I be ready?”

“I’m picking you up at eight. On the dot.”

“On the dot, got it.” I leaned over and pressed my lips to his. He returned it and tilted his head to try and deepen it, but I pulled away with a giggle. Stan watched in awe as I got out of the car, snatching up my backpack as I did. Waving him off, I turned and headed inside my house.

I had to look perfect. Not just for Stan, but for me. This was a new era of myself, I had shedded my skin and materialized as something beautiful. I had to showcase just how beautiful I’ve become. So, after my shower, I struck up a playlist and dolled myself up. Starting off with my hair, I simply pinned it up with white butterfly hair clips. My makeup was nothing special, other than the baby pink eyeshadow and the small application of glitter over it. To seal up the look, I added cherry lip gloss to give my lips a bit of a pop. I hoped Stan would appreciate it. My face burned at the thought of him tasting the cherry on my mouth. Backing away from my mirror before I exploded, I entered my closet. My dress was something I never thought I would ever wear. It matched my makeup in baby pink. An off-the-shoulder look that hugged my torso and flared out to the floor. I managed to zip it up myself before slipping on a pair of white heels. Turning to my reflection, I let out a breath.

I had never looked any more beautiful, I think. I remember gazing at my parents’ wedding photo as a child and wishing to look as beautiful as my mother one day. I wondered if she was looking down at me, proud of who I had become at that point. Gazing fondly down at the ring on my pinky, I blinked back the stinging of my tears.

Yeah, she’s proud.

An eager three knocks sounded at my door and I hurried to open it. Pam immediately teared up the moment her eyes settled on me, camera ready in her hand. “Oh, my baby… You look so gorgeous! Just like your mom!” She gushed. I could only chuckle as she took multiple pictures of me. Hearing a taunting laugh, I looked down the hall to see Jacob leaning against the wall, silently mocking his mother’s excitement. I kindly showed my middle finger to him, much to Pam’s disappointment. “Oh, come on. Now it’s in the picture! Jake, leave your sister alone!”

“Sorry, ma’am.” He feigned innocence and batted his eyelashes at me. I playfully sneered at him before David’s voice sounded from downstairs.

“(Y/N), Stan is here!”

Grabbing my phone, I checked the time. Eight o’clock. On the dot. That punctual bastard. Clutching my phone in my hand, I nervously made my way to the top of the stairs. Everyone was waiting for me at the bottom, including Stan. God, he looked so cute. He was wearing his baby blue suit, some sort of black and tan shirt beneath that oddly went well with the suit. Leave it to Stan to defy the laws of fashion. I could tell he paid extra care to his hair, the way it was styled perfectly for his curls to sit off to the left side of his forehead. I was sure I was grinning like a maniac as I descended the stairs, but Stan’s expression was the reason I was grinning. He looked absolutely astonished and at a loss for words. His jaw was dropped and eyes were bulging as he watched me walk closer to him. When I quietly greeted him, he couldn’t even respond. Great job, (Y/N), you broke him.

“How’d I do?” I whispered and hooked arms with him. At my touch, he snapped out of his haze and beamed at me.

“You certainly did not disappoint, lovely.”

“Awe, and you aren’t looking too bad yourself, beautiful.”

Pam squealed from the sidelines before rushing over to us. “Stanley, doesn’t she look stunning?”

“Absolutely, Aunt Pam.” He grinned at the older woman as she began taking photo after photo of us. We decided to indulge her and pose for each one. All the while, I felt a red hot glare from the side. Glancing its way, I noticed Jacob fuming at the sight of Stan and I hugged up on each other. His Big Brother Mode was going to activate the second Pam was done with us. To my horror, she finished sooner than I thought. As she excitedly showed our photos to David, I watched as Jacob slowly approached us. Just as he opened his mouth to spit some sort of threat towards the poor, unsuspecting Stan, I turned to the front door and flung it open.

“Well, we really have to go! We’re already late, you know.” I chuckled and gently shoved Stan out of the house.

“Oh! Yeah, of course!” Pam called out after us. “You two be careful out there! And have fun!”

“And (Y/N)-” Jacob began to add in a warning, but I waved him off, mouthing an ‘I know’ as Stan scrambled to hold the car door open for me. I quietly thanked him and climbed inside. The car ride to the dance was very pleasant. The hum of soft rock music fit the mood of our night as we quietly sang along. Stan found a parking spot rather quickly and leaned back in his seat after turning the car off. Bringing the visor down, I checked myself in the mirror, gently running my fingers over my white gold hoop earrings gifted to me by my dad for my previous birthday. They were pretty expensive and I hardly wore them, so why not? Hearing a click, I turned to see Stan lighting up a joint. After he took a hit, he looked my way and smiled, offering it to me. Without any hesitation, I joined him in a quick session. As I took my third hit, I felt his eyes on me.

“What?” I raised a brow and exhaled the smoke. His eyes shown in adoration.

“What a sight you are…”

“A sight? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you’re sitting in my old-school car, looking like a goddess and smoking a joint. You’re so beautiful… Just perfection.”

“Jeez, maybe I should get dolled up to smoke more often.” I joked and handed it back to him. We shared a chuckle before Stan put the smoke out. He gave me a wink before getting out of the car and rounding it to let me out.

Our highs kicked in the moment we stepped into the gymnasium. Our clammy hands found each other as we walked further in. I let him lead me through the sea of dancing bodies and bouncing balloons, the two of us hitting them out of our way as we ended up near the bleachers. When we stopped, we overlooked the scene before us as I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Best theater in town, Stan.”

“Best theater in town, (Y/N),” He looked down at me with furrowed brows. “So, why aren’t you on stage?”

“I don’t perform without my co-star.”

“Well, in that case.” He took hold of both my hands and swung us around. At that, we let loose, broadcasting our best secret dance contest moves to anyone willing to watch. I thought it was perfect. The two outcasts, both outcasts for difference reasons, wildly dancing together away from everyone else. And yet, they were the life of the party. It was meant to be. My feet stung from the stomping and jumping I was doing in my heels, but I couldn’t care less.

“I fucking hate this song!” I joyfully shouted, eliciting a laugh from my date.

“Me, too!” From the sound of our laughter, it was clear the two of us were high. Three songs later, in the middle of my rounds of spinning, I felt Stan’s hands on my waist, attempting to stop me. When I did, my surroundings rotated around me and I leaned into him for support. Looking up, I saw Sydney awkwardly smiling at the both of us.

“Oh! Hey, Syd! I love your dress.” I smiled and gestured to her attire. Her smile widened.

“Thanks, (Y/N), y-you look great.”

“Awe, thanks.” I gushed and bashfully waved her off. My attention turned to Stan, who had a look of indifference on his face, but a hint of pain in his eyes. Sydney noticed it, too, and looked back at me.

“Uh… Can I borrow Stan for a second?”

“Go ahead.” I motioned. Stan stared at me for a second before following Syd onto the bleachers. I suddenly felt very out of place, so I decided to keep my hands busy and get myself some punch. Thankfully, I found Dina there, pouring herself a cup. When she noticed me, she quickly set it back down on the table and reached her arms out for a hug. “Dina, you look so good!”

“Are you kidding me?!” We engulfed each other in a tight hug before pulling away. “You look fucking amazing! You always have to show out, huh?”

“I try…” I lowered my voice. As the two of us talked, lonely guys would come up to us and ask to dance, but we would hold hands and politely decline. After the third walked away, Dina turned to me.

“Hey, so… In detention… The thing that Jenny said about Ricky. Was that true…?” The hesitancy in her voice made me deeply inhale as I nodded in confirmation. Instantly, her eyes welled up with tears as her hands covered her mouth. “(Y/N)... I’m so sorry. If I had known, I would’ve been there for you.”

“No, no, Dina!” I quickly took her hands into mine, my heart wrenching. “It’s okay! I’m okay…”

“You’re okay? H-How are you okay?” She frowned and blinked back her tears. A warm smile twitched its way onto my face.

“Stan… he’s been making everything better…” I admitted. Dina’s face lit up before she hugged me all over again.

“Oh my god, (Y/N)! I’m so happy for you! God, you fucking deserve it, girl!” She exclaimed as I hugged back, quietly laughing at her excitement. Our hug was cut short, when Dina caught sight of our dates heading toward us. I turned to them and happily watched as they approached us, their hands lazily clasped together. Sydney held out Stan’s hand over to mine and I gladly took over. “Stan!” Dina grinned at him as he allowed me to lean against his side.

“Dina, you look, um… you look like a Christmas tree.” He awkwardly complimented as I rolled my eyes. Dina looked down at herself.

“Thanks, dude.”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded before his eye caught something. “Oh, god. Whitaker’s still watching us.” He sighed. We directed our gaze to our principal, who indeed was standing across the gym, arms folded and a piercing gaze on the four of us.

“It’s probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened in his entire life.” Sydney crossed her arms, as well, as we all grinned. Stan leaned forward and placed his other hand over ours as he hummed.

“I don’t know, guys. I mean, we’re wanted criminals. Why are we out here in the open? Exposed. First rule of the heist is split the loot and split the fuck up, right?”

“We don’t have any loot, Stan.” I raised a brow in false confusion as Dina smirked at me.

“Yeah, all we did was disrespect this fine institution.”

“And disrespect ourselves.” Sydney finished, Stan humming again before we all shared a soft laugh. Stan’s smile disappeared as a slow song came on. I barely recognized it, but he sure seemed to know it. His free hand reached up to cover his eyes.

“Oh, no. On principle, I just- I can’t,” He groaned and began to free himself from my grasp. “Sorry, this playlist is all over the map. I’ll- I’ll be back.” He squeezed between Syd and I to leave, but I followed right behind. He was nearly at the DJ table, when I managed to stop his striding.

“Stan! Stan, wait!” I laughed and turned him to me. “Come on, I wanna dance to this.”

“(Y/N), I have to enlighten that poor DJ over there.”

“After this song?” I pouted and wrapped my arms around his neck. “I don’t care about the music. I’ll dance to anything with you.”

“That is a lie, but fine,” He sighed before his hands rested on my waist. Our dance started off with timid shuffling, Stan clearly not used to slow dancing. I chuckled and directed his eyes away from his shoes.

“Stan, it’s just swaying, I promise.” I whispered. He gave me an incredulous look before moving with me to the music. Of course, since it’s Stan, he had to add in a few spins that had us stumbling. We laughed aloud when we almost toppled over, and we earned a few weird stares, but we didn’t give a shit. Just as it seemed we were getting the hang of it, a voice that rang throughout the gym interrupted the song and dance.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr File announced from the stage. “If I may have your attention. Stop talking. Look up here please.”

“Thank god, they stopped the song.” Stan whispered in my ear as we turned to the stage. I playfully and gently hit his chest as our teacher continued.

“It is my privilege to introduce your homecoming king and queen, Jeff Butters and Julie Frasheski!”

As the homecoming royalty hopped on stage, we all clapped and cheered for them, Stan and I exchanging looks that said ‘I have no idea who these people are’. “What up, Westinghouse!” Jeff exclaimed into the microphone, his queen by his side, the both of them wearing sashes and crowns. “Yeah! Where my boys at? Whoo! Where do I begin? I wanna thank my mom for meeting my dad-”

His amusing speech was cut off by Bradley Lewis running onstage and clamping his hand over the mic. “Listen up!” He yelled as the feedback screeched. Our smiles dropped as he swayed, clearly drunk. As Mr File tried to take the mic from him, he thrashed about and moved away. “Give me a second! I would like to take this moment to talk about something very important that affects everyone here.”

“What the fuck…?” I muttered and watched as he turned to the middle of the crowd.

“Sydney Novak!” His exclamation sent a flinch through Stan and I, and I felt him tense under my hold on his arm. “Hey, Sydney! Raise your hand! Raise your hand! Give a wave so everybody can see you!” When she didn’t comply, he moved on, proceeding to pull out Sydney’s supposed diary and flipping through it, exposing all of her secrets to the whole school. He told about how at Ricky’s party, she had kissed Dina upstairs. As he spoke, he hopped off the stage and pushed past people to stalk closer to his victim, the path to her and Dina made clear. I could see the panic in Sydney’s eyes. My blood boiled at the derogatory term he used for her sexuality, but Stan was just about ready to pop. His jaw was severely clenched and his face was flushed red in anger. I felt him move forward, but kept an arm in front of him. But there was no holding him back after the next thing Brad exposed. “And my god, don’t even get me started on the daddy issues on this one. I mean, it’s fucking worse than Zip’s! And we all know about that!” That comment punched me straight in the gut and Stan ripped his arm from my hold, pushing his way through the crowd. “Everyone in Sydney’s life thinks that she’s a piece of shit. And I mean everyone!” His cackling was interrupted when Stan broke through everyone.

“Hey, man! Leave her alone!” He went to stand in front of his friend, but Brad immediately swung, his fist connecting with Stan’s face and sending him to the ground, unconscious. My breathing stuttered before I wordlessly shoved everyone out of the way, trying to get to his limp form. There were a few people separating us that wouldn’t budge. I growled as Brad continued, shaking his fist from the blow.

“But that is not even the weirdest thing about Sydney… Novak,” He took a few steps forward, and I watched as Sydney wiped a tear from her eye. This whole situation was fucked. “Get this. Sydney claims that she has-”

To this day, I have no fucking clue how it happened, but Brad’s words were cut short when his blood and brains exploded onto everyone near him. Including me. I heard nothing but white noise the second the blood platter smacked into my hair, onto my face, my dress, my shoes. Brad’s headless body fell limp to the ground, the remaining of his brains spilling out from where his head should have been. His head should’ve been there… His head should be there! I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak. My eyes were glued to the bloodied corpse on the ground. I was sure everyone was screaming and running around, but I couldn’t do the same. I saw shaking Dina’s form, trembling as she moved, but my focus snapped right back to the fucking corpse. I should’ve moved. I should’ve screamed. I should’ve ran. I should have been crying and gagging and panicking, but I just… I couldn’t. I don’t know what the fuck.

“(Y/N)!” I felt a hand pulling me by the arm, but I was in such a state of shock that I blindly let whoever drag me out of the school- no, the crime scene. I felt the cool air nip at my exposed skin, but I still couldn’t have been bothered to react to anything. It wasn’t until I felt a piece of bloody meat slip down my face and disappear into my dress that I could breathe again. I let out a blood-curdling scream as I felt it run down my skin.

“It’s in my dress! It’s touching me!” I cried. The mess of curls in front of me whipped around to face me. Through my teary-eyed vision, I could make out that it was Stan. He was awake, he was fine. But I wasn’t.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?!”

“It’s in my fucking dress!” I gagged as I felt it run down my stomach. “Stan, a piece of his fucking brain-”

He firmly grabbed me by the shoulders and rushed me to his car. I hyperventilated as he placed me in the passenger seat. Before closing the door, he reached into my dress from the bottom and slid his hand from my knees, past my thighs and planted his palm on my stomach. He gagged when his hand touched the meat, grabbing hold of it and ripping his hand from my dress, throwing the flesh to the ground. Stumbling a bit, he shut my door and rounded the car to drive. I had to ride with my window down, letting the wind blow against my face to prevent the contents in my stomach from resurfacing into Stan’s car. He drove all around town, calling out for Sydney. He would glance over at me every once and awhile when I would gag or groan, but that was it.

What a sight I was.

Do I look beautiful now, Stan?

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

When Stan decided to give up on the search for Sydney, he sped us to his house. The sirens of police cars and ambulances echoed within my empty mind. But the moment I left the car, I hurled my guts up into Stan’s yard. He caught me before I could fall and rubbed my back until I emptied my stomach. Then when I was done, I did the same for him.

I had no concept of time, I can’t remember how long we were throwing up in his front lawn, but when we were done, he guided me inside the house and down to his room. The second he let go of me to retrieve new clothes, my entire body trembled and shook uncontrollably. “S-Stan… S-S-Stan.” I whimpered out. He returned to me with clothes tucked under one of his arms. He held me by the elbow and guided me to his bathroom, sitting me down on the toilet lid before starting up the shower for me.

“Nugget? Hey, do you want me to-”

“N-No.” I don’t know why I said that. I needed him in that room with me. He was patient enough to look away as I undressed, nearly falling a few times, and stepped into the shower. He left the door slightly ajar, so I was sure he could hear my sobbing as I sat down, letting the water rinse me of Bradley Lewis’s blood and guts.

I returned to Stan in one of his sweatshirts and a pair of his sweatpants. He stood from his bed and carefully watched the way I moved. The way I slowly blinked and walked two steps at a time toward him. Silently, he lifted his covers for me to lay down. I stared at him emptily for a few beats before complying, my back facing him. I felt his lips on my neck and gladly welcomed the kiss before he whispered into my ear, “I’m gonna shower now, okay? I won’t be long.”

“Go ahead.” I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. As Stan showered, my shaking hands reached up and freed my locks from my hair clips. I tried to keep my crying near-silent as I did so, but I wasn’t too sure how loud I was being. Within time, he had returned and laid down beside me in bed. And from the warmth I felt when his back touched mine, I could tell he was shirtless. It was painfully silent as we both unevenly breathed. I bit my fingers to keep myself from crying again. Everything about me felt unbalanced. I wanted to be beaten even. It’s what I deserved for not taking care of myself.

“Hey.” Stan’s whisper broke my train of thought.

“H-Hey…”

“You asleep?”

“No… You?”

“No.” He muttered as I felt the bed dip when he turned around to spoon me. His leg draped over mine as his arms pulled me closer. He pressed his lips to the side of my neck as he deeply inhaled. I closed my eyes and willed myself to ask the question brewing in my mind,

“Do you have any idea what the fuck happened? B-Brad just… h-he fucking…”

“I know,” He murmured against my skin, his hold tightening as well as his throat. I could tell by the way he choked on his breath. “I… I’ll explain it another day. N-Not tonight.”

As we fell asleep an hour later, I knew he’d never explain it.

—————————————

Taglist: @nate-isnt-great @sapphicsyn @stqnley @lonely-kermit @a-t-h-r-e-e-n-a @moatsnow @magicalgothpandamaker

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (6)

(the next chapter is heeeeeeeeeeeere!!! hope you guys like it!! there’s also a mini series connected to this called Journal Entries, though I don’t know how long I’m going to be continuing it. Check it out if you feel like it!)

Ch.1 / Ch.5 / Ch.7

Chapter 6: Don’t Be Suspicious

Marinette tilted her head from side to side, doing a subtle dance to the music that played through her earbuds. She tapped her pencil on the desk with the beat and mouthed Jagged Stone’s lyrics as they came, thoroughly enjoying the electric guitar in the background. At Dupont, listening to music with earbuds was a ‘no-no’ despite her efforts. Principle Damocles, along with a few of the teachers, insisted that it hindered their drive to focus and work on school. The thought wasn’t entirely misguided- Marinette was already re-reading this textbook page for the third time with no hope of comprehension in sight -but she enjoyed the liberties that came with her new school nonetheless.

In all honesty, Rosemary didn’t allow headphones either, but the librarian wasn’t a snitch, and Marinette wasn’t a saint. So, during her assigned study halls, she would hop over to the school’s library and jam out to Jagged Stone. It was a nice reprieve from the strict guidelines that Rosemary held for their students and gave her time to unwind before her next round of overly-complicated classes. 

She was about ready to start banging her head to the song- the lyrics were just too good -when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Her gaze flicked upwards towards Claude, who was sitting beside her. He’d suggested that they study together during the one study hall they shared, and Marinette, being friends with him and genuinely enjoying his company, agreed. He was actually the one who told her about the lax librarian in the first place.

Once Claude was certain that he had her attention, he tapped a finger to his ear, silently requesting her to take out an earbud. Marinette gladly obliged and paused her Jagged Stone music to hear him better.

“What are you listening to? You look like you’re really jamming out.” He asked curiously.

Marinette held up her phone for him to see the song cover. “Just Jagged Stone. He normally helps me think, but I’m starting to wonder if that only works for design sketches.”

Claude gasped so hard that she thought he was going to choke, and an ear-splitting grin spread across his lips.

“You listen to Jagged Stone too? He’s one of my favorites!” The brunette said enthusiastically.

Marinette straightened with delight. “Seriously? He’s been a favorite of mine since I was twelve!”

“Ten!” Claude trilled.

Elation bubbled up in Marinette’s chest. Finally! Someone to talk to about Jagged Stone! She hadn’t found a kindred spirit since Luka and.. well.. She hasn’t met another Jagged Stone fan in a while. 

“Did you hear the new album that just came out?” She asked, folding her arms across the table and leaning onto them. When she first came to Rosemary, she’d naturally assumed that no one there listened to rock. Everyone was prepped and poised and rich. Their tastes were bound to be much ‘finer’ than hers.

Looking at it now, though, it made perfect sense for Claude to listen to Jagged Stone. He was an energetic and passionate person, and that’s what Rock n’ Roll was all about. She also had to remind herself that she was now a Rosemary student. If she listened to rock music, it was possible that her other classmates did as well. The school wasn’t a complete hive mind, after all. 

Claude scoffed playfully. “Did I? I was the first in line for the cd! The songs were a total masterpiece!”

Before Marinette could reply, another scoff interrupted their conversation, one that wasn’t nearly as playful. She glanced across the table to Felix, who had looked up from his book. He’d shared the same study hall hour that they did, and Claude, being who he was, coaxed the blond into joining them in the library.

Well.. ‘coax’ probably wasn’t the right word. It was more of Claude dragging Marinette to the table that Felix was already sitting at and convincing Felix to stay seated once they got there. 

Felix’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, and the corners of his lips twitched in a scowl, the same way they always did when he was about to criticize something. 

“No type of rock music could ever be considered a ‘masterpiece’,” He stated matter-of-factly, “especially not that man’s noise.”

Marinette gasped, slapping a hand to her chest in offense. “Jagged Stone’s music is not ‘noise’.”

“Forget it, Mari.” Claude cut in, putting a hand on her shoulder as he shot Felix a glare. “This guy will never understand Jagged’s art.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “I’d hardly call throwing a bunch of instruments together and screaming into the microphone ‘art’.”

Marinette crossed her arms and huffed. Jagged Stone didn’t scream. His voice was just rough, but even if he did scream, that shouldn’t give Felix the right to be rude. Everyone had their own tastes. Marinette didn’t go around bashing XY fans, now, did she?

“Have you even listened to him?” She asked indignantly. 

“I’ve had the unfortunate experience of listening to rock, yes. That’s how I know it’s in bad taste.” 

Marinette’s fingers dug into her skin. “But have you listened to Jagged Stone?”

The grated words caused Felix to pause. 

“..I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Marinette sighed and tugged out one of her earbuds to hand it to him. “Here.”

Felix rose a brow, not moving an inch. “What do you expect me to do with that?”

“You’re going to listen to at least one of Jagged Stone’s songs.” She told him. “Then you can tell me what you think.”

Felix was an extremely opinionated person. He tended to say exactly what he thought without considering how it would affect others around him. At first, his snaps and snide remarks put her on edge. She would worry about angering him and making him dislike her from the things she’d say or do. But after spending more time around him, Marinette realized that he wasn’t angry as much as he was easily irritated. He would get annoyed at things that he viewed as out of place or illogical, then, after fixing the problem or telling someone else to fix it, he would move on. It just so happened that Allegra, Allan, and Claude were constantly doing things that were ‘illogical’, ‘unnecessary’, and- her personal favorite -‘downright preposterous’.

That being said, Marinette still didn’t enjoy challenging Felix when she disagreed with him. His words were sharp and blunt, whether he meant them to be or not, and arguing was never her strong suit, anyway. Therefore, she found it best to merely listen and watch as the rest of the group continued to push Felix’s buttons relentlessly.

Right now, however, was a different story. Right now he was denouncing an incredibly talented artist who he hadn’t even bothered to listen to before condemning, and Marinette wouldn’t stand for it.

Felix’s gaze shifted to the earbud. She could see the command turning in his mind, could see him deciding between being difficult and resisting or simply being nice for once. 

“..Fine,” He relented, taking the offered headphone, “but don’t be upset when my opinion doesn’t change.”

Marinette tried not to smile too much and quickly started scrolling through her playlist to choose a song. If she only had one shot to convince Felix of Jagged’s greatness, she needed to play one of his best works.

“Wow..” Claude remarked. “You actually got him to listen to a song. That’s farther than I’ve ever gotten.”

Felix rolled his eyes, but refrained from commenting. Marinette didn’t reply either. She didn’t want to waste the opportunity she’d been given by joking with Claude.

She found a song a few seconds later and eagerly set the phone between them as it began to play. This had been a song that she’d listened to for at least a week or two before moving on to the next one. She knew the lyrics inside out and could quite possibly sing them in her sleep. If anything was going to convince Felix that rock was also a musical art, it would be this song.

Felix’s expression twisted with annoyance as the drums kicked up to join the electric base. 

“See, this is what I’m talking about.” He sighed. “The notes are overbearing and chaotic. How can you enjoy it?”

“Because they’re not chaotic.” Marinette replied, gathering all the patience she could. “It might get loud sometimes, but the drums and guitar create a steady beat for Jagged Stone to sing to.”

Just then, Jagged Stone’s voice rang through the headphones, gruff and strong. Marinette’s lips quirked up into an involuntary smile, but Felix, unsurprisingly, wasn’t as thrilled as she was.

“He doesn’t even sing about anything important.” He said. “The words are completely random.”

Marinette resisted the urge to groan. How could someone be so smart yet so stupid at the same time? 

“The lyrics aren’t random. And they might not be important to you, but they are to him.” She tried to explain. “Jagged writes about the things he loves and tells it to the world through song. His music is full of passion, and it drives others to be more passionate too. Myself included.”

Felix glanced up at her for a moment, no doubt scrutinizing her claims, and tisked. He then put a hand over his borrowed earbud and closed his eyes to try to listen to the music better. 

Although it was a small, begrudging act, Marinette couldn’t help grinning. He didn’t like rock music, didn’t even want to entertain the idea of liking it, yet here he was, listening to Jagged Stone’s music because she asked him to. He was trying hard to understand something she enjoyed, and that meant a lot, especially when one considers how stubborn he can be.

“I suppose I can understand what you mean..” Felix mumbled a few seconds later. “The notes aren’t nearly as melodic as what I’m used to, but it must take some form of talent to mash banging instruments together and make it sound decent.”

Marinette beamed. It was a backhanded comment, but she could accept it. 

“Okay, my turn.” She said, extending her hand towards him.

Felix frowned. “Pardon?”

“You said that Jagged Stone isn’t what you’re used to, right? I wanna know what you’re used to.” She replied matter-of-factly. “Let me listen to one of your songs.” 

Felix’s frown deepened, but he pulled out his earbuds to hand one to her. 

“I suppose I could show you the one I’ve been listening to recently..” He muttered to himself. “Just be careful with these. They’re expensive.” 

Marinette happily plucked one of the earbuds out of Felix’s hands and put it on. The cord between the earbuds was shorter than hers, so they both had lean across the table to share. She didn’t mind the closeness, though. They’d only be there for a moment.

When the music finally began, all Marinette could really do was snort. Classical music. Of course Felix would listen to classical music. Each note had a purpose, place, and expression in the song. Yes, other music had that too, but most of the time, there were words that people sang to excuse repetitiveness of the beat. Classical music had to carry its own weight, and that made all the difference. 

“What?” Felix asked, referring to her laugh.

Marinette put a hand to her mouth with an apologetic smile. “Oh, nothing. It just makes sense for you to listen to classical music.”

Felix rose a brow, but she waved him off. There was no point explaining it.

“Anyway, I can see why you would like this, because it’s really pretty, but I, personally, find it a little boring.” She said honestly. “The notes are too slow. I would fall asleep before I could finish a song.”

“It’s not just a song, though.” Felix argued. “It’s a story. Listen closer.”

Marinette did as she was told and closed her eyes, putting a hand over her earbud like Felix had done earlier. The piano and violin mingled together in a soft symphony, lulling up and down as the symphony progressed. A lone guitar played a joyful tune in the background.

“The protagonist is admiring their lover.” Felix explained. “They’re making promises of being together always.”

Drums bubbled up behind the piano and violin as the guitar faded, causing the music to shift into a tense atmosphere.

“The father of the lover is coming between them, forcing a separation.” 

Violin strings shake with the drums, and the piano gradually grows louder to emphasize the ominous presence. Once the tension is drawn out to its absolute limit, the music breaks with bursts of violins and trumpets, signifying the beginning of a fight.

“The protagonist refuses to back down, and although they are worried, they stand up to fight for their love anyway.” 

Marinette cracked an eye open to look at Felix. His eyes were now closed as well, and a soft smile ghosted his lips. She hadn’t taken him to be a romantic, but he appeared to be deeply engrossed in the ‘story’. Did he read romance novels often? She assumed all of the books he carried around were about historical facts or intricate philosophies, not trials of love or daring confessions.

“Do you hear it?” Felix asked, his eyes abruptly opening. Their heads were already close from sharing headphones, but his looking up only brought them closer. It was a miracle their noses didn’t bump together.

Marinette froze, her eyes widening at being caught. Was it weird that she was staring at him before he opened his eyes? It shouldn’t be, right? Staring at your friend wasn’t a crime. 

Say something. Marinette’s mind screamed. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t say anything. She could hardly even think straight. She was too lost in the roundness of his eyes or how long his eyelashes were or whether she was too close to him and have his eyes always had those little specks of blue in them?

Marinette squeaked, finally gaining enough sense to lurch backwards. Felix’s earbud was tugged out of her ear, but she didn’t care. Right now she needed distance. 

“S-sorry!” She blurted out. “I-I mean- uhm -the music was fine, or- great. I-.. I could really hear the- the story.”

Her hands covered her face in a vain attempt to hide her blush. Her cheeks were absolutely burning from embarrassment. How could she get so flustered? Wasn’t it her idea to share the earbuds?

Felix was strangely quiet as he picked up the abandoned earbud and paused the song. Oh gosh, he probably thought she was a total weirdo now. (If he hadn’t thought that already.)

Marinette peeked through her fingers, searching his face for judgement, but he simply wrapped the cord of the earbuds around his phone. Although his eyebrows were furrowed slightly, the rest of his expression was neutral. Was that a good sign or no?

“Yes, that’s why I enjoy it.” He finally said once his phone was put away. His tone was graciously composed, not acknowledging her humiliating outburst. “The composers put real effort and work into their music. They carefully aligned each note to make sure it portrays their story and theme correctly. That’s what I consider to be a masterpiece.”

Marinette nodded. “Y-Yeah.. That makes sense.. I still think Jagged Stone’s music is also a work of art, though.”

She settled back into her original seat, as did Felix. 

“Agree to disagree, I suppose.” Felix shrugged.

An astounded laugh came from the left of them, and the two turned back to Claude. Marinette had admittedly forgotten that he was there.

“I, for one, am impressed.” The brunette announced. “You actually got Felix to entertain a different opinion. He never says ‘agree to disagree’! It’s always just ‘you’re wrong’.”

Felix scoffed. “Don’t act like I’m unreasonable. I’m stubborn in my opinions because they’re logical and sound, while your arguments against them are hardly either.”

Claude rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Do you think you guys can argue about cephalopods now? I’m supposed to be doing a report on them for science.”

Marinette chuckled, finally relaxing in her chair again. “Sorry, Claude. I don’t have any strong opinions about cephalopods.”

“Maybe if you read a book every once in a while, you’d find something to write about.” Felix added, being ever the supportive one.

“Hey! I do read!” Claude defended. “I just don’t know what to write about. Should I argue a random point about cephalopods or should I just write about a bunch of facts? Am I supposed to list my sources or can I say whatever I want? What does the school board want from me?”

“Claude, you’re a sophomore.” Felix stated bluntly. “If you don’t know how to write papers now, I can’t help you.”

Claude groaned and sunk into his chair, and Marinette offered a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Anyway,” He grumbled, rubbing his hands over his face, “speaking of cephalopods, have you guys heard about the new aquarium exhibit that they just opened at Aquarium de Paris?”

Marinette perked up. “Wait, really? I didn’t know about that!”

“Yeah, I think it’s something to do with the sharks.” Claude smiled. “They’ve got this new tank and everything.”

Marinette wiggled in her seat with delight. She always loved aquariums. “That’s so cool! I’ll have to ask Maman and Papa about going to see it.”

“Oh, why don’t we all go together?” Claude suggested. “I wanna see the new exhibit too, and I’m sure Allegra and Allan will want to go.”

“Sure! When do you think you’ll be free to go see it?”

Claude leaned back in his chair as he thought about it. “Uh.. maybe this Sunday? I don’t think I have anything going on then. Does that work for you?”

“I’ll have to check with my parents, but that should be okay. Do you want me to tell Allan about it during our next class?”

Claude nodded. “Yeah, that sounds great. I’ll tell Allegra.”

Marinette smiled and turned to Felix. “Are you gonna come with us, Felix?” 

A part of her felt awkward asking, as Felix didn’t normally enjoy the group outings, but a bigger part of her would feel guilty if she didn’t invite him when they were inviting everyone else.

Felix glanced up from his book with a questioning gaze. He.. hadn’t been listening.

“We’re going to Aquarium de Paris this Sunday. Are you coming?” Claude asked again.

Felix shrugged. “I suppose Allegra will drag me along either way, so why not?”

Marinette bit her lip to hold back a giddy squeal. This was going to be great! Getting to see all of the new fish and getting to spend time with her new friends? What could be better than that?

~~~~~~

Felix drew in a deep breath as he made his way towards the school exit. Aside from the soft chattering and echoing footsteps of the students around him, it was quiet, and he reveled in the silence while he could. Leaving school alone was a rarity now, especially since Marinette joined their group. Allegra, Claude, and Allan had always been insistent on smothering him with activities, but with the new ‘recruit’, the time they spent together has doubled. The trio wanted everyone to be together constantly. That included Felix. 

He sighed, shifting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. The numerous study dates, get-togethers, and group lunches had pushed his social battery to its absolute limit. So the small reprieve was greatly appreciated. 

It did feel strange, though, not hearing Claude’s rambling or Allegra’s scolding or Marinette’s laughter. They’d become a steady background noise to the rest of his daily life, and now that they were absent, Felix found himself glancing over his shoulder, waiting for one of them to pop up.

Of course, no one came, and Felix forced his eyes forward to push away the growing anticipation. There was no need to mull over it. He would see them tomorrow at school, and on top of that, they had another outing scheduled for this Sunday to visit the aquarium. By the end of the week, Felix would certainly have his fill of seeing their faces or hearing their voices.

The sun beat down on Felix as he stepped outside, and he welcomed it whole-heartedly. The biting cold of January was never something he fancied, save for the fact that it kept everyone else indoors. 

He started down the front stairs, letting his mind wander back to the conversation he’d had with Marinette during their shared study hall. Her boldness during their discussion of musical preferences had surprised him, since she usually steered clear of any confrontations. He couldn’t blame her for her sudden tenacity, though. People tended to be extremely attached to their music, and Felix had criticized her tastes. It only made sense for her to defend herself.

On that note, Jagged Stone? Really? He’d assumed Claude was the only one to have such bizarre tastes. Nevertheless, if Marinette approved of the man, Felix wasn’t going to question too much. She still created those phenomenal designs, after all, meaning she must have a good eye for things.

Bits and pieces of the song that Marinette had requested him to listen to resurfaced in his mind. If he was being honest, it wasn’t as horrible as he’d claimed, but blaring drums and pounding beats simply didn’t help him relax like classical music did.

Felix closed his eyes briefly as he recalled the piano piece he’d shown Marinette a few minutes later. It was a favorite of his, one that he listened to often while reading alone in his room, and he did his best to explain the mastery of the artwork. The passion, the yearning, the love- it can be difficult to express, especially when he hadn’t experienced those things first hand. That’s the main reason he found the piece so interesting.

The image of Marinette’s delicate features flicked through his mind. He’d looked up at her to gawk her reaction, to see if she understood what he was trying to say, but he’d found her staring right back at him instead. Her almond-shaped eyes were round with shock, and he couldn’t help thinking about the first time they met, when he first realized how blue her irises were. They almost reminded him of tiny, swirling oceans, deep and mesmerizing. 

When she jerked back a few seconds later, something akin to disappointment had laced through Felix’s stomach, and even now, he wasn’t sure why that was. Perhaps he wanted to admire the color a tad longer. 

Either way, Marinette plopped into her seat, her cheeks flushing a dark scarlet, and it was only then that Felix noticed his own racing heartbeat. Again, he was at a loss for the cause. Was it because she startled him by lurching backwards? He didn’t remember flinching.

The screeching of tires pulled Felix from his thoughts, and his gaze turned to the road in front of him. A silver car had parked on the curb. 

A frown tugged at the corner of Felix’s lips. That was odd. Parking on the curbs near Rosemary wasn’t allowed unless someone was being picked up or dropped off, yet no students were waving the car down or exiting the vehicle.

The back door to the car swung open, causing Felix to raise a brow. Spoke too soon.

A boy jumped out of the car, his golden blonde hair shining in the sunlight as he ran towards the front steps. Something about him seemed familiar, but Felix couldn’t place his finger on what.

The boy slowed to a stop in front of him and offered a friendly smile. Yeah, Felix has definitely seen this guy before. But where?

“Hey!” The stranger greeted. “Sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for a girl. Her name is Marinette?”

Felix narrowed his eyes at the name. Marinette as in Marinette Dupain-Cheng? As in, the girl who was inside talking to Allegra right now? Why would he be looking for her?

“She’s about this tall.” The boy continued, holding his hand just above his shoulder for reference. “She’s got raven-colored hair that she normally puts into pigtails, and wears pink capris and a black jacket. She would have started attending this school about two weeks ago?”

The more he spoke, the more suspicious Felix became. This guy knew a lot about Marinette, but Felix didn’t know a thing about him. Was he a friend? An enemy? Marinette didn’t mention meeting someone after school. Not that she was obligated to share her personal connections and schedules, but what if this was the person that’s been wanting to ‘talk’ with her? The stalker?

Don’t overreact. Felix told himself. This could be a perfectly harmless visit from an old friend of hers. Just because I wasn’t aware of him coming doesn’t mean he has ill intentions. 

...but just in case..

“Apologies, but have we met?” Felix asked, dodging the blonde’s question. He didn’t want to disclose Marinette’s location unless he had her permission. There were too many cases where an unknowing co-worker blabbed about the victim’s schedule to the stalker, and he refused to be one of those idiots.

The boy pulled a sheepish expression and rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, no, we haven’t, but I can see why you would think that. My face is kind of everywhere with all of the ads Father’s had me model in recently.”

Felix blinked, the mix of familiarity and the boy’s words clicking together in his mind. Of course! This was that same, obnoxious face that Paris has been obsessed with for the better half of five years. The amount of billboards and posters of this guy that were plastered around the city was enough to make Felix gag. He couldn’t look in any direction without seeing him!

“You’re Adrien Agreste.” He stated, a hint of irritation accidentally rising to his tone. Not only has this ‘sunshine child’- or so Paris called him -been plaguing his eyes for at least two years since Gabriel upped his campaigning game, he also happens to have the same name that was scribbled on Marinette’s birthday cards, the ones she’d offered to give away. Was that a coincidence? 

Felix was leaning towards ‘no’.

“Yep.” Adrien chuckled. “That’s me. Anyway, is she here? I really need to talk with her.”

“He really just wants to ‘talk’.” 

Marinette’s bitter words resurfaced in his mind, and Felix narrowed his eyes. The chances of Adrien Agreste being an enemy were steadily rising.

“I’m afraid I don’t know a girl by that name or description,” he lied, “and there hasn’t been a new student here since last year.”

If Adrien turned out to truly be one of Marinette’s friends, he would apologize, but Felix wasn’t going to risk compromising her if his suspicions were correct. 

Confusion etched its way onto the blond’s features, and he glanced down at the ground as he muttered, “I could have sworn she said ‘Rosemary’..”

Felix rose a brow. Marinette told him which school she was attending? Or did another girl give him the information?

Before either could say anything more, a car horn sounded in front of them, and Adrien glanced over his shoulder to the driver of the silver car. 

“Ah, I gotta go. Thanks for your help!” 

Felix didn’t bother returning Adrien’s wave, instead watching him hop down the front steps. Although it would annoy him, he hoped that the blond actually was a friend of Marinette’s, for her sake. He can’t imagine her being happy with the news that someone had followed her to school.

“Oh, hey, Felix! I thought you were leaving.”

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear..

The silver car had just disappeared around the corner when the girl in question skipped down the front steps next to him. She flashed him a bright smile, making his insides churn with guilt. Should he tell her? She needed to know, right? 

“I was,” He said, choosing his next words carefully, “but I got held up.”

Marinette chuckled. “I know how that goes.”

Felix nodded, his gaze shifting to the side. He didn’t want to worry her, but he couldn’t let her be ignorant of a possibly dangerous situation either.

“.. Were you, by chance, expecting anyone at the school today?”

Marinette frowned and shook her head, unfortunately confirming Felix’s concerns. “No, why?”

“Well..” He hesitated. “Someone stopped by and asked for you. A man by the name Adrien Agreste.”

Marinette’s entire body went rigid, and the blood drained from her face. Felix held back a grimace at the sight. She looked more frightened than two weeks ago when she first ran into the school to hide.

“D-Did you-”

“No.” Felix cut her off, already knowing what she was going to ask. “I told him you didn’t attend this school.”

Her shoulders slumped with relief, but he could still see the nervousness in her eyes. “Oh, thank goodness.. Thank you so much, Felix.”

“Is he the one who wanted to talk to you two weeks ago?”

Marinette faltered at the question, but nodded. “He went to my old school..”

Felix frowned. If he remembered his mother’s ramblings correctly, Adrien Agreste started attending Dupont not too long ago. Was that Marinette’s old school then?

“His father’s a powerful man.” He said. “You need to be careful.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Oh no! I mean- Thank you for the warning.. But Adrien isn’t like that. He’s persistent, but he doesn’t threaten people.”

Felix wasn’t entirely sure that he believed that, but he wouldn’t argue. Marinette was dealing with enough already. “I believe he said something about a girl telling him that you’re attending Rosemary, but he didn’t mention the name of her.”

Marinette’s eyebrows knitted together. “A girl?”

“Yes, something like ‘I could have sworn she said Rosemary’.”

Marinette chewed on her bottom lip, obviously troubled by the news. Felix didn’t blame her. Stalking can be a serious matter. (even if she didn’t quite consider it stalking.)

“Would you like me to drive you home?” He offered, yet again. 

And again, Marinette refused by shaking her head. 

“Thanks, but it’s only two blocks. I’ll be fine.” She assured.

The decision didn’t sit well with him, but Felix nodded anyway. It wasn’t his place to tell her what she could or couldn’t do, or what precautions he personally thought she should take.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He said, finally continuing his descent down the stairs. 

“Yep, see you tomorrow.” Marinette smiled.

They parted ways after that, Marinette heading down the sidewalk and Felix going to find his driver, but the urge to watch her didn’t leave his mind until she completely vanished around the corner.

Felix sighed, tapping his finger against the car door as he settled into the backseat of his car. Why did he want to follow her so badly?

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