#Its after midnight so I apologize if none of this makes sense or like. There are unfinished thoughts lol

[familyofpaladins]

I HAD A REVELATION

okay so I was thinking about gender. My gender. And my feelings about being a cis girl over time.

When I was little I used to wear all kinds of dresses and wore nail polish and even occasionally makeup (but like. Sloppily as a 7 year old would lol) and how overtime I stopped wearing nail polish and stopped wearing dresses and despised make up. I dont really remeber why I stopped with nail polish. Maybe because it flaked off too easily or maybe I was sick of the few colors we had idk. I know I gradually stopped wearing dresses and night gowns because I was sick of being told I couldnt "put my legs up [up against the wall or just straight up in the air] or that I had to sit a certain way while wearing one. So I wore more and more pants.

I think about how i used to stand in the toys aisles while my mom did grocery shopping and look at "The Boys" section and think how much cooler it was than the girls section.

And I think about how my music teacher told us one day we'd hit puberty and we'd grow and us girls would be like "[in a high pitched voice] OH MY GOSH I LOVE BOYS AND DID YOU HEAR ABOUT SO AND SO" and I looked over at my classmates and friends to see if they were also terrified of becoming annoying teenage boy-obsessed girls.

And i think about how when I was at my friend's house and we were building "tree forts" in the woods i would wish I had a penis for the convenience of being able to just go pee behind a tree, because squatting near the ground was Not Fun and I hated walking all the way back to the house. And I think about how I hated that I'd have to wear a bra once my boobs started to come in

Now you might be thinking. Friend I think you want[ed] to be a boy. But the thing is, i dont.

I may have hated being restricted in dresses but I dont actually hate them. I've gotten a couple dresses in the last 10 years (for prom and graduation and a [not my] wedding) and how I actually did like how I looked in them and enjoyed wearing them for that time.

I think about how I was jealous of the boys selection of toys, but also how I had a ton of barbies that I massively enjoyed and how if I'd been a boy I probably wouldnt have been able to enjoy them (thanks to pressure from society) as well as a bunch of other "girly" items and shows and movies. I think about how I'm actually Asexual and that I wasnt scared of becoming "a young woman", I just didnt understand the obsession with sex/romance/boyfriend&girlfriend stuff.

And while having a penis is more convenient for peeing I also remeber thinking that it would suck to get kicked in the balls and/or that trope of falling on soemthign between your legs that happens in so many movies (not that it feels any better with a vagina honestly). And that if I had been born a boy I'd most likely have to deal with all the toxic masculinity forced on me, and I'm glad I dont have to deal with that.

And while me and my boobs dont always get along, I remember that after getting my first cute bra, I thought. Oh well maybe this isnt so bad. And I mostly wear sports bras now because I do wish they were smaller and I HATE that so many bras (EVEN THE SPORTS BRAS) are already padded into cup shapes, and while I don't mind Having Boobs, i Do Not want to show them off. And sometimes i think that maybe i wouldn't mind chopping them off, but then i think how my figure/outline/silhouette would look with out them, and that seems worse.

And i think about the times I've accidentally been called "Sir" from tired fast food employees when wearing gender nonspecific clothing and felt happy about it. But not "oh it feels right to be called sir/he/him" , but more of "hehe I fooled you! You thought this was a dress but its pants!"

And really this is all to say. I was born a girl and grew up that way so it's what I'm used to. If I'd been born with a dick then I guess I'd be a guy. If you magically stuck me in a male body right now, would I feel like a Guy or feel like a girl in a guys body? I honestly dont know. So am I non binary? Maybe that that doesnt quite feel right either.

Being a girl is what I've grown up as and into, and it's what I'm used to and going by anything else is… odd. Maybe itd be better and maybe it wouldnt. It's like an old blanket. You've had it forever and maybe its frayed and patched maybe a little too small and it's not what people expect you to have for a blanket, and maybe you could do with a new one. But nothing feels right with out it. No other blanket feels the same. It's what you're used to and its familar. It's a comfort blanket.

And that's why being a [cis] girl is my comfort gender.

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Your date--or non-date--with Eddie was ruined when he dodged your kiss. Or...was it? (5.4k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, Reader wears a miniskirt, drinking, drunkenness, making out, heavy petting, mentions of smut, mention of masturbation (m), idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

chapter eleven: undo, undone

He pulled away.

You leaned in for a kiss, and Eddie pulled away.

The full extent of rejection hadn’t even set in before you felt something cold and wet on your leg. An electric blue liquid dripped down your shin, traveling in winding paths like veins. 

Haziness shifted into perfect clarity, flinging you into sudden and unwanted sobriety. The music was too loud, the dimmed lights still too bright. Every conversation was now too loud, the floor sticky beneath your Doc Marten-ed feet. 

When you mustered up the nerve to look at Eddie, you saw that he had fared even worse; his entire left pant leg was drenched and already reeked of gin and the cerulean syrup stained his sneakers. His eyes widened as he processed what had just happened, a startled deer in the headlights. 

“Oh my God; I’m so sorry!” 

The drunken apology snagged your attention, coming from none other than the woman who’d brutally massacred Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. She stumbled forward again, and whatever remained of her drink sloshed over the glass and onto the floor. 

Her lower lip jutted out into a pout and panicked tears welled in her eyes as she looked from you to Eddie. “Have you seen my boyfriend?” Her words were slurred; ‘seen’ came out as ‘sheen.’ “I can’t find him anywhere.”

“I’ll help you find him.” Anything to get away from Eddie, to avoid the thundering question: Had he pulled back because of the spilled drink, or did he cause the spill by pulling away?

It had to be the latter. He probably regretted ever offering to celebrate your graduation and would spend the rest of the evening ruminating over how he’d inadvertently led you on. Was it dedicating a song to you? The dancing? 

Except…neither of those had been his idea. You were the one who insisted he sing karaoke. You were the one who asked him to dance. He relented to appease you, and you’d completely humiliated yourself by stretching his kindness past its platonic confines. 

The woman latched herself onto your arm with one gin-soaked hand and swiped at her cheeks with the other. Up close, she barely looked old enough to legally drink. “His name is Charlie.”

“Huh?” Her boyfriend. The one you were supposed to be locating. “Oh, right.” 

Eddie scrubbed his jeans with a wad of flimsy napkins, muttering under his breath when they left a papery residue in their wake. He grumbled something about the restroom before storming off in that direction. 

Your new drunk companion rested her head on your shoulder, permed hair tickling your neck. 

“What does Charlie look like?” The bar wasn’t big, not even by New York City standards, but having a general idea of who you were looking for would be a massive help. 

She just laughed softly, a joke only she knew, head lolling as she spoke. “Y’know…tall-ish. Blue eyes. Has, um, hair with a little woop thing.” Her palm mimicked an ocean wave. Just as you had predicted, the gesture provided nothing of relevance towards your search. 

You gritted your teeth in a forced smile. “Okay, right.” Sucking in a harsh breath, you led her to the bar and ordered two waters, practically shoving the condensation-frosted glass into her hand. 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” It all came out as one word: Wheresyourboyfren?

“He’s not—” You shook your head; there was no sense in trying to explain the situation to a wasted stranger. “Bathroom.”

The girl’s droopy lids snapped open. “That’s where Charlie went!” She threw her head back and cackled, and you quickly roped an arm around her waist to keep her from teetering over in her too-high heels. “You’re gorgeous, by the way. No wonder your boyfriend looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess.” Her mood rapidly shifted to one of ire as she threw out, “Bet he’d never leave you alone in this skeezy bar.”

Except he had left you alone in this skeezy bar—and he wasn’t your boyfriend. 

You could still feel his soft cotton t-shirt beneath your fingers, the way his curly tendrils of hair brushed along your hands. The gentle nose crinkle each time he smiled at you from the stage was forever etched into your brain. 

At what point did he realize he’d made a mistake? When did regret tarnish his good deed?

Tears pricked in your eyes as the weight of humiliation now set in. Your mascara would run, but who cared? It wasn’t as though you had anyone to impress anymore. 

The TV above the bar flashed with the red and blue of police lights, the colors blurred by your own tears. You blinked them away just in time to read the closed captioning scrolling along the bottom of the screen. 

The frontman of an up-and-coming punk band once again finds himself in legal trouble. Caleb Dalton, the lead singer and guitarist for Death’s Echo, was arrested early this morning for disorderly conduct and public intoxication. 

The video showed a young man keeping his head down so his shaggy blond hair covered his eyes, his hands cuffed behind his back and rendered unable to shield his face.

This is not the first time Dalton has landed himself in hot water. Just last week, the troubled musician was arrested for allegedly driving under the influence; his court date is set for early next month. All of this erratic behavior has fans wondering how this could impact the band’s first world tour, set to begin mid-June.

A professional photo of Death’s Echo took up the entirety of the screen. There was Caleb Dalton, front and center, shirtless and brooding. To his immediate left and right were two other men, one incredibly tall and lanky with gleaming chains dangling from both his neck and the belt loops of his dark-wash JNCOs. The other was shorter, stockier, wearing a black tank top that was littered with holes. If Eddie’s recollections of swanky hotel rooms and impromptu helicopter rides were true, the holes must have been purposefully designed to heighten the band’s grungy look. 

But the member who snagged your attention was the only woman in the group. Her eyes, thickly rimmed with kohl and sheathed in a smoky shadow, bore into your soul. Blonde hair fell in jagged layers and framed a heart-shaped face, her crimson-painted pout simultaneously beckoning suitors to come hither and stay away. 

You imagined those lips on Eddie’s for half a second before your drinks threatened to make a reappearance. 

The report ended with the obligatory statement: “Dalton’s rep could not be reached for comment,” before shifting to the next story. 

Tongue firmly adhered to the roof of your mouth, you gulped down some water in hopes of ungluing it. In hopes of sorting out your thoughts, jumbled from embarrassment and the jolt of alcohol to your system. 

If Eddie had seen that…you couldn’t stomach the thought of him watching as his replacement’s lips subtly curled into a smirk as he was shuffled along towards the police car. That was the smirk of a man who knew he’d evaded the law before and would likely do it again. Fame and fortune certainly had their ways of tipping the scales of justice. 

The news would almost certainly usher in unwelcome memories of his hometown and the people who took joy in vandalizing his trailer. The people who continuously made his life a living hell and faced no consequences because of their pristine reputations and Eddie’s tarnished one. 

You shoved the information deep down and vowed to never let it bubble over. If Eddie found out on his own, that was one thing. But you refused to further ruin this evening for him. 

“Dianna?”

A man’s worried voice called out from the back of the bar, his sandy eyebrows pinched together as he scoped out the cramped venue. With his crisp button-down and khaki pants, he could be Eddie’s polar opposite. 

“Oh my god! Babe!” The girl yanked herself from your light grasp. You realized that you hadn’t known her name until that moment, though there was a decent chance she wouldn’t even remember it if you’d asked. She stumbled over to the man—Charlie, you assumed—whose concerned expression dissolved into relief the moment she flung her arms over his shoulders. 

Charlie pulled her close and let out an extended sigh. His jaw relaxed, lips pressed to her temple as his frenetic energy tapered and his heart rate slowed. “Scared the shit outta me, babe.” He murmured against her ear. “Why didn’t you stay at the table?”

Your heart ached at the way he held her close, a precious commodity that he would protect with his life. Would Eddie ever touch you like that? Would he leave protective kisses all along your shoulders, nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck? Would he panic if he thought something happened to you?

If his rebuff of your kiss was any indication, it was highly unlikely.

Dianna shrugged. “I wanted to get another drink, but then I spilled it all over her boyfriend,” she said, pointing to you. 

Charlie looked in your direction as though seeing you for the first time. “That explains the guy standing at the sink, washing his pants.” His fingers sifted through the blonde curtains that flopped right back to his forehead, adding to no one in particular, “Dude looked pissed.”

Your stomach roiled, whiskey and vodka burning at the base of your throat. Between your unwelcome advances and Dianna’s drink snafu, Eddie’s good deed was far from unpunished.

The urge to empty the contents of your stomach only heightened when you imagined the look of utter disgust Eddie must have worn when you leaned in for that kiss and the embarrassment he felt on your behalf. A man bought you a drink, obliged your request for a dance to a mediocre karaoke rendition of a song, and you took that as some grand romantic gesture? Pathetic. 

It was just another way that you let people down. 

Eddie’s expectations of a night out with a platonic friend. 

Mom and Dad’s expectations of you taking over the motel. 

Your own expectations of Eddie secretly harboring romantic feelings for you, strong enough to shine through the cloud of insecurity constantly surrounding you. 

Once again, you were a disappointment. 

The room’s walls began closing in, filling your lungs with wet sand that clung to the muscle and made breathing an impossible task. A fuzzy film blurred your vision and warped the room until it was utterly unrecognizable. 

Air. You needed fresh air and to get far away from this godforsaken bar. A wave of heat crashed over you again and again, dousing you in your own perspiration and keeping your feet pasted to the floorboards. 

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t—

“Heiress?”

Eddie’s voice shredded through anxiety’s haze, his worried tone bursting the bubble with a violent pop. The world began shifting back into place, your mind floating back down in reluctant reunion with your body. 

“Hey.” Strong palms clasped your trembling shoulders. He leaned in to ensure you heard him over the pulsing music. “Let’s get outta here, okay?”

Your response was a meager nod. His fingers glided down your bare arm, goosebumps rising in their wake, as he took your hand and led you outside. The burst of night-chilled air was a sweet nectar; your bones drank it up like a delicacy. 

Diaphragm loosening, you took one shallow breath, then another that rested a bit deeper in your chest. You anchored yourself in the moment until you once again recognized the subtle press of your lungs against your ribcage. 

Home. You needed to get home. 

Peering down to check your watch, you realized that Eddie’s hand still clutched yours. The pad of his thumb traced lazy lines along the skin between your thumb and forefinger, steady as a heartbeat. 

“It was getting kinda crowded in there, huh?” It was said entirely for your benefit, you knew: Eddie was accustomed to packed arenas and sold-out stadiums. 

Another nod. “Y-Yeah, I wasn’t expecting it t-to be…” That was the whole reason why you’d suggested a Monday night, but Karaoke Night must have brought in an influx of new customers. Couple that with the end of the Memorial Day weekend, where people didn’t want the party to end after the family barbecues wound down, and you had the perfect recipe for an overcrowded bar.

Eddie dug into his back pocket as the two of you began walking back towards the motel, procuring a dented box of Camels and his trusty lighter. His eyes, illuminated by The Brink’s dim neon signage, flicked over to yours. “Is it cool if I…?” He raised the cigarette, pinched between his pointer and middle finger, unlit until you gave your approval.

“S’fine.” You watched his thumb glide over the sparkwheel, igniting a tiny flame. The scent of burning tobacco wafted off of the end of his cigarette, the wind blowing a curl of smoke in your direction. 

He waved his hand to ward it away from you. “Sorry,” he mumbled. When he took another drag, it happened again. “Jesus Christ. Here.” Tucking the cigarette between his lips, he planted his feet behind you and placed both hands on your shoulders, stopping you in your tracks. Electricity crackled beneath his touch, his fingertips the lightning and his voice the gentle rumble of thunder.

Stop it, you reprimanded yourself. He dodged your kiss. You can’t be thinking this way anymore.

He sidestepped to your right, the breeze now carrying the smoke away from you. Another deep inhale had the flame ripping through the paper, ash building up on the cigarette’s tip. The flakes floated down and decorated the tops of his sneakers in a gray snow. A warning sat on your tongue, hampered only by the cool dampness suddenly touching your bare leg. 

Eddie grimaced at the way you stumbled and stepped away slightly so the wet denim no longer pressed against your skin. “I got most of the drink out, I think. It’s just soap and water at this point.” 

You stopped again, stooping down and pinching the fabric of his jeans between two fingers. The scent of gin still clung to him, though not as strongly as it had immediately following Dianna’s spill. Or maybe it was just the tobacco’s heaviness that overpowered it. That damn cigarette, so smugly perched where you longed to be. 

“I’m doing a load of laundry tomorrow,” you managed, shaking off the remaining thoughts of Eddie’s lips as you carefully stood up. The last thing you needed was dizziness spinning you to the ground. “I can throw these in with my stuff, if that’s okay.”

Eddie grinned. It was the first glimmer of happiness you’d seen from him since asking him to dance.

“Trying to get in my pants, Heiress?”

Your feet caught beneath you. You dug your heels into the pavement to steady yourself, sending up silent praise to whatever omnipotent presence kept you from falling flat on your face. 

If he was joking with you…he wasn’t mad. He wasn’t unnerved by your attempt to kiss him. 

You invited relief in, just enough to loosen a retort from your arsenal. 

“Don’t make me rescind my offer,” you quipped back. “And in the meantime, I’ll just tell people you pissed yourself.”

Eddie quirked up an eyebrow. “On the outside of my leg? I can see why you studied psychology instead of anatomy.”

There was nothing you needed to focus on less than Eddie Munson’s anatomy right now, the way it might feel against your own, within your own. Not when the ship had only just begun steering down the right course again. 

“That girl found her boyfriend, by the way. Or, he found her, I guess.” It was the first subject your brain latched onto. When Eddie’s reply was a confused stare, you hurriedly elaborated. “The girl who spilled her drink on you.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” He flicked some more ash from his cigarette and took another wistful drag. “This whole night was a blur.” 

You forced yourself to choke down the insecurity that had lodged itself in your throat. “Rockstar can’t mix liquor like he used to?” You tutted disapprovingly. “Maybe you’re getting a little rusty. Out of practice.”

“Please.” He scoffed, snuffing out the cigarette on a brick wall. “Did you see my moves tonight?”

You certainly had. Each hip swivel, each pelvic thrust was firmly etched into your memories. And then there was the way he’d danced with you, leading with the confidence of an order but the tenderness of a suggestion. 

“Fair enough,” you conceded. The fresh air was working wonders; you stood a bit straighter as you continued walking alongside him, your footsteps in time with his own. “I still can’t believe you sang Elvis.”

“Me either.” Eddie laughed through his nose. “I was going to sing something Ozzy-adjacent, but then I saw Heartbreak Hotel and figured it fit better with, y’know, our whole thing.”

Our whole thing. An invisible and intangible thing, but he felt it, too. Felt it enough to acknowledge it aloud. 

A smile blossomed on your lips. “You were easily the best one up there. Singing, dancing…all of it.” Flattery embedded in truth, you noted the tips of his ears tinging red. 

“I don’t think anyone would mistake me for a dancer.” He chuckled, hand swaying out just enough to find purchase on your back and pull you an inch closer.  

You swallowed back desire and forced yourself to focus on anything but the press of his fingers against your spine. “N-No future career in Elvis impersonation? Or ballroom dancing?” 

“Nah.” Eddie shook a stray curl from his eyes. “And I definitely stepped on your toes while we were dancing.”

“You didn’t.” If he had, you didn’t notice, too swept up in the warmth of his closeness to even register any overlapping feet or bumping knees. 

Someone barely visible in the inky night lugged a garbage pail across the sidewalk, the scraping of metal bringing your heart into your throat. The noise must have startled Eddie, too; his fingers tensed against your side to hold you in place as he stepped in front of you. 

“Shit.” He swore under his breath. Nervous, awkward laughter permeated the air when he realized that the threat was no more than a dented hunk of metal. “Sorry about that. I just thought–”

“S’okay.”

Comfortable silence, as much as the city streets allowed, accompanied you as you walked back, broken only by crickets’ rhythmic chirping and car engines revving down the boulevard. Eddie’s eyes stayed alert to his surroundings and his grip remained tight around your waist, adrenaline still coursing through his veins from the earlier scare. His chest nudged your back; you could feel his heart thumping a protective beat.

A hunger to kiss away that fear, to nuzzle yourself into him until his pulse steadied and his breathing regulated, settled into you. You were starving to restore his lightheartedness. 

Eddie’s voice was rife with apprehension when he spoke again. “I, uh, think we got interrupted. Back at the bar.” 

He looked away as he spoke, and it took a moment for you to register what he said. Surely he wasn’t referring to the kiss—or lack thereof. He wouldn’t be bringing it into the conversation now that the embers of your embarrassment had finally stopped burning bright. 

You shoved the thought far from your mind, temporarily quelling the memory’s intensity and allowing yourself to think straight. The slow dance–he meant the slow dance being interrupted. “The song was almost over, anyway,” you said softly.

“I’m not talking about the dance.”

Oh. So that meant…

“Heiress.”

A hint of a warble clipped his nickname for you. Eddie’s left hand wrapped around your upper arm, fingers barely touching skin, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. You caught the way his tongue flicked over his lip, the way his cocoa irises darkened even under the streetlamp’s flickering light. Fuzziness filled your brain; your breath hitched in some unknown space between your lungs and your throat.

His right thumb brushed your chin, your jawline, memorizing the texture of your skin. He smiled, the gentle upward tug of the corners of his mouth suddenly the center of your focus.

“Heiress,” Eddie repeated, the word a whisper that left your bones humming. 

You nodded, your own fingers tangled in his cotton shirt, pulling him an inch closer that still felt like he was a mile away. He would never be close enough, you realized. 

His palm slid to your cheek, his fingers tucked behind your ear, beckoning you to take that small step forward and bridge that gap. It was your choice. You could back away and unfurl your fingers from around his shirt. You could ignore the aching need in your core, the one that matched his. 

You deserve to be happy, he’d said.

And for once, you allowed yourself to believe him.

You believed him when you stepped into him, your chest against his, rising and falling in perfect synchronicity. You believed him when noses clumsily bumped together as you sought his lips, the lips from which symphonies of music and laughter flowed. You believed him when you finally found them after the agonizing seconds, minutes, hours, days–time both hastened and ceased to exist–and connected with Eddie on a level only ever reached in your runaway daydreams.

Expectations slid down your back and swirled down the storm drains when his tongue sought entrance at your lips. There was no school, no motel, no troubled lead singer. There was only you and Eddie. 

A calloused palm clutched your shirt, the fabric bunching between his fingers. The fervor of his tug pulled the neckline down past your collarbone to reveal one white bra strap. 

Eddie’s lips danced over your uncovered shoulder, forefinger sliding under your bra strap and toying with it once his mouth returned to yours. The touch was burning, the promise of pleasure sending sparks careening down your spine. The flames spoke nonsensically, whispering to let him undress you right here in the street. 

His hunger for you was seemingly just as insatiable. The hand that rested on your cheek dove to where your skirt curved along your ass, wrinkling the stiff denim as he squeezed harshly. You let your own grasp fall from his collar to his biceps, feeling them instinctively flex beneath your touch. 

More. You needed more. You needed all of him, needed to give him all of you, until you were wholly unified with no clear beginning or end to you and Eddie as separate beings. 

Your hips rolled into him, a soft moan leaving his mouth to safekeep in yours. You let it trickle down your throat, relishing in the subtle hardness that you felt pressed against his fly. 

A shoulder collided with his and sent both of you stumbling, Eddie only holding you tighter to prevent a fall. His arms wrapped around you as he scowled at the man who dared to occupy the sidewalk while the two of you were locked in an embrace. 

“We’re in the way,” you murmured against him, nose grazing the hint of stubble peppering his jaw. 

Eddie said nothing in response. His eyes shone with equal parts determination and desire. In one swift, impulsive motion, he grabbed your wrists and led you off to the side, away from any passersby. 

“‘S probably better that we stop.” The disappointment weighing down his words spoke volumes. “Your shift starts soon.”

You shook your head. “We can be fast.” Your lips attached to his neck, sucking lightly as your teeth grazed his exposed skin. 

“Look at me, Heiress.” Eddie sighed and leaned against the nearest lamppost. He kept two fingers curled into your belt loop, bringing you with him. “I don’t wanna do this with a timeclock going.”

“It’s fine, really.” Kissing him forever still wouldn’t be long enough. 

A chuckle punctuated his breath. “When we do that…” His thumb brushed over your lower lip for a second time. “I’m not gonna be rushed. I’m gonna need hours, Heiress. Because once I have you like that, I’ll never be able to stop.”

Heat seeped into every pore, bringing with it a familiar ache. Needs and wants blurred together until they were indistinguishable from each other, his kisses having siphoned all logic out of your mind. 

You allowed a moment for the fog to clear and reality to settle. No, you couldn’t fake illness and burden your parents with an extra shift, just to have sex with Eddie. No, you shouldn’t run your fingertips along his zipper and awaken the beast that he had managed to quell. No, you wouldn’t let lust wield its power like a mighty sword, slicing into all reasoning until it was unrecognizable. 

“Y-Yeah.” You swallowed back temptation, your gaze falling to where his arousal was still evident in his jeans. 

Eddie’s eyes followed yours, accompanied by an embarrassed huff of laughter. “Don’t worry about that.” The tip of his nose grazed your earlobe as he whispered, “I can take care of that later.”

His admission brought the imagery of him laying back in his bed, boxers haphazardly shoved halfway down his thighs and hand wrapped around his cock. You wanted—needed—to know how he touched himself. Did he tease the head with his thumb? Did he use his other hand to cup his balls? Did he gradually edge himself or did he sprint towards euphoria?

The cold metal of his belt buckle brought goosebumps through your shirt fabric as he kissed you once again, too briefly. Always too briefly. What you wouldn’t give for just a few more moments alone with him to unfasten that buckle yourself. 

“Heiress?” 

Eddie’s smile lifted you out of your thoughts, the smirk informing you that he knew you weren’t paying attention. 

“Hmm?”

Lips connected to the soft skin just below your ear; your body reflexively arched into their butterfly touch. “What time are you doing laundry tomorrow?”

“Oh, um,” You calculated silently, the inside of your cheek trapped between your teeth. If you went to bed at 6 A.M. and then slept until early afternoon… “No earlier than two. I can knock on your door when I’m ready.”

He nodded as he threaded his fingers with yours. A current of protection surged through the lines etched in his palms, wrapping you in a cocoon that kept the rest of the world at bay. The sounds of car horns and pedestrians’ conversations and the subway rattling under the grate faded into the background, too dull to even hear. There was no one except for you and Eddie.

The motel entrance loomed ahead, the dimming sign filling you with ambivalence rather than its usual sense of tranquility. Despite the headaches and heartaches it brought, it was still home. 

Tonight, however, you approached it with newfound apprehension. Entering the lobby meant that you had a choice to make: You could keep your grasp on Eddie’s hand and risk your mom seeing, or you could let it go before she noticed. 

You reluctantly untangled your fingers from his, anxiety defeating you with a fatal blow. His hand draped over your wrist for the briefest moment before falling unceremoniously to his side. It hurt to look at the confusion pinching his brows together, his mind spinning to determine the miscalculation that caused you to let go. 

Telling Mom would be too complicated; you’d basically be subjecting yourself to a lecture on the unprofessionalism and dangers of forming romantic relationships with the guests. 

No matter that you’d never pursued so much as a friendship with a guest prior to meeting Eddie. No matter that, with him, you felt more whole than you’d ever been. More true to your authentic self. 

Mom looked up before the bell jingled, a product of her maternal sixth sense. There was no missing your smudged lipstick or the pinkish-red marks across Eddie’s mouth that nullified any alibi he might create. 

“Did you two have fun?” To her credit, Mom kept her tone nonchalant, but her narrowed eyes saw it all. 

“Mhm.” You scraped at the corner of your lip, as if that would conceal the evidence. “Eddie sang Elvis at karaoke.”

That got a smile out of Mom, her posture softening slightly. Still, distrust radiated off of her skin, twisting the knife of inadequacy deeper into your stomach. She glanced between you and Eddie, sizing up the situation. There was nothing she could say at that moment. Not with Eddie standing right there.

“I’m gonna get changed and I’ll be right back.” You couldn’t bear to meet her gaze as you walked to your room. 

A piece of you hoped that Eddie would be waiting when you returned. You stripped off your skirt first, the denim dropping to the ground and revealing your panties. They were, in fact, pink and lacy; the kind that one might wear if they planned to show them to someone else. As if you and Eddie would have been able to sneak past your mom unnoticed. 

You tugged on a pair of jeans, too worn and wide-legged to be capable of showing off your figure. 

The make-up you wore to the bar was too dark for work, and you scrubbed at it until mascara residue stained your white washcloth black. You rinsed, scrubbed, and repeated until your face was bare. Tired eyes stared back in the mirror. 

Honesty was a weight in your chest, anchoring you in an abyss of your own shortcomings. It pulled you down, down, down until the waters were too murky and the pressure was too strong to swim up to the surface. 

With a deep breath, you pushed off of the sink ledge and headed back to the lobby. Only Mom was there, her disdain no longer hidden now that the two of you were alone. 

“Eddie’s in his room,” she said, as though reading your mind. 

“Okay. Yeah, he’s probably tired—”

“You know better than to get involved with a guest—employee—whatever he is.” Mom waved her hand in irritation. Her voice was sharp, cleaving through the facade with one cut, yet hushed in case of eavesdropping ears. 

You cast your eyes down to the floor. “We’re—we’re not involved. Things just got out of hand, but we’re colleagues. Friendly colleagues,” you added off-handedly. 

Mom sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want you making friends,” she started, “but it’s not a good idea for you to get close to Eddie. If you have an argument or a falling out…”

“I know.” It compromised too much. Eddie could pack up and leave at the drop of a hat, and the motel would be without a handyman. You weren’t sure how the place survived before he was around, changing light bulbs and plunging toilets and tinkering with minor electrical problems. Now that he was here, he was an invaluable asset. 

“Okay.” Mom looked at you once more, a warning flashing in her eyes. “Okay.” Stepping out from behind the desk, she watched as you took her place. 

“Mom?” All of your truths begged and pleaded to be unleashed. Your feelings for Eddie, graduate school, plans for the future. 

She stopped, stunned by the vulnerability in your tone. “Yeah?”

Tell her. Stop being a coward and tell her. 

“I’m gonna wash clothes around two tomorrow, if you need anything done.”

Failure. 

Mom loosened a breath that blew away some of her anger. “I’ll ask Dad, but I think we’re good.” She leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I know running this place hasn’t been easy, but we’re really proud of you.”

“Thanks.” Every ounce of your remaining strength was spent on tempering your emotions, swallowing the pit that formed in your throat. “Get some sleep.”

The ugliness of your lies wrapped around you, constricting vines that dug into your skin and severed the flow of blood and air. 

The daughter they were proud of didn’t exist. Maybe she never did. And the daughter they had was surely nothing less than a disappointment. 

It wasn’t until the silence settled in, swallowing you whole, that you realized you’d never bid Eddie good night.

--

taglist:

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@fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin @hellfire--cult

[wanderrlust0]

…continued…

yeah thats what ive been dealing with for like a year now omg bc we first hung out last july and we basically hang out like every 5 MoNthS Lol okay not actually that long but like every 2 months about so yeah we dont even see each other that often?!? so lemme catch up with them and not have to worry about upsetting him and also thats why im even more anxious for when i tell him about the party thats a week after the concert bc it will be sooo soon like soooo soon considering our typical hang out gap and i wouldve brought my other friend but shes going to mexico!! so since they already came with me for her first party it technically does make sense to bring the same person with me and i also wouldnt be able to bring him bc he works every saturday but now hes in the middle of switching jobs so he actually might be free on saturdays soon and idk how soon but then what if he is actually free that saturday but i just decide to not go with him like will that make me an awful gf like idk but at the same time its a late party and ofc there will be drinks and he didnt drink last time when he met my friends for the first time but tbf it was a pretty quiet hangout so i cant rag him on that but say he comes like will he drink with me or be social or get bored or feel out of place. how long would he want to stay till he crashes or feels likes hes not having fun. he will be thinking about the like 20min drive back to his house and also the biggest biggest obstacle i think about is that he will know someone there already bc she was an old fling of his before he met me and she just happens to be my excoworkers gf;-; and she was there at the last party but i was blind, didnt notice, it was dark and i wasnt sober and its not like everyone who was there spoke and saw each other bc there were ofc a lot of diff cliques and we stayed near the same people but like people will walk by or youre chillin in the same area and its inevitable that theyll see each other so yeah thats honestly the main reason why i wouldnt wanna have him there which idk if thats selfish or bad of me bc its not like im scared something will happen ofc like i dont feel threatened by her or think that he’ll be into her now bc its been so long but like idk the thought of it feels weird to me esp since she already hit him up once after their friendship died out and she apologized and asked to get lunch w him and he politely declined and he told me about it after and thats how i know that they have history so its truly a small world where i live bc people got mutuals all over the place but yeah that concludes my insanely long thought and some background info between him and my friend) but i will tell him tomorrow about the concert (girl you better do istg) and tell him about the party a diff day

edit: i just told him and its 11:48pm omg. still made it before midnight

edit: 9.5 / um so obviously i didnt tell him that we went to the party together bc after lots of thinking and speaking to my best friend and dealing with his reaction to the concert, it was better to not tell him. i felt guilty for keeping it a secret but its true that i dont need to tell him every little thing. ofc not when it comes to being unfaithful but innocent things that would be better off not said is OKay. its not right.. but its not hurting anyone. to this day i still believe that hes better off not knowing bc the concert really put him over the edge and we argued so much from it. two of my friends actually did show up to the party as well bc they knew my coworker from hs so i was able to tell him that and i was so glad they showed up so i posted a pic w one of them and obvi posted none with snow. i also told them that he doesnt know were going together & explained why its for the better. last time we hung out was when we went to brooklyn dekalb market with their friend and that still caused some tension ofc..couldve been worse tho! but no actually seeing him after that was a reallyreally weird day filled with not a lot of talking or touching until it was night time and we were forced to speak. in the end he was able to snap us out of it bc the energy was actually. terrible. like awful. i wish i wasnt there. but we ended that night back to our normal selves and since then weve been really good since i havent hung out with snow in a month. ive also had a long talk with his sister and he ofc talks to her as well and she understands how i feel and how its unfair to me so she said she spoke to him and suggested that she hang out with me and snow one day since he clearly didnt want to. oh yeah as of now me and snow need a chaperone🥲chappell roan. the trust he has in us is currently still stuck to the bottom of the ocean and who knows when itll rise

[erodasfishtacos]

Not Your Charity Case

prompt: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical frat boy?

word count: 6.2k 

warnings: minor violence, language, deaf!harry, smutttt

other: when Harry is talking to Y/N or any other characters - it is to be noted that he is signing. When Y/N talks to Harry - she is also always signing

Let me know if you’d want to see anything else from this verse:)

+++

You were rushed - you really shouldn’t stop at the local coffee shop for a sugary, delicious mocha chip frappuccino.

Despite what people say, professors are much more lax and carefree in college.

It was about two weeks into the new semester, - your third here- and the seasons were changing - becoming autumn.

Chilled breezes, falling leaves, and vivid colors of nature made you happy.

When you arrive in line, there are two people ahead of you. A girl currently in front of the cashier and a tall male with a red and black flannel on behind her- typing away on his phone.

When she moves to the left, the broad man steps forward. His snapback facing backwards, brown curls dancing around his neck. You can’t help but notice how tall and lean he is, shoulders broad and straight.

You definitely haven’t seen him before on campus. You’d remember.

From what you can see, he shows the young girl behind the counter the screen of his phone without saying anything at all.

The raven-haired girl’s face pinches in annoyance. “We don’t accept orders like that. You need to tell me what you want.”

You’re a little surprised by both the rude cashier but also the man who doesn’t respond right away.

He attempts to show her his phone again but she shakes her head - annoyed.

You become interested in the situation when I watch him sign, a few gestures before pointing to his ears. In the most obvious form of saying “I can’t hear.”

The clueless girl gives him a blank look, “Listen, there’s a line. I don’t have time for this.”

You hoped you weren’t overstepping your boundaries when you slide up next to him, tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.

It is a bit startling how gorgeous the boy is. He was tanned with bright green-eyes and a defined jawline that was currently clenched in frustration.

You sign, “What are you trying to order?”

He studies you for a second with hesitance before his long slim fingers begin to move, slowly as if he thinks you may be inexperienced in the form of language.

He replies, “Large coffee with a little cream and two sugars.”

You squeeze in front of him, “It is not only rude but illegal to not serve based on disabilities. Refusing an order from a deaf person isn’t moral or acceptable.”

The girl has enough decency to mumble an apology and turned bright pink, “Sorry, he doesn’t look deaf. “You roll your eyes - how can you tell that someone is deaf based on solely appearance? This girls a fucking idiot, you think.

You repeat his order to her, along with yours - sliding your debit card towards her and give her your name for the order.

The man trails behind you to the small waiting area. “Thank you,” he signs simply. You nod and return the pleasantry. The. hand him his steaming hot coffee.

“Thank you again. I’m going to be late to class, so I have to go,” he tells me, seeming a little out of place signing with a stranger.

“Go ahead, I’ll see you around.” It was the first time in a long time you’ve signed to anyone outside your family.

+++

Sipping your drink as you are only five minutes late and the class hasn’t even started yet. The man you just helped was sat in the back of the classroom, unloading his laptop.

With a little bravery, you wriggle your way through and plop into the wooden chair easily. Letting your backpack fall to the ground. Curly looks over at you with a frown, he signs, “Why are you sitting next to me?”

You blush, “I don’t know? Thought it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”

His hands are tense as he replies, “I’m not a charity case, so you can leave me alone.”

“Never said you were,” you huff when you tell him. Not appreciating how rude he was being. Signing had its own tones and expressions so to speak. For example, when someone is happy their signs and movements are different than when they’re sad or frustrated.

Harry seems to be the latter. You wrestle out your laptop to the PowerPoint that was going to be discussed today in class. You noticed Harry stared very intently at the professor to read his lips and expression.

You was surprised he didn’t have an interpreter with him but you’re sure he got special accommodations elsewhere. Even though that was absolutely none of your business.

His shoulders are tensed and he makes sure your arms don’t brush like you have cooties for the entire two hours. The nameless boy is up and out of his seat as soon as the professor shuts off the projector and turns on the lights - signaling class to be over.

Well fuck him then.

***

You don’t make the mistake to sit next him again. But that doesn’t mean you could ogle his strong muscular back and big hands.

It wasn’t your place to care but you felt twinges in your tummy when you noticed him struggling to keep up with the fast-speed class on certain days.

You were in the large, rustic library that smelled of old books and damp wallpaper. It was dead silent as people furiously studied or worked on papers due.

As you paced the shelves, you could not find the book you needed for your American Literature class. Fuck the Dewey Decimal System.

Part-time uni students probably just stuffed returned books in any open space they saw fit. But you need this book in particular, a discussion board post due by midnight and it was currently eight-thirty. They had ran out of copies at the on-campus bookstore.

After a valiant effort, you trudge up to the checkout counter. A little sign reads, “ring me if no ones here!”

You impatiently ring the silver bell. But no one comes. You give whoever is working a minute or two but nothing. Another ring it is.

Silence. No one. Of fucking course, luck is not on your side tonight.

You dramatically clunk your head onto the high counter top in front of you - groaning at the fact you may fail the assignment.

A tentative pat on your shoulder makes you snap your head up. To see the boy you’ve been constantly avoiding standing behind the checkout desk.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He had a name-tag on - Harry. He honestly looked a bit out of place. Harry appeared to be a frat boy. He was still had a boyish air about him but an intensity that was unmatchable.

He didn’t look like he would work in the library. He looked like...well he looked like he would be a beer pong referee or something.

You couldn’t see below his torso but he had a plain black snapback on and a vintage Elton John concert tee. A cross necklace dangling over the worn shirt.

You smile, embarrassed, but reply, “Just being dramatic. I can’t find a book and I was waiting here.”

There’s mirth in his eyes when he points to the bell,”Did you ring the bell?”

Your brows furrow, “I did.”

“Well I can’t hear it, I’m deaf,” he deadpans with a straight face and a dry sense of humor.

You roll your eyes, laughing nervously, “I didn’t know you were working!”

“What do you need?”

He helps you locate the book in two minutes flat before checking you out and you rushing home to finish the homework.

You felt bad ignoring your little sister’s FaceTime calls but you promised to call her back tomorrow. 

***

Though once again, you hadn’t interacted with Harry since last week - you constantly found yourself studying his stoic profile or fast moving fingers.

You would never befriend Harry because you feel bad for him - like he presumed. You enjoyed American Sign Language and it actually made you feel back at home.

You’re little sister was born completely deaf. She was much younger than you - eight years old. Fifteen years apart to be exact. You learned the language along with her and your parents.

When you were at home and your sister was there - you guys tried to only sign so she didn’t feel left out. So Harry felt like home - a little despite his completely off-putting demeanor. It made you a little bit more persistent than with any other frat boy.

***

The bulletin board in your advisor’s office caught your eyes. None of the little tabs ripped off in interest.

‘Student with ASL experience and above a 3.5 GPA needed for tutoring sessions - twice weekly. $16 dollars an hour.’

After your meeting, you tugged the little scrap of paper off and tuck it into your pocket. You couldn’t know for sure if it was Harry but you didn’t know of any other deaf students in the program.

You say ‘fuck it’ and type out an email to the advisor of academic affairs and accommodations to throw your hat in the ring.

***

You don’t hear back for three days - nearly forgetting about it in the mean time. Your eyes scan quickly over the email to grant you the position. They include contact information for no other than Harry Styles.

After psyching yourself out a little and a few paces across your kitchen tiles - you text him.

Hey! I’m your new assigned tutor. Would you like to set up a time and place? As well as what kind of help you’re looking for.

The reply text comes shortly after

Hello, thank you very much. I am just in need of hearing ears. I am deaf and have a hard time keeping up with the my professor. I have begun recording the lectures in hope that you can sign then to me.

Sure thing. That won’t be a problem!

I live in Alpha Sigma on 3rd street. I have my own room. I’d rather not have the tutoring session in public. However, if that makes you uncomfortable - we can figure something out.

You take a minute to debate. You understand why this would be a task too loud for the library and why he’d want privacy. You didn’t feel like I’d be uncomfortable with him.

I saw twice a week so does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work?

Sounds great. Thank you again x

Did he know it was me? Was he expecting it to me?

***

He was definitely not expecting you. You automatically knew that by the way his friendly smile dissipated into a frown when he opened the door for you.

You attempted to look nice today without trying too hard. A loose crop top with the university’s name, a pair of tight black leggings, bulky white socks bunched at your ankles, and white sneakers. Very 80’s.

You try to keep your composure, “Hi Harry, I’m going to be your tutor.”

He slowly nods at you, huffing out a breathe of irritation before inviting you into the frat house.

You’d only been here once or twice for a party so you had no idea what the house actually looked like when there weren’t bodies and booze everywhere.

He’s walking you past a group of boys playing FIFA on the flatscreen in the living room, white claws open everywhere.

“Y/N! Hey babe!” You look over to see Niall - one of your good friends from your part-time job at the bookstore - trotting over to you guys.

The blonde pulls you into an overexcited hug. He reminded you of a cuddly, soft puppy dog most of the time.

“Are you Harry’s little tutor?” Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry’s cheek. 

Harry- who was observing the conversation, focusing in on our lips, immediately bats his friend away. A small scowl forming on his face.

It automatically turns into a playful brawl where Niall tugs Harry into headlock. But he has no strength on the brunette.

Harry turns out of it quickly and pushes Niall to the ground. He straddles his stomach and begins to jokingly pinch and slap at him.

Niall hisses, “Ouch! You motherfucker! Big oaf!”

Then you don’t know why you find this endearing but Niall signs the word, “uncle” a few times to signal he’s accepted his lost.

The fact that they wrestle so much that Niall learned to sign how to give up made you giggle more than it should.

Harry crawls off of him, running a hand through his messy curls, his face a little flushed.

“I’ll talk to you later!” You tell Niall as your trailing behind Harry up a flight of stairs.

His room is extremely neat. A fluffy navy comfort decorated his bed with a few photos of flowers and nature on his wall. A tidy desk tucked away in the corner that had all of his school work loaded on top of it.

He chooses to sit in his desk chair, motioning for you to perch on his bed. You look at him expectantly when he pulls out the tape recorder and sets it on the surface.

He pulls his laptop into his lap and begins signing, “I need you to transcribe the lecture for me so I can follow it. We can skip through the bits where he is rambling or off topic.”

You nod, letting him know to begin whenever he’s ready. He presses the side button and the recording starts but it super unclear and garbled.

“Did you record this from your seat?” You ask, the professors words nearly inaudible and fuzzy.

“Yes.”

“You need to bring it to the front of the room. Ask Dr. Morrison  to lay it on his desk before class. I can’t hear anything but static and mumbles,” You tell him.

He laughs and shakes his head. His movements rough and angry, “Of course its fucked up. I get you as my tutor and then the recorder is shit.”

You glare at him, offended as you haven’t done anything to this boy. “Excuse me? I’ve literally been trying to help since I’ve meet you. What is your fucking issue?”

“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m not helpless! You’re probably just a silly little girl who took ASL in high school because it was cool and trendy. Go back to focusing on psych.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Your gestures getting sharper and your face sour, “You know nothing about me so don’t act like you do. I don’t feel bad for you or think that you’re helpless.” You put up a hand and tell him to not talk.

“I was just being nice because I thought you were handsome and at first, seemed friendly. It turns out you’re just like every douchebag frat boy I’ve met. What a disappointment,” You chuckle, swinging your bag on your shoulder and storm out of the room without another look.

***

The cafe was jammed packed - it was Waffle Wednesday. You had said waffles in your tray and were about to plop down on a stool when you hear your name being called.

“C’mere, come sit with us!” He hollers over the commotion of the crowd. Niall.

You’re about to decline when some dude slips behind you and snags the stool. Shit.

A bit unwillingly you slide into the booth next to Niall, cracking open your sparkling water. “Mates, this is Y/N, we work at the store together and she’s Harry’s tutor,” he tells them. “Y/N, this is Liam and Louis.”

“Hello,” you try your best to come off as friendly even though you can feel Harry’s glare on the side of your face. You ended up falling to easy conversation with the boys. Niall has a very limited ASL vocabulary but tries.

The boys are also trying to talk slower and more pronounced so Harry can watch and understand. A couple of times he taps Niall on the wrist to repeat what was going on.

Your phone begins buzzing and you apologize for the interruption. It’s your little sister, Mazie, FaceTiming.

You answer the phone with a frown, signing “Aren’t you suppose to be in school?”

Mazie looks upset, eyes a little watery. She gestures back, “I left early. I’m sick.”

“Are you really sick or where you getting bullied again?” You asks her.

Your sister hesitates before sniffling, “You already know. I hate my school.” 

Mazie has had other children bully her for her disability since she started preschool and it as still happening in fourth grade.

“What can I do to help?” You frown, never wanting to see your baby sister cry.

You chat for a few minutes to help her calm down. When the phone call ends, you don’t realize that all the boys were watching you in interest. Harry in particular, keeps his focus on you with a wrinkled forehead.

“My sister’s deaf,” You tell them. The whole time you’ve been sitting with them you’ve been signing and verbally speaking to help everyone be able to be included in the conversation.

“That’s sick!” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm. “Just like our lad Harry.” 

Harry grumbles when Louis shakes him a little. It seems like the boys loved to physically interact with Harry which was endearing.

Harry allows him to for a moment before he flicks his cheek hard and laughs when Louis flinches. The conversation goes back to normal.

***

Harry jogs up to you after your group shares farewells and a few punches. You pointedly ignore him as you trek to the class you two have together so it’s not like he can’t walk this way too.

“Please, wait,” Harry asks. He walks in front of you.

“What do you want?” You huff, keeping my glare firm and directed alley at him.

“I’m sorry. I made the wrong assumption.”

“You made a lot of wrong assumptions. The fact that you think of me so lowly is sad. I’ve been nothing but nice,” You try not to focus on his large palms that curve over the caps of your shoulders.

“I’m not very trusting of people.”

You snort rather unattractively, “No kidding”

“Can we please start over?” He asks, stepping back to give you space. He didn’t realize how close he’d been standing to you until your hair wisps across his nose.

“One more chance, Styles.”

Harry lays a hand on your upper arm and squeeze lightly before signing the simple gesture of ‘thank you.’

***

It turns out Harry is very handsy and physically affectionate. It wasn’t creepy though or something that ever made you feel uncomfortable.

You were still tutoring him but you hung around the frat with Harry nearly everyday. The days you just wanted to lay in bed resulted in a grumpy FaceTime from Harry.

Harry once stated during a tutoring session, “It is easier for me to show how I’m feeling with touch than words. If I ever make you uncomfortable - please tell me and I will stop.”

You smile slyly at his words that sounded more like a question, asking if he can touch you. “I guess I’ll let you feel me up every now in again.”

He giggles and looks down wolfishly - like an entertaining thought is dancing around in his mind.

You tuck your finger under his chin to gaze at you. “In all seriousness, I give you my consent to show your feelings with physical touch. I trust you and know you won’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”

The curly-haired brunette smiles happily, his hand cupping the side of your neck and brushing over your pulse point.

He hadn’t touched you here before and it seems like it was his first goal to do so once he got permission. You can’t help but take in a deep gasp of air. You prayed he didn’t notice but by the small lift of his lips he did.

The simple touch made a flame of arousal swirl in your lower stomach. You felt like you were about to start sweating.

“Anyways,” You clear your throat and snatch back up the recorder. It now had better quality after Harry listened to you about placement.

***

The frat house was ridiculously full of drunk college students. Everybody on the dance floor was sweaty and sticky with a variety of different substances.

Niall had invited you - so you were searching about for him. Pushing through the crowd and nobody was able to hear you say ‘excuse me.’

You finally found fresh air in the backyard where beer pong and cornhole were set up. Niall was tossing his ball across the table, trying to splash in Liam’s red solo cups.

Harry was sitting on a cushioned patio chair, watching the game commence. Maybe he was a beer pong referee after all. 

He looked so fucking good tonight. He had a yellow snapback taming his curls - backwards of course. A black Rage Against the Machine shirt and his signature black skinny jeans. **

You made eye contact and were about to wave when a girl plopped down in the seat across from him.

Awkwardly you turn away, greeting the other boys and taking a seat in a lawn chair to watch them start their third round of the game.

Your eyes keep darting over to Harry who is staring blankly at the girl. She starts stroking his biceps and tracing across the tattoos like they belong to her.

Harry is attempting to let her know he’s not interested. His signs uselessly as she’s staring at his lips and not hands.

You’re moving before you know it, without another thought, you squeeze in between the two - separating them. You dramatically slide into his lap, funnily enough one strong arm wrapping happily around your middle.

The pretty blonde pouts out her lips, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Before you’re able to reply, Harry signs the obvious signal for ‘yes’ to the girl. Then rudely makes the shooing gesture. She’s up with a huff and stomping back towards the house.

Harry turns you sideways on his lap so that you two can see each other’s hands, “You saved me.”

“You’re just such a stud, have to protect you,” You joke - but not really.

He raising his eyebrows and smiles, “You were jealous.” It was a statement not a question.

You blush wildly, avoiding eye contact which you know he hates. He hates anytime you cut off ways of communication.

Harry taps your lips until you look up at him, “it’s really fucking sexy when you are.” A perk of sign language. He could dirty talk just about anywhere and mostly no one would ever know.

His thumb drags on your full bottom lip, signing clumsily with one hand so you had to use context clues to piece it together “Don’t think I forgot when you called me handsome a few months ago.”

“I don’t remember, doesn’t sound like me,” You boldly lie, snickering and nipping at the top of his thumb

His eyes become a shade darker when your teeth meet his skin. He presses his thumb further in until it’s in-between your teeth. The moment is broken when Niall screams, “Styles! You’re up next!”

**

You and Harry become separated after you spent nearly two hours watching all these drunk boys play beer pong. Harry was ridiculously good at the game and only had to drink two cups from the table.

You had wandered back into the house where the party had died down. There were only a handful of stragglers left but mostly just the fraternity brothers and their close friends.

With a fresh alcoholic seltzer in your hand - you didn’t trust open bottles at parties like this - you gaze at Harry through the back window.

Harry was being jumped by Liam and Niall. He was snarling playfully as Liam toppled them all over into the grass. Niall tries to stand up but Harry’s hand wraps around his ankle and makes him fall right back on his bum with a girlish squeal.

Niall leans over to give Harry a wet-willy but Liam manages to throw a plastic cup directly at Niall’s forehead. Harry and the other boys dissolve in childish giggles. Faces red from laughter and liquor. You feel a smile painted fondly on your lips from watching them.

“Hey, Y/N right?” A voice interrupts from behind.

You spin to face a guy you barely recognize from a previous class you shared. You smile nonetheless, “Hi...”

“Jake, Jake from Social Constructs and Society last semester.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” You smile and allow him to talk your ear off because you struggle to say ‘no.’ He was fine, nothing special, typical business major who thought he was hot shit because his daddy owned a golf course he wanted to take you to.

It was a normal conversation until his voice gets lower as if he’s trying to be more seductive, “Want to head to a room with me?” He nods towards the staircase.

You chuckle in disbelief at his bold and forward question. “No thank you, I’m good.” You really had eyes for one person right now and he was currently cussing out Niall in sign language in the backyard before tackling him once again to the ground.

“C’mon, I can really show you a good time,” He persuades persistently, stepping into your space - causing your nervousness to spike.

“I said - no thank you,”You bite out, starting to feel scared when he blocks your way out of the kitchen and presses himself against you and the counter.

“You’re really something gorgeous, you know?” He asks, ignoring my struggles to get away from him.

“Stop touching me!” You scream, hoping Niall or one of the boys would hear your wail. He puts a hand up to your mouth to muffle you but that only results in you biting him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cries out, pulling his hand back and winding up to either punch or slap you right in the face. You prepare for the impact.

Then in a blink off an eye, it becomes a blur, a muscular figure is crashing into Jake with full force and knocking him straight into the linoleum floor with a loud crash.

It’s Harry. Broad shoulders and thick but lean tattooed biceps. He’s standing over the harasser and drops on top of him. It shouldn’t look as graceful and tactful as it does.

You’d never seen anything like this from Harry before. Once you really got to know him - he was a gentle giant who liked romantic comedies, soft blankets, and vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.

Harry’s fist is repeatedly connecting with the dark-haired boy’s jaw with full force. The only noise is from Jake as Harry is dead silent but his eyes zeroed in on the target.

When blood begins gushing from the man’s nose - Niall and Liam decide it times to physically pull Harry up. Harry had a slight red mark on his jaw when Jake had managed one punch before being defeated quickly.

Harry signs to Niall, “Tell him.”

Niall places his foot on the dude’s chest to keep him down, “My mate wants to let you know if you touch her again we’re not going to pull him off and he’ll gladly beat you to a fucking pulp.”

Jake groans, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding, “Fuckin’ asshole.” 

You were still blown away as you watch Harry’s heaving chest as he glares down at the boy. His fist clenched and knuckle bloody and swollen. Harry’s attention turns towards you. His furious expression melts into worry. You can read his face so clearly. He’s afraid he’s scared you off.

It was hard to believe you had this drop dead gorgeous frat boy defending you past midnight on a Friday night. A boy who didn’t need to hear but just to see you needed help to step in.

All your desires and lusts after the man in front of you burst like a rubber-band and the urge to have him felt uncontrollable. “Take me upstairs,” you demand quickly, arousal creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t understand you’re extremely turned on. Instead he looks like a kicked dog who’s about to get in trouble again.

Nevertheless, he takes your hand and maneuvers out of the kitchen and up the stairs until his bedroom door is closed.

Harry lips are turned down unhappily as he begins, “I’m sorry, love. I...” he pauses a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

You look him dead in the eye and sign, “Kiss me.”

He blinks slowly at you like he just hallucinate the gestures.

So you repeat your motions, slow and with intent, “Kiss me, touch me, do something.” No more time is wasted as he is stepping in front of you and cupping your face in his hands.

Without any hesitation now, he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips - taking your bottom one between his and sucking.

Your hands are immediately tugging at the hem of his vintage shirt, pulling apart to bring it over his head. Dark ink decorates his torso, for some reason something you weren’t expecting. A butterfly on his abdomen, two fern branches, tattoos on his side.

Harry chuckles, “This is new to me.”

Your eyes go wide and you sign, “You’re a virgin?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes before telling you, “God no. I mean I’ve never been able to really communicate during sex.”

Then before You can speak, he cuts in a bit frantically, “I’ve always gotten consent - not like that. I mean-“ You cut him off with a kiss - knowing he would never do anything you didn’t want.

You wanted everything from him.

“If you’d believe it, I like a bit of dirty talk when I fuck - but no one understands what I’m saying,” He tries to crack a joke but for some reason seems insecure and nervous.

“Hey,” You take his chin so he shyly meets your eye, “I can’t wait to hear it - you’ve already made me so wet.” His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.

“You’re such a good girl,” he signs before tugging off your shirt and instantly finding your lips again. His hands are skillful as they unclasp your bra without any struggle and tosses it.

You tugs a bit as his hair to show your enjoyment as his tongue finds your nipple - lapping before taking it between his teeth. As good as it feels, you want him to feel even better.

You push him back until he’s sitting in the edge of the bed, legs spread and hands behind him on either side holding him up. Jaw clenched with arousal and restraint.

He’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. And all you wanted to do was see him in all of his glory. You’re quick to undo the button and determined to get the finicky zipper down as well.

His fingers come beneath your chin until you’re looking at his sparkling eyes, a look of lust made his lids a little droopier and his mouth slack from heavy-breathing.

“Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to - I want to eat your pussy either way, pet,” He signs, leaning in for a slow, wet kiss.

You sign back with a pout, “Shut the fuck up.” He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your chin and wrapping a hand in your hair to keep it out of your face.

As soon as he’s helping you wriggle his briefs and jeans down his narrow hips, you’re met with the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen.

When you make eye contact with Harry, he raises a eyebrow and grins cockily, “Is it nice enough for your liking, love?”

You nod breathlessly - wasting no more time before ducking down to take him to your mouth, a slight burning in your throat from how big he is.

His hands keep ahold of your hair, thumbs pressed against your temples as you bob down his length with sloppy, warm licks.

Harry’s moaning as you pop off to kiss and suck at the underside of him, hands coming to cup and roll his balls. It is a few moments later when he taps your cheek to get your attention, one hand leaving his hair to sign that he’s close.

Your mouth speeds up, wanting to give him all the pleasure you could. Your hand coming to stroke at what couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping quickly.

Before you know it, Harry’s rutting his hips upwards and coming with a long, deep moan from the rumbles of his chest. He’s pulling you up into his lap, pressing appreciative kisses to your cheeks and jawline.

Big hands palming at your breasts before slipping down into your leggings, brushing softly over your mound. 

You whine and hitch forward to grind against his palm as soon as he cups you. He smiles widely at your desperation, pressing the heel of his palm harder against you to create more pressure.

You were already so wet and turned on that it wasn’t going to take much. The ball of your climax was burning low in your tummy. However, you wanted him to taste you like he said he would.

You sign, “I’m close. Please, I want your mouth on me.”

With that, he’s flipping you until you’re laid out on the bed. His hands tugging off your leggings and underwear with no further ado. “Holy shit,” He gestures, gazing all over your body and not stopping on one spot for too long.

“What?” You ask, fishing for the compliments you know he’s about to shower you in.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he signs, dimples popping in his cheeks and a curious finger traces your entrance before dipping in.

You lightly kick at his stomach, “Get on me.” He pouts, crooking his finger against your spot before pulling it out. Fucking tease.

Then his face is disappearing between your spread thighs and a strong lick is delivered from your clit all the way down to your bum.

Since he can’t hear you, you grabs handfuls off his hair. Tugging at the roots, scratching your nails into his scalp to let him know how good he is. So fucking good.

When you accidentally buck your hips hard against his mouth, you curse and run a apologetic hand through the locks. He doesn’t look up at you but lift a hand and signs, “Again.”

You absolutely whine, begging to ride him with determination - climax on the brink. He hums causing vibrations on the sensitive nerves. With that, your hips are meeting his tongue and you’re coming. His face dampening with your release - happy as a clam when he pops back up.

You can’t remember the sign for condom, so you sign, “Protection?” Harry understands right away, rustling through the drawer until he finds a stray packets, “It’s been awhile.”

“Same,” You gestures - watching as he slides it down his length and crawls overtop of you. He was pink and swollen - having to be a bit sensitive from just coming a little while ago.

“Ready, love?” He asks, pressing soft kisses to your jawline. You nod, reaching down to guide him in.

And you weren’t lying, it had been a while and he was big. The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just a lot. But his wet, open-mouth kisses made you stay grounded.

Harry’s moans were absolutely obscene as he slide all the way in before stopping to give you a moment. His arms strong, holding himself over you. The cold metal of his necklaces brushing against your tight nipples.

When you have him the okay, he begin giving you deep, hard strokes on each thrust. His noises so loud they had to be able to hear them downstairs. They were deep and low - rumbling in his chest with pleasure.

Then his hand is coming to your throat. For a wild moment you thought he was going to choke you but instead he rest it lightly, palm flat.

It takes you a moment - then it hits you.

Holy fuck. He is feeling the vibrations of your moans - erupting from your vocal cords. Feeling out the movement from your throat so he can feel how much you’re enjoying it.

You should be embarrassed but you can’t find it in you when you come again right on the spot. His fingertips nudging into the skin to feel the intensity as it wracks through you.

When you’re done riding out your orgasm, he reaches for the headboard behind you with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he begins to pound in with all his strength.

The bedframe is hitting the wall so loud that the whole house must be able to hear it. Hitting with every directed thrust until his mouth is dropping down into a long, timbred moan and he’s coming.

---

Later, when the two are you have settled for the night in the warmth of his bed. Harry seems a little nervous, once again. It takes him a moment to meet your eyes and brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.

“What is it?” You ask, tucked into his side. His body so solid and comforting.

“It’s corny,” Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash across your face.

“Tell me,” You insist, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his fingertips.

“I feel like you were made for me. Like...we were meant to be together,” Harry signs, hesitant to share his thoughts. But it doesn’t scare you away. You can’t help but agree.

“I think so too,” You reply before pressing another kiss to his puffy pink lips.

[fridayfirefly]

Warmth - Part One

Read Warmth on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 3 - Warmth

Damian woke the moment she appeared in his bed, her warm presence instantly triggering his well-ingrained sense of danger. It took him only a half-second of looking at her to realize what had happened. Gently but firmly, Damian nudged her awake.

"You just Soulmate shifted," he informed her as soon as she blinked open her tired blue eyes.

"Okay," she mumbled, speaking with a distinct French accent, "I'm going back to bed."

Damian gave her an incredulous look. "You don't have any follow-up questions?"

"None that can't wait until morning." She rolled over, then immediately sat up. Damian was relieved that she had finally come to her senses until she took off the backpack and purse she had on. "It's super uncomfortable to sleep with a backpack on."

"You brought a backpack?"

"It was the night before my sixteenth birthday. I figured there was a 50-50 chance that I would Soulmate shift, so I decided I might as well pack the essentials."

"That's smart," Damian conceded.

The girl pulled Damian's blanket over her, stopping only when she saw who was sleeping on the pillow she was about to steal. “Is that your cat?”

“Yes, that’s Alfred the Cat.”

“He’s so pretty,” the girl cooed, offering her hand out to the black-and-white cat. Alfred gave her outstretched hand a tentative sniff before nuzzling his head up against her and leaping off of the pillow to settle in her arms.

The girl was asleep in just a moment, soft breathing mixing with the sound of Alfred the Cat’s rumbling purr. Damian was left awake to watch her, to try and puzzle out some clues to who she was based on the half-dozen sentences she spoke before falling asleep.

The most important piece of information Damian knew: she was his Soulmate. It was so easy, it was barely a deduction. On the night of their sixteenth birthday, the younger Soulmate of a Soulmate pair shifts into the bed of the older Soulmate. So long as the younger Soulmate continues sleeping in the same bed as the older Soulmate, they will remain together. However, as soon as the Soulmate pair sleeps apart, the younger is returned to their original bed. After that, the Soulmate pair has to physically travel to meet. The only explanation for what just happened (i.e. the girl's sudden appearance in Damian's bed) was that she was his Soulmate.

By the same logic, Damian also knew that today, August 9th, was the girl's sixteen birthday. That made her five months younger than himself. From her accent, Damian believed her to be Parisian.

Damian held off of making any more assumptions about her out of respect for his Soulmate. It wouldn't be fair to judge her before they properly met.

Checking the clock, Damian saw that it was midnight. Figuring that it would do him no good to stay up all night staring at her, Damian pulled a second blanket over himself and went to sleep.

-----

Damian woke up at eight in the morning, the girl still sleeping away beside him. Damian was confused, as the differences in time zone meant that if she were still in France, she would be sleeping at two in the afternoon. Figuring that she had gotten a full eight hours of sleep and that it would be a good idea to stop any potential jetlag in its tracks, Damian nudged her awake.

"Hmm, where am I?" She mumbled in tired French.

"You Soulmate shifted into my bed. You're in Gotham, New Jersey," responded Damian, in English, since he knew she could speak it.

That seemed to wake her up. "America?" she asked again, this time in English.

"Yes."

She blinked, wide-eyed, and shaken. "That isn't at all what I expected. Not that it's a bad thing, I just figured I would stay in Europe, at least. I'm from France - Paris, France. And I'm Marinette, by the way."

"I'm Damian. So I assume you just turned sixteen."

Damian didn't phrase it as a question, but Marinette nodded anyway and said, "Yes."

"Happy Birthday, then."

Marinette smiled nervously. "Thanks. I was very out of it last night, so I apologize if I came off as rude. I was just so nervous about shifting that I stayed up until five in the morning on a caffeine-high and then crashed so hard I think I went into a temporary coma."

"Do you do that a lot?"

"Only on the weekend," she joked. "On weekdays I try to keep it one espresso shot every six hours."

"You'll get along well with my brother, then. He's also a caffeine addict."

"So you have brothers, Damian my older Soulmate from Gotham."

"Five months older. Three brothers and two sisters, though I'm related to none of them by blood. One Father and one butler who doubles as a Grandfather figure. One cat, one dog, and one cow."

"Cow?"

"It's a long story. I'm vegetarian, the cow was on the way to the slaughterhouse, and I decided that I needed to intervene."

Marinette smiled at him like she couldn't believe that he was real. "So when do I get to meet the brothers and sisters."

Damian glanced over at the clock, reading 8:34. "Breakfast starts in twenty-six minutes. That should give you enough time to get ready."

Marinette's eyes lit up. "I have the perfect meeting-my-Soulmate's-family outfit in my backpack." She hopped off the bed and grabbed her backpack, taking it into his connecting bathroom. "I'll meet you in twenty."

Damian watched her shut the door behind her, trying to believe his luck. Marinette was clever, witty, and beautiful, with a smile that could light up a room. He had known that his Soulmate would be perfect for him, but it hadn't really hit him until he saw her up close. Marinette was perfect. Now, he thought as he pulled out his phone and got into the family groupchat, all he had to do was make sure his stupid brothers didn't ruin it.

@maribatmarch-2k21

[harksness]

Midnight

Gwen Stacy x Reader

A/N: Okay so I promised to write this/wrote it before I went mia from this blog for the fattest of minutes and I have no clue why I didn't just post it. I think it's bc I didn't like it at the time, but now that I reread it I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. So I hope you enjoy this dusty Gwen x Reader I dug out of the pit of hell that is my drafts!! Also, I'm working on chapter 3 of No Longer Yours and it'll be out soon I promise!!! I've just been so busy!!

Summary: Gwen had a rough night out on patrol and she needs her girlfriend to ground her.

Masterlist

Word Count: 1,320

Warnings: None

You've always been a light sleeper. So, when you felt your bed dipping next to you, it startled you awake. Initially, you freeze. Waiting for the stranger to do something, your heart is pounding in your chest. With your brain still foggy from sleep, you roll over quickly, the sheets tangling around your waist. You don't know what you were hoping to accomplish with that. 

“It’s alright, it’s just me.”

Immediately you recognize your girlfriend's voice, and you feel yourself let out a breath that you had been holding, the tension leaving your body. You blindly reach out as you blink the remnants of sleep from your eyes until you feel her arm, then proceed to give it a soft, lighthearted smack.

“Jesus, Gwen! You scared the ever loving crap outta me!”

You exclaimed, your voice still slurred from sleep. You suddenly sense the tense air surrounding her. She stays silent, staring out the window and into the night sky. That’s when you notice your apartment window is still cracked open from her entry. The cool night air drifts into the warm room, and it feels nice against your overheating skin. That’s when you remembered- Gwen only comes in through the window like this after a bad night. Like, a really bad night. Like, someone died or got seriously injured sorta night. You feel your heart tighten at the realization.

You sat up, scooting a bit closer to her. You slowly raised your hand and rested it on her shoulder. Her suit is still on, her hood bunched up at the base of her neck. You squeeze her shoulder comfortingly. When she didn’t protest, and she never does, you brought up your hand and began combing your fingers through her soft, blonde locks. Gwen only continued to look out the open window, and at that moment a gentle breeze came through and danced with her hair. 

“What do you need, baby?”

You asked softly, gently. Once again you moved your hand to her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. You wanted to remind her that you’re here, that you’ll always be here for her. Gwen’s gaze shifted to her lap where her hands rest and you follow her eyes, finding her mask clutched tightly between her gloved fingers.

“I just need you.”

She finally spoke. Your heart aches at how broken she sounds. She turns her head to look at you, those stunning blue eyes of her finally meeting yours. Concern etched across your features at the ruined look in her eyes. Your heart aches again. All you want to do is hold her and protect her from the world- let someone else be Spider-Woman. Let someone else save the day. All you want is for Gwen to be okay, and she can't be okay with the weight of the world on her shoulders. 

“You have me, Gwen. I’m right here.”

She shifted so that she was facing you, one hand bracing herself on the bed, and the other coming up to cradle your cheek. Gwen pulled you towards her, and you didn’t resist. You didn’t want to. Her lips met your own, desperate and needy. It knocked the wind right out of you. You did your best to return the kiss, but still, drowsiness slowed your thoughts and your movements. You leaned forward, tangling your hand in her hair as she slipped her tongue into your mouth. 

She pulled back abruptly, and you took a moment to catch your breath.

“God, I’m sorry. I come in here in the middle of the night and wake you up, then just grab your face and just shove my tongue down your throat? I’m so stupid.. I should’ve asked you if it was okay. I shouldn’t have woken you up, you need your sleep. I’m sorry.”

She sighed, dragging her hands down her face in embarrassment. You grab one of her still gloved hands and shake your head.

“Never apologize, Gwen. I’m here when you need me. I’ll always be here... And I could never turn down a makeout session with my extremely hot girlfriend. I love your kisses, Spider-Woman.”

You smile playfully at her, with your fist still tangled in her hair, you bring her face closer to yours and simply rub your nose against hers lovingly. She smiles softly in return, a quiet laugh falling from her lips.

“What would I do without you?”

Gwen smiled, and you smiled back.

“You would be so lost."

"I would be."

She says quietly, her smile turning soft as she looks at you with eyes full of love. You lean in and leave a kiss on her forehead. 

"Even though you look really good in that suit, it's time for bed. And I'd prefer that you don't sleep in that thing."

Gwen hums approvingly as you get up from the bed and make your way to your closet, the moonlight illuminating the room in grays and whites, only tints of color. Giving you just enough light to clearly search through your closet. 

"I love wearing your shirts more than this thing, anyways. I love wearing your shirts more than anything, actually."

You grin at her words as you find a ratty old grey t-shirt. Hopefully this one will do.

You turn around just as she’s bending over to shimmy the suit off of her feet. You can’t help but admire how good she looks- the moonlight hitting her back makes her look radiant. She's so beautiful and stunning, in moments like these you can't help but be in awe that she's even real. 

“My eyes are up here.”

She wiggles her eyebrows at you and you feel your face flush. You clear your throat and laugh it off. 

“You’re too observant, I never get to secretly oggle you.”

You pout and she laughs as she folds her suit and stuffs it into her backpack. Her laugh makes you relax a bit, happy that she’s starting to become a little more normal.

“Here, catch.”

You interrupt before she can say anything else. You throw the shirt at her, and she catches it with her amazing reflexes. She holds it out in front of her and studies it for a moment, a slight pout now making its way onto her lips. She’s so cute.

“I want to wear your Fall Out Boy shirt, it’s my favorite.”

You throw yourself back into bed, bouncing slightly as you do so before getting under the blankets. 

“It’s dirty, gorgeous. You’ll have to make do with this one.”

Now you’re the observant one, because you notice a hint of red on her cheeks as she slips the shirt over her head. You smile to yourself, happy to have been able to successfully fluster her. 

She slips under the covers next to you, and you open your arms. Gwen scoots in closer, and she rests her head on your shoulder, bringing up her hand to rest on your chest. You bury your nose in her hair and kiss the top of her head as you wrap your arms around her. You feel her relax in your embrace, a soft sigh leaving her lips. 

She’s safe here, in your bed, in your arms. She can drop all of the stress of being a superhero at the door and pick it up again in the morning. Moments like these are her only bits of peace amongst the chaos, the only thing that keeps her sane and grounded. She really doesn’t know what she would do without you. You’re an angel, and she doesn’t understand how she got so lucky. 

After a moment of silence, Gwen says your name softly.

“Yes, dear?”

You whisper into the roots of her hair.

“Thank you for always being here for me.”

She says, even softer than before. You smile, running your thumbs against her skin.

“Of course. I’ll always be here when you need me.”

[chudleycanonficfest]

Stars in the Night Sky

Day 3, Story #2 is by @adenei

Title: Stars in the Night Sky

Author: adenei

Pairing: Jily (James Potter x Lily Evans)

Prompt: Stargazing

Rating: PG

TW: None :)

****************

The castle is peaceful as it nears midnight, a calm surrender to the usual bustling halls during the day. Rounds ended over an hour ago, but the quick pair of footsteps was not rushing through a late shift, they were on their way to the Astronomy Tower to meet their partner and begin Professor Sinistra’s constellation project. 

Allocation of the work was all in the luck of the draw. Where one half of the class drew a name, and the other pulled the astronomical phenomenon they were to study. Lily Evans had pulled the piece of parchment on stars and constellations, and according to the project’s outline, she and her partner would be tracking Orion, Cassiopeia, Gemini, and Canis Major for the next two weeks.

The project left Lily questioning why she chose to pursue the subject after passing her O.W.L.s. Maybe it was because she has always been fascinated by the subject, or maybe it’s for the sole fact that Astronomy is one of the subjects she can discuss with her family since it relates closely to muggle sciences. Regardless, she’s not sure it’s worth the lack of sleep she’s about to endure over the next few weeks.

As Lily climbs the steps of the Astronomy Tower, her heart thunders in her chest with anticipation about who her partner will be. The class is small, with only ten students, but she didn’t bother to hang around and discuss ‘who had who’ at the end of class. She had a meeting with Professor McGonagall about her Head Girl duties and couldn’t be bothered to worry about who her partner was. 

But now, after finding out through Mary that she’s been paired with Remus and Sirius pulled Benjy Fenwick’s name, Lily is nervous. Rumblings at dinner also confirmed that Calliope Forsythe of Hufflepuff was disappointed that she chose Bridgette Marls’s name instead of James’s, leaving Lily sweating the remaining possible outcomes. She doesn’t want to jinx it by getting her hopes up that James may have pulled her name out of the cauldron, and she’s mad at herself for wanting it so desperately.

We already spend enough time together with our Head duties. Plus, we’re friends now, so we can hang out whenever we like...just not alone.

Her last thought is only a partial lie, considering they’re ‘alone’ when creating schedules for rounds, but it never fails that some fifth or sixth-year students are always barging in to use the Prefect’s lounge to study, ruining any potential chance for either to make a move. Even when they’re on rounds, their conversation is constantly interrupted by catching a couple in a broom closet or empty classroom. 

Lily lets out a huff of frustration as she recalls the last time, when she was sure he was about to ask her to Hogsmeade, but then there was a loud clatter from a room up ahead, breaking the moment. So really, it’d be ideal if James were her partner for this project. She’s sick of the song and dance they’ve been playing since the start of term and wants nothing more than to find out whether he still fancies her or not. After all, it’s only a matter of time that some other girl will swoop in, causing his devilishly handsome smile to be trained on them instead.

As Lily approaches the foot of the stairs leading up to the observation room, she checks her watch. 11:59. Right on time. She holds her breath during the entire stair climb, and only when she rounds the corner to the dimly lit area with one singular candle on the table to take notes, does she see him. He’s leaning over the table, the light illuminating his messy black hair as his glasses slip down his nose. The sleeves on the white shirt of his uniform are rolled up to his elbows, exposing the sinewy muscles of his forearm as Lily stands there, getting lost in a daydream that finds those arms wrapped around her body.

The hoot of an owl in the distance snaps her out of her thoughts as she takes a few steps closer.

“I hope you haven’t started without me.” 

Lily’s light chiding gets James’s attention as a wide smirk dons his face. Her insides tremble as her heart pounds faster in her chest.

“How can I get started if I don’t know what we’re supposed to be looking at,” he remarks, eliciting a nervous laugh from her chest.

“Yeah, sorry for not sticking around after class. I had another appointment.”

“Well, I hope my reveal isn’t too much of a shock.”

“Better you than Mulciber or Avery,” she teases. “Why didn’t you ask Professor Sinistra what topic I pulled after you gave your information and got our timetable?”

James walks around the table to join her as she pulls out the project guidelines. She assumes he would have known what they were studying, considering everyone had to check-in and get their schedules from Professor Sinistra. Depending on what the group has chosen, their research times varied.

“Because I thought we were going for the surprise factor,” his cheeky grin matches the lightness in his voice. “Besides, I figured it’d be another excuse to pore over the parchment in close proximity.”

Lily searches the space next to her to see just how close James is before meeting his gaze. She becomes dizzy from the scent of his cologne, with hints of cinnamon and sandalwood invading her sense of smell. If she gives in to temptation now, they won’t accomplish anything on their first night.

Work first, play later.

Strengthening her resolve, Lily makes a swift turn and heads for the telescope. “We’re responsible for tracking the four constellations that are listed on the first page. I’ll see which one I can find first and we’ll go from there. We can take turns tracing, and observing if that’s alright with you.”

“Sure, I’ll get the parchment set up,” James agrees.

Lily’s not sure, but she thinks she may have heard a hint of disappointment in his tone. She pushes the thoughts aside and peers into the massive telescope that’s bolted down in the center of the room. It doesn’t take long to find Jupiter, and from there, she’s able to see a handful of the stars that make up Orion. The belt is the most prevalent as she takes mental notes to transfer on the paper.

Settling into a steady hum of working together, the pair take turns between the telescope and table, making light work of the night’s observations. When Lily checks her watch again, she realizes they’ve finished with time to spare. She wanders over to the railing, and even though she’s spent the better part of the last ninety minutes studying the stars, she finds herself looking up to the sky once more. Only this time, she’s stargazing with only the naked eye. 

She feels James approaching before he arrives at her side, gazing up at the twinkling stars among the backdrop of black and midnight blue.

“We make a pretty good team.” Her voice is soft as it carries through the air between them.

Lily’s exhaustion is prevalent as her eyelids become heavier, but she can’t be bothered to move away from James’s side. Not yet, anyways.

“You haven’t gathered that from our flawless round schedules and seamless Prefect meetings we’ve run so far as Heads?”

Lily can’t help the smile that creeps across her lips. He’s playing into her words in the exact way she was hoping for. “Of course, I’ve noticed. I was just thinking out loud…” she trails off, hoping she’s got him hooked and wanting to know what else she’s about to say.

“About what?” Barely a second passes before the question leaves his mouth.

She drags her teeth over her bottom lip as she looks up at him. Here goes nothing.

“Just about how our teamwork might work in other respects, too.”

His lips part as she hears a sharp intake of breath. “Evans,” he warns as he inches ever closer to her face.

“Potter,” she challenges right back.

They are mere centimeters away from each other now, and it’d be so easy to close the gap between them. James seems to have frozen in front of her as she finds herself leaning up on her tiptoes to press a feather-light kiss to his lips. She pulls away, not wanting to push her luck.

When he doesn’t move after she pulls away, her heart sinks. Lily grabs her bag and turns to head back to the common room. Clearly, I was mistaken.

“Sorry, I just thought—” but she never finished her apology.

Her foot grazes the top step of the staircase before a warm, strong hand wraps around her wrist and pulls her back, where she hits a wall of muscle. Her lips are on his again, and this time he’s kissing her back as her arms snake around his shoulders and her foot lifts off the ground of its own accord. 

James Potter is kissing me!

The moment only lasts a few moments before they pull apart, their breathing heavy under the starry night.

James breaks the silence after a minute. “So, er, Hogsmeade this weekend?”

Lily grins as she backs away slightly, leaving him standing there as she heads toward the stairs for the second time. She flashes a ‘come and get me’ look. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

[like-a-bag-of-potatoes]

Our Story - Prologue

theA/N: My first Chris Evans series. This is just a fluffy little series that has been floating around in my brain for a while, and because I've recently fallen head first into the Chris trashcan, I figured he’d be the perfect person for this little love story AU. I mean absolutely no disrespect with this, it's just a work of fiction. I also want to give a huge thank you to @percywinchester27​ and @girl-next-door-writes​ for being my betas for this story. You are both amazing and I'm so grateful for your help on this. 

Chapter: One

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader (unfortunately no Chris in this part) 

Warnings: Absolutely none. 

Wordcount: 1850

Four weeks after my twentieth birthday, I left my childhood home in Savannah, Georgia, and pointed my nose towards New York. It was hard to believe that eight years had passed already, but my twenty-eighth birthday approached in large strides to remind me of how much time had passed, and how much had changed. New York City was a stark contrast to Savannah, the city that never sleeps VS the most charming city in America. When I first moved here, it was my intention to stay for only a year, then I would be back in Savannah with my family and the man that I loved so deeply, Josh. 

However, life never really turns out how you intend it to, no matter how much you plan for your future. Josh and I used to talk at length about our future together, and I honestly couldn't wait to get started on it all, house, careers, and then a family of our own at some point. Then, after eight or so months of long-distance we finally broke and admitted to ourselves that it was just too hard. I know you might think that since we had stuck it out for that long, we surely could manage a few more months, but by then I had been asked to stay on in what was supposed to be a temporary position, and I had fallen in love, not only with the city, but with my work. I asked Josh to come to me, told him we could find ourselves a little apartment in Queens, or the East Village, something we could afford, and we could spend a few years together here before moving back home to start a family. I guess you’ve already figured it didn't turn out that way, and it ended, as long-distance relationships often do, in heartbreak. It was my first real heartbreak- amicable, civil, and soul-crushing. It was also then I realized, as we all, unfortunately, do at some point in our lives, that love does not, in fact, conquer all. 

If I'm being completely honest, I knew within my first month in this magical city that I would never want to leave, and after things ended with Josh, I felt as though I had deceived him in some cruel, unintentional way. Every conversation we had, had after that had been filled with lies and promises I never intended to keep. I had fooled myself as much as I had fooled him. After our break up, although completely heartbroken, I felt free and unburdened, which strangely made me feel even worse about the whole thing. Our love didn't end in some big blowout argument, or because we didn't want to be with one another. It ended because of the thousands of miles that separated us, and because in the months we spent apart, I changed in a way that could not have been foreseen. Never did I imagine myself in a big and busy city, but as I said, New York and me, it was love at first sight. 

You might be wondering what job took me from my safe and comfortable life in Georgia, thinking that it must have been some grand, once in a lifetime thing. It was not. It was a temporary job as a personal assistant. I found it as I sat by my computer one night, daydreaming about what kind of life I would live if I had all the money in the world, what life Josh and I could create for ourselves. That's when I came across the ad. A woman, Mrs. Wallace, needed an assistant. She was a very wealthy woman in need of someone to keep track of her very busy social calendar, amongst other things. I knew she was wealthy because she lived on Fifth Avenue, not that I had ever been to New York and really knew what that entailed, but I had seen movies and read books placed in the city and knew very well that Fifth Avenue was a very expensive street. There was little to no description of the job or what Mrs. Wallace was looking for in an assistant, other than that they had to be organized and were able to juggle multiple things at once. Beyond that it really came down to compatibility. I was nothing if not organized, so before I knew it, I had compiled an application letter and sent to her email. I told no one about this, because it was ridiculous for me to think I'd even get a reply back. In all honesty, it had all been forgotten by the next morning, and I didn't think of it again until three days later when, at dinner with Josh I might add, I got an answer. She would like for us to meet. We sent a couple of emails back and forth where I tried to, as politely as possible, explain that I did not have the means to travel to New York just for an interview. I stated that I appreciated her interest, and apologized profusely for not being able to make it out there. It was then she asked for my details, and about fifteen minutes later I got a confirmation from American Airlines that my ticket had been booked and paid for. Two days later I was sitting opposite Mrs. Wallace at a restaurant that I would never be able to afford, listening to her talk about the job I had applied for and what she expected of me. 

The very first thing that struck me about Mrs. Wallace was her age. For some reason, I had imagined someone in their fifties, full of botox, fillers, and whatever else middle-aged women put into their faces to look younger, but Mrs. Wallace was not that much older than me. At the time we met, she was twenty-seven, so younger than I am now, and strikingly beautiful. Thick, black hair that looked professionally blow-dried and sculpted so that not a single strand was out of place. It draped over her shoulders in loose Hollywood style waves and stood in sharp contrast to the white blazer she wore. Her skin was olive, her eyes deep brown, and her cheekbones could probably cut glass. When you put that together with her long, model-like legs, an hourglass waistline, and a very ample bosom, the woman looked like a greek goddess. To top it all off she had a warm and kind smile, and a kick-ass sense of humor. Kate, as she insisted I call her, was far from the stuck up, nose in the sky, botox filled woman that I had imagined in my head. We hit it off, and before dessert was served, I had a job offer. 

It's hard to explain, but I felt as though I needed to take this opportunity, that this was an experience I was meant to have in some inexplicable way, and I accepted right then and there without a second thought, or even a conversation with my family or boyfriend. Josh was angry with me at first, but supportive, so two weeks later I stood in front of 1040 Fifth Avenue and looked up at the towering building with its limestone and intricate carvings here and there. Kate greeted me at the front door as I stepped out of the car that she had sent to pick me up from the airport. This place even had a porte-cochere to protect the residents from rain as they walked from the door to their private chauffeur-driven vehicles. I would be staying here with the Wallace family, in the staff quarters with the rest of the staff of course, so that I could be available to Kate at all times. And that's how my New York adventure started. 

Eight years later, I am still working for Kate, still living in my little room in the staff quarters, but I love it. I have a little bathroom and everything I need. Food is prepared for us all by the cook, Rosalia. She is a little, plump woman in her mid-fifties, kind and compassionate, not to mention deeply passionate about the food she prepared for the whole household. Along with me and Rosalia, the other staff in our quarters are Magdalena, the housekeeper, and Mitch, who is Mr Wallace’s assistant. There was more staff, of course, like the private chauffeur’s, who didn't live on-site and throughout any given day, people would be in and out of the place like it was a busy office space as opposed to the home that it actually is. 

Now, Mr Wallace was a very busy man, working non-stop whether it be at his office, or at his home office. It seemed as whenever I saw him, he was walking in fast strides, either on the phone, or confirming things with Mitch who half sprinted behind him with his I-pad, trying not to trip over anything as he tried to keep up and take down notes at the same time. Henry, that was Mr Wallace’s first name, was a little older than Kate, not so much that you could accuse her of being a gold digger, but he was approaching his fifties now. He didn't look it though, he was a very handsome man, and kind. Imagine George Clooney, a man that just seems to get more gorgeous with every passing year. Kate and Henry were busy, always had their hands full with whatever it was, but somehow they always found time to share a meal together every day. Even if it meant having Rosalia heat up some leftovers for them at midnight. They were very much in love, and it was clear in the way they looked at one another, and how they always made sure to have that little moment to themselves every day. A couple of years ago, Kate had confided in me that she could not have children of her own, it was something that had weighed on her since she was only sixteen years old, but with Henry, she said, ‘I have all I need with that man, all the love I could ever wish for.’ It was a shame really, because I knew that Kate would have made an amazing mother, and Henry a great dad. ‘I'm alright,’ she had assured me. ‘I've come to peace with it, and learned not to dwell on something that will never be.’ 

So, that's the short version of how I ended up here, doing a job I adored in a city I loved with all my heart, so I think it's about time we move forward. Jump to the part where my real story starts. Spoiler alert; it involves a warm summer day in Central Park, a ruined dress, and an extremely handsome man named Chris. 

******

If you liked what you read, how about slamming that reblog button and help spread my work? If you leave a little comment on top of that, you’ll be in my heart forever. 

Want a tag? I got you!! Just send me an ASK and I'll add you. 

Tags: @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss

[quirklessidiot]

Title: voicemail [one-shot] Pairing: gn!reader x kuroo tetsuro (age up characters) Genre: angst with a fluffy ending

Synopsis: You say good morning, when it's midnight Going out of my head, alone in this bed I wake up to your sunset and it's driving me mad I miss you so bad. [this request kuroo + angst + ldr]

Warnings: some bad language but other than that none Notes: heavily inspired by simple plan’s jet lag ngh, hope you enjoy it anon. i def had fun writing this. Kuroo was my first love in haikyuu HAHHSHSS T-T

masterlist  

“Hey this is kuroo tetsurou, i’m currently busy right now, just leave a message after the beep.”

“Hey it’s me…”  you paused,  “How are you? I haven’t heard from you in a while. Uh- Kenma visited me yesterday, he told me that you secured a new deal. I-I just wanted to congratulate you...and-well, i miss you. Call me when you’re not busy, alright? I-I love you.”

The apartment turns silent after you end the call, your head throbbing at the thought of your third unanswered voicemail. Were you being overbearing? Would he find you annoying? You shut your eyes tight, all this overthinking at this time of the day.

Maybe it would’ve been better to just pass the message on to Kenma.

You let out a loud groan as you dropped yourself on the bed.

Man, when people told you that long distance relationships would be hard, you laughed it off, saying that you and tetsu wouldn’t feel that way. You were both open and too much in love, trivial things like time zones and miles away wouldn’t break you two apart.

Yet right now, you weren’t so confident to say that out loud. It was easier at first, following a scheduled facetime at least twice a week at most and a short call when you both had time everyday. As months pass though, the little schedule you promised to keep up was dwindling.

When he called, you were busy or you were dead tired from work. When you called, he was either asleep too or busy scouting some people on volleyball leagues. The face times would just turn to very short conversations or a curt message.

Now this happened, its been a week since you haven’t heard from him and it was Kenma who had told you about his little victory at work.

What happened to weekly updates?

Were you just overthinking?

You furrowed your brows together as you turned to the abandoned cellular phone next to you, maybe this was nothing. Maybe he was just tired or maybe he was worried he’d disturb your sleeping time (he feels awfully bad when he does that), maybe he just told Kenma to tell you since he wasn’t good at figuring out the timezone things (after all, Kenma barely slept so he’d definitely be a good messenger)

Yeah, maybe that was the case.

Things returned to normal after that one week of no replies and it bothered you even more, why couldn’t he apologize? Did he not see the voicemails you sent? Did he not notice the nervousness in your tone when you sent that last message?

You feel your stomach clench as if you’re on a high up roller coaster about to go down.

God, why were you even overthinking? You sound like one of those girls that Kuroo and you would make fun of back then in high school.

A small ding resonates in the quiet apartment and you see a text from the man himself,

From: Tetsu Time: 09:00 pm Can’t facetime tonight :( Work has me by the neck.

To: Tetsu Time: 09:01 It’s fine :D Take care of yourself and just text me when you’re done. I love you.

You shut your phone off and ran your hands through your dry hair, moments later, you realize he doesn’t reply and the feeling of uneasiness does not waver.

It just worsens.

“Y/N, you alright there?” Kenma asks, it’s sunny today and you manage to drag Kenma out of his not-so little hideout. The man needed some sun, he was getting extra pale these days but these days, it seemed like it was actually you that needed this break.

You immediately snapped out of your thoughts when you hear the low voice of your friend, “Yeah,” You laugh, scratching your neck, “Just peachy.”

Kenma Kozume was many things, observant is one of them. It was easy to notice how distressed you looked yet he didn’t know exactly why. Was it work? Did you and Kuroo fought? Weird, his friend hadn’t said anything and he seemed pretty happy when he called to check up on him this morning at three am.

“Is something going on at work, Y/N?” 

“Yeah,” you try to mask your overthinking by something else, knowing Kenma he’d voice out your worries to Kuroo and right now that was the least thing you wanted, “Something at work.”

“Don’t overthink about it Y/N. I’m sure you’re doing a great job.”

‘Yeah.’ you thought bitterly, ‘Don’t overthink about it.’

The low sound of your laptop ringing resonates throughout the room as you do your own nails, you immediately shoot-up to see Kuroo’s name on the screen, you dive on the front of your laptop and click answer, his face immediately occupying the screen, “Kitten!” he exclaims.

Your worries are gone as soon as you hear that voice, yes, this was fine. He was alright. You were both alright.

“H-hey, baby.” You try to control your voice.

“You alright there?” his brows furrowed, “Am I disturbing your sleep again-”

“No!” You suddenly cry out, “N-No, it’s just...I haven’t seen you in so long, I guess.”

Kuroo’s gaze immediately softens, “Oh, Y/N...Baby, I’m so sorry…”

God, you wanted to touch him so bad. You want to lay next to him and wake up to his face like before, you wanted to be selfish right now and just cry and beg him to come home.

“No, It’s fine.” You suck it up, “It’s probably just the late night dramas I’ve been watching that’s got me missing you.”

His deep chuckle resonates in your quiet room and you start to feel alright until you hear someone call his name, “Oh shit.” He cursed, “I have to get back, Baby. Boss wants me, again.”

Your expression shifts to an uncharacteristic frown, “Right, bye. I-I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

The screen turns black once again and the bile on your throat begins to rise, the feeling of dread turning worse.

Who were you kidding, long distance relationships were shit.

You were feeling like shit.

You stare at the fish fillet in front of you, it's midday and your day off from work. If it were your usual day, you’d facetime your boyfriend while doing some paperwork but after that brief videocall. You became more withdrawn, your texts would become curt and you didn’t bother leaving messages on his voicemail anymore.

You didn’t have facetimes anymore too.

Yet you keep your phone next to you, hoping he’d still call and when he does, your can’t help it but your replies are starting to get dry. Sometimes forced even yet Kuroo doesn’t notice, he never does.

So when he finally calls again that time at lunch and is once again cut off by his workmates, you finally snap, “...Why are we still doing this?” your voice was rough and dry.

Kuroo is silent on the other line, the only thing that could be heard was his office mate calling him.

“Kitten, what do you mean? Are you okay?”

“Forget it.Just go.”

“Y/N?” His tone was serious now, all playfulness void, “I thought we were doing fine-”

“Thought.” You shakily cut him off, “You thought.”

“Y/N, you seriously -   look-   I don’t have time for this.”

That was the final straw, your tipping point. Those words were your Achilles heel.

“Then we should just break up, right?” 

The only thing that could be heard was the silence on his side and your fast heartbeat. Guess you got your answer and as much as you hated it, you could only handle so much.

“Hey this is Y/N, I’m out now and kinda busy so just leave a message after a beep, yeah?”

“It’s me.” Kuroo’s voice echoes through the walls, “Y/N baby, please pick up the phone. I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it that way. I was an ass. I should’ve kept our promise. Please call me when you get this”

A loud beep echoes throughout the room after his message is cut.

“It’s me again. I miss you and I’m sorry. I really am, I miss you so bad. Can we facetime? Same time as usual, I promise I won’t let work get in the way again. Please call me back when you receive this.”

A loud beep once again echoes through the quiet walls of your room.

“Y-Y/N.” Kuroo stammers,  “sweetheart, I-I asked Kenma to check on you. He brought a meal and well I know its a far fix from what I did but just eat well, yeah? He says you haven’t been looking well and I worry. I love you always, y-you know that right?”

Before the next message could play, you grab your phone and shut it off. A soft sigh escaping your lips. It had been two weeks since that breakup. You wouldn’t say you were doing well yet you wouldn’t say that the burden was lifted either.

You were just so confused at the moment, so withdrawn. The world seemingly void of color without your lover truly next to you anymore.

You slowly snuggle on his side of the bed, shutting your eyes. You might as well start moving your things when you wake up tomorrow, no sense in staying at your shared apartment.

You’re awoken by a familiar warmth caressing your hair. You flutter your eyes open, trying to adjust your vision to the room's dim light, the familiar figure of the man you missed and dearly loved sitting across you in a suit. His bags are thick as if he hadn’t slept in a while and his hair’s unkempt more than usual.

“I’m sorry.” the first thing he says.It's soft and warm like his touches, “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“Y-You..” It slowly dawns upon you that this isn’t a dream, that he’s right here, “You’re here.”

“Sorry it took so long, Y/N.” He apologies once again, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss on your forehead. You sit up and suddenly all the tears burst out as you throw yourself to him in a hug, “I was too busy getting my work done so I could be assigned in this division earlier I hadn’t-”

“You’re home.” You cry, cutting off his explanation, it didn’t matter anymore. He was home and he was going to stay, “You’re finally home.”

“Yeah.” He whispers, “I’m here. I’m home.”

[wave0fg00dvibes]

Sparks - Spencer Reid x Reader

Request: Could you do a spencer Reid x SSA fem!reader where you guys are on a case and he sees the cops flirting with you and gets jealous and reveals his feelings?

A/N: WOW I’m really sorry this was out so much later than I predicted. Life is hard sometimes, y’all! My stressors are gone now so hopefully I’ll be cranking out a whole lot more of these. 

Also, I never understood how writers could just start a story they thought would be short and end up with 6K words. Now I know! Whoops.

Please leave feedback if you have any! Lots and lots and LOTS of love, as always. 

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

Your favorite part of any given case was closing it.

There was no rush or relief quite like the feeling of taking someone dangerous off the streets. No sensation could match handcuffing an unsub and watching officers escort them to police cars, never to wreak havoc again. Those days were undoubtedly the best part of being a profiler at the BAU. Those beautiful days took away the pain and anguish you so often faced as an agent, even if only momentarily.

Today was one of those days.

The resolution of this case provided the small town a chance to take a deep breath of relief. The killer was locked away, there were minimal casualties, and several hostages had been rescued and reunited with their families. All in all, it was a success.

Normally the team would fly back to Virginia right away, but a large, dangerous, looming electrical storm prevented a safe flight. Hotch made the executive decision to stay another night at the motel, and no one complained. After all, this case had been exhausting and draining for all of you.

It wasn’t until Morgan suggested a trip to the bar next door that the night got interesting.

Classic.

So, there you and Emily were, taking a trek across the street in the pouring rain, clutching your shared umbrella as if your lives depended on it.

“You know; I think I might be getting too old for this.” Emily nearly yelled over the roar of the weather. You laughed.

“Never! Who would be my off-duty partner in crime if not you?”

She shook her head and smiled at you. Strands of lightning lit up the sky and reflected in the many puddles at your feet. As beautiful as it was, you were not particularly comfortable holding a large piece of metal in a barren landscape during an electrical storm. As soon as the next inevitable clap of thunder shook the earth, both of you silently agreed to walk even faster to get to the bar and out of the rain.

“All I’m saying is you’d better start looking for my replacement.” Emily fired back, clutching the umbrella even harder as the wind blew the raindrops straight into your faces.

“As if I could ever replace the best wing woman I’ve ever had.” You shouted back to her. At that, Emily laughed out loud.

“Wing woman? Yeah, right.”

You didn’t have time to question her cheeky comment before the two of you finally reached the door to the bar. Emily immediately sighed in relief and you chuckled, stepping inside to relish in the warmth and shelter from the aggressive storm. Both of you stood in the doorway and took off your rain jackets, thankful to be dry and safe again.

“So, you’re telling me that if I found you someone at this bar…” Emily started to tease you, elbowing your ribs in jest. However, her eyes held an underlying mystery that frightened you. It was as if she was looking directly into your heart, reading your every move, discovering your deepest secrets.

Emily was one of your closest friends, but there was one secret in your heart that you could barely admit to yourself, much less another person. That was not something you wanted to dive into at the moment. It had been such a good day. There was no need to tarnish it with rambling thoughts and uncomfortable feelings.

Did that secret involve romantic feelings for a team member? Maybe.

She couldn’t know. There was no possible way she could know.

“I mean… I don’t know.” You bashfully tripped over your words, knowing she was kidding, but not doubting her willingness to embarrass you.

“Really? A gorgeous, smart, single woman like you, not wanting to find any company?” You blushed at the compliments, but shook your head in denial.

“Nice try, but I am perfectly happy being all alone.” You playfully nudged her shoulder. She let out a big laugh, hooking your arm in hers and starting to head toward the rest of the team at the back of the bar.

“Oh, come on. Don’t feed me that. We all know about you and Reid.” She subtly whispered in your ear.

And there it was.

She knew. Of course she knew. You felt your face begin to drain its color.

“We…” you attempted to launch into your heavily used “just friends” speech, but Emily put a finger up to your lips.

“Don’t even try that excuse with me. Just, don’t. Your self-appointed wing woman knows better.” She smirked and gave you a wink before releasing your arm and taking a seat between Morgan and JJ.

Rolling your eyes at her, you sat down in the only remaining seat, conveniently next to none other than Dr. Spencer Reid. You glared at Emily and she wiggled her eyebrows at you, fully aware of what she had done.

Oh boy. This was going to be a long night.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be around him. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Plopping down next to Spencer was the most comforting thing you had done all day. Though he was deep in conversation with Morgan, he grabbed one of the drinks in front of him and handed it to you without looking. You smiled, taking the glass as you watched his face contort while arguing with his friend. This was undoubtedly a conversation you did not want to interrupt.

You took a sip from the glass, and your heart skipped a beat. He had ordered you your favorite drink without even asking if you were in the mood.

Then again, he’s a professional profiler and one of your closest friends. Of course he knew you needed it.

That’s the whole problem, though. Why fix something that isn’t broken? Why go out on a limb for something that could destroy an already perfect relationship, both personally and professionally? The costs outweighed the benefits in every single sense. It just wasn’t worth it.

But all the rationality in the world couldn’t stop your heart from longing for the fairy tale.

“Hey!” Spencer’s soft, warm voice cut through all of the noise and broke you right out of your thoughts. He had turned to face you, cheeks slightly tinted red, probably from the heat of the bar and the alcohol. His ever-shining smile lit up his face. You couldn’t help but return it.

As always, you were amazed at how one shared moment with him could make every insecurity and anxious thought feel so small.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, the furrow in his brow reflecting his genuine concern.

“Oh, yeah! Just a couple of bumps and bruises. Nothing too serious.” You assured him.

Earlier that day you had been shot by the unsub. Thankfully, all of the bullets hit your vest and not your unprotected body. It wasn’t the first time you had been in a shooting match with a perpetrator, but for some reason this one had really rattled you.

He nodded, taking another sip of his drink before proceeding.

“I looked at your vest. If that last bullet had been just 2 centimeters to the left, it could’ve dissected your subclavian artery, and that could’ve been deadly. Arterial rupture can cause life-threatening hemorrhages, pseudoaneurysm formation, and compression of brachial plexus.” His eyes lit up with excitement as he continued to talk about your circulatory luck of the day, blissfully unaware of how intensely it had scared you.

That was one of your very favorite things about him. He took any moment, any situation, any scare, and turned it into a statistic. He put all your irrational fears into rational numbers and ideologies. No matter what happened to you, or anyone on your team, he was right there to make sure you all knew you weren’t alone, even if that meant spouting off facts about arterial dissection in a bar at midnight.

This man was something else.

“Hey, pretty boy!” This time the voice breaking you out of your thoughts was Morgan’s. Spencer’s many statistics halted abruptly as he turned to face the summoning voice.

“What ever happened to that lovely lady you were going to ask out for coffee last week?”

His body immediately tensed next to you. Your stupid, irrational, unforgiving heart dropped into your stomach.

“Um, I mean… I didn’t end up asking her.” His answer was surprisingly short. You had never seen Spencer so flustered and lost for words. You looked up at Emily and saw the delicate look of annoyance in her eyes.

“It’s really hard to date in this line of work…” Emily attempted to defend his decision, JJ nodding and offering noises of agreeance while taking sips of her drink, but Morgan cut them off to press him further.

“Oh come on Reid, you haven’t shut up about her for months!”

“Yes, thank you Emily.” Spencer replied, letting some of the tension go. “I’m not sure I want to take any of my focus away from this job right now.”

“Oh whatever…” Morgan started, but before he could go any further you saw Emily subtly kick him under the table.

She looked up at you, eyes faintly conveying her apologies and intent to knock some sense into the oblivious man. He gave her a confused look, but immediately dropped the subject after meeting her fiery gaze.

“Anyway… are you seeing anyone?” This time Morgan’s question was directed at you.

Nope. Not happening. Where was the alcohol?

“On that note, I’m going to go get a drink. Anyone want anything?” You asked, grabbing your glass and standing up quickly.

Before they could answer, you were on your way to the bar. The first drink was strong, but not strong enough to numb the stupid, unreasonable pain and excruciating awkwardness of what had just happened.

“I’ll have another of these, please.” You asked the bartender, sitting at one of the chairs to help calm your shaking knees.

Breathe.

There was literally no reason for you to be upset. He was allowed to see people. Both of you were single, for crying out loud! There was nothing you were willing to do to make the fairy tale in your head a reality, so why was this weighing on you so heavily?

Breathe. For the love of everything, breathe.

He deserved every happiness in the world, and more. There was no reason for you to be so self-centered and deny him that. Who’s to say he even thought of you as anything more than a colleague anyway?

“Agent?” You slightly jumped and turned to face the familiar voice, recognizing the man sitting next to you instantly.

“Sergeant Jones. Hi.” You presented the best smile you could muster in the moment at the sight of one of the local deputies.

“Please, call me Michael. It’s so nice to see you outside of the unfortunate situations our jobs bring.” His smile was warm, and the hand he reached out to shake was soft.

“It’s nice to see you too, Michael.” You smiled, angling yourself to face him more directly.

Breathe. Distractions are good, especially when they are this handsome. Breathe.

His short blonde hair was combed perfectly, and his blue flannel shirt subtly brought out his eyes. No wedding ring. You could feel your heart ever so slowly begin to rise at the prospect of feeling valued, wanted, especially by a handsome stranger. 

Did it take your mind off Spencer? No. 

Could anything at this point? Who knows.

“Are you okay?” He asked, the true concern evident in his pretty blue eyes.

No, Michael. You seem wonderful but this is the worst timing.

“Yeah! Yeah, it’s just been a long day.” You lied straight through your teeth like a pro. However, you were captivated by his seemingly genuine integrity.

“You can say that again.” He chuckled. “This town hasn’t seen action like this in the last century, at least.”

Spencer could probably pinpoint the exact date of the last time this tiny town had a historic day like this…

NOPE. Breathe.

“How often does your team handle cases like these?” Michael’s deep voice snapped you out of your racing thoughts.

Okay, this was good. You were good at talking about work. It was basically your whole life.

“Well, we mostly handle serial killer cases. Sometimes abductions, things of that nature.”

Michael was a good listener, and the way his body angled toward yours indicated he actually enjoyed listening to you talk about your gruesome job.

“Cases involving children are the hardest for me, but it’s different for everyone.” You added.

“Yeah, I understand. I know our jobs are of different caliber, but I struggle with those too.”

You were enamored with Michael’s honesty and emotional depth in your short conversation. Compassionate, good at listening, and handsome? The other shoe was sure to drop soon…

The bartender set your drink down in front of you, but before you could pay her Michael handed her some cash.

“Oh no…” You started to argue.

“Please, I insist. It’s been a hard day for all of us.” Michael softly smiled at you. You smiled back, immediately taking a big gulp of the strong drink. Bring on the numbness.

“So, do you have any kids?” His surprising question caused you to choke and begin coughing profusely. He immediately looked alarmed, placing a hand on your arm to steady you.

“I’m so sorry, I just meant because those cases affect you so much… I didn’t mean…”

“No! No, it's okay!” You choked out between coughs. Could this night get any more awkward? You took a deep breath and drink of water before continuing, noticing his strong, soft hand was still on your arm.

“No, I don’t have any kids yet. It’s hard to find time to date in this line of work.”

“Cheers to that.” He smiled, lifting his drink to tap yours.

Feeling the alcohol start to kick in, you closed your eyes and smiled. Finally.

“Hey, I never got a chance to thank you for what you did today.” You opened your eyes to meet his, slightly confused as to what he meant, but he continued. “You jumped in front of one of my men and took those bullets.”

Ah, transference. He’s only interested because he thinks you’re a hero.

“Oh, that’s just part of the job.” You brushed it off.

“No. That was true bravery and sacrifice.” Michael turned completely toward you. “I don’t know many people who would’ve done that. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

...or maybe he’s just incredibly kind?

“Of course.” You laid your free hand on top of his. Thankful for the recognition, but far more thankful that no one had been harmed that day.

“Man if you didn’t have to leave, I would absolutely be asking you on a date right now.” Michael’s undying honesty once again caught you by surprise.

“You’re just saying that because I took a successful risk today.”

“No, I’m saying it because in the last five minutes I’ve realized that you’re smart, along with brave and clearly beautiful.”

All you could do was smile and squeeze Michael’s hand, for though the flattery was lovely, both of you knew full well that was all it could be.

Out of nowhere, you felt the air tense. Michael looked past you in confusion, and all at once you knew who was there. You could feel Spencer’s presence before he spoke a single word. Somehow you could tell he had been there for a short while, and could feel the inevitable speech coming.

“Actually that’s called transference, which happens when material from our unconscious mind is propelled into our conscious mind as we try to deal with the usually painful psychological trauma that we are experiencing. The brain unconsciously re-surfaces and re-enacts conflict-ridden experiences as if the past were the present and one setting were another. We transfer thoughts, feelings, and attitudes, especially about people who resemble others. We assign them roles once played by others. We take on old roles ourselves. All unconsciously.”

Both you and Michael were stunned into silence, staring at Spencer as if he were from another planet.

What the hell was he doing?

You sighed, giving up any hope for a single shred of happiness to come from this night.

“Michael, you remember Dr. Reid.”

“Of course, good to see you again.” Michael nodded toward Spencer, which he awkwardly returned.

“Sorry to interrupt. I came over to see if you were alright after that coughing spell and couldn’t help but overhear…”

“It’s fine, Spencer.” You coolly cut him off, begging him with your eyes to go back to the table and let you make a connection, for once.

He saw the look, understood, and promptly ignored it.

“We should probably get back to the motel. The others left when I got up to check on you.”

“I’m a big girl, Spencer. I’ll be okay.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him.

“I can walk her back.” Michael looked up at Spencer, attempting to analyze him, to no avail.

“That won’t be necessary.” Spencer looked him dead in the eye, challenging him. A sudden look of realization dawned on Michael’s face. He immediately stood up, grabbing his jacket.

“Wow, I’m really sorry for the misunderstanding. I assumed you were single.”

God fucking dammit, Spencer.

“Oh I am! I am. It’s not like that. Spencer is just a good friend.”

Spencer stood there, unmoving, arms crossed, stoic as he could be. Michael gave up the silent fight, putting on his jacket and turning to leave.

“Listen, it was really nice to see you again, agent. Thank you again, truly, for all you did for my team today. Best wishes.” He shook your hand, far more awkward this time, and nodded to Spencer before bolting toward the door.

The prior sadness couldn’t hold a flame to the anger bubbling inside you at that moment. You whipped around to face the ever stoic Spencer, who didn’t seem to care about the fact that you were pissed as all hell about what he had just done. Before he could say another word, you took your coat from his outstretched arm and stormed toward the door, not caring if he followed or not.

Thankfully, the rain had stopped, but the beautiful lightning illuminated the sky as you furiously stomped back across the street to the motel. Normally you would attempt to walk softly in your heeled boots so as to not draw attention, but you couldn’t care less in this moment. You wanted Spencer to know just how royally pissed off you were, and you could tell he was right behind you.

Who did he think he was? Swooping in at the last second to sever the one human connection you’d made all night? Breaking the newfound bond you started with someone to distract from what he had caused?

The anger coursing through your veins seemed to dissolve the alcohol all on its own. You were no longer drunk, you were furious.

Breathe. Assault of a federal agent will put your ass in jail. Breathe.

It wasn’t until the two of you were alone in the elevator that you’d finally calmed down enough to form a sentence.

“What the fuck, Spencer?”

He didn’t answer. You took a deep breath, trying to expel the burning desire to scream. It didn’t work.

Of course, the one time you truly needed his explanation, he refused to offer it.

When the elevator reached your floor, he silently followed you to your room. You fished in your pocket for the key, but before you could swipe it Spencer grabbed your wrist, turning you toward him.

“I’m sorry.” He flatly stated.

Sure. Nice try.

“For what?” You challenged, not breaking his eye contact.

“For not getting you out of that situation sooner.”

You laughed right in his face. Pitiful, loud, uncontrollable laughter.

“Are you kidding me? Seriously? Oh my God.” You laughed so hard you thought you were going to throw up, clutching your stomach and leaning forward. His arms attempted to steady you but you eagerly batted them away.

“What is so funny about that?” You could tell he was getting frustrated.

Were you really about to start this?

You were really about to start this.

“Guess what? Men are allowed to flirt with me, Spencer. Believe it or not some people actually find me desirable.” He was surprised, but not as much as you thought he might be.

He didn’t deny that this was what had struck the nerve and prompted him to get you out of the bar.

“Those cops are bad news.” He broke eye contact, further proving your point.

“Michael was kind to me.”

“He was putting up a front.”

“Why is it so difficult for you to believe someone could actually be attracted to me?”

“He doesn’t even know you!”

“And if he did he wouldn’t want me?”

Spencer opened his mouth to fight back, but immediately closed it, eyes darting between the patterns on the carpet. Your heart cracked.

“I didn’t realize you thought so little of me, Spencer.”

“That’s not what I…” He cut himself off with a deep sigh, putting his hands behind his head and looking up to the ceiling.

“Then what the hell is it, because I don’t have time for this.” You spat, trying to use your keycard once more. Spencer grabbed your wrist again, holding tightly even as you tried to squirm away.

“What is your problem?” You nearly yelled in his face. “I don’t understand why it is SUCH a stretch in your mind that a man could want to spend time with me. Why can’t you fucking accept that?”

This time, as you tried to push him off of you, he grabbed your other arm and pinned both behind your back, pulling you close to him so you couldn’t escape.

“Because no matter who it is, I can guarantee they don’t want you as badly as I do.”

Your entire, sober brain shut down. All at once, the world was spinning, and not from alcohol.

You pushed him away, and this time he let you go, standing at a respectful distance, allowing you to soak in his confession. The wheels in your head weren’t turning fast enough for this.

“But… that girl Morgan was talking about…”

“Yeah. That’s you.”

Wait… what?

You let your hands fall to your knees as you leaned forward. It was too late in the night for this, too wrong a moment for such a bold confession.

So… he wanted to ask you out… but didn’t? When did that happen? When have you ever given him an indication you weren’t interested? But had you ever given him an indication you were interested?

The madness in your swirling thoughts was interrupted by Spencer taking a step toward you. Oh no. Oh dear God no.

Your brain screamed at you to move, take a step, run away, anything. But your heart held its own. In your deepest desires, you had been waiting for this moment since the day you met him.

Now it was your turn to observe the patterns on the carpet. Each and every flower seemed far more interesting now that you were confused out of your mind and your heart was beating at twice its normal rate.

All of the sudden, the toes of his converse lined up with your own, and you felt his hand lift your chin to look him in the eyes. In the low light of the hallway, they almost looked golden.

He moved painfully slowly, as if you would bolt at any moment. Which, to be fair, if your rational brain had anything to say about this moment, you’d be halfway down the street by now.

But, it didn’t. His hands slowly made their way to your waist, delicately touching to make sure you were okay before settling firmly. Your own hands worked their way up his arms and around his neck, feeling every tense, trembling move he made the whole way.

It was as if the entire world was paused, as if everything was in slow motion except for you and him. For the first time since you joined the bureau, you allowed your guard to drop for a moment.

And in that brief moment, his lips met yours.

Alarm bells sounded in your mind as soon as it happened, and you pulled your head away, ending the kiss almost as quickly as it began. You frantically looked into his eyes, still clutching onto him, allowing yourself to let it sink in.

Spencer Reid had just kissed you. Okay, sure.

The part that really scared you was how much you enjoyed it.

Breathe, dear God, fucking breathe.

He held your gaze with a surprising intensity, letting his eyes tell you all the truths he was afraid to say out loud.

You were afraid too. Terrified.

Yet, somehow, standing in that musty motel hallway holding onto your best friend for dear life after just locking lips for the first time felt like the most natural, perfect thing in the world.

Were you really about to continue this?

You bet your ass you were about to continue this.

You grabbed his face and pulled his head back down to yours to kiss him again. Your lips met just as softly, but this time settled into an intimate rhythm. One of your hands made its way into his hair, lightly pulling, causing him to let out a deep moan.

Oh, no. No, no, no. You really liked that.

His hands splayed out over your back, attempting to bring you even closer as your bodies moved together.

So this was what you had been running from all this time, the scariest possible scenario you’d tried so hard to bury.

That fear seemed minuscule compared to the overwhelming feeling of goodness that came from being this close to him, feeling his soft hair in your hands and his beating heart against your chest.

The edge of the abyss grew closer with every soft movement and crash of your lips. The point of no return loomed, begging you to hold him closer, bring him into your room, and cross all of the lines your paranoid mind had set long ago. After all, rules were made to be broken and lines were meant to be crossed, right? By the way he hungrily pressed your body against the door to your room, you knew he was thinking the exact same thing.

But, in true agent fashion, your rational brain caught up to you before you could make the dream a reality.

You pulled away harshly, and he immediately removed his hands and stepped back. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might burst right out of your chest.

He looked so beautiful like this, hair all disheveled, lips big, full, and thoroughly kissed. His eyes held the horror you had grown to know so well, the fear of ruining one of the very best things in your lives. You were positive your own eyes reflected the very same idea.

“Spencer…”

“I know.” He cut you off, closing his eyes.

“We can’t ruin this. We can’t go down that road.”

“I know.”

The charged silence that followed was most unwelcome. 

“Why would you say that. Why would you act on that?” Your accusation against his confession was less of an attack and more of a whimper, trying so hard to bury the longing feelings again.

He shrugged, analyzing the carpet once more. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Spencer.” You let his name roll off your tongue softly, gently, longing to somehow take it all back, to push what you had done into some secret place, never to be seen or spoken of again.

He looked up at you, the same emotions swirling through his eyes. He understood.

“I didn’t want to live any longer not knowing, I guess.” He softly admitted.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came. There was no way to take it back, no way to fix this, no rational comfort you could offer.

There was nothing more either of you could say.

So, with that, he turned on his heel and walked back to his own room, never looking back.

You stood there in the hallway for a long while, completely stunned. It wasn’t until the subtle bell of the elevator broke your trance that you finally swiped your keycard and retreated to the solace of your room.

Somehow, in the midst of the war going on in your head, you managed to pack all of your things. You wouldn’t remember going through with your night routine or climbing into the soft motel bed, but somehow your unconscious mind led you there.

The tears of frustration didn’t start until about 20 minutes into blankly staring at the ceiling. They rolled down your cheeks and pooled in your hair, but you barely noticed. Every so often, you lifted your hand to your lips, unbelievingly, wishing for some reminder of what it felt like to be connected with him. 

How had your pride been so dominating that it thrust you into the very situation you worked tirelessly to avoid? What prompted him to act so impulsively? Why did you just stand there and let him leave?

Most importantly, how in the world were you going to resolve this?

To say it was going to be a sleepless night would be the understatement of the century.

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

As you got on the plane the next morning, Emily was the first one to meet your exhausted gaze. She got up from her seat and walked over to you, enveloping you in her arms.

“I heard the yelling from my room. I’m sorry.” She whispered. You sighed, hugging her back as hard as you could.

So, they all knew. Of fucking course they all knew. Even Hotch and Rossi shot you a look of understanding sympathy as you moved to take the seat next to Emily. JJ patted your knee knowingly, and you gave her hand a squeeze before laying your head on Emily’s shoulder. Maybe now, surrounded by your girls, you would finally be able to get some sleep.

Thankfully, your hope became a reality. The next time you opened your eyes, everyone around you had drifted off as well. You gingerly lifted your head, making sure not to disturb Emily’s fragile sleep. 

The plane was peacefully silent, and as you scanned the cabin, your heart ached with gratitude for your team, your family. Getting shot was less than ideal, but the love and appreciation it prompted was most welcome. 

You felt Spencer’s eyes on you before you even noticed he was awake.

Turning your head toward the couch he was sprawled out on, your eyes locked with his. He made no move to look away, and neither did you. 

Fixing this was a necessity, and you both knew it. There was no space for awkwardness or personal feelings getting in the way of this line of work. 

As always, even despite the awkwardness and confusion of the past 24 hours, plopping down next to Spencer was still the most comforting feeling. Looking into his equally-tired eyes provided some comfort. At least you knew you weren’t the only one that lost sleep over the incident. 

His eyes were always a home to you, no matter what state your friendship was in. This was uncharted territory for both of you. Simply sitting next to each other, enjoying the presence and absorbing the moment, seemed to kickstart the healing that was sure to follow. 

Before you knew it, your arms were reaching out for him, and his enveloped you. Your head immediately fell to his shoulder, letting out a deep breath you didn’t remember taking. 

“I’m sorry.” You offered, chuckling at the whole situation. He joined in your slight laughter, squeezing you a little bit tighter as you felt the glorious sound reverberating in his chest.

“I’m sorry too.” He whispered. 

You pulled away to look at him, offering a small smile that he quickly returned. It already felt as if 1,000 pounds had been lifted from the air around you.

“It’s just, I would never forgive myself if I ruined this friendship, you know?” You admitted, ashamedly.

“I do. I promise, I do.” He insisted. You knew it was the truth.

The plane jolted from sudden turbulence, and you quickly scanned the cabin to make sure no one had woken up. When you were certain the whole team was still in a deep sleep, you turned back to Spencer, finally voicing the question that had been hovering for hours.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” 

“Probably for the same reason you didn’t tell me.” He replied, smirking at you.

Fair enough. You relaxed at the reemergence of his straightforward attitude, refreshed to know that his brutal honesty was unceasing. 

The silence that followed held far more meaning than more words could. 

There was no easy fix here, even though both of your feelings were now out in the open. Romantic attachment was a recipe for disaster for anyone at the BAU, much less two of its own agents. You both knew that all too well.

So… what now? Logically, you were at a dead end. 

Then, in true Spencer Reid fashion, he genuinely surprised you.

“Would you like to get coffee with me sometime?” He unceremoniously blurted. You looked up at him in surprise. Suddenly, it felt as if every logical answer to that question had left your brain.

“I…” 

“Don’t think too hard, just reply.” He quickly added, desperate for an answer, longing for a means to an end of whatever this night had started.

“Spencer Reid… are you asking me on a date?” 

“Yes, I am.” His golden brown eyes met yours. No hesitation, no jokes.

It’s amazing how the moments you spend so long running from can sneak up on you in a single instant. You knew that every fear you had about taking this path with him was rational. Attachment was a death sentence for one or both of you, in its own way. 

Was your heart really worth that risk? Running away from your feelings for so long was exhausting. How much longer would you really want to push it all away?

Well… you were both inevitably going to die anyway. Might as well do it with some love in your heart. 

“I’m not asking for forever, I swear. Just for a couple hours of your time. I just think…” He started, but you held up a hand, hoping he would ease up for long enough to let you answer.

Were you really about to take this leap?

“I would love to.”

Damn right you were.

His surprised smile was blinding, and you couldn’t help but match it. 

This time, you barely noticed the turbulence when the cabin fell silent. Both of you sunk back into your seats, relief flooding the air. The million thoughts constantly circling in your head all stopped for a single moment, allowing you to finally, blissfully, breathe.

“You know, for two profilers, we really should have caught this sooner.” Your tired eyes began to fall closed again, finally feeling the full weight of the night lift from your shoulders.

“Yes, but as two emotional repressors, I think we did a pretty great job.” Spencer’s sweet, beautiful voice brought you back, and you couldn’t help but let out a joyful laugh at his sassy retort.

Touché, Reid.

You silently scooted closer to him on the couch, laying your head on his shoulder and letting sleep overtake you once more. 

“I’m not asking for forever.”

His words, meant for comfort and persuasion in the moment, replayed in your mind as his arms encircled you.

“I’m not asking for forever.”

No, love. Not just yet.

[wolfish-trickster]

Advent kisses

happy b-day my king👑💚

17/24

Loki x female!reader

Word count: 1 219

Summary: Instead of chocolates, kisses are going to be recieved everyday until Christmas.

Tag list: @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @modestlyabsurd @winterfrostsarmy @spaceyempress @thefridgeismybestie @laramoonworld @birdgirl90 @nickkie1129

You spend the night with him. In innocent way, of course. He insisted on keeping you warm. Weak excuse to hold you all night. Wrapped in his soft blanket, lying in his bed, his arms around you.

It started to snow around midnight. Small snowflake shadows danced on walls, carpet, your face, his exposed forearms. He quickly tucked them under the covers. He still tried to make peace with that part of himself, but he just couldn't. He barely resisted the urge to go outside with you when you asked. To laugh and play with you. But he couldn't. He knew as long as he stayed away from direct touch with something super cold there's nothing to worry about, but the paranoia stayed. What if you'll avoid him if you knew?

The overthinking kept him up most of the night. He only started to sink into light slumber when it started to dawn.

A soft movement inbetween his arms dragged him into reality. You were waking up. He tightened his grip on you and nuzzled his head into your hair.

"Hmmmm, good morning," you mumbled into his t-shirt. "Why didn't you carry me to my own room?"

'Is she angry?' "Please, don't be angry. We layed down and you started to doze off. You were so warm and comforting against me I fell asleep," a little white lie. Not all of it, just the end.

"I'm not angry, just askin'. You're a good cuddler. And a good pillow," you smirked at him.

"Wow, I got reduced to a cuddle pillow, what an honor," he squeezed your sides.

You laughed and tried to wriggle away from him. He stopped tickling you and just took you in. Lovely wise eyes, ruffled hair, soft smile. He will tell you. Today.

"Hey, Loki, I'm going to kitchen. Do you want something?"

He unwinded his arms from around you, already missing your presence. "I'm not hungry. But thank you, for thinking of me."

You slowly stood up. "Oookay then. I'll see you downstairs, if you decide to show up."

And you were gone. Just like that. Loki stayed in his bed a little while longer. Thinking. He can't let you find out by accident. It would drive you far away from him. For good. But whenever he tries to tell you fear shuts him up. He covered his eyes with his hand. 'Who made Christmas a winter holiday? And why did Tony drag all of you into freezing snowy mountains? Of all the places on Midgard...'

He reluctantly made his way down to kitchen. You were talking with Rhodey, telling him what an awesome fight he missed yesterday.

After Loki finished his morning cup of tea he decided to visit gym. It was smaller than the one in the tower, but it still served its purpose: distract him from his thoughts.

He didn't end until all of his muscles burned and ached. He kept his back to the snow behind the window the whole time.

He checked the clock on his way to his room. He had spend there 2 full hours.

He couldn't wait for the steaming hot shower. Ever since he found out he wasn't 100% Asgardian, he favoured hot showers and baths. He didn't know if it was conscious or unconscious decision.

After he cleaned himself of the sweat he just stood there and let the hot water cascade down his back. The warmth was comforting, almost as much as yours. He closed his eyes. It would be nice to stay here. All warm and clean. He wanted to fall asleep again.

A knock on his bathroom door stopped him im his thought. "Loki? Are you there?"

He turned the water off. "Yes Y/N. Do you need something from me?"

"No, not really. I just want to show you something. Get dressed and come out. And please hurry."

Loki dried himself and made a shirt and sweatpants appear on him.

With water still dripping from his hair and low hanging sweatpants he opened the door. Only to see you, with a chocolate cake with lit candles stabbed in it. A huge smile plastered on your face. "Happy Birthday Loki!"

He couldn't move. He couldn't think. He stared at you with the cake, mouth slightly agape.

Maybe he stared at you way too long. Your smile faded. "You don't like it, do you?"

Only then he came to his senses again. "No, darling I love it. It's just.....how did you find out what is the midgardian date for my birthday?"

"Thor mentioned something. So, will you blow out the candles? Don't forget to make a wish!"

He bowed his head down and blew on the candles. "Y/N, do you remember how I refused to go out to play in the snow with you?"

"Umm, yeah, but isn't this the time you start eating the cake?"

He took the cake out of your hands and after he placed it on the table he took them in his own. "It can wait. I need to tell you something. About who I am. You see I-ehh. I like you. You're a wonderful person and I trust you. I don't want to keep this from you. See, the truth why I couldn't go out into the cold is eeeh. I am a Jotun. A Frost Giant. Not fully, since I am significantly smaller then them, but from the big part," he searched your face for rejection. There was none. Only pure curiosity.

"Sooo, does that mean you can control ice or something?"

"Almost, I can turn blue."

You beamed. "Really? Can you show me? Please?"

"Okay, I just need something in order to do that," he pulled the Casket of Ancient Winters from his pocket dimension. "Since I never tried to learn control it, I need this in order to turn," he explained. His fingertips and arms soon turned blue. Markings appeared.

When he looked at you with ruby eyes he didn't see disgust, nor fear. A wonder.

"You have lines on your body," you ponted to ones on his neck leading down to his chest. "Can I see them?"

Loki carefully pulled down his shirt, exposing his skin to you. You gasped. He looked down and found out why. In the middle of his chest sat a giant scar. "A dark elf I faught in Svartalfheim left it there."

"Can I touch it?"

He nodded.

Your soft fingertips caressed the outline of it. Your face got closer to his chest. To get a better look. Your fingers started to run along different lines on his skin. He closed his eyes. Never in his life he felt such gentleness.

Suddenly he felt your lips land directly in the center of the scar. His eyes snapped open and he looked down at you.

You pulled away in the speed of lightning. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking. I-I should go-" he stopped you with both hands on your shoulders. The blue hue started to fade, but the scar stayed. Loki pulled you into a deep hug. "Never apologize for a kiss."

Loki was greatly relieved his wish came true.

[aliveanddrunkonsunlight]

food

Jaime x Brienne + alternate love languages

For @naomignome

Author’s Note: The previous ficlets, I was writing from their POV for each love language and how they receive that from the other person. Example: how Brienne hears/receives words of affirmation from Jaime. This is flipped, where I’m writing it from the POV of the person who is communicating the love (if that makes sense.)

*

They are both, somehow, alive. The sun peeks over the distant horizon. Carnage and ashes surround them, the stench of battle filling their noses. 

Her chambers. Armor coming off with shaky hands, dirt and sweat stained bodies sagging as they fall into merciful sleep. 

Jaime wakes, not in cold darkness as he expects, but with the quiet rustle of flames in the hearth. The floor is no longer littered with armor. It sits across the table and chairs, his and hers, polished so carefully, the firelight dancing in its sheen. 

Before his feet hit the floor, he knows where he will find her. She is in the moonlit yard, helping the other men build the pyres. He coaxes her back to bed, somehow, but the next morning, he wakes to find her side of the bed already empty. 

The circles under her eyes darken and grow deeper. The crease in her brow remains constant. It is on the third day when he touches her hand in passing, feels the cold clamminess of it, and worries she is turning into one of the creatures they fought. “Bed. Now.” he orders.

She objects, even as he steers her towards their room. She has to help rebuild. It is not your home, my lady. Unless you plan to stay. She has to protect Sansa. You are not Lady Sansa’s sworn sword. She has her guard. What will Pod think? The boy would not wish to see you ill.  

He brings her broth and the freshest bread (for the latter, he might have bribed the kitchen maid to set it aside for him, but Brienne does not need to know) and she swirls the spoon like a petulant child until he threatens to feed her himself. “You’ll end up with broth slung all over the bed sheets,” he teases her, gesturing with his stump. 

In the evening, Pod arrives with more hearty fare and another man carrying a pile of furs. “Before you object that we are stealing these from some unsuspecting soul who needs them when we have plenty,” he tells her after they leave. “Lady Sansa said she was happy to loan them.” He spends far too long arranging the furs and pillows on the hard stone floor in front of the fireplace before he approaches the bed and takes her hand. From the look on her face, she is too shocked to speak.

He arranges the furs carefully around her, Brienne leaning back against him, and he reclines against the legs of a chair. The somewhat uncomfortable seat is worth it for the little sigh she exhales when he wraps his arms around her and rests his chin on her shoulder, the two of them watching the fire. 

She dozes against him and his heart quickens, listening to her steady breath, noticing the way her fingers curl against his thigh. I love you. 

He has said it so rarely since they confessed their feelings to each other, afraid saying it too often would lessen its meaning.  

The next morning, when they wake together, he asks her about Tarth. “Do you mean to return?” 

A shadow passes over her face and her eyes shift away from his. “I should go and see my father.” It sounds like duty more than longing, and he is not sure what to make of that, so instead he kisses her and tells he loves her. It earns him a soft smile, and it is all so easy.

*

On the boat to Tarth, she is excited to show him her home. Her face is open and bright as she tucks her long body against his on the deck. They watch the island grow closer, Brienne pointing out things, her voice soft in his ear, making him shiver. 

When they step off the ship, there is a cavalcade of men awaiting them. Brienne embraces one of them before stepping back and taking his arm, introducing Jaime to her cousin Endrew. “Where is my father?” There is the shadow passing over her face again and an inkling of understanding begins to form. 

“He is waiting to greet you at Evenfall,” her cousin replies.  

Except he is not waiting, he is still meeting with whatever Tarth farmer needs counsel rather than his own daughter, returned from war. 

Finally, a man with broad shoulders and a portly belly appears in the doorway. He has the same broad face as Brienne, only his is half covered by a neatly trimmed white beard. He smiles and opens his arms for a hug, his gray eyes shimmering in the bright white marble of the entrance hall. 

Jaime does not expect her father to be thrilled that she has brought the Kingslayer himself home, but there is skepticism and disappointment on Selwyn’s face which he cannot hide. Brienne asks if he wants to accompany them on a walk before the evening meal, but he brushes her aside, saying he has meetings and duties and and. 

Brienne is oddly quiet as she shows him Evenfall. They take their walk through the grounds, just the two of them, but Jaime notices how she walks a few steps ahead of him, lost in her own thoughts. 

Selwyn is polite, but not warm. At dinner, he asks about their journey, fills Brienne in on trivial matters around the island, but after the small talk is dispensed with, he has little else to say. No questions about Brienne’s experiences on the mainland, none about the man she brought with her. 

There is an absence. An absence in him, an absence which echoes in the halls of this castle. Echoes of her brother, her mother, her siblings. How much grief Brienne has known, true grief, not the false feelings he felt at the news that his eldest son was dead, the mask he wore at his father’s vigil. The dutiful son, the dutiful soldier. 

No, Brienne still carried the memories of her loved ones within, a part of her so deep and recessed, even he did not have access. The longer they sit at her father’s table, the more Jaime realizes she never wished him to see it. Brienne did not want him to see how her father’s ignorance, his neglect, cast such a long shadow over his remaining child. But Jaime does see. The steel core of her begins to melt away. He watches those strong shoulders slump under the weight of childhood hurt. All those half-healed scars.

Brienne has never needed him to protect her. Not when they got taken by the Bloody Mummers, not even at the bear pit, not any moment since, but he wants to stretch his good arm down the length of the table, take up the Evenstar by his collar and shake him. Make him listen, tell him all the ways he should be on his knees thanking his daughter.

Jaime’s hand shakes, thinking of all the words he might use to explain what Brienne has done for him, much less half the kingdom. 

She told me to live. 

She allows him to simply be the man he always wished to be, because she knows he is capable. She does not discredit him for his faults, just as he does not discredit her for hers. It sounds emotionally distant to say they love one another justly, but it’s true. It is equanimity. Any space they are together is one where he can breathe, after decades of what felt like drowning.

He loves her more than he thinks he will ever be able to express, but he does not let it stop him from trying. Words and deeds and touch and the very air in his lungs.

I am so, so sorry, my darling, he tells her that night. She likely does not know what he means, it could easily be an apology for his reputation, the deed which cast the die for his life for so long. He means it as an apology, one which she will never get from her father.  

The next morning, Brienne has gone down to breakfast before he wakes. Standing outside the great hall, he hears their voices echoing inside. “Will you live at the Rock then?” 

“I--I always planned to serve in your stead, but I know that is not what you wished of me.” 

“Nonsense, I only wished you to be happy.” 

“I am.” After a moment, so quietly he has to lean towards the door to hear. “We chose each other.” 

Upon hearing that, Jaime walks outside, needing fresh air. She finds him in the gardens, hand clutched around the seat of a stone bench. He tugs her down into his lap. “I am very proud of you.” 

“Proud of me?” Her forehead wrinkles into that familiar frown. “Why?” 

“Do I need a reason?” he asks in the moment before his mouth covers hers.

*

Their wedding party is tiny and Brienne refuses to have the ceremony in the sept, so they wed on the cliffs overlooking the sea. It is near sunset and light spills across the water in an orangey glow, shimmering in the gold trimmings on her wedding cloak. 

At the small feast afterwards, her father reminds him that Brienne once swore she would only ever wed if the man could beat her in the yard. “She has already done that, my lord, I assure you,” Jaime replies in a voice which makes her whole body flush.

“That is when you were in shackles,” Brienne says, once they are alone in her chambers. 

He laughs. “Well, it is too late now, my love. We are wed.” 

Her blue eyes glitter at him from the other side of the room. “You mean you will not spar with me on our wedding night? I never knew you to be so dull.” 

Jaime chases her around the bed, making her shriek with laughter, and when he catches her, they wrestle against each other on the mattress, both of them grinning like fools. “I happen to know you are quite good at the other type of sparring.”

“Jaime,” she chides him, but a soft laugh falls from her lips as she bends down to kiss him. 

It is well past midnight when she drags him out to the yard. “You cannot let me win,” she warns him at one point as their tourney swords clash. 

He chuckles between his gritted teeth until Brienne breaks the hold they are in. “You forget I am much older than you.”

“No excuses, old man,” she winks at him. 

Jaime knows it is worthless to protest about his left hand. They both fought the dead. Only he likes when Brienne--his wife--can easily best him and it is difficult to summon up his usual competitiveness when she executes a particularly thrilling move. 

He ends up in a rather vulnerable position, on his knees in the dirt, her sword pointed at his throat, only to revel in the slow realization dawning in her eyes. She’s won. That is until he bats her wooden tourney sword away with his left hand and tackles her to the ground. “You cheated.” she accuses, once they both get their breath back. 

He smirks at her, slipping his hand underneath her tunic, delicate fingertips against her skin. “We’ll call it even.”

*

When her father passes, Brienne throws herself into all the things which need to be done. He is the one who coaxes her back to bed. She has to allow herself to rest. She has to allow herself to mourn. She’ll do no one any good running herself ragged. 

This time, he does not have to bribe the kitchen maids. They make Brienne’s favorite dishes and willingly wake in the middle of the night to show Jaime how to warm milk for her, served with a dash of honey, to help her go back to sleep. 

“We were very much alike,” she says to him a few days later, when they are walking in the gardens. “Headstrong. That is why we fought so often.” Jaime is tempted to tell her all the ways they were different, but it would not help anything. Right now, the most important thing he can provide is solace, not unwanted advice. “He tried so hard to understand me. He only wanted something to go right. To see me happily wed, except that was something he wanted. It was not what I wanted. So then,” she takes a shaky breath. “He finally let me go, even though I know he was mocked, chastised that he could not control his own daughter.”

“You represented him honorably. No one could accuse you otherwise.” He presses a gentle kiss to her temple. “And if they try, you can face them in the yard.” 

She has not laughed since her father died, but she smiles then and squeezes his hand. “Thank you.” 

*

Their fifth year of marriage, he arranges for their friends to travel to Tarth. It is an unrealistic request for most, he realizes, but everyone comes. Lady Sansa, his brother, Pod and Peck and Gendry, all of the people who know Brienne’s selflessness and his luck. There is cake and fruit and all manner of sweet things Brienne says she does not like, but which he knows she secretly enjoys. Meat pies and cheese and warm, fresh-baked bread. There is laughter and stories spun over a long meal and good wine. In some ways, it is a happier day than their wedding. 

She laces her fingers through his and they lean against each other, listening to the others late into the night. 

*

For her name day, he and the children bake a cake. Alex’s whole outfit is covered with flour and Alys’ hair is dusted with it. They insist on him writing the script in icing, even with his shaky left hand. When they present it to her that evening, she laughs in delight and kisses all of them, tears shimmering in her eyes. She presses an extra kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, darling.” 

[quirk--karma]

The Things We Lose Aizawa x Reader

Aizawa looked at the clock yet again. He was probably just as eager as his students were for class to end on a Friday. Just another 17 minutes until the bell and he coul- “Daddy!” Tired eyes suddenly widened at the cute voice that followed pattering footsteps. Without much warning his two-year-old son came barreling towards him, eventually grabbing onto his leg. “Maka, mommy said to wait for her and not bother daddy in class!” Aizawa’s head turned to see his five-year-old daughter trying to round up her sibling. The sounds of murmurs and whispers from his class didn’t go unnoticed. Looking up he could see twenty pairs of wide eyes homing in on the two children who had suddenly made an appearance. The black-haired man sighed heavily.

Its not that he wanted to keep his loved ones a secret, but he definitely tried to keep a distance between his teaching life and his person life. But seeing as Maka and Keshi had just bridged that distance between the two worlds, Aizawa decided the only thing to do would be to introduce them. Lifting his son up and beckoning his daughter over he turned to the class, whose roaring mumbles trickled into dead silence. “Everyone, this is my daughter Keshi and my son Maka.  Keshi, Maka say hello to my students.” “Daddy are these the future hero students?!” His daughter asked with wide excited eyes. His son simply stared in amazement as his tiny hand timidly waved out to the teenagers. “Yes, they are.” “Put me down! Put me down!” Maka said suddenly fighting out of his father’s embrace. Before he knew it, his son was running between the rows of desks eyeing every single student. Most of the guys chuckled at the little boy’s antics and answered any questions he had about their quirks while the girls were squealing over the chubby toddler. “Sorry daddy, mama was trying to talk with her friend Ms. Midnight and she told me to watch Maka but he ran off to your class.” Keshi explained to her dad with a guilty look. He placed a hand on the girl’s soft messy hair and smiled. “That’s okay. Where is your mother?” “Oh she-” “I’m gonna be a hero too!” A determined little voice bellowed out from near the back of the class. Aizawa saw his son’s eyes sparkling as he clenched his little fists and stared up at a certain green haired student with determination. “Look what my quirk does!” Father senses kicked in as his son removed the glove from his left hand and knelt down to the floor. He saw the tips of his marker-like fingers ready to press to the ground before raising his voice. “Don’t draw on the floor!” Too late. The class chuckled at the boy’s cute lumpy character, which he looked rather proud of as he stared at it. “Wow, so your hands are markers? That’s pretty nea-” Midoriya stopped speaking as the image on the ground began to twitch. The entire class including the kid’s father watched on in amazement as a little 2d creature sprung up from the drawing and began crawling around the classroom. The two-year-old simply giggled in delight before looking to his father for praise. Aizawa felt his throat tighten at seeing his son’s quirk manifest for the first time. His quirk, it was just like- “Holy shit! Get it off me!” The class laughed as the explosive blonde tried swiping at the thing that was crawling over his body before hoping off. He’d let out a sigh of relief before practically jumping at the sudden appearance of his teacher’s daughter before him. “What the hell do you wa-” “That was a naughty word.” With that a small hand reached up and rubbed across his lips quickly but softly. Pulling away, the class was momentarily horrified to see Bakugou’s mouth completely gone as if wiped away. The teen began clawing at his face before the missing body part slowly rematerialized. Small sparks shot from Bakugou’s palms as he glared at the little girl, only to be surprised when her face didn’t falter an inch. “Keshi, don’t use your quirk on my students. Apologize.” Aizawa’s voice came out quiet but firm. “Sorry.” The young girl said never breaking eye contact. “You don’t sound sorry at all.” Bakugou said leaning towards her. “Because I’m not.” She whispered with a smirk before walking back over to her father. “Creepy little brat. She’s too much like her dad.” “Mr. Aizawa, we had no idea you had a family!” Mina exclaimed as she took a wonky 2d flower from a blushing Maka. “And with such impressive quirks!” Iida exclaimed examining the kid’s finger pads. “They really are amazing.” Izuku mumbled, jotting away in his journal. He tapped his pen to his lips momentarily before a figurative lightbulb went off. “I got it! Maka’s quirk reminds me of the former pro-hero, Scribble!” “That would be me.” A sweet voice called out from the front of the classroom. A beautiful woman in a wheelchair made her entrance into the classroom ignoring the dumbfounded stare from Aizawa. “Forgive me for interrupting your instruction time. I should have kept better tabs on my kids.” The woman said bowing her head slightly to the whole class. “Class was about to end in a few minutes anyway.” Aizawa said still staring at the chair the woman was sitting in. “Mama look what I made!” Maka said running up to her, holding his strange sentient drawing. The woman smiled brightly as she held her arm out to hold it and of course the class couldn’t help but notice it then. Midoriya, having known the back story of many pro-heroes, already knew to expect it but the attitude in the room shifted to see this wheel-chair bound woman with only a single arm. Before she could admire the drawing any further, the object suddenly melted into a little pool of ink that stained the woman’s palm. “Sorry mama!” “That’s okay baby, you’re still learning!” Mina suddenly took out a sheet of paper and placed her flower drawing on it to catch any ink spillage. “Wow! Ma’am it’s so amazing to meet you! I remember watching you on the news a few times when I was younger!” Izuku said standing up to give the woman a proper bow. “Please dear, don’t flatter me so much. And none of this ma’am business, I’m only 27!” “Oh yes sorry Mrs. Aizawa!” Izuku said with a big smile not missing the falter in her teacher’s face as well as the woman’s. “Just (Y/N) will do.” She said with a small fake smile. “Ahem for those of you who don’t know. This is (L/N) (Y/N), known by her hero name as Scribble. She’s Keshi and Maka’s mother.” While all the students said their hellos there was no denying that they all caught the weird way Mr. Aizawa had introduced her. “Mama mama! I found two new girlfriends in this class!” Maka exclaimed jumping into his mother’s lap. “What, two?!” Mina exclaimed, hopping up from her seat. “Who’s my competition?!” Behind her Tsuyu hid her own flower and heart drawing in her backpack. As the older woman laughed the release bell rang and all the students began to gather their stuff. Finally casting him a glance the woman attempted to speak up before Aizawa beat her to it. “Care to tell me why you’re in a wheelchair?” His students had cleared out by now and he was ready to let his questions free. The woman gave him a blank stare before turning to her kids with a huge smile. “Why don’t you two go and visit Uncle Zashi?” “Uncle Zashi! Uncle Zashi!!” The two exclaimed excitedly before bolting out of the classroom. “Well if you must know, they found the same issues as they did before. I chose to try a limb sparing surgery. It means I’ll have to be off my legs for a while but at least I actually get to keep them.” The dark-haired male scoffed but felt his demeanor soften as he grew worried again. “You could have kept me updated.” He replied with a slight damper in his voice. “What for?” An awkward silence spread between the two in the empty room before he spoke up once more. “I got to see Maka’s quirk. When did that happen?” “Last weekend. I know you were busy with training and couldn’t pick the kids up. He’s been super excited to show you ever since.” “And you didn’t you call to tell me that because…?” (Y/N) looked down at the lone hand in her lap. Aizawa wanted nothing more than to take back that stupid question, he knew damn well why she didn’t want to talk about it. “It’s just like my quirk used to be.” (Y/N) finally responded with a hoarse voice. Looking up she had an unreadable expression. “This is a long weekend, right? I’ll pick the kids up Monday afternoon. We already put all their stuff on your desk in the teacher work room. I’ll see you in a few days, Aizawa.” The whirl of the wheelchair’s motor hummed through the air as his ex-wife made her way out of the classroom. Staring after her retreating figure, Aizawa couldn’t help but think about how this was the most they’ve spoken in a year. ~~~~~ “Grilled cheese with pickle?” Aizawa asked with a quirked brow at his daughter’s weird request. “Yeah lots of pickles!” Keshi said slapping her hands on the table. “No crusts!” “Alright then. For you, Maka?” “Grilled cheese with tomato! Extra cheese and extra crispy!” “That’s how your mom likes her sandwiches too.” He commented feeling his own words tug at his heartstrings. He noticed his kids’ confusion as he pulled out the toaster along with a box of toaster bags. They watched as he prepared their sandwiches to their requests, placed them in little baggies and put them in the toaster. “What are you doing daddy?” Maka asked looking up at his father expectantly. “Making grilled cheese.” “That’s not the way mama does it!” He said a bit perplexed by his father’s unorthodox methods. Hearing that, Aizawa had vivid flashbacks to when he and (Y/N) were freshly graduated from U.A. New and broke heroes, he remembered fondly the way she would stand over the stove grilling sandwiches for dinner. He could imagine her sitting on the counter wiping her mouth, asking why he was staring at her so intensely, never realizing how beautiful she looked doing even the most mundane things. “But we will like them anyway daddy!” Keshi spoke up noticing a sudden crestfallen look on his face. “Maaakaa you made daddy cry!” Aizawa’s head snapped up at that comment. Looking up at his children, the blurred vision let him know that his eyes had indeed been watering. Rubbing at them he turned to put in his eyedrops. “I sorry daddy! I will eat all your food because its good like mama’s! Don’t be sad!” “No, don’t worry. You didn’t make me sad, I promise.” “Then why are your eyes teary, daddy?” Keshi asked with a small frown. Running a hand through his hair, he figured at the very least his eldest would understand what he meant. “I miss mama.” He answered honestly. “Why don’t you come visit us at mama’s house sometime?” “I don’t think mama wants me there.” “But why not daddy? I was asking some of my classmates and they say their mommies and daddies live together so why do you and mama have different homes?” Aizawa held his breath as he racked his mind for a way to answer that question. He knew things like this would eventually pop up as his kids got older but he’d hoped it wouldn’t be for awhile longer. “Well because moms and dads only live together when they are married. Mama and I aren’t married. Besides I need to stay here for my students.” He answered firmly, hoping it would be enough to squash the conversation. Sure, enough his kids wouldn’t let it go so easy. “Then why don’t you marry mama? Like me daddy, I’m gonna marry Ms. Mina and Ms. Tsu!” Maka said with a replenished sparkle in his eye. This caused his father to let out a sincere chuckle and smile at his kids. “Yeah daddy! Marry mama! You can bring her flowers like Uncle Zashi!” Aizawa felt his spine go rigid at his daughter’s innocent comment. He looked between both kids who held clueless smiles. He always promised himself he would never use his children as a means to get information about his ex-wife. He’d felt it was a scummy thing to do but right now he already felt like scum. “When did Uncle Zashi bring mama flowers?” “When she was in the hospital! Grandma and grandpa took care of us while mama was getting her legs fixed but sometimes Uncle Zashi would pick us up and we’d go eat and he’d take us to see mama. Every time he would bring her lots of flowers and candies!” “He’d buy us candy too!” “Would he now?” Aizawa had every emotion he’d ever felt whirling around in him before he smiled. “That’s good, I’m glad he bought my babies some sweets too.” “I’m no baby!” Maka protested with a little pout, before scrunching up his tiny nose. “Daddy something smells bad.” Snapping out of the conversation and his thoughts, Aizawa noticed that the sandwiches had yet to pop out despite the amount of time. Sure enough the toaster had been set to max and grey smoke was beginning to rise from the machine and burnt sandwiches. Quickly unplugging the machine, Aizawa lifted the toaster and rushed to place it outside the teacher’s dorms with his kids following on his trail. “Why does the toaster even go that high?!” His daughter exclaimed, trying to fan the smoke out of the building. “A villain must have been behind it!” Maka added, nibbling on a slice of cheese he snagged from the counter. “Okay, well dad tried. Get ready, we’re going out to eat.” The kids raced back inside, cheering. “And please brush your hair, Keshi!” “Brush yours, daddy!” “That’s fair.” He watched as his kids scrambled to get ready and finally let his face fall. Throwing himself on the nearest chair, he gripped at the area right above his heart. While he sincerely doubted that (Y/N) was dating Yamada, he couldn’t help but come to terms with something he hadn’t quite faced yet. They’d been divorced for 2 and a half years now. Eventually, if she hadn’t already, (Y/N) would move on. Maybe she’d get remarried, have another child, move across the world to be with that person. And yet his life hadn’t moved an inch since their split. He hadn’t dated or even shown an interest in doing so and he truly didn’t believe he would. (Y/N) was the only woman he’d loved ever and even when the two were still together he’d always told her that would never change. All he wanted was for things to be the way they were before. He needed her back in his life and he’d tried in the past to show that to her. He called to ask how she was doing but she always steered the conversation back to the kids. He would offer her gifts, but she refused every single one or gave it to their babies. Simple conversation wasn’t something he could make with her anymore and it killed him. Now it would seem even his best friend was closer to her than he was. She was and always would be the love of his life, but one thing was obvious. She was over him now. ~~~~~ (Y/N) opened her eyes slowly. Glancing over at the clock she cursed her sleep schedule for waking her so early. Turning over she was met with an empty bed. A space a husband hadn’t filled in years but one her babies found themselves in most mornings. She really tried to get them to sleep in their own beds but by morning one or both of them wound up starfishing it on the mattress, leaving their mother to cling to the edge. But the weekends were like this…lonely…empty. She couldn’t find it in her to feel too sorry for herself. Aizawa, she figured, felt like this five days of the week compared to her two. At the very least she could say he had his students to distract him on those days. The weekends were too quiet. Everything that needed to be done for the next week was always already completed. Often times she couldn’t help but think how much more busy her life would have been if she had taken the job offer at Shiketsu, instead of the average middle school she worked at now. It had been a job with better pay, better benefits, and more prestige but it had been too far west for them to make it work. Being so far away Aizawa would never have been able to see Maka and Keshi. Maybe once a month, if they were lucky every OTHER weekend. But she could never do that to them…to any of them. He might have been a crappy husband, but he’d always been a great father, and (Y/N) would have never made it hard for him to see his kids. Finally hauling herself out of bed and into her wheelchair, the woman went into the bathroom to prepare for her day. Smiling to herself she scrolled through YouTube to play her baby’s favourite song while she got ready. “Baby shark dododododododo Baby shark!” Running the brush through her tangles, (Y/N) laughed to herself imagining Maka singing the song in his usual off tune voice. Her joyous moment was cut short by a bing on her phone. Putting the brush down she grabbed her cell and opened the message from her friend Yamada. She’d known him since they were all in school together and was glad her divorce never made it so that she couldn’t still be his friend. ‘Let’s grab dinner tonight!’ ‘Sure but let’s make sure it’s a place that serves alcohol. I need a drink!’ ‘Same! I’ll pick you up at 7:00!’ ‘…Remember when we used to head out at 11?’ ‘We’re getting old…’ ‘Speak for yourself! See you then.’ (Y/N) felt relief for having something to do. Her phone suddenly went off again, catching her attention once more. ‘And (Y/N)…leave the ring at home. You’ll never meet someone with it on.’ Sighing heavily, she didn’t even bother to answer. She knew her friend thought it was a security blanket but honestly it was just her first line of defense. She wasn’t interested in romance or being flirted with. Putting her old wedding ring on when she went out drinking helped deter even just a few people from approaching her. It had nothing to do with her ex-husband. When he left he didn’t take much with him, didn’t even ask for the ring back. She’d tried returning it in the past but he insisted he didn’t want it and it was hers now, to pawn or give to the kids when they were older. It mostly spent its time in her junk drawer with several other gifts he’d tried thrusting upon her within the past few years. Jewelry, concert tickets, gift cards, fine clothes, things she couldn’t give away to her kids sat collecting dust in there. For a while it had been a constant thing, confusing her to no end. Aizawa was someone she barely understood when times were good between them. So, when they went bad…boy did they go bad. Only recently had he stopped trying to give her things or prod Yamada for info on her, that he would run to tell her about. In some ways she was happy. The divorce had been hard and that had only made it harder. Maybe she was also happy for him, he’d clearly not been happy in the marriage. Even after it was over, his actions trying to get her attention made her think he still wasn’t. But now that it finally stopped she figured maybe he finally was happy. Maybe he was finally moving on. Which meant…she’d have to as well. Rolling into the living room, she was snapped out of her thoughts when her wheelchair went over a bump. Looking down her eyes widened. Leaning down she swiped the object off the floor before rushing to dial her ex on the phone. It rang for a bit before going off to voicemail. “Dammit. Aizawa, Keshi forgot her extra EpiPen here at my house. I know you’re really careful with her but I’m gonna take it to you in case of emergencies. I’ll be there soon!” All thoughts of her tragic love life or drinking tonight went out the window as the frantic mother grabbed her things before heading out to her car. ~~~~~ “Oh come on it’s not like I’m some kind of stalker! I’m here on official business!” “Why do I find that hard to believe?” Aizawa said to Emi as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Daddy who’s that at the door?” Maka said grinding his tiny fist into his eyes, mirroring his father. The green haired woman blinked at the child a few times before squealing in delight. “No way, is this your baby!?” Ms. Joke exclaimed crouching down to pinch at his chubby cheeks, much to Maka’s disapproval. “I know you mentioned you had been married and had some kiddos, but I never knew they were such little cuties!” “This is my son Maka and please don’t baby him like that. Maka this is daddy’s friend Ms. Emi.” Maka swatted at her hands that ruffled his bed head. Before he could control it, he began giggling. “Don’t use your quirk on my kid!” Aizawa scolded, his eyes now glowing red and hair floating around. Much to his surprise Maka didn’t stop giggling, looking more closely he saw Emi making funny faces at his youngest. Turning off his own quirk he sighed. “You look just like your dad! How old are you sweetie!?” “Two.” The boy said smiling, holding up two random nonconsecutive fingers. “How about in sixteen years we get married?!” The woman said playfully, holding her hands out to the small boys who eyed her up and down. “No, you’re too old. Besides I have two future wives waiting for me!” “Ouch, being rejected by your toddler hurt more than by you.” Ms. Joke chuckled in a half jest. “What can I say? He is my son after all. Is your sister still asleep?” Aizawa asked Maka, looking back into the bedroom. “Yup. Mama said she’d sleep through the end of the world if you let her.” Emi snorted a laugh before beaming up at Aizawa. “Like father like kids huh?” “I guess. Would you like to join us for breakfast in the common area?” Aizawa asked begrudgingly. “I’d love to!” Emi responded quickly bouncing on her toes. “We can go over the paperwork my school sent your way.” “I wake up Keshi, daddy?” “No, let her sleep in for a few more hours. What do you feel like eating this morning?” The black-haired male asked looking down at the young boy who in turn stared down at his own little sock covered feet. “I not hungry, daddy.” “Really why not? Mama said you’ve been eating a lot in the morning.” When Maka had no response, Emi giggled into her palms. “Uh oh is daddy’s cooking that bad?” “It’s not and refrain from calling me ‘daddy’ if you don’t mind.” “What if I make breakfast for you guys?! After all you are doing me a huge favour by completing this paperwork so early in the morning! How about pancakes?” “Yeah!” Maka cheered suddenly running to cling onto the bottom of Ms. Joke’s shorts. “Please daddy?” The little boy pleaded putting on his glossiest puppy eyes. “Yeah pllleease daddy?” The cheerful woman said teasingly, hoisting the young boy up onto her hip. “Ugh fine. Just don’t put any c-h-o-c-o-l-a-t-e in it because Maka gets hyper. And definitely no berries, Keshi is severely allergic. Which reminds me, Maka where is her pen?” “Mama put it in the paw patrol packpack.” “Alright, be good with Ms. Emi while I look for it okay?” “Okay daddy. Come on Memi!” Maka exclaimed pushing out of her hold and tugging on her hand to lead the way. “Memi? How cute!” Soon enough the seafoam haired woman was flipping hot pancakes on the stove catching Maka observing her carefully from the corner of her eyes. He had been informing her about his favourite shows and YouTube videos while she listened intently, nodding and humming in acknowledgement. Aizawa had still yet to join them, she figured he was having a hard time finding his daughter’s EpiPen. In the back of her mind she couldn’t help but vaguely imagine that this would be her life if she ever got the chance with Aizawa. “Here you go love.” Emi said placing a single large pancake onto the boy’s awaiting plate. Gingerly she drizzled thin lines of syrup not wanting to get the kid too hyper. She watched in amusement as he attempted slicing the pancake, poking and mushing it down with his fork. When all else failed she witnessed him lift the entire thing with his hands and bring it to his mouth to take a chomp out of it. “Woah woah here let me cut it for you!” Maka placed the pancake down before something across the room caught his eye. Emi saw his eyes light up as the little boy went running. “Mama mama!” Ms. Joke turned to the entrance only to see a worried looking woman come in on a motorized chair. She watched Maka barrel towards her before flinging himself into her lap. “Hi my baby!” The woman said, squeezing her son with her one arm. “We are going home now?” “Not yet sweetheart, Keshi just forgot her medicine at home. Eww why are your hands so sticky?” The boy’s mother asked with a chuckle. “Syrup. Memi made me pamcake.” “Memi?” (Y/N) questioned finally looking up at the attractive woman now standing only a few feet away. “Hi, I’m Emi Fukukado.” She said holding out a hand to shake only to feel like an asshole when she realized the woman was missing the proper arm to offer. She dropped the gesture right away and noticed a bright smile come onto the woman’s face. “Ahh yes the prohero Ms. Joke correct? I believe you used to work near Maka’s father? I’m (Y/N) (L/N), the mother.” Ms. Joke’s mouth formed into a soft ‘o’ shape. Aizawa had always spoken of a wife since they’d known each other. She’d also known of the pro hero Scribble, whose hero career was cut tragically short. But she’d never known they were one in the same. “She’s daddy’s friend, mama.” Maka offered with a smile. “Daddy said to call her Memi.” “Sounds kind of like mommy, huh?” (Y/N) said ruffling her boy’s hair only for Emi’s heart to sink into her stomach. “I think he’s just having trouble with my name. Aizawa and I are-” “Oh here do you mind giving this to him? It’s Keshi’s EpiPen, she’s allergic to-” “Berries! Yeah Aizawa had been looking everywhere for this! I’ll be sure to give it to him right away!” (Y/N)’s smile faltered slightly before sighing and kissing Maka on the forehead, placing him down on the ground. “Alright baby, mama has to go now.” Maka began to whine slightly. His watery eyes were hard to ignore. “I go with you!” “Don’t you want to stay with daddy?” “Yes, but wanna go with you too!” The little boy hiccupped with tears running down his chubby cheeks. “Don’t leave! I wanna be with you AND daddy!” Emi felt her heartstrings constrict tightly like a violin. Aizawa never told her anything about his ex-wife so she couldn’t pretend to know the whole story. But it was obvious the young boy was struggling with the divorce in a way he couldn’t articulate. Leaning down to lift up the black-haired child Emi smoothed her hand over his head and shushed him. He rested his head on her shoulder taking in shaking breaths, clearly trying to calm himself. Her hand rubbed circles into his back soothingly, but his breathing was still ragged. “Hey come on, I’m sure mama is really busy! Your dad has the best time when you’re here! Maybe when Keshi get’s up we can go to the park!” He was shaking his head while his wails now verged onto hysteric levels. Emi was beginning to panic and was about to place the child in his mother’s waiting embrace before he began pushing out of her arms, kicking and grabbing for his mother to pick him up. “No! Mama! Mama! Go with you and daddy!” “Emi, what did you do to Maka? Why is he crying like that?” Aizawa said suddenly appearing from his bedroom looking disheveled. His eyes found the two women and child right away, widening when he processed the image before him. Speeding walking up to them he took Maka from his colleague quickly. “(Y/N), I didn’t know you were coming. Is everything okay?” The disheveled man attempted to smooth down his crazy hair with his one free hand while patting his still sobbing son. Of course (Y/N) looked fucking gorgeous this early in the morning and he looked like a hungover swap rat. “I called but I suppose you were busy. Fukukado said you were looking for Keshi’s EpiPen, but the kids may have knocked it out of the bag. I decided to bring it over and now that Maka is calming down I’ll be going.” Aizawa looked at the child in his arms who was now drifting back to sleep. Taking a few quick steps towards his ex he attempted to reach a hand out to her shoulder and wasn’t at all surprised when she pulled back. Didn’t mean it hurt any less though. “Would you like to stay and chat? We can have breakfast or coffee.” He offered feeling the heavy tension in the room as Ms. Joke shifted her weight and averted her eyes. “Thank you for the offer but I wouldn’t want to intrude. Besides I have plans for tonight that I need to get ready for. Bye Fukukado. Aizawa.” The dark-haired male watched as the woman made her way out the building. Why the hell hadn’t he charged his phone last night? Why did he have to be busy when she came? Why did Emi have to be here? He knew that (Y/N) probably assumed she was his lover and it shouldn’t matter…but deep down he didn’t want her to think that. “Hey, I’m really sorry Eraser.” Emi whispered, finally speaking up. “Just sign the paper for me and I’ll be out of here.” Breathing out a huge sigh, Aizawa walked back to his room to lay Maka in bed next to his sister. Smoothing his black hair out of his face he turned to his colleague with a small smile. “Why don’t you stay and have breakfast with me? I wouldn’t want your cooking to go to waste.” Ms. Joke seemed surprised but nodded eagerly, following the tired man out of the room. Though the experience was much more awkward than she had anticipated. Aizawa was silently eating his breakfast and sipping a glass of juice. He wasn’t trying to make conversation and Emi figured he was too deep in thought to hold one she started. That’s when she noticed it, a small sparkle around his neck. Whatever was on the end of his necklace was carefully tucked away into his black shirt. If she looked closely enough, she could make out a circular pattern pushing through. He didn’t seem the type to wear jewelry, so she felt comfortable making the assumption she was about to voice. “I guess that’s why I still don’t have a chance with you huh?” “What?” “I mean I knew back when you were married that you were 100% loyal but even now I’ll never have a chance. And that’s because you’re still in love with your ex-wife.” “Don’t psychoanalyze my situation.” “Oh come on I’ve known you for years and I’ve never seen your eyes light up the way they did when you saw (Y/N). When you talk about your kids sure, but that’s a different kind of sparkle. Then I saw you trying to fix your appearance up for her, last time you did that was for the sake of U.A because you’d be on national television.” Reaching across the table Ms. Joke tugged on the chain around his neck that sent a wedding ring flying out of his shirt. She watched him glance down at the low swinging object not verbally confirming anything. “You wear your old wedding ring around your neck. I know I come on really strong all the time but as a friend I want to know what happened? Why did she divorce you?” Aizawa fiddled with the gold band, glancing between the woman in front of him and his plate. Having been divorced for what would soon be 3 years, he hadn’t had to tell this story in a long time. And even then, only so many people knew the details. “I was the one who asked for the divorce.” He noticed Emi raise her eyebrows in shock, but she gave no response and waited for him to continue. “It’s a really long-winded story but to put it shortly, I made a decision for her and she didn’t agree with it and we just couldn’t be together after.” “I’m going to need more than that. Does…does it have anything to do with the incident that made her retire? I mean the press talked about it like a tragic decision she had to make for her family’s sake. She was only 23 and to be retired that shortly after debuting...” “She was gonna be big. Her name would have been up there with some of the greatest. I was so sure of it. Her rank was moving fast, her quirk was amazing. Hell, even after having Keshi so young, she was back out there… It wasn’t my decision to make, I know that, but I did.” “Sho, calm down love. You already upset Keshi with all that screaming outside.” (Y/N) said swinging her legs from the high examination table as they waited for the doctor. “You were at an elementary school for god’s sakes. It was supposed to be simple and easy, you just broke that arm and to rebreak it? Where the hell was Mic?” “Babe he was right there giving the presentation with me, you already interrogated him in the waiting room. A seven-year-old lost control of their quirk for a split second. I’m fine, it hurts like a bitch but I’m okay. Come here.” Aizawa shuffled over to his wife and allowed her to pull his head to her chest as she stroked his hair. He could feel her laying soft kisses on the top of his head. His eyes snapped open when he felt her tracing a pattern on his back. He knew she was drawing on the back of his shirt but didn’t pull away. “Love don’t move that arm.” “Come on, it’s already all cast up.” A loud meow filled the room and with a sudden kick off from his back Aizawa turned to see a plump chalk outlined cat sitting on the ground licking itself. He reached down to pick it up and touched its fur, if he didn’t look at it he would think he was holding the actual animal. “Mr. and Mrs. Aizawa?” A sudden voice echoes into the room. (Y/N) took her opposite uninjured hand and swiped it over the cat, erasing it from her husband’s arms. “Took you long enough. How is my wife’s arm? Will it have permanent damage because she had already broken it recently? Why did you have to run so many tests?” “To have the same bone broken twice, we were admittedly worried. Well we ran some scans of your body we noticed two separate things that need to be addressed. One possibly good and the other potentially very bad.” (Y/N) and Aizawa looked at each other with a slight bit of worry. “I guess we’ll hear the bad first.” Both watched as the doctor placed images on the lit board in the room. He pointed at a dozen or more milky dots littering her humerus. The big words he was using were flying over (Y/N)’s head while Aizawa seemed to be clinging to his every one of them. Finally, a certain word stuck out. “Wait, tumor?” “Tumors. All of these dots in the scan, we are unsure if they are benign or malignant at this point.” “Malignant? What you mean like cancer? You think I have bone cancer?” Her voice asked timidly only for her husband to grab her good hand and give it a slight squeeze. “We don't want to say that just yet but on first glance it doesn't look good. Have you been experiencing unexplained pain in that arm?” “No I-“ “Well wait yes she was complaining about a dull ache for almost half a year now.” Aizawa interrupted suddenly. (Y/N) shot him a look but he paid her no mind. “But I use my arm a lot in hero work so I'm sure it's just soreness!” “And your friend Mr. Hizashi informed us that the child merely bumped you when your arm broke? Such little force to cause a break is-” “Well he was kind of far! I don't think he saw properly! That kid had a strength quirk, so he could have put a lot of force-” “(Y/N) it's okay.” Her husband said grabbing her face gently and pressing his forehead to hers. When she’d finally calmed down he pulled away and looked at the doctor. “Okay so let's assume the worst. If it is bone cancer how do we...what do we do next? How do we treat that?” “Normally in the case of a single malignant tumour we can perform an extraction in the target area only. However, in this case, there are nearly a dozen tumours in her humerus. It would likely be advised to perform a full amputation of the limb.” “No! No no no I can't let you do that! My quirk is activated with this arm! Look see my chalk tips?! Without this arm I have no quirk!” “Yes, we've been made aware. In any other case we would suggest chemotherapy or radiation. That wouldn't be the best treatment but it would be another option.” “Then we'll do that!” “Here is where a problem may lie. The other thing our test showed was that you are currently pregnant.” The room went silent. The hands that had been clasping each other slightly went slack. Clearing her throat, (Y/N) had to restate what she just heard to be sure it was actually what was said. “Me? I'm pregnant? We're having another baby?” “Yes. Now it would seem you are very early in your pregnancy. That doesn't mix well with the other options.” “You mean it could hurt the baby?” “It's possible. Chemo is a risk to the fetus in the first trimester. Radiation is a risk up until delivery. If you choose to carry to term, amputation would be your best option.” “Well we aren't aborting, right?” Aizawa asked, looking to his wife for approval and saw her nod in agreement. “So, we only have one option.” “Amputation.” “No treatment.” Both spouses looked at the other as if they’d gone absolutely insane. “What do you mean 'no treatment'? That wasn’t an option.” Aizawa was the first to speak up. “Well I'm making it one. If we choose not to treat what would happen?” “Well you'd have the same symptoms as now, pain brittle bones but eventually if we fear the worst the cancer could metastasize. If that happens it will be much harder to get rid of.” “What are the chances of it metastasizing within 9 months?” “With how many tumours and depending on how bad it is the chances are not in your favour.” “Okay so here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna hold off for a few months until it's safe to start chemo, then we do that. Once I have the baby we can do radiation. But I'm not risking my baby or my hero career.” “So, you’ll risk your life?” Aizawa asked finally letting go of her hand entirely. “I will be fine for a few months. Everything will be okay love. I promise.” “But it wasn’t, I’m assuming?” Ms. Joke asked interrupting Aizawa’s thousand-yard stare. “She’d always been so stubborn. Who the hell even fights crime while pregnant? She took on jobs up until Keshi was born and intended to do so with Maka. I kept telling her to stop, especially with her conditions. She always wanted to save everyone but what about herself? So, I get a call one day that she’d been hurt by a villain, really badly, blood everywhere.” Aizawa took in a few shallow breaths. He could still remember the frantic call from Midnight. He was still hearing (Y/N)’s screams of agony, the very same arm completely shattered from fingertip to shoulder. Her x-rays were like nothing he’d ever seen, her bones had been splintered into something that he would no longer call bones. Mic had been holding Keshi, looking just as nervous. When (Y/N) had lost consciousness from the pain her decision now became his. “The doctors told me they could reset everything back in place. That it wouldn’t be easy but it was possible. Yet in the back of my mind not a day had gone by since she’d gotten the news, that I didn’t wish she’d chosen to not take any risks. So, as her medical proxy, I approved the amputation.” Emi gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. She knew it was a hard decision and she would never sit there and judge him. But she couldn’t imagine waking up suddenly quirkless, having someone take the decision away from you. To know that everything you worked for suddenly came to a dead halt. “She didn’t even need to be told it was me. When she woke up and found out what happened she cried. I mean she sobbed, we couldn’t even bring Keshi in there because we knew it would upset her. When she finally calmed down and she told she’d never forgive me.” “So how were you the one who ended up asking for a divorce?” “I stayed by her side for a few months. But I would always catch these looks she’d give me when she thought I wasn’t looking. Looks as if she hated me, as if she was struggling to even be around me. Things weren’t the same after that, she wasn’t affectionate, and we didn’t talk like we used to. I didn’t want to keep her in a marriage she wasn’t happy in, so I filed for divorce a few months before Maka was born.” “Hmm don’t take offense to this but that’s kind of a dick move.” Aizawa’s head snapped up, not expecting to hear something like that from Ms. Joke. She noticed the look on his face and held her hands up in defense. “Don’t get me wrong, I know it must have been difficult in a way I could never imagine but I can’t help to think of her side you know? I mean in less than a year you find out you have cancer, lose your quirk and your job, then lose your husband all while being pregnant with his child. You gave her a few months to process something that probably would have taken ten times longer.” “I didn’t want her to be upset.” “Or did you not want her to be upset with you? I know it was hard on you, to think that your wife hates you. Now imagine that feeling times two because I bet that’s what she was going through. To me it sounds like you hated that your wife didn’t idolize you anymore. You hated that you gave her a reason to rightfully be upset with you…so you left.” “Yeah well who asked you?” Aizawa mumbled looking into his cup. “No one but if you did ask me, I would tell you that I think she still loves you too. I think if given the chance she would take you back.” “Huh well as usual, you’re wrong.” “Hmm why do you say that?” “I’ve given her chances to take me back. Chances to even just talk to me but she shoots down every single one. If anything, giving these ‘chances’ have only made things worse. Maybe a year ago when I was living at my old apartment, while the kids were sleeping…we spent a night together. I hadn’t been with her or anybody since we split, and I thought I finally had her back. But when I woke up she’d already left. We’d been MARRIED and she treated me like a one-night stand.” Emi could hear how hard it was for him to talk about this, how uncomfortable he was. She didn’t pry yet he continued on. “I tried talking to her about it and I realized that she could separate sex and love as two different things. I couldn’t and didn’t want it to happen again. Really it just severed us even more.” “Hmm this is a tricky situation. I’m 99% sure she’s still in love with you. She looked super jealous when she saw me in here with Maka.” “Of course, but that’s because you were holding her baby, it had nothing to do with me.” “I don’t think so. This wasn’t motherly instinct anger, this was ‘back off my man’ anger. Hmm well this is gonna sound stupid, but did you ever tell her you were sorry for what happened.” “I’m sorry for the consequences but I’m not sorry for the decision I made.” “Did you ever tell her you were sorry for how you made her feel?” The silence between the two was enough of an answer. Emi sighed but smiled at her friend. “Even if it’s years late…say you’re sorry. Tell her you’re in love with her and never stopped being. Tell her how much you want her back and pray it all works out.” Aizawa looked deeply into the woman’s eyes before letting out a short sigh and averting his eyes back onto his plate. “And if she does turn you down…well I’m always available for a date. I’m good with kids and cats!” This got a surprisingly genuine laugh from the man, startlingly Ms. Joke more than anything had that morning. “I know you are, Emi.” ~~~~~ “It’s not fair Yamada! She was so hot!” (Y/N) whined like a teenager as she took another gulp of her drink. “You’ve been hung up on Ms. Joke for the past 4 hours. Do you want to date her or be her?” “Yes!” The two giggled stupidly as (Y/N) appreciated the loud noises of the bar they were in. She was more grateful than ever that Yamada was able to meet tonight and get her mind off things. “Besides why does it bother you so much?” “Because my ex is moving on to bigger and better things. Career wise and in his love life. Yet here I am still stuck in my same old routine. My life has only gone downhill since the split.” “I told you, you shouldn’t have let the divorce go through. You should have taken those divorce papers and ripped them right in front of his face.” “Then Aizawa would have stayed miserable married to me.” “Fuck him!” “Ugh god I wish. I would take another session with him in a heartbeat. How does he manage to look even better than when we were in high school? While I got this mom body to deal with.” “Shut up, you’re still hot.” “You only say that cause you haven’t seen the real story! Clothes can hide a lot!” “Can’t hide everything. (Y/N), you’re a milf if I’ve ever seen one!” (Y/N) choked on her drink before busting out laughing. “Dude shut the hell up, you have to say that because you’re my friend!” “What? I’m just letting you know if you weren’t my best friend’s ex-wife, you’d be my current wife! Look don’t take my word for it. Hey c’mere!” The loud blonde called out to some random guy walking by. “Yamada stop!” (Y/N) urged all while stifling a giggle. After enough arm flailing, the stranger made his way over to the couple of tipsy friends. “If given the opportunity would you or would you not take my friend to the nearest hotel and have kinky sex with her all night?” “Yamada!” “Hell yeah, if she’s offering!” “See I told you, you still got it.” Yamada said with a cocky smirk before his face faltered as a strong set of hands began messaging his shoulders. “What about you, beautiful? You can join us too. Make it a really fun night.” (Y/N) let out a hysterical giggle as the man blew air onto her friend’s ear and he instantly recoiled with a girlish scream. “Sorry I don’t have enough alcohol in my system for that!” “Well how much more do you think it will take?” The stranger said reaching into his wallet. “A few drops short of alcohol poisoning! Come on (Y/N), let’s go!” (Y/N) continued to laugh as she wheeled out after her bolting friend. Once they were a few feet away from the bar, the blonde man turned to his friend with a pout. “It’s not funny!” “You should have gone for him he wasn’t bad.” “Yeah well my standards go a little higher than ‘not bad’. Besides that man wanted to ravish me, take away my innocence!” “Your innocence!? Bitch please, if you’re innocent then I’m a virgin!” “Rude! You make me seem like a cheap slut.” Her friend pouted slightly. “Aww no come on. You’re an expensive slut! All someone has to do is mention how much they love your radio show and boom you’re waking up in a stranger’s bed.” Hizashi did chuckle a bit at the truth behind that statement. He’d gone out with (Y/N) enough times for her to see his patterns of casual flings. Which in mentioning only made him curious. “I do tend to get pretty sidetracked when we go out like this. What happens to you? Do you ever find anyone that catches your interest?” (Y/N) slowly stopped laughing and began wheeling towards the park across the street. Not leaving her friend hanging she just sort of shrugged her shoulders. “Not really.” “So…have you BEEN WITH anyone since you got divorced? Besides of course that time you used Aizawa.” The blonde threw his hands up in defense when he saw the woman shoot him an icy glare. “I didn’t use him okay. He wanted it just as much as I did, he just had to go and make things weird after. And to answer your question…yes I have been with other people.” “Oh yeah? How many?” “Like one practically every weekend the kids are with their father.” “Shiiiiit and you’re calling me the slut? How come I’ve never gotten a turn?” “Because Aizawa would string you up to the tallest tower in Japan.” “Wait so you score a new body each week and you still think you’re not attractive? Biiitch you were just fishing for compliments at this point.” “Yeah well if I’m so hot how come Aizawa didn’t want me?” Hizashi stopped walking and watched his friend carry on. Very rarely did she speak about her feelings on the divorce in this manner. No matter how drunk he got her, her confessions were always full of comical anger or humorous self-deprecation. She never said anything so serious. “Didn’t want you? You’re joking right? You know that man has been pining for you since highschool and kicked it into overdrive the past three years. I’ve told you all this before. I know you don’t like to mention it but you can talk to me about this you know? It’s been a long time…don’t you think it’s time to talk about it with someone?” “Whatever, people pinning over others don’t divorce their pregnant wives. They don’t break apart their families. They don’t make life changing decisions for the other knowing damn well its not what they want. They don’t ruin everything you ever worked for! I worked hard to have a nice family and be this great hero and he took it all away from me.” (Y/N) stopped her wheelchair and wiped at her damp eyes. “He took everything from me, and he never even apologized for it.” “Would you have forgiven him even if he did?” Hizashi said kicked at the rock on the sidewalk. “Because from what I remember, you told him the opposite. But I don’t think your deal is forgiving him, it’s about forgiving yourself.” “What the hell do I have to forgive myself for?” “For almost hurting your family more than he did.” Hizashi sighed before plopping on the park bench. “You’ve always been a proud girl and if I had half your power or charisma, I would have been the same. It made you a great hero, but it also made you a pain in the ass. (Y/N), there was no perfect ending to your situation. Aizawa knew that no matter what someone was going to lose something.” “Yeah well why did it have to be me who lost everything? And why did he get to decide that?” “Because you didn’t lose everything and he’s the reason you didn’t. Remember when you came into that hospital completely broken, they told you Maka was in distress. There was so much going on and another incident like that… Aizawa made the choice for him to lose you so that he could keep Maka and so Maka could keep you. You both could have died or just Maka or just you. His reason for leaving you was selfish but not his reason for choosing what he did.” (Y/N) continued to let the hot tears stream down her face as she took in her friend’s words. “I know you were hurt. I know he made a mistake not talking it over with you more. And he made an even bigger one by being a coward and running instead of sticking with you. But (Y/N) you got to let him make mistakes because he let you make yours.” “What good does any of that do me now? It’s been years and the things I’ve said to him…the way I treated him. He’d never wait so long just off hope alone.” “I don’t think that man could give up on you if he tried. Talk to him and if things don’t go the way you want, I would make an excellent step-dad!” “Stupid!” ~~~~~ “Mama’s gonna be maaaaad!” Maka sing-songed as his father’s heart pounded hard. “Yeah mad at daddy!” Keshi mocked shaking her head to feel her newly shortened hair sway back and forth. “You know better than to fall asleep with gum in your mouth.” Aizawa said fruitlessly attempting to smooth down her tangled bob. “How the hel-heck is your hair still a mess even this short?” “Well like father like daughter no?” The familiar voice came from the doorway. “Mama!” Keshi and Maka called out in unison as they ran over to the smiling woman. She ran her hand through the young girl’s short hair. “I’m sorry (Y/N). One of my students gave her bubblegum and she napped with it and it ended up in her hair and-” “I think it’s lovely. Very cute and accentuates those beautiful sleepy eyes of yours.” Aizawa couldn’t help but blush. He knew she was referring to their daughter but everyone had always said he and Keshi shared the same tired eyes. “We are very sorry ma’am!” A blonde boy said looking just a bit nervous. “We gave her some gum without asking.” (Y/N) was surprised by the small gaggle of apologetic boys standing behind her family and smiled. Knowing Aizawa, he had probably forced them to come and apologize to her. The thought made her giggle slightly. “But you’re right! She does look really cute with that haircut!” Kaminari offered rubbing his palm across the girl’s head, static electricity making it fluff up. The girl’s cheeks puffed in anger as she pulled away from him. “She’s too young for you, go away.” Aizawa said his hair slowly floating. “W-what!? That’s not what I meant!” “Hey be careful this guy’ll fall for anyone whose nice to him.” Kirishima said slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Well then I will have to be mean to him!” Keshi mumbled running to bury her pink face in her father’s leg. “Besides I like Shiso bestest. He reminds me of daddy!” “It’s Shinsou. Shiso is a type of plant.” “The kid from the Sports Festival?” (Y/N) asked Aizawa who nodded quickly. “The resemblance is uncanny. When I saw him on T.V I was sure I was looking at an old high school photo of yours. I almost thought maybe you had a secret love child you never told me about.” The woman teased. Todoroki’s eyes widened and his lips parted to speak before Midoriya gently placed a hand in front of his mouth. “We should probably get going now so you can get situated.” Iida spoke up, ushering his classmates out the door. “Mama you aren’t mad at daddy, are you?” Maka asked sweetly. “Of course not baby, hair grows back.” “Then he can come live with us and you two can get married?” The young boy asked hopefully, making Aizawa’s hair stand up on the back of his neck. Leave it to a toddler to have the attention span of a ferret when you need him to remember something and then to spill every detail to your ex-wife that you figured he would have forgotten. “Go on daddy, tell mama that you miss her!” His daughter urged pulling his fingers towards his wife and son. “Keshi, that’s enough. Go take Maka and both of you go potty before you get in the car.” Both kids seemed to be visibly disappointed that nothing seemed to change but did as their father told them. (Y/N) watched as their little bodies turned the corner and against her better judgment looked up at Aizawa. “(Y/N) I didn’t put them up to that or anything. I would never use our kids to guilt you and I ju-” “I know, Sho.” She hadn’t called him that nickname in years. He missed it even though he’d told her how much he hated it when they were together. “And when you came over and saw Ms. Joke. She and I aren’t dat-” “It’s really none of my business.” “Well it is because you need to know who’s around our babies. I’m not dating anyone, she’s just a colleague.” “I see…I’m not dating anyone either. Not even Yamada, he told me you were worried about that. I would never do that to you, you know…date your best friend.” “You’ve never even thought about it?” “You got me there. I can’t lie. He’s attractive and attentive and great with our kids but when I look at him all I see is you. If I wanted him, I would’ve chosen him back in highschool.” Aizawa was staring at the woman in awe. She was speaking with him like a normal person. There was no ill intended sarcasm or strained disinterest. He didn’t know why it was happening but he figured it didn’t matter either way. Getting onto his knees so he would be level with her eyes, Aizawa placed his hand on her knee. The young woman looked taken aback but didn’t move away or push him off. “(Y/N), I can sit here and blame you for never getting to do this. To imply that you never gave me the chance to say it would be wrong because I had three years to tell you and it shouldn’t have taken me this long to make it happen. I am so sorry for what I did to you. You needed me and I left you. I saw everything you were losing, and I didn’t stop and think that I shouldn’t let you lose me too.” The woman almost looked like she wanted to cry before scoffing and turning her head. “Idiot. None of us lost anything important. I lost a job but I found another. I lost a quirk but I found it again through Maka. Our children are both alive and happy. If anything all we lost was us…our marriage.” “This was the only way I was willing to lose you and I knew I would. I wasn’t going to let you die. I could stand to lose you as a wife but I couldn’t stand for the kids to lose their mother.” “I know. If you had a chance to go back and do things over would you have changed any of it?” “Any of it? Yeah, I would. After I made the decision, I never would have left you. You needed time and I didn’t give it to you. I’d have given you the world. But if you’re asking if my decision would have been different…no. I could live my life a thousand times and I would always choose to make that call.” “I see…” “I guess that’s not exactly what you wanted to hear.” “Well-” “We’re ready momma! Let’s go get food!” Maka said barreling into his mom’s lap. “What? Food? You little piggies are always eating! But I suppose we can grab something to eat before we head home.” “Yay! We say bye to daddy now?” Maka asked looking just a little sad. (Y/N) looked into those bright round eyes and pressed her lips to the child’s forehead before smiling brightly. “Why don’t you ask daddy if he would like to have dinner with us?” Aizawa’s head snapped up in disbelief. “Yes daddy please come eat with us!!!” His kids said now crowding around him. Looking up (Y/N) was smiling at the image of her children and their father together. “Wahhh! Daddy why are you crying now?” Keshi called him out immediately, only for the man to laugh and wipe at his eyes. “I would love to come have dinner with you guys.” “And then you come live with us? Or we live here with you!” Maka exclaimed excitedly. “One step at a time, kid.” “Come on daddy! I will race you and Maka to the car!” Keshi called out already making a bolt for the car with Maka trailing behind her. “Hurry up or you’ll lose.” “No, I don’t think I will.”

[mmvalentine]

Circus of Dreams, pt 1 | Feysand

Night Circus AU. Part 2 is now up! New to ao3.

Feyre was not usually one for a spectacle, but when Elain had dragged them to the carnival, she couldn't say no. Could never say no, not to her sisters, not after their mother had died and the family was holding on by a thread.

So here they were, the three of them, in the town square that had been taken up by various tents and carriages. Feyre had to admit, this was not the dirty, shambling side show that periodically appeared in town. Actually, the tents were beautiful, draped with black and white fabrics much richer than anything that hung in their own house. The banner high above them, reading Circus of Dreams, was painted in delicate, curling calligraphy. Tiny lamps dotted the perimeter, giving the area a warm glow despite the grey skies that stretched overhead. And all around them, instead of the blaring, gaudy music she had come to expect, something strange and lilting played on the breeze. All in all, she was surprisingly glad she had come.

The sisters wandered through the grounds, stopping to smell carts of hot sugar almonds, toffee apples, and cinnamon pretzels. The vendors wore sharply-cut pinstriped vests, and patent leather shoes. They spoke softly, and smiled warmly, and handed out samples to children who clearly couldn't pay. One vendor tried to extend one to Nesta, a small bird made of spun sugar on a stick. Feyre thought it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. But Nesta, proud as anything, lifted her nose and shot a look of pure ice at the man. He bowed graciously, and put the little bird away.

Feyre looked down at her own attire. It was clean and tidy. But her bodice was frayed slightly at the seams, and the fashion was certainly not current. There was a small hole in the finger of her glove. They were poor, and try as they might, they probably looked it. It didn't seem to make a scrap of difference to the way Nesta behaved.

When they reached a tall, thin tent with a small sign, Elain squealed and grabbed Nesta's hand. "Fortune teller," Nesta read out loud. She rolled her eyes, but allowed Elain to drag her inside. Feyre met Elain's eyes and waved, indicating she would not be joining them.

"I'll meet you later," she called, and they did not respond as they disappeared through the curtains.

Feyre moved on, reaching out to touch the rich brocades around her. She marvelled that, for a carnival ground, it was so quiet. Faint laughter and music trilled through the air, but the sense of peace here made it seem like a small world unto itself, within the chaos of the town.

From her left, there suddenly came a gentle swell of sound. It was the collective ooooh of an audience, and it was issuing from a plain black tent a few yards down. Feyre looked toward it, and found herself drawn in its direction. The tent itself seemed unremarkable, with black satin walls, and none of the patterns or mixed textures of the others. And yet this made it all the more compelling.

Feyre reached out and touched the curtain with her fingers, and warm air seemed to exhale from the opening. Before she realised what she was doing, Feyre found herself walking in, and perching on the end of a back row bench.

In front of her, there were four more rows of seating, with people crammed in and not a space between them. And before them all, stood the magician.

Tall, dark-haired, and inhumanly handsome. The man wore a beautiful black tail coat, a very fine top hat, and crisp, white gloves. He held his arms out before him, and cupped in his hands was the head of a very large, white rose. The man had his gaze fixed on the flower, and a frown of concentration furrowed his brow. The audience leaned forward, in silent, rapt attention. Feyre didn't know what was supposed to happen, but she too, found herself leaning in.

The first gasp came from someone nearer the front. Feyre didn't understand what had happened at first, but then she saw it.

A single, perfect white petal was rising from the magician's hands, up and away from the rose.

Feyre leaned further forward, trying to see how he was doing it. Then another petal lifted and floated upward, then another, and another. Slowly, the flower came apart in his hands, until all that was left was the little bud in his palm, and the air was filled with fragrant rose petals. The audience stared about themselves, enraptured. Finally, the magician's face relaxed, and a beatific smile spread across his angular face.

The petals spread further and further out, until Feyre was able to reach out and pluck one from the air. She pulled her gloves off and laid them in her lap, so she could feel it with her bare fingers. It was real.

Then the magician dropped his arms and beamed at them, and the spell was broken. The crowd clapped enthusiastically, and the magician took a deep bow. When he straightened, his arms were suddenly full of white doves, which he let go immediately so they could fly away and out of the tent. The audience cheered loudly, standing to their feet, and the magician bowed again.

Feyre was on her feet too, clapping so hard her hands began to hurt. This was not like any magic show she had ever seen. None of the cheap card tricks, or tacky showmanship. She couldn't pull her eyes away.

The magician waved them down, and waited until the audience was seated.

"Now," he said. His voice was black velvet. He flashed a smile at them, and it made Feyre's heart jump. "I need a volunteer."

Every hand in the tent went up. A plump lady in the second row waved a handkerchief to try and get his attention. Feyre in the back row didn't bother to compete. She was quite content to watch.

A sly grin stole over the magician's features. He clasped his hands behind his back and began to walk slowly down the centre aisle, looking back and forth over the sea of outstretched fingers. Finally, he stopped. Right next to Feyre.

Feyre turned her eyes up to him. He was so tall up close, and broader than she had first thought him. He smiled gently at her.

"How about you, lady?" He extended a hand to her.

Feyre blinked in surprise and looked around. Every audience member was turned in their seat toward her, and the woman with the handkerchief was scowling angrily at her. In the seat in front of hers, a kind looking old man nodded his encouragement. Feyre looked back toward the magician, and took his hand. His smile broadened and lit his eyes.

"Wonderful," he said, tucking her arm into his. The audience clapped as he led her down to the stage.

When they were standing still, and all eyes were on them, Rhys leaned in and spoke very quietly to her. This close, she realised his eyes were an alarming shade of violet.

"What is your name, madam?" he asked, low enough that only she and maybe the front row could hear.

"Feyre Archeron," she told him. He gave her another breathtaking smile. "Thank you for assisting me, Ms Archeron. My name is Rhysand." He didn't give a surname.

Rhysand turned to the audience and introduced her at a normal volume.

"Ladies and gentlemen: Ms Feyre Archeron."

The magician stepped behind Feyre, leaving her alone with the audience for a moment. Then his midnight voice murmured in her ear.

"Would it be alright if I put my hands on your shoulders, Ms Archeron?"

Feyre's throat had constricted at the brush of his breath, and so she simply nodded her consent. A second later, she felt him, warm through his gloves. His hands were so large, his palms hit the the top of her shoulder blades, and his fingers rested below her collar bones. He didn't apply any pressure, but the weight of his hands was more than she was expecting.

Feyre felt Rhysand take a deep breath behind her, and waited.

For a while, nothing seemed to happen. She noticed the tent seemed to be getting darker, and wondered what time it was. Shadows stretched in the corners of the space, and it became harder to see the audience.

Then she realised it was getting darker more quickly. A few cries of fright came from the people in front of her, and before she knew it, she couldn't see her own hand stretched in front of her face. Murmurs from the crowd grew louder, until the magician's voice rang strong and steady through the darkness.

"My deepest apologies, kind guests. Perhaps you will prefer the opposite effect."

A soft glow came from somewhere around Feyre, and she relaxed a little. She looked around for where it was coming from, Rhysand's hands still on her shoulders preventing her from turning all the way around. And then, as the movement of the light caught her eyes, she realised. It was coming from her.

Feyre lifted her hands in front of her, and stared. The audience too, collectively gasped and sighed at the wonder. Warm, yellow light now lived under her skin. Feyre held her arms out and turned them this way and that, beholding the surreal vision. The crowd applauded delightedly.

"Thank you, my dear," Rhysand murmured, and the glow began to fade at the same time as the shadows leached from the tent. With a nod from the magician, Feyre headed back to her seat in the back row.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the magician addressed them again. "I would like to thank you all for attending my little theatre show. I would very much encourage you to visit all of our tents while we are here, for my colleagues are more than eager to entertain. Until we see each other again." He lifted his top hat to place it on his chest, and out from under it, tiny sparks flew though the space and hung in the air like low hanging stars. The audience stood with another collective 'ooooh' sound,' and tried to touch the little pricks of light. They dazzled bright and then faded away, and when Feyre looked back toward the stage, Rhysand was gone.

Feyre walked out of the tent, the last to leave after the audience had trickled out. She stood reluctantly, not wanting to leave the enchanted space. Feyre stared around and the sloping satin walls, and found herself wishing fervently that she didn't have to leave, that this is where she belonged and not in the leaky, freezing cottage where her father lived. Feyre sighed, and walked outside.

The glare seemed suddenly harsh now, after the soft shadows of the magician's tent. Feyre wandered round in a daze, looking down at her hands, now gloved again, and remembering how they had glowed.

"There you are," came a cry. Feyre turned, and saw Elain rushing toward her.

"We just had the most wonderful fortune told," her sister said. "The woman said that she knew we had lost a lot, but there would be a light in the darkness to lead our way out." Feyre glanced at her hands. Elain carried on speaking, while leading Feyre down the path.

"And then we found that." Elain's eyes sparkled, and she pointed to a very small notice on the side of the ticket booth. She stepped closer, and strained to read the tiny print. Reading was still difficult for her, but she managed to make out:

"Horologist wanted. Apply within."

Elain squeezed her arm.

"It's what we've been waiting for!" she squealed. "Look around, I'm sure they'll pay handsomely."

Nesta rolled her eyes, her arms crossed. "Elain, you realise it's not just lack of available work that has prevented father from getting off his frail behind." She met Feyre's eyes. "I've been trying to talk her down, but she won't listen to me after the fortune teller." Nesta turned back to Elain. "This is not the answer to our problems. Even if father did pick up the job, which he won't, it's one client. Hardly life changing. Feyre, tell her."

But Feyre's heart was pounding in her chest. Nesta was right about one thing, the old clockmaker hadn't accepted work since their mother died. Had barely lifted a finger. But Nesta was also forgetting.

Their father wasn't the only one in the family who knew how to fix a clock.

****

Holy lord that was a long one I’m so sorry.

New AU! Y'all I am honestly so nervous about this story, it's so different from Lockdown Lovers, which people seemed to connect with really well. I loved that cute, silly world and diving into a new one is so scary for me. Anyway I am hoping to create something a little bit magical for you guys, please let me know what you think and if you're into it.

[rjhpandapaws]

Hey Panda! Congratulations on hitting the new milestone! Dunno if it’s still time to ask for a prompt, but if it is, I would love to see you write Simarkus first argument with a fluffy ending, please! Thanks and have a nice day! ^^

//Another first fight. This will be fun!! // @sheyshocked I didn’t mean to publish this blank! //Best read while listening to Battle Cries by the Amazing Devil

It was a long time coming he supposed looking back, that he and Simon would fight. They had fallen together in the midst of a revolution that neither one believed they would survive, and well, when you don’t think you’re going to survive, communicating with your partner isn’t the highest of your priorities. Except they had survived, and Markus’s ability to communicate hadn’t gotten any better. This started out small, as they always did. Signs and signals that were easy to miss if you didn’t know to look for them. Simon had always been surrounded by humans and learned to mimic them, so a lot of his displeasure came across in his body language, not his words, and Markus, for all the good he had done their movement, was not the greatest at reading the room. Carl voiced his displeasure, North did the same, Josh would make an effort to solve it on his own; and Simon, for whatever reason kept it to himself. The first of it started in the odd calm after the revolution, They were in free fall, and Markus scrambled to make a list of things that they wanted met in their personhood. Then came all of the legal meetings and the press, he took Josh with him, he was better at this than the rest of them. That, and he loved red tape situations for whatever reason. He had unintentionally pulled away from Simon, and return Simon had done the same.

The thing was Markus had known none of this at the time. He hadn't known that there was something that needed fixed. Simon was just quiet and Markus had chalked it up to stress. After all of something was wrong he would have said something right? And he did, close to a year on after the revolution, things had slowed down some, but Markus hadn’t, and if he had to guess Simon was getting tired of coming in last on his list of priorities. Which looking back, had been unfair to him. Markus knew that now. “Markus?” Simon asked one evening, “If you have time could we talk?” He was polite, as he always tended to be. Now he knew it had been hesitation. “Of course. I always have time for you.” Markus said setting aside the stack of papers and turning to face Simon. He didn’t miss the ice that passed through those blue eyes. “I was thinking about taking a little time on my own.” Simon said without looking at Markus, “Away from Jericho, I feel out of place here.” Markus had to stop for a moment to process this. After everything they had accomplished, Simon just wanted to leave? “Do  you mind my asking why?” “You don’t need me here, didn’t really need me during things either if I’m honest.” He met Markus’s eyes for that one, and if the words hadn’t hurt enough on their own, the distance in his eyes would have done the job, “Everything is just you North and Josh. Now that we aren’t about to die at every turn you don’t need me anymore, so I thought -” There was static at the edge of his voice. Ever since being brought back his vocal processor tried to give out if he got too emotional, “I thought I could find a place where I was needed.”

“You are needed here, there are things we need you for.” Markus replied, “Morale, you help when there are humans or injure-” “Outside of the movement Markus. For once, can you maybe think about something else? Someone else?” Simon pleaded, “You never talk to me anymore if it isn’t about this. During the revolution you always said that after it ended, if we survived, we would get away from all of this. That we would find a place of our own. We survived Markus, I don’t know if you noticed that, and the only thing you’ve gotten away from is me.” “That isn’t true. I know I - We’ve been busy, but I haven’t forgotten you Si, just a little longer, that’s all I’m asking.” Markus pleaded, but he knew the answer even before Simon spoke. “When Markus?” He said flatly, “When you’ve solved the problems of each android ever made? When you’re done being seen as a hero? Or perhaps when all of this red tape gets cleared up? A year Markus, it has been a year and you haven’t talked to me about anything other than this damned movement!” There was a garble of static that Markus figured was supposed to be words, but Simon was too lost to say them, “A year since you told me you loved me.” Those last words hit him like a physical blow and Markus wanted to argue, but the thing was he couldn’t remember, “Simon, I’ve be-” “Been busy, I know.” Came the faintly static reply, “But that is exactly my point. Maybe we should put whatever this was meant to be on hold, until you can figure this out, because I can’t keep throwing myself at a wall Markus; not again; not even for you. I did this once already and its how I wound up in that boat to begin with, and it is certainly not how I wish to spend the rest of my life.”

Before Markus could reply he was gone. Markus stared at the doorway where he had been standing. He could remember those moments clearly. The nights and other moments when it was relatively safe and they could breathe, those times when they dared to dream about the world after the revolution. Promises that he ad every intention to keep, promises that had had gotten buried beneath paperwork and an image put on him by the rest of the world. He had, in small but certain steps forgotten about Simon. It was too late to admit that because the security system had already announced his absence, and even then, he had asked for space. Markus could give him that. They both had things to think about. Simon what he wanted out of life, and Markus about where exactly he had lost his. He hadn’t expected being alive to be so much work. North was good at handling politicians, and Josh’s dream job was apparently was to be nested in piles of paperwork. If Markus would only let him he would be doing this in his place, but apparently he was so used to being The Revolutionary now that he hadn’t been able to set it aside. For all it had gotten him, he had just lost the one thing he had been fighting for. Their right to life, to exist, to be able to feel, all so he could love without being killed, except he had pushed away the one person he had fought the world for. Losing Simon the first time had been hard, but this was worse. He knew that outside the house Simon was still well, but this time he just didn’t want to be neat him. Alive and well, but no where near him. He sighed quietly and looked back at the daunting pile of paperwork. Was this really what he wanted? Politics until his thirium pump rolled over and gave out? Is this what he wanted to make of the sacrifices made for him? He knew the answer to all of that, it was a resounding no. What he wanted was the life he had dared to dream of when hunched in an empty box car with Simon.

 He lasted until midnight, not that he had gotten anymore work done of course. No, he had simply been staring at the door trying to find where things had gone so wrong. Where along the way he had exchanged his happiness for in image. Where in all of this he had lost Simon. It was so gradual and slow going that he couldn’t find the exact moment he had lost Simon, it still felt too much like he had been there one moment and gone the next; but he knew when he started pulling away. It was around the six month mark, right when Markus’s political career took off. When the paperwork had buried him and Simon along with it. Made a wall that was somehow both feebly thin and impossible to get through. Lost in translation as they said. He made his way to the shipyard to think. It was the place he went to ground himself. He hadn’t expected to see Simon there. Standing at the dock’s edge looking out over the wreckage in the slow rain that always seemed prevalent this time of year. But there he was, looking out over the water like it somehow held the answers, and Markus could understand why. In an ironic sense, things had seemed easier then, when they hadn’t thought they were going to make it out. Carl had said things about that on many occasions, when he got fed up with his own condition. They varied from profound to concerning depending on how sober he was; but Markus’s favorite had always been that life was the most beautiful when you were under the impression that it would end before you got to live it. Markus supposed that was true. His moment of reprieve was broken by Simon himself. “If you have something to say please say it, your just standing there is creepy.” He didn’t look away from the water as he spoke, and Markus couldn’t blame him.

“I want to apologize if you’ll let me.” He replied, “I didn’t notice that I had lost you along the way Simon. I always told myself that after the next thing I would be done, each new thing that came up was meant to be the last. I didn't realize what I was doing to you and I’m sorry. I know it’s probably to little too late, and I can’t promise that this but of legislation will be the last, but I promise to let Josh handle more of it from here on out. I don’t want to lose you again.” Simon did look at him eventually, no doubt searching to see if these promises would be empty too, “That will have to be enough then won’t it. Just talk to me this time Markus, tell me what you are thinking. I can’t read your mind despite my best efforts.” He took a few steps to close to the distance, “Just don’t forget me this time.” Markus rested his forehead against Simon’s “Never again.” He promised.

(Prompt from this list)

[srose-foxfire]

“First Impressions” -Damirae Short Fic-

Part: 1 /??

It was past midnight when both Damian and his father arrived at the manor. Both father and son were away on a business trip, for almost a month. Damian was glad to be away from Gotham and faraway from his annoying adopted siblings. His older brothers and sisters would just torment him at any given time of day. Once, his two sisters gave him a full make-over while he slept, he awoke to a light pink blush on his cheeks, red crimson lips, and a light green eye shadow. He should had awoken at the smallest detection that someone had invaded his personal space but the night before his brothers offered him a cup of his favorite tea, with a heavy dosage of sleeping medicine. Never was he going to ever trust any of his siblings again.

Damian said goodnight to his father and headed down the hallway leading to his room, he was just passing the manor’s library, its doors slightly opened. At first it was nothing to Damian, till he noticed a soft light was emitting behind one of the bookshelves. Putting his bags down, he slipped through the opened doors. Staying close to the walls Damian fixed his emerald gaze towards where the glow was coming from. He noticed that the light was flickering meaning whoever was behind the bookshelf was using a candle as a light source. He could hear the faint sound of a book sliding from the shelf. It has to be a burglar, Damian thought. It was way too late for anyone to be in here, besides only three people in his family ever used the library to actually do some reading. None of his siblings would be caught dead in the library. Damian looked all over the room for any kind of signs to show where the burglar could had use to enter the premises. Nothing seemed out of place, strange that the manor’s security system hadn’t gone off. Probably this burglar was skilled and hacked the manor’s system. No worries Damian was trained in the arts of self-defense and he was a very skilled fighter. His late grandfather made sure to train him when he was a mere child.

Damian silently stepped towards the fireplace and grabbed one of the fireplace pokers. It wasn’t his katana, but any thing would have to do and use as a weapon. The young Wayne stepped silently and walked behind the bookshelf. He found his intruder crouched on the floor flipping through an open book, Damian couldn’t make out the person since they were wearing a thick black hood covering their body and face. It made no difference to him. No way in hell was Damian going to allow any of his father’s books be stolen. Some of these books were very important to Bruce for half of the library’s collection belonged to his late grandmother Martha Wayne.

Damian calculated every possible outcome before lunging towards the intruder. It was no use his target sensed him and managed to evade his attack. Damian, now on his knees thrusted the metal bar towards the hooded figure, but his opponent intercepted his blow with their hands. Making Damian stumble back, this gave the intruder a chance to get up and flee towards the doorway. Quick on his feet, the young Wayne grabbed a thick hard cover book and threw it towards the culprit’s feet, making them trip. Damian dashed forward, stood before the intruder and pointed the spear-like end of the bar towards the intruder making whoever was under the thick hood scream. Damian stopped, staying perfectly still, the voice it almost sounded like it belonged to a girl.

And the lights came on.

“What the hell is going on?!” Damian looked up to find one of his older brothers; Jason Todd at the doors of the library. He looked disorientated most likely he had just woken up.

“Todd! I found this intruder trying to steal-” Damian was cut off short due to being knocked back to the ground by his own brother. This gave Jason a chance to remove the metal bar from his hands and flung it towards the fireplace. “Jason get off of me?!” Damian looked behind his shoulder seeing that his brother was boiling with rage. He then turn his emerald gaze towards the hooded figure, to find a pair of amethyst eyes looking back at him with fear. In that moment he could have sworn his heart stopped beating.

Just then Damian could hear frantic footsteps approaching the library. It was one of his older sisters, Cassandra Wayne. She was huffing and puffing trying to catch her breath. “What’s going on? I heard a scream-” Cass was looking around the room till she ran towards the person, Damian was trying to apprehend. “Raven are you okay?!” Raven, was that the girl’s name? Cass slid the hood that covered the intruder’s face and Damian couldn’t believe his eyes. She was beautiful. The girl before him had dark purple hair that reached just above her shoulders. Her skin was a most beautiful pale grey color, it looked so soft.

“You know her?” Damian tried to question, but it was hard to speak having his face pushed into the thick carpet floor.

“She’s my friend you idiot!” Cass shouted back, as she hugged the frighten girl very tightly. “Raven are you okay, he didn’t hurt you, did he?” Cass asked as she turned Raven’s head in her hands trying to find any scratch. It was strange seeing Cass acting so motherly, even if it was a friend.

“I’m okay. Just give me a moment to collect myself.” Raven sighed as Cass helped her stand up. The dark purple hoodie she was wearing was so big on her that it cover most of her body. Damian could notice she was wearing some sort black cotton shorts just the ones his sister wore.  

“Damian Wayne, apologize right now!” Cass shouted.

“I will as soon as Todd gets off of me!” Damian grumbled, Jason finally loosened his hold on him and both brothers stood up. The young Wayne patted his trouser and restraighten his shirt before looking back to the girl he accidentally tried to apprehend. “I apologize for scaring you and almost assaulting you. I just got back from a trip and thought we had a thief in the library.”

His brother scoffed at his lame apology, crossed his arms and said, “how the hell would a thief even be in here with the state-of-the-art security system Bruce had installed in the manor, genius?”

Damian was about to answer his brother, when the pale girl; Raven stopped him. “It’s fine. It’s partially my fault as well. I shouldn’t had been in here at this hour.”

“Let’s go back to bed.” Cass said gently, patting Raven on the back leading her out of the library. Before the two girls exited, Cass turn around and her face became dark, a side Damian only ever seen once. “You! Don’t think you’re off the hook that easily, I’m telling dad about this!”

Damian wasn’t really into the idea of getting a lecture from his father nor whatever demise Cass had planned for him for treating her friend in such a manner. What was really eating Damian in the inside was the fact he royally screwed-up in front of a girl. A girl that liked to read it would seem. He never met someone so into books before, various thoughts ran through his head where they could be friends. Where they could share their favorite authors, their favorite passages, and probably watch movies depicted in the vary books they read. Well all he could do now was dream since he was certain Raven would want nothing to do with him after this fiasco.

“Way to make a good first impression dude.” Damian had forgotten his brother was still in the room with him. “You probably be the Wayne, Raven doesn’t like.”