#NO WONDER BUBBLE DOES NOT GET ANY NEW FOLLOWERS. YOU GOT RID OF YOUR BEST FEATURES AND PROMO STUNTS.

[sovamurka]

Bubble Comics weekly trailers, you will forever be missed...

[heliads]

Never Trust Your Friends

Y/N might have feelings for Newt, the newly arrived blond runner. Newt might have feelings for Y/N, the second in command who’s been in the Glade longer than anyone except Alby. When Minho and Alby assign them both to work together on a project, they’re sure it won’t end well.

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If he were smart, Newt would not be staring. He would be focused on his friends, on the bubble of chatter surrounding him. He would most certainly not be staring at the girl and boy across the Glade who stand together, speaking in hushed tones. They’re leaning against a wall of the Homestead, exchanging words as their eyes cut across the Glade, lingering on different people. Alby gestures towards the scraggly woods of the Deadheads and says something, Y/N nods and counters his point. But Newt doesn’t know any of this, because he is decidedly not looking at them. Not at all.

There’s a laugh from behind him, and Newt belatedly turns to see Minho striding up next to him. “If you spend any more time focusing at Y/N instead of your food, Frypan’s going to burst into tears.” Newt glares at his friend. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Minho just grins. “I’m sure you don’t. Are you obsessed with Alby instead? Is that why you keep looking over at them?” Newt shoves Minho, but the dark-haired boy just laughs harder.

Maybe Newt’s not exactly being subtle. Yet even after Minho walks away, still chuckling quietly to himself, Newt’s gaze flickers back to Y/N and Alby. Their heads are bowed in conversation as they talk over every aspect of life in the Glade. Alby’s first in command and Y/N is second, and between the two of them, they’ve managed to make life here in the Maze make sense. At least, as well as you can when you’re a group of teenagers living in a giant bugging labyrinth.

Alby was the first one to show up in the Glade. Newt can’t even begin to imagine what it must have been like to arrive in the Box, utterly alone except for the shrieks of the Grievers at night. Y/N came up next, and the two of them had to figure out how to survive with no one else around. They don’t trust anyone as well as they trust each other, although that’s no surprise. They had each other’s backs when nothing made sense, and their friendship has only grown as more and more people arrived at the Glade.

Some days, Newt wonders if he could have been able to do the same- show up in the Glade with only one other person and not lose his bloody mind. No matter how hard it was, how many times they came close to giving in, Y/N and Alby still managed to set up the Glade and all of its rules, which have lasted the months until now. Newt came up a couple months after them, and he’s been able to watch as Y/N and Alby shape the very lifestyle of the Glade.

Somehow, it doesn’t surprise Newt that Y/N and Alby were the first ones sent up through the Box. He doubts anyone else could have managed the daunting task of running the Glade and keeping everyone in line. Newt can still see them now, where they always meet at the end of the day to run through everything that happened and make mental checklists of what needs to be accomplished tomorrow. Newt is lucky he’s a runner- all he has to do is keep moving. Y/N and Alby have to consider the wellbeing of every single one of these poor shanks, and Newt just wears holes in his trainers alongside Minho.

Newt stands up, stretching. He hands his empty plate to Frypan, heading back towards the Map Room to make sure the day’s run has been properly catalogued. Just before he disappears into the only half-completed wooden hut, Newt glances over his shoulder one last time. A slight smile appears on his face when he sees Y/N. Of all the Gladers, she might just be his favorite.

You’re considering a tomato plant in front of you when you first see them. Today, you’ve been directed to work with the track-hoes: some slinthead was fool enough to mess with the builders and now he’s spending the day under the watchful gaze of the Med-jacks. There are barely enough track-hoes as it is, so you’ll be filling in the spot until the guy heals sufficiently to garden once more. That’s the role of a second-in-command, you suppose, doing whatever needs to be done.

The tomato plant in question is finally ripe. You’ve been eyeing it for a couple of days now, and you think it looks good. You reach for a makeshift basket, propping it up on your hip while you pluck the crimson red vegetables (or is it fruits?) from the stem. A sudden movement beyond the rows of plants distracts you, and you look up to see the figures of two boys running through the Glade, having just left the towering walls of the Maze behind them. Newt and Minho, done with their day’s work as Runners.

They spot you and smile, and you raise a hand in greeting. You do your best to look casual, effortlessly cool, but you’re not sure that you’ve succeeded. Your eyes linger on Newt for maybe a second longer than they should, and you watch as the boys head towards the Map Room while their path is still locked in their memory. You thought no one else was around to witness the blush creeping onto your cheeks, but if there’s one thing you should have learned throughout all of your months in the Glade, it’s that nothing will ever go your way. Ever.

Alby leans a hand against the tomato plant in front of you, startling you from your thoughts. You do your best to quell your flinch of surprise, but it’s no good. He’s already grinning with barely suppressed laughter. “I thought you were supposed to be staring at the tomatoes, not the Runners.” You hit him with your gardening glove, but it does nothing to staunch the gleam of triumph in his eyes. “Am I not allowed to greet my friends? Should I turn my back and ignore them instead?”

Alby crosses his arms on his chest. “I didn’t realize greeting your friends involved watching the blond one from the second he entered the Glade.” You look around frantically, making sure Zart and the others can’t hear you, before reaching to swat Alby once more, although this time he’s expecting it and dodges out of the way. He frowns at you. “Hey, rule number two. Never hurt another Glader. I thought you were the one who came up with that.”

You shoot him a look. “I wrote that rule before you started making fun of me. If you’re not careful I’ll revoke it.” Alby shakes his head. “Afraid not. I outrank you.” You mutter something under your breath. “Not if I get rid of you first. I’d have to replace you.” Alby just grins. “If you kill me, you’ll have to explain a homicide to Newt. How would he like you then?” You can only hope that Newt is still in the Map Room, because otherwise the blond boy would see you chasing a laughing Alby out of the gardens with an outraged shout.

It’s a new month, a new day. Newt hears the loud alarm of the Box before he sees it show up, and he and a few others make their way to the center of the Glade to see what new Greenie has been brought before them. He and Minho had managed to get through their section early, so they get to witness the arrival of the latest Greenbean along with the others. About ten minutes later, there’s a shuddering jolt as the Box locks into position.

Newt helps the others fling the doors to the Box open, and just like clockwork, a boy lies on the ground, flung back by the force of the Box coming to a stop. He squints up at the Gladers lining the edge of the Box, blinded by the sunlight. Gally jumps into the Box, offering a hand and the usual declaration- “Day one, Greenie. Rise and shine.”

The Greenie looks as confused as anyone else. He’s tall, with dirty blond hair and a faded off-white t-shirt. The guy’s apparently got the chops to be a runner, as he takes off in a sprint the second his feet touch the ground of the Glade. He doesn’t go far, though, too stunned by the looming walls of the Maze to leave the grassy clearing. Later, Newt hears him shout out his name in a stunned gasp- Ben, Newt thinks he said.

Some Glader arrives to take the Greenie on a tour, so Newt turns his attention back to the Box and the crates awaiting attention within. Newt sees Minho head over to Alby, and the Runner says a few words in a low whisper. Identical, crafty grins spread over both of the boys’ faces, and a sudden feeling of dread rolls over in Newt’s stomach as the boys glance over at him. Alby steps forward. “Okay, you know the drill. Time to check the contents of the Box. This time, the lucky shanks will be, uh, Y/N and Newt.”

Newt stares at Minho in barely suppressed outrage, while his friend does his best to contain a laugh. Newt can practically read the boy’s mind- You won’t talk to her yourself, I’ll do it for you. After a second’s hesitation, Newt strides over, jumping down into the Box and landing with a mild impact on the metal floor. Y/N leaps down a few moments after him, and Newt can hear the sound of the other Gladers returning to their usual jobs above them. Within seconds, it’s just Newt and Y/N in the Box. What is he supposed to do now?

The only thing he can do is what Alby asked him to do- unload the crates of supplies. Y/N pulls a worn pad of paper from her pocket, flipping to a fresh sheet and beginning to jot down the contents. Newt helps to pry open some boxes, checking what’s inside and reporting back. After the fifth box or so, Y/N groans, leaning against the cool metal walls of the Box as a reprieve from the boredom of the tasks. “Shuck, I hate Greenie Day.”

Newt smiles in spite of himself. “Because of the Box or because of the greenie?” Y/N glances over at him. “Both. Too many boxes, and now some new guy’s going to follow me around all day asking questions.” Newt leans over a nearby crate, trying and failing to drum up the energy to continue cataloging the supplies. “Hey, you made Alby go take the tour with the Greenie. That puts the majority of the questions on him.”

Y/N smirks at that. “It’s what he deserves for making me do manual labor.” Newt frowns. “You work with the track-hoes all the time.” Y/N flashes him a grin that makes Newt’s heart freeze in his chest. “That’s different.” Newt returns her grin. “Is it, or are you just complaining?” Y/N sticks her tongue out at him, but she stands up and continues on to the next crate. “I’m ignoring that.” When she hands him another box, their hands touch briefly, and Newt’s distracted from all thoughts of greenies and track-hoes or anything in this bloody Maze. Maybe Minho isn’t so bad after all for sending him down here.

You’re going to kill Alby. There’s no question about it. You’re going to kill him, and there’s nothing he can do to stop you. He knew exactly what he was doing when he sent you down here, and that triumphant smirk on his face when he announced you’d be working with Newt was just the icing on the cake. Of course he’d send you down to the enclosed box with the boy you’ve been crushing on since he arrived here- Alby’s out for blood. Why would he pass up such a golden, perfect, absolutely ruthless opportunity?

It’s all you can do to focus on the crates. You’re gripping the pad of paper like it’s a lifesaver, and honestly, it just might be. Every moment that you spend meticulously copying down the supplies is a moment that you don’t spend looking over at Newt, and the way his golden hair flops down just slightly over his eyes, or the way his arms move when he’s lifting the boxes, or that slight curve of a smile when he looks over at you-

Yes, there’s no question about it- you’re absolutely smitten. If you weren’t sure before, you’re positive now. You do your best to focus on the work at hand instead of the unfairly attractive boy next to you, but it only does so much. That being said, there are enough crates to last far longer than you’d want. The light of late afternoon is shifting into dusk, and by the time Newt is tossing the final crate out onto the grass of the Glade, it’s dark enough that the walls of the Box seem to melt away into the dimly lit air.

Newt stretches his arms. “Well, I’m glad that’s over.” You can’t help a joke. “I can’t wait for next month.” He frowns. “You’re the second in command, aren’t you? Just write us out of this job in particular.” You roll your eyes. “Even second in commands have to follow the rules, even if I’d rather break them.” Newt grins, leaning casually against the wall. “I’ve seen the amount of stuff you and Alby have to handle. I think it would be alright if you skipped out on Box duty every now and then.”

You consider him for a second. “I like the way you think. Honestly, I think you would make a good second in command. If you ever get tired of being a Runner, the position is always open.” Newt shakes his head. “What about you? I can’t take your job away.” You shrug. “I’d step aside for you. You’re the only one in this entire Glade that I think could handle it.”

Newt straightens up, stepping away from the wall to move closer to you. “You mean it?” You stare at him, at the few inches separating him from you. “Yes. I trust you.” Newt nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, as if on an impulse, he leans forward and kisses you. You barely have a moment to realize it’s happening before he breaks away, something like regret beginning to color his eyes. “I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry-”

You cut off his whispers by kissing him again. This time, he doesn’t lean away, not for a while. The two of you stay there, arms wrapped around each other as the darkness falls fully against you, until the lights of the bonfire begin to blaze through the night. Newt smiles down at you, eyes shining with the starlight. “We should probably go before Minho and Alby come to see why we’re taking so long.” You laugh at that. “I’d hate to give them the satisfaction of being right.” Newt shares your laugh, then bends down to kiss you one last time before jumping out of the Box. You watch him as he stands there, silhouette barely visible against the dark, and when he extends a hand down to help you up, you take it without a second’s hesitation.

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

fuck I still haven't done the rewrite of the Mutant Town AU that I specifically came off hiatus to write, like the Plant Witch Sam and Pharaoh Tucker posts were written to prep this au and I just got wildly distracted so uhhhh

yeah the concept is in the link but the gist is that the people and town becoming mutated by constant ectoplasmic contamination, we all know and love this concept right but I'm gonna expand on it

this is a direct result of the portal being opened, but they aren't getting infected from the portal, the issue is that creating a permanent opening into the ghost zone has weakened the veil between their worlds and Amity Park and the Ghost Zone sort of slip in and out of each other constantly

and because ectoplasm responds strongly to emotions (poltergeists being made from atmospheric emotions for example) it all tends to converge very heavily at the school full of hormonal teenagers

so Casper High becomes its own god damn cryptid, the teachers get so jaded about opening the door to a classroom and finding just a whole ass ghost zone on the other side that they just put a sign on the door telling kids to go to a different room, lockers swap contents with other lockers so kids have started putting their names on the inside so they know who's stuff they've just found

this also means the kids get super affected, like super affected, literally, they all get ghost powers, some are just physical mutations, some are just super abilities, or a general increase in natural ability, like a member of the track team getting super speed

it takes a while for Danny and co. to figure this out, Sam and Tucker should have been warning signs as they've spent the most time around ghosts and the ghost zone, but that's why the Witch Sam and Pharaoh Tucker posts are important

they have powers, but they thought they came exclusively from outside sources, they had no idea that their abilities were also strengthened and influenced by being highly contaminated by ectoplasm, which is why when one day Mikey sneezes and green acid shoots out of his nose and melts his desk, everyone is a little bit startled

the teachers have long since started using ghost detectors after the time Paulina spent a whole week overshadowed by Kitty, so Mikey gets a check over and other than the usual atmospheric reading Lancer gets nothing especially strong from him

there have been concerns about the gradually increasing ectoplasmic content in the air messing with ghost detector results, the devices have to be recalibrated constantly, so Lancer asks the one and only son of the local ghost hunters in the room if he has some other way to check

Danny's parents make him keep a few protective items in his schoolbag, so he tries some gear on him to see if anything comes flying out, but nothing does, Danny isn't too surprised seeing as he couldn't sense a ghost in the room anyway, but it definitely makes things a little concerning

even if it were a repeat of the Spectra incident and he wasn't being overshadowed, the Fenton's tech would have still gotten rid of whatever was causing this if it were an external influence

Mikey is sent home for the day and his parents are told to keep an eye on him

and then the next week, Star drops a pen off her desk and a strand of her hair whips out to grab it, she's also checked for ghost influence and sent home

a few weeks after that it happens again, a kid on the basketball team makes a leap to the net and stays in the air, they have to call in the cheerleaders to climb on top of each other to reach him and pull him down

Danny has been trying to figure out what's happening from the first moment with Mikey, and his parents have also been getting calls from worried parents who want to know if they can fix whatever's happening to their kids

over the next couple of months, every kid in the school has some kind of ability or mutation, Dash heals whoever he touches, which he discovers after punching Nathan in the face and curing his acne, Paulina turns invisible, which freaks her out at first until she realises it's great for eavesdropping, Wes can conjure fire (because I desperately needed him to have a polarising ability to Danny), Kwan becomes empathic and can feel and influence people's emotions

Valerie also had an early mutation that she didn't know about, when Technus gave her a new suit, her body pretty much just absorbed it as a part of her, Technus had not intended this to happen, and was pretty peeved about it, Valerie found out that she had stolen control over the suit when Technus had a big rant about it during a fight, and she put the pieces together once other kids started developing abilities

this whole thing causes a ton of chaos as kids are struggling to control what they can do, so Danny has to step in and help them out, he often has to run off to change into Phantom in order to protect everyone from an ability that's gone haywire, he ends up pretty much running ghost power training courses after school to help them control themselves

he's also gotten stuck in situations where he's had to step in and help someone without having the time to change forms, meaning he has to make up a cover story about having developed his own powers way before everyone else since he's been living on top of a portal for years, he only tells people about his ice powers

Jazz has always had a tendency to be able to reign in her emotions and keep a cool head, (the only ones who can really push her buttons are Danny and sometimes her parents, at school around other kids who look up to her she's often very in control) meaning she doesn't draw ectoplasm to herself all that much, and though Danny uses the excuse of having lived on top of a ghost portal to explain why he's already so familiar with using his power, it's actually not even remotely true, because the Fentons use specialised air purifiers to keep the atmospheric ectoplasm at a manageable level, the Fenton house ironically has the least atmospheric contamination compared to the rest of the town, that's how Maddie and Jack have had limited mutation to themselves (though they aren't wholly free, they've mostly just gotten physically stronger and tougher)

so even though Jazz develops her power a little earlier than everyone else's, it's not that far ahead, and she actually doesn't even realise she already has one until half the school has developed theirs

Jazz has the power to slow time in a little bubble around herself, she'd been using it without realising while studying, having gotten through hours of work in half that time, she always thought it was just her losing track of time or she was just getting faster at reading, she also spends a lot of time counselling other students and trying to help them sort out their problems, and they'd often comment that they felt like they'd been talking for so much longer than they had, again she just chalked it up to losing track of time

a lot of students had wondered why Danny developed a power early and Jazz hadn't, until someone walked in on Jazz helping a girl through a panic attack in the bathroom, and found them both talking extremely fast, a lot of her friends realised in hindsight that she'd been doing that unwittingly for quite a while, nobody had noticed because she always talked to people privately, so nobody outside her little time bubble had seen it happen

Sam and Tucker come clean about their abilities too, but they also don't give the full rundown, still keeping some things close to the chest to avoid standing out from everyone else

then there's the teachers

adults typically have a better time regulating emotions than teenagers, meaning much like Jazz they aren't drawing as much ectoplasm toward themselves, but this doesn't exempt them from developing something after a while, especially with the heightened stress of managing a school full of volatile super kids

Mr Lancer discovers that he can create shields, after an incident where he jumps in front of some students to protect them from another power gone awry

Tetslaff ends up with a sonic ability, able to project her voice like a megaphone (yes this is a Coach Boomer from Sky High reference don't @ me), Principal Ishiyama develops a physical mutation, growing to twice her size, she likes that she can tower over the students while delivering speeches, but she doesn't like having to stoop through doors all the time, she has the one to her office resized, along with her chair and desk

so as you can imagine, the town ends up erupting into chaos, a lot of kids very much misuse their abilities, Danny does his best as Phantom to teach people to be responsible, but sometimes he has to resort to literally kicking their asses to get them to straighten up

but for the most part, a ton of kids were already looking up to him, and are generally pretty happy to follow his example, especially the more popular kids, it's generally considered not very cool to get your ass kicked by Phantom, so weirdly enough a lot of kids get peer pressured into not causing any real damage or injury with their powers

this doesn't mean they don't absolutely misuse them, they're just more subtle about it

until a ghost shows up, a lot of the kids are more than happy to let loose to protect themselves and their friends, and Phantom for the most part is happy to let them, with some supervision of course, he still has to make sure nobody gets too hurt (including the ghosts)

the entire debacle makes Danny's life simultaneously a whole lot easier AND so much more fucking stressful

[quirklessidiot]

Title: filthy rich [2/3]  Pairing: millionare!sakusa kiyoomi x y/n [filthy capitalist au] Genre: mild romance themes, major angst ahead, a bit of mystery, mafia!au-ish

Synopsis: He was perfect, maybe too damn perfect.

Warnings: mild sexual content, yandere themes, toxic relationships, violence, shady business, class differences, mentions of rape, and sakusa being a manipulative bastard [this fic does not in any way glorify these types of relationships!!!] Notes: Happy 605 followers guys! Decided to change this into a three part fic since it would be too damn long....I know this is a long overdue chapter hnnng i fucking hate college i cant wait to see sakusa in the new season, how was it guys? I was absolutely thrown off by akaashi even if he only had like a minute or so screentime hnnng...

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Sakusa Kiyoomi reminded you of an onion.

Over the past three years of going out with him, you seem to find a new layer to him. No longer was he the asshole from that day, he was the sweetest boyfriend, hands down. You were both a bit awkward in terms of affection since you two were treading on unfamiliar territory (much to your surprise, a man like Sakusa Kiyoomi has never been seriously intimate with anyone) but like every other couple out there, you surpassed it. You were now in the receiving end of his soft smiles, warm gaze, and affection.

Although you had your worries like your residency and his company growing bigger and bigger by the day, you started to wonder if you’d last long but the man casted your doubts aside and continued to be faithful to you and everyday you seem to fall deeper and deeper in the rabbit hole.

“...and for the last time, stop buying me expensive things and offering to pay my student loans.” you frowned, stirring the Butajiru for your boyfriend who was coming by today for dinner. Out of spite, early on in the relationship, you had to learn how to cook since Sakusa demanded you to when he learned that you lived a lot on canned foods and unhealthy take-outs. Much to your despise, he even volunteers to pay for your weekly groceries and even got you a ‘for sale’ stove that he apparently can’t return because he misplaced the receipt.

“I don’t get it, don’t partners like it when they’re given gifts all the time?” his brows are upturned, making you scoff. “From past experiences-”

“Are you sure that those weren’t sugar babies?” you cut him off, pointing the wooden spoon on your hand at him, “Because from your description you sound like a sugar daddy.”

“Hey.” He grumbled, walking up to you from behind to envelope you on a hug, “I’m not old enough to be a sugar daddy.”

You shut the stove off and turn to him, placing a brief kiss on the jaw, “You yell at teenagers and complain when it’s too noisy. I think you qualify for a senior discount and a sugar daddy title.” You joked, escaping his grip to grab some bowls so you both could start eating.

“You’re only four years younger than me.”

“Mhm.” You hummed, sticking your tongue out, “Also, aren’t you supposed to be at a party tonight?”

“You weren’t there.” 

“Aren’t you required to go?” You frowned, placing the bowl in front of him, “You know I’m not a big fan of those things and you can’t keep handing it over to Komori-san…”

“And you know I hate it when you aren’t there.” He softly repeated.

You roll your eyes and place your own bowl as you sit in front of him, “Always the smooth talker since we met three years ago.” you shake your head.

“Three years, huh.” Sakusa paused, “Speaking of three years, I was thinking…”

You stopped eating and looked up to face him, his face dead serious, “Move in with me.” He asked out of the blue. Your eyes widen and you let down a gulp, your stomach flipping at his words.

“I-” You paused, “I...I can’t…”

Sakusa tilted his head, confused, “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong…” You started, eyes looking at your food, seemingly nervous, “I-I wanna move in with you, my lease is almost up...but…”

“But what?”

“It’s not like I wasn’t going to tell you any sooner but….but i’m moving.”

Silence filled the room that you could almost hear the pin drop, “What do you mean you’re moving?” Sakusa’s voice was void of emotion and it made you scared for the first time. The man wishes you were wrong, wishing that you were just moving someplace nearby but the next words stun him.

“I got accepted for a huge humanitarian work in Medaide.” You gulped, carefully choosing your words as you slither your hands to his, trying to distract him, “We'll be travelling around third world countries, like the dream I've always told you about. I thought, well, I didn't got accepted since I didn't hear from them but it seems like I did.”

“How many months?”

“It’s- It’s a permanent job, I go back once a year…”

Silence enveloped the room, the only thing that could be heard was the faint sound of the bustling city outside. The world seems to have stopped for Sakusa that time.

“Congrats.” Sakusa smiled softly, breaking the silence, “I’m proud of you, bunny.”

Your eyes widen as you immediately leap out the chair and run to your boyfriend’s side, “Thank god!” you exclaimed, sitting on his lap to envelope him in a hug, “I was afraid you’d break up with me.”

You stare at him in the eye, hands on his cheeks, “Now why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, we’d only be seeing each other once a year if i accepted it.” You murmured, kissing him on the temple, “Thanks for being so supportive.”

You don’t notice how his grip tightens a bit on your waist nor the darken look looming over his features, “I’d never let you go, bunny. Never.” he hummed.

You continue on with your little happy bubble with your ever supportive boyfriend, you start shopping for some goodies for your trip that you were scheduled to leave next month. You should’ve known everything was too good to be true. 

A week before your trip, the company had called you in and said that you were cut off from the team and that apparently your experience wasn’t enough.

You vividly remember Sakusa rushing to your side mid-day when he should be swamped with work, whispering soothing words in your ear. You were absolutely devastated, the dream job you wanted felt like it slipped away, it took you a month to get back to your feet and actually go out. Despite getting over it, you were discouraged, the words they said echoed on your head, thoughts on how you weren’t performing well back  in med school and how your record on residency wasn’t enough.

“Y/N?”

“Oh.” you blinked, looking up to your boyfriend, “Sorry, I spaced out.”

“It’s alright.”

It seemed like the only constant thing in your life now was Sakusa, your friends were busy and they had come and gone, you didn’t want to worry your very busy parents so you didn’t call them about your dilemma. You didn’t want to call your aunt or Hinata about it too since you know they’d tell your parents.

Kiyoomi was the only person who stayed.

He was the only one you trusted.

“Is that roommate thing with you still open?” you suddenly asked, making Sakusa paused mid-movement.

“Of course it is,” He dropped the cutlery he was holding and strode to your side to caress your cheek, “It always is for you.”

“Guess I’ll be able to use my duplicate more often.”

Maybe being a humanitarian doctor wasn’t how it was going to be for you, it took another month for you to actually go and find a permanent job. Sakusa points out that you can take all the time out that you need but you don't want to lounge around and do nothing, you need a good distraction.

So you ended up working for a prestigious hospital as an ER doctor, for a moment, you forgot about Medaide with the help of your new job and your boyfriend.

You were happy.

Really happy.

The idea of staying in Tokyo didn’t actually seem like a bad idea now, you were going to bring it up to your parents and tell them that you wanted to stay here permanently with your boyfriend. They’d probably be happy, Sakusa Kiyoomi is a perfect man.

Until you come to the very sudden realization that he wasn’t.

Kiyoomi hated going out on long distance trips, he always wanted to be next to you or take you with him but this one was apparently too important to skip out so you greet him goodbye and wait for him to come home. Being the good partner you are, you decided to clean the house for your boyfriend. Kiyoomi was an incredibly clean person so you tried to keep your sloppiness to yourself when you moved in a few months ago.

Getting rid of the small dust here and there and throwing some unimportant things on the side, you prepare to throw out the collected garbage but ultimately freeze on your tracks when you find a ripped paper on the garbage dump.

Normally, you don’t do garbage dives.

Why would you?

Yet the name on top along with your boyfriend’s name caught your attention. It was Medaide’s logo, you grabbed the ripped piece of paper and started looking through the garbage dump, it did start to smell but curiosity always got the best of you.

Nervously biting your lower lip, you don’t find all the papers but you find one dated the same week you had broken the news to your boyfriend and the words, “Thank you for your donation and for sending us a group of more competent doctors for this batch.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stood there, shaking, the surge of panic and anxiety bubbling within you made the bile rose on your throat.

What was going on?

Was this really your perfect boyfriend?

Maybe it was all a big misunderstanding, why would your boyfriend do that? What would he even gain? You bite on your fingernails as you walk back and forth in front of the front desk, “Y/N-san?”

You jump on the spot.

“K-Kenjiro-san.” 

“You alright there?” Shirabu Kenjiro asked, tilting his head to the side, “You’re not looking very good these days.”

“Y-Yeah…” You gulped, “J-Just thinking about some things.”

“Well, your shift is about to be over. Maybe you can go home earlier? ER’s pretty much dead right now.”  Your fellow doctor shrugged, you turned around and let out a sigh, maybe you should request to go home earlier. You needed to rest. All this thinking was getting to your head that you had almost misdiagnosed a patient this afternoon.

“Hey Kenjiro-san.” you ask your workmate, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“I have a friend.” You gulped down, “They’ve got this perfect relationship and he’s a super great guy...then-then they realize that he did something bad…”

Kenjiro looks up from his paperwork and shoots you his usual upturned brow, “Can you specify what he did?”

“He got in the way of their dreams.”

Kenjiro is silent for a moment as if he was thinking of something deep, “Well if I were that person, I’d leave him. What kind of asshat doesn’t support their partner’s dreams?” he asked, placing his hands on his hips, “Tell your friend that they deserve better and not some asshat who is holding them back.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, he had a very good point, “Yeah, that’s right.”

Kenjiro had a good point there, maybe confronting Sakusa would be a wise choice but as of right now you decided against it, you needed to gather the courage to actually talk to him about it. The thing that scared you the most was how much you loved and trusted the guy too much.

He went through such lengths to get you to stay around, who knows what else he could’ve done?

You shake your head, you were being paranoid yet at the same time you couldn’t help it. Your anxiety towards the situation wasn’t helpful at all and it was spiking up and down.

On your way home, you decided to pass by a local pharmacy because your head hadn’t been feeling very well, “Do you have any pain killers?” you weakly asked the man on the front counter, after giving you your medication, you also decided to buy some extra vitamins because you recalled almost running out of them.

“Oh, we ran out of that brand yesterday.” The pharmacist replied, scrunching his brow in wonder, “Would you like another one? It’s not a generic brand but it’s  pretty much the same.”

“Yeah, that’ll do too.” You nodded, after paying for your purchase, you headed home. Fixing up your medicine in your cabinet, you freeze mid-action when you notice how familiar the vitamin looked. Shakily raising your hand to grab your birth-control pills in the medicine cabinet, you almost topple down when you pop it open next to the vitamin you bought.

It was the same.

It was exactly the same.

Before you knew it you were vomiting in the basin, your headache was worsening and the shaking wouldn’t stop.

The idea of the perfect boyfriend was completely erased in your head.

You didn’t look well these past few days, Kiyoomi noticed it because you didn’t even dared to hide it anymore, you wanted to leave him. Not only did he get in the way of whatever you worked hard for but he was trying to get you pregnant without your consent.

You felt utterly disgusted.

You sat at the tub, completely drained from all the events that transpired this past two weeks. The three year perfect streak that he tried to maintain was reduced to nothing but shambles. You wanted to blame yourself for being too stupid and caught up in this sham, your boyfriend was messed up, you wanted to get away but how?

You inwardly sighed, you were stupid. Too stupidly in love and intoo deep the rabbit hole that you hadn't even noticed.

“Y/N?”

Your gaze snapped to find him standing there with an expensive bouquet of flowers, you try to let out a weak smile, “Hey.”

“You’re not looking well.” He commented, placing the flowers on the side as he approached your naked figure on the tub, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” you nodded, “Just work.”

“I told you not to overstrain yourself.” He mumbled, bending down to your level, “You might get sick.”

You wanted to cringe away in disgust as he kissed your bare shoulders but you maintained yourself, “It’s fine.” You softly said, “I just have to do my best. I still want to try out for humanitarian work if I get a good recommendation from the hospital.”

You notice the quick shift of expression in his eyes, making you tighten your lips, so there it was.

“Again? I thought-”

“It’s my dream.” You began, trying to give him a smile, maybe, just maybe you can let him see through it, “You know how much I want this.”

“Maybe it’s not meant for you.”

“Excuse me?”

Sakusa Kiyoomi’s eyes widen at the new reaction, your smile turning to a grimace. Over the course of your relationship, you had never been this angry, “Y/N, you know that’s not-”

“Get out.” You shakily say.

“Y/N.”

“I said, Get out, Sakusa.” You yell again, eyes seeing red, the bastard had the audacity to keep pulling you back and doing these things to you. You were downright disgusted at him and everything he was doing, what more would you find? The mere fact that he destroyed your dreams and switched out your birth control had you on edge at the moment and you didn’t want to try to find out anymore, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle it.

He lets out a sigh, “You don’t have to leave the room. I’ll go sleep on the couch.”

You watch him leave and close the bathroom door yet his eyes don’t fool you anymore. 

You didn’t feel safe here.

You needed to get out.

Sakusa Kiyoomi is no fool towards your shift of attitude, he knows something is up when you snap at him when you were usually the calmer one (yes, you may be a bundle of energy and spitfire but you were relatively calm in the most part) so he calls the head of your hospital and sits him down, the head is shaking and on his knees, begging him to spare his life and his job for he did not know that you were overworked at all in your department.

“...I watch over her, sir…” the chief shakily exclaimed, “I always do…”

“So, you’re telling me… that my Y/N is a liar?”

The chief immediately freezes up on the spot, “Good lord, of course not! Doctor Y/N would never-”

“What would it be?”

“E-excuse me?”

“Your hands or your life?”

The man immediately cries out, begging him for mercy for he was innocent but Sakusa didn’t care. 

He didn’t care at all.

Yes, Sakusa Kiyoomi would do anything for you. If someone were to make you sad, tired, weary, or any negative emotion, he’d strike them down, just like how he paid your friends to stay away, just like how he had subtly shifted your parents work conditions that prevented them from returning to you.

You were his and his only.

No one could get in your ways.

“My name is Doctor Sato, I’ll be your new chief...”

You stare at the new head of the hospital blankly, apparently the previous chief, Doctor Yamomoto, had to retire due to some matters with his family. It was a shame, you really liked him since he was awfully nice to you and everyone in the ward, “...L/N-san?” the older man calls out as soon as the meeting was over.

Your gaze snapped towards him as he tilted his head slightly, you’re completely bewildered by the sudden attention from your new boss, “Are your working conditions alright?”

“Yes, chief.” 

“If you have any problem, “ his tight lip turns into a big smile as he places his hand on your shoulder, “Please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You blink at his uncharacteristic request and immediately move back to get away from his grasp, a rather uncomfortable smile made its way to your lips as you nodded, “I’ll take note of that, Chief.” 

Thankfully nothing odd happened anymore after the day ended and as you patched up your things, getting ready to go home, you find your one and only boyfriend standing there with another bouquet of flowers in his hands. The sense of familiar dread sinked in once again.

How would you end this all?

The perfect man was a liar and he got in the way but why couldn’t you end things with him quickly? Why couldn’t you cut him off? You were so angry at him yet at the same time you were so lost, where did it go wrong?

“Y/N…” He greets, “How was work?”

“It was fine.” You quietly replied, turning your gaze  at the expensive bouquet on his hands once again. Ever since you guys fought, he had been buying you flowers and expensive things but you remained the same, you just didn’t know how to act anymore around him.

“How was your new chief?”

You immediately tense up, as far as you recalled you had only met the chief today and no one knew about this outside the hospital. How the hell did this bastard know?

Sakusa notices you’ve gone too quiet, “Y/N? What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Word travels fast, huh?” you blinked, regaining your composure quickly, something wasn’t right now, you knew that something went deeper than that little Medaide charade he did and switching your pills to get you pregnant, “He’s alright and please stop buying me stuff, didn’t I tell you that we were fine already?”

“Y/N-”

You sighed and leaned in closer, pulling down his mask so that you could give him a peck on his lips. Inside, you felt disgusted but this was the only way now, “Stop acting all cringey and lovey-dovey. I forgive you. Let’s not fight again.” You consoled the tall man.

You notice how soft his eyes became.

Yes, two can play a game. 

From stopping you from moving to trying to get you pregnant, it was those things that made you come towards a conclusion that Sakusa Kiyoomi didn’t wanted you to leave his side. The man probably wouldn’t stop at anything, if he was willing to go to such lengths, what more could he do? You let out a tight smile as your boyfriend kisses your temple.

You needed to find a way and quick because the Sakusa Kiyoomi you thought you knew for the past three years was nothing like the Sakusa Kiyoomi in front of you.

taglist [send me an ask if you want to be tagged for the last chapter and as always if i forget to tag, just send me an ask]

@maraudusk ;; @iamnotobsessed  ;;  @ssuna ;; @weebartistinc ;; @aomineavenue ;; @tsukkismamagucci ;; @onlyshinji ;; @ichiraku-verse ;; @watevermelon ;; @victoriasee ;;  @caramelcandescence ;; @n-nara ;; @bloody-bella ;; @ricefarmerkita ;; @paripedia ;; @srhlsx ;; @craftyfawns ;; @kepchups ;; @soggycardboardd​ ;;  @vinnieluv​ ;; @dinablossom​

@kn0xiousnight  @newfriendjen

[can’t tag you guys uwu just make sure ur tags are open :<]

[punkcupcakestyles]

Just One More Time

Part 2

Read Part 1 here!

Harry was insufferable, and he knew it.

Unfortunately for you, you could see his face, even in the darkness of the room. Between his phone’s screen and the moonlight, you could see him grin, and you were more than ready to turn around and leave his apartment. Maybe sleeping in the hallway wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

“I don’t want to sleep with you,” you patiently said, as if he were a child and you were explaining to him why he couldn’t have the candy he wanted. “I just want to sleep.”

It was true. The events of the night had left you drained and your ankle still felt sore from the moment you twisted it and your heel broke. You shouldn’t have gone out that night, you kept repeating to yourself. 

Harry provided you with your first triumph of the night, as he got up from his comfortable spot on the couch. But it was a short-lived sentiment because as soon as Harry stood in front of you. It was a new kind of feeling, only being able to feel him and not see him. Your skin prickled at his breath that fanned over your heated skin and the air filled with his sweet smell of oranges on a crisp summer morning.

You wondered if he was looking at you with those intense eyes of his, that seemed to want to look into your very soul and rob you of all of your secrets. Or if his lips were as pink as you remembered them, or if they tasted just as sweet.  

“Just sleep?” Harry asked with a deep voice, and your body tingled in parts it should most definitely not be tingling. 

“Y-yes.”

“Your call, then,” he said, with a smile that lingered in the air, and felt him walk away from you. 

Well, it felt like you had made the wrong one. 

You followed Harry to the room, once again walking close behind him so you wouldn’t knock anything over, you were very good at getting random bruises. And maybe Harry sensed that because his hand found yours, and he laced your fingers with his, as he guided you to the safety of his bed. Under any other circumstances, his touch would’ve been innocent enough to go unnoticed, but now, it brought the memory of the burning feeling of his fingers on your skin, and flashes of memory from that night. You had fucked all night. If it was just going to be one more time, why the fuck not?

Harry stopped as you got to the mattress and his hand left yours, going to your waist instead. The world stopped and you paralyzed with it, forgetting how to breathe as you waited for his next move. It could be anything, you truly didn’t care, because maybe then you would forget about the night, and you needed to forget. 

But, to your disappointment, Harry wasn’t planning anything other than to help you climb on the bed, and you blindly made your way under the blankets, until you reached the pile of pillows you had set up for yourself earlier. 

“So, how do you wanna do this?” Harry asked as he sat on the mattress. Oh, you wanted to do this in a lot of ways. But none of them seemed like something you could say out loud. So you stayed quiet, rolling the cotton fabric of his sheets between your fingers waiting for him to take the first guess. “Should I hug you? Would that keep you warm?” Harry offered and you nodded, not fully realizing that he couldn’t see you. “Use your words.”

“Yes, please,” you said, as energy ran up your spine. “Why do you sound like you enjoy ordering people around in bed?”

“Because I do,” Harry replied and there was a smirk on his lips. You didn’t even need to see it to know it.

That night, Harry hadn’t stayed long enough for you to cuddle. You had woken up wrapped up in the safety of your own bed, and your legs still felt weak and euphoria still bubbled in your belly. The untouched side of the bed didn’t bother you, you said to yourself. Why would it?

So, having him lie next to you was a whole new feeling. He was careful as he laid down and his legs pressed up to the back of yours. Out of instinct, your legs tangled with his, spreading apart enough for him to let his thigh sneak between yours and for you to curl your ankle around the back of his calf. His fingers traveled gingerly over your thigh and up your hips, until he settled them on the curve of your waist, looping his arm around it as you shifted closer to his chest. His breath fanned over the nape of your neck, and you shivered as you felt his lips grazing your shoulder as he started to speak.

“You’re just wearing a shirt?” Harry asked and you had to drown out a grunt of despair, pretty sure that your voice would give up on you if you tried talking. 

“I’m not wearing any pants of yours,” you said.

“Why not?”

“Because...you could’ve done things...and they could be dirty...and I’m not risking it.”

“What kind of things?” Harry teased you. He knew the answer very well, he just wanted to hear you say it.  

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Please, tell.”

Not being able to see him while in an unfamiliar room meant that you could feel him everywhere around you. He had shifted to prop himself up, you knew that much, but your eyes still refused to see much more than the outline of his body. The goosebumps all over your skin told you just how close he was. 

“I mean, you might’ve touched yourself…”

“And?” He pressed. 

“And...cum might be in your pants.”

“That night I came a few times in your pussy, that didn’t seem to bother you. You cleaned me off with your tongue, remember?” Harry was enjoying himself, pressing your buttons hard enough to get you mad, but also, to make you think about the night he fucked you as you had never been fucked before. You remembered it well, especially in your lonely nights and in your long showers.

“Did I? I cannot remember.”

Harry lied back down on the bed, and once again, an electric wave rolled down your body, reacting to his presence next to you. It did the trick because you felt warm enough already.

“So, what were you doing home tonight?” You asked, wanting to get rid of the tension that was filling the air. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Are you sure? Does she know that?” Now it was your turn to tease him. She was blonde and fucking gorgeous, and she smiled at you like you shared a secret whenever you run into each other in the hallways. She had that satisfied smile every time. 

“Sure…”

He didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it, and you weren’t sure you wanted to insist too much. He could still kick you out of his house, and you found yourself to be too damn comfortable in his bed. So, you stopped pressing. It wasn’t your problem, anyway. 

****

Electricity buzzed on again sometime around the night, because the heater was on in the morning, and you had already peeled off a couple of layers, with blankets bunching up around your feet, while Harry and you still cuddled up in bed. 

It wasn’t like you had noticed, because you were blissfully unaware of the world around you. Harry’s arms surrounded you, his fingers tangled in your hair while his other hand went under your shirt, as you hid your face on the crook of his neck. Nothing could bother you at that moment, except for the loud banging on the door. 

You jolted up, untangling yourself hastily from Harry as you begrudgingly opened your eyes and sneered at the air. Whoever it was was relentless, ringing the bell as if their life depended on it. 

“Harry…” you prodded him, but there wasn’t much response coming from him. He turned around and buried his face into the pillow. “Harry!?” You insisted, this time shaking his body with your hands. 

“Hhmm?”

“Someone’s at the door.”

“Could you please open it?” He said without bothering to wake up completely. You could see that he was doing his very best not to. 

“What if it’s your girlfriend? And she drags me by my hair?”

“It won’t be.”

You weren’t too sure about his answer, but it seemed like it was the only one you were going to get because he shifted in the bed and buried himself even deeper between the blankets. So you sighed, deeply and morosely, and got up from the bed because there’s a sense of urgency in the way they’re knocking and you don’t want to be responsible for someone’s death. If it was indeed his girlfriend, you hoped that she would focus her rage on him, and leave you alone. 

The cold of the morning was much more forgiving to you than it had been in the night, and the thought of putting on pants only crossed your mind as soon as you opened the door, and Mrs. Lee, from 6C, looked at you from head to toe. She looked confused, to say the least, checking back on your apartment to see if she hadn’t knocked on the wrong door.

“Mrs. Lee?” You smiled at her, leaning on the door as your pretty neighbor got her composure back. Her fingers grazed over her gold chain and she offered you a dashing smile. Her cleavage was stunning and in full display and you found yourself struggling to look away from it. It was so early, so cold. 

“I’m sorry, I was looking for Harry, I need his help with...something.”

Oh, where’s Mr. Lee, darling? Could he not possibly help? You thought, but those questions were pushed down in your brain, not daring to come out and live in the air. 

“He’s asleep,” you smiled brightly and you could see the wheels turning in her head, as she wondered...“But I’ll make sure he gets the message.”

“He is asleep?” She asked, and for a second there, you felt bad. It surely was not the answer she was expecting. You had always wondered why she stayed with Mr. Lee, who was considerably older than her, not very attractive and not very energetic. Money was always the easiest answer. Love never came to mind. 

“Yeap.”

“Oh...so you slept here?”

“I will tell Harry you came to visit,” you smiled in response, and slowly closed the door on your stunned neighbor’s face. As soon as she was out of sight, a wicked grin formed on your face, and a rush of energy bubbled in your tummy as you made your way to Harry’s room. 

So, Mrs. Lee...

“Who was it?” Harry asked as soon as you walked through the door. He was sitting down on the bed, with his sheets wrapped around his waist. He was shirtless, and probably only wearing his boxers because as you peered around the room, you noticed that his sweatpants were on the floor, and he looked even more inviting than you could remember. Your imagination ran wild, no matter how hard you tried to shut it down, and you had to make an effort to remember about your half-naked neighbor by his door. 

“It was Mrs. Lee,” you managed to smirk. “She said she needed your help, which I think it’s code for her wanting you to fuck her.”

“You think?” Harry chuckled and you waltzed closer to him until you were standing in front of him. 

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first neighbor you fucked.”

“Or the one I want to fuck the most,” he smiled.

“No? Who’s that?”

***

The day Harry moved into the building, everyone knew about it. You were having a Very Busy Day being a Very Stressed and Very Overworked Junior Associate, so you barely noticed the fuzz around the building. The last exciting thing that had happened there was when Ms. Rose had forgotten to turn off the tap of her bathroom and had caused a leak in Mr. Grump’s apartment (or Mr. Jackson, to those unfamiliar with the man), so the arrival of a handsome, British, young, single man, was bound to cause a stir. 

Pink was the first one to come to his door and make him pet her like it was her right and his duty to do so. Some of your neighbors looked at the interaction with dreamy eyes and wondered if he would do the same for them. 

You didn’t get an opportunity to meet him. You didn’t care how much Ms. Rose would gush about him, dropping hints that you two would make a lovely couple and should give her the grandchildren she could only dream about, you just wished he didn’t play the guitar in the middle of the night when you were trying to focus on typing the perfect email for your neurotic boss. 

The first time you saw Harry wasn’t in the hallways of your building, or when he opened the door for you and helped you carry your groceries. The first time you saw Harry, he was a stranger on the train looking at the passing city through the dirty window. You couldn’t stop looking at his golden eyes that reflected the inclement light of the sun, or at the bob of his Adam's apple, when he tilted his head back, enjoying the music a little bit too much. His headphones were almost as big as his head and his world seemed rather peaceful. And maybe you were staring too hard because when your eyes met, you realized his weren’t really golden, but green, curiosity glinted in his stare and a small smirk tugged up the corner of his lips. 

That very same day, you saw him again at the coffee shop you usually visited on Fridays, when you would reward yourself for getting to the end of the week still employed, by buying a large portion of the most scrumptious chocolate cake ever. And even though it wasn’t Friday yet, you needed a win or a shot of sugar, it didn’t matter which one. You sat on your usual corner, with a tall glass of sparkling water and a large piece of cake, that you would have to work out for 5 days straight. You licked a spoonful of chocolate and your gaze wandered around the shop, which was full of trinkets and dolls, only to be stopped at the sight of the boy from the train. He was tall and lean, and his smile lit up the place as he picked up his order, and carried with ease all four cups of coffee and three small boxes. For a second, it seemed like he wasn’t going to see you, but you still dragged your feet under the table, making yourself smaller by sinking into your chair, just in case. But of course, he turned, perhaps because he felt your stupid, burning stare, and when his eyes fell on you, you could see a glint of surprise and amusement in them. The way he looked at you made you shiver down to your toes. A group of people passed by him and he disappeared with them. Maybe you had dreamt him, you truly did need to take an 8 hours long nap. 

A couple of weeks after, you were certain that your mind was playing tricks on you, and maybe you were still behind on your sleep schedule, cause the boy from the train was standing by your door, this time without a shirt on. His sweaty body was almost gleaming, and your eyes traveled down his body without your permission, taking notes of the muscles on his chest and the ink spilled randomly across his skin. 

There was no time to react, not when he was looking at you as he remembered you, the peeper, and a mocking smile was starting to curl his lips upwards. So you took a sharp breath, and like the coward you were, you got into your apartment and slammed the door behind you as hard as you could. 

Then came the girls, and the screams, and the deep-seated annoyance that could easily be hatred or envy, it depended on the night. Then came the passive-aggressive notes asking him to shut it, and the chocolate bonbons he would leave by your door right before you got from the gym, a smiley face and an “a sweet for my sweet” corny note, and the way he would laugh entirely too hard once you banged the door shut. How he would roll his eyes at your boyfriend, and you would tut-tut in disapproval every time you caught a glimpse of a new girl. 

You knew Harry’s type, too pretty and he knew it, too cool and he enjoyed it. Experience had scarred you enough. 

You know better than to pin for him.

****

“You,” Harry replied, and the simplicity of his words made your bones tremble. Your mind ran wild with images of what could be. 

“Too bad we already used that chance,” you whispered at Harry, at the same time you took a step back just for good measure. Being close to him made you weak at the knees and you had no time for that. 

“Did we?”

“We did.”

“What if…” Harry considered his words and you had a bubbly feeling in your chest that assured you that whatever it was that he was going to suggest, you were going to say yes. “We make that our trial run to see how good we could be, and now we give it a real try.”

“Just one more time?”

“If you want. Or we can make a deal.” He said, the confidence of a man who knew damn well he had already won. 

Your heart, your poor heart. There was a bubbliness in your chest, and you could jump so fucking high. 

“What?”

“I get to try to make cum just as many times. So, if you came around my cock,” he said, raising one finger in the air. His smile was devilish, delicious. “My tongue.” Two fingers in the air. “My fingers.” Harry held three fingers in the air and you felt a sudden need to grab his hand and suck on them. “More than once with some.”

He was right, you almost blacked out with pleasure, barely able to express just how fucking good it felt, other than with guttural noises every time he rammed into you. It wasn’t nice or soft, but desperate and hungry, and you had quite preferred it that way. 

“It was 4,” you whispered, your tongue swiping across your dry bottom lip. Who knew if it had been 4, 5, or 6, or maybe it was 0 and you had dreamed the whole fucking thing. 

“So, 4 times.”

“Is that a promise, Styles? Am I to expect you to make me cum several times every time we fuck?” You smirked and raised your eyebrows, offering a mocking stance that Harry had learned to appreciate. Crave, even. “What if you don’t?”

“Then we save the rest for a rainy day.”

“Until I’m just one more name in that long list of yours,” you said and you didn’t know how you managed to do that, because there was a void that sat on the lower part of your tummy, hungry, demanding. 

“S’not that long. And you’re on a list of your own.”

Your shy smile was like fuel. He didn’t quite understand how you managed to fire him up so much, while still blushing, so fucking unaware of the effect that you had on him. You made him dizzy, which he didn’t even know was possible. Butterflies were just a myth. 

This time, there was no doubt he was the first one to kiss you, stalking down to you before either one could think things through. There are moments in life where just your brain isn’t enough. 

His hands wandered down your body, nails digging on your flesh as your bodies started to mold to each other. The need to bite him and lick him overpowered your senses and you looped your arm around his shoulders, just in case he would get any ideas of taking back his promise.  

You kissed him, not in a nice way, but more in a “you fucked me a month ago and I saw God, why haven’t you fucked me more?” kind of way. But your enthusiasm was met with Harry’s need to explore and taste your mouth. He wasn’t in a hurry, he never seemed to be, and still, he was able to set your body and your heart ablaze, matching the rhythm of his own. You could feel it beating hard underneath your fingertips. 

Your fingers pushed into his curls and you pulled lightly on them, as his tongue massaged yours. His soft grunt echoed down your body, the electric pull making you shiver as his fingers found the round of your ass again, and he took a step further until you had no other choice but to lie down on his bed. 

You weren’t wearing much, just his white cotton shirt and your underwear, while Harry only had his black boxers on, tight and short. He was lean and his chest was muscled in the perfect kind of way, while his hips were still soft and round, and you wanted to do was bite him there, trail your mouth down his navel until you could take his cock in your mouth and kiss it, lick it, suck it, so you could taste him. 

Your hands traveled down the soft skin of his neck, the firmness of his collarbones, and the tautness of his chest, and his breath turned sharp into the kiss as your fingertips brushed over his tummy. The kiss was soft and deep, slow and maddening, and Harry enjoyed the way you felt under his fingers, warm and sweet if anyone was fool enough to believe you. You were made out of fire, and even if he didn’t know how to put it into words, you made him curious and eager to learn the taste of your skin and the map of your body. 

Harry pulled away from your kiss, but he didn’t give you time to whine about it, like you had begun to do, because he kissed the hinge of your jaw and down your neck, making you shiver as he licked your delicate skin. His hands pressed to your thighs and as he trailed them up your body, he riled up the cotton shirt you were wearing. As he grazed over your waist, a shy smile curled up the corner of your lips, and you obediently raised your arms and let him take the shirt off of you, and went lie down on the bed so Harry could hover over you and trail kisses down the valley of your chest. 

As Harry stopped kissing you and looked down at you, he did something he had never done before. His fingers wrapped around your throat and he stared at your face, as your pouty lips formed into an ‘o’ and your eyes went wild with lust when he squeezed lightly. He was still looking at you as his fingers went under your panties and he grazed a fingertip over your wet slit, and he wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something about the way you arched your back and opened your mouth for him that made his lower tummy burn. 

“Do you want me to fuck you, babe?” He asked, drawing tight little circles on your clit. He knew very damn well the answer to his question, he could feel it from how wet you were and how easily he could slide one finger in your center, then two. His thumb brushed over your clit and his lips spread into a grin as you visibly shuddered for him.

Now, he had to play his cards very carefully. 

“Yes,” you laughed deliriously, maybe from the lack of oxygen in your brain. “Please, fuck me right now.”

There was something about having sex with Harry that was quite different from what you defined as sex. Yes, there was a lot of fucking involved, but you weren’t the giver as much as the receiver. Harry was careful and sexy and giving, and he liked to see you moan and roll your eyes to the back of your head with sheer pleasure, and so, he kissed and touched your body in just the right ways to get everything out of you. Your body held a lot of joy and pleasure and he seemed to want it all for himself. 

4 times. You had 4 more chances to look up to. 

But Harry didn’t do as you wanted, not right away at least. His thumb kept drawing lazy circles on your clit, while his fingers rhythmically fucked you, rubbing the spongy spot of your walls every time. Harry let go of your throat, to your disappointment, and he lied down next to you, pushing down the fabric of your bra to play with your nipple, pulling on it before he sucked it into his mouth, and moved his thumb just a little faster. Your trembling fingers tangled in his hair and you pulled on it as Harry drove you to the edge. It started in your curling toes and bubbled up to your legs until it settled in your belly, pulsing and fiery, making you quiver and tensed up at the same time. 

You were so close that you could already feel the start of a delicious high, clouding your mind and taking over your entire body. So, you felt more than a little inconvenienced when Harry stopped. Your eyes flew open and you glared at the stupid smirk that had printed on his pink lips. Yes, your nose flared and you opened up your lips to protest, but you were soon silenced as Harry’s fingers hooked around your panties, and he pulled down your legs as he went to stand between them. 

��C’mere, babe,” Harry smiled, and his fingers curled around your thighs and pulled you to the end of the bed, just as he got on his knees for you. Your laugh bounced off the walls, but it was soon cut short by the deeply heartfelt ‘fuck’ that came at the feeling of his tongue lapping across your wet slit. It felt thick between your lips and its tip slid in your center, pumping in once and twice before he went back to focus on your sensitive clit, pulling it between his lips as he sucked it. 

“Harry, fuck,” you moaned. His fingers were now pumping into you as well, as his tongue played with your clit. 

Harry was everywhere, the fingers of his free hands were pressing on your tummy so you couldn’t arch your back, but he could feel it starting to tremble, just as your knees, which were hooked around his shoulders, did the same. His eyes couldn’t tear off of you, so he watched you as your mouth hung open and your eyes scrunched up closed, your messy hair sticking to your forehead. You were close again, throbbing around his tongue, and clamping your legs around his head without control. His name was a prayer in your lips. 

It wasn’t fair when he stopped and he knew it.

“I fucking hate you,” you whined, all pouts and glares, coming down from your rush. You were so close, it took you a couple of seconds to regain control of your body, and light spams still took over your belly. 

“You don’t,” Harry smiled in response. “Come and take off my boxers.”

You did as you were told, sitting on the bed with a slight bounce of anticipation and looking up at Harry in his eyes as you tugged on his boxers, pushing them down from his hips, the round of his ass and his meaty thighs, and ignoring his cock, as it sprang free from the restrictions of the fabric. 

Harry wasn’t fully hard, and his sharp breath filled the air when you wrapped your lips around his cock, taking as much of him as you could and hollowing your cheeks to suck him tightly. He grew heavier and thicker on your tongue, and if you looked up, you would’ve been able to see the veins of his neck popping up as he threw his head back with pleasure. 

“Fuck, baby,” Harry moaned, which was fucking music to your ears, as you wrapped your fingers around his length and twisted them around while you sucked the tip, lapping your tongue sloppily around it and kissing it. There was a new hunger about the way you did it, a new need to give him half the pleasure he had provided. But as Harry’s cock twitched for the first time against your lips, his hands pressed to your shoulders and he made you stop as he pushed you back to bed, so you lied down for him, with your legs spread open and your fingers between your lips as you licked them. 

The slight burn of your walls as Harry pushed his tip inside you made you moan, and you arched your back to adjust to him. Harry smiled as your hands brushed over his neck and your fingers tangled on his soft curls, and he pressed his body to yours to kiss you softly and deeply, matching the slow pace of his hips. 

“Can you hold it for me?” Harry whispered against your lips, his voice already strained. 

“I can do anything for you right now,” you whispered back. You weren’t sure you were going to be able to hold it, though. Harry was picking up his rhythm, and he thrust his hips hard and fast against yours, while he kissed your neck and your chest and his deep grunts rumbled over your skin, adding to the fire that was crippling up again your skin, raising goosebumps everywhere and making your body shiver without your permission. 

You needed to hold it, but it hard, because Harry was hitting just the right place, that spongy spot between your walls that made your walls clench every time, and he kept sucking and licking on whatever skin he could find, particularly excited about taking your nipple between his lips and lapping his tongue sloppily on the sensitive skin. You needed to hold it, but your mind could barely put thoughts together anymore, much less remember what restrain meant.

“Be a good girl foh’me...fuck…” Harry whispered in your ear, and you whined at his words, closing your eyes as blissful waves pushed against your walls, ready to roll all over your body. You were more than ready to cry out of pleasure, but as you clamped your legs around his hips, Harry’s thrust became sloppier and his legs went stiff as he looked for his own high. So you brought his face to yours and kissed him hard and deep, at the same time you rocked your hips and clenched your walls to tip him over that edge.“Can I come in your pussy?”

“Yes, please, do that. Cum in my pussy.” It took him a few more seconds, or maybe it was minutes, time was weird and it didn’t really matter in times like this, to get there, but you felt yourself get warm as his juices filled you and turned into a kaleidoscope full of bright colors that made your head spin. The fire that burned in your tummy spread across your body, and your bodies kept moving as you rode the high, sharing lazy kisses and soft touches. 

Harry lied down on the bed when he rolled off of you, and you pressed your clammy body to him, to kiss on his chest and his neck. 

A nagging voice in the back of your head told you that you should not get too comfortable in Harry’s bed and that you should get up and leave before he told you to do it, but it didn’t seem like the thought was even crossing his mind, because he was drawing mindless patterns on your back and looking at you with a lazy smirk. 

“Had fun?” He asked and you nodded, resting your head against his shoulder so he could hug you. 

“Had lots of fun. Could’ve had a lot more if you had let me cum.”

“I told you, we can keep’em for a rainy day or a sunny one, I don’t fucking care.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“You want some pizza? I’m fucking hungry.”

“Yeah, I’d like that. No pineapple, please,” you said, to which he snorted. You just weren’t sure if it was a snort of agreement or one of protest. You watched him, as he got up from the bed and went to pick his phone, fiddling with it while he ordered the pizza, hopefully, one without pineapple. He looked fucking good, sweaty and naked, all yours to ogle at. You must have blushed when he turned around, cause curiosity glinted in his green eyes and he rushed to bed to climb over you, the weight of his body pinning you down to the mattress. It didn’t matter, it gave you a chance to play with his curls. 

“What?” He asked and smiled childishly when you shook your head. “Just so you know, I have never fucked Mrs. Lee,” he said, which was not what you were expecting. “She sometimes comes here and asks me to fix shit for her. I think she wants company.”

“Nah, she wants to fuck you.”

“I’m not interested.”

“What about your girlfriend?”

“She’s not...we’re not together anymore.”

“Why?”

“I met her after that night, and I really liked her...I guess I was the only one that thought we were exclusive,” he shrugged, even though, if you listened carefully, there was a hint of hurt in his voice. Was it his ego that hurt? or was it his heart? Very different and yet, similar enough for people to mistake them for one another. 

“Oh...”

“It’s ok, we weren’t really nothing, I was just getting my hopes up.”

“Love suck, man. We should form our own club: the broken-hearted bunch.”

Hiiiii, thank you for reading!! It truly means the world to me! If you liked this story, and maybe want more, please let me know! I am currently writing for “me”, so any type of feedback would be greatly appreciated, as it helps me to find out if you want me to keep sharing! Also, a reblog would help me spread my stories around, but if you don’t feel like it, it’s ok. Have a nice day, and very very happy holidays!  

[ayellowcurtain]

that clip from s3 where robbe tells zoe he’s into one guy and she asks him to explain and i’m sad we didn’t get to see that, so could you maybe write robbe telling her what happened with sander??? it would’ve been so interesting to see since she also knew him

Robbe sits on Zoe’s bed, trying to look at her but deciding to stare at her sheets for a little longer, feeling how much softer it is from his. She doesn’t rush him but Milan does, squeaking and rushing to sit on the other side of the bed, a lot less careful than Robbe, making the three of them jump a little bit. 

He bites his cheek, trying not to smile, praying Zoe won’t change her opinion about him when she knows all the facts. 

“Hm...you know Sander...?” He tries even though he knows the answer. Maybe Zoe wasn’t paying attention, too busy with her constant Senne drama during the beach trip. 

She nods her head, frowning a little bit. 

“The blonde guy, right?” She asks so softly that Robbe smiles, thinking about his mom and how she and Zoe have this similar thing where they’re always trying to be nice, by your side, even if they might come to the conclusion that maybe you did something bad. 

“Of course you would notice that the boy has the same hair color as yours!” Milan rolls his eyes but Robbe tries to keep his attention on Zoe and her reaction. 

Milan is a good friend, and he’s been trying to help for the past few weeks, especially right now but maybe his excitement of having a gay roomate might change his general opinion so Zoe is more important. She knows a lot more of the backstory and Robbe really wants an honest opinion of how bad of a human he is when he falls in love with someone that is in a relationship. 

“Hm, yeah,” Robbe nods his head and cleans his throat, decided to stare as deep inside Zoe’s eyes as possible, “That’s the guy.” 

“His guy!” Milan adds, so excited and Robbe can’t help but feel the same. Even though things are messy and bad between him and Sander now, he still gives Robbe all the butterflies in his stomach and Robbe still thinks he’s the best person ever. 

“Oh...Oh!” Zoe nods her head slowly, looking into Robbe’s eyes like they’re telling each other secrets that Milan is not able to hear. He claps his hands and gets up, saying they need some wine for this reunion. 

Robbe follows him out the door with his eyes, leaving the door open while he goes to the kitchen but Zoe is still looking at him, pulling her legs closer to her, holding her own shins so her feet face each other. 

“You and Sander are like together together?” 

By the way that she asks it’s clear that she knows Sander and Britt are still a thing. Or something that Robbe can’t really understand. She knows that they’ve been kissing at parties, and she’s trying to check if Robbe knows that or if she’ll have to burst his love bubble. 

“We were...I think. But then he got back together with Britt.” Zoe sighs and nods her head, seeming to be as disappointed as Robbe is, and he’s thankful for the friend that he has, “Hm, and so I obviously started ignoring him, and he wasn’t reaching out to me either, which is weird because, hm...” Milan gets back with a bottle of red wine and fancy glasses like he’s on cue. 

Robbe drinks a little bit of wine to see if it’ll help him muster the courage to explain how things happened. 

He doesn’t go back to that conversation, talking about how good the cheap wine Milan bought a few days ago is, and looking at Milan’s phone to help him decide what to order for them to eat. 

But while Milan finishes their order, Zoe stares at him again, sipping her wine, resting against the foot of her bed. 

“And you said you’re into one guy, at least...” 

Robbe looks at her, wetting his lips with his tongue, trying to get rid of the bitterness of the wine a little bit “I never felt like this before. So yeah, I guess it’s one guy.” 

Robbe pinches the palm of his hand, trying to explain his thoughts, “Sure, maybe I found some guys good looking before, but I never fell in love so I don’t think it counts...it does feel like it counts for me right now. And whatever I pretend I had with Noor doesn’t even compare to this.”

She smiles against her glass and Robbe doesn’t have to look to know Milan is smiling too, so happy to have Robbe’s love life to talk about now too. 

“You need to see this, Zoe!” Milan grabs his phone again, searching for something as he scoots to her side, showing whatever he was looking for, “Sander painted a huge wall with Robbe’s face. I have a Grindr friend that works around the area and I asked him to send me a picture, look.” 

“What?!” Zoe sits up straight right away, more excited than any other day, ever. 

“Milan!” Robbe exasperates, unaware of that part of the story, rushing to the other side of the bed to see the picture too. 

It isn’t finished yet, but picture this on a big wall. In these intense colors. Robbe wanted to kiss him so badly after that, Sander sounded so excited and actually ready to do it. Robbe never thought he actually would but the possibility made him drunk in love. 

Robbe wishes he had time to see all the pictures that Sander took of him that afternoon. Every five minutes he would pull his camera out and take pictures, but the films weren’t developed quick enough. Robbe wonders if Sander looks at the photos from that day and regrets it. 

“And this was designed here, right next door to you!” Zoe steals Milan’s phone from his hands, zooming in. 

“What? When?”

Robbe laughs, looking at himself, in that huge wall again, feeling the butterflies fly everywhere inside his stomach. 

“It wasn’t designed here! He drew this some other day but he showed it to me when we were hanging out here one day when you two weren’t home.” 

The two look at him like Robbe just told them his dirtiest secret and he rolls his eyes. 

“He was hiding his cute boyfriend from us.” Milan whispers, pouring more wine for the three of them.

“He’s not my boyfriend...” Robbe walks around to sit back on the bed, looking down, “And it doesn’t matter now. Like I said, it’s complicated. And I don’t want complicated.” 

He sighs, pushing himself to lie on Zoe’s pillows, “I just want him to like me the way I like him,” Robbe thinks out loud. 

Zoe nudges his leg with her feet, and Robbe turns his side to the side to look back at her. 

“It’s not complicated. You like him and he likes you.” 

Robbe sighs, wishing he had the time right now to tell her every detail of how complicated it is but he doesn’t feel like doing it either. He wants to keep thinking about the butterflies and how badly he’s in love with Sander, ignoring all the drama. 

“He’s with Britt so I’m not sure of how serious his feelings are for me.” 

“Robbe.” She sounds like his mom now, and so he looks at her and tries to listen, “Sander likes you. It’s your cute face on that wall, not Britt’s. And this is new, if I’m understanding correctly.” 

She looks from Milan to Robbe in search for her confirmation and they both nod their heads, Milan a lot more eagerly. 

Robbe closes his eyes, trying not to think about his heartbreak and how badly he misses Sander, wishing they could talk. Zoe lies next to him and Milan follows and he lets himself be held, ignoring the few tears that manage to slip down his temple. 

He notices when Milan gets up after what feels like a second since he closed his eyes, and Milan turns the lights off. Robbe can hear the glasses being put in Zoe’s dresser in the dark and Milan lying down again, Zoe is sleeping against Robbe’s shoulder and he closes his eyes, falling back asleep instantly. 

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Hi! Long time lurker, big fan of this blog. Can I request either a headcannon or a fic of Viv Tang?

Basically, it goes like this, it's an AU of some sort, where Viv and the Poppy leave MC. MC tried to hate them and forget them especially Viv, but couldn't do it. So out of spite and care, MC creates a whole organisation that revolves around protecting Viv and the others. (Making sure their heists go well, the police/government never finding them, making sure that their old enemies never get to them etc.) They've been doing this in private, but Viv and the others catch on, and that thought bothers them. Enough to make them distracted in their latest heist.

Their heist went down in shambles, leaving MC's crew to step in and made sure they're safe, leaving MC's mark to take the blame.

They were confused ofc, but MC's crew was just giddy and happy that they get to meet their leader's old crew.

Basically, they meet MC, MC makes them make it up to her.

And we know how in the original Viv route, we try really hard to pry her open and get her to trust us, well Viv does the same, trying to get MC to forgive her. And just angst ending with fluff please?

Lots of Love <3

This will contain both HC and story parts.

…

·         After Vivienne leaves MC poisoned in Paris, of course she’s pissed.

·         A talk with Jace (and some stress painting) later, MC feels like she has a pretty good grasp of Vivienne’s decision

“She was scared,” she muses, idly playing with one of her brushes, a thoughtful frown on her face as her mind wanders to the other members. “And they were… willing to give her a way out, I guess? Pretty messed up, considering they got me in this whole thing to begin with…”

Thing is, they hadn’t left her without something. Zoe had made sure MC could return to her normal life ‘after you lay low for a bit, probably two months’, advice left in a letter alongside some cash. Enough to buy a few plane tickets around the world. First class.

Even after their most recent decision, MC could recall how careful and welcoming everyone had been. Vivienne was always a mystery, of course, lingering at the edge while MC got to know Jett and Zoe in the Art Club they had formed, or as MC debated with Remy and Leon about a movie they had been watching. With Nikolai, it was mostly challenges Nikolai loved to issue and MC was too proud to deny. But she was always there, in the background. She had become a rather comforting presence, as MC had formed bonds with everyone.

“This was not the best course of action, but they took it anyway.” Vivienne’s choice had been driven by emotion, raw panic, but MC just couldn’t wrap her mind around Nikolai or Zoe, both logical to the bone, supporting it. “There must have been something else, there.”

·         With the anger slowly cooling off, MC thought she could almost begin to understand their reasons. The Poppy isn’t the sort of group to taint their hands with blood, not unless it’s absolute necessary.

·         Celine had pushed everyone, even if the heist ended on a positive note.

·         ‘I believe you have a place with us’, Nikolai had said. MC remembered the heist and how everything could have gone wrong.

·         Their talent and quick-thinking are the only reason they got out of that situation relatively unharmed.

·         No doubt the rest of their heists carried the same danger.

·         MC thought of Celine, gun aiming at her chest, eyes glinting in Vivienne’s direction and made a split-second decision.

·         There was no way, no way at all, that she was going to let anything happen to them.

…

·         When Vivienne had first noticed the sudden lack of danger in their heists, she was instantly suspicious.

·         She couldn’t afford to brush anything off in her line of work.

·         Zoe finds the source in no time.

·         To say they were confused as an understatement.

“I thought she was back in New York?”

“I don’t understand, why would she choose this?”

“We’re hardly so incompetent as to need a guard.”

“How long has this been happening?”

“Couple months, so maybe they started operating around March?” Zoe throws them a withering look so they’ll shut up, and lets out a long sigh once they do. “Point is, we’ve gained a new stalker, even if it’s her. She got a whole organization going, she’s pretty dedicated.”

“Of course she is, it’s why we choose her in the first place.”

“Technically, Vivienne did.”

“Well, yeah. Still, this is insane. So little time, and yet…”

“MC was always a fighter,” Vivienne says, quietly. “It’s certainly an… interesting choice…”

“She seems to have very good intel,” Zoe continues, eyes glued to her laptop’s screen. “Too good. She knows our every movement.”

“Which means she will be lurking around this heist.” Nikolai drums his fingers against his armchair, a frown firmly in place. “That might be a problem.”

“She’s been doing this for months, but we’ve never caught a glimpse of her. It’s safe to say she won’t approach us, right?”

“We probably shouldn’t, either. Not for now. We need more info on this organization of hers.”

“We’ll proceed as planned.”

·         Except nothing goes as planned.

·         Jett’s bombs don’t go off when they should, providing no distraction and thus no way of escape for Vivienne and Nikolai.

·         No safe way, at any rate.

·         The guards get suspicious of their malfunctioning equipment remarkably quick, moving to search the place.

·         Remy gets found out first, though he stalls as much as he can.

·         It’s enough time for Leon and Nikolai to think for a way out, though Remy is still with the guards.

·         The bombs go off at that moment, and Vivienne is trapped.

·         It’s at that moment that MC’s crew intervene.

·         The guards are the most important issue, and so most of her crew go handle it.

·         MC takes care of Vivienne personally.

“Well, that went great.” MC says, flashing Vivienne a cheeky smile when she finds her. Vivienne looks up at her with wide eyes, brown eyes glinting under the light of the room.

“How did you…”

“Questions later, darling. Can you walk?”

Vivienne blinks, taking a deep breath. The motion helps her get rid of most of her surprise. She knows she doesn’t have time to lose, so she accepts MC hand and follows her out. The trip is quiet, of course. Vivienne keeps a carefully neutral expression on, eyes flickering from the woman in front of her to the rest of their escape route.

It’s hard, trying to compare this woman with the one she had kissed all those months ago. She remembers how her hands grasped at her robe, passionate, truthful, those sweet words MC had muttered against Vivienne’s mouth, before the poison had taken effect.

MC had said she would never hurt Vivienne. Vivienne had poisoned her, afraid she would hurt MC.

It didn’t feel like she could hurt the woman before her, though, standing tall and strong and confident, a leader, someone made out of stone. For a moment, Vivienne had the impression poison wouldn’t even work on her anymore.

·         MC had changed. It was as clear as the water glimmering outside the organization’s HQ.

·         She wasn’t the same bubbly, hopeful girl Vivienne had taken around Paris, teaching everything she could about thievery.

·         She wasn’t the same passionate, proud artist she had been, brush in hand, smiling in wonder and then frowning in concentration when she tried to capture something beautiful. Somehow, most of the time, the subject of her painting was Vivienne herself.

·         She was steely, snarky, commanding the room with her very presence. All eyes followed her as she went, speaking clear orders for the crew to follow.

·         In the beginning, they had stuck to the Gilded Poppy like glue, curious. No doubt they were trying to see why MC cared about them so much to go through this kind of trouble.

·         One look from MC was enough to get them to disperse.

·         This change… everything it entailed… Vivienne wanted to know more.

“So, how did it feel?” MC had asked her as soon as they got a moment alone. Vivienne shot her a glance, trying to decipher something in her expression.

“How did what feel?”

“Thinking you could force me out of this. You got me in this life.”

“I gave you a way out.”

“But I told you, didn’t I? I wanted this, and you…”

“I’ve lived all my life like this. I didn’t want you to face-”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have chosen me, then. Ever think of this little thing called consequences?”

Isadora flashes through her mind, quick, too quick. It leaves a trail of golden hair in the back on her mind, all too real when she closes her eyes. Vivienne presses her lips together, forces herself to focus.

“This organization…”

“Don’t let it get to your head, darling. It’s not you I’m worried about.”

“…The others, then.”

“Yes. Quid pro quo, and all that. I’ll see what I can ask in return later.”

“We didn’t ask you to intervene.”

“You didn’t ask before poisoning me, either. I feel like doing drastic things without asking for permission are common place around here.”

“That doesn’t even-”

“Ah, ah, ah. Did I save your lives, yes or no?”

Jett had said, before they got released from the medical ward, that the plan failing was entirely his fault, after getting too distracted thinking about MC to get his usual formulas right. Vivienne didn’t doubt him – Jett was, after all, very dedicated to his craft. A mistake was unthinkable, unless something of this magnitude managed to get to him.

He felt guilty and weirded out, probably, she thinks bitterly, despite everything being my fault, as per usual.

“…you did.”

The smile that stretches over MC’s face is almost predatory, brown eyes glinting with satisfaction. “That’s what I like to hear.”

[ktheist]

saving grace | 5

muses. duke!yoongi x lady!reader

universe. arranged marriage / minor traces of magic in history

concept. driven into a corner with the new king, seokjin, offering to marry you off to a prince in a foreign land and a persistent mother who would seize the chance of a lucrative marriage for her daughter, you’re forced with the only other option to secure your freedom ‒ enter into a beneficial agreement with the man who reaped the seeds of war, the duke of cralon, yoongi min.

words. 6.7k

warnings. mentions of war, it’s cliche and cheesy all in one package

index. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / finale

x

after your return from the min mansion, your mother, ever the loving parent, greets you at the door. her bright smile can be seen from miles away as she stands with her hands planted on her hips like someone who’s looking at her life’s worth investment.

“well?” she urges with an unfaltering smile.

“well?” you blink once, head lulling to the side as you stare at her for an explanation.

“don’t pretend to be ignorant,” she clicks her tongue but the contorted expression on her face is short lived as the smile returns, its force almost compelling you to take a step backwards, “did you two-”

“oh, ___, you’re back. i heard that you stayed the night at the duke’s.” your father, having emerged out of his office on the second floor calls for you and for some reason causes the woman in front of you to freeze as though haunted by guilt.

oh.

with a disarming smile, you wave at your father before recounting the reason you couldn’t go back right away after the party, “oh yes, it’s because mo-”

“i’m sure our daughter’s hungry, i’ll have the chef prepare something right away and in the mean time, we’ll be having tea in my parlor,” with that, the woman who has her hand clasped over her mouth whisks you away and into a narrow corridor right under where your father was standing.

huffing, she fixes you a displeased frown, “gosh, i only wanted to help my beloved daughter secure a good future!”

“mother!” hands planted on your hips, you fix your mother an incredulous look,   “by getting rid of any other means for me to leave the mention in hopes i’d seduce the duke to sleep with me and get him to marry me quickly in fear for my being pregnant with an out-of-wedlock child?” your shoulder line are stiff as you watch your mother not even batting an eye at the issues arising within that narration and instead grins in approval at what seems to be a mutual understanding between a mother and a daughter.

“i knew you were smart!”

not wishing to burst her bubble of joy, you excuse yourself to your room, saying the fatigue of hosting a garden party hasn’t entirely left you just yet. fortunately, she the matter of whether you’ve spent the night in yoongi’s room has dissipated in the air as she wishes you a good rest before murmuring something about writing a letter to marchioness jung to invite her to tea or rather, to boast about the daughter that’s marrying the duke who’s several ranks higher than a count’s.

you wonder how she would react once your matchmaking succeeds and krystal ends up becoming a candidate as seokjin’s queen but you decide that your mother’s wounded pride would be a matter of a future that you need not yet concern yourself with.

“leslie, prepare to go to vivian’s.” you question as the maid pulls down on the zip of your dress and allow you to step out of it until you’re staring at the woman in a white underdress in front of the mirror.

“but my lady, that boutique is...” the woman trails off, eyes slanted to the ground in search for the proper words to describe the handiwork.

you’re not entirely sure why she’s against it either but if there’s anything leslie’s good at, it’s being meticulous in her tasks which includes making sure you don only the best clothes, “don’t worry, i won’t be buying the engagement dress there. i just wish to confirm something.”

with that, her eyes lights up and for some reason, the same way your mother does when she offhandedly commends your ability to think just now, “right away, my lady!” the beam doesn’t go away nor so much as falter throughout the ride.

“we’re here to see mademoiselle vivian for my lady’s engagement party,” leslie approaches the worker that greets you when you came in.

you don’t miss the stare shot your way as you study the dresses wrapped around the mannequins until his jaw drops, possibly from the realization of who you are, “r-right this way, lady ___.”

the room you’re brought in is furnished with leather couches and extravagant patterns on its walls and curtains that make you wonder if there is such a thing as illegally pairing colors together.

only the higher ranking aristocrats, namely those from count families and above, would be able to afford clothes made by mademoiselle vivian, a foreign woman from a country across the seas who moved to cearis in search for a lover she’d met and fell deeply in love with but up until now, she still hasn’t found said lover.

or so the story goes.

perhaps it was a selling point to catch the eyes of helpless romantics - rich ones at that. but either way, she’s proved her talent through her intricate designs that time and time again sets off a new trend when a fairly influential noblewoman goes to a gathering in the dress she makes.

it’s no secret that krystal is a loyal customer to vivian’s. but then again, it has more to do about her looks than the dresses she wear. not that it matters to vivian because she’ll be dropping names of noblewomen who ordered dresses from her to gain trust from new customers.

but you’re not here for that.

“are the designs not to your liking, lady ___?” the woman’s bespectacled eyes bore into you after you let out a troubled sigh, eyebrows pulling together as though in deep dilemma.

“no, no, they’re all beautiful,” you let your words hang in the air for suspense before setting down the catalog and turning your whole body towards the woman, “it’s just... i want something that makes a statement, you see.”

“a statement...” she echoes.

“something like...” you murmur to yourself while she echoes your very words a second later.

“...a dress that tells other ladies that they can’t compare without being loud!” you clap your hands together, pleased that you’ve found the words you’ve been searching for.

it takes a moment of the woman burning a hole into the catalog of her designs while you take a sip of the lavender tea. it’s harder to find such tea and fewer can afford it because of the limited import and the high tax rate imposed seeing as only well-off nobles would usually have them at homes.

“i see it now,” she seems to have returned from a walk down the rabbit hole of laces and ribbons, “i don’t usually recommend this since the ladies that come to my shop need a little bit of help standing out - and my dresses do just that but! i think simpler designs would fit you and enhance your beauty like lady jung.”

you mentally cheer at the mention of the name, adding in a blink of surprise, “do you mean... krystal?”

“oh yes, she has the beauty of a crescent moon. a mysterious allure that attracts men and women alike...” vivian drones on with glazed eyes as though she’s descended over to another realm where the walls are tower high and plastered with krystal’s portraits posing in different dresses and her cat-like eyes seem to move wherever one goes.

“...but it’s a shame that her engagement with duke gillmore’s son’s been cancelled!” she ends with a dejected sigh as her shoulder line falls.

“the engagement’s been cancelled?” the fruit of your visit is turning ripe by the second as you clasp a hand over your ‘o’ shaped mouth.

almost as though realizing her slip up, vivian’s own hand shoots up to her mouth but for a different reason than yours, “oh, i shouldn’t be telling you this that since it’s not officially announced yet,” she meets your gaze with a hint of sparkle in them, whatever remorse she felt for revealing what isn’t due, has dissipated into the air, “bit to think the dress i made specifically for her engagement party would not be seeing the light of the day! it pains me so!”

the gillmores are the fourth and last of the ducal houses with the mins being the first and strong supporter of the royal family for hundreds of years. understandably, only two of the houses bear marriageable heirs to the title but with yoongi taking on the name grim reaper, naturally marquis jung would never allow krystal to marry him which leaves duke gillmore’s son as the only available candidate.

that was... until the crown prince who was engaged to a foreign princess was heartlessly murdered by his half-blooded brother. judging from how objective driven krystal is, she must have her eyes set on a bigger price than becoming duchess of the gillmore’s dukedom. and coincidentally so, as vivian mindlessly laments, the engagement was said to be cancelled two months ago which is around the same time seokjin must have called her to have her spread the rumor about you and yoongi’s engagement.

“my lady, have you gotten what you came here for?” the woman sitting across from you in the carriage finally breaks the silence after loyally following your lead as you bid vivian a half-hearted farewell because ‘i’ve realized i can’t make decisions like this on my own! please have the catalogs to the min residence. i’ll review them with my fiancee once he gets back.’

“leslie,” you feel a smile bloom across your face, “we’ve got ourselves a queen.”

x

for the rest of the week, you find yourself swarmed with letters and invitations to more social gatherings. back then, when you were just a marquis’ daughter and not a duke min’s fiance, invitations have not been scarce yet they’ve never been this overflowing. white envelops with varying house seals litter the white table in front of the window each day. before you can even finish reading those that accumulated in the inbox yesterday, a new bulk would have gathered by the end of today.

so when you hear the knock on your door, you don’t even bother asking who it was, only a short, “come in.”

in your engrossment in reading a letter sent from irene, you fail to notice the lack of footsteps after the noticeable click of the door swinging open and then shutting until it’s too late.

a black gloved hand props itself on the table while another gently settles on your shoulder, a distinctive scent of mint filling your senses. but the husky voice drumming in your ears is no stranger to you,“you’ve been busy.”

“yoongi!” the letter almost slips out of your hand as you crane your neck to gaze into a familiar pair of crimson eyes. but the surprise is short-lived as you become unnervingly aware of how close your faces are, so much so, you can feel his hot breath on your lips.

judging from how he still has his cloak and the formal knight uniform, he must have rode straight to your mansion after entering the boarders of the dukedom. why he chooses to do so, you don’t wish to indulge in.

“w-welcome back, how was the-” the words die on your throat as the coolness of his gloved thumb grazes your bottom lip.

you barely register the delicate “i missed you, ___,” that’s spoken within the minute space between his lips and yours before he closes the distance.

you’ve known those pink lips were soft from the kisses he leaves on the back of your hand but having them on yours are a separate matter altogether. it feels almost unfair that he’s the one who initiated the kiss but wouldn’t go further than a feather light peck before he pulls away, almost as though he thinks you’d break under the slightest pressure.

the faintest smile graces his features as though content to have felt you, to know that you’re not a dream. but on your part, it’s not enough and it will never be once you’ve had a taste of what sweet sacrilege tastes like.

you don’t have the time to admire the way those usually unbothered eyes widen, taken aback as your arm wraps around his neck, locking him within a birdcage large enough for him to stretch his wings but too small for him to escape.

when you break apart for air, you indistinctly register the burning sensation on your lips until yoongi’s eyes slants over them, finger hooked under your chin as he apologizes, “i might’ve been too rough.”

you’re not quite sure what he means, choosing to ignore such statements because he was every bit gentle - passionate, is a whole different story that you rather not think about as you invite him to sit in the chair across from you but instead, he drags it around and plops next to you. your knee brushes against his from time to time but you rather like the feeling of having a part of him touching you one way or another.

“your mother led me to your room,” he says simply, “i assumed you’d been informed.”

almost as though your mother’s scheming smile is ingrained in your head, you barely bat an eye at yoongi’s words as you sarcastically mutter, “i’m sure it must’ve slipped her mind.”

when leslie comes in with snacks, her lingering stare on your face does not go unnoticed but her free smile allows you to shake off the matter almost instantly.

“the inspection resulted in a graver findings,” yoongi apprises, blood red eyes holding your gaze as his next words sends a spear piercing through your heart, “we found children in the basement of the granary. the count’s been involved in human trafficking - nobody knows yet and the knights won’t say a word but once i report this to seokjin, it’ll be the only thing the capital will talk about for awhile.”

no nobility has ever truly lived an honest and clean life. if one were to dig even just the surface of a noble family’s activities, it isn’t hard to find corruption, bribery and even explanation to murders but to have been involved with human trafficking...

the smiling faces of the orphanage not too far from your mansion, flash at the back of your mind. the children had been in the poorest condition the first time you met them. but over time, they’d gained strength from the supplies you’d brought monthly and would come running to you and seokjin whenever you visited. it’s been awhile since you saw them after seokjin’s coronation and the distribution of supplies had been done by the people from the palace with the help of the servants from your house. the circumstances has significantly improved over the year but the thought of someone going as far as exploiting young children, those who were supposed to be under his care and protection makes your stomach churn.

you should have known. should have looked deeper into the activities of that degenerate count-

“not matter how much resource you have, you couldn’t have seen this coming.” the arms that wrap around your body are warm as they pull you flush against a chest. you don’t even realize you have your hands clenched into fists and trembling for the longest time until your shoulder line sags and all the strength inside your body seems to seep out your pores. if yoongi hadn’t held you, you would have hit the ground. either because of unbridled rage or unadulterated hopelessness.

you’re not sure how long time has passed with him holding you in his arms, but you don’t allow yourself the time to mope around more than you should. when you pull away, yoongi seems to have already expect the words that come out of your mouth, “i’ll make sure he’s stripped of his title and so are the people around him who stayed quiet.”

“i don’t doubt your capability,” his thumb rubs circles on the back of your hand, “but that would mean punishing every single commoner in his territory.”

the sound of your gritting teeth drums in your ears as your jaw sores, “they probably didn’t have anyone to turn to when their own lord was behind the atrocities plaguing their village,” a lump forms in your throat, you can only imagine the state the children were found in.

a hand wraps around yours, thumbs smoothing over each of your palms, “you saved them. if you hadn’t thought to suggest the trade, we wouldn’t have a solid reason to inspect the park family’s territory.”

“it was all his doing- he burst out first,” you swallow thickly, “i just reaped the seed he planted.”

a sigh drums in your ears, forcing you to look up and meet the duke’s molten gaze as his shoulder line falls. almost as though he’s surrendering to a fight he knows won’t be in his favor, “no words i say can possibly lift the heavy burden off your chest.”

you don’t deny it.

“would you like to come with me to the palace? i’ll be heading there in three day’s time to report our findings to the king,” his eyes doesn’t seem to search through the windows of your soul, perhaps because he’s learned that he’ll reach a dead end - a wall of thorns. the only way he’ll ever figure you out is if you let him through.

but he at least knows your answer if he’s leaning back against the chair, almost as though he’s turning his back on the wall and chose to tread back to the direction he came from, “i’ll pick you up some time at noon.”

x

yoongi is reluctant to leave the mansion - or rather, you. the look in his eyes when he looks back at you before mounting his horse, reminds you of the puppy you had when you were a child. she would always rub her head on your leg whenever she saw you dolled up to leave for a party your mother was taking you to. as though begging you not to leave. but she’d always been the first to ligh up when she saw you alight the family carriage when you returned.

you find yourself stepping past the doors of the mansion where you’d intend to wave him off and coming to a stop a few feet away from the horse, “yoongi, can i visit you tomorrow?”

the faint smile breathes fire into your soul as those blood red eyes bore into you like a molten lava, “i was hoping you would. every single day until we get married, in fact.”

it is only after you watch the sleek black stallion disappear through the gates and into the streets, do you notice the maids who have gathered at the doors since the beginning. but their huddled forms as they swoon is the least of your concern.

“so something finally happened.” your mother gathers, nodding in approval as you walk past her with full intention to minimize the interaction - you’ve still not forgiven her for failing to alert you of yoongi’s arrival but even if you quiz her about it, she wouldn’t be able to see the wrong in her actions even if it’d slapped her in the face-

“was that your first kiss as a couple?”

whirling around on your heels, you feel the heat creep up your cheeks almost instantly, “mother! wh-what are you talking about? a-and in front of the maids at that!”

it seems that’s all the answer she needs as she laughs to herself, “dear daughter, i’ve been alive longer than you- you think i would believe you if you said that cut on your lips was from you walking into something?”

“what cut-” the memory of yoongi’s unsettling closeness floods your mind before his peculiar apology echoes in your ears, ‘i might’ve been too rough.’

five minutes later, after you all but sprinted to your room and made a beeline towards the mirror that stands a head taller than you beside your bed, does a bloodcurdling scream fill the recesses of the mansion.

“luckily, it’s just a minor cut, my lady,” leslie assures, her ever smiling features doing better to calm your rapidly beating heart and increasing bashfulness than your mother ever could.

you silently weep at the minute red line on your bottom lip. she’s right. it’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of cut and barely stings as you lather a thin sheen of healing ointment the woman brought after you requested it.

“this is humiliating,” you announce, holding a half-hearted vendetta towards the man whose eyes occasionally glaze over your lips during his visit but choose not to say anything else besides a cryptic indication of his lack of self-restraint.

it takes a whole evening of refusing to have dinner at the dining room and a pity party for yourself with flower petals for the muscles in your body to finally relax.

“what of the report i asked you to gather?” you quiz, hearing the pitter patter of someone’s footsteps going around the bathroom.

“most of them come up with similar information - nothing my lady does not know,” leslie’s fluttery voice reverberates against the walls.

“as expected, i’ll have to ask consult seokjin,” the sound of your teeth gritting drums in your ears, “the thought of him getting so smug just because i had to go to him makes me nauseous.”

with the issue human trafficking coming to light, it seems you can’t go around investigating about the nobles as you please, nor can any of your maids be seen asking around about it. discussing the matter with seokjin and gathering the intel you both have to unravel the nobles’ hidden trails would be a more reasonable course of action since they’ll be on high alert of yoongi since he was the one who brought the crime to light. from now on, even your movements might be closely watched.

x

yoongi bursts into your room the next day in a similar manner - unannounced - with a sort of expression you can’t pinpoint.

“don’t tell me my mother-” at first, you’re just about ready to storm to your mother’s room like a child throwing a tantrum until yoongi refutes, “i let myself in, the countess wasn’t around and the butler was too powerless to stop me.”

it takes you a moment to register what you heard, an image of the old family butler flashing at the back of your head. perhaps, it’s because it’s been awhile since you’ve been on the receiving end of yoongi’s frightening glare that you forget just how terrifying it is.

you’re suddenly pulled out of your thoughts when a hand tilts your chin upwards, leaving you with no other choice but to study the yoongi’s handsome face as he inspects the cut.

“i’m sorry,” the ghost of his touch burns your skin as takes a seat in the chair next to you, “i should have been more gentle.”

silence stretches on for the longest moment as you gather your words and sort out your thoughts but most importantly, you make sure to sound nonchalant about it, “you don’t have to... i liked how you kissed me.”

your mistake is letting your eyes roam up to his at the low hum that escapes him. a smirk curls on his lips as he gazes at you with his head propped against his hand, “should we do it again?”

“th-that-!” you hastily reply only to stop dead as the words get stuck in your throat. averting your gaze to the italic writings on the paper, you murmur, “...i’m not opposed to the idea.”

true to your words, you too easily comply when his gloved finger twirls the end of the ribbon around your neck, pulling you to him until your lips meet. a familiar sense of butterfly bursts in your stomach as you savor the taste of something sweet like chamomile tea on his lips.

for the rest of the day, you spend it by walking down the same street you did when he whisked you away from a dreadful tea party held by your mother right after the rumor of your engagement was confirmed by you dancing together at the ball. except now, you’re wearing a black hat with a veil covering your almost healed lips.

x

the day you’re to meet seokjin, the carriage with the min crest rolls into your residence some time a little past noon. not matter how many times he’s shown his unfaltering interest towards you, you can’t help but be surprised. today, he’s donned in his black and golden yellow knight uniform, signaling the formal business he has with his the monarch of the kingdom.

he presses his lips to your gloved knuckles, murmuring a soft, “how have you been?” as if reserved only for you and him.

“better,” you say, holding in a chuckle when his blood rushes to his cheeks and paints them red at your next words, “now that you’re here.”

you don’t miss the way he peeks at something over your shoulder, possibly where your parents stand at the doorway you just passed through. the chuckle you’ve become familiar of and rings like chimes hits the air, “___, why don’t we quickly get into the carriage and away from the count and countess’ eyes?”

“careful, duke,” a grin spreads across your face, hidden underneath the fan you hold just below your cheekbones, “if one were to overhear, we’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”

and yet you don’t delay stepping into the carriage and plopping down next to the window where you can still see your father’s gentle smile that contrasts greatly with your mother’s deep frown.

“no! you absolutely will not go!” she hadn’t meant the palace - or perhaps, she did mean the palace since seokjin is the one who’ll ultimately decide whether you have permission to travel to-

“yoongi,” your fingers curl around the hand on your cheek, breath coming out heaved and eyes barely focusing as you pull away from the aforementioned man.

he doesn’t seem like he’s interested in a conversation but he’s not chasing after your lips either, almost as though his conscience is telling him to be the gentleman he’s raised to be and listen but the beast in his eyes is restless to continue devouring your lips.

so you go on, “i’m going to ask for seokjin’s permission to travel to the park family’s territory.”

the hand in your grasp remains still so does his entire body. the only indication that he’s affected at all is the way those crimson eyes widen with surprise, “what?”

almost as though belatedly registering the weight of your words a second later, he falls to the spot next to you, the legs cradling both your sides leaving  you and even with these layers of clothes, you begin to feel the cold creep onto you, “sure,” he begins after what seems like a moment of pondering, “it’ll take a day at most to gather the knights but a royal notice takes at least three days to arrive-”

“i don’t need them... knights, royal notices... you might as well announce our arrival with horns,” you pause, studying the man’s gaze as it bores into you whilst you meet him head on. your deepset hesitance and worries still hovers over you like a haunting ghost, but you don’t want to keep any more secrets, “there’s something i need to tell you about my mother’s side of the family.”

your mother was from a nameless baron family. nobody truly knew them until she’d made her debut and started mingling with high society. just like you, she was the only daughter. the lineage was to end with her had it been just another penniless noble family.

“they run an informant group and call themselves the kairos,” the carriage shakes, as though trembling with fear at the mention of that name. you would have thought yoongi had known all along - that seokjin had told him, if not for the briefest twitch of his eye, “they supply information for anyone who’s willing to pay but keep an eye for those asking for information that could threaten the royal family - even though the queen was a noblewoman who married into the royal family, my mother, the leader then had been reporting to her up until...”

up until the bells that hung high in the tower at the entrance of the palace rung somberly that day.

all of a sudden, the sun that seemed to shine brighter than diamonds underneath the sky started shutting everybody out, including her husband and daughter. there were times when the door to her study was wedged open just the slightest bit.  your mother who had noticed the creak of the hinges that needed oiling, wiped her tears and held her arms out for you.

the 10-year-old you didn’t understood what she meant when she promised she’d started living for you.

all you knew was, that was the point where she started becoming more present in your life. it took you another few years to learn that your family, greatly influenced by the countess rather than the count, had taken a full on neutral stance on the political matter and the rising rumor about the half-bred prince against the crown prince for the throne.

and a few more, after meeting said half-bred prince, to convince your mother to trust you for the decision you were about to make as the leader of kairos - to support seokjin as the next king no matter what it takes.

“i thought we eliminated scums like jimin as soon as seokjin took the throne but...” the words seem to be lodged in your throat, unable to slip past your lips.

yoongi heaves out a sigh, legs stretching over the space between the seat you’re on and the one across from it as he slumps against the cushioned backrest, silver hair brushing against his brows as crimson eyes stare at the cushioned ceiling, “so it was you? the one who tipped us about the king’s illegitimate son being sent to the battlefield?”

the war yoongi had been in had ceded faster than expected - though his victory was as sure as the ground you walk on. it was because yoongi and his men managed to single out the the warring king’s beloved son who he was forced to send to war because the palace had been a different battlefield that he still couldn’t fight, and held him as a war prisoner until the king surrendered.

“one of the enemy kingdom’s spy managed to infiltrate the palace and knew of our reputation from one of the maids who was sent by them since three years ago - we managed to dig out some information from him that not many outsider knew about before we eliminate him,” you muttered simply, the scream of the faceless spy had drummed in your ears and chilled you to the bones. unlike you who had to turn away in the last minute, seokjin had looked at the man’s eye whilst he thrust his sword into the spy’s gut.

he’d only sat on the throne for a month then but it was far from his first kill.

"when we first found the basement where the kids were held captive,” yoongi rasps somberly, “i was glad you didn’t come with - it wasn’t something i want engraved into your head.”

“i understand your wish to protect me from the viciousness of the world,” you slip your hand underneath the gap between his palm and knee, making him crane his neck to look at you, “i would’ve done the same thing even if you’d already seen them all at war but that protection we wish to cast upon each other only serves to paint a faux image of daisies and rainbows - an unrealistic euphoria.”

“your want to change things with your own hands will never cease, it seems,” he comments, crimson eyes clouded with a sort of reluctance yet he presses a kiss to your forehead, “we’re different in that aspect - you and i.”

“how so?” perhaps it’s the obvious question you’re asking the grim reaper that makes him laugh and flick your forehead right after he kissed it, perhaps it’s the childlike wonder but he explains it anyway, “you grasp fate at its neck and threaten to throw the entire world into chaos if it doesn’t let you decide your own path, and i...” callous thumb caresses your gloved knuckles, “...i follow mine with contempt and despise the goddess for the cursed blood that runs through my vein.”

“if it weren’t for that blood, i wouldn’t have considered striking a deal with you and end up marrying you,” your hand slips out of yoongi’s grasp only for it to wrap around his hand with your free one, “the blood that grants the power for its master to swing his sword and protect his kingdom could never be a curse.”

“that’s not what the rest of the world thinks,” he refutes, a dry laugh escaping his lips.

“does what the rest of the rest of the world think matter more than of those who actually know you?” you’re not sure of his answer. or if what you’re asking is even appropriate. the organ beating in your chest writhes with agonizing anticipation as the man’s crimson eyes bore into you like a liquid fire.

but if there’s anything you’re more sure of, it’s the fact that the servants at the min mansion has never shown a shred of fear while you worked with them to prepare for the garden party. the same couldn’t be said for the other noble families who were infamous for their ill treatment towards those who serve them.

grim reaper is but a name that does yoongi no absolute justice. he’s possibly the most dignified noble you’ve ever met.

“no - not anymore,” he murmurs, the faintest hint of smile curling on his lips as crimson eyes melt like ice come autumn.

he gathers you in his arms and you gladly let yours drape over his stomach, cheek pressing flush against his chest. you stay like that, in complete silence as the carriage shakes with each pebble and hole in the road, for the rest of the ride until it rolls to a stop in front of the palace walls.

x

“child trafficking is a serious crime,” seokjin speaks after a long, strenuous pause once yoongi finished reporting his findings within the park territory, “i bet park isn’t showing any sign of remorse, did he?”

a foreboding cloud hangs over the room as the man hunches over the oak table, elbows propped on its surface and clasped hands hiding half of his face. though he hides his expression well, you can see the way his shoulder line tremble with rage until he looks up at the silver haired man.

“actually,” yoongi’s lips press into a flat line as he seem to stare off into nothingness for the briefest moment before frowning, “he all willingly admitted that he’d committed the crime by himself.”

“what about his lackeys?” seokjin quizzes, fully aware that no lord does the dirty work.

“the dungeon was empty of save for the children - most likely they abandoned their lord for their own lives when they heard we were coming,” the head knight deduces.

a pause hovers over the as silence blankets the room.

“it’s suspicious no matter how you look at it.” your voice cuts through the air like knife.

“no man admits to his dirty crime just like that,” seokjin agrees and judging from yoongi’s knitted brows, he seems to know something you don’t.

“we didn’t believe it was that easy either but there was no proof of any other involvement besides the count,” he confesses - they must have raided nearby smaller granaries and questioned the people who you can easily guess, were tight-lipped.

“your majesty,” you take a step forward before dipping into a bow, an arm slanted over your chest as your hand clasps over the spot where your heart it, “i swear upon the honor of the leader of kairos, i will drag every last person involved in this to hell - please allow give me your permission to go to the park territory to investigate this matter further.”

this time, it doesn’t take long for seokjin to respond, “i was wondering why you didn’t storm over the moment you heard about the duke’s findings,” he leans back against his seat, eyes glazing with a ghost of the past, “love changes people, huh?”

“i-i’m not sure where you’re-” before you manage to barely calmly deflect seokjin’s ludicrous assertion, another voice speaks over you, forcing you to swallow the remaining of your words.

“your majesty, i ask your permission to escort lady ___ in her journey,” yoongi mimics your position in your periphery.

it takes a moment for his words to register and another for you to debate on the pros and cons of having a knight, bound to uphold the law, join you in a not so equitable quest for a justified cause.

yet you lower your head, “his grace will be my only other companion, your majesty. please allow it.”

but the answer you thought to receive isn’t one that he gives, “what about miss leslie? you always go with her.” 

standing straight, you study seokjin’s deep frown before coming to a conclusion that you’ll probably never understand the man’s way of thinking even if you tried.

“i believe his grace will do a better job at guiding me since he’s been there before.” is all you say.

“this is unacceptable!” the sound of skin smacking a hard surface echoes against the wall, you have to resist to check if his hand is red from slamming it onto the table that hard, but he persists like without blinking, “an unmarried man and woman travelling together without servants... what would people think?”

“the question is, your majesty, why are you thinking anything would happen besides his grance and i working to unravel the people involved in this syndicate?” your voice takes on a dangerously low tone as you meet seokjin’s startled gaze.

“e-either way, i’m the king and i say jungkook will go with you,” he announces.

“y-your majesty? b-b-but-” the man in question’s head snaps in the king’s direction faster than you can blink. almost as though seeing a ghost, jungkook’s complexion pales instantly at the order.

“you’re sending the prime minister to do undercover work. outside of the capital, at that.” you point out in a matter of factly. as the silence stretches on, the more ridiculous the scenario seems to be but seokjin isn’t seokjin if he doesn’t try to refute you.

“he hasn’t taken the governmental examination yet,” he holds his chin high like that of a king.

“he’s been filling in for the prime minister anyway,” you challenge, refusing to back down as you hold the king’s equally defiant stare, “and it isn’t so kingly of you to stop your most loyal subjects from serving the kingdom - his grace and i going as leader of kairos and head knight to carry out your bidding, your majesty.”

it’s the jab at his position that makes his eye twitch. after having spent over five years by the other’s side, you know each other’s strengths enough to trust the other with your lives. but the downside is, you also know the other’s weakness like the back of your hand.

“ah, that’s true,” when his tone turns sweet and his shoulder line relaxes, yours stiffen as you narrow your eyes at the man’s sudden shift of personality - and true enough, you don’t like how he decides to take a jab at your- “since members of kairos have been decreasing and as a result, the guild barely have any influence outside of the capital, i suppose you would benefit from having yoongi come with you.”

he knows full well you hate relying on others because of your chest full of pride. yet you force on a smile that points in all the wrong anger, head lowering as you mechanically mutter, “thank you for your consideration, your majesty.”

x

note. and that is all for this chapter! (apparently we’re not having just 4 chapters + finale). 

taglist. @fanfuckingfic @ayujmi @deathkat657

[vanchlo]

Birdy (Green Eyes / 2)

Read the first part, Green Eyes, here! :-) 

Blurb Synopsis: After finally meeting the mysterious Mr. Styles you subbed for, you take a job at the same school, right across the hall from him. You’re unsure how much longer you can hide your feelings for him as you’ve grown to become best friends. 

Genre: Teacher Harry, fluff, romance, angst, and a little sad.

Warnings: None

Word Count: Nearly 8k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Blackbird by The Beatles (click to listen)

*

Your desk was covered in Twix wrappers, multicolored gel pens, and empty cans of Coke. The new school year hadn’t even begun, and your desk already looked like a tornado had come by. Not to mention the fact that school started in almost three weeks and you hardly had any classroom books. You kept telling yourself it’s a high school English classroom, not a third-grade classroom. There’s a library down the hall for a reason, but the classroom barren of books drove you nuts. Your desk wasn’t shy to books though, as favorites of Harry had found a home on the dark wood. 

Leaves of Grass. 

Catcher in the Rye. 

The Sun Also Rises. 

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. 

Walking into your classroom on this sunny morning, the thought makes the smile on your face grow wider. Finally, you can say that you have your own classroom. The sight of the week-old books leaves the smile there on your lips. A laugh dances off of them at the sight of the Roald Dahl book, bringing you back to the memory when you found it there one morning. 

You had asked Harry why he included it in the occasional stack of books he loaned to you. He said it’s required reading, because so few people know the movies are based on a book. You’re just wondering when he’s going to slip The Outsiders or Stuart Little under your door next. 

The rows of ancient cream desks stare back at you, and you wonder just how you’re going to command a classroom in a few days. Well, seven of them to be exact. Then you try to remind yourself, for the twentieth time, that you’ve done this before. It won’t be so hard, then. Perhaps you’ll even have some past students, and that should help. Right? 

You’ve barely gotten a few steps into your classroom, because of the thoughts muddling your mind. Sighing, you slip off your bag to leave on your chair. One that some days you don’t even sit in, because your legs are walking miles around your classroom, setting up. Thumbtacks are scattered across the expanse of your desk, reminding you of the unfinished walls. Before you can think about the posters sitting in the corner, a flash of pink catches your eye. Furrowing your brow, your eyes flit back to the flash of color. 

It’s a hot pink Post-It note with messy handwriting in black ink. 

Should I get us burgers or subs for the meeting we have today? 

PS: You’re officially a teacher now with your own pad of Post-Its ;) 

You’re sure that the insane happiness painting your face would look more at home on that of a teenager. Nonetheless, you can’t get rid of it, and you wouldn’t want to. This rings even more true when you see the note is stuck to a copy of Matilda. A warmth blossoms in your chest as you pick it up, running your thumb along the weathered edges. Ones you haven’t touched in ages, it seems. Within seconds you’re stepping into the hallway, thoughts knitting together in your mind. They’re from the love you have deep down for this story, a favorite book, and movie of yours as a child. The elation budding in your mind stops when you find his door closed, just as you had minutes ago. Unable to hide your disappointment, a pout tugs at your lips as you turn around. 

“Ya gotta verdict already? Dat was quick,” a voice drawls from behind you. Your pout is a thing of the past, and a grin is making its way to replace it. Spinning around, your summery dress follows your twirling body. 

A couple paces away, Harry stands at the top step of the staircase. His trademark brown leather backpack is slung over one shoulder. A black Fleetwood Mac t-shirt hugs his upper half, a black and blue flannel covering his arms. His old skool Vans echo down the hallway as he walks towards you. 

“Well, I’ve already read it,” you inform him, observing his content smile turn into a confused one. “A couple of times actually. Once when I was 8, then some other times through the years.”

“Ah, so I got lucky and happened upon a lifetime favourite, have I?” he smirks, only a few steps away now. 

“Mmmhmm,” you nod, your growing hair tickling your chin before you move it away. “When are you going to tell me what your favorite book is?”

“When ya finally guess it right,” he quips, stopping in front of you. A dimple falls into his left cheek as he shows off his sparkling teeth. Okay, sir, it is too early in the morning to be looking this attractive. 

“I’m going to have to ask you to stop being so chipper when it’s only nine in the morning,” you tell him firmly, but it’s all for show. Poking his chest, your finger just hits pure muscle. Swoon. 

“Then maybe wake up, already, birdy,” he chirps, the Raybans in his hair moving when his head goes from side to side. Chuckling, he grabs hold of your finger and tries to bite it, but you pull away in time. The mention of the recent pet name slows you down, but you haven’t gotten bitten yet. “Ya betta not fall asleep in today’s meetin’ like ya did last week.”

“I didn’t fall asleep, I was just resting my eyes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands into the air. His amused giggle greets your ears as he unclips his ring of keys from his blue jeans. 

“Yes ya did, ya don’t getta lie t’ me, love,” he responds in between laughs, seemingly finding this more amusing than it really is. 

“Oh, so John can fall asleep at meetings, but I can’t?” you ask, your voice raising with laughter and faux annoyance. 

You watch Harry pluck his sunglasses from his head as you walk into his dark classroom. The streams of sunlight speckle desks and pictures donning his walls. As you flick on the light, the smell of oranges wafts over you again. The red bowl sat upon his desk filled with the citrus makes you feel at home, albeit his mere presence does that without fail. 

“No, ya can’t. Sorry, love. I don’t make tha rules ‘round here.”

“Lame,” you sigh, paging through the book mindlessly as you fall into his new chair. He finally splurged and bought a comfy leather one that you steal every chance you can get. 

“Want a Bit-O-Honey, honey?” Harry offers, pulling your eyes away from the familiar pictures. Grinning, you take the wrapped candy from his outstretched hand, trying to ignore the pet name. You find it hard to forget as you half look through the book and half watch him peel off his flannel. A sight, indeed. 

“Wait, how’d you put this in my room if the door was locked? The other books you sneaked in when I stepped out,” you ask suddenly, working on the piece of hard candy in your mouth. 

“I tol’ Marty tha janitor I forgot sumthin’ in yer room.” 

You can hear the smirk in his voice even though his back is to you. A broad one at that. When he turns just the slightest to peek at you, you find crinkles around his glimmering eyes. 

“Harry!” you scoff, your jaw falling to your chest, although not quite. 

“Oh stop it, ya know ya like it.”

Groaning, you cross your arms over your chest in annoyance, but it doesn’t last very long. 

“I don’t like all of these meetings,” you complain, throwing your head back onto the headrest. You flip to a page that makes you smile at the sight of cartoon Matilda. 

“Get used t’ it, ‘s one o’ tha big differences between bein’ a sub an’ a salaried teacher. Shoulda just stayed a sub then,” he jokes, driving you to pick up a Bit-O-Honey and throw it at his head. Turning away from the things he’s unloading from his backpack, he whines. “Heeey! Watch dat arm o’ yers, ‘s a scary one. Maybe ya should be teachin’ gym class instead.”

“Sports are ew,” you reply, ducking when he throws it back at you. “Harry Styles, you stop it!” you manage in between giggles, finally closing the book. 

“Oh ya, and what’re ya gonna do ‘bout it in t’ose heels, huh?” he teases, his hands leaving the pockets of his oversized backpack. “Ya gonna fly over t’ me, li’l birdy?” 

Huffing, you set down the book on his neat desk. Placing his hands on his hips, he turns to you and sticks out his tongue. 

“Oh, that’s it! You’re going to get it!” you threaten, standing from the chair as his laughter fills the room. 

“‘m soooo scared, boohoo,” he teases with a fake sob, his fists mimicking wiping tears from his cheeks. Snickering, he returns to his backpack. “Go hang up yer posters in yer room and leave me be fer once.” 

“You’re no fun,” you proclaim with a final whimper. Grabbing the book, you come up from behind him, softly hitting him with it on the shoulder. 

“I warned you,” he retorts. Before you know it, he gently grabs your wrist and pulls you over to stand in front of him. 

“Warned me about what?” you jest, a giggle wedging its way into your sentence as you drop the book onto a desk. You know that you’re getting on his nerves now. It’s the only time you’ve heard his teacher voice come out, but hey, you’re not complaining. 

His thick eyebrows above those eyes raise, wrinkling his forehead tan from your days at the beach the last few months. Harry pushing you off a rope swing into the water, him bitching about doing all of the paddling during your canoe trip, not so accidentally drenching your back with water from his paddle, and head dunking competitions while swimming. The tan looks far better on him, you think, as you admire the sun-kissed freckles peppering his face. 

“I told ya one time dat yer good at pushin’ me buttons, and here ya are doin’ it. I know I shoulda neva told ya dat,” he mutters, the curls atop his head dancing as his head rocks back and forth. The nervous laughter bubbling inside of you finds its escape, and you know that you’ve done it now. “But I guess ya jus’ don’t listen, do ya, bird?” 

You can’t stop yourself, and there you are poking his dimple with your finger. This time, you squeal when it finds its way between his nibbling teeth. His name leaves your lips in a near shout which only grows worse as his fingers dance along your ribs. 

“Stop, stop!” you cry out, but with no avail. His other arm comes around your middle to trap you with your back against a desk, despite your squirming. His other fingers dig into your sides before finding the soft flesh of your tummy. 

“Stop bloody screamin’, yer gonna make e’rybody think ‘m murderin’ ya or sumthin’,” he titters. You almost give in at the sight of his crinkly eyes and the smile stretching across his face. 

“And what if I don’t?” 

“Then I might jus’ hafta find a way t’ shut ya up, my li’l bird,” he coos from above you, a brunette brow raising. 

“Oh really?” 

“Yes, really,” he hums, the tips of his fingers ghosting over your side now. 

His bubblegum lips relax, falling into a knowing smirk. The laughs disappear from the both of you as his fingers still, resting on your side. The seconds tick by as your heart hammers in your chest, because his face is closer than it was a second ago. You gulp, suddenly finding the gold flecks in his eyes you didn’t know were there. Or the smattering of tiny freckles along his nose. That all becomes a thought of the past when his lips become the only thing you can think about as they near you. “Shall I?” Harry says in a breathy whisper, and you’re nodding even before his last syllable hits the air. 

Your skin feels hot and prickly all over as your eyes fall closed, waiting for what happens next. The very thing you’ve dreamed of since that day you dropped the books in front of him. When he took off his shirt at the beach, revealing his toned chest covered in black tattoos. The charisma and kindness he carried at your very first meeting after you were hired, the beginning of you two being joined at the hip. 

His lips are soft when he presses them against yours, and warm. He surrounds your lips with his slowly, as excitement rushes through you. A woodsy smell engulfs you when your nose brushes against his prickly cheek. His lips feel like velvet against yours with the slightest taste of Carmex chapstick. You’re sure he can feel the smile hiding on yours as his top lip fits between yours like a puzzle piece. His thin beard you’ve never seen him without tickles at your skin as your lips mold together. You can still feel the tingle on your lips after he’s pulled away. As well as the one that spreads across your body when those green eyes look into yours. 

“See, I was right. It did get you t’ shuddup,” he mumbles, the blissed-out smirk on his face covering every inch of his skin. You’ve seen his nervous smiles and everything in between, but you’re certain you’ve never seen that smile before. Not that your face is any better, because right now it’s a competition between whose smile is bigger. It might just be a tie, and you wish there could be a tie-breaker. 

“You should do that more often,” you smile, an uneasy laugh bringing an end to your risky words. 

“I think ‘d be happy with dat.”

You try to tell yourself you’re glad his hands didn’t stray to your face, because he would’ve felt the heat of your tomato likened cheeks. There’s no use, because you want them there, but on your sides, as they are is better than nothing. It fills your stomach with multitudes of butterflies just to have your hands on each other. 

His hands draw shapes into your back when you wrap him in a hug. The fresh smell of his citrus body wash fills your nose, your skin touching the fabric of his shirt. 

“Ya gonna get all soft on me now, are ya?” he whispers above you, his cheek against the side of your head. 

“Mmmhmm,” is all you can muster as you find yourself dragging the tips of your fingers along his side. 

Raising your head to peek up at him, his eyes drop to you. “Good, I like ya dat way,” he murmurs, running his thumb along the roundness of your cheek. His tongue peeks out of his lips, held between his teeth. “Verdict?” he almost laughs, causing the butterflies inside of you to stir. 

“I don’t know. I think I might need um, another sample,” you smirk, watching a corner of his mouth meet his cheek. 

“Tha’s fair,” he agrees before dipping to plant another kiss to your lips. His lips are even more decadent a second time, and you quickly realize how addicting this could become. You realize it’s the only addiction you’d be okay with having as the tip of his nose caresses your cheek. 

Your lips part with a soft smack, much too soon for your liking. “We should prolly get back t’ work,” Harry snickers, his breath against your face sweet from the caramel candy. 

“Yeah,” you agree aloud, much to your dismay. “I’d give it an A, by the way.”

“Hmmm,” he thinks aloud, quirking his eyebrows in response. 

“A long overdue one.”

“‘d say yer right there,” he echos, pinching your cheek between his fingers. Giggling, you pull away as your laughs mix with each other’s. 

“Hey, Harry!” a voice calls, sounding far away. 

You separate quickly, like two magnets repelling each other. It saddens you, but when a colleague steps into Harry’s classroom a moment later, you’re met with relief as you grab the book off the desk. 

“Hi, Trent. Ya ready t’ see who falls asleep first in t’day’s meetin’?” he quips, stuffing his hands in his pockets, nonchalantly leaning against a desk. 

“My money’s on John, for sure,” Trent jokes, pressing his red glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Oh hi, Y/N,” he says, greeting you. You wave with a small ‘hi’ as you stand at the edge of the classroom near the windows uneasily. 

“I dunno, my money feels pretty good on her,” Harry teases, pointing a finger at you before winking. 

“Whatever. I better go take my nap now that you reminded me,” you return, sauntering out of the room and into the hall. 

Out of his presence, the butterflies take flight inside of you. A warmth fills your body all over when you reach the safety of your classroom. Closing the door, you fall against it with happiness jumping from the smile on your lips. Squealing with your hands held to your chest, you soon sigh at the thought of his lips. His lips soon being on yours again, and again, and again. 

Exhaling, you step down from the chair and stare at your hard work. Nodding in approval, you straighten the skirt of your patterned mustard dress. The happy face of Anne Frank looks back at you from the enlarged poster of her autobiography. Dragging your feet over to your desk, you plop onto your brown spinny chair, ignoring your heels forgotten on the floor. You bask in the new ambiance of your classroom, feeling the pleasure from the new posters donning your walls. 

The Diary of Anne Frank. 

Ross from F.R.I.E.N.D.S saying ‘you’re means y-o-u  a-r-e.’ 

The quote, ‘Never forget what you are, the rest of the world will not’ - Tyrion Lannister.

A funny grammar poster that makes you feel like an even bigger English nerd. 

Frowning, the last poster in the corner sits there begging to be shown off, but you need help with it. After the events of earlier, you’re nervous to approach Harry. A sweet kind of nervousness, but nonetheless it’s there. Huffing, you grab the edge of the desk to pull you closer. Pressing play, the Queen song crawls from your laptop’s speakers, slowly filling the room. Clicking through your open windows, you finally find the unit plan you’ve been working on. 

Voices carry down the hallway outside your door, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. Squinting, as if it will help your hearing, you then tilt your head to look out your half-opened door. Jackson from the nearby history wing walks by, laughing at something somebody said. 

“Dis betta not be a bloody heavy desk, Jack,” somebody responds, amusement laced in their voice. 

“Hey, I know that voice,” you softly whisper to yourself, your lips curling at its sound. 

“You’re the one who agreed to help me! You can’t get out of helping me bring it in now, Harry!”

You hear the melodic sound of his laugh, perhaps one of your favorite sounds. The butterflies return when you let yourself think about getting to hear it as much as you’d like in these walls. 5 days a week for 9 months out of the year- well, something like that. 

A couple seconds later, Harry zooms past your door saying, “Get t’ work!” in a mocking deep voice, winking. 

“You!” you shout back, giggling to yourself with hot cheeks. You attempt to return your attention to the document open on your screen. It’s difficult, you find, because the thing consuming your mind is how nice Harry’s bum looked in those jeans. 

*

Chatter pecks at your ears as you swivel in your chair, watching your new colleagues converse around the table. Your new boss laughs with somebody standing at the room’s front by the projector screen. Reaching forward, you pluck another carrot from your plate to nibble on nervously. Once again, you pull out your phone to busy yourself, only making you feel guiltier for not mingling. You’ve already said at least a ‘hi’ to everyone in this room already, and you have the rest of your career to get to know them, you tell yourself. Bouncing your leg, your eyes drift to the clock on the wall. Impatience spreads like a hot wave throughout your limbs, bringing your eyes yet again to the back door to the conference room. When is he going to get here, you guess fervently, counting down the minutes until the meeting starts. 

A thud! surprises you when a white paper bag lands on the table in front of you. 

“Hmm, I didn’t know ya were a jumpa,” a voice snickers, its owner soon coming into view in front of you. Harry. “Why ya lookin’ like a lost puppy, bird?” he coos, pushing out his bottom lip as he pulls out the chair to your right.

“I’m not,” you retort, continuing to scroll through Instagram, stopping when you see a picture of a Goldendoodle puppy. 

“Yes, ya do. What, were ya wonderin’ what’d ya do if I didn’t show? Can’t have ya missin’ yer security blanket now,” he teases, poking you in the ribs with a glint in his eye. 

“Stop,” you giggle, placing your phone face down on the table. Sitting up and eyeing the food, you pinch his thigh for good measure. 

“Hey, watch those fingas, missy. They keep gettin’ ya into trouble lately,” he warns, tsking as his head goes from side to side. Opening the bag, he pulls out a familiar wrapped burger to hand to you. 

“Thank you, I’ll pay you back.”

“Shhhh, ya can pay next time. Sound good?” Harry hums, flitting his eyes to you with an eyebrow raise.

You give him his answer with a nod before taking a bite of the cheeseburger. Your boss starts to tell everybody to find a seat so they can begin the meeting. Out of the corner of your eye, Harry sets a packet of fries in front of you. Shooting him a smile, he returns it as he feeds one between his happy lips. Chairs squeak and whine as they’re moved and sat in around the long table. Somebody nudges your foot, and to no surprise, you find it’s Harry. He holds out a covered paper cup, a red straw poking from the top. A ‘thank you’ is held in your smile and he just nods, slipping off his sunglasses to set down. Your attention is stolen by his fingers raking through his curls to put them back in place. 

A thought pops into your head unwarranted, and consumes your attention as the principal speaks. I wonder if this means now I get to run my fingers through those curls, you ponder as you grab a fry. At the most inconvenient time possible, your mind starts to dig around. Doubts soon fill your thoughts, along with questions about what this will be with him. You try to push them away and lock them in a box, but they’ve done their job. Any smile left on your lips is gone now, and you continue to eat your burger quietly. 

“Ya eat jus’ like a bird with t’ose li’l bites,” Harry whispers, scooting closer to the table to retrieve the packets of ketchup from the bag. 

Turning to look at him, he holds a glowing smile in his eyes for you.  His shoe knocks into yours and he leaves it sitting on top of yours. Take that, stupid brain, you announce to your thoughts as you affectionately bump your knee against Harry’s. 

Reverting your thoughts to the towering figure speaking at the front of the room, a smile buds on your lips at the feeling of Harry rubbing his knee against yours. 

*

Rubbing your hands across your eyes, you feel the breath leave you in a whoosh. Tapping the board with your electronic marker that’s a pen, highlighter, and an eraser in one, you drag it in zig zags. The scribbles on the board disappear in a flash. Suddenly, it falls from your hands when you feel a pair of arms surround your waist. 

“Hiya, bird,” a voice says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Their warm breath tickles the nape of your neck, and so does the collar of their shirt. Spinning around, you find Harry standing there, a pout forming on his face. The adorable Starry Night tie you bought for him hangs loosely over his cornflower blue button-down. “What, why won’t ya lemme hug you?”

“Harry, anybody could walk in,” you insist, prying his arms from your waist. Bending down, you pick up the pen and place it back in its holder with a click. 

“All tha students are gone by now, babe. ‘s half past 3, and any dat are around are at practice. Tha last place they’d wanna be ‘s back t’ a classroom afta their first day o’ school,” he murmurs, wedging his way back into your good graces as he pulls you back into his arms. “I wanted t’ see how me birdy’s first day went. Sooooo, wha’s tha verdict?”

“It was good. A little overwhelming, though,” you hum in return, letting your head fall backward to fit against his cheek. 

“It ‘s fer e’rybody, love, so don’t worry. It’ll get betta, jus’ hang in there. Tha first month ‘s nothin’, that’s tha honeymoon period befo’ e’rythin’ goes wild.” His lips brush against your cheek with every word, the feeling of his ticklish stubble something you’re not yet used to. 

“Harry!” you scoff, turning your head to find his hairy cheeks creased with a devilish smile behind you. 

“‘m kiddin’, well not really, but hey, ya got me t’ help ya through it all. Don’t fret, love,” he tries to assure you, brushing the back of his fingers along your side. “What was yer favourite part o’ yer day, hmm?”

“Seeing some familiar students from when I used to sub. It was nice to catch up with them and hear stories,” you reveal, looking down as you cover his hands settled on your tummy with your own. 

“Mmm, that’s good. Familiar faces are always nice,” Harry mumbles, the point of his nose dragging along the expanse of your cheek. “Did I tell ya yet ya look really pretty in yer new dress?”

“Yes, you did. About three times, but thank you again.”

“Welcome, bird. I hope no teenage boys are crushin’ on ya now,” he jests, planting a loud kiss on your temple. The remnants of his minty piece of gum cover your face in a silent cloud as he laughs at his own joke. 

“Yuck! Oh and like there aren’t dozens of girls fawning over you in your classes?” you chuckle, bringing a whine to his lips when you squirm in his arms. “Put that lip away.”

“Or what? Hmm, what’re ya gonna do ‘bout it? Ya can kiss it away like all tha girls in me classes wanna do, if ya want,” Harry smirks, wiggling his eyebrows at you once you turn around. Lifting a hand from his arm, it lifts to brush back the brown ringlets falling onto his forehead. 

“You’re gross sometimes. It makes me wonder how I can kiss that potty mouth.”

“Well ya do, and ya sure seem t’ like it,” he winks, dramatically licking his lips with a loud slurp. 

“Stop!” you exclaim, collapsing into laughter, your head returning to his chest. His hands clasp over your back, his thumb brushing your skin through the jade dress you wear. You’re grateful for your face hidden away in his chest for when you feel his lips pepper kisses from your temple to your neck. He leaves your skin tingling from his magical touch, and his growing curls leave a trail down your neck. 

“I think dis year’s gonna be a good one,” he coos against your ear, letting his smooth nose brush against its lobe. “I got tha reason right here.” 

“Can we do this though?” The words jump from your lips without a chance to catch them and shove them back in their safety. 

“Do what, love? Kiss? ‘Course, ya jus’ take yer lips and my lips, and put ‘em togetha’ like dis,” he wisecracks, lifting your head to show you the humor painting his face. Puckering his flushed lips, he closes the space between you to press a peck to your waiting lips. Pulling away, he quirks an eyebrow at you in silent questioning. 

“That’s not what I meant, Harry,” you continue, your words falling short of the thoughts buzzing around in your skull. 

“Then what’d ya mean?” 

“Can we, I don’t know . . ,” you begin, but you lose your footing. Leaving his arms regrettably, you almost lose your footing quite literally when he tries to hold on. A sound leaves his lips at your departure, but you try to ignore it. That’s easier said than done, you realize as you fight with yourself, wondering if you should say that word or not. “Date . . as colleagues?” 

They they are, free to the wind. It feels like coming home and your heavy book bag leaving your shoulders, although this time it’s far less trivial. The similarity doesn’t ease your anxious mind as you stop in front of your desk, fingering at the note that greeted you this morning. A pink Post-It note smattered with his sometimes unreadable handwriting, resting on top of a box of novels he gifted to you for your classroom. 

To my favorite teacher - I know you’ve been dreading this day for months, and looking forward to it, too. You’re going to do great. They’re going to love you. You’re not going to mess anything up. You got this, bird. Remember that. Take it easy on yourself. Remember, you have to take care of yourself, so then you can take care of them. You’ll learn from each other too. Just keep remembering pizza at the beach with me tonight to celebrate your first day. 

Harry xoxooxoxoxo 

“‘Course we can, as long as it doesn’t bleed into our work life. What d’ya mean?” Harry says, trying to inject lightheartedness into his words. You both can hear the failed effect they have, and they only make his words sound sadder. 

“I don’t know, I don’t want to like, get in trouble, or something. I just started this job.”

“Oh,” is all he mumbles. Mumbled or not, you hear the finality in his one word. As well as all that it says with that single syllable. 

Looking over your shoulder at him, you find the confirmation you needed knitting together his features. “Harry,” you say, turning the rest of your body to face him. He takes a step back, and now you know you’ve done it. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then how’d ya mean it?” he retorts, coolness playing in his voice. He knows he’s done it, too. “Hmmm, bird? Ya only care ‘bout dat part o’ it - if we get caught and what people would think? Only wanna keep me a secret?” His words bite as he spits them into the air. They hit your face with a sting, but nothing compares to how he threw your nickname into the mud. The nickname you love, that happened all because of the first meal you shared together. 

“Harry, don’t. You know that’s not what I meant- Y-you’re being ridiculous,” you press, stepping forward. It’s like one step forward and two steps back, because he continues to walk away from you. Quickly, your hands grow shaky as the feeling consumes the rest of your body. 

“No, I know what ya meant. Or ‘s there mo’ ya want t’ say? Want t’ say dat ‘Oh, ‘s too risky, so maybe we shouldn’t do dis anymo’, even tho’ it makes us happy,’” Harry persists, his right hand lifting in question, before it falls with a slap to his thigh. 

“We never even said what this was,” you try to say, but before you get any further, you know you’re just making it worse. You know that he’ll read into your words incorrectly and assume the worst, despite your true meaning. At the realization, your heart pounds harder in your chest. The look on his face like you just slapped him tells you all you need to know. “Harry, wait.”

“No, yer right. We neva said what dis was, but apparently ‘s nuthin’ worth labelin’ or takin’ risks fer,” he grumbles. His head falls with a spiteful smile, but when it lifts again something shatters in your chest. With wet eyes, he continues in a croaky voice, “Then why’d ya take tha job knowin’ I was mad ‘bout ya?” 

Your lips wobble with his name dangling from them. When you try to walk over to him, you’re only two steps in when he holds a hand up. “No, don’t. ‘m glad ya told me early on. ‘m happy I didn’t already start fallin’ fer ya or anythin’. That’d be real shitty, wouldn’t it?” he wheezes, a strange smile tugging at his lips dealing failed sarcasm. Sniffling, a tear falls down his tanned skin and he brushes it away. With a shake of his head, he turns to walk out of the door. You know that you shouldn’t, but you let him, because you know you have to. 

Collapsing at your desk, your head falls into your hands. Tears splash into your palms as your chest shakes, wondering just how you turned the best first day into the worst first day. 

*

You know that a note won’t be there, but you continue to wish as your heels clack down the halls of lockers. You know that you’ll see his face no matter how hard you try to avoid him, and that it’ll hurt more than you thought it would. Although you prepared yourself, unlocking the door to your classroom and finding no notes from him hurts more than you suspected. The hurt only stings worse when you pass each other in the halls with your students trailing behind, eyes falling away instantly. The spark in the air is lost when he huffs, passing you on the way to the vending machine in the lounge, leaving as soon as he came. Although the hurt grew as the attacks came and went, nothing could prepare you for the absence of his notes that week. That was an eventuality you had dreaded thinking of since the day you found the first one, back in his classroom. 

You tried at the very least, albeit an understatement. Notes dropped into his mailbox went unanswered, as well as texts and phone calls. Even the bag of Bit O Honeys failed at their messages of apology. A few times you thought about trudging into his classroom after the bell rang, and hashing it out. Each time you mustered just enough courage to do so, a staff meeting got in the way. Or, within 5 minutes of the bell, his door was locked and he was gone. Speaking of staff meetings, you suffered even worse at those. No longer was he your security blanket at your side, because he no longer saved you a seat. Slowly, the young and pretty visual arts teacher grew to get on your nerves as you watched her be a little too nice to him. He didn’t entertain her taunts and turn to you with a smirk to rub it in your face. No, he was a good guy, and you had to go and ruin it, or what was becoming of it. 

He ignored you - at staff meetings, in the copy room, in the staff lounge, in the halls, when both of your classes were in the library - basically everywhere and anywhere. It was an understatement to say you suffered because of it. You had to buddy up with Jen, the poetry teacher. She took the brunt of your questions, whether technology-related or English related. You became fast friends, but unlike the easiness with Harry, you quickly felt you were a nuisance. That was something he never made you feel like, well, until now that is. 

You made the mistake of getting your hopes up when you found a bag of Bit O Honeys in your mailbox one morning. That is until the white note on it told you in his writing to stop plugging his box with them. Instead, you tossed them on the counter in the staff lounge to share, never wanting to see those yellow and red wrappers again. Quickly, what you thought had become your dream job morphed into a nightmare. His face filled your thoughts day after day, and it especially distracted you when your mind chose the tear-stricken memory. It bled into your lectures and although it stung less when you saw him, without fail every day, it was messing with your mind. It didn’t help when you were beginning a unit on Romeo and Juliet and a student joked you could play Juliet and Mr. Styles could play Romeo, quite literally. 

*

You had been staying after school every day to finish lesson plans, grade tests, reflect on teaching, and plan for the next day. The October chill that arrived this week only made you want to stay in your cozy classroom with the Autumn decorations you hung up. Soon, it would be Halloween and costumes would fill the halls. The thought pours memories into your mind, but a particular one sours the enjoyment for you. The memory of planning a matching costume with Harry. Jay and Daisy from The Great Gatbsy, like the English teacher nerds you are. Were. 

Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you reach for your water bottle. A groan finds its way past your lips when you pick it up, only to find it's empty. Standing with it in your hands, you cross the room to your door. After a few steps into the hallway, your movements freeze at the sight of his open door. Biting back any hesitations, your hand shakes when it presses against the wood. 

Something thrilling washes over you when you find his head bent over his desk. His left hand covered with varying rings props his head up as he marks the page with his favorite red pen. A Micron pen, but only you would know that. Pausing, he fiddles with the tan braces strapping his shoulders clad in a handsome white and gray checkered button-down. Words stick together inside of your mouth, and when you hear the click of your shoe, regret surges inside of you. 

“I made a mistake,” you say, testing the waters, although you know they’re stormy. Clearing your throat, you hope the subsequent ones will come out louder and stronger, before he can stop you. Your galloping heart jumps when he lifts his head to look at you, a question painting his face. “I fucked up, and I could never say how sorry I am. I said the wrong things, and I didn’t mean them that way- that’s not the point . . . I miss you, Harry. You’re all I think about, even when I’m thinking of other things, or when I’m teaching. That’s how I know it’s bad, because even though it’s only been a month, it still hurts like it was yesterday,” your voice screeches to a halt. You take one step at a time as he watches you. 

A curl tickles his bearded cheek, making you want to tuck it back into place, but you can’t. A crumb from a chip sits on his chin, making you want to brush it away, but you know you can’t. And neither can you whisk away the worry lines forming around his eyes. 

“I need you, not just to help me figure out how to use a projector or what a conjunction is again. But I need to tell you about the good parts of my day, and even the bad parts. Because even though we haven’t talked for like a month, my mind still goes to you when something good happens, or even bad. Even my students tease that we should be together, so that says something,” you try your hand at joking, but he turns his attention back to his desk. “Harry, please. I’m sorry,” you plead with him, tears catching the last of your words. 

“Sorry doesn’t jus’ make it all go away, bird,” he returns cooly. His head lifts ever so slightly, only to fall. As if he changed his mind a few seconds into a decision.

“I know, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll buy you Bit-O-Honeys for the rest of your life, grade your papers, check your mailbox, or buy the next meals for a month. Anything.” The apologies run off of your lips, but he doesn’t say anything, nor do his actions. An exhale whooshes over your pursed lips as your nails dig into your clenched palms. Defeat covers your body as you turn to leave. 

“None o’ dat takes away what ya said,” he announces painfully, the new fabric of his chair squeaking with his movements. 

“I know,” you say automatically, a battle waging its way inside of you of whether to look at him. As if his words laced with hurt didn’t already leave you breathless. “So tell me what I have to do.”

“I can’t do dat, bird. Ya should know,” he sighs, clucking his tongue in disbelief. 

Your eyes fall shut and your jaw clenches in anger, but the sweet smell of oranges brings you back to the moment. “I’m sorry that I made it seem like it wasn’t worth being with you, because it was, and I realized that even more after . . what happened. I’m sorry that it didn’t seem like I was dedicated enough, but I want to be a- I want to show you that I can be, and I want to be that to you. I’m sorry that I care too much about what other people think, because I only care what you think. It’s ripped me apart lately knowing that you hate me, and how you can’t even be around me, and . . ,” your string of words breaks off, stolen away by your onset of tears. They rumble through your chest with tremors, and the embarrassment brings your hands to your face streaked with them. 

The howling of the wind hugs the windows, masking any other sounds. If there were, you can’t hear them, but you do feel something. His fingers wrapping around yours, pulling your hands away from your face. 

“Ya gonna stop now befo’ ya make me cry too?” he hums, one corner of his lips turned up ever so slightly. With raised eyebrows, they pose the question to you. Nodding fast with hiccups stealing your words, he kneads your hands between his own. “Are ya gonna shuddup or am I gonna hafta make you?” Harry softly laughs. 

“You’re going to have to make me,” you return, stumbling over your sobbed words. 

“Good, was hopin’ ya’d say dat.”

Smirking playfully, he steps forward to cup your face in his hands. The callused tips of his fingers make quick work of the tears staining your face, as well as his lips. “Don’t cry, and don’t ever say dat I hate you,” he coos in between pecks to your wet skin singing with his kisses. “Don’t want me pretty birdy t’ cry no mo’.”

“Your bird doesn’t want to cry and be sad, and miss you anymore,” you whimper, trying to hold it all in, but it comes pouring out. 

“Baby bird,” he pouts sadly, his rose lips round and extended. His brow presses into a sad line as the same emotion carries his words. “Lemme make it all betta.”

Nodding, you hiccup again as you cover his hands with yours. His subsequent smile warms your insides cold and aching from the long days without him. His lips bring a respite when they touch yours, ending the harsh drought. Kissing him back, you revel in the feeling of his unkempt scratchy beard against your face. Just one more thing you missed. Severing the kiss, you mumble an ‘I’m sorry’ against his chapped lips. 

“Shhh, ‘s okay, love. I know ya are,” he tells you before bringing his lips back against yours. They move together slowly, welcoming the return of the other. 

Your mouth falls to envelope his bottom lip in between yours, his facial hair feathery against your mouth. Hungrily, you kiss him and savor his familiar taste and smell. Fingers drifting to his hair, they return home to his buttery curls. His lips pull away only to plant another kiss against your mouth. Too soon, he breaks the kiss with a breathy laugh against your lips. 

“My goodness, lemme breathe, love.”

“Sorry . . I missed you.”

“Ya sure did, bird. Think I missed ya a li’l more, though,” Harry chuckles as your hands fall from his locks. His thumb steals the last hint of a tear from under your eye. The amusement creasing his features disappears swiftly. “‘m sorry too, y’know. I overreacted, and I shouldn’t have put meself over yer job. It wasn’t fair o’ me t’ do dat. D’ya think I can have those Bit-O-Honeys back, or were ya serious ‘bout buyin’ me a lifetime supply?”

Groaning, you playfully shove at his chest, only to have him wrap you up in his arms. “I guess I was serious.”

“Hmm, ya don’t sound too serious ‘bout it, bird. But that’s okay, I got all tha honey I need right here,” he replies, planting a kiss atop your head nuzzled into his neck, swaying you back and forth. Nodding, you finally let yourself relax for the first time in weeks at the greeting of his sweet smell. One that feels like home to you. “Wait, yer students said we should be togetha? That’s funny, cuz so did mine.” 

[finleyjayne]

EXTRA

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

A/N: Hey guys, I know y’all don’t know me but I’m going to be trying to post some of my fan-fiction. It’s both exciting and scary, please reblog, share. I’m going to be trying to write a little blurb every day for the month of April. If you have any requests please send them my way and I’ll try my best. Thank you in advance. If you want to follow me for ONLY writings my writing blog is @finleyjaynewriting. 

Warnings: Angst, Panic Attack, Self-deprecating thoughts

Summary: You are a part of the Avengers family but it’s sometimes hard to keep yourself from falling into bad habits that you thought you kicked when an essay question from your last college English class causes you to backslide. It’s a good thing your boyfriend Bucky is there to rally the troops and remind you that you are loved, even when you decide to run around the tower in a cape. 

picture credit goes to: Marwan & Khaled Couture Fall/Winter 2019 

Originally blogged by @fashion-runways​

You had been sitting here, staring at your outline notes, grading rubric, and notebook for over an hour. And you still hadn't a scrap of what to write. The list of adjectives on the page getting fuzzier as you tried to decide whether or not they fit you. Or if they were something that your friends, team-members, or family would use to describe you.

 If there was one word to describe you, you'd like to think that it was intelligent. But seeing as you live in a tower with not one but two geniuses and three supersoldiers who have heightened cognitive functions, it was terrifying how stupid you feel on the daily. Even with your triple-majored ass, you were on the lower end of intelligence. 

 Okay, so the people around you wouldn't call you the smart one in the group. What about determined. I mean, it takes a substantial amount of determination to get three master's degrees at the same time in five years. Tapping your pen against your chin as you think, you shake your head. Yeah, no, not when compared to Mr. I-can-do-this-all-day. 

 Sam is the compassionate and supportive one.

 Natasha is independent and fearless.

 Bucky is strong and loyal.

 Bruce is sweet and patient. 

 Wanda is attentive and courageous.

 Tony is eccentric and a genius.

 Steve is gentle and determined.

 Clint is funny and hardworking (even if he tries to play it off).

 Gods, this assignment is going to be the downfall of my perfect 4.0 GPA. You think to yourself, slamming your head onto your notebooks. Why did you have to take English? None of your majors were English oriented. Music, Engineering, and Chemistry. No  English, no need to know how to write a complete sentence. No need to write 2 pages on what your friends consider you using one word. You should know, you've made it 97% of the way through all three majors without taking a single English class. The most writing I had to do was my dissertations, which had nothing to do with this useless "self-expression piece."  The prompt doesn't even make sense! Write 1000+ words on a single word. How is that logically not just busy-work? 

 Just as your eyes and sinuses start filling with the feeling of hopelessness, Bucky comes waltzing into the tower's library with his book of the week. 

 "Heya dollface. Taking a nap?" He calls, the chuckle entwining into his voice in that perfect way it does. 

 And that's all it takes for your body to unleash the body-shaking sobs. The soulful wail that tore through your chest and out your trembling lips was nothing like you'd ever let anyone see. Especially not your team. You were already the weak one. You didn't need them to think anything less, but after comparing yourself to them for the last two and a half hours, you couldn't keep your self-deprecation locked in its cage anymore. 

 Seeing you this way was terrifying for Bucky. He had never seen you cry anywhere besides on stage. Not when you had been on the Mission from Hell. Not when you were hormonal, and Clint stole your heating stuffy. Not even when you were grieving the loss of your ex-girlfriend. So now having your usually bubbly, determined, happy-go-lucky self in a full breakdown was new territory for him. 

 "Woah," he said, eyes widening as he stared. "Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, doll. If anybody deserves a nap, it's you." He comforted as he took giant steps to your chair. Lifting you effortlessly and positioning you into the cradle of his arms as he took a seat in the large Papasan chair to the side of your chosen workspace. Holding you in a tight embrace like you did when he was having a hard time with his anxiety. 

 He focused on breathing evenly and keeping his heartbeat in check, knowing that if he didn't stay calm, the situation would escalate into something worse. Shushing you and rocking you as he observed the table for anything that could give away why you were crying. Bucky knew better than most about your anxiety and depression. He had asked you once how you knew so much about helping him during one of your many cuddle sessions. You had just said that you were working from your own encounters before you changed the subject.

 Though he didn't know everything, Bucky did try to help you as much as he could, especially as your friendship turned into something more. Still, he couldn't see anything that would cause you to become this upset. Usually, you would complain about your English assignments as you hyper-focused on them. Giving up on figuring it himself, he turned back to his distraught girlfriend, who was fighting to control her emotions in his arms. 

 "Babygirl, can you match your breaths to mine? Come on. Breathe in, hold, breathe out." He whispered, holding her tighter to him as she shakily followed him through the exercise a few more times. "Good, now what has my BAMF girlfriend distressed. Who do I need to take care of?" 

 You could feel the seriousness in his voice before you could see him through your tears. "Nobody, it's not a big deal. Just a stupid essay for English."

 "Don't give me that shit, Y/F/N Y/L/N." Bucky cuts off your excuses sternly. "You rarely cry, which, no matter how much you fight it, is unhealthy." Before you could even open your mouth to argue, he had a gentle, calloused finger on your lips. "Not going to remonstrate this. You are clearly upset, you are not okay, and that is okay. I just want to know why so I can help you more fully." He says, lifting his finger from your lips to tuck a few strands of your hair from your face.

 Sighing, you look down. "It's just this essay, I have to write about one word that my friends use to describe me. I ended up spiraling while trying to find a word that would be mine when all the ones I usually consider myself are more aptly displayed by somebody else. Honestly, I don't know why you keep me around. I'm pretty average." you admit, curling in on yourself as your tears gather again. 

 "Hey, none of that printsessa." He scolded you softly. "You are important to us. You are smart, fun, and inspirational. You are the reason we aren't at each other's throats. You are the instigator of too many of our team-building exercises. You single-handedly instigated the reconciliation between Steve and Tony." He started, giving you a smirk as you begin to scrunch your nose up. Tears were forgotten.

 You really didn't like it when he made sense when you were upset. It made feeling bad really hard. The worst part; Bucky damned well knew it. "But, you're biased, Bucky."

 "Maybe I am, but I also know you. And if I heard you correctly: It doesn't say one word YOU would choose to call yourself, but one word WE would define you as. Therefore, you shouldn't be wondering what words we would use. You should have gotten up and asked us. Or even better, you should've texted the group chat and asked! Then you wouldn't be here sending yourself into a hate-spiral, doll." Bucky reprimands softly. Determined to get rid of the lies that your mind is spewing at you, just like you do for him. 

 "I don't wanna bother you guys with my stupid homework. You guys didn't sign up to be pestered by my lack of self-mediation." You grumble huffily, knowing full well you are acting stubborn.

 "If you won't help yourself. I guess it's up to me to help you." Bucky states, standing up with you still cradled snugly in his arms. 

 "BUCKY!" You admonish, clinging to him at his sudden movement. "At least let me walk. I'm overwhelmed and sad, not crippled."

 "What's to say, I don't just wanna carry you? Huh? Also, you're holding me just as tightly love." He smiles brightly at you, kissing you briefly before turning back to the exit. Book, schoolwork, and his original objective forgotten for his new mission. He was going to find his doll her confidence again, with all the positive affirmations that should've been her first thoughts.

 Once settled in the elevator, Bucky looks up, "Hey, Friday, can you take us to Tony, please?" After confirmation from the resident AI, he sets your feet on the ground from the bridal carry he's holding you in but keeping you close to him. "So you need one word? What is your plan?" 

 Keeping your arms in their place around his neck, you lean your head against his secure warmth. "I don't really know, Buck. I kinda got stuck on the first step. If it was an analytical or critical styled piece, it would be a breeze, but it is supposed to be a descriptive essay. I don't know what to do with that. If it was a song, I'd be cuddled with you and my ukelele by now, putting finishing touches on the finished product. But no, there isn't any room for incomplete sentences. Maybe I'll make it a song just to spite the evil bat."

 "Hey, dollface, it's okay, I'm here to help you. Does it just have to be one word, or can it be structured for each person you know to have a different word? Remember what Peter said that one time he was working with you on Formatting? Your thesis could be something like 'I am many things to many different people and therefore have many different words that can be used to describe me. These things are A, B, C, and D. Then, you can use each term for a paragraph of fluff."

 Taking a deep breath, your lip twitches somewhere between a smile and a deep frown. "That does sound like a good idea. I don't really want to track down everyone, though. Can we get everyone into the same room and ask them as a group? It would be less hassle, and maybe we can decide on reasoning and stories to use to explain why? I really don't know how to do this without being really pessimistic and cynical about the whole thing."

 "Mr. Stark is in his lab, he is recommended that he is brought down to the commons, where I will page everyone else." Came Friday's disembodied voice. 

 "Thank you, Friday," you whispered. You weren't really sure that you were ready for this, but you know that this is the best way to finish this essay without spiraling into your self-pity again. It has to get done. Procrastination is not an option. After all, these are your friends. They don't have to know that you were bawling your eyes out about this stupid assignment. 

 Taking another steadying breath, you wipe the remainder of your tears off your make-up-less face onto Bucky's soft T-shirt, before turning out of his embrace to march confidently into Tony's Lab. "Hey Tones, your presence is required in the Commons." You call as you walk in the door. Knowing that Friday would've warned you if Tony had been in the middle of something delicate. 

 "What is it for? I want to get this sequence reconfigured. Can it wait?" Tony said, his full attention on a large display of Smalltalk equational programming floating off of his Holotable. 

 "Nope, if you don't come now, you don't get to participate, let Friday do the reconfiguration code. It will be done by the time you get back. If you come and keep your attitude to a minimum, I'll let you use me as a scapegoat for your next prank." You try to bribe when he looked offended that I'd suggest such a thing.

 "Any prank? Even if it's against loverboy?" Tony perked, throwing a truly roguish smirk over your shoulder. 

 "As long as no one is injured or harmed. But to make sure that I can cover your ass, you need to fill me in on the joke BEFORE you pull it." You say herding him away from the endless rows of code while he is occupied with his next plot. 

  When you finally make it to the Commons, The rest of the Avengers are gathered on the couches. All seemed to be in a decent enough mood. Taking a deep breath, you look to Bucky for direction on how to implement this plan of his. 

 He gives your hand a squeeze as he guides you to the middle of the sectional. Holding you from behind, he clears his throat. "Hey, guys. Thanks for coming to this impromptu meeting. I know you guys were probably doing nothing, anyway, but I appreciate you coming down here. Doll, here, needs some help from us. Well, you guys, since apparently, I am biased." His tone is light as he brings attention to us.

 You can't help but feel that knot of uncertainty come back as he speaks, though. You try your best to hide the shaking of your hands by holding onto Bucky's forarms that rest tightly around your middle, grounding you into the moment. Please just let this be quick. 

 "You are biased," you grumble. "You have to say the best things because you are my boyfriend. It makes for a skewed view on what my friends think of me." 

 "She does have a point, Buck. You tend to have neverending heart-eyes whenever anything is about her. Though that is reasonable, seeing as she is your girl. I'd be more concerned if you didn't have a shade or two of rose to your glasses." Steve said from his station in on the nearest end of the couch to the door. 

 "If his glasses are tinted any pinker, they won't be able to be seen through." Scoffed Sam from the other end of the couch. 

 "Doesn't matter," Bucky cut in before there could be any more railroading. "Y/N has an essay that she has to write but couldn't find the right inspiration for the prompt. Seeing as it pertains to our views on her, I felt it necessary to bring our expertise into the mix."

 "Oh, What's the prompt?" Bruce asked from the corner of the window seat. 

 "It's stupid, It's an essay on the word that your friends and family would use to describe you. Well, in this case, describe me." You say to the oak coffee table that separated the majority of them from you and Bucky. 

 "Doll, stop hating, and just accept the help." He whispered into your 

 "Well, you've definitely come to the right place. Come on, guys, what words describe Y/N?" Tony said enthusiastically, rubbing his hands together from the place he found next to Natasha.

 "Friday, can you make a list on the monitor, so we don't forget any?" Steve asked the AI helpfully.

 "Good idea, I'll start with eccentric," Nat stated.

 "Bubbly."

 "Funny."

 "Smart."

 "Out-going."

 "Playful."

 "Creative."

 "Hardworking."

 "resourceful, Multi-talented, Impressive."

 "Badass."

 "Stubborn." 

 Words just kept coming at incredible speed before there was a ding at the elevator. "Mrs. (Y/L/N), The package you ordered last night needs to be signed for if you wouldn't mind." Friday cut in. 

 As more words were being piled onto the TV screen, you turned toward the elevator. "It's here already??" you asked, making your way to the waiting delivery man. I quickly signed for the package before coming back to the group. Ripping into the box without care as Tony and Clint argued over positive and negative words on the list.

 Letting out an excited squeal while you pulled the long, sky-blue cape out of the box and swishing it over your shoulders, clasping it easily, and spinning in a circle to make it swish out. It was just as you imagined. Silky, soft, and absolutely perfect for everything. When you finally came back to the conversation you found yourself at the center of attention, everyone's eyes were on you in different mixes of amusement and exasperation. 

 "Where you going, Miss Bennet?" Tony laughed out.

 "What do you mean, where am I going? This is my house cape. Don't you have one? It's the latest fashion." You bite back, raising your head in indignation. "I love it, I am going to wear it. EVERYWHERE."

 As everyone's faces split into the biggest smiles, Peter walked into the room, tossing his backpack onto the floor as he took a seat between Sam and Steve. 

 "No Capes!" He said, lovingly referencing the Incredibles. Sending a ripple of laughs through the group of superheroes. "So what has you so Extra today, Y/N?"  

 "Nothing, I just saw this for sale while I was doing research for my recital dress and thought it would be nice." You respond fondly, feeling invincible in the cape. 

 "THAT'S IT! YOUR WORD IS EXTRA!" Clint said, springing from his perch. Everyone looked contemplative for a moment before nodding. 

 "Agreed. It's perfect. You give extra in everything you do." Steve said, not really getting the modern connotation.

 Even though it isn't any of the words that you thought they would choose, you can't really complain. Especially when it gives you the privilege of wearing your Couture Cape around the tower, just because you want to.

 Smiling at Bucky, you raised slightly on your toes to kiss his cheek, whispering a thank you. And with that, you whooshed off to write the worst essay in your academic career. Leaving the bickering and astounded Avengers in your wake.

[nalufever]

As You Wish Ch. 1 Life is a Highway

I’m massively late (a chronic state of being for myself) for Day 7: free theme ~ which I’ve chosen to write as a Road Trip fic for this year’s Snowells week 2020. 

Eobard picks Frost's car to jack and joins her road trip which is all fun and giggles until a line gets crossed. Eobard learns Frost still has ties with her previous life and if he wants to claim a spot in her current life, he will have a far-reaching decision to make.

Read on AO3 <<here>> more chapters to soon follow! Comments welcomed ;)

Swinging the last minute bag of important provisions (okay, it was all junk food - but very necessary), Frost approached the passenger side of the black boxy vehicle she had decided to use and yanked the handle. The door and her mouth were wide open and then she lunged inside, slamming the door shut after herself.

Despite the need to keep a low profile, icy mist formed, swirling inside the car. “What in frozen hell do you think you're doing?” Frost yeeted her supplies into the backseat. She smacked the man in the middle of stealing her car - landing a solid blow to the back of Eobard’s head. “Seriously? It’s not enough you pull all the big jobs in Central City, you’ve lowered yourself to petty crimes too?”

“Hey!” Eobard pulled his head out from under the steering wheel and let go of the ignition wires in his hands. “Petty? Grand theft auto more like.” He grimaced and rubbed the rising bump on his skull. “What did I ever do to you that you felt the need to try to smash my brain into spaghetti?”

“How much time do you have?” Killer Frost sat back and crossed her arms, starting her tirade off with an ominous glare. “At the beginning of fall, you ruined my favourite leather jacket. Last November, you emptied the bank vault at Central City Bank of the Union before I could! You tore my next best jacket at Christmas time! And -”

No longer willing to be harangued, Eobard sighed and interrupted Frost. “That was rhetorical, as if I pay any attention to what I may have done to others.” Many of the shoppers loading their cars were craning their necks watching himself and Frost, no doubt hoping for talk-show level action. “Do me a solid and lower your volume from fishwife to fish.”

Frost gasped. “Oh. No. You. Didn’t.” She grabbed hold of his arm and wondered why Eobard hadn’t tried to yank her spine out with his speed. Actually, why wasn’t he using any of his power for evil purposes? Why was he trying to jack her car? Or any car for that matter? Oh. A shrewd grin on her face, Frost snorted. “Oh no, you can’t.”

“What?”

“As in, you somehow lost your speed.” Frost could feel maniacal laughter bubbling up, waiting to be released. She needed to get rid of this jackass and get going. “Beat it.” For fun, she raised her voice. “Get out of my car!”

“Darling, but what about the kids?” Eobard moved a bit closer and playfully tugged on a tendril of Frost’s hair. Whispering, he said, “Do you want all these people making a police report if we start a fight?”

“Shut up and drive, dear.” Frost wished she’d gotten more chocolate. Dealing with Mr. Reverse Flash was very much a fudge situation.

“Got keys? I don’t want another braining.” Eobard gave Frost a sideways glance. “I’m sure me fussing with the ignition wires is too much temptation.”

“Pfft.” Frost threw the keyfob at her new chauffeur. “I need to get out of town, now. Head east.”

“Yes’m, Miz Daisy.” Eobard tugged at a non-existent hat and gave the woman a truculent smirk.

Much more relaxed as the distance between herself and certain others increased, Frost found herself starting to enjoy being driven; up until Eobard blew a very stale yellow. “Hey! Did you get your license out of a gumball machine?”

“Don’t you mean cracker jack box?” This time the cheese doodle thrown at his head didn’t startle Eobard. “What are the kids saying these days, anyway?”

“Don’t kid yourself.” Frost made sure to drawl her words to get her sarcasm across to the big bad speedster. “You’re a dinosaur and out of touch with the pulse of current society.”

“You wound me, now I’ll have to take you off my Christmas card list.”

“Exactly! Nobody sends Christmas cards!” Frost ate another handful of cheese doodles and then rummaged at the bottom of the bag for her second chocolate bar. Good thing being evil burned calories - but right now it was self-medication. Eobard was an unknown quantity. Being this close to him was worrisome - who knew when he’d revert to his vibrating hands trick? The one that crushed a person’s heart before they could regret not eating more chocolate? So many things that man could vibrate in a good way but all he wanted to do was cause harm? Rude.

“Then why don’t you educate me on current society?” Eobard hoped he’d said that cooly. Not as a joke about hanging out with Killer Frost - but because he actually meant what he’d asked. It would be nice to have a somewhat proper colleague to exchange thoughts with while he needed to keep a low profile. Once his plan was in motion he’d have to return to centre stage in Central City.

“As fun as that sounds, I’d rather accidentally chop my head off while shaving.”

“Or perhaps stab yourself in the stomach while giving yourself a haircut?” Eobard laughed and took a fast left onto the road leading out of town. “Don’t be too surprised, we have classic TV in the future too.”

“I’m not surprised, Black Adder should be immortalized endlessly as far as I’m concerned.” Frost held onto the inside door handle as the car’s wheels squealed, her voice rising in irritation. “Can you not kill us?”

“And why would I kill us both?” Eobard gave the vehicle more gas, passed a minivan full of presumably screaming children and a set of stoic parents, blowing past them.

“You’re missing your speed, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Frost didn’t even attempt to hide her smirk. “So, what happened to your speed? Why oh why does Mr. Reverse Flash need a car all the sudden?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What is it? You don’t know what I’m talking about or you don’t want to talk about it? Because -”

Eobard shot Frost a side-glance that was only too easy for her to imagine limned in electric glowing red. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Talk. About. It.”

Frost considered pushing the point and decided she’d prefer to live another day. She took solace in the fact she could call her little chauffeur all kinds of names in her head - starting with bitch and not ending until she got to the phrase show-pony. “Just so you know, it might be a good idea to keep under the speed limit. It’s only sixty here.”

“Hmmph.”

“I love icing a cop as much as the next criminal, but you’re in no condition to do evil as per usual, are you?”

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

“Fine, fine!” Frost waved her hand dismissively and shook her head. “I read you loud and clear. You don’t wanna talk about it.” She adjusted her car seat to recline and placed her booted heels onto the dash. “Wake me when we reach a decent coffee shop in the next town over, ‘kay?”

“As you wish.”

Frost had to hand it to ole Eobard, he did know his classic TV and movie quotes.

><><><>< 

Frost sniffed once, twice and let out an outrageously satisfied sigh. The coffee aromas were fricking amazing. She shuddered and her eyes snapped open. Eobard was still driving but now in pride of place in the car’s cup holders were two coffees.

“Um, nice job paying for a drink for me, but there was totally another reason why I wanted to stop.” She sucked air over her teeth and gave Eobard her best disgusted look. The one that would make a normal man grovel for a good ten minutes. It didn’t work on him but it felt good to try. “I’m nowhere near common but I do have the need to stretch my legs and use certain facilities.”

“Who says this second coffee is yours?” Eobard had the audacity to snort. “I have my own personal caffeine needs to meet.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child.” Frost shook her head and smiled brilliantly. She snagged the unopened drink and raised it to her lips, inhaling the delectable scent and then delicately sipping. Savouring it, she said, “You’d better find another coffee shop or hole-in-the-wall diner. Or else, there’s gonna be a little less happiness inside this vehicle.”

“What do I care how happy you are?”

“You’re gonna care.” Frost took another sip and looked at her handsome chauffeur through slitted eyes. “Unless you somehow enjoy the smell of pee? Is that your kink? I would never have guessed. Huh, weird.”

“Ugh. Fine, I’ll stop at the very next place.” Eobard stifled the urge to laugh. Frost wouldn’t appreciate the other rambling thoughts in his head at all. It was oddly satisfying to be here on this road trip with her - even if his powers were out of commission and he had no intention of letting her know exactly why. This situation, it was almost charming. How long had it been since he’d felt challenged? Eons.

“Excellent. I’ll downgrade you to the next slightly less creepy level of weirdo.”

“I don’t care what you do.” Eobard spotted a sign and took the next exit, his high speed making the van squeal its tires. “As long as you hold it for another five minutes, yeah?”

><><><>< 

Frost ambled out of the restroom, only mildly surprised Eobard was still sitting at the booth of the restaurant. Mmm, could it be his superspeed was making a comeback and he needed to fuel his powers with food? Why did she care? If he was anywhere near recovered, he’d be gone - in a flash. She snorted.

“This place has decent poutine, so let’s fuel our bodies.”

Dropping into the seat opposite her travelling companion, Frost picked up the plastic coated menu and gave it a cursory reading. “Just because it says ‘world famous poutine’ doesn’t make it the truth.”

“Well, good to know your sarcasm is at full power.” He rolled his eyes. “But I know for a personal fact this place makes good poutine.”

“Oh, well, then let’s indulge.” Frost dropped the menu like it had third grade cooties. “Far be it from me to disagree with such a smart and well-travelled man.”

“Are you seriously making me tell you to chill?” Eobard rolled his eyes and managed to project a lot of self-assured chutzpah. “And thanks for such heart-felt assurances. I do know my way around this burg.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, old man.”

“As if. You’re technically older than I.” Eobard flicks his electric blue eyes up and down Frost’s body. “But when you’re right, you’re right.” He smiled at the waitress and ordered food for them both; one large poutine, an order of coleslaw and two burgers.

Frost only gave minimal thought to arguing. It was one measly meal, not worth fighting over. But later, if Eobard was going to continue playing lord and master...well, he’d have one hell of a fight coming. As an alpha female, she knew exactly when to pick her battles.

><><><>< 

Eobard clutched his stomach, partly in fear of the heavy load of poutine escaping. The other reason was Frost was a much more of a rules-schmules type of driver. She’d deftly pick-pocketed the keys from his coat after they finished their meal and gleefully took over driving duties. He’d had to relinquish or lose face. That woman had called him a coward - not in so many words, but she was casting much too much shade on his manhood.

“Aw, is the big bad man scared of my driving?” Frost pressed down on the accelerator and grinned maniacally. “I, at least, learned how to in my own time.”

“You tell me that, but I haven’t seen any evidence.” Eobard considered lowering the window. If push came to shove with his stomach contents, it would be less smelly if he barfed into the wind. Ew but no - he should spew and let the wind carry the barf away. Frost had addled his brains entirely too much.

His general interest in the woman had become too strong. What else would he find himself doing just to curry this bewitching female’s favour? Eobard chuckled. He knew what he wanted even if he couldn’t bring himself to put it into words. It was part and parcel of the reason why he’d used her personal trip to escape Central City after his failed experiment. He laughed and clutched his stomach harder. “Don’t give yourself too much credit.”

“How flattering.” Frost mashed her foot down and passed the twin of the vehicle she was driving, although the other one contained a harried mom, a shouting dad and four children. “I happened to actually take lessons unlike yourself.”

“You take that back!”

Frost didn’t know if Eobard was trying to flirt poorly or was just deluded into defending his piss-poor driving - but in either case, she decided to give the superbad man enough rope to hang himself. “Okay, you don’t drive like you’re clueless.” She put extra oomph into her fake laugh - and even if she had to say it herself, it was perfection. This was the laugh that screamed, ‘oh no you didn’t’ - in the highest of registers.

“Maybe I was a little hasty.” Eobard grabbed the holy hell bar and held tight, his otherwise handsome face squinched up into a massive rictus of fear. “Can you maybe just keep it to fifteen over the limit?”

“Wow. The speedster with the mostest is begging me to take it easy?” Frost scoffed, “I’ve got a schedule to keep ya know. Actually, do you know? Pfft. I don’t think such a criminal mastermind would have any idea about us little common-folk.”

Eobard only knew he felt exposed...and horribly mortal without his full powers. He’d be playing into Frost’s hands if he let any of that slip and so he kept playing the one card that had never let him down. “Go nuts if you want nightmares over what I do to whatever unlucky cop tries to pull us over.”

Almost instantly the van lost speed and Frost started to follow each and every proscribed rule of the road. The next twenty miles passed without conversation until the light started failing and it was obvious a motel room was going to be necessary.

><><>< 

“Wow, you actually planned to stay in a shithole like this?” Eobard had the grace to wait to ask this after they got the key from the old and massively overweight motel owner; he’d pretended to be as much of a normie as he could - only unleashing his snark once they stood in the middle of the stuck in the seventies decorated room. The room was an unholy mixture of harvest orange, fruit heavy wallpaper and gold fringed bedspread; safe to say it was a decorator’s nightmare.

“Let me give you my official apology.” Frost bowed, letting her head hang low and then stood upright with a snap. “If only I’d’a known you were gonna tag along and be my personal burden, I could’ve planned a nicer getaway for you.”

“Let that be a lesson to you.” Deciding an imperious tone was his best armour, Eobard charged forward with his ridiculous words. “You’re very lucky I’ve chosen you, d’you know?”

“I’m starting to realize.” Frost hoped her ironic tone wasn’t lost on Eobard. “I’m ever so blessed.”

“Excellent that we’re in agreement.” Eobard sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. “You should go and check and see if the tub is clean enough for you.”

“Clean? Tub? What the hell are you thinking?”

“I’m too much of a gentleman to sleep with you of course - you’ll feel better sleeping in the tub, I’m sure.”

“Mmmmmm.” Frost considered freezing Eobard into one solid mass and then slapping the shit out of his damn rude mouth. Just in case he was only pretending to be at a handicap, she decided to hold off on that - but it was rapidly rising on her list of things to do. “It’s early yet, yeah? Let’s grab some grub and we can decide who’s sleeping in ceramic glory after.”

“As if it’s not a forgone conclusion, but yeah, let’s go find something good to eat.”

[punkcupcakestyles]

Just One More Time

PART 2 COMING SOON (sneak peek)

part 1

Harry was insufferable, and he knew it.

Unfortunately for you, you could see his face, even in the darkness of the room. Between his phone’s screen and the moonlight, you could see him grin, and you were more than ready to turn around and leave his apartment. Maybe sleeping in the hallway wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

“I don’t want to sleep with you,” you patiently said, as if he were a child and you were explaining to him why he couldn’t have the candy he wanted. “I just want to sleep.”

It was absolutely true. The events of the night had left you drained and your ankle still felt sore from the moment you twisted it and your heel broke. You shouldn’t have gone out that night, you kept repeating to yourself. 

Harry provided you with your first triumph of the night, as he got up from his comfortable spot on the couch. But it was a short-lived sentiment because as soon as Harry stood in front of you, the air started to run heavily in your lungs. It was a new kind of feeling, only being able to feel him and not see him. Your skin prickled at his breath that fanned over your heated skin and the air filled with his sweet smell of oranges on a crisp summer morning.

You wondered if he was looking at you with those intense eyes of his, that seemed to want to look into your very soul and rob you of all of your secrets. Or if his lips were as pink as you remembered them, or if they tasted just as sweet.  

“Just sleep?” Harry asked with a deep voice, and your body tingled in parts it should most definitely not be tingling. 

“Y-yes.”

“Your call, then,” he said, with a smile that lingered in the air, and felt him walk away from you. 

Well, it definitely felt like you had made the wrong one. 

You followed Harry to the room, once again walking close behind him so you wouldn’t knock anything over, you were very good at getting random bruises. And maybe Harry sensed that because his hand found yours, and he laced your fingers with his, as he guided you to the safety of his bed. Under any other circumstances, his touch would’ve been innocent enough to go unnoticed, but now, it brought the memory of the burning feeling of his fingers on your skin, and flashes of memory from that night. 

Harry stopped right as you got to the mattress and his hand left yours, going to your waist instead. The world stopped and you paralyzed with it, forgetting how to breathe as you waited for his next move. It could be anything, you truly didn’t care, because maybe then you would forget about the night, and you needed to forget. 

But, to your disappointment, Harry wasn’t planning anything other than to help you climb on the bed, and you blindly made your way under the blankets, until you reached the pile of pillows you had set up for yourself earlier. 

“So, how do you wanna do this?” Harry asked as he sat on the mattress. Oh, you wanted to do this in a lot of ways. But none of them seemed like something you could say out loud. So you stayed quiet, rolling the cotton fabric of his sheets between your fingers as you waited for him to take the first guess. “Should I hug you? Would that keep you warm?” Harry offered and you nodded, not fully realizing that he couldn’t see you. “Use your words.”

“Yes, please,” you said, as energy ran up your spine. “Why do you sound like you enjoy ordering people around in bed?”

“Because I do,” Harry replied and there was definitely a smirk on his lips. 

That night, Harry hadn’t stayed long enough for you to cuddle. You had woken up wrapped up in the safety of your own bed, and your legs still felt weak and euphoria still bubbled in your belly. The untouched side of the bed didn’t bother you, you said to yourself. Why would it?

So, having him lie next to you was a whole new feeling. He was careful as he laid down and his legs pressed up to the back of yours. Out of instinct, your legs tangled with his, spreading apart enough for him to let his thigh sneak between yours and for you to curl your ankle around the back of his calf. His fingers traveled gingerly over your thigh and up your hips, until he settled them on the curve of your waist, looping his arm around it as you shifted closer to his chest. His breath fanned over the nape of your neck, and you shivered as you felt his lips grazing your shoulder as he started to speak.

“You’re just wearing a shirt?” Harry asked and you had to drown out a grunt of despair, pretty sure that your voice would give up on you if you tried talking. 

“I’m not wearing any pants of yours,” you said.

“Why not?”

“Because...you could’ve done things...and they could be dirty...and I’m not risking it.”

“What kind of things?” Harry teased you. He knew the answer very well, he just wanted to hear you say it.  

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Please, tell.”

Not being able to see him while in an unfamiliar room meant that you could feel him everywhere around you. He had shifted to prop himself up, you knew that much, but your eyes still refused to see much more than the outline of his body. The goosebumps all over your skin told you just how close he actually was. 

“I mean, you might’ve touched yourself…”

“And?” He pressed. 

“And...cum might be in your pants.”

“That night I came a few times in your pussy, that didn’t seem to bother you. You actually cleaned me off with your tongue, remember?” Harry was enjoying himself, pressing your buttons hard enough to get you mad, but also, to make you think about the night he fucked you as you had never been fucked before. You remembered it well, especially in your lonely nights and in your long showers.

“Did I? I cannot remember.”

Harry lied back down on the bed, and once again, an electric wave rolled down your body, reacting to his presence next to you. It did the trick because you felt warm enough already.

“So, what were you doing home tonight?” You asked, wanting to get rid of the tension that was filling the air. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Are you sure? Does she know that?” Now it was your turn to tease him. She was blonde and fucking gorgeous, and she smiled at you like you shared a secret whenever you run into each other in the hallways. She had that satisfied smile every time. 

“Sure…”

He didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it, and you weren’t sure you wanted to insist too much. He could still kick you out of his house, and you found yourself to be too damn comfortable in his bed. So, you stopped pressing. It wasn’t your problem, anyway. 

****

Electricity buzzed on again sometime around the night, because the heater was on in the morning, and you had already peeled off a couple of layers, with blankets bunching up around your feet, while Harry and you still cuddled up in bed. 

It wasn’t like you had noticed. Actually, you were blissfully unaware of the world around you. Harry’s arms surrounded you, his fingers tangled in your hair while his other hand went under your shirt, as you hid your face on the crook of his neck. Nothing could bother you at that moment, except for the loud banging on the door. 

You jolted up, untangling yourself hastily from Harry as you begrudgingly opened your eyes and sneered at the air. Whoever it was was relentless, ringing the bell as if their life depended on it. 

“Harry…” you prodded him, but there wasn’t much response coming from him. He turned around and buried his face into the pillow. “Harry!?” You insisted, this time shaking his body with your hands. 

“Hhmm?”

“Someone’s at the door.”

“Could you please open it?” He said without bothering to wake up completely. You could see that he was doing his very best not to, actually. 

“What if it’s your girlfriend? And she drags me by my hair?”

“It won’t be.”

You weren’t too sure about his answer, but it seemed like it was the only one you were going to get because he shifted in the bed and buried himself even deeper between the blankets. So you sighed, deeply and morosely, and got up from the bed because there’s a sense of urgency in the way they’re knocking and you don’t want to be responsible for someone’s death. If it was indeed his girlfriend, you hoped that she would focus her rage on him, and leave you alone. 

The cold of the morning was much more forgiving to you than it had been in the night, and the thought of putting on pants only crossed your mind as soon as you opened the door, and Mrs. Lee, from 6C, looked at you from head to toe. She looked confused, to say the least, checking back on your apartment to see if she hadn’t knocked on the wrong door.

“Mrs. Lee?” You smiled at her, leaning on the door as your pretty neighbor got her composure back. Her fingers grazed over her gold chain and she offered you a dashing smile. Her cleavage was stunning and in full display and you found yourself struggling to look away from it. It was so early, so cold. 

“I’m sorry, I was looking for Harry, I need his help with...something.”

Oh, where’s Mr. Lee, darling? Could he not possibly help? You thought, but those questions were pushed down in your brain, not daring to come out and live in the air. 

“He’s asleep,” you smiled brightly and you could see the wheels turning in her head, as she wondered...“But I’ll make sure he gets the message.”

“He is asleep?” She asked, and for a second there, you felt bad. It surely was not the answer she was expecting. You had always wondered why she stayed with Mr. Lee, who was considerably older than her, not very attractive and not very energetic. Money was always the easy answer. Love never came to mind. 

“Yeap.”

“Oh...so you slept here?”

“I will tell Harry you came to visit,” you smiled in response, and slowly closed the door on your stunned neighbor’s face. As soon as she was out of sight, a wicked grin formed on your face, and a rush of energy bubbled in your tummy as you made your way to Harry’s room. 

So, Mrs. Lee...

“Who was it?” Harry asked as soon as you walked through the door. He was sitting down on the bed, with his sheets wrapped around his waist. He was shirtless, and probably only wearing his boxers because as you peered around the room, you noticed that his sweatpants were on the floor, and he looked even more inviting than you could remember. Your imagination ran wild, no matter how hard you tried to shut it down, and you had to make an effort to remember about your half-naked neighbor by his door. 

“It was Mrs. Lee,” you managed to smirk. “She said she needed your help, which I think it’s code for her wanting you to fuck her.”

“You think?” Harry chuckled and you waltzed closer to him until you were standing in front of him. 

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first neighbor you fucked.”

“Or the one I want to fuck the most,” he smiled.

“No? Who’s that?”

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 5: First We Feast

[For those who are following my writing, you may have seen it doesn’t quite line up with the game’s timeline. I don’t want it to be exactly the same, but I do want to keep the core of the story. In this version, the events take place in 1894, and the main character is from 2020. Well, a version of 2020 without any of this Covid fuckery. I wanted to make a more realistic MC than the one in the game, whose actions rarely line up with my own. This MC is modern and feisty, and specifically written from the cultures I know best. While it might not be as relatable as most Ikevamp works, I can promise you all it is as authentic as it gets, kinda like a “what would I do” scenario if I was in MC’s situation. On top of that, there are several headcanons applied to the different characters, so if you have any, let me know and I will add the ones I like. Thank you for reading. This is my first public piece of writing so I am thrilled that some people are enjoying it already.]

Le Comte de Saint-Germain returns to the dining room, pulling me out of my thoughts just before the silence gets awkward. It is then that I realize that Sebastian is no longer standing next to me. I did not see him leave. Prompted by the nobleman’s return, all the other men take a seat around the large table. Once everyone is in place, I sit on one of the empty chairs beside le Comte, and look at him for validation. He smiles approvingly, and as if on cue, Sebastian reappears with a cart full of plates that he begins setting on the table.

My stomach growls at the smell. It is supposed to be around 4 in the afternoon - back in the present, at least - and I have ingested nothing but iced coffee all day. As Sebastian serves everyone, I softly nudge le Comte’s arm.

“I have so many questions I don’t know where to begin. Do you think you could...?” I inquire, before being gently interrupted by him.

“Of course, ma chérie, I will answer anything you want to know. After dinner, you can visit my study.” After dinner. Of course. My leg bounces under the table in a poor attempt to get rid of some impatient energy. Meanwhile, le Comte raises his voice, along with the glass of champagne that now sits in front of him. “It has been a while since most of us were gathered together to enjoy the evening like this, and I must say I greatly appreciate it. À votre santé!”

The rest follow his lead and all drink in unison. I, on the other hand, take my time eyeing and then sniffing the bubbly liquid. Though I am less jittery now, I still don’t trust these people. I have no way of knowing whether the mysterious door that led me here is truly impossible to open or if they are deliberately keeping me in this century. I soon conclude that the champagne is safe to drink. I’m sure it all came from the same bottle, so anything that might be in it would affect everyone else too.

I take a hesitant sip, not wanting to drink on an empty stomach. A pleasured sound escapes my lips. This is the best champagne I have ever tasted. Though I am tempted to have more, I decide to try the food first. I have no idea if this coq au vin could be drugged or poisoned, but at this point I am too hungry to care. My eyes go wide at the wonderful taste of the dish, and I dig in. More food follows soon after, which I rest from by taking more sips of champagne.

The rest of the banquet goes on like any other dinner would. I remain silent, my mouth busy chewing, and some small talk can be heard between the residents. When everyone is finished, le Comte speaks again.

“Thank you, Sebastian. What a wonderful meal.” He politely excuses himself as everyone starts to get up, and I follow close behind. “Anaïs. There is something I want to show you,” he tells me once we make it onto the hallway. I nod silently and walk along with him to his study.

Once inside, he gestures toward a large hourglass that sits on the floor by a fireplace. It looks like it was recently turned, the sand falling from it in a thin stream forming a small pile at the bottom.

“This is what measures when the door will open,” he explains, his voice low and gentle, like he is fully aware that he is delivering delicate information. “You are welcome to come in at any time to see its progress. As I mentioned before, it takes roughly a month for all the sand to fall. Sadly, during that time, you will be stuck here, in the 19th century. So will I. The door works in mysterious ways, but even I must abide by its rules.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. So this is it. This is the thing keeping me from going home. For something so scary and frustrating, I find it surprisingly beautiful. I wordlessly shuffle closer and look at the lights reflecting off the curved glass surface.

“Comte?” My eyes remain on the stream of sand as I talk.

“Yes, ma chérie?”

“How does this work? How is any of this possible?” I breathe out. I do not expect an answer, for even if he had one, I doubt I would be able to comprehend it. “And the residents, are they really...?”

“Who they say they are? Yes. Tonight you met the real Vincent Van Gogh, the real Isaac Newton, the real Mozart. They arrived here the same way you did, through a time slip. I personally brought each of them back after they died.”

“What do you mean, after they died?”

Before he can answer, someone knocks on the door. Sebastian doesn’t wait to be invited to come in and stand under the frame, waiting.

“Oh? It appears your room is ready,” le Comte changes the topic. “Your belongings are already there. Good night, ma chérie.”

I take that as being dismissed, and I begrudgingly follow Sebastian out of the study, unsatisfied with my answers - or lack thereof. As we walk, a light piano melody floats through the hallway. That must be Mozart. I can’t help but wonder at how happy the music sounds in contrast to his attitude during diner.

We come to a halt in front of an open door. The bedroom inside is elegantly decorated, but ultimately simple, mostly consisting of whites and light pinks. My backpack sits on a plush ottoman by the bed, and my skates, still strapped together, on the floor below it. Next to me, Sebastian clears his throat.

“There is a nightgown on the bed for you. We shall get you some new clothes tomorrow so you have something else to wear. Not that there’s anything wrong with your outfit, in fact, I quite like it, but it might call unwanted attention in this century.” His casual statement surprises me.

“Wait, are you from the future too?” He does not seem fazed or offended by my tight jeans and cropped sweater, and having received a few strange looks from the other residents, I know that there is more than just discretion at play here.

“Yes,” he nods with a smile. “2013. Le Comte mentioned you yourself came from the year 2020, correct?”

“Yeah. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who got literally stuck in the past. A lot has changed since 2013, too. I was just a child, back then. Back then? Can I say that if it’s 119 years in the future?” I notice I have started to ramble and trail off. Sebastian laughs. His presence in this mansion is somewhat comforting, and I am happy to know we have that in common, which makes me wonder. “Sebastian?” I hesitate to ask. “How did you end up here?”

“Unlike you, I came willingly.” I tilt my head as my lips form a quiet ‘oh’. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. “I was a historian in my time,” he continues. “I met le Comte while traveling and he invited me here. Of course, having spent my life studying these remarkable people, I could not miss the chance to meet them in person.”

That makes sense. I wonder if he knew then that he would not be able to come back, but from the way he speaks of the experience, I don’t think he minds.

“Huh. Now that I think about it, the only one I don’t know anything about is Dazai. His name sounds familiar, isn’t he a writer or something?” I am familiar with a couple modern Japanese authors, but anything before the 70s isn’t exactly available in the West, even in my time. Sebastian nods.

“He is one of the most important writers in Japan. I see the availability of his work in the rest of the world hasn’t changed much, huh? Lucky for you, I have an English copy of ‘No Longer Human’. You can borrow it any time you like.” I thank him with a smile before he continues. “As for the residents, there are two you have yet to meet that were not present at the banquet. Leonardo da Vinci and Jean d’Arc.”

“She’s here?” I perk up upon hearing the name. It has just dawned on me that staying for a month might pose certain feminine problems, and I welcome the idea of another woman to give me such advice. Sebastian’s laugh warns me like a stop sign before my hopes crash.

“He.” I stare blankly at him, failing to understand what he means by that. He must know what I’m thinking, because he goes on to explain. “Jean is a man. Historical records have a funny way of twisting the facts

“Damn it,” I quietly mutter. Regardless, I am still excited to meet them. I will have to talk to le Comte about my problem, though. It’s not like tampons have been invented yet. “Anyway, Sebastian, thank you for everything. I don’t want to keep you for too long.”

With another friendly smile, he wishes me good night and leaves me alone in my room. I close the door behind me, kick off my shoes and sit on the edge of the bed before fishing my phone from the backpack I brought with me. The screen says 17:02, but here it must be past midnight already. Between the over all shock and the fact that I am a night owl in my present, I wonder how I am going to sleep tonight. Who knew transtemporal jet lag could be such an inconvenience?

There is no signal, which isn’t surprising. Luckily, the battery is still almost full. I wonder how the other residents would react to seeing a smartphone. I doubt advanced technology would warrant the same kind of side eye Mozart gave me for my appearance. And then I wonder how I will get used to the corsets and big dresses that I will probably be wearing for the rest of the month. While I love the aesthetic of the period, I will have to learn to deal with the discomfort and limited freedom of movement.

[russian-romanova]

enigma

title: enigma

pairing: jack kline

word count: 2.3K

warnings: angst, spoilers through season 14. major character death, adult language, 

notes: this is a short thing i wrote to alleviate the stress of my finals week through procrastination. :)

summary: in the midst of pain, you take a moment to reflect on jack kline and the wonder that he is. 

+      +     +

/iˈniɡmə/. noun. a person or thing that is mysterious, puzzling, or difficult to understand.

You realized very quickly that Jack Kline was an enigma, in all meanings of the word. You would find yourself surprised by so many of the things he did or said, and you were sure that he would surprise even himself sometimes. It wasn’t uncommon for him to do something and later confess his doubts about his actions. He does what he feels is right at the moment, and more often than not it’s the right choice. Jack was a blossoming worrier though, which you could easily sympathize with. His mind filled with the idea that his actions were wrong or a mistake, that something bad would happen and everyone would blame him again. 

He thought it was his fault when you left, and you should have suspected it beforehand. It hadn’t been a big deal or anything, and you had even seen it as an exciting new step in your life. You would be following a case that you had been on for years, one that you were finally at the tail end of solving. The Winchesters had been the closest thing to your family for almost six years, but every kid has to grow up at some point.

When you left, everyone had seemed fine. Jack was sad to see you go and for Sam it was bittersweet, but Dean was overwhelmingly proud and that seemed to make up for all of the negative emotions. You had given all of them hugs before leaving, and Jack had told you, “Be careful.” You had turned around and promised him that you would and that you would keep in touch and come back when it was all done.

It wasn’t as easy as you thought it would have been, which was something you should have known. When it came to hunting, nothing was ever as easy as it should have been. It was blood, sweat, and tears, and this vampire seemed to be ready to take as much as possible with it before you killed it. After four failed attempts, you had been sitting in your most recent hotel room moping when you got the call from Dean.

He told you that Jack was sick, really sick, and that you should come back before it got worse. Got worse. Dean didn’t have the say the words and you knew exactly what he meant, the exact severity of his words. You needed to come back if you wanted the chance to say goodbye. Of course, you did, and of course, you had dropped everything to go back to Kansas, now two states over. It had been a long overnight drive, going more than a little faster than you should have been going. It didn’t matter to you at that moment, because it was Jack. 

When Sam and Dean first brought Jack to the bunker, you had been rightfully wary. He was the actual son of Lucifer, but you learned very quickly that this far from defined him. He wanted desperately to win you over, for you to give in and accept him as another bunker-mate. You did, eventually, after you had walked into his room to tell him about a hunt possibility to see him sitting by his computer watching Star Wars. Dear God, how were you supposed to hate him when he looked up at you with those curious, marveled eyes and told you hurridly that he was worried about Obi-Wan. Your heart had melted -- literally melted, you were sure of it -- and you had asked to join him. Jack didn’t even have to think before agreeing in his very matter of fact way, the way that was so curious and so adult and so… Jack. 

After ‘A New Hope,’ there was no choice but to go onto ‘The Empire Strikes Back,’ and once you’re done with that and ‘Return of the Jedi,’ maybe you should show him the prequels so you can laugh about them. Jack secretly thought they were alright, but you thought so many parts were so hysterical that he couldn’t help but laugh too. He had never been this close to you, and you had certainly never been this happy around him. It was like a dream. 

When you had arrived in the bunker again, worried about the hunt you had left and the nephilim that was apparently fading away, Dean had been the first to greet you. It had been with a much-needed hug, and you had tried to tell him about the hunt and how you were worried and sorry in a rushed voice, but he had held up his hand and you froze. 

“I don’t want to go see him,” You had spoken softly in a bit of a whine. “I’m scared, Dean.”

It had been quiet for a moment then, you leaning against the wall as Dean watched you. “He asks about you every day, kid.” You lifted your gaze to him and could see the sincerity and heaviness in his face. 

You remembered the drop in your stomach you had felt after a particularly treacherous hunt when you had seen Jack. It had taken so much convincing to finally get Sam and Dean to let the two of you go on a hunt together, but when it has happened the two of you had been so excited. It was half a fun road trip, and half of a rough hunt to prove yourself to the older hunters at the Bunker. It wasn’t horribly far, enough to feel independent but still located so that the Winchesters could get there in a few hours if you needed them. 

It had been a fun first day when you had drove and taken it easy. The first night was quiet, filled with researching and a few quick calls to Sam to bounce ideas off of him and what creature it was. It didn’t take long before Jack stumbled upon a few clues connecting it to a cousin of the werewolf, and Sam seemed confident enough that you decided to go with it. The next day Jack and you had gone to question the wife of the victim, which had also been incredibly helpful. By that night, you were more than sure about what it was and where it was likely hiding in wait, and you both set out to kill the creature. 

At some point, you had the fantastic idea to split up. You had seen Jack in combat as of late and fully trusted in his abilities as a hunter to do fine on his own. Anyway, you could cover more ground and head out sooner this way. So, at your own suggestion, Jack went left and you went right. 

You had found the creature by yourself and almost died because of it. It taunted and lunged at you, as all creatures do, and would have overpowered you had it not been for some quick thinking on your part. You faked him out to the side and swung your machete at him, a last-ditch but surefire way to get rid of him. 

After a moment of panting and registering the situation, you realized that you were still alone. You had called Jack’s name half a dozen times, but he hadn’t shown up. Anger bubbled in your stomach as you realized that you could have died. You almost did die and Jack didn’t show up to help you.

Marching out of the room you ended up in, the monster’s dead body in your wake, you were yelling Jack’s name again, part of you trying to give him the benefit of the doubt and hope that he got lost or distracted. The fifth time you yelled Jack’s name he emerged, and you trailed off. 

He was completely covered in blood, and you would have thrown up if you hadn’t been so terrified. Any sense of anger left your body as fear and confusion passed over you. “Jack. What the hell? Are you-”

“It’s not mine,” He spoke calm and unsurprised, confused if anything. “There were some other monsters. Four of them.” 

The whole drive home you felt horrible for feeling angry. He didn’t even know that you had been mad for a brief amount of time, but that almost made it worse. Why would you think that Jack of all people wouldn’t have come running to your aid if he could have? Never in his life had Jack put himself and his own wellbeing above others, and you felt horrible for even suggesting that he would.

The moment you had seen Jack covered in blood, the fear that had encompassed you and dripped through your body was nothing compared to now. 

You looked at Dean for a moment longer now, the thought lying heavy in the air. ‘He asked about you every day, kid.’ You had gathered that he had been disappointed you were leaving, especially at first, but you had no idea it was that bad. 

“Really?” You asked, your voice small and childlike.

From the opposite side of the room, a third voice spoke up. “Y/N.” You looked to see Sam, with his disheveled hair and bags under his eyes walking towards you. 

“Hey, Sam. Dean called me. I had to come back.” You spoke quietly.

“I know,” Sam said before pulling you into a hug. 

There was a pause, a heavy silence before you spoke again. “I should see Jack.” You and Dean exchanged a look. 

“Yeah, he’s-” Sam paused, deciding where to direct you. “He’s down the hall.” You nodded, your gaze remaining on the two Winchesters for a moment longer. The two men -- the ones you had long thought of as your brothers -- looked horrible. Tired and worried, you were sure they hadn’t slept through the night in a while. For a brief moment, you considered making a joke about the whole thing, but you thought better of it. If it had been anyone else, that might have been a reasonable coping mechanism, but this was Jack. Not Mary, not Charlie or Eileen, but Jack. 

Looking at the brothers, you almost broke down crying right there. Water pooled in your eyes, and you had to look away before you thought about it too much. It wasn’t fair, not to you and not to them, that Jack had to get sick. Out of all of you, why Jack? Of course, you didn’t know then what you knew now, but even later it seemed like bullshit. Jack had done nothing wrong, and some cruel twist of fate demanded his life. 

The door to the infirmary was closed, and your hand rested on the doorknob. Inside was your best friend, the nephilim you had thought was the best thing on earth for almost two years, and he was dying. This wasn’t your first rodeo with death, far from it, and you knew the customs. You knew that you weren’t supposed to walk in looking sad or scared, that that was the last chance you would get to be there for someone in pain. 

The doorknob twisted open almost silently, and you pushed the door open a little along with it. “Jack?” You called out his name in a voice hardly above a whisper, not really trusting yourself with the name. It was fragile now, as if saying it could hurt him. With no response, you opened the door more and saw the bed in the center that a sleeping Jack was inhabiting.

Asleep. It washed a sense of calm over you to see him sleeping, his eyes closed and still, the steady breaths from his chest moving the blankets up and down. So calm and so serene, he looked almost happy in his sleep. You wouldn’t wake him, you decided as you leaned against the doorframe. 

The area around him was full of tissues and books, movies lay in piles of interest and plates of untouched food sat cold and forgotten on the floor. He had a jacket hanging on the edge of the bedpost, the red jean jacket with the white fur inside. There, before your eyes, was somehow a condensed version of Jack, captured in an area of familiarity in the middle of the storm. Whatever fear you had anticipated overcoming you came instead in the form of a smile despite yourself. 

Yes, Jack Kline was an enigma. Perhaps you would never understand him, but you could try. You could pick up bits and pieces of Jack, such as his love for the color red or how he liked sugar in extreme amounts. The wonder he would get in his eyes when he learned something new spoke to you about a passion towards learning, and how he trusted his heart before considering outsider’s perspectives, (which is not to say that he disregarded your opinion, or Sam’s or Dean’s, he just often found they correlated). Jack was smart, he was sweet, he was clever, and he was most certainly strong.

“He’ll be okay,” You told yourself in a hushed whisper, hoping no one heard your words of slight self-comfort. “He’s Jack, of course he’ll be okay.”

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Ancient Soul

Time Travel, Quirkless, Feudal Japan AU

“Your soul does not belong here.” Those were words you never thought that you would hear. Now, thrown into the past in feudal Japan, you must find a way to survive, all while struggling to avoid the growing feelings for one hot-headed war general. War, romance, death and love drive you forward, to find the place where your soul truly belongs.

Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Reader

Want to start from be beginning? Check the Ancient Soul tag. New chapters released every Wednesday as long as schedule permits.

Genre: Romance / Angst Story Rating: Explicit | Adult Themes, Sex, Death, Depictions of Violence, Alcohol

Chapter 11: Rusty

Chapter Rating: Teen | Cursing, Alcohol Consumption Words:  2533

“No, just drink the damn thing in one go, you can’t sip on it!” 

Holding your breath, you stared down into the clear liquid in the small wooden cup you held between your fingers. You didn’t hold your breath because you were scared. In fact, the sake was so pungent that you found you needed to keep from breathing it in if you wanted even the slightest chance of swallowing it all in one go. In truth, you were never much fond of alcohol and you very rarely found yourself getting drunk. But now, with Bakugou’s warm company and persuasion, you had agreed to give it a try. Little did you know that it would smell so strongly or that it would already have Bakugou tipsy after just three shots of it. 

After a couple more seconds of prepping yourself, you clenched your eyes shut and downed the liquid, forcing yourself to swallow before your entire body tensed up in disgust of the taste. The burn on the way down was the worst, feeling it through every inch of your esophagus before it hit your stomach. The warmth of the alcohol instantly made your body feel like it was on fire, and as you slammed the small cup back onto the table in front of you, Bakugou’s chuckles finally reached your burning ears. 

“That’s it, Demon! How does that feel?” 

“It tastes and feels awful!” Already feeling your head growing a bit dizzy, you glowered at the blonde man across from you, pout on your lips. He had gone on and on about how amazing and delicious this particular sake was, but now you were unsure if he had just been lying the entire time or if it really was that good to him. 

“Tastes awful?! Are you kidding? This is the best damn sake in town, you can’t get any better!” Bakugou poured another round in his own cup, taking the drink down like a champ. “You must be seriously spoiled wherever you’re from.” 

With a huff, you adjusted your sitting position a bit, starting to feel your legs going numb from sitting on them so formally. “I’m not spoiled, I just don’t drink. You should slow down, you’re already kinda tipsy.” 

“Tipsy? What do you mean, what is that? Whatever it is, I’m fine.” After another shot, Bakugou turned his full attention to his noodle soup before him, shoving a range of noodles and a slice of pork into his mouth. Having already gotten used to his bad eating manners, you ignored the way he slurped the noodles, taking a sip of your hot green tea to try and rid your mouth of the alcohol taste. 

“It means drunk, that the alcohol is starting to affect you. But I suppose you may have a high tolerance if you drink regularly.” Setting your teacup down, you timidly began to stir your soup and noodles with your chopsticks, starting to feel an odd heavy weight on your shoulders. You knew that this meal wasn’t cheap, nor was the many containers of clothes and accessories that sat beside you. In the end, he had basically spoiled you rotten that day, and you just couldn’t figure out why. Maybe now, with the influence of the sake, he would let his true intentions slip. “Bakugou--” 

“Katsuki!” Bakugou corrected you with a scowl and a point of his finger, mouth half full of food. “I told you, call me Katsuki when we aren’t around people!” 

“R-Right, sorry.” Feeling your cheeks flush from the mistake, you kept your head bowed to avoid looking at him. “I just had a question I hoped you would answer…” 

“What?” 

Placing both of your hands in your lap, you fiddled nervously with your nails, taking as inconspicuous of a deep breath as possible. “Why did you want to do all this for me? Taking me into town is one thing, but… All these clothes and food… I’m just wondering why.” 

After slurping more noodles into his mouth, Bakugou used the back of his hand to wipe his lips, placing his chopsticks down next to his bowl. “Because I felt like it. Does that bother you?” 

“N-no… Well, a little. Not in a bad way!” You defended yourself quickly as his eyes narrowed, holding your hands out to try and keep him complacent. “It doesn’t bother me! It just… I guess I just really want to know why.” 

“I told you, I felt like it.” 

“That isn’t a good reason… And it isn’t the truth.” 

You could see Bakugou bite his tongue, obviously shocked at how straight forward you were about this whole situation. That, and you could see right through that ridiculous lie. No one just spent all that money on someone just because they felt like it. But, it wasn’t just the money that had tipped you off on there possibly being something deeper. You could admit, that in the past few years of your life, you had never had such fun in a single day. Bakugou was so easy for you to talk to, to joke with and just… have fun. 

You didn’t expect that kind of comfort out of a man like him, but it was there, and it was undeniable. He had shown you every inch of this town, talking your ear off about this and that, about how his Lord had built all this from the ground up and how proud he was to be a part of it. You kicked muddy water at each other one minute in a moment of agitation, while he placed a hairpin in your hair so gently the next. It was a whirlwind of excitement and emotion, but you didn’t want to get the wrong impression and have your heart lifted just to have it crushed in the end. 

With a heavy sigh, Bakugou leaned back on his arms, his crimson glare locked on the wall over your shoulder. “It’s… because I trust you. And I want you to stay.” 

“Y-you do?” A heat rushed to your cheeks, hot enough to even make your ears burn. “Really?” 

“Of course I do, you idiot.” Bakugou glowered at you, the tips of his ears flushing red, just as yours were. “Do you think I’d tolerate you at all if I didn’t? That I would share my strategies with you and trust you with so many secrets? Or drink sake with you? That makes me vulnerable!” Bakugou sat up straight, tapping his finger against the neck of the sake bottle. “So, yeah, I trust you, you stupid Demon. Even though half the time you make me feel like a fool.” 

The bubbling excitement you had felt at his confession turned sour in your stomach, a small frown crossing your lips. “What do you mean? How do I do that?” 

Grumbling, Bakugou poured himself another shot before drinking it, as if to prep himself for what he was about to have to admit. “It’s bad enough that I have to follow Deku’s commands. That idiot came from nothing and rose to the highest station, faster than I ever could, even when I came from a warrior family! And then there’s you, fixing and changing my strategies to fit whatever damn visions you’re having. It’s like I’ve become nothing but a useless title to yell at people.” 

“Aw Katsuki, that’s not true at all. I don’t want you to feel that way about me. I don’t know anything about war and the planning that goes on behind it, all I can do is tell you what I see. Because I… I want to protect you. You and everyone else. If I can help you win, to help you survive, then I’ll do whatever I can.” You couldn’t control the words that came rolling off your tongue, wanting to do anything and everything you could in that moment to comfort him. “You believe me, right?” 

After a long moment of silence with nothing but a glare scanning your face, Bakugou picked up his chopsticks, tapping the end of them against the wooden table. “There are times that I don’t know what to think of you. The way you talk, the things you say and how… comfortable I am around you. Sometimes it seems unnatural… and it bothers me. But, in the end, I believe you. And I trust you.”

With a nod, you allowed a soft smile to cross your lips, happy to hear those words. “Thank you, Katsuki… Your trust means a lot to me.” 

Only giving a grunt in response, Bakugou went back to eating, though he did pause as you reached over and picked up the sake bottle. “Another one?” 

Holding up your cup, the smile on your face grew as happiness and excitement swelled inside of you. “To our trust!” 

After a moment of confusion, Bakugou poured himself another drink, bringing up his cup and allowing to bump lightly into yours. 

“To our trust. Now… You had better tell me what ‘fuck’ means. I’m not going to let you forget.”

After suffering through your shot of alcohol, you shook your head, giving him a sly smile. “Nope! You’re drunk now! I was only going to tell you when you’re sober. Otherwise you’ll forget.” 

“Fuck... Fine!” 

…

“Don’t drop it, Demon! You’ll wake the whole damn palace up!”

“Shh--! Katsuki, you’re loud!” 

As you fumbled with the door to your quarters, you tried to drunkenly hold two boxes of your newly purchased clothing, trying to slide the door open with elbow. Eventually, with a good push, you got the door to open just enough to slip your leg inside, then your hip, until you were opening the door with your back. Scoffing, Bakugou slid past you to get inside before you could even make the entrance wide enough, though you were too intoxicated to really care. 

“I’m loud?! You should hear yourself.” Having been carrying more boxes than you, Bakugou placed them down in a random corner of the room, before coming back to take yours. Glad to not have the heavy burden in your arms anymore, you gave a relieved sigh, sliding the door back into place with just a small crack to allow light in from the moon. 

“I am not loud. I’m as dainty as a… butterfly.” Hands on your hips, you smiled up at him, not at all perturbed by the scowl on his face. That look that had frightened you so much when you first met him was something so familiar now, with not even a hint of threat. It was so cute to you, in fact, that it was hard to resist the urge to just reach up and pinch his cheeks. You had a feeling he wouldn’t like that, however, so you kept your hands to yourself. “A pretty little fluttering bug.” 

“A bug is right.” Bakugou huffed as he fixed his robes that had gotten displaced while carrying the luggage. “An annoying one that I should squish.” Approaching you, he stopped to stand in front of you, which was something you hadn’t fully expected. In fact, you had thought that maybe he’d just up and leave after helping you. Instead, here he was, glowering down at you with that fierce crimson glare that you had come to adore. He was standing perfectly in the line of light coming from the door, which reflected off his eyes and framed his flawless face with attractive, soft shadows. How badly you wanted to touch him, to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him was nearly suffocating. Yet, you kept control of your drunken mind the best you could, shifting from one foot to another nervously. 

“You wouldn’t do that. You like me too much.” 

“I tolerate you too much.” Bakugou spoke with a corrective tone that you couldn’t help but relate to the way a father corrected a child, which made you giggle in amusement. 

“Okay, okay. But I think that for you, ‘tolerate’ is equivalent to ‘like’. So, you like me too much to want to squish me.” 

“Shut up,” Although his command was short and harsh, you saw a change in his expression, which grew almost… gentle. You had seen this soft expression before, so focused and intent. On what, you weren’t sure, but you had no time to try and figure out what as he spoke again. “Demon… [F/N]... I, uhm…” 

Your heart nearly leaping out of your chest at the sound of your name on his lips, you couldn’t contain your excitement, which exploded freely within your intoxicated mind. Tenderly, you reached forward and took his hand, stepping in closer as you waited for him to continue. At first, his brow furrowed as his fingers wrapped tightly around yours, his lips parted with words dancing on his tongue. 

Then, it was gone. All the softness, the closeness you had experienced in those few moments vanished as Bakugou ripped his hand from yours, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “Don’t touch me like that, woman. Who the hell do you think you are?” 

The ice in his voice made you instinctively take a step back, clutching your own hand tightly to your chest. “I-I’m sorry, I just-” 

“Just be quiet. If you think any of this was something more, then you’re an idiot. Go to bed.” Shoving himself past you to reach the door, it slid shut behind him with a loud click, leaving you alone in darkness. As it swallowed you, sadness followed suit, tears welling up in your eyes as you flopped to sit on your futon. 

You were an idiot. How could you possibly even begin to believe that he would have wanted anything more to do with you? You were just something that he could use, and all of this was something to keep you complacent, like a tool that needed the rust removed so it wouldn’t break. 

“Is that really all I’ve come to be?” You whispered through hiccups, wiping away the tears that streamed down your cheeks. You could still feel the heat of his hand wrapped around yours, his hands so calloused and rough from his years of war. It perfectly matched the rest of him, and yet, he had looked at you like you were more than just a rusty tool. His gaze in the moonlight, so soft and full of wanting made you feel like you were a brilliant gem in his eyes. But you weren’t. You were a nobody that came from nothing, from a world so far off and different from this one, where you didn’t even know if anyone remembered you. 

Not even bothering to remove your clothes from the day or undo your hair, you laid down and covered yourself with your thick blanket, sobbing into the fabric. So stupid! I’m so stupid! He could never care about me like that… Ow, that hurts… 

Feeling something stabbing uncomfortably into your scalp, your sadness was temporarily interrupted as you reached up and pulled the object out of your hair, bringing it down into your teary field of vision. One of the hair ornaments Bakugou had gotten you gleamed against the dull light that filled the room, and for a moment, you thought the crimson jewels looked just like his gaze. 

So beautiful and soft. 

So loving. 

Filled with everything you ever wanted, but would never have.

[strawberry-skies-xx]

you wingless thing

C H A P T E R   T E N

tags: rape/non-con, dead dove: do not eat, geralt / jaskier, original female character, original male character, angst with a happy ending, angst, angst and feels, rape, past rape/non-con, implied/referenced rape/non-con, implied/referenced abuse, emotional hurt/comfort, psychological abuse, emotional abuse, emotionally repressed, fae jaskier, fae magic, hurt jaskier, torture, revenge, past torture, hurt/comfort, past abuse, jaskier whump, feral jaskier, creature jaskier, inhuman jaskier, eventual happy ending, love confessions, idiots in love, wing kink, homoerotic wing grooming

author’s note: *hamilton voice* ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for...

nyla gets wrecked! :D

main masterlist | story on ao3 

Geralt doesn’t deal with it in the morning - or, for the entire week and a half they have left. He doesn’t get rid of Jaskier - rather, he only grows more attached, and he knows he shouldn’t, because when Jaskier inevitably leaves him he’ll hurt more for it, but he can’t help himself. No one has treated him like the fae has, treated him like a person before a Witcher, and Geralt is helpless to resist.

Nyla doesn’t do much for the last week and a half - only shows off her claim on Jaskier, but does nothing so terrible as what she brought Jaskier to a week and a half ago, which they are not talking about. Jaskier said that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and the first time Geralt did he nearly went into a panic attack, so they don’t. Geralt and Jaskier don’t talk about when he holds the fae through the nightmares, either. It’s a long list of things they don’t talk about.

Their time is up, now, and Jaskier wakes up with an excited energy, the same that he had before they made the deal with Nyla, except this time it’s a certainty. Geralt doesn’t want to think about what will happen when Jaskier leaves him once he gets his magic back. He hadn’t come to terms with it before, he still hasn’t now.

Nyla meets them in the front room, where they first made the deal, and for once Jaskier is allowed to wear whatever he wants. He picks a dress, because it falls over his wings loosely in a way that it doesn’t hurt, and Geralt tries not to look at the way the black fabric shimmers in the light, like the outfit he got for the fae before they found Nyla. He tries not to look at the fae at all, tries not to put himself in more pain than he’s already in.

Nyla smiles, but it’s bitter and her scent is tinged with anger. Geralt wonders if she’s going to follow through on her deal, and he’s fully prepared to try to force her to do it if she doesn’t. They didn’t go through all of this for nothing.

Nyla looks at him, senses his suspicion, and her lips curl up in a sarcastic smile. “Don’t worry, Witcher. I’m a woman of my word, and as pretty as the fae is, and as much as I want to keep him-” she reaches out and traces her fingers along Jaskier’s jaw, while he falls completely still, “-I don’t go back on promises.”

She meets Jaskier’s eyes now, taking her fingers off of him, and suddenly her face grows serious. “But I need a promise from you both. Once I take this collar and the enchantments off, I will be allowed to walk free. You will not hurt me.”

Geralt growls. After all she did to them, she expects them to let her walk free? At best, she’ll be allowed to live, in Geralt’s opinion. There is no way he isn’t going to at least hurt her for what she did to Jaskier - he doesn’t care what she did to him. It’s Jaskier that matters.

The fae looks over at him and shakes his head, and the growl dies in Geralt’s throat. He resents not being able to do anything, but this is Jaskier’s deal, and they’re so close that he can’t ruin his chances at getting the other half of himself back now.

“I will agree,” Jaskier says, and Geralt frowns slightly. Strange wording, he thinks, but he doesn’t put much more thought into it. He’s too focused on the i agree that he himself grits out, and the surge of anger that rushes through him at her satisfied smile.

“Good,” she says brightly. Her smile turns to a smirk, and Geralt gets the feeling that she knows something they don’t. Which, isn’t a particularly new feeling, but it’s never worked out in their favor before, and there’s no reason to assume it will now.

She lifts her necklace from her neck, revealing a small silver key on the chain, and unclips it. The key fits perfectly in the dimeritium collar, and Geralt frowns.

“Why do you have that key made already?” he asks. Jaskier freezes, and she doesn’t look at him, unlocking the collar in a complicated series of twists.

Her tone is neutral when she speaks. “You couldn’t find a sorceress powerful enough to undo this collar and enchantments until you found me,” she says, and now she turns that smirk on Geralt, whose stomach is slowly sinking with dread for what she’s going to say next. “How do you think Erynd put the collar on?”

She lifts the collar off of Jaskier, taking the enchantments with it in a simple flick of magic, like unraveling thread, and the fae slowly turns around. Geralt ignores the feeling of his magic stirring to life, and surges forward, intent on hurting Nyla for everything she did, rage surging through him. She put the collar on, she knew who Jaskier was, she hurt them in so many ways for the past month. Geralt is going to make her pay.

He’s halfway to her when her magic slams into him and he goes flying back towards the wall.

“Don’t touch him,” Jaskier hisses, and the whole room crackles with energy suddenly. Her magic vanishes, and Nyla yells as she is thrown back by Jaskier’s magic, now alive and thrumming around them, charging the air with tension like the air before a thunderstorm. It rages around the three of them, but somehow doesn’t touch Geralt, who stands and watches Jaskier turn towards Nyla, his magic pinning her to the wall.

Geralt can feel them both - Jaskier’s magic and Nyla’s. Nyla’s magic struggles like a trapped bug, the hum distant beneath the storm that is Jaskier, and the pure rage radiating off of the fae as he holds Nyla against the wall. His wings extend out from his dress now, and Geralt can almost see the Chaos lashing around him, raw and powerful.

“You said,” Nyla gasps, “you wouldn’t hurt me!”

Jaskier smiles, dark and dripping with threat, and his tone is lethally calm. “I said I will agree. Not that I did. Only Geralt agreed not to hurt you, and he’s not bound by fae magic.”

Nyla’s eyes widen and anger floods her scent alongside the fear. “I held my end of the deal up!” she protests indignantly.

Jaskier is unfazed. “And I held mine. A bit too well, I think.” He raises his hand, and twists, and Nyla screams, arching against the magic holding her in place.  Geralt doesn’t dare move, for fear of breaking the apparent bubble of protection he has around himself. He does, however, feel a cruel sense of satisfaction at seeing Jaskier get his own revenge on the woman who tormented him.

Nyla glares, panting from whatever invisible pain Jaskier inflicted on her. “You’re punishing me for using the freedoms my end of the deal gave me?”

Jaskier’s smile fades, the anger in his scent growing sharper. “Yes,” he snaps. “Because how many others have you had those freedoms on? How many others have gotten hurt because of you and your freedoms? ”

He twists, and she screams, gasping out words through the pain. “You’re… a hypocrite… for saying I’m bad… and then… doing this!”

Jaskier smiles again, just as dark and dangerous as before, and flicks his other hand, summoning a familiar dagger into his fingers. Geralt realizes with a shock that it’s the dagger he gave Jaskier, before they found Nyla, before she took their personal belongings, and he feels inappropriate heat flood his body at that thought.

“What you did to me is nothing close to what I’m doing to you,” Jaskier says, as dangerously calm as he’s been this entire time. “I could bring you to the fae court,” he muses, spinning the dagger in his fingers. “They have much more of an imagination than I do, and not nearly as much mercy.” He grins, and for the first time Geralt can see his true fae nature beneath the optimism and humanity - that of vengeance, and trickery, and destruction. He’s torn between letting Jaskier kill Nyla and killing Jaskier himself, because as human as the fae is sometimes, he’s still fae, and if this is what Jaskier has hidden beneath his humanity, what he does when he gets angry… it scares Geralt to think of what he could do out in the world.

Except, the magic thrumming around him that should’ve been raging, like every other bit of Jaskier’s magic, is instead almost caressing his skin, weaving around him softly, and it smells like sweet lemongrass. None of the anger Geralt can smell on the rest of Jaskier’s magic, like before a thunderstorm, is on the magic touching him… and even if Jaskier was truly evil, Geralt wouldn’t have been able to kill him anyway. He’s a bit ashamed of himself for even thinking of it - as if Jaskier would betray him like that. Jaskier is fae, but he’s like none of the fae Geralt has ever known - he complains about dress fabrics, and sings bawdy songs in noble courts, and lets Geralt wash his wings, and curls up next to him at night. He’s more human than he is fae, at least in personality, and Geralt would protect him with his life before he’d ever think of hurting him.

“No, no, don’t,” Nyla pleads, squirming, all her self-righteousness gone in a flash at the simple threat of the fae court. Jaskier’s grin fades, and his eyes darken.

“I won’t. Like I said, they don’t have nearly as much mercy as I do,” he replies, and Geralt watches Nyla relax for all of a second before Jaskier raises his dagger. “You’re lucky you’re getting a quick death. I’d have given you to the fae court without a second thought if I was in any less of a generous mood.”

Nyla’s eyes widen again and Geralt almost wants to laugh. He knows it’s dark, but after seeing what Nyla did to Jaskier? After talking Jaskier through panic attacks, holding him through nightmares, knowing the scent of Jaskier’s fear better than his happiness?

Geralt couldn’t care less what happened to Nyla.

“Songbird, please-”

Nyla falls silent as Jaskier throws the dagger, blade flipping through the air to land point-first, lodged in her neck and the wall. The low hum of her magic stops abruptly, leaving only the thunderous storm of Jaskier’s, which gradually calms to its own steady thrum around Geralt.

“I’m not your songbird,” Jaskier tells Nyla’s dead body, hissing the last word, and then goes quiet. He lets out a breath, all his anger leaving him and replaced by the sour-sweet scent of anxiety, the acrid tang of fear, and underlying it all, the dandelion scent of satisfaction.

He turns to Geralt, blue eyes wide, and Geralt steps towards him. He should be afraid - Jaskier did just kill a powerful sorceress, after all - but all he feels is concern as Jaskier lets Geralt wrap his arms around him, and his voice is distant and numb when he talks into Geralt’s shirt.

“She’s gone,” he whispers. “She can’t hurt me- hurt us.”

Geralt hums. “Let’s go.”

Jaskier stays still for a moment, but nods and steps back. Geralt watches him, unsure of why Jaskier hasn’t hidden his wings yet - surely he didn’t want Geralt to see them, and he was definitely planning on leaving as soon as he got his stuff back, but Geralt wasn’t thinking about that. He was savoring the time he had with Jaskier right now, and dealing with when he left later.

Jaskier’s wings flutter and he flicks his fingers, summoning their possessions that Nyla had taken, and both him and Geralt hear the quiet footsteps from around the corner.

Geralt looks up and sees one of the servant girls watching, hidden halfway behind the wall, the tang of fear and confusion rolling off of her in waves. He looks at Jaskier - he is certainly better with people - but the fae steps back and shakes his head. His eyes are tired, in a sense that goes much deeper than physical fatigue, and Geralt can’t blame him for not feeling up to dealing with people.

Geralt turns back to the girl and makes himself as non-threatening as possible, making his voice as soft as he can. “You’re free,” he says, and at the stronger scent of confusion from her, he opens his mouth to reply again.

He’s cut off by the loud snap of fingers from Jaskier and the wave of magic resonating through the mansion, and his eyes dart to the fae.

Jaskier sighs. “They were under a spell,” he says shortly, tiredly, before returning to checking his things.

Geralt looks back at the girl, but she’s gone, leaving behind the faint floral scent found in all of Nyla’s mansion, and he frowns. He turns back to Jaskier, who has both their bags slung over his shoulders and is wearing the emerald outfit Geralt had bought him so long ago, wings magically extending through the back of it. His frown gets deeper.

“You’re not leaving?” he asks, and he really does try to hide the note of hope in his voice, but Geralt has been dreading the time when Jaskier leaves so much that it’s impossible for him to. He can’t hide the note of hope in his voice, and he can’t hide the resulting spark of it lighting in him, despite his best efforts to tamp it down these several months.

Jaskier shakes his head, not even trying to analyze why Geralt had thought he would leave. If he hadn’t been tortured both mentally and emotionally for a month by a manipulative, sadistic sorceress, and if he hadn’t just killed her and been left with the adrenaline drain from that and finally realized he could let his guard down, he’d have known exactly why Geralt thought he would leave, and been able to deal with it. But right now, all he wants is to take his things, build a fire in the woods, and curl up with Geralt next to it.

And maybe… he could have what he’d wanted for so long, now that there is nothing in the way. It’s obvious Geralt didn’t want him to leave, so… it is possible.

Jaskier can’t find out without trying, though, so he looks up at Geralt, meeting golden eyes that are so carefully blank of emotion save for the small spark of hope he knows is lighting in them, and steps forward. He feels Geralt’s hands hover around his waist in response, so close to holding yet not, and he leans just slightly up, pressing his lips softly to Geralt’s.

“I’m not leaving you,” he whispers against his rough, scarred skin, and feels Geralt’s hands land on his waist. Jaskier has never known anyone to be as gentle as Geralt is, holding him like he’s fragile - and, past the tiredness, he knows it’s because Geralt thinks he’ll hurt him.

He wants to prove him wrong, wants to show Geralt that he’s possibly the kindest, most human inhuman creature he’s ever known, and he couldn’t ever hurt Jaskier. Especially not as he presses his lips back to Jaskier’s, soft and sweet and nothing like his scarred, calloused skin and title as a Witcher imply.

Geralt pulls back from the kiss, though he doesn’t move away from Jaskier, only buries his face in his neck, and hums softly. “Love you,” he whispers, so quiet into the skin that if Jaskier was human, he wouldn’t have heard it.

Jaskier smiles and pulls back, sliding Geralt’s bag off of his shoulder and offering it out to him. “Well, then let’s go.”

Geralt lets the corner of his lips quirk up, and he takes the bag, following Jaskier out of the mansion and leaving behind the memories and pain there. They’re not starting a new life, but simply continuing what they had and didn’t say, and Erynd and Nyla are going to haunt them both, but Jaskier and Geralt both find they don’t care, as long as they have the other.