#a regular occurence but still so pleasant every time it comes around

[seiwas]

your writing gives me the comfort of a blanket you’ve had your whole life - maybe a baby blanket, something you’ve been wrapped up in by many hands who have loved you in many ways but you remember them all with tenderness.

your art is soft, a gentle spring breeze or a light summer rain or the way that new powdery snow crunches under your feet.

it’s beautiful.

(✏️ only if u wanna 🫶 pls and thank you)

my dear kendall!! thank you for joining 🤍

your writing reminds me of:

🌙🪵🍰👁️

water encased in moonlight, almost celestial white; cabin by the woods; freshly baked cake, on a weekend out of town; eye-to-eye caught in a moment, every sound drowned out.

&

omf not me choking up at the way you describe my writing 🥹🥺 aaah kendall u put it so beautifully idk what to say!! 😭 and to have it come from you too!! i just!! remembering love in all the ways!! tenderness!! aaah the imagery!! thank you thank you ily my dear kendall 🥺

send me a ✏️ and i’ll tell you what ~~vibe i get from your writing! (alternatively, you can also tell me what vibe you get from mine!)

[whatstruthgottodowithit]

I'd Lie

Fandom: American Actor, RPF

Pairing: 50s! Austin Butler x Reader

Characters: 50s!Austin Butler, Reader, You, Original Female Character

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3271

Summary: And if you asked me if I love him, I'd lie.

Tags/Warnings: Young Love, Romance, Angst, Fluff, Leaving home, Song Fic, 50s AU, Mechanic Austin, Friendsto Lovers, Reader has a name, Grief, Grieving, I'd Lie // Taylor Swift

Notes: This was going to be about Graham Dunne but the lyrics are literally about austin idc what you say

SONG LINK // HALLOWEEN MASTERLIST

The wind was cold as you stepped out of the diner, enough that it forced you to pull your coat a little tighter around you, sinking your hands into the pockets so that your chilled fingers might find some warm relief. Austin smiled at you as you did though you wondered how he himself wasn’t shivering given that he was only wearing his overalls. He seemed unbothered though as he led you to the only car parked in the lot, opening your door and making sure you were inside before he jogged to the driver’s side.

As he slid onto the bench seat you watched him. He was completely unaware of you, more focused on getting the car started and setting off on the short journey to your house. This had become a regular thing for you two. You’d known Austin for a while given that he worked at the same garage as your brother and the two of them came into the diner you worked at next door almost every day. Yet when your brother had moved across town you’d felt bad about having him travel in the opposite direction to drop you at home and so Austin had volunteered citing it was no issue given that he passed that way anyway. And before you knew it he was taking you home almost every day and because of it you were in love.

You didn’t know when the transition had occurred, from platonic feelings to romantic ones, but now they consumed your every waking moment. Seeing him was the first thing you thought about when you woke up. Your stomach would flutter whenever he’d come into the diner to make sure you were still on for a ride home, always ending up taking a seat to talk for five minutes, or twenty, before he’d realise he’d overstayed and headed back to work, offering you a knee-weakening smile as he went. And every night, when he’d drop you home you’d watch him, awestruck at the way his blue eyes sparkled or the way he pushed his tousled locks off his face. He did it now, finally looking at you and offering you a smile as he said, ‘sorry, it’s a little frosty out tonight and these heaters don’t cope well with it.’ ‘It’s not a worry,’ you said. ‘You sure?’ he said going to fiddle with the knobs on the dashboard again, ‘give me a minute and I’ll get ‘em workin’.’ ‘Aus it’s fine,’ you giggled, placing your hand on the back of his to stop him from fussing. He paused, checking in on you one last time before he nodded and pulled back, finally relaxing for the journey.

‘So,’ he said, his eyes now fixed on the road, ‘how was your day?’ ‘Good,’ you replied. ‘Wow Lainey,’ he chuckled, ‘I don’t know how I’m gonna take in all that info.’ ‘Oh hush,’ you giggled, ‘what else can I say?! The diner is the diner. It’s the same every day though I guess I did make a decent amount of tips today.’ ‘Larry been in again huh?’ he teased making you roll your eyes. Though you spent most of your time waiting for Austin to come in the rest of your shift was spent avoiding Larry, Austin’s baby-faced fellow mechanic who you’d made the mistake of being overly nice to on your first shift and now found sticking to you like glue any time he got the chance to come in. ‘Don’t tease,’ you said shoving him which made him smirk. ‘Hey now,’ he said raising his hands off the steering wheel in submission. ‘I mean it! I feel bad when he comes in he’s always so nice,’ you said. He was nice, completely and utterly pleasant, it was just unfortunate you couldn’t return his affections. ‘Hey take what you can I say,’ he chuckled, ‘I mean I would well if anyone bothered to tip us.’ ‘Well maybe if you were better at your work they would,’ you said a smile on your face which grew as shock fell on his pretty features before he pushed his lips together, impressed by your ribbing. ‘You’re funny,’ he said with a smirk that made your stomach flutter before he sat back cockily, moving so that he was facing you more as if driving had now become an imposition, something he was able to do with one hand the other thrown up on the bench, so close to your shoulder his fingertips could almost brush against your clothed skin.

‘Well if you must know I kinda did get a tip today,’ he said. ‘Really?’ you asked, unable to be embarrassed at how quickly he could have you on the hook. You turned yourself to face him, your leg tucking under the other as you sat up eagerly. ‘Yeah, well if a phone number counts,’ he smirked. At first you thought it was a joke but as the words ran through your mind once more you realised it wasn’t and if it was it was one you didn’t find at all funny. Your heart squoze in your chest but your face didn’t change, a smile, less genuine than the one you had sported the entire ride, christening your face as you said, ‘oh, really? Who from?’ ‘Oh uh her name was Charlotte, I uh, I’ve never seen her around here I figured she’d broken down when she came in but there wasn’t anything wrong with it,’ he said and you had to force yourself not to roll your eyes. Of course there wasn’t anything wrong with it, she’d probably seen him around and prayed he’d find something wrong when she brought her car in. ‘Must’ve been something else that attracted her,’ you said, offering him a tight smile. ‘Or maybe she thought she could get a discount,’ he joked. You didn’t know if he felt the shift in the air and was trying to get the momentum of your conversation back into its jokey nature or he simply was oblivious to the way your heart was no longer in it but you felt bad about it either way and offered him a slightly less hostile smile. Silence descended for a moment as you shifted back to face the window, a question bubbling on the tip of your tongue.

‘So, are you gonna call her?’ you asked, refusing to look at him as you fiddled with the material of your skirt picking at the remnants of a mustard stain that you had thought you’d managed to get every inch of. ‘Nah,’ he said, the casualness in his voice enough to make your head snap up. He was looking out the windshield, unaware your eyes were now on him and roving every inch of his face to see if he was being truthful or not. ‘Why? Isn’t she pretty enough?’ you said. ‘No it’s not that,’ he said, though you didn’t know if that was a fact to be happy or sad about, ‘it’s just what’s the point?’ ‘The point?’ you asked, your brow furrowing as he looked at you and shrugged. ‘Of all that stuff,’ he said. ‘You don’t want to fall in love?’ you asked, your heart hammering in your chest as you awaited his answer. ‘It’s just not gonna happen is it,’ he said and suddenly your heart was no longer hammering because you were sure it had stopped. All your ideas about the possibility of the two of you going any further crashing down around you as you looked at him. His words had been firm yet as you looked at him he shifted awkwardly. ‘You don’t believe in love?’ was all you could ask, disappointment lacing through your voice though it turned to pity as his jaw tightened and he replied, ‘I don’t believe in much of anything anymore.’

If your heart had been aching before it was worse now as you thought about his reasoning. You understood why, your brother had told you about how Austin had lost his mother a little over a year ago, but for him to feel so hopeless felt wrong. Because for him not to have faith, to not dream of a loving and bright future, well that felt as though two lights had been robbed from the world, not just one. You didn’t know how long it had been since he’d spoken, or if you’d been staring at him incredulously the entire time but he was getting uncomfortable under your scrutiny as he said, ‘what?’ ‘I just…’ you said, the words you wanted to say rushing to the surface first though you made yourself force them back and instead said, ‘I just don’t understand how you don’t believe in love.’ ‘Because no one falls in love not really,’ he said, ‘not in this town anyway.’ ‘That’s not true,’ you said. Your conversations were often like this, whilst he normally saw everything as black and white you leant more towards shades of grey which meant that you’d often end up debating topics the entirety of your journeys, sometimes even parking up outside your house for ages until you’d both concede just a little. But this wasn’t something you wanted to debate because you didn’t know how to explain how you could believe in something you’d only ever felt because of him. ‘No?’ he scoffed, ‘you think folks are thinking about love when they get together? No they’re out for a good time and then they’re stuck ‘cause they get knocked up. That or they get sick of bein’ alone so they convince themselves they’re in love.’

You fell silent. You could feel your brain screaming at you to challenge him. To ask him how that could be the case when you loved him. You weren’t out for a good time and if it was just about staving off loneliness why hadn’t you jumped at the chance at being with Larry? He was a decent guy, one who would probably make a good husband, so why weren’t you interested in him? If love didn’t exist why did your heart flutter just looking at him, as infuriatingly stubborn as he was? Again your silence made him uncomfortable but rather than backing down he turned, putting both hands on the wheel as his jaw tightened once more. He was angry.

‘You don’t believe me,’ he said quietly. ‘I just think that’s a sad way to think Aus,’ you said honestly. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe him, it was that you didn’t want to. ‘Okay,’ he challenged looking back at you, ‘how should I think?’ ‘What?’ you asked. ‘Tell me what it’s like, this love thing, I mean if you believe in it,’ he said. ‘What?’ you repeated unable to compute what he wanted you to do. He sounded as if he was goading you, the friendly banter you had shared not ten minutes ago recurring, but there was a sadness to his eyes that didn’t escape your notice. As if he genuinely didn’t understand how love worked anymore. ‘I mean you must have had a glimpse of it right? If you can believe it exists,’ he said. ‘Love isn’t something you can prove Aus,’ you stammered, ‘it’s a feeling. Like faith or God.’ ‘Now that’s a whole other debate Lainy,’ he said, offering you a smile for what felt like the first time in forever. It was a gesture that made you relax, whatever heated words passed between you now softening though the emotions he had stirred up were still bubbling under the surface and if you were going to explain yourself, even in the hopes of getting him to change his mind you needed to be careful. Unfortunately patience didn’t seem to be one of his virtues tonight considering you were on the fringes of your neighbourhood approaching your house with each passing second.

‘C’mon,’ he pushed gently. ‘Well,’ you started the words still sticking on their way out, ‘it’s not something you can really explain.’ ‘See,’ he said a self-satisfied smirk on his face. ‘That doesn’t mean it’s not real!’ you protested, of course it was real how else could you explain how you felt about him? Why else would you be sitting in his truck now? Relishing in the short amount of time he spared for you on every one of these drives. How could it explain how you knew everything about him from his favourite colour to the fact those shining blue eyes staring at you resembled his father’s. How else could you explain how that cocky self-assured smile didn’t make you want to call him a jerk and run a mile but instead make you long to wipe it from his face with a breath-stealing kiss. But you didn’t do that. As he revelled in your silence you sat up in your chair, turning to him again as you prepared to speak.

‘Okay you want to know about love?’ you challenged making him shrug, an act that excited you and irritated you at the same time, ‘love is being happy without any explanation. It’s seeing that person and your whole day getting better even if you only saw them for a goddamn second. It’s being willing to go to hell and back if it meant keeping them safe or making them happy. It’s being able to disagree and have them drive you insane and yet still like them. It’s not something you can explain, not really, but it doesn’t mean it’s not there. And a life without it? Well that’s pretty damn bleak in my opinion.’

He was quiet for a moment as were you, hoping your words hadn’t been too obvious that he’d realise the meaning behind your sentiments. Finally he said, ‘wow.’ ‘What?’ you breathed, panic grappling at your insides. ‘Nuthin’,’ he said, ‘you just sound sure of yourself like, well like you know how it feels.’ ‘Yeah well,’ you replied hoping that was non-committal enough he wouldn’t ask any more questions. Your luck wasn’t that fortunate though. ‘So who’s the guy?’ he asked making your eyes meet. ‘What?’ you asked. ‘Well there must be someone you feel that way about right?’ he asked. He’s stopped the car now somewhere in your ranting and he turned it off and turned to face you, his blue eyes sparkling in he streetlight. This was your chance, you could tell him now and hope that he’d love you back, but you worried because as of five minutes ago he didn’t even believe in love. So instead you lied. ‘Well there’s not.’ ‘Not at all?’ he asked sceptically, ‘how do you know then…if there’s no guy I mean.’ ‘I just do,’ you said, feeling your cheeks burning as he watched you, ‘I should go my mama will be wondering what’s taking so long.’ ‘Okay,’ he said and though you were sure there was a hint of disappointment in his voice you didn’t pause to hear it, fumbling with the car door until you were out, mumbling goodnight and barely hearing his reply before the door slammed shut between you and you were hurtling up the garden path.

When you got inside your mother was up, sitting in her favourite chair as she listened to the radio, her knitting needles clacking alongside it. She peered around as you entered, shirking your coat and shoes off as quickly as possible, hoping she wouldn’t want you to stop and chat. Again you had no luck.

‘Is he not coming inside?’ she asked and because she was looking your way you had to fight not to roll your eyes. You had told her a hundred times before that there had been a change in your lift schedule and yet she had somehow not yet committed it to memory. ‘Mama it was Austin,’ you sighed. ‘I thought Pete dropped you off?’ she said, her brow furrowing. ‘No,’ you said gritting your teeth so that you didn’t snap at her, ‘Aus brings me home now remember? It’s out of Pete’s way so it’s easier for him to.’ ‘As long as that’s all it is,’ she said catching you off guard. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ you asked. ‘Well it’s just the two of you being alone together,’ she said. ‘Mama he’s just being a friend,’ you said unsure as to why you were getting annoyed at her, probably because the thing she was insinuating was what you longed to happen and yet it never would. ‘And that’s all there is to it?’ she asked making your jaw clench. ‘Yeah, now if you’ll excuse me I better get to bed. I’ve got an early shift tomorrow,’ you said and before she could reply you rushed up the stairs trying to ignore the ache in your gut.

You didn’t sleep well that night, Austin’s hopeless face echoing in your mind until the early hours, so when you awoke the next morning you found dark circles under your eyes. It didn’t mean anything though because you’d cover them with makeup, it was just that unlike every other day your beautifying was more about practicality than praying it’d help Austin see how pretty you were.

Fortunately your mother was nowhere to be seen when you got downstairs which suited you as you weren’t in the mood to speak to anyone. Though as you got outside you noticed there was someone waiting, familiar blue eyes finding yours in an instant. Austin.

‘What are you doing here?’ you asked confused as you met him on the sidewalk. ‘I thought I’d give you a ride to work,’ he said leaning up off the door of the truck and opening it so that you could climb inside but you didn’t move, instead you stood stock still on the sidewalk eyeing him curiously. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’ you asked, confused by the whole thing. Whilst he normally gave you a ride home he worked longer hours than you so your getting to the diner was on your own head. ‘I have break,’ he shrugged as if that explained everything. When you failed to move still he hesitated, glancing down at his shoes as he said, ‘and I er, I thought about what you said…about the whole ‘love thing.’’ ‘And?’ you asked those nerves from last night creeping back in. ‘And maybe I do know what it’s like,’ he said looking up at you, ‘I just hadn't realised.’ ‘Oh,’ you said, the way he watched you making your fears ebb, replaced by hope. So much so you tested the waters and said, ‘and what made you realise that?’ ‘How angry I got when I thought there might be another guy,’ he admitted sheepishly. ‘Oh,’ was all you could say, happiness crashing through you yet leaving you unable to vocalise it. ‘You lied right?’ he asked, coming towards you so that you were less than a foot apart, your hands coming up instinctively to touch him, his fingers tracing over your skin. ‘Yeah,’ you breathed. ‘There is a guy huh?’ he asked, your eyes meeting as you looked up at him. ‘Yeah, he just took a lil time to catch up,’ you smiled. ‘And you’re okay with that?’ he asked unsure. Of course you knew why and maybe you should’ve been worried to take a chance on a boy who hadn’t even realised he had feelings for you until they were slapping him in the face but you couldn’t bring yourself to worry. Austin loved you and that was all you needed. And now you weren’t going to risk losing it by brushing it off with a lie. ‘I’d have waited for him forever.’

AUSTIN TAGS

@caitlin1996 @purejasmine

[trashyreptilian]

Good time of day 👋

I've been following your blog quite recently, but I'm already delighted with fanfiction and art based on your AU! Your characters are so picturesque and it's extremely exciting to observe their development 🤍✨

I want to ask about Xanthan's past (because the idea of a "redeemed alternative" is very intriguing). How did they come to what they have now? They have a slightly tired expression 😑

Well, hello there! Hope you're having a good morning/ afternoon / evening as well!! Welcome to my blog, hehe~

AAAAAAA!! I'm delighted that you're enjoying my AU content! It's been such a pleasant experience so far to be able to share my headcanons and ideas this openly. I honestly didn't think that anyone would enjoy it besides myself,, But here we are! Thank you for the compliments, I hope the characters will remain interesting to you as I continue to develop them further. ^^

Honestly, I had planned to keep Xanthan's past a secret until I finished his full design reference sheet but what the hell, I'll share it now! Also, about your tired expression remark, that's just how I draw my traumatized characters lmao,, Anyways back to his past, this is a shortened version of his backstory but it's still a bit' long. It gives the answer to how he turned from an alternate to an angel. Hope you enjoy the read!

Created by Alternate Gabriel during the ongoing world war in 1942. The overlord took this as an opportunity to make steady and quiet progress on its plans to corrupt humanity. Xanthan, although nameless at the time, and a few other alternates were scattered around the United States. Specifically, in the old Bythorne county.

The task was simple: replace a human and become a doppelganger. His target was a lonely art shop owner whose business struggled. Xanthan did his task well, tormenting the poor fellow for a while until something had distracted him. Curiosity had taken over instead. First, it started with when the owner took breaks to paint art pieces in their private workshop, right above the store. He'd follow and watch them silently. There was something captivating about the way their brush moved, the vivid colors drawn on the canvas put him in awe. Later on, he took notice of the regular customers who'd come in every so often. One though, caught his attention. A lady named Joan Lavigne, a painter who lived with her older brother. However, he didn't interact with the women, just stared from a distance. Eventually, the owner was ordered to help with the war efforts. Their shop was neglected with an alternate roaming the place. Xanthan had failed his task, stalling for too long. His target never came back home. 

One day, Joan came in unexpectedly while he was out in the open, looking around the shop. Expecting high-pitched screaming, she had no reaction, she greeted him as if he were the owner. Utterly confused, only then he realized that she could not see him. Or anything at all, she was blind. It had never occurred to him before until he had a closer look at her. From that point on, they slowly bonded over their fascination for art. This relationship raised many confusing emotions over the years, none that he had felt before. Sooner or later, he had to confess what he actually was, yet Joan didn't care. Both of them had developed deeper feelings and became romantically involved with each other. Unfortunately, Gabriel was informed about his affairs and soon confronted him. Insulted, they disowned him and warmed about the consequences of such treachery. After that, he was on high alert, doing what he could to protect his loved one at all costs. They were targeted by other alternates and Gabriel, oftentimes they lived in hide-out.

This relationship peaked the interest of the archangel Raphael, angel of healing. He had never seen an alternate display this kind of affection towards a human and began frequently visiting them. The thought of Xanthan possibly being redeemable was brought up. Gabriel had other plans for the traitor. They could not let one of his underlings be redeemed by his enemies, they had no choice but to take matters into their own hands. They finally decided to go for Joan and infected them with severe M.A.D then went for him next. Distraught at the death of Joan, Xanthan wasn't going to let her lifeless body become corrupt. Head-to-head with the overlord, he put up quite the fight. Proclaiming outrage right at the face of his creator.

As their confrontation reached its end, Xanthan had been forgiven by God and was granted a blessing. God accepted him as one of their own and turned him into an angel. Gabriel witnessing him be redeemed, set them into a blinding rage to say the least. Their everlasting smile dropped for the first time. But with the help of Raphael and the other remaining archangels, he managed to survive the overlord's wrath and properly hid Joan's body to rest peacefully. Since then Xanthan has swore his loyalty to heaven and God, helping their archangels and spreading the influence of redemption onto cordial alternates around the earth.

[archivewilliamrikerstblog]

Headcanon: First Kiss with William Riker

Masterlist

Word Count: 700+

Summary: First kiss with William Riker

A/N: I guess this is sort of a part 2 of your first date. I'm also not good a writing fluff? But I guess one can't get better if they don't try.

- - - - -

- If Will was honest with himself, he would admit that he had wanted to kiss you the night of what you two agreed to call a first date. So relieved was he to know that you were still interested.

- From the start you had met every inconvenience and issue with patience and understanding - something Will had not always been offered in past relationships.

- While Will wishes you didn't have to, that the relationship could exist unhindered by duty; Will was beyond grateful. If anything, it made him more determined to pursue you and prove that he was worth waiting around for.

- Things had been progressing wonderfully. You and Will had managed to find time to go on a couple more dates. They had all been at Ten Forward, enjoying a meal and drinks together and exchanging pleasant conversation and light touches.

- After every date Will would walk you back to your quarters, hand in hand. He would wish you good night and press as chaste kiss to your knuckles - but never anything more than that for now.

- Will had spent a lot of time considering, he wanted more than anything to do right by you. He didn't want to scare you off by moving too fast. He wouldn't push you to do anything with or for him that you didn't want to do.

- A break from the usual, Will ask you to join him on the Holodeck once you are off duty. He doesn't tell you anything more than to dress comfortably. You do ask asked.

- You meet Will at the Holodeck and he leads you inside before issuing a couple commands to the computer. Before you know it, you are surrounded by the gentle sound of waves crashing to shore. The environment conforms to that of a beach at the cusp of sunset.

- The setting may just be a simulation, but what you and Will felt for each other was not.

- Taking in the brilliant sunset and warm ocean breeze; your back pressed to Will's chest with his strong arms curled tightly against your waist - the moment felt right.

- Tipping your head back you look at Will, and it is almost a shock to see that Will wasn't looking at the horizon.

- Will's gaze had been on you the whole time. His gentle blue eyes sparkled with tender affection. Where else was he to look? He could see a simulated sunset whenever he wanted - regular use of the Holodeck one of his past-times.

- But having you there, in his arms enjoying the wonders of modern technology, wasn't something he got to see every day.

- Will takes his chance then, leaning forward almost hesitantly - he kisses you. His lips just brush against your for a moment, waiting for permission. Once you respond in kind, he deepens the kiss; adjusting himself and raising one hand to your face to try to get a better angle.

- The position is awkward for both of you, but you don't care. You've gotten lost in the feel of his lips against yours. Will does his best to convey all his love for you in that moment, and you can tell.

- Slowly Will pulls back, both of you needing to breath. Yet you find it difficult to do so when you catch the wide grin on Will's face.

- Despite all the time you and Will had spent together, you had never seen him smile so brightly before. Will looked so thoroughly smitten, you can't help but laugh a little.

- At some point the date has to come to an end. Like always, Will walks you back to your quarters.

- Yet instead of the usual, Will lets go of your hand once at your door. His gaze is just as soft as before when he leans down to gives you a kiss goodnight. It is shorter than the first, but the emotions behind it were just a strong.

- Having parted and alone in your quarters now, you can not get over what all that had just occurred. You knew that you loved Will and would do anything to keep the relationship going, and this had just proved that it all had been worth it.

[nat-20s]

 Part 8 of the wonderful! Au: the boys answer some questions! Up to you to decide if they actually clarify anything!

(also on AO3)

~*~

Martin: Hey everyone! I know what some of you are thinking right now: it's not Tuesday, why is this episode in my feed? I know significantly more of you are thinking: I don't consistently keep up with podcast releases, how much free time do you think I have, buddy? To answer your queries: this is a bonus episode! We're answering listener questions to clear the air and/or have fun. Also, I don't know, around 20 to 40 minutes a week, as that is the average amount of time per episode? Maybe during your commute? My husband's omnipotence has been gone for five years, we just have to guess at that sort of thing now.

Jon: For legal reasons, that last statement was a joke. In fact, to cover all of our bases, we do not guarantee that any of our responses are genuine.

Martin: Just because we say we'll answer things doesn't mean we'll answer truthfully. Though, honestly, I think we might make it more enjoyable if we do tell the truth. Like, I don't necessarily have a fun lie prepared for our first question from konspiracyking97: "What's their fuckin deal anyway?"

Jon: Is this referring to the oblique references  we've made about being from a parallel reality and only ending up here as a consequence of ending one apocalypse and potentially starting another or the general premise of the show?

Martin: Oh, it's gotta be general premise, yeah?

Jon: In that case, I'm Jon, the other voice you're hearing is Martin, we're married, and we talk about things that are..nice? Good? Usually generally but occasionally rather specifically pleasant.

Martin: That pretty much covers it. It's not a complicated show. Uhh, next question comes from Shane: are either or both of you aliens? Nope!

Jon: Well..

Martin: No. We are 100% human people from Earth, we are under no definition extraterrestrial.

Jon: Eh..

Martin: Okay, first off, I know the tone of that 'eh' and "not fully human" is not synonymous with alien, so even if 100% is being a bit generous, we're still from the same planet as our listeners.

Jon:..

Jon: But. We sort of aren't though. Technically speaking.

Martin: No no no no no. I don't care if it's parallel, Earth is Earth is Earth, regardless of whatever nonsense metaphysics might be occurring.

Jon: So what you're saying is that if you got sucked through a portal and landed on an Earth where dinosaurs were still the predominant species, you wouldn't consider yourself to be an alien?

Martin: Nope!

Jon: I'm certain that they would consider you an alien. All of their mammals are probably shrew sized.

Martin: Sounds like a them problem.

Jon: Sounds like a-?! You know what, no, this will be an off the record debate, for now, I suppose I concede that the two Earths and our physiologies are similar enough that we might, maybe, not count as aliens.

Martin: Thank you. Anyway, our next question is from anonymous, and asks, "Is all of this an ARG?"

Jon: A whomst?

Martin: Alternate reality game. It's a method of storytelling that's interactive with audience, and usually has, I dunno, a certain suspension of disbelief to it where it pretends to be something actually happening in the real world until a dramatic reveal. A lot times it was used as a marketing gimmick, but others have done it just for fun. I can show you some examples after the show?

Jon: So it's in essence a more involved creepypasta?

Martin, delighted: Aw, babe, I'm never going to have a handle on what pop culture you are and aren't aware of, huh?

Jon: We were born within a year of each other, and I've told you that I was a deeply morbid teenager, you should probably be able to intuit some of things, love.

Martin: This coming from a man who has yet to see "It's a Wonderful Life", but has seen every film in the "Banjo Cannibals" franchise, including the Easter special. Jesus doesn't exist in the Banjo Cannibals universe, why does it have an Easter special?

Jon: The movies are rather shoddily translated from Russian, so I'm fairly certain the Easter component of that special was invented wholesale in the English version.

Martin: You say that like it answers more questions than it raises.

Jon: Yes, because it does. Oh, and to answer anonymous's question, no, this isn't an ARG. From my understanding of it, if it were, it'd be a poorly constructed one, as there's no real game element to any of this.

Martin: Hmm. Well, sometimes the game component is just trying to figure out what's going on with the story, or if there's any deeper content, and people are definitely doing that with this show.

Jon: That's not by design though. It's more a side effect of us having poor brain to mouth filters, I'd say.

Martin: Harsh, but fair. Oh, this next one is from Zac, no K, who asks, "Are you two actually even married?"

Jon, flat: We are, but it's under false names because this whole thing is an elaborate insurance scam.

Jon, incredulous: Yes, obviously, we're married. What did you hear in this podcast that would make you wonder otherwise, and how do we rectify it?

Martin: Clearly we need to up our quota for how "disgustingly in love" and "horrifically sappy" we are per episode. Which segues nicely into the next question from Gwen, "What's your favourite wonderful thing you've brought so far?" My answer: my husband. He's kind of my favourite in most things, you know?

Jon: Boooooo

Martin: Why, what's your favourite thing?

[Jon reluctantly sighs]

Jon, indulgent: being married.

Martin: A: serves you right for trying to pretend you're the less horrifically sappy and romantic one even though earlier today someone put a love note in the lunch they packed for me-

Jon:- Lies and slander! I have never, in my life, done that, even once.

Martin: Oh, sure, not even once. And you definitely don't reserve the lilac sticky notes specifically for my lunches because you know I like the colour. 

Jon: I..I don't.. you're rather ruining my image here.

[Martin snorts]

Martin: Can't have the audience think that you are, on occasion, an incredibly doting husband-

Jon: -A title I would argue we both share-

Martin: - which is obviously why, even with it being your favourite thing you've brought, being married to me is just a small wonder-

Jon, audibly rolling his eyes: As I already explained-

[A Pause}

Jon: Actually, you're right-

Martin: Wait-

Jon:- I really should have brought it as a larger wonder-

Martin: Wait-

Jon: though I should warn you, I think I'd have far too much material for just one little segment-

Martin: No no no no no-

Jon:- In fact, I think I might have too much material for just one little episode-

Martin: Joo-oon-

Jon: I might have to do a whole series! Where would I even start? I mean I could talk about how every day I get to watch the early morning sun highlight your curls when I get up first, or hear you quietly humming and shuffling around the kitchen when you do, or I could talk about how the lunch notes only started in the first place as retaliation to the notes you would leave on the mirror for me to find, or how every time I get to see you at ease in a way that you aren't with anyone else, it takes my breath away, or I could talk about how cute I find the lines between your eyebrows that you only get when you're thinking something petty, but you know it's petty so you don't want to say anything-

Martin: Okay, okay, Christ, I give !up I surrender, and will cease my teasing on this particular topic.

Jon, probably making the :3 face: You don't have to stop. I mean, I could also discuss how very, very attractive I find your voice when it takes on a teasi-mmph!

[There's a pleased hum, then a pause.]

[The audio quality is slightly changed, as if the recording has been stopped and then started later]

Martin, giddy: Uh, heh, anyway, Eric asked what the least favourite thing we've brought was, and because of Jon's attempt to embarrass me live-

Jon, overlapping: It's definitely not live-

Martin:- on air, I'm gonna say it's my husband.

[Jon scoffs]

Jon : If the past few minutes are any sort of indication, I'm going to go ahead and saying that you are lying.

Martin, sighing contentedly: Maybe a bit, but how was I supposed to resist when your indigance gives you that adorable little nose scrunch? In reality, my least favourite thing was probably, um, mini golf? Which, I still don't think is inherently bad, definitely superior to regular golf, but when it's the only thing a next door two year old wants to do with you, the charm begins to wear off a bit.

Jon: Wow. A rather scathing review of a toddler.

Martin: Not so much a scathing review of a toddler as it's a scathing review of minigolf's inability to keep its appeal after the third time in the same week.

Jon: Mmm, the sound effects rather quickly go from part of the atmosphere to part of the irritation, don't they?

Martin: So what's your least favorite thing we've covered here?

Jon: Oh, love, I'm not going to pretend to have nearly enough memory of what we've covered so far to have a least favorite.

Martin: Really? Nothing that you regret or rescind?

Jon: Well, regret, certainly. It was one of the weeks where you went first, and your second item was mutual aid funds, and what they can do for marginalized communities, and I had to follow it with fucking Slapchop.

Martin, poorly suppressing laughter: In your defence, Slapchop, or whatever offbrand we have, is pretty useful, especially when either your scar or my arthritis is acting up.

Jon: I'm still not convinced you didn't somehow see my notes for the recording and decided you get revenge for the first year that we knew each other.

Martin, no longer suppressing his laughter: Yep, you got me! This marriage wasn't an act of insurance fraud, but it was a near decade long con to humiliate you on a podcast that about twenty people listen to. I'll draft up the divorce papers immediately, and then we can finally go our separate ways. 

Jon: I'm glad you've at last admitted it. Such a weight off of my shoulders. Goodbye forever then.

Martin: Right.

Jon: Right.

[A beat.]

[There's a pfft from one of them, before both dissolve into giggles that lasts a good 30 seconds.]

Martin, slightly out of breath: I can't believe we're the kind of people that talk this much about speciality kitchen gadgets.

Jon: Sorry about that.

Martin: God, don't apologize. I'm, like, deliriously happy with our varying degrees of useful cooking ware filled life. If you had told 25 year old me that one day he'd be debating the merits of getting a tortilla press with his husband, he'd have wept, I tell you.

Jon: Funny, if you told 25 year old me the same thing, he would've said "You don't know the future,piss off" and then quietly have a bit of a panic at 3 am that night.

Martin: I bet you were insufferable in your mid-twenties.

Jon: First of all, who isn't, secondly, I was fresh out of Oxford, and third, I was insufferable in my late twenties, as you can attest to, and I'm insufferable now, as you can further attest to, so extrapolation would indicate that, yes, I was insufferable back then.

Martin: Probably a different kind of insufferable, though.

Jon: There are different kinds?

Martin: Of course! You used to be "prick boss" insufferable and now you're "smug in a way that I can't admit I find hot or it will go straight to your head" insufferable.

Jon, in the aforementioned smug tone: Oh, really?

Martin: See, see! Straight to your head.

Jon: Well straight is probably the wrong descriptor-

Martin: Oof, 4 out of 10 joke, babe.

Jon: That would be a far more convincing rating if you weren't grinning right now.

Martin: It's a genuine review, I'm just well known to be a sucker.

Jon: You and me both, darling.

Martin: Okay, if you're pulling out darling, you're clearly in too giddy of a mood to be focused on recording. Last question, from Jess, "You two mentioned meeting at work, but how did you actually end up together?" That's easy, Jon pulled me out of a hell dimension and then we went on the lam together to Scotland.

Jon: If that's not the way to tell a cute boy you like him, I don't know what is.

Martin: All right, that wraps up this bonus episode, and as the old saying goes, hiding from murderers in a cottage is more conducive to romance than suggesting you gouge out your eyes together.

Jon, cut off: Hey-!

[thekisforkeats]

Ooh jm + shy kiss for the prompts?

Ohhh good one! I had to think about this a little and actually wrote up a bunch that didn't quite work at first. But! Here it is!

Set somewhere in the first few minutes of 160, in those weeks between arriving at the safehouse and Hazel Rutter. Featuring autistic Martin trying to navigate social situations because that is evidently what I write now.

(Incidentally the term "weak ties" was coined by a Stanford researcher in 1973. Link to the relevant paper. Credit where due, and all.)

(No beta no edits we die like archive assistants.)

.

.

.

It takes Martin a week to convince Jon to come down into the village with him.

If he's being honest with himself--and he's trying very hard to be honest with himself these days, so he can identify any Lonely-type thoughts--he really just wants to show off his boyfriend to the nice lady at the little shop in the village where he's been picking up essentials.

Martin is a naturally friendly person, or maybe a naturally personable person. This was not always the case; he had to practice a great deal to memorize all the scripts to smooth social interactions that other people seem to navigate without thinking about it at all. It can be horribly exhausting, just going to the shops. It's one of the reasons the Lonely appealed to him; how much easier to just move through life without having to recite all those canned lines?

Now that he's out of its grip, he's come to realize how much those interactions matter. He's been reading a lot on the internet about depression and social interaction, about social circles, and one thing that caught his eye is the idea of "weak ties," those people we're not exactly friends with, but who we see on a regular basis and who help us feel connected to a larger community. People who don't really know us and yet know something about us that helps us feel seen. The bus driver who gives you a familiar nod every morning. the barista who's prepping your order as soon as he notices you in line, the shop lady who tries to keep your favorite tea in stock.

So Martin is trying to cultivate those relationships, to feel part of a wider community, rather than just relying on Jon. He thinks that maybe if he'd had more of that, before, if he'd tried harder to go through the world being seen, he might have handled Jon's coma and his mother's death in some kind of healthier manner.

Maybe not, of course, but he's going to use any tool he can to keep the Lonely at bay.

At any rate, even beyond being very good at social scripts, Martin does genuinely like people, he's a good listener, for an autistic guy he's practically a social butterfly. And Elspeth is a nice lady, maybe mid-40's, the kind of person who runs a shop because she actually likes interacting with a stream of customers on a regular basis. So she's just the sort of person for Martin to practice his "weak tie" skills.

Because, naturally, one of the key benefits of "weak ties" is that they are the sort of people you get to be public about your relationship with when none of your closer friends are around.

Yeah, no, all of the above is just flimsy justification, if Martin's being really honest with himself. He's just madly in love and wants literally everyone within a 500-mile radius to know.

That morning, Martin makes a big show of how badly he wants to spend time with Jon, no really, but he really does have to go down into the village.

"We're out of tea!"

"I don't think we have anything for dinner!"

"But I really want to keep listening to you talk about Scottish history!"

And so on.

Jon gives him a tolerantly amused look, and Martin flushes. Is he that transparent, or is Jon just that good at reading him?

"I suppose I can go into the village with you, Martin," he says, eyes glittering. "Since you're so terribly interested in the House of Stuart. I'd hate to leave you wondering what happened to James II."

Martin would feel guilty, but he can tell Jon is pleased to be "indulging" him, and it's not like Martin hasn't been listening to Jon infodump about whatever random facts Beholding's been given him all week.

They hold hands all the way down into the village, and it's nice, to walk through the place and be seen, together. It's comfortable. They'd held hands on walks before, long ago in London, before the Unknowing, but back then they hadn't been sure what they were, hadn't managed to broach the delicate barrier between "friends" and "something else." Now, they're "boyfriends," and Martin keeps finding himself wanting to go up to each person he sees on the street and shout, "This is my boyfriend, Jonathan Sims!!"

By the time they reach Elspeth's shop, he's feeling a little giddy.

He pushes open the door and the little bell rings, and Elspeth looks up from behind the counter and smiles. "Martin!" she says, and Martin's whole body warms in a very pleasant manner, that this woman he's only known a week remembers him. "Oh, and this must be the elusive Jon." She gives them one of those teasing smiles people give to new couples, glittering eyes and amusement at the silly things people do when they're in limerence.

"Yes," Martin says, and suddenly the words stick in his throat. "Yes, this is... is... umm..." Oh, why has he suddenly frozen like a deer in headlights? Why can't he remember the right words?

"Jonathan Sims," Jon says smoothly, stepping forward to offer the woman his hand. "And yes, I'm Martin's boyfriend."

It occurs to Martin, all at once, that neither of them have said that out loud to anyone else. No wonder he's frozen up.

Elspeth glances at the burn scars on Jon's hand only briefly, then smiles--and it's a genuine smile, not one of those pitying ones people sometimes put on when they see scars like that--and shakes said hand. "Pleased to meet you," she replies. "Elspeth Douglas." She has the Highland accent, but softened; she spent her 20's and 30's in London, she's said, and came back to take over the family store when her father fell ill. The similarity might be part of why Martin likes her--that and the fact that it seems that helping her sickened parent improved her life.

"Ahh, yes. The not-so-elusive Elspeth." Jon actually flashes a grin, which Martin finds remarkable. Since when is Jon... friendly? Well, maybe he's trying for Martin's sake. If so, Martin very much appreciates the effort.

The woman behind the counter laughs, and says, "How can I help you?"

"Oh," Martin manages, his brain catching up and letting his mouth work again, "we're just here for tea and things."

"Of course," Elspeth says. "I'll be here when you're ready."

They turn away, to go deeper into the aisles.

"She seems nice," Jon says almost absently. "Shame about her fa--" He pauses, and frowns. Shakes his head, looking irritated. "You didn't tell me about that," he grumbles.

"No, I didn't. But thank you for trying to keep it in," Martin says.

Jon sighs, lowering his voice. "It's becoming harder and harder to separate what I've learned on my own from what Beholding gives me. How much of my thoughts are mine anymore? Did I actually memorize all those facts about the House of Stuart, or am I getting the... mental Wikipedia page, as it were?"

"Seems like a thing you'd know," Martin comments offhandedly. He's focused on figuring out what kind of rice to buy. He wants to try his hand at sticky rice, which really should have calrose, but Jon likes jasmine rice. Do they get both?

He doesn't want to think about Beholding, and how much of it is Jon anymore. He prefers just thinking about it as something like a smartphone app Jon can use without having to actually have a phone in front of him. He does not want to think about how much of his boyfriend has been potentially consumed by some kind of eldritch thing that feeds on fear.

He really doesn't want to think about the idea that maybe soon, Jon won't even need rice anymore, and will just live off statements, no matter how much he jokes about his partner's "eating habits."

Jon has been talking as Martin's been staring at the rice, but Martin hasn't heard any of it. He's brought back to himself by a squeeze of Jon's hand in his.

"Hey," Jon says softly. "You okay?"

In Jon's voice, Martin hears all the concern that Martin himself has been feeling. He forces himself to look at Jon, and sees bright green eyes staring out of a deep brown face. He realizes he's gotten used to the color of Jon's eyes; before the coma, Jon's eyes were brown, like a deep carnelian, and so large and dark sometimes Martin thought he could fall right into them and be happy drowning there. Now they're green, bright and disarming, and Martin's pretty sure this is why Jon still wears glasses he no longer needs, to hide those strange eyes behind plastic lenses.

Those eyes are looking up at him intensely now, and Jon's brow is furrowed, and his mouth is pulled into a frown in a way that highlights one of the worm scars near his lip, and all of it is adorable, but it's also disconcerting for the contrast between the softness of his voice and the intensity of his expression.

Is Jon as afraid of losing Martin to Forsaken as Martin is of losing Jon to Beholding?

Martin frowns at him for a moment, then sighs. "I just..." He has to look away, back to the bags of rice. "I just... don't like thinking about that. Beholding, and... all of it. I just... I just wish..."

"You wish we could be normal." Jon's tone is still soft, and filled only with love and no sort of guilt or self-recrimination.

"Yeah," Martin says, still staring at the rice.

There's a hesitation, and then Jon says, softly and slowly, "You know... normal people deal with these sort of difficult things, too. There's so much out there that can hurt people... the things we deal with, they're weirder than most of the rest of it, but..."

"Yeah, I know, Jon, I just..." Martin hunches his shoulders. "Don't want to lose you again," he finally mumbles.

Jon hesitates a moment, and then he leans in to give Martin a soft kiss on the cheek.

Martin flushes bright red--Elspeth's right there!--and turns to stare at Jon. "W-what... what was... that for?!"

Jon, too, is blushing. "I just... ah... I just... wanted you to know that... that I'm... here. You haven't... lost me. Or anything."

"Oh," Martin says. "Well. Thank you."

There's a moment where they just look at each other, and then Jon blurts, "...Can I kiss you again? It's just, I haven't all morning, and I really sort of wanted to spend the morning cuddling, but you wanted to come down to the shops..."

"Here?!" Martin stares at him.

"We can go behind the shelves if you like," Jon says, blushing furiously.

For some reason, this makes Martin giggle, and then he leans down to brush his lips to Jon's. Softly, shyly, as if they haven't been kissing each other all week, because he really is terribly aware of the fact that there are other people around.

"Tell you what," Martin says as he pulls back, surprisingly breathless despite how short the contact of their lips was, "let's finish up the shopping and then we can cuddle all afternoon."

Jon smiles up at him. "Promise?" The smile widens. "You're not going to drag me around to introduce me to every villager individually?"

"I was not--!" Martin glares at him, but now Jon's smile has become one of those shit-eating grins he gets sometimes, and Martin can't stay mad at him at all.

"You knew," he accuses, but there's no heat in it.

"I had a hunch," Jon says, humming. "I didn't want to spoil your fun, though."

Martin rolls his eyes, and then reaches out to take Jon's hand again. "Well, then, we'd better get to it. Jasmine or calrose? Rice, I mean."

"Both, I think," Jon says. "I find myself very much desiring normality of late, and rice is a terribly normal sort of thing."

[fleckcmscott]

Coffee & Donuts

Summary: Arthur’s thrilled to be part of a crowd. Though the evening doesn’t go perfectly, Y/N’s flirtations make it sweet.

Warnings: Smut

Words: 4,602

A/N: Alright. After the heart wrenching angst of my last piece (which I love, by the way; don't get me wrong! 😂), I had to write another story in which Arthur and Y/N are happy and together. It's inspired by one of Arthur's visions during their kiss. I hope you all like it! Special thanks to @jokerownsmysoul for beta-ing!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Parties and celebrations weren't foreign to Arthur. He'd worked plenty, enough to make him realize what he'd been missing out on. He was well-versed in pin the tail on the donkey, musical chairs, and balloon animals. But as an adult, those activities didn't satisfy. He wanted to be included rather than paid. Connect with people, introduce himself. Discuss his experiences and pursuits. Feel sufficiently at ease to loosen up a little and have a good time.

Now he was a guest - a certified guest - at Patricia Gorman's fifty-sixth birthday party. The first party he'd been invited to since being the weird kid in class who'd rotated between three worn out sweaters and could never afford a gift.

He'd been a tad apprehensive about going to Burnside. Gotham's nicest borough had a reputation for high rents and low tolerance. When Y/N and he had entered 2E, however, Patricia's greeting ("You made it!") and the apartment were thoroughly welcoming. Crocodile brown walls and forest green shag carpet made the spacious living room a cozy hideaway. Marigolds leapt across the polyester of the T-cushion sofa and its easy-chair companion. The floor lamp's amber, crimped glass shades cast the spacious living room in a glow borrowed from warm autumn days.

Patricia's husband, Robert, was out on an emergency call. An HVAC had gone haywire in a residential building in Hinckley. Her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson had been by for lunch. That meant the only other guests were Matt - Y/N's old boss - and a bottle-blonde in a black halter dress and spike heels, who Y/N introduced as Laura. ("She's Matt's ex-wife," Y/N later disclosed. "He's been trying to win her back since I moved to Gotham.") Both shook Arthur's hand when he offered it, and he felt a little thrill whirl his stomach when Y/N laid claim to him by telling the woman, "This is my husband."

A collection of appetizers served as dinner, a fun and novel menu. The slow cooker meatballs Y/N and he had lugged over on the subway were a bit tangy; he still couldn't believe the recipe called for grape jelly. The deviled eggs with paprika, a pleasant mix of savory and sweet, was a dish he'd heard about on television. Cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches were light and airy, a good match for his iced tea. Only the artichoke and spinach dip gave him pause. Its beans and hot sauce made his taste buds wince.

That unpleasant flavor was quickly forgotten when Y/N pulled him to sit next to her on the sofa, so Patricia could open her presents. She proudly showed off the orange, clay ashtray her grandson had made for her. Arthur, having successfully kept the secret of her light smoking from Y/N, chuckled at Patricia fibbing she'd put candy in it. She thanked Matt and Laura for the champagne, wrapped in a silver bow with a simple "Happy Birthday" tag. The bottle wasn't popped. Upon peeking into the large giftbag Y/N placed on her lap, she made a soft sound. The Dazey whirlpool bath, which attached to the side of the tub and had three strength settings, was a hit. She announced her plans to try it in the morning. The dark blue Rexbuilt briefbag was intended to replace her cracked, leather briefcase, Y/N explained. Patricia ran her fingertips along the expanding inner compartments, the personalized planner that included the credential "CLA" after her name, and flipped through the included steno pads, eyes brimming.

She sipped at her cocktail and put an arm around Y/N. Melancholy tinged Patricia's voice. "At my age, the people in your life tend to stay the people in your life. Whether you like them or not." She reached further and patted Arthur's knee. "I'm glad an old dame like me gets to call you all friends." His throat clenched in gratification, though he wasn't daring enough to squeeze her hand and thank her for deciding he was a friend.

Still on top of the world an hour later, Arthur sauntered to the red and white enamel dining table to serve himself a second slice of upside-down pineapple cake. The evening had gone well, better than a guy with a natural inability to mingle could've expected. He bobbed his head to the beat of "Come Fly with Me." It was a happy coincidence that Patricia's taste in music aligned with his. She'd regaled him with tales of seeing Sinatra and Count Basie on her and Robert's honeymoon in Vegas. Arthur took a bite absentmindedly, wondering how long it would take for him to save the money to surprise Y/N with plane and concert tickets.

The daydreaming didn't last long. Matt's plodding footsteps preceded him, followed by a long sigh as he propped himself on the beige stone of the dining area's accent wall, across from the u-shaped kitchen. He held out a Budweiser and smirked. "Marriage is a hell of a lot of work."

Pleased that he was being treated like one of the guys, like a regular husband with a regular relationship who got to speak about his regular wife, Arthur accepted the beer and considered the comment. Matt's sentiment was hard to grasp. Dr. Sally had said marriage could be difficult, and Y/N's first hadn't survived the ripples of her life. But it didn't feel like work with her. Their arguments were minor. Her nagging him to find a primary doctor for annual check-ups, even though he'd survived this long without one. Or back in Missouri, when he'd told her to stop shielding him and trust he could take anything she had to give.

Arthur adopted a similar nonchalant posture and jutted his hip against the table's edge. "I like it. It's easy to take good care of her." He wasn't able to completely erase the smugness of success from his tone.

"You're what? Two years in with the most headstrong woman in Gotham? She's great and all, but she spikes my blood pressure." Matt slapped Arthur's back and let out a hearty guffaw. "Give it five more and you'll be in my office trying to avoid alimony."

"Don't. Say that." Arthur crinkled the can in his grip and glared up at him.

"Hey," Matt started, withdrawing even as he tried diplomacy. "It was just a joke. I didn't mean anything by it."

Flinching, pulling at the cuffs of his red sweater, Arthur fought the surge of anger in his veins. It wouldn't do to lose control and cause a scene. Of course Matt's comment about them splitting up was supposed to be a joke. But Arthur didn't find it one bit funny. Even with his complete faith in her and his firm belief that they were meant to be together, the possibility that she'd stop wanting him hurt. It didn't occur to him that the implication of the punchline could be that he'd get sick of Y/N.

With a muttered apology, Matt walked to the others in the kitchen. Arthur glanced over to see her laugh tipsily, until she grabbed her stomach and swatted Patricia's shoulder, a stark demonstration of how much he and Y/N differed. She always knew how to respond to people, the right comebacks. Appropriate timing and levels of interaction. It seemed she was in her natural element, the loveliest swan on a lake. Whereas after years of therapy and practice with her, he was still a fish out of water, flopping around on the shoreline in hopes some stranger would take pity on him and throw him back into the sea.

Maybe that was the real punchline. Eventually their contrasts would no longer complement each other and instead become a chore.

Scowling, he ambled towards the record player stationed before two double-hung windows. Increased the volume to drown out the intrusive notions. It didn't really work. He settled on a grounding technique he'd practiced, all the while lamenting that he couldn't handle a party without needing it. His attention went to the spinning LP, the needle following its grooves. The bright blue album cover, where Ol' Blue Eyes beckoned him, the scuff marks on the cardboard's corner edges. He acknowledged the spider plants sat on the windowsill, worried a papery leaf until it broke off. He stared out the window, taking in the whole of the city. Pinpricks of light dazzling in the darkness.

"Gotham's beautiful at night," Y/N said from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to watch her approach. Her cheeks glowed with alcohol and good cheer, the collar of her ivory blouse unbuttoned. "There's a life behind every light out there. Ten million of them. Here. Try this." She offered her hurricane glass, filled with an off-white slush.

He sipped the pina colada with cautious skepticism and grimaced as soon as it hit his tongue. The blend of pineapple and coconut tasted of cheap sunscreen and tropical imitations, the kind advertised in smudged brochures for bad cruises to islands with made up sounding names. "No, thanks."

Snorting, she shrugged and embraced his back at the waist. "How are we doing?" she asked, curling into his side. After a few seconds, she prodded him. "Had your fill of Matt?"

"He was just joking." Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.  She set the drink next to the record player and brought her hand to his, trailed it over the inside of his wrist, up his forearm. She pecked his chin and nudged him until he turned to her. As soon as their gazes met, the concern in hers told him she'd continue to pepper him with questions. But he wasn't about to let his misplaced doubts spoil her evening. And he knew the perfect way to distract them both.

A new song started. An oldie that sang of Jupiter and Mars, playfulness among the stars. He cupped her cheek, thumb sweeping the corner of her mouth. "Dance with me," he said. Before accepting his proffered palm, she laid a sloppy kiss on him. With a flutter of her eyelashes, she grinned, and his smile grew to match her own. As he held her side, led her in a slow, swaying circle, he marveled at her. At her ability to soothe every molecule, every lingering ache. Self-assurance welled in him, chased away his earlier dejection. He cradled her to his lanky frame, trembled and felt himself blush. She was the only woman for him. That was as certain as his cigarette habit.

Despite Patricia's reassurances she was fine, that Robert working late wasn't unusual, Y/N insisted on staying until he got home. Though Arthur would have preferred they take their leave an hour earlier, being allowed to smoke inside blunted his grumbling. The disarming flirtations she bestowed on him also didn't hurt. She'd pour herself a drink (four in total, if he counted correctly), help Patricia make a plate of leftovers for her husband, then throw him a wink. Whisper and cackle while cleaning, then kiss his temple.

Around midnight, Patricia put her foot down. Ushered them out with a promise to call and a hug fierce enough to crush his ribs. She raised a brow at Y/N's unsteady gait, grasped Arthur's arm, and said with a wry, tired smile, "Make sure you put that woman straight to bed." His dark brows shot up and held. Had she intended a pun? Or had Y/N's spare caresses caused the interpretation? Either way, he liked being trusted to take care of her. And the hint of arousal that flared in his belly.

By the time they stumbled into their apartment, that arousal had reduced to a dull exhaustion. She kicked off her heels on the way to the bathroom, calling a slurred "night!" as she closed the door. Yawning, he put dish soap and hot water in the crockpot, scrubbed burned bits of sauce from its rim, turned it upside down on a towel to dry. Once he'd brushed his teeth for one minute rather than the recommended two, he tossed his sweater, trousers, briefs, and socks in the hamper, and went to the bedroom. He found his blue pajamas in their usual spot, the chair in the corner, and slid them up his skinny but toned legs. Tucked in next to her, he was carried to sleep on waves of fatigue and her quiet, wet snoring.

~~~~~

A tickle threatened to rouse him. Whispers along the waistband of his bottoms. Heat snuggled his back. Delightfully drowsy, he cuddled deeper into cozy, cream-color sheets, already returning to a pleasant, dreamless slumber. But a rumble of exhaust, likely from a bus that needed a new muffler, dragged him to consciousness. Arthur grumbled and tucked his arm under his pillow, not ready to transition to a world of overcrowding and concrete, commotion and bad jokes.

Yet, Y/N's insistent grazes continued, luring him with promises of placid pleasure. Her toes wiggled at his heel until he made space for her to slip her foot between his ankles. The corner of his mouth quirked. He was reminded of last night's playfulness, her endless teasing. The way he'd held the crockpot as a shield to fend off her advances on the train home, her forwardness to the point that he would've preferred having a laminated card to present on her behalf. Forgive my wife: she has a condition. It causes frequent and uncontrollable displays of affection.

Nimble fingers edged lower, loosened the tie of his pajamas before dipping beneath the loose elastic to lace through his dark brown curls, darker than the chestnut hair on his head. Her knuckles ran over him, lazy caresses full of intent. Up and down, up and down. Delicate. Deliberate. The blood racing to his groin, the pleasant swelling, made his abdomen twitch. Soon full and heavy, the sensitive tip straining the cotton seams, he pressed his lips together. When she skimmed the tender skin resting on his inner thigh, he flexed the muscle at the base of his erection. It bobbed and hit her wrist and she let loose a girlish giggle, more intoxicating than wine.

With her left leg draped over him at the knee, she undulated against his rear. Plush lips brushed the boney knobs of his spine, damp breath fanned the nape of his neck, labored, needy. Pebbled nipples grazed his back through the thin nylon of her nightgown, taunting and compelling. He made up his mind to throw an arm around her, to yank her on top of him. To eagerly take part in her seduction.

But she withdrew from his bottoms to palm his stomach and plant a gentle kiss to the shell of his ear, whispering, "Sleep tight." The mattress shifted and she rolled away from him. He furrowed his brows. She rarely relented this easily - other times he'd awakened, hard and aching, enveloped by the captivating wetness of her mouth. What was she up to?

Covers rustled. Her calf bumped his. And the opposite of what he'd assumed occurred. Instead of light footfalls leading out of the room, there was silence, silence that seemed to stretch on and on...

Until a hitched gasp gave her away.

Touching herself. She was touching herself. She'd just been all over him, acted like he was some sort of model on the cover of Vue magazine, and now she was touching herself. Right beside him! Ecstatic to have inspired such brazenness, he grinned and fisted the pillow. Her fleeting, stifled moans tangled him in knots, implored him to give her what they both burned for.

He flipped in her direction, his hand shooting under the sheet to grab hers. "Gotcha."

Eyes wide, she gaped at him in surprise. But adoration softened her expression as she entwined their fingers. "How long have you been awake?" she asked.

"Long enough."

He stretched to rewind the shades, the diaphanous curtains staying in place. Sunlight diffused over them, wrapped around her face, lent her disheveled hair a warm luster. He twirled a feathered lock and pecked her eyelids. "Finishing what you started on the subway, hm?"

"Me?" Y/N brought his knuckles to her mouth.  "You're the one who came to bed without any underwear."

"Well, it was a late night." The pad of his thumb tugged at her bottom lip to reveal the pink tip of her tongue. He bent to claim it. "I was lucky to find my pajamas."

Chuckling, she broke their connection. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah. The cake was good. And the music. Everyone was nice."

"Patricia loved having you there. She thought you were very sweet." A pause as she mapped a dimple. "Matt said he'd upset you. Something stupid about breaking up?"

Vague shadows of discomfort flashed through Arthur, a frustration he'd mostly moved on from. He did his best to ignore it, waving her concern away. "Don't worry about it."

"He was just jealous, you know." Her nails ran along the small of his back. "He wants Laura to look at him the way I look at you."

Arthur had spent so much of his life yearning for change, to understand his purpose in the world and improve himself. The idea that a man with a good education, a successful career, and no disabilities could ever be jealous of him was, frankly, bizarre. But he didn't correct Y/N, instead locking her praise within his heart, preserving it for when he needed it most. He boosted himself on his forearm and fiddled with her V-neck, traced its button loops as he slipped the plastic knobs through them. "And how's that?'

A hint of scandal glimmered in her irises. She arched into him as he eased a strap down her upper arm to reveal her shapely breast, the lilac fabric momentarily catching on its taut peak. "Like I can't get enough of you."

He huffed at that, fondled her faintly before his lips met the velvety skin of her chest. A tonic comprised of the musk oil she'd dabbed on before the party and distinct sexual wanting wafted to his nostrils. He licked at her nipple, the bumps on her areola, and drew it between his teeth. She whined softly and lifted the bottom of her nightdress to her waist.

Hurriedly, he yanked on the waistband of her cotton panties, pushed them past her knees. She kicked them off while he knelt to lower his bottoms. Straddling her, he pumped himself back to hardness and opened the drawer of her nightstand. He searched haphazardly until he retrieved a small, glass bottle of lubricant. (She'd ordered it from a mail catalog, both of them a bit too bashful to walk into an adult shop, even together.)

She snagged it from him and poured half a teaspoon in her hand, then palmed herself. He moved between her legs and she grasped his length, coating him with the warm, slippery liquid. He pushed forward into her. Gradually, slowly, savoring every millimeter of her enticing heat. He noted the stretch of her mouth, the jut of her jaw, the lifting of her upper lip. "Mmm..." she breathed and begged him to keep going. When he did, her head tilted back into the pillow, eyelids falling shut. A smile cut across her cheeks as she purred her satisfaction. "Arthur, I love you."

His touch wandered down the curve of her thigh. At the sight of her subtle writhing beneath him, the sway of her slightly uneven breasts in time with his languid thrusts, he pushed her knee into the mattress, splayed her wider. He grunted lowly. "Look at me."

Their gazes met but didn't hold for long; hers dropped to where they were joined. She caressed right above his pubic bone. "I love seeing you like this." Her fingertips walked a line up his sternum to his chest. "And touching you like this." She wrapped her arms around his middle and drew him to her, locked their lips in a greedy kiss. "And making love like this."

He snorted. "I think this is the only reason you married me."

"Well, not the only reason. There's your good hair, too."

"I've been thinking about cutting it. Trying something new."

"Don't you dare." She tugged at his loose curls, wore her best pout. "What else would I hold onto when we're doing this?"

Laughing lightly, he bumped his nose to hers. Falling into her was like falling into his old fantasies, the ones that'd sustained him through years of isolation. Dates at diners, at comedy clubs, at donut shops, at home. Their shapes had changed as he'd matured, his role in them, his aspirations and infatuations. But they'd remained a warm comfort nonetheless, a place that felt like belonging. And now he belonged with her. Hunger filled him. Happiness. And love. So much love, more than he'd ever believed he'd carried in him. He bucked a little harder. "You feel so good," he murmured. "You make me feel so good."

A strained cry left her and her pelvis answered his steady rhythm with demands of its own. Her calves rose to squeeze him closer, encircle his narrow hips. They were pressed together so tightly; it felt like they were one flesh. He never wanted it to stop. But a dizzying euphoria had ignited, one that eclipsed the romantic yearnings of his heart, twisting his desire to last all morning into the desperate drive to possess her. Gasping, Arthur raised himself to his knees, delving deeper with each push. Their foreheads met and he grit his teeth at the scald of her, the texture of her walls. She fit as though she'd been made for him.

He supposed she was.

Pressure began in the base of him, building and building in terrific torment. The muscles of his inner thighs contracted inward. Tingling climbed his shaft, his tailbone, his spine. He wove his fingers into the sheet, his grip a vise that wrested its corner from the mattress. She kissed the spot where his jaw met his neck, all the while murmuring encouragements for him to let himself go.

Bliss shot through him, from the tips of his toes to the follicles on his scalp, and his back stiffened as he whimpered and poured into. Fever engulfed his frame, sublime in its frenzy, leaving him in a heady stupor. Aftershocks made him tremble. Once, twice. Until, sated and spent, he landed on top her. He closed his eyes, ribs rising and falling as he forced air into his lungs.

A minute later, he swallowed and looked down at her. "You didn't come."

She carded through his sweaty locks. "It's all righ-"

"Shh." He slid out of her and settled at her side, reached between her legs to swipe at her core. "I'm not done," he declared, tracing the edges of her entrance, slick and swollen. One of his favorite things about getting her off was demonstrating his prowess in bed, how well he'd learned with her. His thumb met her plump clitoral hood, and he felt her throb beneath his ministrations.

Nails biting his bicep, she rocked upwards. A bewitching blush crept up her breast, her neck, spread across her cheeks. Shallow pants hit his face, short puffs suffused with high-pitched whines, utterly irresistible. He circled her nub at a steady cadence, tapping when she'd shiver, and she clasped the back of his hand. He swirled his tongue around her nipple, sucked the pretty peak, and lowered the other strap of her nightgown to bare her completely. A hushed plea fell from her lips. "Please, please..."

Suddenly, her vulva grew white hot and she seized, her hips stuttering with each flutter of his touch to her folds. She thrusts her breasts towards him, a sharp moan caught in her throat. Liquid pooled against his fingers, proof of her rapture that made him wish, with mild amusement, that he could be an unmedicated young man again. He would've gladly taken her a second time.

Giggling and rubbing her temple, she released a long exhale and opened her eyes. He brushed her hair back and grinned, completely smitten, like the first time he'd heard a joke and understood the punchline. The light brown picture frame on his nightstand caught his attention, and he regarded the wallet size photo in it, one of the shots of Y/N from the booth at Amusement Mile. The last thing he looked at before turning in each night. He lay his head her shoulder and hummed, listened to the drum of her heart.

She smooched his hairline and wriggled out from beneath him to stand. Her nightie had been reduced to a crumpled stripe of lilac cinched about her waist. It felt tawdry and shameless and he wanted to see her in it for the rest of the weekend. But she peeled it down her legs, wrinkling her nose when it got stuck on her thighs, and stepped out of it one foot at a time. She dropped it on the floral bedspread and retrieved her bathrobe from the closet. "Meet you in the kitchen," she said, opening the door.

The sun had risen higher, its beams slanting across the covers. He basked in it, catlike, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pulled on his pajamas, got a new pair of socks from their dresser, and made his way to the kitchen. He washed off the remnants of Y/N's arousal from his fingers, popped open a prescription bottle and took a tablet. He poured water into the coffeemaker, grabbed the can of grounds from the second shelf, added three scoops to the paper filter. Their three-tone brown mugs sat in their spot next to the machine, waiting to be filled.

When the glass coffeepot was half full, Y/N emerged from the bathroom, chuckling to herself. She opened the breadbox on the opposite counter and took out a wax paper bag. "Do you have any idea how dull this morning would have been if we'd never met? I'd have read the Sunday paper, had a drink. Probably worked on a file." He handed her a couple dessert plates, watched her put a donut on each one. "I wonder where you'd be. What woman you'd have breakfast with, what jokes you'd be writing, what magic tricks you'd have learned."

"Um..." At first he wanted to ask where this speculation had come from, if Matt had let her in on exactly what he'd said. But the confident slant of her smirk told Arthur she was teasing. He tried to play along but winced. No matter how appealing, how extraordinary she found him, his gut told him there wouldn't have been another woman. There'd be no more stand-up routines, no more Carnival. He certainly wouldn't be taking care of Penny. He'd likely be locked up in the hospital, maybe even dead. Without an anchor, his life would have lost what little sense it had.

Y/N was one of his anchors now, hooked into the sand alongside his material, treatment, the ability to pay bills. He seized her hand and squeezed it tight, unaware he was squishing her fingers. "I don't wanna think about it," he said quietly.

She sidled up to him and pulled him to her side. Rubbed his flank soothingly and pecked the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry." She took his chin and guided him to look at her. The intimate comfort of her smile helped him believe her next words, even before she spoke them. "I'll always be here."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @octopus-plasma @tsukiakarinobara @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @fakestreet​ @ralugraphics​​ @iartsometimes​

[sidespart]

For the fake fic title, if you're still doing it: Why do you hate me? (I honestly don't know where I came up with this lol)

X-Men AU!!! Found Family + Anxceit friendship. TW: child soldiers, child endangerment, abuse etc

(So typical X-men universe set up: some people are born with the X gene, which typically triggers during puberty, giving that person a mutation which normally results in cool powers. Many people hate mutants for their differences (/ bad press of people using their mutant powers for the evilz) and so most mutants live in hiding. The Xavier Institute is a school set up by an extremely powerful mutant which seeks to provide a safe space for young mutants to learn to manage their powers, get a regular education and hopes to see peace between humanity and mutant kind. The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants is a group of mutants who believe humans will never let mutant live in peace and do various anti-human, pro-mutant vaguely terrorist-y actions (there’s like a billion version of the x-men and these details may not be correct for all the versions all of the time because comics but this is the vague idea))

ANYWAY PLOT - Containment breach at the Super Secret Child Soldier Lab (SSCSL) - Subject VII has escaped. Subject VII is only 6-7 years old but his mutations were artificially triggered much younger than is normal. He can warp reality and create very sophisticated illusions, but has very limited control over his powers.

Cut too - Virgil and Dee, a couple of teenage mutants living on the street. They find a little boy with a buzzcut wandering around The Bad Part Of Town and Virgil immediately decides they need to adopt/help him (Dee makes more of a fuss about how this is not their responsibility and the kids barely even talking and do you know how hard I work just to keep you and now you wanna add another mouth to feed?? Huhh?? but obviously does not actually say no) (Dee is like. Barely any older than Virgil he’s just dramatic). 

Naturally, just as the three of them have had time to bond, the SSCSL and other assorted bad guys show up to try and take VII back. There’s a big fight, Virgil and Dee have a lot more experience with flight and would probably have ended up dead if the X-men (Patton and Logan) hadn't shown up to save them. 

But they lose VII.

Patton and Logan take them back to the Xavier institute to recuperate and offer to let them stay. They can go to school there, get some training and help the X-men track down VII and the whole SSCSL. Virgil says yes, Dee says no.

(So, reasoning - Virgil's mutation developed when he was 12. It was not pleasant. Various students at his school were injured and the media set up a which hunt for the mutant that caused the chaos. Virgil ran away from home because he was worried about the backlash on his family and about hurting anyone else again. So to him, this school full of mutants who can help him control his power, can offer him stability and a return to normal structures and routines, who are promising to help him get in contact with his parents if and when he’s ready?? This is like every fantasy he’s ever had come true

Unlike the other characters, Dee’s primary mutation is physical. He was born with it, its very obvious and its resulted in him being rejected for most of his life. He bounced around increasingly disturbing foster homes before running away when he was very young, so most of his memories are of living on the streets and surviving on his own. So, to him, number one: all adults are inherently untrustworthy idiots and number two: stay at a school? where they expect him to have a curfew? and, what - write essays? follow all their random arbitrary rules? rely on them for food and heat and all that shit? Completely ludicrous.)

It doesn't occur to either of them that the other one isn't going to agree with them. The resulting argument is epic and cruel, both hurling accusations at the other (Ungrateful /controlling are two of the big ones..) and both basically feeling hateful and 100% betrayed. Dee leaves and although they look for him, he’s got a lifetime experience of hiding and they cant find him.

CUT TO - 5 years later. Virgil is a (semi) well adjusted 19 year old junior X-men. He’s still a bit withdrawn, but is very close with Patton and Logan. He’s still holding out hope of finding VII one day and still firmly pretending he’s not listing out for any possible news of Dee (there were rumours some years ago of him joining the brother hood of evil mutants but then it all went quiet) who he, of course, hates for his betrayal. 

BUT THEN - mysterious knocking at the door in the night. Dee, now wearing a hat and cape and calling himself Janus, has returned. And he’s brought with him a little boy with a buzzcut and a tattoo of XXII on his foot.

Janus and Virgil need to put aside their resentment and work together to help XXII, who really does not seem interested in helping them, and hopefully use any clues he can give them about the SSCSL to track down VII. But that's difficult when they’re both still struggling with their own trauma and have no idea how to reconnect - both of them want to ask why do you hate me but are a bit too scared of the answer. ...

This already got way to long so mutant power/ extra back story descriptions under cut!

Patton - 22/27 years old. An extremely powerful telepath/empath. It takes him serious concentration and focus to not hear peoples thoughts and its almost impossible to not feel their feelings. Some people dislike him because of this as they feel he's spying on them. Grew up in the Xavier institute and 100% believes in and is committed to the future where humans and mutants live in harmony. Has pretty limited life experience in the real world. Sometimes floats. (inspired by professor X)

Logan - 21/26 years old. Fires destructive laser beams from his eyes. Was in a car accident when he was younger leaving him with permanent but apparently harmless brain damage - until his mutation developed and he slowly realised that no matter how much he trained he just couldn't control his power. Has to wear specialised eye guards at all times to keep himself from accidentally destroying everything around him. Had big plans to go to university and was angry at his mutation for a long time for getting in the way of that. Eventually enrolled online and is now a very dedicated teacher at the Institute. (inspired by cyclops) 

Janus - 15(?) / 20(?) His primary mutation is  lizard/snake like scales over most of his body, but especially the left side. Has oversized fangs, and yellow eye and a short lizard tail. His secondary mutation makes him immune to almost any sort of mental based mutation (so Logan could still knock him on his ass with his lasers, but Patton cant sense anything form him and Virgil cant whammy him). Spent a lot of his life on his own and got by being sneaky, cunning and charming. Initially took Virgil in because he saw that his powers could be useful for keeping them both safe, but eventually Virgil became his first real friend.

Virgil - 14/19. Shadow manipulation and ‘draining’. Virgil can make himself (and with practice, people he touches) literally disappear into the shadows. He can also direct shadows as powerful energy ‘blasts’, but in order to do so he has to drain any surrounding living things of their energy. When his mutation first developed  he took out half of the school hall where his exam was being held, leaving 15 students in a coma. (inspired by rouge/shadow cat)

VII - 6? / 11? Reality warping/illusion powers. One of the institutes first successful subjects. He was able to escape by changing the wall of his cell into a door. He finds it hard to talk but can project his ideas as lifelike illusions who can talk for him. One of his best is the image a handsome grown up Prince and he will often use this Illusion as an avatar to communicate. When he was 6 he did have some hazy memories of outside the SSCSL and expressed a desire to go home. Current status is unknown. 

XXI - 7.  Illusion powers  (reality warping has been removed from the program by his time as subjects proved too difficult to control). Has no memories of outside the institute and is extremely uncooperative with his new captors/guardians. He does not understand the affection they’re trying to show him and lashes out a lot, often by creating a lot of extremely disturbing and graphic illusions. Bites. 

[im-whatchamccallit]

Next Step//Jung Chanwoo (iKon)

Request: can u write something where Chanwoo (iKON) and his s/o are having se* and the rest of the members barge in expecting Chanwoo to be playing his games or something. Ty

Pairing: Jung Chanwoo x Genderneutral!Reader

Genre: Smut, Established relationship

Warnings: Unprotected sex/creampie, being caught

Words:3.6k

(A/N: I need to get better at making descriptive genderneutral smuts... One day.)

This day was like any other; you come over after Chanwoo invited you, the boys all crowd around you making comments that infantilized you in their attempt to maintain the sweet and innocent persona you presented the night you met them, Chanwoo presses a soft kiss to your forehead before leading you to the sofa in their living room to snuggle against him, and you jokingly say you thought only three of them lived in that home prompting a series of laughter before diverting your attention back to some movie playing on the television. Every week that you came over it was like this, and it was starting to bother you.

You and Chanwoo were approaching your eighth month as a couple and you were hoping things would progress further. Your indoor dates were becoming constants, always at his home or your apartment but you tried not to mind it, knowing he preferred a more private relationship and you’ve happily accepted that, so a night in wasn’t too big of a deal. But it was when, after spending hours alone in a compact space for days at a time, he still wasn’t catching on that you just wanted to fuck. Sure, you could be one of those couples that waited until your wedding night to do the deed, sticking to cuddling and hand holding for the time being, but you were filled with pent-up sexual frustration and you knew he was too, those small kisses becoming more passionate and needy whenever he returned from practice or promotions, the small whimpers he let out when he had to will himself to take things slow, they were clear signs. You wanted him to make the first move, to know for certain you weren’t the only one ready, but it never happened, and you were afraid it’d never come. Until tonight, when a miracle occurred.

“We’re going to that Italian place we tried last week.” Donghyuk stated, dragging you from your daydreams to see the six men pulling on their coats and shoes.

“What? That place is like a 40 minute drive away.” Chanwoo said, arm still wrapped tightly around you as he adjusted himself to sit up straight, your head not leaving his chest.

“I know, but Junhoe kept mentioning it and now we’re all craving it.” Jinhwan said with a sigh, kinda annoyed he has to travel so far just for a bowl of Cacciucco.

“Well, have fun, I guess. We’ll just starve until you come back.” Chanwoo said sarcastically, a soft giggle slipping past you lips as you tried to hide it.

“Shut up, we’re bring you something back. You want anything specific, (Y/n/n)?” Bobby asked, everyone’s eyes suddenly on you as you tried to think, not really caring about food but the heat rising through your body in excitement and anticipation once you realized they’ll be gone for over an hour, wanting nothing more than for them to leave that very second.

“Spaghetti. Regular spaghetti is fine.” You said, giving another bright smile they couldn’t help but coo at.

It didn’t take long for the six men to file out, your eyes watching them closely until the door shut behind, and a sigh of relief leaving your body. You had a golden opportunity right now, to make the first move and take the next step you’ve been itching for. You weren’t nervous or even scared, just ready to make every dream you had of him inside of you come true.

“Channie,” You said cutely, biting down on your bottom lip to gain his attention, his eyes meeting yours and filled with a small glint of curiosity at the sudden distraction. You were usually quiet during movies until he made a comment you’d respond to, so it was a bit odd for you to initiate conversation first this time.

“Do you want to have sex?”

The question caught both of you off guard. You wanted to be direct but the statement felt so strange coming from you, and Chanwoo felt the same. You never talked about sex or made suggestive jokes or comments, so he knew you were being sincere, his only reaction to ask ‘What?’, prompting a scoff to leave you as you practically tore yourself from his arms.

“For the last month and a half, our dates have been at home. We cuddle, watch movies, maybe eat, but that’s all and, you know I don’t mind it, I just got tired of the same thing every time but I started thinking that maybe being inside isn’t so bad. Maybe we can take another step in our relationship and explore the sexual side of it instead of just holding hands and kissing. But, y-you act like you don’t want to, and I don’t want to force you to so, I just want to know if I should stop worrying about it or if you’re ready too.”

The confession was a bit rushed and sloppy, even with all the time you’ve spent mulling over how badly you wanted this, but it was enough to get your point across. Chanwoo couldn’t even look you in the eye, trying to form his own thoughts even as he spent just as long thinking about this. He wanted this, he wanted you, he wanted to take that next step and bring back that spark to your relationship that he could only faintly remember. But your relationship was otherwise perfect, and the thought that an unexpected change could probably drive you away scared him.

“Woo,” You called to him, finally regaining his attention, giving a sad smile as your hand reached to cup his neck, easing your fingers up and into his hair until his face fell into a relaxed state and you couldn’t help by giggle a bit.

“What if you don’t like having sex with me and we break up?” He mumbled, eyes shut to enjoy the scalp massage you gave.

“Chanwoo, I questioned our relationship when you randomly suggested we stop going on dates in public so much. I also questioned our relationship when you let our team die in Apex because you’re a terrible healer,”

“It was my first time being healer, stop bringing that up!” You laughed out loud this time, his eyes opening to see your smile, still as bright and angelic as ever.

“Just think of sex like Apex; you were able to learn how to be a great healer so, if our first time isn’t that great, we can just keep practicing until you’re the best.” Your voice was a bit lower, eyes glazed over and body inching closer to his, his unconsciously doing the same.

“So what if I don’t like anything you do?” He challenged, suddenly more bold now that the situation turned for the better, the tension building around you more pleasant than unbearable, almost enticing you to continue.

You said no words as you moved away from him, his eyes watching your every move like a predator to its prey, except you were both predators, feral and ready to pounce for dominance at any moment, and this was your opportunity to strike.

You were always such an angel, always so sweet and perfect without a flaw, and somehow that statement remained, even with you sat between Chanwoo’s legs, undoing his pants with ease and pulling them down just enough (with his help of course) to release his semi-erect member. Your hands felt so soft on his thighs and your tongue moving effortlessly along the underside of his shaft, dragging up to the tip where you flicked your tongue teasingly, not breaking eye contact with the man above you. Chanwoo tried not show how much you affected him, but he couldn’t stop his underlying desires from taking over, a desperate hand moving to your hair as you took the tip into your mouth, humming playfully at his silent pleas.

You could taste the saltiness of his precum on your tongue, a pulse running to your sex at the various thoughts of him. What positions he’d have you in, how his girthy length will feel once he was inside of you stretching you out, how far you can take him into your mouth as he release his load. That last thought was enough to end your teasing, head falling further down his cock until he was at the back of your throat, not wasting time bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks so your warm cavern massaged his dick. Maybe it was your oral sex skills or just the build-up of holding back for months, but Chanwoo felt like he was going to explode, body hot as he swallowed every moan and groan threatening to spill from his lips, fingers curling inside of your locks to keep you there, your hands on his thighs the only thing keeping him from thrusting further into your mouth, although it didn’t seem possible. You were taking him so well, using your tongue to swipe along his balls whenever you were down far enough, a pathetic whine breaking the silence formed around you, causing you to notice the movie had been paused all along, but you thought the way Chanwoo tried to keep his eyes open to watch your movements, lips parted in pleasure while letting you hear how good you made him feel was much better than any film you’ve seen.

“(Y/n/n), I’m-“ He sighed as you pulled back, hand slowly relaxing in your hair as he managed to gaze down at you, that same innocent look in your eyes as when you first arrived.

He wanted to stop you when you began to stand, moving away from him and heading towards the halls and bedrooms.

“You coming?” You called, grinning once you heard him rush from the sofa, your feet excitedly carrying you to his bedroom. It was finally happening.

You entered Chanwoo’s room first, eyes scanning to take in the interior. His television was on with a random Twitch stream still playing despite him being in the living room for most of the day, his bed was cleared yet there were various items of clothing strewn about, leaving you to wonder if you’ll be able to find yours once you both were done.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a pair of arms wrapping around your waist, lips eagerly lapping at your neck with large hands impatiently worming up your shirt. Sex was always about taking things slow, learning each other’s bodies and creating your own dance that no one else could understand but you two. But you didn’t want to take things slow, you wanted to Tango instead of Waltz, to have a taste of the best dish in the world before learning to make it. You just wanted him.

“Chanwoo, stop teasing.” You breathed out, hands trying to capture his as one began to undo your pants, the other toying with your nipple and making your chest heave in desire.

“After what you pulled,” You bit back a moan at the feeling of his hard-on pressing against your butt, eyes fluttering in his direction in an attempt to see him and the devilish smirk growing on your flesh.

“I think you can wait. Now, I need your clothes off. Now.”His voice was chilling, dominating and unsparing, an obedience you never knew existed inside of you emerging and making you follow his commands.

You listened carefully to his footsteps as he marched past you, giving you space to undress and time for you to predict his next move. You were kicking away your pants by the time he reached his nightstand, pulling out a small clear bottle of lube. You immediately perked up when he faced you, not bothering to hide your excitement while climbing onto his bed, eyes hooded with lust and hunger swirling through your irises. He was silent as he worked, squirting a stream of the clear water-based gel onto his middle and forefinger as he approached the bed. He didn’t care how messy it was, watching it drip onto both the carpeted floor and his palm but coating his fingers the way he needed before kneeling between your spread legs. Your face followed his as he leaned in to you, desperately catching his lips in a sloppy kiss, tongues and teeth clashing with one another. Your head was spinning, the air was stuffy and hot around you as you moaned into Chanwoo’s mouth, hips bucking desperately once you felt his slick fingers tracing along your hole, your body begging him to keep going and, by some miracle, he didn’t tease you too long, slipping inside of you slowly as he stretched out the somewhat virginal opening.

“Chan-“ The pathetic whimper you let out fueled him, his lips moving down to your neck as he began to thrust his digits in and out of you, not wanting to drown your sounds of pleasure any longer.

You weren’t a virgin, yet after eight months of not having sex with Chanwoo, and seven months prior to meeting him of not having sex with anyone, you felt like you were. The way you panted out whines while rolling your lower half into his hand in a haphazardly manner whereas he was curling and twisting inside of you with ease, as if he’s known your body forever, made you realize he had a lot more experience than you initially thought, maybe a lot more than you. And you loved it.

Your eyes were threatening to shut at the various sensations, a burning inside of you from the mixed feelings of his fingertips penetrating the almost hidden spot within you and his lips traveling down your body, but you didn’t want to miss the way his mouth immediately latched onto your sex, a stuttered moan echoing through the somewhat spacious room as his tongue worked against you. You couldn’t believe Chanwoo thought you’d leave him for being bad in bed, and he couldn’t believe he thought your relationship was perfect by staying at first base and that you’d leave if he took anything further, yet here you were; Chanwoo making the coil in your stomach tighten while he watched your eyes roll to the back of your head and his mouth working wonders on you. Taking this next step in your relationship was the best decision of both your lives.

“S-slow down. I’m cl- Ah!” Your legs were twitching, desperate to wrap around his head and pull him close yet your hand remained threaded in his hair, able to pull him away at any second but instead allowing him to ravage you.

You didn’t want to cum yet, you wanted to watch his face contort in pleasure as you fucked him the way you always wanted, yet you could feel the pressure in your body building, limbs tensing and convulsing as your nails clawed at his scalp, hips rolling as high-pitched warnings of your undoing left your lips, Chanwoo watching you closely as you finally released, back arching and body practically frozen as his mouth continued to ride you through your high as he swallowed your juices, mouth and fingers slowly pulling away from you as your labored breathes filled his ears.

“You okay, baby?” He asked lowly, bringing his body up until your faces were aligned again.

Your eyes peeled open, your vision crossed before you could make out his face, a bit of your essence on the corner of his lips as he smiled down at you. You leaned forward, kissing him to suck away the residue, moaning at how sweet you tasted in his mouth and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Do you think you can keep going?” He asked, certain you’d tell him now based on the fucked out expression you had, but the way your hands pulled at his shirt and tossing it away proved him wrong, his hands moving fast to get rid of his pants and boxers as his mouth eagerly found yours again.

At this point, it wasn’t about teasing or taking things slow to see how well your bodies meshed together, it was all about instinct, and Chanwoo couldn’t ignore his any longer. He was glad that you both were on the same page as he slipped his member into your lube-filled hole, a simultaneous sigh of pleasure escaping you both as he bottomed out inside of you. He didn’t hesitate to start moving, grabbing onto your thighs to hoist them around his waist as his hips moved flush against yours. His pace wasn’t too fast but it was impactful, your body shifting along the mattress with each stroke and bouncing as he reached deeper. Your moans were breathy and gentle, only encouraging your boyfriend to pull back just enough to reposition your legs on his shoulder, his pace now faster.

He loved seeing you like this, eyes half-lidded and lips parted until you sank your teeth into them to keep from crying out any louder but to no avail, he even noticed your hand going to your groin to massage your sex, a desperate attempt to bring you to another orgasm. It was amusing to think his perfect angel was a touch starved nympho just begging to cum over and over again.

“Cute.” He cooed teasingly, smirking down at you as your eyes met, desperation and exhaustion filling your gaze.

“You were begging me to fuck you earlier, now you can’t even speak. C’mon, (Y/n/n), tell me how good you feel.” You wanted to roll your eyes at his usual juvenile behavior, but you’d be lying if you said his backhanded degradation wasn’t a turn on.

Chanwoo reached forward to cup your warm cheek, thumb brushing over your plump lips as his movements still haven’t let up.

“You’re speechless now, aren’t you?”                                                                                                

“S-shut up.” You managed to stammer out, a faint yelp leaving you as he came an abrupt stop, hips pressed to yours and cock deep inside the walls of your tight hole.

“If you can still talk, that means I’m not doing a good job.” His voice held a tone that you couldn’t quite describe yet you knew it was trouble, you were even more worried when he leaned forward until your knees were just by your face.

You didn’t have time to process his motives until his hips began moving again, this time at a more brutal pace that made your breath hitch and eyes widen, the same moans you let out before increasing in volume and coming out sporadically, his hips barely leaving yours with each thrust causing the room to fill with the echoes of skin connecting with skin. Your hand left from between your bodies as his abdomen pressed to yours, the friction against your sex more effective than your own hand and every part of your body aching for more, Chanwoo groaning at the way your hole clenched around his member. You couldn’t think straight, wanting to tell him to slow down yet needing him to go faster, wanting him to go deeper yet feeling pain with each stretch of his dick, vision blurry and the Twitch stream you had once forgotten somehow louder while your moans faded into nothingness. Both your breathing was rough, his eyes fixed on your figure and the way it fit beneath him. He waited so long to have you here, wanting this moment to last forever, but the way your head lulled against the mattress, hips eagerly rolling against his as sob-like moans escaped your throat along with his name, he knew he wouldn’t last, already feeling his member twitch inside of you and he could feel you were close to.

“Where?” He asked hurriedly, not bothering to explain as you swallowed hard, trying to find your voice.

“I-inside. Please.” Your voice was simply a whisper at that point but he heard you loud and clear, giving a few more thrust and ready to release into you until-

“Hey, did (Y/n) leave already? We got them their spaghet-“ Hanbin froze at the scene before him, his groupmates not far behind and catching an eyeful of their maknae in such a vulnerable state.

Chanwoo was red faced, eyes squeezing shut and head low as he felt himself release into you involuntarily, your eyes shut as whimpers left your mouth at the feeling of your own orgasm, throat aching from your previous moans, not noticing the group of men staring at the state of you two in the doorway.

“T-the door was open and it sounded like you were playing ‘For Honor’ so we figured we didn’t have to-“

“Just leave. Please.” Chanwoo said hurriedly, your eyes opening to see twelve familiar ones staring down at you, your mouth opening for you to scream but all you could muster was a mortified gasp.

“I’ll just leave this here for you.” He said meekly while placing the bag of food on the floor, shutting the bedroom door without another word as they all felt as awkward as you did.

You weren’t sure if it was the fact they saw you naked, or the fact they potentially witnessed you being fucked, or the fact you weren’t smart enough to close the door for privacy, or the fact they may or may not have watched you have an orgasm while simultaneously being filled with cum, but you were embarrassed. And, from the way Chanwoo tried to avoid your gaze, you could tell he was as well.

“So, you hungry?” He said shyly, your eyes wide in disbelief as he nonchalantly tried to move on, pulling out of you and making his way to the bag lying by his door.

You didn’t think you could move on so easily from a moment like this, the fear of walking out that door and facing any of them gnawing away at you as your once pure reputation with them was now destroyed but, the way Chanwoo approached you with a to-go box of spaghetti and his own of chicken parmesan, stomach rumbling in hunger, you couldn’t deny that for the moment you didn’t mind eating.

[dionnaea]

Revelations | Pieck x Reader

pairing: pieck finger x gn!reader

warnings: cursing, some yelling, ends in fluff 

wc: 1.8k

a/n: sorry that this is a couple days late! midterms wore me out, and i didn’t feel like looking at a word document for a day or two. hope you enjoy it nonetheless! let me know what you think :)

request: Hi can I request a pieck x male reader (or gender neutral if your more comfortable with that) maybe the reader is a scout that was captured after the attack and she is in charge of watching them maybe they slowly warm up to each other after reader reveals the horrors they’ve gone through with the Titans during an argument with pieck and eventually they start a relationship?  

attack on titan masterlist | general masterlist

Yes, you had met some annoying scouts during your training, but you had never met anyone as annoying as the Marleyan soldier that was sent to guard your cells. He spent most of his time either throwing schoolyard insults your way or trying to flirt with every captive. It was ridiculous, and you were getting more than tired of listening to his squeaky, borderline pre-pubescent voice flood the stone-lined hallway. His break times had turned into a safe haven of sorts for you and your comrades, but as the thirty minutes creeped by, you became more and more antsy. 

Today, however, seemed to be different as a woman walked in a little while after the regular guard left. She had walked by all of the cells, taking subtle glances inside each one, before having a seat near your end of the row. In fact, she was a mere five feet away from the bars of your current habitat, and you took the chance to study her. 

The first thing you noticed was the red band clasped securely around her left arm, denoting her Warrior status. It shone like a beacon or a warning, you couldn’t decide which. Still, why would a Warrior be sent to watch over some captured scouts? And where had the other man gone? Not that you minded his absence. The curiosity started to eat away at you, and you figured there was no harm in asking. 

“Hey,” you started. You were taken aback when you realized that she was already looking at you, like she knew exactly what you were going to say. 

“He was moved to another post,” she answered your unspoken question. “I’m here in the interim.” 

“Ah,” you responded. 

Her voice was a bit too soft for your liking; it was unbecoming of a killer, you thought with spite. You didn’t like her being here. A regular, annoying Marleyan soldier was one thing, but a Warrior? It was like a stab straight to every scout’s heart. Your chest started to feel a bit hotter as your anger towards her grew. You hadn’t been there when she delivered the boulders to the Beast Titan to decimate your comrades, but you had heard the tale, a horror story only told late at night. As if she had the right to exist in the same building, on the same continent even as the predecessors of those she had killed. 

You scoffed out loud, and the Warrior turned to face you, furrowing her eyebrows as if she were actually concerned. You glared in response. It was stupid, you thought, that she was allowed to have a face like that, the face of an angel, and still act like a devil. 

The day passed, her sitting idly by while you did your best to play a card game in your head. You tried to picture all of the cards and their suits and numbers, placing them on the imaginary table you had set up on the floor of your cell. It wasn’t going well, you kept losing, as you kept getting distracted by the feeling of the Warrior’s gaze burning into the back of your skull. It was almost as annoying as the squeaks of the original guard, and you felt a sense of pure relief as soon as she left for the night and another guard took her place. 

To your discontent, she returned the next day, too, and the next. By the third day, your blood was boiling. Even though you were always turned away from her, you could feel her eyes on you most of the time. It was pissing you off, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. 

“What the hell?!” You questioned as you whipped around, not surprised to find her dark eyes piercing into yours. Hers were wide in confusion, and that made you even more mad. “What’s so interesting about the back of my head, huh? You busy picturing what it would look like with a bullet in it or something?” It was a harsh statement, you knew, but you also believed she deserved it. 

She shook her head quickly and with so much force that her crutch started to slide from where it was balanced against her chair. She swiftly reached out to catch it, holding onto it with both hands instead of propping it back up. 

“N-no. I just…” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “I just was trying to figure out what you were doing.” 

You scowled. “What I was doing?” You repeated incredulously. “I’m wasting away in a jail cell, that’s what I’m doing!” You stood up in a flash, pressing your body against the bars and grabbing onto them until your knuckles were white. “I’m stuck here because of you, you know!” 

She shook her head again, denying your statement. “No, you’re here because you killed my people.” 

“Well, you killed mine!” You shouted back. Your voice lowered as you spoke again, grief flowing through you. “Thousands, millions even. You slaughtered them all without a thought for their families, and children, and friends. You destroyed our home without regrets, without us doing a damn thing to you, so stop complaining that we destroyed yours.” 

The woman was quiet now, her head bowed and hair covering her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and that pissed you off more. You started to go off again, but she stopped you with her next words. “Tell me. Tell me what we did to you. I want to know everything.” 

When she looked up, there was an honesty and sadness in her eyes that you never would’ve expected to see. It shook you, and for a second, you saw a normal human being rather than a Warrior. Somehow that look calmed you, and you became willing to tell the stories of you and so many others, both dead and alive. 

You learned her name was Pieck, and the two of you talked for hours. You described the horrors of life under the threat of Titans, you told of the atrocities that occurred on the battlefield, you explained to her the loss and grief and overwhelming depression that came with the life every scout and citizen of Paradis was being forced to live. 

And to your stupefaction, she listened to every word quietly, nodding her head to signal that she was taking in the information. She didn’t try to sympathize or compare experiences, she just sat and let you talk, letting herself realize her own sins. Once you were silent, you could tell she understood, at least as much as an outsider could. She didn’t need to apologize for you could see in her face that she had plenty of regrets, and Pieck was well aware that an apology would mean practically nothing. It was atonement that she sought now, and Pieck figured a good place to start would be with you. 

From that day on, you grew closer with the woman. You never shared mindless conversations, but instead always talked of the past and of your experiences. You heard stories of her Warrior training and realized the brainwashing that the Eldians living on Marley had been put under from birth. A part of you was proud to see that Pieck had overcome it in a sense, happy to realize that peace was truly possible if constructive conversations could be had. It was promising, and slowly but surely, talking to Pieck became the highlight of your day, something you looked forward to as she made you forget about your lonely little cell. 

Weeks had passed, and then one night changed everything. 

You were struggling to sleep, the thin sheet you were given was not enough to protect you from the cold and the hard bed was giving you a pounding headache. The only comfort you had was the knowledge that you could see Pieck again in a few hours once the sun came up. The hallway was silent other than the occasional moments when the night watchman got up to use the restroom. He sat on the other end of the hall from you, and you were thankful that he couldn’t see into your cell from where he was stationed. 

The next time he got up, he didn’t come back for quite a while, and you started to wonder if something had happened to him. Were the scouts finally coming to rescue you? Your heart began to pound harder as you heard the door to the hall creak open and keys jingle. You cracked your eyes open to see who was here only to be met with the sight of Pieck standing outside your enclosure, fiddling with the keys before sliding one into your door’s lock. 

You sat up quickly, tossing the sheet off of you and standing to meet her against the bars. Keeping your voice as low as possible, you whispered, “Pieck! What’re you doing?”

She whispered back, pushing your door open and holding out a pile of clothes to you. “Put these on. I want to take you somewhere.” 

You obliged quickly, not questioning the possibility that you could escape somehow. Was she helping you to leave? But how would you get back to Paradis? Options were running through your head at lightspeed as you slipped on the long sleeve shirt and jacket. She guided you down the hallway after you were dressed, careful not to wake anyone or stir suspicion. You barely recognized the building as you walked through it as it had been months since you had last seen anything other than stone walls and metal bars. When Pieck pushed the backdoor open and let you wander back into nature, the breath was stolen from your lungs. 

It was cold outside, but in a different way than your cell. The air was refreshing rather than stale and the wind was pleasant, not a musty draft. You could smell the light scent of flowers in the air, and you wondered exactly where it was coming from, suddenly craving the feeling of petals on your fingertips. Pieck seemed to understand your thoughts as she led you to a small garden on the other side of the pathway. Upon seeing the dainty plants, you rushed over to them, brushing your fingers over the colors and savoring the different textures. 

As you straightened back up, Pieck took your hand gently. You felt a bit embarrassed with how dry yours were, hers as silky smooth as the petals you had just caressed, and you apologized quickly and quietly. Laughing softly, Pieck just tightened her grasp, assuring you there was nothing to worry about by how she pulled you closer. Her being this close was intoxicating, and you felt yourself melt into her, peace washing over you in waves. For some reason, all of this felt new to you, like you were starting over in the world with Pieck, and you were perfectly content to stand here beside her.

It wasn’t until later, when you were back and locked securely into your cell, that you realized you didn’t mind staying a bit longer on Marley as long as Pieck was here, too.

[crystxlclear]

sudden desire

chapter six: previously on: chaotic stupid

part seven of sudden desire

prologue / one / two / three / four / five / masterlist

in which two best friends won’t admit they’re in love so decide to have a baby together instead.

pairing: marcus pike x original female character (coraline meyer)

word count: 8.2k (oh yikes)

warnings: no beta read, brief mentions of pregnancy i guess?

author’s note: this took me weeks to write oh my god

Coraline hasn’t told anyone about Marcus’ offer. Not even Loren, when they’d met for the first time in months, when her boyfriend finally got a night off work to look after Maisie. Not even when they’d drunk too much wine and her head was so fuzzy that she probably would have told anyone anything, if they’d asked. She’s not even sure where she’d start. 

Coraline has never been the best at keeping secrets. At least, not her own, and definitely not when she was younger, and she’s always wondering whether that’s why the media seem to think she’s easy prey for their rumours. It never seemed to bother Scott; he was the same, so open and willing to talk about anything and everything with anyone who asked. But it’s different with Marcus. He’s private by necessity but he’s also private by choice, too. She wonders if he’s always been like that, if before the heartbreak he’d told her about occurred, if he’d opened up to people. If what had happened to him had made him closed off. He’s never seemed like a closed book before (and, hell, maybe he isn’t, maybe he just doesn’t want to relive those times; and he doesn’t have to tell her anything, anyway) but he’d opened up to her after he’d made his ‘baby suggestion’. And all she can think of now, since he’d recounted the stories, was that those women - the ex-wife who’d claimed he was too ‘nice’, who’d claimed he was too ‘clingy’ and ‘needy’, and all that utter bullshit, and the one who’d left him for another man, left him alone in D.C. without a single person to lean on - must be completely insane to think that he isn’t good enough for them. Marcus Pike is too good for anyone, she thinks. He’s the best person she knows. Marcus Pike makes Coraline want to be a better person. They didn’t end up ordering takeout that night, like they always did. Coraline had found herself reaching to the back of her cupboards, searching blindly for some ingredients she wasn’t even sure she had, just for him. Marcus loves breakfast. Like, he really loves it, she’s come to find. And at any time of the day, really. And there’s a diner he frequents; it’s near his office, on the other side of town, tucked away just out of Cora’s reach. Though, he has taken her there once before - just after they first met, when she’d tagged along with her older brother to the FBI debriefing, to check his gallery was secure; she’d thought it was a date, until he’d prefaced his offer with an insistence that it was ‘just as friends’; Marcus had spent the whole time raving about the pancakes he ate every Friday — a treat for a long week’s worth and a change from his usual burger and fries — how he’d found the place by accident and it was part of his daily routine, now, until Coraline had given in and let him order for her, since he knew the place better than she did - most of the time, they see each other when it’s late, when he’s already been for his almost daily pancake-fix and she’s collapsed to the sofa with her legs draped over the armrest. They haven’t been back since, though she’d jump at the chance if he ever asked again. Coraline may be a pretty awful cook, and she may not be able to make pancakes as good as the ones he likes, but surely it’s just the sentiment that counts. He’s spent far too many evenings eating greasy Chinese food at her behest, insisting that he’s fine with it, because it makes her feel better. It’s the least she could do. She’d spent an hour making perhaps the world’s worst pancakes - even as Marcus insisted that she didn’t have to cook for him, that they could just order pizza or something if they wanted a change - pancakes so bad that she’d had to drench the damn things in syrup just to disguise the odd sour taste that somehow tinged every mouthful. Marcus had eaten it without issue, even as she’d apologised endlessly for her dreadful culinary skills and insisted that he didn’t have to eat them if he didn’t like them. They’d made him smile, though. And it melted away the last dregs of awkwardness between them. That was the pancakes’ purpose. It didn’t matter that they were utterly terrible, borderline inedible and a little lumpy. 

But, when Monday rolls around and her older brother, Daniel, comes to her with his regular insistence that she brings that ‘nice FBI agent she’d made friends with’ to their weekly dinner at his house, she took him up on the offer, for a change. She’s never asked because she’s always assumed he would say no; they weren’t dating and it was a little weird. Surely an invite to weekly family dinners was something couples did.

She always ignores Daniel, used to the persistent insistence to ask him. Relenting — finally — comes with the sense that she feels as if she owes him now, though. To make it up for her dreadful pancakes with Daniel’s wife’s cooking, which was always amazing. To make up for the week of unforgivable ignorance. To help them move past the ill-thought-out offer of a baby. She’s sure he’ll still say no, when she calls him on his lunch break, when she knows he’ll be sat at the counter in that same diner, enjoying that brief moment of time away from paperwork. Their lunch breaks line up, those rare and all-too-rare moments when they have time to relax, the tension in their shoulders owed entirely to their morning workloads melting away at the soft sounds of the other’s voice. 

His voice is pleasant, like it always is; Marcus Pike’s voice is like serenity to her, all gentle and familiar, and, this time, he sounds amused when he answers the phone. “Well, this is a nice surprise.” His voice crackles through the phone. The reception in the diner is terrible - it’s the only thing he ever seems to complain about - but she can still make out the sound of the smile in his voice. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Marcus.” Coraline hums, shoving the last of her laundry into the washing machine, her phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear. “I’m calling with an invitation.”

“An invitation?” He ponders, musing over the idea. “To one of those glamorous celebrity parties you’re always telling me about?”

She scoffs. “Oh, you wish, Pike. It’s an invite to my brother’s for dinner. Incredibly glamorous, I know.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone for a few moments. She almost regrets asking. She does when he replies. “Are you sure?” He questions. “I’m not sure-”

Coraline nods as if he can somehow see her through the phone. “I’m sure,” she insists, “Besides, Daniel and Kimmy want you to come.”

“Coraline, I don’t know-”

“Marcus, don’t make me beg.” She chuckles, but it’s a nervous chuckle. She knew he would say no; that’s why she hasn’t asked him, to avoid this awkward conversation between them when he was uncomfortable and looking for a subtle way to turn her down without hurting her feelings. “Please.”

There’s another pause as he lets out another muffled laugh. His tone is teasing when he speaks again; she can practically see the smirk as he sips his coffee. “And what’s in it for me?”

She bites the inside of her cheek, stifling a giggle. 

She could think of a lot of ways to repay the favour. 

Cora pushes through the onslaught of entirely… inappropriate thoughts, especially to have about your best friend and offers up the most innocent of offerings, though her voice slips to find that low, rumbling register reserved only for the discrete. Mundane words tipped in something intriguing. “I’ll never make you pancakes again.”

“Deal.” He snaps far too quickly through the phone. 

Her mouth falls open. “Marcus,” she gasps, mock offence in her voice. 

There’s silence for a moment. “Sunshine,” Marcus calls out through the static, like he’s sure he’s actually offended her. Like he could ever do that. “I thought your pancakes were great.”

Even a lie sounds like the truth coming from his lips. 

“Damn right they were,” she insists. 

When she lies, even when it’s laced with laughter, it sounds like one. She’s glaringly aware that’s a complete contradiction, given her job.

“Pancakes- real pancakes, diner pancakes- on me for a month.”

“Tempting.”

“...Two months?”

“Fine, fine. If you insist.”

The rush of breath that escapes her in relief is so embarrassingly loud, she’s sure he can hear her. She’s glad he’s not there, watching her, so he can’t see the wide, uncontrollable, entirely tooth-filled grin that splits across her face; she’s sure she looks maniacal, sat in her trailer on set, covered in thick dustings of fake mud from that morning’s scenes. 

She’s never been more thankful for the solitude of a phone call before. 

“I do insist. I’ll pick you up at five.”

Amusement, again, peeks through in his tone. She’s sure he’s eating pancakes — those blueberry pancakes with mountains of ice cream — because they’re the only thing that makes him happy like this, especially on a heavy workday. “In that super-fancy car of yours?”

She’s had her car for twelve-years. But it’s even older than that, fixed up by her father in his garage for what seemed like years. It’s an old run-down black Camaro from the seventies that she’s had since she was sixteen; far too trusty and sentimental to let go of, driving her cross-country from LA to DC without a hitch those six-months ago. It lives in the private parking lot down the street from her apartment complex, tucked away, out of use most days, because the traffic of DC is far too heavy in the mornings and it’s easier to walk or take the Metro instead. Weekly nights spent at Daniel’s on the opposite end of the city gave her an excuse to pull her car from its designated parking space and navigate the busy streets to the comforting hum of the engine.

Coraline knows Marcus loves her car, as much as he jokes about it. It’s evident in the way his face lights up when he sees her sat there, parked down the street outside the FBI headquarters; his smile illuminated by the harsh street lamps overhead, cutting through the darkness alongside the bright nearby office lights and flickering neon signs that cast stained glass shadows on the sidewalk. He’s watching her as she taps her fingers in time to a song she doesn’t recognise on the radio. 

Marcus ducks into the car with a ‘hello’ lingering on his lips and ducks to kiss Coraline’s cheek; it’s a friendly gesture that lingers, not unfamiliar as a display of friendly affection between them, but still swelling that giddy sense of happiness in her chest like it’s the first time. 

“I brought the beer.”

Coraline glances over at him warmly as she starts up the car. The engine rumbles to life, almost sounding unhealthy. She reaches over and squeezes his shoulder a little, fingers falling down his arms. 

Marcus had insisted he bring something; a repayment for dinner, for Daniel and Kimmy inviting him over. She’d insisted he didn’t need to — neither of them would mind; they just wanted to meet the lead in so many of Coraline’s stories, for real this time — but then he’d insisted that he had to, that his mother would never let him live it down if she found out he forgot his manners and turned up without a thank you gift. So she’d told him to bring beer (not wine, definitely not wine, for Daniel’s sanity’s sake). And he’d obliged. 

Not just that cheap beer, either. But the expensive kind, the kind you could only find in certain places if you were looking for it. He’s spared no expense. 

He doesn’t need to impress them, though. They already like him well enough, on the basis of Coraline’s endless stories. 

“Is what I’m wearing okay?” He questions as he smooths his hands over the front of his suit jacket. “I didn’t have time to change.”

He’s still wearing his work clothes — somehow still relatively undisturbed even after hours of the paperwork he’d been half-complaining about to her the night before — yet he still looks great. He’d probably look great in just about anything. Coraline looks entirely underdressed next to him; just blue jeans and a white shirt, and the thin golden pendant her mom had given her the night before her wedding hangs against her chest. She doesn’t wear it much anymore, not since the divorce. But Marcus had seen it the other day, while he was waiting for her to finish getting ready, perusing the expanse of her drawers, intrigued by the jewellery that hung from a stand. He’d said it was beautiful - with the delicately carved bird in the middle, surrounded by flowers - and she found herself reaching for it every morning since. 

She’s not sure why. She just likes to wear it, now.

“You look great.” As always.

He scans what she’s wearing, casual and, as the wheels being their customary groan when she sets the car in reverse. “It’s not too much?” He’s shuffling awkwardly, hands tugging at the lapels of his suit jacket. Is he nervous?

She watches as he moves, shifting slightly in his seat; she’s watching from the corner of her eyes, half her focus on Marcus, the other on pulling out onto the busy road. He’s staring straight ahead, out at the car ahead of them, like the license plate is somehow the most interesting thing in the world right now. His brows are furrowed. The air between them is thick with anticipation and it’s like something has changed; for good or bad, she’s never sure with them anymore, not these past few months, but his hand is gripping his knee and somehow everything seems heavy again. 

He’s met Daniel before, it’s not that. Briefly, sure. But that couldn’t be it. He’s usually so relaxed and laid back, especially around her, never worried about making a joke or goofing off. She doesn’t like seeing him like this.

She reaches over and squeezes his hand; he steadies himself and tilts his head towards her. Her smile is warm and bright and comforting, and the gentle brush of her fingers over the hand that grips his knee relieves the inexplicable anxiety that has strangled him from the moment she’d invited him to dinner. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what it means, what any of it means. Why things are suddenly so different between them after six months of being nothing but friends. 

Why he, for some godforsaken reason, thought suggesting they have a baby together was a good idea.

Did he really want that? 

Either way, he’s pretty sure Coraline doesn’t. Not with him, at least.

Cora hums, eyes dropping to herself and the wrinkled jeans she’d fished out from the back of her wardrobe. “Least you made an effort.”

…

Daniel Meyer is seven years older than Coraline. He’d always been fiercely protective of his younger sister when they were growing up; not in that abrasive, overbearing and destructive way, the way when your life is governed strict and rigid, but Daniel Meyer didn’t take kindly to people hurting his sister. Growing up, he helped her deal with things - the bullying in high school, the heartbreak of her first breakup - so it only seemed fitting that, when she’d moved to D.C., the same place he’d called home with his family for eight years, that he would do the same. That’s how their weekly family dinners were born, from his insistence to help his younger sister settle into her new home, in a new city she barely knew.

For the longest time, Scott Meyer was public enemy number one to him. Sometimes she wonders, now that it’s all over, the divorce is final - now that he’s out of her life for good - if he still is. Or if they’ve really all moved on like she thinks they have.

The second they arrive at his front door, greeted warmly by the smell of pie and a grinning Kimmy, wearing an apron and slightly flustered, looking just as welcoming as always. Her blonde waves - the waves Coraline has always been so jealous of - are pinned up haphazardly out of her face, half-spilling down her back from the clip that tries to hold it in place. 

“Good evening.” Her voice sounds like a song, light and sweet, and her smile is even wider than usual as she glances between her sister-in-law and Marcus, who stands a little behind her, radiating that familiar confidence that Coraline is used to. The half-hour drive had relaxed him enough that, now he’s met with Kimmy’s friendly face, he’s the one that’s comforting her, with a gentle hand on her back and the silent reassurance that things will be okay.

Coraline is mostly worried about him. She's still not entirely sure he wants to be here. She doesn’t blame him. 

Kimmy leans forward and kisses Coraline’s cheek in greeting, the usual gesture. 

“This- well, you know Marcus.” Cora ushers towards her best friend beside her when she pulls back.

“Marcus, of course!” Her face lights up even more. “I’ve heard a lot about you since we last met.” Kimmy’s tone is amused. Her eyes waver towards Coraline, a knowing look in her eyes. 

“It’s great to finally meet you, for real this time.” 

Kimmy’s eyebrow quirks up at Coraline for a moment, the hint of a smirk as Marcus introduces himself, that same FBI Agent-trained surety tipping the edges of his voice, before she finally ushers them inside. It’s starting to get cold; the evening chill is creeping in from the river beside the house, reaching out towards them. Coraline is glad she’d tossed a coat onto the backseat of her car before she’d left and Marcus tugs his suit jacket tighter around himself. “Come in before you both freeze to death.”

The house is alive with the joyous yet shrill screams of children. Coraline’s nephews, to be exact. It always is. Every night. Every week she turns up and they’re running around, playing whatever game they deem fit that evening. Half the time, Coraline gets pulled into their games, whenever she’s not helping Kimmy in the kitchen (which isn’t often, because she’s hopeless at it). Of course, today’s no different.

The two of them are darting around the living room, screaming bloody murder as they wear themselves out; Finley, the oldest, is chasing Elliot, his curls falling haphazardly over his eyes. She can’t tell what they’re yelling about - she never can; it’s just a tangled mess of screamed words - but Elliot is giggling so much that he has to stop every couple of minutes to catch his breath. Finley stops with him, pulling himself from their games for a second to wait as they both regain their composure and carry on. They wear themselves out before dinner and then everything seems to go off without a hitch.

Cora hangs her coat on the hooks by the door and kicks off her sneakers, and Marcus follows suit with his jacket and dress shoes. He looks to her for guidance, that immediately understandable hesitation of being in an unfamiliar house, and this silent agreement settles between them as she sweeps her way into the living room. Her footsteps were light; so light, in fact, that she reached her nephews without disturbing them, startling Elliot when she scooped him up in her arms and spun him around. He complains at first, ducking his head away as she tries to kiss his cheek, letting out the most dramatic and exaggerated noises. Eventually, he gives in and curls his arms around her neck, pulling her close for a second, before he starts to kick again, restless in her arms. 

Finley takes to wrapping himself around her right leg and suddenly the three of them end up sprawled out and giggling brightly on the carpet.

Marcus watches from the doorway. He thinks she’ll be a great mom someday. It’s the little things she takes in her stride.

“Hello to you too, Cora.” The low, amused voice of Coraline’s brother, Daniel, comes from inside the living room. 

“Hey there.” She’s still giggling. She can’t help it. Finley and Elliot unhook themselves from her and each other and resume their endless laps of the couch. 

Daniel stands over her with raised eyebrows. His tie has long-since been discarded and he cuts a casual figure as he cradles the youngest of the Meyers, Piper. She’s only six months and the smiliest baby Cora has ever seen. Usually, she’s asleep by the time Coraline arrives, either cradled in her father’s arms or tucked away in the crib upstairs; today, her legs are kicking back and forth and her hands are fisting into his dress shirt. She’s restless - she knows sometimes that she is, that when they finally cradle her to sleep, it’s best that they leave her or risk jolting her awake for the rest of the night - but she’ll let her wriggle around in her arms for hours if it means catching up on the time she’s missed with her niece all those nights she’s been asleep.

“I brought Marcus.” Cora points towards Marcus as he leans against the doorframe, watching her with fond eyes. She tilts her head back to look at him; he’s smiling and she wants to reach for him. She reaches for Daniel’s extended hand instead, pulling herself up from the floor. She groans uncomfortably, her back aching a little. “Marcus, you’ve met my brother, Daniel.”

Coraline reaches out for her niece; that brooding feeling swells bright and burning again when she takes her, cradling her close into her chest, and she can’t help but glance up at Marcus as Daniel moves to greet him - just barely acquaintances but familiar enough to avoid those awkward initial introductions. He’s watching her, still, as she says ‘hello’ to her niece and gently rests her cheek against the top of Piper’s head. It’s like they’re both wrapped up in that moment where it’s just the two of them - all too fleeting, cut short by Daniel’s greeting and the persistent shouting of children - but it feels lovely. Even if this moment is all they’ll ever get.

Coraline savours the moment with her niece because it’s rare and often fleeting; her, Daniel and Kimmy’s schedules are crammed tight with work and unavoidable commitments and that weekly dinner is the only time each week they can spare to see each other. If Piper is asleep, then Coraline won’t get to say ‘hi’ to her niece. It’s an unfortunate consequence of their careers.

“That’s Elliot-” She points her finger at her smallest nephew. “-and that’s Finley-” Then to the tallest of the two. “-and this… this is Piper.” She bounces the tiny baby lightly in her arms, turning her body so Marcus could get a glimpse at the small smile that pulled at Piper’s lips as her small fist grabbed at Coraline’s shirt.

She’s already told him about them all before. He knows their names. But this is the first time he’s ever met the kids. And it’s somehow maybe the most terrifying thing he’s done in a long time, including that one warehouse shootout his team found themselves in a few weeks earlier.

He feels overdressed and a little ridiculous, just stood there, looking like a lost puppy in the entryway, in his suit and tie. Unsure what to do with his hands or his eyes, or what the hell to say to cut through his quiet. He usually brought a change of clothes to the office if he knows he has somewhere to be but, somehow, in his blind panic at the idea of meeting the family, he’d forgotten to grab anything to change into. And that ease in meeting new people, that effortless skill he’d built up over years of practice, the perks of the job, just seems to have melted away the second he stepped into the house behind Coraline, under the well-meaning scrutiny of Kimmy. This is all normal for her - this weekly routine she’s fallen into - but it’s unfamiliar territory for him. 

It almost feels like something it isn’t. Meeting the family. That point in a relationship when you first realise things are serious. Only this isn’t a relationship. And he’s already met Daniel and Kimmy before, even if it was briefly, and while he was working and distracted with planning a stakeout. And Coraline. Always Coraline. But something about her smile just commanded attention, back then - it still does - even when she tries to blend into the background. Once he noticed her. Sat alone at an empty conference table, comically-oversized name badge pinned to the front of her dress, her lips curling up a little as she sipped the sour FBI coffee.

Everyone else had passed the glass-walled room without even a second glance. 

He, on the other hand, was convinced he’d just seen a ghost. She’d almost startled him, breath leaving his chest. An utter cliche. 

Marcus had recognised her face from TV - though, admittedly, he wasn’t really up-to-date on pop culture, definitely lingering a couple of decades behind, age and time catching up on him, spare time buried beneath a mountain of paperwork to distract himself from Teresa and the unfamiliarity of D.C. - but he always remembers thinking she was pretty. Really pretty. But he always finds it a little embarrassing how much she a hold over him that day, how he’d had to take a second to psych himself up, talk himself down from that nervous ledge he was staring over, before he even thought about entering the room.

It’s weird, looking back, thinking how much has changed. But the changes keep coming, thick and fast, and sometimes it becomes less and less obvious what they are anymore.

“Marcus.” Daniel reaches out a hand for him to shake. He shakes it graciously and says his hellos. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

That’s the second time he’s heard that today. Coraline rolls her eyes a little. It’s not the first time she’s heard it, either. It almost makes Marcus laugh but then she smiles again, half-concealing a grin, and he forgets what he’s thinking about for a moment.

But then he wonders what she tells them about. Whether those stories are good or bad, whether they paint him in colour or in black and white.

With Coraline, he figures it’s probably the brightest landscape of technicolour, regardless of who she’s talking about.

“I’m glad Cora finally asked you to come.”

“Well, you talk too much. I didn’t want to bore him.” Cora shrugs, her full attention on Piper. 

“More like scare him away.”

He’s not sure she could ever scare him away.

“Finley is terrifying,” she admits with a giggle but she seems distant. She looks up to raise an eyebrow at him again. Her words are slow, almost drawn out. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to get out while you still can.” It’s meant to be light and joking, and Daniel laughs at her words. Given the way she’s looking at him, he’s not sure.

She just keeps looking at him like there’s no one else around.

She can’t help it. She keeps trying. It isn’t working.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Daniel insists as the boys rush past Marcus; he has to step out of the way to avoid them, smiling as they manoeuvre around him and race out of sight into the back of the house. He smiles fondly as they pass. “They’ll calm down in a second.”

“You hope they’ll calm down.” Coraline jabs her older brother in the ribs playfully. He chuckles as lightly as he can but it's obvious he’s tired; his shoulders slump and his eyes linger closed a little longer than normal, Coraline notices. He’s been working flat-out at his gallery every day, then running home to help with the kids. And Piper is a restless baby - difficult to get to sleep which means that, if she’s asleep when she arrives, she can’t say hello for risk of waking her up - so, unless Daniel or Kimmy are holding her while the house is still alive and humming around her, she refuses to fall asleep. “I think-” She looks towards Marcus. He’s inched closer into the room, now, but he’s still lingering like he needs to be invited in. “-you’ll just have to get used to it.” She hums.

“I’m still not used to it and they’re my kids,” Daniel grumbles, almost to himself. 

“Piper seems okay with it.” Marcus points out. He watches as his best friend cuddles the tiny baby close to her chest. 

Piper’s looking up at Cora with the brightest eyes. They’re Coraline’s eyes - Daniel’s too, he assumes - that light emerald green that sparkles beneath the warm living room light. Her mouth is in an ‘o’ shape, fascinated, as she stares. She looks utterly transfixed by her aunt’s face as she carries on their idle, gentle conversation, lightly bobbing her up and down, cradling her softly to sleep. Her eyelids were drooping, sleep gently pulling her in. She’s humming gently, whenever she’s not speaking; Marcus isn’t even sure she realises she’s doing it. That it’s just some subconscious instinct inside her, telling her to sing to the baby so she can sleep. She’s drawing gentle circles on her back through her onesie. Slow, idle circles that slow the wriggles and the kicking of his legs, lulling her off to sleep ever-so-slowly. 

It’s like she’s a natural. She knows exactly what to do every time; with Piper, with Maisie. It’s like second nature and there’s this even brighter glow, brighter than usual, when she settles into the role. She takes it all in her stride and seems to forget the world around her just for a moment. 

“How do you do that every time? Can you come and do that every night?” He jokes. But he doesn’t seem to be entirely joking. 

She hums. “Perhaps-” She rests her cheek against the top of her head as lightly as she dares without disturbing her. “Perhaps I’m just a superhero.”

The yells of kids echo through the house, the hammering of feet pounding against the wood floor. Kimmy’s muffled exasperated calls for quiet come from the kitchen, falling on deaf ears as the boys continue to charge through the back of the house. 

Coraline catches her brother’s gaze. “Go and help.” She’s noticed the way he’s been watching his daughter anxiously, worried that she won’t fall asleep through all the noise and excitement and the gentle hum of Coraline’s made-up song. “I’ve got her,” she insists. 

“Are you sure?”

Piper is slowly drifting off to sleep, even despite the noise. Just at the warmth of her aunt cradling her and the gentle hum of her sweet voice lulling her asleep. “I’ve got her,” she repeats. “Go and help Kimmy.”

Daniel’s shoulders slump in relaxation. He mouths a ‘thank you’ as he jogs from the room, calling out to his sons to stop them from charging around, insisting that they wash their hands and settle down for the sake of their sister. 

Now, it’s just Coraline, Marcus and a half-asleep Piper left alone in the living room. 

The tension in the air is thick and heavy for a moment. 

“Marcus, you’re staring,” she points out. She’s not even looking at him, just can just feel the weight of his kind gaze and it sets her heart racing at a hundred miles an hour. “I’d let you hold her-“ She says as he steps a little closer; now Daniel is out of the room, he’s relaxed. It’s like, without him there, he can pretend it’s just the two of them and Piper curled up content against Cora’s chest, even despite the yell of children’s voices and the unfamiliar surroundings. “-but, if I did that, we’d never get her off to sleep.”

“It’s alright,” he whispers, “I think she’s happier with you.” He settles beside her.

Coraline’s thumb brushes over Piper’s cheek and the baby smiles a tiny smile, eyes still close and fisting her hands tighter into the white material of her shirt. There’s a blissful silence that settles between the three of them — just for a moment — when she looks up at him beside her, watching the pair of them sway gently to a seemingly silent song. The weight of the moment engulfs them like a tidal wave. 

“Marcus-“ she breathes out, barely loud enough for him to hear. But he does, in the relative silence, and the way she says his name rips the air from his lungs, like the first time she’d surprised him the day they’d met. Her green eyes are wide and wild and she’s looking between him and Piper like they’re the only things left in the world. 

They could do it.

He knows what she’s going to say, if she had the chance. If Daniel hadn’t returned, calling out to them that dinner was ready.

They could do it. He knows they could, she knows they could. They could have this fleeting moment for as long as they both live. Their own little version of paradise, together. No matter how terrible the idea seems to be, they could. But Coraline knows she can’t stay in that world forever. It’s temporary and, as much as she wants that, all day, every day, for herself and not through someone else, she knows she can’t let herself get too in over her head. 

Still, Marcus really does think she’ll be an amazing mom.

...

After much persuasion — and the promise of candy after dinner — Finley and Elliot finally settled down long enough for them to eat. Coraline had set Piper down to sleep in her crib upstairs, lingering perhaps a little too long to marvel down at her only niece, wondering what it would be like if she was looking down at her own daughter. 

She knows it’s a hopelessly bad idea. That the feelings will catch up with her and pull her under again. Sometimes she just can’t help it.

She returns with that fake smile Marcus has become a pro at noticing. She looks wistful, longing in her eyes, disguised by the small smile that takes over her face when she slides into the seat at the dinner table beside him. She smooths out her shirt and jeans, wrinkled from the baby. Another smile, an assurance that Piper is okay and sleeping soundly upstairs, and the conversation moves on to mostly idle chatter, and Daniel asking Marcus questions about himself. Coraline keeps shooting her brother glances whenever he asks a new question that almost seems too personal. He doesn’t mind one bit, though.

Marcus finds Coraline’s free hand under the table and squeezes at some point. She doesn’t want him to let go. 

“Auntie Cora?” Finley asks, leaning his chin on his hand to stretch across the table. His questioning call of her name breaks through the idle conversation they’re all having, like he’s demanding all their attention, and not just Coraline’s.

It steals a moment of quiet between them all.

“Nephew Finley?” She replies, mimicking his stance and the curious, furrowed-browed expression on his face. 

“When are you going to have a baby, like Piper?”

It’s a loaded yet completely innocent question on his behalf. He’s merely a curious five-year-old with no ill intentions, and no reason to believe it’s anything other than a normal question; Coraline doesn’t even flinch, even when Kimmy scolds her son sharply and insists he eats the rest of his dinner. Though, Marcus still sees the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. Instead, she just smiles and laughs that brightly enchanting laugh, tilting her head to the side in response to her nephew as he sinks back into his chair and pokes at his potatoes.

“Well, I don’t know,” she replies truthfully, “Soon, maybe.”

Marcus almost thinks her eyes waver towards him but it’s so quick that he reasons that, perhaps, he’s seeing things. 

“Soon?” Daniel catches up with her words. “You seeing someone?”

“Oh-“ Coraline swallows thickly. She shakes her head. “No, no, not at all. I’m just- optimistic, I guess.”

“I’m sure there’s someone out there for you,” Kimmy poses.

Coraline hums. Marcus doesn’t see the way her gaze trails towards him. “I’m sure there is.”

...

The rest of dinner passed without any more questions on the matter, Finley’s attention switching towards Marcus instead. He was persistent, firing questions at him across the dinner table like he was leading an interrogation, but Marcus kept answering just as enthusiastically as the first time. He’d skirted around the facts a little - it wasn’t exactly a great idea to tell a child, seemingly without a filter, that you were an FBI agent - but the whole exchange had been wonderful. Coraline was sad to see it finish when Kimmy announced the boys could have dessert and they'd leapt from their seats to race towards the cookie jar. 

Marcus had offered to help Kimmy wash up as a thank you but she’d brushed him off, and, eventually, he’d resigned to the living room with Daniel. It had taken Coraline months to convince Kimmy that she should let her help clean up, there was no way she would have accepted Marcus’ offer immediately.

Instead, it’s just Coraline and Kimmy, working in tandem to clean the dishes, while Daniel spends time with the kids after a long day at work, and pulls Marcus into their conversation like an old friend. 

“I’m sorry about Finn. He’s-” Kimmy shakes her head as she sets another plate down in the drying rack. “He’s been going through one of those... phases lately.”

“It’s fine, Kim, truly.” Coraline sets a couple of dry plates down on the counter and turns to smile at her, before carrying on her job. Sometimes Kimmy jokes about how ridiculous it is that they use so many plates since Piper was born. “He’s just curious,” she insists. “And he makes everything a little more colourful.” 

Kimmy chuckles. “That he does.” She washes down another plate. “So, Marcus is great.” She hums, changing the subject towards her with a quirk of an eyebrow and a small, knowing smirk on her face.

Coraline smiles. Though, it’s more to herself than Kimmy. “He really is, isn’t he?”

“Are you two… y’know… is there anything there or-?” 

“Oh, no! No, no. We’re just-” Friends. “Just friends.”

“Well-“ She quirks an eyebrow at her sister-in-law. “-maybe you should? Just see how it goes. One date at a time.” Kimmy’s suggestion is as innocent as Finley’s question over dinner. She doesn’t understand the weight it holds. And she doesn’t expect her to, anyway. They’re close but just barely close enough. “Things might surprise you and it’ll do you good to get back out there again after, y’know-“

“No, we-” She shakes her head and turns to finish putting away the plates in the cabinet. In the quiet, she hears Marcus laugh from the living room. It’s one of those whole-hearted laughs, when his head lulls back and his eyes screw shut and crinkle at the corner. She wonders which one of them made him laugh like that, or what made him laugh like that. She hopes Daniel hasn’t pulled out the picture albums; he’s worse for that then their parents. But, since Daniel had made his fortune as an art buyer, eventually to the point he’d made enough to buy his own art gallery, a year ago, Coraline should have known that he and Marcus would get on. They had a lot in common. She’s so glad he likes him, though she can’t imagine a reason why he wouldn’t. “Friends. Friends.”

There’s another silence and she can feel Kimmy’s eyes burning into the back of her head. She turns to see the tail-end of a raised eyebrowed glare, amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. “Well, you never know unless you try, Cora.”

“There will be no trying,” Coraline insists, jabbing Kimmy in the side with her nail. She grins and lets her blonde tresses fall over her shoulder. “Of any kind. He doesn’t see me that way.” She finishes. 

“Do you see him that way?”

Another pause. 

“No.”

Maybe that’s a lie. 

Maybe Kimmy knows that. 

Maybe Marcus knows that. 

Coraline isn’t sure whether she knows that, though. 

“Sure about that?”

Coraline scoffs and turns to continue packing dried, clean plates into the cupboards. “You’re worse than Dan, sometimes.” 

“Oh, I take offence to that.”

“Shut up and finish the dishes.” Coraline chuckles, crossing her arms and scowling at the lack of crockery left to dry. 

“Just don’t write things off so quickly,” she insists, “It might surprise you.”

...

Daniel and Kimmy had tried to persuade them to stay for drinks late into the evening. The boys were shipped off to bed at the usual time, complaining that they wanted to stay up instead, as usual. But Marcus has work in the morning and Coraline has a long string of interviews; the idea of a late-night sounds less than ideal, her eyes already stinging at the idea of staying up any later than they had it.

Instead, they’d make their excuses and leave, ducking away into Coraline’s car with an exhausted groan. The boys had run wild right up until they went to sleep, nagging Coraline and Marcus to play with them every five minutes, even as Kimmy and Daniel insisted that they settle down and get ready for bed. It’s still late when they leave, though. D.C is eerily quiet as they weave through the roads, small crowds of people scattered through the repeating streets of suburbia.

The car ride home is silent of their voices. Not that uncomfortable silence, from before, when things had been awkward between them and neither of them were sure where the other stood. But that kind of satiated, happy and, admittedly exhausted, silence that pools over them. The low hum of the car engine and the radio is persistent in the space between them. Marcus keeps stealing glances over at her as she drives; he can’t help it, but he doesn’t think she notices, her eyes far too focused on the road ahead of her. And, if she does, she doesn’t mention it. Just keeps letting him glance over at her as the street lights illuminate the gentle angles of her face.

He’s glad she never mentions anything. He’d be too embarrassed if she did.

Instead, she’s lost in the music. That blissful flicker of emotion that crosses her face when she hears a song she likes, when her eyes light up at the sound of one of her favourite songs. Her radio is always tuned into some old rock station - he has no idea what it’s called, it’s usually just a continuous loop of different songs cut with the low gravelly voice of a man who sounded like he’d smoked one too many cigars - and most of the songs are the same songs she’s playing on her record player when he arrives at her apartment and she’s dancing around the kitchen while she cooks. He recognises a lot of them from his college days, songs he used to play with his band. It makes him feel old, sometimes, when she tells him they’re songs she spent her teen years with, even though there aren’t too many years between them. 

It’s I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing that plays now; she’s a sucker for those objectively-cheesy rock ballads. They’re her mom’s favourites, too. And, maybe he won’t admit it, but Marcus has heard her favourites enough to count them amongst his, now. Maybe he just likes the way they make her smile. Coraline is humming along, her fingers drumming a steady rhythm against the top of the steering wheel idly as her eyes follow the road ahead. Every so often, a flicker of neon tints her in colour when they pass a takeout, the only things still open and busy. The curve of her profile and each curl of her hair is highlighted in red.

It’s these moments of distracted bliss, when everything seems to exist without a care in the world, that he likes the most.

It never lasts long enough.

He insists she just parks in the garage she usually uses, by her apartment building, and he’ll walk her home. She protests - because of course she does - offering to drive him all the way home instead, but it’s dark and even in this quiet, well-off part of town where the streets should be safe, you never know who might be lurking. Maybe it’s the things he’s seen and heard of in the FBI - everything he’s seen during his training, heard through whispers and stories in the office - but sometimes he can’t shake the simple action of making sure someone is safe. 

It’s still silent between them as they near Coraline’s apartment complex. That short two minute walk down the quiet, tree-lined street that sparkles with chains of fairy lights. It’s lethargic and lingering, each step heavy with the weight of something that echoes through the quiet neighbourhood.

“Cora, I’m sorry.”

It comes out of nowhere and it worries her. And Coraline has absolutely no idea why Marcus is apologising to her. As far as she’s concerned, he hasn’t done anything wrong. At least, not that she knows of. 

“For what?” She questions, brow furrowing up at him as they walk. Their hands keep brushing but she doesn’t have it in her to move her hand away.

“I had no right to drop the baby bomb on you like that,” he admits. He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck uncomfortably. When his hand drops, his fingers brush against her knuckles. “I’m sorry if I made you feel trapped. It was a terrible idea. I should have thought-“

“Yes,” she blurts it out before she can stop herself. She’s not entirely sure she’s thought this through. But she can’t help it.

“Yes, what?”

“The offer.” Her whisper is loud in the suddenly-stifling silence of the street. “If it’s still on the table- yes. I’ll have a baby with you.”

“Coraline-” He gulps and stops dead in his tracks. They’re outside her gate, now. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“And you won’t.” Coraline insists. She steps closer to him, sea-green eyes staring up at him with heavy expectation. He’s the one that suggested it. He’s the one that had laid in bed until the early hours of the morning, losing precious moments of sleep as his brain swam with questions, wondering whether he should suggest this to her in the first place, or if it was an awful idea. But, somehow, he can’t seem to convince himself that this is a bad idea, that he should just let her down easy, now. It’s seeing her with Piper, seeing her with Maisie, seeing how she lights up around them. 

If he can make her that happy, every single day, why the hell would he turn that opportunity down? 

Besides, he’s pretty sure it would make him equally as happy. He’s thought about having kids since he was just a kid himself. And god knows the world seemed to have it out for him when it came to love, things aren’t happening any time soon; he can’t really think of anyone better than Coraline to have a baby with.

And, as much as Coraline knows how recklessly stupid the whole idea is, she can’t bring herself to want anything more or less than this. Than him. “It is a terrible idea, y’know?”  She finds herself insisting, blinking up at him with those beautifully-wide eyes.

“Truly awful.” 

“And there are a hundred different things that could go wrong.”

“Hundreds.”

“But-“

“But-“

“Maybe we should… try? Maybe just for a little while. See what happens.” 

“Maybe we should.” He exhales long and deep out of his nose. “Maybe…” He tilts her chin up towards his with one finger and suddenly he’s kissing her. His fingers brush her jaw, curving up towards her ear and brushing into her hairline at the nape of her neck. Even the soft touch of his hand against hers as they walked was driving her insane but this, this is on another level.

It’s more than the first time they kissed. Less of a brief touch of lips, more of a wave of relief flooding through them both, unfamiliar feelings surging up inside them. This kiss is full of urging anticipation. She’s pulling him closer to her before she can stop herself, their chests flush, lips and hands strong and insistent against each other. 

The fumble to her front door seems like the most practised thing they’ve ever done. Familiar when it shouldn’t be, even as they bump into things on their way.

taglist: @wheresthewater

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 143: The House of Guant

They were once again plunged into utter darkness. The sounds of pots and furniture breaking had nothing on the rank smell of unclean rising to all of their noses. Peter squealed in genuine fright upon something slithering across his face as the others lit their wand in time to see the tail of a snake vanishing into a filthy armchair. James had landed dangerously close to a curdling fire, the smoke still in his face making him cough terribly.

The walls were a gray, dirty stone. There was a boiling pot on a grimy stove in the corner Sirius tipped over, the very air hanging in here made them all wish desperately to be anywhere else at once.

Alice summoned the book to her to get started on that.

"Gaunt eh?" Sirius asked in complete disgust for the house still, though something tickled the name in his memories he'd tried to repress. "Hey Reg, help me out, why do I know that?" Surely he could still talk to the kid without being hated further.

"Morfin Gaunt, tenth branch, line died out with him," he repeated on autopilot.

"Right, thanks," he grumbled, no clue why he'd asked, it helped nothing to make this feel better.

"What's Harry doing here?" James demanded, taking careful steps across the room to be back by Sirius, wand held at the ready for every disgusting pile he passed. "Can't be Dumbledore's lesson to bring him here, what's the point?"

"I suppose there's only one way to find out," Alice sighed as she reluctantly turned back to the book.

Remus came out of one of the rooms with such a look of disgust on his face nobody wanted to ask what he'd found in there. Lily came out of the other soaking wet by her own wand she stowed away, like she'd actively tried to rinse this place from her before they even left.

Everyone but the girls continued laughing enthusiastically about Harry's little cheat sheet of a potions book, until Alice leaned up and whispered in Frank's ear and he stopped abruptly with an annoyed frown. The others didn't pay it much mind, shifting around impatiently to find out what the point of being here was even if they gave the place more life than this dung hill likely ever had as they continued whispering about getting their hands on that in their own time to breeze through their OWLs.

Lily bit her lip hard to stop herself falling to the filthy floor for laughing at that. The idea had never occurred to her she would ever want to help the Marauders, but the idea of inventing that Wolfsbane potion herself was still heavily on her mind and she wished now more than ever she had her own copy on her to take notes in. The tempting idea to inform them they were currently muttering about wanting Severus's help even in proxy was just a bit of a bonus she'd privately enjoy.

Regulus' smile slipped a notch though when he heard of some of the oddly specific spells being addressed in the margins of this book. He'd told Lily the truth, he did not hang out with Snape nor really know what they got up to on a regular basis, mostly he just hung around in his room alone looking at the excellent view and doing his homework, reading, or exploring the castle alone, if not on an errand. Even if he did turn a rather blind eye and ear most times to not hear what they were laughing about too in ignorance, what little he had heard made him wish there was an attic at Hogwarts.

Some of those spells though, he'd swear he recognized them coming from Snape himself, who often spent his times writing in a potion book. He shared his ideas with Mulciber and Avery all the time, and they often taught others if they were satisfied with Snape's new ideas.

He watched Evans for a few moments and felt his suspicion all but confirmed when she kept watching the book as if it were personally hitting her in the face. He didn't want to risk missing a word of what Dumbledore said though, and if Evans wasn't telling them he wasn't going to do it for her, so kept his mouth shut.

Alice did indeed have all attention as Harry arrived for Dumbledore's lesson, and explained what exactly Harry was going to be doing with him this year.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" Sirius groaned loudly when Dumbledore made to put the first memory in like that was all the explanation needed. "Hearing of his past, are you kidding me? Who the hell cares what he did before he started murdering people for fun?" He could personally speak from experience he wanted no part in someone looking into his past, Harry doing that to them had been awful enough, he couldn't imagine the value of doing so for anyone else, even Voldemort.

"I think it's brilliant," Lily said to him stiffly. "How else are they supposed to learn about their enemy, clearly whatever method everybody else is using isn't working."

Sirius retaliated with grace, but there was a smile on his face as he began hotly going back and forth. Lily even began to relax as well as she shot back for everything he said.

Watching Sirius and Lily's argument escalating, Peter and Remus kept glancing significantly at James like they expected him to step in. He, however, was merely examining his fingers with far too much fascination.

Remus finally cleared his throat awkwardly and asked, "ah, Prongs, you going to...do something about that?"

"Nah," James shrugged without concern, "neither's even pulled their wand out yet, let them sort themselves out."

It was honestly just a nice refresher to James she wasn't yelling at him for once, and Sirius even seemed to be enjoying himself. Considering how well he'd just done not starting a fight, and only guiltily realized out in that shop he'd done it for him again, this felt like old hat! Finally some kind of balance, if Sirius needed to get it out of his system this was probably the best way to do it, neither held any real heat in their argument. She gave some pretty witty retorts, and he was almost curious to see how many different ones she could lob at him before someone gave in.

Instead Prongs pulled Remus back a step and whispered quietly to him, "hey mate, everything okay with you two?"

Remus flushed in the dull lighting and tried not to shift around like a twit, maybe Sirius hadn't spooked off Prongs as well as he thought. "Fine, nothing new to speak of."

"Uhhu," James muttered, clearly unamused. "Look, whatever you two keep going off to do, you're starting to annoy him Remus. I don't know if it was the love potion thing or something else, but could you cut him some slack?" Sirius hadn't been saying anything outright, but ever since he'd come back from the garden he could tell something had sprung up between the two that was bothering them that hadn't been there this whole time. As if they needed another mess to be dealing with!

Remus bit his lip and fought the urge to tell James to stay out of it before reminding himself there was no 'it.' This was his mess and he did need to deal. "Right, sorry," he apologized, thinking ironically James wouldn't blink next time he dragged Sirius off for the opposite reason of why they normally did as he promised in his head to fix this once and for all.

Alice finally cleared her throat to stop the two, watching in a vague sort of amusement as she asked, "regardless of our opinions, can I please get to it? This place isn't getting any more cheerful."

Sirius gave a long, exaggerated sigh and turned in surprise to see James and Remus muttering something, both instantly stopping when they realized the same. "Am I interrupting?" He grinned. "Do you two need some alone time?"

"You think Evans would fall into my arms if I swept Moony off his feet first?" James happily teased back. "She's obviously his favorite."

Remus made his eyes go as widely innocent as possible. "Yes, I'm so sure the multiple attempted murders has just warmed her right up to me."

"Worked on me didn't it?" Sirius smirked.

"You're too easy to please," Remus shot back.

Peter snorted from across the room and James didn't bother to hide his laughter.

Alice was smirking just a bit too when she giggled at Lily, "that wasn't at all what I thought you meant when you said you'd start talking to them."

Lily huffed a bit of hair out of her face and chose not to respond, not exactly wanting to admit how good it had felt to get a little fire out of her system, and Sirius had happily returned.

She finally turned back to the book though and began describing the memory in vivid detail. They all startled in surprise to find themselves back in Little Hangleton, and Remus was first to the door trying to open it in hopes they'd be free of at least this smell.

Blessedly, they were stepping into such a tall, dark grove of trees the bright sun shining down hardly hurt their eyes through the foliage. The snake nailed to the door swung and the house was no more pleasant to view on the outside, but at least it didn't smell as much out here!

The idea being offered that they could make a trip to the haunted mansion in the distance or the graveyard appealed to no one.

Alice sighed in relief to catch her breath out here and sat down in the grass to keep going, but Lily started wandering around in true curiosity what this place had to do with Voldemort. It certainly seemed his type, and now it turned out Tom Riddle's mansion was indeed in the distance, so the connection had a clear line being drawn.

"Oh, horses!" She shouted gaily.

Only Remus went to the edges of the trees to see her delighted shouts as the two grazed in boredom with no clear riders in their saddles.

"They shouldn't be dangerous, look like normal ones, if you want to have a closer look," Remus said off hand, still watching closely. This didn't exactly seem like the kind of house for illegal breeding, ironically, but he still watched carefully just in case.

She needed no further invitation and walked cautiously but openly towards them. Neither creature gave a care to her approach, they were clearly well trained and tamed as she started stroking one's glossy chestnut neck and listening with the first hints of sorrow to leave the house behind her as the gray began nosing her curiously for sweets.

It was completely disgusting to both brothers to realize the line had likely died out because the sister had seemingly refused to have her brother's child, but hardly better she had Voldemort as an offspring instead. Possibly enacting her death from this deranged Marvolo fellow. It was a damn miracle their own parents hadn't managed anymore kids, like a sister for one of them.

Their skin crawled, Regulus retreated farther into the shadows, and fought the urge to purge all pureblood lineage from his mind as his brother had clearly done at such an insight, and Sirius bit his tongue hard to stop the obnoxious comment of asking Moony if he'd be happier if Sirius had been a girl.

They'd known Tom Riddle was only a half-blood thanks to his memory back in the second book, but they'd never have expected to get such details as both of his parents being shown like this though.

When the memory was done and Dumbledore gave his explanation, they all looked around wearily one last time at the beautiful country side, cozy village down in the distance, stately manor hiding the graveyard beyond, and hovel in the bright sun. Who ever would have guessed the destruction of their world could start from such a place.

[urlocalnctstan]

The Beauty And The Beast

Epoch 1

Autumn was here. The surroundings that were once green were now adorned in hues of orange and brown. Jaehyun flipped through the book he was currently reading, who's title went by 'Summerhill', subconsciously reminding himself to read it again as he finished it again for the hundredth time, to be precise, 113th. He sipped on his black tea as his eyes drifted towards the wooden window, observing the new change in nature. Neither seasons nor weather mattered to him, at the end of the day it would only be him all alone after all. His eyes lingered for a moment on the orange leaves until he felt the need to get up, debating silently on what library he should visit next, preferably somewhere desolate.

He despised human interaction; the hunger at times just kicks in when he can hardly control himself to stay composed. Things were not supposed to be this way, his whole family, his brothers would have been here if it were not for that dreadful malicious night. He passed through his library, the vintage touch of the best designers very prominent. The walls were transformed into wooden shelves, stained and burnished in textures of a brown oak tree. It was no surprise the whole library was filled with books, the shelves divided into 10 for all the brothers. Jaehyun did not reside on a specific genre, he loved to surf around all the categories, whilst the interests of others ranged from fantasies to science fiction. He liked the smell of the library, the odd scent of paper and wood subtly brought him comfort, for it would stage an illusion for him, making him feel that he was not the only one here. Living all alone for over 50 years has indeed made him more anti-social, his demeanor a big contrast to the one he had before all the tragedy occurred.

You on the other hand stayed still, cursing yourself for not arranging the books, and it was only seconds before the lady would recognize your negligence. You prayed, desperately clutched your hands, and silently kept praying, it was your only job and you cannot afford to lose it. As if in a response to your prayers, a man, probably in his mid-twenties entered the worn-out shabby premises, catching you off guard because literally, no one visits this rotten library. However, as he came closer, you felt your breath hitch as you took a nervous gulp; that man was breathtaking. His brown coat accentuated his broad build, the black hat perfectly resting on his black hair.

"I came to return this book," he scrunched his nose, it was enough for you to understand his distaste, slightly feeling embarrassed since you were the one who suggested it. Your manager lady similarly caught on the young man's comprehensible expression, shooting me a warning look that it could be my last chance to save my job. For a shitty library, it surprisingly paid you well.

"I am extremely sorry for my negligence sir, how about this, I'll bring you the newest and most popular books every week?" You anxiously fidgeted as you brought out the library logbook, scribbling down the return.

"I-uh...that would be very courteous of you. Thank you..." he eyes trailed on your tag, "Ms.Y/N."

"Thank you thank you thank you so much, young man, you're a lifesaver." You grabbed his hands, shaking them furiously in gratitude. His hands were oddly cold, too cold actually.

Jaehyun felt weird, it had been years since he had faced any human interaction. He quickly withdrew his hands, his now pink ears hidden by his black. Nonetheless, he was kind of grateful he would not have to face 2 hours long entourage to the library.

"I was about to lose my only regular customer, all because of your stupid choice," the lady scoffed, scrutinizing your every movement whilst you were cleaning the shelves. He was a regular but I never met him. "I shouldn't have fired the other one listening to you." She flashed you one last alarming look before storming out of the place. You let out all breathe that you had been holding while she was here, thanking heavens for not screwing up your life. While you held the book that read 'Summerhill', you could not help but let your mind wander to the only encounter you had today, apart from your manager lady's wrath. Why is it that I had failed to meet this Greek God in the past three months I’ve been working? You thought to yourself, organizing the suggestion shelf, the culprit which caused the book to land upon the hands of the Greek God, namely Jaehyun. With a loud audible huff, you decided it would be better to just organize the whole suggestion shelf, quietly reminding yourself to not be so biased on the books you chose just because the author was your favorite.

It was almost evenfall when Jaehyun reached back abode, the dilapidated exterior did no justice to its actual architectural essence, and the touches of the Victorian designs camouflaged by the overgrown bushes, the oak trees stood menacingly in the rear. At a glance, anyone would have thought it was a creepily haunted house, home to all the demonic supernatural things that could come to one’s mind. Jaehyun internally cringed for a brief moment, even after all these years, his laziness in keeping his home neat was still something he had to work on. Jaehyun felt shivers running down his spine as he thought how badly Taeyong would have reacted if he were to sight this view.

He felt his still heart tug, the probable scenarios of his brothers painting themselves in the back of his mind, how ecstatic and chaotically pleasant it would have been with them by his side, one and united again. For the first time that year, he went to the forbidden chamber in the mansion.

The room resided in the right west wing on the second floor of the villa. The long corridor that leads to the room barely had any light, the large velvet curtains were draped against the huge windows. With heavy steps he climbed up the wooden stairs, only the sounds of the woods creaking and his heavy breathing being audible. He wanted to retreat as he stood in front of the door, the wood had become too worn-out, the insects starting to make it their forever habitat. Jaehyun was unsure of the overwhelming emotions he was facing; he was hurt, scared but most importantly guilty. The fact that his brothers were in this state, all because of him, this guilt eats him up every day. He pulled the handle, the bronze material felt cold against his already cold pale skin. As he stepped inside, he was welcomed by all his brothers, standing still and lifeless. Jaehyun was cursed with loneliness for 51 years, all because he was too prideful and selfish to think of anyone else but himself. His brothers might have been the only exception; he treasured all of them with all of his heart. But he remained cold to the others, as he would call them 'outsiders'. At times when he would go out with his brothers, he would cross people suffering in cold or starvation, but never once did he have the heart to aid them with their trivial surviving necessities. Clouded in his superiority, he never claimed any of the girls he had been with, treated them as either one-night-stands or a way of passing his boring time.

One winter night, the heavens decided to test his limits of such obnoxious egoistic nature. A highly respected priestess roaming around the jungle seemed to have lost her way back, and thus decided she might just rest the night. She was always in her house, training to be more and more powerful until she became one. Completely inexperienced of human nature, her curiosity lead her to explore what it was like to live normally for a day, eventually leading to an aristocratic family's residence, the NEO Residence. They were the most powerful families of the 1800s, their fame and wealth being no new news to anyone. But she still decided to see if their wealth and fame were equivalent to their kindness. The priestess disguised herself in the clothing of a pregnant woman, her dress completely soiled and ragged; making her seem pitiful and powerless. She chanted something eerily magical, instantly transforming the calm snowfall into a vicious snowstorm.

Back at the NEO residents, the young men seemed to get baffled at the sudden change of demeanor of the weather. Johnny was the first to notice, keeping aside the book he was previously reading as he went over to the large windows of their house, the wood felt cold and beads of ice were already starting to form on the contrary side of the window glass.

“Taeil, Taeyong, what just happened?” He motioned the other two towards the window he stood in front, both failing to grasp the situation.

“Maybe it’s just an unprecedented snowstorm; don’t worry brother it’ll die soon.” He said despite feeling a bit uneasy for some reason. Neither Taeil nor Johnny could avoid their anxiousness; they felt something but could not quite comprehend the reason behind it. Similarly, the others started to take notice of the situation as well; Doyoung sprinting off to get Mark and Haechan from their rooms whilst Yuta stayed beside Jungwoo in case if he had a panic attack. But one seems to remain just as unbothered and lofty prideful as usual, Jaehyun. Winwin ushered Taeyong where Jaehyun was sitting, annoyed by his way too relaxed composure. Taeyong just nodded, as if he was telling Winwin that he would talk to Jaehyun for being like this yet again; at that point, it had become something very common for him.

“I don’t feel good about this,” Yuta sighed, rubbing the temples of his forehead.

“Neither do we brother,” Taeil said as he looked at Johnny, their worried glances meeting each other before the latter went over towards the window again.

“It is showing no signs of stopping anytime soon.” Johnny inspected before pulling over the curtains; an attempt to calm themselves down by concealing the ruckus occurring outside.

“Aren’t you all tiring out yourselves a bit too much?” Jaehyun got up from his seat, swirling the red wine gracefully in the expensive sherry glass he was holding. “Come on, brothers, it is just a snowstorm. Nothing can ever happen to us.”

“Jaehyun, can you for once stop being so obnoxious and think rationally? Do you really think it’s just a normal storm going on out there?” Winwin exclaimed, his face filled with rage.

“Not my problem, ya’ll go ahead tire yourselves out.” Jaehyun pursed his lips before returning to his seat, filling up his empty glass yet again.

Just then, they heard soft knocks coming from the main door of their house, followed by pleas for help. Taeyong rushed to the door, quickly opening as he was welcomed by the whirl of the snowstorm and a young poor pregnant lady. He quickly brought her inside before calling over Johnny and Yuta to shut the door, the force of the storm was a bit too much.

“I can’t find my way back to my house, please, let me stay for just one night.” the lady pleaded, barely holding herself up.

“Sure, no problem. We’ll ma-”

“No.” Jaehyun abruptly cut off Taeyong, staring at his intently at the lady. “You don’t have the right to, look at yourself,” Jaehyun scoffed as he stood up. “Do you really think you’re worth enough to stay here? Really?”

“Jaehyun stop it! Enough already!” Taeyong shouted, his loud voice echoing throughout the whole house. “For fuck’s sake, she’s pregnant, stop it.”

“Don’t try voicing out your opinions on me Taeyong.” Jaehyun now shifted his gaze towards his older brother, who was clearly outraged by his imprudence “Pregnant? It makes me not let her stay, even more, at least she’ll give birth to a normal human, unlike us.” He scoffed. “Or she is just gonna leave her child alone, just like our mother did.

“Stop it Jaehyun, you’re crossing it,” Taeil said calmly, contrasting his fuming self.

“Why big brother? Finally, feeling sorry for your girlfriend? Should have thought before he fed on her.”

“ENOUGH!” the lady yelled, her voice changing to her original. “My, my. My instincts were indeed right about you.” She chuckled as she looked directly towards Jaehyun, her green eyes glowing menacingly. The storm outside seemed to have shifted inside now, a tornado of green wind and sparkling dust surrounding the lady, the middle glowing with such tremendous light that the men had to cover their eyes in fear that they will go blind. As the tornado stopped, their faces went pale, they knew who she was.

“High Priestess Valery..” Haechan’s eyes widened in realization. The priestess smiled, clearly knowing the effect of authority she had on them

“Jaehyun it is huh?” She walked further towards him, whilst he still stood high despite the unsettling feeling he was then starting to feel in his half functioning heart. “You really think of yourself this high? No wonder even the headquarters nicknamed you imbecile.”

“We apologize for his gaffe, high priestess.” Taeyong knelt, the others following him.

Jaehyun felt his throat form a lump, he could not voice out an apology as he knelt for forgiveness. Disrespecting, that too the high priestess of the clan was a great omission; an act equivalent to committing high treason. Jaehyun knew he was doomed, he felt sicker and sicker as he thought about what could possibly happen next.

“I was actually looking forward to you know, rectify your spoiled little brother, but it seems to me that it is quite a handful of work.” She remarked, her bracelet with various initials glowing.

“We promise, we’ll discipline him more, high priestess.” Taeil pleaded. But Valery seemed to ignore all of their pleas.

“He needs to learn it by himself,” She said. “But you all are not quite the innocents as well.” Valery did something with her hands, fumes of lilac, and blue clouding around her fingers. A loud sound erupted as the gaseous colors spread throughout the hall, flashes of various images appearing. “Look carefully you foolish beings, look what you have been doing because of your monstrous selves.” “It wasn’t our fault, we were completely clueless as to what we were doing, and we knew nothing about our kinds,” Haechan exclaimed sorrowfully. “You kill innocents to satiate your beastly taste buds and still dare to say you’re not at fault?” Valery bellowed. “A death caused by accident or impulse is still nonetheless death to me, a murder.”

“As for you,” Valery said while pointing her forefinger towards Jaehyun. “You have shown me that not only you’re a beast outside, but also inside. I condemn you to eternal loneliness; your only family turning into lifeless statues, they can’t converse, eat, and sleep, a curse that shall remain for a lifetime if not broken within a span of 51 years, a curse that shall be broken only if a maiden chooses to fall for you despite your beastly nature.” And in a blink of an eye, she disappeared.

Jaehyun felt numb, his limbs paralyzing as he propped to the ground, seeing his brothers’ bodies turning into stones. Taeyong’s eyes glistened with tears, as it rolled down his cheeks, Jaehyun wondered if he would ever be able to free them from the wrath that befell them only because of him.   

[commander-isekai]

Commander Isekai - commander from an another world

A/N:

Hi all! This my tongue-in-cheek fic about a commander, who’s actually a human player from the real world, and who now lives through the game, but armed with previous knowledge about it. They aren’t happy just to follow along a story, so things will get different quickly enough. Hence their name is commander Kai, as a pun from the isekai genre. I’ve been inspired by similar fics done about other games, and I thought gw2 could be a fun one too.

Chapter One:

The Second Awakening or how I found myself in a video game world

Sometimes, all you can remember is falling. It was the only sensation I could comprehend. The world around me was a blurry, like a messy watercolor painting. If there were any noises, I couldn't hear them. I just fell.

A painfully bright light drilled into my eyes.

I woke up with a great thump, as I landed into a large pile of dry leaves. They managed to soften my landing to a degree, but I was aching from all over, like if I had rolled downhill like a cheese in a cheese-wheeling competition, determined to win the first place no matter how crumbly my state would be at the finish line.

"This fucking sucks.." I groaned, tossing my arm out and trying to find my glasses, or my phone, but only grasped more leaves. I hoped I hadn’t broken either one during my fall.

"Are you alright, Valiant?" I heard a concerned voice ask, "the awakening can be sometimes rough, but you'll find your bearings soon enough."

Oh no, had I fallen asleep outside? I had a bad habit of dozing off, but the embarrassment of sleeping outside and this kind person having to wake me up made me wish I could knock myself out permanently rather than face them.

"Yeah yeah, I'm sorry about this, just give me a minute..." I tried to form coherent sentences while pushing my hair away, but my hand gathered only more leaves? and no hair??

I pulled my hand in front of my face and yelped in surprise when I saw that it was bright lavender, a color that my regular human hands should not be, and that I was grasping purple and pink ferns instead of my regular colored human hair.

"Wh-what the hell is going on?" I looked at myself and the person helping me, and only then I realized they weren't human either, but a pea-green person who seemed to be made out of plant material and flowers. Behind them, I could see a shimmering lake and a small village, with more denizens similar to them and me.

As I gasped upon the scene, the two braincells inside my skull finally hit a nerve and made the connection that I had been missing:

A) Somehow, I was in Caledon Forest. Like, the starting zone in Guild Wars 2, an MMO I used to play lot back in the day until I got too busy with my life and other video games.

B) Also somehow, I wasn't a human anymore. I was a walking, talking, internally-panicking sylvari.

C) Last but not least, I could see everything clearly without glasses. This fact stressed me out the most. Had my vision somehow been fixed when I fell? I did like my old glasses, and really hoped they were in one piece somewhere.

"Are you feeling enough well to stand?" the sylvari that must be a mender asked me, offering a hand that I gladly took as I wobbled onto my feet like a newborn calf.

“I think I am?” I answered hesitantly, not certain if I’d stay upright after she’d let go of me.

" I am mender Lorean. What's your name?" the sylvari asked me.

" Um, Kai" I said, as the first name in my mind was the name of my commander character, "short of Cainneach, but just Kai is fine."

It didn't feel right to introduce myself with my given human name, as it was definitely not a sylvari name, and that would have revealed me being something else than your regular baby sprout. I really wasn't married to that name anyway, so Kai came out naturally. I had already used Kai as a all-around nickname, so I settled into it like putting on a new, yet surprisingly comfortable shirt.

"Alright, Valiant Kai", seeing as I could hold on my own against the gravity, Lorean let go of my hand, and explained: "Now, it can take some time to get used to the world outside the Dream. You shouldn't wander off too far from the Grove, at least not until you're experienced enough. You should find anything you need inside the city, and the mentors will help you along. Caithe also asked me to tell you that she wants to speak with you, when you are ready."

The mender that helped me did not seem to comment on my errantic behaviour - they must have seen a wild variety of saplings in their time.

"Wait, why do you keep calling me a valiant?" I asked, trying to wrap my head around what I could remember about Caithe. The total sum was not much - an assassin with a troubled past: a guild of heroes that basically cut ties after a failed dragon killing quest and ex-girlfriend who's in the lead of the bad Nightmare sylvari. That'd be a lot for anyone.

"Caithe told me, about how you joined forces with her to defeat the a large nightmare beast in the Dream. That must be a sign of a great Wyld Hunt", Lorean explained, and asked curiously: "don't you remember the Dream?"

Oh right. The Dream, or the tutorial part with the big dragon monster. I somehow completely skipped that in this new, 4D-supported version of Tyria. At least I did not remember experiencing anything resembling fighting a giant dragon to death, not after waking up here. I had an inkling that telling so would only raise more questions, and I had plenty of those myself.

  "Oh yes, it's all coming back to me", I lied with a practiced straight face, "I must have just hit my head hard when I awoke, that's all.  I'll be on my way now, thanks!" 

I waved and nearly dashed to an exit before Lorean could respond. They were being just nice, sure, but I needed a moment for myself with no one else right now, or I would explode on the spot.

'''

Not far from the village, but enough far that no one would hopefully bother me, I made my way to the large pond, to really take in all the changes.

"Oh no, the fireflies are actually that big", I grimaced when I saw a group of the flying creatures gather around one of the light-giving plants, "That's going to take some time getting used to."

I sat down next to the water's edge, and I could finally take a look at my new features. They were nothing like what I'd been used to - instead of soft skin, my face was hard, bark-like texture. My hair was like plant's leaf, yet sturdier - it hurt when I tried to pull it. My form was different too, almost like I had had a second puberty without knowing it - my limbs were taller than what I had been used to, and I felt my presentation was more masculine than what it had been when I was human.

The more I sat and contemplated my situation, everything around me seemed to make no sense. I was stuck in an unfamiliar body, in the role of the main character of a video game, and while I did not remember every detail of what happened in the story, I knew it wouldn't take long for things to get hairy. Why I was here? Why did I look like this?  No matter how I tried to rationalize it, I had no answers, and I was only left with piling up frustration, and tears began to form in the corners of my eyes.

“Hey, are you alright?” A new voice dragged me out of my depths. It belonged to a blue sylvari with a mushroom-capped head, and whose leaf-like outfit seemed to grow naturally as a part of their body.

“I don’t know, it’s just - a lot of stuff to process. The whole awakening, and everything”, I told them as honestly as I could.

“You seemed to be a little more lost than the other sprouts - and I do not mean that in a judgmental way”, the sylvari said and hold out something: “here, take this, it will help.”

“Oh, thank you”, I accepted the carved bowl that seemed to be made out of a giant nut, and the gentle smell of pumpkin soup overwhelmed me. Gods, I realized only now how starved I felt, like I had not eaten properly for days.

“I don’t have any money, or gold-” I tried to say, but the other sylvari cut in quickly:

“Do not worry about it! I hope you have a pleasant evening!” 

The sylvari took off, and I was too mesmerized by their kindness towards a random stranger like me that it did not even occur to me to ask their name. The soup, still warm in my hands was a temptation too great to resist, and I wasted no time devouring it.

Maybe this world isn’t too bad after all, if people are gifting food freely to others like that, I thought to myself, earlier anguish almost completely forgotten.

[lovelikedestiny]

3. Copley: And our kingdom is gone

White glowing skin, touched by stars,

kissed by silver moonlight.

When Joe gets up and leaves the room with one last stroke of Nicky's head, just as Copley has entered the living room, Copley asks himself when the immortals started to trust him.

Andy and Nile are exercising in his backyard and Copley, hoping they don't destroy his amateur herb patch or his dahlias, has tried very hard to give them privacy. By that he means that he is not standing on the porch like a stalker and watching the two women attack each other without mercy and with deadly skill, faster than he has ever seen.

Astonished, he stops and stares at the door Joe has disappeared through before he realizes that he is not alone in the living room. Nicky nods slightly to him, one corner of his mouth curved into something like a half smile and Copley only realizes that because he has spent the last few days closely observing the immortal warriors and analyzing their behavior.

Copley has always considered himself to be a passable, if not a good judge of people - this skill was very helpful in his job and served him well. But Nicky's micro-expressions are on a completely different level. He seems perfectly at rest within himself and nothing in his face indicates what is going on inside him. Admittedly, Copley finds this just as intimidating as Andy's sharp presence, Joe's death look and Nile's powerful charisma. Nicky must be really good at playing poker, Copley thinks, and inwardly shakes his head because it's like wondering what Joe likes to do in his free time besides the obvious drawing, or what kind of ice cream Andy prefers to eat. And Copley isn't sure that the relationship between him and the ancient warriors can be considered as that familiar.

He fully understands their vigilant, suspicious attitude towards him and is determined to help them with their current problem, because he is complicit in the events that have happened and hopes to gain their forgiveness. Guilt and shame are still present in his heart for being blinded by the prospect of helping people with illnesses like the one that plagued his wife, even though all the signs of Merrick's sadistic play were right under his nose.

All the more, the fact that Joe left him alone with Nicky in a room, presumably to use the bathroom, feels like a minor victory, and Copley tries not to seem too baffled by it.

The minimal change in the bright mountain lakes that make up Nicky's eyes shows that he's not doing as good a job as he has hoped. In Nicky's eyes and the features around his mouth, the most emotions can be read, Copley noted, even if it will take him a lot of practice to see as much in Nicky's face as Joe. He will probably never reach this level, because he certainly does not have 900 years for a character study.

Nicky's minimal facial movements also make it harder for Copley to tell if he's in pain or to recognize the warning signs that precede any vomiting of blood - which is now occurring with terrible regularity.

Since he has found a tough nut to crack in Nicky, Copley has started to pay attention to Joe after Nicky's first blood break, in order to learn more about Nicky's behavior. With this tactic, Copley adds daily to his mental list of Nicky's signs of certain sensations, and to his chagrin, the signs of physical pain seem to be increasing in frequency.

Copley, one of those people who whine hard when they stub their little toe, admires the stoicism with which Nicky endures his rapidly deteriorating condition. Only his slow, sluggish movements and a barely noticeable frown are frequent indications of Nicky's discomfort, as well as a slight lowering of the corners of the mouth and the twitching of his jaw pointed out for Copley by Nile.

And of course the tremors from the chills going through Nicky's body at that moment. In addition to the thick hoodies, they pulled out all the stops with various blankets, socks, hot-water bottles and tea and Joe gives Nicky his body heat anyway, just like Andy and even Nile.

This deep, family bond between Andy, Joe and Nicky is met with great fascination by Copley and although Nile has only been an immortal for a few weeks, even Copley can see how easily the young woman has integrated into the team like a matching piece of a puzzle. It also shows him how much the emptiness of his house oppressed him after the death of his wife and that he finds himself wishing to be a part of this unusual family of extraordinary individuals.

With a quiet clearing of his throat, Copley de-freezes himself from where he has been standing for an alarmingly long number of seconds and turns the heat up. With the onset of autumn it is not a problem to heat so strongly because the nights are gradually getting colder. And Copley finds that he's already used to the high temperatures in the constantly heated living room. Sweating a little to keep Nicky from freezing as little as possible is probably the least Copley can do.

"Thank you, Mr. Copley," Nicky says, returning his attention to the open book in his lap, which Copley cannot identify as one of his. While he grimaces inwardly - whether that's because Nicky is the only one who continues to call him Mr. Copley, or because of how rough and strained his voice sounds, Copley can't tell - he sits down in the place where he is working. At least when he's not in his study. Actually, the professional atmosphere of his office always helps him to be more productive, but since Andy and her team moved in with him, Copley has gotten used to finding the presence of the others very pleasant.

When Joe returns, Copley is back to work retracing Meta Kozak's footsteps. She is currently moving from the western US towards New Mexico, but Copley doesn't know what her destination is or where she is keeping any evidence from Merrick's lab and that makes him angry at himself. He tracked Andromache the Scythian and her group of immortal warriors down so he shouldn't have any problems pinning Kozak down too. On the other hand, he had time to track down the immortals, and in this case it seems to be running like sand through his fingers.

Neither of the others is pushing him to hurry up or do better work, which Copley appreciates, but they all see Nicky's crumbling form every day.

Five minutes pass with no sound coming from the sofa, except for the occasional rustle of paper when Nicky turns a page or the sound of Joe's pen in his sketchbook, and Copley longs for a fifth cup of coffee.

"Copley?"

"Yes?" Even if Copley suspects what Joe wants from him, he takes his eyes off the irritatingly bright screen of his laptop to look at him.

Joe's dark, serious eyes are in such a strong contrast to the soft, warm expression of affection that they always take on when they come to rest on Nicky. "Is there-" Joe pauses to reconsider his choice of words, but Copley realizes in it the unrest that comes with Copley's own uneasiness. "- any news?"

To be honest, Copley prefers an angry, menacing Joe to the version whose tiny spark of hope Copley has to stifle over and over again, and he hates it. Still, he keeps his calm and shakes his head. "No, I'm sorry. I was able to locate her on the recordings of a hotel in Phoenix, Arizona, where she stayed for three nights. But I can't tell where she's going next. My guess is New Mexico, but she has changed direction several times in the past two days.” He sighs and shakes his head again. "She is very careful, which means that she expects you to search for her."

The pale, blurred face and cold, lifeless-looking eyes on his laptop cause a disgusted, hate-like feeling in his stomach. Copley wonders how he could ever expect from such an immoral doctor who sliced ​​people up for the Nobel Prize and took samples without letting herself be disturbed by their screams of pain to do something good for humanity.

Joe nods slowly and turns to his drawing with furrowed eyebrows, chewing on his lower lip and Copley looks at Nicky, only to notice that Nicky's focus has long been on his love. Copley thinks he sees something like concern in Nicky's eyes and then he reaches out his hand and squeezes Joe's, saying something in a lowered tone in that strange language and Joe snorts and grins slightly.

Copley has seen moments like this quite often lately. It's no secret that Nicky's condition weighs as heavily on Joe as a block of cement, and while Joe is definitely a smiler, there's nothing like it to be seen. Dry comments from Andy or deliberately silly jokes from Nile make him smile and, at best, even laugh a little. But only Nicky manages to ignite the humorous spark in his eyes and he does that as often as possible.

In the same language, Joe replies something, causing a low snort from Nicky about that Joe looks so happy, as if he had won the jackpot, before he seeks Copley's eye contact again. "Thank you, Copley."

Copley high fives himself in his head for the further progress he's made with the immortals and smiles. "Of course, I will keep you informed about further results."

"We really appreciate that," Nicky says, putting his book aside. He coughs heavily and Joe is immediately on alert, ready to jump up and grab the bucket they've positioned next to the sofa since the accumulating blood-vomiting, but Nicky pulls himself together. "Have you eaten anything today, Mr. Copley?" He asks hoarsely.

"I beg your pardon?" Copley blinks.

Up to this point he hasn't even given a thought to food and is amazed to realize that he has actually not eaten anything since last night because he was too busy following Kozak's trail. As if on command, his stomach growls softly and Copley is stunned that Nicky pays remarkable attention to who is eating what and when.

"Oh," Copley says, staring at his keyboard and then at Nicky, who is patiently waiting. "I'm afraid not, no."

He didn't even finish his sentence when Nicky gets up from the sofa - so slowly that it's painful to watch - and heads for the kitchen. "Do you like French omelettes?"

"Nicky-" Joe is hot on Nicky's heels, which is no wonder given Nicky's slow pace, every step taken so carefully, as if every move would hurt him. Because Nicky is supposed to take it easy and rest, Andy and Nile have thrown him out of the kitchen a few times because standing at the stove had exhausted him. And even if Copley doesn't know all the habits of the team by a long way, he can see how much Nicky loves to look after his family and that cooking and baking gives him great joy. This makes it all the more difficult for him not even be able to do that.

And the way Joe looks, he is more than aware of it. But instead of putting Nicky back on the sofa and advising him not to use the kitchen to make Copley a French omelette because it could harm his condition, Joe just says gently, "May I help you?"

It is not a statement that has been disguised in a question to avoid contradiction. It's a real question that Joe means wholeheartedly and leaves Nicky to decide whether he wants to work alone in the kitchen or to be helped. Joe didn't ask if he could cook, but asked Nicky's permission to help him cook and leave the main work to Nicky. And that Joe pays such careful attention to Nicky's feelings and wants to do something about it that he feels useless, moves Copley more than he would have expected.

Copley only catches a glimpse of the smile Nicky only saves for Joe. "Of course, hayati." Copley can't miss the underlying gratitude.

Continue reading on AO3 ;)

[missymallow]

Drarry: Secret Kisses

---

“Potter, you're supposed to cut it vertically, not horizontally!”

Memories of soft lips against his vanished in an instant as Harry snapped out of his thoughts. He blinked rapidly until his eyes refocus on Malfoy who was watching him with a slight frown on his face.

Harry decided he doesn't like the way those pale brows knotted in disapproval, so he drag his eyes southward to seek the pink lips which currently pressed in a thin line.

Huh, they look soft and so pink, really pink.

Harry wonder if they feel as soft as it looks, like those kisses he has been receiving.

Kisses.

Merlin, indeed.

That culprit of his.

It's been going on for weeks now. Most of the days he'd catch him on his usual tree, some was when he falls asleep in an empty class but always when he was alone. Even so, Harry's favourite would be those days when his culprit was being sneaky like the snake he is, where he'd catch him while he was around his friends.

It almost gave him a heart attack when it happened to him the first time. He was only a few steps behind Ron and Hermione, content on watching his friends lovingly teasing one another when a hand grabbed his robes and halt him from walking. He was yanked around, and felt hands on each of his cheeks before he was pulled into a kiss, enough to make him light headed and dizzy. But just like the way he appeared, his culprit vanished in a blink of an eye after stealing Harry's ability to function, leaving him with a heart shaped chocolate tucked nicely in his curled fist.

It was when Ron personally drag him to the common room, when he settled on his bed, when he recalled the kiss for the hundredth time that the thought has finally occurred to him; his culprit was using a strong Disillusionment Charm.

That sneaky git.

No wonder he had never managed to grasp any glimpse of his culprit no matter how hard Harry tried to catch him back.

The next time it happened, he was lounging around near the Great Lake, together with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Seamus and Dean.

He was laughing at something Seamus said when he felt a repetitive jab on his back. Irritated, he turned to look over his shoulder only to have his lips kissed in such a brief moment - only lips pressed against another lips - but hard enough to ensure Harry that it was not his imagination. His nose was prodded fondly with a gentle finger when the lips disappeared, and felt something was tucked just behind his back; a heart shaped chocolate.

“Potter!”

Harry was forced back into his reality by the sudden shout of his name. He jumps, frantically looking around to realise that he was still in Potions, with an angry Malfoy glowering down at Harry.

“Huh?”

“‘Huh’?!.” Malfoy parrots in annoyance and growls, “I swear to Merlin I'll never make your life easy if you're the reason I failed this class.”

Malfoy shoves his things back into his bag in a quick motion, and slung them over his shoulder as he gives Harry one last warning look and dramatically walks passed Harry, straight out of the class.

Harry helplessly stares at the door, hoping that he hadn't screwed their silent truce. Since they got back, the Slytherin was nothing but polite not only to him, but to everyone he interacts with. It was as if his self arrogant prat sucked out of his body, leaving a nice version of Draco Malfoy behind.

Not only that; Harry recalled the exchange smile every time their eyes met (Harry thought Malfoy possessed a really beautiful smile), or those short greetings they shared every time they bumped into each other (Harry found out that Malfoy’s voice was actually really pleasant when he doesn't use it to insult other people).

Their interactions are something he almost looks forward to everyday. Key word: almost.

What he looks forward to everyday is those bloody mysterious kisses. Now that he thinks about it, Malfoy’s lips-

“Harry.”

A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he turned to see Hermione questioning face. “Are you okay?”

“Yea.” He answers mindlessly.

“Are you sure?” Ron asks, standing behind his girlfriend. “Did Malfoy say something to you?”

“No!” Harry quickly denied when Ron getting into his defensive mode. “I was- He was just-” Right, why was Malfoy angry with him? Ah, yes. “He was just frustrated that I haven't paid attention to Potions.”

“We noticed.” Hermione nodded, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on his bicep as they walk out of class together. “You know we're here for you, Harry.”

They make their way towards the sloping lawn outside the castle, when Ron suddenly speaks. “Was it got to do with the heart shaped chocolate?”

Harry abruptly stop and snapped his head to Ron so quick he almost got whiplash. “You noticed?”

“We noticed.” Hermione points out, moves to take a spot and sat herself. Harry and Ron quickly follows. “They always appeared out of nowhere, and you'd looked like something possessed you.” She continues, and scrunch her face uncomfortably.

Ron lets out a snorts. “What she meant was you always looked like someone snogged you good.”

Harry stared at his friends with his jaw hung loose, gobsmacked, as he asks with a hitch voice. “You noticed?!”

“Well, it's not that hard to notice when one moment you're talking and the next it looked like you're making out with the air.”

Never had Harry desperately wish for the ground to swallow him whole. He pretty much sure that his face could rival a ripe tomatoes now.

He open his mouth to say something - anything just for the sake of his dignity but nothing's come out which got him opening and closing his mouth like a retarded fish. Eventually, he settled with: “I didn't look too silly, am I?”

“Well,” Hermione starts with a thoughtful look, but there's a teasing glint in those brown eyes. “If you count an imitation of a dying fish as not too silly, then yes, I suppose.” She shrugs, biting her lip to prevent her from laughing when Harry stared at her in horror.

Ron, the traitor, laughs out loud. Slapping Harry's hard on the shoulder. “It was quite a sight, mate.”

By this point, if another Dark Lord come and straight out kill Harry on the spot, he would be gladly let them so.

Hermione gives Ron's arm a slap when he keep on laughing, silently scold him for his actions before she started to make those faces to Ron, and they fall into a small comical talk using their faces, something that Harry never quite master because apparently it's only applicable to people who are in a relationship.

He jumps when they simultaneously turned to him of all sudden, and he's not quite sure of what to do except to stupidly stared at their expectant faces, brows raised in an identical manner as they leaned forward, invading Harry's personal space. It went like that for a while, just Harry darting his eyes to his friends back and forth when the pressure was too much for him to handle making him groans aloud.

“Merlin, fine!”

He scoffs when they smugly smirks at him, and crossed his arms together in a sulky manner. He lifts his chin, pointedly stared at something far down the hall to avoid his friends’ eyes as he mutters, “Someone has been snogging me for weeks now.”

When he drags back his eyes to see their reaction, he was not disappointed; both Ron and Hermione sporting faces like someone just cast a Confundus Charm on them.

“You- someone really been snogging you?!” Ron asked when he snapped out of his stupor.

“Shocking, isn't it?”

“Blimey, and we didn't even notice her presence!”

“Must be a powerful witch then, to cast a strong Charm like that.” Hermione said in amazement and Harry just had to smirk at his friends.

“Wizard.” He corrects. “He's a wizard and one of a hell brilliant kisser.

He chuckles when Ron and Hermione dropped their jaw in unison which soon followed by Hermione when Ron twists his face in comical confusion.

“He's a wizard, and you're okay with it?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” Harry shrugs.

“That's- a really big development, Harry.” Hermione smiled, and Harry gratefully smiles back at her when he realised it.

“Wait, does that mean that I actually gay?”

“What, that you've been snogging some bloke which you've never known about for weeks, and finds that you actually like it means you’re gay?” Ron raised a brow.

“Yea?”

“Well, do you like girls?” Hermione asked.

“You know I do.”

“Bisexual, then.” Ron nods, proud that he managed to conclude it for Harry.

“I suppose so.” Harry imitates his action, nodding as he eyes his friends. “Are you okay with me kissing a bloke?”

“Merlin, Harry. All I want is for this bloke to come out and stop snogging you silly in open places like that.” Ron states, making Hermione burst out laughing and Harry can't help but grin.

As if it was his purpose to prove Ron wrong, Harry was yanked backwards out of nowhere, strong but not to the point that it was hurting him. Hands firmly taking a grip on each side of his face before he was pulled into a fierce open mouth kiss that got Harry struggling for breath through his nose.

Then suddenly Harry feels the lips pulls apart, hands leaving his face as one of them drop to his shoulder and another pulling out a wand as a strong whispers of Protego was casted just in time Hermione’s own Finite hit the invisible shield and dissipate into thin air.

“Bloody hell!” Ron gape.

An elegant snort was heard followed by a goodbye kiss that was dropped on Harry's cheek before he can even comprehend what has happened and Hermione quickly shouts; “We'll catch you soon!”

Three small packages suddenly tossed to each of them and Harry smiles as he receives his regular heart shaped chocolate and immediately sink his teeth in it once he unwrap it, humming in content as the delicious taste burst in his mouth.

“Harry, look.” Hermione calls and lifts the chocolate she received. Ron copies her action despite his confusion and lift his own half eaten chocolate close to Hermione’s. “What's wrong with these chocolates?”

Hermione huffed in irritation, “Well, which house do you think been giving chocolates for the past two weeks?”

It took a whole minute for him to understand Hermione’s implications and stares at the chocolates in a whole new light when he finally gets it. This chocolate may be different from Harry's heart shaped chocolate, may be a little less tastier than his chocolate, but he's seen them been handed out to the students by one particular Hogwarts house.

His eyes widen, thrill that his own suspicion from the last few weeks are now confirmed. That snake! Oh, he can't wait to catch this culprit of his.

He shared excited looks with his friends, grins as they speaks in unison;

“Slytherin.”

---

FULL VERSION

It's my Christmas gift for my two best girls; @angel-we-are and @bubblegum-cuties-blog! I hope you both having a good Christmas, and to you as well my followers and readers! Happy Christmas x