#all three of the paintings turned out successful (yay!) but i think this one is my favorite

[andstuffsketches]

[abstract digital painting. the background is pale blue, white, and gray, almost cloudy, with pink on the very bottom. a white skeletal hand almost fades into the background. On the bottom of the painting, a pink sliding switch.]

Vision #1

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨1

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) nothing as yet.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Yay, mob Clark. And I know what you’re saying right now, enough with Clark Kent! I get it haha. Promise, for a while, this will be the last I do of him. I have Lee fic in the work right now, the early development of medieval Peter, and I’m still sitting on some Loki ft. an exchange student... and then all my other series of course!

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

You stood against the wall, chewing your lip as you looked around the gallery. You should be ecstatic, you should be floating around on a cloud, but all you could feel was crushing anxiety. It was truly a dream come true; your art hanging on the wall. Only three pieces, but it was there, and your name was below it in print.

You tugged on the waist of your dress and teetered in your heels. It was a borrowed outfit, you couldn’t afford anything appropriate to the upscale venue. The classic starving artist, or almost. You slipped your phone from your purse and up your sleeve. You subtly checked the time and for the little chat icon in the corner. Still no message.

Marcus was almost an hour late. He texted just after the event opened to warn you he was caught up with work but you worried he wouldn’t show up at all. It wasn’t his fault his boss was a jackass but you weren’t prepared to face this alone. You dropped your phone back into your slender purse and snapped it shut.

Vanessa, the gallery owner, made you flinch as she appeared almost out of the air. You smiled at her shyly and stopped chewing your lip.

“You should mingle,” she said, “you have an interested buyer. You might have a few more if you come out from the corner.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so nervous,” you confessed, “I-- thank you so much for this opportunity.”

“You earned it,” she touched your arm daintily, “all those hard hours working the back room, I couldn’t not hang a few pieces.”

You fixed your posture and tried to seem as confident as her. Your income came solely from hours of at-home data entry as you volunteered at the gallery in your few hours between. It was all worth it and maybe if you sold something tonight, Vanessa would feature you work again and you wouldn’t need to spend the bulk of your days staring at tiny font.

“So, where’s this buyer?” you asked hopefully.

“That’s my girl,” Vanessa trilled, “he seems very interested.”

She led you across the room, stopping to greet other artists and old friends with a kiss on the cheek and deep laughter. You’d met them all before as you were often working at these events. It was your first time as one of them.

When at last you neared your little stretch of the wall, a man stood with his head slightly back as he stared at your proto-renaissance portraits. He was tall and his broad shoulders strained the rich fabric of his jacket. His dark hair was neatly parted and a slight curl marked the front above the shadow of scruff poking out along his jawline.

“Mr. Kent,” Vanessa chimed, “I found her.”

He turned to look at you and his deep blue eyes struck you. He smiled between you and the gallery owner, his chiseled jaw even more defined by the gesture.

“This is Mr. Kent,” she introduced you in turn, “I believe he was interested in the larger piece.”

“All three, if you don’t have another buyer lined up,” he intoned, “I think they belong together.”

“All of them?” you raised your brows, “well, I, yeah, I guess--”

“We can put something together for you,” Vanessa interrupted your awkward stuttering, “let me just mark them.”

She took the silver pen she kept on a chain around her wrist and scribbled in the corner of the tags to mark them as sold. You were slightly numb at your disbelief. You were a bit reluctant to part with your work but the check would ease your grief.

“The way you use colours,” he said as he faced the paintings again, “I’ve recently had some work done in my house and I hate the sight of naked walls.”

“Thank you,” you said as you stepped a little closer and looked at your delicate strokes.

“Pardon me,” Vanessa rushed away as she beckoned to one of her assistants and prattled orders.

“Vanessa tells me you’re a new artist,” he said.

“New in a sense,” you said, “I guess, I’m officially an artist now.”

“Oh? I’m flattered. Your first buyer?”

“Besides some online fanart, yeah,” you replied, “so, Mr. Kent, what do you do?”

“Clark,” he corrected, “and a little bit of everything.”

An awkward silence took over and was thankfully interrupted by your name. You turned as Marcus rushed over and his shoes slipped on the polished floor. He reached you and kissed your cheek as he caught his breath.

“I’m so sorry, I got caught in traffic on the way over and then my oil light started flashing,” he gasped out.

“Hey, you’re here,” you rubbed his shoulder and straightened his tie without thinking as it hung at an angle.

“So, you sell anything yet?” he asked.

“Yes, actually, um, Mr-- Clark,” you gestured to the man standing patiently to the side, “he just bought all three.”

“Damn,” Marcus said, “guess I can hold onto my savings.”

“Marc,” you nudged his arm with your knuckles, “you know we can’t afford your cheesiness.”

“Sorry, uh,” Marcus laughed at himself, “I’m Marcus.”

He held out his hand and Clark shook it. His eyes strayed to you as his features sharpened just a little.

“You two…?” he ventured.

“Five years,” Marcus announced, “guess we’re going steady.”

“Oh,” Clark nodded placidly, “are you an artist too?”

“God no, I can hardly write my own name legibly,” Marcus kidded, “I’m a developer.”

“Computers,” Clark mused.

“Yeah, computers,” Marcus scoffed, “and you?”

“Own a couple businesses,” Clark shrugged.

“Must be successful if you can hang around here,” Marcus said and you elbowed him in embarrassment.

“I guess,” Clark smoothed his dark purple jacket and checked his watch, “I’ll let you two be. Maybe I’ll find something to go with these fine pieces.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, “I’m happy to see my work go to a good home.”

“I hope to see more in future,” he returned kindly.

He turned and carried on to the statue constructed of can tabs and greeted another suited man. You looked at Marcus as he leaned in to read the tags beneath your paintings. He stood and looked at you with wide eyes.

“Holy shit, ten grand?” he hissed.

“Pretty good pay for one night,” you chirped, “glad you could make it.”

“Sorry again, I… I had to redo some code. Adam was in a mood so,” he shook his head and sighed, “let’s not talk about it. Let’s celebrate.” He peeked over at the server with a tray of stemmed flutes, “and you can decide what you’re going to buy me with that check.”

“Hush,” you chided as you took a glass of champagne, “now is not the time to go over bills.”

🎨

At the end of the night, you watched one of the assistants take down your canvas and you helped wrap them in paper and twine. As you finished a loopy knot, you were surprised by the figure beside you. You looked up and set the smallest piece atop the larger ones. Clark smiled as you moved to let him pick them up.

“All yours,” you said, almost mournful to see them go.

“Thanks,” he said as he tucked them easily under his thick arm, “I forgot earlier but do you have a card? Are you open for commissions?”

“You must have a lot of walls,” you looked down and opened your purse, “I have a card and I could try a commission.”

You slid out one of the cards that had lingered in your wallet for more than a year. You handed it to him and he read the flowery font before tucking it away in his jacket.

“I do… have a lot of walls,” he said with a smirk, “I’ll give you a call once these are hung.”

“O-okay,” you kept from wringing your hands and closed your purse, “thank you… again.”

“My pleasure,” assured, “have a good night.”

“Yeah, good night,” you said and watched him go.

You let out a breath and smiled to yourself. You would talk to Vanessa and get your cut of the check before you went. Then you could worry about getting Marcus home. He’d had a little too much champagne and you’d left him in the backroom so you could help with the clean-up.

Vanessa bid goodbye to one of her featured artists as you neared. She turned to you and threw up her hands in delight.

“Wonderful, darling,” she said, “you earned that wall.”

“Thanks,” you grinned bashfully.

“Really. That man has never bought a piece before,” she smirked, “I’ve been dying to get into his wallet for years.”

“I never saw him before…”

“Oh, well, yes, he has not been to many of these either. I often see him at other galleries,” she explained, “I hope you have some more for the next.”

“Um, yeah, I should be able to--”

“I’ll have the check for you tomorrow,” she patted your shoulder as her eye was caught by another, “go get your boyfriend out of my studio.”

You accepted your dismissal and turned on your heel. That was just Vanessa, steely but slightly flighty as well. Besides, you were exhausted and you would likely be dragging Marcus into a cab.

You found him slumped at the paint-splattered table. You shook him awake and smiled dopily as he opened his eyes.

“Babe,” he pushed his arm around you.

“Marcus,” you drawled in disappointment, “let’s get out of here.”

“Huh?” He looked around and hiccupped, “oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You had a long day,” you assured him as you rubbed his back and let him lean on you as he stood, “I’m just happy you showed up after all that nonsense.”

“Of course, babe,” he slurred and you helped him through the door.

You kept your head down as you slowly sneaked out past Vanessa but you didn’t miss her side-eye. It was best to be as covert as possible. You came out through the door and nearly dropped Marcus.

“Jesus, can I get a little help?” you snipped as you looked around for a yellow cab.

“Sorry, baby, sorry,” he got his feet flat but it hardly helped take his weight off of you.

You raised your hand to hail a cab and he slipped down your arm. Your ankle bent as you turned to try to catch him before you dropped him entirely. He was saved from hitting the ground as he was caught by another. You looked over his head as he was pushed up to his feet again. 

Clark kept his arm behind Marcus as you stared at him, “oh my god, thank you.”

“No problem,” he said as he steadied your boyfriend, “you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied as you lifted your foot and kept the weight off your ankle, “I just need to get a taxi.” You raised your hand again as you tried to see past the large man, “if you don’t mind getting him in--”

“You can ride with me,” he said brusquely as he turned with Marcus and peered back at you, “this way.”

“We can’t--”

“On that ankle,” he said as you began to limp after him, “you won’t get him out on your own.”

“Really, I’m fine--”

“I don’t mind,” he said coolly as he came to a silver sports car and balanced Marcus against him as he opened the door, “I’ll need an address.”

“Uh, oh,” you folded your hands, “thank you. Really, you’ve done too much.”

“It happens. I’ve had these nights,” he put Marcus across the seat and folded his legs up and shut the door, “you can take the front and tell me where I’m going.”

You hesitated and he opened the front door. You neared and hissed as you stumbled on your ankle. You caught yourself on his arm and quickly retracted your hand as you apologized. 

“It’s alright,” he said as you sat in the front seat. He knelt and gently took your ankle. His thumb rubbed the swollen joint, “you really banged yourself up.”

“I’ll be okay,” you assured him, “thanks.”

He let go and stood. He waited for you to turn your legs into the car and gently closed the door. He rounded to the other side and got in as he fished around for his keys. He turned the engine and gripped the wheel with one hand as he took out his phone. He placed it on the magnetic holder and his fingers flicked over the screen.

“Address?” he asked.

You recited it and winced as Siri responded, ‘calculating route’. You shrunk against the luxury leather and glanced at him. He let out a huff and steered into the mostly empty street.

“I’m sorry about all this--”

“No, don’t be,” he glanced in the rearview, “he must be happy for you.”

“Yeah, uh, I think he is,” you said as he followed the map directions, “I am too. I mean, it will go along way… uh, well, you know, things can be tough or--” you shrugged, “I mean, it’s not about the money.”

“Yeah, but it’s nice to be paid,” he said lightly, “and I don’t mind paying for good art.”

You looked out the window as your cheeks burned. You could smell his cologne, subtle but strong. You played with your purse as your nerves brewed in your chest. You watched the sidewalks and the street lights as your surroundings grew more familiar.

He pulled up to your building. It wasn’t the greatest area and the brick façade was faded and cracked. Before you could get out, he was at your door. He offered his hand and helped you out as you leaned on the car. He let you go and opened the back and lifted Marcus out. He hooked your boyfriend’s arm over his shoulder and offered his other arm.

“Come on,” he said.

“Look, you don’t-- there’s an elevator.”

“I’d feel better if I got you inside,” he insisted, “especially in this area.”

You relented and took his arm and limped beside him up the steps. You took out your keys and went ahead of him as he dragged Marcus in. You went to the elevator and hit the button. The doors glided open and you stepped inside. He stood close in the small metal box and Marcus murmured dumbly at his side.

The doors dinged and he let you out first. He followed you down the hall and you unlocked your apartment and waved him inside. He carried Marcus to the couch at your direction and you leaned against the armchair as you bent your leg to check your ankle.

“You should put some ice on that,” Clark said as he neared, “get some sleep yourself.”

“Yeah, I will,” you assured, “thank you, again.”

You felt embarrassed as you eyed his expensive suit and looked around your tiny apartment. It must have been laughable to him. He hardly seem bothered as he retreated to the door.

“I’ll let you then,” he said, “and thank you. I really do like your work.”

The door shut in his stead and you heard his footsteps down the long hall until the door at the end swung open. You glanced at Marcus and shook your head. You weren’t as happy to have had him at the show then.

[bontenten]

The Choosing

Pairing: Daichi x f!reader (ft. Captain Squad <3 and Sakusa)

WC: 3.2k

Genre/Warnings: Crack/Bad Humor, Smut, Romance, Reverse Harem, Royalty AU!, mention or hints of size kink, exhibitionism, creampie, breeding kink, dick and ball worship, you’re perverted and gross

Summary: You are the Princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym and you need to choose a husband.

Repost from my main because I say so. Lee... :gru: i miss u

Also, no beta we die like Daichi.

It’s a tradition carried through many, many generations that the daughters of nobility from the Kingdom of YoreNaym must choose a suitor from the eligible bachelors from the neighboring kingdoms. It’s a show of kinship to the other kingdoms and also a means of securing peace.

At some point, everyone’s sister’s cousin’s second uncle’s sworn brother’s adopted daughter’s nephew twice-removed will be related and connect back to the Kingdom of YoreNaym. In short, the blood of this kingdom’s daughters unite the lands. No incest, there’s enough genetic diversity, if you will. And because you are also a princess of this kingdom, it’s your turn. Yay.

While growing up, you hear the elders say that the youngsters should be grateful that they have the agency to at least pick a suitor. They spin their looms and cackle, reminiscing that, “Back in our days, we didn’t get to have a choice. Our elders appointed a spouse for us from whichever kingdom had a suitor. Unlike you girls who get to choose, ungrateful wenches…”

Does it really matter? It’s just the false pretense of choice, isn’t it? At the end of the day the selection of eligible bachelors are all chosen ahead of time, deemed worthy, and then after the initial picking, you are just allowed to pick. It doesn’t matter who you choose, any one of them will fit the criteria. Maybe you’ll just close your eyes and pick one randomly. Can you actually say, “I’ll choose my own hand and marry myself.”

That’s pretty brave, hell yea that’s a main character move right there. Speaking of which, who are the eligible bachelors you can choose from today? It’s practically your engagement day, yet you really haven’t been paying any attention at all.

“Hey,” you whisper, lifting the curtain of the palanquin. A maid quickly answers to your beckon.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Who are the candidates today again? You have a...list or brochure of sorts?”

“Just a moment, my lady, I’ll retrieve the scroll for you.”

You open the scroll and peruse the contents. Huh, all the neighboring kingdoms are going all out this year. There’s the Kingdoms of Nekoma, Inarizaki, Fukurodani, Aoba Johsai, Shiratorizawa...Wow, even Johzenji and Nohebi have candidates? Funny, all of these are all presenting their crown princes too. As they should, you are the most beloved princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym, and the suitor you choose will bring you back as a blessing to his kingdom. It’s a total bummer that the Kingdom of Itachiyama isn’t participating this year. Sakusa’s crown prince succession is next year! You have heard so many swoon worthy stories about that princeling, even paid handsome amounts of money for paparazzi paintings of the beautiful man. No one will find out that the princess of YoreNaym actually hoards little pictures of Prince Sakusa in her panties drawers. It’s a shame you aren’t picking your husband next year.

There’s one more Kingdom on the list that surprises you. Kingdom of Karasuno, or more commonly referred to as the Kingdom of “Fallen Crows”. According to legends, they used to be quite a prosperous kingdom, but after a few generations of inept leadership, a drought, and poor trade economy...the Kingdom has mostly faded into obscurity. It’s been years since a suitor candidate has been offered. So who is it?

“Sawamura Daichi,” you whisper to yourself, “Interesting.”

The festival ground outdoors is especially grand. There are a huge number of tables prepared off to the side for guests. Trays of food, fruits and wine are provided for every single guest in attendance. You are led by the attendants to the temporary throne seat as the guest of honor. As you make your way to the throne, all the guests stand up to acknowledge your entrance. It’s so pressuring and a part of you wishes you can just dig a hole and bury yourself on the spot. You don’t even want to think about how many eyes are on you. They are all just jealous because, really. Take my word for it, I’m the narrator.

When you take a seat, the guests reseat themselves. A shaman comes to the center stage and bows to you.

“My lady, the time is auspicious, let us commence the Festival of Unity. At this time, I’ll be introducing the eligible bachelors from neighboring kingdoms near and far. They have passed the arduous tests and come as the best to offer in asking for your hand. Each of the suitors will present to you with a talent or skill, as to show you their excellence. After the demonstrations, you will be allowed to take your pick. Whereupon you will—”

“Okay, I get it! They will participate in a talent show, we clap, and I choose a husband, I got it!” You snap, cutting the shaman’s words off. Your patience is wearing thin.

A number of guests can be heard mumbling in the crowds, probably commenting on your behavior. Your eyes scan the guests, you can care less. Judgmental eyes, scheming eyes, lecherous eyes, disgusting eyes....Your gaze meeting with a pair of eyes that are absolutely blank. Wait, not blank as in emotionless. Non-judgemental? The opposite of unkind? Dare you say, polite? He gives you a smile and returns to taking a sip from his goblet. You scan his clothing up and down to look for his family crest. Black and orange. A crow. Karasuno.

Your thoughts are jumbled as an increasing amount of questions fill your mind. He? Karasuno? That Kingdom of Fallen Crows? You barely hear the shaman announce the first candidate.

“Bokuto Koutarou from Kingdom of Fukurodani.” Bokuto is a very large, very well built man. He is wearing his family crest of an owl across his back proudly. You can tell his chest is incredibly broad, the bulge of his big tiddies stretch the tight shirt he’s in. If you squint hard enough, you can maybe see the outline of his nipples through the training shirt, but maybe that’s just your perverted imagination too. Bokuto comes to the center stage and greets you.

“Hey! I’ll uh, demonstrate my strength to you, my lady.” He easily picks up a huge hunk of metal and lifts it with ease above his head. Damn beefiness, those arms of his. Seeing the bulges flex when he flexes has you dreaming of mouth along that delicious flesh. And when he pins you down under his massive body? Ooh, if this is the first demonstration, you’re excited to see the whole lineup today. Gasps and murmurs can be heard in the crowd. Bokuto grins and drops the load on the ground. You can almost feel the tremors beneath your feet. Truly, a herculean feat.

“Thank you, Bokuto, I have seen your demonstration and all those here are witnesses.”

Bokuto’s demonstration is a showy start of the competition for your hand. The shaman announces the next candidate. “Ushijima Wakatoshi from the Kingdom of Shiratorizawa.”

Ushijima walks up to the stage exuding the regal aura of nobility; a byproduct of his strict upbringing. The twin crests of an eagle decorate his shoulder pads. His expression is quite cold, but there’s a saying, “it’s always the quiet ones.” You lick your lips and study him some more.

“Greeting to the princess,” he says with a deep bow. “I also bring a demonstration of my martial prowess.” Ushijima takes off the bow and quiver of arrows from his back and nods at his attendant who then catapults three apples high up into the air. Everyone’s eyes follow the  trajectory of the objects, squinting to see what’s happening. No way.

Ushijima draws the bow back and calmly shoots one arrow, perfectly spearing the three fruits along the shaft. The crowd bursts into cheers. You also find your tight grip on armrest loosening, the tension from the scene dissipating in a moment. Ushijima’s calmness, accuracy, decision-making...he would make a very suitable partner for sure. Co-workers of sorts, that is.

You know your marriage carries a lot of weight politically and the fate of the whole universe will rest on your decision. Maybe not the whole universe, but close enough. But, marital bliss is important too right? Is Ushijima the right choice? There are still many more candidates, it’ll be best not to make a rash decision. Your gaze wanders over back to the Karasuno prince who is clapping earnestly for Ushijima’s performance. He’s acknowledging a rival’s strength, you think to yourself. Well, that’s certainly a rare but admirable trait. A confident man, he is.

After Ushijima’s demonstration, Oikawa Tooru’s enchanting musical performance offers a much desired change of pace. The rhythm and melody from his zither carries both the energy of fortitude as well as a graceful spirit. Quite stunning, but just not quite the musical vibe you’re feeling at the moment. Bummer, maybe a different day, really. Could be friends?

Kuroo Tetsurou from the Kingdom of Nekoma offers a particularly memorable performance too. Kuroo comes to the center stage with a trough filled with flames. Everyone is at a loss as to what is going on. Kuroo flashes you a grin before taking out a few pouches containing some powders. In a poof, the flames burst alive with colors blending blues and purples. And moments later yellows and greens, even reds. No one has ever seen fire change color like so.

“Witchcraft!” someone gasps.

“No it must be alchemy. Dangerous craft,” another adds.

Kuroo bows to you. “My lady, this is called chemistry, a discipline of science.”

Kuroo’s smiles teeter on the edge of flirtations and you cannot deny that your heart flutters just slightly when you see his crooked grin. He’s intelligent, humorous, and attractive. Definitely also a contender. A union with him might be fun. And especially when you see Kuroo run a hand through his messy, black locks and give you a piercing gaze, you almost wonder if this is the feeling of chemistry. It feels like you are naked under his seductive, golden eyes, completely submitted to his will and absolutely drugged. And you fear that if he sends you another one of his grins, you’ll come untouched. Dangerous, send him off immediately.

“Thank you, Kuroo, I have seen your demonstration and all those here are witnesses.”

After Kuroo, many more candidates also come to the center stage for their demonstrations. Kita Shinsuke from the Kingdom of Inarizaki composes and recites poetry on the spot. His literary talents and mastery of public speech move a very large crowd of the literati officials. Kita is a charismatic leader and commands confidence. But he doesn’t seem to be the best fit. Your brain says ‘yes’, but your coochie just isn’t feeling it. The nerve signals say no.

Terushima Yuuji demonstrates a one-man comedy show, but his storytelling skills, although humorous, fall just a little short after Kita’s. Had Terushima been slotted for a different position, perhaps he would make a stronger impact.

Daishou Suguru. Interesting. But tongue itself will eventually get boring too.

A few more candidates demonstrate their talents to you. Most of them fail to impress you at all. Your blank expression is more than enough to make a few almost shit their pants or cry on the way they exit the stage. It’s really not their fault, you’re just a bit tired after seeing so many performances and demonstrations. You are just trying to find the best fit after all. It’s your duty and responsibility as the muthereffing princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym.

“Sawamura Daichi from the Kingdom of Karasuno.”

The crowd is silent as Daichi stands up from his seat and makes his way to the center. His shoulder is relaxed and his head is held high. He doesn’t have the large build of Bokuto nor is he decked out in regal fabrics like Ushijima. His hair is simple and clean. His expression is polite and pleasant. Amongst the sea of beautiful and talented men, Daichi is like an ordinary seashell buried in the sand. But like how too many bites of dessert beckon the simplicity of water, Daichi’s humble presence makes him stand out in particular.

Daichi bows deeply. “I send my deepest regards to the princess. I am Sawamura Daichi from the Kingdom of Karasuno.”

“Please rise, Sawamura. What demonstration do you bring to me today?”

“My lady, I have nothing showy in particular. I only bring myself. And please feel free to call me Daichi.” You can feel his piercing gaze on you, confident and assertive. So he has some guts. It beckons you to submit, but you bite back. Grrrrr.

“Just yourself? That’s quite cocky of you Daichi. Others bring talents and demonstrations of qualities that make them fit as my suitor. What do you have to offer for me to choose you? Or is that something you are not looking for at all?”

“Karasuno,” Daichi begins, “Karasuno is a good kingdom. For many years long ago, our people have suffered greatly and we have gained a poor moniker. However, for the last few years, the kingdom has made significant progress and improvements. Alongside my brethren and officers of my court,” Daichi gestures to his entourage sitting off to the side, “We have come a long way. ”

“You tell me much about your home, Daichi, but what about you?”

Daichi pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. He is well aware of the pressures you are putting on him, testing his convictions to the limit. You are a princess after all, so it’s only natural that you test his qualifications. Diachi swallows his nerves and faces your confrontation head on.

“I come to tell you the truth, my lady. I cannot hide these facts about myself or my kingdom. I am truthful, honest, but I have an unshaken belief that my kingdom will prosper because I have my closest and trusted with me. Each of them have their talents and strengths. Karasuno is a band with a bit of everything, and we’re family.”

You inwardly sigh. It seems like Daichi won’t be completely living up your hopes. At first you thought that his confident yet humble demeanor must hide something. Something incredible, because he can sit back and freely applaud other men for their talents. Something remarkable because he doesn’t feel the need to jump out in front of others. Something big. Very big.

“I don’t doubt your family’s bond or strength, but I am here to choose a suitor, a husband in layman's terms. So, I suppose that—”

“Wait,” Daichi cries out, and gestures towards his Karasuno brethren.

A tangerine head jumps up and brings out a scroll. He skips a few steps towards you and passes the document over to the shaman who brings it to you.

“My resume, if you will, my lady. I have no other talents but what is shown there.”

You glance at Daichi, studying him closely. From his clenched fist, you can tell that even in this moment, he’s a bit shaken and nervous. You undo the ties on the scroll and unravel the contents.

All eyes are fixed on you, trying to decipher every microexpression you make. The slight widened eyes, the twitch of the brow. The slight part of the lips and the deep breathes from you trying to calm the invisible fire that’s building in your core. It’s big. If the resume is accurate, Daichi’s demeanor truly is hiding a beast. A massive, humongous, schlong. Finer than any specimen you have seen in banned pictorial books you read and hide under your massive princess bed.

The sheer size and girth of the XL 2d image is rendered in X-TRA fine detail. You brush a finger onto the parchment, tracing the lines depicting the veins running along the shaft. You gulp, rubbing your finger down what is drawn as a big, swollen tip that’s glistening. Artists these days are so detail-oriented, it looks as if precum is just dripping from the tip and shimmering. So realistic, you just want to take it all into your mouth. To gag or to choke. Neither are a question.

The balls, those massive balls that are the storehouses for an endless supply of fresh cum. Organics from the finest the kingdom has to offer. Precious jewels hanging at the base, ripe for your licking. It looks so juicy and plump and you want nothing more than to rub your cheeks, cooing at how cute they are.

You know it’s good. It better be good if the painting is depicting something this sumptuous. If this is the real deal, then you really have nailed the jackpot and secured a brilliant future for yourself. Marital bliss. Bedroom adventures. Bedroom adventures where he’ll fulfill every nightmarish fantasy you ever have. It’ll be hard at first, your cunt’s so tight and he’s so big! But it’s okay, you’ll take him like the royal princess you are because the Kingdom of YoreNaym raises whores and sluts only!

No scratch that. Coital activities can take place anywhere. Maybe you’ll cockwarm him while the two of you hear what the morning court has to say about the affairs of the kingdom. Maybe you’ll find yourself tumbling around in the garden after a cute game of hide and seek, skirt hiked up, as he fucks a grass stain into your back! Okay. That might not be the best idea. Perhaps just once. For novelty’s sake.

But hear me out, when you are sneaking into the kitchen for some snacks, he’ll pin you on the large baker’s table and just take you right there to fuck his babies into your womb. His cock pumping into you as the table creaks and shakes from his thunderous movements. He’ll fill you to the brim with copious amounts of his hot cum, heaps and heaps of them, just like the baker fills the buns with cream custard in the most obscene fashion ever. Watch your belly rise and bulge up like pastries in the oven. Oooh cummies.

You sigh and squirm in the seats as you continue examining the masterpiece of a dick. You feel your heartbeat racing wildly as if you are caught tinkling in the castle fountain. It’s unknown if you ever did that, by the way. Just saying, your memory is failing you just a tad. But oh gosh, you’re wet already. The slick pooling between your folds is just soaking through your princess panties; the ones in the drawer where you keep all your secret prince Sakusa drawings heehee. But Sakusa’s pretty face aside, you are now face to face with the most magnificent dick pic you’ll ever receive. Not really unsolicited, but damn work of art. Literally.

The crowd is silent when you clear your throat and roll up the scroll, taking extra care to not let anyone else touch your new precious treasure. You lean forward and perceive Daichi. Daichi gives you a cocky grin, showing his teeth. Slightly stained with the wine, but it’s just temporary. It doesn’t matter as long as the real deal is...well, real.

Daichi catches your eyes wandering to the outline of the bulge between his legs. The glorious dickprint that he’s casually showing to everyone present. It puts Herculean Bokuto to shame, Ushijima into a blushing mess. Kuroo nearly snorts his colored powders. Daishou’s tongue hangs out and dries. Oikawa is sent to the medics. Kita no longer waxes poetry about the weather. Terushima leaves the party early.

Daichi is smug and casually asks, “My lady, would you like to examine the goods? I am a pure man and would not carelessly offer tastes to anyone. But you are a princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym. You can have a sampling before you commit. Satisfaction guaranteed.”

[myhockeyworld87]

A Crosby Christmas

Word Count: 3,713

POV: Reader

Warnings: A little smut, nothing too much...it is Christmas after all

Notes: I know I haven’t been on here in a while, but I wanted to drop this little story here for you guys to enjoy this Christmas! Hopefully I’ll be more active after the holidays. I also have Toews Christmas story I’m working on so hopefully I can drop that soon as well. Don’t worry I haven’t forgotten about your other favs. There will be new Ruined and Not So Dangerous Liaison coming as well. Merry Christmas to you all! I hope that this holiday season finds you healthy and happy! May the joy of this holiday season last all through the coming year! Love and Hugs to all!!!

Christmas had always been your favorite time of year. When you were little, you loved decorating the tree, sing Christmas carols, and of course waiting for Santa. You still loved this time of year, only now it was watching your kids do all those same things. Alexis, now five, and Lucas, three and a half, were yours and Sid's pride and joy. The two were overjoyed for Christmas this year and even though you hadn't celebrated American Thanksgiving yet, they were all geared up to decorate the house.

 One of your first holiday traditions when you first started dating Sidney had been to always decorate one tree together, and you'd continued that every year since then. This year, with Sid's schedule and the kids' anxiousness, you were going to be trimming the tree much earlier than normal. God love your husband, as he carried all the boxes of ornaments in, as well as the tree from the garage where you had them stored. The ten-foot monstrosity fit perfectly in your family room, which apparently was a pain in the ass to put up as you'd caught Sid twice almost cursing in front of the kids.

 "Daddy, I get to put the star on again this year, right?" Alexis asked drawing her father's attention, as he was putting the last piece of the tree up. "Lukey is still too small."

 "Am not," your son, who looked the spitting of his father shouted back.

 "Lex, I think Lukey is big enough this year to give it a shot." Lucas stuck his tongue out at his sister who had her arms folded into a pout.

 "But Dad…"

 "But Lex…" Sid mocked in the same whiny voice as his daughter, then he picked her up and zoomed her around the room to make her smile. He was a sucker for his little girl and she had him wrapped around her pinkie.

 "Me too, daddy, me too," Lucas cheered as he wanted in on the fun, and of course Sid happily obliged.

 "That's not fair," Alexis pouted again this time stomping her foot in emphasis.

 "Alexis Catrina Crosby, if you don't change that attitude young lady, you can march all the way upstairs and not join in any of the decorating." You finally told your daughter, for sometimes she needed that stern voice to keep her in check, especially when her father doted on her. "And remember Santa is watching." That threat always seemed to work magic this time of year.

 A lone tear leaked out of her eye, as Sid made his way over to her; Lucas firmly attached around his neck. He crouched down to his little girl. "Mommy's right. You've got to put the star on the last two years. It's time for Luc to have a turn." He remained at her level and Lucas slid off his back and over to the box where the star was almost gloating if a three-year-old could do just a thing.

 Alexis pulled her lip out, this time in sadness as she pleaded into her father's deep brown eyes just like her own. "But…but I want to do something special too."

 "And you will princess." Sid looked over to you as if you were supposed to have the magical answer to that.

 "How about you put the last ornament on the tree. Daddy will leave a spot way up high so he has to lift you up to put it there." Her lip pulled in and suddenly there was a huge grin on her face. You had a feeling it was more about having your husband hold her up in his arms than actually putting the star on. The two seemed to fight for his attention all the time when he was home. The long road stretches killed both father and children, and if you were being honest they were hard on you as well. Thankfully, Sid only had a few short ones here and there before Christmas break, so the kids should be fine. "Well, I think we need to get decorating this tree. What do you think?"

 "Yeah!!!" The kids cheered, Sid, joining in. There were a ton of ornaments to put on the huge tree that was once decorated purely in shades of gold. Now it was more of a hodgepodge of colors. There were dozens of Mickey Mouse ornaments from their trips to Disney, along with Paw Patrol ones which seemed to be Lucas' favorite at the moment. There were also ones with their little hand and footprints from when they were born. The tree held all of your life with Sid together. There was one from your first Christmas together, a few that you'd received to commemorate your wedding, and one for each child's birth. Though your favorite had to be your specially made ones with each family member's name on it. You had ones made for both Sid and your parents as well. They were the ones you loved the most putting on the tree as looking at their name brought such great memories of each person. "There's only one ornament left, and it's Alexis'." She came over and took her pink bulb, which had been hand-painted for her, and walked over to her dad.

 "Alright, little one. I saved you the best spot at the top, so everyone can see your name up high." She was grinning like a Cheshire cat as Sid picked her up and then walked up a couple rungs of the ladder to get to the right height. This was the part that always made you nervous. The kids could get wiggly from time to time and the last thing you wanted was for them to cause your husband to fall. You weren't worried about the kids, Sid would do everything in his power to keep them safe, it was him you had to fear for. Sid held her out to the tree and it took her a minute to get the ornament in the right place.

 "It looks so pretty, daddy. Good spot." He carried her down the ladder, then went over to his little man.

 "Ok, Lukey, you ready." Lucas nodded enthusiastically. He had the star in both hands, as Sid took him up farther on the ladder. Lucas reached his little arms out, stretching as much as he could to get it on the peak of the tree. It took him two tries but he finally did it, albeit crooked, but that was no problem, as you'd fix it the moment they were in bed. It's something you'd had to do the last two years with Alexis as well. "Well, are we ready to turn on the light and see how it looks?" Sid asked, already knowing the answer he was going to get from the children, and they didn't disappoint with their enthusiastic cheers. He flipped the switch and the tree lit up as bright as the sky on the fourth of July.

 "Yay!" all of you cheered and clapped.

 "It's so pretty," Alexis cooed and you had to agree, even though forty percent of the ornaments were on the lower three feet of the tree, compliments of your children, but it was simply perfect.

 "I think this is the best one yet," Sid commented, while he slid his arms around your midsection. There was nothing better than this moment you thought as you watched Lucas's eyes just light up, as he gazed at all the twinkling lights, and saw the giddy smile on Alexis's face.

 "I think you're right," you said turning so that you could kiss Sid sweetly.

 "Can we have hot cocoa and cookies now?" Lucas asked while he tugged on both yours and Sid's legs.

 "You bet bud," Sid replied, even though it would be you making the kids' favorite holiday drink. You scooted out of his arms and headed to the kitchen, while the three of them put on a holiday movie. "Don't forget the extra marshmallows, Mommy." Your husband was sometimes the biggest kid of them all.

 By the time you made it back to the family room, they had all claimed their favorite spot. "I saved you, your seat by daddy," Alexis said all proud of herself.

 "Thanks, baby girl." You passed out the hot cocoa or lukewarm cocoa in the kids' case, then set the plate of cookies on the end table by your husband.

 "Did you bake Christmas cookies already?" he whispered, as he saw the Santa shaped sugar cookies on the plate.

 "As if I had time. I called the bakery and had them made."

 He took a bite of one before handing one to each of the kids. "Not as good as yours but they'll do for now."

 "I promise you'll get mine closer to Christmas."

 "Mmm…and do I get your other cookie when the kids are in bed tonight?"

 You raised your eyes at his double entendre. "I guess we'll have to see, won't be." Though you both knew that he'd be getting your baked goods, so to speak.

 Thankfully, Sid had steered the kids toward watching Frosty the Snowman, so after the half-hour was up, you trotted them upstairs for bath time. Sid claimed he needed to 'watch film' for tomorrow's practice, so he skipped out on the nightly ritual, but made it upstairs in time to tuck the kids in for the night. "Night daddy." You heard Alexis say, as you had finished tucking Lucas into bed. Sid brushed back a lock of her hair before bending down and kissing his little girl goodnight.

 "Night, baby girl. Daddy loves you."

 "Love you too daddy." You walked in then and saw Alexis's eyes grow heavy.

 "Goodnight, my sweet angel," you whispered, kissing her forehead. "Love you."

 She yawned, then grabbed her teddy bear and hugged it tightly to her chest. "Love you, mommy." Sid grabbed your hand and the two of you snuck out of the room, closing the door as she fell fast asleep.

 "Lucas asleep?"

 "Yep, he went down pretty easy tonight." Sid had said goodnight to him first and went to read Alexis a story as you did the same for Lucas. "Poor lil guy was tuckered out from all the excitement."

 "We make beautiful kids together, Mrs. Crosby."

 "That we do, Mr. Crosby," you answered as you headed back downstairs hand in hand with your husband. You'd been trying for baby number three, the last year, but not having any success. It had been easy previously. In fact, you hadn't even been trying when you conceived Alexis. Lucas, you had planned down to the date, so that Sid would be home in the summer to help you both children. You'd automatically assumed that number three would go just as easily, but here you were twelve months into it and still not pregnant. You tried not to think about it too much, but every now and then it would get to you.

 You shook yourself, as you hit the bottom rung, taking yourself out of your melancholy. "Cold?" Sid asked, as his arms came around you. "I think I know how to warm you up."

 He somehow maneuvered you both into the family room, where he had a fire going in the fireplace, with blankets and pillows all around it. "Watching film eh?"

 The signature smirk of his, the one he always gave in the locker room during an interview came out. "Had to surprise you somehow." There was a bottle of wine and two glasses there as well, and Sid poured you both a glass before settling down amongst the cushions with you. "Merry early Christmas, my love," he toasted and you clinked glasses.

 The wine went down smoothly and was the perfect ending for what was the perfect day. You took your free hand and captured Sid's jaw, bringing his lips to yours for a heated kiss. It was the perfect mix of Christmas time with the combination of chocolate and wine mixed together with the essence of your husband, and you found yourself falling more in love with him than you'd ever been. He ended the kiss, all too soon for your liking. "Think the kids are sound asleep yet?"

 You already knew that Lucas was, but Alexis was probably still teetering. "One for sure, let me check on the other." You still had a monitor hooked up in Alexis's room, so you pulled it up on your phone. It wasn't the video that told you she was asleep but her soft snores. "Yep, she's out. Snores just like you."

 "I do not snore," he said rather indigently.

 "Um…excuse me, Mr. my nose has been broken so many times I can't count. Yes, you do."

 "Well, maybe a little but you love it." When you didn't respond right away, his hands went to your sides to tickle you. You fell back against the pillows laughing, Sid following you down until his mouth captured yours silencing your giggles.

 It was some time before you broke apart for air. "Ok, I do love your snores but then I love everything about you."

 This wasn't new information to him. "I love you more though."

 "Not a chance."

 "Guess I'm going to have to prove it." His lips were back on yours then, devouring you. Sid made quick work of disposing of your top, throwing it off to the side, before kissing his way down to your lace-covered breasts. He knew how to make you moan out, as he took one nipple and sucked it into his mouth. Your hands roamed under his shirt, feeling the rippled muscles along his back. They worked their way to his front and his well-toned abs before undoing the fly of his jeans and sliding them down. "Eager, my love?"

 Your hand slid down to his cock, where he was rock hard. "Apparently, I'm not the only one." You stroked him in your hand, twisting your wrist as you went; a move you knew he loved. Sid let you have your fun for a bit before taking control of the encounter. Before you knew what was happening, he had you stripped bare laying on the blanket, legs spread for him.

 His fingers toyed between your folds, making you even wetter than you already were. He entered you in one swift motion and your back arched at the feel of him inside you. "You feel so good baby," Sid moaned out, then started that slow rhythm of his hips you both loved so much. You weren't sure you would ever tire of this, the feeling of his lips on yours as he slid in and out of your body. It was something that was special that first time and every time after when you made love and you knew somehow that, that would never change.

 Sid's fingers found that your clit, alternating between putting just the right amount of pressure there and flicking it back and forth. After all these years, he knew your body as if it were his own, knew what you needed, when you needed it, and knew how to take you over that edge. You were there now, legs trembling as your climax hit and your pussy squeezed him like a vise. He pumped two more times into you before spilling himself deep inside you with a grunt of satisfaction. He dropped kisses to your lips as he came down off his high, then rolled to his side taking you with him.

 "That was heaven," you whispered, trailing your fingers up and down his biceps.

 "Mmm, it always is with you." He reached behind him and pulled a blanket over your bodies. "I have to say this has been one of the best Christmas decorating days we've ever had."

 "I have to agree," you hummed softly feeling your eyes grow heavy despite the early hour of the evening.

 "I should probably take you to bed."

 "Not yet, let's just lay here for a little longer." Laying there reminded you of the old days when it was just the two of you, and while you loved your two little munchkins, sometimes it was nice to just have Sid all to yourself like this.

 His fingers trailed up and down your spine, causing you to snuggle deeper into his chest. "Whatever you want baby." Sid closed his eyes then, just savoring the moment like you were, and despite being the one that said you should move to the bedroom; he was the one to fall asleep first.

 The week and a half leading up to Thanksgiving was hectic, as the Pens played at home. You took the kids to as many home games as you could, but it was always a production, by the time you packed up everything you would need for the three to four hours away from home. As soon as Thanksgiving was over, the team was back on the road and you were prepping for Christmas, rushing off to buy gifts while the kids were at preschool. Well, Lucas really didn't have school, but you did send him two days a week to a daycare like environment, so he would be used to being around kids more. You were running around so busy, some days you literally lost track of time.

 When Sid wasn't on the road, he was there to help you in any way that he could; taking the kids out to play in the snow, while you baked, or taking them to the rink to skate while you wrapped and hid the gifts. Every free second was spent making sure that Alexis and Lucas would have the best Christmas ever. It wasn't until you looked at the calendar that you noticed you were late. It was December nineteenth, and your period hadn't come yet. Dare you hope that baby number three was finally going to come to fruition? There was only one way to know for sure.

 Those five days to Christmas Eve flew by in a whirlwind. Sid had away games until the twenty-first, and then one home one on the twenty-third. There were so many last minutes things to do. Sid's parents and sister came into town on the twenty-second and were a huge help. They were currently upstairs bathing both kids for you, while you and Sid were planning out when to put the presents as it was now Christmas Eve. "I'm not sure Alexis's dollhouse is going to fit under the tree," he whispered, as he had finally finished putting it together with his dad. It was currently out in the garage with a huge sheet over it.

 "You're the one who had to get her the biggest one there is." He was always spoiling your children.

 "I know, don't start." He said sliding his arms around you as you stared at the tree. "It should fit in that corner over there." Now, that he figured out where the ginormous playhouse could go; he shifted his focus to the tree, looking at all the ornaments that had been hanging for the last six or seven weeks now. You smiled to yourself waiting for him to notice one in particular. "I feel like something is different on there."

 "Hmm," you mused just swaying back and forth in his arms. "I think your right."

 "What's that one right there?" He said pointing to the ornament that was at his eye level. "I don't remember it."

 "Maybe you should have a closer look." He peered down at you curiously, now knowing that you were up to something, before gliding you both over to the tree so that he could have a closer look. "Is that…Are we…" You could hear the excitement in his voice before he turned you around to confirm his suspicions.

 You nodded before saying, "Yes, it's my pregnancy test, and it took you forever to notice I put it there."

 "What? When?"

 "It's been on there since you came home from Toronto. I've been waiting for you to notice." He looked dumbfounded for a moment before scooping you up and spinning you around, his lips locking with yours.

 When he finally put you down, there was a huge smile on his face. "I can't believe we're finally having another baby."

 "I know me too. It's not the timing we were looking for, but I think you'll be happy with the due date." Curiosity got the best of him and you could see him trying to do the math in his brain to figure out what day it would be. "Well, you always said it was your lucky number," you hinted to him.

 "No way!" He shrieked out. "August seventh?" You shook your head, yes, and he spun you around one more time before the patter of little feet and big feet came barreling in.

 "What's all the excitement about?" Trina asked before even the kids could get a word in.

 "We're having a baby!" Sid told her and everyone came in for hugs, congratulating you both. He knelt down to the kids' level. "Are you excited, that you're going to have a baby brother or baby sister?"

 "Can we have twins? Kennedy Jenkins has twins and she says it's fun cause she always has someone to play dolls with." Sid just laughed at his daughter, then tickled her.

 "I don't know about all that princess. Let's just be happy that you're getting to be a big sister again." He grabbed Lucas, then came off the ground throwing the toddler in the air. "What about you? Are you excited to be a big brother?"

 Lucas just smiled, before looking his dad in the eye and grabbing hold of his cheeks. "I'm excited for Santa." Sid burst out laughing and you all joined in. Santa was definitely rating much higher than the new baby.

 "I'm excited for Santa too, bud," Sid told him, then slid his free hand around your waist. "Thanks for making Christmas come early, Mrs. Crosby." Your lips found his in a sweet and loving kiss.

 "Thanks for making me a mom again, Mr. Crosby."

 He winked at you, that devilish smirk on his face. "Anytime," he breathed out, then added, "This is definitely the best Crosby Christmas yet."  .

[marvel-and-mischief]

His Saving Grace Part VI

Title: His Saving Grace - Maxwell Lord x F!Reader  Words: 3700 Warnings: partial nudity, KISSING (yay!), little bit of angst but less than previous chapters (yay yay!) Synopsis: Maxwell is in a slump after the events of the gala, can you cheer him up?

His Saving Grace Masterpost

Waking up in Maxwell’s apartment was an odd sensation. For once there were no impatient drivers angrily tooting their car horns outside to wake you up, the boiler didn’t make cranking noises all night, the fragrant candles were a constant, pleasant presence,  and everywhere you went it was warm. For a downgrade, Maxwell was doing very well for himself indeed. 

You opened your eyes when you heard movement from the direction of Maxwell’s bedroom. You swivelled onto your stomach to look over the arm of the couch to see if he would emerge into the living room; he didn’t. 

On the coffee table was your dress, neatly folded into a green square, clutch and shoes placed on top. It took you a second to remember that you weren’t naked but had one of Maxwell’s large vests on, hastily grabbed from the clean pile of clothes on a chair in his bedroom before you left him in there, snoring into his pillow, exhausted from the night’s events. 

You thought back to the night before in the car, holding Maxwell in your arms, letting him cry out his sadness and frustrations when the perfectly happy night had taken a dark turn. Your heart had broken for him, despite everything you had done, and were doing for him, you felt it wasn’t enough. He had become much more than a client now, he was your friend. 

Searching out the digital clock you saw it was just after seven in the morning. You’d make coffee and breakfast out of whatever you could find in the kitchen, you decided, and carefully sat up, experimentally rolling your shoulders and stretching your back. You hadn’t slept on a couch since you were a student but you didn’t remember it ever being this painful. You refused to admit it was because you were getting older. 

You made coffee for you and Maxwell and rummaged through the cupboards to find sliced bread and eggs and went about making some very basic French toast. When you were done you placed it all on a tray and made your way over to Maxwell’s bedroom door, tapping it with your foot and calling out his name.

“I’ve made us breakfast, can I come in?” You asked, awaiting his response. When one didn’t come you pushed down on the handle with your elbow, precariously balancing the tray in your arms as you did so and pushing the door open with your body. 

Maxwell was stirring when you entered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sat up in bed. You paused to observe him, the out of place hair, the wrinkle marks on his one cheek from where he’d slept on it. You had left him on the bed with most of his clothes on but at some point in the night he had stripped down to just his underwear. He realised this and pulled the covers halfway up his torso, which would have made you giggle if you weren’t trying so hard to not spill the coffee cups.

You placed the tray down on the side of the bed that was vacant, and took a seat next to him.

“You’re still here?” Maxwell asked, confused but not complaining as he took a sip of his coffee, black just how he liked it. 

“Yeah, it’s seven o’clock.”

“No I mean, you stayed the night?”

You frowned, nodding your head slowly as if it were obvious.

“I didn’t want to get a cab last night, it was too late. I thought you wouldn’t mind…”

“It’s no problem but you should have taken the bed,” Maxwell huffed at the thought of you having to sleep on his couch when he had a king size bed you both could have comfortably slept in. Though whether that was a good idea was another thing. Maxwell noticed for the first time that you were wearing one of his vest tops and had to quickly look away. It wasn’t just you in his clothes that got his heart thumping, it was you in his clothes on his bed. 

“It was fine,” you shrugged, the ghost of an ache reminding you that your body disagreed. You liked the idea of sharing a bed with Maxwell but he still hadn’t made any move to suggest that he had any feelings for you that went beyond friendship. Sharing a bed would have had you yearning for something you may never have. 

You smiled reassuringly at Maxwell and picked at the French toast on the tray. He only sipped at his coffee and stared out of the window. Neither of you had closed the blinds last night so you could see the clear sky outside and the city in the distance. You started to feel awkward eating your breakfast. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone to the effort, maybe you should have left last night after all. 

“Are you feeling better?” You asked cautiously. He had opened up to you a few hours ago, exposed himself in a way you were sure he hadn’t done in front of anybody for a long time. You hoped he felt comfortable around you knowing you wouldn’t judge him for being emotional. 

Maxwell kept his gaze out the window when he spoke.

“All I ever wanted to be is a businessman. To be successful, even before Alistair was born. I wanted to be someone to be proud of when I’m old. Now look at me.”

You heard the slight tremor in his voice and wanted to reach out and take his hand, but he gripped his coffee cup harshly and refused to look at you. 

The sun was slowly casting its rays into the bedroom, reaching across the room and stopping at Maxwell’s chest, keeping him half in the dark. 

“I can’t see Alistair like this,” Maxwell mumbled and placed the empty cup on the tray.

“Then take a shower, I’ll go home and get ready, I can be back here before Alistair arrives-“

“I can’t see him today,” Maxwell’s spoke with a finality that had you shaking your head.

“Maxwell, you’ve only had three Saturday’s with him, it’ll look bad if you cancel.”

“I cannot see him like this, I’m not in the right mindset.” Maxwell looks at you then, a pleading look in his eyes, like a child begging you not to make them do something they don’t want to do. You had seen the same look in Alistair’s eyes the previous week when he didn’t want to eat the broccoli he’d found in his pie. 

It was a hard situation to be in. You were the middlewoman between Alistair’s parents and would have to be the one to telephone Catherine Lord to say Maxwell couldn’t see him this weekend. You didn’t know what the repercussions would be, if the ex Mrs Lord would be forgiving or make a fuss about it to her lawyer. 

You also knew that Alistair was the most important thing in Maxwell’s life, so if he was willing to risk future weekends with his son then he really must be feeling terrible. 

You moved the tray to the bedside table and took a seat closer to Maxwell, legs underneath the covers, sitting up against the large headboard. 

“Are you sure? You might feel better once Alistair’s here,” you said gently, breath tickling the small hairs on Maxwell’s bare shoulder.

“I’m sure,” Maxwell replied, breath catching in his throat at your close proximity. 

You turned so you were on your side, legs accidentally bumping into his.

“I’ll tell them you’re sick.”

“They’ll think I’m hungover.”

“I can be very convincing,” you grinned lazily, and Maxwell matched you with his own sad smile.

“You are very good to me.”

“You deserve it,” you insisted and without thinking you reached up and attempted to move a long piece of hair away from his eyes, only for it to bounce back onto his forehead. 

You don’t know where your newfound bravery had come from, but the sun had moved its way up Maxwell’s body and painted an orange glow across his face and you couldn’t resist. Even if he pushed you away, rebuffed your affections, told you he didn’t feel the same way, at least you’d know where you stood with him finally.

But he did none of those things. He silently looked over the features of your face, captivated as you quickly licked your suddenly dry lips. He turned on his side to face you, moving to lean his forehead against yours, an indication of what he wanted and an opportunity for you to move away if you didn’t want anything more to happen. 

But you did. You’d been waiting for Maxwell to finally make a move that left no doubt as to what he thought about you. You were almost giddy with anticipation. 

His lips touched yours, insistent and impatient, and you reached behind his neck to pull him closer, greedy for more. Maxwell placed his large hands on either side of your waist, holding you chest to chest, the feeling of your breasts grazing his broad chest making you whine softly. 

You pulled away, only a fraction, the need for breath overriding the need to kiss him for longer. When you opened your eyes Maxwell was already looking at you, searching your features for any hint he had made a mistake. But all he saw was your delighted grin and he felt your hand move up to grip his hair and urge him forward for another kiss.

Maxwell obliged, and you opened your mouth to let him explore deeper. You pushed against his chest, keeping your lips locked with his as you urged him onto his back. He wrapped his arms tightly around your back and pulled you on top of him, a short, sharp giggle escaping him in disbelief. He was convinced he was dreaming.

You continued languidly kissing each other for a few more moments, getting acquainted to the feeling of your bodies pressed against the other, touches shy and over the top of clothing, both hesitant to cross that line just yet.

When you pulled away a second time you were both happily flustered, hair tousled, fingers gripping onto each other in one way or another. You both giggled at the sight. 

“I see you,” you whisper into the nonexistent space between you, nuzzling your nose lightly against his, “I see exactly who you are. You’re a good man, Maxwell. It’s why I’m working so hard to get you everything you want.”

Maxwell surged up, taking your face in his hands, kissing you fervently. 

“I don’t know what I would have done without you guiding me every step of the way,” Maxwell spoke in between placing kisses on your lips. Now he had your permission he was going to take every opportunity to do the one thing he had dreamed of doing for weeks. 

“Take the day off, relax. I’ll handle everything with Alistair,” you promised, rising off of Maxwell’s chest and rolling off the side of the bed. 

“You won’t stay?”

Yes, you thought, of course I want to stay in this moment of bliss and perfection. But a small part of you was hesitant to let things get out of hand. Maxwell was still hurting from the gala, so much so that he wasn’t going to budge on not seeing Alistair on the only day of the week he was allowed. 

Was kissing you just a distraction from having to talk about his feelings? Possibly. Not that kissing you meant nothing to him, you were certain it meant just as much to him as it did to you. But you needed to give him space to think everything through and hopefully the next time you saw each other things would be much clearer for the two of you. 

-

It felt weirdly like deja vu. When you got to Maxwell’s apartment Sunday morning he was already waiting for you, propped up against the doorway, welcoming you with a beaming smile, just as he had the very first time you had met him. He was wearing a grey suit you hadn’t seen before, his tie was pale blue and had polka dots of various shades of purple. It was happy colors, just like the look of happiness on his freshly shaved face.

“The cafe down the street opens in twenty minutes,” he said, making a show of looking at his watch, “shall we get breakfast?”

“Sure,” you responded with a shrug of your shoulders. Maxwell stepped out of his apartment, shutting his door and taking your hand to lead you to the elevator. 

You had no idea how the day was going to go, not after the previous days kiss in Maxwell’s bed. You were nervous about bringing it up, about having to have a conversation about feelings. But you felt positive witnessing Maxwell’s seemingly jubilant demeanour this morning. 

The journey to the cafe was mostly quiet, Maxwell pointing out which cars in the car park belonged to which neighbour. You found out the woman who had given you a dirty look the first day you met Maxwell was called Kimberly, she was rude and nosy and had cornered Maxwell half a dozen times to ask who the ‘weird woman’ who always visited him was because ‘lodgers weren’t allowed in these buildings’. You would have been offended but you were too busy laughing at Maxwell’s ridiculously squeaky American accent as he imitated Kimberly. 

The cafe was larger than you were expecting, but nearly empty except for a family of four huddled into the corner next to the window, happily chewing on waffles and pancakes. It had a classic American diner feel, with a red and silver color theme, metal chairs with plump seats and square tables, tall stools lining the entirety of the bar, black and white checkerboard style flooring. 

A waitress greeted Maxwell with a friendly but well rehearsed welcome speech and directed the two of you to a table off to the side. 

“I’m thinking something sweet, what about you?” Maxwell asked whilst perusing the menu. 

“I fancy an egg muffin. And plenty of coffee,” you said, trying to disguise a yawn behind your hand. Maxwell chuckled and ordered your breakfasts and the waitress left you both alone.

“I’ve sorted everything with Alistair, it’ll be back to normal next Saturday but if you cancel again I can’t promise it’ll be so easy next time.”

“It won’t happen again,” Maxwell promised, “I’m feeling much better today, ready to begin the rest of my life.”

You chuckled at how bright Maxwell shined, there was a twinkle in his eye you hadn’t seen in a while and he had been standing tall on the walk over. It was like something had changed, or clicked in his mind that the future was bright and for the taking.

“That’s good to hear,” and you meant it, you were glad Maxwell wasn’t dwelling on what the rude man at the gala had shouted at him. 

The waitress appeared to pour you both coffees and Maxwell pushed the sugar pot across the table to you.

“My investments are really coming through as well,” Maxwell nodded his thanks to the waitress and continued, “but I’m aware that isn’t a permanent solution.”

“You’re right, but I’ve got an idea I need to run pass someone first.” You had been thinking over Maxwell’s money problem and thought you might have a solution, but you had to speak to someone before presenting it as an option to Maxwell. You didn’t want to get his hopes up. 

“That sounds intriguing,” Maxwell raised an eyebrow, probing for more information but you gave him nothing but a teasing smile.

“You’ll see,” you winked and sighed in relief when your food arrived. 

“Whatever it is, I trust you. Together we’ll show the world that Maxwell Lorenzano does not give up easily!”

You paused with a forkful of egg halfway to your lips, frowning at a name you hadn’t heard of before.

“Lorenzano?”

“My name before I changed it,” Maxwell looked at you bashfully, nervous for your reaction though he wasn’t sure why.

“Why did you change it?” 

“Because, y’know,” Maxwell shrugged and went about meticulously cutting up his waffles as he tried to explain, “people would rather deal with a white mans name.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, not because you didn’t understand why he had done it, but because you had had no idea. Maybe you should have, Lord wasn’t a Spanish sounding surname.

“What made you choose Lord?” You asked, forgetting about your breakfast, fully absorbed in this revelation. 

“It sounds grand, don’t you think? I thought if my name matched my ambition to be at the top then it would be like creating my destiny. It was bound to happen with a name like Lord.”

“You’ve never thought about changing it back?”

“Maybe in recent weeks,” Maxwell sighed and wiped his hands on a napkin, “I always thought I would keep going up in the world, that there would be no reason to ever look back. But I see now that was wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t be ashamed of Maxwell Lorenzano. He was so much stronger.”

“Oh Maxwell.”

“No no, I mean it. He had many doors shut in his face, many people telling him he couldn’t be anyone important. Yet he persevered, never took no for an answer.”

“He’s still within you, Maxwell. You lost your way a little, it doesn’t mean you’re lost forever.”

Maxwell reached over the small table and interlocked your fingers together.

“Thank you. I agree,” he chuckled, it was lighthearted and soft on your ears and you wished you could hear it again, “I want to be more like him going forward. To be humble and keep in mind where I came from.”

You brought his hand up to your lips and left a few featherlight kisses along his knuckles. You could see his shoulders drop with a contented sigh, relishing in the feel of your lips on his skin. When you pulled back you saw his eyes flicker to your lips and you let out a self-conscious laugh. 

“Should we talk about what happened yesterday?” You had been bursting at the seams to ask all morning, waiting for the right opportunity even if you might end up regretting it, but you had to know if this thing between the two of you was mutual, was serious. With all this talk of Maxwell concentrating on his future you wanted to know if that involved you. 

Maxwell shuffled in his seat but kept your hands firmly linked together. 

“I’d like to keep things slow to begin with, is that okay?”

You nodded enthusiastically, a sigh of relief leaving your lips at the thought of this only being the beginning. 

“I need to think about Alistair-“

“Of course, I don’t want to upset him.”

“You wouldn’t be upsetting him, he already likes you,” Maxwell said calmly, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of your hand.

“I know it’s just, kids can be easily unsettled, with changes in their parents lives, you know? And I didn’t know if I went too far yesterday, especially considering you were upset about the gala, I thought maybe I was taking advantage-“

“You need to breathe, darling.”

“Sorry, I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Me neither.”

Silence settled over the both of you for a split second before you and Maxwell were laughing, wholeheartedly and hysterically. You felt heat rushing to your face and a pain develop in your belly from laughing so hard on a full stomach. 

When you both caught your breaths, you watched Maxwell wipe the tears from his eyes before handing you a handkerchief from his pocket for you to do the same. You sat there with goofy smiles on your faces until you were ready to leave. 

-

You wished you could have stayed in that cafe with Maxwell all day, but if you were to get any work done at all you needed to get home. 

It was early afternoon by the time you left Maxwell’s side, parting with a longing kiss in the cafe car park, a promise of more to come in the future. You could feel his lips on yours as you walked away, peeking over your shoulder only to see Maxwell hadn’t moved at all and was admiring the back of you. He averted his gaze from your ass and waved you goodbye.

You could have gotten a bus home, you had memorised the timetable but the skies were clear and you thought the fresh air would do you good. 

You regretted it as soon as you saw the graffiti on the side of a disused warehouse building. Or half of it. Half of Maxwell’s face with devil horns and a spiky tail being painted over by a couple of men in high-vis jackets. It caused your heart to drop painfully in your chest, your heart that had been so full of Maxwell’s love mere moments before.

You hated that you let it bother you. You knew Maxwell, what did it matter what other people thought? But you soon realised it was impossible not to when people’s opinions were everywhere.

You found yourself walking through a quiet neighbourhood with small independent stores, a handful of fast food restaurants and as your luck would have it, an electrical store with televisions playing in the shop windows. Televisions with Maxwell’s face on it and some talkshow woman talking to camera about what she thought about his “fall from grace”. 

It was no wonder Maxwell found himself in a slump some days if this was what he saw all the time. You could imagine him flicking through the channels on his television and accidentally coming across this woman, this stranger, telling him exactly what she thought of him. It equally saddened you and made you mad. 

You knew what it was like to have your mistakes out in the open for everybody to have an opinion about, but at least your mistake was limited to the D.C area, Maxwell’s was worldwide. 

But the more you looked in that woman’s eyes and read the subtitles across the bottom of the screen, the more you saw her spewing her hateful comments and making her unfair judgements, the more determined you became to prove them all wrong.

And that’s exactly what you were going to do. 

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @galactic-rhi @phoenixhalliwell @thewayofthemandalorian @computeringturtle @lesbianlena @shikin83

[lifeistooshorttowasteyourtime]

Weasley Love: Part 6 - What future could be

Chapter summary: being a young adult in a world threatened by an impending war is definitely terrifying and it must also be added the fact of becoming independent. The Weasley twins are very clear about what they want and work hard for it, (Y/N) must manage to be the owner of her future outside of Hogwarts next to a successful partner.

>previous chapter / next chapter   //   SERIES MASTERLIST

Warning: mentions of death, a slap and *spoiler* sorry if you like Percy

*****

(Y/N) opened a box and smiling looking inside “I think you didn’t actually want me to open this box” she reached into the box and pulled out a piece of underwear smiling.

The twins looked at her and burst into laughs before approaching her.

“You’ve seen most of mine” George shrugged taking the underwear.

“And I don’t have anything to hide” Fred took the box to move it into the dorms.

She chuckled and sighed leaning on a wall, looking around the small but warm living room. George observed her before going to her and wrapping his arms around her, kissing her temple “what do you think?”.

“It’s amazing that you have become independent and I think this house is great for the two of you”.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit small or old?”.

“No!” she wrapped her arms around his neck “I mean, you might paint it and maybe change the main door, but besides that, I really like it. And the fact that is above the shop is a winning situation” she smiled before kissing his lips softly.

George sighed and pulled away his head slightly “you know what it would be a winning situation? If you were here too” (Y/N) frowned titling her head and he pulled away, taking her hands in his “what I mean is, why don’t you move in with us?”.

Her eyes widened surprised, they hadn’t talked about living together even though that summer they had spent almost all the time together. Fred appeared in the living room and crossed his arms with a small cough. George turned around and smiled at his twin knowing he had his full support.

“I…” she started, looking at the brothers and moving away from the wall “but, this is your house. I know you were looking forward to living alone, I would be a bother and break your dynamic” said the last thing looking at Fred who shrugged.

“I’m up for it as long as you keep your love activities at night as quiet as possible” (Y/N)’s cheeks turned bright red, making the oldest twin to burst into laughs “come on, I don’t mind at all having you here. Although you might regret having me as a roommate”.

“Fred…” George groaned before looking at his girlfriend “love, listen, we really want you to move in, we’ve been talking about it. But just if you want it. If you don’t, that’s perfectly fine too”.

“It’s not that” she smiled at him and put her hands on his chest “I would love to, but I think it’s not fair, I can’t pay rent. And don’t tell me I wouldn’t need to, you know I wouldn’t live here for free”.

The twins looked at each other before Fred spoke up “well, you could put that dream of yours on work” George titled his head looking at his brother “you could negotiate for us with suppliers, some are from other races and it’s a bit complicated for us to communicate, and it wouldn’t be a job like being in the shop, you can combine it with that course of yours”.

“Have you been thinking about it?” George asked surprised at which Fred shrugged with a smirk.

The youngest twin looked at his girlfriend that was looking at Fred with squinted eyes, thinking about the proposition “I think it’s a fair deal until you find a job”.

(Y/N) sighed and nodded mumbling “it could work”.

“So…?” George started to ask with a huge smile.

The girl looked at Fred with a raised eyebrow “are you sure you don’t mind me around here being lovely-dovely with your brother?”.

Fred laughed and shook his head “it would be just like in school so…”.

She laughed and looked at George who was staring at her, waiting for her response. (Y/N) sighed and nodded “okay, yes. I would love to live and work partially with you”.

The redhead cheered happily and took her face between his hands to kiss her, making her laugh against his lips.

“Okey, okey, okey, too much love and it’s not for me” Fred said jokingly and went to them, wrapping his arms around the couple.

The both of them laughed and (Y/N) looked up at the oldest twin with a bright smile. Fred smiled back and kissed her forehead “I must warn you that I’m not friend of picking up after my things”.

“I don’t care much and, besides, I’m not going to put a foot in your room so…”.

George chuckled and Fred smirked hugging them again while yelling “roomies!”.

*****

“… and they go to sleep quite late but I assure you that they are eating well and resting”.

Arthur Weasley nodded with a small smile “it reassures me to know that you are around them to check they take care of themselves and not just work. I am really proud of them, really, really proud, but I worry too”.

“It’s perfectly understandable Mr. Weasley” she looked ahead, seeing the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes that made her smile “although I wouldn’t worry to much, your sons know what they are doing. They are amazing. All your children are”.

The man smiled brightly “thank you for your kind words, dear”.

She shook her head and the both of them walked to the shop, having a bit of trouble to step into it because of the people there. It was usual since the inauguration.

George saw her in the moment she appeared through the door and he approached with a frowned, followed by Fred.

“Weren’t you going to use the Floo network?” he asked when he reached (Y/N).

“Hello to you too” she smiled and kissed his cheek “don’t fear, I’ve come with someone really special”.

George looked over her shoulder to see his smiling father.

“Hello dad” the twins said in unison making (Y/N) chuckle.

The four of them went to the counter where the brothers talked with his father while the young woman attended a couple of wizards.

“…and what is it about the Floo network?” Arthur asked frowning a bit.

The three of them sighed and George wrapped his arm around (Y/N) who was the one to reply “since things are getting a bit… unsafe, we decided I would come from the course in the Ministry directly home by the Floo network”.

“I see, that’s a very reasonable plan. I’ve seen most of the shops has already closed… What a pity…”.

George went to attend the clients while Fred turned to his father “do you want to stay for dinner, dad?”.

“Oh no, no. I wanted to see you both AND give you something” he took a package from his bag “food from mom”.

“Yay!” Fred cheered taking the package “I’ll send her an owl when we close the shop”.

“And meanwhile I will take this upstairs” (Y/N) took the package “I have to do some translations so I must start now before dinner time. See you and my father for tea tomorrow?”.

“Of course, darling. See you tomorrow”.

The girl kissed Mr. Weasley’s cheek and squeezed George’s arm with a smile while passing by him and going to their house.

Two hours later the twins appeared in the house, Fred going to the shower after ruffling (Y/N)’s hair in his way. George laughed seeing her trying to tame her hair and kissed her lips “are you going to stay up all night again? I should worry this is going to be like OWLS’ time” he took a sit next to her on the sofa.

“No, don’t worry. I’m not going to skip meals, I promise” she sighed, putting away her homework and let herself fall, putting her head on his lap. George caressed her hair with a smile and she snuggled against his stomach with a sigh.

“I… I have a proposition” she looked up at him curiously “we’ve been working nonstop, barely having time for ourselves and… I think we should truly spend time as a couple. Now that we are out of Hogwarts and we can truly spend time together, I don’t want to stuck in a routine. And, with everything that is going on, I just… want to enjoy with you”.

(Y/N) took his hand from her hair and brought it to her lips, kissing the back of his hand and fingers while looking up at him “I completely and totally agree”.

George smiled and leaned in to kiss her “I’ll pick you up tomorrow” kiss “and I’ll take you somewhere I truly like” kiss.

“Where? With how things are going…”.

“It’s near my parents, it’s a place I used to go with Fred but I haven’t taken you there yet. If we see something strange, we can run there, it’s pretty close”.

“But, haven’t your parents put a protective charm around so just your family can go through it?”.

“Yeah but you are in that list too, I told my mom to give you permission”.

(Y/N) pouted playfully and wrapped her arms around his shoulders pulling him closer and kissing his neck mumbling ‘I love you’. He laughed and sought her lips, kissing her softly while talking about the date of the following day.

*****

“I don’t think is safe anymore, I know they’ve been tracking my trips”.

(Y/N) and the rest of the students were shocked and angry about the decision of their professor to end the course abruptly. But she had her reasons, fear the main one. They all left the room, barely with a goodbye when the professor disappeared. The girl walked towards the fire places to take the Floo back home when she heard a conversation that called her attention because of a familiar voice.

“… if she has ended that poor of excuse of course, it’ll be something” followed by obnoxious laughs “and their students should be watched too, who know what they had been learning”.

She clenched her teeth and turned to the group and marched towards them “don’t you dare talk about her like that” the men turned to her and, the one who has talked, stared at her condescendingly “you know nothing, you are just a group of arrogant, conceited, ass-licking of a worthless minister”.

“How you dare…?” one of them say, but the redhead stopped his co-worker, taking a step towards the girl.

“And do you think you are in position to teach us anything? Someone who needs to keep ‘studying’ after school, that says a lot about you, or that you get the crumbs of a jokester who doesn’t know anything but be a clown”.

(Y/N) didn’t think. She just acted. And her hand slapped Percy Weasley’s cheek with force, making his glasses to fall. Three wands, from the other men present, raised to her but she kept staring at Percy that looked at her outraged. She took a step closer, almost being chest to chest although she had to look up.

“You don’t deserve to have the Weasley surname, you do not deserve the family you have. When you find yourself alone because of something as absurd as ambition that it will take you nowhere, remember my words, you are a disgrace”.

Then she turned around and left quickly even though the men yelled after her. She took the Floo network and landed at her empty house breathing hastily. She threw her bag on the floor and let herself fall on the sofa, trying to calm herself. She hadn’t spoken that much at Percy, ever, but she couldn’t stand how he treated his family in favour of the Ministry.

Suddenly the main door opened abruptly with his hand in his hand and walked to her agitated “are you okay?” she frowned “we've heard a thump from the shop”.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just thrown my bag on the floor” explained with a sigh.

George frowned seeing her with a defeat face so he crouched in front of her and caressed her cheek “I’m going down to tell Fred, but I’m going to go back and you are going to tell me what has happened” she was going to protest but he took her face and caressed her cheeks, wiping away a tear she hasn’t realized that had fallen “give me five minutes”.

She nodded with a sigh and he kissed her forehead before leaving. It was more than 5 minutes, but because George wasn’t alone. Fred sat on the floor in front of her while George sat next to her on the sofa.

“Have you closed the shop?” she asked frowning.

“Don’t worry about it and spill it” Fred said staring at her.

“I… I might have slapped Percy across the face”.

The twins looked at each other with widened eyes before looking at her. Looking down, she explained them everything, from the abruptly cut in her course from the argument with their brother.

“… and if your mom ever knows, she’s going to hate me”.

“Don’t worry about mom and I don’t think he would humiliate himself telling how you’ve put him in his place” George said with a smirk.

“I would have paid to se his face” Fred laughed “thank you sister, really”.

She shook her head with a small smile.

“And now what is going to happen with your studies?” George asked caressing her arm.

(Y/N) shrugged and pressed her lips into a thin line before speaking again “right now, I don’t really care. She has a point, you know? I’ve seen people coming and going in the Ministry and they didn’t seem that friendly… It’s actually getting a bit scary” she looked at George “my dad wants to go away with my grandma”.

“And are you going with them?” Fred asked looking at her.

She looked at the oldest twin and shook her head “no, I want to fight when the time comes”.

Fred smiled at her while George seemed worried but didn’t say anything and just hugged her to him, which she responded snuggling to him with a small smile.

*****

George approached (Y/N) that was sitting with Bill and Fleur, the three of them with sad smiles while they talked between them. In the moment they knew about the attack on Hogwarts, and the death of Dumbledore, (Y/N) hadn’t left the engaged couple’s side for too long, worried about Bill but also Fleur, wanting to help her and Mrs. Weasley to take care of the oldest of the siblings.

“I’m sure you two will look amazing” (Y/N) said softly to the couple.

“You too” Fleur smiled at her “you are really pretty”.

The girl blushed and thanked her shyly. George sat next to her and kissed her head before greeting his brother and future sister-in-law “what were you talking about?”

“The wedding” Fleur answered smiling brightly, she was looking forward to spend the rest of her life with Bill “after all of this, I want to hold to the happy things”.

“Couldn’t agree more” (Y/N) nodded and leaned on George “have your parents already gone back to the Burrow?”.

“Not yet, they are waiting for you two” said the redhead to the couple “but don’t worry, they are talking with McGonagall”.

“But we should already go” Bill spoke up and they all stood up “will you come for dinner?”.

“Sure” George accepted for both.

They said their goodbye, Bill kissing (Y/N) forehead, before reuniting with Molly and Arthur. George and (Y/N) just started to walked down the aisle, greeting some people, stopping to talk to some of them. They reached Ron and Hermione who was crying on the boy’s shoulder while he caressed her arm. Ron looked up at them and (Y/N) waved with a small smile without wanting to interrupted.

They met Ginny halfway the aisle, seeing Harry walking away by himself. (Y/N) hugged the girl with a sigh and kissed her cheek “how is he?”.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it, it’s understandable” Ginny swallowed “guys, this is the start. This is the start of the war and I’m afraid for him, for all of us”.

“If we stay together, we’ll end him. And Harry won’t be alone in this” (Y/N) tried to encourage her, squeezing her hand while talking.

Ginny nodded unconvinced and the three of them walked to Fred that was talking with a some of Gryffindors and stayed there with Lee and Angelina for a while. (Y/N) and George were hand in hand and she hugged his arm, leaning her head on it without truly listening to the conversation.

A bit later, an owl appeared and offered (Y/N) a letter so they all kept silence while she read it. She sighed deeply and smiled “my dad and grandma are safe in Italy now”.

George smiled and kissed her head. She smiled up at him and saw by the corner of her eye Professor Lupin and the Auror Nyphadora Tonks, which was a talented and funny witch. A surprising but fitting couple. She bit her lip and made a decision, going to them quickly and leaving a frowning George behind.

“Professor, may I have a word with you?”.

“I’m not your professor anymore, (Y/N). You may call me just Lupin” he said with soft voice.

She smiled and nodded “Lupin and Tonks, I want to join the Order”.

George stood by her side and stared at her surprised but she kept looking at the adults that looked between them.

“I know the danger but you’ll need all the help you can now, right? Please, I want to help”.

Lupin looked at George who smiled softly at his girlfriend. It was Tonks who spoke up “we will talk with the rest, but consider yourself inside fellow Hufflepuff” she winked at her “talk soon, then”.

The Auror took Lupin’s arm softly and the both of them said their goodbyes.

(Y/N) turned to George and looked up at him a bit nervous about his reaction to her suddenly decision. But he just smiled at her and put her hair behind her ear “so… The Order”.

“I feel I’m doing nothing and I really want to fight”.

He sighed and hugged her to him “my brave Hufflepuff”.

She chuckled and hugged him back tightly “but I’m really scared”.

“I would be worried if you weren’t… But as you’ve said Ginny, as long as we are together, we will win”.

The girl nodded and pressed her cheek to his chest, looking up at the castle that had been their home, the place that had seen the birth their relationship, filled with memories and laughs. The place where it would all end even though they didn’t know yet.

Tag list: @the-romanian-is-bae​ @allaboutsml​ @girl22334​ @nikkipea​

Notes: well, just two chapters left. It might take me a bit to write them since they are going to be emotional and I want to do it justice. Thank you!

[051093]

longing | v

wc: 2852

pairing: jihyun “v” kim x reader

genre: canon compliant, angst w/ an actual happy ending bc the game’s version wasn’t enough for me, reunions! yay, platonic jumin x reader

description: it’s been two years since you last saw v, but he reappears where you least expect it — at the r.f.a. party. and his feelings haven’t changed. not one bit.

my masterlist.

The party is so full of love and light that you can’t help but go the entire night with the biggest smile on your face.

Initially, you were nervous, and so were the other members. Two years ago was the catastrophe with Rika; it’d taken so long for the group to heal, and you weren’t sure if they were emotionally recovered enough to hold a successful party.

But everyone did their part as diligently as they could, from Jumin using his massive network to publicize the fundraiser, Luciel layering the building and guest information with cybersecurity, and Jaehee’s decorations and catering and other party logistics. Yoosung and Zen’s moral support and guest suggestions gave you plenty of work to do as well. As a result of your combined efforts, the party is positively glistening on this beautiful night, containing a record-breaking number of guests and an atmosphere filled with camaraderie.

You’re so busy that you seem to be in three different places at once, but you don’t mind. This is the happiest you and the members have been in a while. You can feel it, and you love it.

When you finally get the chance to catch your breath, you come across a group of five familiar figures standing together near the stage, and you beam at the sight of them.

“Hey, you guys!” You call, heading towards them.

They turn and smile at the sight of you. “Hey, you,” Zen says warmly, draping a fond arm over your shoulder. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all night. How’re things going?”

“Great,” you return with a relieved sigh. “It’s an amazing party. Everyone seems so happy.”

“All thanks to you!” Yoosung chirps. “You invited so many great guests.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Luciel so happy,” Jaehee says with an exasperated smile. “Although I can’t help but continue to qustion whether or not longcat’s upbringing was ethical.”

“Of course it was!” Seven assures with a bright grin. “I would never condone animal abuse.”

“Questionable,” Jumin mutters into his champagne.

“Hey, hey, we’re getting off topic,” Yoosung cuts in. “We were giving Y/N our congratulations for putting the party together.”

A chorus of gratitude ensues. You laugh, embarrassed. “Ah, I only did my job.”

“Humble as always,” Zen tsks. “Take more pride for an accomplishment like this, babe.”

“I am proud! But I can’t possibly take all the credit,” you say, smiling. “We couldn’t have done it without each other.”

“That’s right.” Jumin tips his champagne glass your way. “Congratulations, Y/N. And congratulations to all of us as well.”

“Congratulations to all of us,” Zen repeats, holding up his glass. “First and last time I’ll ever quote that pompous ass.”

Six glasses clink merrily. Amiable conversation continues for a few minutes before Yoosung nearly drops his champagne in remembering that he left an entire table undecorated. He and Saeyoung hurry off to handle it. Zen later spots a group of women in the corner practically drooling over him and makes a flamboyant stroll their way, charm in full force. Jumin receives word that his father’s arrived, and Jaehee nearly sprints to meet the chairman at the door — but Jumin lingers behind after she’s gone.

“Y/N.” He turns to you with a thoughtful gaze. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

The expression on his face says it all. You can’t help but sigh. “I think I already know what it is.”

He chuckles. “I apologize. It feels like I’m nagging. I’m just worrying about you, you know that.”

You do know that, and it’s been that way for all of the last two years. Jumin and you formed a close bond after V left, and you’ve leaned on him for everything from advice to support or just a listening ear. You found solace in his wisdom and honesty, and V’s departure would’ve been all the more painful to you if Jumin hadn’t been around.

“Go on, then,” you say.

“Exactly two years ago today, the first party you organized was cancelled because of V’s injury. Anniversaries tend to bring back memories, wanted or not,” Jumin says. “You seem to be doing well tonight, but you also hide your feelings quite well. So, if the truth is different from how it looks…tell me.”

You fall silent, thinking.

Every time you close your eyes, the ghost of V’s face is painted against the inside of your eyelids, his warm smile, kind eyes, loving gaze and all, and there’s no denying the poignant sadness that’s existed within you since he left. You miss him; your worry grows more and more every day not knowing when he’ll come back, if ever.

But, at the same time, you’ve been met with so much support from the RFA that you’ve been able to fall back into routine. You’ve learned to coexist with the emptiness that V left behind. You’ve found it in you to smile again.

You don’t verbalize any of this to Jumin, but you know he already knows.

“It is how it looks,” you say, a small smile appearing on your face. “I’m doing well.”

His voice softens. “You’re sure?”

You meet his eyes steadily. “I’m sure.”

“Good.” He straightens, satisfied. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Thank you for checking on me, though.” You reach over to touch his hand. “Thank you for everything, Jumin.”

“On the first day you entered our chatroom, I had an inkling that you had a strong resolve and an even stronger heart. You’ve done nothing but prove me right since.” Jumin gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “So I should be thanking you, Y/N. For your will power and friendship.”

The two of you exchange smiles before Jumin glances at the entrance. “I should go greet my father.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You’ll be okay on your own?” He gives you a nod of farewell. “Right, then. I’ll see you later.”

He strides into the crowd, and you’re alone once again.

You meant what you told Jumin about being okay. Nevertheless, the conversation leaves you in a bit of a weird mood, and you want to get some space from the crowd. You remember that Jaehee mentioned a storage room behind the stage and make your way towards it.

. . . .

Jumin is about to respond to something his father said when an unfamiliar man steps through the door.

The stranger has cream-colored hair, striking mint eyes, a baby pink suit, lanky proportions. He’s unlike anyone Jumin’s ever seen, but familiar in ways he can’t lay a finger on, as if he’s met a different version of him. The stranger looks around nervously, then turns to speak to a second man who follows him in shortly after — and Jumin’s eyes widen.

This second man he knows.

This second man he knows better than anyone.

“Father,” he says, cutting off the older man in the middle of his sentence. “I — there’s something urgent I must tend to.”

Jumin sees Jaehee’s concerned expression from the corner of his eye. “Assistant Kang, introduce my father to the owner of the winery, if you will. I remember my father saying he was interested in purchasing a vineyard.”

“Yes, Mr. Han,” Jaehee says. Jumin knows Jaehee doesn’t like being alone with his father, but desperate measures. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Jumin looks away without giving them a second glance. “Forgive me.”

He can’t take his eyes off the man as he walks towards him. Same unmistakable aqua hair, same tall frame and lean build, same air of elegance.

Something comes undone inside him when he realizes that his best friend is back, something he didn’t realize had been coiled up all this time. He lets out a shuddering breath. His Adam’s apple trembles.

Jumin doesn’t say a word, just clasps a hand to the taller man’s shoulder. Striking, colorful eyes meet his.

“V,” he says. “It’s about damn time.”

V smiles at the sight of him. “Jumin. It’s wonderful to see you again.”

“And you,” Jumin returns, his hand dropping back to his side. “It’s been exactly two years. You always were timely.”

“You’ve been keeping track.”

“I’m not the only one.”

The effect his words have on V is immediate: his face changes, his eyes taking on something Jumin can only describe as longing. He knows only because the same look appeared on your face when he asked you about V.

Two years, Jumin realizes, and neither of your feelings have budged an inch. Two years, and you and V still yearn for each other like it’s still day one.

It took his friend a hell of a lot of pain and loss to get here, but he’s finally found love. Not the kind that’s all-consuming and toxic but radiant and happy, the kind you both deserve. The kind you both have.

“She did all this?” V asks, looking over his shoulder towards the main hall.

Jumin nods, then follows his gaze. It was your idea to ask the art organization you invited to help you rent out a museum for the night, and the result is magnificent. Glimmering. Grandiose. Everything that the members could’ve dreamed the RFA party to become. And it really was all thanks to you.

“I last saw her near the stage,” he says, sparing V the trouble of asking. “She won’t have wandered far.”

A few moments of silence pass. V looks for something to say, anything that could accurately convey everything he’s feeling. He settles with drawing Jumin in for a tight embrace.

That says more than any words could.

They part. V turns and steps into the crowd, a head of mint hair walking through the throng of partygoers.

After his friend has left, Jumin turns to the weirdly familiar younger boy with the odd hair and anxious face.

“And who are you?”

. . . .

The “storage room” turns out to be an intricately decorated space with a dazzling chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It looks looks a ballroom more than a closet, but it’s stacked high with boxes and the air smells of dust when you walk in. Though you’re disappointed the room wasn’t put to use for the party, you’re glad you can use its emptiness to gather your thoughts.

For the thousandth time, you find yourself looking back how things were two years ago — how you and V met. Eleven days was all the two of you had, eleven days of chaos and danger and confusion, but just that short period alone was enough. He fell for your unmoving kindness and care towards him, and his consideration and sincerity rendered you deeply infatuated with him in return.

But you found a love that couldn’t yet take flight, one that consisted of things you left unsaid and emotions you swept under the rug. Neither of you were ready. The situation was far too volatile.

Sometimes, you find yourself wondering if there really was anything there. Maybe the two of you just latched onto each other because the circumstances forced your hands. Maybe it was never love, just dependence.

Then, you remember the way his entire demeanor softened when he looked at you, the tenderness in his voice whenever he said your name, the feelings of his arms around you, secure, safe. You remember the sparks and the unspoken yearning that crackled whenever you were in his proximity. You remember his promise that he’d return to you. That he’d love again. And it’s due to this collection of memories you still have faith in what you once had.

“V,” you say with a sad smile. “I hope you’re somewhere safe and sound. And I hope you’re learning to love yourself little by little, wherever you are.

“Take all the time you need. Just…come back to me when you’re ready, okay?”

Silence.

“I’ll be waiting,” you finish weakly.

The room is now heavy and melancholy. You take a deep breath, trying to get a hold of yourself.

Behind you, there’s the sound of cloth shifting against cloth.

Shit! You nearly jump out of your skin. Did someone come in? The room wasn’t empty? Your face flushes crimson at the idea of one of the members or, worse, one of the party guests overhearing your dramatic soliloquy. Someone walks towards you, slow footsteps gradually getting louder. Zen? Jumin? They both walk with that slow saunter. You squeeze your eyes shut in an embarrassed flinch, your mouth opening to say something —

“You won’t need to anymore,” the stranger says.

You’re ripped from present day and brought back to two years ago. Your mind floods with memories you weren’t prepared to relive, all triggered by that achingly familiar voice.

You turn around, your breath hitched in your throat.

So many little things about him have changed. His hair is a few shades paler than before, the sunlight bleaching his his locks from his previous turquoise to a pale periwinkle; the definition of his jawline has sharpened from two years of travel; he wears a beige overcoat and a collared white shirt, an outfit that’s usually too formal for his liking.

Most notably, however, you notice that his entire aura is different.

You see none of the anguish and burden that used to fill his stare. Instead, there’s something you can only describe as radiance , so pure and warm that it reminds you of the morning sun’s rays spilling through a cracked window. Of holding frozen hands close to a crackling campfire. He’s the same in many ways, but brighter and calmer, more confident in his own skin.

Whatever he left to accomplish, he succeeded.

He comes closer, taking tentative steps until you can smell his familiar cologne; you’ve forgotten tall he is, and you have to lift your chin to maintain eye contact. The toes of his dress shoes touch the tips of your kitten heels.

“You’re back,” you whisper.

He nods. “I am.”

There are so many things you want to say to him, but you can’t think of a single one right now. It’s like his presence is driving you into sensory overload, and you’re only acutely aware of the rate at which your heart hammers against your ribcage, so loudly you swear he’s close enough to hear it. The two of you spend a few moments standing in silence, taking in the sight and sound of each other without a word.

Then, unable to stand it any longer, you move towards him. The last thing V hears is your sigh of relief against the shell of his ear before you wrap your arms around his neck.

The first time you hugged him, he’d stood in shocked silence, his arms staying frozen by his side. At the time, he was unable to accept his affections for you when Rika was still so prominent in his heart and mind.

But he readily holds you now, his arms circling around your waist, pulling you close with so much fervor that it feels more like a promise than a hug.

You stay entwined for as long as you see fit and then pull away, but V doesn’t let you go far; he hooks a slender finger beneath your chin and leans in close, finally lowering his mouth to yours.

It’s a wonderful blur that you barely remember. The pressure of his lips on your own causes your back to dip slightly, but he’s quick to steady you with an hand against the small of your back. He kisses you gently, deeply, as if the ground’s disappeared beneath his feet and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat; his knuckles turn pale where he grips your waist and your jaw, his lips flushed pink where they touch yours. You bring your hands to the sides of his neck, rising up on your tippy toes, thinking to yourself, this is entirely worth the wait.

Your pulse continues to pound a dizzying rhythm long after his lips have left yours. He nuzzles his forehead against your own, his lashes splayed softly against your skin.

“You have completely,” he says, “completely enamored me, Y/N. I’ve fallen for your kindness and purity, your stability and courage — I’ve fallen for you. And I’m so sorry that it took me this long to realize it.

“Even when I was thousands of miles away, you were with me. I heard your voice in the wind. I saw your face when I closed my eyes. I dreamt of you when I fell asleep.” His eyes swim. “I’ve longed for you for as long as I’ve known you, all two years and eleven days.”

You don’t even notice you’re crying until he brushes your tears away with caring hands.

“I love you, my angel. I’ve missed you so much.” His fingers tremble, but his voice remains steady. “And I’m ready to spend the rest of my life proving it to you, if only you’ll let me.”

You taste salt on your tongue where his tears have fallen, but you don’t care, tangling a hand in his hair and kissing him until he knows your answer.

Yes, yes, yes.

[tomokahiroshi]

"Sure, I'll get going."

Moving to the exit, he waves.

"See you later then."

"Likewise, dear Captain."

The moment he's a good distance away, the woman snaps her finger and the sound echoes throughout the empty library.

"Coast clear."

And from a corner close by, a girl of green hair with glasses peeks out.

The Assistant Alchemist, Sucrose.

"Th- Thank you, this... this should be sufficient."

Humming, Lisa nods with a smile.

"Yes, dear, it should be."

What a day it is today.

It doesn't take long for the man to spot their Outrider at the entrance of their Headquarters, alongside the Honorary Knight.

"Yo."

Grinning slightly, he raises his hand in greeting.

"What's up?"

"There you are!"

Amber waves in response, while the Traveler by her side wordlessly nods in acknowledgement.

"We spotted something in Windrise today!"

"Oh? Is that so?"

The tanned man hums, folding his arms.

"Do tell me about it."

After a while of explaining, he decides to join the duo in taking a look at the odd "thing" they saw by the Statue of The Seven's side.

A doll-like creature, small and has the ability to levitate.

It's nothing like what they've ever seen before.

To make it more complicated, said creature also seems to have a will of its own and constantly dodges their attempts on getting a hold of it.

Their little game of chase goes on until dusk, only then did they lose track of the poor thing and decide to return to the Headquarters.

Throughout the duration of it, however, the man has to admit that it's rather entertaining.

And nostalgic, since he used to play that kind of game with...

`"Catch me if you can!"

"Challenge accepted!"`

The sound of their laughter in those distant days still ring clearly in his ears, echoes of a pleasant childhood he knows he doesn't deserve.

"Sheesh, it was so fast."

Amber huffs on their way back.

"And small too, which makes grabbing it all the more difficult."

"You can't blame it, really."

Paimon, the Honorary Knight's floating companion, comments.

"When some strangers just suddenly show up and try to get a hold of you, of course you run."

"That's right."

Kaeya hums, holding his chin in thought.

"Besides, I'm sure I at least managed to tell what kind of thing it was."

At this, the brunette turns to him immediately.

"You did? That's fast!"

"Of course."

Smirking, he continues.

"It's an elemental being, a wisp amongst Mondstadt's thousand winds."

And once again, a remark catches him off-guard.

"You're amazing, Sir Kaeya!"

The Outrider did not just-

"I'm glad we have you within the Knights' ranks!"

Oh Barbatos, his face must have looked so ridiculous that it caused both Amber herself and the Traveler to stare when they finally took notice of it.

"Kaeya?"

Paimon waves a hand in front of his eyes.

"Helloooo?"

Maybe his smile literally froze on his face, though.

"He's acting weird..."

Amber mumbles.

"Well, at least we're here now."

Indeed, they're currently standing just before the entrance of the Knights of Favonius' Headquarters.

The sky, painted in fiery orange of the setting sun, reminds the man of someone's eyes.

Orbs that shine with burning passion, an unrelenting desire to protect this land with everything this person has.

A tug on his sleeve brings him back to reality, looking to the side to find their Honorary Knight smiling up at him.

The third thing is...

Why is everyone suddenly so hard to read?

From the ones he met early morning to those he met in the late afternoon, they're all so...

Unpredictable.

And Amber beams at him, taking his right hand as the Traveler had his left.

Then they lead him inside together.

His heart skips a beat once the large doors open, revealing the rest of Ordo Favonius along with colorful decorations.

As well as a gigantic "Happy Birthday" hanging from the ceiling.

"Happy birthday, big bro Kaeya!!"

Klee comes jumping down from a hovering flower - Albedo's, he notes - and throws various cute-looking things, which he's sure are explosives.

Although when they do blow up, it's all confetti and glitter.

So this is why Jean agreed...

The two by his sides quickly let go of his hands as the small girl falls right into his arms, giggling.

"Yay!! The new formula worked!"

"Splendidly."

Lisa chuckles, snapping her fingers and the lights go out.

"Time for the cake."

At this, he sees a cart being pushed out by Noelle and candles illuminate the area.

On it lays a cake of three layers, each of a different color.

Ocean blue, ice blue and white, from top to bottom.

"Please make a wish, Sir Kaeya."

Along with the maid's smile, he makes out everyone else's in the dimly lit lobby.

Ah... a birthday wish.

Smiling back at them, he nods.

But what should he wish for, really?

They went through the trouble to organize a party for him right under his nose and it is rather impressive how they've managed, if he were to be honest.

He knows the birth date is always on one's profile when they apply for a job, but he didn't expect them to pay that any mind.

Especially when it's his.

He hadn't celebrated it in years, after that event took place.

...

He would be lying if he said there was nothing he wanted to wish for, though.

`"Happy birthday!"`

The image of a young boy, smiling brightly as he handed Kaeya a gift.

That had been the first time someone threw a birthday party for him.

Chuckling, the tanned man moves to blow the candles as his wish comes to mind.

A childish dream he still believed in.

The girl in his arms cheer when everybody's applause resounds, light flickering back on with another snap of the librarian's fingers.

"On behalf of every knight within Ordo Favonius, I thank you for your contribution in maintaining the peace of our city."

Jean steps forward, a hand on her heart as she speaks.

"We hope that you enjoy your time here, as well as allowing this place to become your second home."

The warmth in his chest intensifies, a feeling he hadn't felt for so long.

And the woman smiles.

"Everyone, let us say it together."

From the shy Assistant Alchemist to the outgoing Outrider, from the strict Acting Grand Master to the friendly Honorary Knight, from the rarely seen Chief Alchemist to the ever-present Apprentice Knight, from the graceful Librarian to the explosive Spark Knight.

All of them, with bright smiles, go on and-

"Happy birthday, Kaeya!"

Even if his eyes feel a bit like burning right now, the man grins back at them.

"Thank you, all of you."

He doesn't think he deserves it.

Yet as he feels their sincere affection and gratitude, he can't push them away.

Perhaps... for this occasion, he'll allow himself to be honest once more.

When stars fill the night sky and the moon ascends to its peak, the Cavalry Captain leans onto the railing of the small balcony as the party goes on inside the building.

He wonders if... it could have been this way, if none of the horrible events a few years back happened.

Other than throwing a party for him, Sucrose gave him quite a pleasant surprise by being able to make untesils somewhat "alive". Perhaps that was why she needed them this morning, so they could easily move around for everyone to use.

The girl's bio-alchemy skills are getting better and better, as expected of someone working alongside Mondstadt's best alchemist.

Well, she had potential anyway.

That said-

"... Having some time to yourself?"

He pauses upon hearing the voice.

This can't be-

"That is to be expected, you've never been a big fan of parties despite your eccentric nature."

Whipping his head to the source of the voice, he finds a familiar redhead sitting on the railing to the side - a leg on it and one dangling - away from people's view, in a black cloak he hadn't seen for so long.

"You..."

His voice comes out barely audible, like a faint whisper of utter disbelief.

"Why..."

"I want nothing to do with the Knights of Favonius."

The other sighs, glancing at him.

"But since it is a special day, I'll make an exception."

At that, the tanned man goes silent.

An exception? For...

"Before you even get to that, stop."

Currently masked, the redhead only waves him over.

"Come here."

That mask is different, not the same one he used before.

Considering what it was for, it isn't hard to understand why the other abandoned it along with "that".

Confused but curious, he does as he was told and stops in his tracks upon seeing the offered hand.

"... Diluc?"

At the mention of his name, the other averts his gaze.

"Hurry, we don't have all night."

Smirking, Kaeya finally takes the hand and chuckles quietly.

"Where are you taking me, O Nocturnal Guardian of Mondstadt?"

"... You'll see soon enough."

In quick succession, the redhead pulls the man closer to himself and sweeps him off of his feet using his leg.

The smirk on the Cavalry Captain's face immediately gets replaced by a look of surprise due to the sudden bridal carry and in turn, the Darknight Hero's lips quirk up slightly.

"Mond's Knight of Ice."

[suituuup]

Pride Shenanigans

For @lilhan (ugh, it won’t let me tag) who requested fluff + smut. Thank you for your donation! :)

rated: E

word count: 2300

ao3 link

*

Beca can’t really remember what sleeping in feels like. Waking up past eight a.m. hasn’t been a thing ever since they became moms, and while she was hoping their kids would inherit her love for sleep, she wouldn’t change her current situation for the world.

Her heart has just felt so incredibly full for the past five years.

Shortly after Avery’s birth, Beca re-negotiated her contract to be able to work more from home and take care of her daughter. It just made sense, as she was growing tired of being in the spotlight and spending more time on a plane than at home with her family. As grateful as she was for her five-year-long successful career as a singer, she was more than happy to step back into a part-time producer role.

Still though, waking up at the crack of dawn kinda stings. Beca’s still half-asleep, having snatched Jacob and shoved her nipple into his mouth before his cries could wake up her wife. They left him to sleep in their bed after his middle of the night feed, she and Chloe being too exhausted to carry him back to the nursery. 

Beca was concerned at first about this co-sleeping thing, afraid she might roll over and squish their baby, but turns out she’s super cautious even while asleep.

The door squeaks open less than a minute after she started nursing, and Avery’s red head of curls pops at the foot of the bed as she climbs up, crawling on all fours like she does every day for their morning snuggling session.

“Morning baby,” Beca greets with a tired smile as Avery plops down beside her. “Did you go potty?”

Avery nods proudly. “I’m a grown up now.”

“Oh yeah?” Beca chuckles. “Since that’s the case, can you go make Mama a cup of coffee? And sweep the house and take out the garbage?”

Her suggestion’s met with an incredulous frown. “Mama, I’m not Cinderella.”

Beca stifles a laugh, smoothing her hand over Avery’s curls. Their daughter has such funny comebacks, most days. “Oh, my bad.”

Avery places her hand over Beca’s mouth, her nose scrunching up. “Mama, you stink.”

Beca hears Chloe’s barely contained giggle as her jaw drops. Avery’s attention’s already shifted to Jacob nursing. She’s silent for a while, lips pursed.

“Is one of your boobies making chocolate milk and the other normal milk?”

“No,” Beca laughs. “Just normal milk in both.”

“He eats a lot, ” she blurts out next, blinking.

A minute later, Avery announces she’s off to play with her toys and leaves the room, Chloe rolls over.

“She’s a trip,” Beca says, shaking her head as she tries to keep her amusement at bay. When Chloe leans in for a kiss, Beca pulls away lightly. “Careful, apparently I have bad morning breath.”

“Don’t care,” Chloe mumbles, pecking Beca’s lips a few times. “Happy Pride, babe.”

Beca smiles. The first Pride they went to was when they’d only been together about three months. Chloe had convinced a reluctant Beca that it would be fun, and that day happens to be one of Beca’s favorite memories over the last decade. “Happy Pride.”

“Happy Pride, baby boy, your first one,” she then gushes to Jacob, brushing a kiss to the crown of his head. “Still up to go to the parade?”

They ended up not going last year as Beca felt too sick with nausea at the start of her pregnancy, and it also happened to be very hot out.

“Yeah, definitely. I checked the weather, it shouldn’t get too hot.”

Chloe pushes a kiss to her cheek. “Okay, I’m gonna go make breakfast.”

They’re off to the parade a few hours later. Avery is wearing her ‘ my moms rock’  shirt gifted by her aunt Aubrey and Chloe painted a rainbow on each cheek. Beca kept the colors to a minimum, sticking to the face painting but otherwise wearing regular clothes, while Chloe sports her rainbow shorts and her white shirt with a cute dinosaur waving a pride flag.

It’s only an afternoon out, but they look like they’re off on a week-expedition between the stroller for when Avery gets too tired, the diaper bag and the picnic bag containing their lunch.

Chloe has Jacob strapped against her chest in his sling carrier, and Beca doubles-check that they have everything before they’re on their way.

“There might be a lot of people where we’re headed so don’t let go of my hand, K?” Beca tells Avery as they hike down the steps outside their brownstone. They live in family-friendly Park Slope, which comes alive each year during Pride as it’s also notorious for being a gay neighborhood. “And if you lose us, you find another mommy, alright?”

Avery’s Wonder Woman backpack also has Beca and Chloe’s contact information in case that happens.

“I know, Mama,” Avery says, her pigtails bouncing with each excited step. “Maybe we’ll see Noah!”

“Who’s Noah?” Beca asks in confusion.

“He’s my boyfriend,” she replies in the most natural way, and Beca gulps, glancing to Chloe. “He wears cool shirts. And he likes to clean.”

Chloe chuckles. “Then you should definitely hang onto him, sweetie.”

Beca glares at her wife for encouraging their daughter. “Don’t you think it’s a bit early to have a boyfriend, baby?”

She ignores Chloe’s eye-roll.

“Mama,” Avery sighs, in a clear ‘we’ve talked about this’ tone. “I’m a grown up, now.”

“Right, right,” Beca clears her throat. “So what do you guys do together?”

“We talk about dinosaurs and rocks.”

Beca visibly relaxes. “Oh, okay.”

They turn left on the main street and Avery asks Beca to carry her on her shoulders so she can see better.

“All good?” Beca asks, glancing towards Chloe as she holds onto Avery’s ankles to steady her.

“Yeah, he’s out,” she says as she rubs their four-month old’s back, then points across the street. “The park’s that way.”

“Mommy, Mama, look!” Avery gasps. Beca figures she’s talking about the group of five Queens, each dressed in one of the colors of a rainbow. “They’re so pretty!”

“Yeah,” Beca agrees with a smile, happy that her daughter seems to be enjoying their little outing so far. They get to the park ten minutes later, where stalls of face painting, refreshments and art and crafts are set up along one side. They find a spot under a tree, and Beca sets Avery down to spread out the blanket while Chloe unstraps Jacob.

“What’s LGBTQ mean?” Avery asks a bit later as they eat their sandwiches, pointing at one of the rainbows flags sporting the acronym.

Jacob is chilling on the blanket between his moms, munching on his teething toy.

“The L is for Lesbian, which is romantic love between two women,” Chloe starts. “The G is for gay, which is the same but between two men, the B is for bi, which is when someone has romantic love for both men and women,” she pauses, giving Avery time to process her words. “The T is when for example, a man feels like he’s actually a woman inside, in his heart, and he wants to live with his true self. And the Q… stands for Queer, and it celebrates all gender, boy, girl and those who don’t really know, and all the ways that people can love each other.” She smiles, feathering her fingers through Avery’s hair while Beca watches on, her heart soaring with love whenever she witnesses Chloe being the wonderful mom she is. “Some of that might a bit complicated for you to understand still. The most important thing to remember is that LGBTQ and Pride is all about love; how people find love in the world and how people love themselves for the way they are.”

“And love always wins over hate,” Avery states, causing their moms to look at each other with fond smiles. Chloe often says that, and clearly it made an impact on their daughter for her to remember. “Can I get a facepaint, Mommy?”

“Sure, baby.”

They eat lunch and Avery gets a rainbow dinosaur drawn on her cheek, and they lounge for a bit at the park before checking out the parade, heading home when Avery starts getting tired and cranky. After a nap for all members of the household, they bake a rainbow cake and watch a movie before dinner, and Beca feeds Jacob while Chloe takes care of Avery’s bedtime routine around eight.

Once Beca’s done, she flops back on their king-sized bed with a tired sigh, grabbing her phone and opening up instagram. Of course Chloe’s already made a post about today, uploading a picture of their family at the park with the caption:

Happy Pride everyone! #loveislove ❤️ 🧡 💛 💚 💙 💜

Beca comments with a simple heart, setting her phone down when Chloe pads into the bedroom.

“Everyone’s asleep!” Chloe says in cheerful whisper, shutting the door behind her.

“Yay!” Beca whispers back, humming in delight when Chloe climbs on top of her and kisses her softly. “Today was a good day.”

Chloe grins. “Yeah.” She nudges her nose against Beca’s. “Are you super tired?”

The suggestiveness in her tone makes Beca shiver, and she shakes her head, leaning up to brush another kiss to Chloe’s lips as her hands slide under Chloe’s shirt to map the muscles in her lower back. Intimate moments have been scarce ever since Jacob’s birth, and Beca’s been craving more alone time with her wife over the last few months.

“We should go away soon,” she murmurs against Chloe’s lips, sighing in contentment as Chloe skips down to kiss along the side of her neck. “Just the two of us.”

She’s been reluctant to be away from Jacob for more than a few hours at a time, but he’s almost six months old, and she knows Chloe’s parents would be thrilled to have their grandkids for a whole weekend.

“Mhm,” Chloe hums against her skin, teeth grazing Beca’s pulsepoint. “We can get a hotel with a view on Central Park and sleep all day long.”

Beca groans at the thought. “Yeah. Uninterrupted sleep sounds fucking amazing.” She moans when Chloe’s hands slips past the waistband of her cotton shorts and cups her through her underwear, her back arching into the touch. “Fuck, Chlo. Missed you.”

“What do you want?” Chloe breathes, lifting her head to kiss her. “Fingers? Mouth? Strap-on?”

“Not the strap-on. Too long,” she husks, dragging Chloe’s t-shirt up and over her head. She sits up to get rid of her own shirt, her full breasts bouncing with the movement. “Take those off,” she adds, urgency leaking in her tone as she tugs on the waistband of Chloe’s pajamas bottom. Laughter bubbles up her throat when she sees Chloe’s rainbow underwear, because Chloe is  so  extra. “Oh my god.”

“You like?” Chloe asks with a cheeky grin, and Beca flips them over without warning, not sure where that sudden pelvic strength is coming from given the fact that she gave birth four months ago.

“Yeah,” Beca rasps, her lips trailing down Chloe’s chest and pulling a nipple in between them while her hand finds the other, rolling the pink bud between her thumb and pointer finger. She continues down Chloe’s smooth and toned stomach, hooking her pointer fingers into the waistband of her underwear and dragging them down her legs.

Standing up, Beca shimmies out of her own panties and settles back on the bed with her head towards the foot, sliding one leg under one of Chloe’s and the other one over her opposite hip, shuffling closer until their wet cunts make contact.

“Shit,” Chloe exhales, propping herself on her elbows as she grinds her hips down, matching Beca’s circular motions. “ Baby.”

Beca answers with a moan, a zap of pleasure coursing through her whole body as her clit rubs heavenly against Chloe with each pass. She grips Chloe’s bent knee for leverage, her rhythm picking up.

It feels so fucking good, until--

“Wait,” Beca hisses, pausing. “I’ve got a leg cramp.”

Chloe flops back with a giggle. “Fuck, we’re old.”

“Let’s switch,” Beca suggests between pants, knowing Chloe has more stamina and is overall in better shape.

“K.”

Stealing a kiss from Chloe’s lips on the way, Beca settles on her back, one hand curling around Chloe’s hip to steady her as she gets on top, sitting astride Beca in a more upright position.

Beca’s hand moves to Chloe’s thigh while Chloe braces her on Beca’s stomach as she resumes their previous rhythm, only the pressure is much better with that angle. A whimper flits through Beca’s lips as she fights to keep her eyes open. “Fuck, just like that.”

“Huh-huh,” Chloe manages, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth as her head tilts back and her back arches, the movement making her hips buck into Beca’s. “Oh god.” 

“Chlo,” Beca croaks out, digging her nails into Chloe’s flesh as she feels herself nearing her climax. “M’not gonna last long.”

“Me either,” Chloe murmurs, locking eyes with Beca as she picks up in speed.

Beca’s free hand curls into the sheet as she teteers towards the edge, her hips bucking hard as she comes. She twists her head and muffles her moan into the pillow as Chloe keeps going for a few more beats until she cries out, shuddering through her own orgasm.

Watching Chloe come is still hands down the hottest thing Beca’s witnessed to this day.

Flopping onto her side, Chloe cups Beca’s cheeks and tugs her into a tongue-heavy lip-lock.

Beca chuckles when they part, chest heaving up and down. “Happy fucking Pride.”

[vanchlo]

The Firsts / #7 “The First Gingerbread House”

---> NEXT BLURB: The last blurb of The Firsts is most likely coming tomorrow, 12-16! 

READ THE ASSISTANT, AKA WHAT CAME FIRST

SERIES MASTERLIST   

READ ON WATTPAD

LEGEND:

+ : a break in the story; a time jump.

and i’m too lazy for italics bc tumblr ignores formatting that i do in Docs so sorry i give up 

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 2.9k words - a fun extra blurb c: 

SONG: Thank God It’s Christmas by Queen (click to listen) 

* 

“The secret of our success is that we never, never give up.” 

- Wilma Mankiller 

*

The smell wafting under the door was the first thing I registered when I woke up the next morning. Christmas music and its splendid sounds were what followed, until my sadness ran away with that moment of respite. 

He was gone. He’d left me. Harry had abandoned me. 

Those thoughts filled the sleepy holes in my head once again. Well, until I felt a movement in the bed behind me, and my eyes shot open. The room was devoid of any light, my Christmas tree long ago thrown in my closet after I read that note. It’s all but forgotten when I turn around and I remember. The snoring man under my covers whose feet rest against mine makes it all come back to me, tear by tear. Am I dreaming still? Not unless that pretend world of mine remembers the scar above his eye, the one right under the curve of his chin, or the way his eyelids flutter while he’s dreaming. Already hiccuping, I close the distance between us and throw my arms around him. 

“Mmmm,” he groans, slowly reciprocating the action like muscle memory. The crook of his neck is warmer than usual from sleep, and somehow, it smells even better than before. His woodsy vanilla scent remains as I paint his neck with my tears. “Becks . . What’s tha matter, baby?” Harry’s rasped words coast over my head. The ‘baby’ gets me right away, and the sob only deepens at how that’s his immediate response. 

“It wasn’t a dream,” I weep into his t-shirt, clinging onto him and never wanting to let him go. 

“No, ‘m here, Becks, ‘m here. ‘m not goin’ anywhere, not ever again, I promise you that. Now, go back t’ sleep, bug, ‘s only seven . .  We don’t hafta be t’ me mum’s ‘til three, and me sleep ‘s all messed up.” 

My head nods along with his words as his arms tighten around me, and my tears ebb. Sniffling, I feel them stubbornly stay and crash onto his skin with each shake of my chest. 

“You promise?” the words are choked and fear sits in them. 

“I promise, Rebecca Ann, and ‘ll never ever break this one t’ you, I mean it.” 

“I’m gonna hold you to that, Styles,” it’s a half assed attempt at a laugh with my words, but it’s better than nothing. 

“Breathe, baby, and try t’ sleep. I know you didn’t get much tha last couple o’ days.” 

My head moves around until it finds that special spot, and in the midst of it, I think of the other night when I couldn’t sleep. He was all I could think about, per usual, and Skye’s yelling didn’t help. I couldn’t tell who she was talking to, and I just assumed that her and her boyfriend were having a row on the phone. Now that I think of it, I came home from work almost every night to her on the phone, and she would angrily hang up. She was there for me, but she was secretive too, and I couldn’t understand why. Until now. 

“Skye told you?” 

“Ya,” his answer is just as quiet and slow as mine. I want to be angry and upset at the both of them, but I had spent so much of my life the last few years being mad at him that I couldn’t fathom another unnecessary second of it. “I left t’ spare you tha hurt, but there wasn’t a moment that I stopped thinkin’ and worryin’ ‘bout you, bug. She was pissed at me, so much so I wasn’t sure if she’d let me in last night when I came . . but she did. She said you would’ve killed her if she hadn’t, which I believe . . I had t’ check on you and make sure you were okay, and she was tha one closest t’ you, even if she spent each phone call cursin’ at me.” 

“But I wasn’t, how could I be after that, Harry? You disappeared on me and fell off the face of the earth. I’d never been so scared, not knowing if you were okay, or if I’d ever see you again. Y-You can’t do that again to me, we’re a team, you’ve said it yourself. We’ve talked about getting married one day, you’re my best friend a-and-,” he cuts me off before the tears do, threatening to push me over the edge that I don’t know if I can bring myself back from. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know, and ‘m so sorry. ‘ll never stop apologizin’, Becks, never. I realized too late what I did was so foolish and how terribly I hurt you. I thought I was savin’ you from mo’ pain when really I was jus’ givin’ you mo’,” he sighs, and the misery in his words almost makes me want to stop him from going on. Although it had only been a few days, it felt longer with our recent breakup, like it was all a ball of pain rolled into one. Months of just wanting him to be happy again, more so now after I thought things were okay again, and then he left. “Trust me, ‘m not gonna fook things up again. ‘m rather sure n’body would lemme anyways, not My’ or Skye or me mum. They’re all jus’ as pissed at me fer what I did, and I won’t ever do it again. I love you so much, Rebecca Ann, and I won’t ever f’get that. When things get tough, I know that’s what I need t’ rememba - that and how much you always love me.” 

“I tried to stop loving you, but I couldn’t . . I can’t.” 

“And neither could I, love, ‘d never want t’,” he murmurs. He begins to hum our song and then it spills from his lips. At last, I find the sound of his heartbeat, and my breathing begins to slow. Once he’s a few lines in and his hands are carding through my hair, I give in to the sleep, knowing that he’ll be there when I wake up. 

“Our first Christmas t’getha,” Harry rasps later on as I rub at my eyes. I make the mistake of opening them and am blinded by the light that pours in from my poorly drawn shades. His giggle tickles at my ears when I nuzzle my head back into his chest. 

“First of many,” I mumble in between the folds of his t-shirt, finally feeling around and noticing the absence of his flannel. “Where did your flannel go last night?”

“Where d’ya think it went, Ms. Heater? Bloody hell, ‘s stiflin’ in yer bedroom, y’know that? ‘Least put onna fan or sumthin’, I fookin’ overheated last night. At least at mine, I know t’ turn tha heat down at night ‘cos you do it all fer me,” Harry nearly scoffs, but the humor in his voice is contagious. 

“Is that what happened with your pants too?”

“Ya, and skinny jeans aren’t comfy t’ sleep in,” he remarks. I feel his body move as my hand goes under his shirt, feeling his toned stomach. Without knowing it, it wanders down and to the front of his underwear. “Hey, mind that hand o’ yers, woman.” 

“You know I just like to feel it sometimes,” is all I say as I palm at his crotch, hearing his groan. 

“Ya, well now yer gonna make me hard, and ‘d rather not be when ‘m textin’ me sista. God, ‘s she mad at me.” 

I don’t mean to giggle, but I find it difficult to resist, and even more so when Harry is groaning at me. 

“‘s a good thing yer cute, and so are yer li’l snorts,” he says, shaking his head at me when I at last rest my chin on his chest to look up at him. 

“Aren’t you a little old to be wearing skinny jeans? You’re almost thirty-one, Harry.” 

“Hush,” he tuts, slipping his tongue out to swipe over his lips. His lips remain parted before he bites at his bottom one when his thumbs flit across the screen of his phone. “Stop bein’ mean t’ me, ‘m tired.” 

Another laugh slips out and his head is shaking furiously as I feel his dick harden underneath my hand. 

“Rebecca Ann, get yer hand away from me dick, or else.” 

“Or what?” I say, fully aware of what I’m doing to him, and so is he. 

“Woman,” it comes out as a perturbed sigh from him, but it’s all but ignored as I get on all fours. He doesn’t acknowledge the way that I climb up his body with kisses pressed up his scratchy neck. “What d’ya think yer doin’?”

“What, can’t I kiss my boyfriend?” I tease, threading my way through his arms. His neck smells amazing when I lay down on top of him, wheezing at the ‘ooof’ he makes. 

He hums an approval while his phone makes small noises every time he types a letter. A smile warms my face as I cozy my face into his neck, needing to make up for lost time as I think of how he didn’t even react or protest when I plopped down on him. He wrapped his arms around me and hooked his chin over my shoulder and carried on, as if normal. 

“Hey, look who’s callin’ me,” Harry notes, his voice still crackly from sleep. “Hullo? Hi, Harper, how’re you, darlin’?” in seconds, his voice drips of honey for his other favorite girl in the world, filling my heart. “Ya wanna talk t’ Anty Becky? ‘Kay, ‘ll put you on speaker so you can talk t’ us both.” 

“Best get ready, somebody may have missed you mo’ than me,” he grins at me as we stop in front of a door decorated with a festive wreath. “Didn’t know that was possible.” 

The door opens within moments, and a small girl with honey colored hair stands in front of us. 

“Anty Becky! Unky Harry!” she exclaims, her adorable pin striped apron billowing around her when she runs forward to wrap her arms around our legs. 

“Hiya, sweets. How’re you?” Harry coos, bending down to scoop her into his arms. If I wasn’t melting already, I sure am now. “Happy Christmas.” 

“Happy Christmas! I missed you!” she whines, resting her head on Harry’s chest as he hugs her back. Goddammit, my ovaries better calm the fuck down. “And I missed you, Anty Becky!” Harper squeals when she lets up and reaches her arms out for me. I take the little girl in my arms and Harry ushers us into the house and out of the cold. 

“How are you, love?” I ask her, combing her hair out of her darling brown eyes. 

“Good. You’re both early, yay!” she announces, pulling on my hand and Harry’s when I let her down. We share hello’s with Gemma, her husband, and the walking and talking Ollie. 

“Mum not here yet?” I hear Harry ask his sister who replies with a curt ‘no.’ “Seems ‘m still in tha doghouse with her.” 

“What’s a doghouse?” Harper asks when she stops, seeing as how we’ve reached our destination. The kitchen table prepared with our supplies awaits us, and I get the message when I see the look Gemma gives Harry. 

“Don’t worry, love. So, I hear we’re makin’ gingerbread houses t’day?”

“Yep! Mummy said you’re really good at making them,” Harry’s young niece says. His eyes nearly roll into the back of his head when I meet them, but he still cracks a laugh. 

“I s’pose I am, or accordin’ t’ yer mummy, I am.” 

“Yay, I’ve wanted to make one for so long, and mummy said we could today since Christmas dinner isn’t for a few hours,” she answers, and it only continues to surprise me how much she’s grown since I first met her. 

“How’s school going, Harp?” my question finds a place in between her meticulous watching of Harry taking out the gingerbread pieces from the zipped baggy. 

“Good, I know all of my ABC’s now, Anty Becky,” she answers, but her attention couldn’t be further from me. 

Her eyes widen when her uncle takes off the lids to the frosting her and Gemma had prepared. My hand goes to my mouth when she tells Harry to be careful with the sprinkles container he opens. The organ that thumps away in my chest metaphorically swells at the sound of how she says his name. Hair-wee. It only drives my ovaries a bit more nuts at the sound, and I mistakenly think about our kids calling him that, and the beloved Daddy, of course. 

“‘Kay, here’s tha pieces t’ yer house, Harpy. Now, we can’t eat all o’ tha frostin’,” Harry tells her as he presses a kiss to the top of her head. Swoon. 

“Do you want some, Unky Hair-wee?” she offers, sticking her finger into the pink frosting and holding it out to him. He shakes his head at her offer, but when she isn’t looking, he swipes some for eating. “Hey, you said we can’t eat it all!” 

“I didn’t, I only had a touch, love.” 

“No lying, Unky Hair-wee!” she says with a wag of her finger at him, and soon, we’re all laughing but her. “Becky, Hair-wee is being naughty.” “Oh no. What should we do about it, love?” I find it harder to pose my question in a serious tone than I thought it would be. She hums a sound like she’s thinking, and I giggle under my breath when Harry picks her hand out of the bowl of gum drops. 

“He gets coal for Christmas,” she mutters, her small face squished with upset as Harry assembles the first two walls of her house. 

“‘m not gonna help you with yer house if yer not gonna be nice, Harp, but we won’t have anythin’ t’ decorate our house with if we eat all o’ our sweets,” he tells her gingerly, giving me an alarmed look when I find his eyes. Shaking his head, he picks up the piping bag and continues to put the walls together. 

Huffing, she pulls her hand back from the small plate of chocolate chips, placing them in her lap. Pulling my eyes away from my half assembled house, I watch her observe Harry and his craftsmanship. I don’t have to look very hard to see the similarities between the two. First off, oh my god with the stubbornness. Then, there’s the love of sweets and chocolate, to no surprise. Her hair curls at the ends beautifully, and deep dimples sit in her cheeks when they move. Although she’s a spitting image of her mother, when I see young pictures of Harry, I see Harper in them too. 

Resting my chin on my hand, I lose myself in watching him with her, knowing he’d be just as sweet, if not more, with his own babies. God, I need to get a grip. 

“Why’s it not working?” Harper whines ten minutes later when one of the walls of her gingerbread house falls down. 

“It jus’ needs mo’ frostin’, sweets. I didn’t do a very good job with that one, ‘m afraid. Here, why don’t you keep decoratin’ tha other sides while I fix it, ya?”

“Mmmmkay,” she sighs, picking up a small red cinnamon flavored candy to continue framing the door. Her pudgy, little fingers are careful and slow, and it makes me smile. “Yours looks cute, Anty Becky,” she comments and when I look over at her, she’s giving Harry a dirty look. He lifts his eyes with his face torn between being upset and trying not to laugh, asking me with his eyes, ‘did you see that?’ 

“Thanks, Harp, and so does yours. You and Harry are doing a good job.” 

“Not good enough,” it’s a mutter under her breath, but I hear it. I clear my throat as I continue to press peppermint twist candies onto a wall of my gingerbread house. 

“Hey, li’l miss, watch tha li’l attitude,” Harry warns with a raise of his eyebrows. He drops the piping bag after the house is all reassembled and dances his fingers across her ribs until she’s squealing from laughter. “Huh, what was that? Did I jus’ hear you say, ‘’m sorry, Unky Hair-wee, I love our gingerbread house so much! Yer tha best unky in da world, I love you so much!’” 

“No,” she giggles, and by now, my gingerbread house is forgotten as I watch the two with their dimples adorning their laughs. “I didn’t say that! I don’t love you, you’re all stinky and mean!” 

“Am not!” Harry scoffs, picking her up from her chair and holding her upside down. Her laughs continue loudly as he tickles under her arms and in the crook of her neck, tossing her onto the sofa in the nearby living room. 

“Are too!” she fights back, kicking at him as he towers over her, sending chuckles from her lips. “I like Anty Becky better!” 

Harry gasps at her proclamation and now, I’m laughing along with her. He looks over to me and I don’t think he could be smiling bigger. “Ya like this?” 

“Mmmhmm, you’re so cute together. You’re gonna make such a good daddy one day,” I muse aloud, surprising myself with the confession. It only makes his dimples bigger in his cheeks, and I can’t tell if they’re reddening from the tickling or from my words. 

God, I couldn’t have picked a better man to be a daddy to my babies one day. 

[null-whump]

Whumptober Day 8

Fjgejfkdlsjg I thought I was done posting five minutes before midnight...I was wrong. This one is a prequel! It gives more detail into why Felix is afraid of heights, and you get to see more of Familiar culture. Yay for worldbuilding!

Warnings: Implied broken bones, falling from a cliff

Word Count: 1,134

Whumptober Day 8 – Alternate Prompt 2 – Falling

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I had known that cutting through that section of the woods was a bad idea. I had known it was raven territory, and I had known that it was a stupid risk. But I hadn’t cared, so I had done it anyway, and now I was paying for it. I had tried to run when I was first spotted, but there were two of them and one of me, and they were bigger.

“Listen,” I tried again to explain, to talk my way out of the mess I was in. “I’m not a spy – I’m not anything, I just –”

“You just what, took a wrong turn and ‘accidentally’ ended up in our territory?” One of the ravens sneered at me. “Likely story.”

“It’s the truth, I swear!” I pleaded, but the only response I got was a shove forward. I stumbled, aware that if I fell, I wouldn’t be able to catch myself, not with my hands tied behind my back.

I no longer recognized the forest around me; I had no idea where we were going, only that we seemed to be moving uphill. After a while, the slope began to grow steeper, and I was having difficulty walking without the use of my hands. The two ravens began pulling me along when I wasn’t moving fast enough for them, until we finally reached the top of – wherever we were.

“Look what we found sniffing around the border,” of the ravens said, pushing me forward roughly.

I stumbled but managed to keep from falling, and saw where we had ended up. The top of the hill was barren and rocky, and I saw that a few yards away it dropped off into a steep cliff. There were at least ten more ravens, all looking at me with a mixture of anger, amusement, and indifference. I took a nervous step back, only to run into one of my captors.  One raven stepped forward, a tall woman whose dark skin was adorned with intricate painted patterns. I recognized them – the markings of a leader.

“A spy?” She asked. She approached me, her black eyes piercing through me.

“I’m not,” I insisted before one of the two who had grabbed me could say anything. “It was a mistake, I swear!”

She regarded me coldly, her face expressionless. “If you were a spy, would you not say exactly that?”

I didn’t have a response. I was aware of how weak my protests sounded, but there was nothing else for me to say besides the truth.

“Even if you are speaking the truth,” the woman continued, “you still trespassed, and directly into a high-risk area. Surely you are aware that we are at war?”

I thought that ‘war’ was a bit of a drastic term to describe a simple border dispute, but I decided not to say that. She obviously took the situation very seriously – at least much more seriously than I did.

“I told you, it was an accid –”

“What should we do with him?” One of the ravens interrupted.

The woman paused, considering. She walked away from me, towards one of the men standing to the side, and said something in a low voice. Then she walked towards the edge of the cliff and stepped off, shifting as she left the ground, her arms morphing into wings and her skin to feathers. She flew away, and I didn’t care to wonder where. The man she had spoken to approached, and I saw a scar across his face – three lines – like claw marks.

“I think,” he announced, “that the little cat needs a lesson.”

I heard sounds of approval from among the crowd and tried to steady my breathing. They wouldn’t do anything serious to me – not over something so small, surely. I hadn’t even done anything.

Another raven moved forward, smirking. “Why don’t we show him what it feels like to fly?” She gestured toward the edge of the cliff.

My eyes widened. “What – no –”

“Wonderful idea,” the scarred man said, and was backed up by ten other voices, who all thought it was a wonderful idea to push me off the edge of the cliff. It was safe to say that I was beginning to panic.

Two pairs of hands seized my arms and began to drag me to the edge. I resisted, with little success.

“H-hey, wait!” I tried to pull against them, but I had always been small, and they were much bigger.

We reached the edge of the cliff, and I braved a glance down. It was…far. Not far enough to kill me, but far. I felt my hands be untied, but I didn’t care – I was outnumbered, there was nothing I could do. A hand gripped the collar of my shirt as I was pushed further, right to the edge, so that I was practically hanging off it. I had never been afraid of heights before but looking down and knowing that I was about to fall that length made my head spin.

“Wait,” I gasped. “Please –”

One of the ravens holding me laughed. “Look at that,” he jeered. “The cat’s afraid of heights!”

“What’s the matter?” The other one taunted. “Worried you won’t land on your feet?”

There was more laughter, but I hardly registered it over the rushing in my ears. The edge of the cliff felt as if it were going to give way beneath me, and the hands on my arms were keeping me from moving anywhere but forward. Then the hands pulled me around so that the last thing I saw as my feet slipped off the edge was the ravens’ faces. One of them grinned as he let go.

“Happy flying, cat.”

I had fallen out of a tree once, when I misjudged the strength of a branch and placed my weight on it. The two seconds that I had been falling were terrifying, but only resulted in a few bruises and soreness. This fall was longer than two seconds and twice as terrifying. I’m sure I screamed. I had barely enough presence of mind to think to keep my head down and try to angle my body in a way that would protect it because the last thing I wanted was a concussion.

I hit the ground hard, and the pain was instantaneous. For several seconds I couldn’t breathe, and I felt sharp, stabbing pain through my whole body. When I finally managed to draw a breath, I almost wished I hadn’t as my ribs protested violently. The pain was too much, and I felt my consciousness slipping away. The last thing I saw as my eyes slid shut was the sky, painfully blue, and the dark shape of a bird as it flew above, mocking me with its wings.

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Tag list! Let me know if you want to be added or removed, or if I somehow missed your name.

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[novannna]

Perfect Imperfection’s Chapter 1

An Au where Nova never joined the Anarchists, instead she and Evie were adopted by Hugh and Simon.  Adrian blamed the Renegades for his mothers death, and he ran away to be raised by the Anarchists.  Nova and Adrian have switched places.  It starts at the beginning of Renegades.  

Let me know what you think!!!!(And if I should keep working on it)

Word count:2326

Ch.1 

Adrian watched the parade procession inch along, a sneer pasted on his face.  The streets were full of foolish people, idiots who put their fate in the hands of the Renegades.  The loud band marched along, and a chorus of boos and insults reached Adrians ears.  The villains' floats had arrived.  Grotesque imitations of fallen anarchists graced the floats.  Adrian felt offended as he watched the spectators hurl insults and rotten food at the actors upon the vehicles.  While he personally had not known those anarchists well, it still stung watching people hate them so violently.  They didn’t know anything.  

“And so it begins,” Ingrid's dry voice crackled through his earpiece.  

“Let them laugh.  They won’t be laughing for much longer.   Sketch, are you in position?” Phobia asked.  

“Yeah.  I just need to know which rooftop you want me on.”

“The council hasn’t left the warehouse yet.  I will alert you once they do.”  

Adrian glanced back at the parade.  His lip twitched.  “How do people put so much trust in the Renegades?  It's repulsive.”  His lip twitched.

Ingrid snickered.  “Easy.  They’re all idiots.  Just blend in.  Remember your training.”

“I know,” Adrian sighed.  “But much more of this, and I might puke!”  

“Remember the mission, Sketch.  We have too much to lose if this goes wrong,” Phobia said.  

“Is that…”  Oh my holy bomb squad, they have a Queen Bee this year.”  Adrian glanced up.  Sure enough, a woman dressed in a sleazy sequined dress and an enormous blonde wig stood on the float.  She clutched a large stuffed bumble bee to her chest and was wailing about something.  Wet mascara ran down her cheeks.  

“That isn’t far off,” Adrian snickered.  “It's a pretty damn good impression.”  

“I can’t wait to tell Honey,” said Ingrid.  “We should be recording this.”  

“Are you offended they don’t have a Detonator?” He asked.  

“Well, I am now,” she responded.  

Just then, a loud crashing sound came from the parade.  Adrian glanced up to see Ace Anarchy emerge from Merchant tower, cackling.  The actor wore the same costume as Ace, as well as the familiar helmet.  

Adrian felt rage rush through him, and he bit down a snarl.  

“Relax Sketch.  We’re doing this for him, remember?” Ingrid said.  

“Right.  For him.”  

A body crashed into Adrian, and he tripped forwards.  A number of heads glanced towards him, and he cringed down.  

“Watch where you're going,” he told the person.  A small girl wearing a Dread Warden mask looked up at him.  He righted her up, and she muttered sorry, then raced away.  Adrian turned back to the parade.   

“What was that, Sketch?”  Ingrid asked.  He didn’t respond.  In the corner of his eye, Adrian saw the girl crash into someone else.  Instead of correcting her, the girl tackled her and put her into a headlock.  She dragged her, kicking and screaming to Adrian.  

Give it back,” she said.  The girl had short black hair and electric blue eyes.  Her voice had a slight rasp to it.  

“Put me down!  Let me go!”  The little girl yelled.  

Adian looked around to see a number of people watching them, concerned.  That wasn’t good.  “What are you doing?   Put her down!”  He tried to quell the panic rising up.  The girl smiled at Adrian, and he felt his mouth go dry.  His heart thumped loudly in his chest.  

“All right, Evie.  You’ve got three seconds to hand it over before I report you.  And I know you don’t want that,” She said in a patronizing tone.  The girl scowled fiercely.  

“I hate you.”  She dropped something into the other girls palm.  

“I’ll see you later.”  She let the thief go.  “And if I hear from anyone that you’ve been stealing, you’ll be in so much trouble.”  The girl stuck out her tongue, then darted off.  

“Here you are,” the girl said to Adrian.  He warily extended his hand.  She dropped a small golden locket into his palm.  His hand went to the space on his neck where it usually hung.  

“What?  How did she get that?”  He asked, reaching around his neck.  

“Sketch, what's happening?”  Ingrid's voice asked in his ear.  He ignored it.  

“Do you want help with that?”  The girl asked.  “Here, let me.”  Before he could respond, she was already clipping it around his neck.  

“Uh, thanks,” Adrian said.  

“No problem.”  the girl winced.  “Shit!  The clasp is broken.  Evie, you’re in so much trouble!”

Adrian reached for it back, but the girl stopped him.  “It's okay, I can fix it.”

“No, you don’t understand, it's my moms.  You can’t..it's not-” He started, but the girl shushed him.  

“No, don’t worry.”  She slipped something out of her pocket.  She bent her head over the necklace, her bangs hiding her face.  She stood back up and presented Adrian the necklace, the clasp fully fixed.  It even looked the same.  

“How did you do that?” Adrian asked, impressed.  

“A new tool I designed.  It can scan an object and replicate whatever part is missing.”  She smiled proudly.  “It’s still a prototype, but it works pretty damned well.”  Before Adrian could stop her, she clasped the necklace around his neck.  The locket was a familiar weight against his neck, and he relaxed slightly.  

“Adrian, are you compromised?” Ingrid’s voice barked into his ear.  He winced.  

The girl was saying something, but Adrian didn’t hear her. A bout of cheers and clapping surged through the crowd.  

“Looks like the councils here.”

Adrian nodded.  “Looks like it.”  He tried his hardest to keep the distaste out of his voice.  

“Sketch, west station,” Phobias voice said in his ear.   

Adrian snapped to attention.  “On it.”  He turned around and started to jog away.  

“Your welcome,” the girl called out after him.  He ignored her.  Someone shoved a flyer into his hand and he crumpled it into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket without bothering to look at it.  He ducked into an alleyway and grabbed his backpack from behind the dumpster.  

“Sketch, what is your status?”  Phobia asked.  

“Grabbing my stuff.  I’ll be up on the roof in a minute.”

“Hurry.  You have a superhero to kill.”  

---

Nova watched her dads wave at the cheering fans and smiled.  It felt good to be able to celebrate something for the first time in a while.  For the first time in what felt like forever, Nova was happy.  Most people had finally stopped treating her like some pariah, just because she was related to Ace Anarchy.  Her family was happy, so she was happy.  And she had a lot of new tech that was successful. 

Although, she was absolutely pissed at Evie.  Why the hell did her sister have to go around, stealing from everyone.  She didn’t need the money, she did it for the fun of it. Nova scowled thinking about it.  Oh she was going to have some serious words with her.  Her mind wandered back to the boy from earlier.  The one with the locket.  He had seemed so nervous and twitchy.  He reminded Nova of a dog a little.  Sweet, but hesitant.  Nova smiled thinking about him.

The happiness turned to chaos in seconds.  Nova watched a bullet whiz through the air, heading right toward her dad.  Nova held her breath as it snapped against his metal skin, a hair's breadth from his eye. The council snapped to attention, commanding the crowd to remain calm, telling them that everything was fine.  Nova could see a small dark form on the rooftop, a swarm of monarch butterflies hovering around it. Her wristband buzzed.  A message from Oscar to the team.  

Sketch spotted on top of buildings across from the parade.  Red Assassin, Monarch and I are engaging.  Back up may be needed.  

Nova grinned, despite the chaos surrounding.  A perfect opportunity to test her new tech.  A compact suit with several added benefits.  She ducked into a nearby ally.  She zipped her jacket up all the way and pulled the hood over her head.  It hissed and the fabric pulled back, revealing metal underneath.  The metal slid along her body on invisible hinges, moving until it completely enveloped her.  A visor covered her face, darkening the world around her slightly.  A bright red R was emblazoned on the chest.  

Nova bounced up and down gently.  She went almost five feet into the air, and came down without a sound.  

“Anti-gravity works,” she said to herself.  “What else does?”  She held out her fist and squeezed her hand tight.  Flames roared out, turning an old crate to ashe.  

“Fire works.”  She looked down at the metal covering her hand.  “And not even scorch marks.  Yay!”  Nova grinned behind her mask.  She bent down, then leapt upwards.  The suit carried her all the way to the rooftop where she rolled to a halt.  Nova backed up a tiny bit, then started to run.  She gathered enough momentum to jump across the gap between buildings.  

She let out a whoop.  

“Hell yeah!” she screamed.  It felt almost as if she was flying.  She jumped across rooftops to the building she could see her team fighting Sketch on.  Nova landed in front of him.  She looked around to see Ruby crumpled in a heap on the ground.  Danna stood not too far away with blood covering her leg.  

“You must be new around here,” Sketch said.  

She tilted her head.  “I’ve been around long enough to know who you are.. Sketch.”  

He smiled up at her behind his mask.  “Should I be flattered?”

A loud cackling blasted through the air and both Nova and Sketch turned to look for its source.  

“What is that idiot doing here?”  Sketch grimaced.  A hot air balloon floated through the streets, the bright green anarchist ‘A’ painted on it.  The Puppeteer stood in the basket, his head tilted back.  He let out another bout of manic laughter, his crazy orange hair tangling around his head.  

“Oh reeeenegades,” he sang.  “Doesn’t anyone want to play with me?”  Screams echoed from far below.  “Eeny, meeny,miny...mo!”  Golden strings cascaded down from his fingertips.  Nova knew that several innocent children had just been possessed by the Puppeteers' powers.

“Tag!  You’re it!”  He screamed.  “Friends of yours?” He asked Sketch.  

Sketch looked at Nova.  “Not really.”  He threw something at Nova and it expanded midair.  A net wrapped itself around her, pinning her limbs to her body.  “Nice to meet you,” he said, and started to jog away.  Nova snarled.  

“Not so fast.”  She wrapped her fist around the rope and it began to burn away, the acrid smell of smoke filling the air.  

“Another fire elemental.  How quaint.  Not exactly a rare breed, but it's hard to criticise a classic.”  

Nova snarled and launched herself at him.  Her suit carried her all the way to him.  He backed away, surprised.  “You can’t escape me, Sketch.  I’m taking you into custody and you will answer for your crimes.”  

“Lovely as that sounds, I actually had other plans for the afternoon.”  A shadow passed over them and Nova looked up to see butterflies converging into Monarch.  

“Who are you?” she asked Nova.  

“I am the Sentinel,” she responded, puffing her chest out a tiny bit.  

Sketch burst out laughing.  “Seriously?”  Nova felt slightly insulted by his reaction.   She had thought it sounded like a cool name.  

“Friends of yours?”  Danna asked.  

“I’m really not that friendly,” Sketch responded.  “Beside’s, she’s wearing your trademark.”  Danna glared suspiciously at Nova.  

Sketch lashed out at Danna with a red knife, one Ruby must have made.  Danna turned into butterflies before he could hurt her, only losing a single butterfly.  Nova lunged forwards and wrapped her arms tightly around Sketch.  He tried to get free, but Nova was too strong.  He shoved them both backwards and they tumbled off the roof and landed on another one.  Nova winced as she fell onto a small fountain, stone cracking beneath their weight.  

“Hey Sentinel,” Sketch said.  Nova turned towards him, and he drove Ruby’s knife into her shoulder.  She roared with pain and held out her fist, too mad to think before she blasted him with fire.  He ducked and the flames went right over him and struck, to Nova’s horror, a large cluster of orange and black butterflies.  She heard a scream of pain and watched the insects merge into Danna.  Her uniform was blackened from ribs to her hip. 

“Monarch?” A voice asked.  Nova looked over to see Oscar pull himself onto the roof.  

“Help her,” Nova screamed.  

“Who the hell are you?” he yelled back.  

Nova ignored him and turned back to Sketch.  He was running towards the edge of the roof, trying to get to the Puppeteers balloon.

“You have a tagalong,” the Puppeteer said to Sketch.  Nova reached him and wrapped her fingers around his throat.  

“You tried to assassinate Captain Chromium,” she growled. “Why?  Who put you up to it?  What else are they planning?”  She was completely filled up with rage.  

“You Renegades sure ask a lot of questions.” he said.  

“You better answer them,” Nova snarled.  

“You think I’m afraid of a pompous neophyte in a toy suit? He asked incredulously.  

“Neophyte?”  She asked.  

He sighed.  “It means amatuer.  You're obviously new to this game.”  Nova’s fingers loosened slightly. 

“I know what it-- argh!”  She stomped her foot. “Look, I don’t really care whether or not you’re afraid of me, but I’m willing to bet you're at least a little bit afraid of dying, like we all are.”  She tightened her fingers.  

He wheezed slightly.  “You know what they say… one cannot be brave who has no fear.”  Nova started, giving him enough time to wiggle free.  He brought his fist around and struck Nova in the head.  The impact knocked her down and her vision dimmed.  She blinked once.. Twice.. The third time though, her eyes stayed shut.  

[hanniiesuckle17]

The Painting

A/n: Okay not requested but like I was watching "The Marvelous Mrs.Maisel" (awesome show go watch it on Amazon prime) and got inspired and thought this would be cute and funny anyway...yeah

WARNINGS: Swearing, mention of nudity.

Summary: Essentially the reader and Jisung have been bestfriends for about a year and you are a Classical Art Major in College. So I guess this is a college au. Jisung is a Music Major obviously and he lives in a shared apartment with all the boys and you have a studio apartment by yourself. It's almost time for your final project to be turned in and you are trying to get Jisung to help you out.

College Au, friends to lovers au

_________________________________________

"Please, Hannie!" I chased my bestfriend of a year around my apartment. "Absolutely not!" He screamed, jumping over my couch. "Please! It's for my master's thesis! You know it's Classical Art!" He ran from me, shaking his head. "No, no, no. Absolutely not! Never in a million years!" I chased him around my kitchen before he sprinted into my living room.

"Jisung I've already seen it, what difference is it going to make!" As I said that, he fell over the back of my couch and crashed into my coffee table. His head of blonde hair lay on the floor while the rest of his body lay limp on the couch. "Oh my God! J, are you okay?" He nodded, clutching the back of his head.

Taking his hand, I pulled him up on the couch and looked down at him. "Wait how did you-" "Jisung, you are my bestfriend. I don't mind if you come over and use my shower to get away from the boys, but you should really close the door."

A bright red tint started to spread over the tips of his ears. "Please, J." He looked up at me as I gave him puppy eyes. "If it's not you I'll just have to ask one of the guys in the art department to do it." "NO!" He immediately stood up at my words, a look of panic on his face.

A smirk fell across my lips. "Fine." His voice drew out the word and his head fell back in defeat. "Yay!" I jumped up and down, success finally mine. I scrambled to get my canvas and paints by the window and pushed him towards my room. "I'm going to take so much shit from the guys if they ever find out."

"Shut up. Now get in there and strip."

_________________________________________

"Done!" I exclaimed marking the finishing touches on the canvas. "Please toss me my pants!" I laughed and tossed him the sweatpants he wore over to my apartment. I chuckled as he put them on in lightning speed. "I swear to God this better be the best goddamn fucking painting ever." He shuffled over and looked at my work.

His jaw went slack as he looked at the canvas. "What do you think?" He lifted it carefully off my easel. "Think I'll get an A?" He just stared at the portrait I made of him. "Are you that self obsorbed?" I laughed trying to get his attention. He finally looked over at me with a smile. "Y/n, this is incredible! It looks like a photograph." He handed it back to me with a huge smile plastered on his face.

"Well it's a good thing you agreed to be my subject, because my due date is in two days." I set the easel somewhere out of the way so the paint wouldn't accidentally get smudged while it was drying. "Umm...excuse me bitch, I prefer the term 'muse'. It's more romantic." He said with a smile while pulling his shirt over his head. "Also as long as you didn't have to ask one of those artsy, smoking, aesthetic, emotionally traumatized, ulzzang boys."

He turned his back to me and mumbled the last sentence. "Aww, J! Are you jealous?" I teased. He laughed as I hugged him. "What are you going to do with the painting after they grade it?" I shrugged as he followed me into the living room. "I think you should burn it." "What? No! I thought you liked it!" He collapsed onto my couch and rested his arm across the back. "Y/n. It's incredible. You are an amazing artist. It also has my bare ass in it." I sat on the other side of my couch and rest my legs across his lap.

"I'll put it in storage when I get it back then." He smiled and thanked me. "You painted me naked, I think I at least deserve dinner after that!" He laughed and handed me my phone while wiggling his eyebrows. "Yes, it isn't like every other day when I buy you dinner." Reluctantly I dialed the number of our favorite takeaway place, while Jisung chose a movie to watch.

A few weeks later, Seungmin, Felix, Chan, and Changbin were all over at my apartment to have a study group for Mathematics. Because we were all literally shit at math. High key we were all arts majors so we suck at everything. Jisung was supposed to show up, but he was stuck finishing a project at the studio. The boys lay in every free space my small living room could offer with books and papers everywhere.

"Hey, Y/n? Do you have any extra batteries? My calculator just died." I told Seungmin that they were in the closet next to my bed. The boy got up to go search for the batteries and the rest of us continued to work. Changbin had stretched across my couch so I was laid across his lap holding a big ass math book over my face, trying to cram its contents into my brain.

All of us jumped when we heard Seungmin scream from my room. This accidentally caused me to drop the three pound book on my face. The young boy ran into the room and screamed for everyone to look. I heard screams and gasps, but didn't get a chance to see, because one there was a book on my face, and two Changbin got up so quickly that I was knocked face down onto the floor.

"Y/n! What the hell is this?" Felix asked with a laugh. I rubbed my head and turned to see Seungmin and Minho holding up the painting of Jisung. My face went pale. "Did you paint this?" Felix asked. None of the boys could stop laughing. "Changbin take a picture!" Before Changbin could pull out his phone, I tackled him to the floor and we began to fight for the phone. Screams and laughs filled my apartment as my friends laughed at Changbin and me.

All of the noise stop as we heard the door open. We froze making the scene look incredibly like a sitcom. Seungmin and Minho stood holding the nude painting of Jisung with gaping faces. Felix stood on the couch cheering on Changbin. Chan was trying to drag me out of the fight, and I was straddling Changbin on the floor, who was trying to get to his phone which was raised high over my head.

The five of us turned slowly to see who had entered my apartment. Of course it was the worst person who could possibly arrive right now. Jisung stood frozen in shock, trying to comprehend the sight before him. Then his eyes fell onto the painting. Immediately his face switched to one of anger and his eyes shot to me, the girl still on top of his hyung.

"Yah! Kim Y/n!" He stormed towards me. Gripping my wrist, he pulled me off of Changbin and dragged me into my bedroom, slamming the door. There was nothing but silence in the living room. Then Minho spoke up.

"You think they're gonna fuck?"

The sound of him being slapped followed soon after.

Meanwhile in my room, Jisung paced my floor while I sat nervously on my bed. "J I'm-"

"Nope. You don't get to talk yet." He continued to burn a track into my wood floor in silence. "Well are you going to?" He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought you said you were going to hide it." "Well, obviously I didn't do a good job of that." I said with a smile. He shot me a look and it quickly fell.

"I'm sorry, Jisung! What did you expect me to do? Buy an entire storage unit for one painting?" "Yes!" Confusion and exasperation read clearly on my face. "No." He ran a hand through his blonde hair. Standing up from the bed, I walked towards him. "This was going to happen sooner or later. You agreed to do it in the first place."

"Only because I didn't want the girl I've been completely and irrevocably in love with for the past six and a half months to paint some other guy's deal!" He shouted. Heavy silence filled the room.

"Oh shit." Felix's voice could be heard from outside the door. Jisung angrily crossed over and kicked the door and many screams could be heard from the other side.

"Fuck." He kept his back to me, head down. "Y/n, please say something." His voice was low so as to not let the other boys hear. I was at a loss for words. "Tell me how you love me." He turned at my voice. "You know I've always been terrible with words. Paint me a picture." I kept my tone low and it felt like it was just a secret between me and him.

Slowly, Jisung made is way over to stand in front of me, his brows furrowed like they always did when he was thinking. He still had yet to touch me, but I could feel the air had changed between us as we stood face to face, closer than ever before. I stared up at his features which I had painted and sketched time and time again.

"When I see you," he kept his gaze on the floor. "When I look at you, it feels like everything I do or say isn't nothing anymore. When I look at you, all of the songs I've heard on the radio start to make sense. When I look at you, I feel like someone took galaxies from the night sky and put them in your eyes so that I could know what eternity looks like. I don't want you to be mine. I'm not worthy of that luxury." His eyes still were focused on the floor, but I didn't mind.

"When you paint or sketch you have this talent for capturing it's most vulnerable state. I have been the subject of so many sketches, and portraits, and paintings, and each time you have stripped me down to my core farther than any clothes or skin could hide. And each time, I think that I have nothing left to hide, but then I see myself through your eyes and I finally understand who I am a little more. I found myself in you and for that I am in your debt. And yet I have the audacity to stand here, and ask something more of you."

Slowly he met my gaze. His eyes reminded me of the first time I ever drew him. He was working on some track with Changbin and I sat in the studio with them. I had only met him a few days prior. I was aimlessly sketching and my gaze fell on him. Their was something about the way his eyes sparkled but held a soft vulnerability when he listened to his music. My hands went to work at capturing that stare, but I could never get the rest of his face to fit the way his eyes looked, so that was all that rested on the page.

He stood before me with the same look in his eyes. "Please, let me give myself to you. Every piece of my heart has been yours for the longest time. Won't you please accept it?" I looked down to see his hands shaking a little by his sides. Taking them gently in my own, I looked back up at him.

"I do not deserve to be the subject of such beautiful words. And I feel my answer would be insufficient to your confession." I let go of his hands to retrieve my sketchbook on the desk. Carefully, I placed it in his hands. He looked from me to the book before carefully opening it. I watched him flip from page to page. Each was filled with scribbled out sketches of a girl or a girl's eyes. But, as he reached the middle, they turned into a pair of eyes that he immediately recognized as his own. Then to pictures of him. On the very last page there was a sketch of Y/n's eyes fully drawn out and not marked over. They were drawn as if looking in a mirror, but in her eyes, was the silhouette of a boy.

I placed my hand gently over his. "I have learned to see myself through my muse." He smiled down at me and he tossed the book onto my bed. He wrapped his arms around my waist and gently pulled me into his embrace. My head rested against his chest and I could hear his heartbeat slow from its previous fast pace.

I couldn't tell how long we stayed like that. But, reluctantly I pulled away. "You should go out and face the music." I nodded towards the door. "Please, just one more minute!" He whispered as he buried his face in my neck, his blonde hair tickling my skin. I slowly pushed him towards the door and he whined into my neck causing me to laugh. "If you are going to make me go out there I need some incentive to withstand my teasing." He mumbled against my skin. I smiled and pushed him against the wall next to the door.

His head shot up in reaction and looked down at me, half in shock and half in interest. My hands traveled up his chest to his shoulders, then to his jaw and then to the back of his neck. I pulled him close and smiled, placing a lingering kiss on the corner of his lips. Pulling away, I opened the door and pushed him in front of me, quickly changing the atmosphere.

"Y/n, you bitch." "You love me." He went silent at that and then the boys bombarded the two of us with questions, holding the painting so everyone could see.

"So was the painting before or after the sex?" Minho asked throwing an arm over my shoulder. "Painting was foreplay. I like it messy." Minho was shocked, obviously not expecting me to respond and so was Jisung.

"So how much bigger did you actually have to make his dick. We all know that painting isn't the real thing." Seungmin said motioning to the canvas. Jisung looked down obviously quite embarrassed about the whole ordeal. I quickly came to his side and wrapped my arms around his torso. "Actually, I had to make it smaller in the painting because I couldn't sketch it proportionately as the canvas was too small. Jisung looked up at me a huge blush painted on his cheeks and ears. While the other boys debated on whether I was lying or not.

Jisung looked down at me, still blushing. "You are incredible." He leaned down and kissed me sweetly.

"Chan can we hang this in our living room?" Changbin screamed.

"THAT'S IT I AM MOVING OUT!"

Masterlist

[chorusfic]

rolling the bones; chapter one

It wasn’t Northrend’s chill that bothered Wynonah.

Sure, it was tough to ignore, even with the advantage of naturally running hotter than most of the Alliance’s core members, but it was manageable, even if it was one of her least favorite things, right up there with rich people and pompous bastards, neither of which were especially common here.

No, Northrend’s frigid winds and slowly-drifting ice floes–extra little reminders reinforcing the fact that it was fucking cold here–didn’t bother her. It was the inexplicable smell of death and sea salt on the air that made her stomach churn. 

They can smell fear, you know, Wyndric would have joked, and she would have shoved him for it, but there was a hint of truth to it. Alliance influence or no, Northrend was not a place for the easily scared. 

Wynonah was not easily scared, but she also wasn’t stupid.

Valiance Keep loomed as the Kraken sailed into its dock–Wynonah had made herself scarce for most of the trip, quietly observing the Alliance’s finest as they prepared for this very day, their arrival at this keep, ostensibly the meat grinder from the rumors she’d heard thus far. Some held bravado in their puffed-out chests like they were full of hot air, some were more somber, and some were angry, ready to lash out, ready for their chance at vengeance. Wynonah sympathized with all three, but she knew she was here for something else entirely, and very little of it had to do with what the Alliance wanted.

Here, though, she had no contacts and no friends to rely on outside of Alliance influence, so that meant she was stuck as their puppet on a string until she found an opportunity to get what she needed without their help.

As a general rule, authority had not been the Frey twins’ friend growing up in the streets of Gilneas City–in fact, most sources of authority had been their targets, or at least obstacles to their real goal–but even with the two documents in her jerkin proving that Wynonah had no fewer than two official statements on the validity of her presence here, it was a difficult habit to break.

The recruitment table wasn’t hard to find–two lines of people stretched almost to the door of the nearby inn, with two Alliance recruiters, one with a ledger sitting in front of him, and the other, curiously, lacking one. Sidling closer, Wynonah heard one exchange between recruiter and recruit–the one who did have a ledger.

“Your profession?”

“Cook, sir.” the man shuffled his feet as he said it, but had a resoluteness to his face that said he was scared, or at least nervous, but determined to stay, no matter the cost–a foolish and admirable sentiment both.

A few seconds passed while the recruiter ran one finger down the page, brow knitted, and said, “Looks like we have room for one more–ah, my mistake, that’s a poorly-written seven, not a one.” Looking up, the recruiter told the unfortunate recruit, “Hope you’re good with a sword–report to the barracks.” 

Unseen from where she stood in the inn’s shadow, Wynonah’s jaw dropped, and then clenched shut, lip curled in disgust. The Alliance would throw these people at the undead Scourge whether they were soldiers or not, and desperation be damned, necessity be damned, they were going to get these people killed.

Turning sharply on her heel, Wynonah went into the inn and approached the barkeep. If there was anywhere Wyndric would’ve been spotted, it was likely here, and she wasn’t particularly keen on approaching those recruiters even with her official-looking documents. “Help you with something?” the barkeep asked, a rag in hand as he cleaned the counter top.

“I’m lookin’ for someone.” Wynonah didn’t sit just yet, but she leaned her elbows on the bar’s surface. “He’s my twin–ginger hair about shoulder-length, dumb goatee, scars on the right side of his face, light brown eyes?”

The barkeep was already shaking his head, and Wynonah tried to brush off her disappointment, without much success. “Can’t say I’ve seen anyone like that here, miss–sorry.”

“He’s a worgen, maybe you saw him like that?” it was a stretch, Wynonah knew–like her, Wyndric preferred to masquerade in human form most of the time, particularly in places like this where they would be seen or potentially recognized. “About yay big,” Wynonah raised her hand to indicate Wyndric’s approximate height when transformed, “gray fur, scars on his muzzle?”

“Not many worgen passing through here, and none by that description.” the barkeep shrugged. “Sorry. Get you anything else?”

As tempting as it was to spend the rest of this discouraging day drowning her sorrows in whatever swill they served here, Wynonah knew it wouldn’t bring her any closer to getting out of the Alliance’s hair as soon as possible so she could focus on her real goal–finding Wyndric. It was still with no small amount of reluctance that Wynonah said, “Not right now, thanks–might be back later.”

Heading back out into the bracingly cold air, Wynonah reached for her jerkin pocket where she kept both documents handed to her by Shaw, approaching the first recruiter she saw at the table, whose eyes locked with hers and got a flash of something like recognition, and wariness. When she offered both documents, he took them, much to the indignation of the person who was supposed to have been next in line. “Too good to wait in line like the rest of us?” 

“Get to the back of the line!” came someone else’s voice, near to the back of the line themselves.

“Who do you think you are, eh?”

“I’m Frey, here on Mathias Shaw’s order.” this, Wynonah directed not at the person behind her, but at the recruiter, who was already looking over the documents, penned in Shaw’s hand and whoever else was responsible for getting her where she was supposed to go. “Think he said I was supposed to report to someone named Arlos?”

“General Arlos is in the main keep, across from here,” the recruiter handed both documents back to her, skepticism written on every line in his face, “and you’re free to go for now, since our ledger is apparently missing, but we reserve the right to verify your documents again later.”

Wynonah didn’t bother to dignify the statement with a response, though she badly wanted to–instead, she bit her tongue and made a sharp about-face towards the guard towers that made up Valiance Keep’s headquarters. She felt eyes on her as she approached, but none of them outright tried to stop her, and Wynonah raised her chin as she walked.

Typically, the most important people anywhere in an Alliance location were up high, so Wynonah ascended the stairs and arrived to find two humans–one in plate armor painted gold with a Stormwind tabard across his chest, one in a dress shirt and slacks and wearing a monocle–and a draenei, who was apparently making his case to have two whole regiments deployed at the keep within a month’s time. 

“‘Scuse me.” Wynonah interrupted, feeling an itch in her blood that said her limited measure of patience was already being tested by Alliance bureaucracy, “I’m Frey, sent by Shaw–he seemed to think you might have need of me?”

The man in a monocle–Wynonah quickly amended her observation that Northrend did, in fact, have one person likely to be a pompous bastard, since a monocle was an almost surefire way of spotting one–scowled and opened his mouth like he was prepared to tell her off, but an expression crossed his face that Wynonah couldn’t identify, and he fell silent. A split second later, the general spoke instead. “Frey, you said? Show me your documents, if you would.”

Wynonah slapped the folded parchment pieces on the nearby table where they were probably talking about their big fancy war plans, and folded her arms while the general leafed through them. “Well,” Arlos said at last, “everything seems to be in order here, though I admit you’ve caught us at an awkward time–return this evening, and I should have an assignment for you.”

“Works for me.” it wasn’t ideal, but she’d take whatever free time she could get before the Alliance undoubtedly started to run her ragged. An idea tickled at the back of her thoughts, and Wynonah hastily added, “You mind if I poke around the keep for a bit?”

Their permission didn’t really matter, as Wynonah planned to explore regardless, but it would be a lot easier, she had to admit, if it was with their permission. “You may look,” the man with the monocle told her, “but do not get in the way of the soldiers at the barracks.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” Wynonah turned, picked up her documents from the general’s table, and sauntered out as she placed them back in her jerkin pocket, heading back the way she’d come.

If she wanted to find Wyndric, like it or not, an Alliance keep was likely the best place to start after the nearest inn, and Wynonah had already ruled that out as a possibility. His name had been on Alliance documents in Stormwind, which meant there had to be some record of him here…right?

She doubted they kept their old recruitment ledgers just laying around, but it wasn’t as though she had much else to do but look. 

Within the barracks, Wynonah found soldiers–some of them from the Kraken’s most recent trip, if she remembered their voices right–but they paid her no mind as she poked around for a few moments before leaving. At the other side of the keep, she found another set of stairs–these heading down, rather than up. Aside from a few guards outside the stairwell, who didn’t bother to question her, no one else seemed to think it a popular spot.

It was only when her feet hit the stone floor that she knew someone else was here, and hiding.

Letting her eyes adjust to the low light, Wynonah took in the sight of crates, stacked almost to the ceiling, and straw across the floor, and the smell of old wood that had spent time near the sea. Shipments from Stormwind, if she had to guess, chock-full of everything they needed to make this place their home away from home. Shuffling came from the farthest corner, and Wynonah laid a hand on one dagger, stepping silently between crates.

She rounded the last corner, and locked eyes with a woman with black hair, trimmed into slightly-messy bangs, wearing a hood. In her hand was a book that looked very much like the recruiter’s ledger from outside.

They stared at one another for a long moment. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.” was the first thing Wynonah said. 

“Says the one sneaking around,” the woman retorted, still holding the ledger. “What are you doing here?” 

“Says the one holding the Alliance recruitment ledger,” Wynonah countered with a grin. “What are you doing here?” 

Silence sat for a long beat, thick with tension, and finally the woman said, “You can’t report me. Okay? If you say anything they’ll arrest me.”

“Hell, they’d probably arrest me too, honestly.” Wynonah’s grin widened. “I’m Wynonah.”

“Leryssa.” she offered one hand for shaking, which Wynonah took after a beat of hesitation, but her eyes were still on the ledger–the first potential clue to her brother’s fate. “If you’re not going to report me, what do you want?” 

“That ledger.” Wynonah nodded towards the book under Leryssa’s arm, and Leryssa held it more protectively. Maybe fueled by frustration and a pinch of desperation and the tiny fragment of hope Wynonah had held onto since leaving Stormwind, she blurted out, “I’m looking for my brother.” 

At that, Leryssa went still, then let out a slow breath. “Yeah? Me too.”

Wynonah didn’t much believe in fate, but she did believe in luck, and circumstance, and she knew an opportunity when she saw it. “How’s about this, then? I’ll help you, you help me. We want the same thing. We both got dirt on each other just for being here.”

“Is blackmail the starting point for all your negotiations?” Leryssa asked, dry humor putting a poor veil on the nervousness in her tone.

“Common ground is always important.” Wynonah told her cheerfully. “Whether it’s blackmail or a goal. Just so happens we’ve got both.”

This time, it was Wynonah who offered her hand first, and Leryssa who hesitated to take it, but she did in the end, relaxing her grip on the stolen ledger.

“Let’s start from the top, eh?” Wynonah jerked her head up the stairs, where they might find someplace safer to hash out the details. “Figure we got a lot of work ahead of us.”

—

Once, when she was young and full of childish fearlessness, Leryssa had snuck into the cellar of the village cathedral.

It had been her brother’s idea, but then he’d dared her to carry it out, and back in those days, she wasn’t one to back down from a dare, so she’d gone. It hadn’t been all that exciting, in the end, very anticlimactic–the initial rush of adrenaline that came from being somewhere she knew she wasn’t supposed to be had worn off pretty quickly when all she found were old staves and even older tomes about things she found boring and useless. 

She’d decided that the initial adrenaline rush of rebellious freedom wasn’t worth the gut-dropping feeling that came when you knew you were about to be discovered, a risk-and-reward balance that veered far more towards ‘cautious’ than ‘daring’. 

And yet, she had found herself in the cellar of an Alliance keep, holding one of their recruitment ledgers, two things that would without a doubt get her arrested at the very least, because this time, any risk was worth the potential reward. 

Being discovered, admittedly, hadn’t been part of her original plan, but she could have been discovered by worse people, she had a feeling.

Wynonah wore only a leather jerkin and simple pants with boots, at least a few layers shy of everyone else on the dock, but seemed unbothered by the cold even as Leryssa tugged at the threadbare sleeve of her shirt, several loose threads brushing against her skin where she hadn’t trimmed them or ripped them off just yet. She could’ve, but that would’ve meant setting the ledger down somewhere, and Leryssa wasn’t entirely convinced Wynonah wouldn’t just make off with it. “I have a place in the inn–we can figure this out there.” 

“Great.” Wynonah rolled her head. “Gonna need you to hand me the ledger, though.”

Holding it more tightly on reflex, Leryssa leaned back. “Why?”

Wynonah nodded towards her and said, “You’re proving my point just by how you’re holding it now. We walk past that recruitment table,” she nodded towards the table, across the dock, their biggest obstacle to reaching the inn unobstructed, “like that, they’ll have us pegged as troublemakers in no time flat.”

“And you think you stand a better chance?” 

Wynonah’s grin had a bit more sharpness to it this time. “Don’t believe me, you’re welcome to watch. We’ve both got just as much to lose.”

“Fine.” Leryssa thrust the heavy book in Wynonah’s direction before she could change her mind. “Work your magic, then.”

Tucking the book under one arm, Wynonah set off across the dock with Leryssa in her shadow, and while Leryssa’s eyes darted around the dock, searching for anyone that might stop them, Wynonah’s gaze was fixed firmly on the path ahead of her, chin raised. Every guard they passed felt like a risk, but in less than a minute they stood within the inn’s foyer, the ledger safe in Wynonah’s grasp. 

At the balcony Leryssa had claimed upon her arrival here, she said, “All right, I’ll bite–how’d you know they wouldn’t stop you?”

“Confidence.” Wynonah draped herself across one of the chairs at the balcony’s table, legs stretched out. “You’d be surprised how many places you can get into by walking in like you belong there. No matter what you’re holding.”

“Speaking of what you’re holding…” Leryssa held out her hand for the ledger, and Wynonah slid it across the table instead. 

“What are you looking for?” Wynonah lifted one leg to drape her ankle over her opposite knee, looking for all intents and purposes like she didn’t have a care in the world but for the line of tension running through her shoulders. 

“Names, of course.” Leryssa opened the book, and realized her mistake in a heartbeat.

Names upon names upon names were listed in this ledger, with dates, and they went on for pages–it would take weeks to look through it all for any mention of Thassarian’s name, and as she caught sight of Wynonah’s raised brow, she had a feeling she was coming to the same conclusion.

Wynonah whistled under her breath. “That’s sure something, huh. Not exactly a promising start.”

Closing the ledger, Leryssa thought. “I recently got word from a family friend–William Allerton–that my brother enlisted here with him, but…” Leryssa bit her lip, and decided how honest she wanted to be with Wynonah right away, “…it seemed unlikely. To say the least.”

“Well, you’ve got more than I do.” Wynonah’s laugh is mocking, but not directed at Leryssa–more at herself, Leryssa thinks. “I’ve got a name on a piece of paperwork a thousand leagues away. Guess we’re chasing your lead first, since you’re the one who has a lead. Any idea where that Allerton fellow got to?”

“Farshire, according to what he told me.” Leryssa tugged at her knuckles until they popped. “Just outside the keep.” 

“Suppose I know where I’m going, then.” Wynonah pushed herself to her feet, but Leryssa straightened, struck suddenly by the knowledge that if Wynonah was going to follow her leads–even if only because they might lead her to her own brother–she deserved the whole truth.

“There’s one more thing.” she forced herself to maintain eye contact with Wynonah’s bright amber gaze, even if she felt stupid, even if she felt like she was chasing ghosts, “My brother…I said it seemed unlikely for him to enlist here. That’s because he’s…he’s been dead for years now. I sold everything I owned to come here looking, and it feels pointless, but…” 

Wynonah’s expression didn’t hold the mockery Leryssa expected–it was more blank than she’d seen it thus far, but then Wynonah sighed and a sliver of tension she’d been holding in her posture loosened. “Yeah, well, my brother’s been dead for a while, too. We’re not here because it makes sense. We’re here because…” Wynonah considered for a long moment, then finished, quieter than before, “…because we hope we’re wrong.”

“Hope feels like a pretty flimsy foundation to rely on.” Leryssa couldn’t help the bitterness in the statement, but Wynonah surprised her with a laugh, just as dry and humorless.

“Tell me about it.” Wynonah tapped two fingers on the hilt of her dagger. “Guess things change, huh? Sometimes it’s gotta be worth the risk. Has to be.”

“I don’t expect I’ll find anything while you’re gone,” Leryssa indicated the ledger, changing topics into the far safer realm of their shared interests, “but I need to feel useful if I can’t be out there.”

“Shouldn’t take me long.” Wynonah assured, then turned and let her long strides carry her back down the stairs with ease. 

A long time ago, Leryssa had felt that gut-dropping feeling that told her being discovered would inevitably end in unpleasant consequences–it was the natural conclusion to sneaking into a place she wasn’t supposed to be. She had felt that same gut-drop today. 

Today’s consequence, however, felt like providence, felt even a little like hope, and for the first time since leaving the Eastern Kingdoms, it didn’t, in fact, feel half as pointless as it had at the beginning of the day. 

Leryssa cracked open the ledger once again, and hoped it counted for something.

[blessed-but-distressed]

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU

also on ff.net and ao3

Tagging: @katie-dub , @wholockgal , @kat2609 , @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @biancaros3, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @ms-babs-gordon  @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts, @onceuponaprincessworld , @natascha-remi-ronin and whoever else asks me.

A/N: Yep. It’s been forever. And to add insult to injury, this is only Part 1 of 2. But umm... yay content?

***

SOS. My boss is wearing a powdered wig, and a guy in US flag speedos and nothing else just spilled punch down my dress. ES

What's this? A damsel in distress? Sounds like a perfect opportunity for a certain bearded gentleman to swoop in. One with cocktail knowledge and combat experience. Where is dear Rambo tonight? KJ

Don't call him that. And he's in Belfast, doing research. You know, like academics are supposed to do? ES

Ah, yes. Research. I've heard of it. KJ

That's it? No daring rescue plan? We have a code T here. ES

Code T? KJ

T for Transparent. As in, my dress. From being soaked through with punch by that asshole. Am I painting a clear enough picture? ES

I assure you, the image is extremely vivid. You might've led with that. Where is this damnable affair taking place, again? KJ

***

Emma

It wasn't that Emma was ashamed of where she came from. Not exactly. Recent election results aside, she had to acknowledge she hadn't ended up teaching American History by accident. Even when her country frustrated her, you had to admit, it was never boring. It was just...

She'd never been a foreigner before. Not really. A week in Cabo. That time Mary Margaret had forced her to third-wheel on a couple's ski trip to the Laurentians. Because that wasn't awkward at all.

But if she'd thought her American-ness would be a novelty in Scotland, she'd been seriously deluding herself.

Between the onset of summer vacation, the Instagram-worthy architecture and the enduring appeal of Jamie Fraser, there had never been more Americans in Edinburgh than there were at that moment. The Outlander Effect, they were calling it.

And Emma couldn't exactly miss them. They were everywhere, and not just herding en masse down the Royal Mile. On the bus. Crowding into the Jinglin' Geordie on Open Mic Night. Talking group assignments in the Starbucks line. Hell, a lot of her own students came equipped with homegrown accents, her class allowing their studies to mesh seamlessly with the syllabus back home.

Most encounters were pretty jarring. Like listening to your own voice played back on a recording.

Do I really sound like that?

She hoped not.

Did it really take me that long to figure out it isn't pronounced Edin-burg?

No comment.

Do I really have trouble translating common anglicisms?

Only sometimes.

Usually when they came out of the mouth of someone like Will Scarlet, and she couldn't tell if he was using some highly localized Derbyshire dialect, or if he was just fucking with her.

Sure, Killian tried a little too hard to sound like some kind of dashing 17th-century buccaneer most of the time, but at least it was still recognizable as a form of English. With Will though, she could never really be sure.

Still, after nearly a year, she liked to think she had a handle on things. She could order a 'Laphroaig' without completely mangling it, and knew enough to keep an umbrella on her person at all times. And if and when her cravings for American snack foods struck, they were being plenty satisfied by her local Sainsbury's, who kept one shelf fully stocked with all of the Twinkies, Peanut Butter Cups, and Lucky Charms a girl could ever wish for.

So when her Head of Department was looking for volunteers for their annual Fourth of July barbecue, Emma had to admit she did try to get out of it.

It was her own fault, really. It was summer. She should've been sunning it up in the Algarve with the rest of her colleagues, day drinking, and returning her skin tone to a less deathly pallor. Instead, she was the sucker who'd been roped into teaching Summer School classes to a revolving door of international students, who were keen to let some of the school's reputation rub off on them, without the three or four year commitment. Every three weeks a new lot arrived, and Emma's life descended into Groundhog Day as she repeated her lectures anew, reliving the same debates and excuses on a constant loop.

So she only had herself to blame when the department head went looking for warm bodies, that hers was the only one still lingering in the corridors.

"Great!" her boss said, clapping her hands together. "Don't forget to wear something festive!"

Festive.

There was no way this wasn't going to be a disaster.

***

The damsel in distress line might've rankled her, but she had to hand it to the guy, he came through.

Fifteen minutes after she'd barricaded herself in the bathroom after The Fruit Punch Incident she was summoned curbside, arms still determinedly crossed over her chest, to where a black cab sat idling, an incorrigible Englishman leaning against it holding up a leather holdall.

"Does Elsa know you went through her closet?" she asked, eyeing the bag.

"Who do you think paid for the cab?" he grinned.

Emma really needed to send that woman a fruit basket or something. Did people still do that? Send fruit baskets? Elsa would know. She probably went to one of those fancy Swiss finishing schools, where you learned shit like that.

The bag even smelled expensive as Killian handed it over, his eyes dropping for the first time to properly take in her ruined outfit, and lingering.

"Don't even say it," she warned, as he fought to suppress a grin.

She was never wearing a white sundress again. Ever.

"If anyone could pull it off..." he began, but a warning finger cut him off.

The picture of innocence, he raised his hands and stepped away. Which was precisely the moment Emma realized they were not, in fact, alone.

"In a spot of bother, milady?" came the cheerful greeting from the figure still wedged into the backseat of the cab, waving at her.

Robin. Attractive single Dad Robin, with the Oxbridge accent, criminal mastermind father, and good sense to keep his eyes averted.

"What the hell?" Emma hissed under her breath, whacking Killian in the shoulder. "Are we charging admission for my humiliations now?"

"Easy, lass," he said, rubbing the spot where she'd hit him. "I was out with Robin when you texted. I was hardly going to leave him on his own, now was I? Not very good form."

She glanced back to where Robin sat, whistling to himself, then back to Killian. "Oh, so now you're the honorable one?"

"What's this?" he scoffed. "An attack on my character? And after I've orchestrated such a dashing rescue? A fair maiden in distress and I'm on the spot."

The indignation would've been a little easier to swallow if his grin hadn't been quite so… wolfish.

"Yeah, right," Emma said with a roll of her eyes. "Like this isn't making it into your column."

He didn't deny it. He didn't need to. Just offered her a clumsy wink, and motioned to the building before them.

"One good turn deserves another, don't you think?" he suggested, and Emma's stomach dropped. "How does one merit an invitation to an exclusive gathering of expatriates, exactly? Do they check passports at the door? Make you recite the Pledge of Allegiance?"

He held his prosthetic over his heart, and affixed a solemn expression.

"Wrong hand, asshole," she said, grabbing his wrist and tugging his hand back down by his side.

"Probably for the best," Killian shrugged. "I confess I don't actually know the words. Does the School of Rock version count?"

"You seriously want to go up there? You know they're celebrating their independence from the English, right?"

"I'm a journalist, Swan. An arbiter of truth. Would you really deny me the materials I need to make an honest living?"

"You're a hack," Emma grumbled, clutching the bag of clothes to her chest.

"Aye, that I am," Killian agreed, dropping his voice at least an octave. "But a rather dashing one, don't you think?"

So this is how Killian Jones got what he wanted. The ol' razzle dazzle.

It wasn't entirely ineffective. With a huff of annoyance, Emma walked over to lean by the window of the cab. "What do you say, Robin? Want to see my countrymen cut loose and fight about politics?"

He tilted his head, considering her offer. "Do you really put marshmallows in your sweet potatoes?"

"Different holiday. But yeah, we do."

"Alright then," he said, gathering up his belongings where they were strewn across the back seat. "I'll be there presently."

Rapping her knuckles against the side of the cab, she turned back to Killian, who was looking unbearably pleased with himself. Even more than usual.

"Lead the way, lass" he declared, with an exaggerated bow.

"It's a little too late to play at being the gentleman, don't you think?" Emma pointed out.

"Oh?" he asked, his gaze unnervingly direct. "And why is that, Swan?"

If he was trying for intimidation, then he really didn't know Emma well enough. Instead, she simply turned to lead the way back up the stairs to the front stoop, bag swinging by her side. "I'm just saying…" she replied in a sing-song voice. "A gentleman wouldn't have looked."

***

When Emma pictured a Fourth of July barbecue, she pictured hot dogs, hyperactive neighborhood kids with water pistols, and sunshine. The Edinburgh version was something very different.

For one thing, it was not a family affair. For another, she doubted you could even really call it a barbecue, when there was no grill in sight. And unfortunately, for Emma, the party was still in full swing when she returned after her costume change, all of her dreams for a quick getaway evaporating along with the last of the punch.

If anything, the numbers had swelled with a sea of Uncle Sams and Lady Liberties spilling out into the garden, wine glasses in hand. If Emma hadn't already realized the gross pay disparity between educators and administrators, the garden would've really sealed it.

You couldn't swing a Heriot Row townhouse on Emma's salary. Hell, you couldn't even swing a Heriot Row parking space on Emma's salary. Yet somehow, the university muckety-muck who'd been bullied into hosting this little soiree didn't seem to have that problem.

At least the booze was free.

Emma looked longingly over at the refreshments table, but gave it a wide berth. The last thing she needed to do was ruin her borrowed sweater. It was a little on the tight side, but she did appreciate its fuzzy warmth. Even as she wondered if Killian had purposefully picked out the preppiest sweater he could find, or if she was just cursed.

"Hey," came a call from her left. It was a guy in a Captain America outfit, with none of Chris Evan's dimensions. "Ivanka, right?"

Emma looked down at herself, wondering if that was the name of the designer. "I'm sorry?"

"You're dressed as Ivanka Trump, right? Nice."

He was gone before she could deny it, and she glanced back to the gilded mirror in the hallway in alarm. With her hair recently straightened, she had to admit to a passing resemblance. If you squinted.

Oh god.

She had to find the boys and get them out of here, before she was pilloried as a Republican infiltrator.

She scanned the crowd, but the only person in a leather jacket she saw was channeling Maverick from Top Gun. Frustrated, she headed out into the garden, where she spotted Robin, cornered amongst the shrubberies by a very determined looking woman in a Wonder Woman costume.

Was Wonder Woman even American, technically?

Whatever the debates on her true origin, Emma had to admit the woman pulled off the look, even if the cleavage spilling out from the neckline of the outfit was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen. She was fully fixated on Robin, her fingers trailing up and down his arm, laughing at one of his anecdotes.

As she walked by she shot him a questioning look, in case he needed an assist, but he just gave a wink, and started in on a new story.

Hot Single Dad Robin still had it. And something told her he wouldn't be up for any plan that involved cutting out with her early.

Heaving a sigh, she liberated a Coors Light from an icebox and took another turn around the garden.

"Ivanka?" Another woman asked, her look practically accusatory.

"Elle Woods," Emma blurted out. The sweater was baby blue, not pink, but it was the best she could come up with on the fly.

Hurrying away from that interaction, she rounded a pillar and finally came upon her quarry, sitting alone on a bench beside a gurgling water feature.

"And here I thought you'd be the life of the party," Emma said, snagging the space beside him. She gestured towards where Robin was getting half his face mauled off by Wonder Woman. "Was every other member of the Justice League taken?"

She was rewarded with the ghost of a smile, but his gaze was still fixed ahead, not really seeing, as he rolled an unopened bottle of Budweiser between his fingers.

"You okay?" Emma asked, taking the bottle from his hand and removing the cap with a well-placed tap against the side of the bench.

"Where'd you learn that little trick?" he asked, ignoring her question as he accepted the open bottle.

"A bus shelter in Framingham, Massachusetts." It was more detail than he was expecting, and she nearly laughed at the sudden brightness in his eyes. "It was my first beer. You kind of remember stuff like that."

"You has your first beer in a bus shelter in Framingham Massachusetts?" He repeated it back, like there was something especially weird about that.

"Yeah. I was 14, and in between foster homes. Stole a six pack from the Stop and Shop after the clerk told me off for browsing the magazines. And then some old army vet at the bus shelter showed me how to take the cap off against the side of a trash can."

He furrowed his brows. "You're trying to get me to open up by revealing things about yourself. Which you never do."

"Maybe," Emma offered, taking a swig of her beer. "Is it working?"

He took a long sip on his own bottle, made a face, and then settled it back into his lap. "You mentioned a brush with the law, as a teenager. I'm assuming that wasn't for underage drinking at bus stops?"

Emma grimaced. "Not so much. Possession of stolen goods, with intent to sell. I got lucky. The watch I had on me was worth just shy of $500. They knocked it down to a misdemeanor and I got probation."

"You stole a watch?"

"No, my skeezy boyfriend stole a case of watches. I just happened to be wearing one when he called the cops to frame me while he took off to Canada with the rest."

"When he what?! Please tell me this wanker is dead in a ditch somewhere." Emma had to admit, she didn't mind his tone. Like he might go out and finish the job, if need be.

Emma shrugged, picking at the label on her bottle. "Probably. I never saw him again after that."

"So that explains it," Killian huffed.

"Explains what?" Emma asked, preparing to get defensive.

"Your Walsh fellow's appeal. I'm guessing he wasn't the larcenous type?"

Oh. Not even remotely.

"Yeah, he was the kind of guy who washed out his jars before he put them in the recycling. He was kind of the anti-Neal."

"That was his name? Neal?"

"Neal Cassidy," Emma sighed. "And yes, like the writer. He had it changed when he was 18 as a Fuck You to his Dad."

"Well, he sounds like a right tosser."

Emma snorted. "Yeah, pretty much."

"And not all that clever, if he thought losing you for a case of watches was an even trade."

That had Emma looking up, sarcastic retort on the tip of her tongue. But instead of making fun, Killian's expression was deadly serious, eyes meeting hers directly. Like he actually meant it. Emma's gaze flicked back to the label on her beer, nearly entirely peeled away by this stage, and fought to keep her face level.

"You think so?" she asked, her words coming out less jokingly than she intended.

"I do."

It was the answer that had her looking back up again, a frown forming. "Killian, I-"

"You're worth at least two cases," he added. "Maybe three. I mean, what are we talking here? Cartier? Rolex?" His eyebrow was raised again in that familiar roguish way.

Emma let out a breath, and extinguished the tiny flame that burned somewhere inside her stomach. Friends, she reminded herself. They were friends.

"You're hilarious," Emma replied deadpan. "And if we're going to continue sharing, I really need something stronger than this," she said, tipping back her head and draining the last of her bottle.

"When I was looking for extra chairs earlier, I think I saw a wet bar in the study. Fancy a dram?" Killian asked, rising to his feet.

"Oh, so you're journalistic snooping does come in handy sometimes?"

"More than sometimes," he said with a grin that would fell a lesser beast. And suddenly Emma wasn't so sure the flame was truly out.

Later, she still couldn't recall whether he'd held out a hand to take her empty bottle, or to help her up. All she knew, was as they moved from the garden back to the party proper, she had Killian's hand in hers.

***

Reasons Not To Push Killian Jones Up Against The Nearest Wall And Have Your Way With Him:

1. Hello, work event. Have some goddamn professionalism.

2. You're wearing Elsa's clothes. Don't make this weird.

3. You like him, and never talking to him again would suck.

4. He would definitely allude to it in his column, and you would have to emigrate. Again.

5. Graham. Oh, fuck. Graham.

***

The upstairs study was everything you'd expect from an overpaid university administrator. Soft red leather furnishings. Framed certificates covering an entire wall. A solid oak desk that could, hypothetically, bear the weight of two people at once.

And, oh yeah, the promised wet bar.

Emma was not, nor had she ever been, a cheater. And even if she and Graham were still only in the "getting to know you" phase of tentative texts and PG-13 cocktail hours, she knew betraying that would still be a shitty thing to do.

So when Killian offered her the glass of whisky, she didn't do what she wanted to do, which was down the lot and drag him towards her by the collar. Instead, she sat on the red leather couch as far from him as possible, and held the glass in front of her like a shield.

"Reminds me of your jacket," he said with a smile, letting his hand glide against the upholstery. Emma's skin still tingled from where his hand had gripped hers, so unused to foreign contact.

She took a gulp of her drink, and let it burn down her esophagus in penance for her crimes. Only once she'd regained sufficient control of her hormones did she speak.

"So, are you going to tell me what's been up with you?

"Up with me?" Killian replied, his oh-so-innocent look oh-so-unconvincing. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know," Emma said, rolling her eyes heavenward. "The sudden phone emergencies. The brooding. The black eye. You've been different lately. Kind of… subdued, for you."

In answer, Killian drained what was left of his glass, and turned to face her. "Perceptive, aren't you, Swan?" He didn't sound happy about the fact.

Emma shrugged, taking another sip. "You can't kid a kidder."

He considered that, finger tapping absently against the side of his glass. "Perhaps not. Very well then. The truth: The magazine is broke."

It wasn't what Emma had been expecting. What had she been expecting? A secret drug habit? Abusive new girlfriend? Fight Club?

"Broke?" she repeated.

"Utterly. But instead of accepting the inevitable, and bowing out gracefully, my brother, well-intentioned idiot that he is, decided to take what was left in the coffers and make a few wagers."

Emma's heart sank into her stomach. "He didn't."

"Oh, he did. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, apparently. Lost the lot. Bloody prat. Thought he'd come back a conquering hero. Instead he's having to dip into his own savings to keep the whole operation afloat until he can find a way to pay back his bookie."

That explained the black eye.

"And no one knows about this? Don't you have accountants or something?"

"There is a fellow, Tim, who's been covering for him. Let him take out the entire balance in the first place, didn't he? So now he feels equally culpable. So there's Liam. Tim. Me. And now you."

"Elsa doesn't know?"

"Not in so many words. She isn't bloody stupid though. He's been decidedly distracted on the homefront. Probably thinks he's having a mid-life crisis or an affair or something stupid. Would be easier to just tell her, but the problem is, he knows if she finds out about it she'll feel obligated to help."

"Well, that would be a good thing, right? No more, uhhh…" Emma waved a hand over her eye.

"Well, when Elsa's parents died, they left her a good deal of money. Most of it went towards the house, and setting up her sister in New York, but there's enough left to get Weaver off his back. Problem is, my brother's pride would never let him accept it. And then there's the matter of Elsa's aunt."

"Elsa's aunt?"

"She owns the magazine. And let's just say, she's not quite as err… understanding as Elsa can be. If she gets word of it, there'll be criminal charges."

"Fuck."

"Fuck,' he agreed, leaning forward in his chair to pour himself another whisky.

"And you've just been carrying this all around on your shoulders for what? Months?"

"But what magnificent shoulders, wouldn't you say, Swan?" The grin was almost leering, but not in a good way. More in a defense mechanism kind of way.

"Don't do that," Emma chided, leaning over to smooth the wrinkle above his brows with her fingers. "Just be you."

"And how is that?" He asked, with a look of such genuine curiosity that her hand paused somewhere in the region of his jaw.

"Same as me," Emma shrugged. "A little fucked up. A little scared."

She leaned forward then, and placed a kiss on that same spot above his brow.

Maybe it wasn't where she'd wanted to kiss him five minutes ago, but it felt right. She heard him inhale sharply underneath her, but she didn't immediately break contact. Not until his face relaxed, and his arms came up to wrap around her waist.

She let her head fall onto his shoulder, and his on hers, breathing each other in. Comfortable fucking silence.

Only when her phone started chirping in her pocket did she pull away at last, steadying herself on his shoulders. "You're going to be okay, Killian Jones. You and your fucked up family."

The grin was wry, but it was real.

"You going to get that?" he asked, ducking his chin down to where they were practically intertwined. Probably best not to add vibration to the mix.

She fished the phone out of her pocket, and checked the caller ID.

August.

He never called. He sent ten page letters typed up on his pretentious vintage typewriter, but he never called.

With a look of apology, she peeled herself off of Killian's lap, and hit accept.

"August? Is someone dead?"

"Em! Where are you?" Wherever he was, he sounded cheerful. And just a little bit drunk. Well, it was the Fourth of July.

"Where am I? I'm in Scotland, where I'm supposed to be. How much have you had to drink?"

"Nooo," he corrected, words slurring a little. "I mean, where right now? Someone in your department told me you were at this party. But no one remembers seeing you. Are you here?"

Emma's stomach lurched. "Party? You mean, in Edinburgh?"

"Of course, in Edinburgh! The party I'm at, it's at… hang on," his words muffled as he conferred with nearby partygoers, "17 Heriot Row?"

Oh. Fucking. Fuck. Fucking August and his fucking surprises.

"I'll be five minutes. Stay right where you are."

Feeling the color drain from her face, she ended the call, and tucked her phone back into the pocket of her borrowed jeans. "We need to get downstairs. I need to-" She looked around for a mirror, but there were none in the vicinity. Of course.

"Lass?" He had her by the elbow, holding her still. "What has you all a-flutter?"

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. "You remember I mentioned my friend August?"

"Knee still creaks when it rains, August?" The boy did have superior recall. "Novelist August?"

"Yeah. Anyway, he's downstairs."

[ilovemygaydad]

Friends in Dark Places [ch 5]

pairing: eventual moxiety, eventual logince, background eventual remile, background eventual remy/emile/deceit

WARNINGS: mentions of needles, mentions of antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds, mentions of self harm, mentions of depression, guilt, food mentions, possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter@band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy

a/n: so i have to repost all of these in a different format! yay fucking me!!!! please consider reblogging these if you’re a fan of this series because it’s all fucked up now

first - previous - next - companions

consider buying me a coffee (please)

-

Every few hours, a nurse would come in to check Virgil’s vitals and blood pressure and to ask questions about his mental well being. Each time a nurse entered, Virgil tensed. He was terrified that he could say something wrong--that one tiny misstep could see him shipped away to some mental facility where he’d be poked with needles all the time. Luckily, Patton was still there, keeping him grounded and in control of his thoughts. He was extremely grateful for that.

After a particularly intense meeting where they’d asked about self harm and pushed far too hard for his comfort, Patton pulled a small gift bag out of his backpack.

“I had Logan and Roman pick this up from the gift shop yesterday, but I decided to save it until you really needed it.” Pat placed the bag onto Virgil’s lap and watched expectantly. Virgil pulled away the tissue paper and gasped. There was a tiny cat plushie inside, which he took out with careful hands.

“This is awesome, Patton. Thank you.” A hint of a smile spread across his face.

“It’s no problem, kiddo! Now, why don’t we listen to some of that sweet music of yours? I know it calms you down.” Patton reached for the phone, but Virgil stopped him.

“Aren’t you missing a ton of school to stay here, Pat? Don’t get me wrong; it’s nice to have you around as moral support, but I don’t want you to fall behind.” He rhythmically squeezed his new plushie in an attempt to stay calm.

“Roman and Logan will bring me my school stuff tonight, and I can access lessons online for most of my classes. Don’t worry about me, kiddo. Worry about yourself.”

“Alright…”

---

Over the days, Patton and Virgil fell into a simple rhythm. There were three check-ins before lunch, three before Logan and Roman showed up at around 4, one before dinner, and two before Logan and Roman left for the night. Even though they had to stay an extra half-day “just to be sure,” the schedule stayed the same, and Virgil didn’t really worry about it. When he was finally discharged on Saturday morning, the doctor had offered to prescribe antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication.

“It might help with your suicidal ideations,” he’d coaxed. He had the same sugary sweet twinge in his voice that the nurses had as if he was trying too hard to be genuine.

“Um, that’s okay. I don’t think I’ll need them.” Virgil’s voice was shaky. He didn’t want to take any medicines that messed with his brain, especially ones that had a higher chance of addiction. He didn’t need anything like that to top off his pile of problems.

“Alright, but if you ever decide you do, here’s my extension so you can get a prescription.” The doctor handed him a slip of paper. Virgil just nodded as he watched the doctor leave. He’d already changed into his normal clothes and makeup, though his normal hoodie had been swapped out for a deep purple one because his normal one was had been covered in blood and deemed a “biohazard.”

Virgil pushed himself off of the hospital bed and cringed at the loud smack his high tops made when his feet hit the ground. He grabbed his backpack from the floor and waited for Pat to gather all of his things. Roman and Logan had taken the suitcase back to Patton’s house on Thursday, so there were only a few things left to be taken. When Virgil glanced back at Patton, all he saw was a pile of blankets and cardigans walking towards him.

“Um, Pat? You need some help?” Patton’s head popped up from behind the pile.

“Nope. I just need you to push the buttons of the elevator and open the doors for me!”  Virgil opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself. Better to not ask any questions.

As soon as they hit the ground floor, Virgil let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t have to be in this damn hospital anymore, nor did he have to answer the invasive questions from the staff, and he certainly didn’t have to eat the gross hospital food (that soup definitely wasn’t made with chicken). Plus, he didn’t have to take the elevator whenever he wanted to get anywhere.

“Hey, Young and Menace,” Roman greeted as the duo got into Logan’s car.

“What’s up, Fancy Pants?” Virgil quipped. It wasn’t his best remark, but he cut himself some slack after being in the hospital for four days.

“Logan,” Patton whined, ignoring the squabbling. “Can we pleeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaasssseeeee go get pancakes? Pleeaaaaaassseeeee?” He sounded like a toddler who was trying to beg his parents to buy him a new toy that he seriously did not need.

“Didn’t you just have breakfast an hou--”

“But Logan! It’s a special occasion!”  Logan glanced back at his friend in the rearview mirror, and it was obvious from his face that he’d caved.

“Fine.”

“YES!” Patton screeched and hugged Logan around the seat, much to the latter’s dismay.

After stopping for takeaway pancakes, Patton and Virgil were delivered home. Once again, Pat took a giant mound of things in while Virgil only carried his backpack. He’d had tried to convince Patton to give him some of the items, but he was only met with refusals. Defeated, he shrugged and made his way into the house.

“I had my parents set up a room for you near me. I think it’s all ready, if you want to head upstairs! It’s the door across from mine,” Patton said with a strange hint of excitement. Something was definitely up, but Virgil couldn’t quite think of what could be waiting for him.

Together, they maneuvered around the maze house and climbed the stairs. Before Virgil could open the door, Patton shyly said, “I should probably warn you that I have a surprise for you. It’s nothing big, so don’t worry about it at all, but I wanted to make sure.”  Virgil highly doubted that it was “nothing big” since nothing Patton did for his friends seemed small, but he turned the knob anyway. He looked back at his friend before pushing the door open.

Virgil wasn’t much of an exaggerator (okay, maybe he was sometimes), but he literally lost his breath for a moment when he saw the room. Inside, the room had been painted dark grey, with black and purple sheets, a metal desk, a black dresser, and even a few movie posters hanging on the walls. It was incredible.

“Patton, you had this done for me? Seriously? That’s so fucking cool!” Virgil walked in and sat down on his bed, discarding his backpack on the floor.

“Of course, kiddo. I have one more surprise, so wait right there while I get it.” Patton literally dropped all of the stuff in his arms onto the floor and ran into his room. Virgil rubbed his hands on the blanket on his bed, and he found the sheets had an incredibly soft texture no matter which way he ran his hand across it. He was so busy examining the blanket that he hadn’t realized Patton had returned.

“Here’s your last surprise, Virge!” he exclaimed. Virgil snapped his head to look at what Pat was holding.

“Is that… a paper chain?” The teen on the bed was thoroughly confused.

“Yeah! While we were in the hospital, I was researching things about depression and anxiety, and I stumbled upon this thing called the Paper Chain Project. Basically, you add colorful rings for every day you go without self harming, and if you relapse, you add a white chain, but continue the chain each day after without self harming. It’s supposed to show you that if you’ve resisted before, you can resist again.” Patton held out the three-link chain to Virgil, who hesitantly took it.

The first chain was made of light blue construction paper and had “Wed, April 26. To Virgil, From Patton. I hope your journey continues with happiness and success.” The other two, made of purple and pink paper, had nothing on them. Tears welled up in Virgil’s eyes

“I… I…” Virgil’s voice trailed off into a sob. He was so lucky to have been found by Patton that night. For once, he actually saw a pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel.

The mattress next to Virgil sunk down as Patton sat. “I know, kiddo. I know.” Patton’s arms wrapped around him, anchoring him. He took his arms and returned the hug, crying softly into the other’s shirt.

“’When Rome’s in ruins, we are the lions,’” Patton sang. He must’ve been subconsciously learning the songs Virgil had played during their time in the hospital. “’Free of the coliseums. In poison places, we are anti-venom. We’re the beginning of the end.’”

Patton sang until Virgil’s tears had finally dried out. Virgil pulled away and hastily wiped at his eyes with his sleeves.

“Thank you, Patton. For saving me, twice, actually, and for staying with me and for doing all of these really incredible things for me. You’re an awesome friend. Like, the best ever.” 

Patton’s normal smile only grew larger. “That’s what friends are for, Virge! Now, I’m sure you want to spend a little time alone, so you’re free to roam the house if you want to, or you can use our extra laptop to go online or do homework. It should be in the desk drawer.” Patton stood up and gave a quick wave before heading to his own room.

Virgil sat on his bed for a few more minutes, twisting the paper chain around in his hands, before standing up to find the laptop. He hadn’t contacted a single one of his teachers about his absences, and he dreaded having to explain that he’d been in the hospital for four days. He pulled the laptop out of the desk, along with a pen and a few sheets of looseleaf paper.

There was no password on the laptop, luckily, so he easily booted it up and opened Chrome, signing into his school email account. He had about fifteen emails from his teachers. Most of them were “Hey! I’ve noticed you haven’t been at school for the past few days, and you hadn’t been planning a vacation, so here’s your homework you’ve missed,” but the ones from his Graphic Arts teacher really stood out.

From Anna Miller (millan@westview.k12.fl.us)

To Virgil Thomas (thomvir@westviewstudents.org)

Subject: April 24

Hey, Virgil! I noticed you were acting a bit down today and wanted to make you’re doing alright. I’m really excited to see your design for the banner project, by the way!

See you tomorrow,

Mrs. Miller

From Anna Miller (millan@westview.k12.fl.us)

To Virgil Thomas (thomvir@westviewstudents.org)

Subject: April 25

I noticed you weren’t in class today, so I hope you don’t mind me checking up on you, Virgil. After yesterday, I’m just a little bit worried about your well being. I hope to see you tomorrow; you always bring a good dose of sarcasm to class, and I’m beginning to miss that.

Mrs. Miller

From Anna Miller (millan@westview.k12.fl.us)

To Virgil Thomas (thomvir@westviewstudents.org)

Subject: April 26

Hey, Virgil. You’ve been missing for a few days, and it’s starting to worry me. I tried to call your parents, but neither would pick up. I’m sure you’re okay, but I just want to make sure. You’re a really good student, but I’m sure you know that. It’s been very hard to keep class on track without your witty remarks.

Mrs. Miller

From Anna Miller (millan@westview.k12.fl.us)

To Virgil Thomas (thomvir@westviewstudents.org)

Subject: April 27

Virgil, although it’s against my better judgement, I’ve decided to stop emailing you after this one. I’m very worried about you, but sometimes people just don’t check their emails. The lessons from these past days are linked below. There hasn’t been any homework since we’ve just been working on banners. There isn’t a lesson for tomorrow, so don’t worry about that.

Mrs. Miller

Virgil immediately clicked the reply button on the last email.

From Virgil Thomas (thomvir@westviewstudents.org)

To Anna Miller (millan@westview.k12.fl.us)

Subject: Re: April 27

Mrs. Miller,

I’m really sorry to have left you hanging these past few days. Yes, I’m okay. I had an accident on Tuesday that put me in the hospital for a few days. I’ll be back tomorrow, but I might be a little out of it. I’ve had my living arrangements be mixed up as well, so I’m trying to get used to the change. I might need a few days to catch up as well, since I don’t know if I’ll be able to do 16 lessons worth of stuff in two days.

Virgil Thomas

Send. Virgil let out a breath that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. It had completely slipped his mind that Mrs. Miller would be worried that he’d suddenly disappeared, especially with how close they were. It left a little pang of guilt in his stomach, but he knew there wasn’t much he could do about that. At least he’d eventually gotten back to her.

He clicked around through the emails, collecting assignments and downloading lessons. Virgil was already feeling overwhelmed by the work. He had at least thirty math problems for each day that he’d been gone, plus the ones he’d neglected on his birthday, fifty pages of reading for AP Gov, and he needed to make the set designs for the upcoming show for his Theatre independent study, since they were beginning production soon. He decided the set designs would be the easiest, so he started on that.

They were doing Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Cinderella Enchanted” for their spring musical, which was really exciting. Although Virgil was all doom and gloom, he really enjoyed making fantastical sets for the shows that really packed a punch for the whole atmosphere. He’d been told they’d have backdrops for the village and ballroom, but they’d need wall pieces for the house and the outside of the house in the garden scene. He needed to pick out furniture when he could actually see what they had in the shop, but pieces they definitely needed to build were a fountain for the village center, the carriage, the pumpkin patch, and the flower arch for the kiss scene outside of the palace. It wasn’t too intense, but it was still a lot. Virgil made rough sketches of some basic layouts, adding labels for clarification.

When he was finished, he felt very accomplished, even though the plans were pretty plain, and the more definite details would need to be discussed once building began. Virgil looked over his work and set them to the side. He checked the time on his phone and was shocked to see that it was already 3:30. He had been so sure he’d spent only an hour at most on the designs, not three. A sigh escaped from his mouth. Might as well go to check in with Patton.

He tidied his desk just a bit before heading over to the opposite room. Virgil lightly knocked on the door and waited to hear a response. After no reply, he knocked again, slightly harder this time. He heard some rustling behind the door, and then the door suddenly opened to show a slightly disheveled Patton standing in front of him. Virgil was slightly taken aback.

“Um, Patton? Are you okay?” He made a sweeping gesture of Pat’s messy hair and clothes.

Patton smiled. “Of course! I’m just having some trouble with some of my Physics homework.” It seemed to be more like a lot of trouble, but Virgil really couldn’t blame him for struggling. Missing four days of school would be hard on anybody.

“Do you need help? I had physics last semester and got a pretty good grade.” Virgil didn’t mention he’d gotten perfect scores on every test, nor that he never missed an assignment due date or extra credit project.

“Oh! Sure, kiddo. That’d be very nice of you. Thanks.” Patton stepped out of the way and gestured inside his bedroom. The two took seats at Patton’s white desk and worked on trajectory and resistance problems until Pat’s dad had come to tell them that dinner was ready.

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