#and she knew by age fifteen that the hours just did not add up

[last-of-the-lot]

Alright it is still gnawing at my brain stem, the vengeance saga is still swirling in my brain, and I am avoiding work, so I am going to flesh out Critical Role/Epic the musical AU. Working name; Shadowed Dawn AU.

I'll come up with something more witty as I write more.

For anyone who has no idea what the hell I am talking about, go read this post.

So! First and foremost I am going to take all my ramblings out of the tags and put them in this post and give more context to them.

What does Percy make and unmake during the night? He creates and melts down parts for an intricately carved pocket watch.

In the Odyssey, Penelope is weaving something. It escapes me if it is a mourning shroud for Odysseus or for his father, but I know that it is something important enough to stay the hands of the suitors. In this version, Percy was commissioned to create a pocket watch or something mechanically beautiful, and elves with their understanding of art and all that respect the time he is taking. To a point.

Why is Percy being passive? Well he married Vex and moved to Syngorn of course.

Going by campaign canon, Syngorn sucks for non-elves. The books expand on it, but I think that Percy could get by but not outwardly go against the system that is in place. He also has a daughter to think about here and despite his family being willing to help him out, they can't just mess with a line of succession.

Where has Vex been for twenty years? Trying to get back from putting down an ancient dragon and every other monster that got in her way.

I like to imagine that this sort of a No Briarwood/ an Arranged Marriage AU. Not a no Orthax AU, that is important. (Or will be later.)

Vex and Percy married youngish. They had known each other for even longer. Right now I'm thinking they met when Percy was ten and Vex was fourteen. (Vex had already been training with The Dawnfather for four years, yes this will be explained later.) They got married in their twenties around the age they would have been during the first campaign. Vex leaned into society dealings more, and Syldor saw that as having a use. Hence arranged marriage.

Instead of a dragon the monster might turn into a city killing aberration, as The Dawnfather has an issue with those. Maybe he sent our his champion to go deal with that and didn't anticipate how badly it would go.

What is the Bow? Feanthras obviously.

In the odyssey the reason that stringing and drawing the bow was such a challenge was because the thing was made for Odysseus specifically, who was the descendant of a god. In this, I think that it has more to deal with the life Vex led as an elven ranger trained by The Dawnfather than anything to do with relations to a god. Reasoning being if she continued to do the same things that she always did while pregnant with Vesper, then a bit of what made Vex special made Vesper special as well. Sort of how a few people like to headcanon Vesper as an aasimar.

Why did Vex not take it with her? Same reasoning that Odysseus didn't take his bow to Troy.

Despite not going to war, Vex still went to go kill some stuff on the opposite end of the world. She left her bow because it was a symbol of strength and maybe because she trusted herself to get the job done without it.

Why is Vex in a position of power? Because Syldor died (of mysterious circumstances) and Velora was too young.

Yes I think someone merced his ass. Probably not Vex, despite what everyone believes. Syldor died right before the marriage was supposed to be completed but not in time for it to be called off. Vex didn't look unhappy but people talk. No one would outright say it, but it would further explain why she is respected. Why didn't Velora's mother take over in Syldor's place? Line of succession and Syldor had no written grips about Vex, so she got the job.

The Dawnfather is Athena and Vesper is Telemachus

Okay a lot of this part is just going to be rambling, but this dynamic is something I need everyone to walk with me on. Take Luke Holt's voice, and imagine it coming from the faceless, burning power of the SUN. Now imagine the Sun kicking your ass. This is the dynamic the Dawnfather brings to the table. And we know from Downfall that he can care, he can care so much.

The Dawnfather would move a lot in avatars. Not so much a smaller version of himself or even anything human looking. I think he would favor appearing as a mouse when he needs to whisper into the ears of his chosen, and a dragon when tearing people apart. In wider canon, Pelor is often the god of time, so I feel alright giving him some form of quick thought even if that isn't his 'God Move' as they are known in Epic. It is just him exercising his power of his domain. What would his 'God Move' be? Good question, I'll get back to you on that.

Vesper is a bit like Telemachus and also presents a more refined appearance. Elven ideals and all that. But she is a vicious thing when pressed. I like to imagine she has sword training from both her father and Dawnfather, and also a bit of magic that no one can explain. It's god given. (Might have been a group effort.)

In my head Percy is draped in a mourning veil and tasteful symbols of both the Archheart and Dawnfather while making the challenge because he is mourning both his autonomy and hopefully the suitors while making a plea to both the god of his new home and the god of his childhood to protect his daughter.

Okay this one is a bit big but let's see if I can condense it. Vex began to read up on the Dawnfather as a way to connect with Percy, as it would be something that she knew he would learn as he got older. The Dawnfather took an interest in her before it even got to that point, and trained her for ten years before sending her off on a fight. He continued through this AU's version of the Cyclops incident, before leaving for reasons I will flesh out later. The Dawnfather is aware of his wayward De Rolo and the prayers being sent, but the Archeart is having too much fun with the scenario to really let him do anything beyond mentor Vesper.

I feel as if the Archheart is taking the place of Hermes here in personality more that role. But I can see them making sense for helping out Vex in multiple ways. The Archeart did create elves, so that does make Vex a descendant of theirs in a way. Plus I feel like they would love a show.

The veil itself is inspired by the veils that the priestesses of the Matron of Ravens wear as well as the act of being a dead man walking and covered in the sheet that would one day cover his dead body. He knows that he would probably not be buried the Whitestone way, and this is his way of making peace with that. The symbols are calls to the gods a last ditch hope that their attention will turn in his direction. I think that Percy at this point would be as much of an atheist as he could get away with. Not as much as he was one in the campaign, and I will NOT be getting into Exandrian religion and what atheism means in a world where you have tangible proof of the gods in this post, but in context of this AU and Percy I think he still has a spot of hope in him. Yes Vesper still gets into a Little Wolf like fight and yes she would have eventually strung Fenthras like Telemachus almost strung Odysseus' bow

I touched on the second part of this earlier, but now to expand on the first part. Vesper is properly educated and trained as Syngorn children are, but she is more human than Vex ever was and Vex had issues with elves.

So she gets in fights a few times. Her magic manifests around her thirteenth birthday to literally everyone's surprise but the Archheart who is too busy laughing their butt off and running from a pissed off Dawnfather to really explain shit for a few years. Percy ( rightfully ) takes this to mean that his daughter has the blessing of the god of their home despite being more human than elf, and incorporates the Archeart into his daily prayers. The suitors started really pressing the issue of Percy's remarriage and the control of the Vessar estate and power seat around her seventeenth birthday, and the little wolf fight is her going up against a blade singer mage maybe a century or two her senior.

This is when The Dawnfather comes back to support her, and the Archheart goes off to find out where that darn champion of The Dawnfather's went. Maybe if he had her back, he'd leave them alone about the amount of magic they gave the younger champion.

That is a lot of my thoughts on the Percy side of things. There are still more, like what role Orthax plays in this, but that is for when I form all my thoughts together.

Next post will probably be about the crew Vex has on her journey home.

[bleujae]

•°•✿𝕄𝕪 ℂ𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕖✿•°•

✿ Summary: Jungwon, do you feel the pain now?

✿ Pairing: Jungwon x fem!reader

✿ Genre: fluff

✿ Word count: 2.4K

✿ Warnings: i don't think there's any....? *let me know if there's anything I should add ^^*

"I won't stop getting butterflies"

•—————————————•°•✿•°•—————————————•

Siyeon took her glasses off for a bit to rub her eyes. Her eyes hurt and felt like they were being strained from her long hours of coding. She had a big final project in two days in one of her coding classes and she already wanted it to end. 

She usually wore contacts on a daily basis but on the weekends, she usually stuck to her large thick-framed black glasses. Especially on a day like today, she was too lazy to get ready in the morning so she chucked on her glasses and stayed in her comfy clothes. 

She put her glasses back on and fully sat back up; however, as soon as she did, she slumped back. She blankly stared at her computer screen that she’s been staring at for the past two days. She sighed as she wished that the coding would all magically be completed so she didn’t need to stay in front of the computer for another set of long hours. 

She’s already done everything she could today to refresh her mind. She called Jungwon for over an hour as she complained how tired she was, she took a walk around her apartment complex and she just took another walk two hours ago to a nearby convenience store to eat spicy ramen to destress her mind. When she was stressed and overworked, she found that spicy food cleared her mind a lot and made her feel a bit more refreshed than before. But now she had nothing else to do. She didn’t feel like going out of her apartment and she knew she couldn’t call Jungwon. Enhypen’s world tour was coming and the members were in the practice room day and night to prepare for it. 

She groaned out as she laid her head on one arm rest and hung her legs over the other with her fluffy blanket on top of her face. 

“Ugh I don’t wanna be doing any of this.” She grumbled to herself, her voice being muffled by the blanket. 

She shot up from her seat when she suddenly heard the doorbell ring. She tilted her head, wondering if she had ordered anything recently. 

She hesitantly stood up from her chair and walked over to the front door. When she looked at her little screen that was connected to the camera outside, she saw a girl that was maybe her age with a flower bouquet. 

Still confused, she opened the door. “Hello?” 

The girl gave her a bright smile and that’s when Siyeon saw that she was in some kind of uniform and had a helmet sitting next to the feet of the girl. 

“Hello! I’m from Blume Flower Shop. We received an order and got the instructions from that person that we should deliver this lovely flower bouquet to you. You’re Yoon Siyeon, no?” 

“Yeah, I am.” Siyeon said, receiving the bouquet. “Who is it from?” 

“I’m sure you’ll know when you read the custom they wrote. It’s on the side of the bouquet if you want to read it.” The delivery girl responded, giving her one last smile. “Have a nice day!” 

Siyeon tilted her head before closing the door. She inspected the flowers to distinguish what they were when a small card that was tied around the bouquet with a thin golden string caught her eyes. She opened the card and immediately a smile formed on her lips. 

I know you’re working really hard. I know you can do it! 

I hope these pretty pink tulip flowers will cheer you up.

Hwaiting, love~ <3  

-Wonie

It felt weird that a small note could trigger automatic giggles coming out of her mouth but she couldn’t help it. There were always moments where she felt herself falling in love with her boyfriend all over again. It was always those small moments. Moments like these where flowers can be seen as such simple gestures. But the fact that he thought of this when he had a whole world tour to prepare for made her heart melt. 

“Gosh I love him.” 

-------

“Ja- let’s take a fifteen minute break!” The Enhypen boys cheered when their choreographer announced a short break, most of them falling down to the ground right on their spots. 

Jungwon took out his phone and saw that he had a message from Siyeon. It was a picture of the bouquet that he had sent and she had put a heart emoji after that while thanking him. 

“Ay ay Jungwonie is smiling at his phone again.” Heeseung announced to the whole practice room. 

“I’m guessing she got the flowers?” Jay asked, making the younger male nod. 

“It seemed that she really liked them.” Jungwon said, looking at the picture and text with a wide smile painted on his lips. 

“Yeah it does. She posted it in her story too.” Sunoo waved his phone around, showing everyone her instagram story which made Jungwon smile even more. 

“Aiyo- look how whipped he is.” Jake cooed. “How are you going to manage to be away from her for so long during world tour.”

“Ha…I don’t know…” Jungwon trailed off. “I’m gonna miss her so much.” 

“Aye look, he’s so whipped.” Riki pointed out, making Jungwon’s cheeks become red. 

“Ayo we obviously already knew that.” Of course Sunghoon would be the one to add fuel to fire instead of extinguishing it from the situation. 

“Shut up…” Jungwon mumbled, turning his back on his members which only made the sounds of the laughter increase. 

“You’re going to go visit her after practice, right?” Jay asked, receiving a nod from the wavy hair male. 

“Mhm…I’m planning to get some snacks before going to see her. And bring the polaroid camera to show her. She’s always talked about having a polaroid camera between us so we can take cute pictures.” Jungwon pointed to the baby blue bag on the chairs that contained the small gift. 

“Ja! Let’s get back to work!” The boys groaned as their choreographer came back into the room, clapping his hands to get the boys up on their feets again. 

-------

I’m never going to finish this. 

Siyeon groaned as she thrashed in her computer chair. She slipped her hands between her eyes and her glasses and whined at the lack of motivation she had. Her big black headphones were still covering her ears as she reached for her phone to play a different song. 

“Maybe playing a more upbeat song will motivate me more.” She mumbled for herself. Her fingers automatically typed ENHYPEN in the spotify search bar and played their most recent song. She smiled as Future Perfect blasted in her headphones and she cracked her fingers before getting back to work. 

With the music blasting through her ears, she didn’t hear the small beeps that were emitted from her front door which indicated there was someone putting in the code and entering the apartment. She most definitely couldn’t hear the small sound of footsteps softly padding to her room and the small squeaks that were made from the soft push on the door. 

She let out a small squeak when she felt someone hugging her from behind, burying their face in her hair but she calmed down when she could smell a familiar scent. 

“Wonie!” She squealed out. She turned around and immediately gave the male a hug, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and bringing him close to her. 

“Hey, love.” He chuckled as he brushed his hands through her hair and patted her back with her other hand. 

They finally broke the hug and Siyeon was beyond happy to see her boyfriend’s face again. Especially after a long day of coding.

But Jungwon had his head tilted to the side like a cute little puppy and his eyes had a slight hint of confusion. 

“Is something up?” She subconsciously pushed her glasses that were falling down her nose and that’s when it dawned on her. 

Jungwon had never seen her glasses before. 

Ever. 

Siyeon gasped and buried her face into her thick blanket, afraid of what Jungwon would say with her glasses. To her, she looked nicer when she had her contacts in. She hated when people saw her with her without her contacts. That was one of the reasons she loved working at home. So she wouldn’t have to bother putting in contacts every morning to go to the library or a cafe. Rather she would just put on her glasses in the morning and spend the whole day not having to go through the pain of putting in and taking out her contacts. 

And that’s why she felt absolutely mortified when she didn’t even realize that she had her glasses on in front of Jungwon. 

She whined as she felt Jungwon tug on her blanket. 

“Love, why are you hiding your face like that??” Jungwon questioned, trying to pry the blanket off her face. 

“I don’t want you to see me with glasses.” Siyeon whined, refusing to let go of the blanket. 

“But you look so cute.” 

“No I don’t!” She exclaimed, her voice being muffled in the fabric of the fluffy blanket. “I wish I could look cute like those nerdy girls with the circle glasses but because my prescription is so high, my eyes look weird with my big glasses!” 

The little tug of war game went on for quite a bit but unfortunately, Jungwon was stronger than her and was able to pry the blanket out of her grasp. 

Before Siyeon could cover her face with her hands, Jungwon held her wrists and took his sweet time staring into her face. 

“You look adorable with glasses. And I didn’t even think you could look cuter.” Jungwon cooed at the sight of his girlfriend, feeling the same butterflies he felt every time he would just look at her.

He couldn’t understand why she hated herself with glasses. The big framed glasses made his girlfriend look even smaller and cuter than she already did, if that was even possible. Especially with the comfy clothes that she was wearing she looked so endearing, he just wanted to put her in his pocket and carry her around. 

“Really?” Jungwon felt like he was melting when he saw her look up but because her glasses were falling down, she was looking at him through the top of her glasses. 

“Really. Now finish up the remainder of your project. I brought snacks for us and we can cuddle afterwards.” Jungwon gave her a slight peck and walked out of the room. 

-------

Jungwon forgot that polaroid cameras could make sound when he took a picture. He internally panicked when he captured a picture of his girlfriend sitting on her computer chair with both of her legs up on the chair and focusing on her computer. And of course with her cute glasses. His eyes widened when Siyeon turned around. 

“Did you just take a picture of me?” 

“Uh- No?” Jungwon hid the polaroid camera behind him, along with the polaroid picture itself. 

“I heard the click and the polaroid film coming out.” Sieyon narrowed her eyes as she lunged out of her chair and to Jungwon. 

“Ah ah ah love.” Jungwon yelped as he put the polaroid camera and the film above his head, trying to protect it. 

“Throw it out!” She whined as she jumped up to get the camera but mostly the picture. 

“But you look so cute.” Jungwon pouted while he still tried to protect his camera and picture.

“I probably don’t!” She whined more as she jumped up, not realizing that she was pushing both of them closer to her bed. 

“Got it!” She yelped as she was able to get the picture before Jungwon tripped and fell into her bed with her falling on top of him. 

“HA! I got i-” She got cut off when she realized what position they had ended up in. She felt her cheeks become crimson red as she looked away. 

Jungwon took the advantage to snatch the picture out of her hands. 

“H-hey!” 

Siyenn tried to take the picture back when she realized that it was out of her hands but Jungwon quickly placed a peck on her lips, shutting her up. 

He fished his phone out of his back pocket and took off his phone case and put the picture in his phone case. 

She gasped. “Jungwon, you have a clear phone case! What if people see?” 

He shrugged as he put his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll put a pop socket on it or stickers to cover it partially. But I’m keeping it there so I can boast about my cute girlfriend.” 

She blushed again as he cooed at her red cheeks and hugged her tightly, pecking her nose in an endearing way. 

“My cutie.”

•—————————————•°•✿•°•—————————————•

*Pink tulips are known for meaning affection, caring, good wishes, and love. Cheerful pink tulips symbolize well wishes, care, and affection. That means they’re the perfect gift for someone who is feeling a bit under the weather or going through a hard time. They’re also a good choice when you want to congratulate someone on a job well done* :D

[scryptids]

madelyn cline / she/her  ———  no way is that NICOLETTA ‘COLE’ CERULLI.. they’re a 26-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being CHAOTIC  &  IRRESPONSIBLE but there are some people who have seen them being CHARMING  &  TALENTED.  if you ask me, they remind me a lot of an old guitar abandoned in the corner of her bedroom, old band t-shirts riddled with holes and age, the faint flicker of a lighter in a dark room, and freckled cheeks feigning innocence, but that could just be because they’re considered the THE CHARMER around town. just keep an eye on them  &  see if their true colors shine through..

TW: addiction, overdose mention

full name: nicoletta matilde cerulli birthdate: december 21st age: 26 height: 5’6” occupation: merch girl and roadie ship status: in a flirtationship with levi spiegel bio:

the moment nicoletta cerulli was born, she hit the ground running

the youngest of seven children and the only girl, cole’s family always knew that they’d have their hands full with her

the cerullis stemmed from a military man that had to move often, falling in love with a girl while on a new assignment and knowing he wanted nobody else but her

it was a mutual decision to have a large family, each one different in personality and disposition and only making them want more

barely a year after remi was born, cole came stumbling into the scene, giving the cerulli parents a nice little set of catholic twins

she was easy to keep contained until she knew how to walk — for the most part — and was kept behind a baby gate or within a play pen with a variety of toys to keep her interest

but the second she developed any motor skills, she was reaching and grabbing for everything she possibly could

cole always seemed to want exactly what she couldn’t have, and while that wasn’t normally a problem, trying to teach her to be patient was

she was curious and stubborn under the guise of an inquiring mind, and her mother was always ready to accommodate her only daughter 

she was their last baby and they wanted to make the most of it while they could, coddling all of their children but being extra lenient with the youngest

childhood brought more adventures for cole, as the family packed up and moved to their next new home

it was routine at that point, but they’d spent the first few years of cole’s life in goose creek, so being in a new place was exciting for her

she took advantage of being home when her siblings were in school, taking time to explore the backyard and even set up a makeshift fort for herself and her siblings

cole’s mother didn’t mind her daughter running rampant as long as she could keep an eye on her, and the young girl only ever took that as encouragement

she did a lot of independent growing and learning, relying on her mother to answer even the silliest of questions, which would often lead up to cole using it to her advantage

the only thing that seemed to really calm her down was music, a love that she gained thanks to her father

they would take weekly trips to whatever the local music store was, spending hours perusing the shelves and taking home armloads of new cds and vinyls to add to their collection

they’d spend hours locked away in his office listening to their finds, and cole could hardly get enough

by the time she started school, she was already at a high reading level and eager to take on new knowledge, even if it was an uninteresting subject

she found a group of friends on the playground quickly; they were the rulers of the monkey bars territory, and cole fit in with them almost too well

recess was her excuse to socialize and get out any pent-up energy that sitting in a classroom gave her

cole soon picked up a few more hobbies such as skateboarding and guitar, feeling like somewhat of a ‘cool kid’ in the process

learning how to play an instrument prompted cole to want to see live bands, and by the time she was fifteen, she and her father were attending concerts together

they felt like they happened on a weekly basis, a new show rolling into town that they’d drop everything to go see

it was around this time that cole knew that she wanted to work with bands for a living, and while her parents weren’t so sure how that would happen for her, they were supportive anyway

she was still in high school when she met her first serious boyfriend, asher 

she had heart eyes for him from the very start, but that didn’t mean he was good for her

asher had his own problems, often dragging cole with him down a dark rabbit hole

it was safe to say that she loved him, often trying to do what was best for him but doing more harm than good in the process

the heartbreak hurt, but it prompted cole to focus more on herself, which was something that her parents had urged her to do throughout her relationship with asher

cole made it through school with decent grades, but she didn’t really apply herself

her main focus was on attending concerts and getting odd jobs working the gigs, something she took on fully shortly after graduation

her parents urged her to attend college, but once cole set her mind to something, she never gave it up

cole worked the local music scene for quite some time before she was approached about a job in london, a place she’d fallen in love with during her family’s short time there

at just eighteen years old, cole packed up her entire life (and her older brother, marshall), and moved to dallas fort-worth so she could sling merch for a living

soon enough, she was hanging out backstage at large concert venues, making friends with her favorite bands and even carried out a few casual flings with some of the members

it was one big party all the time that consisted of alcohol and recreational drug use, and the youngest cerulli felt like she was living her best life

cole was also keen on traveling with those same bands, signing on to be a roadie whenever they needed her to be

she was living her dream and was completely unapologetic about it, especially since she had the support of her parents

cole has been in dallas-fort worth for seven years now, and she can’t imagine herself living anywhere else

she’s still just as chaotic as she was as a kid, but lately she’s tried to tone it down a little bit

cole is the person to go to if you want a spontaneous adventure, as she will happily sneak you backstage into a show

she has a very big heart and is willing to do just about anything for anyone

arguably too trusting in the sense that she’s easy to screw over, and she’s too polite to say anything when you upset her

still very much rides a skateboard, though she’s hardly decent at it; she ends up with cuts and bruises more often than not

she still plays guitar as well, and while she’d never try out to be in a professional band, she can play decently and is always down for some sort of jam session

her love language is acts of service but unofficially it’s gentle bullying; she’s very much the teasing type but will immediately apologize if she hurts your feelings in the process

overall, she’s just a loving bundle of chaos; as long as you let her roam free and love on you, she’s happy

[thistleandthorn-rpg]

Congrats Tyler on your application for Sawyer Evans. Send us his blog within 48 hours. **Sawyer is rebooting. He has not been to the school previously.**

OOC INFORMATION:

Name/Alias: Tyler Preferred pronoun: He/Him Age: 28 Timezone/Country: EST RP Experience: A lot. Activity Level: 8-9/10 Have You Been in this RP Before (and who did you play): Still am <3

IC INFORMATION:

Name: Sawyer Evans Designation: Switch Age: 26 Birthdate: May 4th, 1997 Faceclaim: Chord Overstreet Orientation: Pansexual Kinks: Muscle worship, cock worship,  roleplay, Age play, size difference, begging, bimbofication, breath-play, breast/nipple torture & worship, chastity, choking, consensual non-con, cross-dressing (his male partners), degradation, humiliation, objectification, dirty talking, group sex, Exhibitionism, micro fetish,  Anti-Kinks: Cutting, Needles, Basically just run it by me if it’s not on the kink list, just in case. :)

Key Points:

Intelligent

Ambitious

Charming

Sensitive

BIO:

If there was one thing that Sawyer Evans learned from his upbringing it was that the most important thing he could ever do in his life would be to successfully provide for his family. It was no secret that the Evans family wasn’t well off. Until Dwight Evans lost his job, they lived comfortably enough, but after that, things took a turn for the worse. Still, even at their lowest low, Sawyer understood that sometimes a tight-knit, loving family was enough to feed the soul and keep them all moving, even as they could hear their parents’ stomachs grumbling as they watched their children eat instead of them. So, make no mistake, Sawyer adores his family and he holds no resentment or ill will towards them for the hand the universe dealt them, but he’d be damned if he ever let himself get put in that situation again; or anyone he cared for, for that matter. He knew Sam had his…ways of providing for the family, and while he didn’t think it was for him, he respected his twin for his drive and never judged him for it. He worked in construction here and there to add to the family’s meager bank account, but his main focus was on academics. See, Sawyer saw the bigger picture. Their present was difficult to alter, but his future? That was still up for grabs, and he knew that if he didn’t make top marks in school and earn those scholarships, he’d have a difficult time making something of the future that awaited him. So, he stayed the course and graduated high school as his class valedictorian with a nearly full ride to an incredible college. Once he got there and started to work through his general coursework, he began to consider his long-term career. Of course, the first thing he looked at was the yearly salary he could expect, as well as the stability of the occupation. The thing that ticked both boxes; six figures annually and virtually, perpetually in demand; was a career as a surgeon. So, sure - Sawyer was initially interested in the medical field for all the wrong reasons, but as he dove into the coursework, he quickly fell in love with the field and knew he’d found his calling.

  Things weren’t all rainbows and unicorns, though. His grants were running out, so he knew he needed to find a way to pay his way through the rest of his education while still leaving enough time before his thirtieth birthday to reasonably attend a BDSM institute and find a claim. If he were loaded, he’d have the money to fund an accelerated course of study and knock it all out efficiently - but that, of course, wasn’t his situation. He was at a dead end…until he wasn’t.

Everything changed with a year and a half left of schooling to go. His grants were dried up entirely, and he was looking at the daunting reality of having to drop out and resume when he could after he had a claim, or was claimed - until he met Candace Smith. A beautiful, raven-haired woman about fifteen years his senior. They met at his favorite coffee spot on campus, and she was even more smitten with him than he was with her. She had a collar, so he knew she was someone’s submissive; so when things took a turn for the flirtatious, he asked her about that and she assured him quite confidently, that she was in an open relationship with her Dominant - that he was asexual and quite content with her platonic companionship so long as she took care of domestic duties around the house; in return, she was allowed to see whomever she wanted. Well, that was more than good enough for Sawyer. As they got to know each other, Candace revealed that she’d actually seen Sawyer before…and that prior instance is what drew her to him in the first place. She explained that she and her Dominant; joined by a larger group went out one night to a strip club where “White Chocolate” was headlining. Sawyer’s stomach dropped. She went on, blushing and explaining that given her very dry sex-life, White Chocolate drove her crazy in ways she hadn’t been driven in years. His body, his handsome, charming grin, it stuck with her - fuelled her wet dreams for weeks until she ran into Sawyer and realized that maybe, just maybe, those dreams could become a reality. Sawyer - at this point - was a few degrees away from being in love, so, he did one of the most dishonest things he’d ever done. He simply smiled that same, charming grin that he shared with his twin and let her know that he was glad she liked what she saw. Things accelerated from there. One afternoon, Sawyer expressed his distress over his schooling situation and, almost without batting an eye, Candace swooped in with a solution. According to Candace, her Dominant was so thankful that someone was making her so happy that he was more than willing to do whatever it took to keep her and her boyfriend/sexual Dom happy - she promised Sawyer that the rest of his tuition would be paid for in full, no questions asked. Sure enough, a week later, he got a notification from the bursar’s office letting him know that his outstanding balance was covered in full and he was all set to finish his degree.

  At least once a week for the rest of the semester, Sawyer and Candace met up; he’d dom her (as much as he could, given his lack of education) or they’d just have vanilla sex; either way, she was always satisfied and the money kept coming. Fast-forward to the last week of his schooling; his final exam concluded and his degree was promised; they decided to celebrate for the first time at Candace’s house; which was more like a mansion, which made sense, considering the amount of money she dropped like nothing on Sawyer’s tuition. The night went on as usual, culminating with the two of them naked and wrapped up in each other in a massive, California-king-sized bed. That’s when Candace’s Dom came home, unannounced.

  As cliche as it sounds, the flight to his extended business trip was canceled, so he came home, hoping to find his dutiful little submissive eagerly receiving him; as opposed to eagerly receiving…something else from someone else. The man bodily pulled Candace from Sawyer’s arms and swiftly threatened to call the police if he didn’t leave immediately. Sawyer’s world was crumbling before him - and no matter how passionate and swept up in feelings he was, he was smart enough to understand that she had lied to him. She was never permitted to see him, and she never would be again. This was over…and it left him feeling used, paid for, and empty.

With that recent drama bubbling under the surface, Sawyer obtained his degree, his white coat, and his ability to begin his medical internship after completing his BDSM curriculum and finding a claim. With three years to do so, and his mind and heart still heavily set on the woman he’d never have, it felt like a daunting task to say the least - but as always, Sawyer buried it all, stood up tall, and moved on to the next chapter where all he could do was hope the ghosts of his past wouldn’t follow and haunt him.

BIO QUESTIONS:

What are your feelings about the mark you have received? 

I think the fact that I’m sort of indifferent to what my mark is means that I got the right one. As a Switch, I can choose my path. I know lots of people who know exactly what they want going into this, and I’m not one of them. 

  How do your feelings on the system compare to your parents’ feelings on it?

I’d say we’re pretty similar on the subject. I stand by it, with a few exceptions. There are flaws. Lots of them, but the system means well - it just needs to be ironed out…and whoever decides to approve claims should be like, bi-annually evaluated to make sure they know what they’re doing before setting people up for life. But, listen - don’t get me started.

Where do you see yourself after you graduate?  

Claimed. Probably as a Dominant, given what I want to do with my life. You don’t see many submissive surgeons, but I guess it’s not totally impossible. But yeah; I see myself finishing my internship and becoming a successful surgeon at the nearest, highest-paying hospital.

How do you feel about authority?

I’m not the type to just hand out respect to people who just tell me they deserve it. Authority should be earned and proved. If you can show me that you’re worth the authority you say you deserve, I’ll give it to you. If you can’t do that and I still have to “respect” you because you’re a higher mark than me, I’ll give you the bare minimum.

[clubsmarties]

He hummed and nodded. "It'll take time. But hey, you're stepping into a new adventure. The fun awaits." The mention of the restaurant made him smile. "I feel like I can tell you this now. But he really liked you if he took you to the family restaurant after the gala. May come off as a shock but he had never wanted to take anyone to it. It's too special a place and for him to share that with you. Well, no doubt you were special to him. Are special. No lie those fries are so addicting. Tried them once and never looked back."

"Andy and I were twelve at the time. But she was kind and generous and never missed a school event. Would befriend just about anyone. Always had a story to share. Loved to create an environment where people felt comfortable to share whatever came to mind. She worked as a mental health therapist while our dad worked as an architect but there was nothing she put above us. If Andy had soccer practice or a play or I had camp. She'd do her best to be there for us. We had an older sister at the time too, she didn't make it. But she made sure each of us felt loved and cared for. Listened to. I remember seeing her work and come home and be ama de casa too while dad took the night shift. She said she worked to be home with us and didn't work to be away from us. You've seen our baby sister Solè right? She was at the Easter party. My mom and her look a lot alike." He smiled and sighed. "If you got her laughing you could hear her from the down the hall. It was so infectious and it got you laughing. I could say she was loving but it was more than that. She understood you. Honestly, Jamie has her personality and did spend the most time with her. She died when he was fifteen. She took the time to listen to you even through a meltdown and didn't make you feel like you were being punished for showing emotion. She broke the generational trauma she had with her own dad, the machismo," he rolled his eyes at that. "Instill in us from a young age that expecting the golden spoon just because we were boys wasn't gonna cut it for our future spouses. It was gonna be equal. Our family may be a bit smaller than how it started but having two older brothers, I wouldn't trade that in. I'll add Wally too, he's the best and this is totally unbiased. Not at all because I married his sister." Bouncing Jack he smiled and got the necklace out of his mouth. "That is why we are teaching these guys that we aren't gonna be like those men who can't do much but expect the women to do everything just because of gender." He shrugged not minding at all. "I don't mind. I love talking about her. I don't have as many memories as my older brother does but everything I remember I like to talk about. There's like two generations that look like her. My baby sister and then my youngest triplet. She has my wife's curly hair and my mother's nose and striking chestnut eyes."

"Oh," he looked at Jack and shook his head. "Little angels now but in the air they turn into gremlins. Traveling with a pack of eight is hard and being in a flight for more than an hour is hard for them to not run wild. Getting to Louisiana is close to a nightmare. Getting them to Mexico is gonna be impossible. Though, we can get the baby whisperer to handle them." Getting Wally to handle the chaos was pretty funny. 'Lighthouses? Excuse me but let me get you started on it."

Jack tapped his shoulder to get let down and once he did he giggled and ran over to Liz holding his tiny hand for her. "Let's go!" His eyes scrunched up in glee as all he knew was that he was about to get a blueberry treat. Turning to see his dad nod his head he bounced. He made a shh sound and agreed. "Let me tell my wife I'll be back and we can head down so you can tell me all your lighthouse facts." A quick dash out of the kitchen he left Jack giggling looking up at Liz. When he came back and got his keys. "When you're ready."

[letsasoiaftogether]

The (not-yet-old) Lion and the Dragon...

IMAGINE....being the younger sister to Aerys and Rhaella Targaryen and being betrothed to Tywin Lannister, the heir to Casterly Rock

Word Count: 2,927

Warning: None???? Canon-Typical!Age Differences/Attempt to write old characters as young dudes

A/N: I struggled for three hours to decide whether or not to add to this before deciding to just make additional parts so pleaasseeeeeeeeee take mercy on me and...I dunnnoooo, please just enjoy!

*

“No! She’s only fifteen, Your Grace! Our House has no need for her to be wed yet.” Rhaella Targaryen, Queen of Westeros and your older sister, pleaded with your brother as the royal family broke your fast in a small dining hall in Maegor’s Holdfast.

Aerys laughed, and you ��� who had sat in your seat, trying to ignore all that was said around you as you picked at your food – knew any chance of a safe breakfast was lost. “No need? Our once great house has diminished to four! She should be grateful I’m not marrying her myself!”

He’s only half joking. He would rather marry me himself then marry me to another great house. He has always seen Rhaella and me as his. Always believed he was given two sisters, and no brothers, because the gods of Old Valyria had blessed him and wanted him to marry twice as Aegon the Conqueror did.

You saw Rhaella open her mouth, and you knew that she was in one of her rare moods. The ones where she would speak up now and regret it for weeks to come. You loved her for trying, but she had never been loved by Aerys and he would sooner listen to the Dornish or to a Khal of the Dothraki before listening to his sister-wife.

“But why him? Do we not give him enough favor by having him as your Hand?” the words were yours, but you weren’t even aware of opening your mouth until the words had been spoken, and everyone was suddenly looking at you.

Aerys and Rhaella, the guards, the members of the small council and royal court who had been handpicked by your brother to eat with the royal family…

Your heart was racing, your hands clutched each other in your lap…

You didn’t dare to meet the gaze of your brother – your King.

He laughed, shortly, before speaking, “My dear, sweet sister.” The scraping of a chair against the stone floor made you tense. The footsteps made your jaw clench. And then long, warm fingers were forcing your chin upward, so your gaze met his.

“Your Grace,” you began to say only to fall silent as Aerys’ hand clamped over your mouth – fingers digging into your cheeks as he leaned down

“Y/n,” Aerys murmured, lips against your ear making you shiver in fear and disgust, “You will marry Tywin because I have commanded it. If I told you to fuck every lord of my kingdoms, you would because I have commanded it.”

Thick tears of hatred pooled in your eyes as he spoke. You had never liked your brother, but until that moment, you had never hated him.

“…you are mine to do with as I wish…” Whatever Aerys would have said afterwards was cut off by a loud, sternly spoken, “Cousin!” followed by the sound of a goblet being slammed down, onto the table top.

Aerys turned and both of you stared at the Lord of Storm’s End, your cousin through his mother – your aunt Rhaelle.

Steffon of the House Baratheon

Your cousin waited for the Kign to release you before saying, his voice not as loud but just as stern, “As a new father and someone barely a year older than Her Highness, I have to agree with our Queen, Aerys. Y/n isn’t even of age yet. She cannot marry our dear friend, our Lord Hand, for some time still. What if her body is not yet ready? Give her a year, Your Grace. It isn’t like it will hurt anything.”

You could have kissed Steffon in that moment.

And it wasn’t until he had finished speaking – knowing that your King, your brother, rarely went against what Steffon said – that you let your body relax in your chair, your stomach tightening and cramping still, but at least you knew the battle had been won for now.

Or, at the least, we are at a stalemate.

“It is a wedding that will celebrate the future Lady of the Rock.” Your gaze flickered toward the man seated to the right of where Aerys had been sitting minutes before. You held your breath, wondering what he was getting at.

Everyone else in the room (except for maybe your three year old nephew who was very entertained by his porridge) looked at the lion as well, waiting.

Tywin Lannister, your apparent betrothed and the Hand of the King, had sat silently throughout breakfast. Something that wasn’t unusual for the man when he deemed it worth his time to join others and not keep himself locked away in his office.

Now, as he began to speak, he lifted his gaze from his mostly finished plate of food and green eyes clashed with the purple of your own. He spoke up once more, saying, “There is also the matters at hand that are far more pressing than how many courses and flower arrangements will be needed. You have only been King for three moons, Your Grace. We must ensure stability first and foremost.”

Watching him, you wondered if he was tying to buy his time? If he was attempting to delay the union in order to find a way out of the marriage?

After all, everyone knew the rumors that whispered about how Lady Joanna held the Hand’s heart…

…just as everyone knew the rumors about how it was Lady Joanna who warmed the King’s sheets at night.

Your brother turned to Tywin, immediately boasting about something you didn’t bother to pay attention to. He let you go in the process, and you wasted little time in fleeing the hall – returning to the safety of your chambers.

The urge to scream was great as you leaned against the door.

The urge to tell Aerys off, to talk down to him as he so often belittled you and Rhaella.

But…what would that accomplish?

You were a woman in a man’s world.

And barely at that, still a child in more ways than you were a woman.

Brushing away the tears that had fallen onto your cheeks, you let out a shaky breath and moved out to the balcony.

For a moment, you stared down at the spike moat below and counted as many as you could as you tried to reign in your thoughts and emotions.

The best course of action is to marry. To gain protection from another house where Aerys will think twice before putting his hands on me…

Tywin was the second most powerful man in Westeros; he would have to remain in the capital with the King and the rest of the Small Council.

But…

What use could you make of marrying into House Lannister, then?

Being married to the Hand of the King, at least until you managed to give him a child, meant you would still live in King’s Landing. You would still have to be around your brother.

Am I cursed to remain around Aerys? Is he right? Is he blessed with two sisters so he can use us for his own, sick and cruel games?

A sharp but not ungentle knock on the door to your bedchambers pulled you from your thoughts – unknowingly keeping you from spiraling down into absolute despair.

After a moment, Ser Barristan Selmy – a member of your brother’s Kingsguard and a true knight to all who knew him – was opening the door just enough to stick his head into the room.

His gaze moved around the space, a small frown on his lips until you took pity on him and took a single step back inside, a soft smile gracing both of your faces as he spotted you, “Your Highness, the Hand of the King seeks an audience.” The knight was to the point and brief. You appreciated that about him.

Letting out a shaky breath, you looked down at your hands. They were shaking and it made you want to start crying again.

“Princess?” Ser Barristan’s voice was closer now, but you didn’t jump in surprise. The knight took his duties very seriously, but he was also just a sweet hearted person. You weren’t surprised to find that he had moved further into the room, shutting the door behind him to give you privacy against those who could see from the hall.

His hand grabbed your shoulder, squeezing briefly until you had met his gaze. Then he smiled and asked, “Would you like for me to tell him that you’re indisposed? Surely, he can’t have much to say that is too important?” He wouldn’t normally have suggested such a thing – dismissing the Hand of the King like he was a common knight or lowly lord. But…he was teasing, trying to cheer you up, and it was another thing you adored about him.

Turning toward the looking glass on the table next to your bed, you rubbed at your cheeks and ran your hand through your hair a few times before sighing and plastering a small smile to your lips. “Ser, please let our noble Hand in. And…please stay with us. We wouldn’t want to have people talking.”

Took a seat on the stone bench, your hands in your lap, and your gaze locked on the lion the moment he stepped into your room. Your stomach flipped and your nerves had you drawing your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing at it as Tywin moved past Ser Barristan and out to you.

“Your Highness,” the heir of the Rock bowed, swiftly, before moving to stand in front of you, no doubt so you would be forced to hurt your neck so you could look up at him.

You refused, instead, keeping your gaze locked on the pattern of the red and gold lions on his sleeve and his vest.

“Our wedding will take place in eleven moons. His Grace has agreed to waiting for us to be married until you have reached your sixteenth nameday. As I am the Hand of the King and you are the King’s sister, the ceremony will be in the Sept of Baelor, the reception within the Red Keep.” His voice was nothing but stoic, completely business like, as if he was speaking to someone he saw as beneath him but couldn’t risk upsetting (yet).

“Very well, My Lord.” Standing, you mentally cursed that you still had to tilt your head back – some – to meet his gaze with the two of you being so close, “Is there anything else, Ser?”

Green eyes pierced you as he stared down at you. He tucked his arms behind his back the moment you stood up, only adding to the fact his stance screamed authority. For a moment, you were reminded of the lion just a few years earlier, back when your grandsire Aegon V was still alive. He hadn’t changed, really. Perhaps a little more firm and stern, but he hadn’t softened.

Most certainly, he wasn’t suddenly as soft as Lord Tytos, Tywin’s father.

Tywin of the House Lannister had never been anything like his father.

Serious and not one for smiles or pleasantries, he had been a member of the royal household for as long as you could remember and had fought alongside Aerys and Steffon – the three of them close since childhood – in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. He had returned, harsher and stricter than when he left (something you couldn’t believe was possible) and began setting right the slights against his father’s house (despite his still alive Lord Father trying to argue otherwise).

And now we have the Rains of Castamere to forever cement the laughless-lion’s victory…

“Do you not wish to marry? Or is it the groom you have an issue with?” His eyes narrowed, but not in a silent warning. It was like he was preparing himself to detect treachery before you had even opened your mouth to respond.

There was a copper taste in your mouth as you replied, “I am a servant to the realm, My Lord Hand. If my brother, who is our most noble King, wishes for me to be wed, then I shall humbly say the vows and go to the marriage bed if he and his advisors only point me in the right direction.”

Your lip was bleeding from where you had been (nervously) chewing on it moments before, and now that you knew this, you couldn’t help but let your tongue dart out to wipe at the small wound.

Tywin watched your tongue for a long moment before saying, softer than you had ever heard him speak (from what you could recall, anyhow), “Are you dissatisfied with me as a husband? Is there another you would have preferred?”

He was trying to find out if he had competition. Some small part of you was amused. Sure, he was most likely just trying to be proactive – trying to be possessive of you now that you would be (or, already were?) his. Another possession for him to hold above the heads of the other Lords of the Seven Kingdoms. But you were amused at the possibility of him being jealous. The thought that the lion would be jealous at the possibility that you could believe someone more worthy of you, of your hand, than the King’s Hand…

You couldn’t help but smirk and raise a brow at him, asking, “Are you dissatisfied with me as a choice of wife? Would you not have preferred someone else? Someone like…Lady Joanna?” You weren’t worried about angering him with the question. You were curious, and if you were truly meant to become his Lady Wife, you wanted to know where you stood amongst those you would – more than likely – have to see every day of your marriage.

Something flickered in those green eyes of his, but Tywin vanished it quickly and gave a swift, simple, “No,” and the tone of it said what he didn’t. That there would be no further question about Lady Joanna or anyone else that the lion may be interested in.

His hand landed on your cheek and your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t a cruel touch, but it wasn’t a spontaneous one either.

His moves are rarely spontaneous. The laughless lion never acts without thought. Never without precision.

His skin was warm and calloused and heavy, but it was light as the pad of his thumb wiped along your bottom lip – collecting the blood that had accumulated there.

Neither of you spoke as Tywin looked down at his finger and then slowly, as if to tease you, pushed his thumb between your lips. He didn’t meet your gaze this time. No. He kept his gaze on your mouth as you hesitantly licked your blood from his skin.

It wasn’t…intimate to you.

Aerys had always done strange things similar, but different, to that so you only knew to interpret it as some sort of mental game. Some sort of…strange and silent mockery.

The darkening of the Hand’s eyes told you that he was not thinking along the same lines.

As you pulled back, making no noise as Tywin let his hand fall back to his side, you looked to the side at Ser Barristan. The knight was watching the lion, his hand gripping the handle of his sword so tightly his knuckles were visibly white. That was how you knew that Tywin had done something wrong – not the same as Aerys and his mind games, something else that at just fifteen you were still, far too naïve to understand.

“My Lord,” you whispered, returning your gaze to your betrothed just as Ser Barristan also spoke, moving to your side to say, “Your Highness, the Queen is asking for you.”

Tywin looked at him, and you wondered if he knew that the knight was lying. It was obvious he wanted to tell him to leave.

You wondered if his word held more authority than your older sister’s.

Your grandmother, Betha Blackwood, would have had more authority than any of your grandsire’s Hands. Your mother, (Princess and then Queen) Shaera, would have had close to – if not the same – amount of authority as your father, Jaehaerys, had she wanted it at any point in her life.

But Rhaella…she was mindful of her duty, even so early into her marriage with Aerys. She would never think to reach further than custom dictated. If she had more power than Tywin, would she use it? Or would she allow the Hand to overrule her command at every opportunity your betrothed saw fit?

“Thank you, Ser.” You offered the knight a smile and then returned your gaze to the man in front of you, “My Lord, forgive me. I mustn’t keep our Queen waiting. Well wishes to the rest of your day.” You curtsied, trying to act every inch the Princess you had been bred and raised to be.

If your steps were quick as you left your chambers, you chose to be ignorant.

If your cheeks were flushed, you blamed it on the heat and spoke no further about it.

If you were doubtful and terrified about your impending marriage, you…you kept those thoughts to yourself.

I am just a girl in this world. My worth is next to nothing. To marry Tywin Lannister, to be the future Lady of Casterly Rock isn’t so awful. It’s especially not terrible if I am sent back to the Rock while my husband remains in the capital.

A quiet life in the Westerlands, overlooking the sea, away from the cruel words, touches, and stares of your brother?

What girl wouldn’t want that?

[subwaysurf45]

Back Into the Swing of Things

summary: Bucky is finally stable and after your friendship turns into a relationship, Bucky asks you to teach him about the little things. (set around civil war)

words:  3355

warning: legit none just fluff!

pairing: bucky x reader

Masterlist

You were sat at the little desk in your room, your music was blasting through your headphones as you nodded your head to the beat. It was paperwork day, the worst day. For some reason it was a busy time or missions which meant mission reports, you liked to just bang them out all at once for one day every couple of weeks. Some people did them right after but the little notes you take in your journal allow you to wait a bit and then do five at once. The plate that used to have a sandwich was now empty, Bucky brought it by because he knew it was your day and if he stayed around you it would most likely lead to Bucky trying to pull you into bed for snuggles. He’d claim you’d look too cozy to be doing work, you'd wear one of his shirts and maybe some pants.

With a sigh you lean back in your chair, a couple pops coming for your back. “Four outta five…” you muttered to yourself as you took the papers and stacked them on the other reports. As you reached for the final one there was a knock on the door, “come in, Bucky.” You called over your shoulder.

“How’d you know it was me?” Bucky slipped through the doorway, he walked over and spun your chair around.

“Your knock is very polite,” was all you said. It was true, he’d knock loud enough to be heard but not too loud to seem demanding.

“Thanks…?” Bucky sat on the edge of your bed, “I wanted to ask you something,” Bucky looked to the floor.

“Talk to me,” You cheered and gave your full attention.

“I have a list of things in my notebook, just stuff I don't get- like understand. Would you mind helping and explaining some stuff?” His face was red and his eyes looked down, it was painfully obvious he was embarrassed.

“Sure,” You shrugged and Bucky smiled. He got up and went to get the book.

Debit Card Machine 

Bucky was sitting across from you at a small diner, you went after rush hour to give yourself space and also Bucky doesn’t like crowded and loud spaces. Bucky had gotten a B.L.T. and you got something similar but you’d never been here before so you weren’t exactly sure what was in it- but it was good.

The waitress came by, the uniform was very retro like the rest of the place. It wasn’t way back to the 40’s more late 80’s early 90’s, Bucky had said he liked coming here because of the jukebox even though that was way past his time. He found it easier than an iphone, which was on his list of things to learn.

“Coffee or tea?” the lady asked.

“No, just the bill please,” You smiled at her, she nodded and walked away. Bucky got up and moved to sit beside you because he didn’t want to learn by looking at the thing upside down, the debit card itself was slightly conquered territory but he had the idea.

“And you said this was on your phone as well?” Bucky picked up the card and looked at it, his fingers running over the numbers that were lifted.

“You have to connect your card and all that to your phone so you just hover over the machine and it’ll pay.” You mimed the action of paying with your phone over nothing for Bucky to get the gist.

The machine showed up and you explained all the buttons, the waitress seemed confused because Bucky looked your age, she would have expected a guy to know how this works but she also kept her distance like most waitresses do.

“So you put your card in, the chip end goes in,” you showed. “Then you make sure the price matches the one on the receipt, if it does then you hit ‘ok’,” you did hit ‘ok’. “Then you have to tip, I personally go the percentage route so I’d click the far left button,” It made a sound when you did. “Now, depending on the service you can tip a different amount, I go fifteen percent as a baseline but she was really nice so I’ll tip twenty.” you typed it in, Bucky had a shocked face.

“Twenty dollars, that’s another meal!” He whispered, trying not to let the lady hear; she did.

“Twenty percent, our total goes from eighteen-tirty to twenty-forty five,” You showed the number again, then you clicked okay and proceeded to type in your four digit number. Bucky watched over your shoulder and tried to remember it all, when you were showing things at home he’d take notes and have a couple diagrams to remember it all but his notebook was no longer in sight. You glanced down after giving the machine back to see him rolling the book onto itself under the table, Bucky shoved it into his back pocket when you both got up to leave.

“Do you mind going over it again when we get home?” Bucky asked as he held your hand, the Avenger tower in sight.

“Of course,” you left a little kiss on his cheek.

Cooking Bacon

You didn’t remember reading this when you first went over the list. Granted, there was tons of stuff on Bucky’s list. It seemed he added it on later, like he watched Wanda cook and had a little idea to add. Either way, you both were in the kitchen in front of the stove. You both had aprons on, yours was a nice navy blue while Bucky’s read: ‘kiss the cook’. He wanted the navy one but then lost a game of rock, paper, scissors.

The pan was heating up on the stove, you had the lid ready beside it on the counter. Bucky seemed nervous because of the idea of the grease spitting out at him, he was starting to stand slightly behind you or away from the stove in an area he thought he wouldn’t get hit. “Alright,” you clapped your hands together after feeling over the pan to check the temperature. “We are gonna cook four pieces, so I’m gonna take them out of the package,” You were careful around the stove because Bucky seemed extremely nervous for you. He kept making little ‘peep’ing noises like he was about to say ‘watch out’ or something but decided against it, it was cute.

You put in two and then Bucky came over to put the others in, he was so leaned back he could barely get the bacon strips into the pan. On the last strip he haphazardly dropped it in, this caused the grease to spray back. A couple bits landed on your arm but a few more hit Bucky.

“Fuck!” He jumped back as you went to cover it quickly. The lid steamed up in seconds. Bucky was at the sink, washing his arm off. “Does it, like, burn through stuff?”  His tone was so concerned but you couldn't help but laugh at the question.

“No, you’re safe,” you nodded. Bucky came back over and stood right behind you, his chin nestled on your shoulder as you waited a bit. His arms circled around your torso and he also watched the pan, he didn’t know what to look for per se, but he did it anyways. “This should be good,” you stepped forward which caused Bucky to let go. “We’re gonna lift the lid and start to flip them, alright?” You grabbed the tongs and clicked them a few times, it was a thing you always did.

“Let’s go,” Bucky’s voice wanted to sound excited but he was slightly scared.

You lifted the lid and stood off to the side, quickly but calmly you flipped the pieces over and then covered the lid. “So, we give that time, then we'll take the lid off and just move them around and flip them more, you can do that,” You smiled over your shoulder to see Bucky writing something down. It was cute how much he cared about the little things, you’d never been taught how to cook bacon or cooking in general, it was something you just found yourself doing.

Bucky took the tongs and went for it, he lifted the lid and went straight into flipping them. After he found they weren’t spitting back he seemed to loosen up, his shoulders rolled back and he seemed to find a comfortable position. He was looking over to you for any tips but you stood there with a smile on your face, he was actually doing a good job.

You got out a plate and paper towel, Bucky transferred the strips over. He watched you pat them down with a paper towel, this was something you adopted into your life because you weren’t the biggest fan of all the grease.

“This is a big part, so listen up,” Bucky looked over from eating one of his two pieces. “Write this down, never and I mean never pour this grease down the sink- ever.” Bucky had the piece of meat sticking out of his mouth as he scribbled it down, he hummed and nodded to let you know he got it. “There is a can under the sink, grab it for me, please?” You picked up the pan but stayed over the stove, Bucky came back with an open can. There was nothing in it except congealed grease, he seemed grossed out but you were used to it. “Dump it in here after it’s cool but not solidified, just don’t pour it down the sink.” You poured the stuff in and left it on the counter to cool off, Bucky finally bit down on the piece of bacon before handing over your two pieces.

“I think that went well,” Bucky nodded, he leaned against the counter with a tired sigh. You didn’t have to heart to make fun of him for being scared of the grease, he seemed proud of himself. So you just stood beside him and rested your head on his shoulder, “good job, Buck.”

Skin Care

Bucky was the type of boyfriend to sit in the bathroom and just watch you put on or take off your makeup, he was truly put under a trance when he would watch you. In the beginning he’d ask questions or ask what you were doing and why, but now he had watched you so much he’d pass you the tube of mascara as you finished on your brows.

Your skin had adapted to a long and specific routine, this was your time for about ten minutes before bed to fully unwind and have some quiet. You would rotate products and skip over some of the serums each night but there were the basics you were going to teach Bucky: Wash, tone, moisturize.

Before you went to the drug store you asked Bucky about his skin, he really had no idea what you were talking about and half the time he’d shrug it off. “I don’t pay attention to my skin,” was a common phrase. You lightly touched his face and felt his T-zone, he joked that sometimes if he opened his mouth really wide his skin would feel super tight and dry.

“So then you have dry skin,” you said. Thinking of the products to get him, Bucky didn’t have acne, it was more for cleaning the skin and keeping it healthy.

“I think,” Bucky really felt like a pain. He was trying to help you out so you could find good products but all he was giving was half answers, ‘ya, I guess’ or ‘I think so’.

But currently you both were standing in the bathroom, it was right before bed and Bucky adjusted his headband for about the hundredth time. He said it was too tight but you knew he was being a baby about it, his hair was also pulled back into a bun.

“We are gonna wash our face,” You showed how warm the water should be before splashing your face. Bucky copied right after, and awkwardly leaned forward to make sure water didn’t drip on the floor after while he waited for you to move on. “Now we are gonna wash our face, so take that bottle with the blue cap and put a bit in your hand. A little goes a long way,” You added and did the same, both faces in the bathroom were sudsy and ready. Bucky went in first to wash it off, his hands cupping under the tap and collecting as much water as he could before leaning right in to wash off his face. He did it twice.

“Pat dry?” He remembered you saying that before. His hands held the fresh towel, you hummed in response because your face was in water. Bucky patted and gently rubbed around, when you stood up you dried off as well. Both faces were damp, Bucky looked at the little water droplets running down your neck before turning back to the task at hand. “Toner- don't tell me, I know this one!” He grabbed your arm, “red cap?” His face lit up with joy as you nodded, “I got this!” He cockily laughed, he knew what he was doing.

Bucky took the little cotton round and drizzled some of the toner around on it, he passed one over to you before making one for himself. Bucky leaned in and got super close to the mirror, he watched intently as you rubbed your face. He copied, it was like the cotton pad was barely touching his face. The last thing he cleaned was his nose before pulling the cotton away, he scanned over the pad and saw the gross residue.

“Ew, that was on my face?” Bucky was enchanted by the pad, holding it super close to see the leftover dirt. You had already thrown away the pad, it made you giggle to see Bucky so hypnotized by literal oil and dirt.

“Moisturizer, final step for you,” You sang. “I like to pick it up with my knuckle, like this,” You unscrewed the lid and tapped your pointer finger knuckle to the opaque, soft cream. Bucky took his new one and did the same. He wiped it into the palm of the opposite hand, “rub it around, heat it up before putting it on,” He did just that. “You’re a pro, Buck!” You giggled as Bucky meticulously put it on. He was applying it upwards and spreading it evenly around, his fingers gently dancing across his face as the cream worked its way in.

“How do I look?” He turned to you.

“Like you’re glowing.”

“I feel like it,” Bucky laughed and looked back at the mirror. He tilted his head around to see how his skin would look under the light in the bathroom, he seemed to forget you were there and was completely in awe of what he did. Bucky brought his fingers to his face to feel around, the moisturizer had set and now his skin looked full and plump. The pads of his fingers gently tapped his cheeks and made the shimmer on his cheekbones move and twinkle.

“Alright, that’s enough admiring yourself,” you laughed and pushed him out of the way. Bucky stayed to watch you finish up your routine.

Record Player

As a way to say thanks for helping Bucky with over fifty niche things, Bucky decided to teach you how to properly use a record player.

This wasn’t any old player, this was Bucky’s player. No one was allowed to touch it without permission and even though you have never gotten the green light, you asked almost every week. This was one of the only things Bucky could really hold onto, when he touched the dark, stained wood he could almost see himself back in the 40’s; almost.

He once got really mad at the beginning of your friendship, you really didn’t know it was his, you just thought it was a talking piece. Bucky ended up yelling at you, he had just changed the needle and you were running your finger on it to see how small it was. Steve had ran in because Bucky was yelling- it was a whole ordeal that ended with Bucky not talking to you for three months.

But now there was trust and Bucky liked that after that little fiasco you didn’t even think to touch it, he could really trust you and now was a great time to show off his favourite thing. Bucky was all giddy to show his record player off to you, you were grabbing some water before he started and you noticed Bucky was using the cuff of his sleeve to wipe off a smudge before going back to inspect it.

“Alright, let’s start!” Bucky smiled. This man didn’t start with the parts and what they do, he started with the history of it all. Bucky pulled all the facts he knew about record players in general and the vintage one that was sitting in front of the both of you, his eyes seemed to light up with each new fact that popped into his mind. Part of you wanted to check your watch but you also had never seen this man get passionate over an object before, he could get passionate over people- you, Steve, Sam, etc. -but never over this. “Are you ready to play music?” He reached over into his bin and pulled a record you’ve never seen.

“Which one’s that?” You asked as Bucky pulled it out of it’s sleeve.

“It’s just a random one I picked up a week ago for this,” Bucky held the record the proper way. “Thumb on the center and index on the edge, don’t touch the actual grooves because the oils in your hands can clog them up,” Bucky moved his hand around to show you.

“Sorry, what do you mean you bought that record for this? And why does the needle look different?” you noticed the needle looked extremely worn, it looked great and new a couple days ago.

“Don’t worry,” Bucky dismissed it. “So now we are gonna place the record softly,” Bucky placed it down and turned back to you. He talked about the arm and the needle before showing you how to put it on manually and then with the little leaver, after showing them each way twice he stepped back and offered you a turn.

“Seems easy,” you mumbled and took the arm, you were doing it manually first. The movements were extremely soft and slow, when the needle made contact it took half a second before a really grainy sound came through the speakers. It sounded wrong but Bucky nodded, he applauded you for taking the needle off as well. Then you did it with the leaver, right when it was about to touch you thought it looked off so you nudged it a bit- bad idea. The needle didn’t even hit the record and part of the arm scratched the recessed vinyl. “Shit!” You yelled and ripped it off. Causing the record to scratch, the sound and the record itself, there was a shine to the edge. “Oh god! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to mess it all up- I really didn’t mean to break it- god, you must so ma- I’m sorry-” as you fumbled over yourself Bucky just started to laugh. “What?” you were about to cry because of the guilt.

“That was a sixties record and a needle that is five years old, you didn't do anything. I bought it because I knew this was bound to happen.” Bucky only laughed at your exasperated sigh, you fell into his hug like a child. “Poor baby,” he mockingly cooed, he found it so funny how you were screaming apologies at him even though it was painfully obvious it was a shit record and needle.

“That was scary, I think I need a nap after that…” you sighed.

Bucky threw you over his shoulder, “thinking the same thing, doll.

[sunder-soul]

𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖛𝖊

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

Chapter Two: He’s very, very beautiful. Black hair in tidy waves, dark, hooded eyes lined with sooty lashes, full lips, angled jaw, and all his fine features illuminated by the glow from the pub behind you. If you’d met him anywhere else you might have blushed, but here, now, you have to resist the urge to arch a brow. Wordcount: 2.3k Content warning: language, allusions to bigotry.

Story Tags: @crazytwentythrees

Permanent Tags: @jujugentle @weirdowithnobeardo @pearlstiare @fromthehellmouth @whoevenfrickenknows @moatsnow @voidmalfoy @lucys-brain @sunles @arana-alpha @tallyovie @expectoscamander @nothinghcppens @itsjustfics @mikariell95 @suicide-sweetheart636 @toasterking

McCollin slams the Records Room logbook down on your desk and you nearly jump out of your skin. “I told you to drop it,” he says coolly.

Your initials are scribbled on the page half a dozen times over the past two weeks. You look up at him wide-eyed. “I…”

“You were only supposed to watch that stupid trial once,” he interrupts, eyes hard.

“Look, I’ve found stuff, McCollin! Merope Gaunt? She ran away with Tom Riddle, for Christs’ sake, they got married and everything! That’s why Morfin was talking about her in his trial!”

He falters, brow furrowing. “How did you find out that –”

“I’ve been doing some work on the case – off hours,” you add hastily at his expression, “and look, I know you said it was pretty cut and dry, but in that whole trial no one actually asks him why he did it –”

McCollin laughs a little unkindly. “No one asked him why he did it? Do you hear yourself? Didn’t you just say his sister married a Muggle?”

“Yeah but she died ages ago,” you say desperately, leaning forward.

“Why does that matter?”

“Morfin was released from Azkaban in ’28 and came home to find his sister gone. He lived right around the corner from those Muggles, McCollin, so why did he wait fifteen years to kill them?”

McCollin gives you a deeply sceptical look. “Your problem is that he didn’t kill them sooner?”

“My problem is there’s no reason that he didn’t kill them sooner!” you correct. “If he’s really such a nutcase, why did it take him that long to get revenge on the Riddles?”

“Maybe he didn’t know who she’d run off with until then,” he shrugs.

“Then how did he suddenly find out in ‘43?”

McCollin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, kiddo, I’m gonna do you a favour. I’ll let all this slide if you drop this thing now and stop letting it distract you.”

You gape at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“But I’ve found –!”

“I don’t care what you’ve found, I need you to do your job,” McCollin snaps, waving at your desk. “So some pure-blood nutter murdered some Muggles because his sister ran off with one of ‘em, what in Merlin’s name is so hard to understand about that?”

“She had a kid with him!” you hiss.

He hesitates again. “You found a birth certificate?”

“No, but she died in a Muggle orphanage and was buried in the pauper’s yard, what do you think happened?”

McCollin, for the first time, looks somewhat doubtful. “Case never mentioned a kid…” he says slowly.

Hope sparks in your chest. “And where was Tom Riddle whilst his wife died in childbirth, huh? Where did the kid end up? Did Morfin know about them? Did Riddle even know?”

McCollin exhales a very fatigued sigh. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you.”

“No,” you say immediately.

“If you figure this out, will you get back to your actual job?”

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

You’re on the edge of your seat. “I promise.”

He grits his teeth. “Merlin… fine. What do you need?”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You hate Azkaban. The place is dark and cold and dripping wet, the dementors never stay quite far enough away, and the screams and sobs of the prisoners within the black stone stick in your heart for weeks afterwards.

“In and out,” McCollin mutters, pulling off his hat and casting the dementor beside you an aspersing look. “Five minutes, kiddo, and then we’re gone.”

You nod quickly and step down the long, dark corridor, peering at the parchment in your hand and checking it against the cell numbers scratched into the stone on either wall. You find him around the corner. Cell 75191.

You lift your lit wand, squinting into the darkness. “Morfin…?”

There’s the faint clinking of chains and then a skin-crawling hiss that makes your heart clench in fear, followed by a rasping, phlegmy cackle.

“Morfin Gaunt?” you try again, catching sight of movement in the corner of the cell, a figure hunched there.

He only hisses again.

“I don’t speak Parseltongue, Mr Gaunt,” you say with a forced calm, “I’m here to talk about the Riddles.”

Morfin spits at the ground. “Riddles,” he growls. “Fucking Riddles, fucking filthy Muggle Riddles in their filthy stinking house, got what was coming didn’t they? Got what they deserved in the end –”

“You knew about Merope and Tom Riddle, didn’t you, Mr Gaunt?” you interrupt, hands shaking in the aching cold. You bury your non-wand hand in your pocket in vain – the chill of the prison is all-permeating.

“Filthy Riddle… filthy scumsucker…”

“Why did you kill the Riddles in 1943?”

He barks a hideous laugh. “Muggle scum they were, had it coming, saw the light leave their eyes at the end of a wand like was intended, not my sister, not my family –”

“Why did you wait, Mr Gaunt?”

There’s silence. Your heart thrums nervously.

“You got home in 1928 but you didn’t kill the Riddles until 1943… Why didn’t you kill them sooner?” you press carefully.

Morfin doesn’t reply for a moment, and then – “Muggle scum,” he mutters a little dolefully.

“Yes but what changed?” you say, patience fraying a bit. “What changed in 1943? Did something happen?”

“Scourge of the earth… got to get rid of ‘em all, that Grindelwald fellow had the right idea, get rid of ‘em –”

There’s a sound like a heavy door closing in the distance and you’re suddenly very aware that you don’t have a lot of time left. “Did you know about Merope’s child?” you ask pressingly.

Morfin descends into a coughing fit and spits what sounds like a hefty wad of mucus onto the floor of his cell. “Knew it,” he says darkly, “I knew it, that slut…”

“You knew?”

“Looked just like him, didn’t he?” he snarls.

“Who?” you say at once.

“He looked just like that nasty, filthy, disgusting Muggle… Well, they’re all dead now.” He laughs nastily again. “Rotting in the ground where they belong, Muggle scum…”

You can hear McCollin calling for you but your head is spinning. He waited… he waited fifteen years…

If Merope’s son had been born at the end of ’26, he would have been sixteen in July of ’43.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“I know why he waited,” you breathe to McCollin the second you’re back in the safety of the Ministry.

“Why?”

“I know why he waited to kill the Riddles – Merope’s son came to find him – maybe he was looking for his family, he probably grew up in that orphanage – he really did only find out about her kid in ’43 and it made him snap and –”

“Slow down,” McCollin frowns, hand on your shoulder. “What are you saying?”

“You have to get me access to Morfin’s memory of that day,” you say intensely.

His face and his hand fall in unison. “You said that if I got you in to see Morfin, you’d let it go,” he says sharply.

“I know but Jesus McCollin! Shouldn’t we find her son?”

“This is getting out of hand,” he mutters, turning and walking off across the huge entrance hall.

“Please,” you say, following him. “Please! I –”

“No,” he says flatly.

“But –!”

“What, you want to watch murders now?”

“McCollin, just listen –”

“I’m serious, drop it,” he drawls, stepping into an elevator and turning to point at you. “I don’t wanna hear you say the name Riddle again.”

The elevator dings, the door slides shut on McCollin’s serious face, and you sigh in frustration.

“Riddle?”

Your head lifts in surprise. The voice had come from beside you, a very formally-dressed old man with curated grey hair, gold glasses, and a haughty expression. “Yes, sir…?” you ask slowly.

“Ah yes, a real shame, all that,” the man sighs, looking up at the elevators expectantly.

You blink. You recognise the man from around the Ministry, but you can’t think of a single conceivable reason why a senior member of the International Confederation of Wizards knows the name of a Muggle murdered eight years ago. “…Yes, it was.”

“Such a waste,” he shakes his head sagely. “He could have gone far.”

You don’t know what to say. “You’re… you’re talking about Tom Riddle, sir…?”

“Yes, of course,” the man titters, “Slughorn recommended him to me personally – assured me he’d go far. A real talent, he said.”

Something is definitely not right, but the man’s elevator dings and he steps inside at once, expensive robes swirling as he turns. “To end up in Knockturn Alley of all places,” he sighs, “and to think... the boy could have been Minister for Magic one day.”

The doors shut before your gobsmacked face.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“So let me get this straight,” Mori says lowly, setting down another drink for you. “You think the kid’s here? In Knockturn Alley?”

“I think so,” you murmur as Mori takes your empty glass away. “Either that or some poor schmuck with the exact same name as a murdered Muggle is walking around completely unrelated to all this shit.”

“Have you found anything on the kid?”

You nod blankly. “Looked up the name and found a ton of stuff straight away – star pupil at Hogwarts, won a ton of awards, Prefect, Head-boy –”

“Sounds like a square,” Mori snorts.

“He fell off the map a bit after school,” you frown, leaning forward on your forearms. “Found an address from a few years back but doesn’t seem up-to-date. The guy definitely mentioned Knockturn Alley though, so –”

“If you told me a name, I’ll probably know him.”

You shoot him a nervous look. “I dunno, Mori, I’m really pissing McCollin off with this already. If he finds out I’m leaking names –”

“Well I’ll tell you this for free, no one down this way’ll take kindly to someone in Ministry robes poking their nose around,” he says darkly.

You sigh and take a sip from your drink. “I know.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You leave just past midnight, giving Mori a wave as you grab your cloak and head for the door, already reaching for your wand to Apparate as you push it open –

You walk straight into someone. “Oh,” you exclaim, stepping back. “I'm so sorry.”

“Not at all.”

You look up at the voice in surprise, smooth and pleasant and velvety. The face behind it is even better; he’s very, very beautiful. Black hair in tidy waves, dark, hooded eyes lined with sooty lashes, full lips, angled jaw, and all his fine features illuminated by the glow from the pub behind you as he pushes the door wide and holds it for you, stepping aside with a polite twist to his lips to let you out first.

If you’d met him anywhere else you might have blushed, but here, now, you have to resist the urge to arch a brow. He’s not exactly what you’d normally expect from customers of Moribund’s.

“Thank you,” you say evenly, stepping past him and rather theatrically hoping he’s not some sort of pretty-faced creature that would strike when your back’s turned –

“You’re from the Ministry?”

You hesitate. His question was perfectly curious and well-warranted – the purple robes you were still wearing were also not what one might normally expect from customers of Moribund’s. “I am,” you say quietly, pulling out your wand.

“Are you here on business or for pleasure?” he smiles a little. It makes him even more beautiful. It makes you more suspicious.

“A bit of both,” you say truthfully, thinking of your conversation with Mori.

“Rather strange for someone of your profession to patron a place like this,” says the young man, head tilting a fraction.

You hesitate for a moment, but if he intends on giving you trouble, it feels like a good idea to establish that you have people looking out for you around here. “I’m friends with the barman.”

“In which case it's odd I’ve not seen you more, then,” he says very smoothly, the little twist to his lips returning, “since I’m something of a regular.”

But you’ve had quite enough. “You’re letting the warmth out,” you say politely, inclining your head at the door he’s still holding open as you lift your wand. “Enjoy your drinks.”

“Would you care to join me?”

You hesitate, eyes flicking back to the young man. His head is still tilted slightly as he watches you, and suddenly you can’t tell if the curl to his lips is more attractive or unnerving.

“I’d very much like the company,” he smiles, white, straight teeth, too handsome, too gorgeous.

Alarm bells are going off in your head. Too smarmy. He knows he’s beautiful, that much was certain, and something about him is giving you the creeps in a way that feels strangely familiar. Like you’ve met him before. “No,” you say clearly, “but thanks for the invitation.”

“Ah, I should have known that someone like you would already be spoken for,” he says with a knowing nod, charming and good-natured.

“No,” you frown. You can’t tell what’s rubbing you the wrong way about him, but there’s something.

His brow lifts slightly, like your response surprised him. “Not a fan of the drink, then?”

You snort a light laugh. “No, I am.”

There’s a beat of silence. “An early morning, perhaps?” the young man says just as lightly – though there’s a very faint edge to his expression that you clock at once. He can’t figure out why you’ve rejected him. What an arrogant asshole…

You sigh a bit shortly, liking him less by the second. “Goodnight,” you say pointedly, trying to lift your wand again but –

“Have I offended you somehow, madam?” he asks, sounding slightly amused. “If I have it wasn’t my intention to do so.”

You shoot him a look that is unapologetically annoyed. “You haven’t offended me, you’ve disrespected me,” you say curtly.

His eyes sparkle, his lips curl even more. “By asking you to join me for a drink?”

“By refusing to take my answer graciously,” you retort smoothly, “I said no. I don’t appreciate being cajoled.”

Some of the humour dissipates from his face, and you seize the opportunity to escape.

“Goodnight.”

And you lift your wand in a swift motion and vanish before he can interrupt again.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

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[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 23: Stealing the Batmobile (Alt Prompt Driving)

AO3

Prev

Marinette looks at her little brother with an amused expression before asking:

“He really stole the Batmobile?” 

“Yup. Claimed he was a better driver than me.” Dick says with a snort. Marinette winces. 

“To be fair, he’s probably right. You’re kind of an awful driver.” She says with an apologetic smile. Dick clutches his heart and sniffles loudly. 

“My own flesh and blood!” He cries dramatically. Damian scoffs. 

“Tt. She is on my side, Grayson. As she should be since she is <i>my<i> flesh and blood.” He says with a scowl. 

“The pain!” Dick cries, throwing himself off the couch and onto the ground. Jason just sighs and shakes his head, while Tim looks on tiredly. The five of them had decided to hang out at the manor together earlier, which had somehow shifted into telling stories about each other and funny things that had happened. Marinette loved hearing stories about her brothers from when they were younger. 

“Out of all of us, I am likely the most competent driver.” Damian says, glancing at Marinette before nodding once. “And I assume Marinette would be the second most competent.” He adds. Marinette’s face instantly turns red- she’d never driven before. Her little brother (who was two years younger) was already a great driver. And she…..was not. 

“Oh, uh, I’ve actually never driven before.” She admits. Damian frowns. 

“Wait, you’re almost fifteen and you’ve never driven before?” Jason asks, leaning forward. “Like, ever” 

“Well, no. You can’t get a license in France until you’re eighteen. So no one in their right mind is going to let a fourteen year old drive around the city.” She explains. She watches as a thoughtful look crosses Damian’s face before settling back into a neutral mask. 

“I require your assistance with something. Follow me.” He says, standing and walking out of the room. 

“Er, okay.” She says, furrowing her eyebrows. “We’ll be right back.” She reassures her other brothers. She walks quicker, trying to catch up with Damian who was practically running at this point. He glances at her and raises an eyebrow. 

“Did the others act as if they would follow?” He asks. She frowns, but shakes her head. “Excellent.” He says, opening one of the entrances to the Batcave. She follows him, but freezes as they walk in and she sees where he’s heading. 

“Damian, we’d get into so much trouble.” She says, planting her feet and freezing in place. 

“Not if we aren’t caught. Which we will be if we don’t leave soon.” He says, rushing into the changing room. She stays where she is, glancing down at Tikki peeking out of her purse. 

“Marinette, your father would not like this.” She warns. Marinette bites her lip. 

“I know, but Damian seemed so excited.” She counters, with a small smile. Tikki gives her an unimpressed look. Marinette watches as her little brother walks back out, dressed in his uniform. He nods at her once and then climbs into the driver’s side. She hesitates, weighing her options. She could go with and attempt to drive the Batmobile, or she could watch her little brother drive away and know that no one knew where he was. Crap. Pushing away every instinct telling her this is a horrible idea, she rushes after Damian and hops into the car, calling her transformation as she does. She grins at her brother, her Ladybird suit had started giving her more confidence than her Ladybug suit. It was odd, but she loved it. He immediately slams on the gas, driving out of the cave and into Gotham.

“Ukht, will you be driving as well?” He asks and she hesitates before nodding. It was the Batmobile, what could go wrong?

---

Okay apparently a lot could go wrong, she thinks, watching as the Batmobile slides into the Gotham river. 

“How the fuck did you guys manage that?” A voice asks. She whirls around, wincing when she sees Jason, as Red Hood. She can’t see his face but she can just imagine the look he’s giving them. 

“In my defense, we were left unsupervised.” She says. He scoffs. 

“You little shits left us!” He reminds her. 

“Ladybird had never had the chance to drive before. It made sense to make sure that she could drive and to train her in case she ever needs to utilize a vehicle on patrol.” Damian reasons. And yeah, the reasons are sound. But the Batmobile slowly sinking into the river kind of makes his reasons weak. Just a bit. 

“And driving into the river was, what, to see if she could drive a boat?” Jason asks, crossing his arms. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hood. That’s a car.” She says, the words tumbling out of her mouth. She regrets it, but only for a second because then she hears Damian snort. Score! Every time she was able to make her angriest brother laugh, she gave herself a point. She was so close to double digits.

“Well B’s gonna be ready to go on patrol in less than an hour. Either of you two geniuses have any ideas on how to get the car out of the river and back to the cave?” Jason asks, pulling Marinette from her silent celebration. 

“We could call a tow truck.” She suggests. 

“Tt. That is unwise. The Batmobile is not a regular car.” Damian argues and she huffs. 

“Okay well, last I checked you didn’t have any bright ideas either.” She quips, annoyed with him again. They were good at that. Laughing one minute, then annoying each other the next. She figured it just meant they were doing something right as siblings. 

“Ladybird might actually have a good idea, Robin. Unless you want to call Superman here and have him rat you out to B.” Jason says. A devious smirk stretches onto Damian’s face and Marinette suppresses a shudder. She was definitely glad the kid was on her side. Most of the time, anyway. 

“Excellent point, Hood.” He says, clearing his throat slightly before yelling. Well, not really yelling. Just talking slightly louder than normal. “Jon. I require your assistance.” A few moments later a boy flies down and lands in front of Damian. If she didn’t know any better, Marinette would assume the boy was another of her dad’s kids. Dark hair, blue eyes. But this kid had a huge smile stretched across his face. So maybe not. 

“Hey Robin! I haven’t seen you in ages!” The boy says cheerfully before waving at Red Hood. He turns to her and his smile falters slightly before it’s back full blast. He sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you! I’m Superboy.” He says. Marinette grins, shaking his hand back. 

“Ladybird, and likewise.” She says. 

“So what-” Jon (Superboy?) starts, glancing at the river, eyes widening at the car. “Did you steal the Batmobile again!?” He yelps, obviously shocked. And concerned. Which she understood. It’s not everyday you see the Batmobile slowly sinking into the Gotham river. 

“Er, temporarily misappropriated.” Marinette says, glaring at Jason who snorts at her response. 

“No, they definitely stole it. And Ladybird here decided she’d try to drive for the first time. What I’m not understanding is why you knuckleheads thought it’d be smart to drive so close to the river?” He says. 

“Obviously I wasn’t thinking clearly, Hood. Can we please just focus on getting the car out of the river before I’m murdered by Batman?” Marinette rambles, looking pleadingly at Jon. It was odd, begging a little kid to drag her superhero dad’s super car out of a river, but it had to be done. 

“Oh, yeah, of course!” Jon says, his earlier shock replaced with a wide smile once again. He flies over and grabs the car, gently pulling it up and placing it back on the road. Marinette winces at the water pouring out of the car. She was so grounded. 

---

Walking into the Batcave, Bruce frowns at the lack of Batmobile. He’d passed Tim and Dick on his way to the Cave, so he knew they didn’t have it. Which left his two most mischievous sons and the daughter they had so easily corrupted. Hopefully they were just getting fast food or something again. Hopefully nothing bad was happening. He winces. That was unlikely with his children. He rushes over to the computer, tracking the Batmobile and accessing the cameras near the car. The image in front of him makes him pinch the bridge of his nose and grit his teeth. 

“Just one day, one day is all I ask.” He mumbles under his breath. Because of course traffic cameras would catch Superboy lifting the Batmobile out of the river. Of course. He sits in his chair and watches as the kids argue for a few minutes before getting in the car and driving off. He tracks them all the way until they’re past cameras, and then he waits. Knowing it’ll only be moments until they’re in the Cave. He sits, silent as they get out of the car. 

“No, seriously, he’s gonna know.” Marinette is saying, obviously looking nervous. 

“Then beg Tikki to take all the water out or something. It’ll be fine, Pix.” Jason says. 

“She’s gonna be so mad at me though. She warned me that it was a bad idea.” Marinette says, and Bruce decides to speak up. 

“She was right.” He says, turning his chair to face them. 

“SHIT! Goddamn you Bruce, why the hell would you sneak up on us like that?” Jason huffs out, glaring at him. 

“Perhaps it’s the same reason that you three thought it was a good idea to steal the Batmobile.” Bruce says, crossing his arms. 

“Uh, fuck that. I wasn’t in on it. I went out to try and find the little shits when I realized they were gone.” Jason argues, crossing his arms too. 

“Ukht had never driven before. I believed it was a useful skill that she could utilize on future missions or patrols.” Damian says simply, his calm demeanor the complete opposite of Marinette’s current demeanor. She’s obviously panicked and anxious, avoiding looking at him. He feels his former resolve soften slightly. No one was hurt, they obviously felt bad. And Marinette obviously felt bad about it. But still….

“You’re benched for the night. Both of you.” He instructs. Damian grits his teeth but nods, while Marinette looks confused. 

“But I’m not even-” She starts to say, stopping as Jason throws a hand over her mouth. “Well, well, look at the time. I’ll take them upstairs and tuck ‘em in before patrol.” Jason says, rushing away with Marinette and leaving Damian behind. Damian turns to Bruce and frowns. 

“It did not go unnoticed by me, Father, that you benched the one child you do not allow to patrol. You may have done this in an attempt to not punish Marinette, but make no mistake she will remember this. And she will be on patrol later this week. After all, you only benched her for tonight.” Damian says, nodding at his father before walking away. Bruce sighs. He hadn’t thought this one through.

---

“What was that for?” Marinette asks, frowning at her brother as he drags her to the house. She drops her transformation as they walk, wincing slightly at the ‘we’ll talk later’ look from Tikki. Oh yeah, she was definitely getting lectured. 

“He just benched you for tonight, right?” Jason asks, a smirk on his face. Marinette huffs. 

“Yeah, but I’m not even technically allowed on patrols.” She reminds him. 

“Except now, you’re technically allowed to come tomorrow. He said you were ‘benched for the night’.” Jason points out. Marinette opens her mouth to argue, then closes it. She blinks before a wide smile stretches across her face. Was she really gonna get to go back on patrol on a technicality? Suddenly, she no longer regretted driving the Batmobile into the river.

Next

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @laurcad123 @waiting247 @jayjayspixiepop @mizzy-pop @jjmjjktth @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @jumpingjoy82 @lady-bee-fechin @corporeal-terrestrial

[gucciwins]

it’s your birthday?

As luck would have it you once again find yourself in a breakout room with Harry

Word count: 3296

A/N: Hello friends, it’s a new semester and it felt only right to continue breakout room, a story that was well loved by you. The inspiration once again came to me during class and also because it’s Harry’s birthday. Thank you to the lovely @soullikestyles for reading this over. Here it is, enjoy!!!

I hope you love this, it is a continuation from Breakout Room 

Please shoot me a message of what you thought!!!!

i love you, take care xx 

_____

It's the start of a new semester. It's safe to say you did not make any friends last semester due to this ongoing pandemic, but what you did manage to get was a 3.9 G.P.A for the Fall semester. It was probably because you did not leave your apartment, and when you did, it was to go grocery shopping with your roommate, who would be dead without you because, as she liked to put it, you're the chef, and she's the taster. 

Well, you maybe did make one friend. 

Harry Styles.

He was the person to talk to you during a zoom breakout room in your women's gender studies course.

Sure, you were never in the same room again, but you might or might not have pinned his face during one of the professor's long ramblings that is no longer related to the course. 

He was pretty to look at; you would never deny that. 

No, with the floppy curls that he almost always seemed to run his hand through, then stopping when one of his rings got caught in a knotted ringlet. His camera would instantly turn off, and in thirty seconds, he was back as if nothing had happened. The glasses framed his face just right, making his eyes look soft and inviting. Also made his dimples stand out. He almost always wore a different colored cardigan. Your favorite from the semester was when he wore a multicolored cardigan. That looks like it was knitted; there was a hole by his heart. Honestly, you were hoping he had, would have made him even more endearing. 

Also, might one day ask him to make you one, or he could even teach you. You're a fast learner and have patience. 

He's got a great choice in clothing from what you was able to observe in such a short time—also a lovely personality. 

After his initial email, you decided to answer, thus creating a chain of messages back and forth. He was honestly funny, and that was just on paper. He had asked for her number and said no, and he respected that. It doesn't mean they never helped each other in the class; Harry asking for more help than Y/N. She sent him over her notes and explained the readings he found harder to grasp. 

As soon as finals week hit, she received her last email from him with the subject as Goodbye. It took you by surprise, and you erased the draft you had waiting for him that had your phone number wanting to keep talking to him. Still, clearly, he thought of them as just classmates for the semester, so without even opening his last email, you trashed it. 

You felt guilty about it, so you then transferred it to your archives, where it sits with other unwanted emails. 

_____

The holidays are over, and since you could not make the trip home, you celebrated with Amy, your roommate. You both help each other buy your family's presents, looking for the best discounts and adding extra items to get the free shipping. Together, well, mostly you as she handed you pieces of tape you wrapped present after present in brown wrapping paper. It was harder to tear and more comfortable to decorate in any way you wanted. On each box, it had everyone's name written in beautiful handwriting, courtesy of you. Then you would add snowflakes or stripes to make it stand out. 

It was a success from their looks when each gift was open through the zoom call. 

The month break flew by, and the next thing you knew, it was time to be back at your desk for hours of learning. It was fun until it wasn't sure there was a lot to look forward to, but you would miss sleeping all day and eating snacks in bed with no fear of forgetting to submit an assignment. 

This semester you had four major courses. Psychology of Personality and Psychology of Aging were the two courses you were most looking forward to. You decided on taking the women's gender studies class called Politics of Sexuality. You had gotten the recommendation from the department's head to take it and did so without a second thought. Yes, fifteen units was a lot, but you were close to graduating, and you knew you could handle it. 

The first week flew by because it was merely going over the syllabus. You had your camera on, but you did not bother to look at your other classmates. Sasha, a fellow person in your major, would be your study partner as she had been all semester. Sasha might not always be in the class section, but she did take the same professors and courses. It makes studying and taking notes easier. You know you won't always have Sasha, but having a study partner has ever made you do better. 

February 1st. The start of the second week of the semester. 

You woke up at seven, got the tea that Amy had ready for you, and were sitting at your desk by eight. Your professor droned on about the first chapter of the book. You felt confident knowing you understood the significant points. 

It's 11:30, and your second course of the day is going to start. You were not looking forward to the class simply because Dr. Rossi had warned you he would be putting you into breakout rooms of two. That person would be your partner for the semester. You had a project due at the end of the semester, and he wanted you to be acquainted with someone rather than having a person working alone. 

You sat there, Baby Yoda ceramic mug in hand, as you waited for your breakout room to load and to see who you were destined to work with for the next fourteen weeks. 

There was a knock on your door that distracted you from seeing the video of someone else load. 

"Sorry, I know you're in class, but I was wondering when lunch was to see how big of a snack I should have." Amy shoots you a small smile. 

"No worries, Ames, I'm out at 12:45 and will need half an hour to cook, so roughly 1:30. Is that okay?" You tell her feeling a little awful, making her wait. 

"It's perfect. Have a good class." Amy shuts the door.

As you hear the click, you turn back to your computer, and they're staring at you in a lavender cardigan with a white shirt underneath is the one and only Harry Styles.  

His curls are shorter, meaning he recently got a haircut, and they are just growing back. You wished he had let it grow out, wanting to see how much more ruly they would have gotten.

You feel your face heat up, remembering you did not do your hair, instead of letting it sit messily in a low ponytail, small hair framing your hair. You were sure the black sweatshirt you had one had a hummus stain but too afraid to look down to check. You weren't even aware he was in this class; it shows you should be paying attention more to your classmates. 

He shoots you a small smile, and you grimace, trying to force one out, but you're still a bit shocked. 

You see his microphone go white, meaning he was about to speak. You leaned forward in anticipation, a bit desperate to hear his smooth accent through your computer speakers. 

"Hello, it's been a while." Harry raises his glasses to hold back his hair. 

You reach forward and unmute yourself. "Hello, Harry. It has been a while. It's a new year and everything." You joke. 

He chuckles, scratching his chin. You aren't sure what to do; it was never this awkward the first time you chatted. 

"Guess we're partners, huh." 

"Apparently." You sigh, a bit loud, forgetting he can hear you. 

"Ouch, don't need to sound too excited." He tells you not at all hiding his frown. 

"No, I didn't." You stop not knowing how to go back from that. "Sorry, that was rude of me." 

He nods, not saying anything more, and you take it as a sign to continue. 

"I-i, well, after our last class ended, I figured that was that. You said goodbye in the last email, so I figured that was the end of our friendship, if you can even call it that." 

"I thought my email would give the opposite impression, but not everything can translate as smoothly when talking." He tells you, which causes you to pause. 

"Your email literally said goodbye," You blurt out before you can stop yourself.

He hides his smile, "My subject said goodbye, the content said quite the opposite. You did read it, right?" 

You duck your head, not allowing yourself to meet his eye even through a computer screen, too embarrassed to be caught. "Well, no, I didn't. Hurt my feelings, just seeing the goodbye." You look up and see his eyes soften, giving you just a bit more courage to continue. "I've always struggled to make friends, I have like three good friends, and it's hard putting myself out there, and I didn't actually if you considered me a friend or not." 

"Y/N" He breathes out your name.

You stop him before he can continue. "Do you mind if I read it now?" 

Harry shakes his head. 

You restore down the zoom and open up your Gmail on the split-screen. You find it reasonably quickly; you look up at him to see him patiently sitting back chipping at his nails. They are a pastel yellow; it makes you smile, knowing just yesterday you went from that color to a deep red. 

hstyles@gmail.com 

Subject: Goodbye 

Y/N, 

It's been enjoyable emailing back and forth. I honestly would not have passed this class without you. I think you are brilliant and if I had you in every course, I would finish with A's in them all. So, thank you for having the patience to teach me. 

Also, thank you for being my friend. I know we mostly talked about school work. Still, you did help me decide on what coat to buy for my sister, so I know that makes us friends, and I did help you get that switch for your little brother. (That was like trying to buy floor tickets for Lady Gaga.)

On another note, after emailing for twelve weeks, I was wondering if I could have your number. I would like the chance to give you a call and formally ask you on a date. I know we're in the middle of a pandemic, and dating is hard, but we can do zoom dates before we try in person. 

I understand if it's a no, but I am really grateful to have met you.

Your friend (although I do want to try to be more)

Harry Styles 

City Pointe Apt 32 (in case you want to send a care package, I would gladly return the favor)

"Oh, Harry," You inhale, "I'm so sorry." 

"No worries." He shrugs. 

You pause, thinking your next words. "I live in Rose Villa." Those were not the words you wanted to say, but you don't take it back. 

"That's across the street from my building." He gasps. "We could have run into each other." 

You nod. "Small world." 

Harry brings his focus back to something you skipped over. "I realize you didn't mention the part of asking you on a date." 

"Oh, I figured you over that now. It's been well over a month since I ignored your email." You grimace, starting to feel awful about it all over again. 

"I guess it was email abandonment this time." He jokes.

You laugh, and it gets Harry laughing as well. He was always good at that, making you laugh and not be so serious even if he didn't know it. 

"Y/N," Harry's voice was strong, no signs of laughter in his trace. You lock eyes as best you can through a computer screen. "I would still very much like to take you on a date."

A date with Harry. 

You want to say yes, but it's like you're frozen. 

"Can I say something else before you give me an answer?" You nod, waiting for him to go on. "Sarah Jones, do you know her?" 

Sarah Jones, you rack your brain trying to place her. 

The theater composer. She's written original tracks for the theatre department for the original plays they've done and remakes. She's won countless awards.

Sarah even won the talent show. Played a killer drum solo that no one else could ever think of topping. 

If you're honest, she's the definition of your girl crush. 

"We follow each other on social media. We met at a paint night; she was really easy to talk to." You tell him, remembering how sweet she was to you when she saw you walk in, and just as you were about to walk out, she introduced herself to you, asking to sit with you. 

He nods. "Sarah is my roommate's girlfriend. Mitch and Sarah practically live together; he's so in love with her it truly is the sweetest thing. Back to the point, she overheard me talking about you to Mitch and spoke how she knew you. Then I proceeded to stalk your Instagram on her account. I hope that's not weird." 

You laugh, and it causes Harry to calm down, "Not weird at all. I would have done the same thing, but as you can see, I rarely upload anything." 

"Well, the things you do have, I think, are wonderful." He rambles on explaining how your beach photo on a bike with a pretty pink basket was one of his favorites and how cute you look wearing sweaters. 

As endearing as Harry was being, you decided to put him out of his misery. "Harry," you interrupt. 

"Yes." 

"I'd love to go on a date with you." 

"You would?" He gasps in surprise. 

"Yes." 

"That's fantastic. I think this is the best birthday gift I could have received." He tells you, but you're stuck on the last thing he said. 

"It's your birthday?" 

Harry smiles sheepishly. "Yes." 

"Happy Birthday, Harry." You tell him softly, a big smile on your face.

A blush overtakes his face; you can tell he wishes to cover up his face with hands but holds back from doing so. "Thank you." 

"Do you have any plans?" 

"No, well. Mitch and Sarah are coming over for lunch in a bit. Then they are off to study at Sarah's for the week. Her roommates are gone for the week." 

You frown, not liking that he'll spend the rest of his birthday alone. 

"Would you-never mind" You stop yourself from being able to invite yourself over to celebrate with him?

"Hey, it's okay. Whatever you wanted to say, I wouldn't judge you, love." His voice was soft and reassuring. 

"Well, I'd love to come over and hang out with you if that's okay. I can make us dinner, I make delicious enchiladas. Also, my carrot cake is to die for." 

Harry is surprised at her offer but nods his head quickly. "That sounds wonderful, but you don't have to cook for me. We can order takeout."

She shakes her head. "Consider it my gift to you." 

"Well, okay. Is six okay for you?" He bites his lip, not believing this is happening.

"Perfect." 

You sit there smiling at each other. 

When a message pops up overhead, "You have five minutes left before we join back as a group."

Your eyes go wide, having forgotten you were in class. "We didn't even discuss the assignment." 

Harry shakes his head in laughter, a smile spreads over your face. He has an adorable laugh that just rings through your ears, and you can't wait to hear it in person. 

"We've got time, now that it seems we'll be getting to know each other better." 

You relax, settling a bit, you have weeks before the assignment is due.

"I'll email you my number, love. Easier to communicate for later."

"Sounds great." You respond. 

_____

It's five-fifty, and you're standing outside his door. You're more than a little nervous. You're wearing high waisted jeans paired with a black off the shoulder top with floral embroidered sleeves. You decided against a sweater knowing the short walk would keep you warm enough. Your mask is red, with three small hearts stitched on the lower right side. Perfect for February. 

You shift the items in your hand to the right and lift your hand up to knock. After three gentle knocks, you hear footsteps and take a step back. 

"Hi," Harry breathes out, a big smile on his face.

"Hello, Harry, happy birthday." 

"Thank you." He smiles wide, blessing you with his dimples. Definitely look better in person. "Please come in." He grabs some of the items from your hand and allows you to step in before locking the door behind you. 

"Your mask is lovely. Did you make it?" 

"I did!" You share excitedly. "My roommate, Amy, and I spent lots of our free time making a different kind. We took old shirts we no longer wanted and used for the material. It was a lot of trial and error, but we're pretty solid at it now. My embroidery could use some work, but I think it's lovely. 

"It really is. Would you make me one?" He asks, staring at you as you pocket your mask. No longer needing it in his home. 

"Yes, I'll send you pictures of the fabric I have, or you could come over, and I can teach you as well." You tell him, excited at the prospect. 

"Sounds like a wonderful date." You nod, feeling your body get warm at the word date because today could also classify as a date. 

Harry knocks you out of your head when calling your name. "Turned the oven on like you requested." He informs you. 

"Thank you, my mom showed me how to make them, but I learned about the melted cheese on my own. She wasn't a big fan of it, but everyone else I know loves it, so I hope you will as well." 

Harry grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze. "I'm sure it's wonderful." He bumps your shoulder gently. "Go finish up; I'll set the table." 

He pushes you into the kitchen, and you go in and place your stuff. Harry is whistling, settling down on the table two glasses and two forks when you turn back around towards him. 

Harry turns around just in time for you to wrap your hands around his waist. You fit perfectly in his arms, taking in his musky scent. "Happy birthday, Harry." You whisper against his chest.

He squeezes you tighter, leaning his head on top of yours. "Thank you, love." 

He pulls back, holding you by your shoulders. A big smile on his face, you reciprocate it feeling his happiness warm your heart. 

"Run along now; I'm starving." He jokes.

You walk backward, creating distance; as his left-hand trails down your right hand slowly until he's touching your fingertips, do you pull away. Although you, more than anything, wanted to hold his hand. You want to feel the weight of it in yours; you want to know if his hands are soft or calloused. How cool his rings will feel against your palm. All in due time. 

"I'm happy to be here." 

"Me too, love. Me too." 

It's safe to say you were more than luckily going to have yourself a valentine for the first time in a long time. 

[revirushifaa]

OK, but imagine MC dying of old age while their daughter is still super young and Lucifer doing his best as a single dad for centuries as their daughter grows from the terrible twos into the teenage rebellious streak that definitely didn't come from him (it did).

Haaah, more papa Sushifer is in order! This is already fun, so I'll give up a scenario!

Enjoy!

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

Daughter of Pride:

MC is gone. His partner is gone, and now the only thing that was left of them, was their one-year-old daughter, Lucille. While Lucifer was still a little mournful over his mate's loss, he promised to them that he would be the one raising their firstborn, it was a promise that he won't break, he did his best with the raising alone, after all he had experience with raising children.

Lucille was a demon like her father so she aged differently from her human parent so it was only natural that MC died without seeing their daughter grow up, something that torment them even to the last moment of their life. Lucifer didn't wish to remember that sad day. It had to be one of the most saddest days of his long life.

Please, MC, my dearest... stay with me

Lucifer... take good care of my little girl. Tell her that I love her... I love you too, both of you...

With that last sentence and warm smile, MC stopped living. He was so devastated that he turned himself colder around everyone... but his daughter. Lucille was the only living being left from his mate, the one who he had to protect and raise. It wasn't an easy task, normally, MC was who took care of her the major part while he was absent in business with Diavolo.

But he had promised with his heart to MC, that Lucille would be cared for and raised well. Just looking his daughter, it remembered him of MC. While she had his body form and face features, her hair and her eyes were MC's, it was like seeing his beloved in their daughter, which he took as comfort. He would nuzzle Lucille at nights and snuggled her in bed, the baby half demoness had MC's calid smile and laugh, but she had also inherited that hard attitude from Lucifer. It was a mix, of hard and soft.

"You are my pride and joy, Lucille. Never forget that, daughter mine."

What he would always murmur in her small ears as he snuggled her and cradled her. With his daughter with him, he didn't become full isolated to his room, if he had lost both MC and Lucille, then Lucifer wouldn't be sane at all. At least Lucille was safe and sound with him.

"No, Lucille. You cannot have sugar all three meals."

As the little demoness grew up, she was more hard to raise or to try to discipline. She was spoiled, that was true, and sometimes she turned out bratty.

"But I wanna sugar. SUGAR NOW!!"

"Lucille—"

"SUGAR!!!"

Sometimes her temper tantrums, gave Lucifer huge migraines and constant stress. It was when he used his major authorital tone, that he made her to stop acting up. And if that didn't work, then it was taking her privileges and sometime in the corner. He never hit her as a punishment. No. He just couldn't bring himself to do that, the demoness was only three and if he did that, he would be breaking an important promise that he had made to MC. Be fair with my little girl, Lu.

So physical discipline was a no-go with him. There were other ways that worked his way. Like when he grounded her from playing with her toys for three days. She would only study and practice her writing. No dessert as well. He had glared sternly at Beel, warning him to not be lenient when his daughter was grounded.

"That's it, young demoness. No toys or dessert for THREE days."

"But, Daddy-"

"No buts, or else I'll add another day to your grounding."

That was all to shut her savage mouth in protesting. Of course seeing her sob and cry because he was too harsh in speaking to her, always made his heart hurt. He would always tone down his voice and speak more gentler to her, explaining why he did that, and then fix the situation with offering to do a compromise, if she was well-behaved and willing to it.

As she reached into adolescense, that was a huge stress to the poor prideful father. Lucille at 16 was such a pain in the butt. Demanding and rebellious, a huge picky eater and a true brat.

"I will be clear with you, young demoness. If you give me an ounce of attitude, then your D.D.D will be confiscated for a month, you won't go out during that time and will be put on chores duty for until I see an improvement in your behavior. And you will write three thousand times I will not disrespect or disobey my father. Clear?

Lucille would huff at how strict her father had turned himself into. But she hadn't known that it was all her part to have put him that way. Lucifer was fair if she was fair, it was a cycle of giving and giving back. Lucille behaved, Lucifer rewarded her. Lucille misbehaved, then Lucifer punished her.

"Father, when did you turn like an old boring grandpa? I only want to have fun! You can't keep me as your prisoner in this boring house!"

"Lucille, I demand more respect from you. This is your father, speaking to you. And I never said that I would keep you here all the time. But first things first. Do your school work and then you can go out. Do we have a compromise?"

"Fine. We have a compromise, Dad."

Lucifer would smile a bit softly, when the young demoness was reasonable.

"That's my good, little demoness." He would end it with a kiss to the top of her hair, before departing from her and going to do his own work and the demoness would go to do her own thing as promised.

Sometimes the lying habit came to Lucille and because of her, Mammon got in many trouble when it was all her buying the latest of fashion clothes.

"How do you explain this, Mammon?"

"Hey, what have you gotten into you?! I don't buy girly stuff! Maybe you should ask Lucille!"

....

"LUCILLE!!!!"

"What?"

She would come to him with a nonchalant look, as she's wearing highly expensive clothes and from that, is when Lucifer realized that it's all his daughter and not his greedy brother.

"So it was you who spent all of our money to please your nonsense..."

"Nonsense, Dad? I am a demoness in need of good clothes and looks! What if I find some good looking human in the future? They wouldn't like a normie, like how Uncle Levi dubs it!"

Lucifer's poor head throbs with absolute pain and stress. Ugh his daughter, is again causing him to go grey at just the age that he was at currently.

"Apologize to your uncle and then go to your room and write three thousand times I will not lie and blame my uncle into buying items that I don't need. Right now. March."

"But, Dad!"

"No 'but Dad'. Now, Young demoness. Or else, I will make you write it fifteen thousand times. How is it going to be?"

"I'm sorry, Uncle Mammon..."

And after her uncle acknowledged her apology, she went up to her room to do that, with a sad face, she didn't want at all to make her father disappointed today. Lucifer took notice of it, but decided to wait until she was done with the writings to talk about it.

It was several hours but she was done, and her handwriting had gotten better, it was because of the writing punishments that it got better, seeing as this was a very common punishment that her father doled out to her when she was being disobedient or a brat.

"I...I'm done..." she said in a quiet voice.

Lucifer had looked up from the papers that he was signing. He frowned softly, the demoness hadn't realized it but she had a few tears rushing down her cheeks. His firm tone from before had softened to that gentle tone, as he approached her and pulled her into his hold.

"I hope this will be enough to end your lying habit. I do not like seeing you sad, but you know I cannot let you get away with something that you have done wrong. It is okay now. You have learned and there is not reason for me to keep mad."

He had soft-spoken to her, the way that she knew that he wasn't mad or disappointed anymore. But Lucille couldn't help feeling bad either way. She in fact, never liked putting her dad mad or disappointed in her, she let the silent tears trickle down. Lucifer said nothing, his comfort was always silent and he showed it with actions rather than words. He held her in his arms, all the time that she needed.

"I'm sorry I disappointed you, Dad..."

"There's no need to apologize now, this case has been solved. Don't beat yourself too much over it, your uncle had forgiven you, I have forgotten about it. It's all okay, Lulu."

And by calling her by her special nickname that he had for her, she knew all was well. She hugged more but to show him that she actually loved him so deeply. Lucifer already knew that, he loved his daughter with all his life, it didn't matter how much trouble she was, that wouldn't change anything.

He might be cold, stern and everything else that others said of him behind his back, but the love of a father was above everything else. He loved his demoness quite so much, so that was what was important.

"I love you, Dad. And I mean it."

"I love you too, daughter mine, with all my heart."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In the Neighbourhood

Warnings: nonconsensual sex, very lightly edited

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After your grandmother breaks her hip, you volunteer to look after her as she recovers but her neighbour is a bit too friendly.

Note: @lokislastlove​ thinks I won’t call her out anymore but I’m calling her out and you should too. Always blame her.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your grandmother’s house never changed. Nestled between two larger homes and with grass as green as the next, it was as perfect as any along the suburban sprawl. Inside, the same framed pictures of your mother and your aunt and uncle, those of you, your siblings, and your cousins, and family members you only saw at reunions. All of them far away. All of them keeping her company only in the still images. None of them coming to care for her; none but you.

You didn’t mind so much. With two degrees under your belt, you were ready to start your novel as you pondered a third. Your online transcription job was easy enough to travel with and you loved your grandmother. The least you could do was help her out in her recovery. A broken hip but otherwise okay. She couldn’t do much from her wheelchair and you feared a worse injury if she tried.

You moved in on a Sunday. The family next door, the Barbers, were the perfect picture of a suburban clan. Andy introduced himself and his wife, Laurie, and their quiet son, Jacob. Then they asked if your grandmother, Lucille, was coming to their barbecue that afternoon and invited you along with her. Your grandmother confirmed that she didn’t want to miss out on Laurie’s potato salad because she’d tripped on a rug.

So you wheeled her over, careful as the grass slowed the chair, and you angled her through the open gate. You seemed to be the last to arrive. The air smelled of searing beef and swirled with the buzz of voices. You stood behind your grandmother’s chair as you looked around nervously and a plump woman with short curly white hair approached.

“Darla!” You grandmother greeted. “You’re back from your little getaway.”

“Arn was keen to come home,” The woman smiled up at you and back to your grandmother. “I heard you had a bit of an incident.”

“Oh, still spry, but the damn doctor has me ‘takin’ it easy’,” You grandma sneered. “I’ll be up at it before long. This is my granddaughter, you remember her, don’t you?”

“I do,” Darla smiled though you barely remembered her. “So sweet of you to come down to look after our Lucille.”

“It’s nothing,” You said. “I owe her. I spent too many holidays on campus.”

“That you did,” Your grandmother chided. “But do go on and socialise, dear. There must be someone here your own age. Or closer to. You can’t be lettin’ yourself get caught up with us old biddies.”

“I’m fine,” You chuckled. “Really.”

“You go. Get something to drink.” You grandmother snapped her fingers. “Mingle!”

You huffed but left her with Darla and another woman, you were certain her name was Betty, passed you on her way to join them. You looked around. The wives were in their clusters and the men drank from brown bottles as they laughed and talked about sports. You didn’t know about children or baseball. 

You went to the end of the table, just by the barbecue, a cooler open and waited as a young boy claimed a can of Orange Crush. You reached inside and took out a grape soda. The lid of the barbecue closed and you turned to face its master; Andy smiled as you blinked at him.

“That’s the kid’s cooler,” He said. “There’s a mini fridge in the garage if you want something stronger.”

“I’m good with this,” You cracked the can. 

“I thought you were a college girl,” He said as he set down his long spatula.

“Graduated.” You assured him. “Never was big on the scene though.”

“Really?” He lifted a brow. “I kinda miss it.” He stepped around the barbecue, closer to you. “It was a while ago now but it was fun. You know,” He put his hands on his hips as he looked across the yard. “I was in a frat with Carson over there,” He nodded to skinny man holding a bottle of water amid the sea of brown glass. “We got in quite a bit of trouble. Maybe I wrote a few of my exams drunk but didn’t do much harm.”

“Oh yeah?” You said dully. “What do you do now?”

“Law. Assistant district attorney.” He preened. “But don’t worry, I can still have fun.”

He winked and you squinted at him. He was an old man trying to relate to a youth. There was what, ten, fifteen years between you? Wasn’t that much, really, and yet it was.

“Legal fun,” You suggested.

“Well, the immoral isn’t always illegal,” He mused. “So… Miss Graduate, you have a job lined up?”

“I work online for now but I’m writing, too.” You shrugged. “Nothing fancy but it’ll do for the time being. Until my grandma’s better.”

“That’s a nice thing you’re doing,” He said. “You know, not a lot of people I know my age would drop everything to go care for family.”

“Least I can do,” You sipped from the can. “She always did make the best lemon meringue. It has its perks.”

He chuckled and backed up as he grabbed the spatula again and opened the barbecue.

“Offer stands,” He called over the smoke. “Beer’s in the garage.”

“Thanks,” You smiled and slowly walked away. This was like that party you’d spent hiding on the porch; awkward as hell.

🏡

The first two weeks passed swiftly. You woke up, made breakfast for your grandmother, her usual oatmeal and tea, then you spent a few hours working online, then lunch, an hour of writing, a walk through the neighbourhood, some alone time, dinner, and then some nightly crime dramas with your grandmother. Each day was identical to the last and you felt the vaunted slog of suburban life.

It was Saturday. You needed to get out. Your grandmother even encouraged it. A few hours at the bar, drinking, dancing, you returned with a guy, Gabe, you met there, hushing him as you snuck him in the front door. 

The house was dark as you climbed the stairs carefully and ushered Gabe into your bedroom. You closed the door and grabbed him as you stumbled to the bed. It was messy, hurried, and desperate. Entirely regrettable as you laid staring out the window at the sky after. You didn’t have time to ask him to leave before he started snoring.

You slept for a few hours and woke as the sun began to rise. You poked the stranger you knew as Gabe until he woke up and you threw his clothes at him before you dressed. You peeked into the hall and waved him out behind you. You led him down the stairs and to the front door. He left you with some empty nicety and you hid your wince. It wasn’t your first one night stand but it was definitely the worst.

“Fun night?” You turned as Andy descended the steps of his porch and opened his car door.

“You work on Sundays?” You grumbled. You hoped he hadn’t seen your regret walking away.

“Not usually but I got some hours to make up.” He dropped his briefcase in the back seat and closed the door. “I know that guy. Pretty sure he’s still on probation for the molly he was dealing at the mechanics.”

“Ugh, no.” You covered your face. “You saw?”

“I got a bit curious as I was finishing my coffee.” He pointed to the window with lacy curtains. “Great view just above the sink.”

“So you’re one of those neighbours?” You crossed your arms.

“I seem nosy but really I’m just looking out for you.” He opened the driver’s side door and planted his hand on the roof of the car. “Look, you don’t know the people around here. I’m just trying to help.”

“Well, I won’t be seeing him again.” You retreated to the door and stopped there. “Boring, to say the least.”

“Heh,” Andy scoffed. “Really?”

“Not that it’s any of your business.” You rolled your eyes and stepped inside, closing the door with a snap. You went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. “Hey, grandma,” You called as you began to climb. “You ready to get up?”

🏡

At the end of the next week, you took your grandmother to her check up. Her recovery was on track but she had a long way to go. The doctor was optimistic that at her next appointment, she’d be ready to use her walker more often.

As you helped her out of the car and got her settled in her chair, you ignored the roar of the mower in the next yard. You’d seen Andy as you drove up. He was pushing the machine back and forth across his already perfectly manicured yard; shirtless. As you turned to push your grandmother up the walk, you couldn’t help but notice that he was in great shape for his age. For any age, really.

“Hey,” He yelled over the motor and shut it down. “How’s it going, ladies?”

“Andy,” Your grandmother chimed. “Great! Doc says I’m doing well.”

“Mmhmm,” You mumbled, still slightly embarrassed over your last interaction with the man.

“Well, seeing as I’m already out here and you already had such a busy day, I could do your lawn while I’m at it?” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and you quickly tore your eyes away from his chest. 

“Oh, you’re too sweet,” Your grandma giggled. “It’s so hot out here.”

“I don’t mind,” He insisted. “Laurie’s gone to see her parents with Jacob so I’m just trying to keep myself busy.”

“Twist my arm, why don’t ya?” Your grandmother shook her hand. “Fine! Sweetie,” She reached back and tapped your hand. “Let’s go make some lemonade for this young man so he doesn’t overheat.”

Andy smiled and you nodded at him awkwardly. You wheeled your grandmother up the newly installed ramp and inside. She ordered you to the kitchen and directed you to the lemons hidden in the crisper.

“The juicer is just under there.” She pointed to the cupboard, “And you’ll want to add some sugar.”

“I know how to make lemonade, grandma,” You said as you pulled out the pitcher.

“That Andy’s a nice man,” She said. “So helpful… handsome too. It’s too bad you’re so young… and he’s so married.”

“Stop,” You warned. “You said the same thing about your doctor.”

“Yes, but he’s a doctor. He’s rich.” She snickered. “And not married, just not into your type.”

“Grandma,” You snipped. “Really.”

“I don’t know how your mother ended up with you.” She said. “She was such a little troublemaker.”

“Trust me, I’ve heard,” You said as you washed the lemon juice from your hands and added water and sugar to the pitcher. “I think her stories were more a warning.”

“Too smart for your own good,” She tutted as you mixed the lemonade.

You went to the cupboard and grabbed some ice cubes from the freezer as you set a glass on the counter. You poured the lemonade and gave her a sour look. 

“You think you can look after yourself for a few minutes?” You asked dryly.

“Girlie, I was taking care of you while you were in diapers,” She narrowed her eyes.

“Oh, how the tables have turned.”

“I don’t wear diapers,” She hissed as you neared the door. “Yet.”

You went out the front door as Andy pushed the mower across the yard just along the walkway. He stopped and looked over at you. He shut down the motor again and neared you as you came down the steps to hold out the glass. He thanked you and took a big gulp before he handed it back.

“You know, I didn’t mean anything,” He said. “The other day. Sometimes… I say stuff without thinking.”

“It’s… whatever.” You shrugged and set the glass on the rail of the porch. “No hard feelings.”

“I just got a hot tub. Just gotta hook it up and it’s ready to go.” He said. “You should stop by later. Get a soak in.”

“No, I don’t think so.” You stood at the top of the steps. “I don’t wanna leave grandma all alone. She wants to watch Casablanca tonight. I promised we would.”

“Maybe another night.” He offered. “You work so hard. You deserve a break.”

“Maybe,” You said evasively as you turned and crossed the porch. You glanced back as you opened the door and he was still looking at you.

“Lemonade’s good.” He smiled. “Thanks.”

🏡

You finished lunch and left your grandmother to her puzzle at the dining room table. You went upstairs to change the shirt you’d spilled mustard down; it was all you could smell. You tore off your shirt and tossed it on the bed. You rounded the bed to the dresser that sat just below the window and opened the draw. Movement caught your eye and you looked up across the space between yards.

Andy’s eyes met yours through the windows. You’d never realised they were adjacent, let alone so easy to see through. He wore a towel around his waist, freshly showered and his gaze strayed for just a moment. You blanched and pulled out a shirt and covered yourself with it. He smirked and tilted his head. Then he winked and a shiver went through you.

You grabbed the curtain and closed it so forcefully you nearly bent the rod. You backed away and put the shirt on properly. Surely, he was being funny. A tense, awkward moment. What else could he do but make a joke? Well, it wasn’t a very good one.

🏡

You stayed inside for the better part of a week. Aside from your walks with your grandmother and a trip to the grocery store, you kept your curtains closed, and hid yourself away. Maybe you’d built it up in your mind but you were just set off-kilter by the wordless interaction. Since, you felt as though you’d been walking a tightrope, too afraid to look down.

But that night, your grandmother wanted to sit outside. It was warm and the nights were shorter; later. You wheeled her out, a book on her lap, and as you made to skirt back inside, he appeared. Andy had impeccable timing. It made you wonder if he was watching you; if he had been for much longer than you knew. Well, now you were just being paranoid.

“Hey,” He stood at the edge of the yard. “Beautiful night.”

“Sure is,” You grandma replied. “I’ve got a new book and I’m ready to enjoy the breeze.”

“Oh, a new book? What’s it about?” He asked as he neared tentatively.

“Another scary one.” She cracked the cover. “Or so I hear. Skinwalkers taking over a whole city.”

“Ah, spooky,” He commented and looked at you. “And you?”

“Writing. Inside.” You said evenly.

“I figured since it was so nice, I was finally gonna try out my new Jacuzzi,” He said. “I just… I did promise you a soak so I thought maybe--”

“Eh, I don’t know.” You neared the door. “I really should try to get some writing done.”

“Nonsense, dear,” Your grandmother intoned. “You’ve been on that computer all day. You should go, relax.”

“Really, I--”

“Laurie might join us. She’s inside doing some work.” He piped up. “She wouldn’t mind the company.”

“Go on! I’m getting sick of ya anyway,” Your grandmother snorted. “You could stand to loosen up.”

“Grandma,” You huffed.

“Go get changed,” She ordered and smiled at Andy. “She’ll be over shortly.”

You blinked and tried to hide your irritation. You went inside before Andy could notice and you stormed upstairs. You weren’t even sure you’d packed a suit. You searched through the dresser. The curtains were still drawn tight. You found your old pink bikini with the white flowers. Really? It had to be that one?

You changed, reluctantly. It couldn’t have covered less of you. You found a tee shirt and pulled it over. You descended the stairs again and stepped out on the porch.

“Thanks for that, grandma.” You scowled.

“I can see why you were never popular,” She laughed. “Go. Have fun. This old lady can handle herself.”

You stomped down the steps beside the ramp and stopped at the border of the yards. You sighed and went to the gate, it was open in expectation of you. You heard the whir of jets before you entered. Andy was just beside the hot tub, testing the temperature with his hand as you stood across from him. He looked up and gave a crooked smirk.

“Andy,” The back door opened and Laurie appeared. “Oh, hey.” She smiled at you before turning back to her husband. “I’m gonna pass. Gina’s not going to make it in tomorrow so looks like I’ll be up all night.”

“Damn, that’s too bad,” Andy said. “More tub for us I guess.”

“Yes, love you too,” She said dryly. “You enjoy yourself. And don’t leave that thing on all night.”

“Yes, honey,” He said before she shut the door. “Love you.”

You swallowed. Your mouth was dry. Maybe you had been a bit presumptuous. Andy climbed into the jacuzzi and lowered himself into the warm water with a sigh. You hesitated to get closer but you did. He watched you, expectantly. You grabbed the edge and tried to will yourself in.

“You’re wearing that?” He nodded to your tee.

“Yeah,” You lifted your leg over the side.

“You don’t gotta be shy,” He grinned.

You paused and frowned at him.

“I’m joking,” He said. “The other day. That was… funny. Bad timing.”

“Mhmm,” You drew your other leg over and carefully sat.

“You met any more cute guys?” He asked suddenly. You squinted.

“What?” 

“Not much to do around here, you know? Pretty boring.”

“No. I don’t--” You sputtered. “I don’t think it’s a very good idea. Once my grandma’s better, I’ll be going.”

“Still, it’s lonely.” He said softly. 

“What do you care?” You asked, harsher than intended. 

He was quiet. He leaned back and looked over at the house then back to you. He exhaled and spread his arms over the edge.

“So… that toy you hide in your night table? You always use it or you ever just… feel yourself?”

Your heart sank. You felt as if you would choke on air. Had you imagined his words?

“What did you just--”

“Took you long enough to catch on,” He said. “Got a good view of you when I can’t sleep but… not anymore. Too bad.”

“Andy,” You stood and the water splashed around you. “You-- You’re-- Laurie, she--”

“I haven’t fucked her in months. This is what she does.” He sat forward and caught your hand. “She works. All the time. I try and she… just doesn’t want to.”

“Let me go.” You struggled with him. “You’re disgusting. You’re married!”

“Me? Fucking awful some young girl strolls into town and tries to seduce a married man? What would grandma think? And Laurie? She’s not one to sit back and be humiliated.” He tugged on you. “I have a reputation around here. You’re just a stranger, and apparently one, who fucks strangers.”

“What are you talking about?” You nearly slipped as he spun you back to him. “You’ve been watching me and--”

“I’m just a neighbour looking out for you,” He pulled even harder and your feet slid across the bottom of the jacuzzi, forcing you to catch yourself on him. “Like I do all my neighbours. They would confirm as much.”

“Get--” You grabbed his arm as it snaked around you. “Andy! Laurie--”

“Doesn’t give a fuck and if she came out, well, she’d only realise what’s she’s pushed me to.” 

You wriggled as he held you to him. He drew your leg over his so that you straddled his lap. You pushed on his chest and grunted.

“You keep it up and everyone will hear. Even sweet old nana.” He snarled. “I saw you looking at me that day… when you brought me lemonade.”

“No, no,” You rasped.

“I’m old, not that old,” He purred. “As you can obviously see.”

“Let me go. Please.” You begged. He was too strong and your arms only ached from pushing against him. “Andy--”

“Shhh,” He grabbed your chin with his wet hand and pulled you close until your lips almost met his. “In this town, rumours travel. It might be old news that you left a bar with that dumb kid but now, it’s evidence.” His hand slipped down your neck and squeezed. “Such a bad girl.”

“No one would--”

“They have no reason not to believe me,” He rolled up your wet shirt with his other hand. “Annie across the street, she likes gossip. She’s seen you flirting with me, at least that’s how she told it to Laurie but you know, my wife just laughs it off. And now she’s no doubt seen you come into my backyard in just this.” He pulled your shirt higher. “And her mind is going wild.”

“I can’t--”

“How long did he last? A minute? Less?” He snarled and his other hand slipped down to draw your shirt up. You kept your arms down as you tried to resist. “Bet you could wait to use your little toy.”

“Stop,” You pleaded.

“Get your arms up.” His voice was deep and dangerous. “And stop your whining.”

You stopped and stared at him. His blue eyes burned into yours and sent a shiver through you. His fingertips pinched your hips as they crawled under your shirt and he pushed it higher.

“You don’t shut up and someone will hear, sweetie,” He warned. “Up.”

He tugged until you raised your arms. A wave of bile rose in your chest and you let him peel away your wet shirt and reveal the skimpy bikini beneath. He dropped the cotton over the side of the tub and his hands grazed the triangles of your top.

“Cute,” He hummed. “You hiding this from me?”

You were quiet, sickened. With him, with yourself. You knew you couldn’t fight, wouldn’t. You remembered the barbecue and how you’d been the odd one out. Recalled how Andy had talked to almost every person there. Everyone loved him and no one knew you.

“Mmm mm mm,” His fingertips walked around your neck and he picked at the knot behind your neck. The straps loosened and he let your top fall and expose your chest. 

He bent to bury his face against you and nibbled along your tits. You looked, startled, to the back door. It was still shut. A light glow from a bedroom above and the distant beat of music escaped through the slightly opened bedroom window. Another light died on the first floor and was replaced by a second on the top floor, reflecting against yours on the other side. 

You quivered as Andy took a nipple in his mouth and sucked. You felt it in your core as his hand cupped your other tit. He reached beneath you and played with the edge of your bottom. He drew you back as he leaned against the side of the tub and lifted his pelvis, and you with him. He tugged on his shorts and sat back down.

You felt hollow and a cloud of panic filled your stomach. You struggled against you and he bit you. You squeaked as his teeth threatened to break the skin and stilled. He parted and looked up at you.

“Be a good girl,” He felt beneath you and began to stroke himself.

“Please--”

“Shhh,” He turned his hand and hooked his fingers in your bottoms, pulling them aside. “It’s okay, sweetie.” He rubbed his tip against your folds. “It’ll be good.” He drew you to him and angled you over his dick. “Better than ever before.”

He forced you down and your lips formed an o as he entered you. You latched onto his shoulders without thinking and he pushed you to his limit. His lips and teeth returned to your chest as he once more began to toy with you. You quivered as he began to rock your hips.

The water swished around you, swirling and slapping against your skin. You held your breath as you tried not to cry out. You hissed as you dug your nails into his shoulders and let him guide you. Despite yourself, despite everything, it felt good. It felt wonderful. He was right and you were weak.

“You like that?” He nuzzled your throat. “Is this what you think of at night, huh?”

You bit your lip as he kneaded your hips and kept your moving.

“I think of it all the time,” He muttered. “All the time. Maybe…” His breath caught and he groaned. “Maybe I could offer to take you grocery shopping, hmm? We could have some fun in the car…”

“Andy…” You whimpered. “No, we can’t-- not again…”

You grasped his wrists and tried to push yourself off of him. A semblance of sanity returned to you as you looked him in the face. His eyes were dilated and dusky. He was entranced; incorrigible. You struggled as he held you down.

“This is wrong--”

He shoved you off him as his lip curled. You stumbled back and caught yourself on the other side of the tub. The water splashed as he stood behind you and grabbed your arm. He turned you over and pushed you over the siding, a jet blowing against your pelvis.

“Doesn’t feel wrong to me.” He growled.

He held you down with a large hand between your shoulders as he pushed your legs apart with his knee. He pressed against you and searched for your entrance, swiftly impaling you. You choked down a mewl as your hips crashed into the wall of the tub. He leaned his weight on you entirely as he rutted into you without relent. You were certain someone would hear the clapping of flesh or the stir of water all around.

“You’ll do what I want, when I want,” He sneered. “And from what I can tell, you’ll like it.”

“Andy--” Your voice fizzled as the pressure mixed with the steady stream of the jet as it hit your cunt. 

You held in a moan as you hung over the side of the tub, the blood pounding in your head as you panted wildly. You covered your mouth, afraid you would cry out as the coil inside you twisted and twisted. Your legs quaked as you orgasmed.

Andy’s hand gripped your hips and he pulled you back against him, again and again, using your body easily. You slid back and forth over the side and he bent over you, crushing you against the tub. He growled in your ear and his thrust jolted your body.

He pulled out suddenly, still looming over you as he stroked himself against your bikini and pressed his damp beard to your cheek as he shuddered. His hot cum spilled out onto the wet fabric and dripped down your thigh as he eased himself through his climax. He sighed and pushed himself from atop you, falling back into the water heavily.

You stayed as you were for a moment. Stunned. Shakily you stood and fixed your top and pulled your bottom straight. You couldn’t look at him. You climbed out of the tub and walked unsteadily across the grass.

“Ah, that was relaxing,” He said. “Come back anytime.”

You ignored him and continued onto the gate.

“Oh, and it’s supposed to be a cool night,” He called after you. “You should keep your window open.”

You slipped through and the gate creaked behind you and closed with a metallic click. You shivered as you kept to the side of your grandma’s house and entered through the back. You didn’t want anyone to see; you were certain they would know if they did.

[herstarburststories]

illicit love

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x reader

Summary: Jensen loves you, but sometimes love isn’t the right thing.

A/N: Hey, guys! All we needed was a newish fic to say that I was really back, here it is! This one goes for @negans-lucille-tblr 6k challenge. So glad you got to another millestone, honey. It's like I was posting my part for your 5k celebration just yesterday! xD Prompt in bold.

Warnings: age gap, cheating

Jensen Ackles kept squinting through the bricks of his memory in an attempt to recall where it all began. Maybe it was when he drove off the road he had known for years with the dumbfounded desire to take the trails yet traveled, threading his fingers through your hair on the night of September 7th. He could’ve chosen the easy out and say it all started to crumble with the first kiss, but no. The actor, father, and now horrible husband highly doubted that. No, as he unwound the convoluted wires in his mind, it wasn’t the first clandestine meeting that he saw as the beginning, not the first kiss or the primal stolen glances. It wasn’t even the lies or the way he pushed his body against yours in an act of illicit faith.

Like any grand mistake, it was way before that. Just like how the church not-so-gently advised, it all starts with craving something you never thought you would want.

It happened when he landed the job in a new series after leaving a fifteen-year-long rollercoaster, pushing away any real witness to the fact the old show that swallowed part of his soul was over. There was a certain shock of excitement misplaced by the fact he was going to be working with Eric again, and that the show was an abrupt change considering what he had been doing previously. Now, he believed it was his body’s particular way of telling him that — as the savage animals can sense rain or a calamity — this, baby, this is gonna change your life.

JENSEN ACKLES CAST AS SOLDIER BOY!

‘’Since when have you read comics?’’ Jensen arched his messy eyebrows at Dee’s curiosity about the Homelander and Soldier Boy panel making it to the screen. Shaking the comic book in his right hand slightly, he continued: ‘’Especially that kind.’’

‘’Never,’’ Danneel stated plainly, “but I have Google. It was pretty much the first thing that appeared.’’

‘’Well, Eric said that scene won't be on the screen. Besides, the portrayal won't be that Soldier Boy, but the original one who died in the war. ‘Course, he wouldn’t have died there in our show, but it ain’t the panel one.’’ He shrugged, bringing her closer to his side as she snuggled against him. ‘’There’ll be a bunch of Herogasm, which is basically drugs and sex. Just not with Homelander.’’

Danneel nodded at his explanation, humor clinging to her words as she added: ‘’Guess the only man I have to share you with is still Jared.’’

‘’Hey, you knew what you were getting yourself into.’’ Jensen scoffed playfully before kissing her cheek. ‘’Can't wait to start the show.’’

Jensen leaned forward to rest the comic that he had been religiously studying to form a psychological character profile on the dashboard of the Impala. The actor was spending plenty of hours inside his most palpable Supernatural souvenir -- Baby. His safe place. He sure as hell needed one of those, as molding a whole character that has a bunch of source material wasn’t as easy as he pictured. With Dean, he was putting himself and the script in one until it made his imaginary best friend. It was love at the first sight. Soldier Boy, however, was a long story short. Jensen figured he should do both, honor the character created and add his own special ingredients to it. It was a brand new kind of passion that he hadn’t done for a series in the longest time. Still, his glance trailed back to the woman by his side in the backseat.

‘’Let's hope it won't last another decade,” she mocked.

Jensen shook his head with a chuckle, relaxing against the leather seat. Even the mere smell of the Impala was enough to settle his nerves. ‘’Eric has plans for five seasons.’’

Danneel’s features contorted as if having war flashbacks. Sort of. She never imagined Supernatural would make it that far, and now with three kids, signing on for another excessively time-consuming idea for a new show didn’t seem too appealing either. Yet, she would support Jensen in any decision he’d take regarding his job. “Remind me the last time I heard that line before?” 

‘’Come on.’’ He let out a wry huff, poking her side in a playful manner. She couldn't help but laugh, returning the gesture with tickles to start a very light-hearted battle. He seemed happy with the new job, something Danneel truly thought he would have more difficulty with. She’d pushed her weathered worries away with his easy-going laughter for now.

SOLDIER BOY’S LOVE INTEREST?

Eric Kripke threw the gossip magazine on the table, his eyes not straying from his long-time friend’s. He could’ve simply added the digital article to an irate email and be done with it, but he was a simple man with extravagant taste. That had been usual through his whole career, especially regarding the Supernatural aesthetic. Yet, in those mundane situations, Jensen almost found it too much. That wasn’t the case, though. If anything, the plain, yet still overpowering words that his green eyes scanned made his body sweat. He could even hear his organs working from the absolute silence of the blame that covered the room. Kripke’s room had never seemed more like an interrogation chamber than now.

The magazine in question held Jensen and your picture on the cover, his arms wrapped around your torso as he pulled you close. The most sequin smile hung from your lips like happiness was something that could be touched on that sunny day in the private park near the studio. Giant and garish letters made the headline along with the subline: Jensen Ackles wearing his Soldier Boy costume caught sharing a passionate kiss with the new arrival of The Boy’s Team: Y/N Y/L/N, also known on-screen as Cangaceira!

His voice came out as an accusation: ‘’What’s this, Jensen?’’

‘’We were…’’ The director just waved his hand to interrupt.

‘’Don’t try saying you were practicing a scene because I wrote the Soldier Boy and Cangaceira kiss, and it wasn’t here.’’ Acid tainted his words with no space for fake niceties on his set. Jensen remained in the chair, not even daring to make the most subtle move. Eric knew where he was hitting, and Ackles deserved a punch in the jaw. “The sex scene wasn’t here either, but you two added a lot of erotic subtext. Trust me, I know.’’

His shoulders fell in exhaustion. ‘’Eric…’’

‘’You’re lucky we were going to make those two a couple anyway. I can just put the kiss here and save your ass. What if that wasn’t the case, huh?’’ the director continued, more interested in spilling out his anger than listening to dumb excuses. ‘’What about Danneel, Jensen? You have a wife and kids, for God’s sake!’’

The breaking point. Jensen rose to his feet with sudden frustration, a growl leaving his lips as he pushed the chair to the side with uncharacteristic brutality. How could Eric bring up his family like this? And how could Jensen’s heart not bring them up when he kissed you before?  It was all a fucking mess, and he had no choice but to choke down whatever came out of it, even if it was poison and spite.

‘’Fuck, Eric! Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think it doesn’t pull me apart every time I go home and know I’m lying to the people who love me?’’ The vein on his neck popped as he spoke, emotion gushing thicker through his arteries than blood. Woe remerged under his skin as he swallowed dryly, resting his hands on the table and looking down. That wasn’t him. He had done a lot of things that weren't him lately. ‘’I have enough guilt here, pal.’’

Eric just glared down at the man’s outburst, furrowing before asking, ‘’What’s going on, Jay? You don’t just get up and cheat on your wife. That ain’t you.’’

He shook his head. ‘’I don’t know. Y/N’s just…’’

‘’At least 20 years younger than you,” he stated. ‘’Just starting her career and might be getting the homewrecker title if someone finds out.’’

‘’I won’t let that happen.’’

‘’How? You are gonna be more careful or will you cut it out and go back to your wife and three kids?’’ When Ackles didn’t respond, Eric sighed. ‘’Just stop this, Jensen. Let her go.’’

Jensen scoffed humorlessly. ‘’I can’t.’’

Kripke felt like talking to a teenager. He shook his head as he got up. ‘’Do you have any idea what you’re doing here? This could destroy your family, destroy Y/N’s chance to make a name when you already have your own. That’s selfish in all proportions, Jensen!’’

‘’I know, I know.’’

‘’She deserves more than this and —’’

‘’I know.’’

‘’You are gonna mess up everyone’s lives —’’

‘’I know!’’ He slammed the table and winced, turning around with his hands on his head. If only he could stop his thoughts for a second and reorganize his feelings. ‘’Do you think it doesn’t rip my heart out that I can’t love her?’’

‘’Who?’’ The burning question was ready to set everything ablaze. ‘’You can’t love Y/N, or you can’t love your wife anymore, Jensen?’’

He couldn’t love you in public. He couldn’t love Danneel anywhere. Love just escaped through his reaches when you spoke his name like a prayer, and it was time to accept that.

‘’Both.’’

NO CHICK FLICK MOMENTS: SOLDIER BOY AND CANGACEIRA TALK ABOUT WHAT TO EXPECT FROM THEIR RELATIONSHIP

‘’It's amazing to portray with Jensen. I’ve watched Supernatural since I was like twelve, which probably isn't advisable.’’ You chortled, answering the reporter’s question. Your body could barely contain your excitement under your skin, although, why would you want that? You did it. You got the job you had dreamed and worked hard for. To a bonus, you were working with Jensen Ackles! If there was someone that had earned the right to scream to the sky until your face was the color of the red carpet your heels currently stood on, it was you. ‘‘I was even a Samgirl!’’

Jensen faked a gasp next to you, a light spectrum surrounding the interview. ‘’Really? Me too!’’

You pushed his shoulder playfully while he chuckled. ‘’Anyway, I'm very excited to be here and portray a strong latina superhero. The representation’s very important, and to be able not only to cherish it, but to be a part of it doing what I love and inspiring people like me is… mythical.’’

‘’Wow, woman!’’ Ackles pursed his lips, clapping a little before shifting his gaze from you to the reporter. ‘’She likes the big words. I swear, dude. She’ll just come and in like, a casual conversation, say something like gelid or whilst, and then she's gonna say dumbass. Both sound smart as heck.’’

You winked. ''It's the accent. Makes everything sound nice.”’

Jensen nodded but was quick to sprinkle in an incendiary remark to his compliments. ‘’Yeah, I have never seen someone confuse coach and couch before. Go sit on the coach got a lot of wrong ideas.’’

‘’Hey, you sat on the coach!’’

‘’Because I’m a good boy.’’

You rolled your eyes despite the grin on your lips. ‘’Sure, mister hours-to-get-ready.’’

‘’Hey, plenty of face masks are needed to keep this — ’’ He pointed at his face. ‘’at fourteen.’’

‘’All I hear is that you’re old.’’ Your eyebrows knitted together. Jensen licked his lips at the sight. On any other day, he’d pick you up, say I’m gonna show you who’s old, and enjoy where your teasing had gotten you two, but he couldn’t do it now. You’d get what was coming to you after the event, perhaps even under the table if your dress allowed it, or in the bathroom, if you kept going.

The mischievous smirk on your cherry-stained lips proved that you knew what was going through his mind. God, you were his sweet death. Nonetheless, Jensen sighed dramatically and looked at the camera. ‘’This is what I have to deal with every day.’’

The reporter went on, happily surprised about how comfortable you and Jensen seemed together. Usually, new coworkers were timider around each other during interviews, especially when they were a romantic pair. The journalist decided to try getting a little sneak peek of the couple aspects of Soldier Boy and Cangaceira.

‘’It's definitely interesting.’’

‘’But not in the best way.’’ The only thing more messed up than Jensen’s relationship with you was the correlation between your characters. At least you and he had the purity of love, even if it was twisted enough to turn heads and churn stomachs

‘’Certainly not in the best way.’’ You agreed, bringing him back into reality as always. ‘’It's really nice to explore a couple that doesn't consist of two white people getting to it like most main characters of the shows in our current climate. It’s not the kind of relationship you should be rooting for — not because it's interracial or anything, that's pretty much the biggest, if not only, positive aspect about those two — but because they aren’t healthy at all, just as all main relationships in our show. It's not a romance series, and we certainly don't treat our couples like it.’’

‘’Told you she is the beauty and the brains.’’ His cheeks dimpled with joy and pride as he looked at you. Jensen knew how excitedly nervous you were about that interview. He couldn’t wait to tell you how great you were like you were born to sell dreams and magazines. ‘’But yeah, it’s a messed up relationship like any other in The Boys. After all, it's not a respectful, wholesome show. It's about gritty superheroes that ain’t got heroism. Soldier Boy isn't a good guy, and it translates in his relationship too.’’

You nodded in agreement, brushing his arm to keep you sane. ‘’It’ll be an interesting dynamic to see on-screen to our show standards, but it's not an actual picture of how a relationship should be.’’

THE BOYS 100TH EPISODE PARTY!

The glimmer of his green comet eyes caught your undivided attention in the throngs of people. The crowd had gathered for his family, his arm around his wife's waist as you both shared a tender, stolen look. You savored her wine and yearned for the man in her arms.

It was just a small celebration due to COVID’s lasting effects on public events. People from the set and their significants together were in the Ackles house for a couple of drinks, small talk, and a cake with The Boy’s comics printed on it.

‘’Aunt Y/N!’’ JJ tugged your dress, her mix of Danneel and Jensen’s features almost haunting your soul. Almost. You would never despise a kid for that — you didn’t even have the right to. If anything, JJ was the one that would graduate to hating you someday. You didn't have enough youthful stupidity not to know the risks of being in love with a married man. ‘’Auntie!’’

You leaned in the most that you could with the red skirt, glancing at the child. ‘’Yes, honey?’’

‘’That’s my new Barbie! I bought a beach one! She looks like you!’’ the blonde kid said with a childish joy that ached in your heart. You could end up destroying her family’s stability if Jensen went any further, yet there she was; buying dolls that looked like you and so happily babbling about it.

You were a monster. Love opened you up and planted greedy seeds, and now you were a monster growing like a beautiful tree that could never be strong enough to hold a kid as they climbed up. The fact that you could sense Jensen’s eyes on your ass didn’t help one bit.

‘’She does! That’s so cute, JJ.’’

‘’You can be her. I have one who looks like mommy, I’ll be her, ‘kay?’’

Your nausea was replaced by a pageant smile and a nod, and so you spent the night sharing longing stares with the dad and playing dolls with the daughter. It was a role that was never yours.

ILLICIT AFFAIR? JENSEN ACKLES SEEN ON THE BEACH WITH Y/N Y/L/N

‘’I can’t believe you did this to me, to our family,‘’ Danneel screamed exasperatedly as she threw her clothes in a bag and heart on the wall. Jensen just stood there, accepting the deserved fury. ‘’Ten years of my life, Jensen, and you just threw it away for a mistress! I gave up on my job to be a stay at home mom because you didn’t want a babysitter. I supported you in every moment. I loved you!’’

‘’I’m sorry…’’

‘’You don’t get to be sorry,” she howled, glaring at him with the hatred of an overthrown nation. She felt like he got to the podium and forgot to say her name. ‘’You let that woman get in my house, drink my wine, talk to my children…’’

Reflexively, he said, ‘’Our.’’

‘’Shut the fuck up! There’s no ours anymore, no us!’’ Her words had garnered a learned violence, much louder than the sound of the zipper closing her duffel bag. She threw the CC exclusive on the floor, holding onto the handle for dear life. He didn’t deserve to see her breaking, only her anger. ‘’You destroyed our family, you destroyed me!’’

He pleaded, unable to discern if it was for her or the guilt: ‘’Dee.’’

‘’I hope you’re happy. I hope you go to her, get her to sleep on our bed, and be happy for a month.’’ She gulped, pursing her lips. Her glossy eyes coupled with the pink hue of her lipstick brought back a treacherous memory of their wedding day. ‘’And then, I hope she cheats, like you did to me.’’

The next headline didn’t call it love.

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[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the only anchor i have left

tw: mentions of smoking, alcohol use, and allusions to familial conflict

Read on my Ao3.

This is just me writing more Freddy/Bright angst with a sprinkling of Dad!Sam to add a bit of spice. Enjoy.

Freddy had watched you destroy yourself for years now, and yet he still seemed surprised every time. He watched you through your half-baked college career, downing obscene amounts of alcohol, counting down your days towards dialysis through bottles of beer, vodka, bottom shelf rum. You were your mother’s child, afterall. When you took, you took hard, took everything, hoarded it away in whatever organ would hold. He watched you smoke like a chimney, puff through a cigarette in a single pull when you were really stressed, cough around the catch in your chest, the nicotine stains on your teeth and fingernails.

And yet, when he found you toeing the edges of William’s territory, walking through the same forests you’d died in, he had the nerve to be shocked.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed.” He said. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“I’m on the property.” You replied.

“Come back. Now.”

You huffed and stepped a little further away from him. Freddy’s recent development of a spine was foreign and uncomfortable for you. You were used to him being an invertebrate.

“Progeny. Come back.”

He didn’t invoke you. He didn’t have to.

Freddy had seen you do it for years. You knew he wasn’t shocked by it anymore, not really. You knew that his surprise was more disappointment than anything. Freddy was horrible about that. Having hope and then trusting to someone else to deliver. That was a recipe for heart ache that you’d thrown out long ago on the backseat of your mother’s smoke-stained pick-up truck, on the last of her cigarette papers you still couldn’t work up the nerve to use or throw away.

You didn’t let yourself hope for things that were out of your hands.

Freddy’s little sister was fifteen when you saw her last. She started high school a few months before you died. She had a boyfriend and a part time job at a fast food place and a smile that always made you ache inside when you saw her on the weekends. You didn’t know her, you were just loosely acquainted from her occasional demands to Freddy for rides to hang out with friends. She would sit in the back seat and complain about his music taste.

She was sixteen now. She cut her hair after Freddy died, and she quit her job and broke up with her boyfriend as high school students are wont to do. You knew all of this once again from proximity.

You watched her through her second story bedroom window from a pine tree almost a mile off. You pushed down the feelings of guilt and shame and that little voice telling you you were acting like a stalker, like your kid neighbor on the street you grew up on who took any chance he could to peer into your window through his adjacent one. At the very least, she would never know you were there.

You needed to know. That was your problem. You always needed to know. You needed to be able to tell yourself that she would be alright. That you might have ruined Freddy’s life and Sam’s life, but that you hadn’t ruined hers.

She listened to her music obscenely loud. She had those dumb color changing LED lights that kids got for TikToks. She had a bookshelf covered in fantasy novels, but you’d never seen her read one. She was laying on her twin sized bed, scrolling through her phone. She was wearing a big, blue hoodie you could have sworn was Freddy’s once upon a time.

“You know, this is somebody else’s territory.” Sam’s voice cut through the thick tension and the sound of cicadas, startling you from your precarious perch on a skinny pine branch. His hand wrapped around your bicep and kept you upright, but didn’t linger. His touch retreated as soon as you had your balance.

“What the fuck?” You hissed.

“We’re not in Dahlia city limits anymore. William technically only owns Wonder World, but his influence doesn’t really stretch this far.” Sam shrugged as he leaned back against the trunk of the tree. “We’re technically trespassing.”

You knew what that meant. You were in danger. You, in turn, put him in danger. You knew that before you left. Maybe if the old man minded his business and stayed home, you’d be the only one sticking your neck out.

“I could have told you she was fine.” He said after a moment of silence. “I’ve been checking up on them.”

“Freddy asked you to?”

“No,” Sam shrugged. “Just felt like I needed to. Like my responsibility. I’ve been checking in on your folks too.”

“You’re not my maker.” You reminded him like you did several times a day.

“No,” he agreed like he always did, “but either way it was my fangs that got you into this mess.”

“Yeah well…” you shrugged, “not too many folks for you to look in on for me.”

You followed him when he started to descend the tree, kept your footsteps light and silent across the scattered pine needles. You had sped here, but you couldn't imagine it taking more than a few hours to walk back into Dahlia proper. You still had a good half night until sunrise and could get home in a matter of minutes if you lingered too long. You would have much preferred to speed ahead, but Sam’s leisurely pace suggested he wanted to talk. You would have tried to run, but he was faster than you.

“You’re taking an awful lot of risks lately.” He said. “Not feeding as much as you should. Walking too close to property lines. Starting scraps where you don’t need to.”

“Not my maker.” You replied. Sam huffed.

“Well then… your grand maker.”

That, however much you wanted to remain stoic, shocked a laugh out of you. The image of Sam in a sweater vest and tiny bifocals popped into your head.

“As… as a concerned party,” Sam tried again, working it out around the grin that had spread across his face. “I know what you’re doin’. I did it for a while myself. Don’t make anything easier.”

“What am I doing, exactly?” You asked in turn. The laugh was gone from your voice just as quickly as it came. You didn’t know what would be worse. He could guess wrong, could throw out a wild accusation that you would play along with. Or he could be right. He could see you.

“You think that trying to destroy yourself is some sort of wild, edgy rebellion against everything happening around you. You think going out in a blaze of glory is… glorious.”

“Can you blame me for assuming that based on the name?”

“You know what I mean.” Sam sighed. “Kid, look,” he came to a stop and turned to face you properly. You gripped your hand into a fist, felt your nails dig into the skin of your palm. Fuck, you wanted to punch something. You wanted to break your knuckles over the lines of his face. “Being cruel to yourself is awfully convenient to the world. It’s gonna try your whole life to tear you to pieces. You might not be able to stop it, but you can at least not lend a helping hand.”

You were quiet for a long moment. He saw you. Right through you.

“Very Sisyphian.” You finally said. It wasn’t a joke, you both knew that, but he laughed anyway and so did you. It was pointless. It was pointless.

“Yeah well… listen to your grand maker. Aren’t we supposed to get wiser with age?”

“Grand maker sounds like something from Star Wars.”

“No, that’s Grand Master.”

“Sam… do you… oh God, you’re a Star Wars nerd.”

You walked back to Wonder World together, his stride just a bit longer than yours. He accommodated your height, walked a bit slow. You didn’t mention Sisyphus. You didn’t let yourself think too hard about it.

You didn’t let yourself hope for things that were out of your hands.

[1dfangirls35]

The Language of Your Soul

An enemies to lovers Ballet AU in 5 Acts

Masterlist

Act I

A/N:

First of all, thank you so much to @booksncoffee for the absolutely gorgeous banner!

I am so excited to share this story with you all! Inspired in part by a night rewatching Center Stage on Netflix and from years of ballet classes, I hope this AU brings a new twist on Harry fics (and maybe even helps you gain a new appreciation for the world of ballet). Please note, while I have used my own 10+ years of classical ballet training in addition to research on this topic to hopefully make this as realistic as possible, this is still a work of fiction- and some details may have been changed to better fit the constraints of the story. The companies mentioned in this fic are real, however this story and its characters are entirely works of fiction. On a more personal note, while I have chosen to publish this story now and believe I will be able to maintain weekly updates to its entirety, I am preparing to take my boards in less than four weeks. Should I not update as scheduled- please be patient and know that an update is only a few weeks away! :) Thank you so much for reading!

Warnings: This story will contain language, mentions of emotional abuse from a parent and eating disorders. Please read at your own discretion.

Ten Weeks to Opening Night

Albert Einstein once said, "dancers are the athletes of God." Giselle Mason certainly doesn't feel like pne of God's athletes at the moment. Not with the way her muscles are screaming with every movement that she makes as she stretches before class, not with the way her right hip cracks as she lifts her leg onto the bar, and certainly not with the way her feet sting as she tapes up yet another blister on her toe before shoving her foot into her pointe shoes for another day full of torture.

Giselle stands, sticking one last bobby pin into the bun of her nearly ebony hair and finding her spot at the front of the barre in the center of the studio. She grasps the wooden cylinder with her left hand before releasing her body in a forward bend, taking a deep breath in and then a deep breath out. There is a familiar ache in her hamstrings as she begins to stretch, which loosens ever so slightly with every breath.

And so begins her daily morning routine in the studio. Fifteen minutes of stretching before company class begins. Relaxing each hamstring, hip flexor and spinal muscle until a sense of calm washes over her body. Letting her mind drift into a thoughtless focus, preparing itself for the waves of choreography that would be coming in minutes. Typically, this time is quiet; the only melody present the rhythmic breathing of company members preparing for class. But today, the studio seems to be filled with an underlying buzz. And Giselle doesn't have the slightest idea why.

"I heard he slept with the artistic director's wife, so they kicked him out of the Royal," she hears one of the new corps de ballet members murmur.

"I mean have you seen him, I don't blame her for getting her hands on a piece of him," another girl giggles.

"Did you hear, G?" Caleb, Giselle's friend, whispers as he slides into a spot on the barre behind her, adjusting the black bandana keeping his signature black curls in place across his forehead.

"Hear what?" Giselle asks, removing her leg from the bar before reaching down to adjust the black leg warmer that had fallen down her calf.

"They've hired Harry Styles- you know from the Royal," Caleb adds as if Giselle hasn't heard of Harry Styles. Everyone who was anyone in the ballet world had heard of Harry Styles. A good chunk of the non-ballet world might even be able to point him out as that 'sexy male ballet dancer' from the Sports Illustrated nude edition.

Harry Styles was a rare kind of natural talent. The type of person that was put on this earth to dance ballet. His talent had landed him the honor of being the youngest person to be named a principal in the history of the Royal Ballet. And if the rumors were true, that talent had also landed him the reputation of one of the ballet world's most arrogant. Giselle had heard several stories about how the male dancer had been a terror to work with- demanding, rude, uncooperative. Giselle didn't doubt it- people of that skill and fame rarely developed without some sense of entitlement.

"Why would we hire Harry Styles, we've already got Viktor?" Giselle questions. This isn't the first time a rumor has circulated through the American Ballet Theatre company, and it certainly won't be the last time. 

"Rumor is they want Viktor to retire," Caleb shrugged before stepping back to his place behind Giselle as Mistress Ivanova claps to gain the class's attention.

Giselle couldn't believe the rumors. Viktor Dmitri retiring from ABT? He was practically the face of the company. The man had been dancing for the American Ballet Theatre for over a decade. He'd been the principal ever since Giselle had joined the company as a corps de ballet member five years ago. 

Giselle knew that retirement came early for a ballet dancer. Her own mother, the famous Natalia Korsakova, had retired at the age of 33 after a knee injury. Viktor had just turned 35, but he'd shown no signs of slowing down. She refused to believe that he was calling it quits. Or to believe that the board would be stupid enough to bring in someone with Harry Styles's toxic reputation into the company.

She shoves the thought aside. Viktor is in his usual place at the back of the studio and Harry Styles is nowhere to be seen. This was simply another piece of gossip threatening to distract everyone from the Swan Lake auditions tomorrow afternoon, and Giselle won't lose her focus. The auditions are too important.

Giselle Mason has dreamed of playing the role of Odette/Odile ever since she first watched her mother on stage at the age of four. It was one of her earliest memories of the theater- her mother twirling about in a bright white tutu that at that time Giselle could only dream of wearing. In fact, Giselle wasn't sure there had ever been a moment where her dream hadn't been to be a principal dancer at ABT, like her mother. She'd been in ballet shoes from the second she could walk, wore a leotard and tights more often than she'd worn pajamas, and didn't recognize herself in the mirror if her hair wasn't pulled back into a bun. She'd ate, slept and breathed the art form. But she supposed that all came with having a prima ballerina as a mother.

Natalia Korsakova was a ballet sensation. "One of the greatest to have ever danced," according to the New York Times  at the time of her retirement. The world had come to watch her dance and she'd traveled it performing: Russia, Australia, London, Paris. You name the location and Natalia Korsakova had danced there.

When Giselle was growing up, she was constantly told how lucky she was to have Natalia as a mother. To have seen the shows she's seen, to have met ballet royalty, to have traveled the world. But Giselle never felt lucky. Not when she was the accident that put her mother's career on hold for almost a year. Not when her mother was gone for months at a time performing, missing recitals, parent days and school concerts. And certainly not when an injury forced her mother into retirement, shifting her focus from her own artistic talents to turning her daughter into her next protegee.

Much to her mother's dismay, Giselle was not the younger version of her mother. She was good, great even, but she was no sensation. Giselle made soloist in her fourth year at ABT, which was a feat all on its own, unless you compared it to her mother's two. Giselle lacked the raw, natural talent that her mother possessed. Instead of her mother's high arches, she had her father's averagely flat feet. Instead of her mother's uncanny ability to match the music, Giselle had spent hours counting eights in her head to get down a rhythm. Instead of looking effortless the first time she ran through a routine, Giselle spent hours in the studio after rehearsal, running through the choreography until it wasn't possible for her to get it wrong. Giselle had gotten to where she was because of her hard work, not her natural talent- something her mother would never let her forget. To Natalia Korsakova, Giselle would never measure up.

The Swan Lake auditions are Giselle's first real shot at landing a lead, especially with principal dancer Anna Elliot out with a back injury for the foreseeable future. Giselle wants this role more than anything. To prove to herself that she is capable of  following in her mother's footsteps. And to prove to her mother that she is just as capable a dancer as she. For once in her life, she wants to hear her mother say not that she'd lost her spot or forgot to point her toes, but that she was proud of Giselle. Four words- that's all Giselle really wants.

"And will start first position, demi, demi, grand, demi and port de bra. Repeat in 2nd, 4th and 5th and then balance in fifth position arms in fifth," Mistress Ivanova barks, before gesturing to the pianist to begin.

Giselle focuses on her movements as the music begins. She tightens her core, elongates her neck and reaches her fingertips to the edges of her silhouette. Her legs quiver slightly as she bends her knees into the first grand plié, her mind focusing on maintaining her turnout.

"Relax that face Giselle," Mistress Ivanova corrects, as she makes her way around the room. "I don't want to see that this is work."

Giselle takes another deep breath, this time releasing her lips from their concentrated place and focusing on her breath. She lets the downtown Manhattan studio disappear from the background. Gone is the distant honking of impatient taxi drivers maneuvering their way through the New York City traffic. Gone is the light shining in from the full-length windows looking out at the city skyline- well what you could see of the skyline behind the crumbly brick building neighboring the school. There was nothing but the dancer, the barre and the music flowing gently through her veins.

"Beautiful lines Teagan, thank you," Giselle hears Mistress Ivanova say from across the room and she fights the urge to roll her eyes. Giselle has known Teagan Davidson since she was fourteen years old, when Teagan had moved from California to New York to join the ABT school. Over the course of a decade of competing for roles, partners and teacher's praises, the two had developed quite a rivalry. To Giselle, there was almost no better feeling than snagging a role that she knew Teagan also had her eyes on.

Giselle uses Teagan's praise as motivation to work harder, feeling the burn in her inner thighs as she pushes further into her grand plié in second. The role of Odette/Odile was hers, Teagan would have to settle for understudy.

The class is in the middle of their balance, Giselle's focus locked in on a spot just at the edge of the window at the rear of the studio when a loud bang reverberates through the room. Dancers drop their balance and turn their heads, looking to see who has caused such a commotion with their entrance.

"Mr. Styles, you're late," Mistress Ivanova snaps.

He is taller than Giselle imagined, and even from this distance she can see the definition in his arms through the black tank top that clings to his body. His hair is slightly disheveled, curling at the top. His face plastered into some cheeky grin, dimples present on both cheeks, like he knows exactly what he's doing, interrupting class like this. Almost like he's enjoying the attention. He throws his black messenger bag to the side before grabbing his ballet shoes and scurrying over to an open spot at the barre near the front of the studio.

"My apologies," he replies in a thick British accent. His tone sounds anything but apologetic.

"Damn, he's even better-looking in person than he is in magazines," Caleb mutters under his breath, eliciting an eye roll from Giselle.

"Well, I suppose after that entrance," Mistress Ivanova sighs, stepping to the front of the class. "Now is as good of time as any to announce that Mr. Styles will be joining our company as a principal dancer."

Gasps fill the room, and Giselle turns her head to look at Viktor, whose face is stoic after Harry's entrance. A low chatter fills the studio, everyone trying to figure out exactly what is going on. Would he get the lead in Swan Lake? Would he be understudying Viktor?

"Silence!" Mistress Ivanova shouts. "This chatter can wait until after class is over!" She turns to face Harry, her lips turned into a stern frown. "If you'll find a place at the barre Mr. Styles, we will continue our class."

Giselle watches as he slides into a spot at the front of the room, shooting a grin at the young company member behind him. Giselle rolls her eyes, returning her focus to the mirror in front of her. Two minutes with the company and she was sure Harry Styles was exactly who she thought he would be.

Giselle tries to forget Harry Styles is in class with them. Instead she focuses on her breathing, her turnout, the rhythm that comes from the pianist in the corner of the room. She watches the early morning New York City sunrise reflect off of the mirrors, leaving little spots of sunlight over the gray Marley floor. Everyone else in the company could focus on Harry Styles all they want, but she is only focusing on one thing- and that is landing the role of her dreams tomorrow.

But Harry Styles wasn't the type of person whose presence could be forgotten so easily.

********

Harry Styles isn't scared of a little attention. In fact, he typically thrives on it. That's why he is a performer after all. To Harry, there is no better feeling than knowing all eyes are upon you, that you are the center of attention, the focus of the room. Maybe that is a prideful and egotistical thing to say, but it is true. Everyone wants to feel important, valued, admired- and anyone who says otherwise is a liar.

But the attention Harry has been getting since he walked into the American Ballet Theatre studio a little over twelve hours ago has not been the type of attention he necessarily sought out. He knew there would be rumors, leaving the only company he had ever been a part of during his dance career was sure to draw up the best of them, but something about this felt different. It was the whispers. The stares. The way some members of the room were staring at Harry as if he was a god and a few wouldn't dare look in his direction.

Harry doesn't know what's come over him- this wavering self-confidence. Maybe it's this new place. This new country. Or maybe it's the fact that in the words of his agent, if he "doesn't get his act together" he will never dance at this level again. And if he's not dancing on the world's biggest stages, well, Harry might as well not be dancing at all.

Harry grabs his phone from the side pocket of his black messenger bag, connecting it to the Bluetooth speaker he found in the corner of the studio and presses play on his hip hop playlist. He needs something to drown out his thoughts, and classical music just doesn't cut it. As the beat begins to fill the studio, Harry lets the music take over his body and begins to dance.

Giselle tries to focus on her music, but there's the noise of a pounding bass in the background interfering with concentration. She's always the only one at the studio this late at night- that's why she comes- to be alone and without distractions.

She tries to ignore it, focusing on the one and two of the music as she fouettés. One and two, three and four, five and... a boom from somewhere in the building breaks her concentration and she falls out of her turn, letting out a groan. This could not be happening to her the night before auditions, and if she found out that Teagan was here trying to interfere with her practice...

Giselle makes her way down the hall, guided by the incessant bass that sounds like it belongs in the backseat of a teenager's car and not one of the most prestigious ballet studios in the world. When she turns the corner to enter the studio, it's not Teagan she sees but Harry Styles.

But he's not dancing. He's laying on the floor, wearing nothing but a pair of black athletic shorts that show off the god-like definition of his thighs. His signature butterfly tattoo stands out on the middle of his chest, beads of sweat dripping towards the center of his stomach, the bass vibrating the mirrors around him. He doesn't notice her at first. How could he with the music so loud?

"Excuse me," Giselle says loudly in an effort to get his attention. His body doesn't even flinch.

"Excuse me!" she yells this time. 

Harry looks up. In the corner of the studio, towards the door stands a girl. Her almost black hair is pulled tightly back into a bun. Her thin arms are crossed like she's about to lecture him, and her lips are held in a tight line that looks anything but happy. The corners of Harry's mouth curve upwards in a grin, entertained by the fury that was seeming to come from her tiny body.

She taps her foot impatiently, like she's waiting for something. Harry realizes that she is- she's waiting for him to turn off his music.

He sighs, reaching over to his phone beside him and sliding one sweaty finger across the screen to bring the rhythm to a halt.

"Yes?" he asks expectantly, not bothering to move his body from his reclining position.

"Other people in this studio are trying to practice, you know. It's kinda hard to do that with this," she gestures into the air, as if trying to find an appropriate adjective to describe the torture that had been gracing her ears over the past half hour.

"Not a fan of my music?" Harry smirked.

"I'm not a fan of someone disrupting my rehearsal." Giselle spit back.

"Rehearsal? It's bloody 11pm."

"I know what time it is, and like I said, your music is interfering with my ability to practice." Giselle stares Harry right in the eyes. He doesn't intimidate her, and she's not going to back down until he agrees to turn down his music.

"Wasn't aware you were the owner of this studio," Harry taunts.

"I could say the same about you." Giselle moves her hands to her hips. Just agree to turn off the damn music, she thinks to herself, even though she knows at this point, it's not worth the time it will take to warm back up to continue practicing.

Harry sits up, grabbing a blue towel from inside his bag and wiping the sweat that remains off his forehead. "Fine, music's off. Continue your rehearsal. I'm too jet lagged for this shit," he stands, wrapping the towel around his neck.

"Thanks," Giselle says under her breath, before making her way back to her studio, where she knew she would be gathering her own belongings.

Harry groans, grabbing his bag from the floor and sliding it over his shoulder. You could travel halfway across the world and still run into the same entitled ballet brats who thought they ran the place. It's those type of people, company members and otherwise, that were precisely the reason he had left the Royal. Well, not that he had necessarily had a say in that scenario, but they had been the cause of all of his problems.

You just have to dance, Harry, he tries to tell himself. But Harry knows that as much as he tries, there's a lot more too it than that.

**********

“Gi!" Caleb exclaims, bounding down the hallway towards her without concern for anyone in his way. "Cast list is up."

Giselle gulps. She isn't sure that she is ready for this. The look of disappointment on her mother's face if she doesn't land the part. The list of corrections that her mother has come up with from watching Giselle's audition. "Now you see there, you've lost your center. You're never going to make that triple if you don't hold your center Giselle." The reminder that "you only have so many opportunities to prove your worth, before they move onto the younger, better version of you." It didn't matter to her mother if Giselle was the youngest soloist at ABT by five years. It didn't matter if nearly every other soloist had previously understudied for the role. Everything but a lead was a disappointment to Natalia Korsakova.

"C'mon," Caleb exclaims, and before Giselle has a moment to collect herself she's being pulled down the hallway by her arm.

And there it is. The thin, white piece of paper that holds the fate of her next ten weeks in its hands. When she looks at it at first, she thinks she must be dreaming. Because her name has never been on that spot on the list before. Not since she officially joined the company five years ago.

Odette/Odile- Giselle Mason

Sigfried - Harry Styles

She feels frozen. Like she's in a dream and she's paralyzed. It's what she's always wanted-this role and yet, suddenly it feels like a whole lot of pressure.

"You did it Gi," Caleb exclaims, lifting her up and spinning her around before Giselle even has a moment to look any further down the list. Giselle laughs, giddy with excitement. "New York will have never seen a more beautiful Odette."

Giselle rolls her eyes at his comment. Caleb, her friend since joining the American Ballet School at the age of six and partner for many years had always been her biggest cheerleader. In a way, he made up for what she didn't have in her mother.

"And you Caleb?" Giselle asks, realizing in her excitement that she had forgotten that her best friend also had a role in the this ballet.

"You're looking at the newest Benno," Caleb says with a grin. Giselle often wondered what it would be like to be like Caleb. To be happy with any role. To not care about his place in the company. To simply want to dance. Caleb had always been like that- relaxed, calm- the antithesis to Giselle who was always high strung and anxious. Perhaps that's why they'd always been such good friends, because they balanced each other perfectly. Giselle pushed Caleb when he needed some extra motivation and Caleb- albeit not always successful- tried his best to keep Giselle out of her own head.

Giselle watches as Teagan makes her way over to the board, her long black hair swinging from the ponytail at the crown of her head. She grins in slight satisfaction as she sees Teagan's face turn into a frown. Giselle turns and gives Caleb her best, "what did she get?" eyes. He exaggeratedly mouths, "UNDERSTUDY".

As if sensing that she is the topic of conversation, Teagan looks over at the two. "Congrats Giselle," she says, her face moving in a way that makes it seem like the words taste disgusting leaving her mouth.

"You as well," Giselle responds, to which Teagan only scoffs and storms off.

"You know she's going to make your life living hell as your understudy don't you?" Caleb said with a laugh.

"Ugh, I know," Giselle groaned.

"It will be worth it though. You are going to be dancing the role you've always dreamed of." Giselle smiled. "Plus," Caleb begins, leaning down so his mouth is next to Giselle's ear. "You get to dance with the greatest male dancer of our generation. Think of all the hours you're gonna get to spend looking at that GORGEOUS body."

Giselle groans. Her perfect moment temporarily ruined by the realization that she would have to dance with Harry Styles. Sure, he may be talented, a great dancer, and likely a great partner. But his entrance yesterday and their encounter last night told her everything she needed to know about Harry Styles. And she was sure that working with him would be anything but easy.

"That GORGEOUS body," Giselle imitates Caleb with an exaggeration of the word, "Doesn't make up for the fact that the guy's an asshole."

"Okay, okay, point taken. Now can we go get some lunch?"

Giselle nods, but she already knows she's not hungry. Instead, all she can think about is how she's going to get through the next ten weeks of rehearsals with a man she already loathes.

**********

Giselle slides into the rehearsal studio with extra joy in her step later that afternoon. She's so on Cloud 9 that she doesn't even realize Harry standing at the barre doing pliés as she hums the opening notes of Swan Lake aloud.

"Sorry didn't know anyone else was in here already," she apologizes quickly, standing and stretching out her feet.

Harry looks at her, his face hard and eyes sharp. If he recognized her as the girl who interrupted his jam session last night his face didn't show it. "And who are you?" Harry asks, his voice laced with condescendence.

"Odette," Giselle smiles, the words feeling foreign leaving her mouth.

"Obviously," Harry scoffs, and Giselle feels her confidence waver. "Who are you?"

"Giselle Mason, soloist."

"Doesn't ring a bell," the corners of Harry's mouth turn up at his comment, like he gets satisfaction out of reminding others that they aren't the household name that he is.

Giselle wants to say something back. Something sharp and witty to show him that just because he was one of the greatest dancers in the world and she was still trying to make her way into the spotlight didn't mean that he could treat her like a nobody. She was going to be his partner after all- whether he liked it or not. But then Gregory Alexander, ABT's Artistic Director, enters the room, clapping his hands and tells them they are about to begin on the Act II Pas de Deux and Giselle doesn't have a chance to say otherwise.

"As new partners you will need to put in the time to understand each other. Build trust. Anticipate the other's movement. Portray to the audience that you are a swan and a prince in love." Gregory moves his arms in the air theatrically, as if he isn't wearing a designer suit.

"Now I understand that the ten weeks we have to prepare before our season debut isn't an ideal amount of time to form a relationship with a new partner. But in this case, it simply must do." Gregory's face turned serious, the wrinkles on his forehead more defined as he furrows his eyebrows. "I expect that the two of you will put in the time outside of your scheduled rehearsals to work on this chemistry. Anna and Viktor will also be assisting with rehearsals and my hope is that they will also be able to assist the two of you with this transition."

"Gregory," Harry interrupts, then as if realizing he'd made a mistake, he corrects himself. "Sir."

Gregory nods.

"I'm not sure what the concern is. I've danced with hundreds of partners in my career, I'm not sure how the other principal's would have much more experience than me?" Giselle thinks Harry is meaning this as a question but it comes out more like a statement.

Giselle watches as Gregory's eyes narrow again. He looked irritated, and why wouldn't he be? Harry had been here all but forty-eight hours and was already questioning the artistic director's decisions. 

"That may be the case, Mr. Styles," Gregory paused. "But when the two of you step onto Metropolitan Opera House stage in ten weeks, I expect the audience to believe that you two have been dancing together for years. Have I made myself clear?"

Harry nods, this time remaining quiet.

"Now then, I'd like us to start with the Act II Pas de Deux. The very beginning- with your entrance Harry."

It's an hour into rehearsals when Giselle hears the echo of heels clicking down the wooden hallways. She doesn't even have to look up when the steps stop as they reach the studio floor. She could recognize that walk anywhere.

"Aahh, Natalia!" Gregory exclaims. "So glad you could stop by," Gregory reaches over to embrace Giselle's mother, his grey hair brushing the sides of her face as he kisses each cheek.

"Mr. Styles, I'd like to introduce you to Natalia Korsakova, former ABT principal and member of our board."

Natalia Korsakova looks as put together as always. Her dark brown hair pulled tightly into a neat French twist. Her tight black dress and coordinating pumps show off every bit of the dancer's body that she still maintained. Giselle watches as her mother's mouth curves to form a polite smile.

"A ballet legend. It's an honor to meet you Madame," Harry says offering his hand.

"The pleasure is all mine. I'm so glad you are joining us here at ABT. And what a joy it will be to watch you next to my daughter," Natalia gestures towards Giselle, with a polite smile plastered on her face that was generally reserved for generous donors and patrons of the ballet. It is all a show. That's all Giselle's mother ever did was put on a production. She was a performer after all, how could anyone expect her life to be anything but a crowd-pleasing performance?

"Your daughter?" Harry turns to look at Giselle, raising an eyebrow. His eyes narrow, as if he's caught Giselle in a lie. As if she'd snuck her way into this position and was just hoping that someone wouldn't notice she wasn't the real deal. "Why that makes this even more special."

Giselle fights every urge to roll her eyes from across the room. It is clear that Harry Styles is every bit as much of a performer as her mother. Just minutes before he was looking at her as if he had been paired with an amateur and suddenly working with her is 'something special'?

"I'm going to watch rehearsal for a bit," Natalia announces, making her way over to a stool next to the pianist. "Carry on." The pit in the bottom of Giselle's stomach grows as her mother takes a seat next to Gregory in front of the mirror.

"Odette makes sense to me now," Harry whispers into Giselle's ear, as he slides behind her to resume practice. It takes everything in her to keep her face stoic as Harry's hands settle once again on her waist.

Rehearsal goes badly. Giselle can't seem to get her leg into the attitude position that Gregory wants, she losing her balance on her penchés, and Harry almost drops her on several promenades. Giselle says almost, because someone as experienced as Harry Styles would never let his partner hit the ground, but she should have, because she surely wasn't holding her weight quite right. And then there's the fact that Gregory pronounced that Giselle "looks at Harry as if he is the villain of the story instead of the prince she's fallen in love with". 

Giselle wants to say that's because he is the villain. The villain of her story anyways, the person that is somehow going to turn her dream role into somewhat of a nightmare. Why couldn't she be dancing with Viktor? He was so patient and kind and he would never look at his partner as if she deserved to be in the audience instead of on stage with him.

After yet another failed run through of the first half of the pas de deux, Gregory announces that they are done for the day, but that he expects to see them in the studio bright and early tomorrow morning to work on their timing. Giselle's never been so thankful for a rehearsal to be over, and as she sits down to remove her pointe shoes, running her hands over her swollen feet, she watches Harry leave the studio without saying a word.

"I hope you realize how big of an opportunity this is Giselle. It's not one you should take lightly," her mother's voice startles her, as Giselle had almost forgotten she was there. Almost.

Natalia stands above Giselle, one hand on her hips and the other on her forehead, as if watching today's rehearsal had been exhausting for her. It probably was exhausting for her, keeping tally of all the things that Giselle had done wrong for the past two hours. Natalia's voice is shrill as she speaks again. "There are thousands of ballerinas around the world that could only dream of getting to dance with Harry Styles. And here you are dancing with him in his first show with ABT. That's an enormous responsibility, darling. This performance with him will set the stage for his entire career with our company. One that the board is hoping will last until his retirement."

Giselle nods. That's all she can do when her mother begins one of her lectures- nod. She thought maybe this would be the time that her mother told her congratulations. The time that her mother did what she'd watched countless other mother's do during her time as a dancer, wrap their arms around their daughter and express their pride to them. But instead, today is like any other day, and even with a lead role in an ABT production, Giselle still hasn't done enough to make her mother proud.

Giselle shoves her shoes into her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she stands.

"And Giselle?" her mother adds, as she makes her way towards the door.

"Yes mom?" 

"Might want to hit a few more cardio classes this week too, my dear. Got to make sure you are going to be an easy dancer to partner with." 

And with that comment Natalia Korsakova clicks away, leaving Giselle standing in the middle of studio wondering if her biggest dream has suddenly become her biggest nightmare.

[bondsmagii]

Here’s something I really can’t explain.

To sum up: I shouldn’t be alive right now. I shouldn’t be writing this. I have no idea how any of this could have happened, but the fact you’re reading this now is kind of living proof that it did happen, so I suppose I’ll try and explain it as best as I can.

A little backstory for you. Way back in the late forties, my great-grandfather was a young man working with the local fire department. He came back after the war and just couldn’t settle into any kind of desk job, so despite my great-grandmother worrying about his mental state he ended up running into burning buildings for a living. Naturally he saw some messed up shit, but nothing haunted him more than a hotel fire that he attended.

At the time there had been an annual prize night for a local grammar school. Hundreds of kids and their families were crammed into the hotel’s large ballroom when a stray match lit up the curtains on the stage. Back in the day they weren’t exactly great about fire safety, and the walls and furniture were panelled or made with highly flammable materials. The whole room went up in minutes. Over one hundred people died, over half of which were children below the age of fifteen. It was an indescribable tragedy, and my great-grandfather – along with every first responder there – was scarred for life over the things he saw that evening.

My great-grandfather did his best to live with what happened, and for the most part he did well, all things considered. All of his grief seemed to be directed towards one little girl, who was never identified or claimed. She was badly burned but not unrecognisable; the theory was that her whole family had died with her, leaving nobody left to notice she was gone. She wasn’t the only person to suffer this fate, unfortunately – all told, five people were never claimed by families – but because my great-grandfather was the one to pull her body from the wreckage, he sort of became obsessed with her. He was preoccupied until his death with finding out her identity, and every year on the anniversary of the fire he visited her grave to lay a wreath. Unfortunately, he died without ever finding out who she was.

Fast forward a few decades, and I’m in my early twenties. My great-grandfather died when I was quite young, so I only had a small idea of this part of his history. It was, however, enough to make me wary of large fires – especially hotel fires. One summer, I’m visiting another city for my younger brother’s university graduation, and I stay the night in a hotel near the city centre. I remember fires were on my mind already, because initially they had tried to give me a room on the twenty-third floor, and I had politely refused and requested a lower floor. (An old maxim of my great-grandfather’s: never stay on a floor where you wouldn’t survive the fall.) Because of the graduation, the hotel was packed, and I ended up on the fifth floor in the end, but I figured it was better than nothing.

The first night was fine. The second night a fire broke out. The hotel had had some electrical rewiring done within the last month, and something went wrong. The fire smouldered for hours, undetected, before spreading into multiple parts of the ventilation system. Smoke and flame was pushed to all corners of the hotel before the fire cut out the power. Later, investigators would discover that the fire burned through the power for the smoke and fire detection alarms almost immediately – yet somehow the fire alarms went off. This is only the beginning of the inexplicable that night.

By the time the alarms woke me, my room was already filled with smoke. I had been drilled on this so many times as a child that it was instinctive for me to roll off the bed and onto the floor; only then did I start to panic. Luckily I had fallen asleep with the curtains open – the only time I had ever done that in a hotel – and the city lights illuminated the room enough to let me know the smoke was only in the top two thirds of the room, and not as thick as it could have been. I had time to crawl into the bathroom, wet a towel, and tie it around my nose and mouth. Then I crawled to the door and lay a hand flat on it. The door was cool, so I cautiously pulled it open.

In the hallway, it was pitch dark. This is the worst case scenario for any fire. Smoke disorientates people, and they feel ill from inhaling it. Panic compounds the confusion. People can get lost in their own homes – hotels are the worst place for something like this. People stand little chance of getting out if they haven’t memorised an exit, and even then it’s not foolproof. I should know. I always memorise exits, but when I went out of my room I turned the wrong way. I don’t know why. I was panicking, I was confused, and I just made the wrong choice. It should have cost me my life.

I realised my mistake as soon as I reached the end of the hall. The door there was propped open (fire safety hazard, I remember thinking, like it mattered at that point) but I could see no flames. The door led to the stairwell, and I had just crawled out onto it when the entire world went black. The smoke and flame had intensified, the fire sucking in oxygen and the smoke being forced up the stairwell like a huge chimney. It spilled over the edges of the landing and enveloped me even hunched on my hands and knees. My eyes began to sting and water; I couldn’t see anything. I crawled back and bumped into the wall, and for several long seconds that felt like minutes, I couldn’t find my way out of the stairwell. The heat was evaporating the water in the towel, and the sheer amount of smoke meant it wasn’t doing much good anyway. By the time I finally made it back out into the hall, I was coughing and choking. Panic made me pull the towel down. I only took the smallest breath before the floor tilted under me and I experienced a horrible rush of lightheadedness – with smoke so toxic, sometimes a breath is all it takes.

I kept crawling, heading back towards my room, now realising my mistake. At that point I was forcing myself to stay calm, but it wasn’t working. I had realised I had probably just gotten myself killed, and it was almost impossible to breathe. The temperature was climbing, and I knew the fire was close. I could hear screaming from somewhere nearby, doors slamming. Every single rational thought had left. I scrambled down the hallway in pure panic, and then I saw the child.

She was hunched down, looking right at me. She wasn’t in any kind of night clothing – she looked like she was still in the clothing she would have worn at the graduation ceremony, a neat little dress and polished shoes, a ribbon tied in her hair. She was perhaps eight years old at my best guess, and seeing her shocked some sense into me. Before I could speak or gesture to the direction she should go, she waved and then pointed.

“Come on, mister,” she said. “This way.”

Together we crawled to the other end of the hallway. Smoke was billowing from that stairwell, too, thick and dark though still not as bad as the other one. Either way it didn’t look good, but the little girl didn’t seem concerned – not even when we crawled out onto the landing, and the orange flicker of flames was visible several floors below.

“No,” I said. “It’ll be too hot.”

“Come on, mister,” she said again.

She began scrambling down the stairs, staying as low as possible. I could hardly leave her, so I followed.

The heat was unbearable, and by the time we were on the floor below, visibility was zero. The smoke was so thick and black that even the flicker of the flames had vanished; the only way I knew how close they were was from the heat and the deafening roar of it. Have you ever been near to a large bonfire? Have you heard how loudly it crackles? That’s nothing. Big fires, they roar. They sound closer to a freight train, a tornado. It’s a sound so loud that it sets off a primal kind of terror, even without the heat and the smoke to add to the danger. What I’m saying is that it’s something that’s very difficult to crawl towards, yet there we were.

I couldn’t see the little girl, but every time I began to panic she would reach back and touch me. The heat grew and I could smell my hair burning, my clothing threatening to catch. The floor was excruciating, and while I didn’t realise it at the time, I was in the process of receiving third degree burns on my hands and knees from the floor alone. I felt faint, the heat making my head pound. It seemed to drain my of my energy, and during those last seconds – as we passed directly past the floor where the inferno was at its worst – I was sure I was running only on pure animal instinct to get away.

Then we descended into the hallway below the fire, and it was all gone. The heat lingered, but it was nothing compared to what it was before. The smoke was hazy grey, high up by the ceiling. The little girl was tugging at me, and I realised I’d collapsed to the ground.

“Quickly, mister!” she said now. “Not far!”

In my pain and confusion, it didn’t occur to me that she wasn’t burned; that she had no difficulty breathing. She tugged hard at my clothing, and while I didn’t know that my clothing was alight at the time, later I remembered and wondered how she had done it. With her prompting and encouragement I made it down the last of the stairs and out into the hotel’s lobby, which was shockingly untouched. Alarms were blaring, but the room was free of smoke and many of the hotel’s employees remained there, grabbing people as they emerged, coughing, from stairwells and hurrying them outside. When I stumbled into the lobby I was immediately tackled by several employees who were, I was later told, beating the flames from me. I had stumbled into the lobby on fire.

I don’t remember anything else. I didn’t have time to mention the girl. I passed out, and was kept in a medically induced coma while my body recovered from serious burns. I very nearly didn’t make it, and when I awoke I had several months of painful operations and skin grafts to go. My hands were badly burned, though the doctors managed to save nearly all my fingers – I’m only missing the little fingers to the first knuckle, and while the scarring is bad I can use the hands well. My knees are badly scarred but functional. My back isn’t pretty to look at, but it doesn’t bother me now, not outside of itching in the heat. I forgot about the girl until just before I was released from hospital, five months later, but to my relief I was told that no children had died in the fire. Whoever she was, she had gotten out safe.

Almost a year later, my grandfather died. He was the son of my firefighter great-grandfather, and when my own father and I were around his house, sorting through his things, we came across some of my great-grandfather’s stuff. Medals, a few old photographs of the family, some letters. My father and I went through the pictures, my father pointing out relatives and telling a few stories here and there. What you would expect from such an occasion, really – but then I found an old picture of a little girl.

I recognised her immediately as the little girl I had seen in the hotel – there was no denying it. The picture was an unpleasant one, taken post-mortem, and while half of her body was badly charred the other half looked as though she could be sleeping. Her hair was the same, the bow singed but present. The dress was the same. I could even still hear how she sounded. Come on, mister! I was so shocked I didn’t say anything. My father looked at it for a long moment, and then he gave a sad sigh.

“I wish he had found out who she was,” he said. “That haunted him. He felt like he failed her.” He took the photo from me and looked a little more closely at it. “Nonsense, of course. He did everything for that little girl. I’m sure she would thank him if she could.”

She did, I thought. She did.