#and then he shakes the leaf of the little potted plant on her desk (like a handshake)

[labyrynth]

(ok but seriously is anyone gonna tell me how this silly joke post vibed with enough of you to now have almost 800 notes)

like i don’t understand xi//cheng to begin with but conceptually i think it’s even funnier when ppl are like “and jingyi is their son!! 🥹” as if jingyi is not canonically ragging on jc at every single opportunity presented to him (and then some)

like this is their dynamic

[rosefinnigen]

Feedist Kinktober day 1!

Prompts:

Story:

“Isn’t it kind of late to plant pumpkins?”

She shakes her head, pulling the homemade apple sucker she bought at the last booth out of her mouth with a pop. “Mm, I thought that too, but the guy said these are a fast-growing varietal or something,” she says. “Look, here’s one he planted in August.” She shows me a picture on her phone.

“Wow. That’s impressive,” I say, but I’m not buying it. There’s no way a pumpkin that big was only planted two months ago. But I’m not about to ruin her fun. I mean, the worst that happens is she plants the seeds and they don’t grow, right?

Honestly, I’m surprised —not that she got the seeds, mind you; she’s always getting into little projects like that — but that unlike her other pet projects, she actually stays pretty dedicated to this one. I mean, she did leave the kitchen a mess with all the potting soil, but other than that, this is the most attentive I’ve ever seen her to something that requires this much patience.

I’m also surprised because it does actually seem to be growing pretty fast. The day after she plants it, she pulls me over from my desk and shows me excitedly the tiny, curling green sprout poking up out of the dirt. “It’s our baby!” she exclaims, which our cat seems to take personal offense to.

She’s taken to reading it stories. She’s also taken to eating all the cherry tomatoes I got for my salads, but I can’t be that mad at her — she’s so cute about it, popping six or seven in her mouth at a time so her cheeks bulge out like a little hamster. She’ll sit there on the kitchen floor next to the pot, a snack in one hand and a book in the other, like it’s her favorite spot in the world.

“Talking to plants is good for them! We want our baby to grow up big and strong, don’t we?” she says.

By day five, it’s starting to grow its first leaf, and she makes up this little song about it — “oh, pumpkin baby, pretty green girl~ Prettiest pumpkin in the whole wide world~!” I actually think she’s the prettiest pumpkin out there, but I don’t say it.

“Man, there is not enough room in this kitchen,” she says day nine. Half of that is probably just because she’s covered every available surface with cookie sheets, but the other half is definitely the vines that have started sprawling over the tile and climbing up the cupboards.

Well, and we have to consider that her ass brushes the opposite counter when she bends to take things out of the oven. Did it always do that? I honestly don’t remember. The cookies are great though, especially smothered in homemade apple butter.

“Come look, babe! It flowered!” She calls on day sixteen as I’m bringing in the groceries. She’s sitting on the floor next to the pot, holding up a bright yellow flower for me to see. She’s also not wearing any pants.

“What, were you so excited about the plant you forgot to get dressed?” I laugh.

“N-no!” She says, flushing bright red. “I just… I couldn’t find any pants that fit me.”

Well, not like it matters when it’s just the two of us here. I bend down and kiss her forehead, then give her belly a little poke. “You’re going to blend right in at the pumpkin patch,” I tease, which makes her blush harder.

“Don’t be silly. Anyway, is that food? What did you get?”

The flower only blooms for a day. The next day it’s closed and wrinkled, and she pouts, poking it worriedly. She perks up alright when the oven dings to let her know her cornbread is done, though. (Between you and me, the cornbread is also gone within the day.)

Mind you, I was just joking around when I said she’d blend in at the pumpkin patch. But when the actual gourd starts growing, if I didn’t know better I’d honestly think she was trying to prove me right. Although mostly I’m just worried that between her and the rapidly widening orange abomination she dotes on we won’t have a kitchen at all by the end of October.

“Look how big our baby is getting!” she coos on day twenty-four. Her belly squishes over the top of her new sweatpants — in her favorite sunset orange, of course. The pumpkin looks almost pale in comparison, and she’s definitely got it beat on roundness.

“What are you going to do with it?” I ask.

“Pie, of course,” she says.

It takes our neighbors coming to help just for us to get the pumpkin off the floor and onto the table so we can cut it up, once Halloween comes around and it’s finally fully ripe. Of course, we thank them for their help by sending them home with two of the pies we make from the thing.

I was worried at first that it would have been too big to be flavorful, but she proves me wrong pretty quickly, eating so fast she gets whipped cream all over her chubby cheeks. (I did have some pie myself, mind you, but it’s hard to focus on flavors when someone’s being that cute right in front of you.)

“You gotta stop letting me eat so much,” she groans the morning after.

“Mm-m, no way,” I mumble into her neck, still half asleep but squeezing her a little tighter.

“I’m serious,” she laughs, kissing my nose. “Like it’s not even funny, do you feel how round I am?”

“Mhm,” I nod. “Prettiest pumpkin in the whole wide world~” I sing sleepily.

I hope we grow an even bigger one next year.

[vannahfanfics]

Ruffled Feathers

Category: Comedy

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Fumikage Tokoyami, Keigo Takami

Fumikage dipped his head politely at the receptionist as he strode up to the desk; she typed fervently at her computer, eyes glued to the screen as her fingers flew across the keyboard while her office phone was tucked between her shoulder and her ear. The bright sheen of the colorful, tropical bird-like feathers that served as her hair complimented the hue of the decorative metal sculpture hanging on the wall above her desk— an effigy of Hawks’ crimson wings, provided by a grateful citizen. She rolled in her chair to face Tokoyami, mouthing “Hawks is ready for you in his office,” and procured some taffy from a drawer in her desk. Dark Shadow lunged forward to snap the unwrapped candy from her fingers, chewing delightedly with a noise somewhere between a coo and a purr. 

“I love that lady,” Fumikage’s companion chimed between loud smacks as the young hero-in-training boarded the elevator. 

“She spoils you,” the boy remarked with a playful snort and pressed the button for the top floor. Dark Shadow wriggled in displeasure, winding around Fumikage’s body as he continued to chomp happily on the sticky candy. Though the sound would grate most people, Fumikage had long since grown accustomed to the obnoxious smacks of his companion, so much so that he jokingly regarded it as elevator music. 

The pleasant chime of the elevator also marked Dark Shadow loudly swallowing the thoroughly masticated taffy. He floated over Fumikage’s shoulder with quiet rumbles of satisfaction, docile after receiving the sweet treat from his favorite person in the office; if an enemy ever needed to sedate Fumikage’s Quirk, tossing some taffy his way ought to do the trick, he thought with a small smirk as he walked down the hall. Though he knew the hallway was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, he still found himself turning his head to marvel to view. The skyscrapers punched the heavens like spires, their glass panels reflecting the blue sky and wispy white clouds like water. Far below, cars trundled like ants on the thin stripe of road. For a long time, Fumikage thought that he would only be able to admire that view like this— staring ruefully out a window— but thanks to his mentor’s tutelage, he had found his wings. 

“Hawks!” he called when he arrived at the broad wooden doors at the end of the hall, punctuating with a loud rap of his knuckles against the sturdy frame. “I’m reporting for duty.” When the hero didn’t answer, Fumikage furrowed his eyes in confusion; had the receptionist been mistaken? Even with the hero’s tendency to go for mid-afternoon flights around the building, she normally had tabs on him. Frowning, Fumikage announced that he was entering before turning the knob and slowly pushing the door open. 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, honestly— but Hawks perching on his desk with his eyes wide as he stared at the houseplant in the corner, wings flared out on either side of him with his feathers ruffled, was not it. 

“Um… Hawks?” 

Hawks released a chittering sound in response, gesturing with his chin to the houseplant. Fumikage looked at it in befuddlement; it looked like an ordinary houseplant, though he couldn’t recall seeing it before. It was a nice, leafy fern that definitely brightened up the office space, but was there something that Fumikage couldn’t see? Frowning, he started to approach the green plant, and Hawks squawked in alarm. 

“Don’t! It’s dangerous!” the hero cried, causing Fumikage to freeze in his tracks and look wildly at him. A nervous, high-pitched cry bubbled in Hawks’ chest as he continued to stare owlishly at the unassuming plant. He flapped his wings, sending the loose papers on his desk fluttering into the air. Fumikage followed them with his gaze as they slowly drifted to the ground before looking up at his mentor in utter bewilderment. 

“He’s cracked,” Dark Shadow quipped, winding around Fumikage’s body to go poke at the fern. Hawks let out a series of hisses, flapping his wings some more as the shadowy creature prodded at the leaves. Fumikage jerked back on instinct, wondering if the plant was some villain ploy; however, the leaf just bobbed under Dark Shadow’s claw as he tapped on it experimentally. “It’s a plant.” 

“I don’t like it!” Hawks wheedled in a high-pitched voice. He hunched back, wrapping his wings around himself until only a few tufts of wind-swept blond hair and the bright whites of his eyes peeked out from between the feathers. “It’s new. I don’t like it. Get rid of it!” he ordered before flaring his wings out and flapping them wildly as if he were trying to intimidate the plant. Fumikage’s clothes ruffled in the gales his mighty wings generated, while the fern’s leaves flapped wildly. Hawks seemed displeased that the plant didn’t immediately vanish, curling back into himself with an irritated squawk-like noise. 

“Hawks, are you all right?” 

“No! No, I’m not! I can’t work under these conditions!” he replied angrily, feathers flaring out and vibrating. “I don’t know where that came from; it’s new, it bothers me, and I want it out!” As he grew pink-faced, wings flapping and ranting like a toddler, Fumikage felt the unease drain from his system. Whatever Hawks’ deal with the plant was, it clearly wasn’t an enemy threat. Fumikage walked up to the plant, inspecting it with raised eyebrows. It really was a nice plant; it was a big leafy emerald fern in a ceramic, hand-painted urn— someone obviously spent a pretty penny on it. Fumikage rubbed the leaves to find them wavy and soft; it was a real one, to boot! Why would Hawks want to get rid of it, and even more, be terrified of it? 

As Hawks continued to cheep and flap his wings, the doors opened and the receptionist walked into the room. 

“Sorry to bother you while you with your internee, Hawks, but— oh, no, not again,” she sighed when she spotted the pro hero perched on his desk and clucking in distress. 

“Wait, this has happened before?” Fumikage blinked. The receptionist heaved a sigh and rolled her head to look at him, looking like the interaction had drained years off her life already. 

“Yes. It’s called ‘toy phobia,’” she explained as she walked over to investigate Hawks’ source of unease, the potted fern. “Due to the nature of his Quirk, Hawks has some bird-like tendencies. One of those is seen in domesticated birds. They grow so used to their environment that whenever something new is introduced, they grow highly anxious and phobic of the object.” As she picked up the potted plant, wobbling a little under its weight, Hawks hopped down from his desk to crouch on the floor. He cautiously hopped forward, leaned over with his hands on the floor like a primitive beast, as his wings continued to flutter nervously. When the receptionist turned to him suddenly, the plant leaves jostling, Hawks squawked and dove to hide behind Fumikage. 

As his mentor clutched his waist to peer around the side of his leg, Fumikage narrowed his eyebrows. 

“How long will it take him to adjust?” 

“We just have to convince him that it’s not a threat,” the receptionist smiled before setting the fern back down. Hawks chittered and ducked behind Fumikage’s backside again; curiosity soon got the better of him, for he slowly leaned sideways to peer at the plant again. “Hawks, it’s just a houseplant,” the receptionist said sweetly. “Why don’t you come and see?” 

“Don’t wanna,” the birdman muttered while squeezing into Fumikage’s hips with a nervous titter. 

“Hawwwwks,” she drawled sternly, making the hero whimper and flap his wings softly. “Come, now, it can’t hurt you. Look,” she said and demonstrated by gently stroking one of the fern’s soft, feathery leaves. She turned back and beckoned him forth. “A grateful fan bought this for you. Surely you don’t want to disappoint them by throwing it out?” 

Hawks grumbled under his breath, nervously chirping with his wings ruffling. Then, he inched out from behind Fumikage, hopping on his feet to approach the plant. He immediately clung to his receptionist’s leg, pressing his cheek into her calf as he hunched down to study the plant intently. Slowly, he snuck a booted foot forward to toe at the ceramic pot. It scooched backward, making him squawk and flap his wings wildly in fright. 

“This is embarrassing,” Dark Shadow quipped, prompting Fumikage to bop him chastingly on the head. The shadowy figure nipped at his fingers in retaliation while his incorporeal form wiggled with displeasure. Still, he obediently kept his beak shut. Hawks was ignorant to the insult, too busy staring at the plant like it were a terrifying ghost rather than a houseplant. 

“Hawks,” the receptionist laughed and gave him an encouraging push. Hawks’ boots scraped across the floor as he dug in his heels, trying to resist but failure. He chittered as he came face-to-leaf with the plant; his wings flared out again, feathers shaking violently. He reached up with trembling hands to poke at the leaf, flinching as it bounced under the gentle prod. “See? Nothing to be afraid of,” the woman hummed as Hawks gave it another experimental poke. 

“‘S new,” Hawks mumbled again, eyebrows narrowing as he curled into himself. Yet, he continued to play with the leaf, bouncing it up and down before tracing the patterns of the veins on the underside. “... But… I guess it’s okay,” he relented after a minute, his wings slowly tucking against his back as he relaxed. He fell back on his rump and crossed his legs to scoot closer to the plant and grab one of the fronds. His eyebrows were scrunched while he intimately inspected the plant, studying its every feature until it seemed his anxiety had completely dissipated. 

“Crisis averted,” the receptionist sighed, smiling wearily when Hawks released a bubbly coo and batted a leaf playfully. “I swear I’ve sent out dozens of memos on this, but every once in a while something slips through the cracks and triggers these episodes,” she remarked to Fumikage, who was just watching Hawks play with the fern. It was strange, seeing his mentor just… playing with a houseplant after having an entire fit. 

“He should be all right in a few minutes,” the woman said and clapped Fumikage on the shoulder, “but if he acts up again, feel free to come and get me!” The boy only nodded, still watching Hawks with a complicated expression on his feathered face, as the receptionist left. It took Hawks a few more minutes of poking and prodding and slapping the houseplant before he became fully acclimated to its presence. It was then that he seemed to notice that his young protegé was there, and he glanced over his shoulder to give Fumikage an embarrassed smile. 

“Oh, Tsukuyomi… I’m, uh, sorry you had to see that,” he laughed bashfully, scratching at the back of his neck. “The bird tendencies come out when I least expect them, so sometimes it’s hard to control them.” He straightened up with a small sigh, stretching his wings to preen his disarrayed feathers. He glanced at the boy as he did so, still giving him that strained smile. “Hey, um… I would appreciate it if you kept this between us. You can imagine the press if they found out I had a tic like this, and you wouldn’t believe the people that would send me surprise gifts to harass me on purpose…” 

Fumikage’s eyes widened and he shook his head. 

“No, Hawks, of course.” 

“Thanks,” Hawks said, shoulders sagging in relief. “I knew I could count on you, Tsukuyomi.”

Fumikage felt his face grow warm with happiness and pride. It felt good, knowing that Hawks trusted him with a secret like that, even if it was something as simple as a quirky bird-like tendency. He flushed further as the older man threw an arm around his shoulders and ruffled the feathers crowning the back of his head. “You had lunch yet? Why don’t we go get some chicken, my treat for having to put up with me today.” 

“You don’t have to,” Fumikage insisted shyly, wringing the cape of his uniform. “It really wasn’t that much trouble…” 

“Ahh, just let me have my chance to spoil my awesome mentee, yeah?” Hawks pushed, steering Fumikage outside the door already. Dark Shadow bobbed around Fumikage’s body, excitedly bleating about chicken wings, so Fumikage just gave in. Smiling wanly, he let Hawks steer him down the hall back towards the elevator. When he looked back on this internship, he wondered if it would be the action-packed moments he reminisced on or the simple things like this… Actually, he really didn’t have to wonder at all, he thought with a small smirk. Really, how would he ever forget the sight of Hawks get ruffled feathers over a houseplant?

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

“Grow To Need Me There, I’m Not Going Anywhere” -- Wilhemina Venable x Cordelia Goode

Listen, sometimes PlummyVenable™️ can be baby, okay? Don’t fight me on this.

Prompt: “Imagine: that prompt you reblogged for character A tilting character B’s chin up but with Delia x Mina ówò”

Words: ~4,600

Warnings: SMUT, male aggression, mentions of blood

Requested by: @shineestark​

~Enjoy!~

“You can’t stop him,” Wilhemina tried, a smirk pulling at her lips as she cocked her head. “You won’t win this.” 

Cordelia sighed, raising her brow. “Well then, I’ll die trying.” 

“What do you think you’re going to do?” Wilhemina scoffed, tapping her cane. “Magic your way out of the apocalypse?”

Cordelia straightened at her tone. “You say it like you don’t believe in it.” 

Wilhemina laughed incredulously, eyes narrowing. “Because it’s ridiculous.” 

“No,” Cordelia corrected, holding up her finger. “Because you don’t understand it. And that scares you.” She leaned forward, hand braced on Mina’s desk. “It scares you that there could be an entire world out there, perfectly tangible to a select group of people, able to be understood and manipulated. And it scares you that you aren’t a part of it.”

Wilhemina’s fingers dug into her cane as she hit it against the ground. “You don’t know the first thing about me.” 

And Cordelia had the nerve to hum as she turned, opening the door to Mina’s office. “No, clearly I don’t know anything at all.” 

It wasn’t the first time Cordelia had come into her office demanding to see Michael. 

And it certainly wasn’t the last. 

And each time, the arguments got shorter and shorter, eventually resorting to Cordelia opening the door, Wilhemina not even looking up from her computer at the familiar click of the woman’s heels. 

Wilhemina would simply say no, Cordelia would stand for a moment, and then she would go, leaving Mina alone in her office to watch her walk away down the long, white hallway. 

~~~ 

“You stupid, insolent girl!” Michael screamed, pacing around Wilhemina’s office. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’ve ruined everything!”

He turned on Wilhemina, practically spitting as he raged. She stood perfectly still, flinching as a drop of saliva fell onto her cheek. 

“I’ve done nothing but what you asked of me,” Mina countered, voice steady. “You told me to turn her away, I turned her away.”

“And in the process, she’s somehow memorized all of the paperwork on your desk and set up plans to counter our every move. It’s your fault that our entire operation now has to be pushed back who knows how many months.”

A bolt went through her as his words registered in her head. All of those days that she hadn’t bothered to look up from her desk. Hadn’t even acknowledged the woman. Hadn’t had the energy to argue with her, and ignored her until she had walked herself out the door. 

Even so, she was not going to take the fall for this. It wasn’t her fight. It wasn’t her apocalypse.

She shifted, leaning on her cane as her brow raised. When she spoke, she made sure to thread enough sarcasm and hostility through her words that he would listen. 

“If you had seen her for her appointments, the appointments that you told me to schedule, that you told me to turn her away from, maybe she wouldn’t have had the opportunity to—“

But he waved her off. “I don’t care how it happened. She’s a problem. You will take care of her. It’s as simple as that.”

Wilhemina scoffed, straightening. “I will do no such thing. You made this mess, you go pick it up.”

But as she turned to leave, his hand found her arm and he pulled. She stumbled, barely catching herself on her cane before looking up at him, and the second her eyes raised from the floor his hand came down across her face, his ring leaving a nice clean gash against the rose of her cheek.

She brought her hand up to the cut, swallowing hard as she looked at the blood streaking her fingers. Met his gaze. Swallowed again. 

“Yes, sir.”

~~~ 

It only took her about fifteen minutes to arrive at the tall, white house. 

Wilhemina put the car in park, flipping down her visor and checking herself over in the mirror. 

The gash had closed up, for the most part, but a deep, purple bruise was starting to bloom underneath it. She narrowed her eyes, touching it with shaking fingers. Winced. 

And after taking a deep breath, pushing her lips together and smoothing her lipstick down, she got out of the car. Walked the excessive number of steps up to the house. And knocked on the door.

A blond boy directed her through the rooms, down the halls, and across the kitchen, until they stopped in front of misty glass doors.

He gestured, nodded curtly, and left, leaving Wilhemina standing alone and having no idea what she was supposed to do.

“Kyle, is that you?” 

The voice came from beyond the doors, lilting and light and too friendly to belong to the same woman who had stormed her office and pushed every single one of her buttons. 

And yet Wilhemina knew that there was no other option. She had asked the boy for Cordelia, and he had led her here. 

So with another deep breath, she straightened her shoulders, flexed her fingers on her cane, and pushed the doors open. 

And there was Cordelia, sitting at a table across the room, hair curling perfectly down her back as she shifted at the sound of the door opening, not looking up from her work. 

“What is it? I’m busy.”

“Ms. Goode,” Wilhemina said curtly, tapping her cane as she shut the door behind her. 

She watched Cordelia pause. She didn’t flinch, didn’t move, didn’t turn. But she did pause, delicate fingers frozen for a fraction of a moment around glass vials, bubbling and steaming with purple liquid.

“Ms. Venable,” came her reply, and somehow between now and just moments ago, her voice had lowered and edged razor sharp. “You’ve taken to invading my school now? Whatever did I do to deserve this great honor?”

Wilhemina brushed off her sarcasm, setting her jaw and crossing the room. She was careful not to touch anything, the dirt on the floors enough to put her on edge, let alone the pots of plants overflowing with green and the spores getting stuck in her nose. 

“It seems that my employer has quite the issue with your intercepting his supplies and interfering with his plans.” 

Cordelia only hummed, swirling one of the vials and plucking a leaf from a blue plant sitting tall next to her. “Well if your employer wasn’t planning on ending the world, I wouldn’t need to interfere with any of his plans, now would I?”

Mina sighed. “Ms. Goode, I don’t ask questions about what you’re doing or why you’re doing it. I’ve simply been sent to ask you, once again, to stop.” 

Cordelia finished then, setting her vials down and spinning in her chair. “And do you always do exactly as you’re told?” she asked, eyes meeting Mina’s for the first time since she had arrived. “Or do you ever think that maybe you’re capable of just a little bit more? You—“

She cut off, eyes flicking down to Wilhemina’s cheek, and Mina instinctively tilted her head away. She swallowed.

“As I said before, you need to get out of our way. This is your last warning.”

She waited for Cordelia’s response, watching her as she stared right back. And then, lighting fast, she was up, crossing the room and making straight for Wilhemina. 

Something caught in Mina’s chest and her breath hitched as she instinctively stepped back, back, back. Until her thighs hit the top of a large wooden table and Cordelia stood directly before her. Until she was completely wedged, held, trapped. 

She told herself that her heart stuttered because of the claustrophobia. Because of those stupid spores in the air that wouldn’t let her breathe. 

But when Cordelia’s gaze flicked between her cheek and her eyes and Wilhemina turned her head away again, clearing her throat, when Mina felt the ghost of a touch across her face, down her jaw, she stopped breathing altogether. 

A firm thumb tapping her jaw and Wilhemina pulled her face further away, picking a stone on the floor and pouring all of her attention into it to keep herself focused. 

She barely heard her name, her first name, a semblance of syllables put together that made her heart clench. 

And then— 

Cordelia tilted Mina’s chin up, eyes scanning her face. A frown pulled the corner of her lip down. 

“Who did this to you?”

Wilhemina blinked, swallowing around the lump pushing up her throat. 

“It’s not important.”

And Cordelia almost said something. Wilhemina could see it wrestling its way past her teeth. But before Mina knew what was happening, Cordelia was clearing her throat and turning away.

Her hands immediately busied themselves with some sort of potion, plucking leaves and muddling them down faster than should have been possible. 

Mina had barely gotten a breath in, fingers fidgeting on her cane, when Cordelia returned, a small bowl cupped in her hand. She dug two fingers down into the dish, sliding green paste between her fingers and holding them up in the light. 

“This might hurt,” she murmured, and then her fingers were on Mina’s jaw, holding her face still as she smoothed the substance over Mina’s cheek. 

It should have hurt, it should have stung where it hit the broken skin. But all Mina could feel was the heat of Cordelia’s fingers, pads so soft and so delicate as they traced the bone of Mina’s cheek. 

An eternity passed in the time it took Cordelia to finish her work, every inch of Mina’s skin set on edge. She didn’t like being touched, she didn’t let anyone touch her. But this woman, so soft and delicate and kind and frustrating…

Something sparked under her touch that made Mina think maybe she did believe in magic after all. 

~~~

His breath was hot on her face as he regarded her cheek, and Wilhemina stood frozen, careful to hold her posture straight and not to move an inch. 

“She didn’t touch you?” Michael asked, words slithering through the quiet office.

“No,” Wilhemina said softly, swallowing around her lie. 

And she closed her eyes as his thumb brushed over what was left of her cut, digging her fingers into her cane to fight the flinch against his touch.

“She didn’t help you?”

A beat, knuckles whitening. “No.” 

Michael hummed, nose brushing hers as he studied her face. “Are you sure.”

And Mina was mindful to hold her breath steady as she let one last word out, carefully, cautiously. Checking her tone and making sure it came out perfectly even. “Yes.”

He tutted, pulling back as he raised his brow. “Yes, what?”

Her heart hammered in her chest at her error, and she tilted her shoulders, tapping her cane lightly on the floor. “Yes, sir.”

A hum, and then he turned to leave. Mina let out the breath she had been holding, dropping her head and slumping on her cane. 

A split second later he spun back around, knocking the cane out of Mina’s hand and sending her tumbling to the floor. 

Her skull cracked against the tile, and the way she had crumpled, falling directly onto her cane, made the head of it slash across her mouth.  

She cried out, biting her lip against any further whimpers as Michael started yelling. She tasted blood. 

“You will go back there, you will tell her to stop. You will tell her that if she tries anything like this again, I will come for her. Flame and fire and fury. And she will not be able to stop me when I unleash my father’s wrath upon the earth.”

Mina grabbed for her cane, determined to stand up again before he made to leave. Determined not to let him win this time. 

But she had barely gotten up onto her knees by the time he was out the door, trying to find purchase with her cane to push herself up off the floor. 

The door to her office clicked and there was silence, and after an inhale and an exhale, a long moment to make sure he wouldn’t return, she let her tears fall, curling in on herself and sobbing into her knees. 

~~~ 

It didn’t take long for Wilhemina to drive back to that big, white house. Especially not now. 

Not now that she knew she would see Cordelia’s face on the other side of the looming, black doors. 

They had been in the middle of dinner, Cordelia intercepting the blond boy in the hallway as he led Mina down the long hallway to the dining room. 

Wilhemina tried apologizing for arriving so late to discuss business. She tried to tell Cordelia that she could wait. Could come back later. 

But then those perfect fingers were digging around her wrist and pulling her back through the house and into the greenhouse. 

And before Wilhemina knew what was happening, Cordelia had her pinned against that table again, eyes scanning her face.

It was all so familiar, so different. Intriguing and thrilling and overwhelming. 

“Does it hurt?” Cordelia’s voice was soft, softer than Wilhemina had ever heard it. But something firm laced under her words, and it made Mina shiver under the attention.

“No.” 

And then Cordelia’s eyes met her own, breaking across her hard layers and delving deep into her soul. Her fingers fidgeted on Mina’s cheek, thumb flicking over the corner of her mouth. “Are you sure?”

The way she asked, her chin tilted up as she studied Mina’s face, had Wilhemina practically panting as she shook against the tears pricking her eyes.

“No,” Mina breathed, fighting the pressure tightening around her lungs as her eyes tracked Cordelia’s face. 

She was so close. So incredibly close. All Mina had to do was tilt her head up, just an inch. She was almost positive Cordelia’s fingers were doing it for her. Her lips parted and suddenly everything in her mouth was too sticky and too dry all at once.

And then Cordelia pulled away. 

Wilhemina tried not to gasp at the loss of contact. She hadn’t realized how warm Cordelia was until cold air hit her cheek and flooded back into her lungs. 

She hadn’t taken a breath the entire time Cordelia was touching her. 

Cordelia crossed the greenhouse, rustling through vials and rummaging through drawers. 

And somehow, here, with this anomaly of a woman before her, so hard and so powerful and somehow so dead set on making sure she was okay… It made Wilhemina feel exposed and vulnerable, a raw nerve set on edge in an unfamiliar place.

It wasn’t that she had never been kissed. Of course she had. But she had never wanted anyone to kiss her like she longed for Cordelia. Never burned so hot and so cold all at once, the memory of pain the only thing keeping her rooted down. Keeping her from spiraling out and crossing the room and devouring this woman absolutely senseless.

“You know,” Cordelia called from across the room, mixing and measuring and stirring. “You could have just asked.”

Wilhemina dug her fingers into the table behind her, grounding herself and staying firmly in the present. “Asked what?” 

And this time when Cordelia walked back to her, a different potion in hand, she had a knowing smirk sliced across her face.

“If you wanted me to kiss you.”

Wilhemina’s breath caught in her throat, and she tried to back further against the table behind her. But Cordelia was back in front of her, one finger swirling in the gel-like substance of the vial. And Wilhemina was trapped. Again.

“All you had to do was ask,” Cordelia continued, tapping her finger on the edge of the glass and letting the potion drip off of her nail. 

“I didn’t— I never,” Wilhemina tried, grasping weakly at any words floating through her head that weren’t “yes” or “please”. But then Cordelia’s hand was on her jaw again, so warm and soft and tender.

“Hold still.” 

Wilhemina swallowed, shaking her head in Cordelia’s grip. “I didn’t say—“ 

Cordelia’s fingers tightened, forcing Mina’s face up. “I said, hold still.” 

And this time Mina complied, letting Cordelia run her wet finger over the slice across her mouth, allowing her lips to part against Cordelia’s breath. 

And when she spoke again, her voice was low but absent, like she was concentrating too hard to annunciate her words. “What you forget, darling,” she murmured, eyes pinned to Mina’s mouth as she finished dabbing the gel against her lips, “is that I’m the Supreme. Which means I can hear exactly what’s going through that pretty little mind of yours.” 

Wilhemina gasped as Cordelia let her thumb slide down her lips, resting in on her chin.

“Or do you still not believe in magic?” 

“I—“ Mina tried, tilting her chin up. Because once again, Cordelia was so close. Because she had an air about her that was controlling Mina like a wave, crashing and pulling and telling her what to do. Because she knew what Wilhemina wanted and surely she wouldn’t be so cruel as to— 

Cordelia pulled back just as Mina leaned forward, blocking the kiss with a finger to Mina’s lips. 

Wilhemina froze there, unsure if it was shame or shock that was pooling through her veins. Trying to understand how she had somehow read all of this wrong, how she could have been so stupid.

Cordelia leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the line on Mina’s cheek, barely visible anymore. 

“Not stupid,” Cordelia cooed, her voice melting like honey. “Just not now.”

Mina’s heart stuttered, fingers digging into the head of her cane. “Not now?” 

Cordelia smiled. A huge, genuine smile that held light itself. And Wilhemina wondered how she could have ever hated this woman. 

“Not now. I didn’t just spend all of that time making a salve for your lips so that it could get rubbed off.”

But heat was pooling between Mina’s legs at the realization that this was happening. They were talking about this and teasing about this and it was actually plausible. Tangible.

“I don’t care,” she started, tapping her cane and straightening. “I don’t care.” 

“Well, that’s rather rude.” Cordelia threw a smirk over her shoulder as she went back to her workspace and set the vial down. “I would have thought that the proper Ms. Venable would have had better manners.”

Wilhemina blinked at the realization that she had just been insulted. Tried to pull a chastisement onto her tongue. But she only had one coherent thought, pounding through her head on a loop. 

“Then don’t kiss me.”

Cordelia whipped around, a warning in her eyes. “What did you just say?” 

And Mina would have smirked. She would have felt cocky, if her cheeks weren’t flushed with heat and her heart wasn’t practically pounding out of her chest at the mere idea. 

“Don’t kiss me,” she repeated, nose twitching as she swallowed. 

Cordelia walked back to her, vials and potions and plants forgotten. Walked back slowly until she was pressed completely flush against Mina’s chest. 

“Don’t ask me what I think you’re asking me. Please.” Her breath was quick against Wilhemina’s face, warm little bursts feeding the hammering of Mina’s heart. 

Please.

“Don’t do this,” Cordelia started, catching Wilhemina’s wrist before she could trace her fingers down Cordelia’s arm. “Don’t.” 

The word was punctuated by Wilhemina’s cane falling to the floor and clanging loudly against the stones.

But Wilhemina barely heard it. She couldn’t breathe anymore, couldn’t fathom thinking of anything other than exactly what she wanted right this second. And her body physically ached with need. 

“Do you understand what you’re asking me to do?” Cordelia breathed, fingers twitching against Mina’s wrist. Fighting her. Holding her still when all she wanted to do was move. “Do you understand what’s at stake here?”

And Wilhemina did the only thing she could do. She nodded, brows pushing up as tears pricked her eyes. “Yes.” 

“What will he do to you if he finds out…?” Cordelia asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes searched Mina’s face, moving from her cheek to her lips. 

“He won’t find out,” Mina tried, reaching up with her free hand to pull Cordelia to her. Closer, closer. 

But Cordelia’s hand was right there, snatching at her arm and holding it in the air with an iron grip. 

A moment passed, the two of them frozen like that, Wilhemina completely pinned by Cordelia. Caught by Cordelia. Owned by Cordelia. An eternity of eye contact, hundreds of questions asked and answered in one breath. 

And then Cordelia surged forward, latching her mouth to Mina’s neck and sucking. Hard. 

She released Mina’s hands in favor of holding her waist, and Mina immediately dug her fingers into Cordelia’s hair, pulling and tugging and holding her against her as she moaned. 

Cordelia hummed against her skin in response, sending fire licking up into her cheeks and straight down to her core. 

It only took a few moments of Cordelia mouthing at her neck, peppering soft kisses over hard, dark marks, before Mina yanked Cordelia’s hips against her own. 

“Please,” she asked quietly, afraid that if she was too loud she would break the moment. Afraid if she disturbed the air in the room, Cordelia would realize what she was doing and come to her senses and stop. But she needed more. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cordelia cooed against her jaw, pressing the softest kiss to her pulse point before leaning back and pushing her forehead against Mina’s. “I promise.” 

All Mina managed was a breathless nod, and then Cordelia had her hands hooked under her thighs, hauling her up onto the table. 

She landed hard on the wood, a shock going up her spine and rattling her teeth. Mina winced, closing her eyes against the pain for the smallest of seconds. But Cordelia immediately froze, pulling back. 

“Did I hurt you?” 

The hesitance there, swimming in her words with something that sounded like panic, had Mina’s heart swelling in her chest.

She shook her head quickly. “No. No, I’m fine. Just please…”

She pulled Cordelia back against her, wrapping her legs around her hips. 

But Cordelia was still staring at her, hands unmoving on her waist. “Wilhemina…”

Another shock coursed through her body, this time setting goosebumps on her skin and making her mouth go dry. 

Cordelia held her gaze, continuing. “I’m not him. Don’t let me hurt you.” She tilted Mina’s chin up, searching her eyes. “Do you understand?” 

Wilhemina hadn’t felt the tears pooling, blurring her vision, until one fell on her cheek and the sting startled her back to the present. She wanted to nod. She wanted to thank her. She wanted to tell this wonderfully caring, loving woman that she didn’t have the capability to hurt her like he did, let alone the motivation. 

But with Cordelia’s eyes on her, worried and dark and blown out, all she could think of was kissing her. 

So she did. 

It should have been rough. It was always rough. But somehow, when Wilhemina pushed her lips against Cordelia’s, when Cordelia didn’t pull away, when she parted her lips and whimpered and melted down into Mina, something softened deep in her heart. And as she kissed Cordelia ever so gently, cupped her face tenderly, urged her closer, the only thing she could fathom was kindness. Protection. Care. 

Magic. 

It could have been minutes later. It could have been hours. All concept of time had flown out the window the second Cordelia had pushed her tongue against Mina’s and scratched her nails over Mina’s thighs. 

The rest came in flashes — Cordelia rucking up Mina’s skirt, pushing her thighs apart, kissing back down her neck. 

The sounds Mina was making were bouncing across the stone walls, but she didn’t register them. Couldn’t register them. Not with the way Cordelia was egging her on, urging her to beg for more, louder. Whispering the filthiest things, voice hot and sticky in Mina’s ear as she teased her and pinched her and pulled her down on her thigh.

Wilhemina threw her head back, whining, scrambling for any piece of Cordelia she could find. 

It went on like that, Cordelia’s mouth in her ear, dragging her down against her thigh, pulling every moan and gasp and whimper out of Mina before she was practically shaking from want. 

And then in the blink of an eye Wilhemina was being lifted from the table and backed against the wall. Her head connected with it and she almost gasped, almost let her mouth fall open. But she caught herself, teeth digging into her lip. 

Cordelia hesitated though, fingers faltering on her waist.

“No,” Mina groaned, pulling Cordelia flush against her and hooking a leg over her hip. “Don’t stop. I’m fine, just— Oh god, don’t stop.”

She had wanted to push Cordelia down onto her knees. Had wanted the woman’s mouth, her filthy, hot mouth, wet against her core. Fucking her until she couldn’t speak. 

But then her fingers, those perfect, delicate, magic fingers, slid so easily inside of her, twisting and pulsing and curling, and she couldn’t help but moan at the feel of her, of this woman, this infuriating, perfect, powerful—

Her orgasm hit her out of nowhere, searing stars across her vision as Cordelia caught her cries with her tongue. Wilhemina shook, tensed, and as her senses came back to her, she realized in a flash that she was standing against a wall. And she didn’t have her cane.

Her knees gave out in that exact moment and she braced herself for the fall. For the smack of the concrete and the cold, wet floor against her cheek. 

But Cordelia was right there, catching her on her thigh and wrapping Mina’s arms around her neck.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” she cooed, holding Mina up by her waist and grounding her into the wall. “I’ve got you, alright?” 

And the way Cordelia was looking at her, pupils blown wide and brow pulled up, just so, Mina couldn’t help but nod, pulling herself into Cordelia and tucking her nose against her neck. 

Cordelia’s hand skimmed down Mina’s spine, tracing the curve there and walking down her vertebrae. 

Mina flinched on instinct, but then there was something warm pricking off of Cordelia’s fingers, filling those gaps in her spine and giving her a sense of relief that she didn’t know was possible. 

Magic fingers.

“Exactly,” Cordelia murmured, kissing the top of Mina’s head. 

Everything pooled into Wilhemina’s mind at once, the realization that magic existed, the realization that the apocalypse was inevitable. And the realization that she had chosen a side that was likely to get her into entirely too much trouble.

Michael flashed through her mind, his hand coming down across her cheek, knocking her cane from her grip.

Wilhemina felt Cordelia tense under her and she straightened, pulling back.

“I apologize, I—“

But Cordelia cut her off with a kiss, fervent and desperate and heavy. When she pulled back, there were tears in her eyes. She cupped Wilhemina’s jaw, holding her gaze.

“He can’t hurt you anymore. Understood? He won’t hurt you anymore.”

And with the way Cordelia was looking at her, so open and eager and protective, her eyes dark and determined, she couldn’t help but nod.

In an instant she was enveloped in another hug, held snug in Cordelia’s arms.

A sniff, fingers through Mina’s hair, and then a kiss to the top of her head. 

“I’ve got you."

[herohotline]

We’ve Ran Into Eachother So Many Times But You Don’t Even Know My Name

Keigo Takami x Reader

A/N: I finally finished this :,/ It came out a lot longer than i intended HHGNGh

Word Count: 4,000+

Warnings: Mentions of suicidal attempt- but that’s it, it’s a very fluffy story and that’s not the plot!

You liked a lot of things in life. You liked cats, desserts, and plants; music, dancing, and even though you hated heights, you loved airplanes. Tall buildings and their impending doom are one of the things that you just don’t agree with. 

You’ve tried to quell this fear many times, and you’ve found ways around it. Every so often your friends convince you to ride the more scary roller coasters, you sit up on your apartment balcony and sit there with your music and plants as you stare down below- but you can only stomach a few seconds before you’re looking away in a fit of anxiety. You’ve even gone to therapy about it because you know that your fear of heights is linked to trauma. 

You were barely a teenager when you had tried to off yourself. You were well past that phase, of course, but teen angst and the desire to end it all got the best of your young mind as you jumped off one of the tallest buildings you had access to. Thankfully, you survived, but the injuries hurt like hell and it left you with scars. 

And a long-lasting fear that just won’t go away. 

You suppose it's alright to have this fear- it just meant you were better. You want to be alive, and your fear was proof. But you were past that depressing teenage phase and you wanted to move on completely. It just wasn’t fair to be held back like this in your opinion. 

Villains, though? You weren’t scared of villains. Well, you were reasonably scared- as you wanted to live, and they could possibly end that- but you weren’t scared scared. That’s why when there was a sudden villain attack in the mall, busting the ceiling open and trapping civilians and yourself under the damage, you weren’t scared. You kept a level head and you began counting heads. 

The area you were stuck under was fairly accessible. Everyone was still standing, though some had fallen over in shock, but everyone was mostly fine. The entrance had been blocked off and some pillars broke through the small shop, but that was it. You prayed that no one was stuck under the damage somewhere else. 

“There’s seven of us here,” you talk to the group, gathering the things you dropped off the floor. “We should stick together and hide in one place until the heroes get here.”

No one disagrees with you. They follow you like lost sheep as you all pile behind the cash register counter and huddle. After that, it’s a waiting game, silent beside the sound of scared breathes and quiet weeping so that the villains don’t find you. 

The one who has it worse is the little girl. She’s the one crying, of course, and the woman who is assumingly her mother surrounds the child in her arms as she coos in her ear. The crying makes you uncomfortable, to be honest, so you remember the chocolate bar in your bag and hand it to her with a tense smile. The mother looks at you thankfully while it distracts the child from crying.

It truly doesn’t take the heroes a long time to find their way in the mall and cuff the villains before sending them off in police cars. That’s when damage control and civilian rescue starts- it startles all of you when the wall blocking the entrance is busted through, but bright red wings quell the fear. 

It’s Hawks. 

“Anyone need a ride?” He asks and you quickly stand along with the other civilians. You gently lead the mother and child his way and he grins, immediately conversing with the little girl and making her giggle before he picks them both up and flies off. Other heroes begin to make their way inside with blankets and medical gear, slowly leading all of you outside the building where it’s safe and the ambulance is waiting. 

As you make your way outside, you watch as Hawks lands from his flight, two other civilians in his hold as he drops them off and then immediately sets off again, his ruby-red wings basically shining as he speeds away. You admire his tenacity and strength- how many people had he gotten out in the time of you walking from the shop to outside? 

Watching him fly back again with more people than last time, you quietly thank whatever God exists that you didn’t get hurt in the wreck. You might be able to handle a broken leg or arm- but to fly in the air? Even if it was the only chance of surviving… you don’t think you’d be able to stomach it.

You leave the mall as alone and unscathed as you came.

---

The next time you see Hawks, it’s not in a life or death situation. But you still don’t talk to him- it’s really just a chance sighting at most. He had simply walked into the noodle house you frequent, picked up his order, and left with a flap of his wings, taking off into the night sky.

A part of you wonders what that’s like. To always be in the air- you suppose it’s not scary for him. But even the thought of having extra appendages seems difficult and you wonder how he learned to fly.

Was it the same as birds? Did his mother push him off a ledge one day and hope for the best? You sure hope not. 

“Hey, Amakuza,” you address the cook who you were on decent terms with due to your consistent presence in his shop. “What’d the big guy order?” 

Amakuza shrugs. “Your favorite, actually. Extra spicy.” He seems uninterested.

You suppose it’s not that interesting- it’s just food. But now you know that the pro-hero Hawks has good taste, though you’re unsure why you even wanted that information in the first place.

---

Your third encounter with Hawks is the one you hate the most- the one you’re most ashamed of. 

He was just doing the right thing. There was construction on your way to work- apparently, they were working on the road. This didn’t concern you as you didn’t own a car, so you kept walking a safe distance away. But someone’s quirk somehow went haywire, and the drilling was loud and harsh before the road broke entirely and pieces were sent flying everywhere. The fear didn’t even register yet as it happened so fast- you were aware there was a stray slab of concrete headed your way, but before it even hit you, you were sent flying in the air.

That’s when the fear came to you, so strongly it knocked the air out of your lungs.

“That was close!” The man holding you- the man you rescued you- whistles low and casual as he keeps you up in the air. 

“Let me down,” you say as soon as you can find your words. Body shaking like a leaf, you desperately grab onto his clothes- you actually look down and you can’t believe he flew you up so high. “Let me- let me down. Let me down!” 

You’re so frightened that you don’t even realize you’re crying. Snot runs down your nose and tears spread across your cheeks and drip off your chin. 

“Hey- are you alright? Did you get hit?”

“Let me down!” You scream, and then you start struggling against him. You’ll punch, kick, cry- you’ll do whatever you need to do to get back on the ground. “Let me down! Let me down!” 

Your vision blurs with red, and suddenly you’re sitting on the broken concrete with red wings surrounding you and a blonde man looking concerned as he hovers over you. Breathing comes out short and hurried, your body still shaking so hard that it feels like you’re vibrating. The man with red wings- Hawks, you’d later realize once your head was put together- continues to hover and talk to you. You can hear the words, but they don’t process at all. He’s probably saying the things they always do- breathe, you’re okay, breathe. 

Your heart feels like it’s ready to burst out of your chest as you scramble to your feet, putting a good amount of distance between you and the man who saved you. “Stay- stay away from me,” you demand as you look at him, your face scared and distraught. You continue to back away from him as if he were a threat. “Stay away from me!” And then you turn your back to him, fear driving your movements as you quickly leave the scene and scurry off to work. 

People eye you the entire way. They either saw what happened or saw that you were crying in public which is already eye-catching enough, but you ignored them even as you entered your work building. Only when you locked yourself in a private bathroom did you find peace. 

And you felt fucking awful, so you suppose it wasn’t peace that you found. Instead, it was a heavy, guilty heart as you were forced to go on with your day and work in a crowded office until you could retreat home, tail between your legs. 

You just wish you could tell the hero that you didn’t mean it. 

---

How do you tell someone you have absolutely no access to that you’re sorry? 

Apparently, you go to his agency building and just hope for the best. That’s the conclusion you came to, anyway, as you walk there the next morning- being extra cautious around construction this time- with a pot in your hands.

Walking inside the building alone was anxiety-inducing. Slowly making your way to the front desk was worse. And then you had to explain yourself to the receptionist who eyed you and your plant with- assumingly- heavy judgment. 

“I… um, I wanted to drop this off. For… Hawks.” You place the potted aloe vera plant down on the receptionist’s desk gently. You don’t even know if you can do this, technically, but you might as well try. 

“A plant?” The woman asks. 

“Yes. It’s an apology gift.” Your fingers drum on the desk. “Do you think you’d be able to make sure it gets to him?” 

The woman looks unsure as she reaches forward, picking up the pot and eyeing it. She gives you a guilty look as she sets it beside her. “I’ll try. But Hawks can be rather flighty… I can’t assure you he’ll get it, or even take care of it.”

“That’s okay, I figured that. If he ever gets it… just let him know it’s from someone who is very sorry. Thank you in advance,” you bow respectfully at the receptionist before quickly leaving the building. You feel guilty for leaving her with your apology- but it’s too soon to come face-to-face with someone you yelled at. The entire walk back home you just hope that the poor plant lasts at least two months before he inevitably kills it- either because he never got it, or because he hates you. 

An aloe vera plant is admittedly easy to take care of. You only water it once every three weeks or so, and it doesn’t need much sunlight. You picked it out from your collection of plants specifically because you thought it was best for someone like Hawks. Minimal care was required, it was nice and green, and if he really took care of it he could make use of its soothing gel. 

You also took its meaning into mind. An aloe vera is a healing plant- as a gift, it means a wish for good health, beauty, and protection. You figure after your childish tantrum, you could at least hope he lives a healthy life. 

But as you sit at home, you think it’s silly that you even bothered. Hawks probably doesn’t even want it- and the meaning of it would be lost on him. You could have at least left a card attached, but you were too chicken shit to do it. 

At least you tried. 

---

Ever since your last encounter with Hawks, you’ve tried harder to kick your fear in the teeth. Nearly every evening, you go up the fire escape of your building until you’re on the roof and staring at the world below. You force yourself to last at least five minutes or more before you run away. It’s easier to manage once the sun has left and the moon shines instead- in the darkness, it’s harder to see what you’re so afraid of. 

It’s still there, but it’s better. 

Fitting that on one of those nights you head to the top of your building is when you meet the number one hero again. 

It’s a chance meeting, just like the rest. You think maybe he’s on patrol when you see him fly by- or maybe he was getting dinner, but he notices you somehow and lands on your building. 

There’s a considerable amount of distance between you. 

“What’s someone like you doing up here so late?” He grins- he always does. The one time you saw him without a smile was when he was trying to help you. 

“Trying to overcome my fears,” you tell him honestly because he deserves at least that much. “I’m… sorry about before. I shouldn’t have lashed out on you.”

He waves his hand in dismissal, walking a bit closer to you. “Ah, it’s fine. You were scared- that’s what people do when they’re scared.”

“Still,” you frown, “I was harsh on you. I mean it when I’m sorry. I don’t like that I lost control of myself like that.” 

“That’s fair,” Hawks agrees and puts his hands behind his back, the smile still coy on his face. “But you’re already forgiven. I enjoyed the plant.”

Oh. Your eyes widen in surprise, “really?” You ask. 

“It wasn’t exactly hard figuring out who it was from. No one ever apologizes to me.”

“Is that because you never do anything wrong, or you’re surrounded by stubborn people?” 

Hawks just hums in reply, standing next to you now as he looks up at the sky. His large wings twitch subconsciously and your eyes are drawn to them- they’re a beautiful skeptical so you’re sure he gets stared at all the time. “If you have somewhere to plant it…” You disrupt the silence softly, your feet shuffling. “The aloe vera will fully grow, and you can use its gel. It’s not really much, but it’s good to keep the skin young and for sunburns.” 

The hero eyes you curiously, his smirk making you a little nervous before he looks back to the sky. “You’re a lot calmer than when we first met.” 

“That’s not the first time we met,” you argue and his eyebrows lift up in surprise. 

“It wasn’t?”

“No. You saved me and a few others from when the downtown mall got intruded by villains… And you also came by my favorite ramen shop, but you left as quickly as you came. So last time wasn’t the first, but the third,” you shrug, “if you want to be technical about it.” 

“I’m not sure I enjoy technicalities,” Hawks laughs. “They’re too confusing to be caught up with.” 

“That’s fair,” you nod. 

The air is a little awkward- at least, it is for you- now that you both have nothing to talk about. You’re glad you got to apologize to him, but now you realize you know nothing about him. It’s late enough that you should probably go to bed anyway, so rather hastily you tell him that you’re going. He looks surprised as you climb down the fire escape but he says nothing other than ‘see you later’ before flying off. You halt mid-step down the ladder as you can’t help but watch- but soon he’s out of sight. 

It’s amazing how fast he is. But it’s time for bed so you let out a shaky sigh as you continue your way down to the patio of your apartment. 

---

The fifth time you meet Hawks, he’s the one who comes to you. You’re relaxing on your patio with a book in your hands and a stray cat that likes to hang out laying in the sunbeams when Hawks comes bustling through rather suddenly. You gasp in shock and the cat quickly scrambles away, and several of your potted plants fall off the patio. 

“Hawks!” You cry, already hovering over the fence as you watch your plants fall to the concrete. A potted plant falling from such a height is already dangerous- what if it hit somebody? 

But also, they were expensive and you cared about your plants very much, so you couldn’t help but sit still in shock as you watch them fall to their death. Perhaps Hawks realized the urgency in your voice- maybe he cared, because before they do, Hawks shoots down and grabs all three of the pots before they hit anyone or break on the ground. 

“Sorry about that!” He apologizes as he makes his way back on your patio, a lot less rushed as he carefully holds the plants. You quickly pick them up and set them back down in their respective spots, inspecting the leaves for any damage. “You have quite the collection, huh?” Hawks looks around your tiny patio, stepping carefully around your ‘collection’. You absentmindedly hum, still looking at the Coleus’ leaves. A few of the stems had come off, but it’s mostly fine. 

“It’s even worse inside,” you tell him. Hawks whistles as he looks through the glass doors and into your apartment. 

“No kidding!” 

“So, what are you doing here? Would you like to destroy more of my plants?” You wouldn’t lie- you’re a little peeved that they all almost died. At least he was fast enough to pick them up, but still. 

Hawks makes a weird sound from his throat as he winces, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his head. “I really didn’t mean to. I actually came to ask about the aloe vera.” 

You purse your lips, sitting back down on your lawnchair you placed out on the patio when you first moved in. “It’s fine. What would you like to know?” 

Why didn’t he just look it up? You can’t help but wonder. 

“When should I water it?” 

“Every three weeks.” 

“How much sun does it need?”

“Six to eight hours. Place it next to a window or in a backyard.” 

“Does it need… vitamins?” 

“Hawks, why are you asking me these things?” You interrupt his little quiz with a sigh. The stray cat from before finally comes back, eyeing the hero cautiously before laying down next to your feet. You pet it on the head softly with a frown. “You didn’t need to come all the way here for some basic plant care questions. What do you really want?” 

Hawks clicks his tongue. “You caught me,” he says. “I really wanted to get to know you, that’s all.” 

“Get to know me or get to know why I’m afraid of heights?” 

He shrugs, that all too familiar smile coming back on his face. He finally sits down on the only other chair available, his wings spreading behind him before folding up. “Well, I wouldn’t complain if it was brought up.” 

“Are you always known for being so crude?” You raise an eyebrow at him. So far, you’re not exactly impressed with his behavior. From a distance Hawks is charming, but right in front of you? Sure, he’s handsome, but he’s a bit blunt. A lot blunt. 

“I am the man who’s a bit too fast, didn’t you know?” Hawks leans back in his seat, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers together atop his knee. “So- why are you afraid of heights?” 

You roll your eyes. “Last I checked, I didn’t sign up for a therapy session. Don’t you have anything better to do?” 

“I do not.” He says simply, and you don’t believe him. 

“What about- I don’t know- the hundreds of villains out there?” The stray cat eventually hops on your lap, making himself comfortable while keeping a keen eye on the hero in front of you. He probably doesn’t like him- and you’re pretty sure you feel the same way. 

“They’ll be taken care of. Right now I’d like to relax- I want to relax most of the time. Indulge me.” 

You don’t see any real reason why you should, but Hawks is proving to be a persistent insect, so you sigh and give in. “I jumped off a building as a teenager. Now I associate heights with death. It’s like a trigger.” If he’s going to be blunt, you might as well do the same. You pet the cat’s back to soothe your agitated nerves and give him a look. “I’m mostly fine now. But you caught me by surprise that one time, which is why I reacted the way I did. Are you satisfied?” 

He nods. “What’s your name?” He asks rather suddenly- and that’s when you realize that yeah, he doesn’t even know your name. 

You slowly give it to him. You’re uncertain why he’d want it- but it gives you a feeling that it’s a sign he won’t be leaving you alone any time soon. 

“Call me Takami. I’m sick of the hero name, anyway,” The now-named Takami inspects some of your potted plants that surround him. “Would you like to fly with me?” 

His question makes you laugh in surprise. “Why?” You ask him. You could ask him this question a thousand times, really. 

Why is he here? Why is he interested? Why does he care? 

“Would you believe me if I told you I wanted to help?” Takami smiles again, his eyes gleaming beneath his visor. 

“Why would you want to?” You’ve had enough. Picking up the cat, you gently place him down on the patio floor before sitting upright, elbows on your thighs as you stare the hero down. “I’m serious. I told you my thing, now tell me yours. Why do you bother?” 

He leans forward as well and your bare toes touch the front of his boots. “I like your personality,” Takami starts, “and I’m being selfish with you. I’d like to have someone to talk to outside of the hero stuff. So I figure if I’m being selfish-“ he reaches forward and suddenly pinches your cheek, making you jolt back with an angry look. The hero grins. “I might as well help you out while I do it. And maybe I can learn more about plants or farming or whatever, too.” 

You stare at him silently as you rub your sore cheek. “It’s not farming,” you grumble under your breath. Your shoulders sag in defeat as you finally break away from Takami’s gaze and your eyes fall to the floor. It’s quiet for another moment before you sigh, lips pursed. “Fine. But I’m gonna get dressed first- I don’t want my eyes to fall out from wind pressure.” 

Takami hops up from his seat, his expression somehow even brighter than before with his hands on his hips. “Great! I’ll wait here.” 

You groan in acknowledgment as you open your glass door and step inside your apartment- but you only make it a short distance before you come back outside. Without warning Takami, you throw a book in his direction and he easily catches it, his eyebrows raised. 

“It’s a plant dictionary. I’m only gonna let you do this if you can tell me the name of three plants on my patio.” You think that’s fair enough. “You up for that?” 

He's already grinning, flipping the book open. “Fuck yeah,” he says. You laugh under your breath and finally go to your room to get dressed. It’s amazing how his charm comes back full force as he stands on your patio, eagerly looking up and down from your book and muttering under his breath. 

You hum. Takami is handsome, and apparently, he’s lonely, too. You suppose his offer is a mutually beneficial one- so you quickly get bundled up and find some cheap swimming goggles you bought forever ago. Honestly, you could also use a friend.

When you come back out onto the patio, Takami bursts out laughing at just the sight of you. You ignore him and put your hands on your hips, feeling confident. “Alright, I’m ready.”

“You’re not,” Takami giggles and snorts, placing the book on a miniature table. “You’ll get way too hot. Lose the snow boots, first of all. Some sneakers will be fine.”

“What if they fly off?!” 

“I’m not- I’m taking you in the air, I’m not flying you full speed!” He exclaims and your shoulders sag.

“Oh. Right.” 

He laughs hysterically again as you take off your boots and snow hat, along with several hoodies and sweaters. As you take off your very-many layers and toss them inside the house, you ask, “what about the plants?” 

“Right,” he says, his knuckles tapping on the book he just read confidently. “There’s a Coleus, a spider plant... And a succulent,” he points at each plant as he speaks. The succulent was probably the easiest one, so you feel like that one shouldn’t count, but you keep quiet. 

“Good job, you’ve won. Am I ready to go?” You think you’re finally suitable for flying- down to a single hoodie with a jacket over it, a pair of jeans and some sneakers laced up as tight as you could get them. 

Takami grins, giving you the ‘ok’ sign with his hand. “Perfect,” he says. He gives you exactly 0 seconds to prepare before he picks you up, his speed suddenly showing as you’re suddenly being carried- his hands under your knees and wrapped around your back. “Okay, you ready?” He steps on top of your little fence surrounding the patio, looking down at you. 

You bite your lip, looking down below. He shakes you in his arms- “hey, look at me.” You do so, nervously biting your lip even harder. “Are you ready?” Takami asks again, voice a little softer. 

With a big breath, you exhale and try to relax. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I’m ready.” 

[2manyfandoms2count]

AU Yeah August Day 13

Here’s another AU for @auyeahaugust! Will it evolve into a fully-fledged story? Probably. Hope you’ll enjoy! xxx

---

Day 13: Flower Shop AU

Marinette stared at the blank page in front of her, pensively tapping her pencil on her desk. She could have sworn that she’d found the perfect outfit to close her next fashion show as she was about to fall asleep the previous night. Something so spectacular, she knew she’d remember it in the morning.

Except morning had come, and still the design eluded her. She had raked her brain throughout breakfast, causing a couple of spills, during her commute to work, which had almost made her miss her stop, and ever since she’d sat down at her desk, three hours ago. The page just stared right back at her.

She sighed and dropped her pencil. Leaning her head on top of her hand, she took a look at her surroundings. She loved her office. She had furnished it in a way that let her creativity flow, and it did the trick - most of the time. The wide windows let the Spring sunshine in, the rays ricocheting against the smooth white surfaces of the cabinets, and the strategically placed mirrors. It made the room look larger, brighter. 

She had restrained what she considered to be her clutter to the right hand side of the room. A large cork board took up most of the wall space there, covered in overlapping swatches and sketches. On a low table below it were piles of fashion magazines, more or less old, that she kept for reviews or inspiration. A couple of picture frames also stood there, containing pictures of her parents and friends, and some good shots of herself at fashion shows.

Her eyes swept the room and landed on an intricate vase that sat opposite her. The cleaner, Mister Fu, always made a point to buy flowers for her office, and refused to put them on the company’s bill. It was his way of thanking her for keeping him on despite his old age. She’d never been able to tell exactly how old he was, but one thing was for sure: he was beyond French retiring age. He’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere when she’d established her brand, and worked around as the two-room office expanded into a three-room, a full floor, and now a whole building with Marinette Designs gaining more and more recognition in the fashion world. He cleaned, DIYed, decorated, and had a good eye for things that needed fixing, even if no one knew it yet. She’d come to consider his services as invaluable, especially the odd wisdom bits he provided every once in a while. She really could have done with his help today, maybe he could have helped her with the eluding dress. He’d taken the day off, though, and, if she judged by the wilting flowers that stood in front of her, had forgotten his self-appointed florist duties. Maybe that was what was blocking her flow.

She stood up and walked towards the vase, grabbed it, and made her way towards her office bin. It had been a wonderful bouquet, colourful and fragrant. The sweet smell of lilies remained as she picked them up and shook them gently above the vase, so as to get rid of as much water as she could before throwing them away. As she dropped them, a small card disentangled from the stems and landed next to the paper basket. Marinette crouched down and picked it up.

“The Cat’s fleowers.”She read, cringing at the bad pun. A little black cat holding a four-leafed clover sat under the flower shop's name, and above its address. 

She recognised the street as one she took every day, and the number as being between her metro station and the office, yet she couldn’t picture the shop. She shrugged, slid the card on her desk and walked back to her chair, plumping down in front of the taunting white page. 

Quarter of an hour of fidgeting, head scratching and deep sighing later, Marinette looked up again, having achieved nothing but weak sketches. The vase caught her eyes once again, its emptiness now bothering her. 

She glanced at her watch. Quarter to twelve. She’d be off for her lunch break soon, anyway. She grabbed her vest and handbag and left her office, giving a small wave at her secretary as she did so. 

She breathed in deeply and smiled contently as she exited the building, reveling in the warm sunshine that landed on her face. She dug out her butterfly sunglasses and walked down the street.

---

Adrien was bored. He usually never tired of working in Mr Fu’s flower shop, but today seemed like the exception. He’d met Mr Fu by chance one day as he came back from one of his modelling jobs, and had helped the old man carry large potted plants inside the premises. Adrien had fallen in love with the cool atmosphere and the plethora of flowers, which made him feel like he’d just stepped into a different corner of the world. He hadn’t hesitated when Mr Fu had asked him if he’d be interested in working there on the days he couldn’t come in. The fact he could wear a relaxed attire, rather than his usual smart dress, was a bonus. So far, no one had recognised him.

Although the shop was generally quite busy, it seemed like everyone had decided to shun flowers today. Not one customer had pushed the door to his little botanical heaven. Even Plagg, the resident black cat, had decided to loaf around, hidden somewhere between the azaleas and the hibiscuses. 

Adrien was about to give up and head out early for lunch when he heard the characteristic jingle of the door. His breath caught as an elegant lady walked in. She wore a simple, yet tasteful, red polka-dotted dress which had him instantly nickname her ‘Ladybug’. Her eyes were masked by large sunglasses. Standing in the midst of the flowers, she looked like a model in a jungle-themed photo shoot. He would know, having participated in more than one.

From where he stood, at the till, he had a good view of what was going on in the shop, without actually being seen, hidden behind the hanging plants section. He watched as she walked around hesitantly, examining the different bouquets on display. She turned around and her apparent perplexity made him shake out of his admiration. He strode out of his hiding place, smoothing his black and green apron as he did so.

“Hi, welcome to the Cat’s fleower’s, may I help you?” He wished there was something more original to say, but he could hardly go ahead and just offer her flowers. 

Marinette frowned slightly, although her expression was hidden by her bangs and glasses. There was something familiar about the man standing before her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She quickly scanned his appearance, her designer eye turning into critique mode, and tried to identify where she’d seen him before. He was, she would say, conventionally handsome, in an ‘I don’t try’ way. His blond hair was tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed (it wasn’t a bad look, but it could be improved on), and his glasses bore a layer of dirt which occulted his eyes, that she assumed were green. He definitely would have stood out from all the manicured men she mixed with in the fashion world. A stray Chat Noir amidst a bunch of aristocats. 

Maybe she’d just seen him in the street.

“Hello, I wanted to buy a bouquet, but I can’t really pick. You have a beautiful selection.” She smiled, and Adrien could swear his heart skipped a beat. 

“Thank you.” He replied, deciding to take the compliment as if he’d ordered the flowers himself. “If I may ask, what’s the occasion?”

“Oh, nothing in particular.” She shrugged. “I just like having blooms around when I work.” 

“That makes two of us.” He winked. “Is there anything you feel drawn to? Or any emotions you’re feeling?”

Marinette thought it was quite a personal question to ask someone he’d just met, but didn’t dislike it.

“I’m short on inspiration these days.” She admitted.

“Creativity boost, coming right up!” He grinned. Now was his time to shine; ever since starting this part-time job, he’d started reading up on the flower language, and it seemed like his study would finally be paying off. “As it happens, I have angelicas, which represent inspiration, in stock. I’ll also add hollyhock for ambition, gerberas for stress relief, sweet basil for good wishes, and-”

He was interrupted by her ringtone. Ladybug fished her phone out of her handbag, and saw a familiar face on the screen.

“Sorry, I have to take this.” She apologised, swiping to answer. He nodded understandingly and gestured that he’d be wrapping the bouquet.

“Hello?” 

“Hi boss!” Alya, her PR manager, and incidentally, her best friend greeted. “You are going to LOVE me.”

Marinette shook her head, amused. “You know I already do, what did you do this time?”

“I only went and got you THE Adrien Agreste’s number!” Her friend squealed, making her move her phone away from her ear. 

“You didn’t!” She gasped. “How?”

“Girl, I’ve seen how you drool over his pictures, I needed to do something about it! Nino knows him, it wasn’t very hard to convince him to give me his number.”

Marinette had nursed a crush on the model ever since he’d given her his umbrella at the end of a fashion show, back when she was still an intern working for a big brand. It didn’t hurt that he was one of the most handsome models out there. They’d seen each other again from afar during fashion weeks, their interactions often summarised to a little chit-chat over a glass of Champagne, surrounded by a crowd.

“But what will I even do with it?” She asked, panic seeping through her words. How could she justify getting his number? And what would she say? Would he even know who she was?

“Marinette, I can feel your anxiety from here, breathe.” Alya chuckled. “We’ll work on it.”

“Okay.” Marinette steadied her breathing. “Meet you in ten for lunch?”

Adrien’s heart sank as he heard the words. He’d been about to ask her if she felt like grabbing a bite with him. He grabbed his pen and scribbled a quick ladybug sketch on the back of the business card, along with the words ‘see you again soon!’ and stapled it to the bouquet.

Marinette stole a last look at the flower shop as she exited it after paying, and smiled. She had to admit, Chat Noir’s enumeration had left her dubious. She definitely wouldn't have thought of arranging those flowers together, yet the bouquet was beautiful. She held it out at arms length to examine it, and saw the card. Her mind raced, and she suddenly knew how to end her show. She accelerated her pace to get back to the office before the idea flew away.

Adrien Agreste’s number, wonderful flowers, and a strike of inspiration. The Cat’s fleowers had worked like a lucky charm. 

She had a feeling she hadn’t seen the last of it.

[mystic-kitten-writer]

Eden [M] ︳Prologue

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Genre: Smut with plot; romance, angst and some fluff to unfold.

Rating: NSFW-ish

Warning: Mild dirty talking, mild dry humping, mild degradation, and inappropriate touching.

Words: 5300+

Notes: Happy valentine’s everyone~! I hope you had a fantastic day/evening, and here is a lil’ present for you all. It’s the prologue of ‘Eden’, and hopefully you guys get a taste of this new, upcoming, series.

Please note, updates are going to be slow. At the moment, ‘Limerence’ is my main series (Greek Mythology is my side project). But once Limerence is done, Eden will be my main focus! Tags aren’t working (why am I not surprised) - but hopefully that fixes itself soon and appears in people’s feed.

Thank you for reading, and please don’t be shy to leave a like or comment, take care~!

Masterlist ︳01

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

It seems he managed to wander into a garden, and he was starving for a taste of that forbidden fruit. And now that he got a taste, he was not going to let go. His fingertips were engraved with sin, burning her skin with every touch, chin dripping of her sweet juices. “Fuck.” He grunted under his breath because he knew – this was more than just a quick taste.

Savory

(flower); spice, interested.

           “Ah, you’re a lifesaver!” Izuku Midoriya declared, face flushed as his head bounced up and down. His dark green hair flew everywhere, a pretty contrast from his pink freckled cheeks. He was the living definition of ‘rookie’ – filled with an unreasonable amount of energy and enthusiasm. You’re surprised you didn’t see his face plastered beside the word in every dictionary around the world.

           But it was that same energy, desire to be a hero, that had your lips curving upwards, a kittenish smile painting your rose-coloured lips. How could you not shoot him one of your infamous smiles, brushing back your hair as you mused. He’s a ball of motivation and joy – a real hero in the works.

           “If Recovery Girl finds out I healed you despite her orders, she’ll have my head,” you advised with a click of your tongue, truth lingering in your statement. After showing up to work slightly hungover – courtesy of Midnight’s refusal to accept ‘no’ for an answer for bar-hopping – the last thing you wanted was to be caught healing Midoriya.

           As if he could read your mind, the green-haired boy moaned under his breath.

           You wiped the last bit of ointment onto his skin, wrapping his wounds, spotting the way his shoulders slumped for a moment – remorse painting his face. But just like that, he puffed out his chest, a sudden resolve overcoming him.

           “I’m sorry. But I can’t let All Might down – I need to push myself-”

           “Keep pushing yourself, and you won’t have any of ‘yourself’ left to be a hero.” You interjected, causing Midoriya’s mouth to shut close, taking in the weight of your words. He stared at you with those large eyes of his, watching your fingers ease their way off his bruised limbs, the bandages new and tightly wrapped.

           “Recovery Girl is going to whip All Might’s ass if she finds out you were hurt - again.” You spoke honestly, causing the pink tint of his cheeks to turn into a darker hue. His freckles almost blended in with the flush, nodding his head furiously at your in-direct warning.

           It was at times hard to believe that this naïve, well-natured boy was Katsuki Bakugo`s supposed ‘rival.’ It was like comparing apples and oranges – this year’s students were something else. Your hands fell over your lap, leaning into Midoriya, you gaze meeting his.

           One for all…

           “Come on, let’s get going before we get caught. I’ll wrap up a few herbs for your mom to smash up. Make sure you rub it into your skin after your bath. It should numb the pain and stop the bruising and swelling.” You spoke, shooting him another cheeky smile, a weak attempt to wipe that look off his face.

           With a tired sigh, you pushed yourself off your seat, the sound of your black heels clicking against the white tiles of your office, filling the quietness. It was as you strolled around, eyes scanning the dozens of tiny planters that hung along the walls, you realized how late it has gotten.

           The sun was setting; the campus eerily quiet as most of the students were already home. Shit – and you still have to make dinner. Your index finger fell over your pouting lips; eyes eagerly searching for that one particular pot-

           “Ah- there it is.” You hummed pleasantly, reaching forward. The tan planter fell over your desk with a soft thud, your fingers dancing over the dirt until you felt it.

           The roots were starting to stretch, the shoot wiggling its way from the soil, pushing and shoving the dirt painfully slow before breaking the surface. “Come on, baby.” You muttered softly, focusing on the energy of the plant. And you swore, because you could feel the annoyance of the plant, undoubtedly grumbling a faint ‘fuck you, you forgot to water me last night,’ before spouting into a perfectly formed leaf.

           “Hero alias; Eden. Real name; Y/N. Quirk; Bioterra – can take any seed or spore and manipulate them in movement or growth…” Midoriya muffled under his breath. You let out an airy laugh hearing Midoryia mumbling to himself, clipping the newly formed seed leaves carefully, before thanking the plant.

           You prefer not to piss off the seedling. Afterall – this little babe has saved your ass far too many times to count.

           Looking over your shoulder to Midoriya, you tossed the last of the herbs into a cute little baggy. “If you keep mumbling under your breath like that, you’ll end up just scaring all the villains away.” you teased, and Midoriya scratched his head.

           “I never saw your quirk before – it’s really pretty!” He gushed, and it was then you realized that the boy was no longer patiently sitting on the examination table, but eagerly hovering over your study with a pen and book in hand. Where and when did he even-

           “Word of caution, Midoriya, while I may be the sidekick of Recovery Girl – don’t think for a second that all I can do is heal. I can grow some pretty toxic things. Get too close, and you might cease to exist.” You warned wickedly, wiggling your brows at him. But rather than deterring the curious boy, it seemed to have done the opposite.

           His mouth widened, lips racing, “If that’s the case, does that mean you’re immune to all poisons or toxins created by plants? Does that mean no plants can cause an effect on you, whether its good or bad? Does that mean you can’t heal yourself with your medicine-”

           “Midoriya. Just because you’re my favourite doesn’t mean I won’t force-feed you some valerian root for some quiet.” Midoriya’s face stoned at your threat, instantly bowing up and down. “S-sorry-” Midoriya began to stutter before a sultry singing cut him off.

           “You sure you aren’t a sadist, a villain?”

           Both of you shifted your attention to the entrance, eager to find the owner of that vibrating tone.

           “Good evening, Midnight.” You spoke, smiling radiantly to your best friend, as your arms fell over the shy Midoriya. His green eyes widened, studying the pro-hero up and down in interest – no doubt he was thinking about the rated 18+ hero’s quirk. And given a chance, he would ask her thousands of questions like he has done to you since the start of the school year.

           The stunning deep hue of purple against her red mask brought out the teasing glimmer in her eyes. Midnight cocked her head to the side, arms crossing over her chest, emphasizing her ample bust as she stepped into the room.

           “You’re not doing some unauthorized healing, are you?” Midnight pestered, cocking an eyebrow as she eyed the fresh bandages decorating Midoriya’s fingers. In a flash, your hands squeezed Midoriya’s shoulders, shaking your head with a falsely sweet smile on your lips.

           “Of course, not – I’m just showing Midoriya here, my quirk! It’s getting late; we can talk more tomorrow.” Your grip loosened, shoving the boy forward. While Midoriya was undoubtedly naïve, he wasn’t dumb. He quickly got the hint, stepping forward before waving at the both of you, “Thank you for demonstrating your quirk, see you tomorrow!”

           He dashed away from the voluptuous dominatrix, the sound of his heavy feet running down the empty hallways of UA slowly fading the further he ran. The moment he was out of earshot, Midnight twirled her whip, purring.

           “Lying to a teacher, how naughty of you.” Midnight snickered, tapping her chin as she inched her way forward. Her skin-tight costume only seemed to accentuate her sex appeal, and you rolled your eyes.

           “What are you going to do, spank me?” you challenged with your tongue sticking out. Your hands made haste with sweeping up the dirt that littered your counter, giving your seedling a lil’ treat for working so hard today.

           Midnight laughed obnoxiously loud, “You’ll enjoy that too much, you kinky bitch.”

           “And that, I won’t deny.” You giggled back, already knowing Midnight was snooping around your office, sniffing all the flowers that were blooming. She, in particular, loved the darker hued flowers, saying it matched her aesthetic.

           Placing the planter back into its spot, you turned on your heel, reaching for your purse that you left on the floor. “What are you doing here so late, anywho?” You pondered, swinging the strap over your shoulder, checking for your house keys and wallet.

           Midnight sighed dramatically, taking another whiff of the roses, “Meetings. I could use a drink, girl.”

           “Well, count me out, I’m starving, and it’s late.” You stated, shutting the window of your office, and locking it. It was officially dark outside, the streetlights looking like twinkling stars. Time moves faster when you’re having fun.

           “Oh, come on! You’re young and sexy, go out. Get drunk – better yet, find yourself a hot daddy.” Midnight argued, waltzing over to your side in a flash, tone rising with passion. “Just because you work for UA doesn’t mean you can’t live a little. You’re starting to turn into your grandmother – work, work, work.”

           You pouted, “Please don’t compare me to my grandmother.”

           Don’t get it wrong; you loved and respected your grandmother – Recovery Girl.

           She was the first hero of the family, the family pride. Hell – she was the reason why you even wanted to become a hero. She used to take you to her workplace when you a mere toddler, showing you off to all her co-workers, bragging how you’re going to be the next big thing. She was the definition of a proud grandmother.

           That’s why you worked your ass off, becoming the second hero in the family – and next-in-line to become UA’s healer once the old lady decides to retire.

           “Come on, one drink? Maybe I can hook you up with some of my friends. They know how to treat a woman. Want a submissive, a dom, ou- maybe a switch?” Midnight insisted and at that point, you huffed loudly. You saw the stars in her eyes the more she talked about the possibility of hooking you up with one of her friends. This woman-

           Linking arms with the sex addict of a friend you had, you shut your office door behind the both of you, walking through the deserted hallways. The hallways of UA was dead, all the classroom doors locked, blinds lowered so only the poorly functioning lights of the school could guide you out of this prison.

           “Don’t ignore me! I have yet to see you with someone. What do you want? What are you looking for, girl?” Midnight groused under her breath.

           What do you want…?

           Your mouth opened, a sly smirk on your face. “You know what I want? I want a fuck buddy, no feelings. Just good, hot, rough sex.”

           “And I know a friend who can do just that!” Midnight blurted, but you merely shook your head.

           “I already have someone.”

           Midnight’s eyes widen, stopping abruptly in the dimly light hallway. “You have someone? Excuse me, who is this person and since when? You haven’t gotten laid in god knows how long, and it shows.”

           You grinned mischievously, leaning into her. Midnight was on her tippy-toes, eyes and ears eagerly waiting for the spicy gossip. Her hands clasped together, leather whip firmly caught in between her tight grasp. If only she knew.

           “They’re the best. Their name is ‘dildo,’ and they’re always ready to get down whenever I need them.” You whispered.

           The moment Midnight realized what you were saying, the look of utter annoyance was clear as day.

           “You’re fucking ridiculous, Eden.” Midnight fumed, throwing her arms up in defeat as she stormed forward. You laughed from behind her, watching the way she cursed under her breath, her whip swinging back and forth. To be fair, you’re surprised she didn’t use it on you.

           “You love me, Midnight!” You screamed from behind her, and she merely shot you a glare over her shoulder, lips pressed together, trying to hold back a grin. “If you were my toy, I would’ve beaten your ass till it’s purple and blue.”

           You shoot her a kiss, playfully slapping your own ass as she raged. “I can’t wait till you find someone. And I hope they put you in your damn place. Fuck you till you can’t walk.”

           “That’s the goal!” You chirped, earning another hiss from the queen of lust, herself.

           The cold breeze that funnelled its way through the mutedly lit alleyway in which you walked was borderline painful. Your dress suddenly seemed far too short for the summer weather, your arms wrapping around yourself as you grumbled. The temperature seemed to drop in a matter of minutes – the twenty-minute walk from the school to home seemed like a journey.

           It was unreasonably dark, and the brisk air added an uncomfortable feeling in your gut. Not even the flicking neon signs that littered the city seemed to lift the mood – the atmosphere dark and grungy. The faster you get home, the better.

           Your fingers dug into your purse strap, tugging it closer to your body as your UA lanyard bounced off your chest. The bobbing of your identification card matched your heartbeat at this point, your stomach screaming to get some food inside of it.

           Pace hast, you turned the corner abruptly -“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

           Four men, of medium build, laughing obnoxiously loud and recking of alcohol crowded the already narrow alleyway. Their words were heavily slurred, arms wrapped around each other as they struggled to walk forward. Their clothing was old and dirty, and your nose scrunched up – god even the smell of shitty alcohol smelt better than whatever odour they were emitting.

           Your footsteps eased, cautiously walking behind them.

           They were moving forward, slowly, but they were moving. The smart thing to do would be to walk back and take a long way home  - but that means it’ll take longer for you to cook dinner, take a hot bath, and have a steamy session with your lovely date called ‘dildo.’

           You have the patience for neither.

           With a frustrated huff, you brushed your hair back, letting your gaze fall back onto the ground. Come on, it was a Monday night, and you just wanted to get home. Was that too much to ask?

           Trying to lessen the sound of your heels against the broken concrete, your steps were sluggish. If someone were to be watching behind you, they would’ve thought you didn’t know how to walk in heels. So fucking stupid, these dumb, drunk, idiots-

           “Heeeey maaaan, come over hereeee. We just wanna taaaalk.” A man shouted, and you felt your blood freeze. Your head snapped upwards, hearing the men starting to speak brasher, the slurring of their speech clear.

           Was he talking to you?

           No, they couldn’t be.

           Their backs were still facing you, staggering back and forth as the men seemed to puff in demeanour. Your eyes narrowed, observing one of the men walking hastily, his hands reaching for his back pocket. If he wasn’t talking to you, then that can only mean – he was trying to catch up to someone.

           “Don’t ignore meee, you skinny shit. Come hereee before I add more scaars.”

           Not caring anymore if you made noise, your pace quicken, swaying side to side to catch a glimpse of who this man could be chasing. They can’t honestly be planning on mugging someone; they can barely walk, let alone mug someone. A tired sigh escaped your lips – time to play the hero.

           Your fingers trailed into your purse, grabbing rose seeds, feeling the vines starting to rise over your fingers-

           Heat.

           The sound of your plants whimpering, retreating into your purse as blue flames flooded your vision had your eyes widening, a hostile shiver running up your spine.

           Ashes floated into the clear night sky, the smell of burnt flesh taking over the stench of alcohol as you instinctively pressed your body against the brick walls, seeking any form of coolness. You could feel the hot air rush past your ears, hair flipping for a split moment. Sweat beaded down your forehead – these flames…

           They were explosive.

           Uncontrolled.

           Pure rage.

           But most importantly - absolutely stunning.

           Your long nails dug into the brick wall, shamelessly staring at the light show in front of you rather than saving the other three men. The diverse hues of blue, clashing and mixing like a wild dance. Did that dirty, drunk man unleash this power, such a beauty?

           You quickly realized how wrong you were.

           The ash that was floating in the sky, the smell of rotting flesh – that was him.

           “You’re fucking nuts, man! You killed him – you burnt him alive!” The men screamed, their speech no longer slurred, bringing you back to the reality of the situation. And as the realization of the sight in front of you unfolded, you found yourself swallowing.

           The low-slung chuckle that caught your attention, a snicker that carried in the cold breeze, had your skin rising and lips parting.

           “Well, aren’t you an observant one. It seems I did…wanna be next?” a man spoke, voice raspy, contemptuous in tone.

           You pressed yourself off the brick wall, desperate to seek the man who caused the flips in your stomach. His voice alone was eargasmic, and when you stumbled back, heels clicking loudly, you realized you not only caught the attention of the three drunk men but the man with blue flames, as well.

           The azure embers that lingered in the cold air reflected the streetlights, highlighting a tall, lean man at the end of the shady alleyway. The way his thin lips curved upwards, a sinister smirk emerging as he licked his lips in delight.

           His light skin contrasted against the seared scars that littered his face and neck, staples piercing his flesh in a sadistic fashion. But yet, in some messed up way – the look suited him. The darkness of night adding an air of mystic and dangerous enchantment around him.

           “Well…hello there, doll.” He mused, tilting his head to the side, black hair falling over his eyes. You could feel it, the way his gaze trailed up and down your body, a wild look flashing – appreciating what his eyes were settling upon. You swallowed, a needy flush overcoming your skin, because fuck.

           He was sexy – the type of man, your parents, warned you about. The type of guy, your friends, told you not to associate with because all he was going to do was fuck and dip. You couldn’t strip your gaze away from the man, and he seemed to notice. He let out a small snicker, raising a brow as you gawked shamelessly.

           “Y-you’re a hero from UA! Save us, stop him, arrest him. He killed our friend-” The three men shouted, running towards you with desperation in their eyes. It was their loud and unwanted voices that snapped you out of it.

           What were you doing?

           Here you are, blatantly checking out some stranger – a stranger with an overpowered quirk who just murdered a man. But the enigmatic stranger continued to stare with a look of amusement, even daring to take a step closer.

           “A hero? Oh, this is becoming a lot more work than I wanted.” he snuffled under his breath, eyes half-lidded. The men ignored the man’s commentary, staring at you with annoyance.

           “Do something, you useless women! We don’t pay our taxes for you to look pretty.” One of them shouted, their spit striking your face. Oh - hell no.

           “As if you guys even pay your fucking taxes. Maybe if you didn’t get piss drunk and try to mug the man, your friend would be alive.” You shouted heatedly, stepping forward and shoving the man back. He was getting far too close for comfort – he needs to learn something about personal space.

           The man’s eyes widen, stumbling back a few steps before narrowing his gaze. “This damn psycho killed someone!”

           “He was defending himself against you morons.” You fumed, hands balling into fists. You may be a hero, but you weren’t forgiving. That was the problem nowadays; people could not take responsibility for their damn actions. Starting fights, getting their asses kicked, and then crying wolf. And of course, you had all these ‘heroes,’ eagerly picking up the pieces of their messes to fuel their damn ego.

           “If you’re smart, you’ll leave before I report this whole incident. And I can guarantee it’ll be you three going to jail.”

           “You can’t report shit if you’re dead.” The man sneered before raising his hand. There in his grasp was a small dagger, the moonlight bouncing off the thin blade. So enraged by this man’s ignorance, you failed to notice the way his hand lingered into his jacket pocket.

           You could feel the blood drain from your face, impulsively cowering away from the blade. He caught you out, and you were surely going to pay now, shit-

           That was when you spotted it, the dash of black, a pretty hand reaching for the idiotic drunk. The manic smile that painted the blue flamed stranger’s face, a lust-filled look as his hand outstretched over the man.

           His long boney fingers wrapped around the side of his head, clawing into the skin of his face. You saw the terror etched into the drunken man – eyes shifting to look at your unexpected hero — the last thing he would ever see.

           “Burn.” The stranger whistled, and that was when you felt the overwhelming heat once again.

           An explosion of blue fumes flared before you, and the man who held the knife didn’t get a chance even to scream – incinerated in seconds. There wasn’t an ounce of control or restraint in this man’s flames, just pure and utter chaos. Smoke fluttered from the man’s skin, eyes crazed as he grinned, the flames ceased in intensity.

           Ashes and embers erupted into the air, the sound of the blade hitting the ground echoing between the brick walls. The stranger let his hand drop to his side, before tilting his head to your direction. That was when you spotted it — one of the untouched men was reaching for the burnt knife that laid on the ground.

           “Oh no, you don’t-” You hissed, the tipsy man staring up at you in surprise. But his resolve was set in stone, eager to get revenge for his now two dead buddies. The hot blade twisted in his hand, holding it tight as he swung down.

           He wasn’t aiming for you at all – he was trying to injury your anti-hero.

           You lunged forward, chest clashing with your newly developed crush, arms reaching around his neck. The inebriated man swung, and right before the blade could come in contact with your dark hero, your hands tightly gripped the man’s wrist, nails digging into his skin.

           “Let. Go.” You threatened, teeth clenching as you tried to hold him back.

           “Dude, the fuck are you doing? They’re heroes – they’ll kill us with their damn quirks. Run.” The only reasonable man of the two shouted, and that was all it took. The weapon slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor, and your grasp loosened.

           He whipped his hands from your touch, spitting on the ground where you stood as he ran down the alleyway with his only remaining friend. “Let’s get out of here.” They slurred, the sound of their shoes drumming against the concrete – turning the corner and out of sight.

           A drained gasp escaped you, arms going limp as your forehead rested against the man who saved your ass. Holy fuck – talk about a giant cluster fuck. The air around you smelt like death and fire, sparks spreading across the block, courtesy of the night breeze.

           How are you going to explain this? All the paperwork and details – you really outdid yourself tonight, didn’t you?

           “Hmm…he wasn’t lying; you’re a ‘hero’ from UA.” A dark voice droned into your ear. His hot breath tickled your neck, skin tingling in bliss, and your head shot upwards. That’s when you took in how utterly striking the man; you currently had your arms wrapped around, was.

           His eyes were magnetic, a turquoise so damn vibrant and clear your mouth dropped.

           Being as up close as you were, you could appreciate the silver piercings that decorated his nose and ears — an unpredicted attractive mix with his purple and red coloured scars. Overall, his features were soft, despite his attitude and whisky-like voice, although his jaw could probably cut diamonds with how damn sharp it was.

           Damn, he was attractive, and you couldn’t help but feel your breath getting heavy the further you gawked. Midnight was right – you were sex-starved, and the way you studied this man up and down like a damn snack, was the proof.

           His lips curved upwards to a smile that even the devil himself would swoon, noticing how your eyes scanned him with longing. Your fingers brushed his long black locks by accident, and you could feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

           “Do all UA heroes dress like this? Short dresses, low necklines?” The man chuckled, his fingers playing with the lanyard that was perfectly nestled between your breasts. Your cheeks flared, feeling his calloused fingers against your cleavage. His touch was far from tender, purposely letting the ID roll between his fingers, conveniently pulling your neckline further down your torso.

           And the worst part was you weren’t mad at his erotic touch as much as the comment, nipples hardening at the thought of this going further.

           “I beg your pardon?” You retorted, and the stranger merely laughed, licking his lips as he leaned closer to your face.

           “Oh, you can beg all you want, doll.”

           Fuck, this man knows what he’s doing. You snickered under your breath, untangling your arms away from his shoulders, pulling the lanyard that he played with away. “Thank you for saving my ass back there.”

           He smirked, running his hands messily through his hair before stepping forward. Your bottom lip rolled between your teeth, eyes fluttering as you watched the way the man before you dominated. He was rolling his shoulders back, each step of his lazy in demeanour, eyeing you like how a predator stalks its prey.

           “You come here often? Walk down these sketchy alleyways for fun.”

           “I’m kind of a hero, and unfortunately, walking in creepy alleyways is in the job description.”

           “Is eye-fucking people also included in that job description?”

           “Nope, that’s something I do on my own time.” You grinned, earning a handsome one back. He licked his lips, hands falling into his pants pockets as he stepped closer. You didn’t even realize the little dance that was happening.

           Both of you, stepping closer and father between words, walking in circles as you bantered pointlessly. The fact that this man killed two people was lost to the wind (literally) – you were a hero, sure, but you never said that you were good at it.

           “Personal time…that means you’re on your way home. Good to know.”

           “Plan on stalking?”

           He merely shrugged his shoulders, eyes falling back to your breasts without a care in the world. “Mm…maybe. Y/N – pro hero, Eden.” He muttered under his breath. This time you didn’t bother stopping him, the way he outstretched his hand, jerking on the ID card and drawing you closer to his body.

           Both of your eyes were glossed over, a heat building between your damn legs as he studied every curve in the dress you wore. It wasn’t even skimpy or short, but the way his eyes lingered – you would’ve thought you were wearing nothing but lingerie if you didn’t know better.

           “Next time, wear something shorter.”

           “Excuse me?” you blurted, and he merely laughed, letting go of the makeshift leash. But now that you were close, he seemed to take advantage. His hands fell over your hips, drawing you up against his body, his scared skin brushing against your jaw.

           “You see, doll, boobs are great and all, but that ass you got? I much rather have my hands on that.” He growled into your ear, and you couldn’t stop your small moan. Your hands fell over his shoulders, and you couldn’t even wrap your head around the fact that his hands were running up and down your thighs, shoving you backwards.

           Your back hit the wall roughly, him growling into your ear as he licked down your neck with a low grunt. “F-Fuck, what’s your name?” You blurted, and you could hear him chuckle breathlessly, listening to your gasping sighs.

           “Dabi – that’s the name that you’re going to be screaming.” He grunted, his hips thrusting into yours. You could feel his arousal, hard and heavy, rubbing perfectly against your parted legs. Your head tossed back, another mewl escaping your lips as his fingers dug into your thighs, rubbing his hardening cock against your wet heat.

           “Fuck, you’re nasty, a perfect lil’ slut for me, right doll?”

           His words had you purring.

           “Dabi-” you gasped, and the flashing lights of blue and red caught your attention. The sounds of sirens were clear in the dead of night, and they were rapidly approaching. A pout formed on your lips, eyes shutting close for a moment as you swore because the wet mess between your legs was far more concerning.

           You blew frustratingly; you’ve got to be fucking kidding-

           “Told you I’d have you begging.” Dabi chuckled, thrusting his dick perfectly against your sopping panties one last time, before pulling back. He licked his lips, and you couldn’t help but whine under your breath, seeing that bulge in between his legs – something you so desperately wanted your mouth over.

           “See you soon, Y/N, my delicious lil’ fruit.” He teased, before stuffing his hands back into his pants and running off.

           Your face was flushed, your breasts practically falling out of your dress, your thighs and ass on full display. You watched as Dabi managed to mix into the darkness as if he wasn’t even here a minute ago, dry humping you against the wall.

           “Over here- that’s where people reported the noise.” A few voices bellowed, and in a flash, you pulled down your dress, running back down the same alleyway you came from. Here you were, speedily walking down the very route you should’ve taken to begin with.

           If you had taken this path from the start, you would’ve been already home, dinner cooked, and probably in bed.

           But you couldn’t stop the cheeky smirk on your face, your hands falling over your neck, where his lips practically ravished. You were sure there were going to be some marks, although faint, and that thought made you wetter.

           It seems like Mr. Dildo found himself a new name for tonight – Dabi.

Copyright © 2020 Mystic-Kitten, inc. all rights reserved. No reposting, modifying, or translations of any kind allowed. Thank you for your cooperation.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Avatar characters portrayed in this story besides Ying Yue Jiang, Lia, Kima, and any future creations.

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

[eirian-houpe]

Cactus

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Prince Charming | David Nolan

Additional Tags: Fluff, Flirting, Courtship, a monthly Rumbelling July 2020, A Monthly Rumbelling (Once Upon a Time)

Series: Part 2 of The Language of Flowers

Summary: Belle and Gold continue their courtship with poetry and flowers and as their relationship grows, Rumple sends Belle a very important gift

Read on AO3

Cactus

Although they had officially been dating for three weeks, he didn’t stop the practice that had brought them together.

He already had some flowers, which he’d pressed prior to their daily arrangement of walking together at dusk, as well as taking afternoon tea on Sundays, just to break up the monotony of the weeks that never seemed to change in Storybrooke. However, he wanted something different now they knew each other a little better; something special.

He began to spend some of the free time he had between customers who came in to the pawn shop, for the repair of mechanical, clockwork trinkets and other assorted trivia, on the Internet. At first his Google searches frustrated him, as he always seemed to put in the wrong search parameters, and got back ridiculous answers such as how to wash a dog he didn’t have, with vinegar and baking soda. He wondered how on earth Google thought this was an appropriate answer when the words he’d typed in were, ‘Flower Lore.’ It was one of the reasons he hated the Internet with a passion reserved previously for such people as the mayor, the proprietor of the Rabbit Hole, and of course, Belle’s no good father. He persevered, however, - as he had done with the three aforementioned individuals - and soon the Internet yielded the results for which he had been hoping, a knowledgeable and consistent web and blog site that focused on flowers, their meanings in folklore, and uses in common-day herbalism and home remedies.

It was for these reason he got into the habit of driving to the nearest town to Storybrooke to visit a rather well stocked nursery and florist establishment. He was becoming a regular, and it suited him well enough that the proprietor knew that he was only looking for the best plants and blooms. Only the best for his Belle.

**

Belle French frowned, a very confused frown, as she stood in the library doorway, looking down at the plant as if it were the oddest thing in the world. She crouched down and very carefully fingered the edges of the soft tissue paper in which the plant was wrapped. Then she looked up and along the street to where she could see the familiar figure of Mister Gold limping along towards his shop.

She couldn’t count the number of stares they’d received from the many people who had seen them out walking together in the evenings, or who happened to be in Granny’s diner when they called in for their tea on Sundays. So many of them were the looks of astonishment at best, and mortification, at worst, and it hurt her heart to think that the people of Storybrooke still reviled Mister R Gold, while she, Belle French, was quickly coming to like him… a lot.

In fact, if pressed while she was working on another of the collages she made of Gold’s offerings, the ones she framed and put around the library apartment to, ‘brighten the place up’ as she would tell you at first, she might just let you in on the secret yearnings that were beginning to stir in both her heart and her body for Storybrooke’s most hated man, and then fix you with a deadly stare that dared you to comment on her taste in romantic partners.

So, she picked up the plant, and carefully carried it inside the library where she unwrapped the blue and white ceramic pot in which it was planted - her favorite kind of housing for living plants that she received, although seldom - and set the cactus, for such was her gift - on the circulation desk for all to see, and until she could decide how in the name of everything holy she was going to get a cutting and dry it to be used in one of her pictures.

It was a gift after all, and she wanted to use it, in spite of the thorns.

**

Through the long, cold day I long for the warmth of your protection against wintry nights.

This time she had slipped the beautifully handwritten note inside the upper left pocket of the vest he wore beneath the suit jacket. Even after their weeks of walking together she still wrote to him, finding hiding places on his person, or in unexpected places around his shop where no one but he would find them. Once, she even managed to slip one into his wallet - and he still hadn’t worked out how on earth she’d been able to achieve such a feat. Not that he wouldn’t have given his wallet to her if she’d ask.

He had found the note when he opened it up at the garage where he had the Cadillac serviced, and his oil changed. He pulled out the cash to pay Michael, the proprietor, and found the note nestled there between the bills. He stood for many long moments just staring at the piece of paper and the words she had written on it. Taking in nothing else for long enough that Michael called his name and asked if everything were okay.

It was. It was unexpected, but more than welcome.

With a smile, when he reached his shop, he walked into the back room where beautiful rainbow dahlia were carefully tucked into a large dome of soaked, green oasis to keep them fresh for the evening, when he could give them to Belle in a small basket he had picked out as perfect for the occasion. He thought the blooms reflected the elegance and dignity that she displayed as they walked around Storybrooke together with her on his arm.

How could she be so patient with others?

Having seen some of the looks she had endured, some of the stares over the last three weeks, it was a wonder to him that he had not simply broken from her gentle hold, taken his cane, and smashed them to within inches of their lives. How dare they look at her in such a way. Still, she would always seem to know when his temper was about to get the better of him, and would tighten her hand around his arm, and give him the kind of smile that made him forget everything around him, and focus only on her.

**

Belle carefully teased the cactus leaf apart and set it to press between two of the heaviest books in her apartment, which she had brought up from the library. That complete, she dipped her pen into the light green ink in the bottle on her desk. She had decided to order some different colored inks to add another dimension to the pictures she made from the flowers that Mister Gold still gave to her, perhaps even more frequently now that they were courting.

She paused, letting the end of the pen come to rest against her lip as she considered the words she had used in the latest of their pictures; a gift that she was preparing for Mister Gold for the approaching holiday. She had a bubbling excitement in her wait for it, for him to see it, and for him to be able to see that her feelings were true.

Hours spent by candle, before the firelight’s glow as the march of time carries us toward full night.

With a smile she set down her pen, and turned the paper to rest it carefully against the blotter, careful not to smudge the lettering while it was still wet, and making certain that - by the time she was ready - the faint aroma of the rose-scented oils she had sprayed upon the paper lingered, completing her poetic missive, and encouragement for more.  Spying the time, she reached for her coat and put the note carefully into her pocket, ready to slip it, unobserved onto Gold’s person as they walked.

True, it was a game she played with him, another way of more openly flirting with him than simply with flowers and poetry, but it was still unknown to the rest of Storybrooke, who looked at her with such unkind, judgmental eyes. Expressions she would, with a steady gaze, return to assure them that she was not ashamed of her growing feelings for Mister Gold, nor would they make her so, with their impolite reception.

Closing the door behind her, she made the short walk back down to the library, from where, her heart full of happiness and a smile lighting her face, she would be collected for her evening walk.

**

After the third of her short, poetic notes that week, Gold finally reached for the courage, at least in his own company, to consider taking their relationship further, but in another crisis of confidence, which always seemed to trigger when he considered how he might progress nearer to his desire for he and Belle.

The Thursday morning saw him staring seriously into his coffee cup in a booth at the middle of the diner, further back from his usual place.

“Did something go wrong?” David asked, still a little too loudly in public, and not for the first time Gold winced and wondered what had made him choose David for his confidante. Still he pulled out the carefully folded, much cherished piece of vellum.

As quietly as all the other times, he slid the folded note across the table between the two of them seated at the table.

“Is this the problem?” David asked again, as Gold seemed reluctant to release the sheet of paper. “She told you something that upset you in a note?

“I’m not upset,” he said, shaking his head, “and again, please keep your voice down. This is a most private matter.”  David raised an eyebrow and gave a soft apology, and Gold doubted that the other man would ever guess the content of the note. He leaned forward in his seat and quietly, confidentially, explained what he could of the growing affections between he and Belle.

David sat back in his seat, a smile on his face as Gold finished his tale. “Well, that’s good news,” he said. “Isn’t it? Why don’t you just ask her. Now… tonight, I mean, on your walk.”

“Please,” Gold said, “It’s most impropitious. Besides, why should I have reason to believe that she shares my growing feelings in any way?”

“Talking to her?” David questioned, and Gold finally lifted his hand from the latest of the notes he had received, this time in the front pocket of his jacket, found after last night’s walk. He watched as David pulled the note toward him and opened it, saw the way his eyebrows shot up as he read. Gold knew the words already, by heart, and even thinking them made it clench and send its always birdlike flutter down into his groin.

And in that night, with you beside me, shall I call your name as you know me.

“Wow,” David said, looking up from the note. “And you doubt she shares your feelings how exactly?”

“Because,” he began, surrendering to a moment of almost painful honesty, “Even after weeks of courting, and walking in public, longing to take things further - when it comes to it, I fear that what I have to offer her is far less then the gift that she can give… and not as much as she deserves.

David regarded him without words for the longest time, meeting his eyes and holding him in place with only his gaze until, uncomfortable, he began to fidget.

“I think you need to let Belle be the judge of that.”

**

Belle wiped off the last of the dust from the circulation desk and a soft sigh escaped her. She had hoped, as before, that Mister Gold might call in to suggest a different course than simply their evening walk, that he might have understood, and for a moment she felt such fierce disappointment that her eyes became hot with unshed tears.

Had her poetic notes been too unclear? Had the cactus been a symbol of his irritation with her in some way?

She looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten, and there were no patrons in the library, so as was her desire, she locked up, heade upstairs, and prepared to drown her disappointment in a bucket of tea, and as much foundation as would hide the evidence of her sorrow. It was not at all her usual way, but she just felt… cowed and lonely.

His soft voice began the moment she left the stacks to head back to the desk, rolling like a wave of warmth across the space between them as she came to a sudden halt, her heart beating so quickly it was like unto one continuous drum-roll.

“Safe and warm within my arms,” he purred, “bearing the rose of my kiss.”

He approached her slowly, and it was only then that she noticed that he had turned out all but one of the lights in the library’s lobby, and that he reached for her with an un-gloved hand, his fingertips barely brushing against her skin.

“So that I need not speak, only be the echo of my heart for thee”

She blushed as she leaned toward him, into the soft touch of his fingers on her cheek, and looked up at him with a moonlit ocean for eyes that met the caramel warmth of his.

“Rumple,” she greeted him softly, a little breathless.

“May I?” he asked quietly, passing the tender brush of his thumb against her lips.

Blushing more fiercely, she nodded once, and then stilled, even holding her breath as he leaned closer yet, brushing his mouth softly to hers.

“Belle,” she breathed as he withdrew his touch.

She watched as he retrieved his cane from where he always left it, and then tipped her head in query as he offered her his arm.

“Would you care to share a nightcap with me, at my home?” he asked.

She smiled, and slipped her hand onto his arm.

“I should like that very much,” she said.

[that-one-fandom-vore-blog]

(I can’t) stomach (this)

HOLY FUCK I still can’t believe I wrote this. Lots of power-writing went into this monster of a fic, and I sincerely hope you all enjoy it! @sketchyvorist (it’s here). Warnings up here for fearplay, mentions of fatal (doesn’t happen), mentions of gore, and mild body horror. This all fits in with Pyro’s Fruit!Seymour au (based off little shop of horrors) that I cannot possibly explain properly in a little blurb, so I encourage you to check out his blog for some context. That’s it from me, enjoy the fic! 

This was bad.

Audrey could feel her little heart thrumming away in her chest as she scurried her way through the walls of what had once been a cheery flower shop, her little limbs quivering with every step she took. Her green eyes were focused on the sprawling mess of vines laid across the floor. Through a few holes in the walls, Audrey could see them— the tendrils looking more like slumbering snakes than anything else. Ready to coil and curl and bite—

It’s not the tendrils that bite.

Swallowing the knot in her throat, Audrey cautiously crept a little way away from the relative safety of the wall. She had one hand braced on the peeling wallpaper, dainty fingers curled tight around it as she stuck her head out from the little mouse hole she called her front door. 

Clear. 

Apart from the vines— there seemed to be more of them— draped across every spare surface, that is. Seeing them made a cold sort of dread fall over her shoulders, the kind that prickled and made her whole body feel as though she had fallen into ice water. It was nothing new. The life of a borrower was always a dangerous one, true, but this was a different sort of danger. She couldn’t say why, though, couldn’t find words to voice the dread knotting in her stomach, couldn’t even fathom why now— now she felt so terrified.

It wasn’t as though it was her first time sneaking around the shop.

It wasn’t as though she didn’t know what would happen if she got caught.

Carefully shifting her weight in place, Audrey gingerly stepped forward, making sure to stay completely silent. Silence was key. If she couldn’t stay silent, she’d end up dead. 

Feeling about as helpless as a mouse cornered by a colossal, grinning cat, Audrey plucked up her courage and took another couple quick steps away from the little tunnel in the wall, away from where it was safe, away from where her instincts screamed at her to retreat to. 

But I have to know.

Her tiny footsteps were barely audible as she stepped over a small tendril, making sure not to step on anything that could grab her faster than she could hope to cry out and—

She grit her teeth. 

Get it together.

She scolded herself. Her hands were starting to quiver. The shop air felt heavy, heavy as though it was making to suffocate her where she stood. Her footsteps seemed impossibly loud, her little heels clicking on the tiles below. She scurried forward, being careful of where she rested her weight, scooting around the resting, greenish sprouts with her heart in her throat. 

I just need to check on him.

She didn’t need to catch his attention, didn’t want to catch his attention, she just needed to see he was alright. 

Liar.

A voice in her head accused as she crept further into the shop’s musty interior. It smelled of mold, though, there was something… something sweet, just beneath it. Faint. Audrey could barely pick it up, though, it did make her brows furrow together and her stomach twist. 

You don’t want to check on him.

Swallowing heavily, taking a moment to clear her head and inhale sharply, Audrey pulled her hands toward herself and wrung then together. She was standing out in the open, head low, blonde locks falling in a curtain across the back of her head, little hands pressed together as though she’d disappear if they stopped holding so tight to each other. 

The room seemed so much smaller. The huge shape of the Audrey II’s pod took up a good chunk of the shop, and although Audrey knew it was nothing but a plant— an inanimate object— but it made her skin crawl as though she was being watched, and she knew, deep down, that somehow, it was the root of their problems. She forced herself not to look at the bulbous pod as she crept forward around its sprawling array of vines, keeping her green eyes fixated on the basement door that was still hanging somewhat open.

You don’t want to check on him at all. You just want to make sure nobody else made the mistake of being near him. 

That little voice in her head was sounding more and more like her own the closer she got to the front desk and the door beside it. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing up at the Audrey II’s dormant shape every few steps, weaving her way through the mess of overgrowth as well as she could. She was careful not to touch a thing. 

With every step, all she could do was struggle to keep herself completely silent and see how the shop used to be every time she blinked. Things had been good— better than good— but then Seymour…

She would not cry. 

Not again. 

There was nothing she could do to help him, anyway. 

She could feel the hot sting of tears in her eyes and forced them back as well as she could. 

What a mess she was in, now.

It wasn’t her fault— wasn’t his either— that everything had suddenly gone straight to hell. Audrey could feel sweet— cold and slick— building on her palms and wiped them off on the sides of her dress.

It was then that she made the mistake of looking down.

At first, she barely noticed the stain, but as her heart rate sped up, it became impossible to ignore the small, dried patch of crimson beneath a curling vine. One of her hands rose to her mouth to stifle a small, barely audible whimper of fright. Her legs were quaking, again. The basement door suddenly seemed so far away. 

Swallowing heavily, Audrey tried to pull her gaze away from the dried red stain to no avail, unable to make herself pretend it was fruit punch, or some accident. There had been nothing accidental about it—

Her foot brushed against a vine.

Heart surging into her throat, insides seizing up, Audrey did the one thing her terrified brain told her to do. She bolted.

Her legs were long for a borrower, and shooting forward— away from what her mind told her was certain death— she scrambled for the basement door, not looking back, not even trying.

Go go go go go GO!

Her breath snagged in her throat, her heart beat like a kick drum at a crazed tempo, the orchestra of her legs moving in time, bringing her forward at a breakneck pace—

She practically collapsed just past the threshold, and then, only then did she allow herself to look back. 

Nothing had moved.

Audrey’s eyes shot from vine to vine as she staggered backward toward the steps, though, nothing was out of place. Not a single speck of dust had moved, not a single tendril nor leaf, though… 

Her wide green eyes shot to the pod in the corner. It looked like it was smiling. Those growths that stuck out from it— those curving, orangey-red bits— looked so much like a grinning mouth that it made Audrey’s heart skip a beat. The skin along her arms prickled with gooseflesh. It was stupid to be afraid—

Well, not really—

—and she was being unreasonable. 

She was being completely unreasonable about the whole thing. It was a plant. Just a plant. Just a mess of leaves and a stem and a curling, grinning mouth—

Audrey shook herself in an attempt to clear her head and rubbed at her arms, ignoring the way her fingers trembled as she backed off toward the stairs behind her. She didn’t take her eyes away from the Audrey II’s pod. Something told her— some instinct she couldn’t place that was wired into her mind— that if she did so much as blink, it would be upon her somehow. It couldn’t move from that ceramic pot, sure, but… 

The borrower stayed facing forward until one of her feet found the drop of the first stair. 

Sucking in a sharp breath through her teeth, Audrey forced herself to turn around and began to lower her little body down the drop, sitting on the edge and swinging forward, only to repeat the process again and again. Her limbs trembled. She’d gone down the basement steps before, sure, and she’d climbed back up them as well, though she’d never been this afraid to descend into the place a certain botanist called his own. 

The vines that had littered the upstairs didn’t seem to sprawl past the threshold of the basement door, which made Audrey’s racing heart slow just a tad. It couldn’t get her. Not there. 

But he could—

She silenced the voice in her head as she dropped down past the next stair, heels clicking on the unstable wood. 

There was no light coming from downstairs, though, she knew Seymour’s basement bedroom had a single, ground-level window. So long as that wasn’t blocked, she’d be able to see just fine. 

With every step down she took, she tried to let those comforting thoughts into the front of her mind. It wouldn’t be that bad. Again, she only needed to take a little peek, and then she’d work at scaling the stairs again and… 

She reached the last stair and was shaking again. 

Her heart was in her throat. Swallowing, trying to regulate her breathing, she crept forward into the basement, eyes adjusting to the faint amount of Skid Row sunlight filtering through the window.

Just like always. 

It was so familiar that for a moment, if Audrey squinted, she could pretend nothing was wrong. The basement was the same as always. The shelves where Seymour had kept his more exotic plants still stood proudly as ever, and even though the specimens were a little overgrown and underwatered, they still reached their leaves for the glimmering sunlight. Even his bedside table looked the same, even his rumpled bedsheets and his sleeping form--

He’s asleep.

Audrey felt relief wash over her in an unabashed, heavy fashion as she realized that the monster she’d been so terrified of was passed out on his bed. 

There. You’ve checked on him.

A voice in her head piped.

Now get out. 

Truth be told, she wanted to listen to that voice more than anything. It would be hard to dash back up the basement steps, true, but she could do it and he’d never be the wiser--

But it was then that Audrey’s alert ears picked up a noise. A high, soft whine. 

Gaze focusing on the creature asleep a few feet away from her, Audrey felt her lips turning to a frown and a sudden twinge of pain in her chest upon gazing upon that stolen face. His glasses were crooked on the bridge of his nose, curls falling over them, mouth open enough to show off a huge amount of fangs that looked so wrong on Seymour’s gentle face. 

He was snoring, and to Audrey’s fascination, there was drool puddling on his pillow in thick, purplish strands. 

I miss you.

She thought at him, trying to force back the sudden sting of tears in her eyes. 

I’m so sorry I can’t help you.

Plucking up her courage and bunching her hands into fists, Audrey took a step closer to him and stood on tiptoe to see more of his face. It was almost painful how normal he looked. If she squinted, she could pretend it was just Seymour with a flower in his hair, tucked behind his ear and that he’d fallen asleep with his glasses on--

A breath hitched in her throat at another whine from the creature. She watched, heart rate suddenly climbing as his brows pinched together and he shifted in his sleep and gave another whimper, one of his hands shifting to clutch at his middle. 

Claws. 

Audrey’s heart stopped as she realized the wicked red points curling from Seymour’s hands. 

Right, you checked on him, you’re done here—

She began backing up on unsteady legs, not daring to tear her eyes away from the sleeping shape of what was once someone she cared for, and that was when Audrey Fulquard made a mistake. 

Her heel connected with a vine that she’d missed. 

No.

Her insides turned to water, and before she could cry out—

It wrapped around her little body with a sudden, vicious force that squeezed the air from her lungs and pulled a startled, strangled little wheeze from her throat. She began to thrash and squirm as hard as she could, feeling as though she was vibrating from the force of her trembling. Her legs swung uselessly back and forth, and to her horror--

A pair of bright, soulless eyes fixed on her, framed by crooked glasses and piercingly green. 

They were bleary, and for a second, she had hope, thought that maybe he’d drop her and everything would be alright, but then—

A grin was falling onto that fanged mouth as that vine— Seymour’s vine— began to draw her closer. His eyes seemed so far away, though, they were getting closer—

“S-SEYMOUR!” Audrey tried, her voice breaking midway through her shrill squeal of his name, her chest going up and down at a rapid pace. “S-SEYMOUR, P-PUT ME DOWN—”

She was interrupted by the tendril holding her firmly in place tightening. 

He was groggy. She could tell by the way his eyes were still half-lidded and how he clumsily raised one hand to swipe at the saliva dribbling past his lip, furrowing his brow confusedly as it clung to his fingers. His hair was mussed, and as Audrey watched in silent horror, he gave a small, irritable rumble and fixed his eyes on her. 

His pupils were nothing more than thin slits. 

She broke the eye contact as soon as it had come, forcing her gaze down the tendril wrapped firm around her waist. A spike of terror pierced her heart as she swung haphazardly in Seymour’s grip, still kicking and flailing as hard as she could. Her breaths were short. Try as she might to claw at the vine holding her tight, the vine drawing her close to the face of a man she’d once loved. 

The sickly sweet smell that had wafted through the upstairs was even stronger as she dangled before him, squirming as hard as she could. She could feel his breath against her front, now, ruffling her blonde hair, hot and humid. 

“Seymour--” she tried again, unable to raise her voice above a whimper, “--l-let go of me, it-- it’s me-- it’s Audrey, r-rememb’a?” 

Those cold green eyes were still focused on her. She made herself look into them, and despite her shaking, despite the fact that she felt like a bug about to be swatted with a newspaper, she tried to give him a smile. 

Those pupils were rounding out.

Please.

God, please.

That grip suddenly felt a little less all-encompassing. She was being moved closer, though, she didn’t pay it much mind. She blamed his poor eyesight, blamed the crookedness of his glasses for how close she was to his face. She could see a smattering of freckles across his cheeks, and if she really focused, she could see her own deathly pale reflection in the lenses of his glasses. 

“It’s me…” She weakly repeated.

Please--

He blinked, and again, Audrey felt hope. Surely he was still in there. His face looked so familiar, and if she ignored the way his eyes were the wrong color and his teeth were as sharp as knives, if she just focused on the way his curls still looked soft, if a little messy, and the way his glasses still remained on the bridge of his nose…

Audrey flinched instinctively as he opened those wicked jaws, though, his voice was so painfully familiar.  “A-Audrey--”

It was more a growl than anything, and a tad slurred, but it was still spoken in the same gentle tones she knew so well. Opening her mouth to respond, the borrower took a breath in, but before she could speak--

A new sound broke the silence. A long, low, muffled sound from the direction of Seymour’s middle. A growl. 

Audrey’s heart dropped down to her shoes.

“S-Seymour, please--” She begged, struggling to keep calm as those pupils snapped back into slits and his mouth opened just a tad, just enough to allow a long, purplish tongue to snake out from between his lips—

She managed to lean back enough in his grip to avoid the slick muscle touching her face as he licked his chops, another low rumble from his stomach making Audrey’s face pale. 

She couldn’t find words, suddenly, and as Seymour cocked his head and gave a little whine, she felt his breath in the form of a sigh and three words that made her blood run cold: “But I’m hungry…” He moaned, the sentence punctuated by a gurgle and a press of those wicked red claws to his stomach. 

His empty stomach.

Somehow, Audrey didn’t think it’d be empty much longer--

Audrey struggled to keep from hyperventilating as those green eyes fixated on her and that split-ended tongue flicked across his lips once more, leaving a shimmering trail of purplish saliva clinging to his lower lip. 

“An’ you’re right here…” He added as an afterthought, the pressure of the vine around her tightening enough to make Audrey feel like her chest would burst. 

Her tongue felt like lead in her mouth. Quivering, she feebly pushed at the coil around her waist. “B-But--” she began, frantically trying to think of an argument, “I-- If ya eat me-- y-you’ll just get hungry again, I-- I won’t even fill you up-- n-not for long-- an’-- an’ then…” 

Her eyes pricked with tears as she hoarsely whimpered: “I’d die, Seymour.” 

He had to understand that. He had to. Somewhere in his heart-- if he had one left-- he had to know it wouldn’t end well. He had to care enough to know that it would only end in her demise, right? 

Audrey watched Seymour’s brows draw together, his green eyes flicking up and down her small frame in a way that made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. She felt absolutely microscopic as he sank his teeth into his lip and clutched a little tighter at his stomach with those red claws. There was drool, thin, sticky strands of it, dripping from between his lips and tinging his skin purple. 

That tongue snaked across his lips again. Audrey felt her heart lurch dangerously as the vine curling from behind him drew her closer to his face. “But… Audrey…” He whined, “It hurts… and if I…” 

Audrey watched with her heart in her throat and her hands on the vine as Seymour bit down on his lip and cocked his head. She could tell he was thinking about something. It was the way he kept shifting how he sat, causing the bedsprings to creak, and the way his brows were knitted together. She could still hear that muffled giggling under his skin, and although it made the blood drain from her face, she stubbornly clung to the hope that she wouldn’t end up in that terrifying place. 

He looked like he was thinking hard. 

The silence was killing her. With every second that passed, she tried desperately to read his empty eyes to no avail. They were locked onto hers, true, and she could tell thoughts were leaping around in the space behind them, but otherwise, he was a mystery. 

Until his face lit up. 

He’s thought of something. 

Seeing him smile was so unsettling. Those jagged points that made up his teeth made Audrey’s stomach do a flip as those predatory eyes began to gleam. 

“Well?” She wheezed, hope painfully evident in her wobbling voice.

When the vine around her waist loosened, Audrey almost sobbed in relief. He was listening! He was listening and he’d put her down and he’d find something else to sate his growling gut with and--

His tongue had wrapped around her faster than she could realize. 

Green eyes going wide with fright, a strangled squeal catching in her throat, Audrey’s gaze shot to the purplish throat yawning wide before her. The sensation of a living, pulsing muscle squeezing her limbs to her sides was one that made her breaths short and labored. The surface of Seymour’s tongue was rough like that of a cat, and she barely managed to register that fact before it was tugging her past those huge, jagged fangs. 

“SEYMOUR--” She tried to shout, though, she broke into a shrill scream at the noise of those teeth slamming together and the feeling of his tongue invading her personal space, its rough surface leaving purplish, sticky saliva clinging to her in heavy strands.

No, no, please—

She couldn’t form any other pleas-- couldn’t find words. Hope had completely drained from her body as that tongue eagerly draped over her, pushing her up against the teeth keeping her cruelly trapped in place.

Seymour was gone, she realized, and soon…

Soon, she would be, too.

Audrey could feel more and more saliva puddling around her and was vaguely aware that her environment was vibrating. 

What—

It clicked when that disgustingly coarse tongue rolled her over and pinned her up against the rubbery roof of Seymour’s mouth.

—purring.

Tears stung her eyes. She knew it wasn’t Seymour— knew it was stupid to have done so much as hoped he was still in there somewhere— but it still made her heart lurch. 

He’s enjoying this.

Terrified beyond belief, numb to the shaking of Seymour’s mouth and her limbs, Audrey struggled to scratch and kick any surface she could reach, clawing desperately at the slick surfaces until—

NO!

Everything tipped back. A desperate scream shot from her, so harsh that it made her throat ache. The tongue she’d been shoving at began to arch back, and against her will, coated in saliva, she slid back toward the gaping tunnel of fleshy, purplish walls she’d been forcing herself not to think about.

The point of no return.

His throat. 

Screaming at the top of her lungs, swatting at his tongue and trying to force herself upward, Audrey fought hard. But not far enough. Already, she could feel her legs beginning to enter his throat, the powerful muscles there greedily tugging at her with a disgusting series of squelching noises. 

“SEYMOUR, PLEASE, L-LET ME OUT! WE— I CAN FIND YOU SOMETHING ELSE TO EAT, I PROMISE, JUST DON’T—“

With a smooth little shift of his tongue and a backward flick of his head, Audrey felt the muscles of his throat all lurch, and with a gulp that rang in her ears—

She began to slide down his gullet. His purring was deafening, shaking everything around her with a force that vibrated her to her very core. The muscles around her absolutely smothered her. The light that had filtered from between his teeth was disappearing fast, and with another powerful swallow, she was plunged into a sticky, pulsating darkness. 

The walls of his throat invaded her space, slithering against each other as she was pulled down and into the suffocating space of his esophagus. It felt like it was taking hours. At times, she swore she slowed almost to a complete stop before another swallow would ripple around her and send her-- squirming and thrashing as she was-- deeper into Seymour’s chest. 

His heartbeat thudded into her skull at a rapid pace, the noises-- the cacophony of his lungs, heart, purring, and the noise of those muscles sliding around her in the dark-- proving to be too much to handle. 

Tears stung Audrey’s eyes as she realized the kicking she’d done only served to force her down his gullet faster. There wouldn’t be any escaping--

Well, there is a way I’ll get out but--

Her thoughts were interrupted as her legs were squeezed into an open space. She kicked frantically, a sudden burst of adrenaline causing her to claw in vain at the undulating muscles of his throat but--

With a final swallow and a squelch, Audrey made that last drop into his stomach. 

At first, she couldn’t make herself move.

It was pitch dark under Seymour’s skin, but she could feel everything. Her senses were on overdrive. The lining of his stomach was slick and squishy under her touch, though, she could feel a few other objects pressing into her pale skin. A series of organic groans and gurgles rolled through the space around her, as if his belly was satisfied she was within. 

She was trapped. 

Fear was settling over her like a thick, disgusting sludge as her frantic mind began to process what had just happened, the saliva clinging to her in thick, ropy strands suddenly feeling suffocating. They dripped across her face as she slowly, shakily looked up toward the top of his stomach, her whole body beginning to tremble harder with each second. 

It was only when a small, contented sounding sigh echoed in the air around her that Audrey’s body shot into motion. 

Standing as well as she could as the chamber shifted and groaned in the dark around her, Audrey felt her heartbeat kicking into overdrive. She didn’t want to touch the walls-- but the churning, swaying motions made it hard to keep her balance without. One of her hands-- splayed and covered in spit-- ran along the edge of the nearest muscled wall, though, there was something… something different about it. 

Again, her body froze up. 

What happened to you?

That hope of Seymour having known who she was and being able to cough her up began to falter as her hand moved its position, skimming across a wall comprised of thorns. They weren’t sharp enough to draw blood, no, but as her palm sunk into the fleshy wall, she felt her heart sinking. 

It had changed his insides, too. 

He’d been terrifying enough as it were, with his vines and sharp teeth, not to mention, that stupid, stupid flower that had made her want to come closer. She was sure of it, now. The scent had been so stupidly alluring, and--

Seymour’s stomach growled, the walls shifting enough to throw tiny Audrey off balance. With a wet sounding smack, she hit the floor on her rear, her back flush against the closest, intruding wall. There was silence in the creature’s belly. 

You idiot.

A voice in her head growled as she shifted, bringing her knees up to her chest. 

You’ve seen what he did to Orin-- to Mushnik-- and you thought you could help? 

She curled up tighter. 

It was true. She’d seen what had happened-- seen the blood and seen those horrid, green-glowing eyes--

She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the hot sting of tears trickling down her cheeks and mistook them for the beginnings of digestion. It wouldn’t take him long to break down a little insect like her, after all, and then…

Her shoulders shook. Her throat was hoarse from screaming, limbs heavy from fighting, and for what? She’d only ended up where he’d wanted her to. 

It would only be a matter of time before she was gone. 

She didn’t know how much time had passed of her sitting in the dark in a fleshy, pulsing prison. Her ears rang from his heart beating away in her ears. Saliva and other fluids she dared not name clung to her skin, slicking her bangs down into her eyes as they adjusted to the lack of light. The thorns-- probably for grinding up his prey did you think of that-- dug uncomfortably into her spine, and with every shift, every little gurgle, she’d feel a breath hitch in the back of her throat and curl up tight, expecting the chamber to flood with digestive fluid. 

Surely… surely she didn’t have to suffer much longer. Her oxygen would run out, and then the churning would grow more and more violent and she’d be dead before she could do so much as ask why--

“Thanks.” 

His voice was deafening from the inside. It made the whole chamber of his stomach buzz, and when he moved--

Audrey let out a shrill squeal as her whole environment shifted to one side and something pressed on her from outside--

His hand. 

Gasping, wheezing, feeling absolutely used, Audrey scrambled away from the contact as well as she could. She slipped on the slick floor of his stomach, though, she didn’t care-- she was already soaked in slimy, purplish fluids. Everything around her seemed to rock in place as that hand pressed and probed at the far wall, the sight of it alone enough to make Audrey’s own stomach twist in disgust. 

“That… that’s a lot better,” Seymour mumbled around her. 

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

Audrey felt rage boil up through her tiny body at the utter contentment in Seymour’s words-- the way he sounded like he just didn't’ care-- it was enough to make her bunch her hands into fists. 

“Oh, really?” She hissed, malice seeping from every syllable, “I’m glad you’re havin’ such a good time out there, seein’ as I’m nev’a gonna get OUTTA HERE!” 

The last two words were shrill as could be, and with as much force as was left in her tiny body, Audrey gave the wall pressing inward a sharp kick. The wet sound of her foot hitting flesh made repulsion wash over her, though, it didn’t stop her from bringing it down again. 

“How come you had-- h-had t’just go an’ EAT ME?” She shouted,  “how-- why-- wh-what did I ev’a do t’you? I’ve been-- I’ve been nothing but kind, a-an’ to repay me, you just-- you SWALLOWED ME-- Seymour, I’m gonna--”

She was interrupted by a sharp prod from the outside and a low, rumbling snarl that sounded like Seymour but somehow wrong echoing through the chamber with a force that made her clap her hands over her ears and shriek. 

It took her a moment to realize it was Seymour that had spoken and not something else. 

It took her another moment to piece together that he’d said: “You’re NOT going to die!” 

How? 

Audrey wanted to scream. 

How am I not going to die-- you ATE ME--

She opened her mouth, trying to put the betrayal into words, trying to explain to him that there WAS no “not dying” in it for her, but…

She couldn’t make a sound. Utterly frozen, the little borrower quietly listened as Seymour gave another heavy sigh and prodded at her little shape. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you, I’m just… keepin’ ya there for a while, Audrey, I’m just so hungry…” 

The way he said it made a chill run up her spine, though… 

Could she believe him? 

She’d been in his stomach for a while, and nothing… nothing bad had happened, at least, not yet. 

Looking down at her hands, ignoring the great globs of purple gunk sticking to them, she inspected them for any damage. Maybe his digestive acids didn’t hurt and she’d melt away without knowing, or maybe those walls would spring into action and the thorns would dig into her skin and rip her to pieces, or maybe--

“Audrey?” 

It sounded like him. Why did it have to sound like him? 

She was stupid. She was wishing for death by thinking it, but… 

Carefully uncurling a little, still trembling, Audrey carefully bunched up a handful of his stomach lining in her fist and exhaled. 

“You-- You’re not g-gonna…” She swallowed before trying again, unable to quite make her lips form the proper words. “You won’t di… you won’t… you’re not gonna…” Wobbling on her feet, crouching, one hand on a slick, muscled wall, she looked up above her. So much had just happened-- Seymour had EATEN her--

“You’re gonna be fine,” he murmured, his voice embedding itself in her head with a wobbly, unsteady sort of lilt-- is he crying?-- and vibrating all around her. “I… oh, Audrey, you’re gonna be fine, I just-- I n-needed something-- I-- I’m sorry for scaring you, b-but can you just...  can you just stay there?” 

--and she wasn’t going to die. 

...how? 

She had so many questions, questions that shot through her brain in a rapid-fire way, but at the sound of a terrified, shuddering breath above her, she bit them back. Antagonizing him seemed to be a poor life choice, and she was already surrounded by him. She was completely at his mercy-- she’d die if she upset him, she knew, and he was unstable as could be, but…

He’d chosen to spare her. 

He’d remembered her in a fit of hunger, against all odds, he’d remembered her and true, he’d terrified her, and true, he’d eaten her up, but…

She was alive, against all odds. 

Swallowing her questions, Audrey knew, deep down, she hadn’t a choice. He’d keep her there anyway if she disagreed, and it was… warm, if not slimy. 

At least I don’t have to worry about getting eaten by him, anymore. 

She managed to morbidly think. 

Carefully, forcing her discomfort away, Audrey took a deep breath in and sprawled out a little further, lying up against a wall in between a row of spines so she was a little more comfortable. Now that she knew she wouldn’t die, she may as well get comfortable. 

He didn’t seem like he’d be spitting her up anytime soon, and the emptiness of his gut further proved it. 

Audrey shuddered as another glob of slime landed on her face and a low gurgle rang through Seymour’s otherwise empty stomach, but with her next breath and a shift of her legs, she quietly managed to get out: “Sure.” 

The purring she earned in response, oddly enough, made her feel a little calmer. The pulsating and churning was a little off-putting, the gurgling more than enough to send a cold spike of fear shooting through her, but the warmth and the feeling of his hand resting over her… 

That was proof. That was proof he could be saved, right? Surely… surely it was. 

Splaying herself out to fill him up a little better, Audrey carefully looked at the stomach around her. Her hands, though covered in slime, didn’t shake as she raised them and brought them down in a gentle, petting motion, earning another loud, pleased rumble from the being housing her. 

I’m going to save you. 

She thought to him, biting her lip against a sudden surge of emotion. 

I know you’re still in there, somewhere, and when I find out what happened to you… 

I’m going to undo it. 

For now, though, Audrey stretched out and shifted her weight in the expanse of Seymour’s stomach. The flesh beneath her stretched like a hammock, and although she had been terrified beyond all belief… 

Audrey closed her eyes and pretended, for a moment, that she was somewhere with Seymour. Somewhere nice and peaceful, not like the hell she was living in-- the hell of not knowing if the man she loved more than anything was still there under layers of teeth and vine-- somewhere where there was nothing but green… 

Somewhere where Audrey Fulquard didn’t have to be afraid.

Funny, that she thought of such a place inside of a stomach. 

[ceealaina]

Love’s Strange

Square: K3 - Carnivorous Plant Rating: T Link: AO3 Warnings: None Pairings: Stuckony, background Carol/Rhodey Summary: Tony makes a new friend in the lab, and for some reason Bucky is the only one with enough sense to be concerned about it. 

Bucky walked into the lab and couldn’t help grinning broadly. Tony was draped over a work desk, poking at something, hip canted out and grey pants molding perfectly to his ass.

“Well hell,” Bucky drawled, leaning against the doorframe and folding his arms over his chest as he let himself just linger and stare. “Ain’t that a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hey honey.” Tony looked over his shoulder, shooting Bucky a genuine grin, but a second later his attention was pulled back to whatever he’d been looking at. “What’re you doing down here?” he added after a minute, tone distracted.

Bucky shrugged even though Tony couldn’t see him. “Got bored. Sam and Clint were talking about whether a radish is also a rutabaga. Too much stupid for me to handle, so I thought I’d come down here... Pester my favourite engineer... Maybe see if he wanted to fool around a little...?”

That got him a soft huff of pleased laughter, but Tony didn’t look up again and, curiosity winning out, Bucky gave up his A+ view to move over to him.

“What’ve you got, doll?”

Tony glanced over when Bucky leaned into his space, face pulled into an adorably puzzled frown. “A plant.”

Bucky couldn’t resist giving him a quick kiss before Tony’s words caught up to him. “A... plant?” he repeated, because last he checked, Tony wasn’t the horticultural type. But sure enough, there was a funny little lime green thing sitting in a bright pink pot on the tabletop, about six inches high and covered in little spikey bell-shaped leaves, run through with electric blue veins. “Where did that come from?”

“No idea,” Tony answered. “It was here when I came down. I thought maybe Steve brought it for me? Steve seems like the type to give people plants, right?” He reached out, running his index finger delicately over one of the leaves. “Ooh, it’s soft.” He gave Bucky another smile. “It’s kinda cute, right?”

“Uh... cute,” Bucky repeated. “Right. Tony, what the hell is this? I’ve never seen a plant looking anything like that before.”

“Oh, really? I mean, it didn’t look familiar to me, but then, it’s not like I’m a botanist.” He managed to say the word with so much disdain that Bucky couldn’t help snorting a little. “I just assumed it was some specialty fancy plant. You know, like orchids.”

Bucky blinked, watching as Tony continued stroking the leaves carefully, and what the hell, he could have sworn the plant shivered. “That definitely ain’t an orchid.”

“Well, I know that,” Tony replied, before staring off into the middle distance for a minute. “Wait, what do orchids look like?” he asked, before shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. I like it.”

Bucky was still watching the plant suspiciously. He was almost positive that he could see it actually leaning into Tony’s touch against its leaves, and he was definitely positive that plants weren’t supposed to do that. “Tony, baby... Don’t you think that we should maybe... Find out where it came from?”

Tony lifted his head, giving Bucky a dry look. “What? You think it’s secretly a trap sent here to- ow!” Tony’s eyes went wide and slowly turned his head to look back down at the plant. “It bit me!” He lifted his hand up, the entire plant coming with him, one of the bell leaves now closed around the tip of his index finger. He gave his hand a little shake, wincing when the grip tightened. “Oww!”

“Shit!” Bucky moved to grab the thing, ready to rip the leaf off and smash the plant against the wall, but Tony smacked him away with his other hand.

“Careful! You’re gonna hurt him!” Tony turned back to the plant. “Hey, Einstein, I’m not your food. Let go of me.” He was practically cooing at it, using his free hand to tug carefully until the plant let him go and he could set it back on the table. “See?” He turned to Bucky, all smug. “He was just hungry, weren’t you pretty thing?” He gave the plant another little pat, and this time Bucky definitely saw it flutter at the attention. “Do you think he eats blueberries?”

“Tony!” Bucky stared at him incredulously. “It just tried to eat you!”

“Because he was hungry,” Tony insisted. “Must be a Venus Fly Trap.”

Bucky groaned. “That is not a Venus Fly Trap. Tony, honey, we gotta find out what this is before it goes all Little Shop of Horrors, and does eat you.”

***

“Alien,” Bruce confirmed twenty minutes later. Bucky had gone to get him when Tony refused to do any testing in case he hurt his precious new friend. They’d come back to find him feeding it peanuts. “The chemical composition in the soil isn’t even something that exists on this planet.”

Bucky groaned, rubbing at his temples as he felt a headache coming on. “Outstanding,” he muttered dryly.

“I know, right?” Tony asked, bending over the table to get his face up close to the plant with his usual complete lack of regard for personal safety. “Hey, you funky little alien. Did you come all this way to hang out with me?”

“Tony.” Bucky gave his boyfriend a look. “You cannot keep the carnivorous space plant.”

“Carnivorous?” Bruce looked up from the readouts he had been peering at, eyebrows raising.

“It tried to eat Tony earlier.”

“He was hungry,” Tony insisted again. “We just have to figure out what he eats and it’ll be fine.”

“He eats people, Tony.”

Tony just shrugged. “He liked the peanuts I gave him.”

Tony refused to hear a word against his plant, or to stop feeding it peanuts, so Bucky did what any sane person would do in this situation.

He went to get Steve.

"Stevie," he complained, walking into the living room and finding Steve parked in front of a window, sketching the skyline. "Please come and collect your ridiculous boyfriend."

"My boyfriend?" Steve repeated without looking up from his drawing. "Uh-uh, it's Tuesday. Pretty sure he's your boyfriend on Tuesdays," he told him, snickering when Bucky tossed a throw pillow at him.

"Fine. Come and collect our boyfriend. He's not listening to me."

"What's he doing now?"

“Hanging out with aliens.”

Steve did look up then, a slightly startled look crossing his features. “I’m sorry, he’s what now?”

“Just come on.”

Bucky explained the situation on the way down to the lab, where they found that Bruce and Tony had progressed from peanuts to feeding the plant raw ground beef. Clint was standing in the corner, a bandaid wrapped around his finger.

“Uhh,” Steve said eloquently.

Tony looked up at the sound of his voice. “Steve!” he cried happily. “Come and meet our new child!”

Bucky choked at that but Tony ignored him, grabbing Steve by the arm and hauling him over to the table. “Steve, this is Einstein. Einstein, this is your other other dad, Steve.”

“Um, hi Einstein,” Steve said, sounding a little perplexed. “Where did he come from?”

“No idea,” Tony admitted. “But he was hungry,” he added, getting a grumble from Clint. “Look!” He grabbed another spoonful of the ground beef, and Bucky waited expectantly for Steve to tell him that they needed to kill it with fire immediately. But instead, to his horror, he watched Steve move closer, bending over the table to peer at Einstein the plant speculatively.

“Aww,” he cooed, watching him - it - gobble down a mouthful. “He’s kinda cute.”

“Right?” Tony looked at him, pleased. “Here, look.” He grabbed Steve’s hand, touching his fingers gently against the plant’s leaves. The plant shivered again, leaning into the touch. “See? He likes it!”

“Oh, sure,” Clint grumbled from the corner pouting at the plant. “Captain America touches him and he’s everyone’s best friend. But I get near him, and the thing tries to attack me. That thing’s dangerous, Tony!”

“Thank you!” Bucky agreed, pointing at Clint. The two of them shared a look and Tony just glared at them both.

“You scared him, Barton. What were you expecting?” He stroked the leaves again, beaming down at the plant like some kind of proud parent. “See? He’s harmless.”

Steve had taken over feeding it, grinning as the plant gulped down mouthfuls of ground beef, like that wasn’t the most terrifying thing in existence. Bruce was scribbling observations on a tablet, grinning at them over top of his glasses from time to time. Bucky just threw up his arms, sensing that this was an argument he wasn’t going to win.

“What is wrong with you people?” he demanded, because he may have loved these idiots but it didn’t mean they weren’t still idiots.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Einstein was going anywhere. Tony and Steve were doting on their “funky little alien son.” Tony and Bruce were performing daily (non harmful) experiments, figuring out what he ate and what he didn’t eat, soil composition, trying to determine where he came from. Tony had introduced him to Dum E, U, and Friday, who all apparently adored their new baby brother. Steve would sit for hours, sketching them working, and close ups of the plant itself. There was even one that Tony had had framed and put up in their living room, to a lot of eye rolling from Bucky. Nat had rolled her eyes at Bucky’s protests, Thor had told him not to worry about it, Sam had laughed himself sick over Bucky being scared of a tiny little plant (although Bucky noticed he didn’t get within five feet of it himself) and after the fifth time Einstein had bitten him, Clint refused to go anywhere near the lab. So Bucky was left as the only voice of reason, glowering at everybody from the corner for getting too close to the thing.

Until the day that he and Steve went out on a run only to get an Avengers alert for an intruder in Tony’s lab. They’d torn back to the tower at super soldier speed, but it had still taken them a full ten minutes to get there and by that time, apparently, they needn’t have worried.

The lab was in complete disarray by then, machinery overturned and tossed around the room, all the tech blinking and on the fritz. Tony was leaning against the far wall, halfway between sitting and standing. He was cradling his arm and looking shell shocked and bruised and bleeding, but nothing seemed too serious. There was no sign of any bad guys.

“Tony?!” Steve rushed over to his side as Bucky did a more thorough sweep of the space. “Jesus, Tony, what happened?”

Tony waved him off as Steve helped him upright, wincing at the shift of his arm; it looked like his shoulder was dislocated. “Uh… Portal. Weird space bird things.” He was blinking a lot, still looking dazed. Worried he was concussed, Steve cupped his face in his hands, trying to get a look at his pupils, but Tony scrunched up his face and pulled away. “Stop,” he protested.

“Tony, baby…” Bucky moved to join them, gun in hand and a perplexed look on his face. “Where did they go?”

“Umm.” Tony was frowning again, that confused look back. “Einstein took care of it.”

“Einstein?” Steve and Bucky both spoke in unison, turning to face the plant. He was in the same place on the table, looking as if nothing had even happened.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “He just, uh…” He made an explosion motion with his hands. “He just… Ate them.”

“He ate them.” Steve repeated, staring at where Einstein sat a full seven inches tall.

Bucky blinked and threw his arms up in a shrug. “Alright, sure,” he said. “Weird space plant ate the bad guys? Sure. I guess he can stay.”

And if in the middle of the night Steve and Tony woke to find Bucky missing from bed, only to discover him in the lab, cooing over Einstein and telling him how smart and perfect and pretty he was? They kept that to themselves.

***

It was nearly three months later that Carol and Rhodey showed up, with a sonic boom and no warning as they usually did. Tony had been sprawled across the couch, tangled with Steve and Bucky and sleeping off a work binge, and he’d practically shoved them both to the ground in his haste to go greet them.

Rhodes was waiting, armour gone and arms held out expectantly, the two men hugging tightly as they reunited.

“So…?” Rhodey asked when they pulled apart, staring at Tony expectantly. Tony frowned at him.

“So what?”

Rhodey frowned, looking a little put out. “You didn’t get my present?”

“Present?” Tony lit up, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously. “I love presents. Gimme.”

“I already gave it to you. Well, we did,” he added, grinning at Carol. “We couldn’t stay, but we dropped it off. Little thing about yay high.” He held up his hands. “Bright green? Likes leaf scratches, jazz music, and raw meat? Protective streak a mile wide?”

Tony blinked at him. “Einstein was from you?!”

Rhodey just rolled his eyes. “How many other Rhodey’s do you know?” he asked before catching Tony’s blank expression. “Did… Did you not get the note?”

(In retrospect, leaving the explanatory note beside the plant that ate literally anything probably hadn’t been Rhodey’s best move.)

@tonystarkbingo

[santoteez]

In The Bronx- Hongjoong (2)

Part: 2 of (?)

Read Part 3 HERE!

Genre: Drugdealer!Hongjoong, Drugdealer! SeonghwaAU, Smut, Slight Angst, Eventual Fluff

Word Count: 2.7k

Requested: no

Warnings: MC is a black female, mentions of drugs, Use of guns and explicit language, Daddy kink, face sitting, unprotected sex (wrap your whopper before you top her), creampie, aggressive force, slight praise kink

NOTE: This fic does NOT, in any way, shape, or form, portray the way I view any member of Ateez nor does it depict their true personalities or actions. This AU is just that. An AU.

Night had fallen, and just like any other Hongjoong said goodnight to his brother and told him to make sure the door was locked on his way out. He walked to the train station, knowing Minjoon was watching from the window. He claimed he preferred to take the train to work rather than his car. Once he was out of view, he turned the corner and headed to the not-so abandoned warehouse down the road. There, Seonghwa waited for him. Together they entered the warehouse from the side door in the alley. From the outside, it just looked like an ordinary rundown building. On the inside, it was everything but. There were several stations, each equipped with an electric burner, Ziploc bags, pots, and everything else needed for successful packaging. There were already men hard at work at every station. Kilos and kilos of product were lined up against the walls, and there were lookouts posted at every entrance.

Hongjoong was greeted by workers as he passed each station, observing and inspecting for errors. One by one, he gave orders to each one.

“That one’s too full. It’s a dime bag, not a dollar.”

“Speed it up over here, we need at least 100 from this table by the end of the hour.”

“Did you let that powder dry before bagging it up? You got me in trouble last time.”

Hongjoong and Seonghwa headed to the office in the back. It wasn’t much, just an old desk and a few chairs. Hongjoong set his bag on the floor by the door and made his way to the desk, while Seonghwa sat in one of the chairs.

“Minjoon’s carrying that football team on his back, I see.” Seonghwa watched as Hongjoong retrieved some paperwork, presumably from vendors.

Hongjoong smiled. “That’s my boy.”

Seonghwa nodded. “Headed to college. You ready?”

“Damn right I am. The minute he sets up his dorm I’m getting myself out of this shit. You of all people know this ain’t for me.”

“And how exactly do you, the KINGPIN, plan to just waltz the fuck out of here?”

Hongjoong shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see. Until then, we have a vendor that has yet to send us our supply. You know the drill.”

Seonghwa got up and lifted a large painting off the wall, revealing a safe. Opening it, he retrieved two guns, both fully loaded. He tossed one to Hongjoong before tucking the other in his waistband.

“Let’s roll.”

They alerted all the lookouts of their plans before hopping into one of the unmarked cars parked outback. They drove in silence to the next town over in search of the coca leaf supplier. They turned off their headlights as they pulled into the driveway.

“Remember, we’re just going in to have a conversation. No guns unless they turn on us first.” Hongjoong said, turning the car off.

Seonghwa nodded, hopping out the passenger seat. “Just talk. Got it.”

They made their way to the back of the house quietly, knowing the supplier tended to the plants in his backyard. Without a doubt, there he was, alongside his twin brother, harvesting the plants.

“I hope those are going towards our shipment, Nunu. Daedae, nice to see you here as well.” Hongjoong said, leaning against the fence. The brothers looked up, wide-eyed, before running into the house.

Hongjoong sighed. “See, this is what I was trying to avoid.” He said, hopping over the fence, Seonghwa right behind him.

Hongjoong knocked on the glass door. “Listen, guys. I’m not here to cause harm. You know that. Why would anyone wanna harm the Coca Twins? I just wanna know where my shipment is. It should’ve arrived last week. You think someone like Cutthroat from Harlem would let this shit slide for a week? Ray-Ray from Bed-Stuy would’ve been raided this place. I’m out here trying to be a hospitable motherfucker, and you run from me and close the door.” He said, in a deathly calm voice. “You wanna come open the door? Because I’m coming in one way or the other, but I’d you let me in yourself.”

When his words were met with silence, Hongjoong gave Seonghwa the signal and ran into the glass shoulder first. Seonghwa pulled his gun from his waistband, walking closely behind Hongjoong as the glass shattered.

“HJ, man, we just need a little more time. We backed up right now.” Nunu’s shaky voice said from behind the couch.

“Should’ve told me that before you took my money. You know who Paul J. Meyer, Nunu? How bout you Daedae?” He asked and continued when neither answered. “Paul J. Meyer is the pioneer of the self-improvement industry. Self-help books started with him. He has a say that goes ‘Communication- the human connection- is the key to personal and career success.’ Meaning, if you communicate, you’ll be successful. And if you don’t? You’ll end up behind a couch shaking and fearing for your life because a kingpin you tried to scam is standing in your living room.” Hongjoong laughed to himself.

“Bro, we just need more time to-” Daedae started.

“I’m not your fucking bro. In case you forgot, I’m HJ. That’s Dragon.” Hongjoong pointed to Seonghwa. “Fuck more time. I want my product now. Lord knows you already spent the money I gave you. It’s only fair isn’t it?” Hongjoong turned to see Nunu’s hand reaching under the couch. Within seconds, Hongjoong’s pistol was off his waist and pointed at Nunu. Immediately, there was a gun put at Hongjoong’s head by Daedae.

“You think you’re the only one that stays packin?” Daedae laughed, quickly silenced by the sound of Seonghwa’s gun being cocked by his ear.

“Maybe not, but we’re the only ones man enough to shoot.” Seonghwa said, his voice dangerously low.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. Daedae’s bitch ass is gonna set the gun down and you’re both gonna sit on the couch, turn on the TV and watch it like nothing ever happened. While Dragon and I take the product you owe us. Easy, right? Just mind your neck, and you get to keep it. Comprende?”

Hongjoong didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he headed out after Seonghwa. They collected the plants from the garden and ran to the car, speeding out the driveway and down the block.

Upon their return to the warehouse, Hongjoong called over two of his best workers, Mitch and Carlos.

“Make sure these plants have space to grow and are taken care of. After that, hit the streets. There’s money to be made.”

“You got it, boss. Let’s go C.” Mitch said, already moving the plants near a window.

When everything was all set up, everyone except for the lookouts headed out to sell. Hongjoong knew he didn’t have to run the streets as kingpin, but he feels everyone should work all positions. On occasions, He and Seonghwa even worked as lookouts. He trained his crew to be well rounded.

They returned to the warehouse at dawn to package any product that wasn’t sold and store their earnings for the night.

“You did good tonight, guys. We made a lot. As usual, Seonghwa is my proxy for the weekend and will oversee any decisions in my place. Stay safe, and I will be back Monday.” Hongjoong said, walking down the street. It was Friday, meaning it would be difficult to hide his job with Minjoon heading out to parties and hangouts and popping up at different hours of the night.

Hongjoong stood at the train station, knowing Santana would pop up any minute to go to work.

Santana appeared about half an hour later, a smile on her face.

“You don’t have to wait for me all the time, you know. You barely sleep as it is.”

“I do sleep! I’m heading to sleep right now. And I doze off every now and again in the office.”

Santana shook her head. “You have to sleep more than that, baby.”

Hongjoong pulled her in by the waist. “Come over later, I’d sleep better with you there.” He pleaded.

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t wanna scar Minjoon anymore.”

“He’ll be okay. Plus, there’s this party in Bed-Stuy. Some football player’s parents are gone for the weekend. He’ll barely be there.”

Santana tapped her chin. “Hmmm, alright. I get off work early today, so I’ll just let myself in while you’re sleeping.”

“Day off AND early leave? I should become a fashion designer too.”

She giggled. “And design what? Crackhead chic?”

“Feens gotta dress too. Why you hatin’?”

She shook her head, walking up the steps. “You are something else. I’ll see you later.”

Hongjoong shamelessly watched her ascend. He admired the sway of her hips, the way her skirt hugged her waist just right. The rich, deep brown color of her legs

“Go get some sleep, you perv.” She shouted from the top, to which Hongjoong smirked before walking away. He walked up the block to his building, where Minjoon was already standing.

“What I told you bout standing around like that? 12 gon think you’re looking for trouble.”

“Good morning to you, too. I wasn’t standing for long. I just figured I’d stand outside so you could just hurry back. You have to rest.”

“You sound like Santana. Get in the car, snotface.”

Once he made it back from dropping Minjoon off, Hongjoong fell into the sectional couch face-first into a deep sleep. He slept for hours until he heard the door unlock. He knew Minjoon was leaving school straight to Brooklyn, so it was either Seonghwa looking for something or Santana. He smiled when he saw perfectly pedicured toes come into view, confirming it was the latter. He felt the couch shift at the far end, indicating she had sat down.

He outstretched his arms. “C’mere.”

She sucked her teeth. “Stay asleep. Imma sit here.”

“I woke up the minute you put the key in the lock. Come lay with me”

She crawled her way up his body, resting her head on his bare chest, his arms wrapping around her waist.

“I wanna spend more time with you, HJ.” She said, her voice barely a whisper.

“I know, I’m working on it.” He said.

“You’re too smart for this kingpin shit, HJ.”

“Stop it.”

“I’m serious.” She rested her chin on his chest to look at him. “You could’ve easily graduated high school, and yet, you scored the highest on the GED test. Don’t you wanna go back to school? Remember telling me how much you love music production? All those beats you showed me? The ones that you released under that alias? The ones that went VIRAL? You can go back to school and perfect your craft.”

Hongjoong looked down at her and sighed. “Minjoon first.”

“Why does either of you have to be first? You can both go to college. You can commute if you need to. Life isn’t always about sacrifice. Just think about it.

Hongjoong slid his hands from her waist to the curve of her ass. “Lemme see how I feel after I eat.”

“Eat what? I know your ass don’t cook.”

“I’m not hungry for food. Come sit on your throne, Queen.” Hongjoong reached up her skirt, pulling her panties down in one swift motion.

Santana flung them across the room, placing her legs on each side of his head. She lowered herself on his face as his arms snaked around her thighs, locking her in place. His tongue teased at her entrance, the sudden contact causing her hips to buck. Her eyes fluttered shut as Hongjoong flattened his tongue along her cunt, his tongue flicking at her clit.

“Fuck, HJ,” She moaned as he sucked on her clit, her voice shaky.

The lewd sounds emitting from Hongjoong’s mouth as he licked, sucked, and slurped on her pussy caused heat to creep onto her cheeks.

Santana gripped onto the couch tightly, her legs slowly giving out.

“Fuck, baby I’m so close.” She said, out of breath.

“Yeah?” Hongjoong asked underneath her. “Ride my face. Show me how much you wanna cum.”

Santana weaved her hands into his light brown as she rocked her hips back and forth against his tongue. Her breath hitched as she felt that familiar tightening in her stomach. Her body felt like it was on fire as she shook uncontrollably, screaming Hongjoong’s name. As she came down from her high, Hongjoong unbuckled his pants.

“You ready to ride something else?” Hongjoong smirked when Santana loosened her grip on his hair and face.

“I’m always ready, Daddy,” Santana answered, sliding down to pull his boxers off. She tossed them on the floor to join the rest of the clothes as she pulled off her skirt and tank top.

She positioned herself, placing her hands on Hongjoong’s stomach to level herself before sinking down. The pair both groaning once he was fully inside her. Santana took a moment to adjust before beginning to move, bouncing up and down.

“Shit, baby, you’re always so tight.” Hongjoong gritted his teeth, reaching up to hold onto her hips.

Santana immediately pushed his hands down, speeding up the pace. “Uh uh, lemme take care of you, Daddy.” He tossed his head back, moaning as she circled her hips.

Her pace increased dangerously, her eyes snapping shut in pleasure.

“Take it easy, baby,” Hongjoong said, which was drowned out by Santana’s moans.

“TANA, SLOW DOWN.” He screamed but to no avail.

Suddenly, he flipped her over, and she landed on her back, gasping and the sudden switch.

“You don’t play fair, babygirl. You know the rules. Ladies first.” He lifted her leg onto his shoulder, his hips snapping into hers mercilessly. The room was filled with sounds of skin slapping, groans, and heavy breathing.

“Shit. Oh my God!” Santana shouted, pulling away slightly.

“Where the fuck you think you going? Take this dick, it’s yours, baby.” He said, pulling her back. “You getting close, baby? I can feel you clenching. You feel so good, baby. So tight, so warm. Cum for me, baby. I wanna hear you scream my name one more time.”

That’s all it took for Santana to become undone. Her toes curled immediately as her back arched, screaming a chant of Hongjoong’s name, her legs trembling.

“Where you want my cum, baby? Anywhere you want.” Hongjoong asked, kissing her neck.

“Mmm, cum inside me.”

“Yeah, you want me to fill you up?” His thrusts became sloppy, indicating his orgasm fast approaching.

Santana nodded. “I want you deep inside me, baby.” She muttered, overwhelmed by overstimulation.

Hongjoong nestled his face into her neck as he came, filling her up with his white seed.

They stayed like that for a while, until Hongjoong stood up. “C’ mon, we gotta shower.”

Santana whined. “How do you STILL have so much energy?”

He shrugged, pulling her up. “It’s a blessing and a curse. C’mon stinky.”

 Around 10pm that night, the couple was awoken by a loud banging on the door. Santana jumped up, alarmed. She began to fidget in the oversized t-shirt she had on. Hongjoong pressed his pointer finger to his lips, creeping up to the door. Peering into the peephole, he internally cursed when he saw the black uniforms and gold badges. He took a deep breath, pulling his grey sweats up to his waist and opened the door.

“Hongjoong Kim?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Santana screamed as she witnessed her boyfriend is suddenly thrown to the ground and placed in handcuffs.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What are you doing?” She shouted.

“Hongjoong Kim, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Timothy and Clarence Claremont.”

“The Coca Twins? They’re lying! This has to be some type of mistake!” Tears stained Santana’s face.

“Baby, come here.” Hongjoong pleaded. “It’s okay. Don’t cry. Everything’s gonna be alright. Go to Seonghwa and find Minjoon. Stay together. It’s too dangerous. Tell Hwa what happened, and he’ll know what to do. Remember this phrase: Go back to when it all started, and that’s where your future begins.” He kissed her with all his might.

“Back where it all started, okay. Okay.” Santana nodded.

“Did you have an accomplice in this, Mr. Kim?”

“No. I acted alone. Just take me already. I’m not resisting.” And with that, the police dragged him away, nearly tearing his white wifebeater in the process.

And Santana was left standing in the doorway, feeling lost and empty. 

[kokkoro]

Violet Blue (6/15)

summary: General wolf rules for life: Eat. Rest. Rove in between. Render loyalty. Love the children. Cavil in moonlight. Tune your ears. Attend to the bones.  Make love. Howl often.     Clarissa Pinkola Estes

or

being moms is hard, being werewolf moms in the suburbs is even harder. (on ao3)

March.

1.

You know March by its smell. That dense, stale feeling that seems to sit at the back of your throat as the snow melts for what will hopefully be the final time. The earth is soaked, puddles in the yard and the dips of pavement, muddy bits of slush that’s more water than snow--grass flattened and bent.

It makes work difficult. Everything blends together, runs together, and in your line of work it does nothing but make your life miserable. Anya can see it wear you thin. You know by the way she hesitates that fraction of second just outside your office, how she takes stock of your desk and the mess when she enters before glancing at you.

“Cigarette?” she asks.

A part of you recognizes the joke, but you’re too tired to play along. “Now is not the time.”

She digs one out of the pack anyway, sets it unlit between her lips. At least she has the common decency not to test your patience by lighting it. She sits on the arm of the chair in front of your desk instead, crossing her legs. “How long have you been here?”

You don’t answer.

“Harrison can wait, you know.” She takes the cigarette between her index and middle finger, holds it. “He’s cornered. Got nowhere to run and if he does we’ll find him.”

“An animal is at its most dangerous when cornered.” You stare at the file in front of you, the dates and times and places. All carefully compiled and organized, but things start to swim, and you close your eyes for a brief moment before looking up. “The sooner he’s caught the better.”

“And you’ll find him,” anya says. “You’re of no use run dry.” She flicks idly at the cigarette between her fingers, uncrosses her legs. “Go home. Enjoy what’s left of the night with clarke and the kids. We’ll be here tomorrow.”

You find it's difficult to say no to that.

You get back late--close to eleven and mere seconds from dropping everything and falling asleep in the hallway. You put away your jacket, step out of your shoes and set aside your laptop bag and your keys. When you peek into the living room you find clarke with her feet propped on the coffee table, slouched and reading one of your books by the lamp on the end table. She has her fingers in her hair, ruffling away the tension from keeping it up all day. However, the moment she catches sight of you out of the corner of her eye there in the hall her hand drops and she smiles.

“Hey,” Clarke says, and it's quiet and soft. It feels like forever but you make it across the room and to the couch. She tilts up her head and you dip low to kiss her and it takes very little effort on her part to pull you down into her side.

You go willingingly, tucking your face in the crook of her neck with a sigh. You hear her chuckle, the rumble of the contented hum deep in her chest and the rustle as she corners a page of her book and closes it.

“Took you forever,” she says as she brushes the hair gently from your face. She smells like fresh air and the woods and little traces of the kids and all the tension in you seems to disappear.

“I’m sorry,” you say but she shushes you, her lips finding your forehead and pressing there absently.

“You’re going to miss these days when it’s your turn to watch the kids.”

You shake your head. “Never.”

5.

You’re ambushed the moment you walk through the door monday evening, jack first with his tiny growls and you brace for impact as he barrels into you with a grin. You’re quick to place the shopping bag on the little table next to the door, beside the bowl where you toss your keys, before more come rushing around the corner.

“Got you!” he exclaims, voice muffled by your shirt but triumphant all the same. You scoop him up under your arm and then danny too when she tackles your side, lily attaching herself to your leg, and their shrieks of laughter fill the small hallway as you carry them into the kitchen.

“Clarke,” you say a little breathless, attempting to control the wiggling, and she looks up from the kitchen table where she’s sat between madi and aden. They share a book and madi colors on sheets of loose-leaf papers, her little tongue peeking from between her mouth and she doesn’t even bother to look at you. Clarke rests her chin in her hand.

You place jack and danny carefully back on their feet once they stop kicking and then peel lily from your leg. You walk forward and brace your hands on the table, leaning over for a quick kiss that clarke smiles through.

“Welcome home,” she says.

“What did I miss?”

Clarke shakes her head. “Not much.”

You take a seat at the table across from her, volleying attention between jack and lily. You get them all cleaned up for dinner when the timer on the microwave goes off and clarke gets up to take care of the crock pot on the counter. Hands are washed with soap and warm water, but there’s stubborn smudges of marker that refuse to disappear.

You sit down at the table to eat with bowls of stew and a warm loaf of italian bread that melts butter on contact and familiar chatter settles over the kitchen. You cut up small bite-sized pieces of meat and carrots for madi, politely ask jack to chew before speaking, and sneak glances at clarke from across the table. She catches you on several occasions, but you’re not exactly being discreet.

There’s a little bit of after dinner roughhousing that clarke pretends to tolerate, but you see the slope of her lips and the way she watches you. The lot of them pull and tug, little growls and bared teeth, and you’re more than content to let them. that is until a close shave with the coffee table you and clarke only manage to avoid through heightened reflexes alone.

It’s bed after that.

You trace your steps back downstairs after things quiet down, Clarke not too far behind as you make your way to the table by the front door and the bag is right where you left it. You turn around just as she reaches the first floor landing, standing at the bottom of the stairs watching you.

When you’re close enough she reaches for you, her hand curling into your shirt and pulling you closer.

“What’s in the bag?” Clarke says, kissing your cheek.

“A birthday gift for lily.”

“Another?”

“Just something small.” You glance down at the bag and clarke’s lips tilt in a small smile. “It was cute.”

“Let me see,” she says, and you pull out this small pair of overalls. An embroidered daisy sits at the base along one of the suspenders and when you hand the garment over to clarke she traces the design with her thumb.

“No lilies?” she teases.

“Unfortunately out of stock.”

Clarke laughs softly. “It’s cute.”

You lift your shoulder in a shrug. “I thought so, too.”

6.

You remember the little cabin in the woods where lily was born with a bittersweet kind of ache. Far north near the Canada border with its long dirt driveway and dappled sunlight and the strong smell of earth and pine. You and clarke had been together for three years, known each other for longer, and yet on that march 6th four years ago you’d say spring arrived early.

She was named after the lilies you planted every year in the little box underneath the window where the sun hit the side of the house. These large casablanca lilies with their white petals and gentle scent. She was small though, and oddly quiet besides the initial wail and the soft whines that followed, but you remember holding her in your arms for the first time, clarke beside you in bed, and finding yourself unable to hold back the wide teary smile as you watched her settle there.

You miss it sometimes. The crispness of the air and the freshness inherent in it, the ever present briskness you could feel in the spaces between your ribs (the cold clarke complained about but used as a perpetual excuse to be close). The freedom you had, the wide open space. The memories of lily with you in the garden, more a hindrance than help, dirt under her nails and smudged on her face but she smiled often and smiled brightly.

It’s different here, but the laughter is the same. March 6th feels like spring here too as you watch lily sprint about the backyard in her overalls and bare feet, clarke hot on her heels, the sun warm and gradual in its descent. Remnants of blue frosting sticks to lily’s sleeve and you think you see a little bit in her hair and the others fumble about doing their own thing. There’s no more snow, and while the scent of rain lingers, it feels far behind.

You all get back later that night from a run and you find you missed it, being busy with work and all. With the kids you take it slow, they stumble and get sidetracked, following their noses which generally means into trouble. It’s less dangerous here in the small forest behind your suburban house than it was back home, but you know that it's not an excuse to be careless. You might not need to worry about bears and mountain lions and the pups biting off more than they can chew, but people--humans are another kind of monster altogether.

(the kids can pass as small foxes, lost puppies maybe, but you and clarke… to little old Mary and her toy poodle down the street you’re not anything but wolves and wolves don’t wander around the suburbs for long)

You bring up the rear, clarke nosing open the back door and then slipping inside, danny and jack following closely behind her into the hall. Madi gets stuck on the steps, lily and aden darting past and into the house, and when you get close you dip your head and pick her up gently between your teeth, carrying her inside.

It takes you and clarke over half an hour to get everybody clean including yourselves. Afterwards you get extra blankets and pillows from the closet and dump them in a pile onto the floor in front of the couch.

Lily gets to pick the movie and once you have Balto up and running on netflix you sink among the blankets and pillows and get comfortable. There’s clarke at your side, her head on your shoulder and her arm around your waist, and the kids as close to the tv as you’ll allow... You don’t even make it through half the movie before falling asleep.

When you wake up the television is muted and the room is quiet. Some children’s movie plays and the colors flicker and illuminate the otherwise dark living room. You can feel clarke’s nose pressed against your neck and you see madi curled into her side. Lily’s half draped across your stomach and you find you can’t move without disturbing the other tiny bodies asleep spread out in the divots between your legs. You try though, just a little bit--your leg is cramping and you shift. You hear clarke’s soft exhale, feel it along the side of your neck and you know she’s awake.

“You okay?” she mumbles quietly without opening her eyes, and you turn your head to kiss whatever you can reach.

“My leg hurts.”

You watch her lips stretch slowly into a smile, languid. Her fingers fan out over your ribs and you can feel the tenseness in her muscles as she stretches subtly given the space. She settles once she’s satisfied however, clears her throat just so, and you know she’s not moving.

It’s warm and that’s all that matters.

17.

You wonder what the neighbors think when your driveway is packed pull with cars on a warm saturday evening. People of all manner and shapes and sizes pile out in droves and fill your backyard. There’s no music, but there is the sizzle from the grill Gustus claimed the second he arrived (much to Jake’s dismay) and the shouts and chatter of family gathered in the house and backyard. You see lily in glances, streaks of blonde hair and her bubbly laughter, oddly enough enjoying being the center of attention.

Gustus’ grandsons, almost double digits now, include aden in their wild goose chase for bugs near the far edge of the yard near the trees. You watch them near the drooping oak and it's low slung branches, their outstretched hands and dirt smudged knees, and run your fingers over madi’s back and hope you won’t be the one to retrieve them should they get stuck.

“Where’s your wife?”

Maybe you’ll send anya to get them instead.

“She’s inside with abby,” you say, turning to anya who steps beside you in the small little observation spot you sequestered at the edge of the party for the time being. Madi hides her face in your neck, shy, grip tight where her hand is curled into the back of your shirt.

“She still not keen on parties?” anya says, gesturing to madi and you look away with a smile of your own.

You shake your head. You see clarke through the kitchen window with the pitcher of sangria and a bottle of vodka and you quirk a brow when she catches you staring through the glass. She smirks at you, mouthing something you can’t make out and abby nudges her in the side with a roll of her eyes when she notices her daughter’s attention is elsewhere.

You turn back to anya. “I think it’s the noise.”

“Or maybe you spoil her.”

“I spoil them all,” you say, and the blunt honesty at your own expense makes anya laugh.

By eleven o’clock the kids are out like lights in the living room, spread out over floor and the pull out couch in sleeping bags and an abundance of blankets. You and the other adults, however, enjoy the nice night out by the fire pit, the flames tame but nonetheless warm. Clarke sits between your legs holding what must be her fourth glass of wine. Her cheeks are flushed and her skin is warm to the touch where you’ve sneaked a hand under her shirt, keeping her close against you.

Anay nurses a beer, custom brew courtesy of gustus who sits across from you with a mug of his own. He catches your eyes over the lip of his mug and you hide your smile into slope of clarke’s shoulder, shifting your attention to lincoln and, for lack of a better term, his wife. It’s a relatively new development, but more than welcome.

“It’s not too bad,” Clarke says, and you watch the firelight flicker over her cheeks.

“Certainly not ideal,” Abby comments, her hand resting on Jake’s knee. He reclines back in a lawn chair, and you wouldn't be surprised if he was already asleep.

“I never said it was ideal. I said it wasn’t bad,” Clarke replies, voice soft and even, and you feel her relax into you. “It might not be what we’re used to but it’s… it’s nice. A bit small and unusual but nice.” Her face goes a little wistful, how you can see the side of her face as she stares off into the distance. “The pickings are a bit slim though,” she says after a moment, glancing back at you with a tilt of her lips. You can already feel yourself smiling. “I’m sick of squirrels.”

Gustus’ laugh is low and just a tad bubbly. “Little fuckin’ devils,” he says with this rosey grin. Around you snickers are hidden behind hands and only abby manages to quell it well enough to offer a half-hearted ‘language.’

The fire crackles and spits and you kiss the side of clarke’s neck, reveling in the quiet hum you feel under your fingertips.

“Kindergarten?” Abby’s says, and your surprised by how well she handles the news. There’s only the one light on in the kitchen and for the sake of the kids just one room over her voice is soft, but that does little to hide the skepticism.

“Yeah, maybe...” Clarke says with this small shrug, busying herself with filling a few drinks for the adults still outside. She hands one to you to carry and you accept it with a kiss. “I think it would be good for them.”

“A public education?” abby says, looking at you for your opinion. All you do is look back.

“Being around kids their age,” clarke emends. “They know when and where things are appropriate--”

You shoot her a look, endeared. “Clarke.”

“Most of the time,” she’s quick to correct, shaking her head at you. “It’s just something we’re thinking about.”

“Well,” Abby says, and you turn to see the sincerity in her eyes as she breathes in, watching her daughter with something like softness in her eyes. “It’s up to you. You do what you think is right, but you know you can count on me if you need help.”

Clarke’s shoulders slouch with the exhale that escapes her. “I know, mom.”

31.

“I need to get another pair of shoes for jack,” Clarke tells you the following saturday night. Her voice is soft in your ear, her body draped across yours in the comfort of your bed. You like feeling her breathe, stomach to stomach and her scent all around you.

“Aden’s basically grown out of most of his pants,” you add, trying your hardest to stay awake, but it feels like a battle you’re both losing.

“You get out of work early tomorrow?”

You hum an affirmative.

“What do you say about a group trip to the mall?” Clarke asks as she snuggles closer and you chuckle softly at the sensation.

“Sounds like fun to me.”

[katrinawritesthings]

Jonghyun/Taemin; Fernando; PG

listen high school au where taem chose to raise a plant from a lil seed for his senior project and like that was too simple so he Also chose to carry her with him to school every day

He nods and Taemin smiles, reaching up to pat the tops of the plant’s leaves gently. With her on the floor and them in their desks, she comes up to around head height.

ao3

“I swear by the sun… no, by the moon… the sun is a star, though….” Jonghyun nibbles on the plastic rim around the eraser of his pencil, furrowing his eyes at the lyrics he’s writing. He’s talking about stars, which the sun is, and about orbiting a star, which makes more sense, but honestly. He kind of hates the sun. He doesn’t want to swear by the giant yellow floating dudebro in the sky. The moon is much nicer and fits much better with the gay space aesthetic, and also matches much more with the babe he’s writing this for. “I swear by the moon,” he mouths to himself, underlining the word twice after he writes it. “It’s you only… only you for me, only you for me….” He bites his lip and makes a little note to figure out if he likes that line repeated or not later.

That universe line from before, though, he really does like twice. He thinks. He puts another tally mark in the little scoreboard he’s keeping with himself for every time he goes back and forth on that. Reading over what he has down for this song so far, he’s stopped from writing any more by the sound of the door being pushed open.

He looks up from the corner desk he’s tucked himself into, watching the other side of the classroom for whoever else it was that managed to get sent to the SRC first period. He’s heard that it’s become a lot more rare, now that the school stopped letting teachers send kids here for tardiness. People don’t normally fuck up so early in the day. He’s honestly only here because he didn’t want to watch some gorey movie in history class.

The first thing to enter the room isn’t a student; it’s a plant. A bamboo plant, tall and leafy, in a dark green pot. A moment later, the person carrying the plant slips inside with it and Jonghyun feels himself automatically smiling at him. There he is. In the flesh. The Plant Kid. Jonghyun feels blessed to be in the presence of their school cryptid.

Taemin grins shamelessly at the supervising teacher, lifting his plant an inch instead of waving with his free hand.

“Hey, Jeffrey,” he says. Jonghyun muffles a snort badly into the back of his hand, turning even more to watch Taemin walk casually up to Mr. S like it’s no big deal. Mr. S sighs, closing his book and looking Taemin up and down.

“You again?” he asks. His stern voice is betrayed by fondness and a hint of a smile and Jonghyun vaguely wonders how often it is that Taemin gets sent here. “Was it you or Fernando this time?”

“Jeff, is it ever me?” Taemin asks. “You know she’s the real troublemaker here.” He hikes his bamboo pot up to be more snug against his hip and Jonghyun watches Mr. S shake his head with another sigh. He hands Taemin the sign in clipboard without comment, then takes his referral and shoos him away to find a seat for himself. Jonghyun raises his brows, impressed. That’s a fond friendship if he ever saw one. When Taemin scans the room, his eyes land on Jonghyun in the corner; Jonghyun waves simply instead of trying to pretend like he wasn’t staring. It earns him a smile and Taemin heading his way, stepping expertly through the desks until he’s sitting himself down in the one in front of Jonghyun.

“Hey,” he says easily. Jonghyun notes the flex of the muscles in his right arm as he sets the plant down on the floor. That can’t be light.

“Hi,” he replies, propping his hand up in his chin. “I thought her name was Francesco?” he asks, pointing at the bamboo. He knows that the names Taemin and Francesco are both linked together in his brain. Taemin glances at her, then shakes his head with a little laugh.

“No, that’s my Catholic name,” he says. Jonghyun gasps softly at the information. Right, yeah, that’s right. He remembers Kibum telling him about the whole confirmation thing a while back. He nods and Taemin smiles, reaching up to pat the tops of the plant’s leaves gently. With her on the floor and them in their desks, she comes up to around head height. It’s pretty wild. Jonghyun remembers the beginning of the year when she was just a tiny little pot of dirt that Taemin could carry in one hand. “She’s lovely Fernando,” Taemin smiles, petting a leaf fondly. Jonghyun chuckles softly as he watches Taemin fluff up his plant. Fernando.

“Like,” he says. “There was something in the air that night, the stars were bright, Fernando.” He sings the line softly, tapping his pencil with each note, waving his other hand for dramatic effect. Taemin smiles wide and nods eagerly.

“Yep,” he says. “If I have to have that song stuck in my head every day, then so does everyone else.” His little smirk is almost wicked and Jonghyun snorts, breathing out a soft laugh towards his desk. Shit. Taemin is right; that’s gonna be in his brain for at least a week. Like he didn’t already have enough intrusive thoughts already.

“So what–”

“No fraternizing, you two.” Mr. S interrupts their conversation with a stern frown from his desk. Jonghyun glances at him, then looks away in shame, pink blushing his cheeks. Frick. He almost forgot that this is technically a during-class detention room.

“Jeffrey, do you even care?” Taemin asks flatly. Jonghyun sneaks a peak up to see him giving Mr. S this expectant look that no student should be giving a teacher, especially the one in charge of discipline, but after a few seconds of staring each other down, Mr. S shrugs with a shake of his head.

“Not really,” he says, and turns back to his book. Taemin turns back to Jonghyun with a smug little grin and an eyebrow twitch. Jonghyun takes in his expression and exhales shortly, running his fingers through his hair. Holy shit. How the fuck.

“How many times have you even been sent here?” he asks. He is way too casual. Taemin shrugs, still petting his bamboo tree.

“Every time I have a substitute teacher in one of my classes, basically,” he says. “None of them ever like Fernando.” He pouts, rubbing one leaf between his fingers gently. “At least I’ll have an extra paragraph or two to add to my essay about her at the end of the year,” he mumbles. Jonghyun tsks too, reaching out to pat her as gently as possible. Even with the extra content to add to his senior final project, that’s not fair at all.

“She’s so cute, though,” he says. Every time he sees Taemin carrying her around the school he has to smile. They make his day brighter every day. They don’t deserve to be sent out of class just for existing.

“Yeah, well,” Taemin sighs. He reaches down, pokes a stray leaf under the soil in the pot, and sits up straight. He turns even more in his chair to rest his elbows on the front of Jonghyun’s desk. “What are you working on?” he asks. He nods curiously at the notebook Jonghyun was writing in before he came in. Jonghyun looks at it, reads over his lyrics, shrugs a little bit.

“Love song,” he says. He finds the part he’s most confident in and sings a little bit of it: “Please look back at me often, check to see if I’m revolving around you, to see if this orbit is right….” He hums the next part, the “ooh baby”s that he thinks he might just keep there instead of writing actual words to replace. Taemin listens with little bobs of his head, staring at his lyrics with a squint that Jonghyun knows means he’s struggling to read them upside-down. He doesn’t really mind; he turns his book so Taemin can read them easier.

“Mmm,” Taemin hums when he’s done. “Yeah, but, do you really think writing a song about how much you want Minho to notice you will actually make him notice you?” he asks. His voice was so matter-of-fact and the look he gives Jonghyun is innocent curiosity; Jonghyun feels his cheeks heating up under it. He snatches his notebook away even though Taemin’s already read it all and huffs at his slowly growing grin. God. Fuck.

“How come fucking everyone except that tall asshole knows that I have a fucking crush on him,” he hisses. This is so garbage. He’s never even fucking spoken to Taemin until today and somehow he knows. Why the fuck can’t Minho be that perceptive in one of the four fucking classes that they share. Jonghyun hates him so much. Taemin’s muffled laughter brings him out of his grumbling, but only enough to frown at the amused little crescents of his eyes. “It’s fucking ridiculous, right?” he asks. Sometimes he thinks Minho is just being obtuse on purpose. Taemin shrugs instead of answering, pulling his bag from his shoulder to use as a pillow.

“He still doesn’t have a date to that track meet next week,” he says. Jonghyun snorts, dropping his notebook back onto the table and smoothing out the paper.

“Do people regularly take dates to track meets?” he asks. He’s been to a few of Minho’s practises, but never with any real romantic intent. Just to chill with some friends after school. He’s seen Taemin at them a couple of times too, but never guessed that he knew Minho that much too. Taemin shrugs, a playful little grin on his lips.

“You and him can be the first,” he says. He wiggles his eyebrows too and Jonghyun chuckles softly. Somehow he doesn’t think that that would work as a pickup line.

“Nah,” he says. “I’m gonna finish this song and then sing it to him while we’re just chilling at my place one day,” he shrugs. He gets song advice from Minho all the time. It’ll be smooth as fuck. “And then if he still doesn’t get it after me singing about his eyes to him for three minutes then I’m gonna kinda just. Go for it, you know?” he makes a little pushing gesture with his hands for emphasis. He’s thinking like, just, a grabbed collar and a deep, desperate kiss. Jinki says he’s good at those. Taemin laughs softly into the bed of his arms, shoulders shrugging tiredly.

“Good luck,” he hums. Jonghyun smiles back.

“Thanks,” he says.”You too,” he adds, gesturing at Taemin’s bamboo plant. He still has a few more months of carrying her around and he’s bound to have a few more subs in that time. Jonghyun wishes the both of them the very best. Taemin smiles back at him, flattered and grateful.

“Thanks,” he says.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Chai Chai Again

Part One: Mathmatically Speaking Part Two: All About Chemistry

Part Three: Chai Chai Again

Combined with this prompt from @tisfan‘s personal collection:

@dreamcatchersdaughter said:If you are still accepting prompts I have something wonderful in mind: Tea puns, magic, winteriron, and Bucky and Tony loving tea.  (Sorry, Dreamy, you didn’t get anything you asked for aside from winteriron and puns, but I hope there are enough puns to satisfy...I threw in a bonus Rhodey, though.)

Two sort of dates on Friday (coffee, and studying) another one on Sunday -- catching a movie at the second run theater -- and Bucky was walking on cloud nine when he sat down in Multivariable Calculus. Despite the teasing and innuendos, they hadn’t had sex, which was fine with Bucky, he was in no particular hurry. And making out with Tony in the back stairwell of his dorm had been enough of a turn on without rushing things along.

So, Bucky was kinda expecting Tony to get to class (probably late, because that was predictable by this point) and sit with him.

Five minutes into class, and no Tony. Bucky kept checking the time, his eyes flicking between Professor Grey and the clock so regularly that the hands on the clock never seemed to move. What the hell even? Tony hadn’t missed class since the semester started. Late, yeah, he was late all the damn time, but…

Not that he had to be taking the class. He’d told Bucky as much; that he was the TA and he only sat through the lectures because he didn’t have a class and it was useful to know what Grey had been lecturing on when students came to him for help.

Maybe it was Bucky; that Tony hadn’t had as much fun on their dates, or had been disappointed that they hadn’t led anywhere further than a bit of frantic necking or…

Stop it, Barnes. Working himself into a tizzy wasn’t doing any good. Maybe Tony just had a headache. Or slept late. Or…

Class ended. No Tony. Bucky frowned, tugged his backpack up on his shoulder, and headed to the library. He had work to do, and now he was behind in class again because he hadn’t been paying attention to today’s lecture at all. Fuck.

Wednesday came and went, Tony free.

Bucky, who’d maybe a little bit been stalking the Facebook page for Zarathustra’s, dropped in on Thursday during Natasha’s shift. He ate two cinnamon buns and drank enough coffee to hotwire a rhino, but Tony never showed up there, either. Bucky did his best to ignore the pitying looks Natasha was giving him over the espresso machine, too. She didn’t say anything, at least, about the fact that Bucky was being a weird stalker guy.

(ware the readmore cut. I’m told if you go to tumblr on your browser instead of the mobile ap for devices, that you’ll be able to read it in toto from there.)

When Tony didn’t show up to class on Friday, Bucky was getting over being hurt and all the way to worried. Where the hell was he? He hadn’t been available for office hours and Professor Grey had said she hadn’t seen him when Bucky asked, but didn’t have anything else to say, already checking her email on her phone and walking away.

Bucky sighed. He knew what dorm Tony was in, but that could take a while, especially since it wasn’t a freshman dorm and probably didn’t have cutesy name-labels over the doors. He gathered up his books and headed out to the library, trying to figure out what to do.

“Hey, you Bucky Barnes?” A tall black man with a beaky nose, his clothes neatly pressed and looking very… official, asked.

“Who’s asking?”

“Jim Rhodes,” the man said. “I’m Tony’s best friend and he needs some serious help right now. I was hoping, since he spent all last weekend talking my ear off about you, that you might give me a hand.”

Bucky’s heart pounded in his chest. “Is he okay?”

“By some definitions,” Jim said, “no, not really. Come on.”

“What --”

“It’ll be easier to show you than tell you,” Jim said. “Look, you like him, right?”

Bucky frowned. “That’s kinda a personal question,” he said. “How do you even know --”

Jim stopped and looked at him pointedly. “You’re the only ‘emo-punk with a great ass and dreamy eyes’ in that class. I guessed.” Jim made finger-quotes around the descriptor, which had Bucky blushing.

Jim led him through campus over to the engineering labs, down the elevator and stopped outside one of the labs. He grabbed a thermos and a brown paper bag off the table and shoved it in Bucky’s direction. “Go in, talk to him, get him to eat something. Maybe, if we’re really lucky, you can talk him into leaving the lab. Go slow, he gets spooked sometimes when he’s like this.”

“Like what?”

“Science-y,” Jim said, waving a hand around. “Look, all I know is that Howard called him and Tony’s been in the lab since Sunday night.”

“What’s in this?”

“Herbal tea,” Jim said. “It makes him sleepy. Boy needs to sleep somewhere other than face planted on his keyboard.”

“Why aren’t you --”

“Because Tony is the absolute best at ignoring me,” Jim said, resigned. “Maybe the guy he’s got a crush on will be better. Just try, okay?”

Crush? Hmm. Bucky couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “All right.”

Bucky opened the door and pushed inside the lab. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting; Tony TA’d for a math professor, but they’d never talked about what Tony was actually studying, only what Bucky intended to do with his life (he really wanted to design cars, and thought that circuitry might be a good place to start, cars all had computers in them, these days.)

“Holy shit,” Bucky said, stopping a few feet inside the lab.

Apparently Tony was a robotics engineer.

Tony, who looked like he hadn’t showered in days, was shaking minutely as he assembled a joint configuration, turned to poke at a computer screen, and then checked blueprints on his desk, muttering the whole time while holding a socket wrench in his teeth.

“Well, that can’t be good for you,” Bucky said. “Seriously, not sanitary.” He crossed the room (Tony hadn’t even noticed him yet) and put himself directly in the path between the chair and the second computer screen.

“Don’t have time to talk now, Rhodey,” Tony said, not even looking. How he managed to make that comprehensible with his teeth still clamped around the wrench, Bucky didn’t even want to know.

“You don’t have to talk,” Bucky said. “I’m sure I wouldn’t understand any of this anyway. I’m struggling with math class. But…” He poured out a capful of the tea and very carefully took the wrench out of Tony’s mouth. “You probably need some fluids in you. Your friend Jim says you’ve been in here all week.”

“Jim, nobody…” and Tony looked up. “Bucky? What the hell are you doing in -- how long have you been here? What day is it?” Tony rubbed at his eyes with one hand, almost putting his eye out with the stylus he was still carrying. “Yeah, did you bring me coffee? I love people who bring me coffee, they are my favorite.” He grabbed the cup took two swallows and made an absolutely disgusted face.

“I take it back, I do not love you at all, what the hell is this swill?”

“Tea,” Bucky said. “The uncaffeinated kind, if your friend has any sense at all.”

“Well, I suppose hones-tea is the best policy,” Tony said. He made another face, sticking his tongue out and wiping his sleeve over it.

“Tea, good,” Bucky said, then fished in the bag. “Sandwich?”

“Really? Rhodey’s involved in this? I must say, very naugh-tea of him. Bribery. Blackmail. Something. It’s revolting.”

“He thought you might talk to me,” Bucky said, wincing a little around the pun. “Glad he did, I been worried sick about you all week.”

“All week?” Tony scoffed. “I think you’re overstating the gravi-tea of this situation, it’s only… wait. What day is it?”

Bucky sighed and forced the sandwich into Tony’s hand, then pushed against the back of his wrist until it got somewhere near his face. “Eat that, and then talk.”

Tony rolled his eyes expressively. “Worry wart,” he accused, then took a bite, which seemed to trigger some sort of response in him, because a few seconds later there was nothing left of the sandwich but crumbs. “Oh, that was good. Little dry, tho. Hit me with your best pot.”

Bucky groaned. “You and your terrible puns.” He poured another cup of tea. “So, what are you doing?”

Tony took a sip, grimaced, and went back to poking at the computer screen. “My dad called,” Tony explained. “We’re not exactly on terms, but I’m the only heir he’s got, so consider it top-notch job securi-tea --” Bucky shook his head, hiding his face with his hands, Jesus Christ, someone needed to stop Tony from abusing the language this way “-- and he needed an assist with a project. Not that he’d ever phrase it that way.”

“So, you’ve been working non-stop for five days? It’s Friday, now, by the way, and I’m two classes behind in MVC because I can’t pay attention because I’ve been worried about you.”

Tony blinked, swallowed the rest of his tea. “Well, I feel guil-tea now.”

“Oh, my god,” Bucky complained, “will you just leaf it alone?”

“Nothing to tea here, move oolong,” Tony snapped back, a wide grin across his face. “Wait, Friday? Really? How did it --” Tony pulled his cellphone out of his back pocket and… “Well, shit. Battery died. Is Grey pissed with me? I think I missed office hours.”

“Yes, you did,” Bucky said. “I know, because I went to your office. And the coffee shop. I was getting ready to start a floor-to-floor search of your dorm when your friend commandeered my services.”

Tony dug around in the paper bag and liberated a bag of chips, shoving a whole handful of barbeque chips into his mouth all at once, chewing noisily.

“Oh, that’s just brew-tea-ful,” Bucky commented, “your table manners, I mean.”

Tony laughed, sprayed chip bits everywhere, and hastily covered his mouth with his hand. “Unfair, that’s a foul, penal-tea, red card, red card. Not allowed to make bad puns while I’m eating.”

Bucky only raised an eyebrow. “You know, I hear Karl Marx hates Earl Grey.”

“I’m almost positive I don’t want to know why,” Tony muttered, finding another box at the bottom of the bag. “Oooh, jelly doughnuts. I changed my mind, Rhodey is absolutely my favorite.”

“Because all proper tea is theft,” Bucky said.

“Oh, that’s awful, that’s like really, really terrible. Honestly, I don’t even know what to do with that, because… do you take classes to be that unfunny?”

“Hey, I only drink ice tea, because ice was water, waaaay before it was cool,” Bucky said, popping his collar and looking down his nose at Tony.

“I’ve created a monstrosi-tea,” Tony mourned.

“Probably,” Bucky said. “Now, your friend wanted me to see if I could get you to get some rest, so, maybe, could I walk you back to your dorm?”

Tony pondered the question. “Do you think it’s okay to steep together, so soon?”

Ug. “Tony, stop,” Bucky pleaded. “Come on. This’ll keep until tomorrow, promise.”

Tony sighed, yawned. “You’re probably right,” he admitted. “If nothing else, Howard doesn’t expect me to be done with it for another few weeks, so --”

“Trying to prove him wrong by getting it done in five days?”

“Well, seven days, maybe,” Tony said. He yawned again, so heroically that Bucky’s jaw hurt, just watching him.

“Do I need to carry you to bed?”

“Oh, would you?” Tony pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and made as if to swoon. Which turned into real swooning, and it was a good thing that Bucky used to play baseball and was pretty damn good at fielding, because he had to catch Tony before Tony hit the floor.

“Right. Bed.” Bucky turned around and bent down a bit. “Climb on, idiot.”

Tony didn’t hesitate, climbing on piggy-back and let Bucky link his hands under Tony’s thighs to hold him in place. He laid his head down on Bucky’s back. “This is nice,” he said, then, as he punched the button for the elevator, “I can think of something nicer, though.”

Bucky knew -- knew mind you -- that he was going to regret asking and did anyway. “What would that be?”

“Elevator sex,” Tony said,  “is great on so many levels.”

“You’re a terrible, terrible person, and I should drop you,” Bucky said.

“But you won’t.”

“Probably not, no.”

[frostmarris]

Cherry Bomb

Chapter Two - Arrival

[Previous] | [Next]

Sakura slept through most of the drive, much to Kakashi's approval.

She really looked like she could use the sleep, after all, and, while it was by no means a deep, peaceful sleep, he was glad that she was getting some rest. Curled up in the passenger seat with a potted plant - he wasn't quite sure what kind of flower it was, but it was a pretty purple and smelled nice - cradled in her arms, she quickly dozed off once they began driving. Kakashi occasionally glanced over, smiling fondly at her sleeping form, and couldn't help but think that moving out of Shirogane would do her a lot of good.

She shifted and turned every once in a while as she slept, sometimes mumbling under her breath. He couldn't quite make out what she was saying, though he had a pretty good idea. But, he was happy to see her get some rest.

He drove the entire way to Mabushii, stopping for a quick break about halfway through the trip and offering Sakura an early lunch. Her growling stomach was enough of an answer. The diner was small and not particularly crowded as it was still pretty early in the day, so the two had a pleasant brunch, simply enjoying one another's company. Once back on the road, Sakura quickly fell back asleep, her slumber slightly more peaceful than during the first half of the trip.

Kakashi had to hold back a chuckle when he glanced over to see her with her face pressed against the glass, mouth open and cheek and nose squashed against the window as she snored lightly.

Eventually, they drew close to the Mabushii city limit and the older, retired hero reached over to gently shake her awake. At Sakura's sleepy grumble, he offered a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly.

"Mmngh- huh?" She slowly blinked her drowsiness away, sitting up slightly and glancing over at him. "Are we there, Kakashi?"

"Almost," he replied, reaching over to ruffle her hair fondly (to which she huffed and batted his hand away, though smiling back). "We've just passed the city limits, take a look."

Glancing out her window, Sakura watched as they passed smaller buildings that steadily began to grow in size as they approached Mabushii, the city skyline coming into view. She recalled visiting Mabushii a couple of times before, chasing down one of her past villains, but she'd never actually explored the city itself.

Quickly taking mental notes of landmarks and street signs, she started to feel a little excited, watching as they drove past pedestrians. Kakashi had said her apartment was near the center of the city and, peering out her window, she could see skyscrapers quickly approaching. Sakura felt herself smile slightly and, rolling down her window, she let the slight breeze ruffle her hair as she closed her eyes.

Mabushii was certainly bigger than Shirogane, though not incredibly so. Still, it gave off a nice sense of familiarity that reminded Sakura of her old home, yet offered the promise of new and exciting events. Resting her arm on the door of the car, she watched her surroundings pass by, glancing around when the driving slowed and they stopped at a light.

All of a sudden, she heard a few collective gasps and excited shouts and, looking to a group of nearby pedestrians, she watched as someone pointed happily towards one of the nearby, tall buildings. Not seeing anything at first, her gaze traveled upwards, head tilted as she realized someone was running and jumping across the rooftops. Leaning her head out the window slightly for a better look, she could just barely make out long, brown hair and a white uniform, though they were too far away for her to pick out finer details.

No doubt one of the heroes of the city. It wasn't unusual to see Supers out and about during the day, making their rounds through their cities.

As she continued to peer up at the rooftops, she felt the car pull forward and make a turn, quickly cutting off her sight of the mystery hero. Sighing, she pulled herself back into the vehicle and returned to watching the city pass by. She hadn't recognized them, no, and doubted she would have even with a more clear view. Sakura knew nothing of the heroes of Mabushii and, while she might have had the urge to seek them out and meet them when she was still actively Cherry Bomb, she decided it... didn't really concern her anymore.

Sure, it might be a good idea to at least become familiar with the heroes that protected her new home, but there was no point in actually trying to meet them now that she was a simple civilian.

Still, maybe Kakashi knew the Mabushii heroes...

Before Sakura could turn and bring the subject up with Kakashi, he drew her attention towards a cheery looking, red-bricked building that they were approaching.

"Aaand there's your apartment building."

It wasn't anything too fancy, but definitely looked appealing, and Sakura felt her lips quirk upwards in a small smile as they drove closer. Her old apartment had been nice, sure, but (besides during the past few months) she hadn't spent a lot of her time actually living in it. She was often out 'working' or at the hero HQ training and going over strategies with Mind Jumper so, for the first time in a while, she knew she'd be spending a lot of time at her new home.

She glanced towards a plaque near the entrance of the building as they drove past, barely catching the words "Akaihana Apartments," before they drove down the street slightly. Finding an open spot to park in, Kakashi pulled in parallel to the street and sent Sakura a smile from behind his mask, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Ready?"

She glanced out the windshield, gaze passing over the city in front of her, before looking back to the older hero, a finger rubbing against the outside of the pot of the plant in her lap. Rolling her shoulders, she took a breath and offered Kakashi a small smile, nodding her head.

"Ready."

Carrying a box each to start everything off, the pair walked into the apartment building and Kakashi quickly stepped towards the front desk as they entered the lobby. Sakura glanced around, taking in her surroundings as she waited for Kakashi to return. It was kind of like a hotel lobby, but had more of a home-y feeling, what with the 'commons area' feel to it. There were a few couches and cushioned chairs for residents to lounge on, as well as nice coffee tables on either side of the lobby, and potted ferns near the entrance.

There was only one other person in the lobby besides Kakashi, Sakura, and the girl behind the front desk. The pinkette glanced towards who she figured was an apartment resident, eyeing him curiously. He was relaxing comfortably in one of the lounge chairs, a book in his hands and a scarf wrapped around his neck, obscuring a bit of his face in his slouched position. She found it rather odd that he was wearing sunglasses indoors - but it didn't seem to be bothering him too much - and, honestly, she didn't think it was really that cold out to warrant the coat. But, glancing down at her old hoodie and floral-print shorts combo, she decided she wasn't really in much of a place to judge someone's fashion decisions.

The sunglasses were too tinted for her to tell where he was looking but, as he ran a hand through his brown hair (styled back in a sweeping motion that kept his hair out of his eyes and off his forehead), he lifted his chin slightly and she had the distinct feeling that he had noticed her. Unable to really wave with one of her boxes of clothes in her arms, the potted plant perched on top, she simply offered a small smile and nodded in greeting.

He returned the nod, lowering his book slightly, and Sakura was about to turn back to Kakashi when there was a sudden buzzing in her ear. She turned her head slightly at the sound, catching sight of a small bug flying past her. It landed on a leaf of a fern next to the man and, without looking away from her direction, he simply reached a hand out and let the bug crawl onto his finger.

Odd.

Before Sakura could react, she heard Kakashi calling her name and, with a small, half-wave of her fingers towards the strange man, she quickly moved towards the older hero. Kakashi tucked his box of her belongings under one arm and raised his free hand, jingling what she assumed were her new apartment keys as he smiled.

"Fifth floor, apartment 5-D. Shall we?" He inclined his head towards what looked like an elevator to the right of the front desk and Sakura returned the smile, giving him a short nod. Glancing to the left of the desk, she could see a stairwell and made a mental note to try to use the stairs more than the elevator after she's all moved in.

Luckily, the ride was short and they stopped outside the door to her new home, Kakashi setting his box down as he unlocked the door. Sakura stood and waited patiently, vaguely aware of the sound of a door opening and clicking shut further down the hall. There were six doors in total on this floor, Sakura's being in the middle of the three on the stairwell-side of the hallway.

Once the door was unlocked, she waited for Kakashi to gather his box but, all at once, found herself stiffening as she caught sight of a flash of red hair out of the corner of her eye.

Time slowed slightly and her breathing caught in her throat, every nerve in her body suddenly alight as her muscles tensed. She felt the sudden urge to move into a defensive stance, fingers twitching and her grip on her box tightening at the sight of that red hair.

A deeply set-in reflex.

But then, time no longer moving at a crawl, the person passed by and she realized it was just a young woman, her red hair swaying as she walked down the hall. Sakura let out the breath she'd been holding, her body relaxing all at once as she watched the woman head down the stairs.

'Relax, Sakura,' she thought to herself, rolling her shoulders and shifting the box in her arms, 'It's been well over two years...'

Suddenly, she realized that Kakashi was watching her.

Face flushing slightly in embarrassment, she moved her gaze away from the stairwell, fingers tapping on her box.

"You okay?" Kakashi asked softly, obviously having noticed the way she had suddenly been set on edge.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. I just thought..." She shook her head, fighting down her blush as she sighed. "Yeah."

Patting her shoulder, Kakashi sent her a smile and opened the door to let her in to the apartment. Following after the pinkette, he watched as she adjusted her box and explored her new home. The entrance opened up into the living room, a nice looking couch against the right wall and a coffee table in front of it. A pair of bookshelves sat against the wall facing the couch and Sakura's mind instantly began thinking through how else she was going to decorate the room. The living area merged with the furnished kitchen, an island counter separating the two rooms and a pair of chairs sat at the counter.

To her left was a short hallway with a door on either side. Opening both and glancing inside, she found the bedroom - furnished with a queen-sized bed, a desk and chair, set of drawers, and a closet set into the back wall - and the bathroom. Kakashi followed her into the bedroom, setting his box down on the floor while she dropped hers on the mattress, carefully depositing the potted plant on the desk. Moving towards the windows by the bed, she opened the blinds to let the daylight in, realizing her room looked out onto the street corner that wrapped around the side of the apartment building.

The pair headed back down to the street and gradually began moving her belongings from the car and up to the apartment, taking everything at their own individual paces. Sakura was just stepping out of the elevator for the third time when she passed Kakashi, empty-handed and heading back down to his car. They shared a smile in passing and the pinkette moved down the hall to her door, two large boxes in her arms. They were heavy, sure, but Sakura barely noticed the weight with her inhuman strength and was just about to shift both boxes to balance on one arm to open the door when she heard a door open behind her.

"Oh, whoa!"

Sakura paused at the sound of someone approaching, unable to see them around the boxes in her arms.

"Shit, hey, need some help?"

Before she could reply, the topmost box was suddenly taken and Sakura came face-to-face with a young man with wild, messily-styled, brown hair. He blinked in surprise at the sight of her, expression a little bewildered as his nose twitched slightly. Sakura took a moment to assess him, noting the odd, red, triangle markings - tattoos? - on his cheeks and his leather jacket. Suddenly, his eyes widened a bit and he sent her a wide, excited grin, holding her box in his arms.

"H-holy shit, wow, h-hey!" He stumbled over his words slightly, cheeks just barely tinting pink, before glancing towards her door and quickly reaching out to open the door. "O-oh, lemme get that for you!"

Quirking an eyebrow, Sakura sent him a curious look, adjusting the box in her arms.

"Uh, thanks." She stood there awkwardly for a moment, caught a little off-guard by the guy.

"I, uh-" He cleared his throat and seemed to calm down slightly, resisting the urge to nervously run his hand through his hair. "I'm Kiba, Inuzuka Kiba. You just move in?"

Gathering her thoughts, Sakura offered him a small smile, nodding her head. "Haruno Sakura. Nice to meet you, Kiba. Thanks for, uh- oh!"

Before Sakura could finish, she suddenly felt a cold wetness on the back of her hand and glanced down to see a large, white dog sniffing her curiously. The dog sat down and gave a low woof, tail wagging as it looked to Kiba, who, in turn, sent Sakura a grin.

"Ah, that's Akamaru! We were just heading out for a walk when I saw ya struggling with the boxes."

Sakura had to bite the inside of her cheek to hold back her retort - she had not been struggling with her boxes - but simply gave him a weak smile, moving her box to rest on one arm, reaching down to give Akamaru's head a few scratches and give him a smile in greeting.

"Yeah, thanks for that - it was really sweet of you. I guess we're... neighbors?"

Kiba grinned back at her and Akamaru gave another soft bark before standing up and pacing back and forth next to the two of them. The brunette sent the dog a look, shifting his weight from leg to leg as he looked back to Sakura.

"Looks like it! Need any help moving your stuff in, uh, S-sakura?" He seemed almost hesitant to say her name and, taking note of his nervousness, she shook her head gently, reaching out to push open her door further.

"Ah, no, it's fine. A friend of mine is helping me and we're almost done bringing everything up. But, thank you, Kiba."

She couldn't tell if he looked relieved or disappointed. There was some odd look in his eye but his grin never wavered. Still, he moved to step into her apartment and quickly set the box in his arms down, running his hand through his hair as he moved back out to stand next to Akamaru.

"No problem! Well, uh, see ya around, Sakura." Kiba took a few steps backwards down the hallway, offering a wave before he perked up slightly, pausing near the stairwell. "Oh! If you ever need anything, feel free to knock! I'm in 5-A!"

With another bark from Akamaru and a small farewell from Sakura, the brunette hurried down the stairs, his dog following close behind. Watching him leave, the pinkette shrugged to herself and stepped into her apartment to deposit her box.

The guy seemed nice but there was something a little odd about him. Nevertheless, it wouldn't hurt to try to befriend her new neighbor. Rubbing the back of her neck, Sakura reached down to grab the box Kiba had carried in, easily picking it up and carrying it into her bedroom, humming to herself.

::

By the time Sakura and Kakashi had gotten all of her belongings up into her apartment, went out for a quick dinner, and had unpacked a few of her necessities, it was pretty late in the day. Sitting down on the couch in the living room, Sakura smiled as the older hero flopped down next to her and stretched before pulling his cellphone out of his pocket.

"Dang, time flies when you're having fun, huh?"

The pinkette sent him a soft laugh, leaning over to rest against his shoulder and glance at the time as well. Relaxing against his side, she reached up to ruffle his silver hair, giggling when he playfully batted her hand away.

"Thanks for everything, Kakashi," she mumbled, sitting up slightly to give his covered cheek a quick peck, "You're not gonna drive back to Shirogane tonight, are you? Wanna spend the night?"

Offering a chuckle, he leaned over to give the top of her head a kiss, smiling fondly down at the pinkette as he shook his head. "Nah, too long of a trip for tonight. But, I've got a friend in town that's letting me borrow their couch. Unless... you'd rather I stay here instead..~?"

He sent her a kind of teasing look and Sakura glanced away, gaze traveling over the still unfamiliar living room. She'd never really been one to easily feel homesick but, after so many changes in one day, she had a feeling that she would have some trouble sleeping tonight and Kakashi's presence always seemed to help her relax.

She looked up at him with a rather pleading pout, batting her eyelashes. Understanding her silent message, Kakashi gave another soft chuckle and another kiss to the top of her head, nodding to himself as he stood.

"Let me just give him a call about the change of plans."

::

After digging through her boxes for a pair of sweatpants and a plain, over-sized shirt for makeshift pajamas for Kakashi (the shirt was almost a little too small for him) and depositing a pillow and blanket on the couch, Sakura changed into her own PJs and dropped onto her bed, one hand running over the soft bed sheets she'd fitted onto the mattress. Staring up at the light grey ceiling, she let her mind buzz with all of her thoughts, feeling slightly overwhelmed with the day.

The pinkette couldn't help but think about how Ino was doing. She'd only seen her briefly that morning and, already, she missed her. Sitting up, she moved to grab her bag, pulling her cellphone out to see if she had any missed calls from the hospital. It'd be kind of ironic, wouldn't it? Ino waking up right after she left Shirogane...

But, she had no missed calls or new text messages.

Sighing, she flicked the lights off and fell back onto the bed, draping an arm over her eyes as she tried to relax. After a minute or so, she rolled over and crawled under her covers, grabbing one of the extra pillows and hugging it to her chest as she curled up.

It took her a while to fall asleep and, when Sakura finally did, she was instantly met with nightmares, reliving the evening in the cave and watching Kabuto stab Mind Jumper over and over again.

She finally awoke with a start about forty-five minutes later, a light sheen of sweat over her skin and tears in her eyes. Bringing her knees up to her chest, Sakura hugged herself as she tried to get rid of the mental image of Kabuto standing over her fallen form, a screaming, bleeding Ino in his grasp and a wicked grin on his face. Staring ahead into the dark, she tried to calm herself but was a little too afraid to try to go back to sleep.

Steeling her nerves, she slowly slid off of the bed and exited her bedroom, carefully traveling down the small hall to the living room. Finding her way in the dark with little problem, she stopped next to the couch, quietly dropping to her knees as she peered through the darkness at Kakashi's sleeping, masked face.

"Sensei..?" she whispered, reaching to gently squeeze his shoulder, "Are you awake?"

She knew the answer, but there wasn't really much else she could say.

After a moment, he shifted slightly and slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the darkness for a few seconds before turning his head to see Sakura.

"Mmn..- Sakura..? 's everything okay?"

She glanced away and he squinted through the darkness as his eyes adjusted, quickly catching sight of what looked like lingering tears in the corners of her eyes. Kakashi carefully sat up, running his hand through his hair as he watched her with concern.

"...Nightmare?"

She gave a small nod, trying to hold back her tears as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"Sorry, I just... Can you-"

Without another word, Kakashi scooped her up into his arms and stood, hugging her close as he carried her out of the living room. Burying her face in his chest, Sakura tried not to let herself start shaking, relaxing slightly at the feeling of the older hero pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"'s alright, I'm here."

She gave a deep, heaving sigh at his sleepy mumble, wrapping an arm around his neck before realizing that he'd carried her back into her bedroom. Shushing her gently, he carefully set her down on the bed, pulling the covers over her, and, before she could say anything, moved to the other side and climbed under the sheets as well. Reaching out to ruffle her hair, he gave a soft chuckle when he felt her move closer to him, curling into his warm embrace. Rubbing her back soothingly, he offered the pinkette a soft, "Goodnight."

Returning the goodnight wish, Sakura slowly began to relax and eventually fell asleep. And, for the first time in several months, slept peacefully through the night.

[torestoreamends]

Mine to Make: Chapter 19

Everyone reels in the aftermath of the battle. There’s nothing they can do now but wait for the inevitable moment when the worst happens and they lose Albus forever, despite everything they’ve been through.

Beta’d by @abradystrix.

N.B. This fic is complete on AO3, and tomorrow it will be complete here too! There’s one last chapter to go, but if you can’t wait, head over to AO3 to binge read the whole thing, including the epilogue. 

Read it on AO3

*

XVIIII Aftermath

“What would you do if I just disappeared?” Albus asks during Herbology on a February morning during sixth year.

Scorpius glances up from the Shrivelfig he’s pruning and gives Albus a hard look. “Are you planning to disappear?”

Albus doesn’t answer. He gives a very small shrug and fiddles with a dead leaf on the trunk of his fig.

Scorpius puts his shears down, glances across the greenhouse to make sure that Professor Longbottom is definitely distracted, then he ducks down behind his plant, folds his arms on the desk, and fixes Albus with a solid silver stare. “That wasn’t a no, Albus. What are you thinking?”

Albus swallows, then he ducks down too, so they’re both in the dappled shadow of their bushes, face to face, and it feels like they’re alone in this comfortable world that smells of earth and petrichor.

“Over the holidays, I um... My dad and I, we...” He looks down at his fingers, which are grubby like they always are during Herbology, and starts picking dirt from beneath his nails so he doesn’t have to look at Scorpius.

“Had another fight?” Scorpius guesses.

Albus nods. “On my last night at home. And he said that... that if I was so unhappy then maybe I should just leave, so...” He glances at Scorpius. “I thought it seemed worth a try. It can’t make anything worse, can it?”

Scorpius blinks, expression suddenly fixed and unreadable. Albus recognises the Malfoy veneer that Scorpius has learned over the years from his dad. He’s become very good at using it as a mask for his feelings, particularly since his mum died.

“When would you go?” Scorpius asks. “Where would you go? How long for? If it’s just for the summer maybe I could-“

“I’d leave on my birthday,” Albus says. He’s thought about this. Once he’s seventeen he’ll be able to do magic. He’ll be an adult. He can take care of himself. “And I’d just... go. Forever, I guess. Maybe? I don’t know how hard it is to run away... I don’t know if anyone would find me. Or if I’d get lonely, or... but why run if it’s not for a new start? That wouldn’t get rid of my problems.”

“You could just fix the problems and stay,” Scorpius suggests quietly.

“Easier said than done.”

There’s a short, tense bit of silence, which Albus can’t quite bear, so he sits up and starts taking clippings from his Shrivelfig.

“You still haven’t said where you’d go,” Scorpius points out as he too sits up and picks a couple of dead leaves off his bush.

“I don’t really know,” Albus says, carefully focusing on his precise, perfect incisions. He gives them much more attention than they need.

“Yes you do.”

Albus’s shoulders slump. “If I told anyone then it wouldn’t be running away, would it?”

“I’m your best friend,” Scorpius says. “You can trust me.”

“I think...” Albus shakes his head and turns the pot round. As careful as he is, the leaves tremble, and one of the ripe figs dies instantly, squirting juice all over the place as it becomes a shrivelled, dry husk. Albus swears and leans over the plant to scoop his notes out of the way before they get saturated. In the process he kills at least three more figs and attracts Professor Longbottom’s attention.

“Watch out, Albus,” he says as he waves his wand and the juice vanishes. “Next time maybe you can try to use magic to clear up the mess. You’ll do less damage to the plant too. What do you think?”

“Right,” Albus says miserably. The fact is that he still can’t really do the vanishing charm he’d need to clear up the mess. If he’d tried he might have vanished the desk or his books, or maybe nothing would have happened at all and he’d have lost all his work.

“The cuttings are looking excellent though,” Professor Longbottom adds kindly before he walks away. “Very nice work. Keep it up. Yours are quite good too, Scorpius. Just keep them more regular, and remember what I said about the buds.”

Albus looks down at his neat set of cuttings and realises that they are actually quite nice, and he’s done far less damage to his bush getting them than everyone else in the class has. He folds his notes away and decides to at least temporarily quit while he’s ahead. Instead he focuses his attention on Scorpius.

“I think that out of everyone, you’d be the only person who’d want to follow me though. That’s why I can’t tell you where I’m going.”

Scorpius waves his shears at Albus. “That’s not true at all.”

“True or not, you didn’t answer my question. What would you do if I disappeared?”

Scorpius shrugs. “I suppose I’d have a lot more sweets to myself, and I’d get to read more, and my homework would be done a whole lot faster – actually maybe not Potions. And-“

“You’d be fine then,” Albus interrupts, not wanting to hear anymore.

“And,” Scorpius goes on, “I’d be more unhappy than I’ve been in a very long time. Possibly ever.” He fixes Albus with that sharp, shining, starlike gaze, and Albus finds himself trapped briefly in Scorpius’s orbit. “Don’t go,” Scorpius says softly. “Please, Albus. I don’t really want to live my life without you. School’s nearly over now, just a year and a half to go, and once that’s done you’re free. Just stay. For a little while. For me. And for yourself.”

It takes a considerable effort for Albus to drag his gaze away and not just give in. “I’ll think about it,” he murmurs, and starts planting his cuttings.

 Scorpius has had the same nightmare every time he’s tried to sleep for the last two weeks, and he’s having it again now. He’s in a room that’s crumbling into pieces. Everything is thick with dust, so thick that he can’t breathe properly. He clutches at his chest and stumbles forward, trying to get to the centre of the room and stop what’s going to happen before it does.

Darkness clings to his legs and ankles, tripping him, holding him back. Unable to catch his breath he doesn’t have the energy he needs to make it. He struggles forward, desperate, panicking, knowing what will happen if he doesn’t get there.

Two figures emerge out of the dust, right in the heart of the room. One is curled round the other, cradling her in his arms. He’s crying. He doesn’t know what’s about to happen. He doesn’t know what she’ll use her last breath to do.

Scorpius opens his mouth to cry out but he chokes on the dust and he makes no sound. Then he hears the soft whisper of a voice.

“Avada Kedavra.”

There’s a flash of green light and Albus crumples to the ground and lies still.

Everything releases, and Scorpius sprints to him, begging him to be alive, but before he can get there, before he can take hold of Albus’s hand, the room breaks apart and Scorpius is falling. Down down down. Into darkness that swallows him whole. And as he’s about to hit the unseen, shadowed ground, he wakes with a yell, sweating and shaking and crying, heart hammering, every inch of him thrumming with fear.

On this particular night he must scream louder than normal because a second later the door bursts open and Draco comes flying into the room.

“I heard you-“

Scorpius turns away, trying to wipe his eyes, curling in on himself so he can try to be invisible. Maybe then his dad will go away and not have to see him like this. “I-I’m fine,” he says, gulping down sobs. “Fine. Just-“

“The nightmare again,” Draco sighs. Scorpius feels him deflate, the tension melting away as any threat of danger disappears.

Scorpius swallows and nods. He inches his way up the bed and curls up with his back against the headboard, looking away from his dad. “I want it to stop,” he murmurs.

“I know,” Draco says. He brushes a hand through his hair, pushing a number of stray strands out of his eyes. When Scorpius looks at him out of the corner of his eye, he sees that his dad looks as exhausted as he feels. There are dark circles under his dad’s eyes, and his robes are unusually creased. Even the fact that his hair is escaping its bonds means he’s been up far too long.

“You should be asleep,” Scorpius mutters, surreptitiously trying to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. Of course his dad spots it instantly and hands him a tissue.

“I just got back from the hospital,” Draco says stiffly. “I was about to go to bed when...”

“Sorry.” Scorpius hangs his head. “You should just go. I can take some of the Potion, and...” He makes a vague gesture with his hand.

“You hate that stuff,” his dad says. “And I know it doesn’t help you rest properly.”

“Not really.” Scorpius fiddles with his sleeve. “Better than the alternative though.”

“I could stay with you. It helped the other night. I know it did.”

“No,” Scorpius says firmly. “Go to bed, Dad. I should get up anyway.”

“You look exhausted.”

“So do you.” Scorpius stubbornly swings his legs over the side of the bed and stumbles to his feet. As he does a spasm of pain washes through his body, and he clutches at one of the posts for support, squeezing his eyes shut. The effects of the torture still haven’t worn off. He doesn’t know when they will. They might not ever. So he just has to deal with the pain when it comes. It’s hardly the worst thing they’re all facing at the moment.

“See,” he says, forcing himself to sound cheerful. “I’m up now.”

“Are you hurting?” His dad asks. He’s impossible to hide anything from.

Scorpius sighs. “What do you think?” He turns and starts picking clothes up off the floor and flinging them over his shoulder onto his bed. Eventually he settles on a comfortable grey t-shirt and a pair of black jeans. He finds a jumper too, also grey and softly knitted. It’s too warm for the temperature outside but sometimes it gets cold in the hospital.

“I need a minute to get changed,” he says, wiggling the clothes in his dad’s direction.

Draco doesn’t move, instead he looks Scorpius in the eye. “There’s no point going to the hospital. I know you know that.”

Scorpius drops the clothes to his side and gazes at his dad, his insides freezing over.

“Nothing has changed,” Draco goes on. “I don’t think it’s sensible for you to sacrifice your health for this. You need to sleep. We all do. Ginny agrees with me. This isn’t what Albus would-“

Scorpius stops listening and starts pulling his t-shirt off. If his dad won’t leave then he’ll just get on with it. He drops his pyjama t-shirt in his rampant laundry pile and pulls the soft, clean grey one over his head instead, messing up his hair. When he emerges, his dad is still going.

“There shouldn’t even be a chance, Scorpius. The faintest bit of hope isn’t enough for us all to stop living. I know it’s something, but... there’s always something. If it wasn’t this it would be another thing. Time-Turners, ghosts, the Resurrection Stone, goodness knows what else. You’ve always been hopeful, it’s one of the things you get from your mother, but sometimes...” He trails off. “Sometimes hope isn’t enough.”

Scorpius kicks his pyjama bottoms off and wriggles into the jeans. They cling to his legs, tight, and for a second he has to fight the urge to pull them off because he can feel tendrils of darkness wrapping round him and it’s too much. But he gulps in a breath, pulls them up, and starts fiddling with the button and flies, then with a belt. Finally he hugs the jumper to his chest and looks at his dad.

“You couldn’t save Mum,” he says.

There’s a pause before his dad inclines his head. “That’s correct.”

“But that was different,” Scorpius says. “Or it wasn’t. Not while she was alive. I know you did everything you could. But once she was gone...” He clenches his fingers tight in the soft folds of his jumper. “Albus isn’t gone. Not yet. And I’m going to do everything I can too. I-“ He swallows and bows his head. “I lost him before. I don’t want finding him to be for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for-“

“I don’t want to lose him again,” Scorpius corrects himself, voice rising, chest tightening. He shuffles his feet on the floor and tries to steady himself, tries to deepen his breathing. Finally he lifts his head. “Please go to bed, Dad. I’ll call when something changes.”

His dad opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again and nods. “Try and rest while you’re there at least.”

“Promise.”

 James is in the room when Scorpius arrives. He’s slumped in a chair next to the bed, staring blankly at the far wall. It’s painfully still and quiet – James looks like he might fall asleep any second, and Albus is obviously...

Scorpius has made a habit of trying to avoid looking at him, especially when there are other people around. It’s not that he’s covered head to toe in injuries or anything. Really it’s the opposite. He looks so perfect, like the best sculptor in the world has carved a statue of Albus out of marble or wax. He’s pristine and beautiful. His unusually pale, cold skin is unblemished and soft. His eyes are closed like he’s just resting them. There’s nothing visibly wrong with him at all. But he still might never wake up. He’s hanging somewhere between life and death in horrible stasis, in some unstable equilibrium where he could go either way at any second. So Scorpius tries not to look at him, because he hates being reminded that Albus is right there but hanging on a knife edge and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Hi, James,” Scorpius says as he nudges the door open.

James jumps, then groans and rubs his eyes. “Hi. I’m awake.”

“You look exhausted.”

“It’s a new look I’m trying.”

“I don’t think it suits you,” Scorpius says. Normally James looks alright – he’s related to Albus after all – but exhaustion hasn’t been kind to him. He looks dull and blotchy, like his normal fire has been extinguished.

He runs a hand through his hair and it sticks up at the back just like Albus’s does, so Scorpius looks away.

“Mum doesn’t think so either. She tried to persuade me to go home, but I thought someone should be here...” He glances at Albus and his thoughts are plain to read. What if he wakes up and thinks we’ve abandoned him?

“Did your parents go home?” Scorpius asks, sitting in his normal chair that’s not right beside the bed – that feels just a bit too optimistic – but close enough that he could get there in a couple of strides if he had to.

James nods. “Mum had to basically drag Dad out. Not that it was hard, he’s not exactly up to a fight right now.” He sighs and runs his hands through his hair again, messing it up in new and fascinating ways, none of which are quite Albus-y enough to hurt. It helps that his hair is shining auburn and gold in the ruby glow of the setting sun. Albus’s hair could never achieve such extraordinary colours. It would have stayed stubbornly, comfortingly black.

“Our parents,” James says carefully, eyeing Scorpius. “They think that we should...” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. Maybe he expects Scorpius to be upset by them, but right now Scorpius is too tired to be upset by almost anything.

“I know,” he says, cutting James off mid-thought. “My dad talked to me before I came... He doesn’t think-“ He glances at Albus and swallows. It feels wrong to talk about in front of him. “But he would have done this for my mum, so I don’t think he really expects...”

“No,” James says softly. “He didn’t seem pleased about the suggestion that we might all just-“ He gestures towards the door and the world at large. “I don’t even think Mum really meant it. She’s just worried about us. And Dad’s obviously a disaster, so... She wants to protect us. But we’re adults, right? We can make our own stupid decisions.”

Scorpius gives a little smile. “It’s what Albus would have done. The king of stupid decisions.”

“Exactly.” James nods and tugs on his hair, but he looks relieved. “I’m glad we agree.”

“Of course we do.” Scorpius pulls his feet up onto the chair and hugs his knees. “You should go home and sleep.”

James shakes his head. “I’ve only been here a couple of hours really. I might go and get some coffee though. Do you want some?”

“Caffeine isn’t a permanent solution to sleep, James.”

James smiles. “But it is a temporary one.”

“I’ll have a tea,” Scorpius relents, digging a couple of Sickles out of his pocket and passing them across to James. “Thanks.”

James gets to his feet, looks at his reflection in the window and pulls a face, then turns to the door. “I’ll be back in a bit. Tell him to behave while I’m gone.”

“I’ll do my best to keep him under control,” Scorpius promises, then the door closes and he’s left alone with Albus.

It’s the first time in two weeks that they’ve been alone. Normally Harry or Ginny is here as well, and maybe a Healer or two, but now it’s just them and the stillness of the room. For a few minutes Scorpius just sits in his chair and looks at Albus. He hugs his knees and takes in Albus’s pristine form, not knowing what to do or say. Part of him wants to get up and leave, but the louder part of him says that leaving Albus would be the wrong thing to do. He’s helping just by being here, and as hard as it is, he’s not going to walk away. Letting go has never been something he’s capable of where Albus is concerned.

Cautiously, he gets to his feet and pads over to the bed. It’s the closest he’s been to Albus since the night in Godric’s Hollow, and he’s still wary of it. Albus is so cold now, and he’s so fragile like this. He knows that any bit of damage might be what finishes Albus off. It’s dangerous to be so close to him. But Scorpius wants to be close, so he crouches down beside the bed and reaches up to brush a strand of hair back from Albus’s face.

“Do you remember,” he says softly, “when you asked me what I’d do if you disappeared? I told you I’d be more unhappy than I’ve been in a very long time, and I was right. A-and it’s still true now.” He drops his hands onto the mattress and bows his head. “Please don’t disappear, Albus. I need you. Your family need you. You’ve got so much more to do. You can change your mind this time. Please change your mind.”

He brushes his fingers against Albus’s hand, then rests his forehead on the edge of the mattress and closes his eyes, and he’s so exhausted that within seconds he’s asleep.

 When the darkness fades and Albus becomes aware of himself again, he realises that he’s sitting somewhere warm and bright. It’s foggy at first, and the light is almost painful to look at, so he closes his eyes, rubs them, blinks a few times, then has another go at looking around.

As he does, he realises that he recognises the place where he’s sitting. It’s the broom shed in his parents’ back garden. It’s the place where he first met- Why he’s here he doesn’t know. An even better question is how he got here. He was in Godric’s Hollow when she- Realisation dawns as he looks out through the open shed doors and across the rolling moors, currently stained red by the setting sun. Maybe he’s dead. Maybe this is what death is like.

He looks around and sees a broom lying next to him. Not just any broom, and not one that’s ever been anywhere near his parents’ broom shed. This is his broom. His racing broom. And as he looks at it, he realises just how inviting the evening skies look – clear and warm and cloudless. It would be a beautiful night to go flying.

He looks around some more, and that’s when he looks down at himself and realises that he’s completely naked.

Things are different though. It’s not just that his clothes are gone. His arms are bare too – completely bare. There are no scars to be seen, and no swirling tattoos covering them. He runs his hands down all the way to his wrists and his skin is smoother than it’s been in years. He’s entirely unblemished and it’s strange but at the same time it feels wonderful to be free of the constant, biting pain.

He hooks a hand over his shoulder and contorts his body to try and cover himself up. He’s not that far from the road, and as exciting as it is for his scars to have disappeared, the last thing he needs is for someone to walk past and see him sitting stark naked in his parents’ broom shed. It might raise a few eyebrows.

No sooner has he thought this than he spots a folded up pile of clothes on the ground just in front of him. He dives across for it, keen to cover himself up and also recognising that if he does decide to go flying it will be exceptionally uncomfortable to do so without any clothes.

He picks the clothes up and unfolds them, recognising his own dragon hide flying gear as he slips them on. He thinks about leaving his jacket off, but his arms look strangely bare without any decoration, so he shrugs it on and decides that if tattoos are even possible here, he’ll get new ones as soon as he can.

Now he’s dressed he sits back down and picks up the broom, laying it across his lap. It hums under his touch, a contented sound, and it feels gently warm. It’s happy to be here and he’s happy to have it with him. It’s been a constant companion through a lot of loneliness, and he considers the fact that death might be lonely too. The only person he really knows who’s died is Delphi, and she-

He buries his face in his hands as a heavy wave of dizzying emotion rushes over him. She tried to kill him with her last breath. No, she did kill him. She wanted him to die guilty. She wouldn’t let him save her. Maybe being here alone in the place where he first met her is his punishment for not trying hard enough.

But no. This isn’t a punishment. It doesn’t feel like one at least. Punishment would be ice cold, dark, and miserable, whereas this shed has always been one of his favourite places. When he makes himself inhale now – even though he supposes he doesn’t need to breathe anymore now he’s dead – he smells wood shavings and varnish. The sun is warm on his face, and he has his broom with him. If he wanted to, he knows he could step through the door and fly off into that glorious sunset, and he’d never have to come back. He’d be free forever. No more guilt or worry. No more pain. Just him and his broom and the sky, which is pretty much all he’s ever wanted, isn’t it?

He picks at a stray twig in the tail of the broom and stretches his feet out in front of him. It would be the easiest thing in the world to fly away and leave everything behind, but every time he thinks about getting on his broom, kicking off from the ground, and taking to those vibrant skies, he gets a weird pressure in his chest. It’s the pressure of knowing it wouldn’t be the right thing to do. There’s another option, a harder one, but that doesn’t mean he knows what it is. What’s his alternative here? He’s dead, and his family and Scorpius aren’t, so there’s no one to wait for or search for. Unless he’s meant to look for Delphi, but he has absolutely no desire to do that.

He gets to his feet, holding the broom loosely by his side as he ducks out of the open shed doors. The landscape slopes away, and he can see down the hill towards the village. To the other side is the orchard, with The Burrow beyond, and then past that, more rolling hills. It really is a beautiful place to live, and Albus has spent years trying not to think about how much he’s missed it.

He steps forward, away from the shed, and as he does, he glances over his shoulder and spots the house, Holly Cottage itself. A pang of unexpected grief cuts through him, and he grips the broom and swallows a couple of times to try and compose himself.

He’s never going to see his parents again. Or James. Or Lily. He’ll never again get to sit in that kitchen for Sunday lunch and eat his dad’s Yorkshire puddings. He’ll never sleep in his bed again. He’ll never get chance to properly make amends for everything he’s put them through. And maybe they’ll barely notice he’s gone – they’ve been without him for long enough already – but for him, this time hurts so much more. This time he didn’t walk away. This time he’s been torn away right at the start of something. It was going to be better. There was so much promise. And now it’s gone. Gone for him and gone for them.

It’s pointless walking towards the house, but he does it anyway. He pads slowly across the patio, looking at the neatly pruned Flutterby bushes that his mum always took such pride in maintaining, and at the ordinary Muggle sunflowers that his dad always encouraged them to grow. There’s the upturned fragment of flower pot they put out as a shelter for the Knarl family that frequented their garden when Albus was little. He sat on the step by the backdoor, still and silent, with his mum beside him, watching as they snuffled out of the bushes and across the grass.

When he gets to the house he’s surprised to notice that the kitchen windows are ablaze with golden light. It’s spilling out of the side window and down towards the road, but it’s also shining across the patio towards him from the pane of glass in the back door. It looks so warm and inviting, and even though he knows there’ll be no one inside, he still walks towards it and presses his face to the glass so he can peer into the kitchen.

To his surprise, there are people in there. They’re sitting at the kitchen table, plain as day, and when he squashes his nose against the glass they look up at him. His mum and dad, Lily, and James, all sitting there, with the empty chair beside them that he’s supposed to fill. It doesn’t make any sense that they’d be there, but it’s not like he’s been dead before. Maybe this is just what it’s like. Maybe it makes your most impossible wishes come true.

He twists the handle and steps back so he can pull the door open. Even though it’s not a cold evening he still shivers with happiness as the warmth of the kitchen washes over him, and he steps over the threshold into the golden light.

His mum gets to her feet to greet him, and he looks at her.

“Can I join you?” He asks.

He never gets an answer.

The second he speaks, the bright kitchen fades as quickly as it came. He’s surrounded by bright white light, endless and overwhelming. It’s bright enough to make his head hurt, so he squeezes his eyes shut and plunges himself into darkness.

The darkness is still very warm, just as warm as the kitchen, and he can feel something soft beneath him. He thinks he might be lying in a bed. He feels a bit light headed, like the world is slowly rotating around him, so he’s glad he’s lying down. He’s especially glad he’s somewhere so comfortable. This is a really good bed, just firm enough, and the blankets are weighing him down.

He inhales and his chest hurts. That’s new. That wasn’t happening before. Why does his chest hurt if he’s dead? He exhales and inhales more cautiously. It hurts a bit less this time, so he decides to keep breathing very gently.

After a few minutes he gets breathing down to an exact science. He can get in enough breath and there’s no pain at all. It’s perfect, and he’s pleased enough with the achievement to try opening his eyes.

It’s very bright wherever he is, so he immediately closes them and starts again, squinting and opening them a crack at a time, letting them slowly adjust to the light. Finally he has them fully open and he glances around at some sort of hospital room.

He recognises it as St Mungo’s – this is exactly like the room he sat in with Draco when Scorpius was sick. The only question is, why is he here? He thought he was dead. But he’s in a hospital and he’s in pain, which implies that he is, in fact, alive...

He keeps looking around the room, as much as he can see of it while he’s lying down. On one side of the bed is a bedside cabinet with several abandoned paper coffee cups piled on top. There’s also a book about Quidditch strategies lying there, face down with the pages open. That has to be James’s book, and if James is here then that must mean that Albus is definitely alive.

Albus draws in a careful, shaky breath and tries to work out how to deal with this new information. He remembers the flash of green light, and Delphi’s wand pressed to his chest. He remembers everything going black. He even remembers the words she’d said. Him being alive is impossible. Flat out impossible. But here he is.

Attempting to comprehend the fact that he’s somehow, just like his dad, survived a Killing Curse is too much. His head is starting to hurt and he feels utterly exhausted already, even though he’s only been awake for a few seconds. So he stops thinking, and goes back to looking around the room.

It takes a considerable effort to roll his head from one side to the other. He must have been lying here for a while because every muscle he’s moved so far has felt stiff and heavy. But eventually he’s managed to tip his head to the right, and when he does he sees the most glorious thing he’s ever seen in his life.

Scorpius is fast asleep beside him, his head resting on the mattress, one hand trailing inches from Albus’s own. It can only be Scorpius, because even though Albus can’t see his face he knows that no one else has hair so soft and silver-bright. It’s shining in the lamplight, and the gentle waves look so beautiful and inviting. With a titanic effort that sends pain jolting through Albus’s entire body, he lifts his hand and rests it lightly on top of Scorpius’s head, digging his fingers into the thick, warm locks. It’s like touching spun gold, and all the pain is so worth it.

He brushes his fingers down to Scorpius’s temple and rests them there, half buried in his hair, but resting against his skin. He can feel the faint pulse of Scorpius’s heartbeat there, and that’s the surest sign yet that they’re both alive. They’re alive, and Scorpius is here, waiting by Albus’s bed, and Albus’s family must have been here too, and Albus is alive.

The certainty of it rushes over him, and that’s when he starts to cry.

Crying hurts. It hurts a lot. His chest is throbbing, and every snatched breath feels like someone is slicing into the skin over his heart. His body shakes, and every little movement sends ripples of agony running through him. The worst part is that he simply can’t stop. He tries to gather himself together but every time he feels his fingers shift in Scorpius’s hair and he’s reminded that he’s alive and that his family are here he’s hit with a fresh wave of tears.

It takes a considerable effort not to grip Scorpius’s hair in response to the agony, and apparently he doesn’t quite manage it, because he hears a groan and a mumble of pain, and then Scorpius is sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Albus’s fingers fall from his hair, and he clenches them, digging his fingernails into his palm and screwing up every muscle in his body to try and fight back the pain. He’s so preoccupied with trying to survive how much everything hurts that he doesn’t really register the fact that Scorpius is awake and with him. There’s far too much else going on, his senses overloaded, but when he looks back later he’ll know, and maybe it’s the vague knowledge of Scorpius’s presence that gets him through those initial minutes.

 There’s something touching Scorpius’s hair. It tickles a bit, but it’s not annoying. He doesn’t think a fly’s landed on him or anything; it’s more like someone is running their fingers through his hair. It feels nice. It reminds him of Albus.

He squeezes his eyes tight shut and decides to pretend for a bit that it really is Albus. There’s probably a far more likely explanation – his dad has decided to come and join him, or the edge of Albus’s blanket is touching him – but for the moment it’s nice to hold onto this tiny fantasy.

But just as he’s drifting off to sleep again, he feels a distinct tugging on his scalp, hard enough to hurt, and he winces and grumbles. He opens his eyes and lifts his head an inch, and the pulling sensation goes away, but instead he feels the bed shaking. It’s the sort of movement you’d get if someone was crying, but he’s definitely not crying, and Albus is-

He sits up and looks at Albus, and for several seconds he sits frozen, staring, because Albus is definitely awake and definitely crying, both of which are completely improbable.

This now awake Albus looks considerably more Albus-y than the unconscious one of before. He’s not nearly as pale, his face is already red from crying. He’s not as relaxed either, his whole body has gone taut, screwed up tight in a way that is sadly normal for him. Even his hair is a lot more messy now that he’s moved his head. He looks so much more solid, so much more real, and he looks like he’s in pain.

Some part of Scorpius’s brain that hadn’t quite been working before suddenly snaps into comprehension. Albus is crying. Albus is in pain. He needs help, right now, or he might not be alive much longer, and Scorpius is the only one around to do anything.

“Help!” He shouts in the direction of the door. “We need help. Right now. Someone, please!”

There are running footsteps in the corridor outside and the door bursts open. James appears in the doorway holding two cups, but the second he spots Albus they drop out of his hands and hit the ground, the lids popping off so coffee and tea splash everywhere, including all over his shoes. He doesn’t seem to notice. He turns tail and runs, and Scorpius can hear him calling for help down the corridor towards the Healers’ station.

Safe in the knowledge that James will get someone to help even if he has to physically drag them down the corridor, Scorpius devotes all his attention to comforting Albus.

It takes what feels like forever to get him settled and stable. To Scorpius’s relief, when they finally manage it, Albus looks a lot more like he’s just sleeping than he did before. He’s not well, but he’s tangibly alive. His skin is warm to touch, Scorpius can see the rise and fall of the blankets as he breathes, and his heartbeat is stronger. It doesn’t feel strange to touch him anymore, so Scorpius sits next to him and strokes his hair until Harry and Ginny arrive, then he lets them take over while he goes and curls up in a corner of the room beside his dad, who’s also come in the last hour, and for the first time in two weeks he slips into a proper, deep, dreamless sleep.

 “I hope you know that you made me spill good coffee when you woke up.”

James’s voice drifts into Scorpius’s consciousness, rousing him from his sleep. Scorpius shifts in his seat and tries to resettle. He’s still too tired to open his eyes and find out who James is talking to.

“Why would you... waste coffee... like that? Honestly, James. If you... didn’t want it... you could have left it for me...”

It takes Scorpius a second to place the second, much softer, laboured voice, but when his brain finally connects the dots it’s like someone has just injected some of James’s lost coffee straight into his veins because he’s awake and buzzing in an instant. He opens his eyes and goes flying across the room, heart pounding, desperate relief and excitement coursing through him.

“Albus,” he gasps when he reaches the bed. “You’re awake!”

“Well there goes my chance for a nice quiet chat alone with my brother,” James snarks from the other side of the bed, but Scorpius can tell from his smile that he’s not bothered.

Albus, gloriously, smiles too. It’s small and shaky, and he looks absolutely exhausted when he does it, but it’s something, and Scorpius has to resist both the urge to kiss him and burst into tears.

“Shut up, James,” Albus murmurs, then he turns his head towards Scorpius and his smile fades into something small and serious and tightly controlled, like he doesn’t know what will happen if he gives his emotions free rein. “Hi,” he whispers.

Scorpius kneels on the floor beside him and reaches out to brush his fingers gently against Albus’s cheek. “Hello. I... I missed you.”

Albus closes his eyes and gives the smallest nod, barely a twitch of his head. “Yeah...”

Scorpius leans across and presses a kiss into his hair, then he keeps lightly stroking his knuckles down Albus’s cheek and over his jaw as they all sit there in total silence, and Albus seems to drift back to sleep.

Just when Scorpius is thinking that that was the end of the conversation, he looks up to find a pair of piercing emerald eyes fixed on him.

“I thought you were asleep,” he says softly. “You should be resting.”

“I thought I was dead,” Albus whispers. “I... I was sure that I...” He swallows and takes a couple of carefully shallow breaths. “But I’m not.”

“No.” Scorpius trails his fingers off Albus’s face and looks down, spotting where Albus’s fingers are peeping out from beneath the blankets, and he takes hold of Albus’s hand.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” Albus says, fingers pressing against Scorpius’s like he’s tried really hard to squeeze Scorpius’s hand but doesn’t quite have the strength yet. “Not again.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Scorpius says, squeezing back to show he got the message. “I like having you here. And we’ve got so much to do. You’ve got so much to do.”

“Why am I not dead?” Albus asks. “And why do I feel so...” He gives a very small shake of his head, and his fingers relax in Scorpius’s grip. “Being alive hurts now.”

“Are you in a lot of pain?” James asks sharply, sitting up and focusing on the conversation again.

Albus doesn’t look at either of them. “Enough.”

James gets to his feet. “I’ll go and tell someone. They’re talking to Mum and Dad in the office down the hall, maybe I can-“

“That’s where they are,” Albus murmurs, and it sounds enough like relief and understanding that James stops again.

“They’re here,” he says. “They’ve been here all night. The Healers wanted to talk to them so they went out, but I can get them back if you want.” He hovers, halfway between action and inaction, waiting.

“I want to see them,” Albus says softly, but his eyes flicker closed at the same time and it’s several seconds before he goes on. “I’m tired.”

“You sleep,” James tells him, and it’s not an order that Scorpius would have disobeyed if it had been directed at him. “They’ll be here when you wake up next. You’ve got forever to see them.” He reaches down and pats Albus’s foot over the blankets. “I’ll go and tell someone that you’re hurting. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He leaves the room, so it’s just Scorpius, Albus, and Draco who’s fast asleep and oblivious to everything else going on over in the corner by the window.

“Neither of you answered... my question,” Albus whispers after a bit.

Scorpius considers asking which question to buy himself some time, but he already knows, so instead he holds Albus’s hand and strokes the back of it with his thumb.

“She... she was very weak,” he says. “Which helped you. But the main thing, the only thing they can think of to explain it, is that... that maybe she just didn’t mean it. With an Unforgiveable you have to- She didn’t really want to kill you. So she didn’t.”

Albus stares straight up at the ceiling and doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Scorpius says eventually, not really sure what he’s sorry for. Albus doesn’t say anything, and within a minute his breathing has evened out and his eyes have closed and he seems to be asleep again. At that point Scorpius retreats back across the room and curls up against his dad’s side. Draco must be at least a little bit awake, because he opens one eye and lifts his arm to wrap around Scorpius’s shoulders so he can hug him close.

 “Can I have a word with you both?” Harry asks, later that morning. He still looks as pale and shell-shocked as he did when they first got here weeks ago, and now he’s running his hands nervously through his hair on top of all that. He looks a mess. In fact Scorpius knows, thanks to an overheard conversation one night when he couldn’t sleep, that it runs deeper than his physical appearance. Harry’s wounds from the battle, although gone on the surface, are still troubling him. He’s getting near constant headaches that won’t go away unless he rests, which he seems to be incapable of. Scorpius suspects that telling Albus about them will be the solution, because the only people Harry listens to are him and Ginny, but Harry seems to have decided that Albus is still too sick to be troubled with such information.

“If this is some sort of talk about how Scorpius needs to keep his distance from Albus for the good of Albus’s health then you can give up now, Potter,” Draco says, getting to his feet and smoothing his robes down. At his full, magnificent height he makes Harry’s current crumpled, deflated appearance look even more pathetic.

“Nothing like that,” Harry says, and Scorpius spots how serious and sad his expression is. “I thought I’d give you an update on how Albus is.”

“Is it bad?” Scorpius asks, hardly daring to voice the question.

“I was thinking we should all go and get a drink,” Harry suggests. “Then we can talk.”

“Alright.” Scorpius uncurls himself from the chair and holds onto his dad’s shoulder while he stretches his stiff legs. As he does he runs through the two possibilities. The first, most likely option, is that it’s very bad, which is why they’re going to discuss it elsewhere. The second, almost as likely option, is that there’s so much wrong that they’ll need the time having a drink gives them to go through it all. Neither option is good.

As they walk down the corridor Scorpius sticks just behind Harry, watching him and trying to work out what he’s thinking. He also starts running through everything that might be wrong with Albus. Although he doesn’t know much about magical illnesses, he’s done a lot of reading in the last couple of weeks, and he knows of enough conditions now that his list of possibilities is lengthy and excruciating.

But all survivable, he reassures himself. With modern spells and potions and the right care there aren’t many things that aren’t survivable. And if Albus has got to this point then the outcome must be positive at least. No one seems to be worried that he’s about to imminently drop dead anymore, which is something...

“Coffee?” Harry asks when they reach the canteen.

Draco pulls a face. “I think I’ll be alright.”

“Tea, please,” Scorpius says brightly.

“I’ll just be a second.” Harry goes up to get the drinks, and it’s a nice distraction to watch him sign a couple of napkins for the star-struck boy behind the counter.

“Famous Potter,” Draco murmurs to Scorpius. “Can’t even get a cup of coffee without being asked for an autograph.”

“At least they don’t want a photo,” Scorpius replies, looking at the state of Harry’s hair and how exhausted he looks.

“They have some sense then,” Draco says. “Shall we get a table while he catches up with his fans?”

They take the table by the window and Scorpius fiddles with the sugar packets until Harry comes over with the drinks.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

“Oh, don’t apologise,” Draco replies. “Got to keep the fans happy. They say it’s good to maintain a sense of normalcy during troubled times. It’s healthy.”

Harry sighs and sinks into the seat opposite him. “Most of the hospital must have my signature by now.”

“Well don’t sign too many more,” Draco advises. “You’ll ruin your market. Are you really going to drink that?” He leans across to inspects Harry’s coffee. “That’s probably their finest work too...”

“It’s caffeinated,” Harry says. “I don’t care how it tastes.” He slides Scorpius’s tea across the table along with an almost equally full cup of milk. “Albus told me you like it really milky.”

Scorpius nods and gives a happy little wiggle in his seat. “Perfect. That’ll be enough.” He starts decanting the milk into his tea until the cup is almost overflowing, then he very carefully stirs in three packets of sugar.

The waves of disapproval from his dad make him decide to add another packet just to spite him, and he happily licks the stirrer clean once he’s done with it, shooting his dad a bright smile. This is the best he’s felt in weeks, light and buoyant. It’ll probably only last until Harry starts talking, but it’s nice. It’s even nicer when his dad rolls his eyes and smiles back with a despairing shake of his head.

Harry cracks a smile too, and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Albus is awake,” he says, when he sets the cup back down on the table.

Scorpius’s smile widens into a grin. “He is.”

“Which is good,” Harry goes on, with a relieved exhalation. “And it means we can consider the future.” He takes another sip of his coffee, and his smile wilts a little at the edges. “We talked to the Healers this morning and they’ve confirmed again that the Killing Curse that hit Albus didn’t have full intent behind it, which, as already we knew, is an almost unique condition-“

“The Potter boys who lived,” Draco says, but Harry shakes his head.

“It’s actually quite a different situation. The one that hit me had the full intent behind it, and I remain the only person to survive that... No, there’s a small handful of people around the world who have survived a Killing Curse like the one Albus suffered, and the good news is that most of them lead healthy, fulfilling lives.”

“What’s the bad news?” Scorpius asks.

Harry trails a stirrer across the surface of his coffee. “It’s not the most robust existence. Albus is... he’s fragile now. The curse has left him in an unstable state where the smallest thing could kill him. It could be tripping down a couple of stairs or falling off a broom. It might be getting hit by a Bludger, or a stray Stunning Spell. The sort of thing that most of us would easily recover from. It could be the end of him. So going forward we need to be careful. We’ll need to look after him, and we’ll need to make sure he looks after himself.”

“Can he still fly?” Scorpius asks. “And we can’t protect him from everything. He’s Albus. He likes adrenaline, and danger.”

“He won’t be able to fly,” Harry says. “And adrenaline and danger are the worst possible things for him now. He should be fine as long as he stays safe and sensible.”

“That doesn’t sound like Albus.”

Harry’s shoulders slump. “I know that. That’s why I wanted to talk to you both. He loves you. He trusts you. I think he’ll listen to you. I’m almost certain he’ll be more likely to listen to one of you than he will me. So what we need to do is to work together, because I’m not expecting this to be easy. But we have to do it. He has to understand that if this doesn’t happen, then...”

“Then we might lose him again,” Scorpius murmurs.

“Exactly,” Harry says.

There’s a long few seconds of silence, in which Scorpius pokes miserably at his discarded teabag with the end of his stirrer.

“He won’t accept not being able to fly,” Draco says finally, breaking the silence.

Scorpius glances at him in surprise. Obviously it’s true, but he didn’t expect his dad to be the one to say it.

Harry runs a hand through his hair. “He’s going to have to. Flying is non-negotiable.” He shakes his head. “It’s high stress, high intensity, high adrenaline. And it’s dangerous because of the height and speed... it’s everything he needs to avoid.”

“I...” Scorpius pauses, looking down at his hands. “I agree with both of you. He shouldn’t be doing it, but he won’t stop. It’s important to him. It’s all he had for years. That and-“ He swallows instead of saying Delphi’s name. “I don’t know what we do to compromise – I don’t know if there’s a compromise he’d even accept – but we’re going to have to find something.” He looks up at Harry. “He chose to come back to us. We have to make it worth it. It’s going to be worth it. He’s going to have flying in his life somehow, some way, if he wants it. I can’t accept a flat-out no, because he certainly won’t.”

There’s another stretch of silence when he stops talking, in which his dad watches him thoughtfully and Harry studies his coffee like he’s hoping it’ll give him an answer to the problem.

“I think we should talk to him,” Scorpius says finally. “We should at least find out what he wants. Maybe he doesn’t want to fly anymore. He was going to walk away from the league after all.”

“If we talk to him without a plan, it’ll turn into an argument,” Harry says. “I don’t want to fight with him anymore.”

“Not everything has to be a fight,” Draco says. “Make it a conversation.”

Harry’s shoulders slump. “Conversation has never been mine and Albus’s strong point.”

“Which is why you asked us to help,” Scorpius points out. “We can talk to him, or Ginny, or James. Even Lily, once he’s well enough to get to a Floo. It doesn’t have to be you and it doesn’t have to be a confrontation. We can work together on this.”

Harry considers for a moment before nodding. “Alright. A conversation. We’ll try it.”

“Honesty is a good start,” Draco suggests. “Don’t try and hide the truth from him. Tell him everything and let him make his own decisions. He is an adult, after all.”

“He is,” Harry agrees. “He’s grown up a lot in seven years. Changed a lot.”

“I think we all have,” Scorpius says softly.

Draco nods, and Harry bows his head. There’s a beat of quiet during which the coffee machine whirs away behind them and other conversations buzz on. Then Harry adjusts his glasses.

“There’s something else I need to talk to you about too, before we go back.”

They both look at him expectantly, and he downs his coffee and sets the mug on the table before he looks between them both.

“We... need to bury Delphi’s body.”

 “I think the plan is to go and do it tomorrow,” Scorpius says. He’s sitting cross-legged on Albus’s bed, down by Albus’s feet. For the first time since he woke up, Albus is propped up against his pillows, not quite sitting but it’s a good start.

He’s messing with his blankets and clearly listening to Scorpius, but he hasn’t said anything yet. His expression is unreadable: a tiny little frown that could mean nothing or it could mean everything.

“I think our dads are going to do it,” Scorpius goes on. “Harry didn’t want to do it on his own so he asked my dad to go with him.”

“And I’m stuck here,” Albus murmurs, not looking up from his blankets. “So I can’t go with them...”

Scorpius wraps his fingers round his ankles and studies Albus. “Would you have wanted to go?”

Albus lifts his gaze and gives a tiny nod. “I...” He hesitates. “I think it would have helped.”

“It would have been closure,” Scorpius interprets.

Albus shrugs, just a little twitch of his shoulders. “It’s my fault that she’s... the least I can do is go and say goodbye. She was my best friend. Even if it was a lie, it still felt true. And in the end she couldn’t...” He swallows and hangs his head, his hair falling around his face, hiding it from view. “I should have been able to save her. If she cared enough about me not to kill me. I should have been enough, but I wasn’t.”

Scorpius lays a hand over the lump in the blanket where Albus’s foot is. “It wasn’t your fault, Albus. I promise. You were far better to her than she ever was to you. You gave her every chance, for years and at the end. Telling someone you don’t hate them isn’t an act of violence. The fact that she got to the point where that killed her was her fault, not yours. You have to understand that.”

Albus looks at him. “Would you go with them?”

“What do you mean?”

Albus draws in a careful breath, that must not quite be careful enough because he lifts his hand to his chest and screws his face up in pain. Scorpius is about to start panicking, or at least considering calling for help, when Albus steadies himself enough to talk.

“I mean... would you go with our dads to bury Delphi?”

Scorpius picks at a hole in the toe of his sock. He’d been glad he hadn’t been asked to go. He doesn’t want to see her again. He certainly doesn’t want to say goodbye or anything. He doesn’t want to be responsible for giving her a formal burial that he doesn’t really think she deserves. He’s still got the scars on his chest from where she slashed him open. There are times when his whole body tightens up and he finds it difficult to move, a residual effect from the Cruciatus Curses that she used on him. And whether she meant to kill Albus or not, the fact that she nearly succeeded is constantly at the forefront of his mind right now. The last thing on earth that he wants to do is go and help bury her.

“You can say no,” Albus says softly. “I understand. The things she did to you were terrible, and I know that she doesn’t really deserve to-“

“I’ll go,” Scorpius says, looking up from the hole in his sock and gathering all his courage together. “It’s important to you.”

“But if it’s going to be difficult for you-“

Scorpius pushes a brave smile onto his face. “I’ll have my dad and your dad there to help. I’ll be okay.”

“You really don’t have to-“

“Albus.” Albus stops talking and Scorpius shifts onto his knees and crawls up the bed, carefully avoiding putting his weight on any of Albus’s limbs. “I want to. For you.”

Albus meets his eyes. “Are you completely sure it’s okay?”

Scorpius looks right back at him. “Completely.” Then he leans down and brushes a kiss to Albus’s lips.

And that’s how he comes to be standing in a graveyard on a warm Thursday afternoon with his dad and Harry, looking down at the plain black coffin lying at the bottom of the freshly dug grave in front of them.

The sun is streaming through the big oak tree behind them, dappling the ground. This feels like too nice a place for her to be buried, and Scorpius briefly wonders where the bodies from the war are buried – the Death Eaters, not the Fallen Fifty. But then he thinks about Albus coming here to what’s about to become an unmarked piece of turfed ground under a big oak tree, and saying his goodbyes. Graves are more for the living than the dead anyway, and it seems cruel to punish Albus even more for caring about her. He doesn’t deserve to have to go to some desolate field and be surrounded by the names of all those horrible people when he visits her, even if it would be more appropriate.

“Let’s get this over with,” Draco says, drawing his wand.

“Wait.” Scorpius reaches out and catches his wrist. “I... I think we should say something. Albus would want us to say something...” He trails off looking at the other two, who both have their wands drawn and are ready to finish this so they can go home and forget about it. Scorpius wants to forget about it too, but he knows that Albus wouldn’t be able to even if he wanted to.

“Go on then,” Harry says after a second, tucking his wand away and nodding at Scorpius.

Scorpius takes a step back. “What? Me? No, I-I don’t know what to-“ He swallows. He’s here representing Albus. If anyone’s going to talk it has to be him. “Okay. Okay I’ll- I’ll try.”

His dad pockets his wand too, and they both stand there with their hands clasped, Harry watching Scorpius, Draco looking down at the coffin. A gentle breeze stirs the tree overhead, and a single dry leaf blows down onto the black wood at the bottom of the hole. Scorpius takes a breath.

“The things you did were terrible,” he says, addressing Delphi like she can hear him – it’s the way he always talks to his mum too, when he visits her grave. “They were unforgivable. You hurt all of us, you hurt Albus most of all, and you enjoyed every second of it. I know that your parents were who they were, and that probably had everything to do with it. Maybe in a different life you would have been a better person, a normal person, who could believe in love and friendship. But you didn’t have a different life, you had this one, and you had plenty of chances – you had someone who cared about you, a lot; more than you ever understood. And maybe it did have some sort of impact on you. You couldn’t kill him after all. But that last second of your life isn’t enough to redefine you. Not for me.

“I don’t think you deserve our time or our words, and you certainly don’t deserve Albus’s tears. But you’re going to get them because he does care about you, and I hope that wherever you are now you understand that, and I hope that maybe you couldn’t kill him because the most deep, inner part of you, the part that didn’t mean that spell, is the truest part of you. I hope that part knew in some way how he felt about you, and felt the same in return. I don’t believe it, but I hope it. For Albus’s sake.”

He bends down and picks up a handful of the freshly dug earth at the foot of the grave, which he tosses on top of the coffin. “Goodbye, Delphi. And good riddance.”

“Good riddance,” Harry echoes, drawing his wand and starting to shovel the earth into the grave.

“Good riddance,” Draco repeats as he does the same.

Scorpius brushes the earth off his hands and leaves them to it. He walks away across the graveyard, which is set in a sort of walled off paddock beside the crumbling ruin of a church. It’s the most beautiful day, and the countryside surrounding the graveyard is glowing with late summer sunshine. The crops are growing ripe, golden wheat and bright yellow rape spread off into the distance as far as the eye can see.

He climbs the stile over the stone wall that’s thick with lichen and sinks down into the grass verge that borders the footpath through the fields. Tiny little wildflowers stud the long grasses like a galaxy of brightly coloured flowers. He desperately wishes that Albus could be here, that he wasn’t alone right now, but no. It’s just him and the sunshine and the breeze.

He’s still sitting there, back against the wall, twisting a blade of grass between his fingers, when it finally hits him. Delphi is gone forever. She can’t hurt them anymore. The memories can’t do any more damage than they already have. They can both survive this, and everything is going to be okay now. They’re free.

He sits among the grass and the wildflowers, while somewhere in the distance Harry and Draco bury Delphi in the ground, and he buries his face in his knees and cries until it’s time to go home.

 “Since we’re wizards, can’t we just find a way to make walking completely unnecessary?” Albus asks. “Surely the Department of Mysteries can research that.“ It’s a couple of weeks since he first woke up, and he’s discovering for the first time that walking is painful, exhausting, and generally difficult. He’d really rather not be doing it. Which is why his mum has bribed him with coffee if he can make it to the end of the corridor and back – he’s easily won.

Ginny laughs and adjusts her grip on his arm. “I’m sure if you really never wanted to walk again you could figure it out very quickly. Especially between you and Scorpius. But I’m not sure I’d advise it. You wouldn’t get your coffee for a start.”

Albus sighs and glances back down the corridor. They’re not even halfway there yet and his legs are aching. He wants to lie down right here on the floor and sleep for a week. He should be doing better than this. He’s supposed to be an athlete. Except of course he’s not anymore. Now he’s just a former athlete. He stops dead on the spot, staring down at his feet.

“Are you okay?” His mum asks, giving his arm a squeeze.

There are a couple of chairs leaning against the wall a few steps further down the corridor. Maybe ten. Ten is a lot, but it’s significantly closer to his goal.

“Can we have a rest?” He asks.

“I think that would be alright,” his mum says gently.

The last ten steps take a painful minute and a half, and when he gets to the chair he collapses into it, legs trembling, face buried in his hands as he tries to catch his breath. His mum sits down beside him and he curls up against her side while she strokes his hair.

“You’re doing really well,” she murmurs. “I’m proud of you.”

He interleaves his fingers in his lap and closes his eyes. “Mum...”

She brushes a couple of tufts of his hair into place. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“How long has dad been trying to tell me that I can’t fly anymore?” He opens his eyes and looks up at her.

She looks down at him for a moment, then she shifts in her seat so she can look at him properly, no longer holding him against her side but still keeping a hand on his shoulder. “The Healers talked to us about it on the day after you woke up. He wanted to tell you himself, but he was nervous about how you’d react, so he kept putting it off.”

“He thought I’d shout at him.”

“He expected that you wouldn’t take it very well. It’s a big thing to be told. But it was okay, wasn’t it?” She looks at him, and he shrugs.

“I didn’t really feel up to arguing... or saying anything. I don’t...” He swallows. “I don’t feel up to much at all at the moment. Like the walking and everything... I just want to sleep, and-“ He suddenly feels very tearful. He’s coming apart at the seams. Parts of him have been torn into irreparable pieces, and he’s never going to be the same again. He’s never going to have his life back. He’s never going to fly again. Delphi may not have killed him but what she did is almost worse because now he’s here, in his own mind and body, but nothing is ever going to be the same.

“I hate this,” he says in a choked whisper, and as he squeezes his eyes tight shut a couple of tears dribble down his cheeks, and he curls back up against his mum’s side and tries to hide his face from her.

She gathers him into her arms and goes back to stroking his hair. “Sweetheart,” she murmurs. “I know. It’s so hard, but you’re doing so well.“

“I don’t think I am,” he sobs. “I think I’m broken. I can’t walk. I’ll never be able to fly. I’m supposed to be- I just want to fly. I-I don’t know what I’m meant to be if I can’t. I don’t know who I am.”

“No,” she says fiercely. “You’re not broken. You’re completely normal. You’re human, and you’re hurting. A bit of your identity’s been taken away, hasn’t it? But we’re still here and we still love you, and we’re going to help you find out what comes next whenever you’re ready to do that. Okay?” She squeezes him tight and kisses the top of his head. “I promise you’re not broken.”

“There’s never been anything else,” he whispers, and it’s true. This is what he was afraid of before, when he was thinking about walking away from the league. It made his life feel like a big, empty space, and he had no idea what to do to fill it. He was always so rubbish at school, but he felt at home in the air and he was so good at flying. It felt right. And now he’s faced with an eternity of empty space and still no options for filling it.

“I told your dad that we’d all need to find a compromise,” his mum says. “We all talked about this. I don’t think any of us thought that just walking away from flying forever would be something that you would be willing to do.” She wipes a tear off his cheek and kisses the top of his head again. “I think it’s something for you to think about. Where can we meet in the middle here? I know that we can make suggestions, but maybe you can propose something that you’d be happy with.”

Albus sniffs. “Something that’s not flying but is also not not flying?”

She smiles. “Exactly. Something exactly like that.”

Albus wipes his face on his sleeve. “It’ll give me something to think about while I’m lying in bed, I suppose. Or while I’m practicing walking.” He draws in a shuddering breath and tries to scrub his face dry with his sleeve. “Sorry for crying all over you.”

“I’m your mum,” she says. “I’m here to be cried on. I’m just sorry that you’re unhappy.”

“It’s just difficult,” he murmurs. “To accept that everything’s different now. But I don’t really have a choice. If I want to be alive, which I definitely do, then... this is it. No more flying, and lots of awful walking practice. Speaking of which.” He lifts his head and looks down the corridor. “If I want coffee before the middle of the night we should probably get going.”

He hauls himself up out of the chair and his mum hovers beside him.

“We can rest for longer if you want. It’s okay.”

He shakes his head. “I’m never not going to be exhausted. We might as well get this over with.”

 “They’re talking about me going home,” Albus says one morning a couple of weeks later. He and Scorpius are sitting on top of his blankets playing a game of Muggle Snap – they discovered to their peril that Exploding Snap and blankets don’t really mix well; Albus had to have all his bedding changed once the first lot were extinguished, and James’s favourite t-shirt will never be the same again.

“So I heard,” Scorpius says, dropping a card onto the pile between them. “Are you excited?”

“Excited to get out of here,” Albus says, adding a card of his own to the pile. “But...”

Scorpius glances up from his cards. “But?”

Albus shrugs. “I don’t know. I am excited. It’ll be nice to sleep in my own bed again.”

Scorpius scrutinises him briefly, then deals his next card onto the pile. “I’ll be happy to leave so I don’t have to eat the hospital food anymore. I miss my dad’s cooking.” He sighs happily at the thought. “And no more fish ever. I’m going to get Dad to cook us a feast, which you’d obviously be invited to, but I can’t guarantee I won’t have eaten everything by the time you arrive.”

Albus smiles, and it’s the small, restrained smile that means there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

“Go on,” Scorpius says. “And you haven’t played your next card yet.”

Albus puts his next card down and Scorpius puts his on top immediately. He expects it to be a match. It’s not. The stack of cards between them is getting messier and bigger by the second. One of them has to win at some point or they’ll run out of cards.

“Is your dad’s cooking a deal breaker?” Albus asks, messing with the corner of one of the three cards he’s still holding.

Scorpius frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

He puffs his cheeks out and shrugs. “I don’t know... I mean, would you still be excited for us all to leave if you knew your dad wouldn’t be able to cook for you all the time?”

Scorpius’s frown deepens into confusion. “Is there something he hasn’t told me? Is he going on strike?”

Albus releases all the air held in his cheeks and his shoulders slump. “No, I- No. What I’m trying to say is...” He runs a hand through his hair, then he looks at Scorpius. “When I get out of here... how would you feel about maybe moving in with me?” He drops his gaze back to the cards, drops his next one onto the pile and clamps his hand down on top of all the cards. “Snap.”

Scorpius doesn’t move an inch. He’s still staring at Albus, trying to comprehend the question that Albus just asked him. It’s not as if they haven’t talked about it before, but that was different. That was before, it felt like a promise for the future. This feels serious and real.

Albus swallows and scoops all of the cards towards him, pushing a shaky smile onto his face. “I-I suppose I won that round.”

“Ask me that question again,” Scorpius says.

Albus bows his head and starts shuffling the cards. “It was stupid. Forget I asked.”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I don’t think I can just forget that you asked me to move in with you again, with a deadline, and... That’s pretty big, Albus.”

Albus keeps shuffling the cards, his hair hanging around his face. He’s blushed red now, all the way to his ears – his blush is the most Weasley thing about him, and Scorpius loves it.

Scorpius sighs. “Alright. So I’m just going to assume that you hadn’t really planned to ask that, but since you did ask, you must have been thinking about it for a while. I know you, Albus.” He reaches across and gently takes the cards from Albus’s hands. Albus’s fingers are trembling, and Scorpius takes hold of them and gives them a light squeeze. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Albus draws in a shaky breath and stares at their interlinked hands. “I’m scared... of going home. I don’t really want to be on my own. I keep thinking about how big it is, and how far it is from anywhere, and about all the stairs, and how lonely it’ll be. I never spent much time there before but now I have nowhere else to go, so...” He resettles himself on the bed and lets go of one of Scorpius’s hands so he can fiddle with the pile of cards. “I know I could just move in with my parents for a couple of months and then it would be fine, but... The idea of moving in with them is worse. I know it would probably be okay now, but I can’t remember a time when I was happy there. I think I’d get sick of them, and we’d fight, and I don’t want to do that. I want be in my own house, in my own bed, I just don’t want to be there alone.”

He lets go of Scorpius’s other hand too, so he can pick up the cards and shuffle them. He drops them all a couple of times because his hands are still unsteady and his reactions are still slow, and his face screws up with frustration but he doesn’t swear or anything. He just keeps talking.

“I know we talked about it, before all this happened. And I know it wasn’t that serious – I mean it was maybe a bit serious – but it was more that I liked the nights we spent together so much. It’s nice to wake up next to you. I like having you around. It was too soon last time I asked and I know it’s too soon now, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s the perfect solution to my problems, which doesn’t mean that it’s the right thing to do for you, but I thought I should say it anyway. So I suppose it’s an impulsive question...”

“But it’s not that impulsive because you’ve been thinking about it for weeks,” Scorpius says.

Albus nods. “Right.” He shuffles the cards one more time, then starts dealing them out for another game. Scorpius plays along, happy to have something to do with his hands while he talks.

“I’ve been thinking for years about where I’d go if I wasn’t living with Dad,” he says. “I like being at home, and it’s been safe. I never really thought that I’d find somewhere that would take me. They probably would now I suppose... but I do think I understand about it being scary to live alone. You’ve seen what happens with those pains I sometimes get now. And it would be lonely. It’s nice to have someone to come home to. It would be nice to come home to you.”

A pink tinge spreads across Albus’s cheeks and he starts playing his cards faster. They trade cards in silence for a few seconds before Scorpius speaks again.

“I’ll talk to my dad about it. He’s the person I’d be leaving behind. I don’t want to just abandon him. But I can’t deny that the idea of waking up next to you every day is an appealing one...”

Albus smiles. “It would make getting up in the morning to go to your shiny new job a lot harder.”

“That would depend which I’d find more interesting,” Scorpius says. “You in my bed, or the Department of Mysteries.”

Albus shakes his head. “I don’t think I can compete there.”

Scorpius gives a small shrug and a smile. “Maybe we’ll have to find out when they let you go home.” He drops a card onto the pile and slams his hand down on top of it. “Snap.”

 The next day is one of the rare evenings when neither Scorpius nor Draco is at the hospital. The Potters are all there, and Ginny insisted that Scorpius should spend the night at home, sleep in a proper bed, and come back well-rested the next day. Albus had been asleep, so with no one around to defend him, Scorpius had agreed to head home, at least for a bit.

It’s turned out to be a great decision. His dad has a delicious-looking casserole in the oven, and the smells are wafting through the whole house. They’re killing the time while they wait for it to be ready by making cupcakes that they might take to the hospital in the morning, if they haven’t eaten them all before then.

Scorpius leans against the counter and watches his dad pour cake batter into cupcake cases while he licks a batter-covered spoon.

“Albus asked me to move in with him,” he says. He’s been planning to say it all evening, worrying about when and how he would drop it into the conversation. Why it’s come out now, he’s not sure. It just feels like a good moment.

His dad doesn’t even glance up from what he’s doing. “Finally. Frankly, I’m stunned it took this long. Have you decided when you’re doing it?”

Scorpius frowns at his dad. “I’m not.”

That makes Draco stop and look up. “You’re... not?” He shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

Scorpius sighs and dumps the spoon in the sink. “I’m not not moving in with him. I just hadn’t said yes yet. I wanted to talk to you about it first.”

“I don’t know why. I have no objections. Did you think I’d have a problem with it?”

Scorpius leans his back against the counter and crosses one arm across his chest. “No. I didn’t. But I still... Thought I should check.” He glances at his dad. “I didn’t want to just abandon you without asking. I didn’t want you to think that I didn’t want to be here.”

“Oh,” his dad says softly. He pauses, looking at Scorpius, then he gestures to the cakes. “I’m going to get these in the oven then we’ll talk.”

“Okay,” Scorpius says in a very small voice.

He stands and watches while his dad finishes filling the cupcake cases, nerves buzzing away inside him. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt, and when his dad hands him the empty bowl and spatula to lick clean, he’s more than happy to accept, even though the batter makes him feel a little bit queasy and he quickly puts everything in the sink and starts washing up. His dad puts the cakes in the oven, checks the casserole, then comes and leans next to him.

“I’ve always known that you were going to leave eventually,” Draco says. “It’s one of the unfortunate hazards of parenting. You spend years raising a child, who you love, and after investing all that time and energy you have to watch them grow up, move out, and start their own life. It’s both the most rewarding and hardest thing in the world.” He pauses for a second, then he draws his wand and starts drying up the things that Scorpius has washed.

“I’m actually quite pleased that you’re going to leave, and not because I don’t like having you around – I do, I promise I do. But if you’re leaving now it’s because the world has finally woken up to the fact that you deserve everything. This should have happened a long time ago, but it’s better late than never, and now you’ve got your dream job, a man who loves you, and you’re going to go and start your new life. It’s everything you deserve, and I’m happy for you. And yes, I’ll miss you, but that doesn’t for a second mean that you shouldn’t go. Okay?”

Scorpius puts the last wooden spoon on the side and stares down at the iridescent soap bubbles shining in the basin. He feels a little bit like he’s going to cry, and he doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods.

“You do want to move in with him, don’t you?” His dad asks, a hint of concern in his voice. “Because if you don’t want to, then-“

“I do,” Scorpius says, and his voice cracks. “I really do. I-“ A tear dribbles down his cheek and he wipes it away on his sleeve. “I don’t know why I’m crying. This is stupid. I-I’m going to miss you.” His shoulders shake with sobs and he buries his face in his hands.

His dad tuts and dries his hands before drawing him into a tight hug. “Don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily. You can take the boy out of the Manor but you can’t take the Manor out of the boy. And I’ll be around. I’ll have to come and check that you’re looking after each other and not getting up to too much trouble. And if I bring cake you won’t have any choice but to let me in, will you?” He brushes his fingers through Scorpius’s hair, and Scorpius lifts his chin to look at him.

“Can we come round for dinner still?”

Draco nods. “Every day if you want. You can stay whenever you like. Both of you can. There’ll always be a home for you both here, together or apart. Unless of course he breaks your heart, in which case he can go to his own parents’ house and I’ll be able to start duelling Harry again.”

Scorpius gives a squelchy little laugh and wipes his nose on his sleeve. “You don’t have to stop duelling Harry on our account. I think Albus finds it entertaining.”

Draco summons a handkerchief from thin air and hands it to Scorpius. “I’m glad to be a source of amusement to you both.”

Scorpius blows his nose and mops himself up. “Sorry for crying on you.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” his dad says briskly. “It could be a lot worse. I still remember when you used to throw up on me.”

Scorpius pulls a face. “That’s gross.”

“You’re telling me.” Draco tucks his wand back into his pocket. “Now, shall we have some dinner? Then I think we should both have an early night. It’s been an exhausting time, and it’s not about to get any easier with you moving and starting a new job, and Albus coming out of hospital.”

“We can’t go to bed that early. We have to have a midnight feast in the library so we can drink hot chocolate and eat those cakes,” Scorpius says, pulling a couple of plates out of the cupboard.

Draco groans. “Well can we at least have a pre-midnight feast nap? I’m too old for staying up that late.”

Scorpius sighs with mock reluctance. “I suppose so...”

In the end they have their cupcakes and hot chocolate at 8pm, and then Scorpius passes out on the sofa. His dad must have carried him to bed, because when he wakes he’s tucked up in his four poster, it’s the middle of the next day, and bright summer sunshine is streaming in through the window. At least this way, he reasons, he hasn’t had chance to eat too many of the cupcakes before he gets to the hospital...

 The first day of Albus being home from hospital is mostly devoted to Scorpius moving in. They unpack suitcases and at least attempt to put stuff away where it should be, then they order pizza and Albus falls asleep on the sofa before he’s managed to eat any. The second day they spend curled up in bed, warm in a patch of late summer sunshine streaming in through the curtains that neither of them has the energy or inclination to close. On the third day, Scorpius goes out to get groceries and Harry comes round to visit Albus.

Albus is sitting on the windowsill in the bedroom, gazing out over the city when Harry arrives. Harry knocks and hovers in the doorway until Albus gestures for him to come in and join him.

“This is a nice view,” Harry says, sitting on the ledge next to Albus and peering outside.

Albus nods. “I got this place because I worked out that if I flew in a straight line from this window, all the way across the hills, I’d get to Ottery St Catchpole in about half an hour.” He glances at his dad. “I only did it a couple of times, but... it was always nice to know that I knew where home was.”

Harry blinks a couple of times and frowns out of the window. “I didn’t know that.”

“I was thinking about you,” Albus says. “Almost every day for a long time. I’d write Mum letters that I never dared send. I’d dream about getting on my broom and flying home. I missed you. All of you.”

“But you don’t have to miss us anymore.” Harry looks at him. “You can come home whenever you like. Or not, if you don’t want to. And we can come here. When you want us, we’ll come.”

Albus nods and gives his dad a little smile. “I know. Thank you.”

“In fact, I was going to invite you both round for lunch on Sunday.” He flashes Albus an upbeat, hopeful grin and clasps his hands together. “What do you think?”

Albus laughs. “Draco already invited us to the Manor for lunch.”

Harry’s face falls, and it’s so extreme and comical that Albus laughs again.

“Don’t look so upset, Dad. I’m not rejecting you for Draco. No, we thought that maybe we should host everyone here. You and Mum and James and Draco. This place has a massive kitchen, and I’ve never really used it to cook for anyone else other than myself... I thought it would be nice to have a party.“

Harry looks considerably more happy. “That’s an excellent idea. Can I bring a dessert?”

Albus grins at him. “I’m sure Scorpius won’t object to that, and if he’s happy then I am too. Draco’s bringing wine, I think.”

Harry pulls a face. “Tell him not to be too pretentious about it.”

Albus laughs. “I’ll try. He might take some convincing...” He pauses, the smile fading from his face, and Harry looks at him with sharp scrutiny.

“You didn’t just invite me here to talk about Sunday lunch, did you?”

Albus shakes his head. “Not exactly.“ He gets to his feet, and Harry stands up too. For a moment Albus thinks his dad is going to try and steady him, but thankfully Harry keeps his hands screwed up in his pockets, and Albus is able to walk slowly across the room on his own.

“A while ago I was talking to Mum about the fact that I can’t fly anymore, and she told me I should find a compromise. Something I can do instead that isn’t flying but will make me happy. I’ve thought of one, and I want to run it by you.” He picks up a heavy book from his bedside table and turns back to his dad, holding it up. “This is it.”

Harry frowns. “A book?”

Albus nods and starts walking back towards him. “The Department of Magical Games and Sports Handbook of Regulations, Volume 13, Page 163, Section 79.” He hands the book to his dad and gives him a nod to open it.

Frowning, Harry does, and when he finds the page he freezes. “Albus, this is-“

“Yes it is. I want to keep the league open. That’s my compromise.”

Harry swallows. “That’s not a-“

“Hear me out.”

Harry hesitates for a second, then he nods. “Go on then.”

“Section 79.3 lists the reasons why our league was banned... it’s on the next page if you want to-“ Albus gestures to the book and waits until Harry has turned the page before he plunges on. “As you can see, it’s really just the Fiendfyre. That’s the principal problem. There are also the multiple instances of property damage and trespassing but those come against league management, not against the activity itself – Scorpius checked – so if we reformed under new management, then... then it would just be the fire.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair. “What about the financial irregularities? And the numerous health and safety infractions? You experienced those for yourself, Albus. The league is a mess, and not just because of what Delphi did.”

“The finances were all down to Delphi,” Albus says. “I know because Scorpius went through them with Draco. And she’s... well, she’s gone now, so that’s not a problem. And I fully intend to make the league a safe place to race. Trust me. I talked to the Healer who was fixing my shoulder while I was in hospital. She’s an expert in Fiendfyre burns, and she gave me some contacts who I’ve already been talking to. Did you know that hospital is really boring, Dad? I had to do something to liven it up.”

Harry shakes his head and stares down at the pages in front of him. “Okay. Let’s say all this is possible-“

“It is.”

“What do you do next?”

Albus takes a breath and nods. “Right. I talk to a couple of the other racers, people I trust, the sort of people who’d be good at running this sort of thing, and then we petition the Department of Magical Games and Sports to let us form a league. I suppose it’s less about saving what we had before and more about starting something new that isn’t going to get shut down. And then after that, once we get it approved, we run it...”

Harry sighs and closes the book. “Alright. So where do I come into all this?”

“We’ll need advice from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – that’s you – and cooperation while we’re petitioning to form a league. And I suppose endorsement for the league from Harry Potter wouldn’t go amiss.” Albus flashes his dad what’s meant to be a winning smile but it comes out weak and shaky. “I know what I’m doing, Dad. I’ve thought about this. Honestly, it’s the only thing I can imagine myself doing that isn’t flying...”

Harry sighs and scratches the bridge of his nose. “And if I don’t agree to help?”

Albus looks down at his feet. “I don’t have another compromise to suggest,” he says softly. “I don’t know what else I’m meant to do if I can’t fly. The league has been my life for years, and I thought I could walk away from it but if I can’t at least keep flying then I don’t think I can. This is it, Dad. This is my suggestion.”

Harry looks at him for a few seconds, then he glances down as he opens the book again. “What page did you say it is?”

Albus twists his hands together behind his back and crosses his fingers. “163.”

“Let’s go downstairs and get a coffee while we talk about this properly.”

Albus nods. “Okay. Scorpius will be back soon. He’s getting biscuits.”

Harry flips through the book. “I get the feeling we’re going to need them.”

Albus takes a shaky breath, trying to keep himself calm. He grins at his dad, a small spark of hope kindling inside him.

 The day Scorpius goes back to work is one of the first times Albus ventures out on his own. He doesn’t have time to sit around panicking about it, and he’s glad about that. He’s not sure he would have made it out if he’d had the time to think.

Once Scorpius has gone, he finishes his breakfast, does the dishes, then goes out of the front of the house onto the quiet street and flags down the Knight Bus. It’s frustrating that so many of the normal ways of travelling are banned for him now – flying is out, Apparating could kill him instantly so that’s out too, even the Floo will take a while to work up to – but at least there’s this one, even if it does make him feel sick. He doesn’t really see how it’s any safer than flying, but he’s done arguing about that, so he climbs up the steps of the bus, hands over his Sickles, and sits in a seat at the back.

The bus isn’t too busy at 10am on a Monday morning, but they still have to make a few stops before they get to Cardiff. They weave down a congested road in London, squeezing between the cars like the bus is no bigger than a motorbike. After that they zoom along a coastal road, and Albus stares out at the sea, which gleams jewel bright under the low autumn sun. Next they’re driving haphazardly down a winding country road, making hedges and farmhouses and even the odd sheep jump out of their way as they roll past. Then, finally, Albus looks out of the window and recognises the quiet back street in Cardiff that’s just round the corner from the training ground.

He gets to his feet, thanks the driver, and hurries off the bus. It’s a relief to be back on solid ground, and for a couple of minutes he stands and leans against a brick wall with his eyes closed while he waits for the world to stop spinning. The day he gets the all clear to travel by Floo can’t come soon enough.

Once he’s got his land legs back, he sets off slowly down the street that skirts the edge of the training ground. Now he’s arrived, he feels an awful lot more anxious about being back. Last time he was here was that final day with Delphi, when she’d taken him into the office and made a last ditch attempt to get him on her side. Maybe if he’d done a better job of playing along things would have turned out differently. Maybe all the plans would have worked out. Maybe she’d be alive and in prison instead of dead, and he’d still be able to fly, and-

He stops and buries his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut while he tries to clear his head. No. He’s not going to think about that. Not today. Delphi doesn’t get to be part of his thinking ever again. If he’s going to be around the league for the foreseeable future then he’s going to have to learn to block her out. This is bigger than her, it’s his life, and he’s going to live it freely.

He smooths his fingers through his hair, controls his breathing, and sets off walking once more towards the front gate. Purpose, and the strength that he’s spent months building back up, get him there in a couple of minutes, and he stands outside, staring at the familiar shabby brickwork, peeling paint, and faded sign. Someone has sprayed graffiti over one of the walls by the entrance, the gate is padlocked at the moment, which makes it look like the place is derelict.

Of course it’s meant to look like that, but that doesn’t mean it’s nice. It’s even worse that Albus knows the place looks just as bad inside. The dereliction isn’t just for show. Now the league’s as good as gone, the Department of Magical Games and Sports having swept in during the aftermath of everything that happened in Godric’s Hollow to shut it down once and for all, this ground has been deserted. The racers have been scattered to the winds.

Albus knows of a couple who’ve gone to Europe, one or two who’ve moved onto the legal time trial circuit, and others who’ve just given up. It’s sad, and this place feels dead, like all the spirit’s been sucked out of it. But now they’re going to breathe life back into it. If there’s someone who understands that life is never hopeless then it’s Albus.

He draws his wand and taps it on the padlock, which rattles, and the chain comes free in his hand. He slings it over his shoulder and is about to push the gates open when he hears someone calling behind him.

“Hey! Sev!”

He turns round and smiles as he sees Gareth crossing the road behind him, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

“Hi!” He calls back.

“How are you?” Gareth asks, removing his hands from his pocket and clasping Albus’s hand then patting him on the back.

“Alive,” Albus grins. “You?”

Gareth nods at the gates. “Missing this place. How come you wanted to meet here?”

Albus swings the gate open. “I thought it would be appropriate. I’ve got a proposal for you.”

“I’m all ears,” Gareth says, swinging the other gate open and following Albus onto the grounds.

“Do you remember the day when Scorpius first came to try and shut us down?”

Gareth nods. “Vividly.”

“And I promised I wouldn’t let him?”

“It wasn’t a promise you could keep. But I think we all knew you only said that so we’d let you go and talk to him.”

Albus feels his cheeks heat up and tries to ignore that comment. “Well, actually it’s a promise that I can keep. I’m going to get the league started again, and I was wondering if you would help me. I’ll need other people too – I was thinking about Jamal, he always seemed smart.”

Gareth nods. “He is. He was meant to go to one of those fancy Muggle universities. But Sev, starting the league up again is impossible. It’s illegal, for a start, and we don’t have the money. I know we’re wizards – pretty mediocre ones at that – but we can’t magic a league out of nothing.”

Albus pulls a sheath of paper out of his bag and hands it to Gareth. “I know. That’s why I’ve got plans. We can definitely do this. And I know that if you agree to help then everyone else will follow. Between me and you and Jamal I think we can make it happen.”

Gareth frowns down at the papers and starts flicking through them. “You’ve definitely been thinking about this, Sev.”

“I had a lot of time to think while I was in hospital. So what do you reckon?”

Gareth scrutinises the paper he’s on and shakes his head. “I reckon you’re mad. But I also reckon you might be onto something, and maybe we should call Jamal and work through these over a pint.”

Albus’s grin widens. “I’m up for that. I just have one request.”

Gareth glances up from his papers. “What’s that?”

“My name’s Albus,” Albus says. “Not Sev. Not anymore. Is that okay?”

Gareth shrugs and holds out a hand out to him. “It’s nice to meet you, Albus. Now, are you serious about having the first race in June? I know you’re the fastest racer around, but no one’s that fast, surely?”

“Well, actually!” Albus says, and he moves next to Gareth and starts talking him through the plans that he’s been making water tight over the last few weeks with the help of his family. And the more he talks, the more certain he becomes that his compromise might just turn out to be the best thing he’s ever done. Albus and Sev, his past and his future, are colliding in the present, and the promise of it all glitters in front of him, illuminating a path that he’s been so uncertain about for so long, but that he finally feels is heading in the right direction.