#as I wipe away your eye crust because it was really annoying me

[smaeemo]

No rizz just autism

[ootori-sibs]

The Candor of Youth

Part 7

tw: inappropriate teen crush, implied diets, more pain, discussions of cheating

Lunch was, just as Yuzuru had promised; French cuisine. French onion soup, do be specific. Now Yoshio had never really been a foodie, but he did enjoy soup. It was the kind of food you could eat no matter how you felt; whether nauseous from stress or with a sore throat from crying- soup was a good option for food. 

The soup was delicious, and served with warm bread rolls with crunchy, solid crusts and the fluffiest whitest bread that could ever exist. Yoshio's father didn't let them eat white bread- he said it was bad for you. Yoshio was pretty sure he was just allergic to joy, yeah, that would make more sense. How could something so pure be bad for him?

"Enjoying that, Ootori?" He could feel Yuzuru's eyes on him, watching his every move. Yoshio wiped some of the soup from the corner of his mouth, going a light red from the humiliation. 

"I..." he realised he'd abandoned his table manners the moment they'd sat down. It was rare he had a meal without someone he needed to impress....he supposed he didn't consider Yuzuru that much of a threat then. "I apologise, I don't know what came over me."

"It's fine," Yuzuru chuckled, "it was funny, at least. Besides! It's your birthday! You deserve to cut loose a little!" He took a paper towel and gently folded it, leaning over the table and using it to wipe more soup from Yoshio's chin- he must have missed a spot. "You missed a spot," Yuzuru confirmed, smiling softly; the same smile from before. That same smile with something interesting behind his eyes, something Yoshio couldn't quite place. 

"Hm, thank you then." Yoshio glanced away, feeling that the conversation had quickly grown tense. He gently sipped at another spoonful of soup, enjoying the taste. "It is good soup, I must admit."

Yuzuru nodded, "yeah, it's good, isn't it?" There was another pause, something hanging in the air that Yoshio wasn't sure who to blame for. "So...how's your mother?"

Everyone seemed to default to asking him about his mother- he supposed because no one wanted to remind him of his father. Yoshio just sighed softly, swallowing a mouthful of bread and soup. "She's...fine. As fine as she can be considering the situation."

"Ah...right." Yoshio was definitely to blame for the awkward silence that followed, with neither boy wanting to speak. The silence was eventually broken by Yuzuru, who put down his spoon to speak. "What exactly...happened?"

Freezing for a moment, so many different thoughts swam through Yoshio's head. All he could muster in response to the question, however, was a burdened sigh.

"Oh..." Yuzuru responded, nodding and picking the spoon back up, "you're right, I overstepped." Another pause, as Yoshio struggled to process that Yuzuru wasn't going to continue pressing him. Then Yuzuru spoke again; "do you like lemons? I asked the chef to make us lemon meringue pie for dessert. Hope that's alright."

"I don't believe I've tried that yet, it sounds lovely."

After they finished their soup, Yoshio sighed, happy with his lunch. Yuzuru, however, seemed to be even more excited than before. "Hey Ootori?"

"Hm? What is it now, Souh?"

That grin was...it was like someone had bleached the sun. Yoshio would find it annoying if he wasn't dedicated to only thinking happy thoughts today. "Do you remember how I mentioned I had a gift for yoouuuu?" He spoke in a sing-song tone of voice, leaning over the table, physically putting himself above Yoshio. Yoshio hated when people did that, but he was supposed to be happy today, happy thoughts only, he had to remind himself...

"Is that so?" 

Yoshio hadn't actually processed what Yuzuru had said, not until there was a small, badly wrapped box in front of him, did Yoshio realise what was happening. 

Yuzuru had gotten him a birthday present. 

"Wh... What is this..?" Was the only words Yoshio could muster, as he tried to battle the flood of emotions he was now feeling. 

"Open it and find out!" Yuzuru giggled, far too excited for a gift that wasn't for him. 

Yoshio did as he was told, carefully removing the paper, trying not to tear it. He wasn't sure why, he knew it was there to be torn, but he was treating it as if it was holy. As if the entire box was sacred. 

Inside the paper was a blue, leather box with the golden insignia of a well known watch brand. Yoshio barely even paid it any mind as he ran his thumb along the texture of the leather box, enjoying the way it felt in his hands. Then he took a breath, and opened the box...

Inside was the most beautiful watch Yoshio had ever seen- no, that was a lie. It wasn't even the most expensive watch that brand carried. As far as Yoshio was concerned, though, it was the most precious thing he'd ever seen. It was a 44Grand Seiko, with a beautiful black leather strap that had gold thread- or at least what appeared to be gold. He knew it wasn't a new model and it wasn't one of the model's that were hard to find. Of course it wasn't; they might be rich but they're still high schoolers. Yoshio knew that it wasn't a hard gift for someone like Yuzuru to get his hands on but...

Yoshio had never gotten a gift from someone who was neither family nor Kokomi before... this was an entirely new feeling for Yoshio and he found himself staring down at the watch as he took it out of the box, holding it as if it was the most sacred object in the world. 

Oh god, was he tearing up? 

He tried to keep the tears from falling as he glanced up at Yuzuru, hearing the man speak. "Do you want me to put it on you?" 

Yoshio didn't get a chance to respond as Yuzuru was instantly at his side, taking the watch from him gently and taking Yoshio's wrist. Yuzuru was very careful when putting the watch on Yoshio, eyes focusing on the buckle. 

"You have such small wrists..." 

How was he supposed to respond to that? Was Yuzuru even aware he'd said it? He was probably just thinking out loud... 

"There." Yuzuru smiled up at him, patting the buckle gently, "all secure." He stood up, brushing himself off, "do you like it? I've never seen you wear a watch, but you seem like the kind of guy who values his time."

One stray tear spilled down Yoshio's cheek at that, and he quickly turned around, dabbing at his eyes with a paper towel. "I..." He turns back to face Yuzuru, now with a neutral expression, "it's very nice, thank you Souh. I appreciate the gift." 

Yuzuru just beamed at him for that, sitting back down just as the maids brought them a slice of lemon meringue pie each. "I knew you would!" He chuckles, "I tried asking Igerashi what she was getting you so we wouldn't get the same thing, but she refused to tell me. So I just hope she hasn't also got you a watch." 

"You've been talking to Kokomi..?"

"Was that the only part you heard?" Yuzuru laughed, leaning back in his chair, "come on man, relax. I'm not gonna steal your girl. She's hot but like...not really my type. You know?"

Yoshio paused for a moment, taking a spoonful of his dessert and enjoying it, before nodding, that made sense. "Hm, alright. You don't think any of the girls in our class are... well you know." 

"...know what?"

"You know..."

"No, Ootori, I don't. Do I know if any of the girls in our class are..."

Yoshio sighed, leaning in and whispering, hand up so the maids couldn't see him swear. "Queer..."

"Oh!" Yuzuru went bright red at that, "oh wow! You think some chick is gonna try and steal Kokomi from you?" 

"Shh!" Yoshio hissed, glancing around, "not so loud! Someone might hear..."

"Oh! Right, yeah..." Yuzuru nods, then whispers, clearly curious, "what brought this on?"

"Kokomi had a sleepover with a female classmate yesterday..."

"Oh...you're a really jealous guy, aren't you?"

"Huh?" Yoshio let slip, blinking at Yuzuru in shock. Him? Jealous?

Yuzuru just nodded, "yeah, like...chill out dude. You're literally engaged to her, she's not just gonna up and leave you."

"...You don't know that."

"No, I do know that, actually." You know nearly every guy in class envies you, right? She's literally the hottest girl in school. 

"Exactly."

Yuzuru sighed, shaking his head, "no but there's the think, yeah she's hot, but she's also head over heels for you! You know she threatened to dangle me out of a window if I didn't apologise to you, right? No one who's that crazy about a guy would just ditch him."

Pausing for a moment, Yoshio considered the boy's words. Yuzuru might be right... just look at everything Kokomi was doing for him... she wouldn't just leave him. She's put in all this work! He nods thoughtfully, eating some of his dessert- it was delicious.

"You know... you're probably right. Maybe I've been a bit...dramatic. Although I recently found out that my brother has been flirting with my brothers' fiancees, so..."

"Oh my god, really?" Yuzuru leaned in again, interested, "which brother?"

"Yuuma."

"Oh damn! The eldest! Wait...whose fiance did you catch him flirting with?"

Yoshio sighed softly, "he was flirting with Fumihito's fiance."

There was silence then, as Yuzuru tried to process that, wide eyed and pale. "But! But that's one of the brothers that went missing! and he's flirting with his missing brother's fiancee? Shame on him!"

Nodding at that, Yoshio had to admit that it felt good to talk to someone like this. He was actually... oh ew. 

He was actually beginning to enjoy Yuzuru's company. 

"Do you want to go see my father in his office?"

Yoshio's eyes went wide, it was his turn to be shocked. He'd met Mr Souh in passing but had never actually spoken more than a word to the man. Not to mention what Mrs Souh had said...

"Are we allowed? Your mother told me not to disturb him..."

"Oh to hell with that!" Yuzuru chuckled, "mother just didn't want you to be loud when we were outside. It's fine. Come on!" 

With that, Yuzuru grabbed his wrist, dragging him to his feet. Luckily, he quickly let go and allowed Yoshio to follow at his own pace. Yoshio's head was swarming with thoughts; did he look good? Would Mr Souh like him? What if he was too annoying? He didn't want to be too annoying? Did he smell? Was he paying attention to his surroundings? How did his limp look? He was stressing out quite a lot over actually meeting such a powerful man. 

Yuzuru, meanwhile, clearly didn't have a care in the world, he just seemed excited. It baffled Yoshio- what kind of madman would be excited to speak to their own father? He wasn't sure why Yuzuru wasn't just as nervous as he was. 

When Yuzuru knocked on the door, Yoshio felt his blood run cold. He supposed that if everything went to plan, he'd have to do business with this man, but still...Yoshio was nervous. He wanted to make a good impression. 

"Come in."

The voice came from behind the door and Yoshio could feel his hands shaking as Yuzuru opened the door and skipped through. He followed behind, trying not to look like he was absolutely terrified. 

"Hey father!"

What followed was nothing that Yoshio could ever have expected. The man, Mr Souh, actually smiled at the sight of Yuzuru, chuckling and reaching over to ruffle his hair. "Yuzuru! My boy! How are you today?"

"I'm good!" Yuzuru beamed, seemingly unaware of how insane and alien this all was. "Me and Ootori were hanging out and we decided to come say hi!" 

Yoshio froze as he heard Yuzuru claim it was a joint decision- was he trying to get Yoshio in trouble? He could feel his heart jump into his throat as Mr Souh glanced towards him, looking Yoshio up and down. 

Mr Souh looked a lot like his son; shiny brown hair, shimmering but intelligent eyes, shoulders that were broader than you'd expect, a jaw line you could cut marble on and... oh Mr Souh smiled at him. 

With a smile that Yoshio was sure could melt chocolate, Mr Souh spoke softly, "oh, you're Yoshio, aren't you? The fourth eldest, right?" His voice was smooth, kind of deep but not at all the kind of cold and commanding voice Yoshio had expected to hear. His breath hitched even more when he realised Mr Souh knew who he was. 

He nodded shakily, bowing his head and uttering a small; "yes sir... I am...."

"Well it's nice to meet you," Mr Souh smiled, watching him with intrest- there was pity in those eyes but... Yoshio couldn't bring himself to mind it much. "So, what brings you here?" 

"I... I uh..." Yoshio started, unsure how to explain an idea that wasn't his. 

"It's his birthday!" Yuzuru interrupted him, "so I invited him over for lunch and some games of chess!"

"Oh, well that's kind of you, Yuzuru, well done." Mr Souh gave Yuzuru a gentle pat on the arm and Yoshio didn't understand why the sight made his eyes burn. Mr Souh then glanced at Yoshio again, and sighed softly. "How old are you, Yoshio?"

"Six...sixteen sir..."

He chuckled softly, and nodded, "alright, well happy birthday. You play chess, do you? Do you play well?" 

"I...like to think so, sir."

More chuckling, Yoshio was beginning to see where Yuzuru got his attitude from. "How about a quick game then? Before I need to get back to my paperwork?"

Yoshio was breathless, this powerful, incredible businessman, was willing to take time out of his day... for Yoshio? It didn't make any sense whatsoever. 

"He'd love to!" Yuzuru answered for him, pushing Yoshio towards a chess table by the window of Mr Souh's office. "He's so good at it!" 

"Well then," Mr Souh responded, standing up and... woah he's tall. Mr Souh sat down at the chess table, still smiling at Yuzuru, "let's put him to the test, shall we?" 

Mr Souh let Yoshio play white- just like Yuzuru had. By now, Yoshio had gotten the hang of playing white, so was fairly confident in his strategy. What made him nervous was the fact he was going up against an incredibly smart businessman, one who Yoshio knew could give his own father a run for his money in the brains department. So Yoshio, so knew he was slower than he should be, at least with what his father had told him... well he didn't really think he could win.

But he was going to try and at least impress Mr Souh.

[sagehqs]

Pretty positive her cheeks were about to fall off by how much she had been using those smile muscles today, Sage moved her hands to hide her face for a moment as she got fully flustered. His compliments were far from vapid and shallow, they held weight to them, so when he complimented them… they barely knew how to handle it. It was almost as if him signing it made it all true and made them feel better about themselves. However, they didn’t want to start seeking out these compliments, they loved having them happen in their own time, at their own pace, and when Owen felt the need to let it out. There was something so sweet in the way he complimented her, that she just wanted to hold him forever and made sure he had everything he could ever need. Finally taking a deep breath and feeling like they could face him again, they peeked out from behind their fingers before pulling their hands down, revealing a still-pink face.

With a quiet giggle, Sage couldn’t stop themselves from picturing a sleepy Owen, but for once not one in need of sleep, one waking up from it. Her heart fluttered a little in her chest, the concept of him being sweet, cuddly, and refusing to get out of bed was a concept she immediately was fond of and wanted to see. “How much coffee do you really need to make it through a day? I’m starting to think my caffeine intake might be normal compared to yours.” They winked, laughing loudly as they gave a shrug. “I’m a morning kind of guy. I don’t think well after like… midnight, my brain goes all mushy. So being up early is good for me.” Their opposition on mornings made the blonde laugh, amusement of future annoyances breaking into their thoughts now. They, even if they hadn’t stayed the night with him yet, were already excited for their first instance of waking up with him, annoying him to get out of bed, annoying him to make coffee, annoying him to cook with her, and then annoying him to do fun morning adventures? Oh yeah, that was right up their alley, and they were ready for that.

Owen’s reaction to the crust caused a pleased hum to escape from Sage’s lips, excited to see he was pleased with their work. “We’ll run all the other pie makers out of Denver, then Colorado as a whole – slowly we’ll take over the US and be the only ones that make pie. Are you prepared for that responsibility?” With a mischievous look on their face as they signed, they raised their brows and gave them a little wiggle. On brand with the bookworm inside her, she was rather fond of letting ideas run loose, so the more he egged on their pie crust capabilities, the more she was going to play along and blow their next moves out of proportion. As he spoke on how it typically went after he watched a cooking show, they nodded along in agreement. “I’ve only been able to get like… two meals down after copying them from a show. Only because they were expensive ass meals and I would have been very, very mad had it failed.” They admitted, thinking back on their trials of cooking.

Hearing his noises of excitement and joy made Sage’s nose crinkle, fondness spilling through them completely. Between kisses, mischief, and the arms at their waist, they were utterly content in this moment. Being with Owen felt like being home, especially considering all that Sage ever wanted was a home full of laughter, joy, and love. If they could get that already from him in just a few days, they couldn’t wait to see how their relationship developed further and what incredible emotions he could stir up for them. Hand in his hair and eyes glued to him, they waited for his next move. Letting a groan escape as he wiped the mix over her face, she wiggled a little in his grip half-heartedly, not wanting to move away in the slightest. However, once he grabbed the spoon and held it up, they feigned offense. Hands quickly moving between them, they simply signed, “You better not…” Knowing immediately that it was a failed statement.

Gasping at the contact of the filling on their face, they scrunched their nose again and giggled until their sounds were full-blown laughter. Between his laugh and the moment they shared, there was no way they could have attempted to pretend to be mad, it could not happen. The press from behind was welcome as they easily leaned back against him and moved her hands to rub softly over his arms until he moved them to communicate. Rolling her eyes, she glanced at him, and smirked, “We both look good in blue? Power couple status, look at us.” Giggling quietly, it took quite literally everything in them to keep from making a bigger mess, all they wanted was a chance to get him back, but instead, they figured they would just accept the softness between them and let it lay. The moment he moved, though, they were back on guard, eyes glued to him and his hands. Narrowing her gaze, she just watched him cautiously, hands crossing over her chest in the uncertainty of his intentions. Once it was clear, though, that he wanted to help clean them off, their gaze softened.

“Oh yeah, otherwise we might have gone a little overboard.” And they would have, as this wouldn’t have been the first time Sage got into a food fight, or the second… or third for that matter. Watching him with puppy-dog eyes, they grinned as he cleaned off their face, suddenly very thankful for their typical lack of makeup. As he cleaned his own face, they still watched, smitten completely by his existence. Humming happily against the kiss, they giggled and shook their head at his question. “Nope, thankfully. No burning, but I should check the cornbread again, though." Taking a deep breath, she moved away from him, only to check the oven, otherwise, she wouldn’t have moved. With a gasp, they quickly grabbed their oven mitts, put them on, and grabbed the pan from the oven, carefully setting it aside to cool. “Perfect,” she said to herself, enjoying the turnout of the bread for a short moment before moving to turn the potatoes off. Once again, that cooking focus took over and she was distracted with making the potatoes – one of the first dishes her mother actually trusted her to make during her teen years. It took only a few short moments to get the potatoes made and seasoned. Turning back to him, she smiled brightly and signed, “Just got to get the pie in the oven and we’re good.”

Moving their attention back to the pie, they grinned and happily moved back to Owen’s side. “You want to place the crust on top? I think I did it right, so you should be able to pick the whole thing up and throw it on there carefully. Then it can go in the oven and start baking.” Taking the filling, they transferred it to the already laid down crust, scraping as much of it from the pan as they could before setting the pan aside. Looking up to Owen, they grinned and leaned up to kiss his cheek, hands moving quickly after, “This has been the best time. Thank you for coming over and making dinner with me.” They knew they didn’t have to thank him, especially considering hanging out with them was now an expectation, but they truly appreciated this evening for all it had been, and they wouldn’t adjust it in any way.

Owen was pretty sure he had never blushed this much in his life, not as much as he did with Sage. Her signs turned him another shade of red and he gave a rather bashful shake of his head in return. "Doesn't matter, I know I'll still like everything about you. All sides there is to you and all." Knowing that he wasn't here for just happy Sage or fun Sage but for all the Sage's in between. For the good days and the bad days, Owen wanted to be there for every single one. Wanted to be a place for them to find happiness and comfort, to feel safe and break down when they needed to. He wanted to be all that he could be for Sage and more.

For Owen, there was no doubt that he wanted more moments like this with them. He wanted to experience everything he could with Sage- wanted content moments of cooking, homemade dinners, and nights spent on the couch curled up and watching tv and eating ice cream. He didn't need big moments, didn't need anything over the top, just being with Sage was more than enough. Was more than he could have ever asked for and Owen was soaking in every second of it. And for once he understood happiness being a person because with Sage, that was exactly how he felt. So happy- more so than he had done in a long time. Felt so at ease, so relaxed, and carefree when he was with them. And he also knew that without doubt, they would win Lady over. Already picturing nights where she was curled up with the two of them. It was so domestic and it was exactly what Owen wanted. "For a second I was afraid you were going to say you didn't like waffles." He teased with a grin. "That's alright, everyone knows pancakes are just sort of-" He paused and wiggled his hand in a so so motion. "Coffee is always a must- I'm the worst morning person there is. I need at least two cups before I can remotely function."

Eyes looking down to see the progress of the crust, a soft sound leaving his lips as he saw the stick figures that Sage had ended up making. "We can start a business, hire us to make all your stick figure pie needs." Owen grinned as he moved his hands once more. Nodding along as he kept his eyes on them. "That's exactly me, I see them make something and instantly assume I can do the same. Needless to say, it never ends well." Though he was quickly finding himself liking cooking, even surprised when he had mentioned how this was something he wanted to do again.

There was no stopping the laughs and sounds of amusements that were tumbling from Owen's lips, which only seemed to multiply as they smeared it right back on his cheek. Shaking his head, a grin stretched from ear to ear as he kept his eyes on their hands, eyebrows raised as she said that her hand had slipped. Which earned Sage a huff in return as an answer, though he knew the brightness of his eyes completely gave him away. Though he easily gave into the kiss, not expecting more of the filling to be wiped on his cheek and once more, all sorts of laughs were leaving Owen as he wrapped his arms around her waist, giving Sage a look. Brows furrowed as he looked down at the pout on their lips, knowing better than to fall for it this time around, and resisting the urge to melt at the hand in his hair. So instead Owen gave his best innocent face right back to them before he leaned down, wiping the mess of filling from his cheeks right back against theirs.

A wicked gleam in his eyes as he quickly dodged to the side, reaching for the spoon he had been using to mix the filling just minutes ago. Wiggling his eyebrows, doing his best to fight off the laughs that now seemed to constantly fall from his lips. Feeling so goofy, so carefree, so ornery, and loving the fact that Sage seemed to be feeling the same. With his best innocent look, he held the spoon just slightly above Sage, grateful for their height difference, nodding his head back and forth as if he was deciding on something. Before he brought the spoon down, smearing it along their cheek and nose, an incredibly loud laugh leaving him. Nearly doubled over with laughter as he put the spoon back onto the counter, giving them a shit eating grin as he wrapped his arms around Sage from behind, finally placing a kiss to their cheek as a truce. Still behind them, Owen moved his hands in the front so Sage could see him sign as he rested his chin on her shoulder. "Pretty sure blue suits you more than me." A rumble of quiet laughter now shaking his body as he placed another kiss to their cheek, knowing that he could have kept going but didn't want to make a mess in their kitchen or distract Sage too much and burn the food. Especially since she was on timer duty.

Finally he moved away, holding his hands up in surrender as he walked backwards, eyes still on Sage, towards the sink, grabbing for a dish towel and running it under the water before he turned back to them. Nothing but pure happiness on his face as he closed the space between them, moving his hands to gently wipe some of the mess off of their face with it. "Probably good thing that we didn't have any flour on hand." He signed with a free hand, shaking his head some, he could only imagine what kind of mess they would have made with that. Owen cleaned a bit more on Sage's face before he turned it towards his own, cleaning some of it as well before dropping it back down onto the counter. Quickly moving to place one last kiss on their lips, giving a content and happy hum against them before eh pulled back some. "Everything good though- we didn't miss any timers or anything?" Owen question. "I don't smell smoke so I feel like that's a good sign."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Fully Completely 3

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), violence, mutual irritation, harassment

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

Series Synopsis: There’s a new face in Birch and he’s come to haunt your door.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, and Little Bones

Note: On to part three. Sorry for being a human disaster.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 3: Or it will move right through me

💀💀💀

Jerome annoyed you as he picked through your tool box and clicked the ratchet noisily. He was excited but impatient and complained that you were taking so long. You told him if he wanted to pay out of pocket for labour, you could finish faster. 

You sat by his bike, parts strewn at your feet, and bent your head to look under the tank. You still had a lot to go and hadn’t yet added anymore of the gross chrome to the frame.

“Do you realise how filthy this is gonna get?” you huffed as you sat up and leaned your elbows on your legs, “not to mention how ridiculous it looks.”

“I like it. It’s just my style,” your brother grinned, “I don’t remember you spending this much time on Bucky’s ride and you and him--”

“He had me replace the tailpipe, you want nothing short of a rebuild,” you scoffed, “and you’re not the boss.”

“Don’t remind me,” he rolled his eyes, “guess it could be worse though. It could be Steve.”

“Thank god it’s not,” you chuckled, “I don’t know how many women had to toss beer in his face before he latched onto that mousy one at the bakery.”

“She’s nice,” Jerome shrugged, “far as I know. She doesn’t talk to anyone but Steve.”

“I wonder why,” you tisked, “he has insecurity written across his forehead.”

The tinny bell rang and the door whooshed open as the wind caught it. Jerome glanced over and dropped the ratchet noisily into the drawer of the tool box. You growled in warning as you spent much of your spare cash on those. He apologised quietly as he squared his shoulders at the man who appeared.

“Hey,” Bucky wiped the flakes from his hair and blew out a shiver.

“Bucky,” Jerome said rigidly.

The other man nodded and stepped further inside the garage. He shoved his hands in his pockets and paced aimlessly around the concrete floor. You watched him as you fiddled with the bolt in your hand.

“You wanna head down to the bar?” It wasn’t a question as Bucky came to face you, “I gotta talk to your sister.”

“Sure,” Jerome replied sharply, “you got it, boss.”

Bucky grumbled and waited for him to leave. He sniffed and kicked his toe into the floor.

“So… what’re you doing here? Been a while so must be urgent,” you sat up on the rolling stool and stretched your back.

“The whole town’s talking about it. You fighting him,” his brows drew together, “I told you I’d take care of him.”

“You didn’t,” you said evenly, “so I did.”

“I talked to him--”

“And said what?” you snorted.

“Look, you don’t understand. You said it yourself, you don’t care about my business. You don’t get what’s going on but what I need from him is bigger than your temper.”

“Excuse me? This is my fault? He broke into my shop, he followed me from that diner and he put his hands on me,” you stood and tossed the bolt away, “what do you want me to do, Buck?”

“First, I want you to remind yourself who I am. We’re not fucking anymore so that mouth isn’t as cute,” he warned, “and I want you to play nice.”

“All you have to do is keep him away from me. How hard is that for a man like you, huh? You’re the big dog.”

“Watch it,” he pointed at you, “I won’t tell you again.”

“He’s here to deal with you, not me,” you insisted, “he grabbed me, I defended myself, and I’ll do it again.”

“This isn’t grade school anymore, you can’t fight the boys,” he sighed.

“What are you saying?”

He was silent as his jaw ticked and his blue eyes strayed to the ceiling. You stepped closer and gripped your hips as you stared him down.

“There’s nothing else I can do for you. Nothing else I will do. He’s your problem.”

He met your glare and you scoffed in disgust, “you’re fucking serious? What do these idiots have on you?”

“It’s not what they have on me, it’s what I want from them. I’m planning for something bigger than Birch, that means there’s gonna be some sacrifices,” he shrugged.

“Sacrifices? Is that what you call it? Well, here’s one for you, the next time you get a little scuff on your tank or your headlight starts to flicker, you can head down to Carl’s,” you scowled.

“Don’t do this,” he gritted through his teeth.

“I can get business without you. I do better work than Carl, you know that. So go, I’ll deal with that asshole on my own, how I see fit.”

He inhaled and lifted his chin. He closed his eyes and thought. 

“Damn it,” he swore, “you can’t make anything fucking easy. What is it with you women and your god damn--” he lifted his hand and stopped himself, “you get in the way of my business, and you won’t be so worried about Loki.”

“Oh yeah? That’s what he said about you,” you mocked, “what’s with you men and your egos?”

His lip curled and he breathed through his teeth. His eyes lit up and he punched his palm as he turned away quickly.

“I hope he has his fun with you. Maybe he can fuck some sense into you,” Bucky growled, “God knows I tried.”

“You weren’t that good,” you snipped.

He kicked the shelf of wipers hung near the front of the shop and grunted. He stormed to the doorway and stopped to look back at you.

“You’ll be wishing it was me…” he hissed.

He waved you off and continued through the front door, slamming it behind him loudly. You stared at the scattered packages of wipers and bit down on your tongue. You wanted to run out and strangle that idiot but you knew how he could be. It was the reason you broke off your little fling; he was too much like you. Hard-headed and volatile.

💀

You weren’t going to change just because the town was overrun by asshole men. You were standing your ground and that meant you were going to finish your club sandwich and enjoy one lunch without interruption. 

The café was busier that day as the snowfall dwindled and the streets were mostly cleared as the plows made their regular rounds. You looked through the window as the school kids stopped by the bakery for hot drinks on their lunch and circled the rim of your mug with your fingertip. You sensed it was only the lull before the storm.

Further down you could see the corner of The Asp and heard a rumbling engine. Your shop remained empty except for Jerome’s bike. Since Bucky’s visit, you were too worked up to concentrate anyway. You wanted to take your wrench and knock every man in town in the head with it.

Nora brought your sandwich as Kimmie didn’t work on the weekends and your side of soup. You would eat both and leave satisfied. You wouldn’t let anyone ruin your day off. Well, not that you had very much to do aside from that.

You dipped your crusts in the tomato soup and stared at the seat across from you. Empty. Perfect.

You scooped the last of the bowl into your mouth and wiped your lips with the napkin. You stood and gulped up your coffee. You left money on the table and headed out. A peaceful, solitary lunch all to yourself.

You skipped the shop and continued down the street. You pushed into the hobby shop you rarely ventured into, more a bookshop if you were honest. You greeted the man at the counter with a smile. When you were a girl, you remembered he ordered you a special set of paints as the ones in his store were all dried up. Lu, you recalled his name.

You went to the shelves of models and looked over the new arrivals. You took the Smokey and the Bandit Trans Am off the shelf and smirked. Your father had one just like it when you were a kid. It wasn’t exactly new. You grabbed a bottle of black paint with it, always running low on the stuff, and headed for the counter.

Lu punched the buttons on his till and you heard a creak. Light footsteps emerged from the basement of used books as you opened your wallet.

“I didn’t take you as bookish,” Loki’s voice made you cringe.

You didn’t answer and counted out the bills for your purchase, “actually, you got any glue? I didn’t see any on the shelf.”

“Hmm, oh,” Lu turned and bent to reach into a box, “haven’t stocked up but these came in just before the storm.”

He added the orange and white tube to your bag and you added another bill. He counted out your change and handed it to you.

“Quite interesting what small towns can hide,” Loki didn’t wait to step up to counter and stood close, his sleeve against yours, “An antique edition of Whitman. One of the only Americans I read.”

You looked down at the worn tome, the edges fraying and the letters faded. It was marked up to a couple hundred. You could appreciate a love for reading but you weren’t entirely sure some old paper was worth all that.

“I’ll need the reading material as my visit has been prolonged,” he mused as you grabbed your bag and headed for the door, “my brother is due to return so I will stay in his place… get to know the town of Birch more intimately.”

You hid your disgust at his words and continued out the door. His exaggerated tones stuck in your head as you passed the window and absently swung your bag. You hated him. You really did. You should have bashed him over the head with that dumb book. 

You thought of that day in the snow and smiled. You knew that shame lingered in him. You would have no problem repeating that scene.

You came up to your shop and stopped short. The burly redhead who arrived with the pestilent man stood at your door, peering in through the window, angling his head as he tried to see around the blinds. You cleared your throat as you neared.

“Something I can help you with?” you asked dully.

“Oh, ah,” he turned and laughed at himself, “I thought… Loki, I thought he’d be here.”

“No. He wouldn’t be,” you said, “he’s down at the book shop.”

“Thanks. He apologise?” He prodded.

“You seem to know him well. You think he did?” you challenged.

“Ah, nah,” he smiled awkwardly, “s’pose he didn’t.”

“S’pose he didn’t,” you echoed, “it would be smart if you kept him away from here.”

“Yeah, uh, should do,” he sidled past you and you listened to his heavy boots clump along the beaten snow.

You took out your key and unlocked the door. You closed it quickly behind you, that man’s presence set you on edge. He hadn’t shown any of the venom of his associate but he was loyal to him. You double checked the locks on all the doors and made certain all windows were closed. 

You went up stairs into your apartment and stripped off your coat and boots. You sat at the small table where you ate those dinners you didn’t forget and unpacked your new model. You sorted the pieces and spread out the instructions. The image of the car on the box brought back nostalgic memories. You wouldn’t know all you did about bikes if it wasn’t for your dad. You missed him every day for the last… too many years.

You lost yourself in the tiny parts. You hunched over the table and carefully dabbed glue onto the plastic. Your eyes began to itch as the windows dimmed and you got up to turn on the lamp. You kept building well after dark and finally left the half-finished car on the table.

You stretched out your limbs as you stripped down to only your loose tee and yawned. You fell into bed and turned on the old tube television. You hit play on the VCR and the loud previews blared from the boxy speakers. You rolled yourself in your comforter and sat through the same movie trailers you’d watched a dozen times.

You were never a romantic but you the movie was another shadow of your childhood. Your grandma used to watch Kathleen Turner whenever you went to her place. She would serve you yogurt and berries and turn on the cheesy action flick and if you slept over, she would put in the sequel right after.

Your rituals kept you sane. You found it was easier to know what to expect and given your temper, it was better not to be surprised. You were always the trouble child and you regretted all those times your dad had to come talk to the principal or walk you home from school. You promised him you would be better.

Still you didn’t regret what you did. He always told you to stand up for yourself. Hell, he taught you how to throw a punch and all your best insults were inherited from him. You smiled as you thought of him and hugged your pillow as the intro played and the credits flicked up one name at a time.

You drifted off in the glow of the television and the sound effects sank into your dreams. You were still in Birch but thick vines had grown around all the buildings and billowing leaves shrouded the skies. The town had turned to jungle and you could hear the growls and grunts of beasts unseen.

You spun as a twig snapped and a snake uncoiled from a branch and fell into the brush at your feet. You stepped back and it slithered towards you. You stumbled and ran away as you could hear its skin smoothly glide through the grass at your feet. You tripped as its long body wrapped around your ankles and you crashed to the ground.

You struggled as the snake constricted your body and wound its neck around to face you. Its green eyes shone as its black scales gleamed. Its tongue flicked against your cheek and you felt its hot breath as it opened its mouth and revealed long, frightening fangs. You screamed as its bite loomed and you woke with a start.

The visions of the wild jungle faded but the heat did not. You blinked as an amber haze took over the room and you fought through your messy blankets and tumbled onto the floor. Your curtains were alight along with much of the wall. You bachelor was blazing with orange flames and you could barely see the door through the smoke.

You coughed and scrambled to your feet. Your eyes streamed and you blindly ran for the door and flew down the stairs. The shop was almost entirely engulfed as you reached the lower landing and you fumbled with the front door as flames licked closer and closer.

You burst out into the frozen night and your feet were numbed by the ice and snow. You retreated from the burning building, your life set aflame, and turned back as you reached the sidewalk. Sirens screamed and made you wince as you crossed your arms and chattered against the cold.

“Pity,” the slither made your skin crawl, “though I suppose it is a blessing you at least saved yourself.”

You glanced at Loki as your vision blurred with the tears of realisation. Everything you had was turning to ash before you. You blinked away the droplet and sneered at him. He smirked and you knew. He smirked and he knew. It wasn’t an accident.

[jaexverse]

╭ ⠀🌸⠀﹒⠀𝓙𝐈𝐀   ⌁  #s&c .ᐟ

She knows she's obviously not making a good impression. She can hear it in his tone of voice, that slight irritated undertone and it makes her second guess the decision on showing up in the first place. The only thing preventing her from running away from the café's oddly clean booth, was the various images of his face casting questions inside her head. That alone was the single string keeping her tied to an eternity of a nightmare in some pastel chair that irked her to no end. That string is becoming more thin by the second, though. The finger pointing along his cheek made her gaze trail down in a little bit of confusion—until it hit her. She'd never admit the embarrassment riddling through her. How her eyes grew a little wider for the split second it took a heavy flush to roll over her pale-like features. Her hand is instantly reaching to cup the cheek he's motioned for, fingers wiping until she can feel the crust of dry paint along her skin. The girl feels quite stupid at the realization she didn't glance once at the mirror before leaving (she's not one to privy to makeup in the first place, so why bother checking her face?). Jia eventually tumbled out of her still lingering embarrassment to grab at the tissue roll sitting at the end of the table by the window, using the thin sheets to wipe at her cheek until she could get as much off as she good, a gentle huff peeking out from her cheeks. After that.. she had no idea what to say. She felt.. idiotic, a lot of things really. She had this very attractive man sitting in-front of her, well dressed, annoyed at her tardiness and probably regretting he showed up in the first place. All while she was a mess by the rubbed paint, lack of makeup- lack of anything feminine really. What was he doing going on a blind date with someone like her? It made her heart sink; and she knew others were glancing over at the two, especially the girls in a corner table most likely googling over his good looks and teasing at her messiness. She couldn't even look him in the eye, instead skipping her gaze over his jawline and chin to avoid it all together. "I— do you—" Jia's words were interrupted by the waiter coming across to their table to greet her arrival. She could only give them a meek smile in response to their sly jokes and friendliness. It took a few minutes, but she finally decided just to order a small strawberry shake as if the sugar would drown out her thoughts and make the world a little bit more quiet. Once the server left with her order, she's back to feeling out of place and looking over his collarbone in cluelessness. "I.. I haven't.. I wasn't ready to go on a date. I'm sorry to waste you time. I don't really do things like these and I was just— trying to help make my friend happy, she loves to play matchmaker and she's been telling me about you for weeks," she weakly admits to the boy in front of her. "So, I'd.. understand if you'd rather be somewhere else right now than here." Honestly, she would understand because she was used to it. Guys she's seen have never quite enjoyed her lack of femininity despite her face looking like one of an idol. Not to mention she was incredibly late.. which was clearly one of his pet peeves by his current attitude. "...Unless you want to stay and tell me what interests you?"

FOR A MOMENT, Jaesung felt bad about telling her about the paint crusted on her face, but it’s only for a moment because he’s secretly rather amused by her reaction. The widening of her eyes could be passed off, but what couldn’t would be the very obvious hue that takes over her cheeks before she’s reaching up and wiping at her red cheek. He didn’t really see a big deal about it. There’s been more than one time that he’s fallen asleep with charcoal all over his fingers from shading a drawing he had worked on hours beforehand. But he supposes going out in public with paint on your face from presumably working on something the night before could be quite embarrassing. He’s watching her as she tries to remove the dried paint from her skin to the best of her ability, his lip ring held in between his pearly teeth before letting it go with a soft clearing of his throat.

For a little there’s an almost painful stretch of silence, and Jaesung has to physically stop himself from fidgeting. It seems neither of them has any clue what to say, and perhaps this speaks to the mint-haired male's lack of experience in the dating field for a long time. What does one do on a date? How to get past the awkward stage of meeting a person? He’s really not quite sure as he more often than not spends his time at home or at his workplace, well… working. At this point, he hasn’t realized he was zoning out while looking at his mug, blinking when he hears her once again stumbling over her words. He’s arching his pierced eyebrow, keeping his lip shut as he waits for her to get whatever she wanted to say out.

However, they’re both interrupted when the server comes over and he orders another hot chocolate simply to have something to sip on while they went through their date. He’s falling quiet as she finally orders what she wants and the order is making their way to place them. His head turns back to her when he sees they disappeared and he’s honestly kind of curious about what she was going to say. He was finally rewarded with her words and he cracks a small smile, kind of glad that she too was only doing it for a friend's sake. It honestly makes him feel a little relieved—going into this, he had thought the girl he was seeing could have agreed to it and was doing it of her own accord. But no. She’s in the same boat as him.

“It’s alright, really,” He reassures her, offering her a small smile before his hand is moving to scratch at his cheek. “I’m admittedly doing it for my friend’s sake too… I don’t really — date.” He admits to her with a soft sigh, relaxing into the booth. “But, we’re here now so we may as well appease our friends and make use of it.” he concludes after a beat, hands resting on the table and smiling at her question.

“Interests me?” He questions, tilting his head and looking off to the side as he thinks about what to tell her. “Mmm… I like drawing, I guess? It’s part of my job, actually. Music, video games.. things like that.” His gaze shifts back to her. “I’m assuming you’re into art? Judging by the paint, that is.”

[unsupervisedpanda]

Love through the blood and tears

Laito x reader

Summary

You lived with the sakamakis before Yui. You're a failed experiment to Karlheins. When his spawn fail to kill you he takes matters into his own hands when you're alone.

You screamed as Karlheins kicked you into the wall. He was angry. Angrier than you'd ever seen him.

  You'd only ever seen him 3 times before this and each time it was a family meeting. You weren't invited.

   "What did I tell you!? You're supposed to be dead. Dead. Dead. Dead." He kicked your stomach with each 'dead'.

    "Sir-" another lung crushing kick.

  "If my ignorant sons won't kill you I'll do it for them!" He snarled. Reaching down he gripped your hair, yanking you up.

   "Please," you sobbed, "please stop."

  Your face was swollen from crying and loose hair was sticking to your cheeks.

  "I'll leave. I'll go away. Just please. Please stop." You lied, sniffling trying to tug his hand away from your scalp. 

   "Like hell." Then he threw you.

You flew into the staircase the railing breaking, splinters of wood falling to the ground with you.

   You screamed as you skidded across the floor, the broken pieces of railing surrounding you.

   "You think you have the right to ask me for mercy. The audacity of humans never fails to amaze me." He laughed.

   "Stop!" You begged as your head pounded. Looking up you felt something warm dripping down your face. You reached up to wipe it away and winced. Blood.

    "Oh how easily you bleed." Karlheins mocked.

   Sitting up you pushed yourself away from him. It was nearing 2 in the morning. The boys and Yui should be here any minute.

   "I don't know why you're doing this, but please just leave me alone." You whimpered grabbing a piece of the railing.

   "You can't stop me, you won't stop me." He growled stepping closer.

   You pushed yourself up and ran in the opposite direction, towards the door.

   "Pathetic." He sighed annoyed. You didnt stand a chance.

   You flew into the nearest wall coughing as the air left your lungs.

    "You. Can't. Run." He grinned his fangs showing. His hand tightened around your neck and the other pushed the hair out of your face.

   You cried out when he slid his thumb over your forehead, the blood smearing onto it. Then he licked it.

   "You're still so sweet. A shame." You could feel the tears well up as you began to realize you were alone. No one was going to save you.

     Closing your eyes you went limp in his hold.

   "Please don't tell me you just fainted. That would take the thrill out of killing such a meaningless creature." He mock pouted. You didn't open your eyes. You knew if you did he'd snap your neck.

    You didn't want to die. You don't want to die. There was so much more you wanted to do. Needed to do. Laito. You wanted to tell Laito you loved him. You wanted to see him laugh at you as you got flustered. You wanted to promise him you'd never leave him, like his mother did. That he was your one and only. Fuck. You couldn't die.

    Opening your eyes you met the eyes of the man who helped create your lover. The man who helped destroy his idea of love. The man who wanted to kill you.

    "No." You said your voice cracking a little.

    "No?" He laughed as if you'd told a joke. "You're telling me, no?"

    "I will not die. I refuse to die." You snarled as you began to claw at his arms.

    "Fucking hell." The vampire sighed. "Too bad. I'm going to-" he was cut off as the mansion doors slammed open.

   "Y/n are you okay?! I smelled-" Laito stopped in his tracks. You could only imagine what he saw.

    "Father. What the fuck are you doing?"

    "Laito, Laito, Laito. I told you and your brothers to kill this thing." Karlheins tutted as he threw you to the ground in front of him. In between him and his sons.

   You cried out as you crashed to the floor,  your head spinning momentarily.

    "Your point?" Laito asked as he took a step forward.

    "My point being since you all were too incompetent, I'll do it for you." Your eyes widened before you felt his grip on your ankle.

   "No!" You looked up to see Laito leaping at you, as his father dragged you upwards. You hung in his father's grip.

    "Laito please. This girl is no longer necessary." He sighed shaking you. You blinked away the tears as they slid down your face, dripping onto the floor.

    "To you." You heard Laito say, muffled by the ringing that was in your ears.

    That was the last thing you heard before Laito launched at you and his father.

  The other 5 brothers stared in shock as they watched Laito fight Karl, trying to get to you. Reiji nearly jumped when Karl threw you to the side. You crumbled to the ground without a sound.

    Ayato held on to Yui watching as Laito fought for you. He'd never seen his brother look so desperate. When he saw you get thrown into the wall he lightly pushed Yui to the side, behind his other brothers.

   Karl was distracted by Laito so he ran, scooping you up into his arms, nearly dropping you again when the scent of your blood actually hit him.

    He knew he had to get you away now though. Laito cared about you. More than he'd seen Laito care about anything.

    Running back to his siblings he slid to a stop as Karl walked right in front of him.

   "Tsk." Ayato clicked his tongue. "Hey old man, you're in my way."

    "Ayato. Give me the girl."

   "No."

     "Excuse me?"

    "You deaf? No."

  Ayato glared the vampire king down. He wasn't going to give in. Making eye contact with Laito and Reiji he nodded

   Faking to the left he sped to the right giving your crumpled form to Laito as Reiji blocked Karl.

    "Damn it. You boys are so troublesome." Karl snarled pinching the bridge of his nose.

    "Then leave." Shu raised his eyebrows.

     "We didn't invite you." Kanato agreed hugging Teddy.

     "She is going to die. With or without me." He hissed at the siblings glaring at Laito in particular.

      "Fuck off." Laito growled. With that their dad was gone, and the house was covered in your blood.

  You groaned as your head pounded. Your eyes were crusted shut and your hair was sticking to your face with blood and tears.

    You tried to open your eyes but they refused to open. Reaching up with your right hand you nearly screamed in pain. Your ribs ached. Your arm felt like it was dislocated. Or it had been. Everything hurt.

    Reaching up with the left you rubbed the crust away, your eyes opening slowly. You weren't in your room. You were in Laitos' room. The green comforter was heavy, and the curtains were closed.

   "Laito?" You called out quietly, shocked by how croaky your voice really was. You saw a figure in the corner and tensed up. 

    "Not Laito." I heard the voice answer. Your eyes widened as you tried to throw the comforter off of yourself.

   "Oh no. Don't even try that." The voice chirped as they jumped at you.

   With him closer you noted that the male was blonde with blue eyes.

   "No!" You screamed as he shoved you down, straddling you.

  With him on top of you, he wrapped his hands around your throat.

   "You've caused quite a lot of grief. Now you'll die." You struggled under his hold as he cut off your air supply.

   "Noo!"

Jumping awake you reached for your throat. Laito. You needed Laito.

   You winced as you pushed the comforter away. You were in a pair of shorts and one of Laitos' button ups.

   Pushing yourself off the bed, your legs collapsed underneath you. You cried out as everything crashed into you.

    "Laito!" You cried tears streaming down your face.

    "Y/n?! Y/n! What's wrong?" Laito held your face in his hands. Crying harder you reached up to hold his hands to your face.

   "Oh Laito. I love you. I love you so much. I know you said never say I love you, I know you said never to but i-" you choked on your tears. "I love you, Laito." You cried collapsing into his arms.

   You felt him stiffen up as you sobbed into his shirt. You shouldn't have said anything. You should've just let Karlheins kill you.

   "I'm sorry." You heard Laito say.

  You felt your heart stop. He didn't love you. He didn't love you back. You made a fool of yourself. How could you be so stupid? You were so-

   He must've felt you freeze because he held onto you tighter.

   "I'm- I meant I'm sorry that I wasn't here when you needed me. I- I think I love you too. Seeing you like that, like this it kills me. I care about you so much. I care so much and it scares me."

    Looking up at him you reached around his neck and pulled him into you.

   "I'm okay I think." You whispered. He laughed at you before pulling away slowly.

    "Y/n. Can I- can I kiss you? Please." Staring into his eyes you laughed.

   "Just kiss me." You shook your head pulling him onto your lips.

    It was a passionate kiss. The kind that makes you lose your breath. Yet it was soft. So soft. His fangs grazed your lips slightly, and it made you smile.

   Pulling apart he stayed close to your lips, holding onto your face.

   "I thought I lost you." He whispered.

    "I thought I was never going to be able to tell you I loved you." You whispered back.

   That caused him to let out a loud laugh.

   "You nearly died and you were worried you hadn't told me you loved me?" He breathed out.

    "Yeah." You sighed looking into his eyes. "Yeah."

[kstewdeux]

@inukagfluffweek

August 11, 2021 - Touch

Lewd

For the life of him, Inuyasha could not figure out why people were staring at them more than usual or, more unnervingly, why Miroku kept giving him some very uncomfortable glances filled to the brim with amusement. Per the norm when the things made him uneasy, Inuyasha had taken to sticking a little closer to Kagome than he traditionally would have in a clearly hostile village. Not because he couldn’t protect himself, okay? He was perfectly capable of protecting himself and had for over a hundred years. And, to be clear, being around her didn’t make him feel safe. Definitely didn’t need to feel safe when he could defeat these assholes with one hand behind his back. He absolutely did not need Kagome to protect him and she wouldn’t be able to do much on that front in any case. It was just that he felt a little more secure near her. Secure was not the same thing as safe. Not at all. He didn’t need her to feel safe. Just…a little more confident when he was admittedly a little anxious people were staring. At first, it actually wasn’t that bad but the stares just kept getting worse and so…

But he was not staying close because he was scared. He wasn’t scared of anything. Except, well, losing her so…so that was probably why he felt the need to stay close. So he could protect her if shit hit the fan. Knowing that she was safe made his chest less tight and his stomach stop churning. Sure as hell wasn’t because…

Letting out a controlled exhale, Inuyasha distractedly flicked at some crust that had somehow lodged itself in the corner of one eye before letting his hand drop again.

“What a beautiful public display,” Miroku hummed as he sidled up to his companions and gave Inuyasha a mischievous grin, “It’s almost heartwarming to see two young people so in love.”

For some unknown reason, Kagome choked as her heart started beating so fast from fear Inuyasha’s instincts nearly went into overdrive. Why the hell was the wench so terrified?

Glancing around, amber eyes widened at the realization that Kagome might be just as worried about the stares they’d been receiving. Maybe she was staying close to him for….similar reasons he’d been staying close to her.

“You need to shut up,” Inuyasha hissed quietly before lowering his volume more so as to not be overheard - somehow making the monk look even more amused, “This ain’t the place to say shit like that. The villagers have been watching me like a hawk.”

“I absolutely cannot imagine why,” Miroku snickered as he pointedly glanced down and set his jaw to keep his shit eating grin in check, “In any case, Sango is almost done buying provisions so why don’t we move on ahead, hm?”

“Fine by me,” Inuyasha huffed as he began walking forward only to realize - when the thing in his hand jerked once to keep him in place - exactly why people were staring. Amber eyes widened in mild horror as they darted to the hand clasped securely in his own which was attached to the miko herself.

When did they start holding hands? He sure as hell didn’t do that and yet his palm was slightly sweaty indicating he’d been holding her hand for some time now.

“We should wait for her,” Kagome chided nervously as she gave Inuyasha’s hand a light squeeze making butterflies erupt in his stomach, “It shouldn’t be much longer.”

Mentally going over their day, Inuyasha tried to pin point when exactly the hand-holding started. They’d been walking side by side most of the day but he…he didn’t remember…

She must’ve started it.

“Why are you holding my hand?” Inuyasha asked - even though he took no action to cease the contact.

Giving him a strange look, the miko gave him an answer he did not like.

“Because you kept putting your hand in mine?” Kagome replied slowly - her worried look morphing into an amused one, “Wait…”

Some flashed behind her eyes and the melting look on her face made his stomach churn.

“Aw, you didn’t…”

“No ‘aw’. There is no ‘aw’ here,” Inuyasha huffed as he pulled his hand back and tucked both hands into his sleeves, “You did this. Not me.”

The melting look increased and Kagome gave him an affectionate smile.

“Awww….”

“What did I say about no ‘aw’!” Inuyasha huffed desperately, “I didn’t start this.”

“Yes you did,” Kagome sing songed and much to Inuyasha utter shock, a nearby elderly human woman chuckled softly to herself while looking between the pair with something akin to strangerly affection. Which disturbed him as much if not more than whatever was happening with him and his wandering hand.

Breathing heavily, Inuyasha’s mind continued racing down every moment of this fateful day. Trying to find the moment or apparently moments where he’d been the one to instigate the offensive touch but no matter how hard he tried, he had no memory of it. None whatsoever. Every minute of that day had felt natural. Normal even.

“D-do I do shit like that a lot?” he finally asked - his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to keep his composure.

“No but I liked it,” Kagome admitted with a hum before taking a step closer and giving him a shy smile that had his ears pinning back against his head.

And then she did something that absolutely crashed his mind…

She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss on his cheek.

“You can hold my hand whenever you…”

“Are you insane?! You can’t just kiss me like that in strange villages,” Inuyasha hissed as his mind finally caught up - his hand desperately trying to wipe away the perceived sin. Kagome’s grin only made his anger and discomfort grow hotter.

“To be clear then, it’s okay if I do that in familiar places?” came her teasing retort and for a moment, Inuyasha was almost very, very stupid. He almost said something along of the line of forbidding kisses entirely. Something he most certainly did not want to forbid. Especially considering she was pretty much saying she’d give him kisses if he wanted them.

Blushing faintly, Inuyasha decided the best course of action was to react normally. Brush her off and declare her stupid…

Thankfully the old woman watching saw the incoming relationship bomb coming before it landed and for some unknown reason, felt inclined to defuse the explosive before it detonated.

“Be bold boy and say yes,” the elderly woman chuckled softly, “A girl like that won’t wait for you forever and the monk is right. Anyone with eyes can see you love her.”

“Stay outta this” Inuyasha snapped irritably - a reaction to which the old woman thankfully seemed amused by, “What makes you so bold?”

Miroku’s hand flew to the top of his head - hoping his friend didn’t just incur someone’s wrath and also…didn’t Inuyasha just say they shouldn’t draw attention to themselves? Was this just how he coped with fear and anxiety? Antagonize people? If so, how was Inuyasha still alive?!

“Well this was my husbands village and now it belongs to my son. Everything that happens here is my business,” the old woman hummed - giving the somewhat nervous trio a reassuring smile, “And seeing as how you’re in my village, what I say goes.”

“Crack pot,” Inuyasha huffed - earning a full blown facepalm from the miko - and the old woman, to her credit, simply smirked. Not at all afraid of the teenager even with all his fangs and demonic energy. Mostly because he was obviously domesticated and in the presence of equally powerful friends who could stop him from doing any real damage but also because this demon clearly had a good heart and therefore, she reasoned, wouldn’t harm her.

And while that was all mostly true, that didn’t mean Inuyasha wasn’t seriously considering punching her.

“Inuyasha, you need to be nicer to people.”

“Fine. Fine,” Inuyasha huffed as his blush deepened. Glancing at the old woman to make sure she wasn’t upset by what he’d said, Inuyasha turned his gaze back towards the miko who was clearly expecting him to apologize to the old woman. Which he wasn’t gunna do but he could fix one thing that probably needed fixing for a while now.

Squaring his shoulders, Inuyasha cleared his throat and…tried…

“It’d be annoying but if you…you want to kiss me sometimes, I won’t stop you.”

Kagome blinked once then twice.

“Come again?”

Quickly reaching over to push Miroku away face first before he could add in his two cents, Inuyasha tried to look like what he’d said wasn’t awkward as hell.

“I said if you want to kiss me, go ahead. Old bat was right,” Inuyasha hufffed before his eyes widened in horror at what he’d impulsively implied, “I mean, you already j-just do shit. I c-can’t really stop you.”

Kagome made a bemused face and wrinkled her nose at this bizarre admission. That was at least twice now that Inuyasha hadn’t shot someone down after they announced he loved her. Which was unusual and for someone as easily triggered as he was, that left her with a most wonderful conclusion.

One that he apparently realized she’d come to and so Inuyasha did what Inuyasha do.

He tried to protect himself. Poorly.

“I see that look. Don’t be stupid. I mean…yeah, she was right about…about the love part…I do, um, love you, ya know, as a friend. A good friend. And, um, sometimes friends they kiss I think.”

“Well if that is true I must inform San…”

With a soft groan at his own cringeworthy awkwardness, Inuyasha once again necessarily pressed his hand against the closer than usual monk’s face and gave it a light push. This was already nerve racking enough without the monk making it more weird on purpose. First he was holding his woman’s hand without realizing and now he’d all but admitted how he felt. Something he’d been denying himself because he didn’t want to force someone to walk beside him as he faced the constant pile of shit being thrown at him. Add to that he didn’t deserve to be happy when Kikyo was suffering and it was just…wrong to feel like he did.

What he wanted didn’t matter. It never mattered…

Kagome smiled and his stomach turned into pleasant knots.

Except it did. Hell did it ever. He couldn’t even go more than a day without this woman before he lost his fucking mind. What was he going to do if she knew and didn’t feel the same way? Or worse, what if a chance at a relationship ended badly?! If she left him, she’d take the only friends he’d ever had with her…

He’d be alone…

“Uh���.huh…”

Panicking now, Inuyasha decided to rely on old faithful and go for an insult to force her back into friendship lane. This was getting into dangerous territory. She knew. Mainly because he told her but he…he could fix it.

“W-why are you so s-stupid, huh?” Inuyasha added a little desperately and much to his horror Kagome’s knowing smile only grew, “I’m just saying you just do shit and…I mean, what am I supposed to do, huh? You just throw yourself at…”

The old woman snickered at the scene and threw in her thoughts with a bemused laugh, “Please just kiss him young lady and put us all out of our misery. He talks far too much for his own good.”

“STAY OUTTA THIS YOU OLD…” Inuyasha began to bellow before whimpering softly when Kagome sealed his mouth with her own. Before he knew it, his arms were pulling her up and against him to give her the best access. It was beautiful and pure and everything he’d hoped a real kiss would be like. While she had done that before, this was the first time she’d done it for a reason other than saving his sorry ass. She’d done that only because she wanted to and that fact that she’d done it just because nearly brought a tear to his eye. Did she…did she love him back?

“You know,” Kagome panted lightly as she pulled back and nuzzled her man’s nose, “I love you too.”

Visibly wilting in relief, Inuyasha gave Kagome the most affectionate look anyone had ever seen on his face. A look that crumpled and turned to annoyance when Miroku made another comment about ‘public displays’.

The old woman simply rolled her eyes and continued on her way - mentally chuckling to herself about how the youth of today could be so foolish and how life was far too short.

A short distance away her middle aged son was watching his mother with a weary smile while the pair of mercenaries seemed to discuss something of great magnitude.

“That’s a dangerous thing you just did.”

“I did nothing but nudge those two down a path they were already on,” the old woman chuckled softly - reaching out to pat her son’s arm, “Love is love sweetheart. It’s one of those funny things in life that just is.”

For a long moment, the son watched the newly formed couple as they resumed holding hands before sighing and turning to follow his mother.

“I meant you meddle far too much” the son continued - glancing over his shoulder to make sure they went being overheard, “They’re mercenaries by trade. You saw their weapons. Probably fresh from some war and…”

“Mercenaries deserve love as well…”

The son let out a long exhale and rolled his eyes.

“Mother. That boy had claws…”

“Claws deserve love…”

The son stopped mid step and groaned that kind of exasperated groan only a child with an embarrassing parent would understand before glancing over his shoulder to watch the little band move on towards their next bounty. One day his mother was going to try to play matchmaker with the wrong two people…

But thankfully, it would seem she always managed to pick the right ones.

[hrina]

Polished

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 15.6k REQUESTED: nope!

hi everyone 💘 this is the bodyguard AU that i’ve spent all week writing. she’s another long one (i think i have a problem lol) but i worked really hard on it and i’m super proud of how it all turned out. i really hope you like it! if you do, please feel free to leave me some feedback here. 

thank u to the people who acted as my betas for portions/the entirety of this fic: @emotionally-imbruised​, @gucciwoodnymph​, @poppunkdork​ and @atlafan​! i appreciate it so much! 

warning: this fic contains mentions of blood, minor violence, attempted assault, weaponry, and a single use of the f-slur. if any of this makes you uncomfortable, please keep scrolling.

with all of that being said, enjoy! i can’t wait to hear ur thoughts 💖

~*~

     September 18, 2020

“Cheers!”

The tequila burns its way down your throat as you toss the shot back. Your ears are ringing, the sound amplified by the music pulsing through the nightclub. Lights flash from the ceiling, bathing everything in pinks and blues and greens and purples. To your right, Sydney leans forward, smiles toothily, and yells something at the bartender. You think she might be telling him that it’s her birthday, even though that won’t be true for another month—perhaps it’s an attempt to secure an additional round of drinks. Your hips sway unconsciously as you sink your teeth into a slice of lime.

It’s a Friday night.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch the bartender nodding with a permissive smile on his face.

It’s a Friday night, and Sydney is handing you another shot of tequila.

Someone places their hand on the small of your back as they pass. A little zap of electricity races down your spine.

It’s a Friday night, Sydney is handing you another shot of tequila, and you’re drunk. You’re very, very drunk.

The pinch of salt that you lick off your hand stings the edge of your tongue. You don’t reflect on the sensation for too long, though, choosing instead to tip your shot glass back and let the alcohol run its course. The bottom of the glass thuds against the countertop when you slam it down, but the noise is lost amidst the heavy bass pouring through the club. Sydney smiles up at you as she bites into her lime, a green grin. You laugh.

“So!” your friend screams, grimacing at the sour aftertaste lingering on her lips. “Where’s Harry?”

“What?” You squint and lean in, bending down slightly so that you can hear her properly.

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and repeats the question: “Where’s Harry?”

“Oh!” You smirk, shooting her a mischievous wink. “Managed to shake him off for the night!”

“No shit!” Sydney yells, her jaw dropping. “He let you come?”

You pucker your lips, averting your gaze. “Er…not exactly.”

In response, her eyes widen, and she just laughs. You grin when she slaps your arm gently and grabs your wrist, tugging you away from the bar and into the dancing crowd.

“Who cares?” she says loudly, throwing her hands toward the ceiling and shaking her hips. “He’s got a stick up his ass either way!”

Despite your inebriated state, part of you longs to correct her. He’s actually not that bad, you want to say, because it’s true. In public, Harry is stoic and reserved and always on high alert, but that’s because he has to be. It’s his job. You resent the fact that he intimidates your friends, and that it complicates your outings, but you don’t resent him. He’s been assigned to you for two years now, and there’s never been an incident—you wonder if it’s because he’s good at what he does, or because you don’t really need protection after all.

All this time…perhaps your mother was just overly paranoid. And perhaps she continues to be overly paranoid, even to this day.

You shake those thoughts from your mind; they’ll just give you a headache.

Another hand lands on the small of your back, but this time, the contact isn’t fleeting. Fingers pinch and tug at the material of your shirt, relentless. You’re about to whip around and demand that this badgering stranger unhand you, but then a pair of lips are right at the shell of your ear. Hot air fans down your neck—you shiver.

“Why do you insist on making my job so much harder than it has to be?”

~*~

Harry doesn’t speak a word after ushering you into the car. The whole ride back, you sit with your arms crossed, staring out the window and trying to shake off your dizziness. A deep pout is etched into your lips. Your somber expression doesn’t shift, not even when Harry pulls up to the tall metal entrance of your estate, punching in a code on the keypad and sticking his head out of the driver window to undergo a retinal scan. He settles back into his seat afterward, blinking rapidly and waiting for the front gates to creak open.

“How’d you find me?” you slur as you stumble into your bedroom. It’s the first time you’ve spoken since he dragged you out of the club.

Harry doesn’t answer as you make your way over to your bed; your room is large, rivalling the size of an overpriced studio apartment. The furniture is all carved from the finest mahogany, and a glass chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Tall, full-length windows are framed by satin curtains. On the opposite wall stands the door to your private washroom, and next to it, the entrance to your walk-in closet. It’s lavish, it’s luxurious, but it does nothing to ease the situation at hand.

“What?” you ask, plopping down onto your bed. You lift one foot up, fiddling with the strap around your ankle. “Ignoring me for the night?”

You purse your lips as you struggle to get your heels off. Your head is swimming, and a deep feeling of shame is blossoming in your chest. Groaning loudly, you smack your hands down against the duvet and squeeze your eyes shut.

Footsteps approach, but you pay them no mind. You only open your eyes once you feel a pair of rough—albeit nimble—fingers dance down your shin. Through the slight blur in your vision, you find Harry kneeling before you, his hands working deftly to unclasp the strap on each ankle and gently tug your shoes from your feet. You wiggle your toes, sighing appreciatively.

“Thank you,” you murmur, swallowing heavily.

He only grunts in response.

The two of you sit there in silence—you on your duvet and him on his haunches. He’s looking down at the ground, and you take the moment to study his features—the sharp bridge of his nose, the fluttering of his eyelashes, the twisting of his lips. His black suit fits him well, filled out in all the right places; gold cufflinks glint in the moonlight. He’s attractive, and you’re not blind. But your relationship is strictly professional, no matter how much you like to think that the two of you have grown close enough to be friends.

“Find my iPhone,” Harry mutters suddenly.

“What?”

You recoil. He looks up at you with piercing green eyes, and only then do you realise that he’s answering your initial question.

“Oh,” you say, nodding. “Well…good to know.”

His lips twitch.

You wobble into the washroom, trying your best to rub off the makeup on your face despite your inebriated state. Somewhere beneath the buzz, you know that you didn’t get all of it—and that there’ll probably be dried crusts of mascara beneath your eyes tomorrow—but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“You missed some.”

You jump, your gaze snapping upward. In the reflection of the mirror, Harry is leaning against the doorway. You groan, raking your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumble.

Harry’s brows creep up his forehead, surprise evident on his face. “Aren’t you always telling me that it’s important to take it all off before bed?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m smarter when I’m sober.”

He snorts. “Good one.”

You frown.

He pushes off from the doorway, stepping closer to you and reaching for the pack of discarded makeup wipes. When his eyes meet yours in the mirror, he tilts his head to the side, gesturing to the toilet on your right.

“Sit.”

You pout like a child, plopping down onto the ceramic lid and waiting impatiently. Harry takes his sweet time, slowly pulling a wipe from the package and unfurling it gingerly. You’re momentarily entranced by the way the rings on his fingers sparkle in the light. But then a yawn tears past your lips, and you begin to tap your foot against the bathroom tiles, letting out an annoyed sigh.

“C’mon. I’m tired.”

He shoots you a stern look. It’s enough to shut you up.

You watch him intently as he crouches down in front of you and grabs your chin between his fingers. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs. The deep baritone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

His ministrations aren’t as tender as they should be—you make it a point to tell him as much.

“You’re rubbing too harshly,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut. “Be gentler with it.”

“Quiet,” Harry huffs.

Spurred on by his irritation, you continue: “Are you always this rough? Your poor girlfriend…”

He grits his teeth.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he deadpans. You whimper when he drags the wipe unforgivingly over the delicate skin of your eyelids. “But if I did,” he adds, “she’d like it rough.”

Your shoulders stiffen once his words sink in. He says nothing else, choosing instead to crumple the wipe up into a ball and toss it in the garbage. You follow his movements with wide eyes, staring up at him as he stands.

“Brush your teeth,” he tells you, rubbing his fingers over his jawline. “Your breath stinks.”

And then he’s gone.

After a haphazard attempt at brushing your teeth, you shuffle back into your bedroom. Harry is still there, but he’s holding two pieces of fabric for you to take. You recognize them as the baggy t-shirt and the shorts that you usually wear to bed.

“Thank you,” you say, laying the material out on your mattress. Your lips part with another loud yawn as you unzip your skirt, letting it fall from your hips and pool around your ankles. When you cast a glance toward Harry, you find him facing away from you, his fingers laced behind his back.

Always a gentleman.

You tug on the soft, cotton shorts—the hem falls a few inches below your bottom. You reach behind your back, trying to thumb open the clasps of your shirt, but quickly grow frustrated as the seconds draw out.

“Harry,” you sigh, shaking your head.

“Yes?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Can you help me with this?”

Gingerly, he peers at you over his shoulder. Once he takes note of the fact that you’re dressed, he steps closer to you. You toss a thumb backward, gesturing to the column of buttons stacked along your spine.

Again, Harry manages the task easily. You stiffen as he parts the fabric of your shirt, your eyelids growing heavy with each new inch of skin exposed. Though he’s not standing nearly as close as you would like, you can still feel faint puffs of air floating across the nape of your neck. The room is silent; you’re afraid that he can hear your heart battering against the confines of your chest.

Do his hands linger a touch longer than necessary, or is it just your imagination?

“Thank you,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

You pull your shirt off, leaving yourself in just a lacy black bra. Harry’s sharp intake of breath is audible, and then he’s whipping back around.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Give a guy a warning next time, yeah?”

“Next time?” you parrot, emboldened by the alcohol in your system. “Am I going to be stripping for you on a daily basis?”

He grunts. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

You smile to yourself, unclipping your bra and shrugging on the baggy t-shirt he’d given you. “I know.” You clear your throat. “You can turn around now. I’m decent.”

Harry glances over at you as you climb into bed, pulling the covers back and nuzzling your face into your pillow. He bites his bottom lip, crossing his arms over his chest and watching as you settle in for the night. Once your shuffling has ceased, he squares his shoulders, his gaze flitting toward the door.

“Well, if that’s everything—,” he starts, taking a step back.

“Wait!” you say, shooting up into a sitting position.

He freezes, his eyes going wide. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you reply. You shrug, picking at a loose thread on your duvet and avoiding his eyes. “Would you—I was just wondering if maybe—you could stay?”

“Stay,” Harry echoes. You nod, still refusing to look at him. He sighs, and the pet name that he seems to have reserved exclusively for you falls past his lips.

“Love…you’re drunk.”

“Exactly,” you shoot back. “I’m drunk and I just…it feels like I’m floating, and I need something to keep me grounded. And—” you groan, “I know that doesn’t make any sense, but could you please stay? Just—just until I fall asleep. Then you’re free to go, or whatever.”

Harry’s eyes are wide by the time you’re through with your little speech. His expression leaves you feeling even more embarrassed than before. You’re about to roll your eyes and grumble out a never mind, I’m being stupid, just leave, but then he’s approaching your bed cautiously, like you’re a deer that he doesn’t want to startle.

“Just until you fall asleep,” he confirms, drumming his fingers over his bicep.

You nod, expecting him to settle into the armchair a few feet away.

He doesn’t though; you watch attentively as he lowers himself down to sit at the edge of your mattress. His posture is stiff, back straight—he uncrosses his arms, but then locks his fingers together and places them securely in his lap. You hold back a laugh.

“You can relax, you know,” you say, rolling onto your side so that you can fix him with earnest eyes. “I won’t bite.” You pause. “Unless you’re into that kind of stuff.”

“I’ll leave,” Harry threatens without missing a beat.

You giggle, smothering your cheek into your pillow. “Fine, fine, I’m sorry.”

The ghost of a smile dances across his lips. Your eyes fall from his face to his lap; without thinking, you reach out, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and tugging his hands apart.

“It’s already chipping,” you say, a hint of admonishment seeping into your voice. “You should’ve let me put on the protective coat, dummy.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says, flexing his fingers in your grasp. “You’re just gonna redo them on Wednesday, anyway.”

“Still,” you murmur, thumbing over the purple varnish on his nails. You scrape your knuckles against his, letting out a quiet sigh. “What colour do you want next? Are we sticking with lavender again?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “Let’s try something new.”

“I went shopping yesterday with Sydney and bought mint green,” you tell him through a yawn. “What do you think of that?”

“’S nice,” he replies, though it sounds like he’s far away.

You peer up at him through your lashes, only to find that he’s staring at you intently. Under normal circumstances, you would offer up a quip about how he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of you. But you’re tired, and you’re warm, and his hand is now stroking over yours, and you don’t want to ruin the moment.

Maybe he’ll stay the night, is your last thought before you drift off to sleep.

When you awaken the next morning with a pounding headache and a dry mouth, Harry’s gone. The only proof left of the night before is a tablet of ibuprofen and a glass of clear liquid sitting on your nightstand. The ceiling wavers above you; you might still be a little drunk.

You sit up, popping the pill into your mouth and knocking it back with a large swig of water. There’s a dull ache in your chest but you ignore it, opting instead to pull the covers back up over your head.

He didn’t stay. You try not to feel too disappointed as the realisation sinks in.

     September 23, 2020

Harry is waiting for you once you get out of class.

Usually, you fall into step with him, ready with a teasing remark about how he must not have anything better to do with his time. He knows that the two of you probably look like quite the pair—you, with your bag and your coffee and your cheeky smirk, and him, resigned and rigid and expressionless. He would give anything to claw his way out of this situation, to smile along with you and laugh at your jokes and tuck your hair behind your ear. But he needs this job, and your mother loves him like a son, and he doesn’t want to do anything to screw that up.

Today, however, you leave class with a new friend. Harry’s entire body tenses when he notes just how closely the man is walking next to you. He follows the two of you from a safe distance, trying his best to be inconspicuous. You laugh at something that your companion says, and his jaw clenches—he pretends not to know why.

It feels like eons have passed before you and the man finally part ways. Harry doesn’t waste any time.

“Hey,” you say without even turning to look at him. When he glances down at you, he finds a shadowy smirk on your face.

“Hi,” he replies, clearing his throat. “Good class?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“That’s good.”

He blows out a breath, pushing through a door and holding it open for you to follow. You thank him softly, releasing a happy sigh as the warm sunlight hits your face. Harry’s gaze is drawn to the serenity of your features, but he looks away quickly. He’s not really in the mood to endure your taunts. Not today.

“So,” he starts as the two of you amble down the sidewalk, “you made a new friend?”

“Yeah,” you say, shouldering the strap of your messenger bag. “His name is Kevin. He’s nice.”

“He’s funny, too, I’m guessing.” The slightest tinge of bitterness seeps into his words. He hopes that you won’t notice, but of course, you’re as perceptive as ever.

You glance over at him, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

Harry keeps his eyes trained in front of him, where he can see a black car inching into view on the road ahead. Your chauffeur rolls down the window, lifting one hand in greeting. Harry waves back, his expression betraying nothing.

“It’s a good thing you know better, then, isn’t it?”

You laugh at his comeback, but the noise isn’t as cheerful as usual. If anything, it sounds a bit forced.

“Yeah,” you say. Harry opens the car door for you, and you climb into the backseat. “I guess it is.”

~*~

“Your hand is shaking.”

“It’s not my hand, it’s yours.”

“You’re smudging it.”

“Because you keep moving!”

You sigh, sitting back against the headboard of your bed and squeezing your eyes shut. You don’t need to see Harry to know that he’s fighting a smirk. The discography of your newest celebrity obsession is playing on your phone. Harry has told you multiple times that he hates this song—and that’s exactly why you have it on repeat.

“Can we please listen to something else?” he asks, shifting carefully on your bed.

You crack one eye open. “Can you stay still long enough for me to finish doing your nails?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You scoot closer to him, reaching for your phone and shuffling the songs in your library. Harry exhales in relief when a new, slower melody begins to trickle from the device. You toss it away, holding out your hand and looking at him expectantly. He lifts his chin, placing his fingers onto one of your crossed legs.

The sensation of his hand on your knee shouldn’t leave you breathless, but it does. You feel like his palm is burning a hole through your sweatpants. It’s been like this for as long as you can remember—painting his nails every Wednesday night, listening to music and enjoying each other’s company. Some evenings, conversation is scarce; others, it’s like you haven’t spoken in months. It doesn’t make a difference to you—you just like knowing that he’s there.

“How’d the call with your mum go?” Harry says. He makes a move to rest his chin against his fist before realising that the action will inevitably disrupt the polish on his other hand. You notice, smiling softly at the awkward moment.

“It went well,” you hum. Harry likes the way you purse your lips in concentration. “She’d landed in Amsterdam a couple hours prior. Called me when she got to the hotel.”

“That’s good.” He blows out a breath. “How long is she staying for?”

“A few months.”

“I see.”

You peer up at him, your eyes swimming with curiosity. “Do you know why she’s there?”

He shakes his head.

“Are you lying to me?”

“Love,” he starts, frowning gently, “you know she doesn’t—I’m not—she doesn’t keep me in her circle.”

“I know,” you say, somewhat mournfully. “I just thought—maybe she would’ve told you.”

A dejected crease forms on your forehead. Harry longs to lean forward and smooth it out with his lips. He hates when you get like this, but on the other hand, he can’t blame you. Surely, it must be difficult to be kept in the dark, especially for so long. It’s been years, and you’re still not exactly sure of what your mother has gotten herself into.

And despite your frequent questions about her trips, you’re not exactly sure if you want to know.

Silence ensues, and the two of you wordlessly agree to drop the topic—at least for tonight. You finish painting the nail on Harry’s middle finger, bending down and blowing cool air on the wet varnish in hopes of speeding up the drying process.

“Careful,” he warns when your hair tumbles over your shoulder. Without thinking, he reaches out, trying his best to gather the strands in one hand so that they don’t fall onto the freshly-painted nails splayed out over your knee.

You squawk in surprise, sitting back up and circling your fingers around his wrist. “What’d you do that for?” you say, admonishment evident in your tone. “You’re gonna screw these ones up!”

“I was just—!” he tries, but you shush him, scrutinising the semi-dry polish on his other hand. After a long moment, you sigh in relief, returning it and narrowing your eyes at him.

“You’re lucky,” you tell him, snorting quietly. “I would’ve killed you.”

“Like you could take me,” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Nothing.”

You smirk, peering down at the mint green covering three out of his five nails. Absentmindedly, you run your fingers over the hills of his knuckles, softly tweaking his pinky at the end of your journey.

“We’ve come a long way since the black, haven’t we?” you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice. “That was so boring.”

“It was.” Harry nods.

It’s comical, really—a big man like him, sitting cross-legged on your bed. A man covered in an intimidating black suit, hunched over and watching with wide eyes as you meticulously paint shiny varnish onto each one of his nails.

A year ago, you would have been reminding him of this at every available opportunity.

Now, though…now, you’re just enjoying the closeness of it all.

“Er,” Harry clears his throat, and you peer up at him through your lashes.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“I—,” he looks away. “I just wanted to apologise for earlier today.”

“Earlier today…,” you trail off, frowning in confusion. “What happened earlier today?”

“When I—when you—never mind.” He shakes his head.

You smile. “I’m totally fucking with you,” you tell him, snickering quietly. You shrug. “And it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “You’re the worst,” he grumbles, his lips curling down into a scowl.

You laugh, reaching forward and shoving his shoulder gently. “You love it.” Your own shoulders shake as you look back down, dipping the dried nail brush into its accompanying pot of green polish.

“Plus,” you add, trying to keep your voice light. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Unfortunately, you’re the only man in my life.”

Harry lifts one eyebrow, unimpressed. “Should I be insulted?”

You resume painting his nails, giggling at his sardonic tone. “You should be flattered.”

     October 10, 2020

You’re walking back to the car when it happens.

It’s a beautiful day—the sun is shining brightly, and there’s not a cloud in the sky. You and Harry pass by a woman walking her dog, but not before you bend down, transferring all of your shopping bags into one hand (a feat, Harry thinks) and cooing at the furry little creature.

“She’s adorable,” you tell the owner, peering up at her with shining eyes. “What’s her name?”

“Blossom,” the woman replies, smiling.

“Blossom,” you repeat, turning your gaze back to the fluffy white dog. “Oh, you’re beautiful, aren’t you? I just want to eat you up.”

The owner laughs nervously—Harry doesn’t blame her. You’re harmless, but he’s right behind you. He’s sure that he looks intimidating, lingering in a black suit with his arms crossed over his chest. He makes no move to engage with the woman or her dog, even though the little boy in him yearns to run his fingers through Blossom’s soft white fur. Instead, he stands there, waiting patiently as you bid the lady goodbye and blow one last kiss in her pet’s general direction.

The two of you continue walking; the car is only about fifty feet away.

“That was one of the cutest dogs I’ve ever seen,” you say once you’re out of earshot. You glance back over your shoulder, sighing longingly. “Do you think she’d put her up for sale if I asked?”

Despite himself, Harry smirks.

“Contrary to popular belief,” he begins, uncrossing his arms. “You can’t buy everything you see.”

“I bought you, didn’t I?”

“I’m not for sale. And even if I was, technically it would’ve been your mother who bought me.”

“Okay, well then, we bought…your services.”

“Jesus.” He shakes his head, chuckling a bit. “You make it sound like I’m a prostitute or something.”

You laugh.

Harry loves your laugh. He loves the sound, loves the tone, loves the pitch. He loves the way your features crinkle up with joy as the noise slips from your mouth. Every time he hears your giggle, his gaze is drawn to your face, like an inborn reflex.

He’s grateful for that. He sends out a prayer of thanks to whatever mighty powers that may be, because when he looks at you, he sees everything. He sees your smile, the apples of your cheeks, your full, fluttering lashes.

And he sees the shaky red dot positioned squarely between your eyes.

“Get down!”

You squawk in surprise when he tackles you to the ground.

“Harry—!” you start, but then a telltale whizz! rockets past your ear.

You scream.

Your shoulder makes contact with the cement of the sidewalk, and a flare of pain blazes up your arm. Harry’s on top of you in an instant, his hands on either side of your head and his green eyes wild with panic. You’ve never seen him look so scared.

You know what’s happening, but you can’t seem to move. Your pretty pastel shopping bags are lying around you in a heap. Some are still on your arm, digging into your wrist and cutting off circulation. Harry appears to realise this as well, because he climbs to his knees and yanks your hands free.

“Go!” he shouts, but his voice is muffled by the ringing in your ears.

The two of you stagger to your feet. You take in your surroundings, your lips parted in shock. “My—my bags…”

“Forget the bags!” he yells. He grips your biceps callously, spinning you around and shoving you in the direction of the car. “Fucking run!”

~*~

“Harry…”

“Harry.”

“Harry!”

“What?” he roars, whipping around.

You stumble backward, nearly bumping into the wall behind you. You’re standing in the front foyer of your estate, your face littered with tears and your hands perpetually shaky. Harry locks the door and then wrenches closed the curtains on the windows flanking the entrance. The abrupt action causes him to wince.

“You’re hurt,” you state, though your voice is weak. “Harry, your arm…”

“’S just a graze,” he mutters, turning on his heel and storming past you.

You follow him as he makes his way toward the tall, winding staircase in the middle of the room. The steps span every level of your house, from the top floor to the basement. Harry pauses on the first stair of the flight leading downward, his hand on the bannister and his back to you.

“Go to your room,” he orders lowly, refusing to look at you. “And stay there.”

“Go to my room?” you repeat incredulously, your eyes bulging out of your head. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Harry doesn’t reply; instead, he blocks you out, descending the stairs into the basement without another word. You let out an angry yell, furiously fisting the material of your cashmere sweater. A few long moments elapse before you grit your teeth, and then your feet are smacking heatedly against each step as you rush after him.

You’re quiet once you reach the bottom of the flight, looking both ways for any clue as to where he could’ve gone. You purse your lips when you see him turn the corner, his left hand clutching his right bicep and a deep scowl etched into his face. Silently, you follow.

He ducks into a room at the end of the hall, pushing the door closed. However, it doesn’t click into place, leaving a small crack for you to peek through once you reach the threshold. You place one hand over your mouth to stifle your breathing, watching with wide eyes as Harry yanks his suit jacket from his torso.

His white button up is crisp and pristine—save for the right sleeve, which is soaked through with blood. You nearly gag.

Harry stalks through another doorway—a quick glimpse inside reveals it to be a bathroom. You push open your door ever-so-slightly, taking in the scene in front of you.

His bedroom. Of course.

You’ve never actually been inside his room. You’ve always known he lived somewhere in the house—a safe haven to frequent after midnight—but you’d never been bold enough to seek it out. You’re surprised to find that his room is quite similar to yours. It’s smaller in size, but the layout is the same (excluding your full-length windows and luxurious chandelier). The walls are painted a deep shade of burgundy, and the bed is made up of black satin sheets. He also has a walk-in closet and an adjoining washroom, just like you.

Bolstered by your discovery, you slip inside, nudging the door closed. Something on his dresser glints, catching your eye—you turn toward it.

It’s a picture frame. Upon closer inspection, you notice that it bears a photo of Harry. He’s young, but not that much younger than you are, now—maybe nineteen or twenty. He’s got his arms wrapped around two women, holding them against his sides; one is older, her face slightly weathered with age, whereas the other is youthful and alert, sporting bright eyes and smooth cheeks.

With a jolt, you realise that Harry and both of these women all look eerily similar—and that they all share the same smile.

The sound of running water jerks you out of your daze. Your head snaps up in the direction of the washroom; the door has been left ajar.

Harry is standing in front of the sink, soaking a washcloth underneath the faucet. His hair is dishevelled, and his button-up has been ripped open, exposing his chest and abdomen. A silver pendant—a dog tag—hangs from his neck. You’re shocked to discover all of the tattoos littering his skin—you’ve only ever been privy to the cross inked into the dip of his thumb.

Your eyes trail up his body, landing once again on the bloody sleeve covering his arm. The sight of it is enough, giving you the courage you need to speak up.

“Just a graze, huh?”

Harry’s eyes flicker up to meet yours in the mirror. A small part of you is upset that you didn’t manage to catch him by surprise. Are you really that predictable?

“Thought I told you to go to your room.”

You place your hands on your hips, scowling deeply. “And I thought you were twenty-six, not fifty. Who are you, my father?”

“No,” Harry says, and you hate the coolness with which he addresses you. He wraps the wet washcloth around his fingers, squeezing excess water from the fabric. “But I am your bodyguard.”

“You’re also hurt,” you retaliate, taking a step toward him.

Harry moves to the side, trying to put some distance between your bodies, but you’re not deterred. You back him up until his leg knocks against the edge of the bathtub, lifting one eyebrow challengingly because he has nowhere to go. His nostrils flare in irritation—you don’t think he’s ready to give up.

“You have two options,” you tell him, set on holding your ground. “You can either stop being such a proud prick and let me help you, or we can stay like this, and you can bleed out onto the bathroom floor.”

A long stretch of silence ensues. Harry stares at you with hard eyes, but you refuse to let your foundation crumble. Just when you think he’s going to force his way out of the situation, he sighs in defeat, his shoulders slumping dejectedly. You hold out your hand, and he dumps the washcloth into your waiting palm.

“Come here,” you say, backing up.

You hop onto the counter, spreading your legs and beckoning him closer.

He hesitates. You roll your eyes.

“Get over yourself,” you snap, shaking your head. “You’re not that dreamy.”

It’s unmistakably a lie, and you both know it, but neither of you say anything. Harry settles into the gap between your knees, keeping his arms securely at his sides. You peer up at him nervously, setting the washcloth down onto the counter and reaching forward to lightly grasp the collar of his shirt.

“This might hurt a bit,” you whisper, tugging the material away from his shoulders. He hisses when the fabric passes over his wound, scraping unpleasantly against the raw skin. You purse your lips, murmuring gentle apologies.

His left arm is covered in tattoos. You want to stop what you’re doing, trail your fingers over each design, and marvel at every little detail. But you can’t—you have bigger things to worry about at the moment, and not even your priorities are that screwed up.

Harry swears under his breath when you press the washcloth to his bicep. The material is warm and wet, and you use it to soak up the blood that’s been smeared down to his elbow. Once you’ve cleaned the area around his wound, you lean in to get a better look at what you’re dealing with.

The skin is pink and irritated, and there’s a deep groove running across the width of his arm. He’s lucky—he’s so, so lucky—but even as you stare, blood begins to pool all over again. You quickly press the washcloth back against the laceration.

“Fuck!” he chokes, reaching out and gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”

“Sorry.” You shift, trying to catch his eyes. “Do you have any disinfectant? And bandages?”

He nods, bending down and pulling open one of the cupboards below the sink.

“Let me—,” you start, but he cuts you off quickly.

“Still got one good arm, don’t I?” he grumbles.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to reply.

The disinfectant stings like a bitch—you tell him as much before spritzing it onto his wound. He lets loose a string of colourful curse words, and despite the tension hanging in the air, you smile. The bandages are next; you rip off a long strip, winding it around his bicep and tying it into a tight knot at the end.

“You need to keep pressure on it,” you murmur, though you don’t know who you’re addressing. “That should stop the bleeding, eventually.”

“Eventually,” he echoes. You stare fixedly at his collarbones and nod.

A beat of silence passes between you.

“I’m sorry,” you finally mumble, looking down at your lap.

He grunts. “For what?”

“For this,” you say, shaking your head and gesturing between your bodies. “You—you got shot, Harry.”

“Graze,” he reminds you, but the correction only makes you feel worse.

“It doesn’t matter!” you say, looking up at him earnestly. “You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t,” he says. He’s staring at the mirror behind your head, refusing to meet your gaze. “And if it weren’t for me, you would have died.”

“That’s exactly my point!” you cry. You wrap your fingers around his forearm, hoping that the contact is enough to make him understand. “Who says my life is more valuable than yours? Some stupid fucking paycheque? Or—?”

Harry cuts you off before you can say anything else, squishing your cheeks together with his left hand. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, your brows knitting together at the suddenness of the action. You’re sure that you must look extremely unappealing, with a puckered mouth and inquisitive eyes, but he just gazes at you solemnly, licking his lips before speaking.

“I would take a bullet for you, no questions asked.” He stresses every syllable, like he doesn’t want to risk any potential misinterpretation of his words. “And not just because it’s my job.”

For the first time since he’s known you, he witnesses you speechless. Your squished lips part, but no words come out. Harry sighs, releasing your cheeks and stepping back from in between your legs. You watch as he approaches the bathroom door, pulling it wide open and making his request clear.

“You should get some rest,” he mutters, and once again, he refuses to meet your eyes. “It’s been a long day.”

     October 12, 2020

Harry pokes his head through your bedroom door just as you end the call with your mother. You groan, tossing your phone onto your mattress and flinging yourself into the mountain of pillows piled against the headboard. When you catch sight of him in the periphery of your vision, you greet him with a glare.

“You told her?”

He shrugs, stepping into your room and clasping his hands behind his back. “It’s my job.”

“No,” you say, mildly annoyed. “Your job is to make sure that I don’t get killed. Not to go running to my mother at the first sign of danger.”

Harry bristles. “She’s my boss. And you’re her daughter—she deserves to know.”

You groan, shutting your laptop and rolling over onto your stomach. Your sheets are soft; you wish that you could sink into the fabrics and let them swallow you up until you wink out of existence.

“What did she say?” Harry asks, snapping you out of your reverie.

“She wanted to come home,” you mumble, shaking your head. “I told her to stay where she was.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m fine!” you tell him, exasperation leaking into your words. “And I know that I’ll never hear the end of it if she has to cut her trip short because of me. God forbid she act like a parent for once in her life.”

“She’s trying her best.”

You laugh hollowly, turning onto your back and staring up at the ceiling. “That’s a lie, and we both know it.”

Harry doesn’t respond.

You peer over at him with raised brows, like you’re truly noticing his presence for the first time. “I’m surprised you’re still on duty. Does she not care about the fact that you’re injured?”

Again, he doesn’t respond. His silence, however, reveals everything.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Bullshit,” you bark out, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. “So, what?” you ask, your lips curling down into a scowl. “You get to decide what’s ‘relevant’?”

“I’m here to protect you,” Harry states firmly, fixing you with stern eyes. “And I can’t do that from the sidelines.”

You scoff but say nothing else. A hush washes over the two of you, hanging heavy in the air. You pick at a loose thread on your duvet, your brows tucked tightly together.

Harry is the first one to break.

“Have you told your friends?”

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

“They don’t need to know.” You shrug. “Sydney’s rented out a booth for her birthday on Saturday, so I’m just going to go and pretend like nothing ever—”

“Hold on,” he cuts you off, wrinkles creasing into the skin of his forehead. “You—you’re joking, right?”

“Why would I joke about Sydney’s birthday?”

“No, I mean—,” he grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. You stare at him, utterly bewildered. He stands up to his full height, and the exasperation warping his features fades; apathy takes its place. “I’m sorry, but you’re not going.”

“What?” you shriek. Your unbothered appearance quickly disintegrates into a heated grimace. “What do you mean, I’m not going?”

“You’re not going,” he repeats, and you hate the calm—almost tranquil—expression on his face. “That’s final.”

“Okay,” you start, scrambling to your feet and holding up your hands. “Let’s pause for a second, yeah? I know we fuck around and laugh about my daddy issues sometimes, but…you do know that you’re not actually my father, right?”

“This isn’t about your daddy issues,” Harry declares, though his tone is void of any and all emotion. “It’s about your safety.”

“And what about my sanity?” you fire back. You tug the sleeves of your crewneck over your clenched fists, desperately searching for something to keep you from falling apart. “Are you saying that I’m basically trapped in my own goddamn house?”

“You’re being dramatic.” The mask that he’s wearing seems to have been carved from stone.

“Well, you’re being a dick.”

“I can live with that.”

“Harry!” You stomp your foot—like a fucking child—as your eyes dampen with tears. Your initial sense of shock washes away, replaced by a helplessness that you haven’t felt in a long time.

The next question that leaves your lips is pathetically frail.

“Why are you doing this?”

He finally meets your gaze, and for the first time since he’d walked in, it feels like he’s looking at you rather than through you. His back straightens, shoulders squaring like he’s preparing for divine combat. You approach him carefully, a stray tear streaking down your face. Before you can wipe it away on the material of your sleeve, Harry is reaching out with his uninjured arm, cupping your cheek and catching the droplet with his thumb.

“Less than forty-eight hours ago, an attempt was made on your life,” he murmurs, staring at you with earnest green eyes. “And you’re already so willing to risk it again?”

You sniffle, lifting your chin in defiance and batting his hand away. Harry’s expression falls, and his gaze grows cold once more. You wrap your arms around your torso, glaring at him angrily. Your subsequent command drips with venom.

“Get out.”

He doesn’t put up a fight.

     October 14, 2020

It’s nearly one in the morning when someone knocks on your bedroom door. At first, you don’t hear it, too preoccupied with the song pouring from your headphones into your ears. But then it’s there again, a bit firmer this time, and you pause your music, calling out a gentle, “Come in!”

You don’t know who you’re expecting to see. Maybe it’s one of the housekeepers, doing some late-night laundry and bringing you fresh towels for the next day. Maybe your personal chef has been baking cookies again—a common coping mechanism for when she can’t sleep. Your mouth waters at the thought.

All of your hopes are dashed, however, when the door creaks open.

The first thing you notice is that Harry’s not wearing his usual attire. You don’t know why you’re surprised—it’s past midnight, and he’s technically off-duty. It’s still shocking, though, seeing him sporting a plain t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants instead of the crisp, dark suit to which you’ve grown so accustomed. Your eyes drop to his hands—at least he’s still wearing his rings.

“Hi,” Harry utters lowly.

You turn back to your laptop, not saying a word.

He sighs, dragging a palm down the side of his face. Fresh bandages peek out from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt. For some reason, the sight startles you, and you remember that this is the man who had quite literally taken a bullet for you.

You suppose that it’s time to remove your head from your ass.

You shut your computer, pushing it to the side before tossing your legs over the edge of the bed. Harry watches you cautiously as you approach him, still as a statue. Swallowing heavily, you reach out, pushing the sleeve of his shirt up and brushing your fingers over his wounded bicep.

“How is it?” you ask, your voice no higher than a whisper.

He relents, shoulders deflating as he exhales. “’S better. Still sore, but it’s healing.”

“Can I see?”

He nods.

You’re surprised at how easily he lets you take the lead. You push the door closed with one hand, lifting your chin in the direction of your bed. He obeys your silent request and pads over to your mattress, easing down onto the duvet with his sock-clad feet still flat against the floor. You join him a moment later, settling in on his right side and crossing your legs to get comfortable.

His arms are limp, but his posture is straight. He stares at the door as you tug on the knot of his bandages, watching as they loosen around his bicep. Slowly, you unwind the gauze, subconsciously holding in a breath and awaiting what lies beneath.

The graze has started to heal. The skin around it is a lighter shade of pink, and the wound itself has begun to mend. You’re relieved to see that there’s no blood dotting his skin. Out of the corner of your eye, Harry’s throat bobs with a heavy swallow.

“It looks good,” you murmur, unsure of whether you’re talking to him or to yourself.

He just nods again, remaining motionless as you wrap the gauze back around his arm. You redo the knot at the end, and then you have to physically restrain yourself from leaning forward and smoothing your lips over the concealed wound.

Instead, your hands fall to his wrist. Harry stiffens, but then relaxes when you lift his fingers up to your face. Your brows furrow as you study the chipped green varnish on his nails. He’s been choosing the same colour for weeks, now—you’re glad that he seems to like it.

“Do you want me to?” you ask softly, peering up at him through your lashes. You’ve never been in his company so late at night (whilst sober, at least) but you suppose that there’s a first time for everything.

“Yeah,” Harry mutters, fidgeting with the material of his sweatpants. “Please.”

You shoot him the tiniest smile imaginable, and then you stand, making your way into the washroom to retrieve the worn, well-loved nail kit hidden under the sink.

~*~

“Do you want to keep the green?”

He shakes his head. “No, let’s try something else.”

“Okay.” You nod, dumping the contents of the bag onto your mattress. Little, colourful glass bottles clink together as they roll out onto your duvet. You look up at Harry with a raised eyebrow, gesturing luridly to the selection laid out in front of him. “Take your pick.”

His gaze sweeps over each shade before he shrugs—you don’t miss the slight wince of pain that passes over his lips. “I can’t decide,” he says simply, and when he looks back up at you, he’s almost shy. “You choose.”

“You’re giving me a lot of power, you know,” you say wryly. A soft chuckle slips from his mouth. After a brief moment of deliberation, you settle on pastel yellow, holding up the bottle so that he can see it clearly. “This might be pretty.”

“Pretty,” he echoes, staring straight into your eyes. His gaze knocks the air from your lungs and leaves you wondering if he’s talking about the colour, or about…something else.

You give the tiny bottle a good shake, catching sight of your phone laying off to the side. Without thinking, you snatch it up from the duvet, unlocking it and tapping onto your music app.

You hand the device over to Harry. When he shoots you a confused look, you just say, “If I’m picking the shade, you can pick the songs. Seems fair to me.”

He smiles.

You screw open the cap of the nail polish, studying the consistency of the liquid inside. “I might need to apply two coats to make it opaque enough,” you mumble, mostly to yourself.

Harry just hums in agreement as he scrolls through your music library.

He eventually seems to settle on a decision, because just then, a soft, monotone note wafts out from your phone’s speaker. You recognize the tune right away.

“Girl Crush?” you ask, the corners of your lips kinking up into a nostalgic smile. “I would’ve never guessed.”

He returns your tender expression, tilting his head to the side sheepishly. “It’s a nice song.”

“It is,” you concur. A sharp spark passes between your fingers when you reach for his hand, but neither of you comment on it. “Okay,” you say, shooting him a faux-menacing look. “Don’t move.”

The two of you sit in silence for the next ten minutes. You’re meticulous as you paint the varnish onto each one of Harry’s nails, your tongue caught between your teeth and your brow furrowed in concentration. You can feel him staring at you—he’s practically burning a hole through your head—but you say nothing, mostly because a small part of you is enjoying the attention.

“What were you doing before I showed up?” Harry asks quietly, breaking the silence.

“Working on a presentation for my seminar class,” you hum, dipping the nail brush back into its bottle. “It’s due Friday.”

“Are you nearly finished with it?”

You shake your head. “Not even close.”

“Love,” he starts, and you think you hear a hint of admonishment creeping into his tone. “Why’re you wasting your time giving me a bloody manicure?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You wave away his qualms with an absentminded flick of your hand. “I’ll get it done; I promise.” You pause for a moment, puckering your lips before you add, “Plus, I like doing your nails. It’s therapeutic.”

“Therapeutic,” he repeats. It’s obvious that he doesn’t believe you.

“Yeah,” you nod, blowing cool air over his fingers. “It’s nice—this. Us.”

He doesn’t reply.

You start on his other hand, careful with your ministrations. The memory of his closing wound is still fresh in your mind, and you don’t want to risk any sudden movements that might open it back up. You work noiselessly for the next few minutes.

“It’s weird seeing you dressed like this,” you murmur suddenly. The words slip out before you have the time to register them.

Harry chuckles faintly. “I’m usually on-duty, aren’t I?” When you nod, he continues: “Plus, we’ve never done this so late at night.”

“We can,” you say, perhaps a little too quickly. Your ears grow hot with embarrassment, and you’re suddenly extremely grateful for the fact that you have an excuse to not look at him. You stare hard at the rings on his fingers, swallowing heavily. “I mean…if you want. I’m sure it’s more comfortable sitting in sweatpants instead of slacks.”

“Don’t you have an early class on Thursdays, though?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, his question ripe with subtle mockery.

You chew on your bottom lip and refrain from telling him that you’ll happily show up to class with bags under your eyes if it means spending more of your time like this—with him. “Oh. Right.”

He laughs softly, and silence falls over the two of you once more. Just when you think that your conversation has tapered off for the night, he addresses the elephant in the room that you’ve both been trying your hardest to ignore.

“I’m sorry about the other day.”

You freeze, nearly smearing a glob of yellow onto the cuticle of his pinky. When you offer up nothing in response, Harry persists.

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” he mutters, lowering his head in shame. “I hated seeing you like that.”

You look up at him with wide, shining eyes. You’ve never witnessed him so full of remorse—the sight makes your heart ache.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, discarding the nail brush back into the pot of bright varnish. “I—you were probably right, anyway. It’s too dangerous.”

“No.” He purses his lips. “I think I was just being selfish. I was…trying to protect my ego.”

“What do you mean?” you ask softly.

His fingers flex when you stroke over the rough skin of his knuckles. He sighs.

“It’s my job to keep you safe,” he says. The words are slightly strained. “And I nearly failed.”

“But you didn’t,” you say, leaning forward.

“But I almost did!” he counters. You recoil, stunned by the emotion in his voice. He clears his throat and covers your hands with his. You can’t even be bothered to worry about the fact that his nails might ruin.

“When you told me that you were going out again, and so soon…,” Harry trails off, shaking his head. “I panicked, and I tried to take control. I’m sorry.”

You squeeze his wrists comfortingly and nod. “It’s alright,” you say thickly. “I forgive you.”

He blows out a relieved sigh, straightening up and blinking rapidly. Just like that, all evidence of his personal sentiments is gone. He can turn his feelings on and off so quickly—you suppose that it’s necessary in his line of work. Still, though…you don’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed.

“You should go to Sydney’s birthday,” he states matter-of-factly.

A small smile forms on your face. “I—are you serious?”

“Yeah.” He bobs his head in approval. “But I’m coming, too, obviously. Need to make sure you stay out of trouble.”

Your modest smile grows into a bright grin. Somewhere beneath your vibrant excitement, you realise that both of your hands are still tucked tightly between his.

“Escorted to a party by my hot, British bodyguard,” you tease. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

     October 17, 2020

The club is packed. You can barely move, squished between perspiring bodies and gyrating hips. You can’t even see the bar because of how many people are crowding the counter, waiting to order their drinks. It’s dark, and hot, and the air smells of sweat and desire—typical.

Under normal circumstances, you would’ve never come out on a Saturday night. The pros simply do not outweigh the cons.

Thankfully, though, these aren’t normal circumstances.

The booth that Sydney has rented is a beacon of hope, a little island of peace in the surrounding sea of chaos. You’re right next to the birthday girl, laughing at how captivated she is by the song booming through the building. She wraps one arm around you, tilting her head up and accepting another swig of vodka straight from the bottle.

The rest of your friends are scattered. Some are with you, lounging in the booth and drunkenly screaming lyrics up at the ceiling. Others are out on the dance floor, blending into the crowd and twirling around without a care in the world.

Sydney is plastered; you’re not too far behind.

A quick glimpse at your phone tells you that it’s a few minutes past one in the morning. It also makes you realise just how badly you need to pee.

There’s a man standing near the bar—he’s been eyeing you unsubtly all night. From what you can tell, he’s cute. A baby blue button-up hugs his shoulders nicely, and his blonde, shaggy hair is swept sideways on his forehead. He’s tall and handsome, and you don’t think you’d mind kissing him. As you inch your way toward the edge of the booth, a large part of you wonders why you haven’t already made a move.

You trip over your own two feet as you stand, and you’re sure that you would have broken your fall with your face if it weren’t for the strong pair of arms that catch you mid-tumble.

And oh. It comes rushing back to you, wrapped up in stark clarity.

That’s why.

Harry’s pained grunt reverberates lowly in your ear. With a loud gasp, you realise that your fingers are digging loosely into his injured bicep.

“I’m so sorry!” you yell over the music as he helps you back onto your feet. “Are you okay?”

He just nods, shaking off his discomfort and clenching his jaw.

He hasn’t moved from the edge of the booth all night. He’s been standing there for hours, untouched by the turbulent current of drunk socialites. You suppose that it’s because he appears to be just another member of security, watching the crowd and ensuring that everyone is staying safe.

“Where are you going?” Harry shouts. His question is barely audible, swept away by the basslines vibrating through your body.

“Bathroom!” you yell back.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat. You pat his shoulder gently and shake your head. “I think I’m perfectly capable of taking a piss by myself! Thank you, though!”

He frowns, looking like he wants to argue. When he sees the expectant, mocking expression on your face, however, he clamps his mouth shut.

You shoot him an appreciative smile, tossing your thumb over your shoulder and barking out a quick promise of, “I’ll be right back!”

You’re pleased to discover that the washrooms of the club are split up into private cubicles rather than simply aggregated in one big space. The walls of the corridor are lined with doors and littered with a few drunken stragglers. You pass a man and a woman who are locked in a blazing kiss, and a hot pang of longing claws its way down your sternum, settling uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach.

The last cubicle on your right is vacant. Breathing out a quick prayer of thanks, you duck inside. There’s an empty shot glass standing on the edge of the sink, but other than that, the room is in good condition. You tug your underwear down as you position yourself above the toilet, clutching the hem of your dress close to your chest and doing what you came to do.

Two minutes and one flush later, you’re screwing open the faucet, sighing happily as cool water runs over your wrists. To your right, a dispenser containing lavender-scented soap is nailed into the wall. You wash your hands quickly before wringing them out and wiping the excess wetness against your thighs.

When you open the washroom door, you freeze in your tracks. A man—that same man who’s been making eyes at you all night—is standing in the threshold.

He’s even taller in person. And now that you’re closer to him (and shrouded in better lighting) you can see that his hair isn’t blonde like you’d originally thought, but light brown. His eyes are a stark shade of cobalt blue, attentive enough to indicate that he might be one of the only sober people in the entire building.

“Hi.” His voice is as smooth as velvet.

“Hi,” you reply, offering up a small, wary smile. He’s cute, but who the fuck tries to pick a woman up as she exits the bathroom?

“My name’s Lukas,” he says, holding out his hand. You take it gingerly, quietly introducing yourself in return. He smiles at the mention of your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” You stand on your tiptoes, peering over his shoulder and chewing on your bottom lip. “Sorry, my friends are waiting—”

“That’s a pretty dress,”  Lukas tells you, placing his hands on either side of the doorway. Somewhere beneath the buzz of alcohol in your system, you’re aware that he’s successfully blocked your only way out. He takes a step toward you, and you match it with a step back, nearly tripping over a shallow crack in one of the tiles on the floor.

“Thanks,” you say, your lips curling into a dim scowl, “but I really should be going.”

“Or we could hang out in here,” he suggests, shrugging innocently (in the back of your mind, you know that his thoughts must be the furthest thing from innocent.) “Just the two of us.”

“No, thanks.” You shake your head vehemently. Your palm finds a place on the wall, and you use the leverage to keep yourself steady. Your eyes rake down his body as he inches toward you, searching for any potential weak points.

Elbow to the nose? Knee to the groin?

Just then, a gruff utterance of your name is heard from out in the hall. You nearly sob in relief.

“Harry!”

Less than a moment later, a large, sweaty hand slaps down over your mouth. You squeal, frightened tears rushing to your eyes as Lukas heaves you up against the wall. He digs his fingers into the column of your throat, keeping you pinned with one hand while the other reaches for the door, aiming to slam it shut.

Before it can close all the way, a strong, ringed hand appears out of nowhere, shoving the barrier back open. Hinges creak as the doorknob crashes into the side of the wall, nearly putting a hole through the plaster.

Harry’s nostrils flare as he absorbs the scene laid out in front of him. Only a second passes before he’s stalking inside the cubicle, his mossy eyes alight with one palpable emotion: rage.

“Get the fuck off of her!” he bellows.

His palms make contact with Lukas’ shoulders, and he uses the brunt of his weight to shove him away from you. The other man goes tumbling into the opposite wall, almost stumbling over the porcelain bowl of the toilet.

“The fuck is your problem?” Lukas snaps, rubbing the back of his head as he regains his bearings.

Harry pulls you out of harm’s way, putting himself between you and your aggressor. You watch the scene unfold from behind him, anxiously fumbling with the hem of your dress.

“Don’t—,” Harry points at Lukas threateningly. His voice has returned to its normal, low octave, but you can still hear the fury simmering beneath his words, “—ever fucking touch her again.”

Lukas pushes himself off of the wall, cracking his knuckles and angling his head to the side. His blue irises glimmer maliciously as he looks over at you.

“Is this your boyfriend, sweetheart?” he asks. The words are nothing but a wicked taunt. He sizes Harry up, assessing his figure.

You watch his eyes widen when they land on the pale yellow polish decorating your bodyguard’s nails, and then—much to your horrified surprise—he laughs.

“Oh, my mistake.” He shakes his head, a spiteful smile splitting across his face. “He’s just a fuckin’ faggot.”

Harry doesn’t react to the insult—but you do. Before you can even register your actions, you’re slipping out from behind him, lifting your arm high into the air and delivering a sharp, backhanded blow to Lukas’ right cheek.

Your knuckles sting at the contact, but the pain is overshadowed by the smug sense of vindication that settles in your chest. Anger warps your features, turning you into someone unrecognizable.

“How dare—?”

The rest of your sentence dissolves into an alarmed shriek when Lukas seizes your wrist. He snarls.

“Know your place, bitch!”

You brace yourself for his retaliation, but the strike never comes. In the blink of an eye, Harry has Lukas’ arm pinned behind his back. Blue eyes well up with agony, and a pained shout slips from his lips. You recoil, startled by the sudden shift of power.

Harry leans down, his mouth just above Lukas’ ear. He glances up at you briefly before looking back down at the cowering man before him. In that moment, your gazes meet for only a millisecond, but the contact somehow puts you at ease.

“Apologise to the lady,” Harry mutters, pulling Lukas’ arm even tighter across his back. “Or I break it.”

Lukas whimpers, glaring up at you with angry eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he spits out, though there’s no sincerity behind the phrase.

Wordlessly, you lift your chin, spinning on your heel and making your way toward the door. Behind you, a surprised yelp slices through the air, followed quickly by a violent thud. When you peer back over your shoulder, Harry is brushing his palms off on the lapels of his suit, and Lukas is kneeling over the toilet, his chest heaving.

“Harry,” you say, calling him over. You hope that neither of the men can hear the slight quiver in your voice.

Harry approaches you, and you reach out for him. He offers you his uninjured arm; you link your elbow through the gap between his bicep and his torso.

You expect it to end there, but then Lukas mutters something unfamiliar under his breath. The words are nearly indiscernible, but you know for a fact that they’re definitely not English. Harry must hear them too, because he freezes in his tracks.

“Harry,” you say, tugging gently at his sleeve. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Say goodbye to your friends,” he replies bluntly, dodging your question. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

~*~

The journey back home is painfully quiet.

Harry says nothing until the car drags through the metal gates of your property and peels up the roundabout leading to your front door. Once your chauffeur cuts the engine, Harry turns to him, shaking his hand firmly and thanking him for the ride. You bid the man goodnight, catching his kind smile in the rear-view mirror.

He seems nice. You should probably learn his name.

But that can wait.

The effects of the alcohol in your system seem to have worn off. You attribute your sobriety to the fact that you were cornered and nearly attacked in a public bathroom not too long ago. You’re still a bit wobbly on your feet—not to mention the loud, persistent ringing in your ears—but your mind is clear. That’s all that matters.

Harry leads you inside, cupping his palm beneath your bent elbow and keeping you steady. Part of you longs for him to slide his hand closer and trail his fingers down your back until they’re tickling the base of your spine. But that would be unprofessional, you remind yourself, so you keep your mouth shut.

Walking into your room fails to bring you the familiar sense of comfort that it usually does. You swallow heavily, kicking off your heels (these ones aren’t embellished with any straps or buckles, thank God) and making your way over to your bed. As you approach your mattress, your fingers find their way to your back, grasping for the zipper of your dress that’s settled just above your shoulder blades.

You grit your teeth in frustration, stopping suddenly and casting a glance behind you. Harry is waiting at your door, standing rigidly with his hands clasped tightly in front of him.

“Can you…?” Your question is hushed and incomplete, and you don’t wait for his reaction before turning back around. The sound of his low footsteps reaches your ears; your skin prickles in anticipation.

His fingers are gentle as they tug your zipper down. He’s close—closer than usual. You can feel his warm, laboured breaths puffing out against the nape of your neck.

Harry pauses when he drags the zipper past the middle of your back, exposing the clasp of your bra. His hands abandon your body, leaving you confused. Before you can question him, however, he’s fiddling with the little hooks on the undergarment. A moment later, the cups holding your cleavage in place loosen and slip lower on your chest. A soft, dazed gasp tumbles from your lips.

Harry then resumes his previous actions, unzipping your dress the rest of the way and stepping back once he’s finished. You face him, clutching the sagging fabric against your sternum to keep it from sliding down your torso.

“Thank you,” you murmur. Suddenly, the floor is a lot more interesting than the man standing before you.

Harry just grunts in response.

You hesitate, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. There’s a palpable tension hanging in the air; you feel like it might suffocate you if you don’t voice the question dancing on the tip of your tongue.

“What was it?” you ask quietly, refusing to take your eyes off of the ground. “In the washroom, before we left—what did he say? It wasn’t English—”

“French,” Harry cuts in. You pause, clamping your mouth shut and waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t add anything else.

“What did he say?” you repeat. Beneath the loose, shapeless material of your dress, your heart is beating a mile a minute.

“Nothing,” Harry utters after a long moment of silence. “At least, nothing that you need to worry abo—”

“You’re lying,” you seethe, and the abrupt wave of irritation that washes over you is enough to make your head snap up. Your gaze burns into his face, lips curled down into a vivid scowl.

“Harry—,” you say, reaching out with one hand and shoving helplessly at his chest. He doesn’t budge, of course—the realisation only makes you angrier. “Stop lying to me.”

He clenches his jaw, and strong, slender fingers circle around your wrist before you can pull away. You squawk in surprise, your brows knitting together at the suddenness of the contact. Harry’s green eyes blaze with an emotion that you can’t quite recognize, but even then, it still leaves you utterly breathless.

You watch, stupefied, as he slides his palm beneath yours, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a soft, barely-there kiss to the hills of your knuckles. Your jaw slackens, but—for the first time in your life—you have no witty comeback, no sharp retort.

“Une putain gâtée, tout comme sa mère.”

The words are a low murmur. His mouth brushes against your skin as he speaks. You’re enthralled by his French accent, but the sour expression on his face tells you that he must’ve just said something rotten.

“A spoiled whore,” Harry translates—he looks almost ashamed, “just like her mother.”

Your hand slips from his grasp.

     October 18, 2020

You’ve been in your room all day.

Harry hasn’t moved from his station outside, standing in front of your door with his arms folded over his chest. It’s been hours, and he hasn’t heard a peep from you. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s bored. You’re usually right next to him, talking his ear off and being your bossy, teasing self. He misses all of your little quips, not to mention the devilish smiles that you give him when you take a shot at pushing his buttons.

Now though, the silence is getting to him. He considers pulling his phone out and indulging in a trivial little game to pass the time, but then ultimately decides against it. The sun has fallen from the sky, and the moon has risen in its place—his shift is nearly over.

His cellphone chimes from inside his pocket. He fishes around for the device, eventually tugging it from the depths of his trousers. When he taps onto the screen, he finds a text from Lana, your personal chef.

Her dinner is ready. Do you want me to bring it up?

Harry purses his lips before typing his reply.

No, I’ll come down. Thank you.

A single smiling emoticon is her response.

After retrieving your plate from the kitchen and bidding Lana goodnight, Harry makes his way back upstairs. He stalls in front of your door for a few seconds before shaking off his uncertainties. His fist raps three times against the wood, and he waits expectantly for your answering call.

His shoulders deflate in relief when he hears a faint, yet familiar, “Come in.”

The room is dark, illuminated only by a small lamp on your nightstand. You’re lying on your bed, spine against the mattress and eyes trained on the ceiling. Your hair is fanned out against your pillow, and you haven’t changed out of your sleepwear (though it’s late now, Harry supposes, so there’s really no need). Cotton shorts sit low on your hips, but thankfully, your t-shirt is covering everything that needs to be concealed. When you turn your head toward the door, Harry notices that your eyes are rimmed with red.

You’ve been crying. The realisation makes his chest ache.

“Hi,” he says quietly, approaching your bed with cautious footsteps.

“Hi,” you croak. You sit up and clear your throat.

He holds out your plate. “Dinner is served.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“That’s true.” He tilts his head from side to side, acknowledging your words. “But you haven’t eaten all day.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” you mumble, though you take the dish from him with eager hands, confirming his hypothesis. “Mac n’ cheese?” you ask, peering up at him with wide eyes.

He nods. “Compliments of the chef. She said it was your ‘comfort food’, or something like that.”

You pick up the spoon resting on the side of your plate, dipping it into the pasta and scooping up a large bite. Flavour explodes across your tongue, and you hum in appreciation at the taste. “Lana’s the best.”

Harry doesn’t respond. When you look over in his direction, you find him standing awkwardly at the side of your bed, like he’s not quite sure where to go.

“Do you want to sit?” you ask through a mouthful of food. His lips twitch at the warbled quality of your voice.

“No, I—,” he starts, shaking his head. “I can leave you alone.”

You swallow heavily, running your tongue along the roof of your mouth. “Stay,” you tell him, averting your gaze. The softness of your tone makes him pause, but you just shrug. “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

~*~

You finish the entire plate of macaroni in a matter of minutes. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen you scarf down food that quickly. You offered him a bite, but he turned it down, claiming that you needed it more than he did.

He was right, of course. But you would rather die than tell him as much.

You set the dish down onto your nightstand, snatching up the reusable water bottle on the corner of the little table. Harry watches, amused, as you take a large gulp of the contents inside. Once you’ve swallowed, you chance a glance over at where he’s sitting on the edge of your mattress. There’s a small smile playing on his lips.

“What?” you ask wryly.

He chuckles lightly. “Nothing.”

You smirk but decide to drop the subject.

Harry shifts, rubbing his palms over his thighs nervously. “How are you feeling?”

You look away—you knew that he would try to breach the topic of last night, but the question is still a punch to the gut.

You shrug wordlessly. He clucks his tongue.

“That’s not an answer, love.”

Your shoulders slump in defeat. A loose thread on your duvet catches your eye, and you twine it around your index finger. Another long moment of silence passes before you finally speak.

“I’m just…confused.”

“Confused?” Harry’s eyebrows knit together.

You nod.

“How so?”

A rushed, humourless laugh falls from your lips. “You’re joking, right?”

When Harry shakes his head, you sigh.

“All my life,” you say, a lump forming in your throat, “I’ve been kept in the dark. Do you know how embarrassing it is, as a little kid, to not have an answer when your friends ask what your parents do for a living?” You wrap your arms around your torso, hugging yourself tightly.

“I even used to joke about it at school,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “‘Yeah, guys, my mom’s secretly a drug dealer!’”

Harry doesn’t say anything. You take his reticence as a sign to continue.

“But then, as I got older, I realised that maybe I wasn’t that far off. She might not be in a fucking drug ring, but she’s still doing something illegal. There’s no way that we could afford to live like this, otherwise.” You gesture toward the glossy chandelier hanging from your ceiling.

“And then you came into the picture,” you say, rubbing tiredly at your eyes. “And that’s when I really started to panic. But I didn’t want to show anyone how I was feeling, obviously—so I kind of just kept it all bottled up.”

“Until now,” Harry murmurs, his expression unreadable.

You nod. “Until now.”

The material of your t-shirt is twisted up in your fists. You exhale heavily, releasing the fabric and smoothing it out with your palms. Several long seconds of tranquility ensue, until—

“Arms.”

Your gaze snaps over to Harry. “What?”

“Arms,” he repeats gruffly, staring directly at you. “She’s not dealing drugs. She’s dealing arms.”

You sit back against the headboard as his words sink in. Silence hangs in the air, growing thicker by the moment. Your mouth opens as you try to make sense of this newly-revealed information, but your lips only form around dying sounds and nonexistent sentences. Eventually, you settle for a simple, “Huh.”

And despite the trepidation of the situation, Harry laughs.

The sound brings a small smile to your face. It quickly slips away, however, when you remember something else.

“Last night, the guy at the club…,” you trail off, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I don’t think what he said was just an expression.”

Harry’s eyes are solemn. “Neither do I.”

“He told me his name was Lukas,” you say, straightening up. “Has my mother ever mentioned him before?”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t know anything else,” he replies. Deep down, you recognize that he’s telling the truth. “She only shares things with me when it’s absolutely necessary. My job—first and foremost—is to protect you. I’m sorry.”  

“It’s okay,” you say quickly, shifting closer to him. Harry stiffens briefly when you place your hand on his arm, but then relaxes again. The fabric of his suit is soft, pressed to perfection. “I—thank you for being honest with me. I feel better now that I know.”

He nods.

“And thank you for yesterday,” you add, swallowing heavily. “For keeping me safe.”

“Next time, I’m accompanying you to the bathroom,” he mutters. “End of discussion.”

You laugh. A tiny, barely-there smile creeps onto his lips. Your eyes fall to the yellow polish on his nails, and you hesitate.

“Harry,” you say. Anxiety unfurls in your stomach. “Can I ask you something?”

“’Course.” His voice is a low rumble. “What is it?”

“Last week,” you mumble, fidgeting with your fingers, “after you got shot—or grazed, whatever you want to call it—”

He freezes. You have a strong feeling that he knows where you’re going with this.

“You said—”

“I know what I said.”

I would take a bullet for you, no questions asked.

Your mouth goes dry. Harry won’t look you in the eye, but you refuse to let him shy away. You squeeze his forearm softly, hoping that the contact will prompt him to meet your gaze.

It does. When he peers up at you, the green of his irises sets off a series of echoes in your head.

And not just because it’s my job.

And not just because it’s my job.

And not just because it’s my job.

“Why did you?” you whisper, leaning toward him.

He blinks, embarrassed.

“You know why,” he grumbles, staring fixedly at your duvet. A loose strand of hair flops onto his temple as he shakes his head. “Don’t make me say it.”

Something shatters inside of you. Impulsively, you lurch forward, pressing a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.

Harry’s face snaps toward you as you sit back. You’re greeted by wide eyes, foreign and unrecognizable, and seemingly unable to make out who you are. The small mountain of hope that had been growing in your chest crumbles into nothing, scattering like dust in the wind.

You clench your jaw, trying to keep yourself composed. He’s looking at you like you’re a stranger.

“Sorry,” you sputter. Panic washes over you, and your eyes prick with the telltale sign of tears. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry—”

Just as it had last week, Harry’s hand finds your face, squishing your cheeks together and cutting off your apologies. You gaze up at him as he leans in; he’s shaking his head ever-so-slightly.

“Why would you do that?” he asks, and it almost sounds like he’s berating you. “Why would you—?”

“I’m sorry,” you eek out. Water beads along your bottom lashes.

“I’ve been trying so hard,” he carries on, smoothly disregarding your regrets. “Trying to keep myself from—”

He breaks off, gritting his teeth and staring directly into your eyes. His next words are stern, finite.

“It doesn’t fucking matter anymore.”

His fingers release your cheeks and migrate to the back of your neck. He uses the leverage to pull you in so that you can meet him halfway, and then he’s kissing you. It takes a moment for everything to register in your brain, but soon thereafter, you’re melting into him and kissing him right back.

You grip the lapels of his suit between tight fists, tugging him closer as you pour every ounce of yourself into his embrace. Harry’s lips work fervently against your own; the palm on the back of your neck slips lower, settling at the base of your spine. His other hand comes up, splitting apart so that his thumb and middle finger find themselves on each side of your jaw. The grip is bruising, unforgiving—you whimper in delight.

“This is—,” Harry can barely get the words out. “—unprofessional.”

“It is,” you murmur, nodding fiercely.

“We shouldn’t,” he says.

“We shouldn’t,” you agree breathlessly.

But neither of you stop.

Harry lays you down on your bed, climbing on top of you whilst still doing his best to keep your lips attached. Your hands slip beneath his suit jacket, fingertips digging into his back over the white button-up covering his torso.

“You’re wearing too much,” you whine once the two of you break apart for air.

He chuckles, pushing himself up onto his knees. You watch, awestruck, as he fiddles with the buttons lining his abdomen, undoing each one swiftly before yanking the jacket from his shoulders. A shadow of pain passes over his features.

“Careful,” you say softly, referring to his injured arm.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he brings himself back down to where you are, wasting no time and dipping his tongue into your mouth.

“Mm,” he hums, smacking his lips together. “Mac n’ cheese.”

You giggle. “Guess you got a taste, after all.”

He nods, smirking. “In all honesty, though,” he murmurs, his lips smearing against the lower-half of your cheek, “I’d much rather get a taste of something else.”

He punctuates the innuendo with a gentle bite to your jaw, and you moan.

It doesn’t take long for his hand to travel south. Harry gives you a questioning look when his fingers reach the elastic waistband of your shorts.

“Can I?”

You nod.

He curses when the digits slip beneath the fabric, because you’re not wearing anything underneath. His palm scrapes over the triangle of trimmed hair at the apex of your thighs, and he nearly starts salivating right then and there. You whine impatiently, bucking your hips up to spur him along.

He chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck. “Gagging for it, aren’t you?”

A strangled squeak echoes in the back of your throat, but you say nothing.

“Answer me,” Harry growls, nipping softly at your earlobe. “Tell me you want it.”

“I want it!” you choke out. You wrap your fingers around his forearm, guiding his hand lower so that he can feel just how wet you are. “Please—I want it.”

“So polite,” he murmurs, sponging his lips up to your temple. Your eyelids flutter shut when he begins to rub languid circles into your clit. “Where are those manners usually hiding, hm?”

“Harry—,” you sigh, feeling your face grow hot. You’ll never admit it, but his taunts stoke the fire building in the pit of your stomach. He laughs darkly, sliding his middle finger down your slit and prodding coyly at your entrance.

“You’re soaked, and I’ve barely done anything,” he mutters. His thumb stays positioned squarely on your clit as he lowers his head, pecking your lips delicately. “Want me inside?”

You nod, but he only tuts in disapproval.

“Words, love.”

“Yes!” you whine, pouting deeply. “I—I want you inside.”

He smiles.

You squirm when he slips his finger into you, adjusting to the intrusion. Harry probes around curiously, stroking along your walls until he brushes against a spot that has you crying out in thrilled surprise and squeezing your eyes shut. The patronizing laugh that falls from his mouth is hot and heavy against your warm cheeks.

“That’s it, yeah?” he asks. “That’s the spot?”

You breathe out a weak whimper of confirmation, and he snickers. When he peers up at you and finds your eyes closed, a small frown tugs at the edges of his lips.

“Look at me, love,” he orders, adding another finger into your heat. “I wanna see you.”

You shake your head and turn away, face hot with humiliation. It’s good, though—it’s so, so good.

“Look at me,” Harry repeats, “and I’ll let you cum.”

It’s an offer that you can’t refuse.

Slowly, your eyelids flutter open. He grins at you, pride sweeping over his features. You keep your gaze trained on him, even when he speeds up the movements on your clit, his thumb rubbing quick shapes against the sensitive nub. Your back arches, toes curling into the duvet as your orgasm approaches. Harry kisses your lips, humming happily at the contact.

“Cum,” he commands quietly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll ruin this cute little cunt.”

The filthy promise has you falling apart.

He holds you tightly as your high washes over you, absorbing all of your little moans and cooing words of encouragement into your mouth. You shake, staring up at the ceiling and watching as the chandelier above you splits into doubles. The glass crystals twinkle alluringly in the dim light of your room.

“So pretty,” Harry whispers. He pecks the clammy skin of your cheek, and you sigh.

“That was…,” you trail off, unable to find the right words.

“Good?” he supplies, pulling his hand out of your shorts.

You bark out a weak, incredulous laugh. “Way better than ‘good’. I don’t think I can feel my—”

Your confession falters when you turn to the side, just in time to witness Harry slide two of his fingers past his lips. He groans desperately at the tang that spreads over his tongue.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, almost like he’s in a trance. He nuzzles his nose against yours, dropping his hand onto the bed next to your head. “You’ll let me have a proper taste next time, yeah?”

Without a second thought, you nod rapidly. “Yeah.”

Harry grunts in surprise when you push him off of you. His back lands against your mattress with a dull thud, and he chuckles faintly when you sling your leg over his waist, straddling him.

“What’re you doing?” he asks playfully as you begin to unbutton his white shirt. You pepper kisses down his chest, worshipping each new inch of skin that becomes exposed. His hands subconsciously find their way into your hair, gathering the bulk of it into a makeshift ponytail. Your clit positively throbs, ignited by the dominant undertones of the action.

“You got me off,” you say. Though the accompanying shrug of your shoulders is nonchalant, your heart is thundering beneath your ribcage. “Seems only fair, don’t you think?”

You undo his belt and flick open the button of his black trousers. Harry groans as you palm him over his slacks, sinking into the plush pillows cradling his head.

“Right,” he breathes. “Only fair.”

His cock twitches when you dip your hand into his boxers, and God, he thinks to himself as he shudders, he loves you.

~*~

You awaken in the middle of the night to sounds of restless shuffling. Your room is dark, engulfed in black. Blinking the sleep from your vision, you push yourself up, peering around and waiting for your eyes to grow accustomed to the obscurity of your surroundings.

The spot next to you on your mattress is still a bit warm, covered with wrinkled sheets. When you finally zero in on the source of the noise, you find Harry sitting in the armchair a few feet away from your bed. He’s slouching, his head supported only by a closed fist. His white shirt is draped over his shoulders, completely unbuttoned. Gray boxers sit low on his hips, revealing a pair of ferns inked into the skin just above his pelvis.

Not even five hours ago, you trailed your tongue along those very same tattoos.

“Harry?” you say groggily, and he freezes. “What—what are you doing?”

His eyes are bright, despite the encompassing darkness.

“I—,” he hesitates. “It’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

“Not unless you join me,” you retort. You slide your legs over the edge of the mattress so that you can face him properly. “What’s going on?”

He shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “We kind of just passed out, and…I wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with me, like, sleeping in your bed. I didn’t wanna cross any lines.”

You balk.

“Harry…,” you start, fixing him with a drowsy yet bewildered look. “You’ve literally had your fingers inside of me, and now you’re worried about crossing a line?”

A quiet chuckle of accountability falls from his lips; the sound makes you smile. You reach out with one hand, wiggling your fingers at him and tilting your head toward the rumpled pillows waiting for you.

“Come back to bed.” Your request is soft.

The storm in his eyes dissipates, and he obeys.

You sigh as you settle back underneath the duvet, snuggling into his side and tossing a leg over his thighs. Harry wraps his good arm around you, craning his neck and pressing a tender kiss to your hair. Your fingers creep up his chest, toying with the dog tag resting between his pectorals.

“Is this going to change things between us?” you ask in a small voice.

A long moment of silence ensues.

At last, Harry replies:

“I don’t know.”

You were expecting that kind of answer, but it still stings. A big part of you wants him to say no, things won’t change. He’ll still have you, and you’ll still have him, and the two of you will still bicker back and forth like children fighting over a candy bar. He’ll still roll his eyes at your antics whilst nevertheless being willing to take a bullet for you. You’ll still tease him relentlessly to mask the way your heart races whenever he’s around (which, unfortunately, is all the time).

But the logical side of your brain knows that those fantasies are just fabrications of flimsy, wishful thinking. The two of you have crossed a line—just like he said—and you can’t go back.

As though he can sense your inner turmoil, Harry squeezes you closer into his side. “I was looking online…,” he begins, and you peer up at him with curious eyes.

He meets your gaze—his chin creases adorably—and continues. “And I saw these cool photos of someone’s nails; they painted little cherries on them.”

“That sounds cute,” you mumble.

“It was.” He nods. “And I was thinking that maybe, on Wednesday…would you want to try something like that?”

Warmth spiderwebs through your chest.

The two of you have crossed a line, and you can’t go back.

But you can move forward. And perhaps better things are waiting on the horizons up ahead.

“It might not turn out like the pictures,” you warn lightly. “I’ve never really done nail art before.”

“That’s alright,” Harry says, brushing your hair out of your face. “I just thought it’d be fun to give it a go.”

You lean up, slotting your lips against his. Harry cups your cheek, keeping you close. When the two of you finally break apart, you smile, running your thumb lovingly over the edge of his jaw.

“Remind me to pick up the tools tomorrow after class.”

~*~

READ PART 2 ON PATREON

[remuscore]

Logan trying to make up for the eye thing, and being overly insistent on it

Once again I am testing myself with another Remus and Logan fic lmao.

Warnings: DO NOT TAG AS SHIP. Anyways there is a lot of gross eye talk in this including eye infections. Kinda related to another fic but you don’t need to read it to know what’s going on.

———————

The next time Logan sees Remus after the whole debacle from earlier this year, he’s still wearing the eye patch.

Logan rolls his eyes at first, thinking Remus was just being ridiculous or liking the look. He was just as dramatic and stupid as Roman was— in fact, Logan could say Remus was even more dramatic and stupid than his brother— so it wouldn’t be too far from normal if that was the truth. Remus just liked the look.

When he kept wearing it and didn’t discard it like he did with every other fad he got into, that’s when Logan actually began to worry. Just a little. It was Remus after all, you didn’t need to be too worried about him.

“Remus, why are you still wearing that eyepatch?” Logan asked. Seeing that bedazzled thing was starting to annoy him just as much as seeing Remus himself annoyed him. “Aren’t you worried about what that is doing to your vision? You are blind on one side now and taking it off after a long while of darkness could blind you as well.”

Remus looked at him like how Logan usually did.

“You serious?” He asked, eyebrows raised and smiling coyly. Logan huffed in frustration, fixing his glasses on his nose.

“That’s not—” Logan huffed again and shook his head. It wasn’t worth it trying to correct Remus’ grammar. “Yes, I am serious, Remus. I know arguing against you is pointless, but I don’t condone harmful actions towards yourself and—”

Remus took off the eyepatch, revealing gauze and medical tape covering his eye. Logan’s words metaphorically died on his tongue. His own eyes widen.

“I’m wearing it for a reason, dumby,” Remus laughed. Logan could see the cotton underneath the bandages was yellow and crusted with discharge. It needed to be changed. “Remember the knife you got thrown at me? Yeah, apparently eyes don’t heal very well in the mind palace.”

“Oh…” Logan said uselessly. He didn’t even think about that after it had happened. Healing was always so simple and easy, none of it was real, but Remus and Roman were both known to take their injuries more seriously than the others. Even more than Virgil or Patton did. “I didn’t… realize.”

Remus laughed again and leaned closer. The smell of the discharge was sour and horrible. It couldn’t have felt very comfortable either. It definitely needed to be changed. “Do you want to see it? It’s kinda cool.”

“I do actually,” Logan said, frowning. “It looks infected. Have you not been washing it out?”

Remus pinched his eyebrows together and his smile fell a little, confused. “What?”

“You need to wash it. That’s what all this wetness is,” Logan said. He reached towards Remus’ eye and peeled off the tape and gauze in one quick motion. Remus reeled back and covered it, hissing in pain. Logan took a step closer. “Sorry. Are you okay?”

“Why the hell did you do that?!” Remus shouted. He dropped his hand and glared at Logan, showing off the large white scar over his eye and the yellow discharged crusted on his eyelashes and waterline. His eye was red and irritated, almost as red as his iris. His pupil was in fact glassy and unfocused as Logan feared. “Goddamn it that hurt! Fuck!”

“Can you see out of that eye?” Logan stressed.

Remus blinked a couple times. Tears fell from that eye, trying to flush out as much as it could. He wiped at his cheek and covered the other eye, squinting with his injured one. “I mean… no, not really. It’s all blurry and white. But Janus looked at it, it’s fine.”

“This—” Logan held up the goop filled cotton that was still in his hand. “—is not fine. Remus, this means your eye is infected. Did Janus not try to clean it first before patching it up?”

“No.”

“Did you ever clean it? Or at least change out the bandages since then?”

“No and no,” Logan threw up his hands in exasperation. Remus dropped his hand, wiping away more pus and tears on the way down. “It’s not that bad—”

“This is that bad. Sit down so I can clean it properly.” Logan demanded, pointing at the table behind Remus. Remus looked back and immediately shook his head.

“Nah-uh, I’m not letting you anywhere near my eye.” He crossed his arms, still squinting and blinking.

“Remus—”

“No.”

“Remus—”

“No. Only Janus can touch my eye and myself when I feel like it.”

“Janus didn’t do it correctly and that’s why we are in this mess in the first—”

“Nope, we’re in this mess because you made him duck!” Remus pointed at him and then at his eye. “This is your fault! Not Janus’!”

“Then let me fix it!”

Remus let out a loud fake laugh. “Since when do you care!?”

Logan gaped in offense, clenching his fists. “I’ve always cared about what happens to you!”

Another laugh.

“You’ve always cared about what happens to Thomas, but this doesn’t affect Thomas, Buddy! This is—” Remus taps under his eye and hisses, pulling his hand away and squeezing his eyes shut tightly. His hands are sitting awkwardly at his sides, grasping at the empty air and cringing. He’s taking a few short breaths in his pain.

Logan rushes forward and grabs his arm, pulling him over to the table.

“Stop— hey!” Remus tries to object, but his knee meets one of the chairs when he tries opening his eyes again. His free hand comes up to touch his head, but Logan pulls it back down and helps seat him. “Stop touching me. Don’t—”

“Remus,” he interrupts in a much softer voice. Remus swallows and tries focusing on breathing. He was now clutching at Logan’s hand in a very tight and uncomfortable grip. His eyes are shut again and he’s stuck in the pain. Logan squeezed back. “I promise I’m just trying to lessen the pain. This is a serious injury and it’s infected. We need to clean it out before your eye becomes worse.”

The duke swallows again and nods.

[elliethesuperfruitlover]

I’m So Baked (says the pie)

A/N: So I’ve been paying more attention to Topazi (mentally) and I realize that I need more shenanigans between her and Klaus..so here we are.

Warnings: some suggestive material

Tag List:  @joz-stankovich, @misskittysmagicportal, @badsext, @super-unpredictable98, @the-freckled-luba, @magic-multicolored-miracle, @ghouls-buddy, @maerenee930, @frogs–are–bitches, @neuroticpuppy, @forenschik, @bisexualnathanyoung, @robert-sheehan, @firstpersonnarrator, @salvador-daley, @lokis-rock-n-roll-chick

“Klaus, what happened to your hand?!” Topazi asked, as her partner walked in, his hand held far away from his body, almost as if it had offended him greatly.

“I was trying to get inside of the house and the patio door shut on my hand. We need to get that fixed at some point.” he said, putting a generous amount of dish soap on his “Hello” hand before putting it under the tap.

“I’ll put it on my list to get to. Do you know when Allison and Claire are supposed to be coming over. I need to make sure I have time to get the flowers done beforehand. And I need to make sure there’s no extra snails in them, like I’ve let slide recently.” she added, getting her tools gathered on the floor of the living room.

“Uh, I think she said around regular dinnertime, 6-7ish.” Klaus replied, and Topazi let out a sigh of relief. That’s plenty of time to construct and reconstruct her design.

  It was a simple bouquet, really. Allison hadn’t asked for a specific type of flowers, but she wanted to get a specific message across. Maternal love and affection. Claire had been through quite a lot, and she wanted to be sure that her kid knew that she loved her very much. Material objects only do so much as well, so Allison planned to write a letter, and just generally try to spend more time with her kid, and be there for her more.

“That’s valid.” T remembered saying, as she picked a few cinquefoils, as well as a few carnations from her collection, looking back at her sketch.

  It reminded her in pieces of a sunflower, actually, how it looked. There wasn’t a darkness in the center, but she chose yellow cinquefoils, and yellow carnations, with regular greenery on the outside, so she’d need to change something up a little. She worked away for some time, and made multiples of the same bouquet, trying different combinations of the flowers.

  In the kitchen, Klaus was looking at a recipe book. He wanted to make Allison one of her favorite desserts, a key-lime pie. He was sure that there were limes somewhere in the house (or if the neighbors have some). There had been multiple occasions where he wished to make a specific dish and lacked a few ingredients. Topazi had mentioned, in passing, of her wishes of having a fruit orchard. That would help with the fruit issue, lest Klaus decide to become a full-time baker. It may not be a huge one, but she wanted to provide for herself. Plus, who doesn’t want to take care of plants?

“Now where is the microblade?” he asked himself as he rumbled through the cabinets, trying to make sure he didn’t let anything drop too loudly.

“I don’t even know if we have one.” Topazi replied, eyes focused on trying to properly tie a ribbon on one of her bouquets.

“Ah, here it is!” Klaus exclaimed, extracting the microblade from between the cheese grater and a plate.

   He finally went into the fridge after a few more minutes of glancing over the ingredient page, and withdrew a few limes from the bottom drawers. Soon enough, Klaus began working on the crust, and took some of his anger out (mostly at the sliding door) pounding the graham crackers to crumbs. A small part of him wanted to taste said crumbs, but then he remembered that it was for his sister, not him. (although her giving him a slice isn’t completely out of the question) He pressed the crumbs into the side of the pie plate, making sure to press from the bottom, going up. He put it in the oven, took note of the time, and got started on the filling.

“T, why do you like flowers so much?” Klaus asked, zesting a lime. He knew the obvious answer, “They’re pretty, and a lot of people like them.” However, he wanted to hear his partner talk, as the sound of the cicadas outside were beginning to annoy him.

“I like them because what’s not to like about them? In a sense. They’re pretty, and were historically used as a means to communicate, when people thought it rude and insensitive to discuss such things in public. Everything about them is made so carefully, down to how they look microscopically. Even though plants themselves aren’t sentient, they still live, and have their own systems to maintain, and how they work. If one was to extract a piece of DNA from a sunflower, specifically one that gives it its color, our perception would be completely different of it.” she stops for a moment to collect her thoughts.

“It’s also how people work, too. I like flowers because they’re easy to maintain, if you know what you’re doing, and don’t forget they exist, or run out of energy. And they’re so nice to look at. You’ve seen me stop in parks to just admire how flowers are placed in the mulch, or soil. They planters may have had the littlest idea of how I would view them, even down to what order they put them in, but they’re there. I find it so worth it to just pause for a moment, and to think, and indulge in the true meaning of something, even if it wasn’t meant to be. That’s why I like flowers. It’s completely fine to just see the surface when someone gets you flowers “Ah, they got me something pretty, and thought of me to give me this. It’s a meaningful gift.” But I want to pick apart every part of it. Because there’s so much more to so many things than what you see.” she responds, and jumps when she looks up to see Klaus leaning over the kitchen island, his face in his hands.

  His hands have small bits of pulp on them, and the “Kiss the Cook” apron that he wears has abstract juice drippage on it.

“I fuckin’ love you T.” Klaus whispers, and bends over to capture her lips in a gentle kiss, and he feels her smile into it. Her hands carefully come to wrap around his neck, making sure not to get any of the stem juice in his hair.

“Love you too.” she whispers back, pulling away “Your crust smells just a smidge burnt (pronounced buent), by the way.” she says, picking up her phone to refresh her memory of other flower requests. A small look of panic passes across his face before he pushes himself off of the counter, practically ripping the oven door off to check on his crust.

  It, fortunately enough, wasn’t too terribly damaged. It wasn’t too crisp, or burnt. He set it on the stove to rest for a moment, and he grabbed the yogurt from the fridge, and sweetened condensed milk from the pantry. He poured the juice, zest, yogurt, and sweetened condensed milk into a bowl, and whisked to combine.

“I never thought I would be so turned on by a man cooking, and the pie isn’t even for me.” T admitted, looking at the way Klaus’ arms flexed while he continued to mix the ingredients together.

“Oh, is that right. I’ll be cooking a lot more then, if your response is openly admitting your horniness to my non-conformity to gender roles.” he said casually, blowing a stray hair out of his face.

 Topazi looked up, and stared Klaus straight in the face, and put a finger up, opening her mouth, only to close it, and put her finger down.

“I’m not sharing my thoughts with a malewife like you.” she uttered, shaking her head in mock disgust.

“And this malewife puts it down every evening for you, willingly that is, and this is how I’m treated, ugh, the gumption.” he mutters, putting a hand to his chest, feigning disgust.

  Topazi and Klaus look at each other once more before breaking out in laughter, urging Minnie, who was sitting on the floor, to wake up from her nap. Klaus snorted, hand gripping the counter. Topazi had to put her head down to prevent any excess spittle from getting on her flowers. Once they caught their collective breaths, Klaus poured the filling into the crust, and put it into the oven to bake. He washed the dishes that he had, and dried the bowl, due to needing it for the topping.

“Okay, good, I just need to write these cards, then I’ll be done with this.” T said, grabbing them, and grabbed a permanent marker.

“These look really good T!” Klaus exclaimed, his eyes shining with glee.

“Thank you love.” she said, dragging a hand across her face. She stood up to stretch, and her back cracked loudly, mildly surprising her. She walked over to Klaus and wrapped her hands around his waist, her head resting on his back.

“Every time you put your arms around my waist like that, I swear I gain 10 more years of life.” he said, wiping his hands on his apron. She felt the vibrations of his speech on her face, and she took a deep breath before responding.

“I wonder what happens when I hug you then.” T said, walking away to put the flowers in their designated “T’s flowers, do not touch nor smell.” place in the fridge.

“I’m so smart, I know.” he retorted, pouring the heavy cream into a bowl, along with a few tablespoons of confectioners’ sugar. T jumped at the sound, and shook it off. 

  She had mentally took note of the time Klaus put the pie in, and took an oven mitt off of the hook, (patterned with tiny cookies on it) The top looked set enough, and she set it to rest on the counter. She turned the oven off, and watched as Klaus finished whipping the topping, holding it upside down to check if it was ready. It didn’t fall on his head, so he put plastic wrap over it, and looked outside for a short moment, looking up the tree in the front yard. 

  He took a breath, and thought for a second. Maybe a bit too long. His mind fluttered back to what it took for him to be where he was. How much it physically took out of him, his siblings, hell, even the timeline for him to be able to have a peaceful life (for the most part) and a loving partner. A tear slipped down his face, and he thought of how silent the ghost had been recently. He still had his powers, but the ghosts seemed to respect his current want for peace. And he loved that. He would float around the house if his feet were tired, and sometimes even do a side gig of being a medium if he felt inclined to. However, something about knowing that he couldn’t physically see Ben anymore, (his Ben, he thought, now with his newest collection of siblings, with a limited edition Sparrow Ben). He still even missed the cult, even with its downsides. He never got the right type of parental love, or familial love. At times, he doubted his siblings’ love for him, even though they’d made it pretty obvious that they’d be there for him, lest he need it.

  “Hey, Klaus, the- are you alright?” Topazi asks. She had been calling a few clients back from her home office, telling them that their bouquets had been completed. She got a random craving for cookies, and planned to go to the kitchen to make them, but she found Klaus in tears, hand covering his mouth. He hadn’t even noticed her there.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I was just thinking too much.” he explained, letting her wipe the tears from his face.

“You sure?” she asked, and he nodded before taking a deep breath, and releasing it. “I was just coming in here to A. make some cookies, and B. tell you that the pie is good and cooled, and it’s time for it to be topped.” she said, rubbing his back gently.

“Okay. Thank you T.” he responded, gathering the willpower to put the whipped cream on the pie, and adding small lime slices and spare zest on top. He smiled at the completed job, and put it in the fridge to finish chilling.

“Go take a nap darling. You’ve been on your feet for a while, and you look tired. I’ll let you know when Allison is here. Or at least 5 minutes before.” she whispered, kissing Klaus’ cheek. She looked at him for a moment more, and cupped his cheek with her hand. The light scruff that covered the bottom of his chin tickled her hand, and she had the urge to scratch her palm. She however, resisted said urge, and took her hand away. Klaus smiled at her once more, and trotted up the stairs, with Minnie in tow behind him. Topazi went back to the kitchen and gathered her ingredients. She spun some vinyl as background music, and got to work on her cookies.

  A couple hours pass, and Topazi is drying the last cookie sheet she used for her cookies, putting it back in its rightful spot. She stretched again, and checked her phone, seeing that Allison had texted her a few seconds go, saying that she was on the way, which gave her about 30 minutes to get Klaus awake. She headed up the stairs, and ended their bedroom, where Klaus was sprawled across the sheets Minnie resting on his pillow. T gently shook him awake with one hand, and giving chin scratches to Minnie with the other.

“Come on, it’s time to get up Klausie.” she mutters, watching as her partner came to slowly, more of his hair having escaped from its confinements.

“Hmmm, I’ll be more up in a bit. You smell good, hon.” he whispered, rubbing his eyes.

 The sun was shining in his face, and although it may have been mildly uncomfortable to wake up to, he looked absolutely stunning in it. His hair seemed to glow, and his skin, albeit a little pale, seemed to reflect every bit of sun that hit it. His eyes though, seemed to be pools of emerald and gold. Topazi admired him from afar, and she ignored the strong urge to climb into bed with him and bask in the sunlight together.

“You’re staring love.” Klaus says, leaning on his arm in bed, petting Minnie, who was beginning to wake up as well. She meowed gently, and purred at his touch.

“Oh, hush. Like you haven’t stared at me in the sun before.”

“.....You got me there.”

“Yeah, mhm.” Topazi said, jokingly side-eyeing Klaus.

“Come here mama.” Klaus teases, pulling T’s arm towards him. She falls into Klaus’ arms, her head resting right below his. He bends down and kisses her lips, breaking away, before Topazi reciprocates the gesture, taking a small handful of Klaus’ hair in her fingers. Klaus smiles, and chuckles, letting his mouth fall to her neck. He nuzzles into it, and they sit there for several minutes, before coming to a realization.

“Oh shit, I forgot that Allison and Claire are coming over.” T said. “I’ve got to get the cookies in the jar...and I need to fix the bed too.”

“Ah, calm down. It’s fine. She’s not going to come up here and see where we engage in sinful activities, is she? No. However, I would love to join you in the cookie jarring.” Klaus mutters, smiling at her.

“Fine, you can help. But so help me god if I find even a crumb on the freshly swept floor.” Topazi said, closing the bedroom door behind her.

  T worked quickly to get the cookies together, and Klaus took a very short shower, as he knew that it would help wake him up, and he could go back to bed without having to worry about showering again. The doorbell sounded, and Topazi almost slipped trying to get to the door. She checked herself in the mirror once more before letting her niece and sister in law into the house.

“Hey Allison! And little miss Claire.” Topazi said, giving the respective people their own hugs.

“How’ve you been T?” Allison asked as she was welcomed in, shoes taken off at the door. She was also carrying a dish of some sort, covered in Aluminum Foil.

“I’ve been good. The business has been going well, and I’m thinking of making an orchard.” T replies, leading them both to the living room. “Let me get that for you.”

“That’s good. Claire’s been begging me to let her go visit the shop, but it’s always been at a bad time. Oh, thank you! I brought dinner as a bit of a treat.”

“It’s much appreciated. I like seeing you both, and having you two visit would never be a hassle.” she replies, petting JJ, the other cat, who just so happened to be waiting for attention.

“IS THAT MY SISTER AND MY FAVORITE NIECE?” Klaus yelled from the top of the stairs, quickly running down them to give his sibling a hug.

“Uncle Klaus!” Claire exclaimed, giving said uncle a very big hug around his middle, only to be picked up.

“How’ve you been, Allison, smaller Allison?” he asked, setting his niece back on the couch before taking the place next to his partner.

“We’ve been good.” Allison says. “We’ve been doing really good.” 

  The four of them sit and converse for a while, and eventually dinnertime comes around, signaled by Klaus’ stomach growling loudly. Allison had brought a very large amount of lasagna, and Topazi immediately dug in, which shocked Klaus, but he’d bring the cause up at a later time. Claire did, however, get a pre-dinner cookie (Topazi’s request because “That’s how you teach kids that good things come to people who deserve them.”)

“So, I do so happen to have a bit of a surprise for the both of you.” Klaus says, standing up and opening the fridge.

“Ooh, what is it?” Allison asks excitedly, and Claire matches her mother’s expression.

  Klaus pulls out the pie, and T moves to gently give Claire her bouquet, asking her to hold it a specific way as to not jostle the flowers, or change the position of the ribbon.

“That’s so pretty, T! Oh my gosh, I need to ask you to make more things for me, I swear I’ll pay you in whatever you want.” Allison exclaims, looking at the bouquet, leaning forward to smell some of the flowers.

“Thank you! The meanings of the flowers, and ribbon placement are on the card. Also your brother made a whole pie...by himself......we need to eat it before he does.” she teases, sticking a pointed thumb back at her partner, who already had a knife out to cut said pie.

“Klaus, it’s my favorite! Thank you so much.” Allison says, taking another bite of the pie.

“This is really good Uncle Klaus.” Claire states, looking across the island at him.

“Why danke. It was made with love. Both the pie and the bouquet, actually.” he said, kissing T on the cheek. She smiled against him, and took a piece of the pie for herself, trying to resist eating the rest of the pie it all of its entirety.

  The night came to an end, and Allison and Claire said their respective goodbyes, and drove off. T and Klaus lay in bed that night, with a book and knitting needles in hand, respectively. Klaus feels a weight against his shoulder, and Topazi had fallen asleep, small breaths escaping her lips. He put a marker in her book, and took note of note of where he stopped in his stitches. It took him some more time to get to sleep that night, probably due to his earlier nap, but he got to sleep, so peacefully. Something he’d wished for many a day, and now it seemed that he was finally getting it answered.

Masterlist

Key Lime Pie

[girlboss-molina]

Be Who You Are (No Compromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 6: Growing Pains

AO3 Link

Words: 16340

-----

Alex POV

… 

Alex was surprisingly calm. The pressed white dress shirt was cool against his skin, the slim-fitting blue vest with subtle gold embroidery a calming pressure over his chest. He was anxious, of course, but not nearly as much as he would’ve expected, given the situation. He felt free, light…

And then he was drowning.

His lungs closed, refusing the air he tried to gulp down, throwing away a lifeline. Everything burned, like fiery needles stabbing into him at the speed of sound, not enough to bleed but somehow even more painful. His vision blurred, dizziness or tears, he couldn’t tell. He couldn’t hear his own breathing, or lack thereof, over the pounding of his heart in his ears. Everything was wrong. 

Then, the pounding of his heart silenced, his head felt lighter than air. He couldn’t move. He felt like he was in a cloud, no, like he was a cloud, floating in the sky but losing parts of himself as he passed, unable to control what happened, a bystander left helpless to watch havoc. 

Alex tried to move, tried to think, but his brain felt like ice, flaming with shivers as he shook, his lungs leaving no room for air between the panic. 

Something is going to go wrong, he thought. He had a feeling in his gut that fueled his panic, telling him that someone would get hurt tonight, or that something horrible would happen, a feeling he couldn’t shake no matter how unrealistic it might’ve been. He knew Caleb wouldn’t try anything at the ball. It was a huge event, and tons of people would be there. 

He couldn’t sort out his thoughts, though, so he had no choice but to let this panic attack run its course. It felt surreal but painfully there, like when you’re so cold that you feel like you’re on fire. His hands shook, and he barely registered the salty tears coating his lips as he paced across the floor, back and forth until there was a groove in the rug. 

He made his way back to his bed, shaking, barely able to get the breath to fake three sneezes. He almost worried that it didn’t work, but then his door opened, Luke abandoning his post and sinking down next to him. He felt Luke’s arms wrap around him, and the touch immediately grounded him. Rather than a helpless cloud, he was the icy snow crusting the tops of the mountains behind the palace, unable to do anything but laying a foundation for something. And as Luke’s hands traced circles on his shoulder blades, he became the water rushing down the cliff sides, rapid and unpredictable, his breathing quickening but the panic subsiding. And when Luke pressed a gentle, calming kiss to his temple, Alex’s breathing finally slowed, his lungs letting in the air they so craved, and he calmed as the rushing water flowed into a clear pond, each reassuring touch from his best friend like a lily floating on the surface. 

He could hear, finally aware of Luke’s soft whispers of “it’ll be okay,” and “just breathe.” 

“Sorry,” he choked out, seeing Luke shake his head out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t be,” he said. “This is a nerve-racking thing. I’m super nervous too.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Alex said dryly, wiping his tears. 

“Really?” Luke challenged, a quiver in his voice, extending a hand in front of Alex, which was trembling. “You’re not alone, I promise.”

“Thanks.” Alex tore a hand through his hair, taking his turn to wrap Luke in a hug and let him let out his emotions. He felt him shake against his chest, but his breathing stayed relatively even. Alex was never great at the whole physical contact thing. His parents were never touchy, to the point where hugs were always a rarity. But Luke was a touchy person, and soon Alex was comfortable with his spontaneous embraces and casual, platonic affection. 

“Okay,” Luke finally said. “It’s almost time. Let’s get ourselves fixed up.” Alex nodded, squeezing him tighter before letting go. They both wandered to the bathroom, gently wiping their faces of tears and fixing their hair. Alex tugged on his sleeves, eliminating any wrinkles, and readjusted his snug vest. 

“Okay,” he breathed. “I’m ready.”

“Me too.”

They both knew it was a lie. But their steps were steady as they walked to the ballroom. 

…

The food was delicious, especially the dessert, and Alex’s cheeks flushed as he wondered if Willie had made it. The expertly piped frosting seemed familiar, and he was almost sure that it was he who had carefully crafted it. 

And if he got emotional over a beautifully piped flower because of the slight possibility that it was made by his crush, no he didn’t. 

Eventually, the dancing started, and Alex had to suffer through. He plastered on an unconvincing smile and did his best to waltz around the ballroom with random Nobility who were chatting non-fucking-stop about how excited he must be for the marriage, and how was he liking it in Dahlia, and did he mind the cold, and what his relationship with Julie was like. Soon, he’d had it, and made some lame excuse about feeling a bit light-headed. Thankfully, he’d been able to ditch them and sit down along the side of the room. 

Reggie plopped down next to him, sitting sideways with his arm draped over the back of the chair. 

“Tired of the Nobles prying?” he assumed. Alex nodded, snorting. 

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that they have no gaydar, but it’s still super annoying being asked about my supposed girlfriend,” he added. “But playing heterosexual is still a pain in the ass.”

“Tell me about it,” Reggie agreed. “Every time I have an interview, it’s all, ‘any special lady in your life?’ or ‘have you taken an interest in any ladies of different kingdoms?’ but never ‘what’s your favorite pizza topping’ or ‘why are you the amazing bisexual that you are?’” Alex nodded sarcastically. 

“Of course.” 

“I know I joke,” Reggie added, “but I feel for you, man. It must be super hard.” 

“Yeah. And I do appreciate the attempts to lighten the mood, too.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” 

…

It was nearly eleven when the screaming started. 

Alex’s heart jumped to his throat, his stomach plummeted, and he simultaneously felt like everything was happening at once, and like it was moving in slow motion.

He remembered the sound of people running. Cries of the few children in attendance. Shouts of furious Nobility. Hushed, terrified breathing of the council members. Caleb’s velvety, disgusting voice as he lounged on Ray’s throne. The pounding of his heart in his ears. 

But what he remembered most vividly was the glint of the daggers pressed against each of the council members’ throats. 

“Why?” someone asked. It took a few seconds for Alex to realize that he was the one who’d spoken. Caleb quirked an eyebrow and gave him the side-eye.

“Why what?” Alex was shocked by his sudden swell of angry confidence. 

“You know damn well what I mean. Why are you doing this? We’ve been allies for a century, and you’re going to try to overthrow us and put daggers at the throats of our council members?”

“You know, Alexander, it really is adorable how you talk about Dahlia as if it’s your country. You are, until the wedding, the Tamborian prince.” Caleb twirled an extra dagger around his fingers. 

“That doesn’t change the fact that what you’re doing is wrong, and you know it. You just want more power, clearly, but do you really think people will stand for this and accept you as their leader? Do you really think that anyone with half a mind will be okay with this?”

“Alexander, the beauty of youth also comes with naivete. I wouldn’t expect you to understand yet. But the fact of the matter is that, in life, you must deal with growing pains. This will all be for the better.”

“No,” Julie interrupted, “it won’t. There is a huge difference between growing pains and whatever the hell you’re trying to do, and you know it.” 

Before Alex could add to what she said, he saw the back door of the ballroom open silently, revealing Lilian - the tall, dark-haired woman he’d met when looking for Willie - stalking in, a gleaming knife in her hand. She was followed by a short, plump woman with purple hair, a line of various chefs and bakers, each armed with metal frying pans, and-

No. 

He tried to hide the fear in his eyes as Willie walked in, his brow furrowed and hands steady, wrapped around the knife in his hand. But when their eyes met, and Alex tried to give him the tiniest of head shakes, Willie mouthed something that Alex couldn’t make out before Caleb spoke again.

“I can see you’re all a bit tense,” he said silkily, “so here’s how this will go. Ray here is going to surrender, and I’ll let your precious council members live.” 

Alex watched as the group behind Lilian - thankfully not including Willie - silently lined up behind the seven Kryptonians holding daggers to the council. They made eye contact with one another before simultaneously bringing their frying pans down on their heads as hard as they could, causing everyone to erupt in shouts and screams, some of joy, some of rage, some of fear. Caleb’s head snapped over, and then Lilian spoke. 

“Or,” she said smoothly, “you could surrender, and go back to your own country.” She had the knife trained on his back, the blade gleaming in the lantern-lit room. Willie was in front of Caleb, popping out from behind the throne. Alex’s heart couldn’t decide if it wanted to pound louder or silence itself completely as he saw the terror in Willie’s eyes that he tried to mask. 

“Don’t hurt these people,” Willie said, his voice steadier than Alex would’ve expected. 

“A few bakers trying to save their precious leaders,” Caleb purred, but the malice in his voice was like venom. “How sweet. Unfortunately for you, I have this”- he pulled a small remote out of his pocket -”and while I would rather not use it, I will if I must.” Alex’s stomach dropped. 

A bomb.

“That’s right,” Caleb said over the terrified screams, people running for the doors. “If any of you here have any sense, you’ll run. You shouldn’t have to, of course, but if your leaders continue to be stubborn, it might be for the best.”

“You’re bluffing,” someone called from the audience. “You’re in this room too.”

“Am I?” Caleb challenged, and Alex’s face warped with confusion, until he saw a flicker. 

A hologram. 

“Yes,” Caleb remarked. “You probably didn’t notice my brief trip to the restroom earlier, but that wasn’t actually a restroom trip. I’m far away by now.”

“But what about your representatives?” Reggie asked. 

“Acceptable losses. These aren’t actually representatives, they’re criminals who have been offered the chance of a full pardon if things don't go south. They have, however, been made very clear of the other possibility.” Alex noticed one of them tremble. 

“You might notice that your king is not in the room,” Caleb added, and Alex’s face reddened with fury. 

“What did you do to my dad?” Julie shouted, her hands clenched in fists, shaking. 

“He’s alive, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Caleb said. “But I guarantee that, should I press this button, he’ll be in the line of fire.”

Furious shouts echoed in the huge room, and Alex watched as Julie stepped up to the royals’ table. 

“Leave my people alone.” The words were cold, harsh, but clear and steady. “Get out of our kingdom. You have no place here.”

“Yeah,” Reggie interjected. “We’re not going to abandon our people, no matter how much you want us to.” 

“You can’t make us surrender,” Luke informed him. Alex nodded, standing as tall as he could. 

“I truly hate to do this,” Caleb said, without an ounce of sorrow in his voice. “But you leave me no choice.” 

“NO,” Alex yelled, his eyes flicking from Luke to Julie to Carlos to Willie to Reggie, trying to find all of them and get them out of here.

“I’m sorry, everyone,” Caleb added maliciously. Everyone was running and screaming, bustling through the doors, 

“Everyone get out of here, now!” Luke’s voice echoed throughout the ballroom, and Alex barely saw him run after Julie. Reggie ran out another door, and Alex searched for Willie. 

At least thirty seconds had to have passed, searching the ballroom and crowded hallways, ushering people out.

“WILLIE!” his voice was louder than he’d ever known it could be, and he shouted a couple more times, finally meeting a dark brown gaze, panicked and full of all the words they’d left unsaid. Everything moved in slow motion, his legs like lead and air as he sprinted towards him.

The shockwave knocked him backwards, leaving him deaf and blind, barely registering when his back hit the ground, not even noticing the air forced out of his lungs. Alex felt like he was floating, every nerve in his body stretched along a cloud of light.

If this is dying, he thought, it’s not so bad. People don’t need to be so scared. 

His mind was trapped in a void of dark brights, blinding and comforting at the same time, like he was hovering in an endless state of between. Between fire and ice, ground and sky, life and death. He floated, wondering just how long it had been. It felt like minutes but it couldn’t have been, because that was only the shockwave.

Because then came the fire. 

The heat licked at his skin, and Alex was snapped back to reality. 

He wasn’t sure if he was burning or if it was just the air around him, which was now thick with smoke and dust. Bits of debris scattered all around, and he only saw Willie’s face one more time before falling into oblivion.

…

When Alex awoke, the sky was dark, twinkling with stars, but the faint light of sunrise teased the horizon. He was on his back, next to a giant slab of concrete, his face covered in dust. He did his best to sit up, a sharp pain on his arm. He winced, grabbing his bicep, grimacing when his palm came away soaked with blood. And his ankle hurt when he tried to stand. He tested it, but by some miracle, it didn’t feel broken. 

He stood, shaking the dust off of him and limping around, searching for other people. 

For survivors. 

Alex’s breath caught when he saw a group of people farther down the hill. He ran to them, ignoring the pain in his ankle as he bounded down. 

He saw Reggie first. His wrist was wrapped in a bandage, and a streak of red adorned his pale forehead, but he was alive. 

“REGGIE!” he shouted, running, tears blurring his eyes. Reggie’s head snapped towards him. 

“ALEX!” he cried, standing and dashing closer. They met in a hug, collapsing in each others’ arms, sobbing into their shoulders. 

“When we didn’t find you with the survivors we thought-”

“Shh, no, I’m okay,” he said. “A little roughed up, but I’ll live.” He turned his head to the palace, hundreds of feet behind him. He had a clear view of the destruction. 

He’d really underestimated the size of the palace. The ballroom was in the bottom right corner, and was blown to bits. More of the palace was scorched and crumbling, but it appeared the left half had been preserved, somehow. 

“Where’s everyone else?” he asked, refusing to give in to the panic rising in his chest. “Are they okay?”

“Julie’s with Carlos and Ray over where I was,” Reggie said. 

“Wait, Ray survived?” Relief washed over him. “But I thought-”

“I’m not sure how, but he made it,” Reggie said with an incredulous laugh, more tears running down his soot-covered face. “And Erik, Mira, Flynn and Carrie are also okay, same with Luke.” Alex sighed, smiling despite himself. They’d survived. 

“ALEX!” his head snapped to Luke’s voice, and he ran to him, once again ignoring the pain in his ankle. Luke tackled him with a hug despite the sling around his arm. “We thought you were-”

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m okay.” 

…

Alex ran through the gardens, offering quick aid to anyone he could. But he was only half-paying attention, which might’ve made him the worst prince ever. But he needed to find Willie. 

He searched, tears blurring his eyes as he made his way to the last place he needed to search, but also the one he was dreading. 

As he ran into the park, he searched the lawn and sidewalks, nearly dying of relief when he saw Willie, sitting in the middle of the field, his knees hugged to his chest…

Shaking with sobs. 

“Willie!” he called, racing over. Willie’s head snapped up, his eyes red and puffy. His face went from shock to happiness to confusion to incredulity within half a second, and he stood, shaking and walking to Alex. 

A swell of confidence, probably tied with a huge rush of adrenaline, sent Alex running forward, wrapping Willie in a hug, who sobbed into his shoulder. Soon, Alex was crying too. 

“I’m sorry,” Willie whispered shakily. Alex shook his head. 

“No,” he said. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was doing, I should’ve grabbed you and ran…” His eyes met Willie’s, and he leaned a little closer, his heart racing until he was just a hairsbreadth away. 

Then, when Willie didn’t pull away, he pressed their lips together. 

Willie’s lips tasted like chocolate and salty tears, chapped and warm. He kissed back almost immediately, Willie’s hands tangling in Alex’s hair, Alex’s arms around his waist, pulling him closer. It might not have been a movie-worthy kiss, between the sobs, soot, and blood, but Alex couldn’t think, too caught up in the euphoria of Willie being alive, and of kissing him. 

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds when they came up for air, foreheads pressed together. 

“When you weren’t with the survivors, I-” Willie choked off into another sob. “I thought I’d lost you,” he finally whispered. Alex shook, hugging him tighter. 

“You’ll never lose me.” 

-----

Julie POV

…

Julie smoothed the front of her violet ball gown, letting the layers of tulle float gently to the floor. Straightening the silky bodice, her hands shook with anxiety, but she didn’t let herself succumb to it. The gown was identical to the one she’d worn to the welcome feast a week ago, only rather than navy blue, this one was violet. Otherwise, though, it was the same; a silky, strapless dress with layers of tulle, one layer going over her chest and collarbone in a halter neckline. However, while the blue one had tiny starlike diamonds sewn into the skirt, this one had no jewels, but the tulle halter was embroidered with dahlia designs. 

She walked to her vanity, twisting her hair into two braids, tying them together and letting the rest of her hair poof at the base of her neck. She drew her eyeliner into a small, sharp wing, brushed on mascara, and painted her lips with a shimmery gloss. She massaged a bit of lotion into her arms and spritzed some perfume into the air, walking through the mist so that it was subtle. 

Her low heels made quiet tapping noises as she walked across her bathroom, examining her reflection to make sure she looked perfect. 

Once she’d made sure her dress wasn’t crooked and that her eyeliner was even, Julie sat on the foot of her bed and grabbed her phone. The time read 19:44. 16 minutes until the ball. 

A knock on her door drew her attention. 

“Come in.” She gave a weak smile when her dad walked through the doorway. 

“Hey, mija,” he said, “you okay?” Julie shrugged.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I’m nervous, but also just anxious to get this over with. With any luck, it’ll go well, and Caleb will revoke his declaration.”

“That’s the plan,” Ray agreed. A wistful smile spread on his face, and his eyes turned glassy. 

“You look beautiful,” he told her. Julie smiled.

“Thanks.”

“Your mother had a dress just like that,” he added. “You look just like her.” Julie stood, blinking back a tear as she hugged him. He squeezed back, finally letting go with a sigh. 

“Everything will be okay.”

“Here’s hoping. And if not, we’ll make it.” Ray nodded, his expression unreadable as he left, closing her door, almost seeming like he wasn’t sure if it was true.

Right at that moment, Julie decided that it would be. If things went south, no matter what, she would fight to make sure they all made it out alive. She would fight in any way she had to if it meant her family stayed safe.

She would fight, and she would win.

…

As she walked into the ballroom, she found her assigned seat, in the center of the long royal table, just beside her father. To her right was Luke, then Alex, Carrie, Flynn, Erik, Mira, and Carlos. To her left, after Ray, was Reggie, Councilwoman Noah, Councilman Richard, Councilperson Aster, Councilwoman Mei Lin, Councilwoman Anika, Councilman Ryan, and Councilman Trevor. 

The council members weren’t technically royalty, but they were the next tier of leaders in Dahlia, and the royal table was very long, so they got to sit there as well. 

Around the perimeter, circular tables were arranged with white tablecloths draping over them, and as the Dahlian Nobility flooded in, many of the seats filled. Soon, though, King Covington arrived.

He was dressed in a black three-piece, a black and violet cloak over his shoulders. His top hat was still perched on his expertly-styled hair, and his blue eyes pierced Julie’s before travelling to Ray. Ray stood, his face neutral. Covington took off his hat and pressed it to his chest, dipping in an elaborate bow. 

“It is an honor to be here, King Molina,” he purred. “I do hope we can resolve this quickly.”

“As do I. Hopefully it will be easy. We have been allies for over a century, after all.” Covington’s smile morphed into a sneer.

“Indeed.” He flourished to his table, Kryptonian representatives right behind him, as they arranged themselves. Ray cleared his throat, and Julie took a deep breath. 

“Welcome,” he said, “to the ball. This event is a celebration of allyship, a hope for peace, and a symbol of unity amongst our people. I hope all of you in attendance will find yourselves comfortable. Please, do not hesitate to speak up if you are not. Now please, enjoy the feast.”

Soft chatter echoed in the grand room, the clicking of cutlery on plates ringing in Julie’s ears. She did her best to focus on her food, but her eyes kept flicking to Covington. He was very shady. She couldn’t decide if he was always like that, or if something was off tonight, but he spoke in hushed tones to his representatives, glancing furtively around the room. Julie turned back to her food.

“How are you holding up?” Luke’s voice snapped her out of her daze. 

“Alright,” she said after a moment. “You?”

“Alright.” 

It was a lie, of course. Neither of them were alright, but they had to pretend to be. 

Julie noticed Luke’s eyes flicker to Caleb. 

“Something seems off,” he murmured. “I’m not sure if he’s always like this, but my gut tells me something’s wrong.”

“I had the same feeling,” Julie admitted, looking at her food so people wouldn’t notice her occasional glances to Covington and Luke. 

“Hey, dad?” she asked after a moment, her voice hushed. Ray looked at her. 

“Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, my gut is telling me that something bad is going to happen. Look at Covington,” she added when he looked skeptical. “He’s glancing around like he expects someone to sneak up on him, and he’s hunched. He looks so secretive, but he’s usually flamboyant.”

“Hmm,” Ray murmured. “You’re right, he is acting strange. But I’m sure everything’s fine, mija.” He patted her hand. “Your dad’s got this.” Julie offered half a smile in reply, but met Luke’s eyes nervously. 

“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” he finally said. “He’s probably plotting what ridiculous outfit he’ll wear tomorrow.” The joke lightened the mood, and Julie giggled. Luke smiled, biting his lip to hold back a laugh. 

They finished their dinner, and then, the mingling began. Dessert would be brought up soon, but this was an opportunity for everyone to stand and walk around to see other people. Julie roamed the room, shaking hands and speaking cordially with the Nobility, exchanging a couple jokes with Lady Cadence. 

When butlers brought dessert from the kitchens, Julie gave a friendly curtsy to the people around her before making her way back to the table. The dessert was a mixture of mini red velvet cupcakes, piped with cream cheese frosting, and beautifully decorated cakes. Thin layers of fondant gave them warm pastel coloring, and frosting had been piped into flowers and swirls. 

She helped herself to a slice of cake, but didn’t finish it. Nerves were taking up more room in her stomach than she’d thought. So, she opted to sip her water, scanning the crowd. She noticed Lady Amara holding hands with Lady Sierra and smiled. She’d known they’d liked each other, so that warmed her heart. 

Soon, everyone had finished dessert, and the music volume increased, slow and rhythmic. People made their way to the dance floor with partners, waltzing around gracefully. Julie smiled as Carrie dragged Flynn over, spinning her around and catching her. Flynn protested but laughed. 

Soon, Julie was twirling around the dance floor, making idle chatter as she slowly waltzed with kind Nobility, talking cordially about political affairs. 

As she sat down on one of the free chairs at the edge of the ballroom, she sighed. Thankfully, everything seemed to be going well. She smoothed the tulle of her dress, fixing a curl back into a braid, when Luke’s voice caught her attention.

“My lady,” he said with a grin, dipped in a bow. “May I have this dance?” Julie stifled a laugh. He was such a dork. But she nodded, putting her hand in his and letting him pull her closer, hoping she hid her shiver when he gently placed his hand on her waist, the other holding her hand up as they danced.

“I’m surprised at how well this has gone so far,” he told her. She couldn’t help but nod, making sure nobody was paying attention.

“I half suspected Caleb would’ve tried something by now.” 

“Same.”

“But I still have a nagging feeling in my gut,” Julie admitted. Luke nodded, quiet for a moment. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though. They held each other's gaze, and Julie’s hand felt right at home on his shoulder as she swayed. 

“There’s nothing to do about it now, though,” Luke reasoned, and Julie smiled, grinning wider when he twirled her. Her heart fluttered, but sank when Luke frowned. Half of his smile returned.

“We should probably trade off, now,” he sighed. Julie nodded disappointedly. Nobody could suspect that they didn’t want to go along with the arranged marriage. And besides, Luke might like her, but probably not how she liked him. He just cared about people’s reputations. 

She gave half a smile and twirled again, before someone took her wrist. 

“Your highness, may I have this dance?” The sickening voice of Caleb Covington filled Julie’s ears, and she wanted nothing more than to rip away from his clammy clutch and walk away. But this was for diplomacy, so she suppressed her shudder and offered a smile.

“Of course.”

“You know,” Covington said silkily, “this is a beautiful palace.” Julie nodded.

“Yes, I believe your grandfather helped my great-grandfather design it once we became allies,” she pointed out. “It has architectural properties that were inspired by Kryptonian styles, but was also its own thing.”

“Yes, one might say that,” Caleb agreed. “But, isn’t it ironic that my own grandfather, who was the king of the most prolific country in the world, held no reservations against designing a palace for a new ‘country’ that never should have existed?” Julie bit back a sarcastic remark. 

“With all due respect, your majesty”- she twirled, grateful for the moment without Caleb’s hand on her waist -”At that time, Dahlia had already been founded over a century earlier, and relations had stabled. Our resources were significant, and our citizens had settled in an unoccupied land. The Dahlian revolution was a revolution purely because Krypto’s king at the time was too stubborn in the years before his passing to let go.”

“You’ve studied your history, I see,” Caleb remarked. 

“I have been raised for this,” Julie agreed with half a smile, but it wasn’t genuine. “Your grandfather ascended over a century ago, and his goal was always peace, which was why he worked so hard to forge an allyship between Krypto and Dahlia. Relations have been stable between us ever since. We would rather keep it that way.”

“You know,” Caleb said with a click, “the funny thing about running a country is that you must always aim for growth. In that growth lies certain… growing pains, shall we say? Krypto is destined for greatness, and Dahlia is the rebellious teenager who was once an obedient child, and will soon be the respectful adult with familial ties.”

“Or,” Julie countered smoothly, “if you’re so set on growth, you could expand on uninhabited land. More resources means more wealth, and more land means more growth for your borders and space for your people. Holding onto a grudge that was resolved before you were born will only hold you back.”

She knew the words were risky, and might be perceived as disrespectful, but Caleb’s smirk grew into a laugh.

“My dear Julie, you are too smart for your own good. And yet,” he added, “there is still so much you don’t understand. You’re so young, I wouldn’t expect you to understand it in the first place.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I am just as qualified as anyone else in this room.” 

“But you don’t know what it’s like to lead a country on your own-”

“And I’ll never have to, because I have the sense to not distance myself from my people.”

“You’re marching into dangerous territory,” Covington warned, but Julie didn’t care. 

“Like I said,” she said with finality, “our goal is to resolve things peacefully and go back to our allyship. Please enjoy the ball.”

…

Julie had taken her chance to escape Caleb, and she was grateful that she did, because she got room to breathe, and got to hang out with her friends. 

She danced with Alex, chatting idly about the ball, and about a certain baker with whom Alex was absolutely smitten. She grinned to herself, asking questions to make sure that this baker was actually worthy of Alex. She knew he could be a bit… simpy, so she had to make sure she had the brain cell, and then approve of his future boyfriend. But, if Alex was to be believed, the baker - Willie, as she learned - was one of the sweetest people to ever walk the Earth, just shy of Reggie. So, Julie took his word for it. 

She twirled, letting the skirt of her dress flare outwards. 

“Okay, bro, that dress is amazing,” Alex noted. “It looks like the one you wore last week.”

“That’s because it is! Well, the same style at least. It’s a different color.”

“Well, same or different, it looks great.”

“Thanks,” she said with a grin. She noticed Alex’s eyes flicking around the room, scanning the people as if he was searching for someone.

“Looking for someone?” she asked, a shit-eating grin on her face. Alex’s face turned bright red as he stammered in denial. Julie laughed. 

“You know what? We’re done dancing, you can come back after you quit being an asshole,” he decided, flicking his wrist. Julie snorted; his gay panic was hilarious. 

She found herself dancing with Flynn, who gave her The Look, glancing at Luke, who was playfully dancing with Alex. They weren’t even dancing, it was more just… messing around in a rhythmic formation. But when Luke’s eyes caught Julie’s, she quickly looked away. Flynn rolled her eyes as she twirled Julie.

“Jules, I know I can’t yell at you about this since we’re at a ball, but come on. You have to know he’s absolutely smitten with you.” Julie sighed.

“Or he’s just a dork. Which is very, very possible. I mean, have you met him?”

“Then tell me why he doesn’t act like that around anybody else?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But even if he does like me, there’s nothing we can do about it. It would be a disaster.” 

“Jules, you have to go for what you want!” Flynn took a breath as she twirled, giving an awkward smile to anybody looking their way. “Talk to your dad,” she added quietly. 

“What? Flynn, are you fucking insane?” Julie looked around; it was her turn to give an awkward smile. “I can’t tell dad about this.” 

“Can’t tell me about what?” Ray’s voice was in a normal tone and volume, but he looked concerned as he walked towards them. “Mijas, are you alright?” Julie opened her mouth, trying to speak, glancing to Flynn.

“We’re fine,” she said at last. Ray quirked an eyebrow. 

“Honey, you know I would never judge you, right?” Julie sighed, letting Flynn hand her over to dance with her dad. 

“I know. It’s just…” she couldn’t find the right words. 

“Is this about Caleb? Did he do something to you?”

“No, no,” she assured him, “it’s not about that. It’s about something else.” Her heart sank when he looked down.

“The marriage?” he asked quietly. She sighed. 

“Yeah.” 

“I know.” 

“No, that’s the thing, dad, you don’t know. You know that Alex and I don’t want to get married, and I know that you tried to get us out of it, but it just hurts so much more now that…”

“No, mija, I know. You aren’t as subtle as you think.” Julie’s jaw dropped, and she stuttered for words, refusing to glance over to Luke. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally sighed, “I’m so, so sorry. This isn’t something you need added to your plate.”

“Julie, you have nothing to apologize for. I know you can’t control feelings. I’ve tried. Did I ever tell you how your mother and I met?” Julie shook her head. 

“She was about your age,” Ray began. “I met her at a cafe, while she was out in the city taking a break from being a princess. I didn’t even know it was her. But as soon as I did know, I immediately tried to ignore my feelings for her. But every time I saw her, I remembered her smile, and how kind she was when we spoke.

“Well, I would occasionally see her in person. We got to know each other, and no matter how much I tried to repress how I felt and insist that I just wanted to be friends with her, it didn’t work. But it all worked out in the end.”

“Yeah, well, Mom wasn’t in an arranged marriage. Her falling in love with you wasn’t treason.”

“Maybe, but…” Ray trailed off. “I’m still trying to get you out of it, I promise.”

“Thanks, Papá.”

“Of course. But you have my word that, should you choose to stand up and face these feelings, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. I can’t promise that if people find out there won’t be trouble, but I’ll do anything I can.”

“Only if you extend the same courtesy to Alex,” Julie told him. “As well as whoever either of us might love.” He nodded.

“Of course, mija.” He pulled her in for a hug. “It’ll all be okay.” She nodded against his shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

…

Julie was exhausted. She must’ve danced with everyone in attendance, plastering on a smile and talking about whatever. But now, she could’ve collapsed and fallen asleep. 

That is, until she heard the screaming. 

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, her heart pounding in her ears as she ran to the end of the ballroom, stopping in her tracks when she saw Covington dramatically sitting in her father’s thronelike chair. He sat sideways, leaning on one armrest with his legs over the other, looking very pleased with himself. And next to him…

Next to him, all seven council members were trapped in their chairs, with daggers pressed to their throats. None of them made a sound, but the fear in their eyes was heartbreaking. Everyone in the ballroom shouted, screamed, and cried for justice.

“Like I said,” Covington shouted over the din, “you will either surrender peacefully to Kryptonian rule, or we will take it by force.”

…

A bomb. 

Julie could barely think. 

She took a deep breath, her hands shaking as she clenched them into fists and released, finally clearing her head. Normally she worked well under pressure, but this? This was something else entirely. 

The chaos of people shouting and running, trying to escape the ballroom gave her a chance to run for Carlos.

“JULIE!” he shouted, tears running down his face. Julie grabbed his wrist, running out the door of the ballroom. 

“I’m going to get more people out,” she said. “I want you to grab whoever you see on your way and run straight out the front gates as far as you can, okay? But-” Carlos shook his head, inhaling to interject, but Julie cut him off -”No, Carlos, listen to me. Do not try to be a hero. I want you to run as fast as you can, okay?”

Carlos finally nodded, wrapping Julie in a hug and leaving the chest of her dress soaked with tears. 

“I love you,” he choked out before running.

“I love you too,” she told him, never having meant the words more than she did in that moment. 

“Julie,” came Luke’s voice from behind her, his eyes filled with panic. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, traitorous tears finally leaking down her face. “You should be running, you should get out of here, get Alex, get Reggie, get anyone you can and get out!”

“No,” Luke said firmly, “I’m staying with you. But please, just-” 

“No! You need to get out of here! I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.” Luke grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a supply closet as more people ran by. Julie gasped in the dark.

“Please,” he said as her eyes adjusted. “Please, Julie. In case I don't make it, there’s something you need to know.” He took a breath, but Julie cut him off.

“No, don’t even go there.” She shook her head, letting her curls fly in the air.  

“Please,” he whispered. Julie couldn’t speak, just shaking her head. More shouts and screams echoed from the hallway. Luke’s eyes met Julie’s, and she couldn’t find the right words to describe the intensity and swirling, indescribable emotions in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, a single tear sliding down his cheek. Then, Julie met him halfway. 

When her lips met his, they tasted salty from tears, and her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. His hand cupped her jaw, and she sank into the touch. 

“I had to do that,” he told her when they pulled away, another tear rolling down his face. “At least once.” 

Then, he ran out of the closet, nobody noticing within the chaos. Julie chased after him, running back into the mostly-empty ballroom. The Kryptonian representatives - or criminals - had let the council members go, and were running as fast as they could. A few Nobles were also running, but one line of Caleb’s kept echoing in Julie’s mind. 

“I guarantee that, should I press this button, he’ll be in the line of fire.”

Caleb was about to press the button. 

He was about to kill her father. 

“DAD!” she screamed. 

“JULIE!” it was Luke who shouted it, and Julie’s eyes blurred, spilling tears as she sobbed into his shoulder. 

“We have to get out of here,” he told her, and she nodded, running as fast as she could, her hand clasped in his. They’d made it to the front gates before the shockwave hit them, quickly followed by fire which licked at their skin, the heat making it hard to breathe; not that they were able to breathe, the shockwave having knocked the wind out of them. They flew down the steps, and Julie was barely able to roll in time to not break her neck. Luke was behind her, and she did her best to catch him as they scrambled, making it to the hill before blacking out. 

…

When Julie awoke, it was to her father’s voice, blinded by light and grief and hope. 

I’m dead, she thought. But the grass under her back was cold and wet and very much making a bruise form on her spine, and the whooshing air in her ears felt real as well, and the sound of people crying and talking was heartbreaking but brought her back to reality, however horrible it might’ve been. 

She blearily opened her eyes, seeing her dad and Carlos, ashen, dirty faces streaked with tears. They wrapped her in a hug, and she sobbed into their shoulders. 

“Dad-”

“I’m here, mija.”

“But I thought you were dead! Caleb said-”

“I was able to make it out,” he assured her. “I’m a little beaten up, but I’m alive.”

“Where’s Luke?” she asked, choked up with smoke and fear. 

“Right here.” Luke’s voice was choked up, and he wrapped her in a gentle hug. She cried into his shoulder for a moment.

“He’s okay,” Carlos said. “We’re okay.” Julie cried harder, standing and collapsing into Luke’s arms, running to Reggie and Carrie and Flynn and Mira and Erik and-

“Wait,” she said, trying to convince her eyes that she’d seen wrong. 

“Where’s Alex?”

“He’s okay,” Reggie said. Julie hadn’t even noticed that he’d walked away. But now, his face was covered with happy tears, and he had Alex’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, helping him walk with a sprained ankle. Julie rushed to him and hugged him as tightly as she could, finally letting her tears break free.

They were okay. 

-----

Luke POV

...

When Alex’s breathing quickened, Luke had a feeling this would be one of the worst panic attacks yet. So, it was no surprise when three fake sneezes echoed in the room, Luke was prepared to walk in and sit next to his best friend. 

He wrapped his arms around Alex, trying to calm his trembling. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, but Alex didn’t hear him. Luke kept holding him, trying to stay steady for him, letting Alex bury his head in his shoulder. He traced circles on Alex’s shoulder blades, thankful when he calmed a bit, but his breathing was rapid and shaky. 

“Everything will be okay, Lex,” he said. “I promise.”

Luke leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Alex’s temple, tracing gentle circles along his shoulders. 

“Just breathe,” he whispered. “It’ll be okay.” Alex hugged him tighter, and Luke patted his back.

“Sorry,” he choked out, and Luke immediately shook his head.

“Don’t be. This is a nerve-racking thing. I’m super nervous too.” It wasn’t a lie. Luke had always been good at holding himself together when he was scared or anxious, but he was still trembling. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Alex said dryly, wiping his tears. 

“Really?” Luke challenged, hating how his voice quivered, even though it proved his point. He showed Alex his shaking hands. “You’re not alone,” he reminded him. “I promise.”

“Thanks.” Then, it was Alex’s turn to wrap him in a hug, and Luke was surprised but comforted by it. He let himself sink into the embrace, sure he was shaking, but he didn’t care. That was his best friend, and he was warm, and Luke needed a hug. He held him tighter, shaking, finally letting go, his heart protesting the lack of hugs.

“Okay, it’s almost time. Let’s get ourselves fixed up.” Alex nodded, squeezing him tighter before letting go. Luke followed him to the bathroom, fixing his heather grey vest and readjusting his sleeves, fixing a loose strand of hair. 

Neither of them were ready, but they nodded to each other and walked to the ballroom. 

…

Luke was rather surprised when he saw that his assigned seat was between Julie and Alex. It would’ve made more sense for Julie to be next to Alex, since they were supposed to be getting married. Not that Luke was complaining, of course.

“How are you holding up?” he asked quietly.

“Alright,” Julie replied after hesitating. Luke knew it was a lie. “You?”

“Alright.” 

Luke’s eyes flickered to Caleb against his will. Something in his gut was nagging at him that something was wrong.

“Something seems off,” he murmured. “I’m not sure if he’s always like this, but my gut tells me something’s wrong.”

“I had the same feeling,” Julie admitted, confirming Luke’s anxieties. He did his best to calm the swelling bubble of worries in his stomach, taking another bite of his food. He heard Julie whisper to her dad, mentioning that she felt like something was off. Luke kept glancing at her, never lingering for more than a moment before looking away, usually to see if Caleb was still acting sketchy.

Of course, he was. 

Julie caught his eye, and he couldn’t ignore how nervous she looked. He bit his lip, hating how anxious this was all making her. She didn’t deserve this distress. Luke had to fight the urge to reach and take her hand; even under the table, it would be a super risky move.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” he finally said. “He’s probably plotting what ridiculous outfit he’ll wear tomorrow.” Luke grinned when she laughed, for once not minding the butterflies in his stomach and how his heart started doing flips when she smiled. 

When the dancing started, Julie went to the large floor, speaking cordially with Nobles, and Luke was entranced. She flitted around the room like a butterfly. Her sparkly dress caught the light as she twirled, and the violet coloring made her look like she’d been dipped in twilight, with the softness of the clouds but the ferocity of a raging hurricane, the strength of a rushing river but the gentle touch of a feathery breeze. 

Luke stood at the edge of the floor, dancing with many people, including an overeager middle school girl who was both shy and enthusiastic. He gave her a smile and moved on to the next person. 

At some point, he ended up dancing with Mira, whose shimmery aquamarine gown had flecks of gold sewn in, glinting in the light. But he kept trying to subtly spot Julie in the crowd. Mira laughed.

“Dude, you’re killing me,” she said with an exasperated grin. “Go find her and ask her to dance!” Luke shook his head.

“We’re in a public setting,” he reasoned. It definitely wasn’t because of the nerves swelling in his chest. The eye roll Mira gave him was legendary. 

“And? It’s a ball! People dance! Alex has had to dance with a ton of people already, but nobody suspects him of treason, right? So who’s to say you can’t dance with Jules?” Luke sighed. 

“I know, I know, it’s just…” he trailed off, searching for the right words as he twirled Mira. “I feel weird,” he told her. “I’m normally really confident and can just go for things, but for some reason I just… can’t. I hate this feeling,” he added. “Nervousness does not fit me.” 

“It doesn’t,” Mira agreed. “But it is sweet. And I can guarantee you that she wants to dance with you too.” Luke’s eyes widened.

“How do you know? Wait,” he said, a huge grin spreading on his face as he lowered his voice, “do you think she likes me like I like her?” He shook his head, trying to get rid of those horrible, treasonous thoughts.

“I’m not going to betray Julie’s trust,” Mira said, “but I am going to call you an oblivious, pining dumbass.” When Luke didn’t respond, she added, “get it together! Go tell her how you feel!”

“I can’t do that,” he sighed. “Even if I really, really want to. We both know what would happen, Mira.”

“I know, I just…” Mira sighed. “I hate seeing her so doubtful. She’s confident in herself, and she doesn’t need a guy to tell her she’s amazing. But watching one of my best friends wonder whether someone she’s totally gone for feels the same, asking herself why would he be, when the answer is so obvious… I just hate it. You make her happy, Patterson.” Mira twirled, giving him a knowing look. “And I know she makes you happy, too.

“Things are happening, and the situation is awful,” she told him, giving a smile and encouraging nod to the other side of the ballroom. “Make sure it’s worth it.”

And then she was gone, having vanished into the crowd, leaving Luke with a goal and a pounding heart. 

But he wasn’t a quitter, so he made his way across the room, his heart fluttering when he found Julie. 

“My lady,” he said with a grin, dipped in a bow. “May I have this dance?” 

He heard Julie laugh, briefly saw her head bounce in a nod, and then her hand was in his. Everywhere she touched felt warm and cold at the same time, and Luke smiled to himself as he pulled her closer, gently putting his hand on her waist as they danced. 

Julie’s eyes shone in the light, deep brown with flecks of inky black and shimmering gold. 

“I’m surprised at how well this has gone so far,” he said. Julie nodded, glancing around.

“I half suspected Caleb would’ve tried something by now.” Luke agreed.

“Same.”

“But I still have a nagging feeling in my gut,” Julie admitted. He nodded, smiling at her. The butterflies in his stomach were steady but light, and the small pressure of her hand on his shoulder kept him grounded. He had a feeling he would’ve floated away otherwise. 

“There’s nothing to do about it now, though,” Luke reasoned, and Julie smiled, grinning wider when he twirled her. Luke noticed Covington staring at him, a frown on his face and one eyebrow quirked. Luke’s face fell.

“We should probably trade off now.” He hated the coldness in his hand and on his shoulder as she let go, hated Julie’s disappointed frown, and most of all, he hated Caleb’s slimy smile as he took Julie’s wrist, and how pleased with himself he looked when she danced with him out of politeness. Luke could see how uncomfortable she was. Her whole body tensed, and her smile was extremely forced. He wanted nothing more than to get him away from her, to get him to stop touching her when she clearly wasn’t okay with it. But that would’ve caused a huge spectacle, and Julie wouldn’t want him to cause drama. So he walked away. 

…

When the screaming began, Luke’s stomach dropped. 

Then when he turned and saw all seven council members with daggers pressed to their throats, he nearly vomited. 

And when Caleb pulled out a small remote, threatening to detonate a bomb, anger contorted all of his features, his fists shaking, fingers tracing the outlines of two daggers inside his vest. His eyes flicked to Reggie, then Alex, then Julie, all of whom were terrified, confused, and angry.

“You’re bluffing,” someone called from the audience after Caleb made his threat about the bomb. “You’re in this room too.” Luke nodded. 

“Am I?” Caleb challenged, and it took Luke a moment to realize that he was a hologram. A terrifyingly real one, too. 

“Yes,” Caleb remarked. “You probably didn’t notice my brief trip to the restroom earlier, but that wasn’t actually a restroom trip. I’m far away by now.”

“But what about your representatives?” Reggie asked. 

“Acceptable losses. These aren’t actually representatives, they’re criminals who have been offered the chance of a full pardon if things don't go south. They have, however, been made very clear of the other possibility.” 

“You might notice that your king is not in the room,” Caleb added, and Luke gasped, running to Julie, whispering that it would be okay. She barely noticed him. 

“What did you do to my dad?” she shouted, her hands clenched in fists, shaking, a couple tears running down her face. 

“He’s alive, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Caleb said. “But I guarantee that, should I press this button, he’ll be in the line of fire.”

Furious shouts echoed in the huge room, large in part from Luke himself. Jule shrugged his hand off her shoulder, stepping up to the royals’ table. 

“Leave my people alone. Get out of our kingdom,” she instructed. “You have no place here.”

“Yeah,” Reggie interjected. “We’re not going to abandon our people, no matter how much you want us to.” 

“You can’t make us surrender,” Luke added loudly, squaring his shoulders. 

“I truly hate to do this,” Caleb said, without an ounce of sorrow in his voice. “But you leave me no choice.” 

Luke sprinted towards the doors next to Julie.

“I’m sorry, everyone,” Caleb added maliciously. Everyone was running and screaming, bustling through the doors, 

“Everyone get out of here, now!” Luke’s voice was louder than he’d ever known it could be, or maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He ran out the door, ushering people away, directing them to the nearest exit and telling them to run as far as they could. But his mind was still on Julie.

He searched the crowd, craning his neck before he found her talking to Carlos and hugging her. He raced towards her.

“Julie,” he said quietly. 

“What are you doing?” she asked. “You should be running, you should get out of here, get Alex, get Reggie, get anyone you can and get out!” Luke shook his head.

“No,” Luke said firmly, “I’m staying with you. But please, just-” 

“No! You need to get out of here! I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.” Luke grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a supply closet as more people ran by, hating the way he was shaking.

“Please,” he said, blinking as his eyes adjusted, and blinking back tears. “Please, Julie. In case I don't make it, there’s something you need to know.” He took a breath, but Julie cut him off.

“No, don’t even go there.” She shook her head, but Luke couldn’t think.

“Please,” he whispered. He looked at her, trying to take in every beautiful detail; the deep brown of her eyes, the curls of hair draped over her shoulders, the small gap in her teeth, the curve of her collarbone, the beautiful melody of her voice.

“I’m sorry,” he said, a single tear sliding down his cheek. Julie leaned forward as he did, and then his lips were on hers. The kiss was brief and tasted like chocolate, full of all the emotions he couldn’t find the words for. She kissed him back, and he couldn’t explain how much it hurt knowing that it might be the last time.

“I had to do that,” he whispered when they pulled away, another tear rolling down his face. “At least once.” 

Then, he ran out of the closet, right into the mostly-empty ballroom to get everybody out and search for Ray. Caleb’s hologram smiled maliciously at him. Luke ignored it, running and helping people up as they fell, before Julie’s voice pierced the air. 

“DAD!” she screamed. No! Why was she here? She was supposed to run!

“JULIE!” he shouted, running to her.

“We have to get out of here,” he said, and thankfully she didn’t protest. She took his hand and he ran with her as fast as he could without pulling her over, making it to the front gates when the shockwave hit him. Heat from the raging fire burned the air and made it impossible to breathe, and Luke did his best to land steadily as Julie caught him after rolling. He ran as fast as he could, and everything seemed to move in slow motion as he looked back at Julie, her hand slipping from his, the final shockwave blasting him backwards.

He was blacked out before he hit the ground. 

…

When Luke awoke, he coughed, pain in his chest from the smoke and debris. His head was pounding, a drop of blood rolling down his cheek. As he sat up, a sharp pain in his shoulder told him he’d dislocated it. He grimaced, testing it; thankfully it wasn’t severe, and he bit down on torn fabric of his vest as he popped it back into place, using the rest as a sling he hastily tied. 

He stood, running down the pile of debris as he found Reggie. 

“REGGIE!” he shouted, running as fast as he could. Reggie’s face was streaked with tears, and he ran to him. Luke wrapped him in a one-armed hug, a sob escaping his lips. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. Reggie nodded. 

“I’m okay,” he choked out. “Sprained my wrist, but I’m okay.” 

“Where’s Julie?” he asked, looking around. 

“She’s okay, don’t worry,” Reggie told him, another tear streaking down the dust on his face. “But we haven’t found Alex yet.” Luke’s stomach dropped.

He was supposed to be Alex’s guard. He was supposed to protect him, and now he might not even be alive. Luke’s eyes blurred with tears and his chest heaved with sobs. 

“That doesn’t mean he’s…” Reggie trailed off. “We haven’t searched all of the grounds yet, so there’s still a good chance he’s alright and we just haven’t found him.” The words helped, but Luke couldn’t stop crying. Alex was missing. 

“Ray’s also alive,” Reggie added, and Luke was shocked enough to dry his tears. 

“But I thought-”

“He made it, somehow.” Reggie’s laugh was incredulous. “Everyone else is okay, too.” 

But not Alex. 

…

Luke practically flew down the hill to Julie, who was still passed out, her gown tattered and skin covered in soot and dust. A few streaks of blood marred her arms, but she seemed okay other than that, and Luke was too relieved to explain when he noticed that her breathing was steady. 

Ray wrapped him in a hug, which took Luke by surprise, but he hugged back. 

“I’m so sorry, mijo,” he said. “I should’ve-”

“No,” Luke said. “No, you did everything you could’ve. And we just need to find Alex.” He willed the words to be true, but Ray shook his head. 

“There were four casualties,” he whispered. “Four of my people, gone, because I couldn’t…”

“That was not your fault,” Luke told him sharply. “You hear me? Not. Your. Fault. It was Covington who did that, not you. You did everything you could.” Ray nodded.

“Okay.” He shook more, but stood, patting Luke on the shoulders, looking back down to Julie. Flynn was knelt next to her, holding her hand and whispering for her to please wake up. 

“She’s okay,” Luke whispered to himself. Then, he noticed Reggie was gone, and-

When he looked up the hill, he saw Reggie with a familiar tall, blonde boy in a torn blue suit.

“ALEX!” Luke ignored the pain in his shoulder as he bolted, running and tackling his best friend in a hug. He choked back sobs, but some tears still made their way through. “We thought you were-”

“I’m okay,” Alex said. “I’m okay.” Luke nodded into his shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry, man, I should’ve been with you, I should’ve-”

 “No,” Alex said. “We’re okay. You have nothing to apologize for.” Luke nodded. 

“Everyone else is okay, too,” he said. “Come on.” 

Luke ran back down the hill, followed by Alex and Reggie. But Luke sprinted as fast as he could when he noticed that Julie was stirring. He blinked back tears, a huge grin on his face.

“Where’s Luke?” he heard her ask. 

“Right here.” He leaned down and gently wrapped her in a hug, helping her up. She was shaky but didn’t fall, finally tackling him in a huge hug, crying into his shoulder. Luke cried into the top of her head, pressing a kiss to her hair, not caring who was watching. He let her to the others. 

“Where’s Alex?” she asked, her voice trembling. 

“He’s okay,” Reggie said from a few feet away as he helped Alex, who seemed to have sprained his ankle.

“We’re all okay,” Luke told her, wrapping them all in a giant hug.

We’re okay. 

-----

Reggie POV

…

Reggie’s hands shook as he fastened the buttons on his silky red vest, adjusting and readjusting the dark sleeves of his shirt. He took a deep breath, stretching and grabbing his bass to calm him down. He ran through the notes for Icarus, sliding down the A string and adding in some extra notes for funsies. He grinned to himself as he spun, tapping his foot with the music. 

Humming to himself, Reggie glanced out the window. The sun hadn’t set, but it was going to soon. It was retreating west, preparing to dive behind the mountains. And the time on his phone told him that he needed to be in the ballroom in ten minutes. He sighed and decided to go now. It was on the other side of the palace, and he might as well go early. 

…

When Reggie had settled into his seat next to Ray, Councilwoman Noah soon sat next to him. 

“Hi, Reggie,” she said with a smile. “How are you?”

“Pretty nervous,” he admitted, “but excited. I love balls. They’re so fun, even if we have to dress all fancy.” Councilwoman Noah laughed.

“Well, you look wonderful,” she told him. Reggie beamed. 

“Thanks! You do too!” 

“Thanks, hon.” She shook her head wistfully. “You’re so young. You shouldn’t have to deal with such a stressful situation,” Noah said. “None of you should.” Reggie knew she was thinking about Flynn.

“Flynn’s strong,” he reminded her. “And she’s Julie’s best friend. Plus, she knows that she doesn’t have to deal with all of the stress. She does it because she can handle it, and because she wants to.” Noah nodded. 

“Plus, she probably likes being able to say she’s best friends with the princess,” he added as an afterthought. Councilwoman Noah laughed, and Reggie felt very accomplished. 

“Thanks. I always have to remind myself that she’s grown up,” she admitted. “It feels like only yesterday her hair was just long enough to braid.”

“I know,” Reggie said. “Even though Julie’s only a year younger than me, every time I see her in the meeting room, I worry that she’s going to get too stressed. I don’t know how she handles it.”

“She’ll make a great queen one day,” Noah said softly. Reggie nodded. 

“Yeah. She will.” 

…

The food was delicious. Reggie couldn’t help but smile as he finished, leaving room for dessert. He might’ve been a prince, but he had his priorities in order. And dessert was very high up there. 

As people began mingling before dessert, Reggie wandered around as well, chatting with random Nobles. Lady Cadence asked how his music was going. Sir Blake quipped about the ironic circumstances of such a wonderful event. Mx. Genevieve brought up some interesting points about constitutional technicalities that Reggie would be sure to bring up when they met with Covington; something about allyship and unnecessary tension. Xe’d suggested that Reggie write it down; xe was one of Ray’s close friends, so xe knew about Reggie’s ADHD. It was probably a good idea, too, so Reggie took xer advice and jotted it down in his notes app. 

Then, dessert was served, and Reggie was in heaven with the mini cupcakes. They were red velvet with cream cheese frosting, and he probably ate more than he should’ve, but if he did, that was nobody’s business but his. 

That’s code for, yes, he did eat too many cupcakes. 

Soon, the dancing began. Reggie loved dancing. Didn’t matter what kind, either; he would waltz in the ballroom, jump around whilst playing the bass, twirl around the studio as Julie played the piano, or dance by himself in the middle of the night with his earbuds in. 

Reggie made his way to the open floor, cordially waltzing with random Nobles who wanted to know more about the current political situation, dancing with Alex to hype him up and reassure him everything would be okay, twirling Julie to give her a break from stuffy Nobles who kept pestering her, and letting Carlos stand on his toes as they danced, chatting animatedly about Minecraft and Star Wars. 

Carlos eventually left to go dance with Nick’s younger sister, Annie Danforth-Evans. They were the same age, and Reggie definitely didn’t miss Annie’s blush when Carlos twirled her. He grinned to himself and kept dancing around the ballroom. 

…

When the shouting started, Reggie’s mind flashed back to the day he ran away.

It was a cold, rainy day in October. Reggie’s parents had been fighting more and more for months, and it had gotten so bad that he couldn’t fall asleep at night without wondering when he would be woken up at some early hour by shouts and screams. A stray piece of stuffing floated in the corner of his eye. It was from a small stuffed penguin he’d had, one that he hadn’t seen in weeks after one of his parents’ fights. 

It was early evening, though the dark, cloudy sky and pouring rain could’ve fooled someone into thinking it was night. His parents were screaming at each other again, and Reggie was wrapped in a blanket and huddled in the corner of his bedroom, surrounded by pillows from his unmade bed, trying to focus on the sound of the rain instead of the cruel words from the living room. 

He blinked back tears and sucked on the inside of his lip. There was a swollen patch of skin next to his teeth. He never bit it, just sucked on it to give him something to do instead of trying to speak. His ear was pressed to the window, sending a numbing chill through his head and making his ear hurt, but it made it easier to let the sounds of the torrential storm drown out his parents’ argument. 

When the sound of a shattering glass caught Reggie’s attention, he jumped and whimpered, his tiny hands clutching into fists. He couldn’t take this. 

Gathering up a drawstring bag, he stuffed in the tattered blanket, a small first-aid kit, his favorite book, and an extra hoodie. It was a little small, but it was warm. He put on his bigger hoodie, a thick grey one with a big pocket over the stomach, put up the hood, and shoved earplugs into his ears. He struggled to tie his beat-up converse and peeked out the door, running out the front door when they started shouting especially loud. He doubted they heard the quick, quiet opening and closing from the entryway, but if they did, they didn’t bother investigating. 

Reggie ran. He wasn’t quite sure where he was going, but he knew the city well enough to find a familiar bench that was shaded by the roof of a cafe. He sat, grateful for the dry area, ignoring the cold wind on his nose. Huddled with his knees to his chest, earplugs making him deaf to the world, he didn’t notice the old woman handing him a small bag with a cinnamon roll inside of it until she tapped his shoulder. He jumped, flinching but quickly recovering. He mumbled a quick ‘thank you’ to her, digging into the sweet pastry. Looking back on it, it probably wasn’t a good idea to accept food from a stranger, but the pangs of hunger in his stomach said otherwise. 

He’d dozed off, using the drawstring bag as a pillow as he laid across the bench, when a gentle hand on his shoulder startled him awake. 

‘Are you okay?’ the man asked. ‘Where are your parents?’ Reggie looked down. 

‘I ran away,” he whispered. 

‘Why?’ 

‘They kept yelling,’ he sniffed, ‘and I hated it. They never stop.’ Worry and confusion and a little bit of anger showed on the man’s face, and Reggie retracted a couple inches, before the man knelt down. 

‘Is it okay if I give you a hug?’ he asked. Reggie nodded, hesitating for a moment. But when the man’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, his own skinny arms bolted up and wrapped around his neck, and before he knew it, he was crying into his shoulder, letting the man gently pat his back. 

‘Do you know who I am, mijo?’ he asked. Reggie shook his head. He looked familiar, but his head was too muddled to place him. 

‘I’m King Ray,’ he said. Reggie scrambled into a bow, but Ray’s hands immediately steadied him. ‘Everything’s okay,’ he assured him. ‘If you don’t want to go back to your parents, I could bring you to the palace,’ he offered. Reggie’s eyes lit up. 

‘Really?’

‘Yeah! You could meet Queen Rose and my daughter, Julie. She’s about your age. You’d love her.’ He stood, offering his hand. Reggie hesitated but took it, a slow smile on his face.

Ever since that day, he hadn’t heard his parents shouts, because he hadn’t actually seen them. But Ray was the best father he could’ve ever asked for. 

These furious shouts from the ballroom brought back that one memory, and even though it happened in a split second, he felt every effect in its whole, and it struck him like a well-aimed blow. But he was distracted by the sight before him.

All seven council members with daggers to their throats. 

Reggie wasn’t sure what he was feeling at that moment. It was a mix of confusion, anger, fear, and resolve, though that might’ve just been the adrenaline. 

“Like I said,” Covington shouted over the rising screams of everyone in the room, “you will either surrender peacefully to Kryptonian rule, or we will take it by force.”

More shouts echoed throughout the huge ballroom, arguments and cries of fear, anger, and betrayal. Some bakers and chefs snuck in from the kitchens and saved the council members, which was a huge relief. But when Covington pulled the small remote out of his pocket, and revealed that he was a hologram, everything silenced in Reggie’s ears.

Reggie had heard of seeing red, but this wasn’t the passionate scarlet of anger. This was pure, black, hate. Covington was threatening his people, including the people he cared most about in the entire world. Julie and Carlos, Luke and Alex, Erik, Mira, Carrie and Flynn, and the entire council.  His hands clenched into fists.

“But what about your representatives?” Reggie finally asked. Surely Covington wouldn’t be willing to kill his own people of such high ranking. 

“Acceptable losses. These aren’t actually representatives, they’re criminals who have been offered the chance of a full pardon if things don't go south. They have, however, been made very clear of the other possibility.” Reggie’s stomach dropped. Nobody deserved a death penalty, and given his impressions of Covington, he doubted their crimes were even that severe. 

“You might notice that your king is not in the room,” Caleb added, Reggie’s heart plummeted. Tears welled in his eyes.

Ray. 

“What did you do to my dad?” Julie yelled, being held back by Luke.

“He’s alive, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Caleb said. “But I guarantee that, should I press this button, he’ll be in the line of fire.”

Furious shouts echoed in the huge room, and Reggie was one of the loudest among them despite his aversion to raising his voice. Covington didn’t get to waltz into Dahlia, declare war, and threaten all of these people and just get away with it. He didn’t get to threaten Reggie’s own family without facing consequences.

“Leave my people alone. Get out of our kingdom,” Julie instructed angrily, her voice clear and sharp as a dagger. “You have no place here.”

“Yeah,” Reggie interjected. “We’re not going to abandon our people, no matter how much you want us to.” It wasn’t a lie, either; Reggie was a sincere person, but he’d never meant anything as much as he meant those words. He would not give up on his people. Not ever.

And he wouldn’t give up on his family, either. 

“I truly hate to do this,” Covington said, and Reggie was pretty sure his stomach was at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. But he sprinted to the doors, hauling them open and helping people out as they ran. 

“Everyone out!” he called desperately, tears rimming his vision. “Get as far away as you can.”

“Your highness, where should we go?” Lady Sierra asked, her voice terrified. 

“Run out the front gates,” he instructed, “then through the city. It’s late, but it isn’t raining. Just be careful.” He patted her shoulder and rushed past her, picking up a small child, barely older than six, who was struggling to hold on to his mother’s hand in the chaos. 

“I’ve got him,” he called to her, calming her frantic shouts for her son. Reggie cradled him as gently as he could, bearing a few bruises as he guarded the child from the stampede of terrified Nobles. He ran as quickly as he could and handed him over to his mother, sprinting along the side of the hallway and opening more doors, yelling into the kitchens to any chefs still in there to get out. He did the same as he passed the guards’ quarters, gesturing wildly and helping people out as they jumped from their beds. 

Reggie found Carlos as he ran to the front gate, wrapping him in a huge hug and picking him up over his shoulders, his legs carrying him as fast as he could possibly run. Bounding out the front gate, Carlos over his shoulder, he made it down the hill and put him down. 

“Lead the others as far away as you can, okay?” Carlos nodded, wrapping him in a quick hug.

“I love you,” he said. Reggie nodded.

“Love you too. Now go!” When Carlos took off, Reggie bounded backwards towards the hill. 

“Run through the city,” he instructed as loudly as he could. “Just go straight but keep the palace in view, then wait for further instructions.” People nodded as they ran, and Reggie directed them in the way Carlos had gone. 

“It’ll be okay,” he assured a sobbing woman as she jogged past him. But the tremble in his voice probably wasn’t very convincing. 

Neither was the shockwave that knocked them backwards.

Reggie’s ears were both ringing and silent. He couldn’t tell when or even if he hit the ground, though he had to have, if the sudden blast of cold on his back was any indication, same with the sharp pain on his wrist. It took a moment, but he was finally able to open his eyes, quickly shutting them as a tiny piece of concrete flew over him and sliced open his forehead. He groaned, reaching up to test the wound. It didn’t feel that deep, thankfully, but his dusty fingers still came away streaked with blood. And when he looked back up the hill…

He’d been lucky enough to avoid the fire. His clothes were torn but not singed like so many others. Reggie stood shakily, jumping over bits of debris as he raced back up the hill. 

“JULIE?” he shouted, looking around. “ALEX? LUKE? ERIK?” His shouting didn’t seem to be of any use until he heard a familiar voice to his right. 

“REGGIE?” it called. His head whipped around, worsening his headache, but he didn’t care, because Erik’s tarnished but handsome face was visible across the hill. 

“ERIK!” Reggie sprinted to him, tackling him in a hug, trying to choke back his tears. “I’m so sorry, I-” 

“No,” Erik whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Everything’s okay, I promise.” Reggie nodded into his shoulder. 

“Guys?” someone called. When Reggie’s eyes snapped open to a familiar redheaded girl in a tattered aquamarine dress, a grin broke out on his face. 

“Mira!” They both ran to her, picking her up in a hug and spinning. Reggie pressed a kiss to her hair. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Erik told her, and Reggie nodded his agreement. 

“Me too,” she whispered, smudging the soot on her face as she wiped away tears. “We should look for others.” Reggie nodded, blinking back more tears as he let go, scanning around him. Dozens of battered but breathing Nobles were littered around the field, sitting, standing, and walking, helping each other. 

“Are you okay?” Reggie asked Mx. Genevieve, helping xem up. 

“I think so,” xe coughed. “My head hurts, but I guess that’s to be expected after a bomb.”

“Probably.” Reggie made sure they were steady. “Make sure you’re alright, then try to help anyone else you find, okay? I’m doing the same.” Xe nodded, patting his shoulder. 

As he searched more rubble, he found Flynn and Carrie, clinging to each other and shaking behind a huge piece of debris. They were rattled but uninjured, thankfully. And soon, he found Julie, passed out near the stairs, the violet tulle and silk of her dress torn and dirty. He scooped her up as gently as he could, brushing a curl off her face. She coughed, and Reggie half-hoped she would wake up, but she stayed asleep.

“REGGIE!” His head whipped towards the familiar sound of Carlos’s voice, as well as the voices of the other Nobles who’d escaped in time, rushing back to the palace. He gently set down Julie, leaving her with Mira, and took off towards Carlos, who jumped into his arms. 

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly. Reggie nodded. 

“I’m okay,” he confirmed. “And hey, if Han Solo can survive it, so can we.” Carlos laughed, but there were still tears streaming down his face. And they just quickened, until they heard an impossibly amazing voice behind them.

“Mijos?” Ray asked, coughing up dust.

“DAD!” they shouted, running to him, hugging him gently but tightly. Reggie sobbed into his chest. 

“We thought you were-”

“I’m okay,” he assured them. “Just a bit rattled. Where’s Julie?”

“She’s over there,” he pointed. “By the stairs.”

“I’ve been around the back of the damage site,” Ray explained, “which is why I hadn’t seen you yet. Almost everyone is okay, which is a relief, but…” he waited until Carlos had walked out of earshot before adding, “there were four confirmed casualties.” Reggie’s heart shattered.

“No,” he whispered. “No, that can’t be right, everyone-”

“It’s nobody we knew,” Ray added, but his eyes glistened with melancholy. Reggie nodded, hugging him again. 

“Can you take me to see Julie?” he asked. Reggie nodded, taking his hand and leading him to the small, clear patch he’d set her down in. Mira and Flynn were both by her side. 

“Has she woken up?” Ray asked. Reggie noticed the looks of shock on the girls’ faces, but they didn’t say anything, just shaking their heads. 

…

Finding Alex and Luke had been a huge relief, and when Julie woke up, something in Reggie’s heart clicked into place. 

There were shattered pieces of hearts throughout their family, found or blood, but those pieces combined into a beautiful mosaic of people who were scarred but lovely, bruised but kind, and loved each other with a passion and gentle nature that would bring them closer. 

----- 

Willie POV

...

“Okay,” Lilian called through the large room full of bakers and chefs, “get to your usual posts and finish up any extra dishes for tonight. Then, Alyssa, Conley, Ever, Jenna, Mark, Tori, Aaliyah, and CoCo, you’re in charge of distribution and waiting during the ball. Everyone else, be on standby, but if things go smoothly, you should be able to have an early night.” Willie smiled, but his heart fell.

He’d really hoped he’d be chosen to go to the ball and wait tables. He knew it was stupid, but he really wanted to see Alex. Even if they wouldn’t get to interact, it still would’ve been nice. And he’d spent the whole time he was baking thinking through tons of what-ifs. What if Alex noticed him there? What if they got to chat? If he was lucky, what if they got to dance? What if…

Willie shut down the thoughts. It wasn’t happening anyway. 

He redid his hair in the knot at the nape of his neck, sighing and heading back to the kitchens to make sure the cupcakes were perfect. They were, of course; he’d practiced piping cupcakes since he was little. Eva always loved cupcakes. Her favorite of his were the lemon ones, with the yellow and pink sprinkles. He’d made them on her eighth birthday, and her face lit up when he brought them out, complete with striped candles. Willie grinned at the memory of her trying to blow them out with her missing two front teeth, singing, ‘happy birthday to me, I’m a hundred and three, I’m getting tho old and thoon I’ll be wrinkly!’ It wasn’t the same song that a lot of kids sang, but it was Eva’s. She refused to sing it any other way. Of course, Willie still teased her about her then-inability to pronounce her S’s, and any time it was her birthday, he’d say ‘it’th your birthday, Eva! You’re getting tho old, thoon you’ll be wrinkly!’ It drove her absolutely insane. 

Willie missed those days. 

…

The ball seemed to be going smoothly, so Willie took it upon himself to make a batch of key lime tarts. He hummed to himself, letting his mind wander to all sorts of things (Alex, mostly), shaping the dough into the tins.

That was, until he heard the screaming. 

His stomach dropped and he dashed to the other side of the kitchen, where Alyssa was standing in a defensive position as if someone was about to attack her. Willie joined her, before Lilian snuck back in through the back door. She didn’t say a word, but pointed Alyssa to the frying pan shelf and Willie…

To the knife rack. 

Willie’s hands shook and a cold sweat dripped down his back, but he obeyed Lilian’s grim nod and took one, gripping it in his palm and watching light glint on the blade. He swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. 

Lilian led everyone in the kitchens to the door, surreptitiously walking out in a single-file line, all the way down the hall to the ballroom. Willie never knew Lilian could be so silent; her steps were completely inaudible. 

As Lilian pushed open the door, eyes flicked their way, and Willie silenced his breathing as he searched for a familiar blue-green-grey pair. And when he finally found them, they were fraught with terror, hope, confusion, and something else that Willie couldn’t quite place. Something lighter but heavier at the same time. 

Alex gave him the tiniest of head-shakes, but he was too far in to stop. 

I’m sorry, Willie mouthed. I care about you, Alex. 

He wasn’t sure if he’d been able to understand what he so desperately wanted to tell him, but Willie did see a resigned nod and a plea for him to be careful coming from Alex’s direction. 

Things seemed to move in slow motion. By some miracle, Covington, who was draped over King Ray’s throne, didn’t notice the nervous glances their way. He shouldn’t have been surprised, though; he was a very self-absorbed person. 

Then, all hell broke loose when Alyssa and six other cooks brought down their pans on the representatives’ heads at once, knocking them out cold and freeing the council members. Willie’s heart raced as he hid behind the throne as Lilian trained her knife on Covington’s back. He was astonished at how steady her voice was, how tall she stood (not just because she was over six feet; she was scarily confident). 

“Or,” she said smoothly, “you could surrender, and go back to your own country.” The knife in her hand didn’t waver, but Covington recoiled. He hadn’t heard her coming. Willie took his chance and got on the other side, his knife pointed at Covington as well. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to use it.

“Don’t hurt these people,” he instructed, proud of how clear and steady his own voice was. 

“A few bakers trying to save their precious leaders,” Caleb purred, but the malice in his voice was like venom. “How sweet. Unfortunately for you, I have this”- he pulled a small remote out of his pocket -”and while I would rather not use it, I will if I must.” Willie’s heart leaped to his throat, and he was achingly aware of the sweat on his back, the curl of hair that had loosened from his bun, the pebble in his shoe.

None of that compared to what he would soon feel if Covington pressed that button, though. Willie had never seen one before, but he knew exactly what it was.

A bomb.

The next minute was chaos. His knife clattered to the floor, heart pounding in his ears, and he jumped backwards, hating his fearful reaction. Lilian, to her credit, held her ground nicely, but the tension in her shoulders had returned in full effect, and her eyebrows creased in the middle. 

“That’s right,” Caleb said over the terrified screams, people running for the doors. “If any of you here have any sense, you’ll run. You shouldn’t have to, of course, but if your leaders continue to be stubborn, it might be for the best.” Willie shook his head. Covington wouldn’t just… do that. 

“You’re bluffing,” someone called from the audience. “You’re in this room too.”

“Am I?” Caleb challenged, and Willie could’ve sworn he’d seen wrong, but he didn’t. A flicker of transparency, proving that Covington was actually somewhere else. 

A hologram. 

“Yes,” Caleb remarked. “You probably didn’t notice my brief trip to the restroom earlier, but that wasn’t actually a restroom trip. I’m far away by now.”

“But what about your representatives?” a man asked. Willie recognized him as Princess Julie’s older brother, though he couldn’t remember his name.

“Acceptable losses. These aren’t actually representatives, they’re criminals who have been offered the chance of a full pardon if things don't go south. They have, however, been made very clear of the other possibility.” Willie’s hands curled into fists. Was he really willing to just… sacrifice those people? Criminals or not, Willie couldn’t stomach the idea of sacrificing seven people. 

“You might notice that your king is not in the room,” Caleb added, and Willie’s stomach dropped. 

“What did you do to my dad?” Julie shouted, her hands clenched in fists, shaking. Willie scanned the crowd, but didn’t find the king. 

“He’s alive, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Caleb said. “But I guarantee that, should I press this button, he’ll be in the line of fire.”

Furious shouts echoed in the huge room, and Willie watched as Princess Julie walked towards the royals’ table, getting in Covington’s face. Willie ducked his head in a bow.  

“Leave my people alone.” Her voice was cold, harsh, but clear and steady. “Get out of our kingdom. You have no place here.”

“Yeah,” her brother interjected. “We’re not going to abandon our people, no matter how much you want us to.” Willie nodded

“You can’t make us surrender,” another man informed Covington. Alex nodded, standing as tall as he could, and Willie tried to do the same, swallowing the bile rising in his throat.

“I truly hate to do this,” Caleb said, without an ounce of sorrow in his voice. “But you leave me no choice.” 

“NO,” Alex yelled, and Willie’s stomach dropped. His eyes darted to Alex, wide with fear. If Alex…

Willie shoved away the thought.

“I’m sorry, everyone,” Caleb added maliciously. Everyone was running and screaming, bustling through the doors, and Willie did his best to get people out. 

“LILIAN!” he screamed, rushing to her. “Grab Alyssa and the others, then get out as fast as you can!” She shook her head. 

“No, you need to leave too,” she told him. Willie shook his head.

“I’m going to try to get people out of here,” he decided. “I can run fast, don’t worry.”

“What are the odds of getting you to listen to me?”

“Slim to none.” Lilian sighed.

“Be fast.” He nodded, patting her shoulder and letting her dash away. 

Willie sprinted to the hallway outside the ballroom, shouting for people to get out of there, searching for Alex. Hopefully, he’d run, and would be far away by the time Covington made good on his promise. 

But, of course, a familiar voice echoed through his ears.

“WILLIE!” Alex sprinted to him, and Willie’s eyes widened. 

“GO! GET OUT OF HERE!” he said, trying to urge Alex out. “You need to get out before this place blows!” Tears streamed down his face but he ignored them, running to Alex. 

When the shockwave hit him, he was a few meters away from the man he was trying to reach. Willie was pretty sure he’d phased into a different dimension when it passed through his head, leaving it fuzzy and burning but also clear, cold, and sharp. 

He felt like he was floating. Maybe he was; there was no way to know. He felt disconnected from his body. The matter making him up wasn’t really his, it was just his turn to use it before he would inevitably die and be reabsorbed into the world, waiting for some other creature to be reborn from the ashes of his demise. 

When his back hit the ground, Willie felt it, but in the way you feel a headache when you’re half asleep. He registered it, knew he was in pain, but didn’t feel it as much as he should’ve. He barely registered the bruises forming on his shoulders, the heat from the fire on his skin, the flecks of concrete bouncing across his face. He was feeling everything and nothing at all, like a frozen fire, a breeze barely detectable as it rushed against a hurricane. 

Willie caught the faint glinting of a few stars in the sky before blacking out. 

…

When he awoke, it was to shouts. They weren’t urgent, but searching, calling, asking, hoping. Blearily, he blinked his eyes open. It was still night, so he couldn’t have been out for long. What had even happened? Why was he collapsed in the middle of a field full of bits of concrete, wood, fabric, and debris?

Then, everything came rushing back in an instant.

Screams.

Knives.

The shockwave.

Fire. 

Alex. 

Willie bolted upright, ignoring the pounding headache between his temples. Standing shakily, he ran to the first person he could find, which happened to be Alyssa.

“Willie? Is that you?” she called, her purple hair caked with dirt. He nodded, tears blurring his vision as he wrapped her in a hug.

“Are you okay?” he asked. When she nodded against his shoulder, he sighed in relief. 

“Thank God. Have you seen anyone else? Where’s Lilian?”

“She’s helping pass out medical supplies to anyone who was injured,” Alyssa explained. “I’m scanning the grounds for others.” He nodded. 

“Has anyone…” he trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. Alyssa looked away, nodding.

“Four people. But everyone else was lucky, as far as we know?”

“Has anybody found King Ray yet?”

“No, but we’re looking. It’ll be okay, I promise.” 

“I know, I just… This is horrible.”

“It really is,” Alyssa agreed. “I’m so sorry you had to go through it.”

“You too.”

She reached up and patted his shoulder, and Willie dashed around the grounds, searching for people, taking extra time to look for a certain blonde prince.

He helped a mother and her daughter up out of a ditch where they’d fallen after avoiding a huge concrete slab, assuring them that everything would be okay. After he’d sent them on their way down the hill, he continued his search. But no matter where he looked, he never found Alex. 

Tears blurred in his eyes, but Willie blinked them back. Now wasn’t the time to cry. It wasn’t the time to grieve someone who could be alive. 

He climbed over piles of broken concrete and stone, stamping out small fires along the way, leaving nothing but crumbling, charred ash. 

But no matter where he searched, he couldn’t find Alex. 

He doubled back multiple times, scanning the grounds and looking in every nook and cranny he could find, even going as far as to search the other half of the grounds where the bomb hadn’t affected. But there was no familiar sweep of blonde hair, no sarcastic remark, no eyes that shifted from blue to green to grey, no golden embroidery on a blue suit. 

Then, he found himself running through the gardens again, searching, and ending up all the way at the back end in the park where he’d tried to teach Alex to skate. 

Willie brushed the petals of one of the roses between his fingers, the sweet aroma floating to his head and making him dizzy. The grass was cold and wet with dew, but he didn’t care, embracing the chill rather than the fire he’d been so close to. He sank to the ground, hugging his knees to his chest.

Alex was gone.

And there was nothing Willie could do. 

He was heartbroken. He didn’t know Alex as well as he wanted to. He wanted to get to know every aspect of him, every quirk and flaw and edge, no matter what, but now he was gone, a memory floating away on a wind, gentle but cruel and unrelenting. Willie ducked his head into his knees, letting his emotions flow as he sobbed.

He was always a quiet crier, and it made him feel insignificant and forgettable. For once, though, he didn’t care. Let the universe forget him. Let him flow through the galaxy as nothing more than a speck, a dot on a timeline, a splash of color in an ever-growing sea of humanity. 

He cursed himself for falling in love so quickly, for not trying harder to get Alex to leave before the blast. He cursed himself for ever having met him at all, maybe then they’d both be alive, and it would be better in the long run. But nothing could ever be perfect. Willie knew that. So why, why did it hurt so badly when the one thing he knew would never work out ended so abruptly?

He tugged on the key on his necklace, the familiar grooves indenting his skin. He was shaking, the cold darkness like a blanket, fading as the sky gradually lightened, barely noticeable even as the sun began to paint the horizon with streaks of gold. 

Then, the impossible happened. At least, it should’ve been impossible.

He heard Alex calling his name.

He knew it couldn’t be real, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as his head snapped up, half-sure he was hallucinating. But Alex was running closer, and soon Willie was standing up, walking slowly, tentatively towards him, like if he moved too fast it might scare away the slim possibility that he was real, and not a cruel trick of the light.

It might’ve worked, too, because when he leaped into Alex’s hug, he didn’t phase through him, didn’t collapse back to the ground. Alex caught him, and Willie couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying. Probably both, he decided as he wrapped his arms tighter around Alex’s back. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered shakily, feeling Alex’s head shake over his. 

“No,” he said. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was doing, I should’ve grabbed you and ran…” Then it was Willie’s turn to shake his head. His breath hitched as he realized just how close they were. He could’ve counted the faint freckles dotting the prince’s nose, traced constellations into his skin, searched his eyes for answers he didn’t know existed. 

And then, he kissed him. 

Willie had always thought that, when people described sparks flying during a kiss, they were exaggerating, but in that moment he realized that it was incredibly, beautifully real. Sparks flew from his heart, leaving flecks of light and euphoria on his skin. Alex’s lips were soft and warm over his, slick with tears. It was broken and imperfect, but Willie wouldn’t change a second of it.

When they came up for air, Willie was smiling, but more tears were rolling down his face. 

“When you weren’t with the survivors, I-” he choked off into another sob. “I thought I’d lost you,” he finally whispered. Alex shook his head, and Willie delved deeper into the embrace, memorizing every detail that he could, the way Alex’s hands felt on his back, the fabric of his suit, how his shoulder was perfectly level with Willie’s mouth.

“You’ll never lose me,” Alex whispered to him.

A few moments later, Willie breathed back, “I hope not.” 

[jangmi-latte]

❝ 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘢 𝘈 – 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲!!! ❞

“love is just a pain! i also want to get better at using magic. right now, i’m sure i’m no match against either the dorm head or even the other seniors but, one of these days, i’ll show off my real abilities! and in order to do that… i think i’d have to study a bit more seriously before focusing on love…”

ghost marriage ssr card translation by hannah on youtube

His fingers diligently move on the screen. The clock ticking audibly as he stayed under his blanket, the light of his phone illuminated his dark room in a manner to keep him awake. 12:55 was what’s written on the clock. Too concentrated on the conversation he was having on his phone, the young first year’s lips stretched out into a wide toothless smile.

    Shouldn’t you be asleep?

There it is again. The freshman let out a silent chuckle, his fingers moving to respond back to the message. He was starting to grow sleepy, however, he couldn’t leave the enjoyment of conversing with her. He licked his lips and yawned. Different time zones really are difficult, no? Yet he is there to prove that distance and time as nothing to do to ruin a friendship/relationship. Says the one who kept his distance before.

    Ace, go to bed.

    It’s late.

He slammed the pillow on his face as he grinned. Was he shaking? Giggling? Who knows? His whole body was shaking while he left his phone on his side. Seemingly lovestruck, he looked up at his canopy as he sighed dreamily. Deuce and his two other roommates are asleep by now, unaware of Ace’s awakeness. Neither do they know this girl he’s talking to. 

Or so he thought.

Ace picked up his phone again, his smile never leaving his face before he responded back. Maybe he should go to bed, there weren’t any classes tomorrow. Was he forgetting something? Oh, yes. He was turning seventeen. 

I don’t have classes tomorrow! It’s fine!

Three bouncing dots immediately popped up three seconds after he sent the message. He does hope she would be the first one to greet him. Would she even know? She’s in a different timezone so it’s probably hours behind in her area. He wanted to call her so badly and yet Ace knew he couldn’t keep quiet. He doesn’t want to wake up his roommates. Most especially, Deuce.

His phone began to beep more, receiving messages from his family greeting him happy birthday. Ah, how his smile softened. Ace doesn’t know what he honestly wanted for his birthday. Something expensive? Some new shoes? Who knows, all he wanted was to be free from rules, eat cherry pie, and just skip school.

Unbeknownst to him, Deuce’s half-open eyes stared at him from under the blanket. As far as his eyes could see, he noted that Ace was briefly talking to his father. Quietly, the other freshman pulled his phone out and texted the dorm leader.

“Ace.”

“Mngh…”

“Ace.”

“What?!” Ace dragged as he revealed his head from under the duvets. His hair dishevelled and his eyelashes had crusts littered all over it. Unsightly, but that’s what you get for getting only 6 hours of sleep. It was already 9 in the morning. Are birthday boys exempted from the rules? Probably not, hopefully, Riddle is more lenient. Deuce pulled the duvets away from his friend and huffed. “Are you going to sleep your birthday away?” he grumbled. Teeth grinding against each other, he saw how Ace simply rolled over to his back and began to close his eyes again.

“Ace!” 

“I’m up!” grumbled the other teen as he sat up and stretched. Deuce was one to easily get impatient and he doesn’t want the preparation to go to waste just because of this jackass being lazy. Besides, it was Riddle’s command to wake him up.

“Hurry up! Everyone is down there waiting for you.”

“For what?” he whined, his brain still sleeping just like how he’ll drop to the bed any second.

Time to get physical, Deuce. He cracked his knuckles and grabbed both his hands before pulling him up abruptly. “Deuce you fucking–!” 

“The dorm leader’s going to chop our heads off if you don’t get up!” he argued back as he shoved Ace inside the bathroom. 

“Even on my birthday, he’s still going to chop my head off?!” 

“He doesn’t care! Rules are rules! Get your ass out there once you’re done!”

So loud early in the morning. Ace grumbled yet deep in his mind, he was grateful for the preparation Heartslabyul did for him. Even the devil of a dorm leader made an effort to fix Heartslabyul for the day of his birth. As he was getting naked, Deuce suddenly opened the door – a shrill leaving Ace’s lips – and shoved some clothes into his hands. “Wear that. Dorm leader’s orders.”

“Why do I have to wear this?”

“Dunno. Just wear it. I have to fetch y/– your cake!” Deuce nearly punched himself for nearly spilling something that shouldn’t be spilt. Furrowed red eyes met blues ones as Ace placed the clothes on the sink and faced his classmate with hands on his hips. “Oi, Deuce.”

“You’re obviously hiding something. Tell me since it’s my birthday.” Ace smirked and leaned closer. Deuce cringed, taking a foot away from him before slamming the door on his face. “Hurry up and get dressed!”

“Geez, you’re such a dickhead!”

While the celebrant prepared himself; downstairs, Riddle continued to give out orders to his dorm mates as Cater busied himself on the phone. “Cater,” Riddle called and looked at his senior with worried eyes. “Did she make it?”

“She just got to the airport!” cheered Cater as he ended the call. “She texted me her terminal number and she’s ready to be fetched.” He looked over at the panting first-year who just arrived. 

“Good! While he’s distracted, let’s go and fetch her Deucey.”

“You have fifteen minutes to fetch her. I’m sure that’s enough time for the three of you to prepare. If you’re late, it’s off with your head.”

Nodding, the two headed off to the mirror chamber. They have their duties to fulfill. It’s time they surprise their reckless first-year celebrant.

“Riddle,” called the vice dorm leader while he pie the cake on the table. “What’s the plan?" 

"Leave it to me.”

Fifteen minutes, they have fifteen minutes to complete everything. The party is set up, she’s coming, and all that’s left to do is distract Ace. “Woah!”

Damn.

Peering up, Riddle nearly had a heart attack. How thankful he is to have SOME attentive dorm mates to block Ace from going to the lobby. It’s too soon, she isn’t here yet. Riddle made eye contact with the young teens, signalling them to keep him distracted. Cater, Deuce. Hurry up.

“Trey, he’s already coming down. Is everything prepared?" 

Trey nodded and clapped his hands to signify everyone to get ready. Ten minutes left. "Hey, what gives, man?” came Ace as he crossed his arms. “What surprise do you have down there, huh?” He smirked and tried to peer down from the balcony. He couldn’t see anything. The great temptation to jump from the third floor and down to the first floor was strong. If only he wouldn’t break his bones would he have done it sooner.

“Argh!” He glared at the two blockers before grinning. “Aight, since it’s my birthday, you’ll be moving out of my way and let me through!”

“We’re still following dorm leader Riddle’s orders! Birthday or not we’re not letting you through!”

“Looks like I have to do it the hard way.” Ace huffed before swiftly pushing past the two and running downstairs. Proceeding to skip steps and even slide down the railings to get away from the two students. Surprisingly, no one even dared to chase or stop Ace. There wasn’t anyone in the hallways at all. Yet Ace stayed attentive. Who knows what surprise is awaiting his way?

It was a surprise he never expected at all.

He nearly slipped. Having to hold unto the wall to keep his balance. His big grin quickly dropped once he looked up. Still panting, his eyes grew wide, speechless, is he. Riddle had a smirk on his face, Cater had his phone on record as he waved at him, and Trey and Deuce were grinning themselves.

In the middle of all these students, stood you.

“Happy birthday Ace!” they all cheered.

He couldn’t comprehend what was going on. You were standing there, physically present. Not a hallucination, not a monogram, it was really you. Your contagious smile painted your face while Ace slowly walked over to you. “H-How…?” For the first time, the whole Heartslabyul saw Ace speechless.

They were all grinning. Ace Trappola, the annoying yet reliable first-year student, dumbfounded and looked like he was on the verge of tears. “Happy birthday,” you giggled and brought your hand up to show a paper bag. Ace bit his lower lip and closed his eyes, looking down as he stopped his tears from falling. Instead of accepting the gift, he pulled on your arm and hugged you tightly. 

He couldn’t help it. Surely, the young Trappola is seen to be cheeky, arrogant, and even a dumbass. Teens will be teens. Ace never felt so in love before. Something his previous girlfriend didn’t give. You actually made an effort to come home and surprise him. Is this why you didn’t greet him last night? Either way, he was thankful to have you in his arms.

“Ace, are you crying?” you giggled just as he pulled away and wiped his tears with his sleeves.

“No I’m not!” he declined despite his red cheeks saying otherwise.

You smiled and pulled his arm down. “I’ll be back in the Rose Kingdom next month.”

“W-Wait do you mean—?”

“I’m not going back to the Land of Pyroxene..”

“I’m home Ace.”

Happy Birthday Ace Trappola…

[sugakuns]

❝yes, chef!❞ — k.kozume [1k event]

Kodzukens, the name of Kenma’s large amassed followings had been requesting that you and your gamer boyfriend make a video together.

It was strange to you because most celebrity fans aren’t big on the idea of their idol dating someone that isn’t them but they absolutely adore the small interactions between the two of you. You suppose the main reason they want this video is because the two of you keep p.d.a to a minimum for Kenma’s comfort.

The two of you had decided on a baking video since you were both craving something sweet and it was a change from the usual content Kenma posted. Even gamers get sick of playing games at times!

“(Y/n) is here with me today since you guys requested it” He smiles lightly as you pop into frame with a cute smile on your face. You’re sitting on a chair near the kitchen island whereas he stands further away and because of the cameras placement you look quite tiny.

He’s wearing a grey hoodie and red shorts, a white apron tied loosely around his waist. You’ve already helped to tie his hair back in a secure bun that won’t fall out as he moves around during the video. He continues to explain what the two of you are going to be doing during the videos duration - even slightly scolds his fans for bombarding your socials requesting the idea.

“We’re both not bakers so please don’t make fun of us in the comments” you add, as you made your way next to your boyfriend who still held the slight smile he had in the beginning. He tilts his head down to rest on your own as you loop your arms around his right arm to pull him into a comforting hug.

“KenKen, you’re making a mess” A heavy pout rests on your plump lips, staring dejectedly at the mixture of flour and water decorating your once clean countertops.

Kenma’s nimble fingers work away at the soon to be apple pies crust, kneading and twisting the squishy dough. He simply snickers as you complain, eyes glaring holes in the mess he disregards. He’s even got a little bit of flour on his nose but you won’t be telling him that. He looks too cute with his tongue stuck between his teeth, kneading at the dough like a kitten would knead at a ball of yarn.

“You see what I mean? Nag, nag, nag” He teases, eye flickering up to the camera as his smirk widens, eyes flinching closed as you lightly slap his arm. Kenma shakes his head as he finishes up with the dough, evilly flicking his dirty fingers in your direction just to watch you scream.

The two of you had already made the apple filling and you had finished making the actual crust base, now it was time for you to plop of the apple filling it, slap on the top and stick it in the oven.

“Now we wait 20-30 minutes” you announce, watching as Kenma slides the raw pie into the oven. He sighs and steps back, wiping his hands on a rag as he begins to speak.

“You guys wanted us to answer some of your questions so I guess we can do that while we wait” He’s already thumbing through his phone, selecting out questions he comfortable with answering.

“How did you and Kenma meet?”

“Oh! We went to school together and we were always seated next to each other.. so it was kinda inevitable that we’d talk” You laugh, watching as Kenma’s gave flushes a little. You smile “Kenma used to be really quiet so often times I’d be telling full stories and he’d just nod and hum”

“Kenma what did you think of (y/n) when you first met them?”

“Um, to be honest I kinda thought they were annoying” he scratches the back of his neck nervously “But I was really closed off when I was a teenager so I felt that way about everyone” You nod, smile as you reminisce your high school life with the boy beside you.

“Can you check the pie (y/n)?” Kenma asked as he walks out of frame to grab some plates.

“Yes, chef!” You salute, fingers eagerly ripping open the oven door, a hair of mittens already on your hands. Kenma chuckles, murmuring something about picking the wrong title.

“It smells so good!” You praise, sliding the tray onto the countertop. The dough had baked perfectly, almost looking sun kissed with its orange flakes. Kenma’s eyes almost sparkle in delight as he realises he’s only a few moments away from digging into his favourite dessert.

“The recipe said to cool it either in the fridge or in a cool area, but I’m pretty sure Kenma is gonna drool if we wait any longer” Kenma frowns at your teasing, fiddling with his hair shyly.

“Stop being mean to me on my channel” He flicks the side of your head playfully, grimancing as you bite his finger playfully.

By the time the two of you had stopped bickering playfully, the pie had cooled enough to hold together once cut into. Kenma was practically salivating by the time you passed him his slice, eagerly chomping into the desired dessert.

He chews quickly, swallowing the piece without a doubt in mind. But that was, until he paled. You laugh at his comical expression.

“(Y/n)?”

“Yeah?” You hum, hiding your laugh behind your palm.

“It’s still doughy”

[rhosyn-du]

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Epilogue

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321​ Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue​ Tags:  Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3 , Tumblr Master Post

Epilogue

“How is this the third store we’ve visited that’s out of cranberry sauce?”

“Because it’s eleven in the morning on Thanksgiving Day?” Maia threw Simon a look that clearly said ‘duh.’ “I’m honestly surprised we managed to snag those last two pie crusts.”

“I should never have let myself get distracted while I was doing my shopping on Monday.” He fixed Jace with a stern glare. “No more distracting me at the grocery store.”

“You were pretty into my distraction, if I recall correctly,” Jace said with a lazy grin.

“You’re laughing now, but you’ve never seen Bubbe Helen when she doesn’t get cranberries on Thanksgiving. You don’t even know.”

Jace wrapped his arms around Simon’s waist, pulling him close. “Hey, we’ll find Bubbe Helen her cranberries. We’ve still got a hundred miles left between here and New York. There’s bound to be a store along the way that still has cranberries.”

Simon relaxed in his arms with a sheepish smile. “You’re right. I’m being dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” Jace corrected gently. “It’s tradition, and it’s important to people you love.”

“Wow, holidays make you really sappy,” Simon teased.

“You make me really sappy,” Jace corrected, reaching for Simon’s left hand. He brought it to his lips, placing a kiss on the knuckle right above his father’s ring. The same ring he’d used when he actually proposed two weeks ago, at the same table in Java Jones where they’d made their list of fake dating rules all those months ago. He’d hidden the ring under his muffin, knowing Simon would steal the last bite like he always did, and even though it wasn’t the kind of grand, romantic gesture his siblings had suggested when he asked for their help, it was theirs, and the look on Simon’s face when he said yes was really all that mattered.

“You make me pretty sappy, too,” Simon said, drawing him into a kiss.

“If you two start making out in the middle of the canned goods aisle, I’m stealing the van and going to New York without you.”

Jace pulled away from the kiss to give Maia an unimpressed look. “No one’s making you watch.”

“Yeah, but every minute I have to spend waiting for you is one I don’t get to spend with my girlfriend, who I live two-hundred miles away from and only get to see maybe once a month if I’m really lucky.”

“She does have a point,” Simon said. “Plus, Becky can be really vindictive when she wants to be, and she’s got easy access to the room we’re sleeping in tonight.”

“And the longer we stand around here, the longer other people have to buy all the cranberries at other stores,” Maia pointed out.

“Fine,” Jace relented, releasing Simon. “Let’s go find some cranberries.”

Simon took his hand, and Jace could feel the warm metal of his ring pressing into his skin.

~~~

“We have cranberries!” Maia announced as they entered the Lewis home.

“Oh, thank god,” Becky said. “Someone was starting to get a little agitated.” She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head significantly toward the kitchen.

“So, you’re only happy to see me for my cranberries, huh?” Maia teased.

“I’ve got a whole list of reasons I’m happy to see you.” Becky gave her a quick kiss, then turned to poke Simon in the ribs. “But I’m only happy to see this fool for his cranberries.”

“Hey!” Simon protested, poking her right back.

“I guess I just don’t even rate, huh?” Jace asked.

Becky turned a wide, mischievous smile on him. “Oh, no. I’m happy to see you for an entirely different reason. I want to offer you a trade.”

“Don’t do it,” Simon said. “She’s sneaky, and she will rip you off.”

“I am sneaky,” Becky agreed, “but this is totally above board.” She turned back to Jace. “I hear that you and Maia are drinking buddies.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” Maia commented.

“That’s probably a pretty accurate description of our relationship, sure,” Jace agreed.

“Which means you’ve seen Maia drunk,” Becky continued. “Which means you probably have embarrassing stories about my girlfriend. Stories that I’m more than willing to trade embarrassing stories of my brother to hear.”

“See?” Simon pointed at his sister. “Sneaky.”

“Yeah, babe, I’m not sure you’ve actually thought this through,” Maia said.

“No, I have,” Becky told her with a smirk. “I’ve also thought up all kinds of ways to convince you to forgive me.”

“Please don’t elaborate,” Simon said.

“Okay,” Maia said, “but I have an even better deal for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“How about we both tell embarrassing stories about Simon and Jace over dinner.” Maia leaned in and finished in a low voice. “And then you can show me how you were planning to get me to forgive you when we get back to your place tonight.”

“Oh,” Becky said. “Yeah, that’s a much better deal.” She turned to Jace. “Sorry, got a better offer. No hard feelings?”

Jace shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I mean, I can’t really blame you.”

“Is it too late to do Thanksgiving with your family?” Simon asked Jace. “Or we could just sit in the van and eat cranberries out of the can. That’s also an option that would be preferable to this.”

“Oh good, you found the cranberries.” Bubbe Helen emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She walked over and pulled Simon into a hug. “I knew my grandson would come through.”

Behind her, Becky shook her head emphatically, mouthing ‘lies.’

Simon kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without cranberries.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” She turned a critical eye on Jace. He was pretty sure she still held a bit of a grudge over him supposedly proposing to Simon in a storage closet. “And what are your thoughts on cranberries?”

“Oh, uh.” Jace was pretty sure he’d never thought much about cranberries before this morning’s frantic search across half of New England. “I’m definitely pro-cranberry.”

“Speaking of which,” Simon interrupted, “we should get these groceries to the kitchen and get started on the pies. You’re going to love Jace’s pecan pie, Bubbe Helen. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

“Pecan, huh?” Bubbe Helen gave Jace a considering look.

Jace nodded. “With browned butter. It’s a family recipe.” Technically, it was Alec’s recipe, but Alec was family, so he figured it counted.

Bubbe Helen nodded. “You’ll do.” Then she turned with a wide smile to greet Maia, and Jace let out a relieved sigh.

As they made their way to the kitchen, Simon bumped Jace with his shoulder and spoke in a low voice. “It’s cute that my grandmother makes you nervous.”

“It’s not cute,” Jace muttered. “She’s terrifying.”

When they arrived in the kitchen, Simon’s mother was checking the turkey.

“Another half-hour, I think,” she told them as she closed the oven door. “If you work fast, you can put the pies in as soon as the turkey comes out. I cleared some counter space where you can work over there. Do not touch anything else.

“Hi, sweetie,” she added as an afterthought, giving Simon a quick hug.

Simon returned the hug. “Hi, Mom. Pie plates still in the same place?”

“Bottom cabinet to the left of the sink,” she confirmed. “Is there anything else you two need to get started on the pies?”

“Pie plates to the left of the sink, half an hour, don’t touch anything,” Jace repeated back to her. “I think we’re good.”

“Perfect. I’m going to go toss the linens in the dryer. You boys get started on those pies, and I’ll be back to check on the turkey in,” she checked her watch, “twenty-eight minutes.”

Jace watched long enough to make sure she was out of earshot before saying, “If we’re ever crazy enough to do joint holidays, she and Maryse cannot be allowed in the kitchen at the same time.”

Simon chuckled. “Mom can be a little intense about holidays being perfect, but I think it’s just because she wants us to enjoy them.”

“I get it.” Jace knelt down to retrieve the pie plates from the cabinet. “I mean, you saw what Maryse and Alec were like just over Christmas dinner. Military campaigns are less well-orchestrated than Thanksgiving at the Lightwood house.”

“Is it weird having Thanksgiving here instead of with your own family?” Simon asked as he rolled out a pie crust.

Jace set the pie plates down next to the pastry mat. “I am having Thanksgiving with my family. I’m having it with you.”

Simon smiled without looking up from the pastry mat. “If you keep saying romantic things, I’m going to kiss you, and then we’ll never get the pies ready to go in the oven on time.”

“I wasn’t being romantic,” Jace insisted. “It’s just, it took me a long time after the Lightwoods took me in to really start thinking of them as family, to accept that they thought of me as family. I’m not sure I ever would have if it wasn’t for Alec and Iz. They taught me that family can be people you choose, not just something you’re born with.” He shrugged. “And I chose you.”

Simon looked up from the now perfectly-rolled pie crust. “That was super romantic.”

“Maybe a little,” Jace conceded. He lifted the crust into one of the pie plates and began smoothing it into the corners.

“That’s actually part of why I wanted us to do Thanksgiving here this year,” Simon said as he began rolling out the second crust. “I know you haven’t always felt like you had a family, and even though I know you do now, I wanted to show you that you get to have my family now, too.”

Jace wound his arms around Simon’s waist. “Now who’s being romantic?”

The pies were not ready to go into the oven on time.

[ofbardsandmonsters]

I give you my first ever Geraskier piece! Thank you to @crownofstardustandbone for the beautiful moodboard AND for inspiring this through our Henry Cavill thirst chats!

***

It had been a particularly bad hunt. Not that classifying hunts as either good or bad was something Geralt was used to doing. In the past, a hunt had always been either a success or a failure: if the monster was dead, the hunt was a success and he got paid. And if Geralt was the one left dead, well.. he hadn’t had a failure yet.

And then he met Jaskier.

Now a hunt was classified based on the bard’s reaction to Geralt’s injuries. Before, he would simply catalog the injuries, provide whatever aid might be necessary to them, and wait for them to heal. But Jaskier had little-to-no experience with witcher mutations and the supernatural healing they provided. So any time Geralt came back to their camp or to the room at whatever inn they happened to be staying at, there was a reaction.

Minor injuries usually only came with an eye roll and a click of the tongue, a fondly annoyed honestly witcher, I’d think you liked getting hurt. But the more grievous the injuries, the more tense and serious his bard became.

And last night, even Geralt could admit that his wounds were maybe deeper than what could be considered normal for him. But the wyvern he had been contracted to dispose of was larger than had been reported, and stubborn. It had taken a great deal of strength and skill to bring the beast down. So when he staggered back to the small house given for their use by the minor lord who had posted the contract, struggling to keep himself held together, Jaskier had gone so still and so pale, the bard had very nearly resembled a marble statue.

But the obvious terror on the younger man’s face had disappeared within an instant, and he had rushed forward before Geralt could collapse on the wooden floor, showing off a surprising amount of strength as he took most of the witcher’s weight to drag him across the room. Then Jaskier had refused to allow Geralt to do a single thing as he set to tending to his wounds, utilizing the ever-increasing skill he had picked up while following the witcher along the Path. The bard had even insisted on lighting a fire by hand, where he would normally beg for an igni because do you know how difficult lighting a fire by hand is, Geralt, really?

And Jaskier had been abnormally, almost worryingly silent throughout the entire process. He hadn’t even asked which potions to pull from Geralt’s bag, easily plucking the right bottles with little hesitation. If he hadn’t been so exhausted from his body desperately trying to heal itself, Geralt might have realized just exactly what that meant.

But as it was, it wasn’t until he woke the next morning, the height of the sun in the sky an indicator of just how long he’d slept, to a confusing but alluring mixture of smells wafting from the small kitchen that things started to click into place. 

It took several minutes to drag his still aching body from the small bed that Jaskier had tucked him into the night before, and even that small amount of movement nearly drained him of what little energy he had while his body still healed, so Geralt didn’t bother with a shirt or a tie for his hair as he slowly made his way across the room to where it looked like the bard was cooking. He leaned against the doorway that led from the small bedroom to the kitchen to watch for a moment before speaking, one arm wrapped gingerly around his injured middle.

“Jaskier.”

Geralt couldn’t help the small smirk that appeared on his face as the bard jumped and spun around, brandishing the spoon in his hand. And it grew as the shocked look on Jaskier’s face morphed into a glare. “Geralt! You should not be out of bed. Your body is still healing!” When the only response he received was the lifting of a single white eyebrow, Jaskier sighed and pointed the spoon towards the small table off to the side of the room. “At least sit down while I pull this out of the oven. Please?”

The witcher slowly moved towards the table, carefully lowering himself into the chair while trying not to let his obvious discomfort show on his face, lest Jaskier start to gloat. “Since when do you cook?”

Jaskier glared at him over his shoulder as he pulled something from the oven that smelled strongly of rich herbs and roasted venison, squash and potatoes. “I cook!” Geralt’s eyebrow went up again, and Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I can cook. I was constantly getting underfoot in the kitchens as a child, so our cook finally got tired of kicking me out and roped me into helping instead. I’m just used to a kitchen, rather than a campfire.”

It was impossible to keep the wide-eyed look of surprise from his face as Jaskier set a large slice of roasted venison pie in front of him, squash and potatoes and peas spilling from the crust. Luckily, the bard didn’t notice as he turned back to the oven to remove something else. Something that smelled of.. peaches and rosemary. Warmth bloomed in his chest that had nothing to do with the healing wounds. Geralt could only stare at the food set before him, mind working around what it meant that Jaskier had made foods that he was immensely fond of without the witcher ever having said anything, almost missing what his bard was saying as he set a still-steaming peach and rosemary frangipane tart beside the plate of roasted pie.

“-meat is compliments of our gracious host, dropped off this morning by one of his kitchen staff as an extra thanks for solving his wyvern problem. I told her you were still healing, and that one of us would come by later for the coin. And I picked up just the loveliest peaches at the market yesterday while you were out witchering, so I thought the tarts would be a welcome addition.”

Before Jaskier could sit in the chair opposite his own, Geralt reached out to wrap his hand around the bard’s wrist, stilling his movement. Blue eyes met gold, confusion written on the younger man’s face. “Geralt? Are you alright? If the food’s too much, I can make something diff-”

“You love me.”

Jaskier went still, face turning a lovely shade of pink as he struggled to speak. “I.. that is.. of course I love you, dear heart. We’ve been friends for nearly twenty years, haven’t we?”

All it took was a gentle tug on his wrist, and Jaskier came without hesitation, letting Geralt pull him until he was standing between the witcher’s spread knees. “Jaskier. I didn’t teach you which potions from my bag to use and when. I didn’t tell you that I have a fondness for peach and rosemary tarts. You just.. noticed.”

The brunette’s face turned even pinker, but now there was a soft smile on his face, all traces of embarrassment wiped away. “Of course I noticed, Geralt. You deserve to be cared for, my darling witcher.”

Geralt pulled again, encouraging Jaskier to lean toward him until he could capture the bard’s lips with his own in a gentle, chaste kiss.

“I love you too, Jas.”

[ffakc]

The Weather Outside is Frightful - a Jeffrey Dean Morgan fanfiction

@negans-attagirl @jdmbbycakes @iluvneganandjamie

“For Rhinebeck, we’re looking at up to five inches per hour! Make sure you’ve got your milk and bread, folks, it’s going to be a doozy!” the weather man proclaimed. My husband changes the channel to our favorite trashy reality TV channel.

“I’d like to get five inches per hour,” I mutter for myself with a smirk and snuggle up under a fuzzy blanket.

“What did you just say?” Jeff laughs.

“Oh, nothing,” I sigh. Jeff is still giggling to himself. My silver fox leans over and growls in my ear.

“If you wanted to have sex, all you had to do was say so,” he kisses my neck with an obnoxious “MWAH!” sound.

“You’re so damn cute,” I try my best to climb onto my husband’s lap.

“How are you so hot even in your jammies, baby girl?” I grab his cheeks and kiss him.

“I don’t feel very hot,” I gesture to my VERY pregnant belly. Jeffrey scoffs.

“Nonsense! You’re carrying OUR child, that’s the most badass thing a lady can do!” he kisses my lips sweetly as he rubs the taut skin, “I love my girls.”

“We love you too, Daddy,” I smile and rock my hips against Jeff’s thigh. I moan with delight.

“Think about it this way, you’re rearranging your organs to bring a life into this world! How cool is that?”

“Jeff, that’s gross,” I laugh.

“I guess you’re right,” he chuckles. “So, what do my gals want for dinner, hm?”

“If I had my way, Pizza Hut stuffed crust. I’ve been craving that for a good week now. But I’m not about to make a delivery driver trek through this,” I climb off my man’s lap and rub his knee.

“Sweetheart, I’ve got a massive four wheel drive. Do you want pizza? I’ll get you pizza,” Jeff smiles, standing up off the couch.

“Yes please, Daddy. You’re so sweet.” I pull up the website on my phone, “What do you want?” I run my fingers over my stomach, which is now growling.

“You know I’m not picky,” Jeff grabs his keys and uses his remote start to warm his beast of a truck.

“Extra red onions, black olives, and sausage then,” I reply, Jeff hands me his card and kisses my forehead. “Ooh, and maybe a syrupy sweet fountain Pepsi?”

“You better be suckin’ on a breath mint then before you get near these lips! Also, Pepsi? Really? Oh, you better be fuckin’ messing with me.” I rest my sore feet on the ottoman and nod as Jeff pets my hair. “Fine, whatever. I’ll get you horse piss.” I laugh. That man is hopelessly addicted to his Coca Cola. “Anything else while I’m out?”

“Maybe a pregnancy test? I’ve been feeling weird lately,” I joke.

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying,” Jeff rolls his eyes with a grin and pulls on his flannel jacket, placing an unlit cigarette between his lips.

“Drive safe! I love you,” I blow him a kiss.

“I love you too, baby girl.”

***

“That’s your Daddy,” I trace my fingers over my belly, watching a rerun of Grey’s Anatomy that happened to be on. “He’s already wrapped around your little finger and he hasn’t even seen you in person yet,” I giggle. “We are so excited to meet you, baby girl.”

“Dinner is served, darlin’!” Jeff calls out and sets the pizza on the counter. I sit myself up a little straighter. Little flutters ripple across my abdomen.

“Jeff! Babe, come here!” I gesture to my stomach.

“Watching Daddy, hm? Wow, I miss my dark hair,” Jeff laughs and gets to his knees on the floor in front of the couch. I place his hand on my stomach and gently press my hand on top of his.

“Do you feel that? As soon as she heard your voice, she started moving.” Jeff gasps as a wide smile crosses his lips.

“I’m so in love with her already,” he kisses the little lumps where I assume a hand or a foot poked through. “That’s my daughter, my fucking daughter. It’s still so surreal to say. I’ve wanted a little girl for God knows how long,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “I’ve loved you since the moment Mama said she was pregnant with you. Don’t you break your daddy’s heart, sweet pea.”

“I can’t imagine bringing a child into this world with anyone else,” I reply and kiss my husband deeply. “Alright, I suppose I should get up!” I grab Jeff’s outstretched hand and he pulls me off the couch. I place my pizza on a paper plate. Jeff looks me up and down.

“Look how fucking cute you are, doll. Daddy loves giving his gal what she wants,” my husband remarks and kisses my cheek. I sink my teeth into the greasy pizza and moan with delight. “Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

“God, yes. The grease makes my soul happy,” I laugh. Jeff sits on the barstool at the kitchen counter.

“So, umm, yeah,” my husband clears his throat. “Usually I couldn’t give two shits what people say on social media, but...” Jeff heaves a heavy sigh. “I was scrolling through Twitter while waiting for pizza and I saw a few comments here and there about how I’m too old for this,” he places a hand on my stomach.

“That’s stupid,” I roll my eyes.

“They say I’m too old for you too,” he grabs his phone and adjusts his bifcocals, “‘Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s going to be 72 when that kid graduates and his sugar baby’s going to be 42. You ever think about how weird that is? Ew. Poor kid.’ I keep telling myself it do-“ a single tear falls down his face as he places his phone back on the counter.

“It doesn’t matter, Jeffrey,” I cup his cheek my hand and kiss him. “Aww, baby, come here,” I hold his head against my chest. “You already cherish this baby with every ounce of love you have and that’s literally all our girl could ask for, is a Mommy and Daddy who want nothing more than to love her with all their hearts. Age is but a number, sweetheart. My dad was older when he had us kids and it didn’t affect his parenting one single bit. Also, calling me a sugar baby when anyone who follows me on any social media platform knows I never shut the fuck up about how much I love my husband.” Jeff laughs to himself. “I’d have to be in REALLY deep with the sugar baby thing if I let my sugar daddy put a living, breathing child inside me.”

“Yeah, you are absolutely right,” Jeff sniffles and kisses me. “They can call me ‘old’ all the live long day, but coming for my incredible wife and unborn child? I don’t take too kindly to that. That hurts. I swear, I think your pregnancy hormones are affecting me too,” he teases and flicks his tears away.

“I don’t blame you! That shit is rude and uncalled for!” I exclaim and take a bite of pizza. “Sorry, I got distracted,” I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “What can I say? I’m eating for two.”

“You are indeed,” Jeff smiles, he murmurs something to himself and gives my backside a squeeze. He nibbles his pizza.

“What’s that, Daddy?” I look up at him with innocent eyes and take a long sip of my drink.

“I said, ‘that ass’,” You’ve gotten so curvy, baby. Pregnancy looks real good on you. Who gave you the right to be so damn sexy?” I wiggle my hips as wetness pools between my thighs. “You’re lucky I don’t just shove this pizza off the counter and fuck you right here.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I smirk. I pull down my top slightly, revealing my overgrown and engorged breasts.

“Baby doll,” Jeff whines. I run my fingers over the zipper of his jeans, earning a moan from my gorgeous older man. He places one veiny, strong hand on my hip and the other in my hair as he kisses me deeply. His hand travels to my belly as his breath shudders against my lips.

“I love these new curves,” Jeff groans. “Why does this big, round pregnant belly turn me on so much?”

“Because you know it means you bred me so good?” I suggest, squeezing my breasts together. “Making my tits bigger, making my hips wider.”

“God yes. What can I do to make my gal feel good tonight?”

“Well, I’ve had another craving that isn’t pizza,” I trail my fingers down his chest, “A hot, steamy shower with my hands in your hair and your mouth on my needy, wet pussy. Oh Daddy, I need you.”

“Oh my,” Jeff clicks his tongue, his face flushing slightly, “You know how much I love devouring that sweet pussy. I could do that all day, every day if you’d let me.”

“I’d let you!” I pipe up, and Jeff laughs, dunking his crust in pizza sauce. “Just don’t put any pepper flakes on your pizza,” I wink and Jeff laughs even harder.

“Good lord, you really think I’d do that to you?”

“I don’t know, maybe! Now, let’s finish dinner, dessert is waiting for you,” I rub my husband’s shoulders and he lets out a satisfied groan. I throw my plate in the trash, “I’ll meet you in the shower,” I whisper against his ear. Jeff shoves the rest of his food in his mouth and chases after me. I crank the shower up as hot as it can go, Jeff grabs me by the waist from behind and rubs against me as he kisses my neck. I can feel how hard he is in his fitted jeans. I slip out of my clothes and my husband does the same, his cock throbbing as he slides out of his underwear.

“Look at what you do to me,” Jeff gestures downward.

“Oops,” I step under the water. I brush two fingers over my clit and whimper, then offer them to Jeff. He sucks them seductively. “Look what you do to ME.”

“Fuck girl, you taste so sweet,” his hands rest on my pregnant belly as I wrap my arms around his neck as we kiss.

“I need to sit down,” I remark and bite my lip. I sit back on the shower bench.

“That’s my good girl. You sit back and relax, pull my hair, and let Daddy enjoy himself. Don’t you move a muscle, let me do all the work, sweetheart,” Jeff ghosts his hot breath against me, smirking up at me. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He lets out a low growl of pleasure.

“You tease,” I whine, “Please Daddy, please. I need it, Jeffrey.” Jeff buries his face in what’s his. The water falls softly against his tanned skin.

“You taste so damn GOOD, girl,” Jeff rasps. A little bit of Negan slipped out with that statement. He breathes heavily as his mouth overtakes my most sensitive parts. His fingers curl inside me. My whole body jerks.

“Jeff! Oh my god!” I gasp. My silver fox groans loudly.

“Oh Princess, I want to make you scream. I want you to make an absolute fucking mess on my face,” he spreads my legs as far as my exhausted body can go and circles my throbbing clit with his ever-flickering tongue. God, what a talented tongue my gorgeous husband has.

“Jeffrey! Jeffrey, oh fuck! I’m so close, baby. Please, baby. Please, I need you so damn bad,” I plead, grasping onto his graying locks. He sucks gently as if I’m his favorite lollipop and smirks up at me. “FUCK!” I cry out, “JEFF! OH MY FUCKING GOD!” I can’t hold back, profanity and filthy, wet mouth sounds fill the air. My orgasm hits me like a powerful earthquake, a tidal wave of pure ecstasy. As if a surge of lightning coursed through my entire body. Jeff pants, planting soft kisses on my inner thighs. I stroke his hair as he kisses me passionately, my legs still trembling.

“Was is it as good for you as it was for me?” Jeff smiles.

“Oh god, better than I could have ever imagined, Daddy. I love you so damn much,” I breathe heavily.

“I love you more than anything. You make me the luckiest, Mrs. Morgan.”