#based off that one scene where he rapidly scratches at his hair

[sugukururin]

bad habit.

[cammys-imagines24]

•Viktor Being Jealous•

Shame on you for ever making this sweet baby scientist jealous.

Everyday Viktor wakes up he's already insecure, so for you to make him jealous is just adding fuel to the fire.

Everyday he thinks he isn't good enough for you. That you should be with someone healthy.

Someone who doesn't have bad days.

Someone who doesn't have a rapidly deteriorating body.

And, if Viktor's ailments weren't enough to make him feel unworthy of you, he is also busy all the time as well.

You should be with someone who can give you all the time in the world, the time you deserve.

You should be with someone who can sweep you off your feet and who won't hold you back.

Already all of these thoughts are like gnats buzzing in his ears.

The inhibiting droning only held at bay when you tell him you love him.

His self aware worrying only placated by your near constant reassurances and consolations.

So, when Viktor sees you talking politely with a man, a fellow scientist no less, all his doubts come crashing back down onto him.

The weight of his hurt alone enough to make him curl inward, all his body going limp with just his cane keeping him upright.

His golden eyes darken, his lips downturn, his brows knit together as if sewn, his hands tremble...

Viktor will spy on the two of you, despite the shattered heap that is his heart.

He'll see you effortlessly smiling at the new scholar, see how the man leans forward with breath bated at your every word.

The man even warmly places a hand upon your shoulder.

At that point, Viktor is entirely broken.

He won't be able to look anymore.

He'll barracade himself in his office, in the comforts of his books, research and notes but he won't feel a sliver of comfort at the familiarity of it.

_________________________________________

He'll obsess over the scene he just bared witness to, replaying every minuscule detail as it festered like an infection in his mind.

He could assess the facts, he was good at that.

Perhaps you were just showing this new scientist around. Perhaps you were just being friendly.

The rational part of him could see that, you being a warm and amiable character, yet he just couldn't make himself believe it.

Your effortless smile from before will haunt him as he remembers all the times when he's made you upset.

When he collapses and has to be bedridden; you getting sleepless nights by staying up with him in the infirmary.

When he coughs up blood and can't hide the crimson handkerchief in his pocket fast enough and he sees your eyes well up with tears at the sight.

Your relationship should be effortless and it could be if you chose that new scholar over him.

He's being compulsive and letting this one innocent scene consume him like a Hextech problem he can't solve.

But, Viktor loves you too much to not fret about whether you chose the right partner for your life.

_________________________________________

As heartbroken as he is however, when you go to confront him, he will be nothing but standoffish and irritable.

You know how when a cat wants to be pet but for some reason makes their owner work for said scratches?

That's how he'll act.

You'll tell him that you've been looking for him everywhere.

"Really? I don't know how you noticed anything when you were so encompassed by that new scholar."

Viktor will quip, releasing his not often seen sarcasm.

You know what's up immediately based upon his touchy remarks and scowl.

Viktor is pretty easy to read. His amber eyes tell all.

Now you've got work to do because he's got his defensive walls up.

You'll go to kneel in front of where he sat at his desk and gently run your fingers up his thighs.

You'll be quick to reassure him that you were just showing that newcomer around the Academy.

Which is of course what Viktor rationalized yet it did nothing to blur the sight of you two together.

Youll run your fingers further up his lean body, over his chest, his neck, all the way to his tousled light brown hair.

You'll caress the two beauty marks upon his sculpted face and near his still glowering lips.

You'll have to spend the whole night showering him with affection.

It never an easy recovery whenever he does get jealous.

Others have reactions of jealousy based on feeling possessive or feeling threatened but not Viktor.

He almost just feels guilty about keeping you in the first place. Keeping you from someone better suited for you.

It will take a lot of work to remind him of your love, not that you mind telling him how special he is and why you chose him in the first place.

You'll recap all of your favorite memories together, everything you adore about him, why he makes you happy...

Viktor will absolutely cherish when you tell him things like this.

He appreciates you more than you could ever know and he would do anything to make you happy.

Your reassurances keeping his worries at bay again for a little while.

And, he will return the gesture, cupping your face and kissing your forehead.

He'll whisper how much he loves you as he pecks your cheek, your lips, your neck...

His sweet nothing words fluttering against your skin.

"I love you, printsessa. Thank you for staying with me."

[ahundredtimesover]

Friday Nights and Take-Out Drabble (1)

You watch too many crime shows, you know that?

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: strangers to friends to lovers, popstar/idol!jk, fluff, angst, future smut; this is a dialogue-heavy series so read if you’re into that!

Warnings: foul language, heavy drinking, perceived home invasion  

Word count: 1,400 too long

Series summary: You meet pop star/idol Jeon Jungkook at the cafe, you get close, and as Hyejin says, you’re like friends with benefits without the sex. But you’re bad at feelings and so is he.

series masterlist

A/N: Flashback to the week before! And idk but this home scene plays out funny in my head

#

Obsidian eyes look back at you, lulling you into a haze. Even with the blinding lights, they aren’t hard to miss. They’re so round and so dark and so shiny and so...

“Hey, you alive?” He asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Yes,” you nod rapidly. “You have very pretty eyes,” you say, raising your hand to try and poke them, see if your finger will pierce through.

“Yah! I need those,” he says, grabbing your hand and keeping them at your side, a laugh escaping his lips. 

“But they’re so round and so dark and so shiny and so…” you say dreamily. You feel lightheaded. Everything looks so fuzzy and faint.

He stops you again. He’s seen enough to know you’re completely out of it; you rarely compliment him, especially when it comes to his looks. That’s definitely a tell. “Alright, time to go.” He stands up and pulls your arm. 

He stops on his tracks, thinking how this might look, not just to others but to you, even if you might not remember this in the morning.

Jungkook turns to the table on the far right of the bar and starts waving his arms. The next thing you know, Jaehyun is in front of you, mumbling about some heiress and that Jungkook is the only one sane enough to take your shit-faced, deadweight ass home. You trust this guy with your life so you let Jungkook lead the way.

And that’s the last thing you remember.

#

You wake up to the absolute worst headache of your life.

You think back to the night before and the annual New Year’s celebration you had with your friends. A little late due to the food poisoning fiasco last week, but at your favorite high-end bar (which you only go to because of the discounted, sometimes free, drinks; otherwise, your cheap ass would never), every week feels like the New Year.

It was that one night you allowed yourselves to let loose and have fun before you go back to being responsible adults for the rest of the year, most of the time at least. And you know, based on the constant pounding in your head and how disgusting you feel, you definitely had a good night.

It’s then you realize you’re shivering, blanket merely covering half of your body. Despite that, you feel nasty, sweat from last night’s dancing already dried up, the stench of alcohol stuck on your clothes, and god, is that drool? 

You turn to your bedside table, a glass of water catching your attention, thankful for whoever brought you home last night - it was Jaehyun right? 

You groan, however, for the aspirin that you didn’t see. He must’ve forgotten. 

You proceed to take your clothes off, already moaning to the thought of a hot shower, freshly brewed coffee, and probably some sausage and eggs for breakfast - or lunch, whatever time it is. 

Hair in a bun and clad in your mismatched laced underwear, you walk out of your room to chug more water and take the aspirin that Jaehyun definitely forgot to bring out for you. But as you do, you pause in your tracks. Something feels different.

There’s this sense that something's amiss as you try to figure out in which drawer you keep your medicines in and look around your little apartment. You grab a knife from one of them for good measure, ready to fight whoever or whatever faces you. You know it’s not Jaehyun, otherwise you would have woken up next to him, a common occurrence and non-issue for the both of you. 

Your eyes scan the vicinity again, and then you see it - tall and chunky black boots sitting by your front door, and right when your eyes zero in on those unfamiliar looking items, you hear a creak and the sound of a doorknob turning. 

You immediately hide in the corner of the kitchen counters, cursing yourself for the excess grocery you bought that’s stacked inside your floor cabinets that you now can’t hide in. The floorboards creak - you should’ve had them fixed last month - and you feel your heart race a million miles a minute, breath hitching at the sound of footsteps approaching you. 

For some reason, you think to close your eyes - do you really wanna see your killer before you die? - and cover your mouth with your hand to keep any sound from escaping. At least you see this one coming, you think, and you at least have some lingerie on - there’s no Psycho shower killing scene happening today. 

“Y/N…” you hear a low, raspy voice; not too close but not that far either. So you do something stupid, thinking your intruder is at a safe distance… unless they have a gun, of course.

You brace yourself and immediately stand, right hand with the knife and left fist formed, ready to fight. “Don’t you dare come any closer, I have a black belt in Taekwondo!” You shout.

“What the fuck, Y/N!” An alarmed voice shouts back at you.

You open your left eye, then your right, and you crouch down on the counter with one arm on your chest, panic and stress now slowly being replaced with relief that your intruder isn’t actually an intruder but just Jungkook. 

Surely you would have recognized the signature black boots, right? But your head is still spinning and you don’t remember much from how last night ended. This isn’t the first time he’s come over but it’s definitely the first time he stayed over. Wait - he stayed over?

Your chest is still heaving; your mind is in a daze because you seriously thought you were going to die. 

“Yah! Can you please drop the knife!” 

It’s only then you realize you’re still pointing the knife towards him. You look up and you see the shock and fear in his eyes, and it registers to you the same time as it does to him. And you scream.

“What the fuck, Jungkook! Turn around now!” 

He seems to snap out of his own daze, the panic in his eyes unmistakable. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize! Fuck fuck fuck!” He shouts and then runs to your couch, his back to you. 

You head back to your room to slip on some clothes, steady your breathing, and give yourself a pep talk. “It’s okay,” you tell yourself. “You’re alive and well and you weren’t completely naked. You’re okay,” you repeat to yourself.

You check your phone and scroll through your friends’ group chat, photos of last night causing you to laugh at how fun and crazy it apparently was. One of the last messages was that of Jaehyun’s: “Y/N, Jungkook took you home, don’t freak out.” Well, too late bud. 

You open the door to your living room and see Jungkook pacing back and forth. He jumps a little when he hears the floorboards creak and he turns to you. 

“Look, Chae lost her car keys, Hyejin drunkenly proposed to Minho, you were drunk and Jaehyun hooked up with some girl so he gave me your house key but I couldn’t lock your door without taking the key with me and it felt weird and I…” he rambles, stopping when he sees you smiling at him. He looks so shy and nervous, nothing like the confident pop star you were partying with last night.

“I don’t want you to think I was, uh, you know…” he continues, hand scratching the back of his neck. “Planning something?” you finish for him. He nods.

“Jungkook, I had all my clothes on, I was sort of covered in a blanket, there was water prepared… you planned on taking care of me after being given the unwanted responsibility of taking my drunk ass home,” you say. You meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

You see him release the breath he’s been holding in, relief washing over him at your assurance that you knew all he wanted was to help you, not help himself. 

There was a short silence. “So… A black belt in Taekwondo, huh?” He laughs. 

“A lie, hence the knife.” 

“Seriously, Y/N, and what would that do? You watch too many crime shows, you know that?”

“Hmm, guess I do.” You respond.

He flashes you his bunny smile. It’s a cute one, you think, the one where his nose scrunches up a little bit. You decide it’s now one of your favorite things, aside from his eyes, of course.

##

part 1 <<>> part 2

series masterlist

[mmvalentine]

Lockdown Lovers, pt 5 | Feysand

Modern pandemic AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4. Smut abounds.

Rhys padded to his room with Feyre's body in his arms and her tongue in his mouth. Luckily, the apartment was so small, there wasn't much to navigate between the couch and his bed, and very soon, he was pressing Feyre down against his rumpled sheets.

Feyre kissed him, but then scooted back against the headboard. Her lips were kiss-reddened and swollen, but her blue-gray eyes sparkled with mischief.

"I've never been in here," she said, her voice husky. His cock throbbed at the sound of it. "You haven't?" Feyre shook her head. "Always kind of wanted to though." She tilted her head curiously at him.

Rhys scratched at the back of his head, wondering whether to indulge her, or to just grab her ankles and pull her back down to him. Eventually, he gestured an invitation. With an inward sigh.

Feyre grinned, and slid out of bed. Rhys sat down on the end, and watched her walk around the room. Gods, she was still naked from the waist up.

Feyre walked slowly, taking in the black chest of drawers and stack of books sitting on it, work desk with computer off and papers strewn over the top, and the shelves on the far wall that appeared to hold the rest of his miscellaneous belongings.

The latter she stepped up to, and peered over with her fingers on the bottom shelf. "Is it okay if I look?" she asked. Rhys shrugged his consent. Honestly. What was he not going to let her do while she was shirtless in his bedroom? He watched her ass as she tip-toed up to examine the objects, and when she bounced on the balls of her feet, he found himself crossing the room to get his hands back on her skin.

"What's this?" Feyre giggled, as Rhys's fingers dragged over her stomach. She held up a small stuffed bear. Rhys moved his lips over her shoulder. "That was a present from my mother, before she died," he said. "Oh." Feyre regarded the item with new reverence. She placed it carefully back where she found it. "How old were you?" "Eight," Rhys said, pulling her hips back against him. "I'm sorry," Feyre said. She picked up an old but expensive looking watch. "And this?" Rhys smirked into her neck. "That I pinched off Cassian while he was drunk. Back before the lockdown, of course. He's still looking for it, turned the house upside down. Nes is ready to kill him." Feyre laughed. She set the watch back too, and then picked up a couple of cologne bottles, sniffing each one. "Ooh, I like this one," she said. Rhys inhaled at the base of her throat. "I think you smell better than anything in the world."

He replaced his nose with his lips, and then his hand slid in between her legs. Over the layers of fabric, he could feel the heat of her. Feyre forgot the bottles, finally, and leaned back into him. Rhys rubbed his hand over her again, and she turned her head to kiss him.

With his teeth on her lip, Rhys dipped his fingers down the front of her absurd little shorts, brushed down the seam of her. Feyre moaned, and all he knew was that he wanted her to make those sounds for him forever. He stroked gently up and down, until his fingers were slick and it was her own wetness that was guiding him into the core of her.

Feyre's legs buckled, and Rhys bent to catch her under the knees and sweep her up into his arms. He carried her back to the bed, and this time, she was going to stay there.

Indeed he was getting no argument from Feyre, who had wrapped her legs around him and was lifting her hips to grind against him. The feel of her soft, bare breasts against Rhys' chest, and her eager writhing beneath him had Rhys on fire. He moved his lips from her mouth, to her jaw, to her nipples. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to her ribs, down her stomach, and over her hip bones. Then slid a hand under her knee, lifted her leg, and bit gently into the soft part at the top of her inner thigh. Feyre bit her lip and bucked her hips off the bed, and Rhys had her shorts pulled off in one fluid motion.

He laid her back down and kissed where he had just bitten, then repeated the action on the other side. Goosebumps rippled down her legs, and he could feel the laboured rise and fall of her chest as her breathing stumbled. Then he placed his mouth over the damp fabric of her underwear, and sucked her clit through it.

Feyre cried out, and he was rewarded with the feeling of her getting even more wet on his tongue. He licked her roughly a couple of times, and then pulled her underwear off. Then his too.

Rhys knelt by the foot of the bed, and pulled Feyre toward him so her feet dangled off the edge. He smoothed his hands from her knees to her hips, and then settled his hands over her stomach before dragging his tongue up her centre and around her clit.

Feyre clutched at his hair, and moaned his name. The sound of it had him grabbing himself, stroking slowly even as he flicked his tongue rapidly over her.

"Fuck Rhys, holy- gods- fuck," she ground out. Rhys let go of his cock, and slid a finger into her instead. Her moans became higher, more breathy, as he added a finger and kept his tongue going at a frantic pace.

"Rhys, stop, I'm going to..." But the words faltered, and Feyre rocked against him in silent ecstasy. Yeah, there was no way in hell he was stopping now. Not a minute later Feyre broke against his tongue, and then she was pulling him up toward her so she could get her mouth on his.

Rhys pulled away to find a condom in his bedside drawer, and Feyre took the opportunity to wrap her hand around him. She didn't start slow, but went straight into the same rhythm he had been using on her moments earlier. For a second, Rhys just gripped the wood of the table top, all thoughts deserting his mind. Then he dragged his focus back to the drawer, and sat back on his heels to put the condom on.

Feyre watched him with hungry eyes, and as soon as he was over her again, she licked up the column of his throat. Rhys shuddered, and the twitch of his cock tapped against her. He kissed her deeply, then pulled back long enough to say,

"Is this okay? Is this what you want?"

Feyre responded by using her legs to pull his hips to hers.

"Holy gods yes," she said. And that was more than enough agreement for Rhys.

Rhys pushed into her slowly, and the sensation that skittered between them had them both groaning. He paused, and let Feyre adjust. Then he pushed in a little more. A little more. A little more.

Feyre was perfect. She was warm and tight and absolutely delicious. Some distant part of him marvelled that this was actually, finally happening, and that after a month of torture, he was at last inside of her.

Rhys began a lazy rocking, just savouring the exquisite feel of her. Her nipples grazed his chest and when he put his mouth on hers, the sensation intensified. He got faster, Feyre's legs tight around him and pulling him in more. The thought of her wanting him drove him wild.

"Rhys," she murmured. "Rhys." His name, breathless on his lips, almost pushed him over the edge. But first...

Rhys pulled out of her, and flipped her over onto her stomach. He pulled Feyre's hips up to him, and pushed into her from behind. She propped herself up on her hands, but when he reached around to toy with her clit while he fucked into her, her arms gave and she slid onto her forearms. Deepening the angle even further.

From this vantage point, Feyre looked incredible. He sped up, and Feyre got louder. The sight of her on all fours like this was surely something Rhys would have burned into his brain forever.

"You're fucking gorgeous," he told her. "Just.. fucking..."

He was so close. But he was going to make her come again first.

Rhys moved his arm to pull Feyre up against him. Her head rested against his shoulder, and from this position he had much better reach round the front of her. To make use of his idle fingers.

Feyre came, the force of it throwing her back down onto her hands and knees. Rhys had wanted to keep fucking her until the waves had subsided, but he broke apart before she had stilled, putting his forehead on her sweat-slicked back and holding onto her hips as his own climax wrung him out.

Exhausted, they collapsed together. Rhys dropped the condom into a nearby bin, and then rolled into her back to spoon her.

"Well," she said thickly. "That is one benefit of being stuck with me for so long." Rhys listened to her heart beat slowing down in her ribcage.

"Honestly?" he said against her skin. "I hope you never leave."

A slow smile spread over Feyre's lovely features, and then sleep stole silently over them like snow. ****

We made it kids! Thank you so much to those of you who stuck it out with me for all five parts, I cannot tell you how amazing it has been to come home and read the notes. And I am sad to leave this little world.

So should we go again?! Please send me comments, asks, prompts... messages are morgan-treats.

TAGLIST: @artemisausten @ghostlyrose2

UPDATE- Thanks to a certain anonymous asker, there is now a bonus scene for your reading pleasure x

[my-soul-sings]

His Prize

Fandom: Wannabe Challenge Characters: Yooha/Reader

A/N: Inspired by Yooha’s new If evermore! ;) 

***

The stadium erupted into rapturous cheering and clapping that resounded in your ears. People were on their feet, shouting the names of the members from the winning team, whistling and popping confetti to celebrate their victory. 

Amidst all the noise and action going on around you, it seemed you were the only one standing still, with your lips parted, arms by your side. 

All you could see was him; his handsome grin as he held up the shining golden champion trophy, the droplets of sweat running down his face, neck and arms, and his piercing silver eyes that were fixed on you. Only you.

“How about we make a bet? If I win the game later, you’ll go with me to prom.”

His words echoed in your mind and you swallowed, heart starting to hammer against your ribcage. Was this really going to happen? You, a nerd, going to prom with the most popular guy in school? 

Even though you were standing at the fifth row, not too far from where he was on the field, it felt like you were worlds apart. There he was, surrounded by his teammates tackling him with hugs and high-fives, while you stood here, dressed in a plain striped T-shirt and shorts, in a sea of people who were dressed to the nines, ready to party later and maybe make some moves on Yooha. You had heard that a few girls were planning to talk to him after the game, to see if he had a partner for prom.

A sweeping glance at the crowd made you see just how pretty all the girls here looked—why would he choose you?

He must have been joking when he said that. Yooha was just the kind of guy who said the most ridiculous things without thinking too much, who teased people with his silly jokes and offended the occasional person if he said something a bit insensitive. 

Or maybe he said that because you’d told him earlier that you would just be going to prom with your friends. So there. What he said wasn’t anything special, there was no deeper meaning to it. You could stop overthinking now.

Except it was hard to stop overthinking; you had been trying to stop for the past month, but to no avail. Every time he came close you would breathe in the cologne on his jacket, and your heart would flutter no matter how many deep breaths you too to calm down. 

Eventually it came to a point where you realised that the reason you got so nervous around him was because you had come to like him. The guy who liked to mess with you and laugh when you pouted at him, the guy who would hold your bag even if you insisted it was light enough, the guy who would wait for you to walk home together after school... 

And your mind would go places. Ponder over the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he might like you back. 

But then reality would pull your head down from the clouds, sending you sprawling across the dirt. The reminders were everywhere: when you looked at how close he was to the most popular girls in school, when you happened to overhear the compliments he gave them, and when you saw the look in their eyes:

It was the same way you looked at him. 

And for some reason you started to feel the need to hide your feelings, you started to think that your throbbing heart and your wandering daydreams of him were embarrassing. Something to be kept in the shadows, hidden from sight. 

He couldn’t ever find out. 

So when he casually asked you last week if you liked anyone, you had lied and said vaguely that you had a crush on someone other than him. It wasn’t the most convincing lie you had come up with, seeing as you couldn’t even look him properly in the eye when you said that, but he seemed to believe it. He had laughed it off and wished you good luck with a smile on his face. 

And that day, he had headed home without you. 

For the rest of the week it felt like he talked less to you, cracked fewer jokes and didn’t laugh as much. Made the occasional reference to your crush and probed for some description of him. And since you couldn’t make things up off the top of your head, you started describing him, although you changed a few details about the appearance of your “crush” to avoid being found out.

He seemed to believe everything—it made you wonder if you were better at lying than you thought you were. 

For a couple of days things sort of went back to normal. Until this afternoon, when he asked to meet you in between classes, on the rooftop. 

“So... you’re not going to prom with your crush?” 

His eyes looked unsure. Something very uncharacteristic for Yooha. 

“No,” you replied. “He... doesn’t attend this school.”

“Right... um in that case, how about... hmm...” The heavy words dragged across his tongue, hesitation making his voice softer, lacking the usual confidence he exuded. 

“Yooha?”

It was like saying his name was the magic word. 

His eyes darted towards yours, and he cleared his throat, resolve settling in his determined gaze and his clenched jaw. 

“Go to prom with me.”

At first his words didn’t register in your head. You thought you had heard wrong—maybe you were finally starting to hallucinate, or the wind had distorted his voice somehow. 

“Um... what?”

“Go to prom with me.” He uttered the same words, louder and clearer this time so you couldn’t chalk it up to coincidence, or a mistake with your hearing. 

Even though you had thought about this for a while—imagining going to prom with him, your hands in his, slow dancing in the night and swaying to the soft beats of the music—you couldn’t shake off the shock and disbelief.

All you could manage was a single word. 

“Why?” 

“I know you have a crush on someone else,” he said, scratching the back of his head and twisting his lips, “but... it’s not like he’s here anyway. So I was thinking... maybe we could go together.”

“Don’t you have other people to go with?” you asked, thinking back to what you’d heard from the girls in your class. “A lot of girls are waiting for you to ask them.”

At that, he frowned, and you bit down on your lip, wondering if you’d said something you shouldn’t have. 

"I’m not that interested in going with anyone else.” 

“Oh.” 

Your answer fell flat, but you didn’t really know how else to respond. Go to prom? With Yooha? What did that even mean? You didn’t want to get your hopes up. It was painful enough trying to deal with the overthinking. He might even find out that you liked him—everything would be revealed the moment he felt your heart racing as he held your hand in his. 

“You... don’t want to go with me?”

Your mind snapped back to reality then, and your attention returned to the man standing in front of you, searching your gaze for an answer. For a hint to what you were thinking so hard about. 

“It’s not that,” you blurted, shaking your head. “Not at all. I was just... thinking.”

“About?”

“Um...” Your mind chose the worst possible time to draw a complete blank. You couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation for your lackluster response. Every fiber of your being was screaming at you to say ‘yes’, but so many other thoughts were running through your mind. You needed some space and time alone to think, which you didn’t have right now. 

“I... have to go soon,” his voice broke the silence, the light from his phone screen glowing on his features briefly before he locked it again and stuffed it into his pocket. “Gotta get ready for the game.”

Oh right, the game. You had almost forgotten.

“You’re coming to watch, right?” Yooha asked, a smile brightening his features. 

You mirrored it, nodding. “Of course I’ll be there.”

“In that case...” Something seemed to click in his mind. You knew what that playful smile and the mischief twinkling in his eyes meant. 

He had an idea. 

“How about we make a bet? If I win the game later, you’ll go with me to prom.”

It was a ridiculous bet, with no rhyme or reason to it. Yet at the same time, it was so him. 

“W-What?”

“It’s settled then! I gotta head off first, but I’ll see you later at the stadium!” Without giving you any time to respond, he fled the scene with a nonchalant wave of his hand as he went. 

The memory started to wash away and your mind returned to the stadium and its the raucous cheers that seemed to be louder than before.

It didn’t take long for you to find out why.

Yooha was standing on the base of the steps, his piercing gaze on you. People seemed to be staring, following his eyes to where you were standing, and everyone watched as he started to jog up the stairs, rapidly closing the distance between you two. 

“Hey.” 

He smelled of sweat, his hair was matted to his forehead. His uniform was also a uniform shade, completely soaked in his perspiration that was still spilling down his face, neck and arms. You could feel the heat radiating from his body when he stood in front of you, and his hot breaths fanned across your forehead.

Your pulse started to race. And soon you were sure that your cheeks were burning at the same temperature. You just hoped your face wasn’t glowing pink yet. 

“H-Hey,” you said back with a nervous smile. “Congrats on winning.”

“Thanks,” he grinned, and the wink that followed sent an arrow through your heart. For a moment you thought it had stopped beating entirely.

“So... remember the bet we made?” he asked, and you couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped you.

“You mean the bet you made?” You didn’t even get the chance to agree to it, he had simply run off after saying whatever he wanted. 

His laugh had no trace of remorse in it. “Same thing,” he grinned. “I know I’m not as great as your crush. Still, would you go to prom with me, smarty?”

Cheers and whistles erupted from all around you. There were probably some hot glares coming your way too, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his. Nor could you tame the butterflies in your stomach at the sound of the nickname he liked to tease you with. It sounded much more tender and affectionate than how he usually said it.  

Maybe that was what gave you the sudden boost of confidence. It was the push you needed to realise that maybe... maybe it would be okay to say this now. 

“Yooha... you aren’t as good as my crush.” 

There were gasps, some of the people who were cheering went awkwardly silent. And you saw the smile on his face falter. 

“You are my crush.”

It took a second, and maybe one more, before his eyes widened, and his lips parted. In that moment you felt more vulnerable than you had ever been—with all eyes on the two of you, your confession lingering in the silence between you two. One second stretched into minutes, hours... it felt like an eternity as you waited for his response. 

Sudden fear pricked at you. What if you had been wrong? What if you had just set yourself up for embarrassment in front of everyone? Gosh, why didn’t you just say this when it was just the two of you? Or better yet, not say anything at all and simply agree to go to prom with him? 

A hand on your cheek made you snap out of your thoughts, and then you found him staring at you with the happiest smile you’d ever seen on him. The tips of his ears were red as he leaned in closer, nose almost touching yours. 

"Then, I guess it’s okay for me to do this, right?” 

His eyes slipped close, and then he sealed the distance between your lips.

The sound of cheers exploded all around you, but they seemed muffled compared to the sound of your beating heart. Your eyes slipped close too, leaning into his kiss. It was soft, gentle... you felt his hand move to the nape of your neck so he could deepen the kiss, and his other hand came to rest on your waist, pulling you closer to him. You didn’t mind that he was sticky and soaked with sweat, all your mind could focus on was his lips moving in sync with yours and how it was turning your insides to mush and making your knees weak.

As you rested your hands on his chest for support, you felt it. Even through his uniform, it was there: his racing pulse beneath your fingers, against your palm. 

The kiss didn’t last long, seeing as he couldn’t contain his smile. Your own lips spread into a smile too, and he pulled away, pumping his fist into the air.

“SHE SAID YES! WE’RE GOING TO PROM!” 

He yelled it like it was the greatest news ever, and even though you wanted to punch him in the head for being so embarrassing, you couldn’t help but laugh along with him as he snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you to his side. It was like you were the true prize he had won from the game.

And when he looked at you with that dazzling, heart-stopping smile, you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing a kiss to his cheek, for all to see.

You had won, and now he was yours too. 

[etherrealoblivion]

Chapter Twelve: We May Have A Problem

Table of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 1,810

MASTERLIST

~

When you woke up, Spencer was standing, fully dressed and talking on the phone.

“No, I didn’t hear anything. . . . Yes, it had been open but this morning it was closed and so was her bedroom door. . . . A new one? . . . What book? . . . Okay, I understand. . . . Yes, sir. . . . You too.”

He hung up, running a hand through his hair and turning towards you. Startled to see you awake, he came near and sat on the couch.

“Hey,” his voice was much gentler than it had just been on the phone. Presumably, he’d been talking to Hotch, his boss.

“You said ‘A new one’. Is there a new victim?”

“I really don’t think—“

“Spencer.” You didn’t have time to argue with him about whether or not you should know what was going on. “I need to know.”

He must’ve known it was no use putting up a fight. He sighed softly before he spoke, setting the tone for the conversation.

“Yes. There’s a new victim, pushing the total up to six. I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he said, more to himself than you.

“I need to know,” you repeated, urging him to go on. “Please.”

Silent for a moment, he said, “Okay, but first get dressed and eat breakfast. Then we’ll sit down and talk.”

Right. You were still missing your pants. And your last shred of dignity.

So you stood, went to your bedroom, and dressed in jeans and a tank top. It would be a decidedly unremarkable outfit if not for the fact you never wore very exposing clothes, such as a tank top. This particular one happened to expose just the right amount of skin. You wondered if Spencer would notice. Not that that was important! Someone had been killed, for christ sakes.

“What time did you get up?”

He’d found a box of cereal and poured two bowls. The living room was much cleaner and you suspected he’d tidied up, ridding the room of evidence of last night.

“Six,” he said with a mouthful of cereal, not sparing you a look. “Y/N, there’s something I need to tell y—“

You had stepped into his line of sight and his jaw had dropped. It was like a moment out of a sitcom.

“What is it?”

Suddenly aware of the way he was gaping at you, he adjusted, looking at you in confusion.

“What’s what?”

You would have laughed at his shock if not for the pressing matter at hand.

“You said there’s something you need to tell me?” and you sat next to him, picking up the bowl of cereal and eating.

“Right. Yes, um. . . .” he hesitated for a moment, putting down his bowl and breathing deeply. When he looked at you, you understood that there was something more to what had happened.

“Just tell me,” you took his hand in yours and he let you. Strange how you were the one in danger but you frequently found yourself comforting him. Not that you were complaining! It actually felt nice to take care of someone else. Made you feel less useless.

“Last night . . .” you drew a quick breath in anticipation of the discussion to come. “Last night, someone snuck into the apartment.”

You released the breath you’d been holding. That wasn’t what you were expecting. You waited for him to go on.

“When I woke up, the window and door to your bedroom were closed even though last night they’d been open. Someone must have entered the apartment. Presumably the stalker. I’ve already called the team and they’re sending a unit over.”

He paused, giving you the opportunity to ask, “Why didn’t he . . . kill me?”

“We’re operating under the assumption that he doesn’t want to kill you. He wants to play out a fantasy with you but since he’s too scared to approach you, he has to substitute you with other women. However, we have to assume that he won’t stop killing until he finds some way to play out his fantasy with you.”

“What’s the fantasy?”

Spencer paused. 

“We aren’t quite sure. Each of the victims was killed in a unique manner based on certain books. A copy of each book was found at the crime scene. We’re still unsure as to why he’s choosing these specific books as there’s not a lot that connects them.”

“How did he kill them?” you didn’t want to know but you had to.

He seemed to understand this so he answered without too much protest.

“The first victim was found with a copy of The Handmaid's Tale. She’d had her eye scratched out and was hanged. The second book was The Picture of Dorian Gray, victim found stabbed next to a self-portrait. The Telltale Heart and The Great Gatsby pretty much speak for themselves. The most recent one was 1984. She, uh . . . had a cage strapped to her head and . . . well, you can picture the rest. Are you okay?”

Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest, breath frozen in your throat, putting a pattern together.

“That’s only five. What book did the new one have? How was she killed?”

“Oh, um. A Clockwork Orange. It looked like he made her jump out of a window. What’s wrong?”

You stood and started to pace slowly, processing all this information. Absentmindedly, biting your nails, you thought hard if it was just a coincidence.

It can’t be. Is it? It must!

“Y/N!” Spencer was in front of you, crouching slightly with his hands on your shoulders. “What’s wrong? Should I not have told you?”

Rather than answer, you pulled him to your room, flicked on the light, and sat on the floor in front of your nightstand. Underneath it was a little cabinet, both doors closed, a little latch locking them.

You looked at Spencer. He looked so worried like it was his fault all this was happening. You wished you could kiss all worries away so that it was just him and you and nothing else. But you couldn’t. There was something far more pressing now.

With a flick of your wrist, you unlocked the cabinet and opened it. There were two little shelves, each holding an assortment of books.

“I keep my oldest classic books in here,” you said, watching his expression change to understanding as he saw the books.

The first six on the top shelf were the exact ones that had been found at each crime scene.

~

Spencer’s team had arrived two hours later, preceded by an entire Crime Scene Investigation unit. Your entire apartment was cordoned off, the only people in and out being the FBI personnel, so you were standing in the hallway, watching people help themselves to your apartment.

“Y/N?” it was the blonde woman. “I’m sorry we haven’t been formally introduced, I’m Jennifer Jareau, I’m the media liaison. We’ve decided to release this case to the press. It might help push the killer out of hiding, attract more attention.”

You nodded, understanding what that meant. They’d have to give all sorts of details that involved you. What the victims looked like: you. Why he was killing them: you. And who he was really after: . . . you.

“We also need to change your cover, move you to a safer spot.”

You looked at her, confused.

“Why?”

“He clearly knows where you live, who is with you, and how to get in. We’re going to relocate you to a secure location. Doctor Reid will take you as soon as your things are packed.”

“Wait, I don’t want to go somewhere else. I wanna stay here. Can’t you just put more cops nearby?”

You were being stubborn, you knew. But your apartment was the only place you felt comfortable anymore, anywhere else and there was the threat of being attacked. Only now, that threat applied here.

“We need to keep as many people working on catching the unsub as possible. The more people worrying about you, the less trying to catch this guy.”

It was blunt but she was right. They needed to be focusing on taking him down, not keeping you safe. They needed the best people on the case. Then why. . . ?

“Then why is Spence the one protecting me? He’s a literal genius, shouldn’t he be heading up the case?”

She looked at you quizzically, like she was trying to figure you out.

“What?” you spat harshly, having had enough of not getting answers.

Coolly, surely from years of experience dealing with impatient people, she replied, “Doctor Reid has expressed a . . . request to keep his assignment with you.”

You took a moment to process that information. He’d asked to stay with me. He’d requested it.

“Why?”

Jennifer was looking at you analytically; like she was deciding the right thing to say.

“I don’t know.” And you knew she was telling the truth. She honestly had no idea why Spencer would choose to stay with you rather than help catch the killer. 

You smiled politely at her, “Thank you, Jennifer.”

“My friends call me J.J.” she smiled back, lightly placing a hand on your arm comfortingly. Her phone rang. “If you’ll excuse me.”

And she left you in the hallway, surrounded by people yet feeling so alone, wondering when Spencer would be back.

~

J.J. had to work late, fixing the stupid paperwork error she’d made earlier. Hotch was the only one still there.

Deciding to check in with him before she left, she knocked on the door to his office, already stepping in.

“Hey, I’m gonna head out. You good?”

“Hmm,” he grunted, not looking up from the case file.

Debating whether or not to prod, she sat in the chair across from him. He glanced at her, realizing he’d been dismissive.

“Sorry,” he said, wiping a hand over his face and sighing. 

J.J. chuckled. “It’s ok. It’s been a rough week.”

“Tell me about it. This guy hasn’t been leaving any indicators of who he is, where he works, and why he’s targeting this girl.” Hotch slapped the file and sat back.

J.J. shuffled in her seat awkwardly.

“Has Reid ever . . .”

But she trailed off, prompting Hotch to look at her seriously.

“Has Reid ever what?”

“Has he ever asked to be assigned as a protector? Rather than be in on the case?”

Hotch looked at her suspiciously, trying to recall previous cases.

“Not that I can remember. Why? Wondering what makes this case different?”

J.J. shook her head. 

“It’s not the case.”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled sheepishly.

“We may have a problem. Earlier, outside her apartment, she was talking about how she didn’t want to move locations. And—”

“—Well, that’s normal. She feels comfortable where she is, wary of pushing her comfort zone.”

“Hotch,” J.J. said seriously, prompting Hotch to look at her again. “She called him ‘Spence’.”

After a moment Hotch sighed, face-palming.

“Shit.”

~

Taglist: @aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @fanficsrmylife @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13​ @yourmisosoup @queenofthebees003 @pinkdiamond1016 @matthewreid @perverted-guardian-angel @boiled-onionrings @rainsong01 @the-lovely-emma-swan @andiebeaword @itsmoony

[seven-homosexual-dinosaurs]

Say you won’t let go

My first song fic, let’s see how this goes :)

(Or rather, a one shot based very loosely around a song that at this point might not even be a song fic)

Based off the song “Say you won’t let go” by James Arthur (obviously)

Cathy had met Anne on a cool autumn night, standing in the corner alone at some party Thomas had convinced her to attend. Long abandoned by the latter, she scrolled through her phone absentmindedly. People danced and drank around her, the sound of bad decisions in the making filling her ears.

She’d looked up from her phone, only to come face to face with a girl about her age. Glossy, chocolate brown hair fell past her shoulders to rest on her lower back. Piercing emerald eyes gazed at Cathy nervously, a tint of pink staining her cheeks as her hands scratched at the back of her neck nervously. She wore a dark grey jacket over a deep green crop top, as well as a pair of ripped skinny jeans.

Cathy took a moment to collect herself, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

“Hi,”

Cathy smiled at the girl awkwardly. The girl brightened slightly at that, flashing her a brilliant smile.

“Hey,” she greeted, “I couldn’t help but notice you were looking kinda lonely over here and I think you look really pretty and sorry I just kind of blurted that out for no reason but doyouwannadancewithme?”

Cathy blinked at her blankly, taking a moment to process her words. As soon as they fully sank in, she felt a bright blush creeping along her face. She had half a mind to refute the offer, to remind herself she already had a boyfriend. Yet what harm could one dance do? Besides, it wasn’t like it would really do anything, right?

“Yeah!” she answered finally, a dorky smile spreading across her face, “Yeah, I’d like that,”

The mysterious stranger led her onto the dance floor, an excited grin overtaking her face. They swayed to the music gently, and despite her previously unsavory mood, she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her as the stranger twirled her around, singing along to the music joyfully. 

“I didn’t catch your name?” 

The stranger winked at her mischievously.

“Anne Boleyn, at your service,”

The music slowed, as did their dancing. Swaying to the music slowly, Anne rested her head on Cathy’s shoulder.

“And what about you, pretty-stranger-I-met-at-a-party?”

Cathy blushed at the description, her heart quickening. 

“Parr. Catherine Parr, but everyone just calls me Cathy,” She answered.

“Cathy,” Anne’s lips twitched into a smile. “I like it, it’s a nice name,”

“Thanks, I got it for my birthday,” Cathy deadpanned. Anne laughed, the noise sounding like heaven to Cathy’s ears. 

“Well Cathy,” Anne began playfully, “what’s a pretty lady like you doing in a shithole like this?”

“You flatter me,” Cathy answered blankly, despite the growing blush spreading across her face. Anne grinned at her response, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“...Well?” Anne asked, curiosity seeping into her voice. Cathy laughed awkwardly, carefully avoiding Anne’s gaze.

“Well my boyfriend kind of dragged me here,” She answered. Anne’s smile dimmed slightly at that, although it was back at full force as soon as it was gone. 

“Really? Who’s the lucky guy?” She inquired. Cathy cleared her throat uncomfortably, preparing for what was to come.

“Thomas. Thomas Seymour,”

She waited for the inevitable “Really?” or “You’re so lucky!” that always came whenever someone learnt of their relationship. It was getting annoying, really. She already had enough of her family telling her of how lucky she was to date a man like Thomas, she didn’t need to add more people to the mix.

Anne did none of those things. Instead, she wrinkled her nose in disgust. Not a good reaction, but having some variety was nice.

“Thomas? I know that guy, he’s kind of a dick,”

Cathy frowned.

“Hey, I know he can come off as unpleasant at times, but he’s really a good guy at heart,” Cathy countered. Anne grimaced doubtfully.

“No, really, I’m serious. I’m friends with his sister, he’s a real piece of work,”

Cathy rubbed her shoulder uncomfortably, stepping away from the Boleyn girl apprehensively. 

“Yeah, well, I should probably go find him anyways. It’s getting late, so...”

Not waiting for an answer, she took off. She heard Anne yell something behind her, but she ignored it, choosing to weave her way through the crowd instead. What did she care what some stranger thought of her relationship, it’s not like it mattered anyways. It’s not like the fact that Thomas never told her he had a sister bothered her, everyone has their secrets.

“Tom? Thomas?” she called, ignoring the growing feeling of dread in her chest. Walking over past the kitchen, she finally found what she was looking for. Well, sort of.

Thomas sat on the worn couch, chatting excitedly with a girl Cathy recognized as her old friend Bethany. His hand rested on her waist, pulling her close to him as he pecked her lips, prompting a laugh from the latter. He cupped her cheeks gently, pulling her in for another kiss.

Cathy felt cold, a numb feeling overcoming her. 

“Thomas?” Her voice sounded distant to her ears, as if spoken by another person. He didn’t respond, Cathy felt as if she couldn’t breath. She ran from the room, she needed to get away from here. From everything. her feet carried her blindly, sweat gathering on her brow as an ill feeling settled in her stomach. 

Coming to a stop, she looked around to see where her feet had carried her.

She appeared to be in some kind on park, littered with all kinds of trees. Stars twinkled in the night sky, illuminating the empty park. Leaning against a tree, she lurched forwards to throw up, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

Retching heavily, she jumped as felt a hand pull her hair out of her face. Anne Boleyn gazed at her, worry evident in her eyes.

“You alright mate?” she asked sympathetically. Cathy wanted to say yes, to tell her to go away and leave her alone. She wanted to pretend she was fine, to go back over to the party and fall into Thomas’ arms.

Oh god, Thomas....

She gagged, spewing the contents of her stomach violently. She felt Anne rubbing circles in her back, whispering quiet reassurances in her ear. Feeling her nausea subside slightly, she fell limp in Anne’s arms.

“What happened?” she asked gently. Cathy paused spitting some leftover bile from her mouth.

“You were right about Thomas, he... he...!”

Cathy couldn’t finish. It was as if saying the words would make them come true, she’d be forced to accept what had transpired before her very eyes. Anne pulled the taller girl into a tight hug, wiping her tears away gently with her thumb.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she whispered softly. Cathy sniffled quietly, hiding her face in the crook of Anne’s neck. 

“I don’t know why you’re even putting up with my shit anyways,” she choked out, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “You barely know me, why’re you even helping?”

Anne frowned at her, pulling her close.

“Hey, none of that, okay? Even if I don’t know you that well, I can’t just let you go through this alone”

“Besides,” her face blushed a bright red and she looked down at her feet “I kind of know you. You have Miss Greene for linguistics, right?”

Cathy looked up at Anne in surprise.

“Yeah, how-”

“We’re in the same class. You’re the girl in the blue hoodie that always has a coffee with her,”

Cathy nodded slowly, taking a moment to process the information. Rubbing the wetness out of her eyes, she looked Anne over once more, attempting to match the Boleyn girl to her memory.

“Sorry I didn’t recognize you,” she mumbled numbly. Anne waved her hand dismissively, shrugging her apology off. 

“It’s fine, you look in a world of your own most days and we’ve never talked. I wouldn’t expect you to recognize me anyways,”

Cathy nodded in understanding.

“Wait...” she began slowly, “If that’s the case, then how come you recognize me?”

Anne blushed, carefully avoiding Cathy’s gaze.

“No particular reason. You mentioned Thomas earlier, right? What happened?” 

Cathy hesitated, looking away from Anne.

“Nothing important, I’m sure I just need to talk to him,”

Anne eyed her doubtfully, and Cathy felt a twinge of anger. She just had to talk to him, she was sure there was something to the story she was missing. There had to be.

Look, I’m going back to talk to him, whether you like it or not. You can stay here if you want, but I’m going,”

Turning away from Anne, she startled as she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. Emerald eyes gazed at her (albeit worriedly), grim determination set into her face.

“No, I’ll come,”

The night was windy, Cathy realized as she drew her arms around her with a shudder. Dead leaves fluttered through the air around her, crinkling and breaking in the cool autumn breeze. The yellow glow of the street lamps illuminated the empty street, flickering and flashing in the night. It was really quite beautiful, Cathy noted. There was something otherworldly about it, how the gentle breeze swayed the leaves in the trees, the little group’s footsteps echoing on the pavement.

She knew they’d reached the house before even laying eyes on it. Music blared through the windows, the reek of alcohol and sweat tainting the air even as they stood in the driveway. Ignoring the worried glance Anne sent her way, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Cathy had no trouble locating Thomas, something which came both as a disappointment and a relief. Said relief was rapidly quelled as her eyes locked onto Thomas. The situation hadn’t de-escalated, rather, it appeared far worse than before. 

“Cathy? Did you- oh,” Anne faced shifted into a scowl as she took in the scene before her. She glowered at Thomas, muttering curses under her breath as Cathy felt tears gather in her eyes. She didn’t know why she thought it would have changed. She didn’t know why she thought it would have been different.

“-athy? Cathy?” Anne’s voice jolted her from her reverie. Her voice was laced with concern, although her eyes held nothing but contempt for the man before her. Taking in Cathy’s dazed expression, Anne shrugged her jacket off, placing it gingerly around Cathy’s shoulders.

“Here, keep an eye on this for me, will you? I’ll handle good ‘ol shithead over there,”

Cathy nodded numbly, pale knuckles gripping the jacket tightly. Sending one last glance towards Cathy, Anne set off towards Thomas, grim determination set into her face.

Meeting eyes with the Boleyn girl, her gave smiled at her charmingly. Resisting the urge to gag, Anne answered his smile with a sickly sweet smile of her own. Gesturing to Bethany, still in his arms, she spoke.

“Hey, don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“That ol’ gal? She doesn’t have to know,” he winked. 

“Really now?” Anne hissed through grit teeth, “You really are exactly how Jane described you and more,”

“Jane?” he asked, looking around the room. It was then, it appeared, that he finally noticed the frozen Parr at the entrance. Jumping up, he shoved Bethany off of him unceremoniously.

“Cathy!” he yelped. Cathy fixed him with an icy glare.

“That’s “Catherine” to you Thomas,” she hissed. Stumbling towards her, Thomas froze as Anne stepped before Cathy protectively. 

“I wouldn’t suggest coming any closer unless you wanna learn just how much damage these heels can do,” she threatened. Thomas paled, tripping over himself as he hurried to get away from the seething Boleyn girl. The rev of a car engine outside informed the two of his departure.

Turning to Cathy, Anne regarded her carefully.

“You alright mate? That can’t have been easy”

Cathy shrugged nonchalantly. Truth be told, she didn’t know. She felt angry and heartbroken, relieved and confused. Anne frowned, rubbing her neck in thought. Suddenly, a smile spread across her lips.

“Well then, I think I might have something to cheer you up,” 

Extending an arm to Cathy, she offered the girl a dorky grin.

“We never did finish our dance, did we?”

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

Anne awoke slowly, squinting in the harsh sunlight. Looking around, she smiled as her eyes landed on the slumbering Cathy beside her. She snored lightly, hugging a pillow tightly to her chest. Most days, Cathy would be up an awake at the crack of dawn, making breakfast and getting ready for the day. Today, however, proved different. A nasty bout of the flu had ravaged the house for a week, and Cathy proved to be it’s biggest victim. Even as she made a speedy recovery, her energy remained quite low, as proven by her slumbering figure.

Anne smiled as the door creaked open, two little figures padding into the room quietly. A freckled face peeked over the bed as Elizabeth Boleyn-Parr looked over to her mom with wide eyes.

“Hi mama,” she whispered, swinging her little body onto the bed and crawling into Anne’s arms. A little whine came from the side of the bed, a mess of black curls peeping over the bedside. Holding Liz with one arm, Anne lifted Mae off the ground onto her lap. Mae crawled over to Cathy, poking her cheek with a grubby finger.

“Mommy?” she asked curiously. Planting a kiss to her forehead, Anne smiled at her gently.

“Use your words baby,” she encouraged. Mae looked over to Cathy once more, placing a little hand on her cheek.

“I want mommy,” she whispered. Anne smiled proudly, gently prying Mae’s hands away from the sleeping Parr.

“Mommy’s sleeping right now, but she’ll be awake later,”

Mae pouted, shaking Cathy’s shoulders sadly. Crawling over to her sister, Liz grabbed her hands and pulled them away from their mom.

“Mae, stop! Mommy needs to sleep!” She whispered urgently. Mae whined, sticking her thumb in her mouth angerly. Faced with the upset toddler, Anne pulled both girls into her lap.

“Well Mae, don’t you wanna help Lizzie get ready for school?”

Mae looked from Cathy to Liz before nodding slowly, resting her head in the crook of Anne’s neck. Standing, Anne was careful not to disturb her sleeping partner as she rested Mae on her hip. Holding Liz’s hand, the group made their way out the room towards the kitchen.

“Do you think you could get dressed on your own today?” Anne inquired. Liz grinned toothily, shooting her a thumbs up.

“Yeah!” she cheered, running back up the stairs to her room. Watching her stumble up the stairs, Anne turned to the toddler in her arms with a smile.

“Well then, how about some breakfast?” she asked sweetly, bopping Mae’s nose. Mae giggled at the motion, nodding enthusiastically with a clap of her hands. Coming into the kitchen, she placed Mae on her high chair. Flipping through the cookbook Catalina had gifted the family the previous year, her lips twitched into a smile as her eyes landed on a blueberry pancake recipe.

“Hey, how would you feel about some pancakes?” she questioned. Mae kicked her feet happily, throwing her hands in the air.

“Panckies!” she cheered. Anne chuckled, grabbing the flour from the cupboard. 

“Panckies it is,”

Anne set to work making breakfast, chatting amicably with the happy toddler. Yawning, Liz padded down the stairs. She wore a a grey hoodie, along with a purple skirt and blue leggings. Sticking a blue journal in her sparkly green backpack, she trotted up to Anne.

“Mama? Where’s my lunch?” 

“It’s the brown bag in the fridge,” Anne gestured to the item in question, dropping a dollop of batter on the pan. Liz stuffed the bag in her pack, sneaking a fudge cookie into her lunch. Grabbing a pancake for Mae and Liz each, Anne grabbed a small stack for herself and sat down with the kids. Cutting up their pancakes, Anne handed both girls their breakfast.

“Mama, I want syrup,” Mae protested, pushing her plate back at Anne. Anne sighed, ruffling her daughter’s hair.

“Sorry love, mama forgot to pick any up when we went shopping,” she smiled sheepishly, “But I promise we’ll pick some up on the way to school,”

Mae considered it before nodding, shoving bits of pancake in her mouth. The group ate in a comfortable silence, punctuated by the occasional scrape of cutlery or drop of a fork. Anne wiped the girl’s mouths with a napkin, grabbing the plates and placing them in the dishwasher. Patting Liz’s head, Anne picked Mae off of her chair.

“Could you wait at the door while me and Mae get ready?”

Liz nodded, running off to find her shoes.

Heading up to her room, Anne slipped out of her pajamas and into a green button up shirt and jeans. Dressing Mae to be much more of a challenge, seeing as the child in question wriggled about and refused to sit still. Finally, Anne headed downstairs, a dress clad Mae in her arms. Slipping into her shoes, Anne sent Liz an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for the wait Liz, Mae was feeling a little fidgety,”

Buckling Mae and Liz into their respective seats, Anne pulled her phone out to send Cathy a quick message.

-----------

8:16 AM

You: Hey Cath, I’m out dropping Liz off at school and Mae at Jane’s place, so it’s just you at home for now. Remember to take it easy, you still need to rest. In case you do wake up in time to read this message, breakfast’s in the kitchen. Love you <3

-----------

Slipping into the driver’s seat, Anne pulled out of the driveway as the group made it’s way to the school. Ten minutes and many yelled out songs later found Anne parked in front of the school, waving Liz goodbye. 

“Bye Lizzie, love you! Say hi to Mary for me!” she called. Mae peeked over the window, waving enthusiastically. 

“Bye bye!” she yelled. Liz waved back at the car before running off to the play structure.

Next stop was Jane’s house, where Mae would be having a playdate with Ed, Jane’s son. They got there relatively quickly, Anne noted as she stood at the doorway, resting Mae against her hip. The door opened at her knock, revealing Jane Seymour, her son Ed at her heels. Light blonde hair rested on her head in a messy bun, kind grey eyes greeting Anne warmly. Her figure was short and plump, a sharp contrast to her brother’s tall and muscular build. She was, as Anne liked to say, “friend-shaped”. 

Like his mother, Ed’s hair was light blond, although it was rather thick and puffy. He was a petite figure, although his small size was easily made up for by his large personality. With a temper that rivaled Jane’s and the caring nature to match, he was almost like a miniature version of his mother. 

Jane greeted Anne with a hug, placing a quick kiss to the top of Mae’s head.

“Hello girls!” she beamed warmly, “Right on time, the little one here was getting antsy,”

Anne chuckled at that, easily imagining the little boy running around impatiently, waiting for his friend. 

“Well I’m on time,” she snarked. 

“For once,” Jane muttered under her breath. Anne gasped, clutching a hand to her chest dramatically.

“Me? Late? Never!”

Both children giggled at her theatrics. Wriggling in Anne’s arms, Mae reached a grabby hand towards Jane.

“Mama, lemme go! I wanna play!”

Anne laughed, placing a kiss to Mae’s cheek and setting her on the ground. Mae gave Jane a quick hug before running off with Ed. Watching them go, Jane sighed.

“Well I’d better go make sure no one dies. Tell Cathy I said hi, ‘k?”

“Sure. Love ya!” Anne called, making her way back to the car. 

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

The house was silent when Anne returned, a sure sign that Cathy was still asleep. Grabbing a plate of pancakes and some coffee, Anne made her way over to find Cathy. Walking into their room, Anne couldn’t help the smile that made it’s way onto her lips as she regarded her slumbering wife.

Gentle sunlight illuminated her peaceful face, highlighting every groove and indent in her gingerbread brown face. Wild curls framed her face, sticking out in every direction; a testament to her tossing and turning the night before as her fever stricken body struggled to rest.

Pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, Anne tucked a strand of hair behind her partner’s ear.

“Hey love, it’s time to wake up,” she whispered. Cathy’s face scrunched up slightly as her eyes fluttered open.

“Morning beautiful,” Anne soothed. Cathy yawned, propping herself up on her elbows.

“Morning,” she murmured, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Looking around at the assortment before her, she raised an eyebrow.

“Breakfast in bed? What’s the special occasion?” she teased. 

“You’re sick! Besides, am I not allowed to do something nice for my beautiful wife?” Anne exclaimed. Reaching out for her breakfast, Cathy gave Anne a grateful smile.

“Well, your beautiful wife appreciates it,” Cathy smiled, bumping her head against Anne’s shoulder playfully. Shifting so that she was sitting next to Cathy, Anne wrapped her arm around the former, resting her head on her shoulder. 

“How are you feeling?” Anne inquired. Cathy shrugged, swallowing the bit of pancake in her mouth.

“Honestly? Still pretty shit,”

Anne frowned, placing her hand on Cathy’s forehead. 

“You’re fever’s gone down, you probably just need to rest,” she offered. Cathy nodded wordlessly, laying her head Anne’s chest. Her breathing evened out in a manner of seconds, fork falling onto the bed with a dull Thump.

Carefully, Anne grabbed the plate and mug and placed them on the bedside table. Slowly, she maneuvered their bodies so that they were laying down on the bed, Cathy’s head resting in the crook of her neck.

Listening to the rhythmic sound of Cathy’s breathing, Anne felt her own eyelids grow heavy. She knew she had to go pick Liz and Mae up in a manner of hours, but for now, she’d simply rest her eyes for a moment. She felt Cathy shift slightly, wrapping her arms around Anne’s midsection tightly. The sunlight felt warm on her face, Anne noted as she pulled her blanket up around the two.

The house was quiet. Distantly, Anne heard birds chirping and dogs barking. She could imagine Liz, chatting with her friends excitedly about some tidbit of information they’d found fascinating. She could imagine Mae, building a tower with Ed, only to knock it down with a laugh, Jane fixing lunch behind them as she gazed at the children lovingly. Cathy lay in her arms, snoring lightly as she mumbled something or other in her sleep. It was perfect. 

She held her lover in her arms, and all Anne could think about was how much she loved this woman. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with her, to raise their children together and grow old together. And even after all these years, Anne couldn’t believe Cathy felt the same. She’d felt the same, as they sat in the park and said “I love you” for the first time. As they got married, as they adopted children, Cathy had been with her the whole time. It was peaceful, it was quiet, Anne remarked as she held Cathy close. Cathy had met Anne on a cool autumn night, standing in the corner alone at some party Thomas had convinced her to attend. And ever since then, it had been perfect.

[fallenfurther]

A break in the clouds - Part 8

Weeks after you proofread this chapter for me @willow-salix your boy finally gets to come down from Thunderbird Five and shine. This is the scene that inspired the fic, Babysitting, hence the similarities (because I refused to let Selene into this one). Enjoy some more cuteness. 

Scott, Virgil, Gordon, Grandma, Jeff, Alan, Kayo

******

The warm water cascaded around him as he stood beneath the showerhead. His fingers scratched against his scalp as the soap suds were washed down his back. John could feel the tension in his shoulders, the stress of the day tangled up in the fibres of his being. Its long tendrils threaded through his mind. Echoes of voices, now silent, still rang in his ears, calling out for help he could not give. That no one could provide. Even International Rescue had its limits. His brothers had done an outstanding job, dramatically minimising the number lost. Yet that number was still too big. It would weigh on the occupants of the island for a while. It would be a shadow behind them on their next rescue, and the rescue after that too. Slowly it would fade, but they each had their own ghosts that haunted their dreams. Faces or voices that wouldn’t leave them alone.

John rested his arm against the wall, his forehead automatically coming forward to press against the muscle. His other hand splayed out against the tiles as he took a long deep breath. The steamy air felt heavy in his lungs, almost suffocatingly so, but it was also a welcome change from the recirculated air on Five. He had scars, just like his brothers, although most of his were internal. Hidden from all except those who cared enough to take the time to know him. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his breathing, trying to ground himself and relieve some of the tension.

Finally, he turned off the water and wrapped the large fluffy towel around himself. The soft material had him dry in no time, allowing him to pull on fresh underwear and pants. John massaged his head with the towel, drying his hair as much as he could. His eyes fell on his reflection. Despite being in space for the past couple of months, his muscles were still toned, and he knew his body was ready if he was needed to aid his brothers on a rescue. His ginger hair was sticking up in all directions, but it was the haunted look behind his eyes that caught his attention the most. Gazing into their emerald depths he understood why Alan had insisted he come down. He was exhausted. Even the state-of-the-art bunk he had on Five was no match for comfort of his own cosy bed. Folding his towel, he hung it on the rail to dry before grabbing his shirt and guiding it over his head, and down his torso. John passed a comb through his hair, making himself reasonably presentable. It would be dinner time soon and John opened the door, hoping it wasn’t Grandma in the kitchen tonight. He had only taken one step into the corridor when a small form halted in front of him. The child was dressed only in a diaper. His nephew peered over his shoulder and John watched the little face light up.

“Johnny!”

John rolled his eyes at the nickname; one Gordon had managed to teach the boy. The child turned and quickly ran at John, but John was faster. He knelt down just in time, wrapped his arm around the boy and stood up in an almost seamless movement. The little boy wrapped himself around John’s neck, almost strangling him. John didn’t care as he returned the embrace, his eyes closing as the scent of the child’s strawberry shampoo filled his nose. His nephew’s damp hair was soft against John’s cheek. The boy pulled away as footsteps approached, and John turned to the intruder. A chuckle rocked his body at the sight of his elder brother, as his nephew laughed along with him.

“Did you join him in the bath, Scott?”

“Very funny, John.”

Scott’s clothes were more wet than dry, though he thankfully wasn’t leaving a trail of water behind him. His brother’s normally neat hair was a mess, though it appeared to be more windswept that wet. In the man’s hand was a small pair of pyjamas.

“How about I get him dressed and settled while you tidy up and get changed.”

“Thanks, John.”

John took the clothing Scott held out to him and carried his nephew into his bedroom. Kneeling, he carefully placed the boy down, steadying him on his feet.

“How about we get these on before I read you a book about space?”

“Space!”

The dimpled smile was accompanied by arms being flung in the air, which John took full advantage of. With haste, he slipped the top over one arm, while gentle pulling it higher so he could catch the other as well. Once caught, he slid the top down so his nephew’s head popped out. There was a cartoon plane on the front, though considering the clouds that patterned the bottoms, and the fact this was Scott’s son, it was hardly surprising. Thankfully his nephew stepped into the pants when presented and was now ready for bed. Taking the boy’s hand, John guided him towards the reading corner. There were shelves of books of varying size and thickness, although they were almost all about astronomy and astrophysics. John knew what they all contained, and thus which could be considered child friendly. Today, his eyes fell on the Hubble Legacy book. It was a classic, and although it lacked in depth information, it contained some of the most stunning photographs. It also had just the right amount of text for the little man he was about to sit with. He grabbed the book from the shelf.

John slipped an arm under both the boy’s armpits, pulling him close to his chest and lifting him into the air simultaneously. A twist and John fell back into the cosy embrace of his reading chair. A few giggles rose from his nephew as the child shifted to get comfortable. John slipped his arm out from around the child, opened the book and held it with both hands, encircling his nephew. He had slipped his finger into a random page, but it turned out to be a good one. Before them was an image of V838 Mon. It was a stunning photograph of the red star, clearly encircled by the surrounding nebula gas. It swirled around the star in such a way it appeared to be seated lazily in the gas cloud. His nephew’s fingers reached out and brushed the page, his miniature digits stroking the bright white dots around the red star.

“Star.”

“They are indeed, but so is the big red one.”

His nephew turned to gaze up at John, a questioning curiosity in those deep blue pools. A small smile crossed John’s lips as the boy turned back to the book, moving his little fingers so they were over the red star.

“Star?”

“Yes. It’s called V838 Mon and was discovered many years ago.”

John kept his voice low and soft as the child leant back into his torso. Warmth passed between them as he started to read the blurb beside the picture.

“In early 2002, ground-based astronomers discovered a previously undetected and rapidly brightening star in the ….”

His nephew sat quietly, occasionally stroking the page with his fingertips. The child’s head would flop about, periodically knocking against John’s rib cage when the boy decided to glance up at his uncle. It didn’t stop John, who kept reading, fully aware of his nephew’s struggles when it came to sitting still. As John neared the end of the paragraph the book wobbled as his nephew shifted his legs and grabbed his foot. John kept going, turning the page and presenting the next picture to the boy. It did the trick, his nephew releasing his foot and reaching out to the page again. The odd poke becoming John’s only distraction.

As he reached the end of the next page a large yawn came from his nephew and a small hand rubbed his eye. The innocence of the gesture struck John. With all that had happened that day, he was reminded that there were other children who would be doing the same as his nephew, thanks to the efforts of International Rescue. He had almost finished reading the text when the boy decided he wanted to turn the page. Multiple pages were skipped but they ended up landing on the spectacular image of the Cadwell 45 galaxy.

“Star.”

The voice was quieter now, softened by the tiredness that John knew the child was fighting.

“Not quite. It is a galaxy and is made up of many stars that are all close together. This is known as a spiral galaxy….”

John continued to teach the boy, certain it would be forgotten, but knowing it would allow him to repeat the facts at a later date. As he spoke the small boy relaxed further into him. The sporadic yawns came and went. There was a gentle flutter as John flicked to the next page, the white and red image of the Butterfly Nebula taking centre stage on the double page spread. There was no reaching out for the page this time. As John spoke about the nebula’s relative distance, his nephew's head dropped only to jerk back up. When he was describing the ‘wings’ of the nebula there was yet another head jerk. During the last paragraph, his nephew’s head slowly lolled to the side. John read the picture’s caption for good measure before carefully closing the book and placing it to the side.

There was a shuffle of bed sheets and John glanced away from his sleeping nephew to see Scott standing up. How long had his brother been sat there, John didn’t know, but he seemed content. Kneeling before John, Scott placed a hand on John’s knee and gave it a squeeze. Their eyes locked. Scott said more in that glance than words could. His brother was thanking him, while also letting him know he was appreciated and would be there for him, if required. John nodded, and Scott knew it was okay to take his son. The boy stirred as Scott pulled him into his chest, eyes half opening sleepily.

“Say Goodnight to John,” Scott whispered.

John received a small wave before those eyes closed again. He stayed in the seat as Scott left the room, the cool air slowly seeping in where the body of his nephew had been. Pausing, John leant his head back against the chair, his weary body crying out for rest while his brain seemed intent to stay awake. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d fallen asleep in that chair, though tonight wasn’t going to be one of those times. It was the grumble from John’s stomach that finally forced him out of the chair’s embrace.

[lionheartkrbkzine]

Lionheart’s Interactive KiriBaku Twitter Thread

Pro Heroes, Bed-Sharing, Fake Dating, Quirk Accident

Rating: T (for swearing & canon-typical violence)

At the end of each Twitter update was an overnight poll where our followers got to decide the direction of the plot or details about story elements!

Feel free to reply with your thoughts, predictions, or desires, and Head Mod ET and Social Media Mod Belle will do our best to incorporate your ideas! This is a thank you and a way for us all to collaborate together until application responses are sent out on April 5th.

🧡❤️💥⚙️💥❤️🧡

Three buildings were on fire, and it wasn’t Bakugou’s fault.

Blackened smokestacks billowed above the Tokyo cityscape as he and Kirishima raced toward the scene. Bakugou took to the skies while his partner swerved between sedans and work trucks parked bumper-to-bumper on the roadway. Bakugou’s boots skid on the rough gravel of rooftops as he blasted from one to the next, his scorching propellant warping the air behind him, leaving trails of Schlieren lines in his wake.

He crouched on the edge of a four-story building above the battle, glimpses of a hero battle raging beneath the haze of ash and concrete dust. Heroes with water-based quirks tried and failed to mitigate the damage of six gangly beams of red-hot light.

“Riot, you got eyes?” he asked into his earpiece.

“Not directly on the prize, but I’m getting intel now! Are you seeing how the beams flicker in and out?”

“Yeah. Probably low level of quirk control or erratic mentality. Or both.”

“The team leader on the ground says the villain’s in a donut hole of concrete. Rubble’s piled up on all sides, so no one can get to him.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Amateurs.” The villain probably got himself cornered in a pit of fallen debris and figured he could wait it out or cause enough damage to try to make a run for it. “Shock Diamond, then.”

“Now?! Finally?! Hell yeah, let's go!"

Bakugou felt the heat of the lasers as one shaved the side of his building. He sneered at the heroes doing a piss-poor job of containment and checked behind him for the extent of the damage. A singed line gouged into the wall of a parking garage, but it stopped with a blunted tip before it speared the next building. The lasers didn’t seem to work like Aoyama’s — they could only extend so far.

Not made out of light, then. Kiri will be fine.

Not that he was worried about his partner. Kirishima could handle himself.

Even if Bakugou did pack the idiot a lunch every day and nudge him to go to bed when he fell asleep on the couch. And bought him cold medicine when he stayed out late walking Mirko’s seventy-eight-year-old receptionist home on dark, rainy nights. And bleached and dyed his roots when they started growing out.

But he wasn’t worried. The fact that the beams must be a form of slow-moving energy just gave them a tactical advantage. It had nothing to do with the fact that Kirishima’s hardening was more sensitive to concentrated light attacks yet the hero would bulldoze his way in front of them anyway.

The idiot’s voice rang through Bakugou’s earpiece. “Greenlight, Dynamight!”

“No matter how many times you say it, the rhyme doesn’t get any catchier.” Like a swimmer, he gripped the edge of the roof, rose halfway from his crouch, and dove into the pool of ash and smoke head-first. 

Catching the current mid-air, he soared closer to where Kirishima was probably charging into the fray. Bakugou used the familiar shock of red hair as his signal and dropped feet-first, sending down a counterblast to stick the landing. 

As Dynamight set himself up directly behind Red Riot, they charged the villain in a single-file line. 

Without missing a beat, Kirishima extended his arms behind him at the same time Bakugou pushed his chest into the other man’s back. Kirishima’s arms locked onto Bakugou’s sides.

Bakugou tucked his chin, extended his hands behind him, and sent out a blinding explosion.

They rocketed forward — an unbreakable wall and a ballistic force. The perfect offense and defense. Explosion and Hardening. 

Dynamight and Red Riot: Shock Diamond.

As they smashed through the rubble, the devastating strength of Red Riot’s quirk wracked through Bakugou’s body, but Kirishima held him tightly against his back. The shock waves cleared from Bakugou’s spine, and he jumped into the rapidly-clearing fog of smoke and dust.

His eyes widened. He whipped his head from side to side. He stopped, listened.

The pit was empty.

Meeting his partner’s eyes, Bakugou could only think of one thing to say. “What the fuck?!”

But Red Riot was similarly dumbfounded, his brows furrowed and jaw hanging slack, glancing around the center of the crater.

Bakugou kicked at a fallen pebble, its mere presence offensive in the heat of his frustration. 

“Dynamight! Red Riot!” An aged hero with a sky blue costume ran toward them, waving his arms in ridiculous circles and spraying arcs of water through the air. “Good work out there!”

“We didn’t do shit! We just busted through a wall!”

"What Bakugou means to say is 'thank you', sir!”

“Well, the guy’s a problem for tomorrow’s heroes now. I’ve sent a team to scout the perimeter, and the police have his mugshot and quirk info. Another group is putting out the last of the fires. We’re lucky it’s a weekend — no one in those office buildings meant no casualties.” The older hero jiggled and sloshed as he rested his hands on his service belt, the edges of his existence just barely see-through as his costume molded to his mutation quirk. “For now, we need you two to handle some of the media coverage while we start to get a section of road opened back up.”

“No problem! Leave it to us!”

Flubber strode off, his boots leaving wet footprints on the asphalt.

Bakugou turned to his partner. “No.”

"Hey— where are you going?! You can't just leave the press to me all the time!"

Huffing, Bakugou slipped through an unblocked alleyway, brushing concrete crumbs off his shoulders as he took deep breaths. Normally he would feel some semblance of guilt about leaving a crime scene or abandoning Kirishima to fend off the harpies on his own, but the villain did escape. Bakugou might as well join the search of the perimeter.

A sharp scream had his feet slapping the pavement before his brain caught up.

Rounding the corner of an office park, the street opened up to allow for a municipal park one block long and one wide. Amidst swing sets and jungle gyms stood a proud maple tree. In one of its branches clung a girl no more than six years old.

Below her, a group of parents huddled in a crescent moon around the trunk, some gawking, some enjoying the entertainment, and others consoling one woman in the center of it all. Bakugou made a beeline for her.

She jumped at the hulking form of a grenade-adorned hero. He never tried very hard to work on his public image.

“Oh, Dynamight.” The whites of the woman’s eyes gaped in surprise, and she looked back and forth between the imposing hero and the girl high up in the tree. “She just— She feels more secure when she’s up high, and she got scared by all the noise and the lights, so she climbed into the tree, but now she can’t get back down and she’s too high for me to reach her, and I can’t climb up—”

“Stop.” The woman snapped her teeth closed with a click. “I’ll get her down.”

She didn’t look especially reassured. Shit. What would Kirishima do? Probably flash a smile and bang his fists together or some other cute-ass Kirishima-ism. Bakugou gave her a closed-mouth smile and a stiff pat on the shoulder instead. That’ll do.

Grasping a branch with one hand and placing the flat of his boot on the trunk, he hoisted himself into the tree. He climbed higher and higher, wary of the thinning branches. When he couldn’t fit on the remaining limbs, he lifted his arms out for the girl.

“C’mon, I’ll take you back to your mom.” His voice was soft, low, and practiced. The girl eyed him warily, but after catching a glimpse of her mom below, shuffled into Bakugou’s hold. “Good job. Just hold on to me like you did to the branch, okay?”

She nodded against his shoulder, and he began his climb back down.

“What’s your name?”

“Matatabi,” she mumbled.

“What were you doin’ that high up?”

“Wanted to catch it.”

He frowned, wondering what it was, but they had reached the bottom and he had reached his patience quota for the day. Especially when the girl threw a fit in his arms, hissing and wiggling, and pushing and scratching at him. “Oi!” He dropped her, and she scurried to her mom, leaving him with whiplash and three welts on his bicep.

“Oh. Oh, dear.” The mother looked like she was about to confess to murder. Great. “Did she scratch you?”

No shit. “Yes, but it’s completely understandable.”

“Ah, awe, thank you—” at least he got a smile out of that one “—but, um, there may be a bit of an issue?” Of course there is. “She seems to activate her quirk when she scratches or bites.” She grimaced, floundering for her next words.

He took a deep breath. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. “It’s fine. What should I expect with the effects?”

“Um. Cat?”

He blinked. “Cat?”

She nodded. “Cat.”

“Dynamight!”

They both looked up then to Red Riot’s jogging figure, dust and cement billowing behind his ass cape. 

“Everything alri-oh.” Kirishima was staring somewhere above Bakugou’s forehead, his mouth formed in the perfect ‘O’ shape.

“What are you looking at?!”

“Ears.”

Bakugou’s stomach fell into his butt. “What?”

“Bro… ears. You have… ears.”

“No.”

“Dude they look so soft.” Slow hands lifted higher and higher, above Bakugou’s face up to the top of his head. “Can I just—”

Bakugou slapped his hands away. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed.

Kirishima chortled— chortled! — and turned to the mother of the tree climbing, cat nabbing daughter.

Bakugou watched the exchange with clenched fists.

“I’m so sorry!” She bowed low, almost tipping her kid onto the ground. “Is she in trouble?”

“No, no!” Kirishima smiled at them. They seeped into it like a warm blanket on a cold day. “We’ll just get your contact information in case we have any further questions about the quirk—”

A sharp pain stung both of Bakugou’s palms. He hissed and checked his hands, tuning out the rest of Kirishima’s mediation.

Claws. He had ears and claws.

Well, at least he had another weapon now — that was pretty cool, actually. As soon as the thought passed through his head, the claws retracted into his nail beds, leaving behind his normal, blunt nails.

He felt his ears droop to the side of his head.

“So… do you want to head back to the agency?”

He looked up at his partner, giving him his best baleful glare with the ears and all. Kirishima just snorted. “There’s no way in Hell I’m going back there like this.”

“Awe, but you could be our new office mascot.” He reached forward to pet Bakugou’s ear again. He was unsuccessful. “Alright, alright,” he laughed, pulling out his phone, “let’s call Mirko and get our next orders, then.” The ringer blasted loud and clear, Kirishima holding his phone in selfie-mode.

“You little shit! She doesn’t need to see!”

They played a game of impromptu tag until their boss picked up. She, of course, immediately burst into guffaws of laughter. 

Bakugou was so ready for today to be over.

“Hey, boss! What, uh— What do you suggest we do here with uh, Cat...kugou?”

“I’ll kill you,” he whispered.

“Hell if I know, I’ve never needed flea prevention.” Bakugou balked. “Take him to the vet, I guess!”

“Yessir!” Kirishima hung up before Bakugou could even process the words that just came out of his boss’s mouth.

“I am not—” he huffed “—going—” huff “—to the fucking VET!”

🧡❤️💥⚙️💥❤️🧡

If All Might himself had told Bakugou that hero life would involve sitting on a metal exam table in a veterinarian’s office, he wouldn’t believe a word of it. Not because it was impossible. Just because Bakugou would never get himself into that kind of situation.

He craned his neck back, glaring at his reflection in the operating mirror hanging from the ceiling. Two ash blond ears twitched back at him.

He sighed, crossing his arms and adjusting his seat on the hard metal. If I grow a tail, I’m gonna scream.

After what felt like hours of waiting, twitching, and reading pamphlets about “What to do if you have a fat cat,” the vet finally strode through the door, Kirishima hot on her heels.

She turned, frowning. “Oh, I’m so sorry — I know you’re hero partners, but technically the exam room is family only."

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to Kirishima. His partner met his desperate glare head-on.

[roseherondale]

Golden Hour

Summary: Pandora opens up to Icarus and Mayes, finding a way to move forward. Set during the time jump in episode 1 of Winds of Fortune (Life of the Party D&D)

Theme: Gold

Word Count: 1,310

Warnings: mentions of trauma

Read it on AO3 here

Golden rays hit the mountain in perfect arcs that covered Arx Volatus in a beautiful haze of radiant light. Below, was a pool of crystal clear water, sparkling and rippling where a waterfall trickled into it, sending delicate spirals across the surface. Across the horizon, the sun was perched low in the sky, casting a warm orange glow across fields and trees.

Beside the water, hidden behind the waterfall, was Icarus, eyes closed against the bright light, one hand on his necklace, the other resting on his lap. A light breeze ruffled the dark curls around his face, and he smiled, relaxed, as he brushed one back behind his fin-like ear. Across his face, the patterns of flowing water mixed together in a dance of shadow and light, constantly changing and flickering. The fluttering darkness made the scene on his arm, of storm clouds and lightning, seem real, as though the waves were actually turbulent.

A slight distance away, cast in the same incandescent light as the scenery below, was Mayes, the sun symbol of Pelor enclosed in one hand. Their brown hair was tied back in its usual bun, the sun illuminating the different shades. Unlike Icarus, they were sat completely within a patch of sunlight, hunched over and sketching, thin strands of hair falling into their face. The light scratch of pencils and rustle of paper accompanied the gentle rush of the water.

After a while, the sound of footsteps joined in, steadily getting louder until Pandora appeared in the small sanctuary. She was an ethereal vision, resembling a sunset herself with orange skin, hair the colour of fire and her golden freckles illuminated like stars. Her horns dripped with golden jewellery and on her collarbones were the dark inked markings of laurel leaves, a symbol of peace since destroyed.

When she reaches the base of the steps, she hesitated for a moment, watching her friends and taking in the atmosphere, feeling calmer and more at home than she had since they had arrived in Arx Volatus, on the backs of griffons, escaping Erran.

“Hey, Pandora,” Icarus said, without opening his eyes or moving at all.

“Hello. Can I sit?” She asked, wringing her hands in front of her, nervously.

Icarus opened his eyes and gestured that she sit down with one hand. Mayes turned around so that they were facing her, silhouetted by the sun and the warmth on their back was as though Pelor was laying a comforting hand on their shoulder. Carefully, Pandora sat, facing both of them, arranging her dress around her.

Since arriving a couple of months ago, she had withdrawn herself from her friends, focusing on studying magic and trying to forget everything that had happened in Erran. The further she pushed herself away, the more she felt herself slipping, the cliff rapidly approaching, and the less she felt she could stop.

In a moment of pure helplessness, she had found herself walking down to where she knew Icarus and Mayes would be, where they always were when they weren’t working. She craved the comfort and company of her friends, the unbridled joy and optimism they brought, and she so desperately needed but continued to meet with bitter scepticism.

“Everything okay?” Mayes asked, a slight line appearing on their forehead as they frowned.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Pandora said, quickly. Then, “no, actually it’s not.”

“We’re here for you if you need to talk.” Icarus said, after a moment of hesitation, holding out his hand. She took it and reached out her own for Mayes’.

“I know I’ve been… different, and you didn’t ask for this version of me as a friend. But thank you for looking out for me and being patient. We all lost a lot when we left Erran, but I never came to see if you were okay or needed anything; I just closed myself off.” She felt tears in her eyes and her voice came out as strangled. “I’m sorry, but I want to be better, to do better, to be a better friend to you both.”

“Don’t say that,” Mayes whispered. “You’re a good friend, Pandora; we love you. We know it’s been hard, and we didn’t want to pressure you.”

A couple of tears escaped, trickling down Pandora’s cheek, across golden freckles. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I pushed myself away; why I didn’t come to you both sooner.”

“You’re here now. And we’ll always be here for each other, even if you don’t want us to be.” Icarus smiled weakly, squeezing her hand.

“You can talk to us whenever you’re ready to, Dora.” Mayes said.

She took a deep breath, and when she spoke, it was with a raw vulnerability; the product of allowing all of her thoughts to fester within her for weeks. “I don’t know what to do anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I see Perseph… her face in my mind as she chose that,” she spat the last word, venomously, “over her family; over me.”

She took a deep breath. “I play it over and over in my head, thinking of anything I could have done differently. I go back to when we were kids and then, to before I went to Delphos. What did I do? What did I do so wrong that she chose to do this? Why would she abandon her family like this? Why would she abandon me?” Weeks of pushing down her emotions and channelling them into anger caught up with her, and she pulled her hands from Icarus and Mayes’, burying her face in them as she began to sob.

Icarus and Mayes glanced at each other, alarmed, before immediately moving closer and putting their arms around her.

“It’s not your fault.” Mayes whispered into her hair, repeating it over and over as she cried. The sun seemed to blaze brighter behind them, embracing them all in a swirl of gold.

“You’re safe, Dora. You don’t have to go through anything alone.” Icarus said, when her tears slowed, and she sniffed.

The quiet warmth was intoxicating. She opened her eyes, looking out over her friends’ shoulders, watching the glint of light in the water. Heavier footsteps sounded on the stairs behind them.

“I thought I’d find you down here,” Damen said, softly.

“Hey, Dames.” Icarus responded, voice muffled from where his face was pressed against Pandora’s hair. The tall, red hobgoblin looked down to where his friends were huddled on the floor, his eyes, one green and one gold, filled with fondness and sorrow for everything that had happened to them. They reminded him of his son, Panos, and he was grateful that if he couldn’t be with him at all, he could still be with his makeshift family.

Mayes raised their head, smiling sadly. “Come join us.”

Damen knelt down between Icarus and Pandora, putting his arms around them.

“It’ll be okay, firefly. We’re here. No matter what has happened and what will happen, we’re not going anywhere.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“We’ll always be together,” Icarus smiled, weakly. “We can face anything; even this.” Damen’s mouth curved into a smile and he raised one hand to ruffle Icarus’ hair.

“Always.” Mayes said, firmly.

In that moment, there were a million things Pandora wanted to say, but instead, she clung onto her family, holding onto them, tightly, as though they were her lifeline. In a way they were. They were her last tether to the world, the only things keeping her afloat in the stormy sea that encompassed her. They were her remaining link to her life in Erran. Together, they had been through so much, and finally, for the first time in weeks, under the golden rays of the setting sun, she felt like she was home.

Thanks for reading, I really hope you enjoyed it! This was my first fanfiction for LOTP so let me know what you thought x

[con-fection]

ASHES TO ASHES | jim moriarty x reader | part 3/13

Word count: 4.3k

When Sherlock Holmes becomes a man obsessed, James Moriarty becomes a man intrigued. That much, you are about to learn.

The first night in your hotel room, you allow yourself rest. The bed sheets are so soft, and sleeping on a mattress is infinitely more comfortable than the floor of a freezing basement. In many ways, despite your fervent dislike of the decor of the room based on its disingenuity, it is a decent opposite to your life before.

There is no blustering breeze blowing through dark, cracked bricks. There are no semi-dangerous power tools strewn over the floor. The sheets don't scratch at your skin.

You make sure, that night, to check yourself over for injuries. The fire was a major risk, you knew that much, and there had always been the chance that you could get caught in the blaze and burn alive, your body remaining trapped in the same house as those of your step-family's, and your freedom curbed by fire.

And you had come out unscathed.

There were no burns on you, not even the tiniest of markings from something as harmless as a stray ember. There was the chance you were suffering from some mild smoke-inhalation, but you felt completely fine, so you weren't too worried about that.

You wake up earlier than most people, but today, you don't have to get up and start sweeping or work on preparing breakfast. You feel absolutely, devastatingly victorious when there come no shouts of your name, no demands to get out of bed and fix the house.

Freedom feels so utterly delightful.

The only real downside is the lack of birdsong. The kind of birds that will chirp sweetly in the morning with you as their only audience do not thrive in inner-city London. Here, there is the eternal street-chatter, car noises, and taxi calling.

When you turn on the TV, having spent the early morning lounging in bed and enjoying the feeling of being wrapped up in soft sheets, the news is reporting live from your street.

There is a news reporter lady talking rapidly to the camera, a microphone clutched tightly in one hand. Behind her lie the remains of your parents' house. The blaze has long-since been extinguished, but there still remains one lone firetruck at the scene. The house itself has practically caved in on itself. Tiles of the roof and pieces of wood that had served as the infrastructure of the house lie lamely scattered around the lawn and driveway. It's a mess of ash and what had once been your childhood home.

The words she's saying are almost imperceivable.

Verona's car had caught fire after all. That alone gives you a smug sense of satisfaction. Just one more thing that she had valued had been stripped from her and desecrated.

"...The police have announced that they are launching a murder inquiry into the deaths of Verona Archer and her nineteen-year-old twin daughters Aubrey and Alora. Detective Inspector Lestrade, who will be heading the inquiry, has declined to comment, but sources have confirmed to us that Reichenbach hero Sherlock Holmes will be consulting."

You sit up, more interested in what she has to say than you had been just moments ago. The murder inquiry was no real surprise - you hadn't exactly tried to cover up the fact that the corpses had been hacked to bits. The mere thought of Sherlock Holmes - an allegedly brilliant civilian detective - on the case, did however shock you slightly.

Taking in a shuddering breath only calms you very slightly.

You had been so, so careful, and this had the potential to become your downfall.

The police, of course, would be on the case. You had been smart - burning everything in the house that had belonged to you. Any item that bore your name or image was to be reduced to ash, now scattered in the wind like black snow.

It was most fortuitous that Verona had caused you to have a life of solitude. Her daughters, of course, had been allowed to go out and socialise as much as they wished. Verona herself would attend dinner parties, and had wormed her way into any and every social scene that she could. Everybody had adored the three of them - Verona Archer, with her perfectly curled blonde hair, pink lips, and her darling twin daughters that were the spitting image of her.

That was a social life that you hadn't been permitted. You had been incredibly resentful at the time. Your parent's families flaked away from you once they had both died - there was nobody who cared to reach out and check on their only child. There was no way of being certain whether or not they would even remember that you had been living in the Archer household.

It was rather unlikely there were even any neighbours that even knew of your existence. That obscurity would hopefully keep you safe.

It's mid-morning by the time you eventually leave the hotel room. You've decided that today you're going to buy some new clothes, get some food, and look for a job that won't ask too many questions, all whilst keeping your head down and staying away from any cameras. The employment will probably come in the form of a seedy pub, which does invoke some kind of revulsion within you.

You have to remind yourself that it won't be for long. This is all temporary - once you're able to acquire some forged documentation you'll be in the clear. This is just one step closer to your happy ever after. You've already endured the hardest part and come out stronger for it.

---

Lestrade has relocated his board, featuring pictures, evidence, and lots of colourful string and thumbtacks, to a bigger room in the police station. The board sits front and center of the room, and is the primary focus of the room's occupants.

The full team has been gathered, all congregating in this one room to try to work cohesively.

"Listen, we're under a lot of scrutiny on this case." Lestrade says, grimacing as he looks between his taskforce and the board.

"And that's your fault." Donovan sniffs. "If you hadn't brought in Sherlock bloody Holmes then I bet that the media wouldn't even care."

"Right, right," John tries to intervene. "Let's just look at the evidence, yeah? And try to solve the case?"

As usual, she seems less than thrilled with John's presence, regarding him less than a teammate and more as a tag-along that Sherlock had somehow procured.

"So what do we actually know then?" Donovan asks, staring unrelentingly at the board.

Sherlock steps forward, pinning another picture to the board, next to the Archer girls. "This is our culprit. She's Verona's step-daughter, the child of a previous marriage of Verona's second husband."

There she is - there you are. It's an old photograph, ridiculously outdated from when you had been in high school. It looks terribly out of place next to the pictures of the Archers when they had been alive. Theirs are recent, good quality images - Verona's had been just the night before she was killed. The twins were impossible to distinguish from one another. All of them had the luxury of smiling at the camera, of being happy.

Lestrade takes over. "Her father died almost a decade ago in a car accident, and her actual mother passed away a while before that from health complications. The dad remarried not too long after his wife's death, so Verona becomes her step-mum, and the twins become step-sisters. She's a few years older than the twins, and we have no clue whatsoever what she had been doing since she finished high school."

"And we have no clue where she is now?" Anderson asks.

"None wha-" Lestrade begins.

Sherlock cuts him off. "No, that's not true. She'll be in a major city, most likely London. She'll either be keeping a low profile, or have a new identity set up already. She will have changed since high school - probably a hair cut, hair dye, or even tattoos, though that's unlikely."

"Right, I'll tell the officers on duty to keep an eye out for her." Lestrade nods, "Though I don't think a picture from years ago is going to help very much."

Donovan frowns slightly, her eyebrows tugging downwards slightly. She bites her lip for a second, her eyes darting between the pictures of the Archer girls when they were alive, their bodies, and their possible murderer. "Do we have a motive yet? Are we sure that this couldn't be a stalker who killed the Archers to kidnap their step-sister? I just can't really see a girl who Verona had raised, who loved the twins as if they were really her sisters, just turning on them like that."

"That's been bothering me too." Lestrade says. "I mean, maybe she felt like an outsider, but -"

"Of course she felt like an outsider." Sherlock says. "Verona took away her step-daughter's bedroom and had her sleep in the basement, so that she could store her fur coats upstairs. The step-daughter would be banned from furthering her education, and served as practically a live-in maid. It's incredibly obvious, really."

"They kept her as a maid? In the basement?" Lestrade's jaw hangs open slightly, his tone utterly disbelieving.

"Of course they did. All we have to do now is find her." Sherlock says, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Come on, John. If Cinderella's looking for a story, then we'll help her write one."

---

By the time you get back to your hotel room, your confidence has been bolstered immeasurably. You'd rather cautiously kept away from the more densely populated, camera-filled streets, and remained in more seedy, shady areas where nobody would really care too much even if they did know what you'd done.

In that time, you'd secured clothes, food, and you'd scouted out a few places that would probably be willing to employ you and not ask too many questions, though you weren't under the impression that they would pay you particularly well.

It felt so intoxicating to be completely and utterly free. You had no constraints any more. There were no Aubrey and Alora to hound you when you went shopping, and Verona was no longer around to tell you to be grateful that she even kept you around. Total, complete independence was one of the finest things you had ever encountered.

Perhaps the next few months would be rough whilst you were evading the police and establishing your new life. But ultimately, you were free. From freedom, your happily ever after would be borne.

Hastily, you put the food away - you'd bought simple things that could be stored in the mini-fridge - and pull the clothes on to hangers in the wardrobe. It doesn't feel like home, but oddly, you're glad for that.

Home had been burnt down, reduced to ashes by your own hand. In due time, you'd build a new one if you had to, and it most certainly would not resemble this hotel room.

Once you've finished packing everything away, you try to allow yourself to relax, but for some reason, you feel utterly unable to.

For some, indecipherable reason, you feel watched.

Instantly, your eyes narrow and you stalk around your hotel room, checking below your bed and in the bathroom. There's nobody hiding in either places, and you know that the wardrobe is empty, too. You're utterly alone here, and yet, you certainly do not feel that way. Rather, it feels like there are eyes at your back, scrutinising your every move.

Your next course of action is to check out the window. There's nobody there. Still, you draw the curtains closed tightly. It does little to block out the light or offer you any true sense of security. You're on edge - all of a sudden the shadows in the room feel too dark, too ominous, and it feels like the temperature has dropped several degrees.

There's a deep paranoia settling into your bones, and slowly, but surely, your heart rate is beginning to rise, to the point where your heart is rapidly thundering against your ribcage.

There has to be something you'd missed.

Most people hadn't developed the acute senses that you had. They simply weren't as perceptive, and they had no reason to be. Your distinct awareness of everything around you had been developed over years and years of maltreatment.

Just the slightest movement could tell you a thousand different things. Noises, from the screech of a heeled shoe against wooden floor to the mutterings of your step-mother, were a vital part of determining how safe you felt. Sight, too, was important. You could recognise just from the way Verona positioned her handbag if she would be in the mood to let you eat that night.

You had learnt to trust your senses. And right now, they were declaring that you had missed something - that there was something totally and completely off about this room.

Quickly, your eyes are traversing over every tiny little thing. From the doorframe, to the curtains, to the TV, to the desk -

The desk.

That's what had changed. The sugar packets and TV remote had been pushed to the outskirts of the desk to make room for something that hadn't been there before.

It's in the centre of the desk, and your jaw drops open slightly just at the sight of it. A bolt of ice rushes down your spine and suddenly you're afraid. There had been no fear when you killed three people and set their house aflame. But this, this felt like a threat.

Resting idly, almost innocently on the desk, is a heeled glass shoe.

It glitters prettily under the few rays of sunlight that escape from the curtains, but its mere presence feels insidious. You want to stumble away from it, dash out of the hotel and run for your life. But you don't. Rather, you stalk closer, creeping towards it, your eyes wide and unblinking.

The glasswork is pretty. It's delicate - carefully made, with intricate spirals running up the heel. It's relatively transparent, with a slight blue tint to it, enough to make it appear more frosted. It looks about your size, but it's far too nice to even attempt to wear. It's the kind of shoe you would have relentlessly lusted after as a child. A real life glass slipper.

And yet, neither the pretty glasswork or whether it is actually wearable are the primary thoughts on your mind.

Right next to the shoe, lying so innocuously on the desk, is a little white note. It almost resembles a business card, with a swooping golden border around the edges. If the shoe felt like a threat, then this feels even worse.

Inscribed, in shocking black ink on the bone-white card -

HELLO, CINDERELLA. WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO TO THE BALL?

Now you really do feel like crying - like yelling out and destroying everything around you, smashing the glass slipper and burning your dreams just as you'd burnt the house down. You collapse to the floor, one hand clutching at your chest, grappling onto your torso like it was a lifeline.

You had been cautious. Cameras had been avoided at all costs. You'd even made sure that there would be no up to date pictures of you available for you to be identified from. You had done everything right.

It was so, awfully unfair. All of a sudden, that tenuous, delightful freedom had been ripped out from under you and torn to ribbons. And you had no idea by whom.

There was somebody out there who knew. Somebody who knew what you had done, and worse still, knew where you were. Somebody who could very, very easily let themselves into your hotel room.

Last night, you had slept so soundly, totally unaware that you had already been compromised.

You had no idea who could possibly do this - who could want to torment you in this way. Nobody came to mind. There should have been nobody that even cared to look for you, beyond the police hunting down a criminal. Logically, there should have been no way for you to be found. All of your bases had been carefully covered.

Worst of all is that you have no way of fathoming what it even means. Is it a threat? A taunt?

You simply have no idea, and you're not inclined to even want to find out. It's entirely possible that you've burnt your way out of one cage just to be put in another. All because there's somebody out there who's smarter than you, who has somehow been able to undo every precaution you put into place.

Taking in a deep breath, you lower your head into your hands and beg yourself to just think.

This could be a threat. You have no idea who would want to threaten you, and you have no leverage against them.

Rather quickly, you come to the conclusion that for now, you will simply play along with whatever they want. It's the easiest option - if they'd found you here then they could potentially find you anywhere. This way, you can dig for as much information on them as possible.

Playing along could mean being extorted, or made into a pawn. Wretchedly, it threatened to put a stranglehold on your freedom.

But, you'd broken out of the role of the pawn before.

If they were threatening you, then you would play along, until you found the right time to burn them to ash, reduce them to cinders that could easily be swept away. You were already well on your way transitioning from pawn to queen, and you were absolutely determined not to let anything derail you.

This time, you wouldn't run away from the blaze. You would gleefully watch it consume anybody who dared stand against you.

If reaching the fabled happily ever after meant starting a few fires, then that's what you would do.

---

There's a deep sense of relief when you wake up and find that nothing's changed. The glass slipper is still resting threateningly next to the card it came with upon the desk, but you haven't received any additional gifts. Not yet, anyway. You cannot simply throw caution to the wind - now you must be more careful than ever.

Somebody has discovered exactly who you are, and they know exactly where you are. It's quite possibly the worst position for you to be in. The last thing you need is anybody else recognising you.

That morning, you creep out of your hotel room, dressed in some of the clothes you had bought the day prior. You were very careful not to choose anything too flashy or that would stick in people's minds. For all intents and purposes, you needed to become a shadow, to fade from memory and hide in plain sight.

Once again, you will be trawling the shadier areas. These are the places bathed in darkness and defined by hidden bloodshed. These people have little regard for the law-abiding. Being amongst them will probably help keep you concealed.

They won't allow the police to get anywhere near them. There will never be any security cameras. There will only be secrecy and that is where you'll thrive. It's where you will hide, until the press has blown over and your step-family's murders have been relegated to cold cases.

You stalk out of the hotel, ever wary of everybody that you interact with.

Any one of these people in the lobby could have left you the slipper and the note. They're the ones with the most opportunity. However, most of the guests here, from what you can reasonably guess, are disenfranchised or senile. It could have even been the lady at the desk, Emily, you think her name had been.

You take to the streets like a duck to water. You decide to walk along a route with less traffic, working your way through maze-like alleys rather than go near the roads. There's almost no cameras here, and occasionally you will see a metal clasp on the brick walls that perhaps, at some time had held a camera, but it had since been taken down or torn off the wall.

Unfortunately, these places are rife with unsavoury people. Realistically, you probably weren't the only person here that was on the run from the police.

Your methodology of travelling only by the shadiest routes brought you past a myriad of seedy little pubs. You'd taken a look at some of these places yesterday. They seemed like as good a place as any to start looking for a job. The people there weren't likely to ask too many questions.

Despite having probably done crimes more morally reprehensible than any of the pub patrons, there's a disparity in how you view yourself compared to how you view them. They're stationed below you - they are just another stepping stone to your future. Among them isn't where you belong.

The way you spend the day is rather boring - doing a more in depth evaluation of all the places nearby that would probably be willing to employ you, mentally cataloguing the pros and cons of each place. It's incredibly dull, but you have to remind yourself that it's necessary. Right now, you don't have much other choice.

By the time the sun is beginning to set and dusk is beginning to fall over London, you've found a few places you like the look of. They're easy to get to, and just seedy enough that they may not care about your lack of documentation. That, of course, had been destroyed in the fire, and even if it hadn't, you weren't about to use your real name.

Once it starts to get darker, you head back to your hotel room, half-starved. You're simultaneously eager to get back just to eat, and nervous that you could have been left another message.

You practically fly through the lobby, hurriedly following the signs back to room one hundred and twenty five.

You make your way down the hallway, pausing cautiously at your door.

There, hung on the door handle is one of the hotel's do not disturb signs. You hadn't been the one to place it there.

Immediately, you're put on edge. The tiny, rectangular blue and green key card feels rather heavy in your hand. Your fingers twitch, and your eyes narrow. Once again, something is very, very off.

You press your ear to the door. There's nothing - no noise that you can discern. Cautiously, you swipe the card, and you tug the door handle down, but you don't push it all the way open. Not yet. You wait another moment before doing so, your eyes immediately flying to check the bathroom before you even truly step inside.

The room looks deserted, overcast by shadows. There's a deep anticipation stirring within you as you step into the hotel room and let the door close behind you.

It's rather dark - the shadows all move in the dying sunlight, and there's too many places for someone to hide.

"Hello, Cinderella." A voice calls out from the darkness, crooning and smooth.

In a second, your hand has slammed down on the lightswitch. The lights flicker for a moment, but they enable you to see him.

There's a man lounging in the chair to the desk, looking directly at you. His legs are outstretched in front of him, and he's passing the glass slipper between his hands.

You'd never seen him before. He's older than you, perhaps in his early thirties, with slicked back dark hair, an expensive-looking grey suit, and eyes that stare straight into your soul.

"Did you like my gift?" He asks, sounding vaguely amused. His dark, all-consuming, black eyes dart briefly down to the glass shoe in his hands. He strokes a fingertip along the glasswork intimately.

"Who are you?" The question tumbles from your mouth before you can even think to stop it.

He rolls his eyes. "I believe that I asked you a question first. You're welcome to call me Moriarty. But you, Cinderella, have been a very naughty girl."

This Moriarty man is rather changeable, you think. His annoyance had quickly faded to something that sounded horrendously like glee. You're left floundering for a response - there's nothing clever for you to say.

"Have I?" You find yourself saying, rather absently, like you were making an off-hand remark about the weather or something equally insignificant. It feels meaningless to refute him. You know exactly what he's referring to.

"Oh come on," Moriarty says. His voice is almost playful - and it's now that you place his accent. Irish. "You know you have. Killing your wicked step-mother and ugly step-sisters? Most people would call that terrible. Psssh, I'm not so boring." He waves it off, dismissing what you had done gut-wrenchingly easy.

You flinch backwards, your back colliding with the door. "Oh?" You manage to choke out.

"No, no. I'd call that impressive," He says in a sing-song voice. He seems so cheery, and he's practically grinning at you. "You see, most people don't quite gather the guts to kill their own families. And when it's a woman - well, they tend to go for poison. Bit of a cop out, don't you think? But no, not you. That would be too boring. Go on, Cinderella, tell me how it felt."

"Am I...being blackmailed?" You don't think you've ever felt so confused and worried at the same time. This man - the man who had figured it all out and found you seems to be dually comical and threatening. You can't really discern what is an appropriate reaction.

"Only if you'd like to be." He replies with an innocent shrug of his shoulders. "Just tell me something, will you?"

[elsaclack]

Prompt Request: 'You know I can't do that' Jake to Amy in as soft a voice as he says to Pam in Casecation. Hope you can get to it! Thank you in advance! All the love! ❤️❤️❤️

HI SO

I KNOW YOU SAID YOU WANTED ANGST AND I TRIED TO MAKE IT ANGSTY BUT i couldn’t resist,,,,,,,,The Action™

I HOPE YOU LIKE IT FHASDLKFJ

The thing is, when she first decided to pursue a career in the NYPD, Amy had no idea just how damn dramatic her life would get.

Like, she’d expected car chases, maybe a few shootouts. A handful of kidnappings and murders, and maybe, if she played her cards right, a big-name serial killer that would propel her through the ranks like a rocket launcher. She’d expected the action-oriented drama. She’d relished in the idea of it.

She hadn’t expected Jake.

Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t be familiar with a hollowness so bone-deep it left her whole body aching, sickly and spent, helpless to do anything but cry as armed guards led him away in handcuffs. She wouldn’t know the exact degree the moonlight slants through the windows along the far wall at 4 o’clock in the morning - the only thing to focus on outside of her own spinning anxiety with Jake gone, not in their bed, sleeping in a narrow prison bunk thousands of miles away. She wouldn’t know the gnawing fear of loss and loneliness always lurking in the back of her mind, even with him settled right beside her; she wouldn’t know the exhilaration of love in its purest, most simple form.

Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t be chained to a steel railing on the upper floor of a bank with a live bomb strapped to her chest right now, an hour before their wedding is meant to start.

(But then again, Dario was her perp - so maybe she’d have ended up here all the same.)

Sweat is beginning to drip in earnest down the small of her back and she squirms, trying and failing to bend her neck in such a way that will allow her to catch a glimpse of the steadily-beeping timer protruding from the front of the bomb. The chain winding tightly around her torso loops around her neck, too; even just turning her head a degree presses the links against her throat, cutting off her airway. She feels herself choking and lifts her chin again, eyes falling shut of their own volition at the responding ache of her tender head. Her arms are pinned, the railing unyielding, and even with her legs sprawled out freely before her, she’s never felt quite so trapped before.

She has no idea how long she’s been here. She has no idea how long she’s been missing in general - it was still early in the morning when Dario attacked her, whacking her in the head with what she could only assume was a heavy metal pipe based on the metallic clang still ringing in her ears. Her memories are foggy, coming in pieces and waves - the stench of a musty apartment, a terrifying wall of photos of her with her eyes scratched out, the pale and frightened face of a child, Dario towering over her, blackness.

And now, the upper floor of a bank, chained to a steel post bolted to the marble floor.

Commanding voices are shouting instructions downstairs and she closes her eyes, imagining the scene in her mind. She only knows it’s a bank from the teller’s voices echoing up here and the panicked 911 call that followed her screaming for help, but she’s responded to this kind of scene before - a dozen civilians, a few employees, and the full force of the squad decked from head to toe in riot gear now storming the building.

(The last time she was in a bank like this, Jake ended up in prison. Bank jobs have never been kind to them. She tries not to think about it.)

There’s a method, a process, and she’s followed it enough times to know that by the time someone makes it to this wing of the second floor, it will be too late.

It’s the first time in her life she genuinely hopes someone will break protocol.

Heavy booted footsteps pounding up the marble staircase some fifteen feet in front of her snap her back to attention - sure enough, the moment her vision focuses, she spots the familiar shape of an officer in riot gear sprinting toward her. The officer casts his semi-automatic aside blindly, like it’s some cumbersome annoyance instead of a literal lifeline in the event of an armed attack, and dives toward her, skidding to a stop on his knees just inches away.

It’s here that she gets a look at his face.

It’s here that she regrets everything.

“Jake,” she croaks, voice strained around the chain links digging into her neck. His body is visibly taut with tension as he carefully removes the bomb’s cover, eyes moving with practiced precision as he quickly studies the inner workings. “Jake, Jake -”

“It’s okay,” he tells her in a calm, rehearsed voice - his calming-the-victim voice, a surefire sign that he’s lying. And of course he is, how can it be okay, there’s a bomb strapped to her chest and a timer steadily moving closer to zero. “I’m gonna defuse this thing and get you outta here -”

This is the first time she’s seen him since she left their apartment this morning - he’d been half-awake then, still in bed, smiling serenely when she’d bent to kiss his forehead. He tried to convince her to stay in bed with him a little longer but she’d resisted, somehow reasoning that all the last-minute day-of-wedding errands were more important than staying with him.

She can’t remember why, now. It seems so far away.

Jake’s face radiates concentration, shining with a thin sheen of sweat that glistens in the late afternoon sun emanating from the first floor over the balcony behind her. He carefully moves the wires, fingertips just barely brushing against them, and each high-pitched beep from the timer has her closer and closer to the edge of pure panic.

Judging by the frustrated growl he releases as he rips his earpiece out of his ear and his helmet off altogether, she’d venture to guess she has less than a minute left.

The panic is closing in quickly but she fights it, chin lifting slightly in an effort to gulp down more air. “It’s too late,” she rasps, and Jake blinks down at the exposed wires rapidly. “Jake, it’s too late, you need to get out of here before this thing goes off -”

“Not a chance, Santiago,” he snaps. “Not without you.”

“Please, Jake,” her voice is ragged. “Get downstairs, get to safety. Please.”

For the first time since reaching her side, his eyes flick up to her face. “You know I can’t do that, Ames,” he says softly.

The panic in her chest squeezes mercilessly around her heart.

He quickly reaches into one of the small pockets on his vest and produces a small pair of scissors, already entirely refocused on the control panel before him. “You trust me?” he asks breathlessly.

Despite the terror quaking in her veins, she nods wholeheartedly.

He clenches his jaw and reaches inside the panel with the scissors, and in the split-second of silence between heartbeats, she hears the tell-tale snip of the blades slicing through a wire.

She holds her breath, but the next beep of the timer never comes.

And all at once Jake is collapsing backwards, the tension leaving him in a rush, and Amy’s borderline sobbing with relief. The chain around her neck pulls tightly and it distorts her voice, but she’s never been so far from caring.

She feels him back at her side before she sees him, his hands firm and steady where they lift her, adjusting her position to alleviate the pressure on her windpipe. “Easy,” he says, voice thick and unfamiliar in her ears. “It’s okay, Ames, just relax. The bomb squad’s on their way up to get this thing off’a you, just try to relax…”

He rips his gloves off with his teeth and strokes her hair soothingly, resting his forehead against the side of her head until they hear footsteps pounding up the staircase before them. The bomb squad converges quickly, and Jake is forced to shuffle aside to make room for them. He doesn’t go far, though; she can still see the shape of him hovering behind the officer to her left, one hand over his mouth, foot tapping against the floor.

The straps of the bomb fall away, taking the weight of the world with them, and then her vision is full of Rosa shoving her way through bomb squad officers with bolt cutters in hand. It takes a few tries, a few grunts of effort from Rosa, but before long the chains are falling away, too.

And the moment they do - before they’ve even fully hit the floor beneath her - Amy is on her feet and flying into Jake’s arms.

He sweeps her up in a bone-crushing embrace, lips and nose pressed against the line of her shoulder, and for a brief moment she’s sure they’re both at risk of floating away from the utter relief of it all. Her head still aches and her throat isn’t much better, but none of that matters when Jake heaves a shuddering sigh and gently tangles his fingers in her hair. “I love you, Amy, I love you so much,” he mumbles hoarsely into her shoulder, and her toes barely brushing the floor. Her exhale escapes like a high-pitched keen and his fingers tighten in her hair. “I’m so glad you’re okay, oh my god I was so worried, you just - you weren’t at any of the places on your list and you weren’t answering your phone and -”

She lets out a quiet whine and the fingers fisted in her hair loosen and begin to gently stroke. “Thank you,” she whispers, and he nestles even closer.

The EMTs converge less than two minutes later, and she has to bite back the urge to fight them off for one more moment. He seems just as reluctant to let her go as she feels - he stays close, even after she’s been hefted onto a gurney, his hand squeezing hers firmly down the stairs and into the back of an ambulance.

Head wrapped in bandages and mind made fuzzy with painkillers wasn’t quite the way she imagined her wedding night ending - but that’s alright, she thinks. Because despite the bandages and the painkillers making her unsteady on her feet, she’s positive no one will ever feel as beautiful as she feels with Jake looking at her like that. Terry’s arm is steady and solid beneath her fingertips - an added precaution should she go down partway down the hallway-turned-makeshift aisle, definitely more out of necessity than tradition - and even though the sterile walls and linoleum tiles are a far cry from the Gina Linetti-approved decor currently adorning the rec center on the other side of town, Amy can’t find it anywhere in herself to care.

Judging by the overjoyed twinkle in Jake’s eyes as he takes her hands and pulls her close, she’d venture to guess he feels the same way.

When she decided to pursue a career in the NYPD all those years ago, she hadn’t expected to be married in a hospital hallway, concussed, relying on her goofy partner - no, her goofy husband to hold her upright as her head spins violently. She hadn’t expected the family her squad has become for her - she hadn’t expected the love that now permeates every aspect of her life.

She hadn’t expected Jake - and she’s never been more thrilled to be so thoroughly caught off-guard.

[argylemnwrites]

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment - Chapter 6

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Canon Divergent from Book 2, Chapter 15)

Word Count: ~5200

Rating: PG-13 (strong language, innuendo)

Summary: Drake continues to search for a job in New York while Riley settles in to her new bartending gig. Meanwhile, Madeleine had matters to discuss with Hana back in Cordonia.

Author’s Note: Sorry this is late! I was doing my final edits yesterday and realized I had to rework a massive section of this chapter. On the plus side, this means there will be a deleted scene I’ll clean up and put out this week that I rather liked, but just slowed down this chapter way too much.

This series diverges from TRR canon, where instead of waiting to discuss his relationship with Riley until their last night in NYC, leaving her a note while Liam is proposing to her, Drake tackles this topic as soon as possible after Tariq makes his statement and Riley’s name is cleared. To catch up on this series, you can find the rest of the chapters in my masterlist (link is located in my bio).

Smoothing any wrinkles out of her dress, Hana took a deep breath and entered the hospital room right behind Penelope and Kiara. The two guards stationed outside the door made it abundantly clear who occupied this particular room, in addition to the metal detector they had to pass through that had clearly been placed temporarily at the entrance to this unit. Once inside, the touches provided by the hospital staff to elevate the room were apparent. The flowers that had been sent were placed in a variety of actual glass vases, not plastic containers. The blankets on the bed appeared much newer and softer than standard hospital fare, plus they were a lovely grey color, much different from the faded blues and greens of the stacks of blankets on carts they had passed on their way in. Somehow, the smell of this room was much more pleasant than the hallways they’d passed through, as if candles or air fresheners had been provided.

Sitting up in the hospital bed, Madeleine had a table pulled over her lap, covered in numerous binders and sheets of paper. She looked good at first glance, her hair carefully styled in spite of the shapeless hospital gown she was wearing, but on closer inspection, Hana noticed some subtle signs of her recent trauma. She was definitely wearing more rouge than was typical for her, and as she shifted slightly to greet her visitors, she winced before covering her grimace with a smile. She was still connected to a bag of IV fluids, plus another medication pump that was locked.

“Madeleine, how are you?” asked Penelope, scampering away from Kiara and wrapping Madeleine in a hug, not noticing the grimace that crossed her face, clearly still in a large amount of pain.

“Just sit down. I called you all here to discuss some information.”

Hana joined Kiara in pulling over some chairs, settling in before Madeleine continued.

“So, Liam and I have discussed our response to this attack, and we both feel it is best that we postpone the wedding.”

Hana doubted that was entirely true. Based on the conversation she and Maxwell had with Liam yesterday, it definitely seemed like the postponement was coming from him. Additionally, with what she had observed about Madeleine, she highly questioned that she would really desire pushing back the ceremony that was the only thing standing between her and being officially crowned queen. Still, she kept her face solemn. If Madeleine wanted to play this development as being under her control, Hana knew better than to openly question that fact.

“Oh mon dieu,” replied Kiara.

“Honestly Kiara, it’s nothing. It simply makes the most sense. Regardless, I wanted my court aware of this decision so you can speak to the press intelligently and represent me well at the upcoming Five Kingdoms festival. I’m not sure if these so-called doctors will release me before then. I’ve told them I am perfectly fine, but they insist I am not cleared for discharge yet.”

At the mention of the festival, Kiara shifted slightly in her seat. “Madeleine, about the festival. I regret to tell you that I will not be able to attend.”

“Why the hell not?”

“In light of the recent attack, I’ve decided I should return home.”

“Really? You got a little scratch and you are running like a coward?”

Kiara dropped her eyes to her lap as Madeleine berated her. Hana felt for her. Getting stabbed in the shoulder, requiring several stitches, hardly seemed like a “scratch.” As Hana placed her hand soothingly on her shoulder, Penelope spoke up in her defense as well.

“She was stabbed! And we didn’t catch any of the assassins! Everyone is scared, Madeleine. In fact, I was going to tell you that I’m returning home as well.”

“Seriously?” Madeleine shook her head at both of them, sighing in disgust. “Fine, get out of here.”

Hana stood to leave with Penelope and Kiara, but Madeleine spoke out harshly.

“Not you, Hana.”

Penelope stopped in her tracks, turning back to Hana with wide eyes. She mouthed “sorry” before Kiara nudged her out of the room. Hana gently sat back down, this time taking the chair closest to Madeleine. She was unsure why Madeleine wanted to speak to her individually. Liam had already okayed her moving into the palace, at least temporarily, but it was possible that Madeleine objected for some reason. If she wasn’t able to stay in the palace, she wasn’t sure where she would go. Home was no longer really an option. In fact, she was shocked that she hadn’t been cut off by her parents completely at this point. Most likely, her father hadn’t entirely explained the situation to her mother yet, hoping that Hana would come back, begging for forgiveness.

Madeleine waited until the door was completely closed before she spoke again. “You’re really the only dependable one, aren’t you?”

Hana didn’t know how to respond other than to give a little smile. In response, Madeleine broke into a wide grin, more genuine-looking than any other expression that had ever graced her face, or at least the most genuine looking pleasant expression.

“Liam told me you asked him if you could move into the palace”

“I hope that won’t be a problem, Madeleine. I -”

“Of course not. I take care of those who are loyal to me. Wanting to be more accessible as a member of my court will never be a problem.”

Hana swallowed at that. Madeleine didn’t really believe that Hana was moving to the palace exclusively for her, did she? “Did Liam tell you why I need to move in?”

To Hana’s surprise, Madeleine continued to smile at her question, “I’m glad you brought this up. I heard you rejected Neville.”

This sent Hana’s mind racing. She had assumed Madeleine would be upset that she had so firmly ended things with Neville, given the emphasis she had placed on her ability to keep a suitor just weeks ago. Yet here she was, acting happy about this fact. “Yes, that is correct,” Hana eventually replied, choosing her phrasing cautiously.

“And you are not linked to Rashad at this time, are you?”

“I am not. Is that a problem?”

Madeleine paused for a moment, seeming to collect her thoughts before she started her answer. “They say certain things become clear when you go through something traumatic. The adrenaline puts everything in focus and what really matters is all you can see.”

Hana felt completely lost at this point. When Madeleine had summoned her court to the hospital, the last thing she expected to be doing was discussing near-death revelations one on one, but it was a nice alternative to her typical scorn and judgement. “Did that happen for you?”

“Not quite in such a saccharine fashion, but to a degree. Do you mind me asking why you rejected Neville?”

“He was so selfish and dull. I couldn’t see myself spending the rest of my life with him.”

Shockingly, Madeleine seemed to nod in agreement. “I understand the desire to have love and passion in your life. That much is clear to me now.”

“Is Madeleine thinking of calling off the wedding?” wondered Hana. She simply couldn’t imagine it happening, but with Madeleine saying all these things, it was the only thought that came to mind. Not wanting to upset Madeleine if her assumption was incorrect, Hana remained quiet, allowing Madeleine to continue when she was ready.

“Did Riley ever tell you about the proposal I brought to Liam, the one that guaranteed he chose me during the social season?”

Hana shook her head. Riley had never brought up any such topic. Of course, that was around the time Hana’s suspicions that something was happening between Drake and Riley really started, so she had focused more on observing their interactions than watching how Riley was with either Liam or Madeleine.

“I told Liam if he chose me, I didn’t care who he was involved with behind closed doors. He was welcome to invite anyone to his bedroom as long as he was discrete.”

Hana couldn’t help it; her jaw dropped in shock. Was Madeleine trying to arrange an affair for herself? Did she want Hana’s help in keeping some ongoing relationship a secret? Before Hana could fully process this turn of events, Madeleine continued on.

“I had thought he was a lovesick fool, following such a shallow drive, but I can better understand his desire to keep passion and romance in his life, regardless of his station. I feel the appeal more than ever.” With those words, Madeleine dropped her left hand down, reaching for Hana.

Hana’s hands started to shake. Surely, this wasn’t happening. There was no way Madeleine could be interested in her. She had been so cruel and harsh, actively working to make her life harder. Before Hana could collect her thoughts, Madeleine twined their fingers together and continued her speech.

“I know it isn’t an ideal situation, but I figure discretion will be easy enough when we are living under the same roof, and-”

“No,” said Hana, pulling her hand from Madeleine’s, rapidly standing and walking across the room to put some distance between them. The words slipped out a little louder than she intended, but at least she got her message across.

Madeleine’s eyes briefly widened in horror and her cheeks flushed bright red, but she quickly composed herself, her mouth curling into a stern scowl. “Oh, I guess I misunderstood. I thought you were attracted to women.”

Hana felt her cheeks growing warm at that comment, “I am.”

“Then what’s the problem? Is it that I’m with Liam? That means nothing to me, and quite frankly, you are going to need to get used to some degree of freedom in relationships if you intend to marry within the Cordonian nobility-”

“I will not be your mistress, Madeleine,” Hana interrupted. “Whatever arrangement you have with Liam is your business, just as any such arrangements between any other nobles are between the parties involved, but I will never consent to such a relationship. I don’t care if it’s old-fashioned, but I will never be with any man or woman who doesn’t love me enough to commit to me and me alone.”

“God, you’re such a child, like you’re waiting around for some fairy tale romance,” sneered Madeleine.

“Maybe I am naive, but over the past few months I’ve learned that I can make my life what I want it to be, not what you or anyone else tells me it needs to be. And I have no interest in being a dirty little secret, hidden away for shameful moments, particularly with someone who took pleasure in my pain and looks down on me even as she tries to start a relationship with me. I am worth more than that.”

A tense silence settled over the room for a few seconds. Madeleine’s lips were pinched tightly, and she was blinking rapidly, a slight wetness visible. After a moment, she responded, “If you’re quite finished, Lady Hana, I think it’s time for you to go,” a slight shake evident behind in her voice.

Hana nodded, walking briskly to the door without a glance back. It wasn’t until she was at the elevator that she let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. She fumbled past her wallet, compact, and lipstick, attempting to grab her phone out of her purse with trembling hands. Eventually, she managed to access her contact list and select the name she needed to talk to most in this moment. After several rings, she answered.

“Hey, Hana. Just one second okay?”

In the background, Hana heard lots of rustling and Riley’s muffled voice. After a few seconds, she came back, “Sorry about that, Anderson and I were on a walk and he did not want to come back inside. How are you?”

“Okay, I think. I just had the most surreal conversation with Madeleine.” Hana began to explain her meeting with Madeleine, but she hadn’t even gotten past the discussion of Neville when Riley interrupted her.

“Sorry, I was in the elevator and you kept cutting out. All I got was something about a festival and Kiara and Neville.”

“Should I call back later?”

“No, no, no. I want to talk to you. Lemme just put you on speaker while I get dressed for work.”

Hana sighed. It was clearly a bad time for Riley, “That’s okay. I’ll give you a call later.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Have a good time at work.”

Taking a deep breath, Hana kept her calm, remembering she was still in public. Still, she was overwhelmed by everything that had happened over the past 30 minutes, and she really wanted to talk to her best friend. Unfortunately, that was not an option right now, and realistically, she needed to find a place to stay since she had a feeling Madeleine was not going to be so welcoming at the palace after everything that just transpired.

Resigning herself to the fact that she was going to have to be a bit of a stray kitten, at least temporarily, she followed her instinct, scrolling to another name in the phone. This contact answered his phone right away.

“Hana-banana! How’s Madeleine doing?” said Maxwell.

“Physically fine, but I don’t think I’m on good terms with her anymore. Can I stay with you and Bertrand for a little bit while I figure some things out?”

“Of course! Let me come get you, and you can tell me all about what the she-devil did.”

Hana smiled. Maxwell Beaumont was many things, and thankfully, adorably reliable was one of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drake took a bite of the BLT in front of him. The bacon was flavorful, the lettuce crisp, and the bread perfectly toasted. It was just what he needed. “Thanks, George.”

“Of course. How’s the job hunt?”

Drake shrugged. It had been over a week since the attack at the Homecoming Ball, and most days he’d eaten lunch at that same diner, getting to know the owner, George, a bit in the process. What could he say, he felt comfortable in this greasy spoon, hole in the wall type of place. Plus George’s food was good, old-fashioned comfort food.

Drake was in need of comfort. To say that his job search was going poorly was an understatement. He was told over and over again that he was overqualified for the entry level office positions, but it was rare when he was even asked for an interview for any of the higher level postings. He was sure his lack of college degree hurt him, but when he did get a rare interview, it was clear he wasn’t giving a good impression. He never had been good at ass-kissing, but at court, all he had to endure was a snide comment and a sneer. Here, his lack of sucking up meant that no one was going to hire him.

He’d expanded his job search to other fields, but that hadn’t really improved his luck at all. He’d gotten a couple of interviews at retail stores and restaurants, but he couldn’t keep up a friendly, smiling act for even the length of the interview. Construction and repair jobs wouldn’t touch him without formal experience it seemed. He looked into a customer service call center, but Riley urged him not to take that job, telling him that he would end up killing someone if he had to listen to people whine while somehow staying pleasant all day long.

“Trust me, I only stomached about 5 weeks at one of those call centers a few years ago,” she had said. “If you thought court was bad, just wait until some asshole doesn’t even have to look you in the eye when they call you every name they can imagine.”

Drake was starting to get concerned about money. New York was expensive, and a sizeable portion of his savings had gone to their rental, which had cost a crap ton considering they had needed a pet-friendly apartment in less than 24 hours, and Drake had drawn the line at sharing a unit with other random travelers. He didn’t care if Riley swore up and down that she had stayed in hostels a various points when she was between places. That might be fine when you’re young and taking holiday during university, but he was way too close to 30 to be considering something like that.

They were moving back to Riley’s apartment tomorrow, and while the the price per day would be lower, her place still cost about $2000 per month. And that didn’t include the utilities or anything. She had repeatedly told him not to worry about money. She was apparently making boatloads in tips at the bar and she kept insisting they would be okay on just her income until he found a job. But Drake already knew he would be cutting into his savings even more to make sure he was at least covering his share.

It made Drake feel like shit that he was barely able to cover his own food with the money he had earned since the move. He wanted to take care of Riley, and maybe that made him sexist or old-fashioned, but it just didn’t feel right being a burden to the woman he loved. He was able-bodied and should be able to contribute. But all he had so far were his TaskRabbit jobs.

He really had to thank Sam for getting him set up on TaskRabbit. Sam was George’s former daughter-in-law who worked in the kitchen over the lunch and dinner rush on weekdays. The dynamic between her and George had confused Drake when he found out that she had divorced George’s son, Nick, a few years earlier.

“Wait, so you hired her after she left your son?” Drake asked a few days ago, after Sam left for a doctor’s appointment.

“Well, for one, I hired her when she was still married to my son. I just didn’t fire her when she divorced him. She’s a good cook, and I still like her.”

“Doesn’t that make things awkward with your kid?”

“Well, if he wanted to keep things from getting awkward, he shouldn’t have cheated on her. Look, Drake, I love my son, but he’s a bit of an impulsive idiot. Sam is sharp, hard-working, and damn good in my kitchen. I still love her like a daughter, even if Nicky shot that all to hell.”

And that was that. Drake liked both of them, so who was he to judge if they found a dynamic that worked for them. Sam was a direct straight-shooter. She claimed that the pregnancy hormones made her more blunt than usual, but Drake got the sense that she always called things as she saw them, and that all the pregnancy had done was reduce her tolerance for bullshit. George was quieter, but he had a gruff no-nonsense approach to life that Drake appreciated. He supposed that was another reason why he kept coming back to this diner. Not only did he like the atmosphere and the food, but he liked the people, too.

These days, Drake had fallen into an awkward routine. Mornings were for interviews or searching for jobs online. Then, it was to George’s diner for a late lunch. He usually hung out there in the afternoon, taking tasks at the nearby office towers as they came in. He had quickly found that putting up shelves or putting together an Uskea desk was an easy way to make some money, and all these white collar workers were in such a hurry, they often threw him some extra cash for his quick arrival. Then it was home to feed and walk Anderson before he cooked dinner for himself, putting the leftovers away for Riley for when she got off work. Some nights he had found a couple of nearby tasks at night, loading boxes for a move or putting together a dresser, something like that. By the end of the night, he’d head down to the bar, waiting for Riley to finish up before walking her home.

Riley had rolled her eyes the first night when he had showed up a little before the end of her shift, telling him that she was capable of getting home on her own, but the thought of her alone so late just made him nervous. Maybe it would be better when they were living at Riley’s place and the bar was only a few blocks away, but for now, he just wanted to make sure she was safe.

“How do you think I managed before I met you?” she’d challenged him one night.

“Just because you can do something on your own, doesn’t mean you should have to, Liu.”

Regardless of her protests, Drake had been coming to the bar earlier and earlier. Mainly, it was a nice way to spend some time with her. Their schedules didn’t exactly line up the greatest, with Drake waking up early to hit the job trail, and Riley not getting off work until after midnight. Drake supposed it was he should be grateful that she usually didn’t have to close out the bar. The other new bartender had a kid to pick up from school, so she was glad to take the later shift most days if Riley was able to be there in the afternoon. The only times Riley really had to stay until bar close was when she worked the weekend. She and the other new hire had decided on alternating pairs of Friday and Saturday nights, and Riley had been the one who worked last weekend.

Given that there wasn’t going to be much Drake could do for job hunting over the weekend, he’d stayed with her until closing time last weekend. The weekends were obviously much busier than the weeknights, but Riley was impressively efficient, pouring drinks while still charming all the customers. Eventually, the crowd thinned as the night wore on, either heading home, some by themselves and others with a new partner, or moving on to clubs where they could mix their alcohol with dancing. It had been rather nice last Friday, as the only table left for the last couple of hours before bar close was a group of middle aged women celebrating a birthday. They just needed a new bottle of wine every so often, leaving Riley largely free to chat with him. Saturday ended with a couple of drunk men who required a lot more attention, but as Riley pointed out, that meant better tips. Plus, it had been pretty damn satisfying to leave with her after they had been hitting on her for hours.

This weekend, though, was going to be different. Riley was off both tonight and tomorrow night, and with no interviews over the weekend, they were planning on having a real date. It was odd to think that they had moved in together without ever actually going on a date. Drake had never lived with a woman before, but this certainly felt like a backwards order of doing things.

He knew he should probably see if there were any quick tasks he could knock out to earn some money, but thinking about Riley made him just want to head back to their rental. She hadn’t been awake when he left this morning, and as cheesy as it sounded, he missed her. Just talking to her, laughing at her jokes, that sort of thing. There had been plenty of down time on the engagement tour where they had talked about anything from the serious to the stupidly silly for hours on end. He missed that.

Pulling out his wallet, he grabbed the bills he needed for his sandwich, but it took a few minutes for George to make it over to him. Sam wasn’t here today, and George was struggling to keep up with the lunch rush. When Drake handed him his money, he asked, “Another doctor’s appointment for Sam?” but George shook his head as he began clearing away Drake’s dishes.

“No, she had the baby last night.”

“I thought she wasn’t due until next month?”

“Yeah, six weeks early. Made me mad nervous, but she and Jesse called this morning and said he’s doing real good and breathing on his own just fine.”

“Well, congratulations.”

“Thanks. Of course, the cook we hired for her maternity leave isn’t available for six weeks.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, so if you know anyone who knows their way around a kitchen, send ‘em to me.”

“Seriously? Because I can cook.”

George stopped wiping the counter, squinting up at Drake. After a few seconds, he asked, “What kind of cooking are you talking about?”

“This kind of cooking. Nothing fancy, just good, filling food.”

“But no restaurant experience, right?”

“No, but I’m a hard worker.”

“I’m sure you are, son,” he said, pausing for several moments before he continued, “If we do this, it’d only be for Sam’s maternity leave. I don’t need anyone long term.”

“I know.”

“And if it isn’t working out, either one of us can call it off, no questions.”

“Fair enough.”

“Okay, I’ll see you Monday at 10,” said George, sticking out his hand. Drake shook it eagerly. He knew he probably should get something in writing about his hours or his wages, but he was too excited to care. He trusted George not to screw him over, plus this felt like a way better fit for him than any of his dozens of interviews. For once, something about New York that wasn’t named Riley Liu felt right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, clearly you hustled me last time we played.”

Riley laughed before she called her pocket for the eight ball, sinking it with ease. “You just assumed I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t bother to correct you.”

“You just ran the table on me.”

“Well, you’re good at pool, too. I couldn’t risk you winning by giving you a chance. See, unlike you, I take my opponents seriously.”

Drake rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Believe me, I take you plenty seriously, Liu.”

She smirked at that response, moving to rack the balls for another game when a pair of hands came to rest on her hips. She spun around to face Drake, looping her arms around his neck. “Don’t you want to play another game, see if you can avoid total embarrassment?”

Drake shook his head, before he dropped his lips to her ear, “All I really want to do is get you naked.” Suddenly, the heat that had been building between them reached the breaking point.

Drake had been nearly giddy tonight, his good mood completely infectious in a total role reversal for them. Starting when he bounded into the Airbnb in the afternoon, announcing that he had found a job, he had been smiling nearly nonstop. Riley knew that his job hunt had been going terribly, a fact which clearly weighed on him. In fact, Riley had wondered if his inability to find employment was part of the reason he hadn’t gone back to Cordonia.

In the initial days after the attack at the Ball, Riley had asked Drake if he planned to go and visit Liam, but he had said no without much of an explanation. Sure, he had talked to Liam or Bastien almost everyday, but Riley had been sure he would want to see them in person. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was self-conscious about his lack of a job, causing him to avoid returning to Cordonia. She couldn’t think of any other explanation. She had made sure to tell him she understood if he wanted to go, so it wasn’t likely that he was staying for her sake, unless he could sense her reluctance for him to leave. Regardless, the selfish part of her was glad he wasn’t headed to a different country, even as the rest of her worried about his avoidance of his former home.

Given how everything had been weighing on him, Riley was thrilled he found work he was happy about. She had been worried that his job hunting stress was going to put a damper on their first real date, but the timing had worked out perfectly. The entire evening had been excellent, starting with pizza and beer before they had headed to one of Riley’s favorite dive bars. They had been drinking and talking for hours, and Riley was pleasantly buzzed when Drake had spotted the pool table in the back, challenging her to a rematch of their game in Paris. Given their mutual memories of that night, of everything they had wanted to do, but couldn’t back then, it wasn’t surprising that it had only taken one game before they were both scrambling to get out of there to somewhere they could turn those fantasies to reality.

It was torture getting home. It was late enough that they had to contend with subway maintenance, so they waited for at least twenty minutes for their train. Riley was about to suggest getting a Dryve when they finally heard the train coming down the track. They had been contenting themselves with little touches and light kisses, but as they settled in to their seats, Drake grew bolder, less patient, letting his hand slide between her legs and slowly creeping upward. Thankfully, they only had a few stops, or Riley is sure they would have completely scandalized the middle aged couple seated a few rows away from them.

By the time they reached their building, it was a miracle they made it into the elevator before they were kissing. Riley barely registered her back hitting the wall as she tugged Drake down, sliding her fingers through his hair. The buzz from the alcohol hadn’t completely worn off, and it was enhancing everything with a warm, pleasant glow. Both their hands were everywhere, grabbing at each other, sliding under clothing. The kisses were rough, biting and demanding. He ground his hips against her as he pushed her further against the wall, only to tug her after him when the bell finally dinged, signaling that they had reached the 18th floor.

It took them longer than it should have to reach their door, and unlocking it was a struggle as Drake was working his mouth down her neck as he stood behind her, arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Finally, they stumbled through the door, only to be greeted by Anderson, tail wagging as he happily trotted over to them. Riley sighed as Drake let out a groan before reaching for the leash they had left by the door.

“I’ll take him around the block. When I get back, I expect you to be naked in bed,” he said, dropping one last kiss to her forehead before he grabbed the dog and turned toward the door.

Riley smiled as she watched them leave. They had waited so long for this first date, what was waiting 10 more minutes?

Tags: @wickedgypsymoon @thesumofmychoices​ @cosigottahavefaith​ @thequeenofcronuts​ @thequeenchoices​ @katedrakeohd​ @carabeth​ @feartheendlesssummer

[sunsetbeachsoap]

Hollywood: Daytime Goes to the Beach Aaron Spelling will bring sunshine and sand to set-bound soap operas with his new ‘Sunset Beach’

Nov 4, 1996 By Betsy Sharke Except for a nasty cold, Aaron Spelling couldn’t be in much better spirits. He’s spent most of the day with his office crammed full of wardrobe racks and cast members from Sunset Beach, the first daytime drama that Spelling Entertainment has ever done and the first daytime drama to be introduced on network TV in eight years (1989’s Generations was the last — and it didn’t).

‘We brought in 12 racks of clothes,’ says Spelling. ‘I think fashion is as important to a serial as anything else.’ Fashion sets the tone. It defines the palette. The length of a skirt, the style of jeans, can tell the viewer volumes about a character before the first word of dialogue is spoken. Spelling already loves the Sunset Beach cast — their names have been added to his annual Christmas party list — and on this day he is doling out advice to them on everything from buying a new car to renting apartments to how to handle fame, should it be lucky enough to come. He has issued his no-hair-changes dictum — Sunset cast members had better be happy with the style and color they start the show with, because Spelling isn’t about to let them confuse a new audience with a makeover any time soon. It is a long-standing rule for a Spelling show, and his staff knows that he’s deadly serious about it even if some of the awestruck actors don’t — yet. On Jan. 6, Sunset Beach will hit the air. ‘The series is a critical component of NBC West Coast president Don Ohlmeyer’s plan to make the network’s daytime schedule as potent as its prime time. NBC is in third place in daytime, though the net is up 20 percent this season and is closing in on second-place ABC. Ohlmeyer has his sights set on first, which CBS now owns. ‘With Sunset, we have something new and hot and exciting,’ Ohlmeyer says. ‘(In) the ‘80s, NBC daytime basically disintegrated. We are in the process of rebuilding, but we have to deliver the goods. That’s how we’ve built prime time, with distinctive programming. ‘There hasn’t been a successful soap launched in 10 years. It’s very difficult to do, but with Aaron’s touch and looking at the cast we have, we think it’s worth the effort. Some of our affiliates are very receptive (to the show) some, we’re in the process of kidnapping their children.’ On Stage 11 at NBC Studios in Burbank, carpenters and set designers are working late into the night to complete the sets that will form the primary backdrop for the show. The small community of Seal Beach, roughly a 90-minute drive south of Los Angeles, has been scouted nearly grain by grain of sand. It will be the exterior home for Sunset, and unlike most daytime soaps, the location will be a frequent player. Last week, readings and the first of three weeks of shooting exteriors began. The Santa Anas — California’s devil winds — stirred up the sand, making it sting on the skin. The water, which is never warm at Seal Beach, was even colder than usual. But no one was complaining. The 22 actors who will give shape and form to Sunset Beach are a beautiful bunch indeed, a canvas of racial diversity plucked from the talent pool in New York, Los Angeles and other cities including Philadelphia, the hometown of Spelling Entertainment president Jonathan Levin, who went back for that casting session. They are also young faces, part of the strategy to make Sunset a daytime soap for younger viewers, to do for daytime drama what Ricki Lake did for talk, at least in terms of attracting a new audience. Spelling is considered a master at casting, instinctively knowing which faces will work together as a couple, which actors will have that all-important element of chemistry. Now the virtually unknown Sunsetters are all in front of him, many meeting for the first time, and the air is electric. ‘One of my favorite sports is finding new people and combining them with other people, and I had used so many people from daytime on our soaps,’ says Spelling, whose legacy includes such prime-time legends as Loveboat and Dynasty. The company is currently on prime time with an unprecedented four dramas: Melrose Place; Beverly Hills, 90210; Savannah; and Seventh Heaven. Sunset has been 18 months in the making, and Spelling is like a proud papa, surrounded by actors whose future he has just secured. The series, which is co-owned by Spelling and NBC, has a one-year commitment from the network. That’s 51 weeks of shows, 255 hour-long episodes guaranteed. ‘I wouldn’t tell Candy, my wife, for a week after the show was sold, but my daughter Tori is a daytime addict, and she kept saying, ‘Do it,” says Spelling. With four shows already on the air, he has little time. Launching a daytime soap would siphon off even more of it. ‘I don’t think it hit me for a while. OnMelrose, we wrap on the 22nd of November and don’t come back until January 5th. The actors and writers get a chance to rest. This is never-ending. But it’s been a strange, great experience.’ Worldvision, which sells Spelling’s shows internationally, already has 10 countries signed on for Sunsetwithout one scene shot, based on a four-minute video that outlined the premise of the show and included Spelling talking about it. The foreign sales are important, as is NBC’s share in the financing. Mounting a daytime drama from scratch is a massive undertaking. ‘It requires the logistics of mounting a military campaign,’ says Levin. ‘There’s huge construction, there’s an enormous amount of lighting, tremendous casting, wardrobe problems. It’s not like prime time, when you see life in a kind of episodic way. Daytime is an endless stream of programming that, once it’s begun, can’t be stopped.’ Ohlmeyer puts the production investment alone at about $50 million. ‘Then there’s the cost of launch, advertising and promotion — it’s a major commitment on our part,’ he says. ‘With daytime, you’re not really going to know anything concretely for 18 months. I feel we’re very much on track. We’ve done this in a really organized way in terms of laying out target dates, scripts in by here, cast in place by here, task force working on clearances to this point we’re right on schedule. That still doesn’t change the pucker factor.’ NBC was initially looking at four ideas, Spelling’s idea among them, for a daytime soap. Spelling’s concept originally was loosely defined as ‘Melrose Place at the beach.’ When they began to look seriously for a title for the new show, Spelling ran a title contest in-house. The winner would get $200. There were dozens of suggestions, but the most serious contender, Never Say Goodbye, came from an unlikely source: Viacom chairman Sumner Redstone, who suggested it during a dinner with Spelling. ‘I loved the name — it says romance, which this show is all about,’ says Spelling, whose company is part of Viacom. But in testing, viewers were drawn to the ‘beach’ motif more than anything else, Spelling says. Executive producer Gary Tomlin (Santa Barbara) and Robert Guza Jr. are the people on the front line of the creative side of Sunset Beach. The initial groundwork on the series was done by Chuck Pratt, who was an executive producer on Melrose Place, and Guza, whose work everyone knew from Spelling’sModels Inc. Together they wrote a nearly 400-page bible outlining Sunset’s premise, characters and storyline. Spelling remembers the bible for Melrose Place being closer to 40 pages. Unlike most daytime dramas, which tend to build their storylines around families and family rivalries,Sunset Beach is about young singles and couples who have been drawn to the town, and the relationships that emerge as the action unfolds. The producers also created an underlying mythology about the town as a place where one can find true love. ‘We loved the idea of creating a town and making the town a character,’ says Guza, who is cocreator and head writer. ‘(With) Sunset Beach, you get to create this world and these characters, and then you get to screw up their lives.’ Sunset Beach is being written at a faster pace than traditional daytime dramas. It’s a delicate balancing act to move action through each episode without losing the audience. ‘We would love it if people watched five days a week, but they don’t,’ says Tomlin. Three days is more typical. ‘We have to make certain they’re able to pick up where the story left off and that it hasn’t moved so rapidly that they can’t figure it out.’ The show is also being designed to allow room for cameos by big-name prime-time stars. Spelling wants to give viewers as compelling a reason as possible to tune in to Sunset. ‘On top of needing to have a terrific show, you are fighting against viewer habits that are long, long ingrained,’ says Levin. ‘It is very difficult to change the loyalty of the daytime viewer, and we’re talking about shows that have been on for 30 years. That’s one of the reasons we’re targeting young viewers — they’re the most available and the most flexible in their viewing habits.’ Then there is the station lineup. Affiliates exert their independence far more in daytime than prime time. NBC says that Sunset is cleared on 85 percent of its affiliates; the network expects to reach 90 percent by the premiere. With the cast now in place and the first rolls of tapes being produced, the network knows that stations that are wavering at least will have something concrete to see. ‘Will we get sufficient coverage — that’s a constant battle,’ says Levin. ‘Will the local affiliates elect to air the show in desirable time slots that will afford us the best opportunity to be sampled? These are things we are lobbying for but ultimately we don’t control.’ Spelling and NBC executives hope that Sunset Beach will be scheduled to follow Days of Our Lives, which has made a dramatic turnaround. ‘Over the last 18 months with that show, it’s been unbelievable, going from being in the middle to the top,’ Ohlmeyer says. ‘If we can get that kind of performance from Another World — and we think we’re finally on the right track there — with Sunset Beach we could have a solid three-hour block.’ Copyright ASM Communications, Inc. (1996) ALL RIGHTS RESERVED http://www.mediaweek.com/mw/esearch/article_display.jsp?vnu_content_id=510703

[coveredinsweetpea]

Dazed and Confused 1.b || Jordan Connor

Ok, so, I've been a hoe these past few weeks and I didn't write, but I'm back now. To read this, all you need to know is that Y/n plays Megan in Riverdale and that she and Jordan are super close friends.

I'm naming this part 1.b because I didn't wanna jump right into the story after not posting for so long. Part 2 is coming, feedback and ideas make my day!! Love you, hope you enjoy!

Also, part 1 is here.

-

The next day on set went by without a hiccup. You had close to 10 lines to deliver, all in just one scene, where the serpents got together to plan their next move. Jordan, dressed in his usual dark leather jacket, flannel shirt and tight jeans, was leaning against his bike as you were all getting ready to start filming.

You made you way towards him, and he circled his arms around your waist instinctively. As much as you loved this, you knew he was in character and that it was actually Sweet Pea hugging Megan and not Jordan hugging you.

"I can't wait for tonight" he sighed rubbing your side with his left hand as the scrolled through his phone with the other.

"What?" you giggled, placing your pointer finger under his chin and prompting him to look up at you, "Since when do you care about Hollywood parties, old man? Thought you hated them."

"Old man?" he asked in disbelief, "Old man?!"

"Cute old man" you laughed

"That's slightly better" he mumbled, locking his phone and shoving it in his pocket so he could wrap both his arms around you again, "- Just slightly"

You looked at him amused, "I'm glad, but tell me about your sudden interest in this party"

"I just wanna see KJ go crazy after Kendall, that's all" he joked.

You hummed sarcastically, but before you got a chance to answer, every one was called to their spots in order for the cameras to start rolling. You settled against his side and seconds later you heard the familiar voice yell 'Action'.

You knew this wasn't going to be easily done, because today you were filming a scene where more than 10 people were involved, and you can't actually remember the last time you all acted like the professional actors you were. Unless the deadline was rapidly approaching, days on set were a blast. If you were behind schedule, it was one of the most dreadful experiences of your life. You were amongst the people that opened the scene, and after getting that done, you were just seated in the back, more like an extra.

A few seconds later, you heard 'Action' being called and got in your character. From now on, there was no more Jordan and (Y/n), just Sweet Pea and Megan in a situation you were more than fond of. The scene was set to open with a close up shot of yours and Jordan's characters making out, before it would move and concentrate on the discussion that was previously held at the bar.

As his hands pressed flush against your waist, your body crushed against Jordan's as you grabbed his cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss. It was slow at the beginning, but second by second, his touch would get more and more aggravated, making you push back with the same force. You felt his hand travel lower, moving from clutching your t-shirt to forcefully gripping your hips. Even though you knew it was all scripted, it made your heart flutter like nothing else. You moved your hands to the sides of his neck, allowing your thumbs to run back and forth along his jaw. From this position you could feel his muscles tense as he breathed heavily every time he got the chance.

You had no idea how long it had been, but you knew Fangs clearing his throat was a sign for you to slow down. And you did. You let your hold loosen up and pulled Sweet Pea's bottom lip between yours for a long second, before letting go completely. Toni and Fangs joined the conversation, FP and Jughead appeared a little bit later, and the rest of the serpent gang was about show up too.

The next few hours flew by pretty fast, and before you knew it, you were seated across from Anne, who was one of the serpent extras and your first friends on set, and between Vanessa and Jordan at the lunch table, uncontrollably giggling at something one of them said.

"That's not ok" you whined, eating your fries one by one.

"What do you mean - not ok?" Jordan joked, throwing an arm over your shoulders, "Wouldn't you want your boyfriend to arrange your marriage after 3 months of dating?"

"Would you?" you laughed, turning to look at him with a proud smile on your lips.

"Would you?" he repeated your question.

"I literally just asked that" you said.

"Arrange our marriage?" he completed and despite knowing he was joking, only the thought of dating him, set your heart and cheeks on fire.

"About marriages-" Vanessa spoke, pulling you out of your thoughts, "How's Jax?"

"He's fine, he's good" you mumbled, trying to hide the fact that you hadn't spoken to him in weeks. You hated that you couldn't tell anyone that there wasn't anything serious between the two of you, and seeing Jordan pull away from you as he heard your boyfriends name, broke your heart.

"Is he coming tonight?" he asked, digging into his plate of food in order to avoid the eye contact.

"I-" you began to answer but then stopped, realising you actually had no idea whether he was going to join you or not, "- I don't know"

"Either way, you're coming over before right?" Vanessa asked.

You just nodded and then watched her stand up, and excuse herself before making her way to her trailer. You were left alone with Jordan, who seemed, all of a sudden, awfully quiet.

"Hey-" you said, throwing your legs over his' and leaning against his side, "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing" he said in an unusually low voice. You've heard that tone before, but not from him. He was putting on a tough facade, the one you had gotten used to from Sweet Pea.

"Do you wanna match tonight?"

"What do you mean?"

"Put on your Helsinki shirt" you said smiling, trying to make it obvious you were more interested in him attending that party than Jax.

"You really think that's a good idea?" he asked sceptical, as he looked at you over his shoulder.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know, (Y/n)" he sighed playfully, turning to face you, "It's a fancy party, you think a T-shirt will cut it?". You knew that wasn't his main concert and hated how he was beating around the bush.

"Tuck it in your pants and roll up the sleeves a bit" you said happily.

"You want to also tell me how to do my hair and makeup?" he joked.

"Green would look good on-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there" he laughed preparing to stand up. He extended his hand and you took it, without even asking where he was heading. "Come with me, gotta reapply this beauty" he said pointing to his make-up based black eye.

He sat down in the make-up trailer and you leaned against the table in front of him as a pair of delicate hands worked on getting him ready to rejoin the set.

"Smile" you said, pulling out your phone and snapping a short boomerang of Jordan having make-up applied to his face.

"I hope that's a picture solely for your pleasure, and that it won't actually end up anywhere" he growled, rolling his eyes.

"Yeaaah" you mumbled, "It's on Instagram"

Mary, the make-up artist let out a small chuckle and Jordan didn't waste a second before sending her one of Sweet Pea's signature death stares.

The touch up process took a few more minutes and after she was done, and after warning Jordan about messing up his make up again, Mary left, leaving you two alone.

"I think I'm gonna head home" you said, preparing to stand up, as your scenes for the day were all done.

"Ok, but after we start filming" he whined and grabbed your hand to stop you from leaving, "Just like 10 more minutes"

"Fine" you giggled, moving to sit between his legs. He pulled the chair back, making space for you, but instead of settling against the table as you did before, now you just sat down in his lap, "Wanna come over tonight, too?" you asked, looking around his trailer for a second before meeting his hesitant stare.

"Don't think that's a good idea" he responded apologetically.

"Well, do you want to?"

"Of course I do" he chuckled, "But-"

"Then you're coming" you cut him off, smiling broadly, seeing his face light up as you insisted.

"Why are you like this?"

"Like what?" you played, nudging the top of his nose with your own. Despite having your heart on fire, this time you didn't feel like holding back. At all.

His lack of response threw you off, so you just grabbed his cheeks and applied a soft kiss to the top of his cheekbone. His face was an intoxicating shade of pink, and feeling his breath against your lips or seeing the way his chest rose and fell against yours, didn't help your self control at all. Jordan wrapped his arms around your waist, and your fingers made their way up into his raven locks. His hold kept tightening around your frame as you kept brushing your lips along his forehead and down his temple. Clenching your fingers in his hair, you tilted his head back, exposing the skin of his neck. You traced his tattoo as you watched him pant under your weight.

"I love this" you said, scratching his skin as you got ready to attach your lips to his neck, when a loud bang against the door made you jump out of his hold.

"Five minutes, J" someone yelled, before walking away.

"What the fuck" you huffed, "I almost had a heart attack"

"Yeah me too" he mumbled half heartedly, as he grabbed the serpent jacket and made his way to the door, "Gotta go to the bathroom, see you tonight bye"

He stormed out of his trailer so fast you didn't even have the time to say goodbye too. You remained motionless for a few moments, looking around and allowing your mind to roam. He didn't kiss you and that could mean something, but you didnt either and god, you wanted to do it so bad. The more you thought about it, the more confusing it got, so you decided to head right home, and get a bottle of wine to help you solve the problem.

On your way out, you decided to walk past the set, and catch another glimpse of your friends working. You stopped behind a camera man and watched Jordan for a short while until a 2 minute break was requested. He didn't leave the chair he was seated on, but he did spot you over Drew's shoulder. He looked directly into your eyes and smiled proudly, releasing all the tension your lungs had built up. He wasn't mad, and you couldn't be happier.

"I think i like him" a female voice said

"Excuse me" you cleared your voice, turning into the direction of the person that just spoke up, "What?" you asked, as her words seemed to fly right past you. When your eyes landed on her, you realised it was Anne.

"I think I like him" she repeated.

"Who?"

"Jordan" she said with a deep sigh, "And I think he likes me too"

-

Tag list. (sorry i am months late, you probably have no idea what this is) @irishfangirlxx @sweetpeaiscomingforu ​ @taronxfiction ​ @sinfulmango ​

[deztinywarriors]

The Linked Charms - Episode 36 (Multi Liverpool players)